“Well,” he reluctantly admitted, “you must be careful not to be bitten by a mosquito or you will get malaria.  And don’t drink the water or you will contract typhoid.  And keep away from the native quarter, for there is always more or less smallpox in the bazaars.  And don’t go wandering around the town after nightfall, for there’s always a chance of some fanatic putting a knife between your shoulders.  Otherwise, there isn’t a healthier place in the world than Valona.”

Across the street from the building in which we were quartered was a large mosque, which, judging from the scaffoldings around it, was under repair.  But though it seemed to be a large and important mosque, there was no work going forward on it.  I commented upon this one day to an officer with whom I was walking.

“Do you see those storks up there?” he asked, pointing to a pair of long-legged birds standing beside their nest on the dome of the mosque.  “The stork is the sacred bird of Albania and if it makes its nest on a building which is in course of construction all work on that building ceases as long as the stork remains.  A barracks we were erecting was held up for several months because a stork decided to make its nest in the rafters, whereupon the native workmen threw down their tools and quit.”

“In my country it is just the opposite,” I observed.  “There, when the stork comes, instead of stopping work they usually begin building a nursery.”

I had long wished to cross Albania and Macedonia, from the Adriatic to the AEgean, by motor, but the nearer we had drawn to Albania the more unlikely this project had seemed of realization.  We were assured that there were no roads in the interior of the country or that such roads as existed were quite impassable for anything save ox-carts; that the country had been devastated by the fighting armies and that it would be impossible to get food en route; that the mountains we must cross were frequented by bandits and comitadjis and that we would be exposed to attack and capture; that, though the Italians might see us across Albania, the Serbian and Greek frontier guards would not permit us to enter Macedonia, and, as a final argument against the undertaking, we were warned that the whole country reeked with fever.  But when I told the Governor-General of Albania, General Piacentini, what I wished to do every obstacle disappeared as though at the wave of a magician’s wand.

“You will leave Valona early to-morrow morning,” he said, after a short conference with his Chief of Staff.  “You will be accompanied by an officer of my staff who was with the Serbian army on its retreat across Albania to the sea.  The country is well garrisoned and I do not anticipate the slightest trouble, but, as a measure of precaution, a detachment of soldiers will follow your car in a motor-truck.  You will spend the first night at Argirocastro, the second at Ljaskoviki, and the third at Koritza, which is occupied by the French.  I will wire our diplomatic agent there to make arrangements with the Jugoslav authorities for you to cross the Serbian border to Monastir, where we still have a few troops engaged in salvage work.  South of Monastir you will be in Greek territory, but I will wire the officer in command of the Italian forces at Salonika to take steps to facilitate your journey across Macedonia to the AEgean.”