one had to walk over piles of carcasses, feet slipping on the soft flesh of freshly fallen horses, then again old carcasses surrounded by swarms of flies stinking intolerably, and hen again a horse who was being walked over still raising his head as if begging for death. In places Albanians were seen cutting off the skin from the carcasses to make their sandals.
Cholera, hunger and suffering were taking more and more victims from among the fugitives who fell down from fatigue and never rose up again. Like rows of madmen, with eyes staring, themselves close to falling down, walked the fugitives among the dying, everyone looking only after himself. The instinct for survival controlled everyone. "Forward" was the motto, "forward until I fall myself." A son forgot his father, brother forgot his brother, a friend forgot his friend. Often mothers threw away their toddlers to be more free to drag themselves forward.
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