There was a good stiff clay soil waiting for our tiring feet, and by the time we reached Berane, there was no thought of going further.  Almost every one was exhausted.

We reached the shores of the river.  The bridge had been washed away, but the inhabitants had made a boat like a sort of huge wooden shoe which they dragged to and fro with ropes.  We clambered in and were hauled over.  Our baggage had not yet arrived, so Jan and Stajitch ordered lunch for the others and went down to see about it.  Just as they were landed on the opposite bank the rope broke.  So all the Montenegrins and Albanians who were working the ferry went off to a midday meal, leaving the two with the pangs of hunger growling within, sitting on the bank.

After two hours’ waiting the rope was repaired, and they got back to lunch famishing.  We then arranged sleeping places and locked up all the baggage in an empty shop.  Our room was one of those ordinary Montenegrin bedrooms plastered with pictures.  Amongst them was a postcard, and on it was printed large in English in blue crystalline letters, “Never Again.”

Whence did it come, this enigmatic postcard, and what did it mean?  It seemed almost a solemn warning; yet in a hotel bedroom.  What did the hostess think it meant?

“Never Again.”

Some of the men came in cheering, having found Turkish delight in one of the shops.  We were sadly needing sugar, as our last tin had been stolen along with lots of other things.  So we indulged in “Turkish” not wisely.

The professor got up to his old games again.  Again he had told the commandant that he was leading the British, and that we would rest the next day, and again Jan had to pick him off his perch.

Some got a bed that night, the others had to sleep “in rows,” half under the beds and half projecting out.  The people on the beds said it was a funny sight.

When we unpacked at night we found who had been robbing us.  The policemen.  We had missed many more things, but found that the amount varied in direct ratio to the number of police who guarded us.  All our spare boots were now gone, Blease’s overcoat, and also Miss Brindley’s.  Jo had lost her only other coat and skirt, and one or two mackintoshes were missing.  Now we knew why the police wore long-skirted coats; but what a disappointment the one must have had who lifted Jo’s coat and skirt.

Got off again in good time the next morning.  Cutting and three others stayed behind to look after the police.  Lucky they did, because one of the horses wore out, and the police would have left it on the road, pack and all.  As it was we left the horse grazing, but the baggage was transferred.

There had been a decentish level road made from Andrievitza half way to Berane, and women were working hard on the extension in the hopes of getting it finished for the Serbs; but that they could never do, for there were but few of them.  Further on many of the bridges were unfinished, and in one or two places a landslide had carried away the road itself, leaving a deep clinging mud in its place, but we were getting used to mud.