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.