The sixty soldiers were already at the station when we arrived, also Colonel Pops Dragitch, and Colonel Guentchitch followed, to watch the embarkation of wagons and motors on the train. We were not to leave till early next morning, so we went in relays to the camp for supper, leaving the others in charge of the goods; and we slept that night in our carriages on the train.

The hospital was to be officially known as "The First Serbian-English Field Hospital (Front)—Commandant Madame Stobart," and we were attached to the Schumadia Division (25,000 men). The oxen and horses were entrained at dawn, but the train did not start till eight o'clock (Saturday, October 2nd). Colonels Guentchitch and Pops Dragitch came to say good-bye. We little guessed that we should next meet at Scutari, near the coast, in Albania, after three months of episodes more tragic than any which even Serbia has ever before endured. I was amused at being told that I was the commander of the train, and that no one would be allowed to board it, or to leave it, without my permission. I don't remember much amusement after that.

We reached Nish at seven that evening, and during the train's halt of an hour and twenty minutes, we dined in the station restaurant. Members of the Second British Farmers' Unit, which had been working at Belgrade, with Mr. Wynch as Administrator, were at the station on their way to England.

After Nish the line was monopolised by military trains, in which were Serbian soldiers, dressed in every variety of old garments, brown or grey—the nearest approach to uniform producible. They reminded me of the saying of Emerson, "No army of freedom or independence is ever well dressed."

We arrived at Pirot at 3 a.m. (Sunday, October 3rd). I was interested and also glad to find that I was not going to be coddled by the military authorities. The assumption was that I knew all about everything, and didn't need to be told; so I assumed it too.

As soon as the train stopped at Pirot, I called the sergeant, and then immediately I realised that I was face to face with a quaint little embarrassment. In the hospital at Kragujevatz, and at all the dispensaries, the soldiers and the people had always called me "Maika." For the position I then held this word was appropriate enough; but now, as Commander of an army column, might not other men hold our men to ridicule if they were under the orders of "Maika"? The sergeant appeared in answer to my summons. He saluted. "Ja, Maika?" he answered. There was no time for hesitation; there never should be; act first and find the reason afterwards is often the best policy, and I quickly determined to remain "Maika." The word "Maika" is already, to Serbian hearts, rich with impressions of the best qualities of the old-fashioned woman; it would do no harm to add to this a few impressions of qualities of authority and power not hitherto associated with women. It was a risk, but I risked it, and I never had cause for regret. I then told the sergeant to disembark the men, oxen, horses, and wagons, while the chauffeurs saw to the handling of the motors. I hoped that meantime a message would arrive giving the order for the next move; but, as nothing happened, I started off at 5 a.m. in one of the cars, with Dr. Coxon and the interpreter, to try and find the Staff Headquarters. Colonel Terzitch having, at Aranjelovatz, said I should find him at Pirot, I went into the town and asked at various public offices where Colonel Terzitch could be found, but no one could, or would, give any information, and we were eventually driving off on a false scent, and in a wrong direction, when I stopped an officer, who was driving towards us in his carriage, and I asked him to direct us. He gave us the information we wanted, and we ultimately tracked the Staff to their Headquarters, in their tents in a field about five kilometres from Pirot, at the moment when Major Popovitch was starting to meet us. Our train had arrived earlier than was expected, and he said he was glad we had pushed on. He took us at once to see the Commandant, who was awaiting us, and he gave us a hearty welcome. He was in the tent which we had given him, but it was wrongly pitched. So we took it down and put it up in the right way, whilst the Colonel told his soldiers to watch and see how it should be done. Then he took us to have slatko (jam) and coffee in the ognishta; a circular fence, made of kukurus, enclosed a wood fire, which was crackling busily in the middle; in a circle round the fire was a trench, about three feet deep and two feet wide, with a bank all round, levelled as a seat. We sat either on dry hay on the bank, or on stools, our feet comfortably touching ground in the trench. The usual slatko and glasses of water, followed by Turkish coffee and cigarettes, were handed round. We were so delighted with the ognishta that the Colonel said he would tell his men to build one for us in our camp, and later in the afternoon this was done.

