atened by
four divisions, 100,000 men, General Sarrail began the withdrawal,
sending south by rail without loss all ammunition and stores. He
destroyed the tunnel at Krivolak and all the bridges across the Vardar,
and on his left at the Cerna River. The fighting was heavy at Prevedo
and Biserence, but the French losses were small. He withdrew slowly,
twenty miles in one week. The British also withdrew from their first
line to their second line of defense.

Demir-Kapu, meaning the Gate of Iron, is the entrance to a valley
celebrated for its wild and magnificent beauty. Starting at Demir-Kapu,
it ends two kilometres north of Gravec. It rises on either side of the
Vardar River and railroad line, and in places is less than a hundred
yards wide. It is formed of sheer hills of rock, treeless and exposed.

But the fame of Gravec as the French base was short-lived. For the
Serbians at Monastir and Gevgeli, though fighting bravely, were forced
toward Albania, leaving the left flank of Sarrail still more exposed.
And the Gate of Iron belied her ancient title.

With 100,000 Bulgars crowding down upon him General Sarrail wasted no
lives, either French or English, but again withdrew. He was outnumbered,
some say five to one. In any event, he was outnumbered as inevitably as
three of a kind beat two pair. A good poker player does not waste chips
backing two pair. Neither should a good general, when his chips are
human lives. As it was, in the retreat seven hundred French were killed
or wounded, and of the British, who were more directly in the path of
the Bulgars, one thousand.

At Gevgeli the French delayed two days to allow the Serbian troops to
get away, and then themselves withdrew. There now no longer were any
Serbian soldiers in Serbia. So both armies fell back toward Salonika on
a line between Kilindir and Doiran railroad-station, and all the places
we visited a week before were occupied by the enemy. At Gravec a
Bulgarian is pointing at the wicked ones who are being driven into the
flames and saying: "The Allies," and at Strumnitza station in the
mess-hall Bulgar officers are framing John McCutcheon's sketches.

And here at Salonika from sunrise to sunset the English are disembarking
reinforcements, and the French building barracks of stone and brick. It
looks as though the French were here to stay, and as though the
retreating habit was broken.

The same team that, to put it politely, drew the enemy after them to the