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Gordon and Jan Gordon. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; font-size: smaller; text-align: left; color: gray;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Luck of Thirteen, by Jan Gordon +Cora J. Gordon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Luck of Thirteen + Wanderings and Flight through Montenegro and Serbia + +Author: Jan Gordon +Cora J. Gordon + +Release Date: December 12, 2005 [EBook #17291] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCK OF THIRTEEN *** + + + + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Taavi Kalju and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net. (This file was made using scans of +public domain works from the University of Michigan Digital +Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image01" name="image01"> + <img src="images/01.jpg" + alt="Jo at the Machine Gun." + title="Jo at the Machine Gun." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Jo at the Machine Gun.</span></span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>THE LUCK OF THIRTEEN</h1> + +<h2>WANDERINGS AND FLIGHT THROUGH MONTENEGRO AND SERBIA</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MR. AND MRS. JAN GORDON</h2> + + +<h4> +WITH PHOTOGRAPHS AND A MAP<br /> +TAIL PIECES BY CORA J. GORDON<br /> +COLOUR PLATES BY JAN GORDON<br /> +</h4> + + +<h5> +NEW YORK<br /> +E.P. DUTTON AND COMPANY<br /> +681 FIFTH AVENUE<br /> +1916<br /> +</h5> + + +<p class="center"> +PRINTED BY<br /> +WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED<br /> +LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="pagev" name="pagev"></a>Pg v</span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr> + <td align='left'>CHAPTER</td> + <td align='left'> </td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Contents</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#pagev'>v</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">List of Illustrations</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#pagevii'>vii</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page1'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>II.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Nish and Salonika</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page10'>10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>III.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Off to Montenegro</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page20'>20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>IV.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Across the Frontier</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page31'>31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>V.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Montenegrin Front on the Drina</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page47'>47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VI.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Northern Montenegro</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page66'>66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">To Cettinje</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page85'>85</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VIII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Lake of Scutari</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page99'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>IX.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Scutari</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page105'>105</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>X.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Highway of Montenegro</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page122'>122</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XI.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ipek, Dechani and a Harem</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page145'>145</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Highway of Montenegro—II</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page169'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Uskub</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page182'>182</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIV.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mainly Retrospective</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page198'>198</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XV.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Some Pages from Mr. Gordon's Diary</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page213'>213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVI.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Last Days at Vrntze</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page227'>227</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Kralievo</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page244'>244</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVIII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Flight of Serbia</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page263'>263</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIX.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Novi Bazar</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page284'>284</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XX.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Unknown Road</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page299'>299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'><span class="pagenum"><a id="pagevi" name="pagevi"></a>Pg vi</span>XXI.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Flea-Pit</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page315'>315</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Andrievitza to Pod</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page328'>328</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXIII.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Into Albania</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page341'>341</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXIV.</td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">"One more Ribber to cross"</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page359'>359</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Index</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href='#page377'>377</a></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="pagevii" name="pagevii"></a>Pg vii</span></p> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr> + <td align='center'><b>COLOURED PLATES</b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='right'>FACING PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image01">Jo at the Machine Gun</a></td> + <td align='right'><i>Frontispiece</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image15">The Ipek Pass in Winter</a></td> + <td align='right'>140</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image27">Retreating Ammunition Train</a></td> + <td align='right'>276</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image28">Albanian Mule-drivers Camping</a></td> + <td align='right'>354</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='center'><b>HALF-TONE PLATES</b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image02">Out-patients</a></td> + <td align='right'>4</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image03">Shoeing Bullocks</a></td> + <td align='right'>4</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image04">Peasant Women in Gala Costume, Nish</a></td> + <td align='right'>20</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image05">Serb Convalescents at Uzhitze</a></td> + <td align='right'>28</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image06">Serb and Montenegrin Officers on the Drina</a></td> + <td align='right'>58</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image07">A Concealed Gun Emplacement on the Drina</a></td> + <td align='right'>58</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image08">Peasant Women of the Mountains</a></td> + <td align='right'>76</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image09">A Village of North Montenegro</a></td> + <td align='right'>76</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image10">Jo and Mr. Suma in the Scutari Bazaar</a></td> + <td align='right'>110</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image11">Christian Women hiding from the Photographer</a></td> + <td align='right'>112</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image12">Scutari—Bazaar and Old Venetian Fortress</a></td> + <td align='right'>112</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image13">Disembarkation of a Turkish Bride</a></td> + <td align='right'>114</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image14">Governor Petrovitch and his Daughter in their State Barge</a></td> + <td align='right'>114</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image16">In the Bazaar of Ipek</a></td> + <td align='right'>162</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image17">Street Coffee Seller in Ipek</a></td> + <td align='right'>162</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><span class="pagenum"><a id="pageviii" name="pageviii"></a>Pg viii</span><a href="#image18">A Wine Market in Uskub</a></td> + <td align='right'>184</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image19">Big Gun passing through Krusevatz</a></td> + <td align='right'>194</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image20">In-patients</a></td> + <td align='right'>202</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image21">Broken Aeroplane in the Arsenal at Krag</a></td> + <td align='right'>220</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image22">Where the "Plane" fell</a></td> + <td align='right'>220</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image23">House near the Arsenal damaged by Bombs</a></td> + <td align='right'>220</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image24">Peasant Women leaving their Village</a></td> + <td align='right'>260</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image25">Serb Family by the Roadside</a></td> + <td align='right'>260</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image26">The Flight of Serbia</a></td> + <td align='right'>266</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image29">Unloading the <i>Benedetto</i>, San Giovanni di Medua</a></td> + <td align='right'>364</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href="#image30">Route Map of the Authors' Wanderings</a></td> + <td align='right'><i>At end of text</i></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>Pg 1</span></p> +<h2>THE LUCK OF THIRTEEN</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>It is curious to follow anything right back to its inception, and to +discover from what extraordinary causes results are due. It is strange, +for instance, to find that the luck of the thirteen began right back at +the time when Jan, motoring back from Uzhitze down the valley of the +Morava, coming fastish round a corner, plumped right up to the axle in a +slough of clinging wet sandy mud. The car almost shrugged its shoulders +as it settled down, and would have said, if cars could speak, "Well, +what are you going to do about that, eh?" It was about the 264th mud +hole in which Jan's motor had stuck, and we sat down to wait for the +inevitable bullocks. But it was a Sunday and bullocks were few; the wait +became tedious, and in the intervals of thought which alternated with +the intervals of exasperation, Jan realized that he needed a holiday.</p> + +<p>To be explicit. Jan was acting as engineer to Dr. Berry's Serbian +Mission from the Royal Free<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>Pg 2</span> Hospital:—Jan Gordon, and Jo is his wife, +Cora Josephine Gordon, artist, and V.A.D.</p> + +<p>We had a six months of work behind us. We had seen the typhus, and had +dodged the dreaded louse who carries the infection, we had seen the +typhus dwindle and die with the onrush of summer. We had helped to clean +and prepare six hospitals at Vrntze or Vrnjatchka Banja—whichever you +prefer. We had helped Mr. Berry, the great surgeon, to ventilate his +hospitals by smashing the windows—one had been a child again for a +moment. Jo had learned Serbian and was assisting Dr. Helen Boyle, the +Brighton mind specialist, to run a large and flourishing out-patient +department to which tuberculosis and diphtheria—two scourges of +Serbia—came in their shoals. We had endeavoured to ward off typhoid by +initiating a sort of sanitary vigilance committee, having first sacked +the chief of police: we had laid drains, which the chief Serbian +engineer said he would pull up as soon as we had gone away. We had +helped in the plans of a very necessary slaughter-house, which Mr. Berry +was going to present to the town. There was an excuse for Jan's desire. +The English papers had been howling about the typhus months after the +disease had been chased out by English, French, and American doctors, +who had disinfected the country till it reeked of formalin<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>Pg 3</span> and sulphur; +shoals of devoted Englishwomen were still pouring over, generously ready +to risk their lives in a danger which no longer existed. Our own unit, +which had dwindled to a comfortable—almost a family—number, with Mr. +Berry as father, had been suddenly enlarged by an addition of ten. These +ten complicated things, they all naturally wanted work, and we had +cornered all the jobs.</p> + +<p>So, after the fatigues of February, March, and April, and the heat of +June, Jan quite decided on that Uzhitze mud patch that a holiday would +do little harm to himself, and good to everybody else. Then, however, +came the problem of Jo. Jo is a socialistic sort of a person with +conservative instincts. She has the feminine ability to get her wheels +on a rail and run comfortably along till Jan appears like a big railway +accident and throws the scenery about; but once the resolution +accomplished she pursues the idea with a determination and ferocity +which leaves Jan far in the background.</p> + +<p>Jo had her out-patient department. Every morning, wet or fine, crowds of +picturesque peasants would gather about the little side door of our +hospital, women in blazing coloured hand-woven skirts, like Joseph's +coat, children in unimaginable rags, but with the inevitable belt +tightly bound about their little stomachs, men covered with tuberculous +sores and so forth, on some days<span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>Pg 4</span> as many as a hundred. Jo, having +finished breakfast, had then to assume a commanding air, and to stamp +down the steps into the crowd, sort out the probable diphtheria +cases—this by long practice,—forbid anybody to approach them under +pain of instant disease, get the others into a vague theatre queue, +which they never kept, and then run back into the office to assist the +doctor and to translate. All this, repeated daily, was highly +interesting of course, and so when Jan suggested the tour she "didn't +want to do it."</p> + +<p>But authority was on Jan's side. Jo had had a mild accident: a +diphtheria patient fled to avoid being doctored, they often did, and Jo +had chased after her; she tripped, fell, drove her teeth through her +lower lip, and for a moment was stunned. When they caught the patient +they found that it was the wrong person—but that is beside the subject. +Dr. Boyle thought that Jo had had a mild concussion and threw her weight +at Jan's side. Dr. Berry was quite agreeable, and gave us a commission +to go to Salonika to start with and find a disinfector which had gone +astray. Another interpreter was found, so Jo took leave of her +out-patients.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In Serbia it was necessary to get permission to move. Jan went to the +major for the papers. There were crowds of people on the major's +steps,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>Pg 5</span> and Jan learned that all the peasants and loafers had been +called in to certify, so that nobody should avoid their military +service. Later we parted, taking two knapsacks. Dr. Boyle and Miss +Dickenson were very generous, giving us large supplies of chocolate, +Brand's essence, and corned beef for our travels, and we had two boxes +of "compressed luncheons," black horrible-looking gluey tabloids which +claim to be soup, fish, meat, vegetables and pudding in one swallow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image02" name="image02"> + <img src="images/02.jpg" + alt="OUT-PATIENTS." + title="OUT-PATIENTS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">OUT-PATIENTS.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image03" name="image03"> + <img src="images/03.jpg" + alt="SHOEING BULLOCKS." + title="SHOEING BULLOCKS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">SHOEING BULLOCKS.</span> +</div> + +<p>The Austrian prisoners bade us a sad farewell, but many friends +accompanied us to the station, and the rotund major and his rounder wife +did us the like honour. Our major was a queer mixture: he was jolly +because he was fat, and he was stern because he had a beaky nose, and in +any interview one had first to ascertain whether the stomach or the nose +held the upper hand, so to speak. With the wife one was always sure—she +had a snub nose. On this occasion the major furiously boxed the Austrian +prisoner coachman's ears, telling us that he was the best he had ever +had. The unfortunate driver was a picture of rueful pleasure. The two +plump dears stood waving four plump hands till we had rumbled round the +corner of the landscape.</p> + +<p>In the train to Nish it was intensely hot. We had sixteen or seventeen +fellow-passengers in our<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>Pg 6</span> third-class wooden-seated carriage—all the +firsts had been removed, because they could not be disinfected—and the +windows, with the exception of two, had been screwed tightly down. Every +time we stood up to look at the landscape somebody slipped into our +seat, and we were continually sitting down into unexpected laps. +Expostulations, apologies, and so on. Somebody had gnawed a piece from +one of the wheels, and we lurched through the scenery with a banging +metallic clangour which made conversation difficult, in spite of which +Jo astonished the natives by her colloquial and fluent Serbian. We had +an enormous director of a sanitary department and a plump wife, +evidently risen, but fat people rise in Serbia automatically like +balloons. We had three meagre old gentlemen, one unshaven for a week, +one whiskered since twenty years with Piccadilly weepers like a stage +butler; some ultra fashionable girls and men; and a dear old dumb woman +wearing three belts, who had been a former outpatient; and several +sticky families of children.</p> + +<p>The old gentlemen took a huge interest in Jo. They drew her out in +Serbian, and at every sentence turned each to the other and elevated +their hands, ejaculating "kako!" (how!) in varying terms of admiration +and flattery.</p> + +<p>The American has not yet ousted the Turk<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>Pg 7</span> from Serbia, and the bite from +our wheel banged off the revolutions of our sedate passing. Trsternik's +church—modern but good taste—gleamed like a jewel in the sun against +the dark hills. On either hand were maize fields with stalks as tall as +a man, their feathery tops veiling the intense green of the herbage with +a film, russet like cobwebs spun in the setting sun. There were plum +orchards—for the manufacture of plum brandy—so thick with fruit that +there was more purple than green in the branches, and between the trunks +showed square white ruddy-roofed hovels with great squat tile-decked +chimneys. Some of the houses were painted with decorations of bright +colours, vases of flowers or soldiers, and on one was a detachment of +crudely drawn horsemen, dark on the white walls, meant to represent the +heroes of old Serbian poetry.</p> + +<p>To Krusevatz the valley broadened, and the sinking sun tinted the +widening maize-tops till the fields were great squares of gold. We had +no lights in the train, and presently dusk closed down, seeming to shut +each up within his or her own mind. The hills grew very dark and +distant, and on the faint rising mist the trees seemed to stand about +with their hands in their pockets like vegetable Charlie Chaplins.</p> + +<p>A junction, and a rush for tables at the little out-of-door restaurant. +In the country from which<span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>Pg 8</span> we have just come all seemed peace, but here +in truth was war. Passing shadowy in the faint lights were soldiers; +soldiers crouched in heaps in the dark corners of the station; yet more +soldiers and soldiers again huddled in great square box trucks or open +waggons waiting patiently for the train which was four or five hours +late. There were women with them, wives or sisters or daughters, with +great heavy knapsacks and stolid unexpressive faces.</p> + +<p>While we were dreaming of this romance of war, and of the coming romance +of our own tour, a little man dumped himself at our table, explained +that he had a pain in his kidneys, and started an interminable story +about his wife and a dog. He was Jan's devoted admirer, and declared +that Jan had performed a successful operation upon him, though Jan is no +surgeon, and had never set eyes upon the man before.</p> + +<p>Georgevitch rescued us. Georgevitch was fat, tall, young and genial, and +was military storekeeper at Vrntze. He was an ideal storekeeper and +looked the part, but he had been a comitaj. He had roamed the country +with belts full of bombs and holsters full of pistols, he and 189 +others, with two loaves of bread per man and then "Ever Forwards." Of +the 189 others only 22 were left, and one was a patient at our hospital +where<span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>Pg 9</span> we called him the "Velika Dete" or "big child," because of his +sensibility. With Georgevitch was a dark woman with keen sparkling eyes. +Alone, this woman had run the typhus barracks in Vrntze until the +arrival of the English missions. She was a Montenegrin; no Serbian woman +could be found courageous enough to undertake the task. After struggling +all the winter, she was taken ill about a fortnight after the arrival of +the English. The Red Cross Mission took care of her and she recovered.</p> + +<p>We left our bore still talking about his wife and the dog, and fled to +their table, where we chatted till our train arrived. We found a +coupé—a carriage with only one long seat—the exigencies of which +compelled Jan to be all night with Jo's boots on his face, and we so +slept as well as we were able.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/04.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>Pg 10</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>NISH AND SALONIKA</h3> + + +<p>To our dismay a rare thing happened—our train was punctual, and we +arrived in Nish at four o'clock. It was cold and misty. The station was +desolate and the town asleep. Around us in the courtyard ragged soldiers +were lying with their heads pillowed on brightly striped bags. A nice +old woman who had asked Jo how old she was, what relation Jan was to +her, whether they had children, and where she had learnt Serbian, +suddenly lost all her interest in us and hurried off with voluble +friends whose enormous plaits around their flat red caps betokened the +respectable middle-class women.</p> + +<p>Piccadilly weepers vanished and a depressed little quartet was left on +the platform—our two selves, a lean schoolmaster, and an egg-shaped man +who never spoke a word. We found a clerk sitting in an office. He said +we could not leave our bags in his room, but as we made him own that we +could not put them anywhere else he looked the other way while we +dropped them in the corner.</p> + +<p>In the faint mist of the early morning the great<span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>Pg 11</span> overgrown village of +one-storied houses seemed like a real town buried up to its attics in +fog. We found a café which was shut, and sat waiting on green chairs +outside. Around us old men were talking of the news in the papers. They +said that Bulgaria was making territorial demands, and as the Balkan +governments covet land above all things they felt pessimistic as to +whether Serbia would concede anything, and said, shaking their heads, +"It will be another Belgium."</p> + +<p>We celebrated the opening of the café by ordering five Turkish coffees +each, and the schoolmaster and we alternately stood treat. Jo loaded up +with aspirin to deaden a toothache which was worrying her.</p> + +<p>We spent a cynical morning in interviews with people who were supposed +to know about missing luggage. Both they and we were aware that the +first hospital which got a wandering packing-case froze on to it, and if +inconvenient people came to hunt for their property the dismayed and +guilty ones hurriedly painted the case, saying to each other, "After all +it's in a good cause, and it's better than if it were stolen."</p> + +<p>Then we went to see the powers who can say "no" to those who want to do +pleasant things, and were handed an amendment to a plea for a tour round +Serbia, including the front, which we had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>Pg 12</span> sent to them and which had +been pigeon-holed for a month.</p> + +<p>"But we don't want to see a lot of monasteries," said Jan, as he gazed +at a little circle drawn round the over-visited part of Serbia. The +powers were adamant and seemed to think they had done very well for us. +We went away sadly, for monasteries had not been the idea at all.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later we were pursuing an entirely different object. We had +discovered that Sir Ralph Paget was housing about £1000 worth of stores +destined for Dr. Clemow's hospital—which was in Montenegro—and which +needed an escort. He was somewhat puzzled at our altruistic anxiety to +take them off his hands, but was much relieved at the thought that he +could get rid of them.</p> + +<p>We hurried to the station, rescued our knapsacks under the nose of a new +official who looked very much surprised, and boarded the English rest +house near by. English people were sitting in deck chairs outside the +papier-maché house which stood surrounded by a couple of tents and a +wooden kitchen in a field. Austrian prisoners were preparing lunch, and +we were introduced to Seemitch the dog.</p> + +<p>Though young, Seemitch was fat and exhibited signs of a much-varied +ancestry. The original Seemitch, an important Serb with long gold +teeth,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>Pg 13</span> was very indignant that a dog, and such a dog, should be called +after him, so Sir Ralph arranged that of the two other puppies one +should be called after him and the other after Mr. Hardinge his +secretary. Thus the man Seemitch's dignity was restored.</p> + +<p>At the station, to our great joy, we met two American doctors from +Zaichar. One we had mourned for dead and were astonished to see him, +shadow-like, stiff-kneed, and sitting uncomfortably on a chair in the +middle of the platform. Months before he had pricked himself with a +needle while operating on a gangrenous case, and had since lain +unconscious with blood-poisoning.</p> + +<p>While we were cheering over his recovery, a little Frenchman slipped +into our reserved compartment, which was only a coupé, and had seized +the window seat. Jan found him lubricating his mouth, already full of +dinner, with wine from a bottle. As he showed no signs of seeing reason +from the male, Jo tried feminine indignation. "That seat is mine," she +snapped to his back-tilted head.</p> + +<p>"Good. I exact nothing," he said, wiping his moustache upwards. She +suggested that if any exacting was to be done she possessed the +exclusive rights.</p> + +<p>"Quel pays," he answered. Jo thought he was casting aspersions on +England and on her as the nearest representative, and the air became<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>Pg 14</span> +distinctly peppery. The Frenchman hurriedly explained that he was +alluding to Serbia, so they buried the hatchet and became acquaintances.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Uskub, or Skoplje, and one hour to wait. All about the great plains the +mountains were just growing ruddy with the dawn, and we gulped boiling +coffee at the station restaurant.</p> + +<p>One of the American doctors seemed restless. Some one had told him it +was advisable to keep an eye on the luggage. They began to shunt the +train, and soon he was stumbling about the sidings in a resolute attempt +not to lose sight of the luggage van. We sympathetically wished him good +luck and walked past into the Turkish quarter, adopted by two dogs which +followed us all the way. We had a hurried glimpse of queer-shaped, +many-coloured houses, trousered women, and a general Turkishness.</p> + +<p>We returned to find our American friend furious, full of the superior +methods of luggage registration in the States.</p> + +<p>We had beer with him at the frontier, delicious cool stuff with a +mollifying influence. He told us he held the record for one month's +hernia operations in Serbia. We were later to meet his rival, a Canadian +doctor, in Montenegro.</p> + +<p>Locked in the train, we awaited the medical<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>Pg 15</span> examination, and sat +feeling self-consciously healthy. At last the Greek doctor opened the +door, glanced at a knapsack, and vanished. We were certified healthy.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful dark blue night when we arrived at Salonika. Crowds +of people were dining at little tables which filled the streets off the +quay, in spite of the awful smells which came up from the harbour.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to sleep late in Salonika. Soon after dawn children +possess the town—bootblacks, paper-sellers, perambulating drapers' +shops; all children crying their wares noisily. The only commodity that +the children don't peddle is undertaken by mules laden with glass +fronted cases hanging on each side and which are filled with meat.</p> + +<p>We breakfasted in the street, revelling in the early morning and shooing +away the children, who never gave us a moment's grace. In self-defence +we had our boots blacked, for the ambulating bootblack molests no longer +the owner of a well-polished pair of boots. It is queer to walk about in +a town where one-third of the population is only pecuniarily interested +in the momentary appearance of feet and never look at a face, like the +man with the muckrake with eyes glued on life as it is led two inches +from the ground.</p> + +<p>When we had finished searching for disinfectors<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>Pg 16</span> and dentists we +wandered up the hill through the romantic streets. Jan sketched busily, +but toothache had rather sapped Jo's industry, and she generally found +some large stone to sit on, whence to contemplate.</p> + +<p>An old woman's face, peering round the doorway, discovered her sitting +on the doorstep, a Greek dustman gazing stupidly at her.</p> + +<p>In two minutes they were talking hard. The old woman was a Bulgarian, +but they were able to understand each other. What Jo told the old woman +was translated to the dustman, and when Jan came up they were introduced +each to the other, the dustman with his broom bowing to the ground like +some old-time court usher.</p> + +<p>Once a Greek woman offered a chair to Jo. She was much embarrassed, as +the only Greek words she had picked up were "How much?" and "Yet +another;" and as both seemed unsuitable she tried to put her gratitude +into the width of her smile.</p> + +<p>We scrambled on ever afterwards through streets which were more like +cliff climbs than roads. The sun grew red till all Salonika lay at our +feet a maze of magenta shadow. We sat down in an old Turkish cemetery, +where we could watch the old wall sliding down to plains of gold, where, +falling into ruins, it lent its degraded stones for the construction of +Turkish hovels.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>Pg 17</span></p> + +<p>A kitten with paralysed hind legs crawled up to us and accepted a little +rubbing. When dusk came we moved on, marvelling at the inexhaustible +picturesqueness of Salonika.</p> + +<p>As we clambered down the breakneck paths, the priests were illuminating +the minarets with hundreds of twinkling lights.</p> + +<p>The next day was the Feast. Mahommedans were everywhere. By the women's +trousers, which twinkled beneath the shrouding veils, one could see that +they were gorgeously dressed. Befezzed men were lounging and smoking in +all the café's.</p> + +<p>In the evening once more we wandered up through the old Turkish quarter. +We heard a curious noise like a hymn played by bagpipes, rhythmically +accompanied in syncopation by a very flabby drum. Round the corner came +four jolly niggers blowing pipes, and the drummer behind them. Very slim +young men with bright sashes and light trousers were twisting, +posturing, and dancing joyfully. One of them threw to Jo the most +graceful kiss she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>We left Salonika in the morning, having been wakened by new sounds. +Thousands of marching feet, songs. This was puzzling.</p> + +<p>In the train a young Greek told us that his nation had mobilized against +the Bulgars, but that it was not very serious. He said that there had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>Pg 18</span> +been very friendly feeling in Greece for England, but that we had done +our best to kill it.</p> + +<p>"You see, monsieur," he explained, "your offer to give away our land. It +is not yours to give. You say that does not matter, but that colonies, +great colonies in Africa will replace the small part of land that we may +surrender. Kavalla is more valuable to Grecian hearts than all Africa, +for how could we desert our Grecian brothers and place them beneath the +rule of the Turk or Bulgar?"</p> + +<p>On the train were more American doctors. One had just arrived, and was +still full of enthusiasm for scenery and sanitation. Also there was +Princess —— surrounded by packing cases. Some months earlier she had +visited our hospitals in Vrntze and she had asked if one of our V.A.D.'s +could be sent to her as housemaid. Seeing her in the station, Jo +involuntarily ran over in her mind, was she "sober, honest and +obliging?"</p> + +<p>The American doctors and we picnicked together. We ate bully beef and a +huge water melon. The heat was awful. The velvet seats seemed to invade +one's body and come through at the other side. One of the doctors sat on +the step of the train, and Jo found him nodding and smiling as he +dreamt. She rescued him before he fell off.</p> + +<p>After twelve hours they left us. Uskub once more and an hour to wait. We +sat behind trees<span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>Pg 19</span> in boxes on the platform and ate omelet with a nice +old Jew and his ten-year-old daughter, who already spoke five languages.</p> + +<p>Then to sleep. We found our half coupé contained a second seat which +could be pulled down, so we each had a bed. At four in the morning we +were awakened by the most awful imitation of a German band.</p> + +<p>What had happened? We looked out. It was barely dawn, and a wretched +little orchestra was grouped at the edge of the tiny station. Every +instrument was cracked and was tuned one-sixteenth tone different from +its companions. What it lacked in musical ability it made up in energy.</p> + +<p>Why, oh, <i>why</i> at that hour, we never found out. Perhaps it was in +honour of the Princess, poor lady!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/05.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>Pg 20</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>OFF TO MONTENEGRO</h3> + + +<p>Back to Nish in the rain, and Jo was wearing a cotton frock. There may +be more dismal towns than this Nish, but I have yet to see them, and +this, although the great squares were packed with gaily coloured +peasants—some feast, we imagined—carts full of melons, melons on the +ground, melons framing the faces of the greedy—cerise green-rind moons +projecting from either cheek. The Montenegrin consul was not at home, so +off we went to the Foreign Office to give a letter to Mr. Grouitch, who +sent us to the Sanitary Department of the War Office (henceforth known +as S.D.W.O.). S.D.W.O. wouldn't move without a letter from "Sir Paget." +We got the letter from "Sir Paget" and back to the S.D.W.O., to find it +shut in our faces, and to learn that it did not reopen till four.</p> + +<p>Then came the matter of Jo's tooth. This abscess had been nagging all +the time, it had vigorously tried to get between Jo and the scenery. We +had sought dentists in Salonika, rejecting one because his hall was too +dirty, a second because she (yes, a she) was practising on her father's +certificates, the third, a little Spaniard, had red-hot<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>Pg 21</span> pokered the +gums thereof and only annoyed it. But we had heard there was a Russian +dentist in Nish, a very good one. The Russian dentist turned out to be a +girl, and tiny—she spoke no Serb, but Jo managed, by means of the +second cousinship of the language, to make out what she said in Russian.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image04" name="image04"> + <img src="images/06.jpg" + alt="PEASANT WOMEN IN GALA COSTUME—NISH." + title="PEASANT WOMEN IN GALA COSTUME—NISH." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">PEASANT WOMEN IN GALA COSTUME—NISH.</span> +</div> + +<p>"The tooth must come out," squeaked the small dentist.</p> + +<p>"Can't you save it?" prayed Jo; "it's the best one I've got, and the one +to which I send all the Serbian meat."</p> + +<p>"It must come out," squeaked the Russ.</p> + +<p>"Can't you save it?" prayed Jo.</p> + +<p>"It must come out," reiterated the Russ.</p> + +<p>"You're very small," said Jo, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>This annoyed the dentist. She pushed unwilling Jo into a chair, produced +a pair of pincers, and, oh, woe! she wrenched to the north, she wrenched +to the south, she wrenched to the east, and there was the tooth, nearly +as big as the dentist herself.</p> + +<p>"I never can eat Serbian meat again," murmured Jo as she mopped her +mouth.</p> + +<p>After tea we returned to the S.D.W.O., and by means of our letter and +our Englishness we got in front of all the unfortunate people who had +been waiting for hours, and received our passes, etc., immediately.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph Paget's storekeeper wouldn't work<span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>Pg 22</span> on Sunday, so we had also +to rest, and we celebrated by staying in bed late and going for a walk +in the afternoon with an Englishman who was <i>en route</i> for Sofia. We +came to a little village where every house was surrounded by high walls +made of wattle. The women soon crowded round, imagining Mr. B—— a +doctor. Jo pretended to translate, and gave advice for a girl with +consumption, and an old woman whose hand was stiff from typhus, and we +had to give the money for the latter's unguent. For the consumptive she +said, "Open the windows, rest, and don't spit"; but that isn't a +peasant's idea of doctoring: they want medicine or magic, one or the +other, which doesn't matter.</p> + +<p>The train started "after eight" on Monday evening. The English boys at +the Rest house were very good to us, adding to our small stock of +necessities a "Tommy's treasure," two mackintosh capes, and some oxo +cubes. One youth said, "You won't want to travel a second time on a +Serbian luggage train"; then ruefully, "I've done it! The shunting, +phew!"</p> + +<p>A Serbian railway station is a public meeting-place; along the platform, +but railed off from the train, is a restaurant which is one of the +favourite cafés of the town. It is such fun to the still childish +Serbian mind to sit sipping beer or wine and watch the trains run about, +and hear the whistles. We had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>Pg 23</span> our supper amongst the gay crowd, and +then pushed out into the darkened goods station to find our travelling +bedroom, for we were to sleep in the waggons—beds and mattresses having +been provided—and we had borrowed blankets from the Rest house.</p> + +<p>We found our truck and climbed in. There were certainly beds enough, for +there were thirty light iron folding bedsteads piled up at one end. We +chose two, and, not satisfied with the stacking of the others, Jan +repiled them, with an eye on what our friend had said about Serbian +shunting. Even then Jo was not happy about them.</p> + +<p>We sat on our beds, reading or staring out of our open door at the +twinkle of the station lights, the moving flares of the engines, and the +fountains of sparks which rushed from their chimneys; listening to the +chains of bumps which denoted a shunting train. We heard another chain +of bumps, which rattled rapidly towards us and suddenly—a most awful +CRASH. The candle went out, and we were flung from bed on to the floor. +Our truck hurtled down the line at about thirty miles an hour, and +suddenly struck some solid object. Another wild crash, and the whole +twenty-eight beds flung themselves upon the place where we had been, and +smashed our couches to the ground.</p> + +<p>We have read stories of the Spanish Inquisition about rooms which grow +smaller, and at last crush<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>Pg 24</span> the unfortunate victim to a jelly: we can +now appreciate the feeling of the unfortunate victim aforesaid. There +were piles of packing-cases at either end of the van, and for the next +hour, as we were hurtled up and down by the Serbian engine-driver, at +each crash these packing-cases crept nearer and nearer. The beds had +fallen across the door, so it was impossible to escape. When the lower +cases had reached the beds they halted, but the upper ones still crept +on towards us. In the short, wild intervals of peace Jan tried to push +the cases back and restore momentary stability. In addition to +diminishing room, we were flung about with every crash, landing on the +corner of a packing-case, on the edge of an iron bedstead, and with each +crash the light went out. We will give not one jot of advantage to your +prisoner in the Spanish Inquisition, save that we escaped whereas he did +not.</p> + +<p>The engine-driver tired of the sport just in time to save our limbs, if +not lives, and he dragged the train out of the station into the dark.</p> + +<p>At Krusevatch we halted for the next day. After a discussion with the +station-master, who asked us to come down first at six p.m., then at +four, then at one, and lastly in two hours, at nine a.m. we strolled up +towards the town. There was an old beggar on the road, and he was +cuddling<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>Pg 25</span> a "goosla," or Serbian one-stringed fiddle, which sounds not +unlike a hive of bees in summer-time, and is played not with the tips of +the fingers, as a violin, but with the fat part of the first phalanx. As +soon as he heard our footsteps he began to howl, and to saw at his +miserable instrument; and as soon as he had received our contribution he +stopped suddenly. We were worth no more effort; but we admired his +frankness.</p> + +<p>Krusevatz market-place is like the setting of a Serbian opera. The +houses are the kind of houses that occupy the back scenery of opera, and +in the middle is an abominable statue commemorating something, which is +just in the bad taste which would mar an opera setting. There was an old +man wandering about with two knapsacks, one on his back and one on his +chest, and from the orifice of each peered out innumerable ducks' heads. +We returned to the station at nine, but were told that nothing could be +done till one. So we went up to the churchyard, spread our mackintoshes, +and got a much-needed sleep. The church is very old, but isn't much to +look at, and we, being no archæologists, would sooner look at that of +Trsternick, though it is modern.</p> + +<p>We returned to the station to unload our trucks, for at this point the +broad-gauge line ceases, and there is but a narrow-gauge into the +mountains.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>Pg 26</span> A band of Austrian prisoners were detailed to help us, and +they at once recognized us, and knew that we came from Vrntze. They were +in a wretched condition: their clothes were torn, they said that they +had no change of underclothes, and were swarming with vermin, nor could +they be cleaned, for they worked even on Sundays, and had no time to +wash their clothes. They begged us for soap, and asked us to send them a +change of raiment from Vrntze. We explained sadly that we were not going +back just yet, but we could oblige them with the soap, for a case had +been broken open, and the waggon was strewn with bars. We also gave some +to the engine-driver, as a bribe to shunt us gently.</p> + +<p>We imagined that the soap had burst because of the shunting, but in our +second truck discovered that this same shunting had been strangely +selective. It had, for instance, opened a case of brandy, it had burst a +box of tinned tongue, and even opened some of the tins which were strewn +in the truck. And yet the truck had been sealed, both doors. Several +cases of biscuits, too, had been abstracted, and all this must have +happened under the very noses of the Englishmen who had supervised the +loading. Some of the prisoners said that they were starving, so we +distributed our spare crusts amongst them, and they ate them greedily +enough.</p> + +<p>In the fields by the railway were queer pallid<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>Pg 27</span> green plants which +puzzled us. They were like tall cabbages, and shone with a curious +ghostly intensity in the gloaming.</p> + +<p>We dangled our feet over the side of our waggon watching the flitting +scenery. At one point we passed a train in which were other English +people, who stared amazed at us and waved their hands as we disappeared. +Dusk was down when we passed Vrntze, and we reached the gorges of Ovchar +in the dark. We thundered through tunnels and out over hanging +precipices, the river beneath us a faint band of greyish light in the +blackness of the mountains.</p> + +<p>Uzhitze in the morning at 4.30; it was cold and wet. Jan wanted to hurry +off to the hotel, but Jo sensibly refused, and we settled down till a +decent hour.</p> + +<p>The hotel was a huge room with a smaller yard; on the one side of the +yard were the kitchens, etc., and on the other a string of bedrooms. We +then crossed the big square to the Nachanlik's (or mayor's) office.</p> + +<p>Outside the mayor's office we found an old friend. He had been a patient +in our hospital, and gangrene, following typhus, had so poisoned his +legs that both were amputated. He had been discharged the day before, +and had travelled up from Vrntze, some eight hours, in an open truck.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>Pg 28</span> +The Serbian authorities had brought him from the station and had propped +him on a wooden bench outside the mayor's office, where he had remained +all night, and where we found him. He was a charming fellow, though very +silent. Once when Jo had remarked upon this silence he had answered, +"When a man has no longer any legs it is fitting that he should be +silent."</p> + +<p>He was waiting for his father, who lived twelve hours away in the +mountains. The old man came with a donkey, and there was a most +affecting meeting between the old father and his poor mutilated son. +Tears flowed freely on either side, for Serbs are still simple enough to +be unashamed of emotion. The donkey had an ordinary saddle, on to which +our friend was hoisted. He balanced tentatively for a moment, then shook +his head. A pack-saddle was substituted.</p> + +<p>"It is hard," he said, "young enough, and yet like a useless bale of +goods."</p> + +<p>Twenty hours he had endured, and yet had twelve to go—thirty-two hours +for a man without legs. This will show of what some Serbs are made.</p> + +<p>Within the office we found a professor whom we had met before, and who +was acting as assistant mayor. We took him to the station and estimated +that thirty-two waggons would deal with our stuff.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image05" name="image05"> + <img src="images/07.jpg" + alt="SERB CONVALESCENTS AT UZHITZE." + title="SERB CONVALESCENTS AT UZHITZE." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">SERB CONVALESCENTS AT UZHITZE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Jo and Jan went for a stroll, Uzhitze, especially<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>Pg 29</span> in the back +streets, is like a Dürer etching—that one of the Prodigal Son, for +instance, all tiny, peaky-roofed houses. We took a siesta in the +afternoon, but Jan was dragged out to talk to our professor, who +explained that it was impossible for the Serbian Government to find +thirty-two ox-carts at once, so the convoy must make two journeys. He +also said that horses would be provided for us, and that we would take +two or three days to do the trip, but that the ox-waggons would be at +least seven, which was death to our romantic dream of toiling +laboriously up almost inaccessible mountains at the head of straining +ox-carts, sleeping by the roadside, brigands, and all that.</p> + +<p>We went down to the station, unloaded the truck and checked the numbers. +A few were missing, but not so many as we had expected.</p> + +<p>A regiment of soldiers were called up; at a word of command they pounced +upon our packing-cases and hurried them off to a storehouse. The smaller +cases were left to go on donkeys, two on either side.</p> + +<p>The professor dined with us. He is an Anglophile, and was determined +after the war to go to England in order to discover the secret of her +greatness. He had a theory that it lay in our educational laws, which he +wanted to transplant into Serbia wholesale. Jan thought not, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>Pg 30</span> +suggested that it might lie even deeper than that.</p> + +<p>Next day was a Prazhnik, or feast day, and the great square was crowded +with peasantry in their beautiful hand-woven clothes. There were +soldiers straight back from the lines chaffing and flirting with the +pretty girls, and presently a group began to dance the "Kola" about a +man who played a pipe. It is not difficult to dance the Kola. You join +hands till a ring is formed, and then shuffle round and round. If you +have aspirations to style you fling your legs about as much as space +will allow, and we noticed how much better the men danced than the +girls, who were almost all very clumsy.</p> + +<p>We were to be called at six, so went to bed early, and in spite of the +odours from the yard slept soundly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/08.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>Pg 31</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>ACROSS THE FRONTIER</h3> + + +<p>We got up in good time, breakfasted, but there was no sign of horses. +After waiting two hours a square man was brought up to us by the waiter +and introduced as our guide. The professor, who had promised to see us +off, was apparently clinging to his bed, for he did not come. Our guide +was a taciturn, loose-limbed fellow, but had nice eyes and a charming +manner; he helped us on to our horses, and off we went. Jan was rather +anxious at the start, for he had done very little riding since +childhood; but his horse was quiet, and soon he had persuaded himself +that he was a cavalier from birth. Jo was riding astride for the second +time in her life.</p> + +<p>We took the road to Zlatibor (golden hill). There was a heavy mist, the +hills were just outlined in faint washes on the fog, and as we mounted +the zig-zag path, higher and higher, the town became small and fairylike +beneath us; and a soldiers' camp made a queer chessboard on the green of +the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>Pg 32</span> valley. Jo's horse cast a shoe almost at the start, but the guide +said that it did not matter. We went on and ever up, our horses +clambering like goats. The scenery was on the whole very English, and +not unlike the Devonshire side of Dartmoor.</p> + +<p>Our guide took us a two mile detour to show us his house. Later we +reached a tiny village with a queer church. We off-saddled for a moment, +and were welcomed by the inhabitants, who gave us Turkish coffee and +plum brandy (rakia), while in exchange we made them cigarettes of +English tobacco. At sixteen kilometres we reached a larger village, +where we decided to lunch. We were astonished by the sudden appearance +of a French doctor. He was delighted to see us, more so when he found +that we both spoke French, and invited us to coffee. We lunched with our +guide at the local inn. We ordered pig; indeed there was nothing else to +order.</p> + +<p>"How much?" said mine host.</p> + +<p>"For three," answered we.</p> + +<p>"But how much is that?" replied mine host. "You see, each man eats +differently." So we ordered one kilo to go on with.</p> + +<p>Half a pig was wrenched from a spit in front of the big fire, carried +sizzling outside to the wood block, where the waiter hewed it apart with +the axe.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>Pg 33</span></p> + +<p>We had discovered peculiarities in our horses. They had conscientious +objections to going abreast, and always walked single file; this was +owing to the narrowness of the mountain paths. Jo's horse, which somehow +looked like Monkey Brand, insisted on taking the second place, and would +by no means go third. At last we reached the top of Zlatibor—which gets +its name from a peculiar golden cheese which it produces. The view is +like that from the Cat and Fiddle in Derbyshire, only bigger in scale, +and from thence the ride began to be interminable. It grew darker, we +walked down the hills to ease our aching knees, and Jan decided that +horse riding was no go.</p> + +<p>Finally the guide decided that it was too late to reach Novi Varosh that +night, and so the direction was altered. The road grew stony and more +stony. A bitter breeze came up with the evening. We came to a green +valley, at the end of which was a rocky gorge, down which ran the +twistiest stream: it seemed as though it had been designed by a lump of +mercury on a wobbling plate. We turned from the gorge on to a hill so +rocky that the path was only visible where former horse-hoofs had +stained the stones with red earth.</p> + +<p>The village consisted of an enormous school, a little church, soldiers +encamped round fires in the churchyard, and seven or eight wooden +hovels.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>Pg 34</span> Our guide stopped at the door of the dirtiest and rapped. A +furtive woman's face peered out into the gloom. We climbed painfully +from our saddles, for we had been thirteen hours on the road.</p> + +<p>"Beds?" said the guide to the woman.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" thought we.</p> + +<p>She shook her head dolefully and said, "Ima," which means "there is." +Serbians nod for no. The woman slid out into the night and passed to +another building, climbed the stairs to a veranda and disappeared.</p> + +<p>It grew colder, the guide was busy unharnessing the horses, so shivering +we sought refuge in the dirty house, which was not quite so bad within +as we had feared. It was furnished with a long table and two benches +only, and was lighted by a small fire which was burning on a huge open +hearth, and which gave no heat at all. The woman came back and led us to +the other house for supper, which was boiled eggs, and the guide +generously shared his own bread with us, as we had none. There was no +water to drink, and Jo tried, not very successfully, to quench her +thirst with rakia.</p> + +<p>There were but two beds, and on inquiry finding that there was no place +for the guide, we allotted one bed to him. On our own bed the sheets had +evidently not been changed since it was first made, and the pillow which +once had been white was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>Pg 35</span> a dark ironclad grey. We undid our mackintoshes +and spread them over both counterpane and pillow. We lay down clothed as +we were, and by the time we had finished our preparations the guide was +already snoring.</p> + +<p>As soon as the light was turned out the whole room began to tick like +ten agitated clocks, and all about us in the darkness began strange +noises of life: rats scampered in all directions and were finally +hurdling over our heads. We had taken some aspirin to ward off the +stiffness of unaccustomed exercise, but we were sore, and the narrowness +of the bed forced us to lie on our backs; exhaustion, however, conquered +all discomforts, and we slept. Jo awoke in the night and yelped to find +that the mackintosh had slipped and that her head was resting on the +pillow.</p> + +<p>We were up again at 5.30, and Vladimir, the guide, suggested that we +should breakfast at Novi Varosh, four hours on; but our stomachs were +not of cast iron, and we clamoured for eggs. We got them, left +Negbina—that was the name of the village—about seven, and once more +adventured on the road.</p> + +<p>By eight we had passed the old Serbian frontier: the country was growing +more interesting, like the foothills of the Tyrol; on the streams were +inefficient-looking old wooden mills, the water rushing madly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>Pg 36</span> down a +slope and hitting a futile little wheel which turned laboriously.</p> + +<p>Novi Varosh, with roofs of weathered wood gleaming purplish amongst the +trees, was a wonderful little town, and quite unlike any other we had +seen; clean without, and if the energy of its citizens at the village +pump is a good sample, clean within also, for Serbia. Here are Turks +too: ladies in veil and trousers, and trousered kiddies with clothes of +orange, yellow and purple. Twice in the streets we were stopped by +authority. Our lunch was well cooked, one can clearly see this has not +been Serbia for long, for the Serbs are the worst eaters in the world. +Jo gave medical advice to a Serb, and on once more.</p> + +<p>On the road were travellers never ending in their variety, and one +father was mounted with a pack behind him, and on the top of the pack +his little daughter clad in many coloured cottons, clasping him tight +round the neck and peering inquisitively from behind his ear.</p> + +<p>About three p.m. we reached the Lim. The road climbs to a great height, +and the peasants in their gay costumes were reaping, some of the fields +so steep that we wondered how they stood upon them; on the opposite +cliff was an old robber castle like a Rhine fortress.</p> + +<p>The Serbian town of Prepolji introduced itself<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>Pg 37</span> by six Turks lying by +the roadside, then there were three Turkish families, afterwards an +assorted dozen of small girls in trousers, finally, an old man doddering +along in a turban and a veiled beggar woman, who demanded backsheesh. +"Where are the Serbs?" we thought.</p> + +<p>The Greek church looked as if it had been new built, so that the Serbs +could claim Prepolji as a Christian town, and had a biscuit tin roof not +yet rusted.</p> + +<p>Our hotel was like that where Mr. Pickwick first met Sam Weller, a large +open court with a crazy wooden balcony at the second story, and the +bedrooms opening on to the balcony. When we opened our knapsacks to get +out washing materials, we found that the heat of the horse had melted +all the chocolate in Jan's, and it had run over everything. It was a +mess, but chocolate was precious, and every piece had to be rescued. We +had only been ten hours in the saddle, but we descended stiffly, and +were pounced on by a foolish looking man, with a head to which Jo took +immediate offence. This fellow attached himself to us during the whole +of our stay, and was an intolerable nuisance; we nicknamed him "glue +pot," and only at our moment of departure discovered that he was the +mayor who had been trying to do us honour.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday, and the village full<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>Pg 38</span> of peasants. Stiff-legged +and groaning a little within ourselves we walked about the town making +observations: Turkish soldiers, Turkish policemen, Turkish recruits, but +all the peasants Serb. The country costume is different from that of the +north, the perpendicular stripe on the skirt has here given way to +horizontal bands of colour, and some women wear a sort of exaggerated +ham frill about the waist. The men's waistcoats were very ornate, and +much embroidery was upon their coats.</p> + +<p>An English nurse came into the town in the afternoon. She, a Russian +girl, and an English orderly had driven from Plevlie, en route to +Uzhitze. Half-way along the wheel of their carriage had broken in +pieces, so they finished the road on foot. Curiously enough we had +travelled from England to Malta with this lady, Sister Rawlins, on the +same transport. The Russian girl had been married only the day before to +a Montenegrin officer, nephew of the Sirdar Voukotitch, +Commander-in-Chief of the North, and she was flying back to Russia to +collect her goods and furniture.</p> + +<p>Next day as we were sketching in the picturesque main street, from the +distance came the sounds of a weird wailing, drawing slowly closer and +closer.</p> + +<p>"Hurra," thought we—two minds with but a single, etc.,—"a +funeral—magnificent. Just the thing to complete the scene."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>Pg 39</span></p> + +<p>A string of donkeys came round the corner, on either flank each animal +bore a case marked with a large red cross. Amongst the animals were +donkey-boys, and it was from their lips came the dismal wailing. Never +have we seen so ragged and wretched a crew. The boys were evidently the +"unfits," and they looked it, every face showed the wan, pallid shadow +of hunger and disease. A few old men in huge fur caps, with rifles on +their backs, stumbled along, guarding the precious convoy. "Glue pot" +led us all to a large empty building, once a Turkish merchant's store, +where the cases were to be housed. The bullock carts with the heavier +packages came in in the evening, and we sent the men five litres of plum +brandy to put some warmth into their miserable bodies. This moved them +once more to singing, but we think the songs sounded a little less +dreary.</p> + +<p>The Commandant asked for, and got, half a dozen sheets from us as a sort +of superior backsheesh, and promised us horses for the morrow.</p> + +<p>The next morning dawned dismally. Miss Rawlins and her companions were +to go on by post cart, and their conveyance arrived first, only two and +a half hours late. It was a sort of tinker's tent on four rickety +wheels. There seemed to be barely room for one within the dark interior, +but both Miss Rawlins and the little Russian climbed in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>Pg 40</span> somehow. +Charlie, the orderly, clung on by his eyelids in front, and off they +went. We last saw two faces peering back at us beneath the fringe of the +tent. They had no luck. Half-way to Uzhitze the cart upset and they were +all rolled into the ditch, missing a precipice of sixty feet or so by +the merest fraction.</p> + +<p>Our own horses arrived later, we mounted, and with cheers from the +assembled authorities, we rode off.