Meantime we returned to the station, to bring out the convoy. The Colonel and Major Popovitch met us on the road and helped us to choose a site for the camp, about half a mile away from, and on a hill above their Headquarters. It was necessary to protect ourselves from aeroplanes by sheltering as much as possible near trees, and we found, on a reaped wheat-field adjoining a vine-field, a gorgeous site which gave us the protection of a hedge and of some trees, with a view to the east over a valley which divided us from Pirot, and the mountains of Bulgaria beyond.

From over these mountains we might at any moment hear the sound of guns telling of the outbreak of hostilities between Bulgaria and Serbia. The Allies had played into the hands of Bulgaria, and, by refusing to let Serbia strike at her own time, had given Bulgaria the advantage of striking at her time, chosen when support from Germany and Austria on the Danube front, would make the position of Serbia hopeless.

The Colonel had hospitably invited us all to lunch with him, but we couldn't burden him to that extent; and the camp work had to be done. Eight of us, therefore—the doctors, two nurses, two chauffeurs, the secretary, and myself—took advantage of the hospitality, and enjoyed an excellent lunch in a cottage which the officers were using as mess-room.

By the evening our first camp was installed, and next day, Monday, October 4th, Major Popovitch and various officers from Pirot came up, while the nurses were busy preparing dressings and cleaning the surgical instruments in the hospital tent, to see the arrangements. They seemed much pleased. The Pirot officers came up in an English car made in Birmingham.

We only had as patients a few sick soldiers, but there was plenty to do otherwise in arranging the men's routine of work and meals. The soldiers always did what they were told, but they needed constant prodding. In the morning early, for instance, I went to see if the horses and oxen were being properly fed, and I found that the hay and oats sent was insufficient; there was not enough to go round. Though the men knew this, they had said and done nothing, but had tethered the horses on barren ground, and left the oxen foodless in the same empty field. They were surprised when I told them that they must take all the animals to a pasture.

But they were quite as careless with their own food. They had eaten no hot meal since we left Kragujevatz; but, even now, when they had the chance, they were contenting themselves with bread and cheese, because the cook was too lazy to prepare hot food, and I had to insist on a meal being cooked. I made them light a fire, clean a big cauldron, and stew sheep and potatoes, with plenty of paprika or red pepper; then I told them I should come and taste it later. This I did, and the stew was excellent.

We were encircled by mountains, and near us, to the east, the beautiful little village of Suvadol, 1,300 feet above the sea, nestled snugly in its orchards of plums and apples.

The whole valley between us and Pirot was alive with bivouacs of armed men, all ready to march on Bulgaria. At any moment we might hear the rumbling of cannons over the hills, telling us that war had begun. But, as yet, the mountains were silent, their secrets hidden in the blue mist, which, in the evening, under the sunset colours, quickened into rainbows.

On Wednesday, October 6th, we waited all day for news. We noticed that the grey dots in the valley below were fast disappearing; something was evidently happening down there. And that evening our turn came. At seven o'clock twenty-four of us, including the Commissaire and Treasurer (Sandford and Merton, the inseparables), and the Serbian dispenser, were sitting in our picturesque ognishta, round the wood fire, which held a tripod with a cheery kettle for after-supper tea. The opening of our ognishta faced the Bulgarian mountains, but the night was dark, and everything beyond our tiny firelit circle was invisible. We had nearly finished supper, and some of us were lighting cigarettes, when a drab-dressed soldier—an orderly from Staff Headquarters—appeared in the entrance. He handed to me a small, white, square envelope, addressed to the Commander of the Column. I opened it and took out a slip of paper; I put my signature upon the envelope as a token of receipt, and gave it to the messenger, and he disappeared. The interpreter, Vooitch, came and stood behind me, and we read the slip of paper in silence; then he whispered the translation. I shall never forget the looks of eager expectation on the faces which were illumined by the firelight. "What does it say?" "We move from here at five o'clock to-morrow morning," was the answer. The destination, must, of course, not be revealed. Immediately, when the precious tea had been drunk, we all went out and began preparations. As every one was new to the work, it was better to do all we could before going to bed. The men were called, and dispensary and kitchen tents and their contents were packed, and also my tent, to save time in the morning.

