These observations I will quote from my diary during 1912 in
illustration of phases of Balkan character, dating them at the time and
place that they were made.
Belgrade, October 21.—The declaration of war has not set the Serbians singing in the streets. In the chief café there is displayed a
great war map. Young soldiers not yet sent to the front lounge about
in all the cafés and are lionised by the older men. They are the only
signs of war.
Underwood & Underwood
BULGARIAN INFANTRY
The patriotic Serbian illustrates his case against the Turk by taking you for a ramble around his capital. The old Turkish quarters of the town are made up of narrow unpaved muddy lanes lined with low
hovels. The modern Serbian town has handsome buildings markedly
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Russian in architecture, electric trams, and wood-blocked pavements.
Near the railway station one side of a street is as the Turks left it and
shows a row of hovels: the other side is occupied by a great school.
The shops, because it is war-time and business is largely suspended,
are mostly closed. But a few remain open with reduced staffs. The goods displayed are as a rule woefully expensive when they are not
of local origin. Landlocked Serbia, surrounded by commercially
hostile countries, finds imports expensive. British goods are very
much favoured, but are hard to obtain.
The Serbians speak bitterly of the efforts of Austria "to strangle them commercially." "Whenever they wish to put diplomatic pressure upon us," said one Serbian to me, "they discover that swine fever has broken out in our country and stop our exports of pigs and bacon—
our chief lines of export. What can we do? Once, in retaliation, we found that we suspected a consignment of Austrian linen goods of
carrying swine fever and stopped it on the frontier. It almost caused war."
Nish (Serbia), October 22.—A military train carrying some members of the army and Staff
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has brought also a band of war correspondents this far. We were a merry but rather a hungry lot. The train has been sixteen hours on the
journey, and as we started at 6 a.m. most of us did not bring any stores of food except such as were packed away and inaccessible in
the big baggage. The wayside refreshment rooms are swept clean of
all food. Finally we manage to obtain some bread, and five hungry correspondents in one carriage eat at it without enthusiasm, whilst in
a corner sits a Serbian officer having a good meal of sausage and onions and bread. We make remarks, a little envious, a little jocose,
in English, on his selfishness. "He is a greedy pig, anyhow," said one, putting the final cap on our grumbles. The Serbian officer had not betrayed by a smile or a frown that he understood but now in good English he remarked: "Perhaps you gentlemen will be so kind as to share this with me." We all laughed and he laughed then: and we took a little of the sausage, and liked that Serbian rather well: and no
reference was made to what had gone before. At nightfall we stop at
Nish and all my Press comrades leave the train to go on in the rear of
the Serbian army. I push on to Sofia. Clearly these Balkan
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peoples are not quite so savage as I had thought once.
Sofia, October 24.—The position of the Bulgarian nation towards its Government on the outbreak of the war is, I think, extremely
interesting as a lesson in patriotism. Every man has gone to fight who
could fight. But further, every family has put its surplus of goods into
the war-chest. The men marched away to the front; and the women of
the house loaded up the surplus goods which they had in the house,
and brought them for the use of the military authorities on the ox wagons, which also went to the military authorities to be used on requisition. A Bulgarian law, not one which was passed on the
outbreak of the war—they were far too clever for that,—but a law
which was part of the organic law of the country, allowed the military
authorities to requisition all surplus food and all surplus goods which
could be of value to the army on the outbreak of hostilities.
The whole machinery for that had been provided beforehand. But so
great was the voluntary patriotism of the people that this machinery practically has not had to be used in any compulsory form. Goods
were brought in voluntarily,
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wagons, cart-horses and oxen, and all the surplus flour and wheat, and—I have the official figures from the Bulgarian Treasurer—those
goods which were obtained in this way totalled in value some six
million pounds. That represented the surplus goods, beyond those
necessary for consumption by the Bulgarian people, at the outset of the war. The numbers of the Bulgarian people represent half the
population of London. The peasant population is very poor. Their
national existence dates back only half a century. But they are very frugal and saving; that six millions which the Government signed for represented practically all the savings which the Bulgarian people
had at the outbreak of the war. I am told that the gold supply in the Bulgarian Treasury at the declaration of war was only three million pounds. So that there was an army of 350,000 men put into the field,
and only three million pounds as the gold supply.
Kirk Kilisse, November 7.—The extraordinary simplicity of the
commissariat has helped the Bulgarian generals a great deal. The
men have had bread and cheese, sometimes even bread alone; and
that was accounted a satisfactory ration. When meat and other things
could be
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obtained, they were obtained; but there were long periods when the Bulgarian soldier had nothing but bread and water. The water,
unfortunately, he took wherever he could get it, by the side of the route at any stream he could find. There was no attempt to ensure a
pure water supply for the army. I do not think that, without that simplicity of commissariat, it would have been possible for the
Bulgarian forces to have got as far as they did. There was an entire
absence of tinned foods. As I travelled in the trail of the Bulgarian army, I found it impossible to imagine that an army had passed that way, because there was none of the litter which is usually left by an
army. It was not that they cleared away their rubbish with them; it simply did not exist. Their bread and cheese seems to be a good
fighting diet.