</p> + +<p>The rain came down in a steady drizzle; we discovered that the +waterproof cloaks which we had borrowed from Nish were not very +weathertight. We climbed right up into the clouds, but still the rain +held on. From the floating mist jutted great boulders and huge red +cliffs. Our guide put up an umbrella and rode along crouching beneath +it. At 1400 metres we reached an inn, where we lunched. A Montenegrin +commissioner insisted on paying our bill, and said that we would do the +same for him when he came to England. Every one in Serbia or Montenegro +is interested in ages. They were astounded at ours. They said that Jo +would have been seventeen if she were Serbian; and one rose, shook Jan +warmly by the hand and said he must have "navigated" the marriage well.</p> + +<p>We rode over the frontier, but we were not yet in the real Montenegro. +This is not the black<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>Pg 41</span> mountain where the last dregs of old Serbian +aristocracy defied the Turk, this is still the Sanjak, three years ago +Turkish, and with pleasant pasturages spreading on either hand.</p> + +<p>At last we came up over Plevlie. To one corner we could see the town +creeping in a crescent about the foot of a grey hill, far away on the +other side was a little monastery, forlorn and white, like a shivering +saint, and between a great valley with four purplish humps in the midst +of the corn and maize fields, like great whales bursting through a +patchwork quilt.</p> + +<p>Our horses were thoroughly cheered up, and we passed through the long +streets of the town at a lively trot, a thing Jo was taught as a child +to consider bad form.</p> + +<p>A semi-transparent little man in a black hat stood on the hotel steps +beckoning to us. But we had no use for hotel touts, and waved our sticks +saying, "Hospital." He seemed curiously disappointed.</p> + +<p>The hospital, many long low buildings, lay buried in a park of trees. +The staff lived in a tiny house near by, where we were welcomed by the +cook, Mrs. Roworth. She explained that as the house was hardly capable +of holding its ten or twelve occupants, a room had been taken for us at +the inn, but that we were to meal with them.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>Pg 42</span></p> + +<p>"Not that you will like the food," she said, "for it's all tinned, and I +have only twenty-five shillings a week to buy milk, bread, and fresh +meat."</p> + +<p>We wondered why, in such a fertile country, a party of hard-working +people should be condemned to eat tinned mackerel and vegetables brought +all the way from England?</p> + +<p>However, the dinner was excellent—all "disguised," she said, for she +had during the few weeks she had been there concentrated on the art of +disguising bully beef and worse problems, and had sternly put Dr. Clemow +on omelets and beefsteaks, as his digestion had caved in under six +months' unadulterated tinned food.</p> + +<p>We met old friends, fellow travellers on the way out. In those days they +were a wistful little party, wondering how they were going to reach +Montenegro, the Adriatic being impossible. At last one of the passes was +hurriedly improved for them by a thousand prisoners, and they rode +through in the snow. Since then typhus had raged, two of their number +had been very ill, and one had died. Their energy had been tremendous, +and everywhere in the country they were spoken of as the wonderful +English hospital, and even from Chainitza, where there was a Russian +hospital, soldiers walked a long day's march in order to be treated by +the English.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>Pg 43</span></p> + +<p>Dr. Roger's rival was there, the perpetrator of ninety hernia operations +a week—or was it more?</p> + +<p>All this on tinned food!</p> + +<p>Our hotel room proved large and comfortable with a talkative willing +Turk in attendance. We slept immensely and were wakened by yet another +horrible cock crowing. All Balkan cocks seem to have bronchitis.</p> + +<p>Plevlie is a red-tiled nucleus with a fringe of wood-roofed Serb houses +planted round it. There are ten mosques, while the only Greek church +stands forlorn on the other side of the great hollow two miles away.</p> + +<p>The town is not really Montenegrin. It has the cosmopolitan character of +all the Sanjak, Turks, Austro-Turks and Serbs—a mixture like that at +Marseilles or Port Said.</p> + +<p>The shops are Turkish, though their turbaned owners, sitting +cross-legged on the floor-counters, can speak only Serb—a thing which +puzzled us at the time.</p> + +<p>We saw veiled women and semi-veiled children everywhere, thickly +latticed windows with curious eyes peeping through, and yards with high +wooden palings above to prevent the possible young men on the houses +opposite from catching a glimpse of the fair ladies in the gardens.</p> + +<p>Plenty of long-legged Montenegrin officers—with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>Pg 44</span> flat caps bearing the +King's initials, and five rings representing the dynasties of the ruling +house—filled the streets, and also the inevitable ragged soldiers with +gorgeous bags on their backs.</p> + +<p>Some of the women, too, were wearing these caps, but theirs were yet +smaller and tipped over their noses, like the pork pie hat of our +grandmothers. One closely veiled woman showed the silhouette sticking up +through her veil just like a blacking tin.</p> + +<p>The Mahommedan is much more fanatic in these parts than his more +civilized brother of Salonika or Constantinople. Women of the two +religions do not visit. The hatred is partially political, and Jo began +to realize that her dream of visiting a harem would not be easy to +achieve. We met three women walking down a lonely street. Although their +faces were covered with several thicknesses of black chiffon, they +modestly placed them against the wall and stood there, three shapeless +bundles, until we were out of sight.</p> + +<p>Jan's feelings were very much hurt, but he soon got used to being +treated like a dangerous dragon.</p> + +<p>When we reached our hotel again we found the élite of the town waiting +in the bar-room for us. There was a huge jolly Greek priest, all big hat +and velvet, the prefect, the schoolmaster, a linguist,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>Pg 45</span> and the little +black-hatted man whom we had mistaken for a hotel tout.</p> + +<p>The priest was president of the Montenegrin Red Cross, the prefect was a +former Prime Minister and a Voukotitch. All important men who are not +Petroviches are Voukotitches; the first being members of the king's and +the second of the queen's family.</p> + +<p>The little black-hatted man was secretary of the Red Cross, and was +formally attached to us while there as cicerone. He explained to us that +they had all been in the hotel expecting us the night before, with a +beautiful dinner which had been prepared in our honour.</p> + +<p>We apologized and inwardly noted the grateful temperament of the +Montenegrin. We were solemnly treated to coffee and brandy, and the +jolly priest emptied his cigarette box into Jo's lap. When the first +polite ceremoniousness had worn off we asked delicately about the front.</p> + +<p>"Did we wish to see the front?"</p> + +<p>Certainly, said the prefect, we should have the first horses that should +come back to the town, and the little transparent shadow man should +accompany us. And our letter to the Sirdar Voukotitch, commander in +chief of the north?—He should be told about it on his return that +evening from the front.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>Pg 46</span></p> + +<p>At sunset the muezzin sounded, cracked voices cried unmelodiously from +all the minaret tops. Immediately, as if it were their signal, all the +crows arose from the town, hovered around in batches for a moment, +chattering, and flew away up the hill to roost in the trees round the +hospital till sunrise.</p> + +<p>Salonika rings with children's cries, Dawson city with the howlings of +dogs, but the towns of the Sanjak have no better music than the croaking +of carrion crows.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/09.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>Pg 47</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE MONTENEGRIN FRONT ON THE DRINA</h3> + + +<p>When Jan awoke it was dark, and he was with difficulty rousing Jo when +suddenly a voice howled through the keyhole that the horses were +waiting. Jan grabbed his watch—5 a.m.; but the horses had been ordered +for six. Hastily chewing dry biscuit, Jan jumped into his clothes and +ran down. There was a small squat youth with a flabby Mongolian face +hovering between the yard door and the inn, and Jan following him +discovered three horses saddled and waiting. He hastily ordered white +coffee to be prepared, and ran up again to hurry Jo and to pack. He +rushed down again to pay the bill, but found that the Montenegrin Red +Cross had charged itself with everything, very generously, so he ran up +once more to nag at Jo. The secretary, whom we called "the shadow," had +not appeared, so we inquired from the squint-eyed youth, received many +"Bogamis" as answer, but nothing definite; so we decided, as it was now +past six, that he had changed his mind and had sent this chinee-looking +fellow, whom we named "Bogami," in his place.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>Pg 48</span></p> + +<p>Jan's horse was like an early "John" drawing of a slender but antiquated +siren, all beautiful curves. Jo's would in England long ago have taken +the boat to Antwerp; her saddle stood up in a huge hump behind and had a +steeple in front, and was covered by what looked like an old bearskin +hearthrug in a temper, one stirrup like a fire shovel was yards too +long, the other far too short, and were set well at the back.</p> + +<p>"What queer horses!" we remarked.</p> + +<p>"Bogami," said Bogami; "when there are no horses these are good horses, +Bogami."</p> + +<p>"Where is the secretary?"</p> + +<p>"Bogami nesnam" (don't know).</p> + +<p>From Uzhitze we had good horses, from Prepolji moderate, now these; +imagination staggered at what we should descend to if we did a fourth +lap to Cettinje, for instance, but we climbed up. Jo with her queerly +placed stirrups perched forward something like a racing cyclist. +Bogami's horse was innocent of garniture, save for a piece of chain +bound about its lower jaw, but he slung his great coat over the saw edge +of its backbone and leapt on. He must have had a coccyx of cast iron. We +had to kick the animals into a walk—there were fifty kilometres to go.</p> + +<p>After a while we began to wonder if it would not be quicker to get off +and foot it, but we did<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>Pg 49</span> catch up and eventually pass a Red Cross Turk. +We saw a soldier striding ahead. By kicks and shouts we raised a sprint +along the level road; we drew even with him, and then began a race; on +the uphills we beat him, on the downhills he caught up and passed in +front. He was a taciturn fellow, and save that he was going to Fochar we +learnt nothing about him. On a long uphill we gained a hundred yards, +and by supreme efforts held our gains. He eventually disappeared from +view, and we were rejoicing at our speed when we realized that the +telegraph wires were no longer with us—one can always find the nearest +way by following the telegraph, for governments do not waste wire. Jan +looked for them and found them streaming away to the left, and among +them, well up on the horizon, our enemy the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Look," we cried to Bogami, "isn't that the shortest way? The wires go +there."</p> + +<p>"Bogami," he replied; "wires can, horses can't, bogami."</p> + +<p>There is a fine military road to Chainitza, made by the Austrians, but +it remains a white necklace on the hills, almost an ornament to the +landscape. No one seemed to use it, while our old Turkish road which +snaked and twisted up and down was pitted with the hoofs of countless +horses. It is a stony path, and our animals were shod with flat<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>Pg 50</span> plates +instead of horseshoes; they slipped and slithered, and we wondered if in +youth they had ever had lessons in skating.</p> + +<p>There was a heavy mist, but it began to break up, and through peepholes +one caught fleeting glimpses of distant patterning of field and forest, +and hints of great hills. The sun showed like a great pale moon on the +horizon. There were other travellers on the old Turkish trail, horsemen, +Bosnians in great dark claret-coloured turbans, or Montenegrins in their +flat khaki caps, peasants in dirty white cotton pyjamas, thumping before +them animals with pack-swollen sides, soldiers only recognizable from +the peasants by the rifle on their backs, and Turks; most were jolly +fellows, and hailed us cheerfully.</p> + +<p>From a house by the roadside burst a sheep, followed by five men. They +chased the animal down the road whistling to it. We had never heard that +whistling was effectual with sheep, and certainly it did not succeed +very well in this instance.</p> + +<p>Somewhere beyond this house Jan's inside began to cry for food, two +biscuits and a cup of <i>café au lait</i> being little upon which to found a +long day's riding. He tentatively tried a "compressed luncheon." Its +action was satisfactory, but whether it resulted from real nourishment +contained in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>Pg 51</span> black-looking glue, or whether it came from a sticking +together of the coating of the stomach, we have not yet decided. Jo +preferred rather to endure the hunger.</p> + +<p>Bogami had quite a charm; for instance, he appreciated our troubles with +the beasts we were riding. Jo's horse stumbled a good deal on the +downhills; her saddle was very uncomfortable and so narrow that she +could never change her position. We came into most magnificent scenery, +the beauty of which made a deep impression even upon our empty selves. +There were deep green valleys, rising to peaks and hills which faded +away ridge behind ridge of blue into the distant Serbian mountains, +great pine woods of delicate drooping trees which came down and folded +in on every side, and though it was almost September there were +strawberries still ripe at the edge of the road, little red luscious +blobs amidst the green.</p> + +<p>Metalka at one o'clock, and we were on the real Montenegrin frontier. +There are two Metalkas, a Montenegrin and an Austrian, and they are +divided one from the other by a strip of land some ten yards across +which rips the village in two like the track of a little cyclone. Bogami +directed us to a shanty labelled "Hotel of Europe." A large woman was +blocking the door; we demanded food, she took no<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>Pg 52</span> notice. Hunger was +clamouring within us. We demanded a second time. She waved her hand +majestically to her rival in Austria, at whose tables Montenegrin +officers were sitting with coffee.</p> + +<p>An officer greeted us.</p> + +<p>"We had expected you yesterday," he said.</p> + +<p>We waved to the horses.</p> + +<p>"No horses."</p> + +<p>"That is a pity," he murmured. "You see, there was something to eat +yesterday!"</p> + +<p>In spite of his pessimism we got eggs and wine. Bogami had a large +crowd, to whom he lectured, and we sent him out some eggs.</p> + +<p>After lunch we pushed on, in conquered territory. To Chainitza they said +was one hour and a half, it proved nearer three.</p> + +<p>We joined some peasants, and they told us that they were going to the +great festival. The old mother halted at a sort of sheep pen by the +roadside; when she rejoined us she was wiping her eyes.</p> + +<p>"That was my brother," she explained; "he was killed in the war;" for it +is the custom to erect memorial stones by the roadside. Many of these +are very quaint, sometimes painted with a soldier, or else with the +rifle, sword, pistols and medals of the deceased.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>Pg 53</span></p> + +<p>Chainitza lies in a backwater, where the deep valley makes a sudden +bend. When we came to it the sun was in our eyes, and halfway between +the crest and the river the town seemed to float in a bluish mist; two +white mosques stood out against the trees, and the roof of one was not +one dome, but many like an inverted egg frier, or almost as though it +was boiling over.</p> + +<p>We were stopped at the entry by a sentry.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To the Russian Hospital."</p> + +<p>He took us in charge and led us, in spite of protestations, to the +hotel. A man in a shabby frock-coat received us, and Jo, mistaking him +for the innkeeper, clamoured once more for the Russians. The shabby man +explained that he was the Prefect, and that this was a State reception. +We began to be awed by our own dignity. We explained to him that the +Shadow had changed his mind and had sent Bogami instead.</p> + +<p>Bogami brought our knapsacks to our room, where he was immobilized by +the sight of himself in the looking-glass of the wardrobe; probably he +had never seen such a thing before, and he goggled at it. He at last +backed slowly from the room.</p> + +<p>We rested a while, then descended to find—the Shadow.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>Pg 54</span></p> + +<p>He was rather hurt with us, and wanted to know why the —— we had gone +off without him. We explained, compared watches, and found that Jan's +was an hour too fast. The poor Shadow had been chasing us on a borrowed +horse, with our permissions to travel in his pocket, and wildly hoping +that he would catch us up before we were arrested as spies.</p> + +<p>We had tea with the Russians in a little arbour on the roadside, and +chewed sweets which had just arrived from Petrograd, having been three +months on the journey, but none the worse for that. Many officers came, +amongst them the husband of the little Russian girl we had met at +Prepolji. They all seemed to be Voukotitches, and at last the Sirdar +himself honoured us. He is a huge man, and yet seemed to take up more +room than his size warrants. He has a flat, almost plate-like face, with +pallid blue eyes which seemed to focus some way beyond the object of his +regard. Were his moustache larger he would be rather like Lord +Kitchener, and he was very pleased at the obvious compliment. He poses a +little, moves seldom but suddenly, and shoots his remarks as though +words of command. He was very kind to us, and was immensely astonished +at Jo's Serbian, holding up his hands and saying "Kako" at every one of +her speeches. He suggested that poor Bogami should<span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>Pg 55</span> be beaten, but we +begged him off. Captain Voukotitch, the husband of a day, was appointed +to be our guide for the morrow—because Jo spoke Serbian.</p> + +<p>After tea we went up to the bubbly mosque, which was in reality the +Greek church. We entered a large gate; on the one side of a yard was the +church, and on the other a big two-storied rest-house, where one could +lodge while paying devotions or doing pilgrimages. Its long balconies +were filled with country folk all come for the festival, and who were +feasting and laughing as though the war did not exist. The courtyard was +filled with men and women in Bosnian costumes, white and dark red +embroideries. Through the open door of the church one could see the +silhouettes of the peasants bowing before the Ikons and relics. It was +almost dark, and one man began to play a little haunting melody upon a +wooden pipe, but though they linked arms and shuffled their feet, the +young men did not dance.</p> + +<p>At supper the Shadow revealed a quaint sense of humour, and so to bed.</p> + +<p>The next morning was lovely, and we started at seven with the youngest +Voukotitch and the others. Some officers had lent us their horses, and +Voukotitch had proudly produced his English<span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>Pg 56</span> saddle for Jo. On the road +the spirit of mischief entered him.</p> + +<p>"You can ride all right," he said; "wouldn't you like to go to the +nearest machine-gun to the Austrian lines?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Jo.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to do some stiff riding, though. I know the major, and he +is bored to death. He'll let us."</p> + +<p>"But what about the bullets?" said the Shadow.</p> + +<p>In time the major was produced, emerging from a cottage by the roadside, +other officers with him, and we had a merry coffee party in an arbour. +One told Jo that he was a lawyer. The few Montenegrins who had the +misfortune to be educated were not allowed to serve at the front, but he +had been lucky enough through influence to be allowed to take a +commission. He had not seen much serious fighting, however, as no move +had been made for several months.</p> + +<p>Then we tackled the hills. "Come along," said the major, cheerfully; and +his horse's nose went down and its tail went up, and off it slid +downhill. We had seen the Italian officers do such things on the +cinematograph, but little thought that we should be in the same +position. We supposed it would be all right. Jo's horse became<span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>Pg 57</span> nearly +vertical, and she sat back against its tail. Jan followed. Sometimes a +sheet of rock was across the path—then we slid; sometimes the sand +became very soft—we slid again. Then a muddy bit, and the horse +squelched down on his hind quarters.</p> + +<p>Here we met a Serbian captain who was in charge of the battery. He was +very lonely, and delighted to have a chance to talk, and he talked hard +all day, showed us a neat reservoir his men had built, explained to us +that beautiful uniforms were coming from Russia soon for the weirdly +garbed beings who were guarding the hills, and asked us to lunch behind +the trenches under a canopy of boughs.</p> + +<p>While lunch was being prepared he took us round his artillery, and into +his observation station on the top of a crooked tree. Below us we could +see the river Dreina—on the other side of which was Gorazhda, held by +the Austrians—and the fortified hills behind.</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible that this wide peaceful scene was menacing with a +threat of death, yet at intervals one could hear a faint "pop! pop!" as +though far-away giants were holding feast and opening great champagne +bottles. Away in the hills could be seen an encampment of white tents, +which caused a mild excitement, for they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>Pg 58</span> had not been there the day +before, and we were told that they were quite out of range.</p> + +<p>During lunch the youngest Voukotitch tempted the major—who was in +splendid mood—suggesting that it was rather tame to go home after +having come within mere bowing distance of the Austrians, and that a few +stray bullets would not incommode us.</p> + +<p>The major saw reason fairly quickly, so we bestrode our horses again and +continued our switchback course. At an open space where the Austrians +could shoot at us if they wished we had to plunge down the hill quickly, +keeping a distance of one hundred yards from each other.</p> + +<p>The little Shadow prudently got off his horse and used its body as a +shield.</p> + +<p>We banged at the door of a cottage, and a young lieutenant came out; +somebody said he was nineteen and a hero.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image06" name="image06"> + <img src="images/10.jpg" + alt="SERB AND MONTENEGRIN OFFICERS ON THE DRINA." + title="SERB AND MONTENEGRIN OFFICERS ON THE DRINA." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">SERB AND MONTENEGRIN OFFICERS ON THE DRINA.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image07" name="image07"> + <img src="images/11.jpg" + alt="A CONCEALED GUN EMPLACEMENT ON THE DRINA." + title="A CONCEALED GUN EMPLACEMENT ON THE DRINA." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">A CONCEALED GUN EMPLACEMENT ON THE DRINA.</span> +</div> + +<p>Here we left our horses and began to scramble through brambles along a +narrow path, climbing up the back of a little hill on the crest of which +were the machine guns. Just before we got to the top we plunged into a +tunnel which bored through the hill; at the end was the gun. The hero +scrambled in, wriggled the gun about and explained. He invited Jo to +shoot. She squashed past him; there<span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>Pg 59</span> was a knob at the back of the gun +on which she pressed her thumbs, and she immediately wanted another pair +with which to stop her ears. The gun jammed suddenly. The hero pulled +the belt about, and Jo set it going once more.</p> + +<p>The Austrian machine guns answered back and kept this up, so Jo pressed +the knob again and yet again. Then we got into the trenches above. +Whenever Jo popped her head over the trenches for a good look there were +faint reports from the mountain opposite. One or two bullets whizzed +over our heads, and we realized that they were aiming at Jo's big white +hat.</p> + +<p>Jan climbed down the hill and took snap-shots of Gorazhda; the enemy got +a couple of pretty near shots at him.</p> + +<p>When the Montenegrins thought this sport was becoming monotonous they +remembered the business of the day. A big house in Gorazhda was said to +be full of Hungarian officers, and they wanted to get the range of this +with one of the big guns. This decision had been made a day or two +before with much deliberation. This they thought the State could afford. +The precious shell was brought out, and every one fondled it.</p> + +<p>Men were called out and huge preparations were made for sighting and +taking aim. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>Pg 60</span> scuttled round with field glasses, and finally stood on +tiptoe behind branches on a mound by the side of the gun. There were +many soldiers fussing in the dug-out, and at last they pulled the +string.</p> + +<p>"Goodness! Now we've done it," Jo thought, as the mountains sent back +the fearful report in decreasing echoes. We seemed to wait an eternity, +and then "something white" happened far beyond the village.</p> + +<p>The officers looked at each other with long faces. "A bad miss—the +expense."</p> + +<p>We felt the resources of the Montenegrin Empire were tottering. Awful! +Could they afford another?</p> + +<p>Finally, with great courage, they decided that it was better to spend +two shells on getting a decent aim than to lose one for nothing. The +terrific bang went off again, and this time the "something white" +happened right on the roof of the house. The Hungarian officers all ran +out, and the machine guns below jabbered at them. Nobody was killed as +far as we know, but every one was content and delighted.</p> + +<p>Sunset was approaching, and we rode away quickly, only stopping once to +drag a reluctant old Turk from the mountain side and make him sing to +the accompaniment of a one-stringed goosla.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>Pg 61</span> He hated to do it as all +his best songs were about triumphant Mahommedans crushing Serbs, and of +course he couldn't sing those.</p> + +<p>He sat grumpily cross-legged on the ground, encircled by our horses, +droning a song of two notes, touching the string quickly with the flat +lower part of his fingers.</p> + +<p>We left him very suddenly because the darkness comes quickly in those +hills, so we made for the high-road as hard as we could.</p> + +<p>We rode fast to the Colonel's cottage, sat down to the dinner table, +which was decked with pale blue napkins, and a fine-looking old +Voukotitch, an ex-M.P. in national costume, acted as butler. In spite of +his seventy odd years he had joined the army as a common soldier. He +refused all invitations to sit with us, for he knew his place. The young +husband was his nephew, and they kissed fondly on leave-taking.</p> + +<p>We rode back in the moonlight. At one spot on the road was a sawmill, +and the huge white pine logs lying all about looked like the fallen +columns of some ruined Athenian temple. We tried to enjoy the moment, +and to brush aside the awful thought that we must remount Rosinante and +Co. next day.</p> + +<p>The Shadow was terribly puffed up about his feat. The following morning +as we were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>Pg 62</span> sketching in the town, an officer approached respectfully.</p> + +<p>"His excellency the Sirdar invites you to supper," he said.</p> + +<p>We considered a moment, for we had intended to return to Plevlie. The +Shadow broke in.</p> + +<p>"It is inconvenient to come to supper," he said to our horror. "Tell his +excellency that the gentleman and lady will come to lunch if he wishes +it."</p> + +<p>The Sirdar meekly sent answer that lunch would suit him very well, and +we could drive back with him to Plevlie. "Would we come to his house at +12.30?"</p> + +<p>The Prefect told us that we ought to go to the lunch at twelve, because +the Sirdar's clock was always half an hour fast. We arrived, but the +Sirdar evidently had been considering us, he did not appear for the half +an hour, so we sat with his staff sipping rakia by the roadside.</p> + +<p>The lunch was excellent, but the Sirdar's carriage, like every other +carriage in Montenegro, was a weird, ancient, rusty arabesquish affair, +tied together with wire. We had two resplendent staff officers, armed to +the teeth, who galloped ahead, we had two superior non-coms., also armed +to the dentals, galloping behind, while on the box sat a man with gun, +pistols, sword, dagger and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>Pg 63</span> bottle of wine and water which we passed +round whenever the Sirdar became hoarse. The coachman was as old and as +shabby as his carriage, and every five miles or so was forced to descend +and tie up yet another mishap with wire—ordinary folks' carriages are +only repaired with string.</p> + +<p>The Sirdar occupied almost the whole of the back seat, and Jo was +squeezed into the crack which was left. Jan was perched on a sort of +ledge, facing them. The carriage was narrow, six legs were two too many +for the space. Jan's were the superfluous ones. He tried this pose, he +tried that, but in spite of his contortions he endured much of the seven +hours' journey in acute discomfort and the latter part in torture.</p> + +<p>In spite of his throat the Sirdar did nearly all the talking. The +country we were passing through were scenes of his battles: with one arm +he threw a company over this hill, with a hand, nearly hitting Jan in +the eye, he marched an army corps along that valley; he explained how he +had been forced to give up the Ministry of War because there was no +other efficient commander for the north.</p> + +<p>A blue ridge of pine trees appeared on our right hand.</p> + +<p>"You see those hills," said the Sirdar: "I'll tell you the story of a +reply of mine, a funny reply. I ordered a general last winter to march +across those<span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>Pg 64</span> hills. He said that the troops would starve. I looked him +in the eye. Then you will eat wolves, I shouted. He went."</p> + +<p>If we passed peasants he stopped them. He seemed to have an +extraordinary memory for names and faces.</p> + +<p>"Never forget a face," he said, "never forget its name. That is the +secret of popularity."</p> + +<p>He was very anxious that we should go to Cettinje and to Scutari. He +kindly promised to see about it, to arrange for our horses and to have +our passage telegraphed before us. At Podgoritza he said a government +motor-car should wait for us. He advised us to make a detour from the +straight road and to see the famous black lake of Jabliak and the +Dormitor mountains. We thanked him gratefully. He waved our thanks +aside.</p> + +<p>"And I will write to my friend the Minister of War. He will arrange that +you go to Scutari." He then explained all the reasons why Montenegro +should hold Scutari when the war was over.</p> + +<p>"It was ours," he said; "we only gave it up to Venice so that she should +protect us from the Turk. If we do not hold Scutari, Montenegro can +never become a state, so if we cannot keep her we might as well give up +Cettinje. After all we are but taking back what was once ours."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>Pg 65</span></p> + +<p>He was daily expecting the uniforms from Russia, and asked every soldier +on the road for news. At last one said that he had seen them.</p> + +<p>"The stuff is rather thin, your excellency, but the boots are splendid."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/12.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>Pg 66</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>NORTHERN MONTENEGRO</h3> + + +<p>We were accosted by a clean-limbed, joyous youth, who bore on his cap +the outstretched winged badge of the police. He said—</p> + +<p>"Mister Sirdar, he tell me take you alon' o' Nickshitch."</p> + +<p>Sure enough the next morning there he was, with three horses, which if +not the identical animals of our Chainitza trip were sisters or brothers +to them. It was a wretched day, gusty, and the rain sweeping round the +corners of the old streets. Early as was the hour, the wretched +prisoners were peering through the lattice windows of their prison, +which evidently once had been the harem of some wealthy Turk; where +beauties had once lain on voluptuous couches, wretched criminals now +crouched half-starved, racked with disease, and as we passed held out +skinny arms. All Montenegrin saddles are bound on with string, even +those of the highest in the land; indeed, one cannot imagine how the +people did before string was invented, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>Pg 67</span> ours began to slip before we +were well clear of the town. Necessary adjustments were made, and on +once more.</p> + +<p>Our guide was well armed—he carried two murderous-looking pistols, and +a long rifle slung over his back. He was in high spirits and showed us +that the proper way to ride Montenegrin horses was to drop the reins on +to the animal's neck, kick it in the stomach with both feet, elevating +your arms and uttering the most unearthly yells. Thus terrified, the +unfortunate wreck would canter a few yards, and our cicerone would turn +in his saddle and grin back at us, who were humanely contented with the +solemn jog-trot of our aged steeds along the well-worn horse-track—for +there was no road.</p> + +<p>We crawled along, wretched in the downpour, the scenery completely +hidden by the clouds; but towards midday, as we climbed ever higher and +higher, we plunged into pine forests where the rain began to thin to +mist, veiling the trees with layers of drifting fog. Out of the forests +we came—the rain having ceased—into a strange-looking landscape, whose +japanesiness is equalled possibly only by Japan itself. There were the +queer rounded hills, the gnarled and twisted little pines and dim +fir-clad slopes cutting the sky with sharp grey silhouettes.</p> + +<p>Here we stopped to eat. We opened a tin of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>Pg 68</span> meat and made rough +sandwiches with the coarse brown or black bread which is the staple food +of Serbian nations. When we were satisfied there was meat left in the +tin. Two wretched, ragged children came on the road singing some +half-Eastern chant, and we hailed them. They refused the food with +dignity, and marched on offended.</p> + +<p>We came to the Grand Canyon of Colorado—we beg its pardon—of +Montenegro, The Tara. Great cliffs towered high on either side, great +grey, rugged cliffs topped with pine and scrub oak. Down, down, down to +the river, an hour, and we crossed the bridge out of Novi Bazar into +Montenegro—thirty years free from the Turk. We halted at a little +coffee stall made of boughs. Jan wanted to get a photo, but the women +were so shy that Jo had to push them out into the open.</p> + +<p>On the way up the other cliff our guide became communicative. He had +been in America, in the mining camps, and spoke fair American.</p> + +<p>"In ole days, dese was de borders," he said; "'ere de Serb, 'n dere de +Turk. Natchurally dey 'ate each oder. Dey waz two fellers 'ad fair cold +feet, one 'ere, one over dere, Turk 'n our chapy. Every day dey come +down to de ribber 'n dey plug't de odder chap wid dere ole pistols what +filled at de nose. But dey neber hit nuttin. One day de Serb 'e got mad +and avade in de ribber, but 'e did'n 'it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>Pg 69</span> de Turk. Nex' day dey hot' +avade in 'arf way across. Dey miss again. De tird day dey avades in rite +ter de middle, 'n each shoots up de odder dead. Yessir, 'n dere bodies +float down ter 'ere."</p> + +<p>He looked up and pointed.</p> + +<p>"Dey was a gooman up dere," he said.</p> + +<p>"A gooman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a man wat 'ad a gooman all to 'isself."</p> + +<p>"!!!!"</p> + +<p>"Dey was an ole town all made o' stones," our guide explained, "where +dis man made 'is gooman. You know wat a gooman is?—kill all de fellers +what pass 'n do wat you likes."</p> + +<p>We understood suddenly that "Government" was indicated.</p> + +<p>"Dat's wat I say," he answered, "gooman—'e was killed by a Montenegrin +chap wat throwed 'im orf de cliffs, 'n a Turk gets all 'is land. Dat's +'ow dey was done dose days. Dere ain't much 'o de ole town lef now."</p> + +<p>"We 'ad to chase de Turk outer 'ere," he went on; "lots 'o fighting, but +we 'ad luck. You see, dey 'ad two lines, 'an we got de first line before +'e was ready, 'n wiped 'im out, so de secon' line did'n know if it was +'im retreatin' or us advancin', and we was into 'em before dey 'ad made +up dere minds. Yessir."</p> + +<p>The ascent was terribly laborious. Our animals<span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>Pg 70</span> were sweating, though +they were carrying nothing but the knapsacks.</p> + +<p>"Ye see dat flat stone?" said the guide. "Dat's were de gooman feller +'ide 'is gold. Dey was tree Italians chaps 'ere 'n dey turn ober dat +stone ter roll it downill. 'N underneat was all dat feller's gold. Dat +madum larf, I tell yer."</p> + +<p>We climbed higher and yet higher; we thought we would never reach the +crest. The sweat poured from us, and we were drenched.</p> + +<p>On the top there were but few stones of the old castle, and we rode over +the ruins. We passed into a queer pallid country, pale grey houses, pale +yellow or pale green fields, grey sky and stones, a violently rolling +plain where our guide lost his way, and we became increasingly aware of +the discomfort of our saddles, and prayed for the journey to end.</p> + +<p>We refound the route, and asked a peasant, "How far to Jabliak?"</p> + +<p>"Bogami, quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>We cheered.</p> + +<p>At the end of twenty minutes we asked once more.</p> + +<p>"Bogami, quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>At the end of twenty minutes more we asked again, our spirits were +falling.</p> + +<p>"Bogami, quarter of an hour."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>Pg 71</span></p> + +<p>"* * *!"</p> + +<p>We then asked a peasant and his wife. The woman considered for a moment.</p> + +<p>"About an hour," she said.</p> + +<p>Her husband turned and swore at her.</p> + +<p>"Bogami, don't believe her, gentlemen," he cried, "it's only a quarter +of an hour."</p> + +<p>We left them quarrelling.</p> + +<p>It grew dark, and we grew miserable. Jabliak seemed like a dream, and we +like poor wandering Jews, cursed ever to roam on detestable saddles in +this queer pallid country.</p> + +<p>At last a peasant said it was five minutes off, and then it really was a +quarter of an hour distant.</p> + +<p>We came down from the hills to find the whole aristocracy—one +captain—not to say all their populace, out on the green to do us +honour. They had been informed by telegraph of our august decision to +sleep in their wooden village. When we got off our horses our knees were +so cramped that we could scarcely stand, and we hobbled after the +captain into a bitterly cold room without furniture. Various +Montenegrins came and looked at us, and an old veterinary surgeon, also +<i>en route</i>, but in the opposite direction, conversed in bad German. The +old vet. was a Roumanian, and the only animal doctor in all Montenegro.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>Pg 72</span></p> + +<p>To their great surprise we demanded something to eat.</p> + +<p>"Supper is at nine," they said severely.</p> + +<p>"But we have had nothing since ten this morning," we protested.</p> + +<p>"But supper will be ready at nine," they said again.</p> + +<p>After a lot of trouble we got some scrambled eggs, but nothing would +persuade our guide, whose name, by the way, was "Mike," to have +anything. It almost seemed improper to eat at the wrong hours, even if +one was hungry.</p> + +<p>After supper we sat growing colder and colder. At last, in desperation, +we asked if there were no place in the village which had a fire.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, there is a fire in the other café," and thither we were +conducted.</p> + +<p>We were in a jolly wooden room, with a blazing stove and a most welcome +fugginess. The hostess brought us rakia, coffee and walnuts, and did her +utmost to make us comfortable. Montenegrins crowded in, and discussed +the probable end of the war. There was little enthusiasm shown, most of +the talk was of the hardships, and a little grumbling that the farms +were going to pieces because of the lack of men.</p> + +<p>Before leaving Plevlie, Dr. Clemow had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>Pg 73</span> presented Jan with a box of Red +Cross cigars, and he handed one to the captain. The official received it +gratefully.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said. "Cigars, eh! One does not often see those nowadays."</p> + +<p>The cigar was a Trichinopoli. Jan said nothing, but watched. The captain +lit the cigar manfully, and for some minutes puffed, looking the +apotheosis of aristocracy. Presently his puffing ceased, he looked +thoughtful, and then saying that he had forgotten an important paper +which he had not signed, he fled. We found the cigars most useful +afterwards, as a sort of spiritual disinfector, infallible against +bores.</p> + +<p>Into the cracks of the ceiling were stuck white and yellow flowers, +thyme and other plants, till the roof looked like an inverted +flower-bed. We had noticed this custom before, and asked Mike if it had +any significance.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," he answered, "all dose tings, dey stuck up dere 'gainst de +fleas 'n bugs."</p> + +<p>This was translated into Serbian, and the woman boxed his ears.</p> + +<p>We supped on meat—three courses—meat, meat, meat, and so tough that +our teeth bounced off, and we were compelled to bolt the morsels whole. +One course tired us out, weary as we already were with our journey, but +Mike, making up for his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>Pg 74</span> former abstinence, wolfed all his own share and +what remained over from ours.</p> + +<p>The night was so cold that we went to bed in our clothes, and even then +could not sleep for hours.</p> + +<p>We woke with difficulty to a glorious day, and found that what we had +thought yesterday to be a plain was in truth a great plateau surrounded +by towering grey mountains on which were gulfs and gullies filled with +eternal snow. Jabliak is a queer village, fifty or sixty weathered +wooden houses—with the high-peaked roof of Northern Serbia—flung down +into this wilderness, where the grass and crops fight for existence with +the pushing stones, and where the summer is so short that the captain's +plum tree—the only one—will not ripen save in exceptional years. Never +a wheel comes to Jabliak, and so it is a village without streets. +Everything which passes here is horse-or woman-borne, and for hay they +use long narrow sledges which slide over the stones and slippery grass +as though it were snow.</p> + +<p>"Urrgh," said a man, "you should see this in winter. Snow ten and twelve +feet deep, and only just the roofs and the tops of the telegraph-poles +emerging."</p> + +<p>The village escorted us to see the famous Black Lake below the peaks of +Dormitor.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>Pg 75</span></p> + +<p>The lake is beautiful enough, but too big for mystery, too small to be +impressive. One had imagined it twinkling like the wicked pupil of a +witch's eye, with cornea of white stones and eye-lashes of pine trees, +and we desecrated even its stillness by shooting at wild duck with a +rifle.</p> + +<p>Jan had been describing to the villagers how well Jo rode; they now +think he is a liar. Her horse took an unexpected jump at a small +obstacle; the huge hump at the back of the saddle rose suddenly, threw +her forward, and before she had realized anything, she was hanging +almost upside down about the horse's neck, helpless because of the +enormous steeple in front. This horse, as though quite used to similar +occurrences, stood quietly contemplative, till Mike had restored her to +a perpendicular.</p> + +<p>Then on again. At times the tracks grew very muddy, and the horses +side-slipped a good deal. At the top of a pass we halted to get coffee +from a leafy hut. Before us were the mountains of Voynik, a blue ridge +with shadowy, strange crevasses and cliffs; behind us Dormitor was still +visible, a faint stain on the sky, as though that great canopy had been +dragging edges in the dew.</p> + +<p>Four women clambered up towards us. When they had reached the top they +flung down their enormous knapsacks and sat down. They were a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>Pg 76</span> cheery, +pretty set, and we asked them where they were going.</p> + +<p>"To the front," they said.</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Those are for our husbands and brothers," answered they, patting the +huge coloured knapsacks.</p> + +<p>"How far have you to walk?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"Four more days."</p> + +<p>"And how far have you walked?"</p> + +<p>"Four days."</p> + +<p>No complaining, no repining, just a statement of fact, these women were +cheerfully tramping eight days with bundles weighing from 45 to 50 +pounds upon their backs, to take a few luxuries, or necessities, to +their fighting kin.</p> + +<p>We bade them a jolly farewell, wished them luck, and started downhill.</p> + +<p>The track became so steep that we had to descend from our horses and +walk, and so we came to Shavnik.</p> + +<p>Shavnik is not of wood; it is stone, and as we came into its little +square—with the white river-bed on one side—we realized that no +welcome attended us. To our indignant dismay the inn was full, and no +telegram from the "State" had arrived.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image08" name="image08"> + <img src="images/13.jpg" + alt="PEASANT WOMEN OF THE MOUNTAINS." + title="PEASANT WOMEN OF THE MOUNTAINS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">PEASANT WOMEN OF THE MOUNTAINS.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image09" name="image09"> + <img src="images/14.jpg" + alt="A VILLAGE OF NORTH MONTENEGRO." + title="A VILLAGE OF NORTH MONTENEGRO." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">A VILLAGE OF NORTH MONTENEGRO.</span> +</div> + +<p>We learned that in Montenegro are two kinds<span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>Pg 77</span> of travellers—royalties +and nobodies. Royalties are done for, nobodies do the best they can. We +found a not overclean room over a shop—there was nothing better—we had +already experienced worse: so we ordered supper, and went off to the +telegraph station, to make sure that we arrived as "Royalty" at the next +stop.</p> + +<p>A man suddenly burst into the office, crying, "Sirdar! Sirdar!"</p> + +<p>Jo and Jan made their way through the darkness to the inn, squeezed +between sweating horses to the door. We were admitted.</p> + +<p>The Sirdar received us kindly, but was dreadfully tired, and looked +years older than he had two days before. He had ridden some 150 +kilometres in sixteen hours, had left Chainitza at two o'clock in the +morning, and had been in the saddle ever since. He is a famous horseman, +but is no longer young. Almost all his escort had succumbed to the +speed, and he was full of the story of his orderly's horse which had +done 300 kilometres in four days, and was the only animal which had come +through with him, he having changed mounts at Plevlie. We left him and +went straight to bed.</p> + +<p>Just as we were comfortably dozing off, a man burst into the room and +demanded "Mike," and said something about a horse. Jan dressed hurriedly +and clattered downstairs. It was pitch<span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>Pg 78</span> dark. He ran to the stable, felt +his way in, and struck a match. There were two horses, one was lying on +its side, evidently foundered and dying but Jan felt that they would not +have disturbed him for that. By matchlight again he found that his own +horses had been turned out by the Sirdar's orderly, and that one was +missing. Mike was not to be found, but the missing horse was discovered +by a small boy in the dry river-bed apparently in search of water. Jan +retired to his bedroom to find that in his absence two more strangers +had burst in, to Jo's indignation. He pushed them out and locked the +door.</p> + +<p>When we awoke the Sirdar had already retaken his whirlwind +course—evidently grave news called him to Cettinje—leaving the +orderly's gallant horse dead behind him.</p> + +<p>"He kills many horses," said a peasant, shaking his head; "he rides +fast—always."</p> + +<p>We crossed the dry bed of the river and prepared for the hill in front +of us. Suddenly Mike's horse plunged into a bog. The poor beast sprawled +in the treacherous green up to its stomach, and, thinking its last hour +had come, groaned loudly. Mike threw himself from the saddle, and with +great effort at last extracted his horse, which emerged trembling and +dripping with slime. Mike grinned ruefully.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>Pg 79</span></p> + +<p>"I orter remembered," he admitted. "Sirdar, 'e get in dere one day +'imself."</p> + +<p>This day's riding was the worst we had yet experienced. Our horses were +fagged, the road abominable, great stones everywhere on the degenerated +Turkish roads.</p> + +<p>The Turkish road is a narrowish path of flat paving-stones laid directly +upon mother earth: but that is the first stage. In the second stage the +paving-stones have begun to turn and lie like slates on a roof; in the +third they have turned completely on edge, like a row of dominoes, and +the horses, stepping delicately between the obstacles, pound the exposed +earth to deep trenches of semi-liquid mud. In the fourth stage the +stones have entirely disappeared, leaving only the trenches which the +horses have formed, so that the path is like a sheet of violently +corrugated iron. Most of the tracks are now between the third and fourth +stages of degeneration. One never knows how far the horse will plunge +his legs into the trenches, for sometimes they are very shallow, and +sometimes the leg is engulfed to the shoulder.</p> + +<p>Jan's horse slipped over one domino, went up to the shoulder into a +trench, and off came the rider. Luckily he fell upon a heap of stones, +and not into the mud, but he decided for all that to walk for a bit.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>Pg 80</span></p> + +<p>Every now and then one came across traces of the construction of a great +road—white new stone embankments that started out of nothing, and went +to nowhere, and Mike confessed that he had lost the path once more—</p> + +<p>"When I come out of dat confounded mod!"</p> + +<p>After a hustle across country we found the road, and wished that we had +not, for it was a Turkish track in its most belligerent form.</p> + +<p>At last we reached the top and rested awhile. Mike showed us his +revolver.</p> + +<p>"He good revolver," he said. "De las' man I shoot he killin' a vooman. I +come. He run away. I tell 'im to stop, but he no stop, so I shoot 'im +leg. 'E try to 'it me wi' a gon."</p> + +<p>The man got fourteen years.</p> + +<p>We pushed on again, and on the road picked up an overcoat, which later +we were able to restore to its owner, a Turk, who was going to +Nickshitch to buy sugar and salt for Plevlie.</p> + +<p>Bits of the big white road appeared and reappeared with insistence. We +asked who was responsible for its inception.</p> + +<p>"Sirdar," said Mike; "he good boy. Much work."</p> + +<p>The country was now like brown velvet spread over heaps of gigantic +potatoes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>Pg 81</span></p> + +<p>Our horses grew slower and slower, and the inn which we were seeking +seemed ever further and further away. We passed many peasants, and had +evidently entered the land of Venus, for each one was more beautiful +than the neighbour. Since Jabliak we had not seen an ugly man or woman, +and the dignity of their carriage was exceeded only by the nobleness of +their features. Ugly women must be valuable in these parts, and probably +marry early; humans ever prize the rare above the beautiful.</p> + +<p>Mike spoke to many of the girls, asking them their names and of their +homes. One had his own name—which we forget—and he said that she must +be his cousin, and that if she would wait where she was he would come +back later and give her a lift.</p> + +<p>At last we came to the wooden inn.</p> + +<p>The better-class inns have dining-room and kitchen separate, the +second-class both are one, but in each case the fire is made on a heap +of earth piled in the centre of the floor; there is no chimney, and the +smoke fills the room with a blue haze, smarting in the eyes; it drifts +up to the roof, where hams are hung, and finds its way out through the +cracks in the wooden roofing slats. This inn was second-class, and along +one wall was a deep trough, in which were four huge lumps of a white +substance<span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>Pg 82</span> which puzzled us. First we thought it was snow, but that +seemed impossible; then we thought it was salt—but why?</p> + +<p>It was snow, there being no water fit to drink, so the snow was stored +in the winter in huge underground cellars.</p> + +<p>We got coffee and kaimak—a sort of cross between sour milk and cream +cheese—and as a great honour the lady of the house, a villainously +dirty-looking woman, brought us two eggs. Jan's was bad, but he put it +aside, saying nothing, for it is impossible to explain to these people +what is a "bad" egg—all are alike to them.</p> + +<p>We took an affectionate leave of Mike, for here we degenerated to a +carriage, which was waiting us, and he rode off, dragging our tired +horses behind him.</p> + +<p>As we were getting into the carriage the dirty woman ran up and, before +Jo could ward it off, planted a loving kiss on either cheek.</p> + +<p>We flung our weary limbs upon the rusty cushions. Our driver was a +cheery fellow, who only answered "quite" to everything we said. We drove +through miles of country so stony that all the world had turned grey as +though it had remembered how old it was. The road twisted and curled +about the mountains like the flourish of Corporal Trim's stick: below +one could see the road, only half<span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>Pg 83</span> a mile off as the crow flies, but a +good five miles by the curves. We were blocked by a great hay-cart. Our +driver shouted and cursed without effect, so he climbed down from the +box, and, running round the hay, slashed the driver of it with his whip. +We expected a free fight, but nothing occurred. When the hay had +modestly drawn aside, we found "only a girl." Poor thing! she looked +rueful enough.</p> + +<p>The road was the best we had seen in all the Balkans, white and +well-surfaced like an English country highway, and at last we clattered +into Nickshitch, the most important town of Northern Montenegro. It was +like a fair-sized Cornish village, with little stone houses and +stone-walled gardens filled with sunflowers.</p> + +<p>A charming old major came to the inn to do us the honour we had +telegraphed for, and together we strolled about the streets. There is a +pretty Greek church at one end on a formal mound, and behind the town +runs a sheer fin of rock topped by an old castle where once had lived +another man who "was a gooman all to hisself;" now it is a monastery, +and one of the most picturesque in Montenegro.</p> + +<p>We dined upon beautiful trout fresh from the river, and large green +figs. Undressing, Jan found a louse in his shirt—that came from the +dirty<span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>Pg 84</span> bedroom at Shavnik evidently. He went to bed, but his troubles +were not yet over; there was another foreign presence, a presence which +raised large and itching lumps. He hunted without success for some time, +but at last caught and exterminated an enormous bug. After which there +was peace.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/15.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>Pg 85</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>TO CETTINJE</h3> + + +<p>The rain poured all night. At five o'clock they called us, telling us +<i>not</i> to wake up as the motor would come later. At six they knocked +again, saying—</p> + +<p>"Get up quickly; the carriage is at the door."</p> + +<p>No explanations.</p> + +<p>We hurried so much that we left our best soap and our mascot, a +beautiful little wooden chicken, behind for ever. The major was waiting +in the bar room.</p> + +<p>We were sorry to say good-bye, he was lonely, and we liked him; but we +lost no time, as we were seven hours from Podgoritza and goodness knows +how far from Cettinje.</p> + +<p>The carriage and coachman were the same as yesterday's, but his +expression was so lugubrious in the downpouring rain that he looked +another man.</p> + +<p>Just outside the village he picked up a friend and put her in the +carriage. She was a velvet-coated old lady with a flat white face and +two<span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>Pg 86</span> bright birdlike brown eyes which she never took off us. +Conversation was impossible, as she had only one tooth, round which her +speech whistled unintelligibly, and she hiccuped loudly once in every +half-hour. We were most uncomfortable. The hood was up, and a piece of +tarpaulin was stretched from it across to the coachman's seat, blocking +out the view except for the little we could see through a tiny triangle.</p> + +<p>What with three humans, our bags, the old lady's bundle, and an enormous +sponge cake, we were very cramped, and whenever we tried to move a +stiffened knee her bright eye was on it, and she made some suitable +remark to which we always had to answer with "Ne rasumem," "I don't +understand," the while beaming at her to show we appreciated her efforts +to put us at our ease.</p> + +<p>The mist and rain entirely obscured the view. Now and then a tree showed +as a thumb-mark on the grey. We little knew that we were passing through +some of the most marvellous scenery in Europe.</p> + +<p>The carriage settled down with a bump. Something wrong with the harness; +string was produced, and it was made usable for the next half-hour. +Carriages in Montenegro must have been designed in the days when +builders thought more of voluptuous curves than of breaking strains, for +we have<span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>Pg 87</span> never been in one of them without many halts, during which the +coachman endeavoured to tie the carriage together with string or wire to +prevent it from coming in two.</p> + +<p>We stopped at wayside inns and politely treated the old lady to coffee +at a penny a cup to make up for our inappreciation of her conversational +powers.</p> + +<p>Women passed carrying the usual enormous bundles. Sometimes they were +accompanied by husbands or brothers, who strolled along entirely +unladen.</p> + +<p>Jo busily sketched everybody she saw.</p> + +<p>Passers-by demanded, "What is she doing?" and the onlookers answered—</p> + +<p>"She is writing us;" for everything that is done with pencil on paper is +to them writing.</p> + +<p>One pretty young woman shook her fist, laughing—</p> + +<p>"If I could write, I would write <i>you</i>," she said.</p> + +<p>We were no longer in the Sanjak. Turkish influence had vanished, and we +longed to see the famous Black Mountains of old Montenegro.</p> + +<p>At Danilograd we marvelled at the enormous expensive bridge which seemed +to lead to nothing but a couple of tiny villages. We missed the +picturesque Turkish houses, built indeed only for to-day like their +roads, but full of unexpected<span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>Pg 88</span> corners and mysterious balconies. The +Montenegrin houses were small and simple, four walls and a roof, like +the drawing of a three-year-old child. The only thing lacking was the +curly smoke coming from the chimney. Broad streets lined with these +houses were unexhilarating in effect, and would have been more +depressing except for the bright colours with which they were painted.</p> + +<p>When the horses were replete after their midday meal we loaded up, +adding to our numbers a taciturn man who sat on the box. We rolled on to +Podgoritza, arriving at two o'clock in a steady downpour.</p> + +<p>Podgoritza seemed unaware of our arrival. The streets were empty, and +the Prefect's offices were tenanted only by the porter, a Turk, who +remarked that the Prefect was taking his siesta, and seemed to think +that was the end of it.</p> + +<p>This was awful, after being Highnesses for a week, to be treated just +like ordinary people, and perhaps to lose all chance of reaching +Cettinje that night.</p> + +<p>"Produce the Prefect," said Jo, stamping her foot, but the Turk only +smiled and suggested a visit to the adjutant's office. Back to the +carriage we went and drove to a place like a luggage depôt. No adjutant, +nothing but giggling boys. Our coachman became restive and said his +horses were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>Pg 89</span> tired of the rain, so we deposited the old lady, +substituted a man in American clothes who seemed sympathetic, and drove +back to the Prefect's office with him. There we found a sleepy +lieutenant who ordered coffee, while our American-speaking friend +explained to him that we were very Great People, and that something +ought immediately to be done for us. So the officer promised to get the +Prefect as soon as possible, and we went to the hotel to drink more +coffee with our baggy-trousered friend, who told us that he was one of a +huge contingent of Montenegrins who had travelled from America to fight +for the little country. "Say, who are your pals?" said a nasal voice, +and the owner, a pleasant-looking man in a broad-shouldered mackintosh, +took a seat at our table. He was also a Montenegrin, and had been mining +in America for some years. More coffees were ordered. We confided to the +new American Montenegrin that we did not like Podgoritza, and he tried +to find excuses—the hour, the bad weather. The hotel-keeper came up and +intimated in awestruck tones that the Prefect had just looked in with +some friends.</p> + +<p>Our appearance did not seem to impress the Prefect in the least, and +small wonder. He owned to having received a telegram about us, but there +was no motor-car available for that day, and he departed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>Pg 90</span></p> + +<p>"The Prefect is only more unpleasant than Podgoritza," said Jo to the +American in the mackintosh; but he deduced dyspepsia.</p> + +<p>The Prefect, having been to his office and having seen the lieutenant, +came back in five minutes, rather more suave in manner, and announced +impressively that he was going to give us his own carriage.</p> + +<p>But the rain, the giggling boys, the smiling Turk, and the sudden drop +from royalty to insignificance had been rankling in Jo's mind. She sat +back haughtily and remarked—</p> + +<p>"But the Sirdar promised us a motor-car."</p> + +<p>"I will go and see if it is possible," said the Prefect, and he dashed +out into the rain. He returned full of apologies. All the motors were +out, but he would send his carriage round immediately. "A delightful +carriage," he added.