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.

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.

The Commandant from Kragujevatz, who had promised transport to all English hospitals, was standing on the road. He seemed very fl.u.s.tered and bothered lest we should want him to do something for us. We a.s.sured 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.

"You might get it perhaps at the hospital."

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.

"I've got mine anyway," he said. "Bread is ten shillings a loaf if you can buy it."

Annoyed by the colonel's manner Jo began to mount her high horse and became blunt. He was instantly suave.

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.

"Impossible," said he; "bridges are broken between Rashka and Novi Bazar, and there is no route through the mountains from there."

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 in the streets were faces we knew, the head medical this and the chief military that.

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.

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.

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-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.

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.

One went early to bed these nights. The men 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XIX

NOVI BAZAR

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 ma.s.sed 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 water. So there was a hurried transference of biscuits from a whole one.

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.

We crossed the rickety wooden bridge, pa.s.sed between the _alfresco_ 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; cafes, 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 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.

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.

"We have no bread," said the commandant.

"But," we objected, "all those men waiting outside. They would not come here if you had no bread."

The commandant pulled his moustache.

"We have bread only for soldiers."

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.

"What has he done?" we asked.

"We have only bread for soldiers," repeated the commandant. Bread was evidently the most important.

"We have a Government order."

He scanned it, pounced upon the three franc phrase and offered us money.

We pointed out that bread was indicated to the value--

"We have no bread for the English," he said at last.

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.

"He's going to be killed," he said. "Some soldiers looted his yard and he shot one."

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.

"Of course, you won't," said the commandant.

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 seemed a far superior path to the Ipek pa.s.s, both regarding shelter and length.

"But," we said, "Sir Ralph suggests that we go to Mitrovitza, because the Serbs say that Uskub will fall in a few days."

"I should get out of the country as soon as you can," said one.

"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.

We went back to the camp with the news.

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.

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.

"One lives till one is dead," said he.

The hospital was doing a brisk trade in wounded: 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.

"I am starving," he said.