Seleniki, November 13.—The transport was, naturally, the great problem which faced the generals. I have seen here (Seleniki, which
is the point at which the rail-head is), within 30 miles of
Constantinople as the crow flies, ox wagons which have come from
the Shipka Pass in the north of Bulgaria. I asked one driver how long
it had been on the road; he told me
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three weeks. He was carrying food down to the front. The way the ox
wagons were used for transport was a marvel of organisation. A
transport officer at Mustapha Pasha, with whom I became very
friendly, was lyrical in his praise of the ox wagon. It was, he said, the
only thing that stuck to him during the war. The railway got choked, and even the horse failed, but the ox never failed. There were
thousands of ox wagons crawling across the country. They do not
walk, they crawl, like an insect, with an irresistible crawl. It reminds you of those armies of soldier ants which move across Africa, eating
everything which they come across, and stopping at nothing. I had an
ox wagon coming from Mustapha Pasha to Kirk Kilisse, and we went
over the hills and down through the valleys, and stopped for
nothing—we never had to unload once. And one could sleep in those
ox wagons. There is no jolting and pulling at the traces, such as you
get with a harnessed horse. The ox wagon moved slowly; but it
always moved. If the ox transport had not been as perfectly
organised, and if the oxen had not been as patiently enduring as they
proved to be, the Bulgarian army must have perished by starvation.
And yet, at
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Mustapha Pasha, a censor would not allow us to send anything about
the ox wagons. That officer thought the ox cart was derogatory to the
dignity of the army. If we had been able to say that they had such things as motor transport or steam wagons, he would have cheerfully
allowed us to send it.
But after Lule Burgas, the ox transport has had to do the impossible.
It is impossible for it to maintain the food and the ammunition supply
of the army at the front, which I suppose must number 250,000 to 300,000 men. That army has got right away from its base, with the one line of railway straddled by the enemy, and with the ox as
practically the only means of transport.
Arjenli (Turkey), November 15, 1912.—It is Friday, and we expect to-
morrow the Battle of Chatalja. In the little Turkish village of Arjenli, situated on a high hill a little to the rear of the Bulgarian lines, is the
ammunition park of the artillery, guarded by a small body of troops under Lieutenant-Colonel Tchobanoff. Coming towards the front from
Chorlu, the fall of night and the weariness of my horses have
compelled me to halt at Arjenli, and this officer and Dr. Neytchef give
me a warm welcome to
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their little mess. There are six members, and for all, to sleep and to eat, one room. Three are officers, three have no commissions. With
this nation in arms that is not an objection to a common table.
Discipline is strict, but officers and soldiers are men and brothers when out of the ranks. Social position does not govern military
position. I found sometimes the University professor and the bank
manager without commissions, the peasant proprietor an officer. The
whole nation has poured out its manhood for the war, from farm, field,
factory, shop, bank, university, and consulting-room.
Here, at Arjenli, on the eve of the decisive battle, I think over early incidents of the campaign. It is a curious fact that in all Bulgaria I have met but one man who was young enough and well enough to
fight and who had not enlisted. He had become an American subject,
I believe, and so could not be compelled to serve. In America he had
learned to be an "International Socialist," and so he did not volunteer.
I believe he was unique. With half the population of London, Bulgaria
had put 350,000 trained men under arms. But there was in the nation
one good Socialist who knew that war was an evil thing, and that it was better to sit down meekly under tyranny than to take up arms.
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Underwood & Underwood
OX TRANSPORT IN THE BALKANS
I followed in the track of the victorious Third Army as it came down through the border mountains on to Kirk Kilisse, then to Lule Burgas,
then past Chorlu to the Chatalja lines. At Arjenli I had overtaken them
in time to see the final battle, and now sat looking out on the entrenched armies, talking over the position with a serene and
cheerful artillery officer. The past week had been one of hardship and
horrors. From Chorlu the road was lined with the bodies of the
Turkish dead, still awaiting burial. Entering the Bulgarian lines on their
right flank that morning, I had tried in vain to succour a soldier dying
of the choleraic dysentery which had begun its ravages. But here in the middle of the battle line the atmosphere of noble confidence is inspiriting. The horrors of war vanish; only its glory shows. The men around me feel that they are engaged in a just war. They know that everything that man can do has been done. Proudly, cheerfully, they
await the issue.
