Colonel G—— P—— had given me some idea of the hatred felt by his countrymen for Albanians generally. The misgivings aroused at Belgrade by his reference to this subject were more than confirmed by the conduct of the Albanian campaign. No detailed narrative of these operations has been obtained, but the fragmentary reports received, both from neutrals and belligerents, left no doubt as to the atrocities which accompanied and stained indelibly the heroism and endurance of the Servian soldiers. Whole villages were wiped out, old men, women and children were either slaughtered in their homes or driven forth to die of cold and famine, the countryside was wasted, an orgy of wanton destruction was permitted, if not encouraged, by the Servian Staff. As the army penetrated more deeply into the mountains, fresh horrors were added; winter set in, the passes became blocked with ice and snow, men and animals fell from slippery tracks into abysses, disease and insanity were rife, a line of corpses marked the passage of the army. Numbers dwindled rapidly; only the strongest survived; stragglers were left to die in awful solitudes. The Albanian peasants, aided by the Turks, defended their mountains step by step; bands of them hovered round the line of march, seeking a chance for grim reprisals. Quarter was neither asked nor given; men fought like barbarians with a veneer of science, which made their actions doubly hideous. Episodes described by competent and impartial observers leave an impression as painful as it is confusing; nothing more terrible has taken place in any part of the world, or in the whole history of war.

Servian activities in Albania provoked a protest on the part of two of the Great Powers, but not on humanitarian grounds. From both Vienna and Rome there came a note of warning: “Ne touchez pas l’Adriatique”9 was the purport of the message. The attitude of the Austro-Hungarian and Italian Governments was frankly interested; it was that of a big dog who sees a terrier gnawing a bone within tempting reach of its (the big dog’s) kennel. This prohibition was not to be lightly disregarded, but the Government at Belgrade showed unexpected firmness. Strong in their faith in Russia and in M. Hartwig, the Serbs continued to advance. After a month of ceaseless struggle against Turks, Albanians, the elements and nature, this vanguard of Pan-Slavism in the Balkans came within sight of the forbidden coast, between Alessio and Durazzo. The soldiers raised a shout of exultation. Behind them lay a barrier of mountains, impassable in winter; before them was the sea, to reach whose shores they had endured and risked so much. Some troopers galloped quickly to the beach and spurred their famished horses into the sparkling water, and when they found it was not fit to drink they murmured helplessly. The men of Servia proper, unlike their kinsmen of Dalmatia, had not the habit of the sea; for them it still remained a mystery, pregnant with disillusionment both present and to come.

The Turks had withdrawn the bulk of their forces to Scutari and the Serbs occupied Alessio without encountering serious opposition. This ancient town is situated at the junction of the new road from the coast at San Giovanni di Medua with the main road connecting Durazzo and Scutari. It formed, in consequence, an admirable base for future operations. For the time being, however, the 3rd Servian Army was incapable of further efforts; the troops were exhausted, supplies and ammunition were scarce, boots for the men and shoes for the horses were alike lacking, and, until sea communications with Servia through Salonika could be established, a continuance of the offensive was impossible. Unfortunately, the confusion which reigned at Salonika prevented the immediate despatch of supplies and reinforcements to San Giovanni di Medua; the army was immobilized by force of circumstances and degenerated into an army of occupation, holding a strip of territory between the mountains and the sea.

The invasion of Albania had been undertaken prematurely and in a spirit of exaggerated optimism; impatience and want of foresight had rendered fruitless an achievement which, however marred by atrocities, was a splendid feat of arms. Servia’s position in Albania became more precarious with every day that passed in inactivity. The key of the situation was Scutari. While that fortress remained in Turkish hands, conquest was incomplete, and at any moment one or more of the Great Powers might intervene; already there were indications that the Dual Monarchy10 was losing patience and fretting against a policy which kept the ring.

Alessio is noted as the burial place of Scanderbeg, an Albanian chieftain and son of a Servian princess. During the 15th century he had waged war against the Turks for over twenty years; his name was a household word in Servia, as that of one who had fought a common foe. Time had wrought many changes since those days. The narrow streets around the hero’s tomb were thronged by an invading host of Serbs, with devastation in their track, their hands imbrued with Albanian peasants’ blood. An evil genius seemed to possess the Servian leaders. The war, no more a war of liberation, had loosed their basest passions; success had made them cruel, vindictive and tyrannical, the very faults for which they blamed the Turks.