</p> + +<p>It arrived—a landau such as one would find at Waddingsgate-super-Mare, +so free from scars that every Montenegrin turned to look at it.</p> + +<p>The hotel-keepers, our American friends, and the Prefect and his captain +stood pointing out its beauties, and we left them standing in the rain.</p> + +<p>"I shall always put on side in this country," said Jo as she bit a large +mouthful of cheese.</p> + +<p>We pounded along, and the day slowly grew<span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>Pg 91</span> darker. We passed an +encampment, where the firelight thrown up on to the trees made a weird +and jolly sight.</p> + +<p>The hours passed by slowly. Suddenly (our coachman was probably dozing) +we ran into something. It was a carriage, a square grey thing. Our +coachman howled to it, and it started slowly forward up the steep hill. +A bright light streamed from the windows and cut a radiant path in the +foggy rains. Some one threw away a cigar-end. The wet road shining in +the glare of our pink candles, and the lightning flashing intermittently +so that the mountain-tops sprang out to disappear again in the darkness; +we felt as if we were living in the introduction of a mystery story from +the <i>Strand Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>At last in the misty rain we saw the aura of the lights of Cettinje. At +last we wound slowly into wet streets, passed our mysterious companion +without being able to see who was in it, and so to the hotel. Since the +morning we had driven fourteen hours, and we were glad beyond measure to +stretch and to find really comfortable beds.</p> + +<p>The next day we got up early. There was much to do. We were to see the +War Minister about Scutari, to present a letter of introduction to the +English minister, and to inspect the town.</p> + +<p>Nature has half filled a big crater with silt, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>Pg 92</span> the Montenegrins +have half covered it with Cettinje.</p> + +<p>It is a polychromatic village of little square houses, cheerfully +dreary, and one does not see its uses except to be out of the way. The +only building with any architectural beauty is the monastery where the +old bishops reigned, and which must have many a queer tale to tell.</p> + +<p>Asking for the Count de Salis, the English minister, we were directed to +the diplomatic street, a collection of tiny houses grouped respectfully +in front of the Palace, which itself was no larger than a Park Lane +house laid edgeways, and with the paint peeling from its walls.</p> + +<p>Over the front door of each little house a sort of barber's pole stuck +outwards, striped with the national colours of the minister living +within.</p> + +<p>We noticed with pride and relief that the Count de Salis' pole was +painted a reticent white. The sympathetic old lady who opened the door +directed us to the Legation. There we found him inspecting the damages +wreaked by the storm of overnight. The Legation was big and cold, and as +the handsome fireplaces sent out by the British Board of Works were for +anthracite only (and Montenegro produces only wood), the English +minister preferred his warm cottage to the unheated Palace.</p> + +<p>He wished us luck in our quest for Scutari, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>Pg 93</span> asked us to tea. We +then hurried to an awful building where the governing of Montenegro was +done—a concrete erection, presented to Montenegro by the British +Government, and an exact imitation of one of our workhouses. Here we +found the Minister of War, a gorgeously dressed little man with a +pleasant grandfatherly gleam in his eye. He only spoke Serbian, but with +him was an unshaven young man whose chest was covered with gold +danglers, who immediately began to air his quite passable French. We +explained what we had been doing and what we wanted to do. The War +Minister had not heard of US from the Sirdar, who had been resting after +his terrific ride, but said that they were to see each other that day. +The little man beamed upon us, and said they always wished to do +anything for the English, but he must first see the Sirdar.</p> + +<p>"By the bye," he said, "I forgot to introduce you. This is Prince Peter, +commander of the forces on the Adriatic coast." The young man arose and +clicked his heels. We too got up. He shook hands with us solemnly, and +Jo, unused to addressing Royalty, said, "Dobra Dan" (Good day).</p> + +<p>Then we all sat down again, a further rendezvous was arranged for the +evening, and we left, carrying away the impression that the War Minister +and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page94" name="page94"></a>Pg 94</span> we had bowed thirty times to each other before we got out of the +door.</p> + +<p>Out in the streets, as we were sketching, we saw a large smile under a +Staff officer's cap bearing down upon us. It was the Sirdar, quite +rested and looking twenty years younger. He was going to the War +Minister's, and promised to arrange at once for our visit to Scutari. He +looked at our cryptic drawings of road scavengers, threw up his hands +and ejaculating "Kako"—strode out of our lives.</p> + +<p>Tea in the little house with the discreet white pole was a great +pleasure. Such tea we had not drunk since leaving England—butter, jam +made by the old housekeeper, who pointed this out to us when she brought +in a relay of hot water.</p> + +<p>She was the daughter of a man who had been exiled from his village +because he had taken a prominent part in a blood feud, and the old +Gospodar had told him he would be healthier elsewhere. So they had +emigrated as far as Serbia, where she had learnt to read and write.</p> + +<p>A lady of good family but bad character suddenly decided to leave +Montenegro, and fled to the shores of Cattaro, carrying with her a large +number of State secrets. The Court was aghast. What was to be done?</p> + +<p>A villain was needed. The father was decided<span class="pagenum"><a id="page95" name="page95"></a>Pg 95</span> upon, and with the help of +the lady's brothers she was kidnapped, carried back to Montenegro, and +disappeared for ever. For which noble work he was permitted to return to +his village.</p> + +<p>The old lady had a supreme contempt for the Montenegrins who had not +"travelled," but she looked upon the growing pomp of the Court with +suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "those were fine days when the king was only the +Gospodar, and there were none of these gold embroidered uniforms about, +and the Queen and I used to slide down the Palace banisters together."</p> + +<p>In those days the Royal family inhabited the top story only, while the +ground floor was filled with wood for the winter. Just round the corner +was the old pink palace, now used as a riding school. It had been the +first place in Montenegro to possess a billiard-table. So, +billiard-tables being rarer and more curious than kings—the palace had +been called the <span class="smcap">Billiado</span>.</p> + +<p>The Queen, whatever agility she may have possessed once when navigating +banisters, is now a sedate and domestic person, and doesn't hold with +bluestockings, notwithstanding the "Higher Education" of some of her +daughters.</p> + +<p>The story goes that once when the King was away she inaugurated one of +those thorough-paced<span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96"></a>Pg 96</span> spring cleanings dear to most women's hearts; +ordered the dining-room furniture into the street, and superintended the +beating of it. Women hold a poor position in Montenegro, but one of +character can carry all before her. A well-known English nurse was +managing a hospital in Cettinje during the first Balkan War. One of her +patients, though well connected as peasants often are in Montenegro, was +a drunken old reprobate, and she told the authorities he must go. They +demurred—his relations must not be offended. She insisted. They did +nothing. One morning they found him, bed and all, in the middle of the +street opposite the King's palace.</p> + +<p>The authorities swallowed their lesson.</p> + +<p>In the evening we walked over the stony hills with our host, and first +had a glimpse of the real character of the country which had for so long +kept the Turks at bay. One realized how much the people owed to the land +for their boasted independence. Barren rock and scrub oak, no army could +live here in sufficient numbers to subdue even a semi-warlike nation. +Cettinje has been burned many a time by the Moslem, but starvation +eventually drove him back to the fatter plains of the Sanjak, leaving a +profitless victory behind him. Napoleon and Moscow over again.</p> + +<p>More miners from America passed with their<span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>Pg 97</span> showy machine-woven clothes, +accompanied by their wives, who had evidently stayed behind in the old +country. Otherwise they would have picked up new-fangled ideas about the +rights of women, and would certainly have refused to shoulder the +enormous American suit cases while their men ambled carelessly in front.</p> + +<p>The next day we had a further interview with the War Minister, who +introduced to us a man in corduroys, the only really round-faced person +we had met in Montenegro. Part of his name was "Ob," so as we forgot the +rest of it we called him Dr. Ob. He was the minister of drains, and such +things. As nothing had been previously explained to him about us, he +covered his mystification by hailing us jovially, after which he +misconstrued everything we said.</p> + +<p>He became very excited when we said we had brought 14,000 kilos of +stores into Montenegro.</p> + +<p>"But we have not got it yet," he ejaculated. We explained that it was +for the English hospital, and he subsided, very disappointed.</p> + +<p>Scutari was talked over again, and Dr. Ob promised to come and tell us +that evening if Cettinje could supply a motor for the next morning.</p> + +<p>More bows and smiles, and we left wondering. Montenegrins always promise +even when they have no intention of performance—something like the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>Pg 98</span> +stage Irishman,—and we were surprised when Dr. Ob met us in the evening +and said that the motor was arranged for next morning at eight.</p> + +<p>We tea'd with the count once more. In the next house lived a gorgeous +old gentleman, and we heard that he had been War Minister for forty odd +years. After thirty years or so of office it was considered that he +could better uphold the dignity of his position were he able to sign his +name. So he had to learn.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/16.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>Pg 99</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE LAKE OF SCUTARI</h3> + + +<p>Dr. Ob, dressed in thick corduroys and an enormous pith helmet, arrived +punctually with the motor, a Montenegrin Government motor. He had two +companions, a girl simply dressed with coat and skirt which did not +match, and cotton gloves whose burst finger ends were not darned, a Miss +Petrovitch, and an officer. The coachwork—if one may dignify it by such +a phrase—which was made from packing cases, had a thousand creaks and +one abominable squeak, which made conversation impossible. The scenery +was all grey rock and little scrubby trees; the road was magnificent and +wound and twisted about the mountain side like a whip lash. Driving down +these curves was no amateur's game, and we saw immediately that our +chauffeur knew his job. We came over a ridge, and in the far distance, +gleaming like the sun itself, a corner of the Lake of Scutari showed +between two hill crests.</p> + +<p>We ran into a fertile valley, passed through Rieka—where was the first +Slavonic printing-press—<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>Pg 100</span>and up into the barren mountains once more. +The peasants seem very industrious, every little pocket of earth is here +carefully cultivated and banked almost in Arab fashion. The houses, too, +were better, and rather Italian with painted balconies, but are built of +porous stone and are damp in winter. The Rieka river ran along the road +for some way, very green and covered with water-lily pods.</p> + +<p>We passed a standing carriage, in which was a large man in Montenegrin +clothes, and a little further on passed a man in a grey suit walking. +Dr. Ob gesticulated wildly, and pulled up the motor to gather in a +Frenchman—somebody in the French legation who was going to Scutari for +a week end. He turned suddenly to Jan.</p> + +<p>"Ce n'est pas une vie, monsieur," were the first words he uttered. He +admired Miss Petrovitch very much, and told us in an undertone that she +was a daughter of the governor of Scutari, niece of the King of +Montenegro, and one of "les familles le plus chic."</p> + +<p>We descended steeply to the Port, ten variously coloured houses and +twenty-five variously clothed people. Miss Petrovitch, to our amazement, +embraced a rather dirty old peasant, the doctor disappeared to find us +luncheon, the Frenchman to wash, and we strolled about.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>Pg 101</span></p> + +<p>A voice hailed us, and turning round, we found our mackintoshed American +of Pod. We took him to the inn and stood him a drink. Dr. Ob came in and +we introduced; but Dr. Ob was snifty and the American shy. His home was +near by and he wished us to visit him, but there was no time.</p> + +<p>We lunched in a bedroom plastered with pictures. Montenegrins seem to be +ashamed of walls, and they adore royalty. In every room one finds +portraits of the King of Montenegro, the queen, the princes, the King of +Italy, his queen, the Tzar of Russia, the grand dukes and duchesses, the +King of Serbia and his princes, and to cap all a sort of comprehensive +tableau of all the male crowned heads of Europe—including +Turkey—balanced by another commemorating all the queens of +Europe—excluding Turkey—the spaces left between these august people +are filled with family portraits, framed samplers, picture postcards or +a German print showing the seven ages of man over a sort of step-ladder.</p> + +<p>After lunch, loaded with grapes which Miss Petrovitch's peasant friend +brought us, we trooped down to the steamer, which had been an old +Turkish gun monitor and had been captured when the Montenegrins took +Scutari.</p> + +<p>The boat was crowded, and the Frenchman took refuge in the captain's +cabin, which was crammed<span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>Pg 102</span> with red pepper pods, and went to sleep. Jo +began sketching at once. There were two full-blooded niggers aboard with +us: they were descendants of the Ethiopian slaves of the harems; but the +race is dying out, for the climate does not suit them. We steamed out +into the lake, down the "kingly" canal, a shallow ditch in the mud. +Magnificent mountains rush down on every side to the water, in which +stunted willow trees with myriad roots—like mangroves—find an +amphibious existence. We passed through their groves, hooting as though +we were leaving Liverpool, and out into the eau-de-nil waters of the +open lake.</p> + +<p>In three hours we reached Plavnitza, a quay on the mud, where more +passengers were waiting for our already crowded craft. There were +officers, peasants, Turks, and soldiers clad in French firemen's +uniforms. These uniforms, by the way, caused a lot of ill-feeling in +Montenegro. The French sent them out in a spirit of pure economical +charity, and had the Frenchmen not been, on the average, small, and the +Montenegrin, contrariwise, large, perhaps the gift would have been +received with a better grace; but the sight of these enormous men +bursting in all places from their all too tight regimentals, was +ludicrous, and the soldiers felt it keenly.</p> + +<p>Two women came aboard, attached to officers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>Pg 103</span> and wearing long light +blue coats, the ceremonious dress of all classes; one carried a wooden +cradle strapped on her back, the woman with no cradle had in her arms a +baby of some ten or eleven months, which she fed alternately on grapes +and pomegranate seeds. With each was a large family including a beastly +little boy who spat all over the decks, and one of the fathers, a stern +gold-laced officer, carried a dogwhip with which to rule his offspring.</p> + +<p>After a while we caught sight of Tarabosch, the famous mountain, and +then the silhouette of the old Venetian fortress. From the water +projected the funnels of yet another Turkish ship which had been sunk in +the Balkan war, and we steamed into the amphibious trees on the mudflats +of Scutari.</p> + +<p>A boat with chairs in it came for us and we disembarked. The boat was +rather like one of those that children make from paper, called cocked +hats, only rather elongated, and the rowers pushed at the oars which +hung from twisted osier loops. Governor Petrovitch met us on the quay. +He was a fine-featured old man dressed in all the barbaric splendour of +a full national costume, pale green long-skirted coat, red gold +embroidered waistcoat, and baggy dark blue knee breeches with a huge +amount of waste material in the seat. He kissed his daughter and greeted +us genially. We clambered<span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>Pg 104</span> into the usual dilapidated cab with the usual +dilapidated horses, and off to the hotel.</p> + +<p>The women on the roadside were clad in picturesque ever-varying +costumes. There were narrow carts with high Indian-like wheels studded +with large nails; there were Albanians in costumes of black and white, +everything we had hoped or expected.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/17.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>Pg 105</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>SCUTARI</h3> + + +<p>After a wash we went into the streets. It was the Orient, just as +Eastern as Colombo or Port Said. The little fruit and jewellers' shops +with square lanterns, the tailors sitting cross-legged in their windows, +the strange medley of costumes—even the long lean dogs looked as if +they had been kicked from the doors of a thousand mosques.</p> + +<p>We left the shops for further explorations. Scutari has always been +described as such a beautiful town. The adjective does not seem +picturesque: yes, quaint, strange decidedly. One's second impression +after the shops is this:—</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/18.jpg" + alt="Shops" + title="Shops" /> +</div> + +<p>Miles and miles of walls with great doors. The main streets branch out +into thousands of impasses each ending in a locked door. There are +hardly any connecting streets, for somebody's<span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>Pg 106</span> walled garden is between. +The Mahommedans hide in seclusion on one side of the town, while their +hated enemies the Christians live on the other. Each house, Turk or +Christian, has the same air of defiant privacy, the only difference +being that the Turk's windows are blocked with painted lattice. The +Mahommedan women's faces are covered with several thicknesses of +chiffon, generally black, while the Christian peasant women walk about +with an eye and a half peering from the shrouding folds of a cotton head +shawl which they hold tightly under their noses.</p> + +<p>With difficulty we found the English consul's house, as the Albanians +speak no Serb and Montenegrins were not to be found at every street +corner. At last we found it appropriately enough in the Rue du Consulat +d'Angleterre. A gorgeous old butler resembling a wolf ushered us from +the blank walled street into a beautiful square garden filled with +flowering shrubs and creepers. Not to be outdone by the colours of the +flowers, the butler was clad in a red waistcoat, embroidered with gold, +a green cloth coat, blue baggy trousers, and a red fez with a tassel +nearly a yard long, while a connoisseur's mouth would have watered at +the sight of his antique silver watch-chain with its exquisitely worked +hanging blobs.</p> + +<p>The interior of the house gave an impression<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>Pg 107</span> of vast roominess. Wide +stairs, a huge upper landing like a reception-room, a panelled +drawing-room large enough to lose one's self in, ornamented by primitive +frescoes on the walls above the panels.</p> + +<p>The English consul was an old Albanian gentleman with delightful +manners. For a long time he had been suffering from an illness which had +started from a wound in the head, received during the siege of Scutari. +After the inevitable coffee and cigarettes his son wandered out with us +and showed us the interesting parts of the town. Out of a big doorway +came two women in gorgeous clothes. They had been paying a morning call, +and bade farewell to their hostess. Doubtless they were mother and +daughter.</p> + +<p>One was faded and beautiful; the younger was of the plump cream and +roses variety with modestly downcast eyes. Both wore enormous white lace +Mary Queen of Scots' veils, great baggy trousers made of stiff shiny +black stuff, which was gathered into hard gold embroidered pipes which +encased the ankles and upwards. These pipes were so stiff that they had +to walk with straight knees and feet far apart. Their full cavalier +coats were thickly covered with many kilometres of black braid sewn on +in curly patterns, and the girl wore at least a hundred golden coins +hung in semicircles on her chest.</p> + +<p>They left the third woman at the door and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>Pg 108</span> walked back a few steps down +the road, then turned, and laying hand on breast, bowed ceremoniously, +first the mother, then the daughter, who never lifted her eyes; another +twenty steps and again the same performance; still once more, after +which they slowly waddled round the corner. Suma told us they wore the +costume of the <i>haute bourgeoisie</i>, and probably the girl had been taken +to see her future mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>The next vision that met our eyes was the doctor in his best clothes, +frock-coat, white spats, gloves, and a minute pork-pie cap perched on +the top of his spherical countenance.</p> + +<p>"In Scutari it is necessary that I should be <i>en tenue</i>," was his +explanation.</p> + +<p>Suma parted with us, promising to take us to the bazaar the next day, +and we spent the afternoon sketching and avoiding a dumb idiot who tried +to amuse us by standing on his head in front of whatever object we chose +to sketch, and at intervals thrust into our hands a letter which he +thought was a money producing talisman. It said in English, "Kick this +chap if he bothers you."</p> + +<p>There are other traces of the English soldiery here. Little children +with outstretched hands flock round, saying in coaxing tones "Garn," or +"Git away you," under the impression that they are saying "please."</p> + +<p>At a street corner we saw a professional beggar,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>Pg 109</span> a shattered man of +drooping misery, his rags vieing with the colour of the road. Jo began +to sketch, but he promptly sat up, twirled his long moustaches, and from +a worm became a lion. One may be a beggar in Albania, but as long as one +has moustaches one is at least a man.</p> + +<p>The bazaar next day filled our wildest dreams. Queerly clad peasants of +all tribes came down from the mountains bearing rugs, rubbish, white +cloths, cheese, honey, poultry, pigs, and they sat on the ground behind +their wares in the blazing heat, while all the rest of Northern Albania +came to purchase. The little shops set out their pottery, silver-ware +and brightly striped veils. Jo lifted up a woman's leather belt covered +with silver, thinking how nice it would look on a modern skirt; but she +dropped it with a crash, for the leather was a quarter of an inch thick, +and the silver equally weighty.</p> + +<p>Veiled women bargained and chaffered with the rest, some dressed in +white with black chiffon covering their faces, and others still more +bizarre, wore flowered chiffon, one large flower perhaps covering the +area of one cheek and nose.</p> + +<p>More fanatic in religion than their men, they objected to being +sketched, crouching to the ground and covering themselves completely +with draperies, so we had to desist.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>Pg 110</span></p> + +<p>There can be no arguments about beauty in these lands. It goes by +"volume."</p> + +<p>Put the ladies on the scales, and in case of a tie, measure them round +the hips.</p> + +<p>Vendors pressed gold-embroidered zouaves, antique arms and filigree +silver-ware upon us; but we ever looked elsewhere, and Jo suddenly +pounced on a handkerchief, or rather a conglomeration of bits sewn +together, each being a remnant of brilliant coloured patterned stuff.</p> + +<p>"But that has no value," said Suma, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, I shall wear it as a hat," said Jo; and Suma, somewhat +perplexed, lowered his dignity and bargained for it.</p> + +<p>We next saw a brilliantly striped rug hanging on the wall behind an old +woman, red, green, yellow, black and white, just what we wanted. She +consented to take thirteen silver cronen for it, but no Montenegrin +paper. She explained she was poor. She had brought up the sheep, spun +and dyed the wool, and had woven the beautiful thing, and now she wanted +silver because outside Scutari, in which the Montenegrins forced +acceptance of their notes by corporal punishment, paper was worth +nothing. To get the silver we went into a general store and sold a +sovereign.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image10" name="image10"> + <img src="images/19.jpg" + alt="JO AND MR. SUMA IN THE SCUTARI BAZAAR." + title="JO AND MR. SUMA IN THE SCUTARI BAZAAR." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">JO AND MR. SUMA IN THE SCUTARI BAZAAR.</span> +</div> + +<p>While we were waiting for the money-changer, two Miridite women came in. +They had short<span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>Pg 111</span> hair dyed black, white coarse linen chemises with +large sleeves, embroidered zouaves, white skirts with front and back +aprons lavishly embroidered, striped trousers, and stockings knitted on +great diagonal patterns.</p> + +<p>One of them told Suma that their village was in possession of Essad +Pacha, that all their husbands had fled, and were still fighting in the +hills.</p> + +<p>Suma, for a joke, asked her what she thought of Jo. Passing her eyes +over Jo's uninflated frame, she hesitated, but was urged to speak the +truth.</p> + +<p>"I think she is forty," she remarked; and then somehow Jo was not quite +pleased.</p> + +<p>The midday heat being overwhelming we took a cab and drove back along +two kilometres of dusty road. A veiled woman stopped the coachman, +asking him to give her tired little girl a lift. Jehu refused, through +awe of us; but we insisted on taking her, and begged the woman to come +in too. Jo held out her hands, but the woman shrank back horrified, +though obviously worn out with the heat.</p> + +<p>"That is a pity," laughed Suma. "I hoped she would do it. It would have +been a new experience for me."</p> + +<p>Jo confided to him her burning desire to enter a harem, but as he had no +Mahommedan friends he thought the possibility remote.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>Pg 112</span></p> + +<p>Two more bourgeois women passed. Jan photographed them, but not before +they hid their faces with umbrellas. Even the Christian men are +intensely jealous, and their women have some Turkish ideals. We spent +the afternoon sketching outside a barber's shop, coffee being brought to +us on a hanging tray with a little fire on it to keep the coffee warm. +Opposite was a shop which combined the trades of blacksmith and +fishmonger. It seemed the strangest mixture.</p> + +<p>We dined with the Frenchman. He was a queer fellow, seeming only +interested in economies, his digestion and his old age; and he discussed +the possible places where an old man might live in comfort. Egypt, he +dismissed: too hot, and an old man does not want to travel. The Greek +islands had earthquakes. Corfu, he had heard, was depressing; while in +the Canaries there was sometimes a wind and one might catch cold. We +suggested "heaven," and he looked hurt. He had been in Scutari in +December. He told us that after dark it was impossible to walk down the +great main street, which divides Christian from Turk, without carrying a +lighted lantern to signal that you were not on nefarious intent, or you +might be shot.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image11" name="image11"> + <img src="images/20.jpg" + alt="CHRISTIAN WOMEN HIDING FROM THE PHOTOGRAPHER." + title="CHRISTIAN WOMEN HIDING FROM THE PHOTOGRAPHER." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">CHRISTIAN WOMEN HIDING FROM THE PHOTOGRAPHER.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image12" name="image12"> + <img src="images/21.jpg" + alt="SCUTARI—BAZAAR AND OLD VENETIAN FORTRESS." + title="SCUTARI—BAZAAR AND OLD VENETIAN FORTRESS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">SCUTARI—BAZAAR AND OLD VENETIAN FORTRESS.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Suma came along the next day in good time and gave Jan a letter for +the Count de Salis. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>Pg 113</span> bade him a most cordial farewell, assuring him +prophetically that we should revisit Scutari—little did we dream in +what circumstances,—and he said we would then see the "Maison Pigit," a +show castle which he had, in vain, urged us to visit. Paget was an +Englishman who seems to have spent ten or twelve years dreaming away +life in Scutari, and collecting ancient weapons. With the outbreak of +the South African war he disappeared. He was then heard of fighting for +the Turk against the Italian, and later for the Turk against the Balkan +alliance. He has never returned.</p> + +<p>With Dr. Ob we drove to the quay, on the road passing an old woman +staggering along beneath the weight of a complete iron and brass +bedstead.</p> + +<p>As we got out of our carriage we noticed a rabble of Turks hurrying +towards us. In its midst was a brougham with windows tight shut and +veiled, from which we guessed that some light of the harem was to be a +fellow passenger. The carriage halted, and whatever was within was +hustled from the farthest door and in the midst of the dense mob of men +hurried down the quay. The side of the steamer was crowded with craft, +so we passed beneath the stern to embark on the far side, to find that +the Turkish lady and her escort had passed beneath the bows for a +similar purpose. We caused a flutter, the beauty was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>Pg 114</span> hastily lifted on +board like a bale of goods, and we caught a glimpse of magnificent pink +brocaded trousers and jewelled shoes beneath her red orange covering. +Two women—one a Christian—followed, and when she was seated, bent over +her as a sort of screen to hide even her clothes from the gaze of the +naughty infidel.</p> + +<p>Governor Petrovitch came down to the quay to bid us good-bye. With him +came his daughter, who was returning with us. She had nothing +interesting to say about Scutari. The Frenchman had brought with him a +cook whom he had engaged to look after his digestion.</p> + +<p>We found comfortable seats on a long box with a bale as a back rest, and +the governor sent two chairs for the ladies. As we steamed away we +pondered on the problem of Scutari.</p> + +<p>There are in all, say, 300,000 Serbs, a high estimate, in all +Montenegro. The population of the Sanjak and its cities, Plevlie, Ipek, +Berane, and Jakovitza, are of course largely Mussulman or Albanian, and +already the balance of people in the little mountain kingdom is +wavering. If Montenegro adds to herself Scutari, a town in which the +Serb population is practically "nil," the scales swing over heavily +against the ruling classes, and either one will see Montenegro absorb +Scutari, to be in turn absorbed by Scutari itself; or we shall see<span class="pagenum"><a id="page115" name="page115"></a>Pg 115</span> +the crimes of Austro-Hungary repeated upon a smaller scale, and +Montenegro will be some day condemned before a tribunal of Europe for +continued injustice to the people entrusted to her. The Albanians loathe +the Serb even more than they hate the Turk, and at present, in spite of +the fact that they are on their best manners, the Montenegrin police and +soldiery have the appearance of a debt collector in the house of one who +has backed a friend's bill.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image13" name="image13"> + <img src="images/22.jpg" + alt="DISEMBARKATION OF A TURKISH BRIDE." + title="DISEMBARKATION OF A TURKISH BRIDE." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">DISEMBARKATION OF A TURKISH BRIDE.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image14" name="image14"> + <img src="images/23.jpg" + alt="GOVERNOR PETROVITCH AND HIS DAUGHTER IN THEIR STATE BARGE." + title="GOVERNOR PETROVITCH AND HIS DAUGHTER IN THEIR STATE BARGE." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">GOVERNOR PETROVITCH AND HIS DAUGHTER IN THEIR STATE BARGE.</span> +</div> + +<p>An Albanian noble said to Jan, "We are quiet now: the Powers have no +time to waste upon us, and we are not going to revolt and let ourselves +be murdered without redress. But, if after the war things are not +righted, monsieur, there will be a revolution every day."</p> + +<p>We saw a pelican, and of course some one had to try and kill it; but +luckily the criminal was an average shot only. The pelican flew off +flapping its broad white wings. The Frenchman told us that the Turkish +lady round the corner is a gipsy bride to be. A light dawned upon us. +The bed, these boxes we were sitting upon: she was taking her furniture +with her. Jan peered round at her. She was sitting on a low stool, and +the two screens were standing at duty. They had chosen the most secluded +spot in the boat, which was next to the boilers. The day itself was very +hot, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page116" name="page116"></a>Pg 116</span> atmosphere within the poor bride's thick coverings must +have been awful, though when nobody was looking she was allowed to raise +for a second the many thicknesses of black chiffon which shrouded her +face, and to gasp a few chestfulls of fresh air.</p> + +<p>Dr. Ob suddenly produced a large sheep's head which he dissected with +medical knowledge. He gouged out an eye which he offered to Jo; upon her +refusing the succulent morsel he gave a sigh of relief and wolfed it +himself. One of the men on board had a fiddle, and played us across the +lake. Some one said, "Give us the Merry Widow."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said his tempter, "there's no one here. Give it us." At last, +looking at Miss Petrovitch and us, the musician timidly started the +music, for the "Merry Widow" is "straffed" in Montenegro as one of the +characters is a caricature of Prince Danilo, hence everybody plays it +with gusto in private.</p> + +<p>We came again to Plavnitza. A huge crowd of Turks were waiting for us; +one wild befezzed ruffian had a concertina and was capering to his own +strains.</p> + +<p>We were suddenly disturbed, the box was wrested away, the bundles also, +the bed was carried off, also a tin dish too small for a bath, too big +for a basin, and a tin watering pot—the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page117" name="page117"></a>Pg 117</span> bride's trousseau. The bride +was seized by two men, her brothers we were told, and carried up the +stairs to a waiting brougham, the trousseau was piled upon a bullock +cart, and shouting and singing and dancing the <i>cortège</i> moved out of +sight.</p> + +<p>At Virbazar the steamer could not come to the quay, so the authorities +ran a five-inch rounded tree trunk from the boat to the mud. Many dared +the perilous crossing, and one nearly fell into the water. Dr. Ob was +furious, and at last a plank was substituted. Then we found that the +only way off the mud was by clambering round a corner of wall on some +shaky stepping stones. Dr. Ob fumed, his little round face grew rounder, +his moustache went up and down, he threatened everybody with instant +execution, like the Red Queen in "Alice." Then he found that no motor +was awaiting us. He rushed to the telephone while we had a belated +lunch. No motors; one was out taking the Serbian officers for a +joy-ride; Prince Peter had taken the other to Antivari. Montenegro +seemed to have no more. We soothed ourselves with "American" grapes. +This grape tastes not unlike strawberries and cream, but not having the +same sentimental associations, does not come off quite as well. We heard +a motor coming. Dr. Ob ran out to intercept it. It was crammed.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page118" name="page118"></a>Pg 118</span> Then +the telephone boy brought a message that Prince Peter's motor would not +return till to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Miss Petrovitch wrung her hands.</p> + +<p>"We cannot stay here the night," she said.</p> + +<p>"Are the bugs awful?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"It's not the bugs, it's those dreadful women," she answered. "We shall +all be murdered in our beds."</p> + +<p>Now the women appeared to us most inoffensive.</p> + +<p>Dr. Ob was purple with rage. He stamped his foot.</p> + +<p>"But I am a minister," he kept repeating crescendo, till he shouted to +the villagers, "But I am a minister."</p> + +<p>It is impossible to take Montenegro seriously. Situations occur at every +corner which remind one irresistibly of "the Rose and the Ring," and we +wondered what would happen next. There were other belated passengers who +had hoped for conveyance, and the Frenchman's carriage had not turned +up. Dr. Ob at last decided to commandeer a cocked hat boat rowed by four +women with which to navigate the river to Rieka, and thence by carriage +to Cettinje if carriages came. It was six p.m., we might reach Rieka by +ten.</p> + +<p>We rowed out through the half-sunken trees. At the end of a spit of land +was a man gnawing a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page119" name="page119"></a>Pg 119</span> piece of raw beef. We shouted to him to ask what he +was doing; and he answered that he was curing his malaria. The two women +in the bow were very pretty, one was a mere child.</p> + +<p>There were wisps of sunset cloud in the sky, and soon night came quite +down.</p> + +<p>As it grew dark all sense of motion disappeared. The boat shrugged +uneasily with the movement of the oars, the rowlocks made of loops of +twisted osier creaked, but one could not perceive that one was going +forwards. The hills lost their solidity, becoming mere holes in the grey +blue of the sky, a bright planet made a light smudge on the ruffled +water in which the stars could not reflect. As we crept forwards into +the river and the mountains closed in, the water became more calm, and +the stars came out one by one beneath us, while in the ripple of our +wake the image of the planet ran up continuously in strings of little +golden balls like a juggling trick.</p> + +<p>The Frenchman turned his head and made a noise like the rowlocks. "Il +faut chanter quand même," he explained, "pour encourager les autres." Jo +then started "Frère Jacques." Jan and Dr. Ob took it up till the +Frenchman burst in with an entirely different time and key. Then one of +the oar girls began a queer little melody on four notes only, and all +the four women joined, one end of the boat<span class="pagenum"><a id="page120" name="page120"></a>Pg 120</span> answering the other. They +sang through their noses, and high up in the falsetto. By shutting one's +eyes one could imagine a great ox waggon drawn uphill by four bullocks +and one of the wheels ungreased. Yet it was not unpleasing, this queer +shrill, recurrent rhythm, the monotonous creak and splash of the oars, +the mystery of feeling one's way in the blue gloom, through reed and +water-lily beds, up this cliff-bound river, and far away the faint +twitter—also recurrent and monotonous—of some nightjar....</p> + +<p>The night grew bitterly cold on the water. One of our passengers, a +little Russian dressmaker, had malaria and shivered with ague. Jo gave +her her cloak. The Frenchman's cook was unsuitably dressed, for she had +on but a thin chiffon blouse. We ourselves had summer clothes, and we +were all mightily glad to see the glare of Rieka in the sky.</p> + +<p>Our luck be praised, there were two old carriages with older horses, and +another for the Frenchman. We supped moderately at a restaurant kept by +an Austrian, and still shivering scrambled into the carriages. We had no +lights, but the road was visible by the stars.</p> + +<p>We went up and up, up the same road down which we had come three days +before. Below one could see strange planes of different darknesses, but +not any shape, and soon one was too aware of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121"></a>Pg 121</span> physical discomfort to +notice the night. Besides, one had had enough of night. Miss Petrovitch +told the boy to hurry up the horses; he beat them; she then rebuked him +for beating them. After a while the boy grew tired of her contradictory +orders, and lying down on the box fell fast asleep. The poor old horses +plodded along. To right and left were immense precipices, but nobody +seemed to care.</p> + +<p>We reached Cettinje about two a.m., found the hotel open, and a room +ready for us, and in spite of our frozen limbs were soon asleep.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/24.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page122" name="page122"></a>Pg 122</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE HIGHWAY OF MONTENEGRO</h3> + + +<p>We went next day to see the doctor, who was late, so we strolled out to +the market. They were selling grapes and figs, fresh walnuts, and lots +of little dried fish, strung on to rings of willow, from the lake of +Scutari. The scene, with the men in their costumes of red and blue, the +women all respectably dressed in long embroidered coats of pale blue or +white, and the village idiot, a man prancing about dressed in nothing +but a woman's overall, was very gay. We caught the doctor later. He was +talking with a Mrs. G——, an Englishwoman, from the hospital at +Podgoritza: she was trying to hustle him as one hustles the butcher who +has belated the meat. The doctor had let up his efforts since his orgy +of respectability in Scutari, and his beard and whiskers were enjoying a +half-inch holiday from the razor. With him was a Slav-Hungarian, who +recommended us to go home by Gussigne, Plav and Ipek, the best scenery +in all Montenegro he said; he himself had just returned from Scutari, +whence<span class="pagenum"><a id="page123" name="page123"></a>Pg 123</span> he had advanced with a Montenegrin army halfway across Albania. +At each village the natives had fled, burying their corn and driving off +their cattle, leaving the villages deserted, and the army, starving, had +at last been forced to retire. Dr. Ob promised us a motor by four, but +added that they had no oil and very little benzine. Then growing more +confidential, he took us by the buttonholes and asked us to use our best +influence with the Count de Salis, and request him to tell the Admiralty +to allow petrol to be brought up from Salonika, where the British had +laid an embargo upon it. He promised pathetically that <i>all</i> the petrol +would be brought up overland.</p> + +<p>Intensely amused by the doctor's idea of our importance, we solemnly +delivered his message to the Count.</p> + +<p>We went to the Serbian Minister, a charming man with a freebooter's +face, for our passports, and then back to Dr. Ob. The motor was going +off at 6.30 he said. We cheered internally, for we were getting tired of +Cettinje, which reminded us of a watchmaker's wife with her best silk +dress on. On our way downstairs we called in to thank the Minister of +War for our jolly trip; and he wished us "Bon voyage."</p> + +<p>We got en route almost up to time, with us was Mrs. G——, who was also +going back as far as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page124" name="page124"></a>Pg 124</span> Podgoritza. She was storekeeper and accountant for +the Wounded Allies, and ever had a hard and troublesome task between +what she needed and what she could get from the Sanitary Department. She +took the front seat with Jo, and inside Jan found a French sailor of the +wireless telegraphy, who had had typhoid fever, but was now going back +to work. As we rattled down the curves and along the edge of the +darkening chasms of the mountain side, he summed up with the brevity of +a "rapin."</p> + +<p>"Dans la journée ici, vous savez, il y'a de quoi faire des clichés."</p> + +<p>We stopped at Rieka for water, and then on once more. In the glare of +our headlights, little clumps of soldiers, with donkeys loaded with the +new uniforms, loomed suddenly out of the darkness. Once a donkey took +fright and bolted back, and the soldier in charge yelled and pointed his +rifle at us. If we had moved he would have shot without compunction. +Later the men had bivouacked, and all along the rest of the road we +passed little fires of fresh brushwood, the sparks pouring up like +fountains into the night, round which the soldiers and drivers were +sitting and singing their weird songs.</p> + +<p>At Podgoritza we found Dr. Lilias Hamilton at supper with her staff. She +has had rather a hard time. The hospital was intended for Ipek, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="page125" name="page125"></a>Pg 125</span> for +some reason, although there were wounded in the town, the Montenegrins +decided to move it to Podgoritza, where there were none. After a +difficult journey across the mountains they settled down, but could +never get sufficient transport from the Government to bring their stores +over, except in small quantities. They started to work, but as there +were few soldiers to treat, Dr. Lilias, being a lady, interested herself +in the Turkish female population, a thing which the Montenegrins thought +a criminal waste of time, and tried to stop.</p> + +<p>We got a bedroom in the hotel, and tired out, tried to sleep; but the +occupants of the café began a set of howling songs, very unmusical, and +kept us awake till past twelve. We have never heard this kind of singing +anywhere else.</p> + +<p>Next day we crossed the river and explored the quaint and beautiful +streets of the Turkish quarter. The people are equally offensive on both +sides of the town; however, Podgoritza seems to be the White-chapel of +Montenegro—and we finally had to take refuge in the sheds of the French +wireless telegraphy. The commandant at the motor depôt again treated us +rudely, but the Prefect was nice, this time. He promised us a carriage +on the morrow if no motor were forthcoming.</p> + +<p>After supper the people began the awful howling songs; also there was a +wild orchestra which had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page126" name="page126"></a>Pg 126</span> one clarinet for melody and about ten deep +bass trumpets for accompaniment.</p> + +<p>Next morning no carriage came, so off to the Prefect. He promised one +"odmah," which being translated is "at once," but means really within +"eight or nine hours." We waited. Nine a.m. passed. Ten a.m. went by. A +small boy sneaked up and tried to sell some contraband tobacco; but Jan +had just bought "State." An angry Turkish gentleman came and said that +his horses had been requisitioned to take us to Andrievitza, and that we +weren't going to get them till one o'clock, because he was using them. +We returned to the Prefect, not to complain—oh no—but to ask him to +telegraph to Andrievitza that we were coming. He was naturally surprised +to see us again, and explanations followed. A very humbled and much +better tempered Turk came to the café to say that the horses would be +with us "odmah."</p> + +<p>A drizzle had been falling all the morning; at last the carriage came. +Our driver was a wretched half-starved, high-cheeked Moslem in rags, +whose trousers were only made draught proof by his sitting on the holes. +He tried to squeeze another passenger upon us; but we were wiser, and +were just not able to understand what he was saying. Our Turk's method +of driving was to tie the reins to the carriage rail, flourishing a whip +and shouting<span class="pagenum"><a id="page127" name="page127"></a>Pg 127</span> with vigour; every ten minutes he glanced uneasily +backwards to see that nothing had broken loose or come away.</p> + +<p>The valley we entered had been very deep, but at some period had been +half filled by a deposit of sand and pebble which had hardened into a +crumbling rock. We were driving over the gravelly shelf, above our head +rose walls of limestone, and deep below was the river which had eaten +the softer agglomerate into a hundred fantastic caverns. All along the +road we passed groups of tramping volunteers fresh from America with +store clothes and suitcases; the sensible were also festooned with +boots. It was pretty cold sitting in the carriage, and it grew colder as +we mounted.</p> + +<p>At last we halted to rest the horses at a café. The influence of "Pod" +was heavy still. A group of grumpy people were sitting around a fire +built in the middle of the floor; they did not greet us—which is +unusual in Montenegro—but continued the favourite Serb recreation of +spitting. In the centre of them was an old man on a chair, also +expectorating, and by his side one older and scraggier, his waistcoat +covered with snuff and medals, palpitated in a state of senile decay, +holding in a withered hand a palmfull of snuff which he had forgotten to +inhale. There were a lot of women saying nothing and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page128" name="page128"></a>Pg 128</span> spitting. A sour, +hard-faced woman admitted that there was coffee.</p> + +<p>Jo, trying to cheer things up a bit, said brightly—</p> + +<p>"Is it far to Andrievitza?"</p> + +<p>A woman mumbled, "Far, bogami."</p> + +<p>Jo again: "It is cold on the road."</p> + +<p>A long silence, broken with the sound of spitting, followed. At last a +woman in the darkest corner murmured—</p> + +<p>"Cold, bogami."</p> + +<p>It was like the opening of a Maeterlinckian play, but we gave it up, +sipped our coffee, and when we had finished, fled outside into the cold +which, after all, was warmer than these people's welcome. Outside we met +a young man who spoke German, and as he wanted to show off, he stopped +to converse. We were joined by an older man who claimed to be his +father. The father was really a jolly old boy. He said his son was a +puny weakling, but as for himself he never had had a doctor in his life. +So Jan tried his mettle with a cigar. An officer, a filthy old peasant +in the remains of a battered uniform, joined the group, but he was not +charming; however, Jan offered him a cigarette. The old yokel rushed on +his fate. He said—</p> + +<p>"Cigarettes are all very well; but I would rather have one of those you +gave to the other fellow."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page129" name="page129"></a>Pg 129</span></p> + +<p>The road wound on and up in the usual way, rain came down at intervals, +and it grew colder and colder. At last we extracted all our spare +clothes from the knapsack and put them on. We reached the top of the +pass and began to rattle down the descent on the further side, and we +kept our spirits up, in the growing gloom, by singing choruses: "The old +Swanee river" and "Uncle Ned."</p> + +<p>We pulled up at dusk at a dismal hovel, on piles, with rickety wooden +stairs leading to a dimly lighted balcony over which fell deep wooden +eaves.</p> + +<p>"Is this Jabooka?" we asked, for we had been told to alight at Jabooka.</p> + +<p>"No," said the driver; "we cannot reach Jabooka to-night. But here are +fine beds, fine, fine, fine!"</p> + +<p>We climbed in. The rooms were whitewashed and looked all right, but +there was a funny smell. We shall know what it means a second time. +There was a crowd of American Montenegrin volunteers in the kitchen. One +gay fellow was in a bright green dressing-gown like overcoat: he said +that his wife—a hard-featured woman who looked as if nobody loved +her—had brought his saddle horse. We got some hard-boiled eggs and +maize bread. Maize bread is always a little gritty, for it has in its +substance no binding material, but when it is well cooked and has plenty +of crust is quite eatable.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page130" name="page130"></a>Pg 130</span> French cooking is far away, however, and the +bread is usually a sort of soggy, half-baked flabby paste, most +unpalatable and most indigestible. Here was the worst bread we yet had +found.</p> + +<p>They took us down a dark passage, in which huge lumps of raw meat +hanging from the walls struck one's hand with a chill, flabby caress as +one passed. In our room, four benches were arranged into a pair of +widish couches; mattresses were given us and coarse hand-woven rugs. We +were then left. But we could not sleep; somehow lice were in one's mind, +and at last Jan awoke and lit the tiny oil lamp. He immediately slew a +bug; then another; then a whopper; then one escaped; then Jo got one. In +desperation we got up, smeared ourselves with paraffin, and lay down +again in a dismal distressed doze till morning.</p> + +<p>Our driver was a dilatory dog: we had said that we would leave at five +a.m., and at six he was washing his teeth in the little stream which +acted as the village sewer. As we were waiting our green-coated friend +got away on his saddle horse, with his wife walking at its tail; the +other Americans climbed into a great three-horse waggon, dragged their +suit-cases after them, and off they went. We left nearer seven than six. +The air was chilly, and though there were bits of blue in the sky, the +hills were floating in mist, and there<span class="pagenum"><a id="page131" name="page131"></a>Pg 131</span> was a sharp shower. There were +more groups of Americans trudging along, and also a fair number of +peasants, the women, as usual, dignified and beautiful. Very hungry we +at last came to Jabooka. A jolly woman—we were getting away from +"Pod"—welcomed us and dragged us into the kitchen. She asked Jo many +questions, one being, "What relation is he to you, that man with whom +you travel?" The fire on the floor was nearly out, but she rained sticks +on to it, blew up the great central log, which is the backbone, into a +blaze, and soon the smoke was pouring into our eyes and filtering up +amongst the hams in the roof. We were drinking a splendid café au lait +when an old woman peered in at the door.</p> + +<p>"Very beautiful Jabooka," she said.</p> + +<p>We agreed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Not dear either," she said.</p> + +<p>We expressed surprise.</p> + +<p>"You can buy cheap," she went on.</p> + +<p>We regretted that we did not wish to.</p> + +<p>"But you must eat to live," she protested.</p> + +<p>We intimated that this was of the nature of a truism, but failed to see +the connection.</p> + +<p>"But look at them," she expostulated, holding out a large basket of +apples; and we suddenly remembered that "Jabooka" means also apples, and +realized that she was not a land agent.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page132" name="page132"></a>Pg 132</span></p> + +<p>Then on once more. In the deep valleys were large modern sawmills, but +the houses were ever poor, and the windows grew smaller and smaller and +were without glass. At the junction of the Kolashin road, from the +north, we picked up a jolly Montenegrin with a big dog. He was a driver +by profession, and he hurried our lethargic progress a little. Then the +front spring broke. It was mended with wire and a piece of tree; when we +started again the reins snapped.</p> + +<p>We halted once more at a café filled with Americans; some had only left +their native land six months agone, yet to the peasant they were all +"Americans." Some of them seemed very dissatisfied with the reception +which they had received, and we don't wonder. "In Ipek I coulden get my +room," said one, "tho' I 'ad wired for 't, 'cause one o' them 'airy +popes [Greek priests] 'ad come wid 'is fambly. I 'ad to sleep like a +'og, you fellers, jess like a 'og." We had been under the impression +that burning patriotism had called all these men back to their country, +but one sturdy fellow disabused us.</p> + +<p>"No, you fellers," he said, "there weren't no work for us in 'Murrica. +Mos' o' the places 'ad closed down ter a shift or two at the mos' per +wik. And fer fellers wats used to livin' purty well there weren't enough +ter pay board alone. We gotter<span class="pagenum"><a id="page133" name="page133"></a>Pg 133</span> come or we'd a starved." Of course this +was not true of many.</p> + +<p>On again, rain and sun alternating, but still we were cold, feet +especially.</p> + +<p>These mountains, these continual groups of slouching, slouch-hatted +"Americans," these little weathered log cabins, falling streams, and +pine trees reminded one of some tale of Bret Harte, and one found one's +self expecting the sudden appearance of Broncho Billy or Jack Hamlin +mounted upon a fiery mustang. But we cleared the top of the pass without +meeting either, and started on our last long downhill to Andrievitza. +Cheered by the rapidity of our motion the two ruffians on the box +started a howling Podgoritzian kind of melody, exceedingly discordant. +The driver, careless that one of our springs was but wired tree, and +that wheels in Montenegro are easily decomposed, flogged his horses +unmercifully, rattling along the extreme edge of one hundred foot +precipices. We stopped at a café for the driver to get coffee; rattled +on again, stopped to inquire the price of hay; more rattle; stopped for +the driver to say, "How de doo" to a pal; more rattle; stopped to ask a +man if his dog has had puppies yet.... But we protested.</p> + +<p>Andrievitza was the prettiest village we had yet<span class="pagenum"><a id="page134" name="page134"></a>Pg 134</span> seen in Montenegro, +and was full of more "Americans." In the street a small boy urged us to +go to "Radoikovitches," but we went to the hotel. The hotel was full, +because a Pasha from Scutari had arrived with his three wives, and all +their families. So we permitted the little yellow-haired urchin to lead +us to "Radoikovitches." A woman received us, without gusto, till she +learned that Jo was Jan's wife, when she cheered up. A charming old +officer stood rakia all round in our honour. The mayor came in to greet +us, and we felt that at last Pod had been pushed behind for ever.</p> + +<p>The mayor was a pleasant fellow, speaking French, and he confided in us +that he was suffering from a "maladie d'estomac." When we thought we had +sympathized enough, we asked him how far it was, and could we have +horses to go to Petch. He answered that it was two days, or rather one +and a half, and that the horses would await us at twelve on the +following day. We went to bed early to make up for last night, but Jan, +having felt rather tickly all day, hunted the corners of his shirt and +found—dare we mention it—a louse, souvenir de Liéva Riéka.</p> + +<p>As we were breakfasting next day our driver, who had been most +unpleasant the whole time, sidled up and asked Jan to sign a paper. +While Jan was doing so the driver burst into a volley of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page135" name="page135"></a>Pg 135</span> explanations. +We thought that he was asking for a tip, but made out that he had lost +(or gambled) the ten kronen which his employer had given to him for +expenses. We had intended to give him no tip, for on the yesterday he +had refused to carry our bags, but this made us waver. We asked Mr. Rad, +etc., what we should do.</p> + +<p>"Sign his paper," he answered gruffly, "and kick him out; he's only a +dirty Turk anyhow."</p> + +<p>The mayor sent our horses round early; but we stuck to our decision to +start in the afternoon, and ordered lunch at twelve. There was a huge +crowd gathered in front of the inn, and we saw that the Pasha and his +harem were off. One wife wore a blue furniture cover over her, one a +green, and one a brown, so that he might know them apart from the +outside, for they all had heavy black veils before their faces. The +Pasha himself seemed rather a decent fellow, and had much of the air of +a curate conducting a school feast. Four children were thrust into two +baskets which were slung on each side of one small horse, and various +furniture, including a small bath (or large basin), was strapped on to +others, and the Pasha followed by his wives set off walking, the Pasha +occasionally throwing a graceful remark behind him.</p> + +<p>The mayor lunched with us, and for a man who has, as he says, anæmia of +the stomach, chronic<span class="pagenum"><a id="page136" name="page136"></a>Pg 136</span> dysentery, and inflammation of the intestines, he +ate most freely, and if such is his daily habit, he deserved all he had +got.</p> + +<p>Our guide was the most picturesque we have yet had. He was an Albanian +with a shaven poll save for a tuft by which the angels will one day lift +him to heaven, small white cap like a saucer, over which was wound a +twisted dirty white scarf, short white coat heavily embroidered with +black braid, tight trousers, also heavily embroidered, but the waistband +only pulled up to where the buttock begins to slide away—we wondered +continuously why they never fell off—and the long space between coat +and trousers filled with tightly wound red and orange belt. He called +himself Ramases, or some such name. Our saddles were pretty good, the +stirrups like shovels, the horses the best (barring at the Front) we had +had since Prepolji.</p> + +<p>We rode over a creaky bridge, Jan's horse refusing, so he went through +the river, and out into the new road which is being made to Ipek. Men +and women, almost all in Albanian costumes, were scraping, digging, +drilling and blasting; some of the women wore a costume we had not yet +seen, very short cotton skirt above the knees, and long, embroidered +leggings. We passed this high-road "in posse" and, the little horses +stepping along, presently caught up a trail of donkeys, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page137" name="page137"></a>Pg 137</span> proprietor +of which, a friend of Ramases, had a face like a post-impressionist +sculpture.</p> + +<p>We passed the donkeys and came to the usual sort of café, rough log hut, +fire on floor—but one of the women therein gave Jo her only +apple—decidedly we were away from Pod.</p> + +<p>On again along river valleys. Jan's saddle had a knob in the seat that +began to insinuate. On every hill were cut maize patches, the red +stubble in the sunset looking like fields of blood.</p> + +<p>In the dusk we came to Velika, a wooden witchlike village, where we were +to stay the night, and where, as we had expected, the Pasha, ten minutes +ahead of us, had commandeered all the accommodation. The captain, +however, was very good, and gave us a policeman to find lodgings for us. +By this time it was dark. He led us into a pitch black lane where the +mud came over our boots, then we clambered up a loose earth cliff and +stood looking into a room whose only light was from a small fire, as +usual on the floor. Over the fire was a large pot, and a meagre-faced +woman was stirring the brew. Behind her a small baby in a red and white +striped blanket was pushed up to its armpits through a hole on four +legs, where it hung. In a dark corner a small boy was worrying a black +cat.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page138" name="page138"></a>Pg 138</span></p> + +<p>"Can you give these English a bed?" demanded the policeman.</p> + +<p>The woman shook her head sadly. "Mozhe," she said, which means "It is +possible."