Thursday, December 16th, the last day in the mountains of Montenegro, consummated the impressions that had been stamped upon our minds of the gaunt, desolate nature of this country. Rain fell all day, as we trekked through valleys which were only wide enough for the narrow road, and for that bright green ribbon river which, below us, ran between mountains of bare, precipitous rock. Occasionally there was an interlude of basaltic formation. That was a relief, for it spoke of kinship with our Giant's Causeway, and the Caves of Staffa. By a further stretch of the imagination, it was just possible sometimes, when relenting boulders hung less threateningly over the river bank, to be reminded of the cliffs of Cornwall, but, as a rule, nothing reminded you of anything you had ever seen, or ever wished to see again.

On all sides grey prison walls, and mist and rain, shutting out earth and heaven; only the track visible, and on the track, dead oxen, inside out, surrounded by their entrails (I never knew before how multitudinous and how disgusting the internal arrangements of a simple ox could be); hungry men, slashing with knives, the still warm carcases, and marching off with hunks of bleeding flesh in their bloody hands; dead horses; dying horses who understood, and forebore to harass you with the appealing eye; and now, too, dead men at every turn—men dead from hunger, cold, fatigue and sorrow. With the dead men the pathos lay, not in their deadness—we shall all be dead some day—but in the thought that these simple, ignorant, peasant soldiers had, in these desolate mountains, laid down their lives, away from military glory and renown, for an idea which must, for many, have been blurred and indistinct, almost sub-conscious. The idea was the same as that for which Serbian soldiers had laid down their lives at Kossovo, an idea which had nothing in it of vulgar conquest or aggression, the idea that the soul of Serbia must be free, to work out its own salvation. Home, family, even country, count for nothing, if the soul of Serbia is not free. Home, family, even country must be sacrificed, if needs be, to ensure that the soul of Serbia shall be free.

At two o'clock that day we could scarcely believe our eyes. In front of us, was a break in the imprisoning rocks, and we saw an open plain, and on the far side of the plain, a town—the town of Podgoritza. Could we dare to think, for the first time, of rest from cold and hunger, treks and columns? Could we dare to think of home, and of those we loved, from whom, during three long months, we had had no tidings? No! No! Not yet.

We descended, and emerged into the open country. Our backs were now turned to the mountains; and whatever might happen in the future—and we had a notion, alas! mistaken, that the road from Podgoritza to Scutari would be more normal—whatever might be before us, the mountains of Montenegro were behind us, and we uttered a Sbogom (good-bye) of intense relief.

The mountains ended with characteristic harshness, abruptly on the plain, and soon, along a good road, we outdistanced them; but between their folds, the octopus of death was still busy, clutching with tentacles of hunger, cold, and sorrow, victims who had escaped the battlefield. I wanted to forget the past, and I would not at first look back on Sodom and Gomorrah—I remembered Lot's wife. But I had prayed, often enough, in vigorous determination, for strength to bring the column through; should I not now look back, with equally vigorous prayer and thankfulness for their deliverance? I looked back; the high mountains were closing ranks behind us, as though to guard their horrors; there was now no sign of passage-way. Yes, I looked back, and I saw a vision which would, in olden days, have been called supernatural. For, across the black mountains, from peak to base, a rainbow shone, and hid the hideousness of bare rocks, beneath its lustrous colours. It spanned earth and sky, and formed a highway from heaven, even to this cruel land. And in it I saw the token of the Covenant, which, of old, God made between Him and all flesh, that He would not destroy the living creatures that are on the earth. I saw and understood. God's Covenant still holds good. Hope guarded the entrance even to that purgatory. Therefore, we must not forget the past that was enshrined in these mountains; the memory of that past must be carried with us as a fire, wherefrom to kindle counter-fire, against the flaming sword which now destroys the living creatures which are on the earth, and keeps them from the Tree of Life.

We were soon in Podgoritza. Leaving the column in a side-street, V. and I went, according to custom, first to the military station, to ask for bread and hay. The captain in command was extremely genial and kind. But he said that no bread was available till to-morrow. I knew it was not his fault, and I said "Thank you," and was leaving; but he then broke into a eulogy of our nation; he seemed pleased because we had not grumbled at not getting bread, and he compared us with some other nations, who were not, he said, so adaptable to circumstances. Then he tried to persuade me to go to Scutari, more or less comfortably, by boat, across the lake, and to leave the soldiers to come by themselves, with the ponies and the remaining oxen by road—only ten oxen were now left. The road was, he said, execrable, and we couldn't make the journey in less than three days. But as long as there was one man and one ox left, I couldn't desert the column: I must carry on.

There seemed no reason, however, why the British staff should not take advantage of the offer; they could meet me at the other end of the lake, and save themselves from days of discomfort; the Captain would make all arrangements for them. But the suggestion was met with scorn. Having gone through so much together, they loyally insisted on sharing with their chief, the fate of the column.

I then asked the officer if he could help us to find rooms, as we should be glad to get out of the rain, and he gave us an address; but every room in the town was occupied a hundred times over, and I decided that we must commandeer a room in the big school building. There must be a few spare corners left there. But "nema nishta" greeted us in every room, and no one would let us share their corner. One big class-room was being guarded by an officer's servant, for his master alone. We couldn't let that be, and eventually, as the result of a combination of fierce-eye and melting-eye business, we British staff all shared that room with the Major and his servant.

And then a charming incident occurred, typical of Serbian chivalry. The floor was filthy, but I was about to go to bed upon it, like the rest of the unit, when the Major very politely came up to me, and invited me to share the tiny platform on which his mattress was laid; the floor was there less dirty than elsewhere, as it was raised, and away from the traffic; there was just room for two people if they lay quietly. Serbian majors don't snore, so I accepted, and, raised regally above the others, the Major and I slept side by side; but it all seemed so natural that we didn't even smile. I should like to meet that Major again. We could laugh at it now. The soldiers were housed in a room downstairs, with many others, and when night came, the stairs, and the landing, were blocked with snoring soldiers.

In Serbia, sanitary arrangements had been a little difficult, but in Montenegro they gave no trouble, for they were non-existent. It was not the custom to include lavatories in the building scheme, and in that huge school-house there were none.

The town was, as usual, on the point of being evacuated, and no stores of any kind could be bought; we were told that no restaurants were open, and that no food was obtainable, but we discovered one restaurant which was that evening serving the last meal before evacuating, and we partook of that meal with some zest.

We parted here from gaolbird. He wanted to come to London with us, and I thought that the nearer we were to the coast, the more difficult it would be to prevent his coming on board, so we gave him enough money to enable him to communicate with his well-to-do friends in America, and parted. Next morning, Friday, December 17th, we did not leave till noon, as we had to wait for the bread, and for the shoeing of some ponies. Fifty-four loaves came, and these had to last us and our sixty men, till we reached the next military station, wherever that might be. We only had four loaves for ourselves.