There was a room with six beds, but one was reserved for an Albanian officer.  We took the rest.  We loitered about all the afternoon, and in the evening the Albanian officer came in.  He was a beaky-faced, unpleasant-looking man, but he procured us some bread, which we sorely lacked.  The hotel had little food, so we gave them our rice.  By this time fleas had got into it, and seeming to like it had bred in quantities.  Still as we had nothing else it had to be cooked, and we picked out the boiled fleas as well as we were able.  The Serbian captain started drinking with the Albanian, and soon both were well over the edge of sobriety.

They came up long after we had turned in, fell over Cutting, who cursed them without stint, and tumbled on to the beds which we had left for them.  The Albanian made some remarks about the ladies, which from the tone were insults; but we were unable to chastize him, or we should all have been put into prison.

They snored and coughed all night, and spat about in the dark.  Those who were sleeping near cowered beneath the mackintosh sheets and prayed for luck.  But in the morning we found that they had been spitting on the wall.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIV

“ONE MORE RIBBER TO CROSS”

The Mayor of Alessio had said that there were lots of horses, if we had Essad’s permission; but the Turkish captain said that there were none, only at San Giovanni were they to be found.  It was pelting with rain, but Blease and we decided to walk over to explore for ourselves.  Jan first wrote a very stiff letter to the Governor of Scutari about the non-arrival of the telegram, and off we went, having borrowed oilskins and sou’westers.  The Serb captain insisted on coming with us.

In half an hour the storm had made the stony road into a series of deep ponds which nearly joined each other, so Jo tucked her now ragged skirt into a bright woven Serbian belt and walked along with the water streaming from coat to boots.  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.