</p> + +<p>After supper, Bovril and cheese omelette, we went out to seek the café. +We trudged back through the mud and stumbled into a house full of +lattice work, like a Chinese store. Startled we tried another. This time +we came into a stable, but there was a ladder leading upwards, and at +the top a lighted room, so we decided to explore. We climbed up and came +into a large loft in which six long legged, heavily bearded Albanians +were squatting about a fire; a gipsy woman with wild tousled hair and +hanging breasts was in the corner of the hearth, and was telling some +long monotonous tale. An Albanian, who spoke Serb, told us to come in +and have coffee. It was like the illustration of some tale from the +Arabian Nights. After a while we climbed out again into the night, and +went home. Ramases hung about shyly, and the woman explained that he had +nowhere to sleep; so we arranged that she should house him also.</p> + +<p>Even as we poked our noses out of the door there was a promise of a fine +day. Below us we could see the Pasha up and superintending the packing +of his family and furniture. We celebrated by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page139" name="page139"></a>Pg 139</span> opening our last tin of +jam, which we had carried carefully all the way, waiting for an +occasion. We left the remains of the jam for the small family, and as we +were mounting we saw their faces smeared and streaked with "First +Quality Damson." We started the climb almost at once. The early morning +smoke filtering through the slats made an outer cone, of faint blue, +above the black roof of every hut and cottage; here and there were +traces of roadmaking, groups of Albanian workmen on stretches of +levelled earth which our trail crossed at irregular intervals. Presently +we entered the clouds, and were wrapped about with a thin mist faintly +smelling of smoke. After a while we climbed above them, and looking down +could see the clouds mottling all the landscape, and through holes +little patches of sunlit field or wood peering through like the eyes of +a Turkish woman through her yashmak.</p> + +<p>Our horses panted and sweated up the long and arduous slope for two +mortal hours, up and ever up; but all things come to an end, and at last +we reached the top. We sat down to rest our weary animals and, lo! by us +passed long strings of mules and ponies bearing the very benzine about +which so much fuss had been made in Cettinje. Alas for our reputations +as miracle workers! Had this blessed stuff only come a week later we +should<span class="pagenum"><a id="page140" name="page140"></a>Pg 140</span> even have passed in Montenegro as first cousins of the king at +least; but this was a little too prompt.</p> + +<p>There was landscape enough here for any budding Turners, but we two had +still eight hours to go and not money enough to loiter. On the higher +peaks of the mountains there was already a fresh powdering of snow; in +the valleys the clouds had almost cleared away, leaving a thin film of +moisture which made shadows of pure ultramarine beneath the trees. Your +modern commercial grinder cannot sell you this colour, it needs some of +that pure jewel powder which old Swan kept in a bottle for use on his +masterpiece, but found never a subject noble enough. Some of that stuff +prepared from the receipt of old Cennino Cennini which ends "this is a +work, fine and delicate, suitable for the hands of young maidens, but +beware of old women." Pure Lapis Lazuli.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image15" name="image15"> + <img src="images/25.jpg" + alt="The Ipek Pass in Winter." + title="The Ipek Pass in Winter." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Ipek Pass in Winter.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>But it became difficult even for us to admire landscape, for breakfast +had disappeared within us, and lunch seemed far away, so once more +recourse to the "compressed luncheon." There are three stages in the +taste of the "Tabloid." Stage one, when it smacks of glue; stage two, +when it has a flavour of inferior beef tea, say 11.30 a.m.; stage three, +when it resembles nothing but the gravy of the most delicious beef +steak. That is about 2.30, and your lunch some hours in retard.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page141" name="page141"></a>Pg 141</span> We +had reached stage three, and even Jo succumbed to the charms of the +"Tab."</p> + +<p>Famished we came to a café.</p> + +<p>"Eggs?" we gasped to the host.</p> + +<p>"Nema" (haven't got any), he replied.</p> + +<p>"Milk?"</p> + +<p>"Nema."</p> + +<p>"Cheese?" crescendo.</p> + +<p>"Nema."</p> + +<p>"Bread?" fortissimo.</p> + +<p>"Nema."</p> + +<p>Despairing we swallowed three more luncheon tablets each and whined for +tea. Ramases, who seemed to get along on tea alone, promised us a +well-stocked café in an hour and a half.</p> + +<p>The second café was purely Albanian. We climbed up some rickety stairs +into a room which had—strange to relate—a fireplace. About the room +was a sleeping dais where three or four black and white ruffians were +couched. There was a little window with a deep seat into which we +squeezed and loudly demanded eggs, bread and cheese. An old woman all +rags and tatters came in and squeezed up alongside, where she crouched, +spinning a long wool thread and staring up into Jo's face. Several cats +were lounging about the room, but one came close and began to squirm as +though she were "setting" a mouse. Suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page142" name="page142"></a>Pg 142</span> she pounced, seized the old +woman's food bag from her feet, swept it on to the floor, and +disappeared with it beneath the dais, where all the rest of the cats +followed. The old woman, who had been plying distaff and spindle the +while, let out a yell of fury and half disappeared beneath the platform. +We all roared with laughter, while beneath us the cats spat and the old +woman cursed, beating about with the handle of her distaff till she had +rescued her dinner. She backed out with the bag, sat down again and +started spinning once more as though nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>Beyond this café the track became very stony and rough. We passed a +typical couple. The man was carrying a light bag full of bottles, while +the women had on her back a huge wooden chest, in which things rattled +and bumped as she stumped along.</p> + +<p>Jo looked at her with pity. "That's heavy," she said.</p> + +<p>The woman stared stupidly and answered nothing; but the man smiled and +said—</p> + +<p>"Yes, heavy. Bogami."</p> + +<p>We passed more caravans of that all too soon benzine. Cliffs began to +tower up on every side, and precipices to fall away beneath our feet to +a greenish roaring torrent; great springs spouted from the rocks and +dashed down upon the stones<span class="pagenum"><a id="page143" name="page143"></a>Pg 143</span> below in shredded foam: one was pink in +colour. Here once a general and his lady were riding, and the lady's +horse slipped. The general grasped her but lost his own balance, and +both fell into the river and were killed. The track wound up and down, +often very slippery underfoot, and the horses, shod with the usual flat +plates of iron, were slithering and sliding on the edge of the +precipices. At last we got off and walked. It was an immense relief: our +saddles were intensely hard, stirrups unequal lengths, and with knots +which rubbed unmercifully on the shins. We passed a man who was +evidently an Englishman, and he stared at us as we passed, but neither +stopped. The gorge grew deeper, the stream more rapid. The cliffs +towered higher, black and grey in huge perpendicular stripes. We heard +sounds of thunder or of blasting which reverberated in the canyon; it +was oppressive and gloomy, and one shuddered to think what it would be +like if an earthquake occurred. The cliffs ceased abruptly in a huge +grass slope on which crowds of people were working on the new road; we +crossed the river over a wooden bridge.</p> + +<p>We came down into Ipek suddenly, past the old orange towered monastery, +which lies, its outer walls half buried, keeping the landslides at bay. +Ramases, who had suddenly put on another air, flung his leg over the +saddle—he had previously<span class="pagenum"><a id="page144" name="page144"></a>Pg 144</span> been sitting sideways—and twisted his +moustache skywards. Jo wished to canter on, but he sternly forbade her, +flipping her horse on the nose and driving it back when she tried to +pass; for it would have damned his manly dignity for ever had a woman +preceded him.</p> + +<p>Our first view of Ipek was of a forest of minarets shooting up from the +orchards, not a house was to be seen. Ramases tried to make us lodge in +a vague looking building. We asked him if that were the best hotel. He +answered nonchalantly, "Nesnam" (don't know); so we hunted for +ourselves, discovering in the main square a blue house labelled "Hotel +Skodar" in large letters.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/26.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page145" name="page145"></a>Pg 145</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>IPEK, DECHANI AND A HAREM</h3> + + + +<p>We entered the courtyard of the inn. Tiny as it was all Ipek seemed to +be plucking poultry in it. An urbane old woman came forward, evidently +the owner. She had short arms, and her hair grey at the roots was +stained with henna, which matched her eyes. A dog fancier once told us +never to buy a dog with light-coloured eyes if we wanted a trustful +loving nature, so we wondered if it applied to humans.</p> + +<p>She showed us a tiny dungeon-like room entirely filled up by two beds. +We were not impressed; but she assured us that we should have a large +beautiful room the next day for the same price. So we engaged it and +strolled out into the evening.</p> + +<p>Buffaloes were sitting in couples round the big square. They chewed the +cud with an air of incomparable wisdom so remote from the look of +reproachful misery that is generally worn by an ox. Goats came in from +the hills with their hair clipped<span class="pagenum"><a id="page146" name="page146"></a>Pg 146</span> in layers, which gave them the +appearance of ladies in five-decker skirts; and children were playing a +queer game. They jumped loosely round in circles with bent knees, making +a whooping-cough noise followed by a splutter. We saw it often +afterwards, and decided that it must be the equivalent to our "Ring o' +Roses."</p> + +<p>Work was over for the day, the sun set behind the hills which ringed us +round, and we went to kill time in a café.</p> + +<p>While we were exchanging coffees with an "American," who was showing us +the excellences of his wooden leg which he had made himself, a +breathless man ran in.</p> + +<p>He had been searching the town for us. The governor had ordered him to +put us up, as his had the notoriety of being a clean house. Having taken +a room already with the amiable old lady we feared to disappoint her, so +we decided not to move. The man piteously hoped that we were not +offended; and we explained at length.</p> + +<p>When we reached the hotel again our old hostess bustled up, more sugary +than ever.</p> + +<p>"We have just thought of a little rearrangement," she said.</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Well, do you understand, the inn is very full to-night, so we thought +it best that you should<span class="pagenum"><a id="page147" name="page147"></a>Pg 147</span> both take the one bed and I and my daughter +will take the other."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said we, "in that case we had better move altogether, we have +anoth—"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no no," said the old lady, horrified. "Stay, stay. There sit +down. It is good, keep your beds." She patted us and left us.</p> + +<p>We had an uninspired dinner. Greasy soup, tough boiled meat which had +produced the soup, minced boiled meat in pepper pods, and two pears +which turned out to be bad. The company, composed of officers and +nondescripts, pleased us no better than the dinner, so we decided to eat +elsewhere on the morrow.</p> + +<p>The governor's secretary came in to arrange for an interview with his +chief—yet another Petrovitch and brother to the governor of Scutari. By +this time we had each imbibed a dozen Turkish coffees during the day, +but we slept for all that from nine until nine in the morning.</p> + +<p>Marko Petrovitch, whom we saw early, was the best and last Petrovitch we +met in Montenegro. Like all the Petrovitches he wore national costume. +He was handsome, shy, and kindly, said we must go to Dechani the most +famous of Balkan monasteries, and promised us a cart for the journey.</p> + +<p>After leaving the governor we plunged into melodrama.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page148" name="page148"></a>Pg 148</span></p> + +<p>Hearing a noise we discovered crowds of weeping women and children round +the steps of a shop. A young man in French fireman's uniform seemed to +be very active, and an old trousered woman passively rolled down the +steps after receiving a box on the ears.</p> + +<p>We thought it was a policeman arresting an elderly thief; but Jo, seeing +blood on the lady's face, told him he was a "bad man." He lurched, +staring at her stupidly. His companions, more firemen, came forward +grinning sheepishly, and we recommended them to lead him away out of +mischief. But the next minute a balloon-trousered child rushed up to us +and tugged at Jan's coat.</p> + +<p>"Quick, the devil man is doing more bad things."</p> + +<p>We ran down the road beyond the village and saw him in the distance +dancing on an old Turk's bare feet with hobnailed boots, alternating +this amusement with cuffs on the face. We sprinted along, and seeing a +convenient little river wriggling along by the roadside, Jan caught him +by the neck and the seat of his trousers, swung him round, and pitched +him in. The man sat for a moment, bewildered, in the water, and then +climbed out uttering dreadful oaths; but as he came up Jan knocked him +into the water again.</p> + +<p>Men in firemen's uniforms appeared from all sides, shouting—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page149" name="page149"></a>Pg 149</span></p> + +<p>"What are you doing? You mustn't. Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"We know the governor," said Jo. The men were making gestures of +deference when the reprobate rushed from the river, aiming a whirling +blow at Jan which missed.</p> + +<p>The men hurled themselves on him, but he grabbed Jan's coat to which he +clung, howling in unexpected English—</p> + +<p>"Shake 'ands wi' y' ennemi." Suddenly everybody spoke English, and we +wondered into what sort of a fairy tale had we fallen.</p> + +<p>It was lunch time so we did not stay for explanations, but hurried back +to the town with the weeping old Turk, gave him our small change, which +seemed to cure the pains in his feet, and hunted for the other hotel.</p> + +<p>It was tucked away in a romantic back street. The bar room was tiny, but +it was very pleasant to sit round little tables under shady trees in the +courtyard.</p> + +<p>"What have you for lunch?" we asked a solid-looking waiter boy.</p> + +<p>"Nema Ruchak, bogami." We have no lunch. We looked at all the other +people absorbing meat and soup.</p> + +<p>"Give us what you have."</p> + +<p>"We have nothing, bogami."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page150" name="page150"></a>Pg 150</span></p> + +<p>"Have you soup?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, bogami."</p> + +<p>"And cheese?"</p> + +<p>"Ima, ima, bogami."</p> + +<p>"That will do for us."</p> + +<p>He thereupon brought macaroni soup, boiled meat, roast meat, fried +potatoes, cheese, grapes, and coffee.</p> + +<p>We never found out why in Montenegro they should make it a point of +honour to say they have nothing. It resembles the Chinese habit of +alluding to a "loathsome" wife and a "disgusting" daughter.</p> + +<p>After lunch we visited our own hotel and found mine hostess waiting for +us with her short arms akimbo. She wanted the "beautiful large bedroom" +to which we had moved in the morning, finding it the same size as the +one below, but rather lighter. Its former occupant had arrived, and we +were to go back to the dungeon.</p> + +<p>"That is not good," said Jo, and we flatly refused to go downstairs.</p> + +<p>"If we leave this room we go altogether."</p> + +<p>She again patted us and begged us to consider the matter closed. We +could stick to the room.</p> + +<p>Certainly that dog fancier was right.</p> + +<p>There was a very old monastery which we had passed as we rode into +Ipek.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page151" name="page151"></a>Pg 151</span></p> + +<p>Although we are more interested in the people of the present than in +ruins of the past, these old Serbian monuments leave so strange a memory +of a civilization suddenly cut off at its zenith that they have an +emotional appeal far apart from that of archæology. These little oases +of culture preserved amongst a wilderness of Turk tempt the traveller +with a romance which is now vanishing from Roman and Greek ruins.</p> + +<p>The Ipek monastery is a beautiful old place with the walls half buried +on one side. The old church, orange outside, is very dark within, but +contains many beautiful paintings. Surely here is the home of Post +Impressionism and of Futurism. The decorations of the bases of the +pillars are quite futuristic even orpeistic.</p> + +<p>The pictures are Byzantine. But the Turks have picked out the eyes, as +they always do. One enormous painting of a head which filled a +semicircle over a door is particularly fine. Most halos are round, but +the painter had deemed the ears and beard worthy of extra bulges in this +saint's halo, which added to the decorative effect.</p> + +<p>Beautiful apple trees were dotted about the big garden through which the +wriggly river ran. Ducks, geese and turkeys wandered around, so fat that +they were indifferent to the meal that was being served out to them. A +boy woke up the mother of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page152" name="page152"></a>Pg 152</span> family of young turkeys and pushed her +towards the dinner with his foot. She hurried there involuntarily and +sat down for a nap with her back to the plate, the picture of outraged +dignity.</p> + +<p>We got into conversation with a priest, who insisted we should call upon +the archbishop. The Metropolitan was a cheery soul, wearing a +Montenegrin pork-pie hat very much on one side, and black riding +breeches which showed as his long robes fluttered during his many +gesticulations.</p> + +<p>While with him we lost the impression that we were living in the unreal +times of the Rose and the Ring. He was intensely civilized, spoke French +excellently, and had many a good story of his life in Constantinople and +other places. For the English he had great affection. The last +Englishman in Ipek, a king's messenger, had flown to the monastery to +escape from the Hotel Europe and its bugs. The next morning he would not +get up. The archbishop went to his room to remonstrate.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said he; "I spent two nights under a ceiling which rained bugs +upon me, and I know a good bed when I've got it."</p> + +<p>Coffee and cigarettes came in, of the best, and the rakia was a thing +apart from the acrid stuff we were accustomed to.</p> + +<p>He admitted its superiority. The plums came from his own estate, and +were distilled by the monks.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page153" name="page153"></a>Pg 153</span> The great difficulty was to prevent him +from giving us too much.</p> + +<p>We talked of the war, and he related many atrocities, winding up with +"Of course, England must win; but what will become of us in the +meanwhile?"</p> + +<p>That evening we had a visitor. A very large Montenegrin in French +fireman's uniform knocked at the door. He said his name was Nikola +Pavlovitch. He had been sent by the governor to apologise for the +"trouble" Jan had had that morning with the drunken soldier.</p> + +<p>"'E in jail now, 'e verry sorry and say if you forgive 'im, mister, 'e +never touch rakia, never no more. 'E good chap reely. Got too much rakia +this mornin', 'E think about Turks an' get kinder mad some'ow. 'E don't +know what 'e done; first thing 'e knows 'e finds 'imself in river."</p> + +<p>Nikola Pavlovitch was, though not an officer, the commandant of a +contingent of miners from America. The governor had told him also to +offer himself as cicerone for the morrow, the cart having been ordered +for our trip to Dechani.</p> + +<p>We didn't like cicerones and demurred.</p> + +<p>"I kin talk for you," he said. But we owned to speaking Serb.</p> + +<p>"I know all de country, kin tell you things: bin 'ere twenty years +ago."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page154" name="page154"></a>Pg 154</span></p> + +<p>We saw he wanted to come, and noticed that he had a very likable face, +strong features, straight kindly eyes. We realized that he would be a +very pleasant companion and arranged to meet at the stable the next day.</p> + +<p>And so, at last, we drove in one of the queer little Serb carts we had +avoided so anxiously. A few planks nailed together and bound around with +an insecure rail, four wheels slipped on to the axles with no pins to +hold them, a Turkish driver dangling his legs—such was our chariot. +Some hay was produced to improvise a seat; we bought some apples on +tick, as the vendor said he had no change for our one shilling note, and +off we drove.</p> + +<p>Nikola Pavlovitch started yarning almost at once, and we never had a +dull moment. He was a comitaj once, in the old days when Turkey owned +Macedonia and the Sanjak. He said that nearly all comitaj were men of +education and intelligence. When Turkish rule became oppressive, when +too many Christian girls were stolen and vanished for ever into harems, +the comitaj appeared, farms were raided, minute but fierce battles were +fought; but in spite of this continual supervision, occasional and +mysterious murders were needed to keep down the excesses of the Turk.</p> + +<p>Pavlovitch waved a hand towards the sullen mountains of Albania, which +were on our right.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page155" name="page155"></a>Pg 155</span></p> + +<p>"Dose Swabs don' tink o' nuttin' but killin'. Jess ornary slaughter, +Mister Jim. Now dat Jakovitza [a town to the south] dat don't mean +nuttin but 'blood' in their talk, 'lots o' blood' dat's what it means. +Sure. Dese peoples don' respect nuttin but killin'; an' when you've done +in 'bout fifty other fellers you'r reckoned a almighty tough. If you +wanted to voyage dere, f'r instance, you'd 'ave ter get a promise o' +peace, a 'Besa' they calls it, from one of dese tough fellers, and he +makes 'imself responsible to end any feller wat disturbs you; 'e can +post a babby along o' you and so long as the kiddie's wid yer nobody'll +touch you. Dats so, Mister Jim, you bleeve me. But all de same, dey've +fixed it up so's dis killing business ain't perlite wen deres women +about, so every feller taks 'is wife along 'o 'im so's not to be ended +right away."</p> + +<p>Every house by the roadside was a fortress, loopholes only in the ground +floor, windows peering from beneath the eaves and turrets with gunslits +at the second story; here and there were old Turkish blockhouses, solid +and square, showing how the conquerors had feared the conquered.</p> + +<p>"One o' dese tough fellers 'e kill more'n hundred fellers. Great chief +'e is. Wen 'e was sixteen 'is fader get condemned ter prison way in +Mitrovitza. Dis young tough 'e walk inter court<span class="pagenum"><a id="page156" name="page156"></a>Pg 156</span> nex' day, in 'e kill de +judge and two of de officers and 'scape inter de mountains."</p> + +<p>Nick himself when he was a comitaj had twice been caught by the Turks. +Once he was shot in thirteen places at once, but was found by some +Christian women and eventually recovered; the second time the Turks beat +him almost to death with fencing staves, and though they thought him +dying put him on an ox cart and sent him to the interior of Turkey.</p> + +<p>"I was ravin' mad dat journey," he said. "I don' want ter go ter 'ell if +it's like dat."</p> + +<p>They put him in hospital and treated him kindly; but once better they +threw him into a Turkish gaol. He described how the prison was dark as +night, because the poorer prisoners blocked up the windows, stretching +their arms through for doles from the passers-by.</p> + +<p>"We was all eaten wi' lice," he went on, "an' if de folks 'adn't sent me +money an' food I'd a starved to def, sure. 'N den dey bribes de governor +'n a soldier, 'n dey lets me 'scape."</p> + +<p>He lay a cripple in Montenegro six months, but in the summer crawled +down to the Bocche de Cattaro and on the sweltering shores of the +Adriatic built himself a primitive sweat bath. In a few weeks he was +better, and in a few months cured. He then went to the mines in America, +for he dared<span class="pagenum"><a id="page157" name="page157"></a>Pg 157</span> not return to Macedonia. He saved £800 and returned with +it to his sister's in Serbia, but was so oppressed by the misery about +him that he gave away all his money and went back.</p> + +<p>"Dere's lots a mineral in dese mountains, you feller. I show you one +lump feller got a' Ipek, an' I guess it's silver, sure. Wen de war over +you come back an' we'll go over dem places tergedder. Dere's coal too. +Lots."</p> + +<p>He told us that the wretched skeleton who was driving us had power in +Turkish days to commandeer the services of Christian labourers, and to +pay them nothing.</p> + +<p>We passed by placid fields containing cows, horses, donkeys. The country +seemed untouched by war. Those cows could never have drawn heavy carts +and lain exhausted and foodless after a heavy day's work. The horses +reminded one of the sleek mares owned by old ladies who lived in awe of +their coachmen.</p> + +<p>For this all belonged to Dechani, and it was beyond the power of the +state to touch their riches; nor had they been molested even in the days +of Turkish rule.</p> + +<p>"You see, monastery 'e pay money to the toughest Albanians—Albanian +they give besa—and nobody never do no 'arm to the monasteries. Russia +she send much money, she send always her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page158" name="page158"></a>Pg 158</span> priest to Dechani and the +Turks they keep sorter respectful."</p> + +<p>Our first sight of Dechani disappointed us a little, the proportions +lacked the beauty of the Ipek church; but the big old door marked by the +fire the Turks had built against it, decades before, cheered us up a +bit.</p> + +<p>A pleasant priest with a smooth face and ringlets two feet long greeted +us and led us to the little Russian hospital which was fitted into the +Abbey, warning us not to bang our heads against the heavy oak beams in +the corridors.</p> + +<p>The Russians welcomed us heartily, preparing the most wonderful tea, +Australian butter, white bread made with flour brought from Russia.</p> + +<p>Pavlovitch enjoyed himself immensely. Food was thin in the barracks. But +he was very worried about the priest's long ringlets.</p> + +<p>"I'd soon cure 'im, a month diggin' de trench!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>After tea we examined the church. The interior was one miraculous blue: +pictures with blue backgrounds, apostles with blue draperies, blue +skies, a wonderful lapis lazuli.</p> + +<p>Once the Moslems had overpowered the defenders of the church and had got +in, the eyes of some of the saints were picked through the plaster. +Legend runs, however, that while they were desecrating<span class="pagenum"><a id="page159" name="page159"></a>Pg 159</span> the tomb of Tzar +Stephan who founded the church, the tomb of the queen, which lay +alongside, exploded with a violent report and terror struck the Turks, +who fled.</p> + +<p>They showed us the queen's tomb, split from top to bottom. The priests +naturally claim a miracle; but Pavlovitch said, "I tink dey verry +clever, dey done dat wi' gunpowder."</p> + +<p>The Tzar Stephan had wished to build the church of gold and precious +stones, but a soothsayer said—</p> + +<p>"No, my lord, build it of plain stone, for your empire will be robbed +from you, and if it be of gold greedy men will tear it to pieces, but if +it be of plain stone it will remain a monument for ever."</p> + +<p>So he built it of fine marble. The central pillars were forty feet high, +and each cut from a single piece, with grotesque carved capitals. The +great screen was wonderfully carved and gilded. Wherever one looked was +decoration, almost in excess.</p> + +<p>Ringlets invited us to tea with the Russian bishop who was in charge. He +was a stout, sweet-mannered little man, who shook his head woefully over +the war.</p> + +<p>Somehow Pavlovitch discovered that he and the bishop were the same age, +forty-eight. We contrasted Pavlovitch's spare athletic frame with the +well-fed shape of the bishop, and felt<span class="pagenum"><a id="page160" name="page160"></a>Pg 160</span> instinctively which was the +better Christian. Coffee and slatka were brought in. This slatka is +always handed to callers in well-regulated Serbian households. It is jam +accompanied by many little spoons and glasses of water. Each guest dips +out a spoonful, licks the spoon, drinks the water, and places his spoon +in the glass. There is also a curious custom with regard to the coffee. +If a guest outstays his welcome, a second cup is brought in and +ceremoniously placed before him—but, of course, this hint depends upon +how it is done.</p> + +<p>"It is Friday," remarked Pavlovitch, regretfully. "Odder days we gits +mighty good meal." He was very anxious for us to stay the night so that +we should fit in a first-class breakfast, but the morrow was the Ipek +fair, and we could not miss that.</p> + +<p>Night was coming so we hurried off and drove away. The horses went quite +fast, as we had made them a present of some barley. We had discovered +that since the beginning of the war, when they had been requisitioned by +the Montenegrin Government, they had lived on nothing but hay, and the +owner, who was driving them, said that they would soon die, and that +when they did he would not receive a penny and would be a ruined man. He +added pathetically—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page161" name="page161"></a>Pg 161</span></p> + +<p>"One does not like to see one's beasts die like that, for after all one +is fond of them."</p> + +<p>We arrived after dark, and ordered supper for three. The inn lady was +scandalized.</p> + +<p>"But that is a common soldier," she said. "There are many fine folk in +the dining-room, arrived to-day. The General—"</p> + +<p>So we dined upon the landing.</p> + +<p>The next day we got up very early, went down to the dining-room and +found it was full of sleeping forms; we had coffee in our room.</p> + +<p>We wandered round the market. It was still too early, people were +arriving and spreading their wares, men were hanging bright carpets on +the white walls. Beggars were everywhere, exhibiting their gains in +front of them. If one could understand they seemed to cry like this—</p> + +<p>"Ere y'are, the old firm; put your generous money on the real thing. I +'as more misery to the square inch than any other 'as to the square +yard."</p> + +<p>We found bargaining impossible, as they only spoke Albanian, and we +could only get as far as "Sar," how much.</p> + +<p>Pavlovitch turned up later and was very helpful. We hurried him to a +silver shop which was displaying a round silver boss. He beat them down +from sixteen to ten dinars, after which we plunged<span class="pagenum"><a id="page162" name="page162"></a>Pg 162</span> into a side street +filled with women squatted cross-legged behind a collection of +everything that an industrious woman who owns sheep can confection.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing for thee," said an old woman to Jo, who peered into her +basket—Pavlovitch translating.</p> + +<p>Jo withdrew a tiny pair of stockings—a marvel of knitting in many +coloured patterns.</p> + +<p>"What about these?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou children?"</p> + +<p>"No; but how much?" said Jo.</p> + +<p>The price was four piastres. Jo gave four groschen and the old woman +peered anxiously at the money in her palm.</p> + +<p>"It is too much," she said.</p> + +<p>Pavlovitch explained that somehow four groschen worked out to more than +four piastres; but we left her to calculate what fractions of a centime +she had gained.</p> + +<p>Our old innkeeper looked very truculent when we entered.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to lunch here?"</p> + +<p>"No; we left word."</p> + +<p>"Then you can't stay here."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image16" name="image16"> + <img src="images/27.jpg" + alt="IN THE BAZAAR OF IPEK." + title="IN THE BAZAAR OF IPEK." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">IN THE BAZAAR OF IPEK.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image17" name="image17"> + <img src="images/28.jpg" + alt="STREET COFFEE SELLER IN IPEK." + title="STREET COFFEE SELLER IN IPEK." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">STREET COFFEE SELLER IN IPEK.</span> +</div> + +<p>We pointed out that her meals were bad and very dear. She retaliated by +making a fearful noise, and invited us to go and sleep at the Europe;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page163" name="page163"></a>Pg 163</span> +but we remembered the Archbishop's story and stood firm.</p> + +<p>"If you don't leave us in peace we will appeal to the Governor."</p> + +<p>"Do, do. Go to the Governor," said the old lady, her little girl, a +wry-mouthed charwoman and a little boy whom Jo had noticed stealing our +cigarettes. The dog joined in and barked vociferously.</p> + +<p>We went to the Governor who was near by. "They don't understand +innkeeping here, and she is a drunken old slut," he said, and sent for +her husband.</p> + +<p>We went defiantly again to the Europe for lunch.</p> + +<p>Jo had been expressing her wish to Pavlovitch to visit a harem. He came +to tell us that it had been arranged, as the chief of the police was a +friend of his, and he had asked a rich Moslem to let her visit his +wives. The Moslem had graciously assented, saying that he would do it as +a great favour to the chief of the police, and that no "European" woman +had ever visited an Ipek harem.</p> + +<p>We went down the broad street with its brilliant houses, admiring the +gaudy colours of the women's trousers. "What a pity," we said, "that +such a word as <i>loud</i> was invented in the English language."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page164" name="page164"></a>Pg 164</span></p> + +<p>Outside a huge doorway were sitting the chief of police and the wealthy +Albanian. We were introduced with great ceremony, and the Moslem, losing +no time, took Jo through the doorway into a courtyard. At the end was +another door guarded by a responsible-looking Albanian. He stood aside, +and she entered another court full of trees and a basket-work hut. She +passed through the lower story, which was full of grain, and ascended +into a beautiful room with a seat built all round it.</p> + +<p>It was entirely furnished with carpets. He waved his hand to the seat, +called to his wives much as a sportsman summons his dogs, and left.</p> + +<p>They came in, three women, simply dressed in chemise and flowered cotton +bloomers. Their voices were shaking with excitement, and they were +fearfully upset because Jo got up to shake hands with them.</p> + +<p>They only spoke Albanian, and a few words of Serb. One had been very +beautiful, but her teeth were decayed, another was a healthy-looking +young woman, and the third was frankly hideous.</p> + +<p>They brought coffee, the chief wife presenting it with her hand across +her chest—a polite way of saying—</p> + +<p>"I am your slave."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page165" name="page165"></a>Pg 165</span></p> + +<p>Jo spoke Serb, and they clearly said in Albanian—</p> + +<p>"If only we could tell what you are saying."</p> + +<p>After which every one sat and beamed, and they kept calling for +somebody.</p> + +<p>A plump dark-eyed girl came in, the first wife's daughter. She spoke +Serb, and interpreted for the wives.</p> + +<p>They wanted to know everything, but knew so little that they could grasp +nothing.</p> + +<p>Where had Jo come from? She tried London, Paris; no use, they had never +heard of them—two weeks on the sea—they didn't know what the sea was, +nor ships nor boats. They had never left Ipek and only knew the little +curly river.</p> + +<p>The girl said that "devoikas" did not learn to read and write. That was +for the men.</p> + +<p>Jo finally explained that she had ridden on horseback from Plevlie. Then +they gasped—</p> + +<p>"How far you have travelled! What a wonderful life, and does your +husband let you speak to other men?"</p> + +<p>She asked them what they did.</p> + +<p>"Nothing." "Sewing?" "A little," they owned with elegant ease.</p> + +<p>The chief wife had recently lost one of her children, but did not seem +to know of what it had died.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page166" name="page166"></a>Pg 166</span></p> + +<p>"I should think a woman doctor would be useful here," said Jo.</p> + +<p>They screamed with laughter. "How funny! Why, she would be <i>so</i> thick!" +they said, stretching their arms as wide as they could.</p> + +<p>They kept inventing pretexts for keeping her, but when she rose to go +for the third time they regretfully bade her farewell, the daughter took +both her hands and imprinted a smacking kiss.</p> + +<p>Outside the healthy-looking wife emerged from the basket hut, where she +was evidently preparing some delicacy to bring up, and showed signs of +deep disappointment.</p> + +<p>The responsible-looking man who let her out also expressed his regrets +that she had not stayed longer. In the great street doorway was seated +the husband, but no Jan, no Pavlovitch, so Jo sat with him, somewhat +embarrassed, eating bits of apple which he peeled for her.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon we went to bid farewell to the Archbishop and took +Pavlovitch with us. The Archbishop gave Pavlovitch a poor welcome until +he heard his name.</p> + +<p>"Are <i>you</i> Nikola Pavlovitch, of whom I have heard so much from the +Governor? I thought you were only a common soldier. I have met you at +last."</p> + +<p>We felt we were really consorting with the great.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page167" name="page167"></a>Pg 167</span></p> + +<p>Jo related her harem experiences, and he told of the attempts of the +young Turks in Constantinople to abolish the veil, of how he had +assisted at small dinner parties where the ladies had discarded their +veils, and of the ferocity with which the priests and leaders had fought +and quashed the movement.</p> + +<p>One lady had ventured unveiled into the bazaar, and one of the lowest of +women had given her a blow on the face. On appealing to a policeman she +had received small comfort, as he told her she ought to be ashamed of +herself.</p> + +<p>As we went home we met women coming home from the fair with unsold +carpets. They accosted us and wanted to know why we were writing them in +the morning so that they could tell their relatives all about it.</p> + +<p>When we reached our bedroom the old innkeeper came in. In dulcet tones +she admired our purchases. We were rather stiff.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she fell upon Jo's neck saying, "You mustn't be angry with me," +and remained there explaining.</p> + +<p>When she left, Jo looked gravely at Jan, took a toothcomb, let down her +hair, and worked hard for a while.</p> + +<p>Next day we went for a long walk. As we were returning a terrific storm +burst over us. We had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page168" name="page168"></a>Pg 168</span> left our mackintoshes in the inn, and were soon +wet through. We got back just at supper time, and after, as Jan had no +change of clothing, he decided to go to bed in his wet things, heaping +blankets and rugs over himself in the hopes of being dry by the morrow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/29.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page169" name="page169"></a>Pg 169</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE HIGHWAY OF MONTENEGRO—II</h3> + + +<p>Jan awoke nearly dry, or in a sort of warm dampness, at 4.30 a.m. Not a +soul was about, and we packed by candle. There was a purple dawn, and +the towering cliffs behind the minarets glowed a deep cerise for at +least ten minutes ere the light reached the town. The streets were still +and deserted, but at last an old man with a coffee machine on his back, +and a tin waistbelt full of pigeon-holes containing cups, took a seat at +a corner. At six he was surrounded by groups of Albanian workmen +drinking coffee, and he beckoned us to come and take coffee with him, +but we were suspicious of the cleanliness of his crockery. A +miserable-looking woman in widow's weeds was loitering about the door of +the post office, and with her was a tattered girl surrounded by trunks, +suit-cases, and bandboxes, so we guessed they were there to be fellow +passengers. A waggon loaded with boxes halted before them, but the widow +declined to let <i>her</i> baggage go by it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page170" name="page170"></a>Pg 170</span></p> + +<p>At last the post waggon came. It was a small springless openwork cart +with a rounded hood on it, so that it could roll when it upset—which +was the rule rather than the exception—luggage accommodation was +provided only for the "soap and tooth-brush" type of traveller; but the +widow insisted upon packing in all her movables, and after that we four +squeezed into what room was left. The seat was low, one's chin and knees +were in dangerous proximity, and a less ideal position for travelling +some thirty-five miles could not be imagined. The widow's portmanteau, +all knobs and locks, was arranged to coincide with Jo's spine. The +tattered maid was loaded with five packages on her knees which she could +not control, so we looked as cheerful as we could and said to ourselves, +"Anyway it will do in the book."</p> + +<p>At the start Jan was rather grateful for the squash, for the air was +chilly; soon the damp, exposed parts of his clothing cooled to freezing +point, and it was lucky that they were not more extensive.</p> + +<p>As we rolled over the craters and crests of the—what had once +been—stone-paved streets, the driver halted, here to buy a large loaf +of bread, there to purchase smelly cheese, and finally to pick up a +gold-laced officer, whom we took to be the post-guard. The driver, who +sat back to back with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page171" name="page171"></a>Pg 171</span> Jan, grumbled at him because he took up too much +room. But Jan replied that it was his own fault for not making the +carriage bigger, and that his knees were not telescopic. We received the +post of Montenegro, for this was the only road out; it consisted of +three letters and a circular, so we judged that Montenegrin censorship +was pretty strict.</p> + +<p>The road was flat, the surrounding country covered with little scrubby +oak bushes, in and out of which ran innumerable black pigs who had long +cross pieces bound to their necks to prevent them from pushing through +hedges into the few maize fields. As the miles passed Jan slowly began +to dry, his temperature went up and his temper became better. The widow, +we discovered, was the relict of a Greek doctor who had died of typhus +in Plevlie, and she was returning to her native land.</p> + +<p>Presently we came to a small inn, a hut like all others, and the driver +commanded us to get out. By this time we were accustomed to the sight of +nobles kissing market women relatives, and it did not surprise us to see +the officer embrace the rather dirty hostess of the inn and kiss all the +children; but when he took his place behind the bar and began to serve +the coffee!... It was a minute before we realized that he had not been +guarding<span class="pagenum"><a id="page172" name="page172"></a>Pg 172</span> the three letters and the circular, but merely was returning +home.</p> + +<p>At the Montenegrin frontier, which was some hours on, a soldier asked us +for a lift, as though he could not see that we were already bulging at +all points with excess luggage; at the Serbian frontier Jan was asked +for his passport, and as they did not demand that of the widow, we +concluded that they imagined her to be Mrs. Gordon, and Jo and the +tattered one, two handmaids.</p> + +<p>Immediately over the frontier the road began to be Serbian, but not as +Serbian as it became later on, and we reached Rudnik—and lunch—in good +condition. Another carriage similar to our own was here, containing a +Turkish family. The father, a great stalwart Albanian, and the son a +budding priest in cerise socks. The priest was carrying food to his +carriage, and we discovered that a woman was within, stowed away at the +back like the widow's luggage, and carefully protected by two curtains, +so that no eye should behold her. Her sufferings between Rudnik and +Mitrovitza can be imagined when you have heard ours.</p> + +<p>From Rudnik we walked to ease our cramped limbs, and the road became so +bad that the driver went across country to avoid it. Here is the receipt +for making a Serbian road.</p> + +<p>"The engineer in charge shall send two hundred<span class="pagenum"><a id="page173" name="page173"></a>Pg 173</span> bullock trains from Here +to There. He shall then find out along which path the greater number +have travelled (<i>i.e.</i> which has the deepest ruts), after which an +Austrian surveyor shall map it and mark it, 'Road to There.' Should the +ruts become so deep that the carts are sliding upon their bottoms rather +than travelling upon their wheels, an overseer must be sent to throw +stones at it. He and ten devils worse than himself shall heave rocks +till they think they have hurt it enough, when they may return home, +leaving the road ten times worse than before, for the boulders by no +means are to fill the ruts, but only to render them more exciting."</p> + +<p>Oh, we walked. Indeed, we walked a good deal more than the driver +thought complimentary, we got out at every uphill, and put steam on so +that we should not be caught on the downhills. By supreme efforts we +managed to get in four hours' walking out of the torturous thirteen. +Once—when we were a long way ahead—we were stopped by a gendarme.</p> + +<p>"Where are your passports?" demanded he.</p> + +<p>"In the post-waggon," replied Jan.</p> + +<p>"Why did you leave your passports in the post-waggon?"</p> + +<p>"Because they were in the pocket of my great-coat."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page174" name="page174"></a>Pg 174</span></p> + +<p>"Why did you leave your great-coat in the post-waggon?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is hot."</p> + +<p>"I shall have to arrest you," quoth the gendarme.</p> + +<p>But his officer came from an adjoining building and told him not to make +a fool of himself, and on we went, taking short cuts, following the +telegraph poles, which staggered across country like a file of +drunkards.</p> + +<p>Eventually the carriage caught us up and the driver insisted that we +should get in. He added that he could not lose all day while we walked, +and that he would never get to Mitrovitza; it seemed superfluous to +point out that we had gone quicker than he, but to avoid argument we +clambered in. The driver, in a temper, slashed his horses, and off we +went, over ruts and stones full speed ahead. It was like being in a +small boat in a smart cross-choppy sea, with little torpedoes exploding +beneath the keel at three minute intervals; and this road was marked on +the map as a first-class road; the mind staggers at what the second and +third-class must be like. These countries are still barbarous at heart, +but Europe cries out upon open atrocities, and so they have invented the +post-waggon. After all, pain is a thing one can add up, and the sum +total of misery produced by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page175" name="page175"></a>Pg 175</span> the post, travelling daily, must in time +exceed that of the Spanish Inquisition. Thus do they gratify their +brutal natures.</p> + +<p>We bounded along. The brakes did not work, the carriage banged against +the horses' hocks, who, in turn, leapt forwards, and our four heads met +in a resounding thump in the centre of the waggon; after which Jo +insisted that the widow should turn her hatpins to the other side. The +widow's luggage cast loose and hit us in cunning places when we were not +looking. The cart rocked and heaved, and we expected it to turn over. +There were other waggons on the road—heavy, slow ox carts, exporting +wool or importing benzine or ammunition, with wheels of any shape bar +round—some were even octagonal; and as they filed along they gave forth +sounds reminiscent of Montenegrin song, a last wail from the hospitable +little country whose borders we were leaving behind us.</p> + +<p>The driver promised us a better road further on; but the better road +never came, and we hung on waiting for something to break and give us +relief. There were hints, it is true, unfinished hints: some day men +will be able to travel in comfort from Mitrovitza to Ipek, but the day +is not yet. It is strange how the human frame gets used to things, and +we grew to believe that our driver not only liked, but joyed in each +extra bang and jolt—collected<span class="pagenum"><a id="page176" name="page176"></a>Pg 176</span> them as it were—for certainly he never +avoided anything, though occasionally he wound at the brake, but that +was only for show, because he knew that it did not work.</p> + +<p>We reached Mitrovitza at dark with bones unbroken, and rattled down a +road with vague white Turkish houses upon one side, and a muddy looking +stream reflecting dull lights on the other. One last lurid lunge, we +leapt across a drain and broke a trace bar, but too late, we had +arrived.</p> + +<p>The Hotel Bristol was full—why are there so many hotels in Serbia named +Bristol?—but we were received by a stupid-looking maid at the Kossovo, +and were given a paper to sign, saying who we were. Then down to the +restaurant, where we had a beefsteak which was a dream, and back to bed, +which was a nightmare, for all night long we bounced and banged and +bruised our journey over again, and awoke quite exhausted.</p> + +<p>The first impression of a town which is entered by moonlight is usually +difficult to recover on the following morning, it is often like the +glimpse of a pretty girl caught, say, in a theatre lobby, and the charm +may never be rewoven. So it was with Mitrovitza, which in daylight +seemed just a dull, ordinary Turkish town. The Prefect was a bear, and +sent us on a long unnecessary walk to the station, a mile and a half. +Sitting on the road was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page177" name="page177"></a>Pg 177</span> the dirtiest beggar we had yet seen. As we came +towards her she chanted our praises, bowing before us and kissing the +dust; but she aroused only feelings of disgust and getting nothing, she +turned to curses till we were out of sight. The chief imports at the +station seemed to be cannons and maize; the only exports, millstones, +which looked like and seemed almost as palatable as Serbian bread. We +did our business without trouble, and coming back the beggar praised us +once more till we had passed, then hurled even louder curses after us.</p> + +<p>We came to a tiny café in which were faint tinkling, musical sounds.</p> + +<p>Jan: "I wonder what that is?"</p> + +<p>Jo: "It sounds queer: shall we explore?"</p> + +<p>Jan: "I dunno, perhaps they wouldn't like us."</p> + +<p>Jo: "Come along. Let's see anyhow."</p> + +<p>And up we went. In a large room was a deep window seat, and in the +window the queerest little Turkish dwarf imaginable. The little dwarf +was sitting cross-legged, and was playing a plectrum instrument. His +head was huge, his back was like a bow, and his plectrum arm bent into +an S curve, which curled round his instrument as though it had been bent +to fit. He was a born artist, and rapped out little airs and trills +which made the heart dance. There were three soldiers at tables,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page178" name="page178"></a>Pg 178</span> and +presently one sprang out on to the floor and began to posture and move +his feet, a woman joined him; the little man's music grew wild and more +rapid; another man sprang in, another woman joined, and soon all four +were stamping and jigging till the floor rocked beneath them. We gave +the little man a franc for his efforts, and his broad face nearly split +in his endeavour to express a voiceless gratitude.</p> + +<p>We were no longer royalty, we were just dull, ordinary everyday folk, +and at the station had endless formalities to go through, examinations +of passes, etc., during which time all intending passengers were locked +in the waiting-room. But at last we were allowed to take seats in the +train, and off we went.</p> + +<p>We passed through the plain of Kossovo where old Serbian culture was +prostrated before the onrush of the Turk, and whence Serbia has drawn +all its legends and heroes; possibly the most unromantic looking spot in +all Europe, save only Waterloo. Here, far to the left, was Mahmud's +tomb:—Mahmud the great victor, stabbed the day before the battle, and +dying as he saw his armies victorious. History contains no keener +romance. Serge the hero, accompanied by two faithful servants, galloped +to the Turkish camp, and commanded an interview with the Moslem +general,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page179" name="page179"></a>Pg 179</span> who thought he was coming to be a traitor. In face of the +Divan the hero flung himself from his horse, drew his sword, and stabbed +Mahmud where he sat, surrounded by his armies. Before the astounded +guards had recovered their surprise, Serge was again upon his great +charger and was out of the camp, cutting down any who barred his +passage. Mahmud did not die immediately, and his doctors slew a camel +and thrust him into the still quivering animal; when the dead beast was +cooling, they slew another, and thus the Moslem was kept alive till the +Serbian hosts had been overthrown. He and the Serbian Czar were buried +on the same field—one dead in victory, one in defeat.</p> + +<p>We trundled slowly over the great plain whose decision altered the fate +of the world, for who knows what might have grown up under a great +Byzantine culture? The farms were solidly built houses with great +well-filled yards, surrounded by high and defensible walls. We came into +stations where long shambling youths, dressed in badly made European +clothes, lounged and ogled the girls in "this style, 14/6" dresses. +Signs of culture!</p> + +<p>Why should the bowler hat, indiarubber collars, and bad teeth be +indissolubly bound to "Education Bills" and "Factory Acts"? Why should +the Serbian peasant be forced to give up his beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a id="page180" name="page180"></a>Pg 180</span> costume for +celluloid cuffs, lose his artistic instincts in exchange for a made-up +tie? It is the march of civilization, dear people, and must on no +account be hindered.</p> + +<p>Coming back to Serbia from Montenegro was like slipping from a warm into +a cool bath. One is irresistibly reminded that the Lords of Serbia +withdrew to Montenegro, leaving the peasantry behind, for every peasant +in the black mountains is a noble and carries a noble's dignity; while +Karageorge was a pig farmer. There is a warmth in Montenegro—save only +Pod.—which is not so evident in its larger brother; a welcome, which is +not so easily found in Serbia. The Montenegrin peasant is like a great +child, looking at the varied world with thirteenth-century unspoiled +eyes; centuries of Turkish oppression has dulled the wit of the Serb, +and at the outbreak of the war Teutonic culture was completing the +process.</p> + +<p>We passed beneath the shadow of Shar Dagh, the highest peak in the +peninsula, six thousand feet from the plain, springing straight up to a +point for all to admire, a mountain indeed.</p> + +<p>We reached Uskub at dusk, found a hotel, and went out to dine. The +restaurant was empty, but through a half-open door one could hear the +sounds of music. The restaurant walls were—superfluously—decorated +with paintings of food which<span class="pagenum"><a id="page181" name="page181"></a>Pg 181</span> almost took away one's appetite; but one +enormous panel of a dressed sucking pig riding in a Lohengrin-like +chariot over a purple sea amused us.</p> + +<p>In the beer hall a tinkly mandoline orchestra was playing, and a woman +without a voice sang a popular song—one thought of the women on the +Rieka River—a tired girl dressed in faded tights did a few easy +contortions between the tables, and in a bored manner collected her meed +of halfpence—we thought of the cheery idiot of Scutari. Was it worth +it, we asked each other, this tinsel culture to which we had returned? +And not bothering to answer the question went back to our hotel and to +bed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/30.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page182" name="page182"></a>Pg 182</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>USKUB</h3> + + +<p>Uskub is a Smell on one side of which is built a prim little French town +finished off with conventionally placed poplars in true Latin style; and +on the other side lies a disreputable, rambling Turkish village +culminating in a cone of rock upon which is the old fortress called the +Grad.</p> + +<p>The country about Uskub is a great cemetery, and on every hand rise +little rounded hills bristling with gravestones like almonds in a +tipsy-cake. Strange old streets there are in Uskub. One comes suddenly +upon half-buried mosques with grass growing from their dilapidated +domes, a refuge only for chickens; some deserted baths, and in the midst +of all, its outer walls like a prison and with prison windows, the old +caravanserai.</p> + +<p>We crept to its gateway and through a crack saw visions of a romantic +courtyard. The gate was locked, and we asked a little shoemaker—</p> + +<p>"Who has the key?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page183" name="page183"></a>Pg 183</span></p> + +<p>"It is now a leather tannery," he answered, and directed us to a +shoemaker in another street. This was full of shoemakers, and we chased +the key from shop to shop. It was like "Hunt the slipper." At last we +ran it to earth in the second waistcoat of a negligent individual in a +fez.</p> + +<p>How happy the merchant of old must have felt when he entered the +courtyard after a long journey! The court was big and square, with a +fountain in the centre, the pillars were blue, and the arches red. Tiers +upon tiers of little rooms were built around; the expensive ones had +windows and the cheap ones none, and the door of each was marked by the +smoke of a thousand fires which had been lit within. Underneath were +cubby holes for the merchants' goods, and behind it all was a great dark +stable for the animals. Once shut up in the caravanserai one was safe +from robbers, revolutions, and the outside world. Lying in the doorway, +as if cast there by some gigantic ogre in a fit of temper, were two +immense marble vases, and two queer carved stone figures. Who made these +figures? Mystery—for Turkey does not carve. The old caravanserai no +longer gives protection to the harassed traveller, it only cures his +boots, for it has fallen from sanctuary to shoemakers, and the leather +workers of Uskub cure their hides therein. Hence, despite its beauty, we +did not loiter long,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page184" name="page184"></a>Pg 184</span> for we have ever held a bad smell more powerful +than a beautiful view.</p> + +<p>Why don't towns look tragic when their bricks reek of tragedy? Why is +industrial misery the only form in which the cry of the oppressed is +allowed to take visible shape and to make the reputation of Realist +artists? In Uskub is concentrated the whole problem of the Balkans and +of Macedonia. Her brightly painted streets are filled with Serb, Bulgar, +and Turk, each disliking the rule of the other, the Bulgar hating the +Serb only worse than the Turk because the Serb is master. To the +inquiring mind it is problematic how much of this hate is national, and +how much political. Deprive these peasant populations of their jealous, +land-grabbing propagandist rulers, and what rancour would remain between +them? Intensive civilization, such as has been applied to these +states—civilization which has swept one class to the twentieth century, +while it leaves the others in its primitive simplicity—seems always to +produce the worst results. Nations can only crawl to knowledge and to +the possessions of riches, for politics to the simple are like "drinks" +to the savage and equally deadly in effect.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image18" name="image18"> + <img src="images/31.jpg" + alt="A WINE MARKET IN USKUB." + title="A WINE MARKET IN USKUB." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">A WINE MARKET IN USKUB.</span> +</div> + +<p>Can the problem ever be resolved? Can Serbia with half her manhood wiped +out stand against her jealous neighbours? The creation of a lot<span class="pagenum"><a id="page185" name="page185"></a>Pg 185</span> of +small states on republican principles seems a far-fetched idea, and yet +it seems the best, especially if the menace of Turkey were removed, for +there is little doubt that Turkey, rearmed by the German, might make one +more effort to regain her lost territory under conditions vastly +different from those which ruled in the Balkan conflict. Macedonia, +Albania, and what is now Turkey in Europe, each made self-governing +under the shield of the Alliance—why not?—and Serbia as compensation +allowed to expand towards the north into territories which are wholly +Serb in nationality and in feeling.</p> + +<p>We went through the pot market, whose orange earthenware was glowing in +the sun, and came upon an old house with such a wonderful ultramarine +courtyard that we went in to look. Over the door was written <span class="smcap">Old +Serb Café Jansie Han</span>. After sketching there we entered the inn for +coffee, and sat at tables made of thick blocks of marble smoothed only +at the top. The innkeeper said it was built in the days of the Czar +Duchan. If this were true, one would say that never had the interior +been whitewashed since then. But there was an air of cosiness about it, +and we visited it several times after. Near by was a little church with +a wonderful carved screen and a picture of Elijah going to heaven<span class="pagenum"><a id="page186" name="page186"></a>Pg 186</span> in a +chariot drawn by a pink horse, with the charioteer bumping along on a +separate cloud, which served as the box. We watched the sun set from one +of the tipsy-cake hills, sitting on a gravestone with an old Turkish +shepherd, who seemed to derive great comfort from our company.</p> + +<p>The mountains around reflected the rosy lights of the sun in great flat +masses.</p> + +<p>The muezzin sounded from the many minarets, and twilight was on us. +Uskub, romantic, dirty, unhealthy Uskub, was soon shrouded in mist; a +vision of unusual beauty.</p> + +<p>One thought of the awful winter it had passed through, when dead and +dying had lain about the streets. Typhus, relapsing fever, and typhoid +had gripped the town. Lady Paget's staff, while grappling with the +trouble, had paid a heavy toll, as their hospital lay deep on the +unhealthy part of the city. For a time the citadel was in the hands of +an English unit. Before they were there it was a Serbian hospital, and +the staff threw all the dirty, stained dressings over the cliff, down +which they rolled to the road. The peasants used to collect these +pestiferous morsels and made them into padded quilts. Little wonder that +illness spread! In the summer Lady Paget's hospital withdrew to some +great barracks on the hill. