We were disappointed to find that the cars had not arrived, but we discovered that the road which they had been told to take did not come to Dreznik; we should, however, we were assured, find them at Petch (Ypek). The continued lack of rugs and baggage seemed of little consequence, for there never was time or opportunity for playing with such relics of past civilisation.

But at Dreznik we had a lovely dry camping ground, near a farmhouse, and we slept in a tent, on beds, for the first time and the last for many weeks. The night was cold but dry, and we had a real supper round the camp fire. Our kindly Captain (a barrister in the reserve) bivouacked in the field next to us, and joined us for supper, and we arranged to start together at daybreak the next morning. We knew that there would be difficulty in getting into the line, as myriads of wagons were already blocking our road of entrance. I hoped that Captain W. would do the fierce-eye business, and secure a place in the line, but he thought melting-eye business would be more effective, and he asked me to make the arrangements. So I rode on to see the lie of the land, as we were encamped away from the main road (I had sent Vooitch with the motors and the staff, and I was, meantime, without interpreter, as G. was useless). It was sometimes a little difficult to carry on in a language which one only understood imperfectly, but everything in Nature and this world is in a language which one doesn't understand, and we have to carry on. A big munition column of 200 wagons was the next in order of progression; I found the officer in charge, who, as usual, could talk German and French, and I asked him to let us follow immediately after him, and he cheerfully agreed. This was great luck, as oxen and horse wagons—all struggling and fighting for places—were clustered like bees before swarming-time, at every angle of the entrance to the narrow road of flight, and Captain W. was mightily pleased at the quick success. A snow blizzard began whilst we were waiting, and continued all through the day.

The word "road" is a euphemism for the river of mud into which we immediately plunged; indeed, all day long we met no road, but journeyed over ploughed fields, bogs, now covered with snow, rivers, mud banks, and stick-hills. My horse was continually over its knees in mud, and was growing weaker every hour; but it was necessary to ride up and down the column, through the slough of mud, whenever this was possible without getting legs broken against the wagons and hard wooden packs, to watch that when a wagon stuck or broke, and had to be left, that the load was not thrown away, but was distributed amongst other wagons, whose drivers strongly resented extra burdens.

Horses fell, and their riders were thrown into the slush; wagons overturned, and were then, with their contents, destroyed as the quickest remedy; the road was one long pandemonium. At one bridge, over the River Drin, the scrimmage was even worse than usual. The bridge was so narrow that passage could only be effected in single file, and an officer near me estimated that 5,000 wagons were, at one moment, struggling at the entrance for places in the line. The loud voices of officers on horseback, shouting, and sometimes quarrelling, and of drivers urging their weary oxen, was like the noise of a thousand furious football crowds. Then suddenly above the din I heard my name, and an officer, wishing to expedite our column, shouted a dramatically worded biography, as an appeal to the soldiers to let us pass. But while we were still waiting to cross, I saw one desperate soldier, who was angry because an officer would not let him pass, seize the officer by the arm, with the intent to strike him. Promptly the officer took out his revolver and aimed it at the man. Fortunately the weapon was not loaded, so the officer, thwarted, turned round and seized a rifle from a soldier standing near. The culprit fled. The officer dismounted and pursued, caught up the man, whanged him on the head with the butt end, and was evidently intending to shoot. It was a horrible moment, but the man pleaded, others intervened, and the man was led away. Everyone's nerves were overwrought, and suffering and discomfort were so universal, that I don't believe that one death, more or less, would have seemed a great thing to those who were watching.

But once across the bridge, and on the tramp, all was again silent, except for the monotonous and automatic cries of the drivers to their oxen: "Terrai! Chovai! Ide! Napred!" The route all day was roadless, through sloughs of mud, and unbroken scrub, and over boulders, and everywhere it was strewn with the dead bodies of oxen and of horses.

At dusk we outspanned for the night, in the snow, at the top of a hill, near an Arnaut village. We had now, presumably, made up for the time lost at Prishtina, and rest for the animals was imperative. Captain W. supped with us.

We were away again by 6 o'clock next morning (Saturday, November 27th). We ate mealie porridge at 5.30, as it was impossible to stop for food during the day, and it was good to have some physical basis of energy. This meant an hour's less rest for me and for the cook (now, in the temporary absence of Mrs. Dawn, Demetrius, the soldier man). But it was worth the effort. We trekked, this day, first through an Arnaut village; the houses were one-storied, mostly of stone, as protection from enemies and from Serbian vendettas, and, indeed, they were so substantially built that only cannons could have dislodged the inhabitants; and then we came into a vortex of columns converging on all sides from their various encampments.

One officer (a doctor) told me that he had been blocked with his column at that spot during two days, and it was now seven days since he had left Prishtina. We got into line behind the guns, which soon, however, got ahead of us, as they were horse-drawn, and at a narrow bridge we were again blocked for hours. Thenceforward there were no roads, only tracks over fields and through scrub of Turkey oak, and mud incredible; and another of our riding horses collapsed.

