A lodging had been provided for me in a peasant’s house, whose spotless cleanliness was most reassuring. In this small dwelling were crowded the representatives of Great Britain, France, Russia and Italy, with a Servian officer as guide and interpreter, the owner of the house was absent with the armies, his wife both cooked and served our meals. I asked the Servian officer of what race she was. He replied, “Oh, she is a Bulgar, there are a few Bulgarian farmers in this district.”
At Servian Headquarters the situation was discussed with a frankness which had been lacking while the Austro-Hungarian Military Attaché was present. Every one agreed that the task before the Servian Army was one of unusual difficulty. The Turkish forces were still numerous, they disposed of excellent communications with Salonika, and the position they occupied was of great natural strength. The Serbs, on the other hand, were far from their base, the roads connecting Prilip with the railway were almost impassable for heavy-wheeled vehicles, and the train service with Servia was irregular and inefficient. Fortunately, the inhabitants of Prilip had come to the rescue by supplying the troops with 30,000 loaves of bread daily.
The spirit of the Servian soldiers was still excellent, they were flushed with victory and confident of success; but they had slaked their passion for revenge, their thoughts were with their families and homes, to which they expected to return so soon as this next and last battle should have been fought and won.
A change had taken place in the mood of the Russian Military Attaché; he seemed pre-occupied, and had made himself unpopular at Servian Headquarters by urging the inclusion of Bulgarian forces for the attack on Monastir. This suggestion had first been made at Skoplje, and had met with a flat refusal; it was renewed at Prilip when the inhabitants agreed to supply the troops with bread. Incensed by a second refusal, the Russian so far forgot his diplomatic self as to state in public that such conduct on the part of the Serbs was idiotic, in view of the fact that the great majority of the population of the town and district were Bulgars. I asked him to which town he referred, “Monastir or Prilip,” he replied, “both.” A sidelight was now being cast on the contents of the “Secret Treaty,” already an inkling could be gained of the troubles that were to come.
Two roads lead south from Prilip. One traverses the plain throughout its length, the other skirts its eastern boundary, following the left bank of the Cerna, a tributary of the Vardar. The Serbs advanced by both these roads, the main body debouched upon the plain, while a detachment took the river route, a metalled road built on swampy ground between the Cerna and a range of lofty mountains. Snow had fallen during the night preceding this advance, and when day broke billows of mist obscured the Cerna’s course and blotted out the hills beyond. At the southern limit of the plain a ridge, covered with new-fallen snow, screened from our view the town of Monastir; this ridge was the Turkish position, which faced almost due north with its right flank resting on the Cerna; the river had overflowed its banks and caused a widespread inundation. The left flank terminated in a cluster of foothills between the northern end of Lake Prespa and Monastir; the nature of the country and the absence of roads protected this flank from a turning movement. For two days the Serbs wasted their energies in frontal attacks against this carefully prepared position; each assault broke like a wave on the barbed-wire entanglements which covered the Turkish trenches. For the first time the Servian infantry had been checked, and a feeling akin to dismay was spreading in their ranks; it seemed impossible to scale that ridge, behind which nestled Monastir, invisible and unattainable. Success now depended on the action of the detachment on the Cerna road. Here, the Turks had committed a serious error, the extensive inundations on their right flank had led them to believe that it was inaccessible, and they allowed the Serbs to advance, practically unopposed, along the river as far as Novak, a village on the left bank, situated due east of Monastir, and connected with it by a built-up chaussée. The error consisted in under-estimating the qualities of the peasants and fishermen of Servia, men inured from their youth to hardships and exposure, to whom few natural obstacles are insurmountable. Another factor supervened—the factor of morale. Over their comrades on the plain the troops of Novak had one great advantage—they could see the town lying behind the snow-clad ridge.
War is a pilgrimage for simple soldiers, long days of marching, longer nights of vigil; they know not where they go, nor why—until the day of battle; if then they see the goal they fight with clearer purpose, and knowledge born of vision casts out their doubts and fears. So it was with the Serbs that day at Novak; they looked across a waste of water and saw before them Monastir—the Mecca of their pilgrimage; the sight inspired these humble pilgrims, they set their faces to the west, entered the icy flood, crossed it unflinchingly, and by this bold manœuvre snatched victory from defeat.
By the evening of the third day of battle the right flank of the Turkish position had been turned, the Turks had abandoned their positions north of Monastir, and had effected their retreat into the mountains of Albania. Greek cavalry arrived at Florina (a town on the Monastir-Salonika railway) during the course of the battle, but took no part in the fighting. A Bulgarian column, descending the Struma Valley, had already reached the Rupel Pass, where the mountains merge into the coastal plain. For all practical purposes the Balkan Allies were masters of Macedonia; Greek, Bulgarian and Servian forces were converging on Salonika, whose fall was imminent.
On November 20, two days after the capture of Monastir, the 3rd Servian Army, in co-operation with the Montenegrins, captured Alessio, and thus gained access to the Adriatic seaboard. So far as Servia was concerned little remained to be done, old Servia had been reconquered, an outlet to the sea had been acquired. Servia, the State, had more than gained her object; Servia, the Ally, the Member of the Balkan League, was at the parting of the ways. Under the terms of the Secret Treaty, Monastir passed into Bulgaria’s sphere of influence. This Macedonian town, if held as one of the fruits of Servia’s victory, was bound to become an apple of discord. Every thinking man in Servia knew it, but knowledge is not always power.
The Prime Minister of Servia in 1912 was M. Pasitch, already a veteran among Balkan statesmen, and a man of patriarchal mien. The enemies of M. Pasitch said that his long, white beard had made his reputation as a statesman; his friends deplored an accent which was not purely Servian, he had been born at Pirot, on the Bulgarian frontier, where races, languages and politics were apt to get somewhat mixed. To foreigners M. Pasitch was a man of mystery, who spoke French badly, German rather better, and dealt in platitudes. Yet, beyond doubt, he was one of Servia’s great old men, with or without his beard. King Peter, weighed down by age and suffering, had left to him the cares of State, and he had borne the heat and burden of the day unruffled by abuse or calumny. At times he was pathetic, as, for example, when he said that the worst enemies of his country and himself were those he tried to rule. These words conveyed a bitter truth. M. Pasitch was a Servian institution, a Nestor in the Council, but, like most Balkan politicians, only retained office by submission to forces independent of the Government. The foreign policy of Servia was dictated by M. Hartwig, the Russian Minister, and a diplomat of conspicuous ability; within certain limits this arrangement worked well, however galling it may have been to citizens of a sovereign State. Servia’s internal affairs were at the mercy of factions and secret societies; of these the most influential was a society known as the “Black Hand,” which included among its members some of the ablest men in the country, whose patriotism was beyond dispute, but who had all the vices of their virtues. The very qualities which had made them fight so well fostered a spirit of unreasonableness; they mistook moderation for lack of zeal and prudence for timidity, in their eyes it was statesmanship to give free rein to the unbridled appetites of ignorant, short-sighted men intoxicated by success.
In an evil hour for Servia a combination of irresponsible forces directed Servian policy in regard to Monastir. The attitude of the Serbs was at least comprehensible, they could urge their sacrifices and the rights of conquest, that of M. Hartwig was inexplicable. This man knew the contents of the Secret Treaty, on which was based the Balkan League, and by which Servia renounced her claims to Monastir. He could not have ignored Bulgarian sentiment in Macedonia, nor the statistics of the population; yet he—a chief creator of the Balkan Bloc, an ardent Slav, a clever, gifted man, steeped in the politics of Central Europe—connived at denunciation of the Secret Treaty within a few months of its signature.