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="page187" name="page187"></a>Pg 187</span> paths were made of Turkish tombstones, +which were always used in Uskub for road metal.</p> + +<p>The hospital staff was saddened by the recent death of Mr. Chichester, +who had, like ourselves, just returned from a tour in the western +mountains, where he caught paratyphoid and only lived a few days.</p> + +<p>One of the doctors had been in Albania, on an inoculating expedition. At +Durazzo he had been received by Essad Pacha, who was delighted to have +his piano played, and to watch the hammers working inside. Like Helen's +babies, "he wanted to see the wheels go wound." The piano and piles of +music must have been a memento of the Prince and Princess of Wied and of +their unhappy attempts at being Mpret and Mpretess—or is it Mpretitza, +or Mpretina? The music was still marked with her name, and was certainly +not a present to Essad.</p> + +<p>The stamp of the English was on Uskub. Prices were high. One Turk +offered us a rubbishy silver thing for fifteen dinars; and Jan laughed, +saying that one could see the English had been there. Without blushing +the man pointed to a twin article, saying he would let that go for five +dinars.</p> + +<p>What caused us to feel that we had wandered enough? Was it the awful +cinematograph show which led us through an hour and a half of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page188" name="page188"></a>Pg 188</span> melodrama +without our grasping the plot, or was it that the large copper tray we +bought filled us with a sense of responsibility?</p> + +<p>At this wavering moment Lady Paget held a meeting of her staff. We +lunched there, and part of the truth leaked out after the meeting.</p> + +<p>The Bulgars really were coming in against us, and in a day or two we +were to see things.</p> + +<p>That decided the matter. We went to the prefect's office for our pass. +Firstly, we were ushered into a room occupied by a man in khaki, whose +accent betrayed that he hailed from the States. He was "something +sanitary," and belonged to the American commission, so we tried again. +This time the porter took us up to a landing, said a few words into a +doorway, and left us standing. As he was wandering in our vicinity, Jo +tried one of her two talismans: it is the word "<span class="smcap">Preposterous</span>" +ejaculated explosively, and is safely calculated to stagger a foreign +soul. The other is a well-known dodge. If a person bothers you, look at +his boots with a pained expression. He will soon take himself off—boots +and all.</p> + +<p>The talisman worked, the pass was quickly managed, and we had but to +spend our time among the shops again. We resisted the seductions of an +old man with fifty knives in his belt,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page189" name="page189"></a>Pg 189</span> who reminded Jo of a horrible +nightmare of her infancy.</p> + +<p>In her dream a grandfather with a basket had come peddling. Suddenly his +coat, blowing aside, revealed not a body, but a busy sewing-machine in +excellent working order. In her agitation, Jo fell out of bed.</p> + +<p>We sat consuming beer outside a café decked with pink flowered bushes in +green boxes. One of the antique dames who cook sausages in the shadow of +the cafés brought us a plate each—funny little hard things—and we +bought cakes and nougat from perambulating Peter Piemen.</p> + +<p>The station platform was like the last scene of a pantomime. Every one +we had met on our journeys rushed up and shook us by the hand.</p> + +<p>First a Belgian doctor, from Dr. Lilias Hamilton's unit in Podgoritza. +He said Mrs. G. was also in the town, and that the others were all +coming shortly. Then we met a young staff officer from Uzhitze, who was +noted for his bravery. The train came in and we stumbled up to it in the +dark. There was a crowd of women about the steps in difficulty with +heavy bags. Jan ran forward to help one. She turned round. It was a +sister from Dechani. The rest turned<span class="pagenum"><a id="page190" name="page190"></a>Pg 190</span> round. It was the whole Russian +mission from Dechani.</p> + +<p>We proceeded along the corridor, and ran into two men. We mutually began +to apologize.</p> + +<p>"Hello," we said, "how did you get here?" They were two Americans we had +met in Salonika.</p> + +<p>We got our seats and went out of the train by the other door. As we +passed the compartment we saw a familiar face. It was the little French +courier.</p> + +<p>"Quel pays," he said, bounding up. "Et les Bulgars, quoi?"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord," said Jan. "Let's go out and get some fresh air."</p> + +<p>The only people lacking to complete the scene were the Sirdar and Dr. +Clemow.</p> + +<p>A doctor who had just arrived from Salonika asked us to look after four +English orderlies who, new to the country, were travelling to the Red +Cross mission at Vrntze. With them were two trim, short-skirted, heavy +booted, Belgian nurses, who were going to a Serbian field hospital.</p> + +<p>The train crawled. At times it was necessary to hold one's breath to see +if we were moving at all. It was always possible that the Bulgars<span class="pagenum"><a id="page191" name="page191"></a>Pg 191</span> had +blown up a bridge or so. One could imagine an anxious driver, his eyes +fixed on the line in front, looking for Bulgarian comitaj.</p> + +<p>The travellers were restless. Our little French courier stood in the +corridor looking fiercely at the black night; his back view eloquently +expressive of his opinion of the Balkans.</p> + +<p>Later on we all slept. A frightful braying sound awoke us.</p> + +<p>No, not Bulgars—only the band. Same band, same station, same hour, same +awful incompetence.</p> + +<p>So the princess had nothing to do with it!</p> + +<p>Trainloads bristling with ragged soldiers passed us—open truck-loads of +them, carriage tops covered with sleeping men, some were clinging to the +steps and to the buffers.</p> + +<p>Nish station had lost its sleepy air. Every one was energetically doing +everything all wrong. The four orderlies and the two Belgian sisters +were minus their passports. Some one had taken them away. These were run +to earth in the station-master's office, and as the party had no idea +where to go, we suggested they should come with us to the rest-house.</p> + +<p>The first person we met there was Dr. Clemow.</p> + +<p>"Have you got the Sirdar with you?" we asked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page192" name="page192"></a>Pg 192</span></p> + +<p>He answered that he had brought Paul, the young Montenegrin interpreter, +with him. The English units in Montenegro had been recalled, and he had +come to Nish to try to rescind the order for his unit.</p> + +<p>The town was at its gayest. The cloud had not yet dimmed the market. +Peasants poured in, knowing nothing of the Bulgars, little thinking that +they would be flying, starving, dying, in a few weeks' time. A Chinese +vendor of paper gauds had come into the town, and all the pretty girls +were wearing his absurdities pinned on to their head kerchiefs. One girl +was so fine and bejewelled that we photographed her, to the delight of +her lover, who stood aside to let us have a good view.</p> + +<p>A man was selling honey in the comb accompanied by his bees, which must +have followed him for miles. They testified their displeasure at his +selling their honey by stinging him and most of the buyers.</p> + +<p>No one seemed to know when the train was leaving. Station-master, +porters, all had a different tale. At last we decided to risk seven +o'clock in the evening, and the four orderlies and ourselves, copper +tray and all, bade farewell to the Belgian sisters, who had cut off +their hair, and wandered across to the station. The train arrived two +hours<span class="pagenum"><a id="page193" name="page193"></a>Pg 193</span> late and stood, ready to go out, guarded by tatterdemalions with +guns.</p> + +<p>"You can't get in yet," said one of them barring our way.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Ne snam."</p> + +<p>The freebooting instinct arose in us; we awaited our opportunity, dodged +between two soldiers, and settled ourselves comfortably. Several +officials looked in and said nothing; another came and forbade us to +stay there, and passed on. An old woman came with a broom and cleaned +up. We sat on our feet to get them out of the way, somebody squirted +white disinfectant on the floor, and we were left in peace.</p> + +<p>The train started at eleven, moved as far as a siding and stayed till +four. We found the four Red Cross men had only nine shillings between +them. Three had stood all the way from Salonika, as during an +unfortunate moment of interest in the view their seats had been +appropriated by a fat Serbian officer, his wife and daughter. The +fourth, a porter from Folkestone, had settled down on the floor, saying +"he wasn't going to concarn himself with no voos."</p> + +<p>They had new uniforms, yellow mackintoshes, white kit bags, and +beautiful cooking apparatus,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page194" name="page194"></a>Pg 194</span> which took to pieces and served a thousand +purposes.</p> + +<p>In the chilly morning we got out at Stalatch, just too late for the +Vrntze train. Luckily the station café was open.</p> + +<p>The four Englishmen ordered beefsteak, but were given long lean +tasteless sausages. They asked for tea and were given black Turkish +coffee in tiny cups half full of grounds. We asked about the trains, and +were told we should catch the one next day. We argued, and extracted the +promise of a luggage train, which would soon pass.</p> + +<p>Why is it that in Serbia they always, on principle, say, "You can't," +after which under pressure they own, "Somehow you can"? In Montenegro +they say, "Certainly you can," after which they occasionally find that +"Somehow you can't."</p> + +<p>At last the luggage train came. We sat on the step dangling our legs and +peering down at the country below us.</p> + +<p>We were again held up at Krusevatz and bearded the officials. They +promised to put on a special carriage for us when the next luggage-train +should come in, some time that evening.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image19" name="image19"> + <img src="images/32.jpg" + alt="BIG GUN PASSING THROUGH KRUSEVATZ." + title="BIG GUN PASSING THROUGH KRUSEVATZ." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">BIG GUN PASSING THROUGH KRUSEVATZ.</span> +</div> + +<p>Nothing for it but to lunch and to kill time. We watched the mountain +batteries pass on their way to the Bulgarian frontier. One or two big<span class="pagenum"><a id="page195" name="page195"></a>Pg 195</span> +cannon trailed by, drawn by oxen. Many horses looked wretched and +half-starved.</p> + +<p>The Englishmen built a camp fire by the rail-road. Soon tea was brewing; +we drank, and chewed walnuts, stared at by crowds of patient Serbian +soldiers.</p> + +<p>We travelled with the treasurer of the district, a charming man who +revelled in stories of a mischievous boyhood spent in a Jesuit +establishment. The fathers had stuck to him nobly until he had mixed red +paint with the holy water, and one of the fathers, while administering +the service, had suddenly beheld his whole congregation marked on the +forehead with damnatory crosses like criminals of old time. That ended +his school days. He introduced us to an officer, whose business it was +to search for spies, a restless man who was always feeling under the +seats with his feet. Perhaps it was only cramp! The four Englishmen, +cheered at the thought that their long journey was nearing its end, +burst into song. The Serbs stood round listening to the melodies that +were so different to their own plaintive wailings, and presently asked +us to translate. We don't know if the subtleties of "Didn't want to do +it," or "The little grey home in the west," were very clear in the +translations, as they seemed puzzled.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page196" name="page196"></a>Pg 196</span></p> + +<p>Arrived at Vrntze, we found no carriages to meet us. The station-master +at Krusevatz had promised to telephone, but as usual had not done it. We +had to break the news to our Englishmen, who, their songs over, had +naturally fallen into tired depression, and had to tell them that a +three-kilometre walk was before us, and one man had better stay to look +after the baggage. Carriages were telephoned for, but they would be long +in coming.</p> + +<p>They were! We arrived at the village—no carriages. We agitated. The spy +searcher came out of the café—to which he and the "Bad Boy's Diary" man +had driven—and made people run about. They said the carriages had +already gone. We denied it, so they woke up the coachman.</p> + +<p>We took the three men to the hospital and went back to sit in the café +with our new friends and met many old ones. The local chemist cheered +and promised us a present of mackintosh cotton to celebrate our return. +We had spent Easter morning in his shop eating purple eggs and drinking +tea enlivened with brandy, while the choir came in and chanted beautiful +Easter songs to us.</p> + +<p>An hour rolled by, the café closed, our friends disappeared. We went to +meet the carriages from the station; at last they arrived, with Mr. Owen +half asleep amidst the kitbags.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page197" name="page197"></a>Pg 197</span></p> + +<p>It was far into the night when we arrived at our hospital burdened with +our two bags and the copper tray.</p> + +<p>The night nurse, a kitten, and a round woolly puppy welcomed us.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/33.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page198" name="page198"></a>Pg 198</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>MAINLY RETROSPECTIVE</h3> + + +<p>Hospital work again. How strange we felt. A sad-faced little Serbian +lady, widowed through typhus, was interpreting for the out-patients +while Jo was away; but she was alone in the world and did not want to +go—so Jo, homesick for her beloved out-patients, had to make the best +of it and do other work. The Serbian youth who had been put on the staff +as secretary, was dangerously ill with typhoid fever, which he had +picked up at Kragujevatz. The typhus barrack was a children's hospital, +containing little waifs chosen from the out-patients, and a few women.</p> + +<p>In the early days when we had first arrived at Vrntze there were several +overfilled Serbian and one Greek hospital. They were only cafés and +large villas, unsanitary, stuffy, and overworked. The windows were never +open, and through the huge sheets of plate glass could be dimly seen in +the thick blue tobacco smoke a higgledy-piggledy crowd of beds. Often +two men lay in one bed covered with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page199" name="page199"></a>Pg 199</span> their dirty great coats, while +typhus patients and wounded men slept together. One man lay unconscious +for several days in the window, his feet in his dinner-plate. At last he +died, his feet still in the dinner. Mr. Berry took on a hydropathic +establishment which had been completed just before the first Balkan War. +This was used as the central hospital, where the staff lodged, and the +most serious surgical cases were nursed. In the basement an +operating-room was rigged up, there were bathrooms, disinfecting-rooms, +a laundry, and an engine-house, where gimcrack German machinery in fits +and starts provided us with electric light and hot water. The village +school on the hill opposite was annexed and cleaned by a sculptor, a +singer, a painter, and a judge of the Royal Horse Show. This was run as +a convalescent home, and was the cause of many a muddy sit down, as it +lay on the top of a greasy hill.</p> + +<p>Other large buildings were gradually added, sulphured, and cleaned until +we had six hospitals, one of which was run for some time in connection +with the Red Cross unit.</p> + +<p>Typhus had not stricken the village badly, but the old barracks were +full of cases which developed several days after each batch of wounded +came.</p> + +<p>The Red Cross unit took on the typhus barracks.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page200" name="page200"></a>Pg 200</span> Mr. Berry, seeing that +surgery was for the moment a secondary thing, and having received a +batch of Austrian prisoners riddled with typhus, built some barracks not +far from the school. Glass was unobtainable, so thin muslin was used for +the windows.</p> + +<p>The first precaution against bad air that Mr. Berry took in preparing +his chief surgical ward was to smash all top panes of the windows with a +broom, thus earning the name of the Window Breaker. Whenever the wind +blew through the draughty corridors and glass rattled down from the +sashes, word went round that "Mr. Berry has been at it again."</p> + +<p>Our unit and the Red Cross ran a quarantine hospital together. It was +originally the state café and lay in the park of the watering-place. +Near by were the sulphur baths. We ripped out the stuffy little wooden +dressing-rooms, to the joy of the bath attendant, who possessed the +facsimile of Tolstoi's face, and with the <i>débris</i> we built a large shed +outside for the reception of the wounded.</p> + +<p>In the early days they came in large batches from other hospitals, +pathetic septic cases, their lives ruined for want of proper care. We +put their clothes in bags for future disinfecting, and the men, mildly +perplexed, were bathed, shaved, and sent to the "clearing-house," as it +was called.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page201" name="page201"></a>Pg 201</span> Those who developed typhus went to the barracks, and the +rest were drafted to the various hospitals in the village.</p> + +<p>The clothes were first sulphurized to kill the lice, and then, until Dr. +Boyle's disinfector appeared, boiled. This was important, as typhus is +propagated by infected lice. Even forty-eight hours of sulphur did not +destroy the nits. One day the sulphur-room was opened after twenty-four +hours. Live lice were discovered congregated round the tops of the bags. +Jan put some in a bottle. They immediately fought each other, tooth and +nail, rolling and scrambling in a mass just like a rugby-football scrum, +and continued the fight for twelve hours at least, thus proving that the +scientific writer who says that the louse is a delicate creature and +only lives a few hours off the body can know little of the Serbian +breed.</p> + +<p>The town, when we arrived, was a bouquet of assorted and nasty smells, +of which the authorities seemed proud. We cleaned up the streets by +running a little artificial river down the gutter. Mr. Berry had the +chief of the police sacked and instituted a sort of sanitary vigilance +committee. We took over the local but very primitive sewage works—a +field into which all the filth of the town was drained.</p> + +<p>The slaughter-house was discovered. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page202" name="page202"></a>Pg 202</span> an old wooden shed built +over the lower end of the stream which washed the village from end to +end, draining successively the typhus barracks, the baths, and all the +hospitals. The shed itself was old and worm-eaten. The walls were caked +with the blood of years, yet the meat was always hung against them after +having been well soused in the filthy water. Mr. Berry decided to build +a new one: some of the money was subscribed through Mr. Blease by the +Liverpool Liberal Club; the rest Mr. Berry paid himself. At once the +state began to quarrel with the commune as to the ownership of the +proposed treasure. So the smells disappeared and the town engineer was +furious, saying he would "Put all right" when we left.</p> + +<p>Luckily one of the chief men in the town had lived in America and knew +the value of cleanliness. Mr. Berry was offered an honorary Colonelcy; +but he refused, saying he would prefer to be made sanitary officer for +the town.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image20" name="image20"> + <img src="images/34.jpg" + alt="IN-PATIENTS." + title="IN-PATIENTS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">IN-PATIENTS.</span> +</div> + +<p>The spring came, bringing with it no fighting. A great offensive was +expected, had been ordered, in fact, but we heard later that the army +refused to advance. The work was very much lighter. Very few men were +entirely helpless. The hospitals, which were still emptying themselves +and whose men were coming to us, sent the survival of the fittest. Most +of the beds were carried out under<span class="pagenum"><a id="page203" name="page203"></a>Pg 203</span> the trees after the morning +dressings were done, and the men lay gossiping and smoking when they +could get tobacco. Outside visitors were rare. The Serbian ladies do not +go round the hospitals with cigarettes and sweets, and to find a Serbian +woman nursing is an anomaly.</p> + +<p>Report says that many flung themselves into it with energy during the +first Balkan War, but that four years of it, ending with typhus, had +dulled their enthusiasm. It is not fair to blame them. To nurse from +morning till night in a putrid Serbian hospital with all windows closed +requires more than devotion and complete indifference to life. Three +Serbian ladies came to sew pillow cases and sheets every afternoon, and +one of them gave up still more time to teach the patients reading and +writing.</p> + +<p>But the town was full, in the summer, of smartly dressed women, and the +village priest never once visited our hospitals. Hearing of the English +missions and their work, peasants began to come from the mountains +around, and the out-patient department became, under Dr. Helen Boyle, a +matter for strenuous mornings.</p> + +<p>Many of these poor things had never seen a doctor in their lives. Serbia +even in peace-time had not produced many medical men, and those who +existed had no time to attend the poor gratis.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page204" name="page204"></a>Pg 204</span></p> + +<p>The percentage of consumptives was enormous. Every family shuts its +windows and doors for the winter and proceeds industriously to spit, and +so the disease spreads.</p> + +<p>Diphtheria patients rode and walked often for ten hours and waited in +the courtyard, and people far gone with typhus staggered along in the +blazing spring sun.</p> + +<p>One jolly old ragatops with typhus arrived in the afternoon with a +violent temperature, and Jo settled him comfortably in the courtyard +with his head on a sink until Mrs. Berry should come in to see about +taking him into the barracks. He seemed quite happy about himself, but +very worried about his blind beggar brother and his two half-blind +children, whose sight had been ruined by smallpox.</p> + +<p>For the latter nothing could be done.</p> + +<p>Another time she kept two boys waiting to see if Mrs. Berry could take +them into her typhus barracks. One had scarlet fever, and the other was +a young starving clerk in a galloping consumption, thirty-six hours from +his home.</p> + +<p>Afraid to raise their hopes, and not knowing if there would be room for +them, Jo told them that they were to have some very strong medicine that +could only be administered two hours after a dose of hot milk and +biscuit (the medicine was only<span class="pagenum"><a id="page205" name="page205"></a>Pg 205</span> bovril). By this time Mrs. Berry arrived +and managed to squeeze the boys in.</p> + +<p>However, we were told to clear the hospitals, for the wounded were +expected.</p> + +<p>"What could be done with the scarlet fever boy?" At last an idea came: +"The Mortuary," built by the Horse Show Judge with such joy. The +mortuary that we had all gone to admire as a work of art.</p> + +<p>But the scarlet fever boy did not seem to see it that way, for in the +night he escaped, and we have never seen him since.</p> + +<p>Diphtheria was so prevalent that the Red Cross on receiving a patient, +gathered in the whole family for a few days, inoculated, washed, and +gargled it. They also toured the villages around, digging out typhus and +other infectious cases, thus stopping the spread of infection. They had +a most energetic matron, Miss Caldwell, who had already nursed in +Cettinje during the Balkan Wars, and we have already told how she +managed the Montenegrins.</p> + +<p>Often the patients came in ox-carts. Too ill to be lifted out, they had +to be examined and treated in the carts. Dr. Boyle acquired a special +nimbleness in jumping in and out of these contrivances armed with +stethescope, spoons, bowls, and dressings. We accumulated a congregation +of "regulars," who came to be dressed every day—gathered feet, +suppurating glands, eczema, etc.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page206" name="page206"></a>Pg 206</span></p> + +<p>One old mother with a bad leg was bandaged up with boracic ointment and +told to come back in two days. She came. Jo undid the bandage. All the +old lady's fleas had swarmed to the boracic till it looked like a +fly-paper. After which we used Vermigeli.</p> + +<p>All wore brightly woven belts, sometimes two or three, each a yard and a +half long, tightly wound round their bodies, thus making their waists +wider than their hips. One girl was black and blue with the pattern +showing on her skin, and many men were suffering from the evils of tight +lacing.</p> + +<p>The village priest received belts as fees from the peasants when he +married them. He sent us a message to say he had some for sale, so we +went in a body to his house, were received by his daughter, who looked +like a cow-girl, turned over a basketful of belts, and bought largely. +After which he put up the price.</p> + +<p>Jo went on night duty for the first time.</p> + +<p>A queer experience this, starting the day's work at half-past seven in +the evening and finishing at seven in the morning—breakfasting when +other people are dining; hearing their contented laughter as they go off +to bed; and then a queer loneliness and the ugly ticking of a clock. One +creeps round the big ward. What a noisy thing breathing is.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page207" name="page207"></a>Pg 207</span> Some one +groans, "Sestra, I cannot sleep." This man has not been ordered morphia. +Silence once more broken only by the sound of the breathing, distant +howling of dogs from the darkness or the hoot of an owl. The old +frostbite man coughs; he coughs again insistently. Both say "Yes" to hot +milk. So down to the big kitchen, some mice scatter by, the puppy wakes +up and thinks it is time for a game. A woman's voice calls loudly, +"Sestra." Taking the milk off, Sestra hurries across the courtyard and +along the corridor to the little rooms with the puppy tugging at her +skirt. The woman wants water; she has wakened the other women—they want +water. When silence again comes back into the ward, one notes +instinctively the vivid colouring of the two big blue windows at the far +end, the long lines of beds disappearing into the darkness, the dim +light of the lantern on the table showing up the cheap clock and a few +flowers. The intensity of light upon this clock is only equalled by the +intensity of one's thoughts upon the clock. The minute-hand drags on as +though it were weary with the day's work. A groan ticks off the quarters +and cries for water or milk the half-hours. At last one o'clock. Time +for a midnight meal. Eggs and cocoa hurriedly eaten without appetite in +the kitchen, but breaking the monotony. Back to the ward again, one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page208" name="page208"></a>Pg 208</span> +the patients very restless, in great pain. Poor fellow, he has had a +long and hard time of it, fifteen months in bed and all due to early +neglect.</p> + +<p>"Sestra," he says, "sestra," and holds out a handkerchief heavy with +coin. "Tell the doctor to take me down to the operating-room and cure me +or not let me wake up."</p> + +<p>Between four and five there is more movement in the ward. Groans give +way to yawns. In the windows the blue is paling to grey. Cocks are +crowing now quite close, now faintly, like an echo. Suddenly the world +is filled with work, "washings, brushings, combings, cleanings, +temperatures, breakfasts, medicines, some beds to make, reports, all +fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle, until at last the day-sisters come +and relieve, and yawning at the daylight one eats warmed-up dinner while +the others are having breakfast."</p> + +<p>After a seven weeks' absence one was bound to miss many old friends in +the ward. Some had gone home, others were back in the army. Old Number +13, the king of the ward, was still there. He had a dark brown face and +white hair, and was furious if any dared to call him a gipsy.</p> + +<p>"I am a respectable farmer," he said, "and I own seventeen pigs, a +horse, and five sheep, a wife, and two children."</p> + +<p>He loved to tell of his wedding. It was done<span class="pagenum"><a id="page209" name="page209"></a>Pg 209</span> in the correct old Serbian +style. He went with his mother and a gun to the chosen one's house, +where she was waiting alone, her parents tactfully keeping out of the +way. They abducted the lady, who was treated with great honour as a +visitor in her future father-in-law's house.</p> + +<p>"Father" turned up next morning. Rakia was served, and father divulged +ceremoniously how many pigs he could spare to them for keeping his +daughter.</p> + +<p>Number 13 wanted to know everything: how old was Jo, how much she was +paid?</p> + +<p>"What, you are not paid?" he said in amazement. "Then the English are +wonderful! In Serbia our women would not do that."</p> + +<p>Poor little John Willie still left a blank, though he had died long +before. His name was not John Willie, but it sounded rather like it, so +we just turned it into John Willie. He loved the name, and told his +father about it.</p> + +<p>They sat all afternoon hand-in-hand, saying at intervals, "Dgonn Oolie," +and chuckling.</p> + +<p>Jan once had brought back from a spring visit to Kragujevatz some +horrible sun hats.</p> + +<p>They were the cast-off eccentricities of the fashions of six years ago, +and had drifted from the Rue de la Paix to this obscure Serbian shop +which was selling them as serious articles of clothing. Jo<span class="pagenum"><a id="page210" name="page210"></a>Pg 210</span> tried them +on, and one of the nurses became so weak with laughter that she tumbled +all the way downstairs.</p> + +<p>Finding them quite impossible, Jo bequeathed them to the ward, where +they were snapped up enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>The ugliest was an immense sailor hat, the crown nearly as wide as the +brim, but the head hole would have fitted a doll. However, John Willie +fancied that hat and was always to be seen, a tiny, round-backed figure, +wandering slowly in a long blue dressing-gown, blue woolly boots, and +the enormous hat perched on the top of his pathetically drooping head.</p> + +<p>One day poor little John Willie became fearfully ill. His parents +arrived and sat dumbly gazing at him for two nights, while he panted his +poor little life away. His friend the Velika Dete (big child), once a +fierce comitaj, was moved away from the "Malo Dete," to make more room, +and he sulked, while the Austrian prisoner orderlies ran to and fro with +water for his head, milk, all the things that a poor little dying boy +might need; and old Number 13 passed to and fro shaking his head, for he +had been long in hospital and had seen many people die.</p> + +<p>A man with knees bent (he said with scroogling them up all winter in the +cold) was put in John<span class="pagenum"><a id="page211" name="page211"></a>Pg 211</span> Willie's place. The Velika Dete came back, but he +would not speak to "Bent Knees" for weeks.</p> + +<p>By this time the Austrian prisoners were very well trained and made +excellent orderlies in the ward. An ex-Carlton waiter was very dexterous +in sidling down the ward: on his five fingers a tray perched high, +containing dressing-bowls and pots bristling with forceps, scissors, and +various other instruments.</p> + +<p>His chief talent lay in peppering frostbitten toes with iodoform +powder—a reminiscence of the sugar castor.</p> + +<p>Our housemaid was a leather tanner, whom Jo's baby magpie mistook for +its parent, as he fed it at intervals every morning. A Czech in typhus +cloths spent his days down in the disinfecting, operating and bathrooms. +He had been an overseer in a factory and had added to his income by +writing love-stories for the papers. A butcher was installed in the +kitchens. Once a week he became an artist, killing a sheep according to +the best Prague ideals.</p> + +<p>All our prisoners, about forty in number, clung to the English hospitals +as their only chance of life, for in other places sixty per cent. had +died of typhus.</p> + +<p>The Serbs, though bearing no animosity, could do little for them. We saw +the quarters of some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page212" name="page212"></a>Pg 212</span> men working on the road. These were show quarters +and supposed to be clean. Each room had an outside door. On the floor +was room for six men and hay enough to stuff one pillow. They had no +rugs, and the Serbs could give them none. The cold in the winter must +have been intense.</p> + +<p>We had come back to this little world after seven weeks' wandering, and +almost immediately Jan had gone off to Kragujevatz with a broken motor.</p> + +<p>While he was away Jo got letters from England and Paris, which made her +realize that things were rather in a mess, and we should have to go +home. We had left England intending to stay in Serbia three months, and +had been then nearly nine.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/35.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page213" name="page213"></a>Pg 213</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>SOME PAGES FROM MR. GORDON'S DIARY</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">October 2nd</span>. Got a wire from Kragujevatz to say that the motor +hood is ready and that we must go over to get it fitted. We cleaned and +oiled the car, and at two ran it down the hill, but it would not start. +Found two sparking plugs cracked and the magneto very weak. When we had +fixed it up it was too late. Four a.m. to-morrow morning.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">October 3rd</span>. Started in the dark, Mr. Berry, Sister Hammond, +Sava, I, and a female relation of some minister or other who wanted to +go to Kralievo. The motor working badly, as it is impossible to get the +proper spare parts. Three young owls were sitting in the middle of the +road scared by our headlights; we hit one, the other two flew away. Sava +and I stopped and tinkered at the old machine for about an hour, changed +all the sparking plugs again, after which she went better. We reached +Kralievo without incident, where we cast loose the female relation. From +Kralievo passed over the Morava, which was pretty<span class="pagenum"><a id="page214" name="page214"></a>Pg 214</span> floody and had +knocked the road about a bit. The road led right through the Shumadia +country, where the first revolts of the Serbian nation against their +Turkish oppressors were engendered. We passed the old Serbian +churchyard. I never passed by without going in. These queer old +tombstones all painted in days when pure decoration had a religious +appeal, these tattered red and white and black banners lend such a gay +air to death; these swords and pistols and medals carved into the stone +seem almost carrying a bombast to heaven. On one side of each tombstone +is the name of its owner, preceded by the legend, "Here lies the slave +of God." Do slaves love their masters?</p> + +<p>When we passed this road in the winter, black funeral flags hung from +almost every hut, and even now the rags still flap in the breeze. A +Serbian boy, clad in dirty cottons, shouted to us, making +gesticulations. We slowed down and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Bombe," he cried. "Aeropla-ane. Pet," he held up five fingers, "y jedan +je bili slomile. Vidite shrapnel."</p> + +<p>He pointed. We saw a quiet, early autumn landscape, the blue sky +slightly flecked with thin horizontal streaks of cloud. Any scene less +warlike could not have been imagined.</p> + +<p>"Vidite tamo," he cried once more.</p> + +<p>Straining our eyes one could just see, between<span class="pagenum"><a id="page215" name="page215"></a>Pg 215</span> the lowest strata of +cloud, a series of small white round clouds floating.</p> + +<p>"Shrapnel," said Sava, pointing.</p> + +<p>"They hit one," said Mr. Berry.</p> + +<p>I let in the clutch, we sped on once more. Bang! a tire burst.</p> + +<p>Motor driving in Serbia is not a profession, it is an art. We were on +another of these first-class Serbian roads. Presently we came to a long +downhill.</p> + +<p>"That is the place," said Mr. Berry to Sister Hammond, "where we spent +the night last winter when the motor stuck in the mud. There, beneath +that tree."</p> + +<p>We shrugged our way down the hill, and presently came into the gipsy +environments of Kragujevatz.</p> + +<p>A man stopped us, holding up a hand.</p> + +<p>"Bombe," he said.</p> + +<p>We got out. In the soft earth at the side of the road was a neat hole, +four inches in diameter. Peering down we could see the steel handle of +the unburst bomb. We next passed a smashed paling, in the garden behind +a crowd were searching for relics. An old woman had been killed, they +said. We turned into the main street and plunged into a large crowd. The +pavement had been torn up, and people were grubbing in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page216" name="page216"></a>Pg 216</span> mud; pieces +of charred wood were passed from hand to hand.</p> + +<p>"That's a bit of propeller," said one. "No; it's a bit of the frame," +said another. A girl proudly held up a large piece of map scorched all +round the edges.</p> + +<p>"And the men?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"Nemachke (Germans)," answered the crowd; "both dead; one here, one over +there," pointing to the middle of the road.</p> + +<p>We came into the Stobarts' camp, pitched up on the hill behind the +Kragujevatz pleasure ground.</p> + +<p>"Did you see the aeroplanes?" they cried, running towards us.</p> + +<p>"No," we answered; "but we saw the shrapnel."</p> + +<p>"One was hit—it was wonderful. They were flying just over here, and a +shrapnel burst quite close; and then one saw a thin stream of smoke come +from the plane; then a little flicker. It seemed to fall so slowly. Then +it burst into flames and came down like a great comet."</p> + +<p>"D——n!" we said: "if only that machine had been working right +yesterday."</p> + +<p>We took our car down to the arsenal, and I left Sava to take it to bits +and get it opened out, for there had been a bit of a knock in the crank +case. The remains of the smashed aeroplane were piled<span class="pagenum"><a id="page217" name="page217"></a>Pg 217</span> in the yard, and +from the way it had twisted up without breaking one could see from what +beautiful metal the machinery was made. Some of the French experts +denied that the guns had hit it—giving as their reason that one of its +own bombs had exploded. But one of the engineers put his hand into a big +hole which was beneath the crank case and drew out a shrapnel ball. I +thought that would settle it, but the Frenchmen were not convinced. The +shells were bursting fifty metres too low, they said. Fifteen bombs had +fallen about the arsenal, and one man, a non-commissioned officer, had +been killed.</p> + +<p>Met Hardinge and Mawson: they both saw the aeroplane fall, and were not +fifty yards from the place where it struck.</p> + +<p>Walked back to the Stobarts' camp for lunch. A French aeroplane had come +over from Belgrade too late; now it rose slowly in the air and sailed +off. Saw the two dead aviators; both had evidently been killed at once, +for they were charred, not blistered.</p> + +<p>Colonel Phillips, ex-Governor of Scutari, and English military attaché, +came up with the Italian attaché. A bomb had fallen just before the +colonel's house and missed his servant by a hair's-breadth. The Italian +was in a room opposite the Crown Prince's palace; he thought that the +falling<span class="pagenum"><a id="page218" name="page218"></a>Pg 218</span> machine was going to crash through the roof, but it fell in the +street not ten yards away. The camp itself was packing hard, for Mrs. +Stobart had just decided to form a "flying field ambulance."</p> + +<p>Mr. Berry and I had a tent assigned to us.</p> + +<p>October 4th. Awoke to sounds like some one hitting a board with a +mallet. Ran outside. One found the aeroplane from the little clouds of +shrapnel, for it was flying very high, and was like a speck. Clouds of +smoke were rolling from one quarter of the town, and we thought that a +big fire was beginning, but it was extinguished. Another aeroplane came +later. The guns began long before it could be seen. It dropped two bombs +over the powder factory, and two in the town. Mrs. Stobart ordered +everybody from the camp; but nobody left except the patients, who were +driven a mile out and dumped in a wood. A long procession of townsfolk +filed continuously by, running from the danger. The aeroplane dropped +two more bombs in the town, and came back flying right over the camp. It +was a queer feeling, staring right up at the plane, and wondering if +another bomb were not falling silently towards one.</p> + +<p>I went down to the arsenal to see about the car; and Mr. Berry and Miss +Hammond went off to see the anti-aircraft guns. Mrs. Stobart had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page219" name="page219"></a>Pg 219</span> asked +me to go out on the Rudnik road to see a car which had broken down, and +had promised to send a motor to fetch me. Before we could leave, news +was brought that another aeroplane had been telephoned. Presently we +could hear the guns beginning. Hardinge turned up, and we looked out for +the machine. We saw the aeroplane coming straight towards us; everybody +rushed for the cellars, but I wanted to stay outside for the last +moment. Hardinge was with me. Suddenly I lost sight of the plane. I ran +farther out to look for it, and suddenly there was a report, and a great +column of smoke just outside the arsenal. There was another behind the +rifle shops, and another behind the boiler sheds. Now the aeroplane was +overhead. I heard a noise like tearing silk, and lay flat upon the +ground shouting to Hardinge—</p> + +<p>"Lie flat, d——n you!"</p> + +<p>It seemed ages before it burst. Dust and bits flew everywhere; the +windows all sprang out into the yard. I looked for Hardinge, but he was +unharmed. I had expected to be terrified, but I was feeling so bothered +about Hardinge that I had no time to think about myself.</p> + +<p>We heard a shrill crying, "Oh—h! oh—h!"</p> + +<p>I ran forward, crying to Hardinge, "A man's hurt!" He answered, "Is he?" +The dust was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page220" name="page220"></a>Pg 220</span> so thick I could not see at first, but as it cleared I +found a workman lying on back and elbows, his knees drawn up as though +he were trussed; his head waved from side to side, and he was uttering +spasmodic cries. I said to him, "Where? where?" and he placed a hand to +his stomach.</p> + +<p>The man had been struck just below the ribs by a large piece of bomb, +blood was welling from the wound, so I pushed his shirt into it, and ran +back to the office. Mrs. Stobart's car had been brought by a lady and a +youth named Boon, who had both taken cover in the cellar; so I dug up +the girl, whose name I have forgotten, as I hoped she knew "first aid." +Together we ran to the man, leaving Boon to bring the ambulance. +"Bandages," we demanded. "Haven't any," answered the few Serbs who had +gathered round; "the first aid house has been blown to pieces." We +crammed our handkerchiefs into the place, and a cotton-wool arm pad +which was brought, and we then took off the man's own puttees and tied +him up with them. As we were doing this somebody cried—</p> + +<p>"Aeroplanes returning."</p> + +<p>Immediately every Serb and Austrian fled. The girl, Hardinge, and I were +left alone. It was a false alarm. With the returning crowd came a large +man, who was weeping.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image21" name="image21"> + <img src="images/36.jpg" + alt="BROKEN AEROPLANE IN THE ARSENAL AT KRAG." + title="BROKEN AEROPLANE IN THE ARSENAL AT KRAG." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">BROKEN AEROPLANE IN THE ARSENAL AT KRAG.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image22" name="image22"> + <img src="images/37.jpg" + alt="WHERE THE PLANE FELL." + title="WHERE THE PLANE FELL." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">WHERE THE "PLANE" FELL.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image23" name="image23"> + <img src="images/38.jpg" + alt="HOUSE NEAR THE ARSENAL DAMAGED BY BOMBS." + title="HOUSE NEAR THE ARSENAL DAMAGED BY BOMBS." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">HOUSE NEAR THE ARSENAL DAMAGED BY BOMBS.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Oh, my poor brother! oh, my poor brother!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page221" name="page221"></a>Pg 221</span> What have they done to +thee? Why should this evil have befallen thee?"</p> + +<p>As we finished tying him up, Hardinge said, "Is it any good lying down?"</p> + +<p>I answered, "If this poor chap had been lying down he would not have +been hurt."</p> + +<p>There was no stretcher, so we lifted the wounded man on a blanket into +the ambulance, which Boon had now brought. The girl and the brother +climbed within. I took the steering wheel. Boon wound up the engine, and +swung alongside me. The driving was a difficult problem. Whether to +drive fast and get to the hospital, or whether to go slow and spare the +wounded man as much pain as was possible? The road was awful: once it +had been laid with stone pavement, but many of the stones were missing, +and in so bad a condition was it that although several bombs had fallen +in the streets, one could not distinguish the bomb craters from the +ordinary holes in the road. At last I decided that as it was not a +fracture I would go as quickly as I dared. Above the clatter of the +machinery I could hear the weeping of the brother and the intermittent +cries of the wounded man, "Water, water."</p> + +<p>"I think he's going," said the girl through the curtains.</p> + +<p>At last we reached the hospital. We laid the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page222" name="page222"></a>Pg 222</span> man on the ground and the +doctors did all they could. But it was useless, the piece of shell had +cut in directly beneath the heart. In ten minutes he was dead. I turned +to the brother and laying both hands upon his shoulders said—</p> + +<p>"Your poor brother was too badly hit. We could not save him."</p> + +<p>He stared at me for a moment, not understanding. Then he turned and +flung himself down upon the body, weeping more bitterly than before.</p> + +<p>I went to the ambulance and took it back to its place.</p> + +<p>The aeroplane returning from the arsenal had flung three gratuitous +bombs at the camp itself, one had fallen in the Serbian hospital yard, +and had killed an Austrian prisoner; one had fallen in the top corner of +the camp field, but had not exploded. The third had missed, only by a +little, the room in which the two dead German aeroplanists were lying, +had plunged into the Stobarts' storeroom, and had burst in the last case +of marmalade which they possessed. It was an awful mess. Had it fallen +three yards to the left it would have killed the chief cook, who was +just on the other side of the wall.</p> + +<p>I went back to the arsenal. None of the bombs<span class="pagenum"><a id="page223" name="page223"></a>Pg 223</span> had struck any important +part, almost all had fallen in open places, though one had burst on the +roof of the woodshed, only a few yards from the petrol store. Two cans +of petrol had been punctured by bits of shell, and Austrian prisoners +were hurriedly pumping them out. Almost half the work of the arsenal was +done by Austrian prisoners. Another bomb had fallen in the horseshoe +store, and inside horseshoes were everywhere, some even sticking in the +beams like great staples. I had no idea before that the bombs had such +force. Sava said he had been standing in a doorway and a bomb had +exploded quite close, a piece had whizzed by his nose and had torn down +the name board over his head. When he turned round to go on with the +work the aide had fled and never appeared again.</p> + +<p>I met Dr. Churchin. He is one of the best Serbs I have yet met, a +philosopher. He was looking after the English units in Kragujevatz and I +learnt did it excellently, and with a devotion to his duties altogether +unusual. He told me that I had been nominated an honorary captain; but I +am under the impression that it is an honour I cannot by national law +accept.</p> + +<p>We went in the afternoon in the car towards Rudnik to examine the one +which had broken down. I soon saw that nothing could be done<span class="pagenum"><a id="page224" name="page224"></a>Pg 224</span> on the +spot, and ordered it to continue its "bullocky" progress to the camp. In +the evening went off to the Government motor school, where I found my +old friend Ristich and Colonel Derrock; both these men are first-class +Serbs—jolly, keen and friendly.</p> + +<p>October 5th. Our car not being finished, Mr. Berry and Sister Hammond +went back to Vrntze in a car lent by Colonel Derrock. I was to stay till +all the repairs were completed on ours. There was another scare of +aeroplanes, and the whole town emptied itself, families pouring by en +route for the country; but the planes did not come. I went down to the +arsenal and got on with the repairs. Dr. May lent me her camera and I +got some photos. Mrs. Stobart went off with her "flying field force," +taking with her nearly all the men and almost all the cars: if the +hospital get many serious cases I imagined that they would be dreadfully +shorthanded.</p> + +<p>In the night the two German aeroplanists were buried without military +honours. The Serbs said that they were assassins and deserved nothing. +Still, Kragujevatz is an arsenal.</p> + +<p>October 6th. Another aeroplane scare; town emptied itself once more. Dr. +MacLaren and I rushed off to the anti-aircraft guns, hoping to get some +photos; but nothing occurred. Got the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page225" name="page225"></a>Pg 225</span> Rudnik car running by taking Mr. +McBlack's useless car to pieces. In the evening two sisters went to +Uskub. One of the sisters went to get her bag, and I took what I thought +to be a short cut to help her. I passed between the tents, and was +striding along, when—Plop! I found myself swimming in a deep tank of +water. The sister heard me fall, and ran back to the camp crying out—</p> + +<p>"Help, help! The stranger is drowning in the bath-water sewage tank."</p> + +<p>I clambered out, and hastily fled to my tent, where kindly souls brought +me an indiarubber bath and hot water. I also got some refugee pyjamas, +in which I wandered about for the rest of the evening. My clothes were +taken to the kitchen and hung over the big stove.</p> + +<p>October 7th. Went to the arsenal in borrowed refugee clothes miles too +large. Worried the car till it worked. At lunch clothes dry. Got away by +three, Hardinge coming with us. Night came on before we got home. Our +car is a beastly nuisance in the dark, the lamps, electric and worked +from the magneto, only giving light when going at full speed, which is +impossible on these roads. I was just boasting to Harding that I had +never run into anything except the owl, when I hit a cow. Figures +appeared cursing from the darkness;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page226" name="page226"></a>Pg 226</span> we cursed back for allowing the +animal to stray; other figures appeared cursing on our side. The motor +was pushed back, the cow got up and walked off, and on we went. Found Jo +on night shift. Got some supper, fixed up a bed for Hardinge, and so +self to bed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/39.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page227" name="page227"></a>Pg 227</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>LAST DAYS AT VRNTZE</h3> + + +<p>Up till now Vrntze was undisturbed by the war; the fine ladies were +walking the streets much as usual, and were bringing pressure upon +Gaschitch, the commandant, to make us close one of our hospitals, so +that it might be reopened as a lodging-house. The chemist and Jan had an +amusing conversation about the uncle of Nicholas I. It seems he was a +great poet.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said the chemist, earnestly, "I can assure you that he was one of +the greatest poets that ever has lived. Were Serbian a language as +universally spoken as is English, he would stand beside Shakespeare in +the world's estimation, if not before. The depth of his philosophy, sir, +it is astounding and so deep. There are passages in his poetry which I +have studied for weeks on end and never yet been able to understand."</p> + +<p>The true explanation is that the great poet translated an old work of +German philosophy into<span class="pagenum"><a id="page228" name="page228"></a>Pg 228</span> Serbian, and very likely did not understand all +the original himself.</p> + +<p>We got more letters urging us to return. Our studios in Paris and all +our work of the last eight years seemed in danger of being sold up. So +Jan went once more to the Chief. He asked us to stay until at least the +first batch of wounded arrived, for none of the others had had +experience of the receiving arrangements, and of the disinfecting. We +moved our beds and baggage to the school, which Jo was to take over as a +convalescent hospital.</p> + +<p>By the way, one of our doctors had a queer soothsaying experience. She +was told that she was one day going to a foreign country with an S in +the name. She would be quite safe in her first job, but that she would +be offered a post in a large grey building from which if she accepted +she might not escape alive, but in any case would be flying for her +life, and that she and all her companions would suffer great hardships +and sleep on dirty straw in awful places. She was offered a job at the +Farmers' hospital in Belgrade. She refused. It is a great grey building, +and we now heard that Belgrade was being violently bombarded and all had +to escape. Rumours came of great German attacks on Shabatz and +Obrenovatz.</p> + +<p>The next day Serbian refugees arrived from<span class="pagenum"><a id="page229" name="page229"></a>Pg 229</span> Belgrade itself: they said +that the town was in flames and that fierce fighting was taking place in +the streets. Posheravatz was deserted, and a great battle was raging +about its outskirts. There were reports that the King of Bulgaria had +abdicated and that the Germans at Chabatz had been defeated, leaving +8000 prisoners in Serbian hands. Neuhat came to Jan in great glee.</p> + +<p>"We have captured a German major," he said, "and he says that never was +there a soldier like the Serb. He has fought English and French and +Russians, but he says our troops are the most wonderful of all."</p> + +<p>"Jolly sensible chap," said Jan. "I'd say the same myself if I was a +prisoner."</p> + +<p>Major Gaschitch told Dr. Berry that if the Serbian army retreated we +were to retreat with them. Blease and Jan got hard at work putting rope +handles to the packing-cases and labelling them for special purposes. +One of our lady doctors was valued in the morning. In the outpatient +department a question arose about marriage. A Serb patient said—</p> + +<p>"I can marry any time I like. Pah! In Serbia one can get two maidens for +twopence, and three widows for a mariasch (1/2<i>d.</i>)."</p> + +<p>Everybody was now running about with maps, violently explaining the +situation to everybody<span class="pagenum"><a id="page230" name="page230"></a>Pg 230</span> else, and all explaining differently. Major +Gaschitch had fixed Novi Bazar as our probable haven, and Mr. Berry +borrowed our map to see if there were a direct road over Gotch mountain, +and suggested that Jan might get a horse and ride over to see. Alas, +only a fourth-class road was marked, and heaven knows what that may be +like: lots of country and choose for yourself probably. A woman was +brought in with what she said was a bullet through the breast; it +occurred during the celebration of the marriage ceremony, which lasted a +week. The girl was brought by her father, the bridegroom having rushed +off to the church to pray. The wound looked very like a dagger thrust.</p> + +<p>The new slaughter-house was a fine erection. The walls were almost +finished and the roof was being assembled. One of the Austrian prisoners +had discovered a talent for stone carving, and Miss Dickenson was +designing a frieze for the door and on each side. There was a fine +ceremony—while we had been away—at the foundation, and Mr. Berry made +a speech in Serbian. The disinfector had also arrived and was soon got +into working order.</p> + +<p>The news got better. The Austrians were now driven out of Belgrade with +immense slaughter, the whole line of the Danube and of the Save had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page231" name="page231"></a>Pg 231</span> +been reoccupied by the Serbs. Blease and Jan wondered if it were +necessary to go on with the rope handles. Our first wounded man arrived +in the evening, a non-commissioned officer, with a slightly wounded +thumb. He had arrived by train, asked in the town which was the most +comfortable hospital, and had walked up. We represented that we weren't +looking for thumbs, but had to put him up for the night; this meant the +whole business of washing, shaving, and disinfecting his clothes.</p> + +<p>We heard that the French and English had arrived in Nish, 70,000 men, +and that they had been greeted with the wildest enthusiasm; but against +that was set the fact that Belgrade after all was not quite clear of +Austrians, in fact, they still held half the town, but that the "Swobs" +were not getting on at Chabatz. "Swobs" in Serbian are any of a Germanic +country, while in Austria it is a term of opprobrium, meaning "German." +One of our "Czech" orderlies said to Jo, pathetically—</p> + +<p>"I never thought that I should be called a 'Swob.'"</p> + +<p>Next day came a warning that two hundred wounded, serious cases, were to +be expected, so everything and everybody was in a rush. The bathrooms to +be cleaned, disinfecting-room and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page232" name="page232"></a>Pg 232</span> bags to be got ready, wards cleared +as much as was possible.</p> + +<p>The wounded did not come, and the next day they did not come. The +chemist said that all the Austrians had been driven back, but that the +Bulgars had at last attacked. Mr. Berry thought the news rather serious, +and told us that Gaschitch had said that we must be prepared to move at +twenty-four hours' notice; so back we went to the work on the boxes. +Next day news was brought that the Bulgars had drawn back, and had said +that the Serbs had attacked them first, that the Powers had declared war +on Bulgaria, and that the Russians had bombarded Varna.</p> + +<p>At last we got news that the wounded were really coming. We hurried into +our disinfecting garments—looking like pantaloons,—and scissors were +served out to all the assistants. It was dark before the first motor +load came.</p> + +<p>The undressing-room was a large white-stone floored room with four long +plank beds covered with mackintosh; behind was the bathroom. The first +wounded man was pushed in through the window on a stretcher, a brown +crumpled heap of misery, and groaning. We laid him carefully on the bed +while the doctor searched for the wound. While she was examining him a +second was handed in. No need to examine this one. Bloody head<span class="pagenum"><a id="page233" name="page233"></a>Pg 233</span> bandage +and great blue swollen eyelids told plainly where his wound was. We +stripped the clothes as carefully as was possible from the poor fellows. +Those who were too bad to go to the bathroom were washed where they lay. +One orderly with soap and razors shaved every hair from each; and +several plied clippers on the matted heads. Outside was one electric +lamp which threw strong lights and darker shadows, making a veritable +Rembrandt of the scene, lighting up the white clad forms of the +assistants who were drawing out the stretchers, the big square end of +the ambulance car, and picking out from the gloom of the garden a rose +tree which bore one white rose.</p> + +<p>The wounded were indescribably dirty, and their clothes in a shocking +state, all stiff with blood. Jo took charge of the clothes bags, seeing +that no man's clothes were mixed with any others. The men all seemed +dazed, each soldier seemed to have the same protest upon his mind. "This +wasn't the idea at all, I was not to be wounded. Why am I here?" One +suddenly felt the brutal inanity of modern warfare; one felt that if the +ones who had started this war could only be forced to spend three months +in a war hospital, receiving and undressing the fruits of their plots, +they would have a different view of the glory and honour of battle.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page234" name="page234"></a>Pg 234</span></p> + +<p>Each man had sewn in his belt some talisman to protect him from +danger—small brass or lead image or medal, bought from the village +priest.</p> + +<p>There was confusion at first, for almost all were new to their tasks; +the barbers were carrying stretchers when they ought to have been +barbering; the clippers were scrubbing instead of doing their proper +work; but, nevertheless, it was marvellously rapid. The motor tore back +to the station, and by the time it had returned its first load had been +washed, shaved, arrayed in clean pyjamas, and either lay in bed in the +ward, or were waiting their turn outside the operating theatre.</p> + +<p>Mr. Berry was hard at work: there were several cases shot through the +brain, one through the lungs, one through the heart, and one through the +spine; this latter was paralysed.</p> + +<p>Some wounded came in carriages; it was very difficult to get them on to +the stretchers without giving them unnecessary pain, because of the +shape of the "fiacres." At last all were passed through.</p> + +<p>Do not think us heartless if we rubbed our hands and said, "Some very +good cases, what!" for emotional pity can be separated from professional +pleasure, and if these things had to be we were pleased that the serious +ones had come to us; had not gone to a Serbian hospital.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page235" name="page235"></a>Pg 235</span></p> + +<p>Next day we sorted clothes. Every uniform had to be taken from its bag, +tabulated, searched for money or food, and repacked. They were swarming +with vermin, but we wore mackintosh overalls which are supposed to be +anathema to the beasties. More operations. One of the men had been hit +in the cerebellum, and was quite blind. The boy who had been hit in the +lungs prayed for a cigarette and an apple, he felt sure they would do +him good. We sorted more clothes. One of the men had a pocket full of +scissors—evidently regimental barber; another's pockets were crammed +with onions; a third had a half-eaten apple, as though the fight had +surprised him in the middle of his dessert. The cerebellum man wanted +his purse. We could not find it; after exhaustive inquiry found that the +lung youth had stolen it. Another patient claimed he had lost thirty-six +francs; so down we had to go once more, search his package—the +smelliest of the lot—and at last found the money pinned into the lining +of his coat, also a watch. Jan took them back to him, wound up the watch +and set it. The grateful owner said that the watch was an ornament, but +that he could not read it.