"Taube," said somebody.
The Taube sailed slowly round, surveying the town. It passed right
overhead. Everybody stared upwards wondering if it were going to "bomb,"
for we were just opposite to the railway station. But it passed over and
flew away. As it went guns fired at it, and many of the Serbs let off
their rifles. We have often wondered where all the bits of the shells go
to, for nobody ever seems to be hit by them, even when they are bursting
right overhead.
The motor gave several snorts, everybody climbed aboard. The driver let
in the clutch, there was a tearing sound from underneath, but the motor
did not go. One of the drivers clambered down, and after examination
said that it could not go on that day, and they immediately began to
take it to pieces. The aeroplane came back twice, sailing to and fro
without hindrance.
[Illustration: PEASANT WOMEN LEAVING THEIR VILLAGE.]
[Illustration: SERB FAMILY BY THE ROADSIDE.]
It is impossible to describe properly the feeling in the town: it was
like standing in the influence of high-pressure electricity, even in the
daytime the soldiers in their rags--but with barbarously coloured rugs
and knapsacks--were sleeping in the hedges and gutters.
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