ive sedan-chair.... "Whence do you come and what
are you?" asked a Serbian woman[96] of the wounded and dying. "We
are," they replied in prose that reminds one of Mestrovi['c], "we are
the smouldering torches with which our country is kept warm. In the
heart of one's native land there is neither truth nor justice--we love
our native land; this love is a barrier against human love; the heart
of one's native land is great and selfish and it throbs--in this heart
is the faith of all our hearts, we love our native land. We watch
over it and we defend it and we love, though the lettering upon our
tomb be enveloped in ivy. Formidable is its victory, and we will march
along, not asking whether anybody will return. We love our native land
and even when the blood is thickening inside our throats and we are
carrying our entrails in our hands." Though they were Serbs they had
forgotten how to sing; it was some time later that the words, now
famous, of "Tamo daleko" burst from the inspired lips of a simple
soldier and were taken up by his companions: "There, far away, far
away by the Morava, there is my village, there is my love...."

"They came exhausted into Scutari, one by one or in small groups,"
says Monsieur Boppe, the French Minister,[97] "some of them on
horseback, some on foot; here and there one saw a trace of military
order, but most of them had no weapons. They looked as if they could
not march another mile, these moving skeletons, so painfully they
crawled along, so haggard, so emaciated, with a colour so cadaverous
and eyes so dull. This mournful band of brothers struggled into
Scutari for days, beneath the rain and through the mud. No bitterness
came from the lips of those who had undergone every privation; as if
impelled by destiny, they passed along in silence; from time to time,
indeed, one heard them say 'hleba' (bread)--that was the only word
they had the strength to pronounce. For several days the majority of
them had had nothing to eat, and in the cantonments where they were
lodged outside the town their Government could only provide a meagre
ration." A hundredweight of maize cost 300 francs in gold.... But what
of the women who had remained in Belgrade? Miss Annie Christi['c],
whose unflagging work for her people is so well known in this country,
has told us how the Austro-Hungarians started paying out relief money
to the families of State officials. They advertised their generosity
on a large scale, but the