</p> + +<p>The French were never in Nish at all—all lies; but Austrian aeroplanes +had bombed it and killed several people. The Bulgarian comitaj cut the +line at Vranja, but had been badly beaten in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page236" name="page236"></a>Pg 236</span> battle near Zaichar. The +flight over Gotch degenerated into a joke, and Jo was commissioned to do +a caricature of it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a refugee turned up, the hostess of the rest house in Nish. She +was very worried about the loss of her fifteen trunks, which she had had +to leave, and which contained all her family mementoes and miniatures. +She hoped that the scare would only last a few days. The Bulgars had +occupied Veles though, which was bad news. Another refugee lady from +Belgrade came in. More patients. Forty-nine for the "Merkur" hospital. +Lots of running about, but at last all were bedded.</p> + +<p>A Serbian comitaj girl came in in the afternoon, looking for a lady +doctor. She was a fine upstanding creature with a strong, almost fierce, +face. There had been six of her, she said, but one had been killed. The +bombardment of Varna turned out to be a lie, but they said that all the +Bulgars at Vrnja had been surrounded. Major Gaschitch also said that if +Serbia could hold out till the 10th, something wonderful was going to +happen.</p> + +<p>Our visitors had rather a hard time. One of them was trotting into the +little sitting-room of the hospital. She opened the door and started +back aghast. There was a man within clad in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page237" name="page237"></a>Pg 237</span> nothing but a large pair of +moustaches. She fled. Mr. Berry having nowhere to examine a stray +patient had occupied the room at an unlucky moment. More wounded were +expected, so we got into our war paint, and they arrived five hours +later than we had expected them. They came in "fiacres," and climbed off +very easily. We inquired, "Where wounded?" "Belgrade." "When?" "Three +months ago." Not a serious case amongst them, and we had heard that the +badly equipped hospitals at Krusevatz were crowded with the most +frightful cases. We were furious. A lot more wounded came to the "State" +café. None seriously hurt, and after examination one man had no wound to +show at all, nor shock, nor anything. He had simply run away. There were +several hand cases, some blackened with powder, proving that the poor +devils had shot themselves to get out of it. One man would not have his +hair cut because he said that he was in mourning for his brother, and +his hat was decorated with a crown of black lace. At the same time some +serious cases came to the main hospital; one man seemed to have been +shot the whole length of his body, the bullet entering at the shoulder +and emerging behind the hip. A small boy sat scratching. Jo said to him, +"Why dost thou scratch?" He answered with a shout<span class="pagenum"><a id="page238" name="page238"></a>Pg 238</span> of fatuous content, +"I have lice, I have lice," and scratched once more.</p> + +<p>The disinfector was working overtime, clothes were poured upon us from +all the other hospitals. Another alarm that wounded were coming, but +they never came. In their place an English clergyman arrived from Krag. +News came of the fall of Uskub, and that Lady Paget had been captured +with all her staff. Next day the wounded came, many more than had been +expected. Jan got rather strong signs of inflammatory rheumatism +threatening, so he went to bed for a couple of days with salicylate.</p> + +<p>The Serbian authorities were beginning to lose their heads. In the +morning they said that the "State" was to be made into a hospital for +officers, and chased all the patients out; in the afternoon they decided +that it was not, and chased back the patients—who had been divided +amongst the other hospitals. Thus they kept us busy and accomplished +nothing. In the evening another batch of wounded came in.</p> + +<p>Nearly all the reports of the previous week were now confessed to be +lies. A Serbian minister had been dying in the town, and the good +stories were made up to keep him cheerful. Now he was dead the truth +leaked out. The Austrians and Germans were advancing on every side, the +Serbs making<span class="pagenum"><a id="page239" name="page239"></a>Pg 239</span> no resistance since Belgrade. The Bulgars had occupied the +whole of the line south of Nish. The French and English were advancing +with extreme difficulty. The Farmers' unit trailed into the town, no +conveyance having been arranged for them from the station. The Scottish +women were already here, having come in the night; they had to sleep +twelve or fifteen in a room. Next day a small contingent of the wounded +Allies arrived.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph Paget arrived in a whirl. Leaders of units appeared from all +sides, and a hurried conference was held.</p> + +<p>Mr. Berry called a meeting at two. He said Paget had announced that the +game was up; that all members of units should have the option of going +home, and that he (Paget) was going to Kralievo to see about transports. +Jan got to work on the map, and decided that the best route out would be +one to Novi Bazar, and thence by tracks to Berane. There were villages +marked in the mountains which did not seem so high as those by Ipek, +also the road, if there were one, would be at least two days shorter.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph came back next day, and knowing that we had but lately +returned from Montenegro, he asked Jan a lot of questions about the +road, etc. Sir Ralph's latest decision was that all men of military +age—not doctors—should attempt to cross the mountains into Montenegro. +He could<span class="pagenum"><a id="page240" name="page240"></a>Pg 240</span> not say if any transport could be provided, or if there would +be any means of escaping from Montenegro, and in consequence he advised +no women to move, as they would be better where they were, than in +facing the risks of the mountains; they would not be in the same danger +as the orderlies, for whom internment was to be expected. Dr. Holmes +decided to accompany us, as he said he wasn't going to doctor Germans, +and he might be useful to the retreating Serbian army. Ellis also said +that he would come and would bring his car, which would help us at least +some of the way. Sir Ralph asked Jan to take charge of the party of the +English Red Cross, and we went back to our rooms to repack, for Jo had +already arranged things for internment, Mr. Blease decided to come with +us. Nobody knew what the dangers would be, or where the Austrians and +Germans were, and many doubted if it were possible to get through. The +season was getting late, and snow was daily to be expected. Some +imaginative people enlarged on "the brigands" and "wolves," but we did +not think that they counted for much. The chief problems were, if we +could get shelter each night, and could we carry enough food to support +us in case we could get none, which seemed very possible.</p> + +<p>We got an order from Gaschitch for bread from the Serbian authorities. +We were going off into<span class="pagenum"><a id="page241" name="page241"></a>Pg 241</span> country, the real conditions of which nobody +knew, and our friends took leave of us, many expecting to see us back in +a few days. The Austrian prisoners were very sad at our going.</p> + +<p>The station was dark and gloomy, the little gimcrack Turkish kiosk—like +a bit of the White City—was filled with Red Cross stoves and beds. Two +trains came in, but neither was for Kralievo; one was Red Cross and the +other for Krusevatz. A lot of boys, in uniform, clambered on board and +shouting out, "Sbogom Vrntze," were borne off into the night. Our +spirits fell lower and lower. We thought of the friends we were leaving +behind us, and of what we had before us. The reaction had set in, +intensified by the gloom and cold of the station.</p> + +<p>Hours later the train arrived. The only third-class carriage was filled +to overflowing, people were standing on the platform and sitting on the +steps. We tried the trucks. All were crammed so full that the doors +could not be opened.</p> + +<p>"You'd better go to-morrow," said the station-master.</p> + +<p>"We're not going through that a second time," we said. "Can't we climb +on to the roof?"</p> + +<p>We scrambled up. There were other men there, lying in brown heaps. We +made some of them move up a little, stowed our blankets and knapsacks, +and sat amongst them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page242" name="page242"></a>Pg 242</span>"Are you all right?" shouted the station-master.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, then. Lie down when you come to the bridges, or you'll get +your heads knocked off."</p> + +<p>We lay down at once, taking no risks, not knowing when the bridges were +coming. Luckily the wind was with us, and the night was warm. The engine +showered sparks into the air, which fell little hot touches on to our +faces and hands. Later a little rain fell.</p> + +<p>Kralievo at three a.m. We did not know the town so Jo stormed the +telegraph office. The officials tried to shut the door, but she got her +foot into it.</p> + +<p>"When I ask you a polite question you might answer it," she said.</p> + +<p>"You can get shelter next door," said one grumpily.</p> + +<p>We tried next door. It was crowded, and the heat within was unbearable. +We saw a door in the opposite wall and opened it—back into the +telegraph office. There were people sleeping there already, so without +asking permission we dumped our baggage and lay down on the floor. The +officials said nothing.</p> + +<p>After a while two French generals (or somethings) came in. They were +refused as we were, but they took no notice, unpacked their blankets and +lay<span class="pagenum"><a id="page243" name="page243"></a>Pg 243</span> down under the great central table. With them was a wife, she sat +miserably on a chair. The room got so stuffy when the door was shut that +she wished it opened; the draught was so bad when the door was open that +she immediately wished it shut. Unfortunately she got mixed: the Serbian +for open is very like the word for shut, and she used them reversed. +There was much confusion. Just as the officials were getting used to her +inversions, she corrected herself. More confusion. An English girl came +in, pushed aside the papers on the big table, and began to brew cocoa on +a Primus stove which she had brought with her. The officials looked +helplessly at each other. Jan recognized her as one of the Stobart unit +from Krag: she had got astray from her band, but was now rejoining them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/40.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page244" name="page244"></a>Pg 244</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>KRALIEVO</h3> + + +<p>We roused ourselves at seven a.m. A damp, chilly fog was hanging low +over the valley, it penetrated to the skin, and one shuddered. The +railway was congested, but train arrived after train, open trucks all +packed with men whose breath rose in steam, and whose clothes were +sparkling with the dew. We stepped from the station door into a thick +black "pease puddingy" mud, as though the Thames foreshore had been +churned up by traffic. Standing knee deep in the mud were weary oxen and +horses attached to carts of all descriptions, with wheels whose rims, +swollen by the mire, were sunk almost to the axles. Across the mud, +surrounded by shaky red brick walls, the District Civil Hospital showed +pale in the morning, and we made towards it, splashing.</p> + +<p>We came to the lodge: an English girl was doing something to a kitchen +stove. She stared at us.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page245" name="page245"></a>Pg 245</span></p> + +<p>"We've just come from Vrnjatchka Banja," we explained.</p> + +<p>She took Jo to the hospital, while Blease and Jan dropped their heavy +luggage and washed in a basin, provided by a Serb servant girl. Jo did +not return. Jan went to the hospital to look for her.</p> + +<p>Crowds of men were at the door, crowds in ragged and filthy uniforms, +with bandages on arms, or foot, or brow, dirty stained bandages with +bloodstains upon them. Some of the men were crouching on the ground, +some were lying against the house, fast asleep. Somehow we got through +them. The passage was full of men, and men were asleep, festooned on the +stone stairs. The smell was horrible. Beyond a swinging glass door +Scottish women were hurrying to and fro bandaging the men as they +entered, and passing them out on the other side of the building. The +Serbs waited with the stoicism of the Oriental, their long lean faces +drawn with hunger, pain and fatigue. Now and again some man turned +uneasily in his sleep and groaned. A detachment of "Stobarts" had found +a lodging upstairs, in a bedroom with plank beds; amongst them we found +some old friends.</p> + +<p>Leaving them we went into the village to look for a meal, back through +the mud. Soldiers, peasants, women, children, horse carts and bullock +waggons, all were pushing here and there, broken<span class="pagenum"><a id="page246" name="page246"></a>Pg 246</span> down and deserted +motor cars were standing in the middle of the road. In the great round +central "Place" confusion was worse, animals, carts, and refugee +bivouacks being all squashed together on the market place.</p> + +<p>White-bearded officers with grey-green uniforms were gesticulating to +white-bearded civilians outside the Café de Paris. A motor rushed up, +disgorged three men in Russian uniform and fled. A small fat man vainly +endeavouring to attract the attention of a staff officer grasped him by +the arm; the staff officer shook him off angrily. Soldiers lounged +against the walls and peered in through the dirty windows....</p> + +<p>Within, the big dark room was crammed. Opening the door was like turning +a corner of cliff by the seashore. Almost all, at the tables, were men: +officers, tradesmen, clerks, talking in eager tense words. We found +three seats. Nobody had anything to eat or drink. Three men came to the +table next to us. They exhibited two loaves of bread to the others, and +had the air of some one who had done something very clever. We were +famished.</p> + +<p>Suddenly half the café rose and rushed to a small counter almost hidden +in the gloom of the far end. Coffee can be got, said some one. Blease, +who could get out the easier, went to explore. In a short while he +wandered back saying that he had got a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page247" name="page247"></a>Pg 247</span> waiter. A man came through +selling apples. We bought some. At last the waiter came.</p> + +<p>"Café au lait," said we.</p> + +<p>"And bread," we added, as he turned away.</p> + +<p>"Nema," he answered, looking back.</p> + +<p>"Well eggs, then."</p> + +<p>"Nema."</p> + +<p>"What have you got?"</p> + +<p>"We have nothing but meat."</p> + +<p>"No potatoes?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>We got a sort of Serbian stew, the meat so tough that one had to saw the +morsels apart with a knife and bolt them whole. As we were operating, a +soldier leaned up against our table, and stared at our plates with a +wistful longing. Jo caught his eye. She scraped together all our +leavings; what misery we could have relieved, had we had money enough, +in Serbia then.</p> + +<p>We paid our bill with a ten dinar (franc) note. The waiter fingered it a +moment.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you any money?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"That is money."</p> + +<p>"Silver, I mean."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>He hesitated a moment. Then went away, turning the note over in his +hands. After a while he returned and gave us our change.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page248" name="page248"></a>Pg 248</span></p> + +<p>The day passed in a queer sort of daze of doing things; between one act +and another there was no definite sequence. The town itself was in a +sort of suppressed twitter, everybody's movements seemed exaggerated, +the eager ones moved faster, impelled by a sort of fear; the slow ones +went slower, their feet dragging in a kind of despondency. At one time +we found ourselves clambering up some steps to the mayor's office, in +search of bread. By a window on the far side of the room was a man with +a pale face, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and light hair: +Churchin. We ran to him.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" he said gloomily.</p> + +<p>We explained.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you can get any transport," he said; "but later I'll see +if I can do anything."</p> + +<p>We thanked him. "But transport or no transport, we are going." Jan +showed him the bread order. He read it and pointed to the Nachanlik.</p> + +<p>The Nachanlik read our order, scowled and passed it on to another man, +an officer. The officer read the order, looked us sulkily from head to +foot, then he pushed the paper back to us.</p> + +<p>"We have only bread for soldiers."</p> + +<p>"But—we are an English Mission."</p> + +<p>"Only for soldiers here. We have nothing to do with English Missions."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page249" name="page249"></a>Pg 249</span></p> + +<p>Fearing that we had come to the wrong place we retired.</p> + +<p>At another time we were climbing up back stairs to what had been the +temporary lodgings of the English legation. But it was empty and +deserted; Sir Ralph Paget had not yet come.</p> + +<p>There were bread shops, but they were all shut and guarded by soldiers. +Jan saw some bread in a window. He went into the dirty café, which was +crowded with soldiers, some sitting on the floor and some on the tables.</p> + +<p>"Whose bread?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"Ours."</p> + +<p>"Will you sell me a loaf?"</p> + +<p>"We won't sell a crumb."</p> + +<p>We bought some apples from a man with a Roman lever balance, and chewed +them as we went along.</p> + +<p>At the hospital the "Stobarts" were packing up. A motor was coming for +them in the afternoon. We heard that Dr. May and the Krag people were at +Studenitza, an old monastery, halfway along the road to Rashka. On the +flat fields behind the station were another gang of "Stobarts," the +dispensary from Lapovo. One Miss H—— was in trouble, for thieves had +pushed their arms beneath the tent flaps in the night and had captured +her best boots.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page250" name="page250"></a>Pg 250</span></p> + +<p>"There are cases full of boots on the railway," said some one, +consoling.</p> + +<p>"But those are men's boots," said another.</p> + +<p>Part of the morning we spent sitting on the banks of the Ebar River and +watching the bridge, wondering if Ellis would come with his car. Ten +times we thought we could see it, and each time were deceived.</p> + +<p>The French aeroplanes came in. They hovered over the town seeking a flat +place, finally swooping down on to the marshy plain on which the +"Stobarts" were encamped. They landed, dashing through the shallow +puddles and flinging the water in great showers on every side. As each +landed it wheeled into line and was pegged down. Behind them was a line +of cannons, the Serbian engineers were hard at work, smashing off their +sighting apparatus, destroying the breech blocks, and jagging the lining +with cold chisels. Some of the cannon were Turkish. All the morning, +through the noise of the town, the shouting of the bullock drivers, the +pant of the motor cars, and the steady tap, tap of the engineers' +mallets, came the faint booming of the battle at Mladnovatch, not +fifteen miles away.</p> + +<p>After lunch we went again to the café. Again it was full, and we were +forced to wait for a table. Just as we sat down a woman with a drawn, +anxious<span class="pagenum"><a id="page251" name="page251"></a>Pg 251</span> face came up to us, clutched Jo by the arm and said eagerly—</p> + +<p>"Is it true that you are going to Montenegro?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Jo. "If we can get there."</p> + +<p>"Could you give me only a little advice, madame? You see we do not know +what to do. My husband—he is an old man, and he is an Austro-Serb. If +the enemy catch him they will hang him."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he will have to walk," said Jo.</p> + +<p>"But he is so old," said the woman, with tears in her eyes; "he is +fifty."</p> + +<p>"We ourselves will have to walk," said Jo. "Make him a knapsack for his +food. Give him warm clothes. It is his only chance of safety. And," she +added, "the sooner he gets away the better, for in a little all the food +on the road will be eaten up, and one will starve."</p> + +<p>The woman thanked us. "I will make him go at once," she said, and ran +out wringing her hands.</p> + +<p>A Russian woman with a thin-faced man sat at her table.</p> + +<p>"You are going to Montenegro?" she said.</p> + +<p>We nodded.</p> + +<p>"I too am going. I am a good sportswoman. I have walked fifty kilometres +in one day."</p> + +<p>We looked at her well-corseted figure, her rather congested face, and +had already seen thin high-heeled shoes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page252" name="page252"></a>Pg 252</span></p> + +<p>"I will come with you, yes?"</p> + +<p>The little man interrupted. "Why do you say such things, Olga? You know +that you cannot walk a mile."</p> + +<p>We pointed out that we were going to march across the Austrian front, +and that no one could tell us where the Austrians were exactly; that our +safety depended to some extent on our speed, and that the failure of one +to make the pace meant the failure of all. The little man drew her away.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon a miserable fit of depression took us, but we pushed it +behind us. To the hospital for tea, taking with us a tin of cocoa and +some condensed milk, which the people lacked. Biscuits and treacle, the +treacle looted from the railway, where an obliging guard had said that +he could not give permission to take it, but that he could look the +other way. We heard the tale of Kragujevatz, of the camp and all the +buildings filled to overflowing. More aeroplane raids; and of the sudden +order to evacuate. All the wounded who could crawl were got from their +beds and turned into the street by the authorities to go: if they could +not walk, to crawl. A few Serb and Austrian doctors were left to guard +and watch those too ill to go; with them some Swedish and Dutch sisters, +and the Netherlands flag flying from the hospitals. Dr. Churchin seemed +to have been the good genius<span class="pagenum"><a id="page253" name="page253"></a>Pg 253</span> of the Missions, never flagging in his +efforts for them.</p> + +<p>We heard that a Colonel Milhaelovitch was the bread officer. He lived +somewhere in the back of the big yellow schoolhouse at the end of the +street. After tea we wandered drearily down to seek him, gained +permission from a sentry, and clambered up some stone stairs. Jan saw an +acquaintance from the Nish ministry, asked him a question, and was +ushered ... straight into the Ministry of War. They seemed in a +frightful stew about something, an air of disorder reigned everywhere, +but somebody found time to look at the order.</p> + +<p>"Nachanlik," said he.</p> + +<p>"We've been there already."</p> + +<p>"Well, go there again and say we sent you, and that they must give you +bread."</p> + +<p>We were worn out by this. Jo went off to the plank bed which the +Stobarts had promised to her, while Jan and Blease to the tents, where +Sir Ralph's men were sheltering.</p> + +<p>All the streets were edged with motionless bullock carts, in which men +were sleeping, and even in the mud between their wheels were the dim +forms of the weary soldiery. The two splashed across the marsh and found +the tents.</p> + +<p>Rogerson and Willett were there; Willett was seedy. Another Englishman +named Hamilton,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page254" name="page254"></a>Pg 254</span> who had an umbrella which he had sworn to take back +with him to England. Also two Austro-Serb boys who had been acting as +interpreters.</p> + +<p>West and Mawson were not there. Rogerson said that Sir Ralph had sent +them with Mrs. M——to see the road and conditions at Mitrovitza; nobody +knew when they would be back. We got two beds, but there were no +mattresses on the springs. Jan rolled up in his Serbian rug, but it was +loosely woven, and not as warm as he had hoped. Just not warm enough, +one only dozed. About eleven o'clock, Cutting came in with Owen, +Watmough, Hilder, and Elmer. They had come from Vrnjatchka Banja with +Dr. Holmes. Some one had told them that we had deserted them and had +gone off to Rashka on our own; they were cheered to find us still there. +After that we lay awake discussing details. None of them had realized +the difficulties of the road and the probable lack of food, though the +Red Cross men had brought with them a case of emergency rations. Jan +exposed his idea of the route; somebody said that there was some corned +beef and rice in a Red Cross train on the siding.</p> + +<p>Intermittently in the silences one could still hear the sound of the +guns.</p> + +<p>Next morning at breakfast Dr. Holmes came in. He had thought us gone, +and so had procured for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page255" name="page255"></a>Pg 255</span> himself and the sister who was with him, seats +in a Government motor which was going to Mitrovitza. We all splashed +across the marshy grass to the siding where the stores were. In the +empty trucks on the line families were camping, and some had fitted them +up like little homes. We found the truck, and with efforts dug out +twelve tins of corned beef, a case of condensed milk, one of treacle, +and two tins of sugar. We emptied a kitbag and filled it with rice.</p> + +<p>The hospital was fuller than ever. The Scottish nurses were toiling as +quickly as they could, and each man received a couple of hard ship's +biscuits from a great sack, when his wounds were dressed. He immediately +wolfed the hard biscuits and lay down; in one minute he was asleep, and +the hospital grounds were strewn with the sleeping men. From time to +time sergeants came in, roused the sleepers, formed them into +detachments, and marched them off.</p> + +<p>The Stobarts met us wringing their hands. There was no bread, nor could +they procure any. Jan took their order, and we promised to see what +could be done. As we passed the station we saw surging crowds of men, +from the midst came cries of pain, and sticks were falling in blows.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord, what's that?" we cried.</p> + +<p>We plunged into the crowd. Some of the men<span class="pagenum"><a id="page256" name="page256"></a>Pg 256</span> and boys were gnawing +angrily at pieces of biscuit which they held in their hands. The crowd +surged more violently, the sticks were plied with greater vigour; +presently the crowd fell back snarling. The ground which they left was +covered with the crumbs of trampled biscuit, and the soldiers drove the +crowd yet further back, beating with sticks and cursing. A bread sack +being unloaded from a waggon had burst, the hungry crowd had pounced ... +that was all. As we withdrew we saw the fortunate ones still gnawing +ferociously at the hard morsels which they had captured.</p> + +<p>We took our passes to the mayor once more. He received us angrily.</p> + +<p>"I told you yesterday," he said.</p> + +<p>"The War Office sent us," said Jan, sweetly, "and said that you must +give us bread."</p> + +<p>"I have no bread," said the mayor. "You must go to Colonel +Milhaelovitch."</p> + +<p>We tramped back to the yellow school. There was no sentry, and a queer +air of forlornness seemed to pervade. We asked a loiterer for the +colonel's office. He pointed. We climbed yet another stair and found a +pair of large rooms; they were empty. Town papers were scattered on the +floor, one table was overturned.</p> + +<p>A man lounged in. "Where is the colonel?" we asked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page257" name="page257"></a>Pg 257</span></p> + +<p>"Ne snam bogami," he said, twisting a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Well, find out," said Jan.</p> + +<p>He lounged away and presently returned with another.</p> + +<p>"The colonel has evacuated," said the other; "he went naturally with the +Ministry of War to Rashka last night."</p> + +<p>We went back in a fury to the mayor.</p> + +<p>"You knew this," we cried angrily to him.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Where can we get bread?"</p> + +<p>He took up the passes and looked at them. His face lightened.</p> + +<p>"This one," he said, turning to another, "is written—Give them bread to +the value of three francs. We will give them three francs."</p> + +<p>"No you won't," said we; "you'll give us bread. You cannot leave these +English sisters to starve."</p> + +<p>After some grumbling he said we could inquire at the "first army." We +made him write out an order; we also made him give us a clerk to +accompany us. He gave us a tattered old man whose toes were sticking +from his boots.</p> + +<p>We presented both orders at the "first army." It refused at once. We +threatened it with the War Office and with the mayor. After some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page258" name="page258"></a>Pg 258</span> demur +it sent us across the town again to the "magazine" office.</p> + +<p>At the magazine office we were more wily. We presented our little order +for three humble loaves. He first said "Nema," then admitted that there +was bread and that we could have it. We then showed the order for the +other loaves.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he cried, "you cannot have all that bread."</p> + +<p>We pointed out that it was not much for a whole mission. He still +refused. So Jo got up and made a little speech. It was a nasty little +speech, but they deserved it, for we had found that they had bread.</p> + +<p>She pointed out that the English Missions had now been working in Serbia +for a year, gratis; that no matter if we got no transport we were going +to get to England, and that it would not look well in the English papers +if we wrote a true account of our experiences, saying that they had +allowed the English Missions to starve. The threat of publicity finished +him. He grumbling consented to give us ten loaves in addition to our own +to last for two days. Not daring to leave them, and to send an orderly +for them, we rolled them up in Jo's overcoat and staggered down the road +to the hospital.</p> + +<p>On the way we met an old Serbian peasant woman. She walked for a while +with us, turning her eyes to heaven and crying—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page259" name="page259"></a>Pg 259</span></p> + +<p>"What times we live in. Only God can help, only God."</p> + +<p>At the hospital we met Sir Ralph Paget. He told us that the Transport +Board had promised him ten ox carts for the morrow. Two large motor +lorries had turned up to take the two contingents of the "Stobarts." +They were packing in, and we asked them to take our holdall as far as +Rashka, for we were still distrustful of the ox carts. We had begun to +get into a habit of not believing in anything till it was actually +there.</p> + +<p>An Englishman came suddenly in with a face purple with anger and +swearing. He was the dispenser from Krag who had been left at Lapovo to +bring on the stores.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" we cried.</p> + +<p>"Brought my motor from Lapovo with the hospital stuff," he said +furiously. "Left it out there on the road. Came in here to tell you +about it; and when I go back the cussed thing isn't there. Found all the +stores in a beastly bullock cart. The people said that a Serb officer +had come along, turned all our stuff out, and gone off with the motor. * +* * *."</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be done, so we went on packing. An aeroplane was +seen in the distance; everybody watched it.</p> + +<p>"Taube," said somebody.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page260" name="page260"></a>Pg 260</span></p> + +<p>The Taube sailed slowly round, surveying the town. It passed right +overhead. Everybody stared upwards wondering if it were going to "bomb," +for we were just opposite to the railway station. But it passed over and +flew away. As it went guns fired at it, and many of the Serbs let off +their rifles. We have often wondered where all the bits of the shells go +to, for nobody ever seems to be hit by them, even when they are bursting +right overhead.</p> + +<p>The motor gave several snorts, everybody climbed aboard. The driver let +in the clutch, there was a tearing sound from underneath, but the motor +did not go. One of the drivers clambered down, and after examination +said that it could not go on that day, and they immediately began to +take it to pieces. The aeroplane came back twice, sailing to and fro +without hindrance.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image24" name="image24"> + <img src="images/41.jpg" + alt="PEASANT WOMEN LEAVING THEIR VILLAGE." + title="PEASANT WOMEN LEAVING THEIR VILLAGE." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">PEASANT WOMEN LEAVING THEIR VILLAGE.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image25" name="image25"> + <img src="images/42.jpg" + alt="SERB FAMILY BY THE ROADSIDE." + title="SERB FAMILY BY THE ROADSIDE." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">SERB FAMILY BY THE ROADSIDE.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is impossible to describe properly the feeling in the town: it was +like standing in the influence of high-pressure electricity, even in the +daytime the soldiers in their rags—but with barbarously coloured rugs +and knapsacks—were sleeping in the hedges and gutters. There were vague +rumours that Rumania and Greece had finally joined in; many seized upon +these statements as being true, and one found little oases of rejoicings +amongst the almost universal pessimism. We ourselves doubted<span class="pagenum"><a id="page261" name="page261"></a>Pg 261</span> the +reports. Sir Ralph's ox carts—in an interview with Churchin—dwindled +down to a possible two; but Jan got a letter in the evening saying that +there were ten country carts for the next morning. Six were for us and +four for the "Stobarts," and that we were to take the Indian tents with +us.</p> + +<p>We went back to the tents early to get a good start next day. Rogerson +and Willett were sorting their clothes. Hamilton had decided, as he +could not walk, to go back to Vrntze with the Red Cross stores which +Paget was sending to the hospital. As we were turning in, Dr. Holmes +arrived. He had not got the seat in the motor, but was going next day. +Later two mud-bespattered figures came in. They were West and Mawson.</p> + +<p>We questioned them eagerly, and although they were worn out they +answered all they could.</p> + +<p>The road was passable. They had scarcely slept for four days, Mitrovitza +was already crammed with fugitives, and rooms were not to be found. On +the way back the motor was working badly; the mud was awful. Then the +petrol ran out. They stopped a big car which was loaded with petrol and +ammunition, and asked for some. They got a little, and as they were +going to start the big car suddenly burst into flames: some fool having +struck a match to see if the petrol was properly turned off. Great +flames roared up<span class="pagenum"><a id="page262" name="page262"></a>Pg 262</span> into the air, and it was a long time before the car +was sufficiently burnt down to pass it.</p> + +<p>West said that it was a most marvellous picture.</p> + +<p>A little farther on a tyre had burst, and they had been forced to come +back on the rims. They eagerly welcomed Jan's idea of the Novi Bazar +route, feeling sure that if they once got to Mitrovitza it would be long +before they got away, and very doubtful if they could get lodging there.</p> + +<p>Again we could hear the guns in the night, and news had come in that +Krag had been occupied and that the German cavalry were making towards +Kralievo.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/43.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page263" name="page263"></a>Pg 263</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE FLIGHT OF SERBIA</h3> + + +<p>The men were up before three-thirty to strike the tents, having slept +but little. Breakfast was prepared and waiting at five-thirty in the big +hospital bedroom; but the women ate of it alone.</p> + +<p>Jo sallied forth to the camp, anxious to know what had happened. She +found a testy little company. For two hours they had been struggling in +the dark with tents and waiting for the carts and for a policeman, as +all the riff-raff of the town was gathering to loot our leavings.</p> + +<p>At last the carts were run to earth standing outside the hospital in a +line—ten little springless carts in charge of a stupid-looking corporal +who had misunderstood his orders. He moreover refused to move, saying he +"had his orders."</p> + +<p>The indefatigable Churchin was found, and sent him off with a flea in +his ear. When he arrived at the camp we found a woman and household +luggage in one of the carts. He said it was his wife, and objected to +our putting anything into<span class="pagenum"><a id="page264" name="page264"></a>Pg 264</span> that cart. We told him he would have to lump +it, and he got sulky; as each extra package was put on a cart he said +that it would break to pieces. Certainly the tents were very heavy, but +we had been ordered to take them. When the carts were loaded up to the +last degree they moved slowly through the mud and drew up at the +hospital. We were sadly overladen. Our party consisted of Mawson, West, +Cutting, Rogerson, Willett, Blease, Angelo, Whatmough, Elmer, Owen, and +Hilder—the last four being our friends of the railway journey from +Nish. We were thirteen. Temporarily with us also were the two little +Austro-Serbian boys. The other four carriages were occupied by a doctor +and three members of the Stobart unit, two "Scottish Women," their +orderly and a Russian medical student who had been a political prisoner.</p> + +<p>Leaving the town was a slow business, as it was being evacuated. Our +little procession proceeded very slowly. Most of us walked. Jo drove +with two of the Stobarts, watching from a seat of vantage the packed +masses of people who wormed their way in and out between the ox carts. +The road was blocked by some gigantic baking ovens on wheels. Hundreds +of boys, big seventeen-year-old boys with guns, and little limping +fellows from thirteen to sixteen, wearing bright rugs rolled over their +shoulders, were dragging along in single<span class="pagenum"><a id="page265" name="page265"></a>Pg 265</span> file. Their faces were white, +and their noses red, sergeants were beating the backward ones along with +a ramrod. One of them said—</p> + +<p>"I have eaten nothing for three days—give me bread." We had no bread, +but we discovered some Petit-Beurre biscuits, and left him turning them +over and over.</p> + +<p>The whole town buzzed: motor cars, surrounded by curses, insinuated +their way through the crammed streets; whips were cracking, men were +quarrelling but all had their faces turned towards the road to Rashka, +which we realized would be as full as at straphanging time in the Tube. +The boys passed us, then we passed them. They passed us again. Hundreds +of Austrian prisoners were being hurried along, goodness knows where. +Neat young clerks, suit case in hand, elbowed their way through the +crowd. Young staff officers were walking, jostled by beggars. Jo called +to an old man who was driving a cart full of modern furniture, his face +drawn into wrinkles of misery—</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Ne snam," he answered, staring hopelessly before him.</p> + +<p>Wounded men were everywhere, tottering and hobbling along, for none +wanted to be taken prisoners. Some had ship's biscuit, which they tried +to soften in the dirty ditch water, others<span class="pagenum"><a id="page266" name="page266"></a>Pg 266</span> were lapping like dogs out +of the puddles. Sometimes a motor far ahead stuck in the mud, and we had +to wait often half an hour until it could be induced to move. Gipsies +passed, better mounted and worse clad than other folk, some of them half +naked. Many soldiers had walked through their opankies and their feet +were bound up with rag. Why in this country of awful mud has the opankie +been invented? It is a sole turned up at the edges and held on by a +series of straps and plaited ornamentations useless in mud or wet, which +penetrates through it in all directions.</p> + +<p>We arrived at an open space and halted for lunch. Water had to be +fetched. It trickled from a wooden spout out of the hill and before our +cooking pot was filled we were surrounded by thirsty soldiers, who were +consigning us to the hottest of places for our slowness. Cutting +displayed a hitherto buried talent for building fires. We unpacked the +food and soon a gorgeous curry was bubbling in an empty biscuit tin with +Angelo, Sir Ralph Paget's chef, at the spoon. A leviathan motor car +lurched by containing all that was left of the Stobart unit. Another +monster passed, piled with Russian nurses and doctors. A face was +peeping out at the back, eyes rolled upwards, moustaches bristling. Was +it? Yes, it was—"Quel Pays"—but he did not recognize us.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page267" name="page267"></a>Pg 267</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image26" name="image26"> + <img src="images/44.jpg" + alt="THE FLIGHT OF SERBIA." + title="THE FLIGHT OF SERBIA." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">THE FLIGHT OF SERBIA.</span> +</div> + +<p>The baking ovens appeared again, and we felt we had stayed long enough. +Some of our party were very fagged after their various adventures since +leaving Nish, so they climbed on to the carriages wherever there was a +downhill. The road wound up a narrow stony valley down which was flowing +a muddy stream. The trees on our side of the river were still green, on +the other bank they were bright orange, blood red and all the tints of a +Serbian autumn. The road full of moving people was like another river, +flowing only more sluggishly then the Ebar itself. For us in future, the +autumn will always hold a sinister aspect. These trees seemed to have +put on their gayest robes to mock at the dreary processions. At +intervals by the roadside sat an ox dead beat and forsaken by its owner +as useless.</p> + +<p>Dusk came, bringing depression; the travellers on the curly road looked +like mere shades. Coat collars went up and hands were pocketed. Little +camp fires began to twinkle here and there on the hillsides. We came to +a large open space where many fires blazed, respectfully encircling a +French aeroplane section. Opposite was a high peak topped by a Turkish +castle. There we wished to halt, but the corporal said we must push on, +as he wished to get food for the horses. After we had passed the castle +the dusk grew rapidly darker and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page268" name="page268"></a>Pg 268</span> road narrower and more muddy. +Although camp fires twinkled from every level space, the never ending +stream of fugitives seemed to grow no less. Darkness only added to the +tragic mystery of the flight. The bullock carts poured along, the +soldiers crowded by.</p> + +<p>A horse went down, the owner stripped the saddle off, flung it into a +cart and cursing stumbled on into the darkness. The carts following took +no notice of the poor horse but drove over it, the wheel lifting as they +rolled across its body. We shouted to the owner; but he was gone, so we +turned one or two of the carts off, and made them go round. But we could +not stay there all night. The horse was too done, and too much injured +by the cruel passage to move, so Jan reluctantly pulled out his +"automatic" and, standing clear of its hoofs, put two bullets through +its brain. It shuddered, lifted two hoofs and beat the air and sank into +a heap.</p> + +<p>On we went progressing for mile after mile in the mire, but never a +house did we see, nor a spot to camp on. At last the corporal gave up +the quest for hay, and we were faced with the problem of spending the +night on a narrow road bounded on one side by cliffs beneath which ran +the Ebar, and on the other by an almost perpendicular bank. The night +was black, the mud a foot deep, and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page269" name="page269"></a>Pg 269</span> stream ran across the road. The +carriages drew up in single file and we discussed the sleeping problem, +while Cutting cooked bovril on an ill-behaved Primus stove. Our drivers +had to sleep on the carts. The women also had carts to sleep in; and the +Scottish women offered Jo a place in their already well-filled carriage. +The men were fitted somehow into the rest of the carts, while Jo, Jan, +and Blease found a ledge below the road, and though it was very +squelchy, they spread a mackintosh sheet and rolled up on it in their +rugs.</p> + +<p>No sooner were they really settled and sleeping than a voice said, +"You'll have to get up: an officer says the carriages must move on—the +King is coming." It was West. We sat up. Between us and the dim lights +of the carts the black shadows of the crowds passed without end.</p> + +<p>"I'll go and talk to them," said Jo; and unrolled herself, struggled and +fumbled with her boots and floundered into the blackness, where a +mounted officer was delivering orders. Shouts could be heard, lights +waved, horses whinnied, splashing their feet in the puddles as they were +being violently pulled here and there, and our poor little carts were +moving ahead into obscurity. Jo told him they were a Red Cross +party—that the carts were small, and couldn't they stay where they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page270" name="page270"></a>Pg 270</span> +were? The officer inspected the poor little carts, made his best bow, +and said, "Yes, they can stay."</p> + +<p>But the corporal did not listen to Jo's orders. He belonged to a country +which rates women and cattle together, and the carts moved relentlessly +on. With difficulty Jo found the ledge again on which Jan was sitting +with the rugs, talking to the scenery in a manner which was not pretty.</p> + +<p>Blease came up, and the three of us shouldered the things and stumbled +off to find the vanished carriages, which were half a mile down the +road. Jan flung his baggage on to somebody and soundly boxed the +corporal's ears, calling him a "gloop." Instantly the corporal felt that +"here was a man he could really understand," and from that moment became +a devoted adherent, studying our slightest whim, and at intervals humbly +laying walnuts before us.</p> + +<p>A man came up to Jan.</p> + +<p>"I believe that man is drunk," said he; "I said that your carts might +stand."</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" said Jan.</p> + +<p>"I was once the conductor of the Crown Prince's orchestra," he said; +"now I am traffic superintendent. It is difficult. I had a horse, a +jolly little brown horse, but he gave out and I had to leave him behind +on the road." There were tears in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page271" name="page271"></a>Pg 271</span> man's voice. "He was a good +horse, but it was too hard for him. Now I have to walk."</p> + +<p>"I shot your horse," said Jan. "They were driving over its body."</p> + +<p>"He was a nice horse," said the man again, "a nice horse, and now I have +to walk. Well, good-bye, you can rest here."</p> + +<p>He splashed away in the mud.</p> + +<p>Our new sleeping place was worse: the mud was deeper, the road narrower. +Jo tried to escape the mud and made for the roadside, but the ground +moved under her and some muttered curses arose. She was walking not on +grass but on crowds of sleeping boys, and very nearly trod on a face. We +settled down again on our mackintosh sheet but did not sleep. Some +soldiers were firing off guns and throwing bombs into the river all +night. Near us lay Owen, who coughed for a couple of hours, after which +he gave up the spot as being too wet, and lay in a cart on Whatmough's +face.</p> + +<p>It rained, Jo had the fidgets, and Jan expostulated. The mackintosh was +too small for us and we got gloriously wet. It is a curious feeling—the +rain pattering on one's face when trying to sleep. By the time one +becomes accustomed to the monotony of the tiny drops—<i>splash</i> a big +drop from a tree. Water collects in folds of hat or rug, and suddenly +cascades down one's neck.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page272" name="page272"></a>Pg 272</span></p> + +<p>At four in the morning the corporal crept up submissively to ask if we +might move on, as the horses were cold and hungry. Only too glad, dark +as it was, we rolled up our damp bundles and put them in the waggons +with the sleeping people, who awoke, pink-eyed and puzzled at the sudden +progress forward of their uncomfortable beds. Whatmough, who was +convinced that the bombs and gunshots of the night before were spent +Austrian shells sailing over the hill, said—</p> + +<p>"That's the first time I've ever liked a fellow sleeping on my face."</p> + +<p>One of the Stobart nurses, who had used the remains of the hay as a +pillow, had been awake all night trying to prevent a hungry horse from +eating her hair along with the hay. With determination she had donned a +Balaklava helmet and trudged along all day in it, even later when the +sun came out. Blease, too, started the chillsome dawn in a Balaklava +wearing shawlwise a rug that had been made of bits of various coloured +woollen scarfs. Jan used as a protection from the rain Jo's white +mackintosh apron filleted round his head with a bit of string and +dangling behind with a profusion of tapes and fasteners.</p> + +<p>Under his khaki great-coat and about a foot longer he wore a white +jaconet hospital coat. Jo had a pair of roomy ski boots into which she +had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page273" name="page273"></a>Pg 273</span> fitted two pairs of stockings; one had been knitted for her by a +Serbian girl, and they were so thick and hard that no suspender would +hold them up, so they stood, concertinawise, over the boots. One of our +drivers, a witch-faced old man, had a dark red cloak with a peaked hood; +and West having lost his hat had donned a Serbian soldier's cap, which +he was taking away as a curiosity. His arm was giving him pain. It was +very red and inflamed and no one knew what was the matter with it.</p> + +<p>We travelled for an hour or so, and then everything on the road came to +a standstill—something was in the way. Half an hour passed, nothing was +done. Several miles of drivers were talking, gesticulating, and +blaspheming; so Jan took on the job of traffic superintendent, and after +a time, with a little backing here and twisting there, the problem was +solved and we moved on. Still no hay stations could be found, and we +were also hungry, having had no breakfast. We passed a mound covered +with thousands of Austrian prisoners waking up in the twilight. Another +hill was black with boys. Still no station. Then we saw some haystacks +being taken to pieces by various drivers. Our ten coachmen ran to the +stacks and came back with loads of hay which they packed in the carts. +In five minutes the haystacks existed no more.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page274" name="page274"></a>Pg 274</span></p> + +<p>"Better not leave that good hay for the Swobs," said the corporal, as he +whipped up the horses. We passed a dressing-station. It was a sort of +laager of ox carts over which flew the red cross. Wounded soldiers were +sitting and lying on the grass everywhere, while doctors and nurses were +hurrying to and fro with bandages and lint.</p> + +<p>Water was difficult to find. At last we stopped at the top of a hill in +a furious wind. The water which we got from a stream looked filthy, but +we boiled it thoroughly in a biscuit tin, and Angelo again presided over +a magnificent curry filled with bully beef, while we hit our toes on the +ground to keep warm. A wounded soldier was brought up by a friend. He +had not been attended to for days, and we did the best we could for him.</p> + +<p>A carriage passed laden with two tiny boxes—a policeman on either side. +Although the boxes were small the carriage seemed so heavy that the +horses could scarcely drag it, and two well-dressed men who were riding +on the carriage often had to get out and push. We wondered if the boxes +were filled with gold. The dreary processions of starving boys shuffled +up again; some were crying, some helping others along, one had an +English jam tin hanging round his neck. Sir Ralph Paget appeared in a +motor car, loaded with packages and three<span class="pagenum"><a id="page275" name="page275"></a>Pg 275</span> other people. We stopped him, +and he told Jan that at Novi Bazar he could get no information of the +path which Jan suggested, and added that he advised us to come to +Mitrovitza. The Scottish women were to give up the idea of a +dressing-station in Novi Bazar and to stop at Rashka. The Serbs had told +him that there was a good chance of Uskub being retaken, in which case +we could all go comfortably to Salonika by rail. In the other case, +there were three roads out of the country from Mitrovitza, which he +thought better than trusting to one road, if it existed.</p> + +<p>Jan told him that the carriages were giving way under the strain of the +tents, two of the axle struts having broken; and he suggested that if we +did not jettison the tents, some of the carriages would probably never +get as far as Rashka. Sir Ralph told him to do what he thought best.</p> + +<p>So we pitched the two heavy tops and the long bamboo poles overboard, +keeping the sides.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what are you doing with our tents?" said one of the Scottish +nurses.</p> + +<p>This was complicated! We understood the tents were Sir Ralph's.</p> + +<p>All the men swore they were Sir Ralph's tents, they had seen them at +Nish. The "Scottish Woman" said she knew the tents well, and they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page276" name="page276"></a>Pg 276</span> had +cost £50 each. The men from Nish still claimed the tents, and said that +war was war and they had left thousands of pounds' worth of stores, +tents, etc., and had been obliged to discard even motor cars.</p> + +<p>"And very extravagant it was of you," she said.</p> + +<p>Jan pointed out that if we did not leave the tents we should very +shortly have to discard both tents and carts, which would be even more +extravagant.</p> + +<p>She reluctantly cheered up, and we drove away in the sunshine. Before we +turned the corner we could see an excited mass of soldiers, peasants, +and boys rushing to the tents with their clasp knives. Perhaps, as +coverings, they saved many people's lives on the cold nights to come.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image27" name="image27"> + <img src="images/45.jpg" + alt="Retreating Ammunition Train." + title="Retreating Ammunition Train." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Retreating Ammunition Train.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>More and more exhausted oxen were to be seen lying by the roadside. A +huge cart drove over one. We all arose in our seats, horrified—but the +old ox was all right, still chewing the cud. Over the cliff lay the +smashed remains of a cart—its owners were flaying the dead horse. A +peasant with bowed head led his cart past us. Drawing it was one ox—its +partner was in the cart, lifting its head spasmodically—finished. +Quantities of carts passed us filled with furniture, baths, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page277" name="page277"></a>Pg 277</span> +luggage. A smartly dressed family was picnicking by the roadside, +sitting on deck-chairs. Colonel P—— and Admiral T—— slipped by in a +shabby little red motor. They stopped and told us they were going to +Rashka. It was good to see English faces again. A familiar figure went +by. It was the brave young officer from Uzhitze. We gave a lift to a +footsore lieutenant, who laughed as we trudged in the mud.</p> + +<p>"Ah, English and sport," he said.</p> + +<p>Crowds were congregated round a man who was carrying over his shoulder a +whole sheep on a spit and chopping bits off for buyers. On a hillside a +woman was handing out rakia. We thought she was selling it, but were +told that it was a funeral and she was giving rakia to all who wanted +it. Starving Austrian prisoners rushed for a glass and were not refused. +The Crown Prince passed, touching his hat to fifty kilometres of his +people. This time we were not going to be caught by the darkness, so we +stopped near a village at half-past three. The sides of the two tents +made good shelters for us. They were set up, looking like two long +card-houses, and we used bits of canvas for flooring, very necessary, as +it was so wet. Our fires were quickly made with superfluous tent pegs, +and the rice bag was again drawn forth. A groaning soldier with +bloodstained bandage asked<span class="pagenum"><a id="page278" name="page278"></a>Pg 278</span> us to help him. His arm had not been dressed +for some time. The doctor with us at first thought he had better not be +tampered with; but finally agreed to look at his wound, which was +bleeding violently.</p> + +<p>She tore up a towel and bound him up tightly. He said he was going to +Studenitza, a long day's walk, though he was nearly fainting.</p> + +<p>On the hill opposite was a huge encampment of boys. As the darkness grew +all disappeared but the light of the fires. It looked like an ancient +battleship with the portholes on fire. We slept, the women fairly +comfortably, but the men were overcrowded.</p> + +<p>Heavy rain came on and poured through the top of the card houses.</p> + +<p>"Now I know what the men suffer in the trenches," said a very young +girl, when she awoke in a pool of water.</p> + +<p>"Guess you don't—they'd call this clover," said a sleepy voice.</p> + +<p>Looking our oddest we trudged off in the gloom and wet of next morning, +leaping across rivulets of water which hurtled down the roads. West's +arm was worse, Willett was recovering from a bad chill, Mawson had not +yet got a decent night's rest for a week—every one longed for a house.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page279" name="page279"></a>Pg 279</span></p> + +<p>"Dobra Dan," said a voice. It was the friend of the wounded man we had +bound up the first day.</p> + +<p>"Where is your friend?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"I lost him," he answered.</p> + +<p>We climbed for three hours then waited, blocked. A military motor had +stuck deeply in the mud and the wheels were buzzing round uselessly, so +we helped to dig her out. Every one's inside cried for breakfast, and +when at last we found a swampy plain, Whatmough and Cutting flung +themselves upon an old tree trunk and cut it up for firewood.</p> + +<p>We always had "company" to these picnic meals, hungry soldiers, mere +ragbags held together by bones, crept around us and learnt for the first +time the joys of curry and cocoa.</p> + +<p>As we came round the corner into sight of the town a large block of +temporary encampments stretched away beyond the river to our left. +Beyond them was a flat plain on which was a large tent with a red cross +painted over it. High behind the town towered a grey hill on which was a +white Turkish blockhouse, for though where we were driving had always +been Serbia, Rashka lay just on the boundary. We drove into a narrow +street, presently coming to a stop where two motor cars blocked the +way.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page280" name="page280"></a>Pg 280</span></p> + +<p>The Commandant from Kragujevatz, who had promised transport to all +English hospitals, was standing on the road. He seemed very flustered +and bothered lest we should want him to do something for us. We assured +him we wanted nothing except bread, for neither we nor our drivers had +had bread for three days. The colonel shrugged his shoulders and made a +face.</p> + +<p>"You might get it perhaps at the hospital."</p> + +<p>Another officer, in a long black staff coat, laughed. He pulled a hard +biscuit out of each pocket, looked at them fondly and pushed them back +again.</p> + +<p>"I've got mine anyway," he said. "Bread is ten shillings a loaf if you +can buy it."</p> + +<p>Annoyed by the colonel's manner Jo began to mount her high horse and +became blunt. He was instantly suave.</p> + +<p>He seemed dismayed at our idea (to which we still held) of going to Novi +Bazar before Mitrovitza to see if really no route existed there.</p> + +<p>"Impossible," said he; "bridges are broken between Rashka and Novi +Bazar, and there is no route through the mountains from there."</p> + +<p>We remembered that the country had been under Turkish rule there years +before, and guessed that probably the Serbs had not yet been able to +exploit new and lonely routes. At every side<span class="pagenum"><a id="page281" name="page281"></a>Pg 281</span> in the streets were faces +we knew, the head medical this and the chief military that.</p> + +<p>Our personal carts went off in charge of the corporal, who was looking +for bread from the Government, for of course all bread shops were shut +permanently.</p> + +<p>The Scottish sisters had not found a refuge, and messengers kept on +coming back saying this place was full and that place had no room.</p> + +<p>Colonel G—— became even less likable. It seemed as though there were +no organisation of any kind in the town. At last, when dark had well +fallen, a man said a room had been cleared for them in the hospital. The +motor cars moved slowly off and we told the rest of our carts to follow, +as Colonel G——said we might get bread at the same place. We stumbled +after them through pitch black streets, so uneven that one did not know +if one were in the ditch or on the road itself; one lost all sense of +direction and only tried not to lose sight of the flickering lights of +the carts. Jo at last climbed into one, and the carts rumbled over a +wooden bridge and began to go up a steep hill. We came suddenly to a +rambling wooden house and our carts dived into a deep ditch. Jo leapt +off just in time to save hers from turning right over. Crowds of wounded +Serbians were standing at the foot of a rickety outside staircase. Above +was a dressing-<span class="pagenum"><a id="page282" name="page282"></a>Pg 282</span>station, and a dark smelly room with no beds, which was +to be the sisters' home. We could get no bread and so went out once more +into the dark. We did not know where our carts had gone, but some one +said if we went in "that" direction we should find them. On we went +uphill, losing our way in a maize field. In front of us were hundreds of +camp fires. At the first we asked if they had seen the English. They +shrugged their shoulders in negative. We asked at the next; same result. +We had the awful thought that we should have to search every camp fire +before we found our people, but luckily almost fell over Mawson, who had +been fetching water. We were going in quite the wrong direction and but +for this lucky meeting might have wandered for hours.</p> + +<p>A good fire was blazing in front of the tents. An Austrian prisoner cut +wood for us in exchange for a meal. He came from a large encampment +whose fires were blazing near by. Dr. Holmes and a sister emerged +through the smoke; they had at last got a cart and horse. With them was +an Austrian subject flying for his life. He had lived for years in +Serbia, his sympathies and ancestry were Serbian, but if the Austrians +got him he would be hanged. We wondered if it was the husband of the +frantic woman at Kralievo, but did not ask.</p> + +<p>One went early to bed these nights. The men<span class="pagenum"><a id="page283" name="page283"></a>Pg 283</span> spread out into two +card-houses while Jo was hospitably given a real camp-bedstead in a +corner of the Stobarts' kitchen, on the floor of which slept their men +and also West, whose arm was getting worse.