During the evening, a Turk suspected of being a spy is brought in for
trial. He had attempted to rush past one of the sentries guarding the
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ammunition wagons. He is given a patient hearing, is able to
establish his innocence, and is allowed to go. There is no feeling of panic or injustice among these Bulgarians. I see the trial and its end
(having been asked to act as friend of the accused).
It is to-day forty days since the mobilisation. At the call this trained nation was in arms in a day. The citizen soldiers hurried to the depots
for their arms and uniforms. In one district the rumour that
mobilisation had been authorised was bruited abroad a day before
the actual issue of the orders, and the depot was besieged by the peasants who had rushed in from their farms. The officer in charge could not give out the rifles, so the men lit fires, got food from the neighbours, and camped around the depot until they were armed.
Some navvies received their mobilisation orders on returning to their
camp after ten hours' work at railway-building. They had supper and
marched through the night to their respective headquarters. For one soldier the march was twenty-four miles. The railway carriages were
not adequate to bring all the men to their assigned centres. Some rode on the steps, on the roofs of carriages, on the buffers even.
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At Stara Zagora, early in November, I noted a mother of the people who had come to see some Turkish prisoners just brought in from
Mustapha Pasha. To one she gave a cake. "They are hungry," she said. This woman had five men at the war—her four sons in the
fighting line, her husband under arms guarding a line of
communication. She had sent them proudly. It was the boast of the Bulgarian women that not a tear was shed at the going away of the soldiers.
Later, at a little village outside Kirk Kilisse, a young civil servant, an official of the Foreign Office, spoke of the war whilst we ate a dish of
cheese and eggs. "It is a war," he said, "of the peasants and the intellectuals. It is not a war made by the politicians or the soldiers of the Staff. That would be impossible. In our nation every soldier is a citizen and every citizen a soldier. There could not be a war unless it
were a war desired by the people. In my office it was with rage that some of the clerks heard that they must stay at Sofia, and not go to
the front. We were all eager to take arms."
At Nova Zagora, travelling by a troop train carrying reserves to the front, I crossed a train bringing wounded from the battle-fields. For some hours both trains were delayed. The men going to the front
were decorated with flowers as though going to a feast. They filled the waiting time by dancing to the music of the national bagpipes, and
there joined in the dance such of the wounded as could stand on their
feet. There was no daunting these trained patriots.
These and a score of other pictures pass through my mind and
explain Kirk Kilisse and Lule Burgas, and give confidence for the
battle to come. Here was a people ranged for battle with the steady nerves and the stolid courage that come from tilling the soil, with the
skill and the discipline that come from adequate training, with the fervent faith of a great patriotism. I have talked with Turkish prisoners
and found infantrymen who had been sent to the front after two days'
training, gunners who had been drafted into a battery after ten days'
drill. Such soldiers can only march to defeat.
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A BALKAN PEASANT WOMAN
Ermenikioi (Headquarters of the Third Bulgarian Army), November 17
(Sunday).—The Battle of Chatalja has been opened. To-day, General
Demetrieff rode out with his Staff to the battle-field whilst the bells of
a Christian church in this little village rang. The day was spent
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in artillery reconnaissance, the Bulgarian guns searching the Turkish
entrenchments to discover their real strength. Only once during the day was the infantry employed; and then it was rather to take the place of artillery than to complete work begun by artillery. It seems to
me that the Bulgarian forces have not enough big gun ammunition at
the front. They are ten days from their base, and shells must come up
by ox wagon the greater part of the way.
Ermenikioi, November 18.—This was a wild day on the Chatalja hills.
Driving rain and mist swept over from the Black Sea, and at times obscured all the valley across which the battle raged. With but slight
support from the artillery, the Bulgarian infantry was sent again and again up to the Turkish entrenchments. Once a fort was taken but
had to be abandoned again. The result of the day's fighting is
indecisive. The Bulgarian forces have driven in the Turkish right flank
a little, but have effected nothing against the central positions which bar the road to Constantinople. It is clear that the artillery is not well enough supplied with ammunition. There is a sprinkle of shells when
there should be a flood. Gallant as is the infantry, it cannot win
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much ground faced by conditions such as the Light Brigade met at
Balaclava.
Ermenikioi, November 19.—Operations have been suspended.
Yesterday's cold and bitter weather has fanned to an epidemic the
choleraic dysentery which had been creeping through the trenches.
The casualties in the fighting had been heavy. "But for every wounded man who comes to the hospitals," Colonel Jostoff, the Chief
of the Staff, tells me, "there are ten who say 'I am ill.'" The Bulgarians recognise bitterly that in their otherwise fine organisation there has been one flaw, the medical service. Among this nation of peasant
proprietors—sturdy, abstemious, moral, living in the main on whole-
meal bread and water—illness was so rare that the medical service
was but little regarded. Up to Chatalja confidence in the rude health of the peasants was justified. They passed through cold, hunger,
fatigue, and kept healthy. But ignorant of sanitary discipline, camped
among the filthy Turkish villages, the choleraic dysentery passed from
the Turkish trenches to theirs. There are 30,000 cases of illness, and
the healthy for the first time feel fear as they see the torments of the
sick. The Bulgarians recognise that there
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must be a pause in the fighting whilst the hospital and sanitary
service is reorganised.
