By this
time we were all getting fed up with romantic surroundings, and wanted
something more solid. The swarthy countenances about the bonfire, the
queer costumes in the flickering fire, left us unmoved.
Sleep was impossible. The wind caught one in every corner, threatening
lumbago. Stajitch fled and camped outside in one of the carriages,
despite the rain.
[Illustration: ALBANIAN MULE DRIVERS CAMPING.]
We started as early as possible--dawn. Whatmough, Cutting, Jo and Jan
lost the road, but were eventually rescued by a policeman. About eleven
one of the carriages broke down, and we had to repair it with tree and
wire. Here the houses were again like fortresses, and everybody
stared at us as though we came from the moon.
We reached the bank opposite Alessio--a small Turkish-looking village
divided between a mud-bank and a hillside. We were about to turn over
the bridge when news was brought that a motor-boat belonging to Essad
was in San Giovanni harbour. We sent a policeman galloping on to stop
it, and followed as fast as our meagre horses would allow.
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