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/46.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page284" name="page284"></a>Pg 284</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>NOVI BAZAR</h3> + + +<p>We awoke to find where we were. The little encampment which we had seen +to our left on entering the town, was now far on our right. The flat +plain—where was the large tent with the red cross painted over it—had +been our bed, the tent behind us; to our right was the brown hill topped +by the old Turkish blockhouse; and in front a cut maize field with its +solid red stubble sloped directly to the river, beyond which lay the +village massed on the opposite slope up to a white church. Immediately +below us on the river edge were the roofs of the "Stobarts'" refuge and +of the Scottish women's hospital. Poplar trees in all the panoply of +autumn sprang up from the valley with their tops full of the blackest +crows, who cawed discordantly at the dawn. Our fire had gone out, but +the Austrian had left enough wood, another was quickly started; but we +found that Angelo in making his curries had melted all the solder from +the empty biscuit tins and not one would hold<span class="pagenum"><a id="page285" name="page285"></a>Pg 285</span> water. So there was a +hurried transference of biscuits from a whole one.</p> + +<p>From where we sat sipping our cocoa, we could see the hurried coming and +going of motors in the main square, and groups of bullock waggons and +soldiers about the fence of the church. A great street which split the +village in two from top to bottom—the old Turkish frontier—was almost +empty. The corporal proposed to visit the military commandant in search +of hay and bread. So Jan dragged on his wet boots and set off with him +down the hill, collecting Jo from the "Stobarts" on the way.</p> + +<p>We crossed the rickety wooden bridge, passed between the <i>alfresco</i> +encampments—like travelling tinkers—of waggoners and soldiers which +lined the roads, up the great frontier street and so into the square. +All that now was SERBIA was concentrated in this little village. Private +houses had suddenly become ministries; cafés, headquarters; and shops, +departmental offices. The square was the central automobile station, and +cars under repair or adjustment were in every corner. Beneath the church +paling a camp of waggoners had a large bonfire and were cooking a whole +sheep on a spit. Austrian prisoners with white, drawn faces were +wandering about, staring with half unseeing eyes; a Serbian soldier was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page286" name="page286"></a>Pg 286</span> +chewing a hard biscuit, and a prisoner crept up to him begging for a +corner of the bread; the soldier broke off a piece and gave it to him.</p> + +<p>About the gate of the commandant's office were gathered Serbs and +Austrians all waiting for bread. We pushed our way in. The hay was +quickly arranged, but the bread was another matter.</p> + +<p>"We have no bread," said the commandant.</p> + +<p>"But," we objected, "all those men waiting outside. They would not come +here if you had no bread."</p> + +<p>The commandant pulled his moustache.</p> + +<p>"We have bread only for soldiers."</p> + +<p>There was a sudden commotion outside. The door was burst open; two +soldiers entered dragging with them a man—a peasant; his eyes were +staring, his face blanched. We then noticed that he was holding his +shoulders in a curious manner, and realized that his arms were bound +with his own belt. The two soldiers pushed him into an inner room, but +the officials were busy, so he was stood in a corner.</p> + +<p>"What has he done?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"We have only bread for soldiers," repeated the commandant. Bread was +evidently the most important.</p> + +<p>"We have a Government order."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page287" name="page287"></a>Pg 287</span></p> + +<p>He scanned it, pounced upon the three franc phrase and offered us money. +We pointed out that bread was indicated to the value—</p> + +<p>"We have no bread for the English," he said at last.</p> + +<p>Jo once more made the nasty little speech which we had found so +effective at Kralievo. It worked like a charm. An enormous sack filled +with loaves was dragged out and from it he choose three. We mentioned +the man once more. The commandant shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"He's going to be killed," he said. "Some soldiers looted his yard and +he shot one."</p> + +<p>He then asked the corporal if he would take flour instead of bread. The +corporal agreed, adding that in that case, of course, they would get a +bit more.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you won't," said the commandant.</p> + +<p>We sent the corporal back to the camp with the loaves, and with a little +trouble found the house where Colonel P—— and Admiral T——had +lodgings. It was a gay little cottage, and both were at breakfast. They +welcomed us and generously offered us their spare eggs, though eggs were +scarce. The admiral had a large-scale map—made, of course, by +Austria—and we hunted it for our road. Paths were marked quite clearly, +and houses at most convenient intervals. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="page288" name="page288"></a>Pg 288</span> seemed a far superior path +to the Ipek pass, both regarding shelter and length.</p> + +<p>"But," we said, "Sir Ralph suggests that we go to Mitrovitza, because +the Serbs say that Uskub will fall in a few days."</p> + +<p>"I should get out of the country as soon as you can," said one.</p> + +<p>"It is exceedingly unlikely that Uskub can fall," said the other. But +they promised us as definite information as they were allowed to give if +we would return for tea, by when the aeroplane reconnaissance should +have come in.</p> + +<p>We went back to the camp with the news.</p> + +<p>Colonel G—— came up and tried to wipe out the impression which he had +made the evening before. He repeated that Uskub must certainly fall +within the week, and that we should be very silly to go off to Novi +Bazar, which we could never reach because the bridge had been washed +away.</p> + +<p>All the hill behind was crowded with Austrian prisoners. They had +received one loaf between every three men, and said that it had to last +three days. They did not know where they were going. Blease went through +their lines, and at last found an old servant—a Hungarian. He was a +stoic.</p> + +<p>"One lives till one is dead," said he.</p> + +<p>The hospital was doing a brisk trade in wounded:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page289" name="page289"></a>Pg 289</span> sisters and doctors +both hard at work. The "Stobarts" were resting, and had built a camp +fire outside the door of their hovel. We got lunch ready, ruining +recklessly another biscuit tin. While we were eating it a Serb came +near.</p> + +<p>"I am starving," he said.</p> + +<p>We gave him some curry and rice. He devoured it.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," he said, "I go back to commando."</p> + +<p>We pointed to his hand, which was bound in dirty linen.</p> + +<p>"But?"</p> + +<p>"It is better to go back though wounded than be starved to death."</p> + +<p>We also held a court of justice. A driver complained that one of the +Englishmen had given him a pair of boots and that the corporal had taken +them.</p> + +<p>"CORPORAL!!"</p> + +<p>He came grinning. We exposed the complaint.</p> + +<p>"Certainly the man had a pair of boots," said he; "but he has them no +longer. Now, they are mine, I have taken them."</p> + +<p>"But they were given to him."</p> + +<p>"But I have taken them. I needed new boots." He exhibited his own, which +were split.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page290" name="page290"></a>Pg 290</span></p> + +<p>We told him that possession by capture was not recognized in our circle, +and ordered immediate restitution. He agreed gloomily, no doubt feeling +that the foundations of his world were falling about his ears, and what +was the use of being a corporal anyway?</p> + +<p>In the afternoon we sought out the motor authorities, finding our old +friends Ristich and Derrok in command. They easily promised us transport +for Sir Ralph Paget's box and henchmen—no trouble at all they said. Yet +had we not known them personally we might have waited a month without +help. One is irresistibly reminded at every turn that the Near East +means the East near the East and not the East near the West.</p> + +<p>We went to the English colonel's, but no news was yet forthcoming, and +we were, after a jolly tea, invited back at eight.</p> + +<p>The camp was in darkness by the time we reached it once more. The fire +lit up the men sitting about it, and the two inverted V's of the tent +entrances; very faintly behind could be seen the outline of the line of +little tented waggons. We had collected an additional member, Miss +Brindley of the "Stobarts." She was very keen to get home, as her +parents were anxious, and both her brothers at the front. Jo gave one +look at her and said "Certainly." She had rushed immediately<span class="pagenum"><a id="page291" name="page291"></a>Pg 291</span> into the +town and had laid in a stock of beans and lentils, as her contribution +to the common stock. They were all she could buy.</p> + +<p>After supper back to the colonel's, and at last got definite news. It +was unlikely that Skoplje would fall, and very little use loitering in +hopes. The colonel advised Jan to get his party out by the best route +possible, and we took a grateful farewell.</p> + +<p>Coming back to the camp Jan had a nasty half-hour. Should we go by +Mitrovitza, or should we go by Berane? In the first case there was the +long route, the difficulty of getting lodgings and of transport, the +risk of falling behind the Serbian General Staff, and of finding the +country bare, the high passes of Petch and the snow; Willett was only +just recovering from a bad chill, West's arm had grown much worse, and +had been operated on in the morning by a doctor with a pair of scissors +<i>faute de mieux</i>—a most agonizing process. On the other hand, the +Berane route was unknown to the authorities, and might have fallen so +into decay that it was useless; we did not know where the Austro-Germans +were, and they might be already on the outskirts of Novi Bazar; if any +of us fell ill we should certainly be captured. It was a toss up. +Finally he asked the others. They said—</p> + +<p>"What you think best. You know the country."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page292" name="page292"></a>Pg 292</span></p> + +<p>We finally decided to go to Novi Bazar and make inquiries. If there were +no road we could go thence to Mitrovitza, and would only have lost a +day. If, as the colonel said, the bridge was washed away, we could +probably ford the river.</p> + +<p>Then to bed. One could not sleep really well, for the rugs did not give +sufficient warmth, and the chill striking up from the ground penetrated +everything.</p> + +<p>Took the road to Novi Bazar next day. Miss Brindley joined us with a +parcel of blankets and a knapsack and a mackintosh lent by a friend. She +had lost her boots, or the local cobbler had lost them, but most +appropriately a motor had arrived and on it was a pair of new soldier's +boots unclaimed. She took them, cut the feet of a pair of indiarubber +Wellingtons and pulled them over her stockings, and put a smile on her +face which never came off in spite of any fatigue.</p> + +<p>Hilder and Antonio went off with Sir Ralph's box. The "Stobarts" wished +us good luck, and away we clattered over the rickety bridge, up through +the town and out into the Novi Bazar road. The surface was fairly good, +and the day turned brilliant. We had left the six sisters and their +luggage behind with their respective units, and so had four extra +waggons to carry our stuff. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="page293" name="page293"></a>Pg 293</span> rattled along cheerily, only dismounting +at the occasional patches of mud which we met.</p> + +<p>After a while we decided to lunch. We came to a café and halted.</p> + +<p>"Have you coffee?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"Ima."</p> + +<p>"Will you give us all coffee?"</p> + +<p>"We have no sugar," said the hostess; so we had no coffee.</p> + +<p>We got out a tin of biscuits and lunched on those. As we were passing +them round a soldier stopped.</p> + +<p>"What are you selling those for?" he asked, under the impression that we +were a travelling shop. We gave him some, to his great astonishment.</p> + +<p>On we went again. Down below us in a field the corporal spotted a +hayrick. Like stage villains the coachmen clambered down the hill, each +with a rope—spoil from the discarded tents. They attacked the rick and +soon nothing was left. As they staggered back, each hidden beneath an +enormous load of hay—looking themselves like walking ricks—a Turk in +black and white clothes ran down from above furiously brandishing a +three-pronged fork.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" he yelled.</p> + +<p>The corporal stood stiffly and said—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page294" name="page294"></a>Pg 294</span></p> + +<p>"It is war. We are the State. It is of no value for you to preach."</p> + +<p>The owner went dolefully down the hill, and stood looking at where his +stack had been.</p> + +<p>"We have again prevented those Germans from stealing good hay," said the +corporal with satisfaction. Each cart looked not unlike a hay wain +returning from the fields, and we scrambled up on to the top feeling +like children in the autumn. After we had gone a mile we began to wonder +why we had given the owner no compensation: evidently the corporal's +influence was turning us into scoundrels.</p> + +<p>At last the broken bridge. Only a shallow stream across which our carts +splashed joyfully. On the other side was a small church with a beautiful +blue tower. And soon we were in the outskirts of Novi Bazar, the most +ordinary town of the Sanjak, combining the dull parts of Plevlie with +the dull parts of Ipek. There was a stream down the middle of the road, +in which some of the inhabitants were washing, while one sat on his +haunches holding up a small looking-glass with one hand and shaving +himself.</p> + +<p>We bustled off to the mayor's office. Found him as usual in a back +street in a shabby office up shaky wooden stairs. The mayor knew nothing +of any road to Berane; so baffled, we again found<span class="pagenum"><a id="page295" name="page295"></a>Pg 295</span> the street. We went +to the shabby Turkish shops of the bazaar and inquired.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said the shopkeepers, "a good path to Berane, and not high. +No; not so high as that by Ipek."</p> + +<p>We returned to the mayor's office. He seemed little inclined to consent, +and demanded to see our pass. Jo again made her little—but so +useful—speech. The mayor called in an Albanian. After a long +consultation the mayor said that he had no horses.</p> + +<p>"Then we will take our carriage horses," said we.</p> + +<p>"There are no roads for carriages," said the mayor.</p> + +<p>"Then we will take the horses without the carriages."</p> + +<p>The mayor called in two more men: they considered the pass once more.</p> + +<p>"You may have the carriages two days more," he decided at last. "Go to +Tutigne. As far as that the carriages will travel. There are many horses +there, and you can get pack ponies."</p> + +<p>Coming out we ran into Colonel Stajitch of Valievo. The colonel is a +Serbian gentleman, fine figure, beautiful face, and white hair and +moustaches. He greeted us, asked us our news. We told him of our +projected journey. He became thoughtful and after a while said good-bye. +We<span class="pagenum"><a id="page296" name="page296"></a>Pg 296</span> took our convoy through the town to a field on the outskirts where +we pitched the camp.</p> + +<p>We borrowed the corporal's axe and hewed for some time in a thorn hedge, +without getting much profit but many prickles, and finally decided to +take a paling from a Turkish cemetery, for there was no one about.</p> + +<p>Soon we had a jolly fire, and Cutting and Whatmough got to work on the +food. Dr. Holmes turned up. He had arrived the day before and had found +lodgings in an inn. West's arm was still inflamed and very painful. The +doctor looked at it and said it needed more incision. West and Miss +Brindley went off with him.</p> + +<p>An old ragamuffin wandered up with a loaf of maize bread. He offered it +to the corporal for three dinars; but the corporal took it away and gave +him two. The old man made a great outcry. We demanded the cause. The +unlawful corporal was again hailed to justice, his corporalship seeming +more valueless than ever, and to give him a lesson we bought the bread +for three dinars, for it was worth it.</p> + +<p>We suddenly discovered that none of the Red Cross men had papers or +passes. What was to be done? We were conniving at an almost unlawful +expedition, and Jan was very doubtful if we could cross the Montenegrin +frontier. But after a con<span class="pagenum"><a id="page297" name="page297"></a>Pg 297</span>sultation we decided to bluff it into +Montenegro if necessary, and then telegraph to Cettinje to help us out.</p> + +<p>It was now dark and West and Miss Brindley had not come back. So Jan and +Jo went off to look for them. We searched two cafés—meeting again with +our old acquaintance the schoolmaster from Nish—plunged into all sorts +of odd corners, and at last met Colonel Stajitch in a restaurant. He +greeted us.</p> + +<p>"I have a great favour to ask," he said diffidently. "If I might I +should like to give to you a little appendix. It is my son. He is +seventeen, but is very big for his age. If the Austrians catch him I do +not know what will become of him."</p> + +<p>We were introduced to the boy, and at once consented.</p> + +<p>"I will decide for certain to-morrow," said the colonel. "Can I meet you +at seven o'clock?"</p> + +<p>We hunted once more for West. Ran him to earth at last in the Hotel de +Paris. This hotel could perhaps have existed in the Butte de Montmartre, +but even there it would have been considered a disgrace. We had to pass +through a long room crammed with sleeping soldiery, stepping across them +to get to the door opposite. Every window was tight shut, and after one +horrified gulp we held our breath till we reached the interior<span class="pagenum"><a id="page298" name="page298"></a>Pg 298</span> +courtyard. Here, too, were sleeping men, and all along the balconies and +passages were more.</p> + +<p>We found Holmes' room. West was there, rather white and just recovering +from the anæsthetic. We sat down. Dr. Holmes had thought of coming with +us, but the authorities had looked suspiciously at his passes, which +were made out to Mitrovitza, so he decided to go on there. We wished +that he had come, as a doctor would have been a great comfort had we +really needed him.</p> + +<p>After a rest West was well enough to go back to the camp.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/47.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page299" name="page299"></a>Pg 299</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE UNKNOWN ROAD</h3> + + +<p>As we stood around the camp fire drinking our cocoa a queer ragged old +Albanian crept up and watched us with a smile. He was the owner of the +house near by, whose palings we had almost looted. We offered him cocoa, +which he liked immensely; and asked him about the road to Tutigne. He +said—</p> + +<p>"There is a road for carts—I know it."</p> + +<p>"Will you show it us?" said Jo.</p> + +<p>He gave a wild yell and ran away, waving a stick.</p> + +<p>"What ——?!!!! ——"</p> + +<p>It was nothing, only the pigs had invaded his cabbage patch. He came +back later with an enormous apple, which he presented to Jo.</p> + +<p>"Have you apples for sale?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, saying "Ima, ima."</p> + +<p>We bought several pounds, arranged with him to guide us later to the +carriage road, and hurried into the town to buy provisions.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page300" name="page300"></a>Pg 300</span></p> + +<p>There we met Colonel Stajitch. "Will you take my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Delighted. Are his papers in order?"</p> + +<p>The mayor hereupon turned up, and the colonel's face grew longer as they +conversed.</p> + +<p>"The mayor cannot give me the necessary permits without Government +sanction," he said. "I must get it from Rashka by telephone. It will +take an hour. Can you wait?"</p> + +<p>We spent the time shopping. Each shop looked as empty as if it had been +through a Saturday night's sale. One had elderly raisins, another had a +few potatoes. We found some onions, bought another cooking pot and +kitchen necessaries, and packed them in the carts which had arrived in +the town. Nobody would take paper money unless we bought ten francs' +worth. After waiting an hour and a half we hunted down the colonel. The +telephone official told us he had got leave from the Government. At last +we found him in the mayor's office, bristling with papers and the +passport.</p> + +<p>"I have got you an armed policeman as escort," he said, waving the +papers, "and the boy has a good horse, twenty pounds in gold, and twenty +in silver."</p> + +<p>We found the boy waiting with the carriages. He wore a strange little +brown cashmere Norfolk jersey and very superior black riding breeches.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page301" name="page301"></a>Pg 301</span> +Dressed more romantically he would have made an ideal Prince for an +Arabian Nights' story. His father accompanied us until our Albanian +guide announced—</p> + +<p>"Here begins the carriage road."</p> + +<p>Their parting must have been a hard thing. The father could not tell how +his son's expedition would end, and the son was leaving his father to an +unknown fate. They embraced, smiling cheerily, and the boy rode on ahead +of us all, blowing his nose and cursing his horse.</p> + +<p>In many places the "carriage road" was no road at all. The carts lurched +and bumped over rivers, boulders, fields, and the inevitable mud. +Several times we had to jump on our carts as they dragged us over deep +and rapid rivers. After three hours we stopped at a farm, our mounted +policeman called out the owners and autocratically ordered two of the +young men to accompany us as guides and guards.</p> + +<p>They came, bearing their guns, white fezzed, white clothed, black +braided youths with shaven polls and flashing teeth. We began to climb, +and for hours and hours we toiled upwards. The carriages lumbered +painfully far behind us, led by their elderly and panting drivers.</p> + +<p>"If this is what they call a good and easy road," we thought, "it would +have been better to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page302" name="page302"></a>Pg 302</span> harness four horses to each cart, and to have left +five carts behind."</p> + +<p>The horses came from the plain of Chabatz, and had probably never seen a +hill in their lives.</p> + +<p>"These horses will die," said the corporal; but he seemed more +interested in hunting for water for himself than in the struggles of the +poor beasts.</p> + +<p>One of our Albanian guides was overwhelmed with the beauty of Cutting's +silver-plated revolver.</p> + +<p>"How much did you pay for it?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty francs," said Cutting, shooting at the scenery.</p> + +<p>Jan produced his automatic, but the Albanian scorned it as one would +turn from a lark to a bird of Paradise. He turned the glittering object +over lovingly, thought, felt in his pockets, drew out a green and red +knitted purse, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I will give you thirty francs."</p> + +<p>But Cutting wasn't on the bargain. He pocketed the treasure again, and +we plodded on.</p> + +<p>"How far are we from Tutigne?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"Four hours," said a dignified Albanian, who had joined our party.</p> + +<p>"No, two hours," said another.</p> + +<p>"Three at most," corrected a third.</p> + +<p>The first man lifted his hand. "I say four hours, and it is four hours. +With such horses as these we crawl."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page303" name="page303"></a>Pg 303</span></p> + +<p>We reached a desolate tableland at dusk. Here the horses halted for some +while. With the halt came a sudden desire to stay there for good. It +seemed as if we should never reach Tutigne. The evening brought with it +chilly damp breezes, and the footsore company was getting quite +disheartened.</p> + +<p>"Let us camp here," said everybody.</p> + +<p>But the policeman had a mailbag to deliver that night, and we had to +push on. Experienced as we were in Serbian roads, never had we seen such +mud. Down, down sank our feet, and we could only extract them again +clinging to the carts with the sound of a violent kiss. We tried to +escape it by climbing into the thick brushwood, only to find it again, +stickier and more slippery, while the bushes grasped us with thorny arms +and athletically switched our faces. A moonless darkness came upon us +and we had to walk just behind the carriages, peering at the square yard +of road illuminated by candles in our penny lanterns.</p> + +<p>Occasionally a voice greeted us. We asked how far Tutigne was.</p> + +<p>"About an hour," was the invariable answer all along the line.</p> + +<p>But the dignified guide was right. After four hours we reached the main +street, arriving slowly to the music of incredible clatter as our little +carts<span class="pagenum"><a id="page304" name="page304"></a>Pg 304</span> leapt and jolted over hundreds of big pointed stones laid +carefully side by side—Tutigne's concession to Macadam.</p> + +<p>There were faint lights in some of the little wooden houses. Others +stood dark and unfriendly. We stopped. Curses filled the air. An ox-cart +was lying right across the road. After shouting himself hoarse the +policeman woke up an old man in a house near by—the owner. He +rheumatically grumbled in his doorway; so the gendarme called our +Albanians, and in two twos they had turned the cart upside down in a +ditch, saying—</p> + +<p>"It serves you right."</p> + +<p>Voices sounded in the darkness. The carriages lurched on. Presently they +left the road and turned on to grass, they seemed to be leaving the +village behind. We did not know where they were going, and were so tired +that we did not care, if only they would get somewhere and stop, which +at last they did. We jumped off into a squelch of water.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, this won't do!"</p> + +<p>We searched the whole field for a dry spot, but though it was a +hillside, it was a swamp. We chose the least marshy place and built a +fire.</p> + +<p>"Where is the mayor?" we asked of the strange faces dimly to be seen in +the light of our fire.</p> + +<p>They pointed to two cottage window lights.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page305" name="page305"></a>Pg 305</span> We went towards them, at +last realizing our proximity by stumbling into a dung-heap and knocking +against a pig-stye. There was a narrow stairway, and above it a big +landing. A man followed and knocked at a door for us.</p> + +<p>The mayor appeared—a little man—square in face, hair, beard and +figure.</p> + +<p>We explained ourselves and showed our letter. He looked grave at our +demand for horses; said we would talk it over on the morrow, and +sympathized about the swampy field.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to sleep here on the floor?" he said, showing us a +clean-looking office. "We regret we have no beds."</p> + +<p>We were delighted. His wife, who had gone to bed, appeared in a striped +petticoat and a second one worn as a shawl.</p> + +<p>"The tables shall be moved and the stove lit," she said. "It will be +ready in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>We picked our way back to the fire, avoiding the dung-heap and pig-stye, +whereby we nearly fell into a cesspool. Cocoa was brewing, one +card-house had been erected as a shelter for some of our things. The +drivers were crouched round their own fire cooking something. It was +difficult to find our bundles in the carts as one only recognized them +by the drivers. We climbed in feeling about by the light of a match. Jo +found a foot in one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page306" name="page306"></a>Pg 306</span></p> + +<p>"How can we find things with people lying on them?" she said to the +foot.</p> + +<p>It remained immobile; she pulled it—no response. She tugged it. A face +lifted itself at the far end of the cart. It was the corporal's wife +lying on her own possessions, very tired and rather cross. Jo patted her +remorsefully and decamped.</p> + +<p>We must have looked like a regiment of gnomes bearing forbidden treasure +as we hobbled through the darkness, laden with our bundles of blankets. +The light in the office nearly blinded us, and the heat from the stove +struck us like a violent blow. The mayor, his wife, two hurriedly +dressed children and several other people received us. There was an +awkward silence. Jo murmured in the background—</p> + +<p>"It is manners here to go up, shake hands, and say one's name."</p> + +<p>Very uncomfortably everybody did so, one by one. Another silence. We +racked our brains—the weather—our journey—the war. One had nothing +sensible to say about anything. Jo asked the children's age. The +information was supplied. Silence. We filled the gap by smiling. At last +the mayor's wife said we must be worn out, and they all left us.</p> + +<p>The mayor crept back. "Don't talk about the military situation," he +said; "if these Turks knew<span class="pagenum"><a id="page307" name="page307"></a>Pg 307</span> it they might kill us all." Then he shut the +door.</p> + +<p>We flew to a window and opened it, changed our stockings, hung wet boots +and socks over the stove, ate bully beef, and rolled up, pillowing our +heads on our little sacks—thirteen sleepy people.</p> + +<p>The mayor's wife opened the door an inch and peeped at us as we lay, +looking, indeed, more like a jumble sale than anything. Mawson wore a +Burglar cap tied under his chin, and a collection of khaki mufflers, +looking equipped for a Channel crossing. Miss Brindley's head was tied +up in a bandana handkerchief; Jo's in a purple oilsilk hood; others +shared mackintosh sheets and blankets; West pulled his Serbian cap right +down to his mouth. Jan put on the white mackintosh dressing-coat, over +that his greatcoat, then he spread out a red, green, yellow and black +striped Serbian rug, rolled up in it with many contortions, and pushed +his feet into a tent bag. Blease in a Balaklava, showing nose like an +Arctic explorer, got into a black oilskin, one corner of which had been +repaired with a large yellow patch, he then rolled up in oddments +collected from the company, as his own overcoat had been stolen, and +bound it all together by tying the many coloured knitted rug around him, +after putting the lamp out inadvertently with his head.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page308" name="page308"></a>Pg 308</span></p> + +<p>In the morning we interviewed the mayor. He read and reread the letter +from the Novi Bazar mayor, took an interest in the social supremacy of +Stajitch's father, who was a man of birth, but said he had no horses.</p> + +<p>Jo appealed to his better feelings. He scratched his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes, truly one must try to help the English," he said, but looked very +glum.</p> + +<p>"I will have the neighbouring hamlets searched for horses."</p> + +<p>We thanked him and wandered into the village café. An old man with black +sprouting eye-brows à la Nick Winter, was sitting there. He had walked +for five days, eating only apples.</p> + +<p>"Very good food too," he said. "Here is my luggage."</p> + +<p>He pointed to a knotted handkerchief containing a tiny loaf of bread +which he had just acquired. His goal was a monastery in Montenegro, +where he said they would house and feed him for the winter in exchange +for a little work.</p> + +<p>At 11.30 three horses were brought. Three more were promised, so we +reluctantly decided to start the next day. There was nothing to do.</p> + +<p>Our carriages went. We gave the corporal a card-house to take back to +Rashka with little faith that he would not try to stick to it. He had +not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page309" name="page309"></a>Pg 309</span> returned the boots to their owner, so we took them from him and +gave them to their rightful owner, and handed over to the corporal a +spare pair of our own boots to keep him honest.</p> + +<p>At dawn Stajitch, who had been sleeping in style upon a friend's table, +came to say we had six horses, but a professor had turned up in the +night and was coming with us. He had been so exhausted with the walk +that his policeman had carried him most of the way. Not pleased, we went +to inspect him. He was small, corpulent, and was sitting with clasped +woolly gloves, goloshed feet, and a diffident smile.</p> + +<p>He explained to us that he was delicate, and as he was no walker it +would be necessary for him to ride one horse. So we packed our food, +sacks, blankets, mackintoshes and the card-house as best we could on the +remaining five horses.</p> + +<p>No sooner had we left the village, and all signs of road or bridle path, +with a new policeman and two or three ragged Albanians, than one of the +horses broke loose and began to dance—first the tango, then the waltz. +The pack, which was but insecurely attached, stood the tango, but with +the waltz a bag of potatoes swung loose at the end of a rope, its +gyroscopic action swinging the horse quicker and quicker until it was +spinning on one toe. Then the girths broke, saddle and all came<span class="pagenum"><a id="page310" name="page310"></a>Pg 310</span> to the +ground. The brute looked round as if saying "That's that," and cantered +off, followed slowly by the professor on horseback. We called. He +appeared to take no notice. At last he turned round saying—</p> + +<p>"The horse will not."</p> + +<p>Jo leapt in the air kicking.</p> + +<p>"Do that with your heels," she said.</p> + +<p>But we had to send the policeman to help him. He rode hour by hour, +hitting his beast with a bent umbrella, and lifting two fat hands to +heaven.</p> + +<p>"Teshko" (It is hard), he whined.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ni</i> je teshko" (It is not hard), said Miss Brindley, cheerfully +trudging along.</p> + +<p>We wanted to stop at the top of a hill for lunch.</p> + +<p>"Horrible," he said. "Here the brigands will shoot us from the bushes," +and pushed ahead, being held on by the grinning policeman.</p> + +<p>We pulled out some biscuits and margarine, and drank water from our +bottles, cigarettes went round, and we charged ahead. In front was the +professor falling off his horse and being put on again.</p> + +<p>We were very anxious about the frontier. Most of our party were +travelling without official permits, as they had known nothing about +such things; but we hoped that being English Red Cross<span class="pagenum"><a id="page311" name="page311"></a>Pg 311</span> and having +passports there would not be much trouble. We arrived at a little +village, three or four wooden houses. Three pompous old men came to meet +us, and we took coffee together outside the inn. They were very +surprised to hear we were English, and said that no English had ever +passed that way before.</p> + +<p>At the frontier, an hour further on, a man and his wife came down from a +little house on the hill and stopped us. They examined the papers of the +two Serbs, but left us alone, to our huge relief. We breathed again.</p> + +<p>Soon after, however, Whatmough rushed up to Jan and Jo, who were talking +to a ragged woman.</p> + +<p>"Do come and talk. An officer has arrested West and Mawson."</p> + +<p>We ran ahead to find a perplexed mounted officer surrounded by our +party. He had come upon West and Mawson walking on ahead and took them +to be Bulgarian comitaj.</p> + +<p>"No, that's not an English uniform," he said, and searched them for +firearms. When the others came he wavered. Miss Brindley did not look +like a comitaj; and by the time we arrived he began to talk about the +military situation in the Balkans, and rode off with the politest of +farewells.</p> + +<p>If there isn't a telegraph wire to guide, don't take short cuts. Jan, +Stajitch, and Jo tried to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page312" name="page312"></a>Pg 312</span> race the darkness by cutting straight down a +ravine. We lost the horses, lost every one else, and we came out again +on to a hill crest. No one was to be seen. After a while the professor +rode by, led by his policeman, who had been almost suffocated by +laughter all day.</p> + +<p>"Teshko, teshko," moaned the professor.</p> + +<p>"Ni je teshko," we said. "But where are the horses?"</p> + +<p>He waved a hand vaguely behind him. Rogerson, Whatmough, and Owen came +up. It was getting dark and a mist was rising. So we left the three at +the corner to mark where it was and went back. For a long time we +stumbled in the darkness, shouting, but no horses could we find. At last +we decided to turn back, wondering if they too had lost their way and +decided to camp out. There were shouts in the valley beyond. A light +flashed and some one fired off a revolver. There was a candle end in +Jan's bag, and by its dim light we found a road. It went downwards, so +we thought it might be the right one. Suddenly it turned in the wrong +direction, but as there were hoof marks on it we decided to follow it as +it must lead somewhere—we could not search the whole countryside with a +candle. Just as we were in despair the road seemed to shake itself and +twisted back again. We heard more shouting and saw a light, and at<span class="pagenum"><a id="page313" name="page313"></a>Pg 313</span> last +found Miss Brindley and Mawson, who were waiting for us.</p> + +<p>"We have been to the village," they said.</p> + +<p>We asked them about the horses. They said they were all there!!!!</p> + +<p>That professor again!</p> + +<p>Some one heard trickling water, and with a cry of joy we put our mouths +under the jet of water which spouted from a little trough which jutted +from the hill. Nothing could be seen of the village when we arrived, but +it seemed very long and very stony. An old peasant with a candle led us +for what seemed miles between high palisades of wood until we reached +the inn.</p> + +<p>There was a big room with a stove in the middle and many Montenegrins in +uniform were sitting about. Some of our party were already asleep, worn +out on the benches. We opened a tin of beef, got some bread and kaimack +and woke up the others for their evening meal. While we were eating a +Montenegrin staff officer said—</p> + +<p>"Your commandant, the professor—"</p> + +<p>"What?" said we.</p> + +<p>"Your commandant, the professor, has said you will rest here to-morrow."</p> + +<p>We told him the professor was no commandant of ours, and that we +certainly would not rest there to-morrow.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page314" name="page314"></a>Pg 314</span></p> + +<p>"Well," said the staff officer, "he has certainly ordered horses for the +day after from the captain."</p> + +<p>We were too tired to rectify matters at once, and our meal finished, we +rolled up on the dirty floor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/48.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page315" name="page315"></a>Pg 315</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE FLEA-PIT</h3> + + +<p>Those comfortable folks who have never slept out of a bed do not know +how annoying a blanket may be, if there is nothing into which to tuck +its folds. Wrap yourself up in one, lie flat and motionless on the +floor, and we guarantee that in an hour the blanket has unrolled itself +and is making frantic efforts to escape. Every night on the road +resolved into a half-dazed attempt to hold on to the elusive wrap. Sleep +came in as a second consideration, and when we say we awoke on any +particular morning, it really means that we got up, though several of us +in the intervals of blanket catching did get in a snore or two.</p> + +<p>Well, we got up, then, in good time next day, hoping to rectify the +professor's interference, and stumbling along with Stajitch, we reached +the high-roofed "Dürer" dwelling where resided the commandant of the +village. In the kitchen we found two women with bare feet, two children +and a man half undressed. He brought in the captain, also<span class="pagenum"><a id="page316" name="page316"></a>Pg 316</span> in negligée. +Now, mark, we were in Montenegro. We exposed our grievance to the +captain and roundly denounced the professor as an interfering old +beggar. The captain first gave us coffee, second hurried us to his +office, third called in three henchmen and issued rapid orders.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly. You shall have all the horses you need. Just only +wait one little quarter of an hour. I will give you four policemen to go +with you."</p> + +<p>We protested that four was too many.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said, "you had better have four."</p> + +<p>We went back joyfully to the hotel. Cutting or one of the others had +been exploring and had gotten twenty eggs. The hotel people consented to +cook them. While we were outside looking at the mosques and wondering +when the horses were coming, the professor walked into the bar-room.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said he, "eggs."</p> + +<p>"They belong to the English," said the hostess.</p> + +<p>"Good," said the professor, and swallowed four.</p> + +<p>Just then we returned.</p> + +<p>"But there are only sixteen eggs," said we.</p> + +<p>"The professor has eaten the others," said the woman, pointing.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page317" name="page317"></a>Pg 317</span></p> + +<p>In a minute the professor wished that he had not. Jan took the +opportunity of saying a few things which had been boiling within him. He +accused the wretched man of interference in assuming control of the +expedition; he said that he was a mere hanger-on, and a useless and +selfish one at that.</p> + +<p>The professor wilted. He made a thousand apologies, and finally ran off +wringing his fat hands, found with great difficulty four more eggs and +cast them into the boiling water.</p> + +<p>"There," he said, "you can have your four eggs."</p> + +<p>"It's not the eggs," answered Jan, "it's you."</p> + +<p>Jo was roaring with laughter. Some of the morning she had been in a +woman's house listening to one of the policeman's tales of the +professor, and soon the whole village was rocking with amusement at +"Teshko."</p> + +<p>At last the horses arrived—six miserable-looking beasts, but this time +all had shoes. One was commandeered by the professor.</p> + +<p>"He is the greatest philosopher in all Serbia," whispered an official to +Jan.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I guessed there must be some reason," said Jan.</p> + +<p>We had a send-off, all the village came to see<span class="pagenum"><a id="page318" name="page318"></a>Pg 318</span> us go away. The day was +a repetition of our previous experiences. A long tramp in the mud. At +the top of the highest pass we had yet reached was an old wooden +blockhouse.</p> + +<p>We came upon it unexpectedly, rounding a corner. Montenegrin soldiers +were cooking at a wood fire; but we were surprised to find all round the +square log cabin deep rifle pits, the best we had yet seen in Serbia.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord, what are those for?" said Jan.</p> + +<p>"This is an old Turkish post," said the sergeant. "It has been kept up. +We don't know why."</p> + +<p>We walked off meditating. Montenegrins do not squander soldiers without +reason; and then one's mind went back to the four armed guards who were +accompanying us.</p> + +<p>We discovered the truth later, let us tell the story here.</p> + +<p>Berane, to which we were descending, was once a populous growing Turkish +town. After the Balkan war it fell into Montenegrin territories. The +Montenegrins chased out all the Turkish landowners, who fled to these +mountains, where they formed bands of brigands and caused no little +consternation and trouble to the authorities, who could not catch them. +The authorities passed a little Act,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page319" name="page319"></a>Pg 319</span> reinstating the landowners in +their territories; but when an attempt was made to put the Act into +force, it was found that the authorities themselves were in possession +of the lands. What was to be done? The blockhouse was the solution.</p> + +<p>We stopped at a primitive café and lunched. Jo gave the children some +chocolate. They did not know what it was. She smeared some on to the +baby's lips, and after that it sucked hard. Soon the little girl licked +hers; but the boy, more suspicious, would not eat, holding the lump till +it melted into a sticky mass in his fingers. The scenery was very +beautiful. There was a faint rain which greyed everything, and the near +birches had lost all their leaves and the twigs made a reddish fog +through which could be seen the slopes of the opposite hillsides. The +professor began to be worried about the rain.</p> + +<p>"If this should turn to snow," said he, "we would be snowed up. And I am +sure I don't know what I should do if I were snowed up."</p> + +<p>We hoped to reach our halting place, which was called Vrbitza, before +dark; but it was further away than our informant had said. Once more we +found ourselves floundering about in the mud of the village path after +dusk. We reached houses which we could not see; walked over slippery +poles<span class="pagenum"><a id="page320" name="page320"></a>Pg 320</span> set over heaven knows what middens. Clambered up creaky steps +into the usual sort of dirty wooden room—and there, his stockings off, +warming his toes at the blaze of the wood fire, was "Eyebrows."</p> + +<p>We were immediately attracted by three paintings on the wall. They were +decorative designs, very beautiful. We asked the proprietor who had done +them.</p> + +<p>"I did," he said.</p> + +<p>"Will you sell them?" we asked.</p> + +<p>He giggled like a girl. "Ah, who would buy them?" he said.</p> + +<p>"We will."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't let you have them for less than sixpence," he said. "You see +the papers cost a penny each."</p> + +<p>Whatmough coveted one, so he had his choice, we took the other two.</p> + +<p>The policeman came to tell us that rooms had been prepared in two clean +houses. We scrambled out into the dark again, stumbled along in the mud, +and at last found an open square of light, through which we came into a +room.</p> + +<p>There was a red rug over half the floor, and a brasier on three legs +filled with charcoal standing in the centre. One or two of our men had +already found the place and were lying on the rug. In<span class="pagenum"><a id="page321" name="page321"></a>Pg 321</span> one corner was a +large baking oven like a beehive, half in one and half in the room next +door. A wide shelf ran from the beehive almost to the open door. There +were two small windows, each about the size of this book wide open. Jan +and Jo sniffed. Where had they smelt that odour before?</p> + +<p>An old woman in Albanian costume crept up to Jo and caught her by the +skirt.</p> + +<p>"See," she said, dragging her into the next room, "here is a fine bed. +The ladies will sleep with me this night."</p> + +<p>Jo looked at the old lady's greasy hair and filthy raiment.</p> + +<p>"We always sleep with our own people," she said firmly.</p> + +<p>The old lady protested. All the while our men were packing the baggage +beneath the shelf. It was a tight fit, but at last it was got in.</p> + +<p>The professor entered once more on the scene.</p> + +<p>"This house will do very well for the common people," he said, "but the +Herr Commandant" (meaning Jan) "and the two ladies will come over to +sleep with me."</p> + +<p>"No, we won't," said Jan, Jo and Miss Brindley in one voice.</p> + +<p>"Then what will you do?"</p> + +<p>"We will give you two policemen, or all four if<span class="pagenum"><a id="page322" name="page322"></a>Pg 322</span> you like. We will pack +in here somehow. You can take the other house all to yourself."</p> + +<p>"That will not do," said the professor. "If you are all determined to +sleep here, I too, will come here. You will need somebody to protect +you."</p> + +<p>Jo's back went up.</p> + +<p>"If you are afraid to sleep in the other house," she said, "you can +sleep here with us. But if you are coming here to protect us, we don't +require <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"But you do not understand," said the professor kindly, as if to a +child: "there is danger. You will need me to protect you."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," answered Jo. "If you will say that you are afraid, +we will offer you our shelter. Otherwise you can have all four policemen +at the other house."</p> + +<p>The professor was afraid to say that he was afraid, so after stating +that we were curious people, he went off with the guards.</p> + +<p>With great difficulty we packed in. Cutting and Whatmough were forced to +climb on to the shelf and the brazier was pushed out of the room. One by +one we rolled up in our rugs, made pillows out of a pair of boots or a +cocoa tin, cursed each other for taking up so much space, and at last +all were jammed together like sardines. It was like the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page323" name="page323"></a>Pg 323</span> family in the +drawing: If father says turn, we all turn.</p> + +<p>We did not rest well. Thirteen people in a room which would comfortably +hold three was a little too close packing. There was a lot of grumbling +coming from one corner, and after a while a light was struck.</p> + +<p>"Good lord," said somebody, "my pillow's crawling!"</p> + +<p>Bugs were cascading down the walls. Stajitch jumped to his feet, and +began stamping hard. "Rivers of them," he yelled.</p> + +<p>Cutting and Whatmough were groaning about the heat, so we opened the +door. Immediately all the dogs of the village, half wolves, hurled +themselves at the lighted space. Stajitch slammed it just in time; had +they burst in, lying down as we were, we should have been unable to +protect ourselves.</p> + +<p>A dark face peered in between the baking oven and the wall, a swarthy +Albanian face. It looked at us and then silently withdrew.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter," said somebody at last, "we've got to stick it."</p> + +<p>We roused up neither rested nor refreshed. The room seen in the dim +light of the morning seemed even more revolting than it had been the +night before. We demanded the bill, it was brought—<span class="pagenum"><a id="page324" name="page324"></a>Pg 324</span>five francs for +apples which we had bought. And for the room? Nothing. We gave our host +three francs extra, and he bowed, putting his hands to his bosom and +kissed our palms.</p> + +<p>There was a good stiff clay soil waiting for our tiring feet, and by the +time we reached Berane, there was no thought of going further. Almost +every one was exhausted.</p> + +<p>We reached the shores of the river. The bridge had been washed away, but +the inhabitants had made a boat like a sort of huge wooden shoe which +they dragged to and fro with ropes. We clambered in and were hauled +over. Our baggage had not yet arrived, so Jan and Stajitch ordered lunch +for the others and went down to see about it. Just as they were landed +on the opposite bank the rope broke. So all the Montenegrins and +Albanians who were working the ferry went off to a midday meal, leaving +the two with the pangs of hunger growling within, sitting on the bank.</p> + +<p>After two hours' waiting the rope was repaired, and they got back to +lunch famishing. We then arranged sleeping places and locked up all the +baggage in an empty shop. Our room was one of those ordinary Montenegrin +bedrooms plastered with pictures. Amongst them was a postcard, and on it +was printed large in English in blue crystalline letters, "Never +Again."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page325" name="page325"></a>Pg 325</span></p> + +<p>Whence did it come, this enigmatic postcard, and what did it mean? It +seemed almost a solemn warning; yet in a hotel bedroom. What did the +hostess think it meant?</p> + +<p>"Never Again."</p> + +<p>Some of the men came in cheering, having found Turkish delight in one of +the shops. We were sadly needing sugar, as our last tin had been stolen +along with lots of other things. So we indulged in "Turkish" not wisely.</p> + +<p>The professor got up to his old games again. Again he had told the +commandant that he was leading the British, and that we would rest the +next day, and again Jan had to pick him off his perch.</p> + +<p>Some got a bed that night, the others had to sleep "in rows," half under +the beds and half projecting out. The people on the beds said it was a +funny sight.</p> + +<p>When we unpacked at night we found who had been robbing us. The +policemen. We had missed many more things, but found that the amount +varied in direct ratio to the number of police who guarded us. All our +spare boots were now gone, Blease's overcoat, and also Miss Brindley's. +Jo had lost her only other coat and skirt, and one or two mackintoshes +were missing. Now we knew why the police wore long-skirted<span class="pagenum"><a id="page326" name="page326"></a>Pg 326</span> coats; but +what a disappointment the one must have had who lifted Jo's coat and +skirt.</p> + +<p>Got off again in good time the next morning. Cutting and three others +stayed behind to look after the police. Lucky they did, because one of +the horses wore out, and the police would have left it on the road, pack +and all. As it was we left the horse grazing, but the baggage was +transferred.</p> + +<p>There had been a decentish level road made from Andrievitza half way to +Berane, and women were working hard on the extension in the hopes of +getting it finished for the Serbs; but that they could never do, for +there were but few of them. Further on many of the bridges were +unfinished, and in one or two places a landslide had carried away the +road itself, leaving a deep clinging mud in its place, but we were +getting used to mud.</p> + +<p>We met "Eyebrows" once more, just at the entrance to the village; but he +was going on to Pod, so had finally got a day ahead of us. Found rooms +in our old resting place.</p> + +<p>The professor was threatening to accompany us to Italy—he was like the +old man of the sea. We got a telegram from the English Minister, saying +that he did not think we could ever get to Italy from Scutari. We +preferred to trust to our luck which so far had been wonderful, +especially in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page327" name="page327"></a>Pg 327</span> matter of weather. In the evening the captain sent to +say that twenty horses would await us the next day. A motor car would +have been sent, he added, but almost all the bridges were washed away +and they could get no nearer than Liéva Riéka.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/49.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page328" name="page328"></a>Pg 328</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>ANDRIEVITZA TO POD</h3> + + +<p>A problem met us in the morning. Willett was quite ill and only fit for +bed. But bed was impossible. We had just escaped from the sound of the +guns, and did not know which way the Austrians were coming. To wait was +too risky; others would certainly get seedy and sooner or later some one +might get seriously ill. We felt we must push on to Podgoritza and be +within hail of doctor and chemist. But Willett looked very wretched, +lying flat and refusing breakfast.</p> + +<p>We plied him with chlorodyne; but the chlorodyne did not like him and +they parted company. We tried chlorodyne followed by brandy with better +effect. Others also showed a distinct interest in the chlorodyne bottle. +We felt very anxious: milk was almost unprocurable, other comforts nil.</p> + +<p>We finally decided that if he was going to have dysentery he had better +have it decently and in order at Podgoritza, than stand the chance of +being suddenly surprised by the Austrians and made to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page329" name="page329"></a>Pg 329</span> walk endless +distances. So we heaved him on to a wooden pack, and the other +chlorodyney figures of woe climbed on to the remaining queer-looking +saddles.</p> + +<p>Blease tried a horse which had a thoughtful eye. It kicked him on the +knee, and trod on his toe, so he relinquished the joy of riding for the +serener pleasure of walking. Jan clambered on to it, whereupon it stood +on its forelegs, and as there were no stirrups and the saddle back hit +him behind, he landed over its neck, remaining there propped up by a +stick which was in his hand. After readjusting himself inside the two +wooden peaks of the saddle, he testified his disapproval to the beast, +and trotted away in style, leaving a row of grinning Montenegrins and +boys behind with the exception of one who clung to reins and other bits +of saddlery, imploring him to stop. It would seem as if pack ponies were +never meant to trot, but at last he shook off the pony boy, passed Miss +Brindley (whose horse was looking at himself in a puddle with such deep +and concentrated interest that he pulled her over his head and landed +her in the middle of the water), and reached the vanguard of the party, +who had deserted their horses for a lift on a lorry—Willett, sitting in +front with the driver, was shrunk like a concertina inside his great +coat.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page330" name="page330"></a>Pg 330</span></p> + +<p>The lorry dropped us just before the first broken bridge. Then we had to +leave the road and face mud slush, climbing for hours. We had picked up +various friends—a courtly old peasant who was very worried to hear that +Kragujevatz had fallen, and feared for the invasion of Montenegro; two +barefoot girls, who asked Jo all the usual questions, and an +American-speaking Serbian man who had trudged from Ipek, the first +refugee on that road from Serbia. He was very mysterious, and contrary +to the usual custom, would not tell us about himself nor where he was +going.</p> + +<p>He was very anxious to stand us drinks, but curiously enough, every one +refused. The professor had started before us, with a Greek priest. When +we passed him he lifted his hands deprecatingly, "Teshko."</p> + +<p>Our hopes of arriving before dark were as usual crushed. The dusk found +us still floundering in the mud on wayside paths. It began to pour. The +hills above us became white—a straight line being drawn between snow +and rain—and our guides wanted us to spend the night at an inn two +hours before we reached Jabooka. But it looked very uninviting—we +remembered the cheery hostess of Jabooka, the woman who came from "other +parts," and knew a thing or two about cleanliness. Every one agreed to +go on.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page331" name="page331"></a>Pg 331</span> Willett was rather better, so we forged ahead in the downpour +and the dark, splashing through puddles and singing everything we knew. +Our Albanian guides chuckled and chanted their own nasal songs in a +different key as an accompaniment.</p> + +<p>Far away we saw a tiny light—Jabooka. We stretched our legs and hurried +along, but alas! the inn room was full. There was the professor, his +face shining from warmth and well-being, crowds of men in uniform, some +fat travelling civilians: faces looked up from the floor, from the +corners, faces were everywhere, wet boys were steaming in front of the +fire, while the hostess and a girl were picking their way as best they +could in the tobacco smoke with eggs and rakia.</p> + +<p>Full; even the floor! and we were wet through. The professor had +announced that we were staying at the dirty inn away back. Oh, the old +villain!</p> + +<p>He came forward, saying in an impressive voice that a major had taken +the inn.</p> + +<p>"Bother the major," said Jo. "Something must be done."</p> + +<p>The professor smiled. "There <i>is</i> another inn."</p> + +<p>There was nothing for it. We had to go to the inn across the road, glad +enough to have a roof at all. The rain was tearing down as if the +heavens were filled with fire-engines.</p> + +<p>But they didn't want us there. We beheld<span class="pagenum"><a id="page332" name="page332"></a>Pg 332</span> a dirty low-ceiled room filled +with filthy people and a smell of wet unwashed clothes.</p> + +<p>The owner and his wife received us roughly. "We have no room, we have +nothing," they said.</p> + +<p>We stood our ground. "We <i>must</i> have a roof to-night."</p> + +<p>Outside the road had become a river, our men were nearly dropping with +fatigue.</p> + +<p>"You can't come here," said the innkeeper, looking at us with great +distrust.</p> + +<p>The major, whom Jo had "bothered," came in. "You must take these +people," he said, and asked various searching questions about the rooms.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly the truth came out that if the whole family slept in one +room there would be one for us. The major ordered them to do it. Jo +wished she hadn't "bothered" him quite so gruffly.</p> + +<p>The daughters stamped about, furiously pulling all the blankets off the +two beds, while one of them stood in the doorway watching us to see that +we did not secrete the greasy counterpanes. Several of the party sat, +hair on end, with staring eyes, too tired to shut them.</p> + +<p>"Food?"</p> + +<p>"Nema Nishta," was the response.</p> + +<p>"Can we boil water?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Where can we boil it?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page333" name="page333"></a>Pg 333</span></p> + +<p>"Nowhere."</p> + +<p>"But there is a fire in the kitchen," we said, pointing to a hooded +fireplace where a few sticks were burning.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't they boil water?" said a kindly looking man.</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose they can," said the old woman, who became almost +pleasant over the kitchen fire—telling Jo she was sixty and only a +stara Baba (old granny).</p> + +<p>Miss Brindley made tea. We cheered as she brought it in. Tea, bully +beef, and our last biscuits comprised our dinner, which we ate in big +gulps, after which we sang "Three blind mice" as a digestive.</p> + +<p>The half-open door was full of peering faces, so somewhat encouraged we +gave them a selection of rounds.</p> + +<p>We left next morning early in a heavy downpour, after being exorbitantly +charged, glad to leave Jabooka for ever.</p> + +<p>The professor was before us, an aged red Riding Hood, clad in his +scarlet blanket. The day was long and uneventful. Trudge, trudge, +splash, splash. The dividing line between snow and rain still was +heavily marked, but it sleeted and our hands were quite numbed. We +crossed an angry stream on a greasy pole and most of us splashed in. +Whatmough<span class="pagenum"><a id="page334" name="page334"></a>Pg 334</span> stood in the water, remarking, "I'm wet and I'll get no +wetter," and helped people across. Again after dark we arrived at Liéva +Riéka, to find our dirty old inn again; but it had a real iron stove +which gave out a glorious heat, and we crowded around in the ill-lit +room, clouds of steam arising from us. We tried to dry our stockings +against the stove pipe, but the old mother did not approve. She was +afraid of fire. When she ran out of the room, socks were pressed +surreptitiously against the pipe with a "sizz," and when she returned, +innocent looking people were standing against the wall, no socks to be +seen.</p> + +<p>The eldest daughter settled down with her head in Jo's hip, having +failed to get Miss Brindley alongside. She gazed longingly at Miss +Brindley from Jo's lap, and asking for all the data possible as to her +life.