From midnight to 3.30 a.m. I rested in the dug-out, round the fire, looking out over the dark valley to the invisible mountains. What a silence! Would it soon be broken by a murderous sound echoing through the valley? Were those men, those peasant soldiers in the plain below, already rushing to be destroyed, shattered into ugly fragments, by other men—other peasant soldiers—who would also be shattered into ugly fragments soon? Yes, soon, very soon, Hell would be let loose—in the name of Heaven.

I rose at 3.30 to ensure that everyone should be in time at his or her own job, and punctually at five o'clock all was ready for the start. With human beings, as with all animals, habit is second nature; whatsoever thing is done at the beginning, that same thing, rather than some other thing, comes most easily at all times. "As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be," is the text for most folks. I took care, therefore, that the start should be methodical. At the sound of the whistle, the convoy drew up in line; first, the ox-wagons, loaded with tents and stores and general equipment, the leading wagon carrying the Red Cross flag; next, the horse-drawn wagons, also with stores and provisions; in these rode the dispenser, Sandford and Merton, and the interpreter; then the motor ambulances, in which travelled the twenty-one members of the British Staff with their personal kit.

Colonel Terzitch had kindly, the night before, sent up four riding horses; no one had said that I was to ride, but it was obvious that I couldn't control the column of men and of slow-moving wagons if I was sitting comfortably inside a swiftly-moving motor-car. I therefore made up my mind to ride at the head of the convoy always, and to take the lead in every deed, for better or for worse, and to share with the men the practical difficulties of the road. So I took one horse, the black one, for myself, and how thankful I was that I was not dependent on a side saddle; gave two to the armed orderlies, who had been told to keep near me always, and one I reserved for Vooitch or for Sandford, whose duty it was to ride in advance and procure food for men and cattle.

Dawn was breaking as the wagons and ambulances came into line in single file; I mounted my horse, shouted "Napred!" (forward), and, followed by the two mounted orderlies, took the lead out of the field and over the ditch, which we had levelled, into a narrow lane which turned abruptly to the right and led down a steep hill into the main road.

Out of the folds of the mountains in the east, white mists were slowly rising, and reflecting colours of purple, and pink, and mauve, from the heralding rays of the rising sun. The valley plains, which had yesterday been alive with bivouacs, were now deserted, the men in thousands were already in procession on the road.

As we reached the bottom of the hill and struck the main road, Colonel Terzitch and our P.M.O. were starting from their encampment, and joining the road, in a carriage drawn by two horses. They waved us a salute, and we took our place in the line already formed behind the ambulance column. In front of this column came the pioneers, engineers, and other auxiliaries, then all the other various columns of our division; behind us were the butchers and the bakers; there were no candlestick-makers.

Our destination was Stananitza, 40 kilometres distant, and the road lay through Pirot. Where was now the carpet-making industry? I had little thought that day at Rudnik, when I so much wished to go to Pirot, that I should visit the place so soon, but that carpet-seeing would not be on the programme.

Congestion of convoys was great, and progress was slow; we were for hours crawling and stopping, and crawling, crawling, crawling through the town. I realised at once that there would be difficulty in keeping the column together owing to the different paces respectively of the cars, the horses, and the oxen. The cars wanted to go fast, the oxen wanted to go slow, and the horses neither fast nor slow; but I determined that first day that, as I myself couldn't go at three different paces, and as I was responsible for the safety of all, we must, by one means or another, keep together. The wagon horses had no objection to going at oxen pace, and the motors compromised by driving on for half an hour and then waiting, or else by starting half an hour after the rest of us. This plan was adopted throughout, with the result that during the whole of the next three months we never lost any of the convoy.