"I can marry any time I like. Pah! In Serbia one can get two maidens for twopence, and three widows for a mariasch (1/2d.)."
Everybody was now running about with maps, violently explaining the situation to everybody else, and all explaining differently. Major Gaschitch had fixed Novi Bazar as our probable haven, and Mr. Berry borrowed our map to see if there were a direct road over Gotch mountain, and suggested that Jan might get a horse and ride over to see. Alas, only a fourth-class road was marked, and heaven knows what that may be like: lots of country and choose for yourself probably. A woman was brought in with what she said was a bullet through the breast; it occurred during the celebration of the marriage ceremony, which lasted a week. The girl was brought by her father, the bridegroom having rushed off to the church to pray. The wound looked very like a dagger thrust.
The new slaughter-house was a fine erection. The walls were almost finished and the roof was being assembled. One of the Austrian prisoners had discovered a talent for stone carving, and Miss Dickenson was designing a frieze for the door and on each side. There was a fine ceremony—while we had been away—at the foundation, and Mr. Berry made a speech in Serbian. The disinfector had also arrived and was soon got into working order.
The news got better. The Austrians were now driven out of Belgrade with immense slaughter, the whole line of the Danube and of the Save had been reoccupied by the Serbs. Blease and Jan wondered if it were necessary to go on with the rope handles. Our first wounded man arrived in the evening, a non-commissioned officer, with a slightly wounded thumb. He had arrived by train, asked in the town which was the most comfortable hospital, and had walked up. We represented that we weren't looking for thumbs, but had to put him up for the night; this meant the whole business of washing, shaving, and disinfecting his clothes.
We heard that the French and English had arrived in Nish, 70,000 men, and that they had been greeted with the wildest enthusiasm; but against that was set the fact that Belgrade after all was not quite clear of Austrians, in fact, they still held half the town, but that the "Swobs" were not getting on at Chabatz. "Swobs" in Serbian are any of a Germanic country, while in Austria it is a term of opprobrium, meaning "German." One of our "Czech" orderlies said to Jo, pathetically—
"I never thought that I should be called a 'Swob.'"
Next day came a warning that two hundred wounded, serious cases, were to be expected, so everything and everybody was in a rush. The bathrooms to be cleaned, disinfecting-room and bags to be got ready, wards cleared as much as was possible.
The wounded did not come, and the next day they did not come. The chemist said that all the Austrians had been driven back, but that the Bulgars had at last attacked. Mr. Berry thought the news rather serious, and told us that Gaschitch had said that we must be prepared to move at twenty-four hours' notice; so back we went to the work on the boxes. Next day news was brought that the Bulgars had drawn back, and had said that the Serbs had attacked them first, that the Powers had declared war on Bulgaria, and that the Russians had bombarded Varna.
At last we got news that the wounded were really coming. We hurried into our disinfecting garments—looking like pantaloons,—and scissors were served out to all the assistants. It was dark before the first motor load came.
The undressing-room was a large white-stone floored room with four long plank beds covered with mackintosh; behind was the bathroom. The first wounded man was pushed in through the window on a stretcher, a brown crumpled heap of misery, and groaning. We laid him carefully on the bed while the doctor searched for the wound. While she was examining him a second was handed in. No need to examine this one. Bloody head bandage and great blue swollen eyelids told plainly where his wound was. We stripped the clothes as carefully as was possible from the poor fellows. Those who were too bad to go to the bathroom were washed where they lay. One orderly with soap and razors shaved every hair from each; and several plied clippers on the matted heads. Outside was one electric lamp which threw strong lights and darker shadows, making a veritable Rembrandt of the scene, lighting up the white clad forms of the assistants who were drawing out the stretchers, the big square end of the ambulance car, and picking out from the gloom of the garden a rose tree which bore one white rose.