As Bacon says: “Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes.” While Servia groaned beneath the Turkish yoke, cycles of songs had fortified her faith and poetized defeat. Only a “Hymn of Hate” could chronicle this victory—a fierce lament, resounding through a land of desolation, echoing a people’s cries of woe.

Winter passed without any active protest on the part of the Great Powers in regard to the presence of Servian troops in Northern Albania. In the early part of February, the Young Turks, under the leadership of Enver Pasha, broke off the peace negotiations in London, and hostilities recommenced in Thrace and Albania. Macedonia was clear of Turks and, from a purely Servian point of view, the only remaining military operation was the capture of Scutari. The troops on the spot were unequal to the task, and the Servian Government decided on the despatch of reinforcements, by sea, to San Giovanni di Medua. Time pressed. The Serbs had learned at the London Conference that a fait accompli11 was a better basis for bargaining with their Allies and the Great Powers than the most righteous cause; they feared that, at an early date, a second armistice might be imposed upon them, and they were determined to, if possible, attend the next conference as masters of Scutari and the adjacent coast.

The organization of the expeditionary force was completed rapidly and efficiently, and by the end of February the Servian troops were concentrated at Salonika. Unfortunately for the Serbs, they were dependent on their Greek allies for overseas transport and a naval escort. The intentions of the Greek Government may have been excellent, but their administrative services left much to be desired. It was not until March 17 that the fleet of transports steamed out of Salonika harbour; at least 14 days had been wasted in vexatious, and in some cases unnecessary, delays.

The ships were overcrowded to an extent which would hardly have been justified if the voyage had been made in time of peace, when it would have lasted only four or five days; in time of war, and more especially in view of the recent activity of the Turkish cruiser Hamidieh, a prolongation of the voyage should have been allowed for and suitable arrangements made; they were not, and once again the soldiers had to suffer for the optimism of the Headquarters Staff. In point of fact, the Hamidieh was never within 1,000 miles of the Adriatic, but its name inspired dread, and the transports dared not move without an escort of Greek warships. At the last moment these were not forthcoming, owing to the occurrence of a naval display at the Piræus, on the occasion of the funeral of King George of Greece, who had been assassinated a few days earlier in the streets of Salonika. Twelve precious days were spent between the Ægean and the Gulf of Corinth. The convoy reached the Ionian Sea and anchored off San Giovanni di Medua after a journey lasting 17 days. So long a voyage in crowded, insanitary transports had its inevitable result; typhus had broken out among the troops, many men were buried at sea, the horses and oxen suffered terribly; some had been embarked a fortnight before we left Salonika. Without firing a shot the Servian Expeditionary Force had lost much of its fighting value, mainly through the muddling of the military and naval staffs. War is at all times wasteful. When Allied States share in an enterprise officials speak in many tongues, their jealousies are national as well as personal, the waste is augmented out of all proportion to the results achieved.

As we approached our moorings at San Giovanni di Medua, I was standing on the bridge of the flagship with Colonel G—— P——. After looking through his field glasses at the coastline for some minutes, he turned to me with the laconic remark, “Dasz ist ein groszes nichts.”12 No better description could have been made in words.

Lying before us was a bay sheltered from the north by a low headland, below which could be seen a sandy beach with two jetties; to the east of the beach was the mouth of the River Drin; from here the coastline ran in a southerly direction and was fringed by mangroves. The only human habitations in sight were two houses on the headland, and in the distance, about six miles away, Alessio. Stranded on the beach were two Greek steamers, victim of the Hamidieh. San Giovanni di Medua was not a port, it was an open roadstead, affording no shelter from a south-west wind.

The reinforcements sent by sea brought the total number of Servian combatants in Albania up to 23,000 of all arms, with a good proportion of artillery. At this stage of the war, and taking into consideration the jealousies which divided the Turkish commanders, a force of such size and composition had Scutari at its mercy. One determined assault would have brought about the fall of the fortress. For reasons which have never been explained, the Servian General, who directed also the operations of the Montenegrin Army, continually postponed the day for the assault. This procrastination was destined to have disastrous consequences.

