On the morning of the twentieth of January, Captain Cacqueray, commanding the French naval forces, had two young naval officers of the French fleet come aboard his ship, the Marceau, Ensigns Couillaud and Augé, who commanded the little trawlers Petrel and Marie-Rose. He ordered them to return once more to San Giovanni and bring back with them all they could.
"You must succeed and you will succeed," Captain Cacqueray said simply.
Some few minutes later the two trawlers were out in the Adriatic, headed for San Giovanni. Here we must quote Ensign Augé's words. He commanded the Marie-Rose, and we must be satisfied with citing from the eloquent brevity of the ship's log:
From the peaceful docks of Brindisi, we passed through the winding channel of the outer port and then out of the harbor, gliding between the buoys. Then the mine fields were to be traversed, although the night was black and foggy. As we approached the Albanian coast the wind freshened, and in a veritable tempest, with hail and icy rain we entered the Gulf of Drin, whose water is very turbid. More watchful than ever, since submarines had been sighted in the neighborhood, we finally arrived at Medua. Almost blocked off by the sand bars, the little harbor was further encumbered by a dozen wrecks, boats which the Austrians had sunk. The question was where to pass through this mess, on the top of the water, with masts and spars pointing every way. After having rounded the line of mines and the Brindisi, an Italian vessel that had struck a mine some days before, we made the port. Ten houses and a wretched wharf on worm-eaten piling at the end of a funnel of mountains with terrible rocks is all there is of Medua.
An empty sailboat was moored to the end of the wharf, which facilitated our operations. The Petrel, which was of lighter draft than my boat, managed to get alongside and, by vigorous efforts, we were able to join her. Ashore there were soldiers in muddy clothes and worn-out shoes. The gangway and the sailboat were soon filled by a chilly cold wind, which tried to blow it offshore and which nothing could restrain. It was impossible to locate any responsible person and out of the question to make one's self understood. Everyone thought only of escaping from that Hell. Finally some Serbian officers came up who succeeded somewhat in controlling their impatient troops. They made us bring up the first cannon, which was pushed over the shaking planks of the wharf. With great effort and by the use of triple tackles the gun was got aboard the Petrel, and the carriage and wheels on the Marie-Rose, whose hatch was wider. The beginning was slow, but, after the second cannon, the embarking went along smoothly.
There was not enough time. Everyone stamped in the mud. With the completely washed out Serbian uniforms mixed the brilliant colors of those of the Montenegrin guard. Seated on a stone, King Nicholas sat stoically in the falling rain, awaiting the arrival of the Italian torpedo boat that was to place itself under his orders. Soldiers from the French mission arrived and did police duty. The radio-operators from the Italian post arrived and put their baggage on board. An officer of the Serbian Army was there with all the state archives. A crowd of people instinctively pressed towards us and got mixed up with the soldiers who were supposed to keep order. In spite of the tempest which thwarted everything, we managed to embark eighteen .75 guns and three 100 howitzers, as well as a hundred cases of projectiles. The weather grew more dreadful, with hail stones in the icy rain. Blows were necessary to prevent the crowding aboard of that mob of people whom neither shouts nor threats could stop. We allowed as many as possible to embark—about a hundred on the Petrel and twice as many with us—Serbs, Montenegrins and Allies, of all classes and conditions, and, despairingly we shoved off to stop the crowd that remained. We were the last hope of these poor people—there were about fifteen hundred of them, whose only hope now was to face the frightful paths, marshes and swollen rivers that separated them from Durazzo.
Night was falling; there remained only time to get away. Cases of preserves were quickly opened. All our bread and biscuits were used, and some bowls of boiling tea comforted our guests. But leaving the harbor, the sea grew heavier and torrents of spray put the finishing touch to the inextricable disorder that prevailed aboard ship. The storm stayed with us until we made Brindisi, where we arrived at seven o'clock on the morning of the twenty-second. When Italy was sighted, the tiredness and discouragement disappeared as if by magic. Hand clappings, praise of France, promises of victory and of revenge, and absurd efforts to disembark everything at once—passengers and material. (Journal of Ensign Augé, Commander of the Marie-Rose.)
Is that all? No; it is not. For if French effort is limitless, the tonnage of the trawlers is not. And, in spite of every effort, they were unable to get everyone aboard. Down there in the mud at Medua some Serbs still waited, turning anxious eyes towards the high seas to see whether or not the tricolor would appear on the horizon.... Well, it did reappear, for France never gives up the fight. The French motto here, as everywhere else, was "to the bitter end." On the twenty-fourth of January the Petrel and the Marie-Rose started on the final trip. Will they arrive in time? Probably not. In the mountains that surround San Giovanni rifle shots and the rattle of mitrailleuses were heard; the road to Alessio was deserted, the beach seemed deserted, Medua harbor was covered with wreckage of all sorts, rendering navigation impossible. However, the tiny craft entered the harbor and approached the shore. Finally they saw some Serbs there. The news was as disturbing as possible. The Austrians were only a few kilometers off. There was fighting on the outskirts of the town. The last able-bodied Serbs struggled manfully to hold off the Austrian advance guard, which pressed them hard. Not a minute was to be lost if a last salvage was to be made.
After a brief consultation, the two young commanders decided to take off everyone in their old boats, aided by a huge lighter which they took in tow. A grave responsibility if the weather did not hold; but the man who risks nothing will gain nothing.