It was about ten o’clock at night when we reached Belgrade, which, as I have said, I was particularly anxious to see. On inquiry I found that the Balkan Express was to remain there for an hour and a half, and, determined not to be disappointed, I left the station to stroll around the town, or rather the ruins of the town.
Some idea of the accuracy of modern artillery fire may be gleaned from the fact that the besieging Austrian gunners were able to aim with such precision that not one shell had fallen on the railway station. It must be remembered that they were firing from the other side of the Danube at its widest part. The Austrian Staff had obviously realised that their advancing army would have need of the railway as soon as the Serbians had been forced back, and doubtless the artillery had been instructed at all costs to spare this important point. The remarkable thing, however, is that houses within a few yards of the station itself have been absolutely destroyed, yet there was not so much as a mark that I was able to see upon any of the station buildings themselves.
The Kaiser had already been in Belgrade, and the German Wireless Agency took occasion to inform the world at large that “Since the days of Barbarossa, who on a crusade to the Holy Land held a review of over 100,000 German Knights in Belgrade, no German Emperor has set foot on Belgrade’s citadel until that day, when the German Emperor arrived in splendid weather and was greeted by an Austro-Hungarian guard of honour and military music, shouting, and the roar of cannon.
“The Emperor visited the new railway bridge, and then went amongst the festively-clad population, who freely moved about, and afterwards rode to Kalimegdan, the excursion resort. The Emperor afterwards held a review of the German troops, which crossed the Danube, and addressed them with a speech thanking them, and felicitating them on their extraordinary exploits. The Kaiser personally delivered Iron Crosses to the soldiers.”
To me it seemed only a few days before that Belgrade had fallen into the hands of the Huns, yet already the river was spanned by a wonderful new wooden bridge, such as could not be constructed in a few weeks, or months, for that matter. In all probability this and many other bridges had been built years back in preparation for the great struggle that Germany and Austria alone knew was impending. This was no temporary makeshift, but as good as the fine American trestle-bridges in use on the best American railways.
The Germans seemed to be prepared for everything; in particular are they prepared against England, their most hated foe. I wish that I could get Englishmen to ponder over this, to them, vital fact. Had there been an invasion of England, a thing which now fortunately seems impossible, the truth would have been brought home to that country with tragic suddenness. Germans were not only ready for war, but as the war progresses they are ceaselessly improving their matériel. Everywhere I went I saw evidences of this.
As I returned to the station, having just seen the terrible fate that had overtaken the Serbian capital, I could not help wondering why it is that England seems incapable of appreciating her danger. I refer, of course, to the population in general, for many of those in high places, I am convinced, have no illusions as to the political and strategical situation.
I had been somewhat surprised to find that the Balkan-Zug had not received its usual enthusiastic reception at Belgrade. Possibly this may have been because of the late hour of its arrival, but more likely because the civil population of the town has practically ceased to exist. Belgrade is now the Austrian main headquarters on that front, and is essentially a military town.
We drew out of the station shortly before midnight, and arrived at Buda Pesth between nine and ten o’clock the next morning. In the Hungarian capital the Publicity Train received a tremendous reception—ovation would be a better word. At the Nord Bahnhof there was an enormous crowd, the greatest I have ever seen at a railway station. The excitable Hungarians tumbled over each other in their anxiety to get near the Zug. Wine was brought for the engine driver and fireman, and the passengers, with their little Balkan-Zug flags in their coat buttonholes, were promptly lionised, and—for once in their lives at least—experienced the sensation of being popular heroes. The crowd patted them on the back, insisted on shaking hands with them, cooed over them, crowed over them, and laughed with hysterical joy. What pleasure can possibly accrue to a man leaning out of a railway-carriage window from shaking hands with entire strangers, I cannot possibly conceive; yet it seemed to give intense satisfaction alike to the passengers and the populace.
At Buda Pesth the Balkan-Zug was tidied and made presentable. Windows were cleaned by men having little ladders, and the compartments and corridors swept. To my great surprise I found that this work was being done by big, bearded men in Russian uniforms. I spoke to one or two of them, but they had very few words of German. They explained that they were Russian prisoners. I was surprised that they had with them no guards of any description, and appeared to be without supervision. I commented on the fact to a fellow passenger, the Hungarian I mentioned before, who told me that the men were left entirely to themselves, and that they were too content with their lot to wish to make any endeavour to escape. He said they were kindly treated, and always expressed their satisfaction at being where they were, and much preferred it to returning to Russia to fight. I was under no illusion on this score, however. A Russian private soldier is not such a fool as to imagine that he stands the least possible chance of escape from an enemy country when he has at his command only a few words of the language in use in that country. Probably the Russians found that the best way to ensure good treatment was to simulate entire content.