Intermittently in the silences one could still hear the sound of the guns.

Next morning at breakfast Dr. Holmes came in.  He had thought us gone, and so had procured for himself and the sister who was with him, seats in a Government motor which was going to Mitrovitza.  We all splashed across the marshy grass to the siding where the stores were.  In the empty trucks on the line families were camping, and some had fitted them up like little homes.  We found the truck, and with efforts dug out twelve tins of corned beef, a case of condensed milk, one of treacle, and two tins of sugar.  We emptied a kitbag and filled it with rice.

The hospital was fuller than ever.  The Scottish nurses were toiling as quickly as they could, and each man received a couple of hard ship’s biscuits from a great sack, when his wounds were dressed.  He immediately wolfed the hard biscuits and lay down; in one minute he was asleep, and the hospital grounds were strewn with the sleeping men.  From time to time sergeants came in, roused the sleepers, formed them into detachments, and marched them off.

The Stobarts met us wringing their hands.  There was no bread, nor could they procure any.  Jan took their order, and we promised to see what could be done.  As we passed the station we saw surging crowds of men, from the midst came cries of pain, and sticks were falling in blows.

“Good Lord, what’s that?” we cried.

We plunged into the crowd.  Some of the men and boys were gnawing angrily at pieces of biscuit which they held in their hands.  The crowd surged more violently, the sticks were plied with greater vigour; presently the crowd fell back snarling.  The ground which they left was covered with the crumbs of trampled biscuit, and the soldiers drove the crowd yet further back, beating with sticks and cursing.  A bread sack being unloaded from a waggon had burst, the hungry crowd had pounced ... that was all.  As we withdrew we saw the fortunate ones still gnawing ferociously at the hard morsels which they had captured.

We took our passes to the mayor once more.  He received us angrily.

“I told you yesterday,” he said.

“The War Office sent us,” said Jan, sweetly, “and said that you must give us bread.”

“I have no bread,” said the mayor.  “You must go to Colonel Milhaelovitch.”

We tramped back to the yellow school.  There was no sentry, and a queer air of forlornness seemed to pervade.  We asked a loiterer for the colonel’s office.  He pointed.  We climbed yet another stair and found a pair of large rooms; they were empty.  Town papers were scattered on the floor, one table was overturned.

A man lounged in.  “Where is the colonel?” we asked.

“Ne snam bogami,” he said, twisting a cigarette.

“Well, find out,” said Jan.

He lounged away and presently returned with another.

“The colonel has evacuated,” said the other; “he went naturally with the
Ministry of War to Rashka last night.”