It became rather a pleasure to splash
through ten-inch deep puddles, knowing that one could not possibly get
any wetter, and this joy was intensified by the knowledge that the
Serbian captain was being soaked and didn't like it.
San Giovanni consists of a series of huts, each like Burns' birthplace,
grouped on the shelving side of a stony cliff. The bay itself is
semi-circular, with a long cape jutting out to the south, the extremity
of which almost always is floating in the air, owing to the mirage. In
the bay were two rusty steamers--one the _Benedetto_, which had been
promised to us by the Italian governor--several old wooden sailers, and
a lot of smallish fishing smacks very brightly painted and with raised
poop and prow. A group of Albanians were toiling at sacks which cumbered
the little wooden jetty.
We immediately hunted out Captain Fabiano, the Italian commander of the
wireless telegraph, and found him in a little house at the northern horn
of the bay. He received us gaily.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414