We were to leave in the next train after the Ambulance Column of which Major A. was in command; and at 5 p.m. some of us went to the station to watch their embarkation. This was prolonged, and we talked to two friendly French doctors who were with Major A. Eventually the train steamed out of the station, and I turned to go and see the stationmaster about our train, when, to my surprise, I saw the short, stout, French doctor standing on the platform, still talking animatedly with one of our doctors. "Didn't you mean to go with your column?" I asked surprised. He turned round and saw that the train had gone--without him. It was obviously his own fault, but that was not his opinion, and for a time it looked as though the fury of the coming war, was to be channelled in the rage of one French doctor against the Serbian nation. But I pointed out hurriedly, in passing, what luck it was for him, and for us, that he had been left behind, because now he could travel with us in our third-class carriages, instead of in the cattle truck which would have been his fate.
At that moment the stationmaster rushed up with worried face. "Would I," he asked, "be so very good as to let the Bakers' Column go before us, because the next train contained more trucks than we should need, and they were needed by the bakers?" Our column was already waiting to embark, drawn up in line outside the station, impatient to be off after so much delay; but, of course, I agreed to the stationmaster's request, and we made room for the bakers to pass. We spent the interval eating supper and pacifying the French doctor for the "insult" of having been left behind. By the time supper was finished, he was so far mollified that he was willing to restrict his vengeance to the person of the Major, and to let off the Serbian nation. So I had hopes that after a night's journey under the same pacifying influences, there would be hope even for the Major.
We had great difficulty in getting the cars on to the trucks, which were too small, and the horrible suggestion was made that the cars must be left behind and follow later. I knew what that would mean: we should never see them again, and we could not evacuate the wounded or carry the staff without them. So I insisted firmly that the barriers of the trucks must be removed, and that the trucks must be hacked into the necessary size. And the stationmaster, wearied and overworked, without time for sleep or food, was a marvel of patience and good temper. He let us do what we liked, and our chauffeurs, who were also marvels of resourcefulness, hammered and unscrewed and manipulated, in one way and another, so that before long the task was accomplished, and the cars were all safely on board. Then, as we were at last about to start, we heard shouts of horror, and looking towards the tail end of the long train, which had at the moment no one near it, we saw flames of fire leaping in the air--one of the trucks, containing one of our wagons and, alas! some petrol barrels, was blazing fiercely. At this last moment was our equipment to be destroyed and our work to be stopped? The hood of the wagon was burned and some of the soldiers' clothes, but the petrol was rescued before the fire reached it, the fire was soon extinguished, and no great harm was done.