The Flaming Sword in Serbia and ElsewhereStobart, M. A. (Mabel Annie)
History
The Flaming Sword in Serbia and Elsewhere
Stobart, M. A. (Mabel Annie)
World War, 1914-1918 -- Hospitals; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
But the carts did not arrive. Colonel Michaelovitch, who came from
Headquarters to see us off, inquired, and found that they had
been kidnapped on the way. He very kindly, with much difficulty,
commandeered other carts, oxen and drivers. But, in the meantime,
German aeroplanes arrived, and dropped their little souvenirs all over
the town. Sir Charles and J. G. and I climbed up the tower to get a
view of the Taubes, and of the country around; the Lake of Scutari and
the fortified rocks beyond; and the mountains--God forgive them--over
which we had come, and which we had overcome. And now one of these
Taube bombs elected to fall in the barracks yard, in which our men were
lodged, and some of our oxen were killed as they were starting to come
to us; this so scared the Albanian drivers that it was difficult to
re-collect them, and it was one o'clock when they finally arrived.
Albanian carts are two-wheeled (this looked of bad omen for the road
conditions), and the wheels tower above the oxen, which are very small.
The cart looks as if it was composed of wheels only, the rest of it
consisting of a few planks loosely nailed together. Our own Serbian
soldiers now remained in Scutari, with the exception of half a dozen,
whom we took with us as pony leaders. They were to return to Scutari
from Medua. The Albanian drivers seemed sulky, but we hoped it was
only because we didn't understand their language. The road was fairly
good, and near Scutari bazaar town, which was extremely picturesque, we
crossed a swift river on a real iron bridge. The lake, with its setting
of high mountains, was magnificent. It was such a relief to be no
longer officially responsible for a column, that there was temptation
to dally. But Sir Charles had told us to hurry; he was nervous about
that last boat; so we jogged on till 7.30 p.m., when we reached the
village of Bashat. For a wonder, the Albanian host of the first house
in which we asked for shelter, welcomed us warmly to his room, which
was, as usual, up a step-ladder. He sold us hay for the horses and the
oxen, also he gave us the use of his wood fire. There was no fireplace;
the fire was at one end of the room, on the dried mud floor. There was
no chimney, but there was no smoke in the room, because the roof was
full of holes, and the plank floor also had many gapes, so there were
plenty of smoke exits, both above and below. I put my whip on the floor
beside me, and it disappeared into the stable below.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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