The view, as we neared the snow-covered mountains, of which Petch was at the base, was magnificent. We encamped at dusk, on the slope of a hill, in the valley. Captain W. had supper with us. During the day, to my relief, Vooitch reappeared; he had left the motor party safely ensconced at Petch, and I was thankful to have his help again and to know that the others had arrived.

At 6 a.m. Sunday, November 28th (Advent Sunday), we were on the march. As usual now, there were no roads; we scrambled and stumbled over ploughed fields and every variety of rough country, but there was less block, because, as there was no road, we could choose our track. Hard frost, too, helped to make swamps more manageable. We had to abandon another wagon, because the oxen were growing weaker, and the kitchen wagon needed extra help.

The worst block of that day, after the start, occurred at the end of the day. I had scrambled through a hedge, in advance of the blocked column, and, with Vooitch, had chosen as camping site a grass space, partially sheltered from the icy wind by the wall of an Arnaut village. When we returned to the hedge we found that the Bakers' Column had intercepted ours, and refused to let our wagons pass. They said this was in revenge for their having been forced, by another officer, to let us pass them earlier in the day. When our men eventually got through, they were so angry at having been kept for an additional hour from fire and supper, that when they got through the hedge, they placed their wagons close under the hedge, instead of coming across to the other side of the enclosure, where I was awaiting them and keeping the ground from other columns. So, with fierce eye flaming, I stalked across to them, through intervening convoys, and told them to come at once. They said that they had already outspanned their oxen and lighted their fires. Full of wrath, I kicked their fires out, with my impellent boots, and gave the order to inspan and to follow me at once. They came meekly, and were soon glad of the shelter of the wall. How could I help loving these men? For they never sulked or bore malice when they had to do things they didn't like; perhaps they remembered that we, also, were doing things which we didn't like, for their sakes.

That evening I had the good fortune to be able to buy, for 90 dinars, a pony to replace my horse, which was exhausted. We took the latter with us to Scutari, but it was never again ridden on trek.

In the evening a rumour came that the town crier at Petch, was crying that the Russians had been victorious in Galicia, and that the Germans were leaving Serbia. It was also rumoured that we might be ordered back to Mitrovitza. And much as the men wanted to return to Serbia, they all shouted in chorus, "Never again along that Prishtina road."

J. G. and Mr. Little and I slept in the wagons that night. We were up at five next morning (Monday, November 29th), and when we were starting, the local Prefect came up and said he had only just heard that we were here, or he would have invited us to his house for the night. He made a charming speech of appreciation of our work, and asked me to come and drink a glass of new milk at his house. I had not time to dismount, but I shall never forget that drink of milk. It was half cream, and the daughter of the house warmed it. I had not realised, till I found myself gulping like a greedy puppy, that we had lately not been overfed. I called the other two, and they also had a gulp.

The cold was horrible all day, and the route was worse than ever: over hedges, ditches, rivers, bogs, ploughed fields and slippery ice, all the way to Petch, which we reached at 4 p.m. Major A. and his column, with hundreds of others, were encamped on the bare, frozen marshes outside the town, and he suggested that we, too, had better stop on this side of the town. But it was a bad place for a camp, no wood for fires, or shelter from the icy wind, and the ground was a swamp. Our cars were on the other side of the town, near a monastery, and that sounded very hopeful and peaceful. I was told that we should not be allowed to go through the town, but we risked it and got through. I found that the doctors and nurses and their cars were inside the monastery walls; the other cars, with the remainder of the staff, were outside, beside a stream. On the other side of the stream we placed the column. There was no wood available, in or around Petch. A Serbian soldier would sell his soul for firewood, as our Tommies would for a long drink, and I had to consent that one of our wagons, the most dilapidated, should be cut up, in order that the men might make their magic fire circles, and, whilst sitting round them, dream of past and future, and forget the present. The continuous strain and lack of food were exhausting the oxen. Every day now loads had to be readjusted, and if there was one wagon less, the men would be helped.

It was pleasant to be welcomed "home" again by the staff after a separation of six days. We took up quarters near the wagons outside the monastery. Doctor May and the unit from Kragujevatz, who had all been obliged to evacuate the Stobart Hospital, by order of the military authorities, were now, I heard, in the town on their way to England, so I went to see them, and I found that Doctor Curcin, who had at Kragujevatz been officially responsible for the welfare of foreign units, was in charge of the party, and that all arrangements had been made for their journey with ponies to the coast. They were returning to England as quickly as possible, and it was now decided that the two doctors of our Serbian-English Field Hospital, two nurses and three chauffeurs should go home with the Curcin party. I could not guarantee that I should return to London immediately. I was pledged to the Army and to the column as long as my services were needed, and I could not yet foresee what might be required of me, and it seemed wise that those who wished to make sure of being in London before Christmas, should take the opportunity of Doctor Curcin's escort. We helped them to buy ponies, and they left Petch on December 1st, for Andreavitza and Podgoritza.