Or, more frequent and more painful still, wagons filled with little children; the oxen, weary and hungry, led by women, also weary, hungry, and foot-sore. I saw one woman, dragging by the rope, two tired oxen drawing a wagon, in which were eight small children. I saw a tiny boy leading two tiny calves, which were drawing a tiny cart containing a tiny baby, who was strapped to the cart. I saw a woman, evidently not wealthy enough to possess a cart and oxen of her own, carrying her two babies, one on her back, and one in front; and, in one of the crushes which frequently occurred, the baby on her back, was knocked off by the horns of a passing ox. We wondered, at Shanatz, why we were on that side of the river, with no bridge near us, when all the other columns were travelling towards Krushievatz on the other side. We received no orders all that day, and I wondered more and more, for there was always the possibility that the order might have gone astray. But at 3 a.m. on Saturday, November 6th, the order came to start at once for Kupçi, beyond Krushievatz, via the pontoon bridge, which we had left on our way here. It was still dark when we reached the bridge. A lengthy convoy of artillery was crossing, and behind them again were endless other convoys. We halted, and it seemed likely that hours would pass before we should get a chance of butting in. But, to my joy, I found that the artillery column was under the command of my Varvarin Major. He saw us, and at once came up and said that he would arrange for us to cross the bridge immediately after his guns. We had not more than an hour to wait. A short, steep bank of mud, and we were up on the approach road to the bridge. I was told to dismount, and, following close upon the guns, and followed by our own Red Cross wagons, I led my horse across the pontoon. Dawn was breaking, and I was glad, for my eyes would surely never again see such a sight. Purple mountains, wrapped in white mists, and crowned with soft pink clouds; the broad grey river, rushing wildly to its fate; and a bridge of boats. Upon the bridge, dimly visible in the growing light, soldiers, leading wagons which were carrying cannons and heavy guns--motives of murder and destruction dominant--closely followed by women leading Red Cross wagons--the cross of Christianity waving in the breeze. On the other side of the bridge, refugees, streaming along the road from Stalatz to Krushievatz, converged with the stream of columns and refugees who crossed the bridge, and made confusion even more confounded than before. But I found my friend, the Major, waiting for me on the other side. He had seen his column safely across, and now he would, he said, ride with us to Krushievatz, to show us the road out of the town. He did this, and then rode off to place his battery for a rearguard action.