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For by this time I had come to sympathise thoroughly with
the Bulgarian army and its cause. The soldiers were such good
fellows: their steadiness, their sense of justice, their kindness were
so remarkable. Just an incident of the camp at Arjenli to illustrate
this. It was on the Friday night of November 15, and on the morrow
we expected the decisive battle of the war. At Arjenli (which was a
little to the rear of the Bulgarian lines) was the ammunition park of
the artillery, guarded by a small body of troops under Lieutenant-
Colonel Tchobanoff. Coming towards the front from Tchorlu, the
fall of night and the weariness of my horses had compelled me to
halt at the village, and this officer and Dr. Neytchef gave me a warm
welcome to their little Mess.
There are six members, and for all, to sleep and to eat, one room.
Three are officers, three have no commissions. With this nation in
arms that is not an objection to a common table. Discipline is strict,
but officers and soldiers are men and brothers when out of the ranks.
Social position does not govern military position. I found sometimes
the University professor and the bank manager without commissions,
the peasant proprietor an officer. The whole nation had poured
out its manhood for the war, from farm, field, factory, shop, bank,
university, and consulting-room.
Here at Arjenli on the eve of the decisive battle, I think over early
incidents of the campaign. It is a curious fact that in all Bulgaria I
have met but one man who was young enough and well enough
to fight and who had not enlisted. He had become an American
subject, I believe, and so could not be compelled to serve. In America
he had learned to be an “International Socialist,” and so he did not
volunteer. I believe he was unique. With half the population of
London, Bulgaria had put 350,000 trained men under arms.
We eat our simple meal of goat’s flesh stewed with rice. Then,
smoking cigarettes made of the tobacco of the district, Colonel
Tchobanoff and I talk over the position as well as my bad French
will allow. He is serene and cheerful. His chief care is to impress
upon me the fact that in making war the Bulgarians had not been
influenced by dynastic considerations nor by military ambition. It
was a war dictated not by a Court circle or a military clique, but by
the irresistible wish of the people.
Whilst we were talking the sound of a rifle shot came up from
the village. A junior officer was sent out to make inquiries. Soon he
returned with two soldiers leading between them a Turkish prisoner.
I learn the facts. The Turk had tried to rush past a sentry standing
guard over the ammunition park. The sentry had fired, had not
hit the man, but had grappled with him afterwards and taken him
prisoner.
I nerved myself to see the Turk shot out of hand. The rules of
war warranted it. He had tried to rush a sentry on guard over an
important military station. But the Bulgarian officers decided to hear
his story, and a kind of informal court-martial was constituted. The
proceedings, which were in Turkish, were translated to me, as I was
acting in a way as friend of the accused to “see fair play.”
The Turk’s story was clear enough. He had lived in Arjenli all his
life and was not a soldier. When the Turkish army had evacuated the
district he had not left with them, but had stayed in his old village.
That night he had gone out of his hut to the village well. Returning, a
sentry had challenged him, and he had become frightened and tried
to run away.
It was clear that the man was telling the truth. The Bulgarians
believed him, and let him go with a warning. This showed justice and
courage, and a good “nerve” too. In some armies, I suspect, the Turk
would have been shot, or hanged first and left to explain afterwards,
if he could. And this was among the Bulgarians, who some insist are
a bloodthirsty, cut-throat race, with no sense of justice or of mercy!