</p> + +<p>"A devoika (girl), free, travelling from a country so far away that it +would take three months in an oxcart to get there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how wonderful!"</p> + +<p>They gave us a tiny room and two benches—much too small for the whole +company; so some slept outside on the balcony.</p> + +<p>The professor was in the adjoining inn, so we guessed it must be the +best; but a young French sailor, from the wireless in Podgoritza, who +came<span class="pagenum"><a id="page335" name="page335"></a>Pg 335</span> to gossip with us, said there was nothing to choose.</p> + +<p>He was champing, as the Government were commandeering the wireless +company's motor cars right and left using them to cart benzine; and now +they were going to send a refugee Serb officer's family to Podgoritza in +his motor, leaving him sitting.</p> + +<p>We spent the next morning waiting for the motor, not knowing if it would +arrive or no. The professor sailed away in the French one, being one up +on us again. It still rained, so we sat contemplating the possibilities +of lunch. No sooner was it on the boil than the biggest automobile in +Montenegro, a covered lorry, turned up.</p> + +<p>We persuaded the driver to lunch with us, and packed ourselves and our +dingy packages on to the wet floor. The motor buzzed up and downhill, +incessantly twisting and turning: what we could see of the view from the +back waved to and fro like Alpine scenery seen in the cinematograph. +Stajitch became violently seasick with the fumes of benzine, which arose +from two big tanks we were taking along, and lay with his head lolling +miserably out of the back of the car.</p> + +<p>Pod once more, sleepy, inhospitable Pod.</p> + +<p>We bargained for rooms at our old inn—mixed beds and floors. The owner +was asking more than<span class="pagenum"><a id="page336" name="page336"></a>Pg 336</span> ever; he shrugged his shoulders and raised his +hands.</p> + +<p>"The war—increasing prices."</p> + +<p>So we took what we could, put Stajitch to bed, saw the prefect, our old +friend from Chainitza, who promised us a carriage for Cettinje in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Miss Brindley, joyfully ready to see Cettinje and anything else that +might turn up, joined Jo and Jan in the old shandrydan carriage which +lumbered along for seven hours to Cettinje.</p> + +<p>"We are going to find Turkish delight," said the others, as they +disappeared down a side street, revelling in the idea of a rest.</p> + +<p>Cettinje was inches deep in water. We assured the Count de Salis that +much as we needed money to continue the journey, we needed baths more.</p> + +<p>This was a weighty matter and needed much thinking out, petroleum being +very scarce. The huge empty Legation kitchen stove was lit and upon it +were placed all the kettles, saucepans, and empty tins in the place; the +picturesque old baggy-breeched porter, his wife, and little boy stoking +hard, and asking lots of questions. One by one we were ushered into a +room, not the bathroom but a room containing the sort of comfortable +bath which makes the least water go the longest way, and also a +beautiful hot stove. This solemn rite occupied<span class="pagenum"><a id="page337" name="page337"></a>Pg 337</span> a whole afternoon. We +had not taken our clothes off for sixteen days and had been in the +dirtiest of places. A change of underclothing was effected. None too +soon! for at Liéva Riéka we had picked up lice.</p> + +<p>We compared notes on this part afterwards. "Happy hunting?" we inquired +like Mowgli's friends. It was good to sit by the big kitchen stove +holding bits of dripping clothing to the blaze; the downfall at Cettinje +the evening before having completely drenched our damp things again.</p> + +<p>Next day outside the world was white and silent, the snow covering the +little city and its intrigues with a thick whitewash.</p> + +<p>The minister was the kindest of hosts and could not do enough for us +during our stay. Cettinje had not changed much. The hotel-keeper showed +an intense and violent anxiety to leave Montenegro. Never had his native +Switzerland seemed so alluring and never was it so unattainable. The +chemist, who owned a little one-windowed shop, was engaged to the king's +niece, quite a lift in the world for her, as she was marrying a man of +education.</p> + +<p>Penwiper, the dog, was still in sole possession of the street, and again +went mad with joy at the sound of English women's voices, and +accompanied<span class="pagenum"><a id="page338" name="page338"></a>Pg 338</span> us everywhere, generally upside-down in the snow, clutching +our skirts with her teeth.</p> + +<p>Jan was in and out of the Transport Office door while Miss Brindley and +Jo were being followed around the streets by a jeering crowd of +children, who seemed to think that Miss Brindley's india-rubber boot-top +leggings and Jo's corrugated stockings and safety-pinned-up skirt out of +place. We bought some bags from a woman we afterwards heard was +suspected of being an Austrian spy.</p> + +<p>Poor old Prenk Bib Doda was in our hotel. He was Prince of the +Miridites. As a boy he had been kidnapped by the Turks and haled off to +Constantinople. Grown to a middle-aged man in captivity, he was restored +to his tribes during the Young Turk Revolution, only to be abducted by +the Montenegrins, and to be kept practically a prisoner in Cettinje. We +don't know if he disliked it, possibly not, for his walk in life seems +to be that of a professional hostage, if one may say so. His ideals of +comfort were certainly nearer to the cabarets in Berlin, than to the +wild orgies of his own subjects. In fact he was civilized.</p> + +<p>A passage across the Adriatic seemed problematic. The Transport Minister +hoped we might catch a ship that had tried to leave Scutari three times, +but had always been thrown on the beach<span class="pagenum"><a id="page339" name="page339"></a>Pg 339</span> by storms. The great difficulty +was crossing the lake of Scutari. One steamer had been mysteriously sunk +and another damaged. He promised to arrange a motor for us directly he +should be able to put his hand on a boat to take us across the lake.</p> + +<p>Jan and Jo simultaneously began to wish they had not eaten sardines at +Riéka. The attack was very violent, and next day Jo stayed in bed, +refusing the page boy's efforts to tempt her with lunch.</p> + +<p>"See," he said, bearing in a third dish, "English, your i <i>rissh</i>kew."</p> + +<p>Jo pretended to be pleased, and made Jan eat the Irish stew after his +lunch, so that the page boy's feelings should not be hurt.</p> + +<p>Suddenly word came from the Transport Minister that a carriage was +coming for us. We were to go to Pod, and pick up the others. So Jo +stopped tying herself into knots and had to get up and go. We arrived at +Pod to find everybody ill. Two days' sedentary life and Turkish delight +were responsible for this. We suggested castor oil. One had just missed +pleurisy—Whatmough had acted as nurse.</p> + +<p>The professor had been trying to pump Stajitch as to our future plans, +as he was again alone and rudderless. Stajitch said—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page340" name="page340"></a>Pg 340</span></p> + +<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Gordon alone know, and they are in Cettinje."</p> + +<p>"Now that's not kind to keep a fellow countryman in the dark," said the +professor.</p> + +<p>Stajitch assured him he knew nothing; but the professor walked away, +murmuring that the English were undermining a good Serb boy's character.</p> + +<p>And that was the last of the professor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/50.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page341" name="page341"></a>Pg 341</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>INTO ALBANIA</h3> + + +<p>We caught the mayor in the morning. He was in his shirt-sleeves and he +said that the auto had been arranged for. It came and we packed in. On +the back perched a boy who outsmelt any Serb we had ever found. It +seemed impossible that a human could so smell and yet live. Suddenly the +boy drew a packet from his pocket and the smell became intolerable. He +unwrapped a piece of cheese and, gasping for breath, we watched it +disappear. When it had gone we breathed more freely, but the odour still +clung to the youth, and we were not sorry when the auto pulled up at the +village of Plavnitza on the edge of the lake. A man, who said that he +had been sent to help us, dragged us to the telephone office. He worried +the instrument for a while and announced that the boat would be here in +two hours. It would have come earlier, but somehow they couldn't make +steam get up. We expected it to come in four, and so went off to get +something to eat.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page342" name="page342"></a>Pg 342</span></p> + +<p>The lake was very high, coming right up to the road. All the low fields +were covered with water as far as one could see. The girl at the inn was +shuddering and shivering with malaria, and we gave her some quinine. At +last the steamer came.</p> + +<p>We had to pack into one of those cockhat boats, as the quay was +separated from the village by half a mile of water. When we got to the +steamer, the captain leaned over the side and shouted—</p> + +<p>"Where are the mattresses?"</p> + +<p>"What mattresses?" said the harbour-master.</p> + +<p>"When are you going to start?" demanded we, clambering on board.</p> + +<p>"When I get the mattresses," said the captain.</p> + +<p>"But what mattresses?" replied the harbour-master.</p> + +<p>"I was sent to get mattresses," said the captain, "and here I wait till +they come."</p> + +<p>This was a nuisance, nobody had said anything about the mattresses.</p> + +<p>"I shan't go till to-morrow anyhow," said the skipper.</p> + +<p>"I think we'd all better go back to Podgoritza and come again +to-morrow," said the man in charge.</p> + +<p>"We don't move from here," said Jo, firmly. "If he won't go we'll sit on +this boat—which was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page343" name="page343"></a>Pg 343</span> sent for us—and sing songs all night so that he +shan't sleep."</p> + +<p>The captain refused to move without the mattresses and we refused to go +back, so a violent argument ensued. We remained adamant. At last in +despair the harbour master said that he would go and telephone. Night +was coming on, the deck was chilly, so Jan went to explore. The quay was +half under water, but by jumping from stone to stone one could get +about, and Jan discovered an entrance into the stone storehouse. The +door was boarded up, but he forced his way in, discovering a huge empty +interior banked up well above the water. At one end was a platform made +of boards on tubs. An ideal bed. He called the company and they arranged +themselves on the planks, though some were dismayed at the prospect of +getting no supper. The boards were loose and as each took his place they +bobbed up and down. Miss Brindley said that it seemed like sleeping on +the keyboard of a piano. We did not expect to see anything before +morning of the harbour-master or of Stajitch who had gone with him; but +just as we were settled and beginning to snore and the rats were running +about, Stajitch poked his head through the window and said that the boat +was going immediately. We reluctantly got up, for we were really rather +cosy, packed again<span class="pagenum"><a id="page344" name="page344"></a>Pg 344</span> and hopped in the moonlight from stone to stone till +we got to the ship—which was the same old Turkish gunboat on which we +had travelled once before. The thing was then explained—a telegraphic +mistake. The captain had been ordered to fetch the strangers: but +strangers and mattresses are only one letter different, "n" or "m," this +letter had been transposed.</p> + +<p>Luckily it was a beautiful moonlight night. The lake was wonderfully +romantic. A fat Serbian captain, who seemed to know Stajitch, made a +request. He said that he had been cut off from his division, which was +at Monastir, and that he was going to try and rejoin them. He ask us if +he could join our party, as it would come cheaper at the hotels and he +could get transport.</p> + +<p>It was pretty cold on the lake, but we wrapped ourselves in our blankets +and said the view was lovely. Hunger was also gnawing within us, so we +were glad when at last the rumbling old engines halted and the steamer +gave three hoots. We waited anxiously, and at last a large rowboat came +sideways against the steamer. Four carriages were waiting in the bazaar. +A very polite Montenegrin doctor welcomed us at the hotel and we got +some much desired food.</p> + +<p>Bed was beginning to be a mere commonplace<span class="pagenum"><a id="page345" name="page345"></a>Pg 345</span> now, but we enjoyed it for +all that, and slept well into the morning.</p> + +<p>Scutari wore its usual air of "the ballet" when we arose. The ladies +dressed all in their best clothes, and with great flowing veils and wide +skirted coats were hobbling to church. The shopkeepers, with their long +black and white legs and coloured shirts, were lounging about the low +counters of their shops, smoking and drinking coffee brought them (on +little swinging trays) by boys.</p> + +<p>The British consul had taken up his quarters at the "Maison Piget." The +house was gated, as are all Albanian houses, but this gate was like an +old feudal portal. The doors were wonderfully carved and were opened by +our old friend the Wolf. We had thought him to be a servant of Suma's, +but it appeared that he belonged to the British Empire.</p> + +<p>The house was crammed full of arms: a little cannon threatened us on the +stairway, swords, claymores, creeses, falchions, scimitars, glaives, +dirks, and yatagans were nailed on all the walls, and there were muskets +of every sort and size, heavy arquebuses from the north and gas-pipe +guns and Arab horsemen firelocks with polished stocks like the handle of +a corkscrew, all inlaid with gold, silver, and mother-of-pearl.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page346" name="page346"></a>Pg 346</span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said the consul, gazing reflectively, "he had a taste for +weapons. And also for old cookery books."</p> + +<p>The consul said that he thought that there was a boat at San Giovanni. +We cheered, for our luck seemed to be holding, and while he went off to +the Italian consul we went to the governor to beg for transport. Neither +consul nor governor was in, but we caught the Italian consul in the +afternoon. He admitted that there was a boat, but warned us that it was +no nosegay. He said that two Frenchmen who had thought of taking it had +sent him back a telegram which had quite unnerved him.</p> + +<p>"Et je n'ai jamais dit qu'elle était une Transatlantique," he said, +waving his arms.</p> + +<p>He said that the archbishop had told him that a party of English had +come into the town last night, "en haillons," but that he had not +believed it possible. However, he had seen two of us in the street that +morning, and had realized that it was true.</p> + +<p>We said that any boat would do. He warned us of the danger of +submarines.</p> + +<p>At the consul's house we found the captain of the Miridites awaiting us. +He was a heavy-looking man with European clothes and a fez. After the +ceremonious coffee he made a set speech, saying<span class="pagenum"><a id="page347" name="page347"></a>Pg 347</span> that he was paying his +duties to the great British Empire, and that England was their only +hope. The consul sat rather wishing that he wouldn't, and that his +servant had said that he was not at home. In common with most of the +Christian rulers of Albania this gentleman seemed to have spent most of +his time in exile.</p> + +<p>Returning to the hotel Jan found that Jo had been purchasing, and he +dragged her and Miss Brindley off to see the archbishop. The cathedral +still carries the scars of the first bombardment. The archbishop, a +large flat man, gave us each a hand as though he expected us to kiss it; +he had a huge archiepispocal ring and a lot of imperiosity. He seemed +more political than bishopy, though most of the Churchmen are; and there +is the tale of one who said, "I would rather people went to drill than +to church." There were a lot of wealthy looking Albanians sitting round +and being respectable. The archbishop spoke no French nor German, only +Italian. But Jan, with the help of a lot of old musical terms, and an +imperfectly forgotten Spanish, managed to convey to him some +intelligible compliments and sentences. We got out at last, and his +eminence accompanied us to the top of the stairs and gave us the +difficult problem of bowing backwards as we went down. This visit was +necessary, as we might have had to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page348" name="page348"></a>Pg 348</span> get a "Besa" from him if we meant to +go through to Durazzo.</p> + +<p>The Serbian captain who had been on the Turkish gunboat met us in the +street. He dragged us into a café and began to order beer by the +half-dozen. He presented Jo with a small Turkish gold coin, which was +valued at five shillings, as a bribe to allow him to join our party. As +he already had permission it seemed superfluous.</p> + +<p>Some of our party were still pretty seedy. Two had gone to a shop in +search of castor oil. A very old and withered chemist, who spoke bad +French, invited them in and asked for an account of their adventures, +interrupting them with explosions of "Ah poves, poves, poves, poves." +"Ah, poves, poves, poves, poves," between every incident and also at the +final request for the medicine. He showed them to the door and suddenly +burst into unexpected English.</p> + +<p>"Good naite, vairey good. I am your poppa."</p> + +<p>In the hotel café we found two French aeroplanists, for four had arrived +that day, sailing down over the city, to the great terror of the +inhabitants. They seemed to be afflicted with the same idea as "Quel +Pays."</p> + +<p>"Ah, monsieur et dame," said they, "quel pays."</p> + +<p>We asked them how things were.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page349" name="page349"></a>Pg 349</span></p> + +<p>"We have just come from Prizren. The Serbs are in a dreadful condition. +All the roads are covered with starving and dying people. The troops are +eating dead horses and roots. There have been violent snow blizzards all +over the mountains. We saw some of your people, too, doctors and nurses, +they were going off to Ipek, 'dans une condition déplorable.' We came +across the mountains; one of us is lost. Awful country, nowhere to land +if anything went wrong and one of our machines has not arrived. God +knows what has happened to them. The rest of us are all coming along on +foot. We burnt fifty motor cars yesterday, monsieur, that made a blaze."</p> + +<p>We asked them what sort of a time they had had in Serbia; but much of +their answer is unpublishable.</p> + +<p>"Each time we ascended every Serbian regiment fired at us. Once we came +down over a battalion and the whole lot fired volleys, and when we +landed and stood in front of our machine holding up our hands," they +pantomimed, "they continued to fire at us. Then they came and took us +prisoners, and were going to shoot us, although one of us had a military +medal. A schoolmaster recognised us as French and rescued us. Our +machine was broken; but we could get no transport and had to walk thirty +kilometres back to our base without food.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page350" name="page350"></a>Pg 350</span></p> + +<p>"Another time we were chasing an Austrian, the Serbian batteries fired +at us, monsieur, not at the enemy. Our officers had to send from the +aerodrome to tell them to stop."</p> + +<p>As we were going to bed the Montenegrin doctor came in.</p> + +<p>"I am sent by the governor, monsieur," said he. "We do not consider it +safe, this boat idea. Austrian submarines are everywhere, and the +governor would feel it as a personal responsibility if you were drowned. +We will provide carriages to Alessio and thence arrange horses—only one +day and a half on to Durazzo. Thence Essad Pasha will give you his motor +boat and you can easily get to Valona."</p> + +<p>Our men groaned at the thought of more journeying. They were all +thoroughly fed up with the road, though personally we rather liked the +idea. We had heard that Durazzo was very interesting, and would have +liked to have met Essad, though we did not know just how his politics +were trending. We decided to see the Italian consul once more.</p> + +<p>Next day we hunted up the mayor, Mahram Beg, a Turk, for he also could +give us a "Besa" if necessary. He was at last discovered, a little +crumpled looking man in an office. We were not allowed to interview him +in private, but a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page351" name="page351"></a>Pg 351</span> Montenegrin was there and all conversation had to +pass by him like through an imperfect telephone. We gave the mayor a +greeting from Colonel P——and little else. A very disappointing +interview.</p> + +<p>Jan went off to see the governor, who received him kindly. He said that +he would arrange everything, but that it was difficult for him with the +Italian consul, as the Powers did not recognize the Montenegrin +occupation.</p> + +<p>"You see, monsieur, here I am the law, and yet the law does not +recognize me."</p> + +<p>The Italian assured us that the Montenegrins were wrong, and that of +course the boat would be escorted, and the danger reduced to its least +possible amount. Just after we had left him we heard two things which +made us jump.</p> + +<p>A body of English officers had landed at Medua, and ninety English +refugees from Serbia were <i>en route</i> for Scutari. Could we not catch the +transport and at the same time leave room for the others? Suma came in, +and we consulted him. He was doubtful if the horses could be got at +Alessio for us.</p> + +<p>"You see, it is Albania and not Montenegro," he repeated.</p> + +<p>We accordingly hunted up the doctor. He promised us horses for the +morrow. The carriages had all gone to fetch the English officers. We +asked<span class="pagenum"><a id="page352" name="page352"></a>Pg 352</span> him about Alessio, and he assured us that the telephone message +had been received saying that they were waiting. We asked him several +times until he grew angry and said—</p> + +<p>"Do you doubt my honour, then?"</p> + +<p>Before we went to bed the hotel proprietor came to us.</p> + +<p>"Do you pay or the Government?" asked he; and seemed very relieved when +we told him that we paid. The Montenegrins are neither loved nor trusted +here.</p> + +<p>The next morning the horses came, but very late. In the crowd watching +our departure was an old Albanian without a moustache. That was a +strange sight; we looked harder. It was a woman. She must have been one +of those who had sworn eternal virginity, and so achieve all a man's +privileges, even eating with them instead of getting the scraps left +over from the meal. But the punishment of death awaited her if she +failed her vow. Here was one, chuckling and grinning at some of us in +our attempts to mount the weird saddles and weirder steeds which had +been provided. The Serb captain had a carriage, and another carriage +took all our baggage, which had now sadly dwindled owing to the +continued depredations of the police. We straggled out of the town and +through the crowded bazaar, for it was a Saturday.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page353" name="page353"></a>Pg 353</span> Passed the Venetian +fort and the river from which stuck the funnel of the steamer so +mysteriously sunk one night. We had heard that the Turkish gun flat +which had transported us had burst her boilers, so now the Montenegrins +had no steamers left.</p> + +<p>The road was level and better than many we had come over, though once or +twice the carriages were hopelessly mired, and had to be pushed across. +West's horse had ideas about side streets, and bolted down each as he +came to it.</p> + +<p>We met the Adriatic Commission. Mr. Lamb and Mr. George Paget, returning +after so long an absence, were in the first carriage. We recognized Mr. +Paget at once, for though either of them might have liked old arms, only +one would have collected old cookery books. The rest of the commission +came along later. They stopped us. We expected questions about the +Serbs; but no. They said—</p> + +<p>"Can one buy underclothing in Scutari?"</p> + +<p>Their baggage transport had been sunk by an Austrian submarine and they +had only what they were wearing. We wished each other luck and went on. +There was no hope of arriving at Alessio that night, we had started too +late. As evening was falling, we came to an Albanian inn and decided to +put up.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page354" name="page354"></a>Pg 354</span></p> + +<p>There was a stable full of manure on the ground floor, through which one +had to pass, and in the dark one was continually slipping into the +midden or running one's head unexpectedly into horses' hindquarters. Up +a rickety stair were two rooms. The floor rocked as we walked over it, +and every moment we expected to go through and be precipitated into the +manure below. The walls and floor were so loosely made that the wind +blew through in all directions, and we called it the "castle in the +air." We supped on chickens which we had brought from Scutari, and +Whatmough and Elmer made a fire in the yard and got us cocoa. By this +time we were all getting fed up with romantic surroundings, and wanted +something more solid. The swarthy countenances about the bonfire, the +queer costumes in the flickering fire, left us unmoved.</p> + +<p>Sleep was impossible. The wind caught one in every corner, threatening +lumbago. Stajitch fled and camped outside in one of the carriages, +despite the rain.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image28" name="image28"> + <img src="images/51.jpg" + alt="Albanian Mule Drivers Camping." + title="Albanian Mule Drivers Camping." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Albanian Mule Drivers Camping.</span></span> +</div> + +<p>We started as early as possible—dawn. Whatmough, Cutting, Jo and Jan +lost the road, but were eventually rescued by a policeman. About eleven +one of the carriages broke down, and we had to repair it with tree and +wire. Here the houses were again like fortresses, and everybody<span class="pagenum"><a id="page355" name="page355"></a>Pg 355</span> +stared at us as though we came from the moon.</p> + +<p>We reached the bank opposite Alessio—a small Turkish-looking village +divided between a mud-bank and a hillside. We were about to turn over +the bridge when news was brought that a motor-boat belonging to Essad +was in San Giovanni harbour. We sent a policeman galloping on to stop +it, and followed as fast as our meagre horses would allow. We also heard +that a submarine had been in the port the day before and had tried to +torpedo the ships lying there—but had missed.</p> + +<p>We cantered on, pressing along a stony road which was almost level with +the salt marshes on either side. San Giovanni appeared after about an +hour and a half. We rode down on to the beach. The motor-boat was +getting up anchor. We yelled to the skipper, but he understood no Serb; +so we translated through a Turk who was lounging about. The skipper said +that he could not embark us there as it was Montenegrin territory, but +that if we would go back to Alessio he would wait for us at the mouth of +the river and take us down that very night. This seemed too good to be +true and we hurried back, passing an Austrian torpedo which had run up +on the brown sand—a present from yesterday's raid. We turned the others +and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page356" name="page356"></a>Pg 356</span> cantered ahead to get a boat; reached the bridge once more and +crossed into Albania. Officials ran from all sides to stop us, but we +ignored them, dismounted, and ran to the side of the river where boats +were loading, overloading with passengers. The boatmen refused to take +us if we had no passes from the governor.</p> + +<p>We hunted the governor's office up the hillside, panting in our haste. +We burst in upon him. He was a dirty man in an unclean shirt and unkempt +trousers.</p> + +<p>"We want to go by the motor-boat," we explained.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he asked, picking his teeth.</p> + +<p>"We are the English about whom the governor of Scutari has telegraphed."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about you," he said. His manner was ungracious.</p> + +<p>"But," we said, "they assured us that they had telegraphed from +Scutari."</p> + +<p>The telegraph clerk was brought, and denied that any message had come.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," said the governor, "the motor-boat is for Albanian soldiers +only, and has gone twenty minutes ago. I can do nothing for you without +authority from Durazzo."</p> + +<p>We wandered dismally back through the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page357" name="page357"></a>Pg 357</span> town and were immediately +arrested by the bridge officials because we had not paid the toll rates. +We paid double to get rid of them.</p> + +<p>We found an inn. It was the usual sort of building only of stone, and so +dirtier than the others. Some travelling show seemed to have left its +scenery in lieu of its bill, for bits of painted canvas did duty as +partitions.</p> + +<p>There was a room with six beds, but one was reserved for an Albanian +officer. We took the rest. We loitered about all the afternoon, and in +the evening the Albanian officer came in. He was a beaky-faced, +unpleasant-looking man, but he procured us some bread, which we sorely +lacked. The hotel had little food, so we gave them our rice. By this +time fleas had got into it, and seeming to like it had bred in +quantities. Still as we had nothing else it had to be cooked, and we +picked out the boiled fleas as well as we were able. The Serbian captain +started drinking with the Albanian, and soon both were well over the +edge of sobriety.</p> + +<p>They came up long after we had turned in, fell over Cutting, who cursed +them without stint, and tumbled on to the beds which we had left for +them. The Albanian made some remarks about the ladies, which from the +tone were insults; but we were unable to chastize him, or we should all +have been put into prison.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page358" name="page358"></a>Pg 358</span></p> + +<p>They snored and coughed all night, and spat about in the dark. Those who +were sleeping near cowered beneath the mackintosh sheets and prayed for +luck. But in the morning we found that they had been spitting on the +wall.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/52.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page359" name="page359"></a>Pg 359</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>"ONE MORE RIBBER TO CROSS"</h3> + + +<p>The Mayor of Alessio had said that there were lots of horses, if we had +Essad's permission; but the Turkish captain said that there were none, +only at San Giovanni were they to be found. It was pelting with rain, +but Blease and we decided to walk over to explore for ourselves. Jan +first wrote a very stiff letter to the Governor of Scutari about the +non-arrival of the telegram, and off we went, having borrowed oilskins +and sou'westers. The Serb captain insisted on coming with us.</p> + +<p>In half an hour the storm had made the stony road into a series of deep +ponds which nearly joined each other, so Jo tucked her now ragged skirt +into a bright woven Serbian belt and walked along with the water +streaming from coat to boots. It became rather a pleasure to splash +through ten-inch deep puddles, knowing that one could not possibly get +any wetter, and this joy was intensified by the knowledge that the +Serbian captain was being soaked and didn't like it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page360" name="page360"></a>Pg 360</span></p> + +<p>San Giovanni consists of a series of huts, each like Burns' birthplace, +grouped on the shelving side of a stony cliff. The bay itself is +semi-circular, with a long cape jutting out to the south, the extremity +of which almost always is floating in the air, owing to the mirage. In +the bay were two rusty steamers—one the <i>Benedetto</i>, which had been +promised to us by the Italian governor—several old wooden sailers, and +a lot of smallish fishing smacks very brightly painted and with raised +poop and prow. A group of Albanians were toiling at sacks which cumbered +the little wooden jetty.</p> + +<p>We immediately hunted out Captain Fabiano, the Italian commander of the +wireless telegraph, and found him in a little house at the northern horn +of the bay. He received us gaily. He spoke an excellent French, so that +the Serbian captain could not butt in and interfere, as was his habit. +Fabiano said that it would take a long time to get a wire to Brindisi, +where we had heard were several ships of the English fleet, very bored +and craving for something to do; we had hoped to get into communication +with them. Then Jan had a brain wave.</p> + +<p>"Is not the wind good for Durazzo?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"Splendid," said Fabiano, "and no submarines to-day."</p> + +<p>"Could we not get a fishing boat?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page361" name="page361"></a>Pg 361</span></p> + +<p>"I will send and see."</p> + +<p>While we were waiting he told us that he was sheltering the crew of the +ship which had been transporting the English mission's kit. The captain +of the little transport had set fire to the benzine which his boat was +carrying, which act so enraged the submarine captain that he fired three +torpedoes into her, and afterwards mounted his conning tower and fired +ten full clips from his revolver at the swimming men. Luckily revolver +shooting requires much practice. The men had clung to an overturned boat +and had all eventually reached shore, after which they had to march a +day and a half without boots or food, often fording rivers which came to +their waists. Fabiano said that he was going to send them home on the +<i>Benedetto</i>.</p> + +<p>The captain of the port sent back word that we could have a boat +immediately—much to Fabiano's surprise. But most of the party were at +Alessio. We hurried off to see the captain of the port. Explanations, +certainly when the luggage came; and off went Jan with a guide to get +pack ponies. Halfway back to Alessio was the stable, but the steeds were +not ready, so Jan was ushered up into a top room where was a huge fire, +over which an Albanian was stewing a cormorant with all its feathers on. +There were other Albanians and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page362" name="page362"></a>Pg 362</span> very old Montenegrin soldier. He +admired everything English, even Jan's tobacco which he had bought in +Pod.</p> + +<p>We got to Alessio and packed everything hurriedly, paid the bill, tipped +an old soldier two dinars, and off. As we passed over the bridge the +clerk came running behind us. We had not paid the bridge fees, he said.</p> + +<p>"How much?" asked Jan.</p> + +<p>He hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Two dinars," said he. He had been talking to the soldier.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Jo and Blease had found refuge in the house of the military +commandant. It was a hovel like all the houses, but they were given a +huge log fire which was built on the mud floor. Their stockings were +soon hanging on a line above the blaze, and their shins were scorching, +while they drank wonderful liqueur which was hospitably poured out by +the beautiful old host.</p> + +<p>Turkish coffee was prepared for them by a soldier in a bursting French +fireman's uniform.</p> + +<p>The captain's fire was the rendezvous of the village. Amiable and +picturesque people came in and talked about the unhealthiness of the +place, the relative bravery of nations with a special reference to the +courage of Montenegrins, and about the submarine raid and of how the +Austrian captain<span class="pagenum"><a id="page363" name="page363"></a>Pg 363</span> had repeatedly fired his revolver at the sailors of +the boat he had sunk while they were swimming in the water. Their eyes +were streaming, not with emotion, but because in Montenegro one has no +chimneys.</p> + +<p>At dusk the rest of us arrived. The port captain said "To-morrow," so we +climbed up to the inn, examined the stores, a few tins of tunny, +mackerel, and milk, and the thirteen made the best of the bar-room floor +for the night, booted and ready in case a transport for the <i>Benedetto</i> +should arrive.</p> + +<p>In the morning the captain said we could have the boat that night, and +in the evening he said we could have it in the morning. His excuse was +that the Borra was blowing its hardest, and no sailor could be found to +venture out; but Fabiano said that this was not true.</p> + +<p>The real reason was the sleek Austrian torpedo lying on the beach, for +the Dulcinos are famed on the Adriatic coast because of their timidity.</p> + +<p>Time passed drearily. The only amusement we had was to go and annoy the +captain of the port by asking when we could have a boat. The wind was +too cold for constitutionals, and we piled on all our clothes and sat on +our knapsacks in the bar-room—for there was no fire—and talked +wistfully of sausages, Yorkshire Relish and underdone beefsteaks.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page364" name="page364"></a>Pg 364</span></p> + +<p>We had much time for meditation, and pondered over the downfall of +Serbia. Why had the Serbian Government so resolutely refused to make any +territorial concessions to Bulgaria, when it was obvious that the entry +of Bulgaria into the conflict meant the ruin of Serbia? Why had they +permitted the Austrians to build their big gun emplacements on the +Danube without interruption? Why had they not withdrawn to the hills and +then built proper defences with barbed wire entanglements and +labyrinths? for properly entrenched they might have defied the +Austro-German forces for months. Some day, perhaps, these questions may +have to be answered.</p> + +<p>One day a party came in. They had passed through Vrntze much later than +we, and we heard that Dr. Berry and an assistant had been seen hurriedly +nailing boards on to the slaughter-house roof. They, too, had come by +the Novi Bazar route. They said that the other routes were deep in snow +and that the sufferings of the army were terrible. That a great portion +had been hemmed in at Prizren, and that the Bulgars had shelled the +passes so that they could not escape. They themselves had escaped the +advancing Austrians by the skin of their teeth owing to good horses.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image29" name="image29"> + <img src="images/53.jpg" + alt="UNLOADING THE BENEDETTO, SAN GIOVANNI DI MEDUA." + title="UNLOADING THE BENEDETTO, SAN GIOVANNI DI MEDUA." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">UNLOADING THE "BENEDETTO," SAN GIOVANNI DI MEDUA.</span> +</div> + +<p>The snow came down, driving along the valleys <span class="pagenum"><a id="page365" name="page365"></a>Pg 365</span> and whitening all the +hills; the cold grew more intense, and the desire for English beefsteaks +became an obsession: one talked of little else—or of Christmas. Food +was becoming scarce. The tinned mackerel was diminishing; some days we +had no bread. We walked once as far as Fabiano's wireless. The men were +living in a shed made of wattle, and the Borra whistled through the +cracks. There was a stove round which we sat while the men gave us tea; +but the warmth it induced in one's face only intensified the feeling of +cold on the back. Outside in the snow was a long-distance telescope, and +peering through one could see the conning tower of the Austrian +submarine, a faint hump on the sea by the southernmost point. As we +returned to the cold hotel we passed the Montenegrin batteries: cannon +too small to be of any use and the gunners of which were all so ill that +they could not handle them.</p> + +<p>Two Frenchmen had been in San Giovanni for ten days, and their anxiety +to go was up to fever point. They took it in turns to stand "pour +observer," wrapped up to their noses, in a doorway, watching the +<i>Benedetto</i> in case she should give them the slip. We called them +Tweedledum and Tweedledee.</p> + +<p>One night somebody rushed up to their room. Booted, they jumped out of +bed, and ran about<span class="pagenum"><a id="page366" name="page366"></a>Pg 366</span> overhead. We thirteen scrambled up and intercepted +them between the stairs and the door. "Pour observer, steam-funnel," +they shouted, and disappeared into the night, followed by their valet +with two hold-alls. They soon came back, very cold, and announced that +steam had been seen issuing from the <i>Benedetto's</i> funnel. They had +rushed to it in an open boat, and had learnt that the <i>Benedetto</i> was +ordered to be in readiness. She fumed quietly for three days, and then +was commandeered by the Serbian Government.</p> + +<p>One day we saw a French aeroplane, an old friend of ours. Immediately +every one working in the port tore up hill, men jumped off the big boats +into little ones and rowed like a cinematograph turned double speed.</p> + +<p>The commandant roared reassuringly from his attic window, and an officer +tried to beat the men back. Seeing us convulsed with laughter, they +turned sheepishly; but the little boats wagged on, people jumping into +the water as they neared shore.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit round my fire," said the commandant. So we again imbibed +coffee and discussed courage. It was explained to us that none of the +men in the boats were Montenegrins, and we politely agreed.</p> + +<p>Hearing that a Red Cross party was in the village people came and asked +for medical aid. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="page367" name="page367"></a>Pg 367</span> explained that we had no doctors, but they begged +us to come and see the invalids.</p> + +<p>Doctors and chemists were unobtainable, and soldiers were dying every +day.</p> + +<p>We had no hesitation in tackling the Montenegrin soldiers, for at least +we could do no harm, considering that our whole pharmacopœia was a +little boracic, some bismuth capsules, Epsom salts, quinine, iodine, and +one of the party owned a bottle of some patent unknown stuff, against +fever and many other ailments.</p> + +<p>We were first taken to the barracks in the evening, scrambling up a +stony hill. The building looked like the disreputable ruins of +somebody's "Folly." Half the roof was off, and the walls were full of +holes. We stumbled up some black steps and entered a huge dark barn with +four log fires down the centre of the room.</p> + +<p>Round these were huddled crowds of men. They pulled some rough planks +out of a hole in the wall to let in the sunset light, and the icy Borra +rushed in, playing with the smoke and setting the men to coughing. Here +and there on the ground were long mounds, covered completely with rough +hand-woven rugs. These were the invalids, who moaned as the rugs were +pulled off their faces. A great many had malaria; others had, as far as +we could see, very bad pleurisy; and one old Albanian<span class="pagenum"><a id="page368" name="page368"></a>Pg 368</span> with rattling +breath was huddled up in a far corner, too miserable to speak.</p> + +<p>Whatmough sent for a dribble of camphorated oil he had stored in his +knapsack, "to cheer them up," said he, and rubbed everybody who had pain +and a cough.</p> + +<p>"Give them hot drinks," said Jo, in a large way. "Milk or—"</p> + +<p>"Milk! There is no milk in Medua," said the sergeant.</p> + +<p>"No tinned milk—eggs to be bought?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, no meat; we have not even enough bread, and that is all we +get."</p> + +<p>Very depressed, we sent them the remains of our Bovril and some tins of +milk from the tiny hotel store, and bought the last three eggs in the +place.</p> + +<p>"Can't you send for more?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"The hens are five hours away," said the proprietor, and didn't see why +he should send for eggs even if we paid heavily for them. He had +malaria—and nothing mattered.</p> + +<p>We saw our patients daily, and the ones who weren't going to die got a +little better, so this made our reputation. People poured in from the +hills around, and we were much embarrassed. Our white-lipped waiter +confided to each member of the party that he had a lump on his knee.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page369" name="page369"></a>Pg 369</span></p> + +<p>Every one became very busy and put off looking at it. We discussed it.</p> + +<p>What could a lump on the knee be which did not make a busy waiter limp? +And what on earth could we do for him when he wouldn't rest, and we were +reduced to boracic powder and bismuth capsules? We gave him a tube of +quinine, though, for his next attack of malaria.</p> + +<p>The longer we rested in San Giovanni the more hopeless seemed the chance +of getting away from it. The Serbian Government was close on our heels, +and once they caught us up, there would be little left for us. That +evening we were sitting with the Frenchmen, it was Monday. They, too, +were depressed, and at last Tweedledum said—</p> + +<p>"We shall never reach Paris, we shall be here for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Jan, rashly, "I think we ought to be home in a week."</p> + +<p>Dum put on the superior French air, which is aggravating even in a nice +man.</p> + +<p>"Vous croyez?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet on it," said Jan.</p> + +<p>"A dinner," answered Dum.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Jan.</p> + +<p>This lent a new interest to life.</p> + +<p>The very next day the Frenchmen told us that the Serb Government had +arrived at Scutari; the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page370" name="page370"></a>Pg 370</span> Montenegrin Governor had telegraphed to +commandeer and keep back the <i>Benedetto</i>. We had been forgotten, and the +French boat was to leave at dawn under escort.</p> + +<p>She had been strictly forbidden by her owners to take passengers, but +the Frenchmen had arranged through their minister to go by that boat if +she left the first.</p> + +<p>Telegraphic communication with the English minister at Cettinje was +practically impossible; the only thing was to appeal to the captain. +First we rushed up the hill, and interviewed Captain Fabiano, who had +already made various efforts to get us off. He promised to try and +influence the French captain.</p> + +<p>Then we flung ourselves into a boat and made for the little steamer. +People were looking at something with opera glasses, and our boatmen +took fright and wanted to row straight for land. Jan cursed them so +much, however, that they began to fear us more than imaginary submarines +or aeroplanes, and brought us alongside the vessel.</p> + +<p>The captain was ashore, taking a walk; the crew very sympathetically +made contradictory suggestions as to his whereabouts.</p> + +<p>At last we caught him. He was nice, but had strict orders, he said, to +take no one.</p> + +<p>"But, monsieur," we said, "if we were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page371" name="page371"></a>Pg 371</span> swimming in the sea, or cast off +on a desert island, you would rescue us."</p> + +<p>He admitted it.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is the difference? Here we cannot get away; the food is +growing less and less."</p> + +<p>He objected that he had no boats, and no life-saving apparatus.</p> + +<p>"That is nothing. We must get away from here. We will give you a paper +saying that it is on our own responsibility. In this country one cannot +telegraph, the telegrams never arrive. You know the Balkans."</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oui, oui, c'est un pays où le Bon Dieu n'a pas passé, ou au moins il a +peut-être passé en aeroplane."</p> + +<p>At last he agreed to take us if we could get a letter from Fabiano, and +so take the responsibility from his shoulders. This we got. Fabiano said +"Au revoir, bon voyage" for the fifth time, and at dawn we got a call, +and quitted the bar-room floor for ever. Fabiano wished us "bon voyage" +for the sixth time in the chilly dawn, and we embarked.</p> + +<p>The mate, a little round man, greeted us, and in the moments when they +were not rushing about with ropes and chains the cook explained the +Austrian submarine attack.</p> + +<p>"You see, monsieur et dame," said he, "they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page372" name="page372"></a>Pg 372</span> came in over there. The +<i>Benedetto</i> was lying outside of that sandbank, and that is the torpedo +which is lying on the beach. The one aimed at us came straight, one +could see the whorls of the water coming straight at us, but it just +tipped the sandbank and dived underneath our keel. It stuck in the mud +then, and the water boiled over it for a long while."</p> + +<p>The mate cut one of the anchors because they were afraid of fouling the +sunken torpedo, and we steamed slowly out from the shelter of the +sandbank.</p> + +<p>No escort was visible, and soon the sailors began to look anxious. They +scanned the horizon anxiously. At last one cried, "There she is." Far +away against the western dawn could be seen a thin needle mark of smoke. +In half an hour we were quite close, an Italian destroyer was convoying +a small steamer. The destroyer swung round under our stern, while the +steamer, its funnels set back, raced for San Giovanni looking like a +frightened puppy tearing towards home. The grey warship surged past us, +and out towards the horizon once more, our captain shouting to them that +he could get to Brindisi by midnight. Far away on the sky-line could be +seen the three funnels of a cruiser.</p> + +<p>We breakfasted on tinned mackerel, an unlucky<span class="pagenum"><a id="page373" name="page373"></a>Pg 373</span> dish. The <i>Harmonie</i>, +empty of cargo, was like an eggshell in the water. She bounced and +rolled and bounded from wave to wave, half of the time her screw out of +the water. The breakfast did not nourish many. Far on the horizon could +be seen the destroyer and the cruiser sweeping in gigantic circles.</p> + +<p>Half a kilometre away a periscope suddenly appeared, then the submarine +dived, rose once more, showing the rounded conning tower, dived, rose +again, like a porpoise at play.</p> + +<p>"See," cried the sailors, "how well are we guarded. Outermost the +cruiser, then the destroyer, and innermost the submarine." The cruiser +and destroyer took big sweeps once more and steamed off behind us +towards Cattaro.</p> + +<p>Our boat rolled its way from dawn to dusk. We sought refuge in the coal +hole, some lay down in the little officers' cabin. After dark the sea +grew more rough, and splashing over the deck drove even the most ill to +find shelter. Whatmough staggered to the companion, tripped over +something, and fell the length of the stair accompanied by a hard object +which hit him and made hissing sounds like a bicycle pump. He was too +seasick to investigate, but next morning found the ship's tortoise lying +on its back and feebly waving its feet and head.</p> + +<p>Then the engines slowly ceased, and there was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page374" name="page374"></a>Pg 374</span> silence. What had +happened? The steamer gave four timid hoots. The people in the cabin lay +in the darkness wondering if they had broken down, for it was not nearly +midnight. At last the mate came in.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're all in the dark," he said.</p> + +<p>Some one asked, "When shall we get to Brindisi?"</p> + +<p>"We're there," said the mate.</p> + +<p>The steamer rocked on the sea, waiting for an escort through the mine +field, lights were sparkling in the distance, and now and then +flashlights cut the dark blue of the sky. Great black ships surged by in +the gloom, ships with insistent queries as to who we were and whence we +came.</p> + +<p>At last an escort came: we were berthed and lay about waiting for the +dawn.</p> + +<p>Long after day came the doctor, who passed us, and we stepped ashore +saying—</p> + +<p>"Thank God we are back in Europe once again."</p> + +<p>Two days later San Giovanni was bombarded by an Austrian cruiser, and +all the shipping was sunk, <i>Benedetto</i> and all.</p> + +<p>We were heartily welcomed in Brindisi by the English colony, and at the +consul's office learned that the submarine was an Austrian, and that the +cruiser had made the sweep to chase it away. Jo, Miss Brindley, and Jan +went to Rome, where they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page375" name="page375"></a>Pg 375</span> ere feasted by more English, while at +Milan—where the rest of the party spent the night—a whole theatre +stood and cheered them when they came in.</p> + +<p>Jan won his bet by four minutes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/54.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page376" name="page376"></a>Pg 376</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a id="image30" name="image30"> + <img src="images/55.jpg" + alt="Route Map of the Authors' Wanderings" + title="Route Map of the Authors' Wanderings" /></a> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page377" name="page377"></a>Pg 377</span></p> +<h2>INDEX</h2> + + +<ul> +<li>Albania, <a href='#page109'>109</a>, <a href='#page154'>154</a>, <a href='#page185'>185</a></li> + +<li>Alessio, <a href='#page351'>351</a>, <a href='#page355'>355</a>-<a href='#page359'>359</a>, <a href='#page362'>362</a></li> + +<li>Andrievitza, <a href='#page126'>126</a>, <a href='#page128'>128</a>, <a href='#page133'>133</a>, <a href='#page326'>326</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Belgrade, <a href='#page228'>228</a>, <a href='#page229'>229</a></li> + +<li>Berane, <a href='#page114'>114</a>, <a href='#page291'>291</a>, <a href='#page294'>294</a>, <a href='#page295'>295</a>, <a href='#page326'>326</a></li> + +<li>Brindisi, <a href='#page360'>360</a>, <a href='#page374'>374</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Cattaro, <a href='#page94'>94</a>, <a href='#page156'>156</a></li> + +<li>Cettinje, <a href='#page48'>48</a>, <a href='#page64'>64</a>, <a href='#page78'>78</a>, <a href='#page85'>85</a>, <a href='#page91'>91</a>, <a href='#page92'>92</a>, <a href='#page96'>96</a>, <a href='#page121'>121</a>, <a href='#page123'>123</a>, <a href='#page139'>139</a>, <a href='#page205'>205</a>, <a href='#page297'>297</a>, <a href='#page336'>336</a>, <a href='#page337'>337</a></li> + +<li>Chabatz, <a href='#page229'>229</a></li> + +<li>Chainitza, <a href='#page42'>42</a>, <a href='#page49'>49</a>, <a href='#page52'>52</a>, <a href='#page53'>53</a>, <a href='#page66'>66</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Danilograd, <a href='#page87'>87</a></li> + +<li>Dechani, <a href='#page147'>147</a>, <a href='#page152'>152</a>, <a href='#page157'>157</a>, <a href='#page158'>158</a>, <a href='#page190'>190</a></li> + +<li>Dormitor Mountains, <a href='#page64'>64</a>, <a href='#page74'>74</a>, <a href='#page75'>75</a></li> + +<li>Dreina, <a href='#page57'>57</a></li> + +<li>Durazzo, <a href='#page350'>350</a>, <a href='#page356'>356</a>, <a href='#page360'>360</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Ebar River, <a href='#page250'>250</a>, <a href='#page267'>267</a>, <a href='#page268'>268</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Gorazhda, <a href='#page57'>57</a>, <a href='#page59'>59</a></li> + +<li>Gotch, <a href='#page236'>236</a></li> + +<li>Gussigne, <a href='#page122'>122</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Ipek, <a href='#page114'>114</a>, <a href='#page122'>122</a>, <a href='#page124'>124</a>, <a href='#page132'>132</a>, <a href='#page134'>134</a>, <a href='#page143'>143</a>, <a href='#page144'>144</a>, <a href='#page145'>145</a>, <a href='#page154'>154</a>, <a href='#page175'>175</a>, <a href='#page294'>294</a>, <a href='#page330'>330</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Jabliak, <a href='#page64'>64</a>, <a href='#page70'>70</a>, <a href='#page74'>74</a></li> + +<li>Jabooka, <a href='#page129'>129</a>, <a href='#page131'>131</a>, <a href='#page330'>330</a>, <a href='#page331'>331</a></li> + +<li>Jakovitza, <a href='#page114'>114</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Kolashin, <a href='#page132'>132</a></li> + +<li>Kossovo, <a href='#page176'>176</a>, <a href='#page178'>178</a></li> + +<li>Krag, Kragujevatz, <a href='#page198'>198</a>, <a href='#page209'>209</a>, <a href='#page212'>212</a>, <a href='#page213'>213</a>, <a href='#page223'>223</a>, <a href='#page224'>224</a>, <a href='#page238'>238</a>, <a href='#page243'>243</a>, <a href='#page252'>252</a>, <a href='#page262'>262</a>, <a href='#page280'>280</a>, <a href='#page330'>330</a></li> + +<li>Kralievo, <a href='#page213'>213</a>, <a href='#page241'>241</a>, <a href='#page242'>242</a>, <a href='#page262'>262</a>, <a href='#page282'>282</a></li> + +<li>Krusevatz, <a href='#page7'>7</a>, <a href='#page24'>24</a>, <a href='#page25'>25</a>, <a href='#page194'>194</a>, <a href='#page196'>196</a>, <a href='#page237'>237</a>, <a href='#page241'>241</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Lapovo, <a href='#page259'>259</a></li> + +<li>Liéva Riéka, <a href='#page134'>134</a>, <a href='#page327'>327</a>, <a href='#page334'>334</a></li> + +<li>Lim River, <a href='#page36'>36</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Macedonia, <a href='#page154'>154</a>, <a href='#page184'>184</a>, <a href='#page185'>185</a></li> + +<li>Metalka, <a href='#page51'>51</a></li> + +<li>Mitrovitza, <a href='#page155'>155</a>, <a href='#page175'>175</a>, <a href='#page176'>176</a>, <a href='#page255'>255</a>, <a href='#page261'>261</a>, <a href='#page262'>262</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page280'>280</a>, <a href='#page288'>288</a>, <a href='#page291'>291</a>, <a href='#page292'>292</a>, <a href='#page298'>298</a></li> + +<li>Morava, <a href='#page1'>1</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Negbina, <a href='#page35'>35</a></li> + +<li>Nickshitch, <a href='#page66'>66</a>, <a href='#page80'>80</a>, <a href='#page83'>83</a></li> + +<li>Nish, <a href='#page10'>10</a>-<a href='#page14'>14</a>, <a href='#page20'>20</a>, <a href='#page21'>21</a>, <a href='#page40'>40</a>, <a href='#page190'>190</a>, <a href='#page235'>235</a>, <a href='#page236'>236</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page279'>279</a></li> + +<li>Novi Bazar, <a href='#page68'>68</a>, <a href='#page230'>230</a>, <a href='#page239'>239</a>, <a href='#page262'>262</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page280'>280</a>, <a href='#page284'>284</a>, <a href='#page288'>288</a>, <a href='#page292'>292</a>, <a href='#page294'>294</a></li> + +<li>Novi Varosh, <a href='#page33'>33</a>, <a href='#page35'>35</a>, <a href='#page36'>36</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Obrenovatz, <a href='#page228'>228</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Plavnitza, <a href='#page107'>107</a>, <a href='#page116'>116</a>, <a href='#page341'>341</a></li> + +<li>Plevlie, <a href='#page38'>38</a>, <a href='#page41'>41</a>, <a href='#page43'>43</a>, <a href='#page62'>62</a>, <a href='#page72'>72</a>, <a href='#page77'>77</a>, <a href='#page80'>80</a>, <a href='#page114'>114</a>, <a href='#page165'>165</a>, <a href='#page171'>171</a>, <a href='#page294'>294</a></li> + +<li>Plav, <a href='#page122'>122</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="page378" name="page378"></a>Pg 378</span></li> + +<li>Pod, Podgoritza, <a href='#page64'>64</a>, <a href='#page85'>85</a>, <a href='#page88'>88</a>, <a href='#page89'>89</a>, <a href='#page90'>90</a>, <a href='#page101'>101</a>, <a href='#page124'>124</a>, <a href='#page125'>125</a>, <a href='#page127'>127</a>, <a href='#page189'>189</a>, <a href='#page326'>326</a>, <a href='#page328'>328</a>, <a href='#page335'>335</a>, <a href='#page339'>339</a></li> + +<li>Posheravatz, <a href='#page229'>229</a></li> + +<li>Prepolji, <a href='#page36'>36</a>, <a href='#page37'>37</a>, <a href='#page54'>54</a></li> + +<li>Prizren, <a href='#page349'>349</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Rashka, <a href='#page257'>257</a>, <a href='#page259'>259</a>, <a href='#page265'>265</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page279'>279</a>, <a href='#page300'>300</a>, <a href='#page308'>308</a></li> + +<li>Rieka, <a href='#page99'>99</a>, <a href='#page124'>124</a></li> + +<li>Rudnik, <a href='#page172'>172</a>, <a href='#page223'>223</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Salonika, <a href='#page15'>15</a>-<a href='#page17'>17</a>, <a href='#page20'>20</a>, <a href='#page44'>44</a>, <a href='#page46'>46</a>, <a href='#page190'>190</a>, <a href='#page193'>193</a></li> + +<li>San Giovanni di Medua, <a href='#page346'>346</a>, <a href='#page351'>351</a>, <a href='#page355'>355</a>, <a href='#page360'>360</a></li> + +<li>Sanjak, <a href='#page87'>87</a>, <a href='#page96'>96</a>, <a href='#page114'>114</a>, <a href='#page154'>154</a>, <a href='#page294'>294</a></li> + +<li>Soutari, <a href='#page76'>76</a>, <a href='#page84'>84</a>, <a href='#page92'>92</a>, <a href='#page94'>94</a>, <a href='#page97'>97</a>, <a href='#page101'>101</a>, <a href='#page105'>105</a>, <a href='#page107'>107</a>, <a href='#page108'>108</a>, <a href='#page110'>110</a>, <a href='#page112'>112</a>, <a href='#page113'>113</a>, <a href='#page114'>114</a>, <a href='#page122'>122</a>, <a href='#page147'>147</a>, <a href='#page217'>217</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page326'>326</a>, <a href='#page344'>344</a></li> + +<li>Shavnik, <a href='#page76'>76</a>, <a href='#page84'>84</a></li> + +<li>Shar Dagh, <a href='#page180'>180</a></li> + +<li>Sofia, <a href='#page64'>64</a></li> + +<li>Studenitza, <a href='#page249'>249</a>, <a href='#page278'>278</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Tara, <a href='#page68'>68</a></li> + +<li>Tarabosch, <a href='#page103'>103</a></li> + +<li>Trsternick, <a href='#page25'>25</a></li> + +<li>Tutigne, <a href='#page295'>295</a>, <a href='#page299'>299</a>, <a href='#page303'>303</a>, <a href='#page304'>304</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Uskub, <a href='#page14'>14</a>, <a href='#page18'>18</a>, <a href='#page180'>180</a>, <a href='#page182'>182</a>, <a href='#page183'>183</a>, <a href='#page184'>184</a>, <a href='#page186'>186</a>, <a href='#page225'>225</a>, <a href='#page238'>238</a>, <a href='#page275'>275</a>, <a href='#page288'>288</a>, <a href='#page291'>291</a></li> + +<li>Uzhitze, <a href='#page1'>1</a>, <a href='#page3'>3</a>, <a href='#page27'>27</a>, <a href='#page28'>28</a>, <a href='#page38'>38</a>, <a href='#page40'>40</a>, <a href='#page48'>48</a>, <a href='#page277'>277</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Valievo, <a href='#page295'>295</a></li> + +<li>Vela, <a href='#page236'>236</a></li> + +<li>Velika, <a href='#page137'>137</a></li> + +<li>Virbazar, <a href='#page117'>117</a></li> + +<li>Voinik Mountains, <a href='#page75'>75</a></li> + +<li>Vranje, <a href='#page235'>235</a>, <a href='#page236'>236</a></li> + +<li>Vrbitza, <a href='#page319'>319</a></li> + +<li>Vrnjatchka Banja, Vrntze, <a href='#page2'>2</a>, <a href='#page18'>18</a>, <a href='#page26'>26</a>, <a href='#page27'>27</a>, <a href='#page190'>190</a>, <a href='#page194'>194</a>, <a href='#page196'>196</a>, <a href='#page198'>198</a>, <a href='#page227'>227</a>, <a href='#page245'>245</a>, <a href='#page261'>261</a></li> +</ul> +<ul> +<li>Zaichar, <a href='#page13'>13</a>, <a href='#page236'>236</a></li> + +<li>Zlatibor, <a href='#page31'>31</a>, <a href='#page33'>33</a></li> +</ul> + + + +<h4>THE END</h4> + +<h5>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.</h5> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Luck of Thirteen, by Jan Gordon +Cora J. 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