Kirk Kilisse, December 1.—It seems certain now that peace must be
declared, and that the dream of driving the Turk right out of Europe must be abandoned. These peasant peoples of the Balkans have
done wonderful things, but they have stumbled on one point—the
want of knowledge of sanitary science. I have seen only one attempt
at a clean camp since I have been in the field, and that was a Serbian
camp, north of Adrianople.
With the Bulgarian army there was not, at any stage of the campaign
up to the Battle of Chatalja—that is, until after the outbreak of cholera—any precaution, to my knowledge, taken to secure a clean
water supply, or clean camping-grounds, or to take the most
elementary precautions against the outbreak of disease in the army.
The medical service was almost as bad. I have seen much of the
hospital work at Kirk Kilisse after the armistice; and it has been deplorable to see the fine fellows whose lives were sacrificed, or whose limbs were sacrificed, through neglect of medical knowledge. I
am sure the Bulgarians would have saved many hundreds of
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lives if there had been anything like a proper medical service at the front.
At Chatalja the chief reason given for the stoppage of operations was
the ravages of disease in the Bulgarian lines. The illness was of a choleraic type; it had, as usual, a profound moral as well as physical
effect. The courage of the men broke down before this visitation. The
victims howled with pain and terror, though the same men would
withstand serious wounds without a complaint or a wincing.
The Turks are blamed for the outbreak in the Bulgarian lines. It is more than probable that their villages, inexpressibly filthy; the
prisoners taken from their ranks; the infection of the soil abandoned by them, were contributing causes.
A BAGPIPER
But it must be stated frankly that the almost complete absence of any
sanitary discipline or precaution in the Bulgarian lines at this place earned for them all the diseases that afflict mankind. So far as I can
ascertain after careful investigation, there were no sanitary police; no
attempts to secure and safeguard a pure water supply; no latrine
regulations. I have seen the Bulgarian soldiers drinking from streams
running through battle-fields, though a few feet away were
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swollen carcases. I have seen no attempt in the field at a proper latrine service. Some hundreds of thousands of peasant soldiers,
accustomed to the simplest life on their own farms, were collected together and left practically without sanitary discipline. The details can be filled in without my setting them forth in print. There is one fact, however, to be recorded of a pleasant character. In all
investigations of the hospital services I never found a case of any malady arising from vice. There was also a complete absence of
drunkenness. This might be ascribed to the want of means to obtain
alcohol. But in Turkey there was an abundance of wines and spirits,
and some beer in the captured villages and towns; it led, however, to
no orgies.
Naturally, the Bulgarian peasant is wonderfully healthy. His food is rough whole-meal bread and cheese; his occasional luxuries, a dish
of the sour milk which is so well known in London, a little alcohol on
Sunday, some sweet stuff, and, rarely, grilled meat or meat soup with
vegetables. It is possible to judge that his alimentary tract differs widely from that of the Western European. I should say he was
almost
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immune from enteric, unless attacked by a very virulent infection. He
can live on bread and water alone without serious inconvenience for
lengthy periods. His blood is very pure, and ordinarily heals in a way
that astonished the British surgeons.
Here, then, was the best of material from an army medical point of view. Given the roughest food, the simplest sanitary precautions, and
ordinarily good field dressing, and the army would have marched
without disease and the wounded would have dropped out of the
firing line for a few days only. But there were no sanitary precautions;
hence disease. The hospital service as regards the first aid in the field was pitiably deficient; hence serious and unnecessary losses of
wounded. Without seeking to pile up a record of horrors, I cite a few
individual instances to illustrate bad methods. At the front, punctured
bayonet wounds were closely bandaged—in some cases stitched
up—without provision for irrigation, without even proper cleansing.
This led to gangrene and often caused the sacrifice of a life or of a limb (which, to these peasants, was almost as great a loss as that of
life: their feeling against amputations was very
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strong, and if they understood that amputation was intended, they
sometimes begged to be "killed instead"). Bullet wounds also were often plugged up on the field. When proper treatment was at last
available, it was sometimes too late to avoid death or amputation. No
treatment at all on the field would have been preferable to this well-intentioned but shocking ignorance.
Of the purely Bulgarian hospitals those at Kirk Kilisse are very
deficient: at Philippopolis, however, there were excellent Bulgarian
hospitals, and also at Sofia. The Russian hospital at Kirk Kilisse is very good. The British Red