Nearly three weeks had passed since the landing when, one evening at dinner time, I was informed that the general assault would take place at dawn on the following day. The infantry and guns were already in their advanced positions, and every one was confident of success. Towards the end of the meal a Servian Staff Officer entered with a message for Colonel G—— P——, who, after reading it, leaned across me and addressed the General. Both men seemed agitated, and left the tent together. A few minutes later I was asked to join them. A curious document was put before me. It was signed by a British admiral, who described himself as the commander of an international squadron of warships, anchored at the time of writing off San Giovanni di Medua. There was nothing ambiguous about this document. It was a formal order to the Servian General to withdraw his forces from the neighbourhood of Scutari and bring them back to the coast; no diplomatic verbiage was employed and no explanations were given.

The first effect of this amazing communication on the two Servian officers was stupefaction, which soon gave way to strong resentment. They, not unnaturally, considered such treatment as an affront to the sovereignty of their country and a flagrant breach of neutrality. They found some consolation, however, in the fact that a British admiral had signed. It gave them a sense of security, so they said. Everywhere in the Balkans one found this sentiment towards the British. It touched the heart and flattered pride of race; one tried to forget the ignorance and detachment of the British Government, to justify this simple trust and to be worthy of it. The signature was not very legible, but the name was already sufficiently well known for me to recognize it as Cecil Burney.

No steps were taken to countermand the assault, which would undoubtedly have taken place had not a telegram from Belgrade arrived at midnight containing full instructions as to the future conduct of the Servian forces in Albania. The withdrawal of all troops to the sea-coast whence they had come was to be absolute and immediate; advanced posts were to be withdrawn under cover of darkness, to minimize the risk of rearguard actions with the enemy. On arrival at San Giovanni di Medua, preparations were to be made at once to re-embark the troops on specially provided transports, already on their way from Salonika.

The Serbs marched back to the coast bursting with anger and despair. All their hardships and sufferings had been endured in vain. Coming down the valley towards the beach they saw before them a great array of warships, flying the flags of six Great Powers, and learned another bitter lesson. The sea was not for them—not yet at least. A swift reaction followed. The force that daunted them was force afloat, on land they held themselves invincible, and asked for nothing better than to return to Macedonia, to conquests nearer to their hearts and homes; to mountains and inland plains where water was not salt; where men and animals were not cooped up in stifling holds, and did not have their stomachs turned by the uneasy movements of the sea.

They thought they had been tricked, and from this mood a frame of mind emerged which brooked no compromise at Monastir. The “Black Hand” society got many new adherents from the Servian Army in Albania during these fateful days. Made bitter by helplessness and disappointment, the belief spread among the men that that society alone stood up for Servia’s rights, and so they joined the ranks of the enemies of peace.

Colonel G—— P—— looked grey and haggard; this termination of an enterprise of which he had been the principal organizer was a set-back in his career, but to all personal considerations he was indifferent. The causes of this sudden display of energy on the part of the Great Powers did, however, give him food for anxious reflection. He saw the handiwork of Austria-Hungary, and said bitterly: “Albania is a small country, but it contains three races and four religions. There is only one way of maintaining peace here, and that is by dividing this country between Servia and Greece. At the beginning it would be hard, but no harder for the Albanians than when they were under the Turks, from whom we have liberated them. Austria wants an autonomous Albania, though she knows it is an absurdity, because she does not want peace in the Balkans, except on her own terms. Great Britain and France are helping Austria—God knows why! What do your people know about Albania?” He pointed to the warships in the bay and added: “Today is the first birthday of autonomous Albania; it is a bad day for all the Balkan States.”

I thought of that suburb in Berlin where there was one bank too many, and then of a Conference of Ambassadors in London, called to resolve the Albanian riddle. Burian13 would be there as well as Mensdorff.14 Austria would speak with no uncertain voice. If the British Government had a policy in Albania, it was surely an Austrian policy. A division of Albania between Servia and Greece was the logical outcome of the Balkan War of 1912; it might have been effected under the control of the Great Powers and guarantees could have been exacted for the protection of the different nationalities. For harder questions have been dealt with on these lines, since the expulsion of the Serbs from the Albanian coast.