It was about one o’clock when we emerged on a large barren plateau.  On the further side, just across the border, lay the Albanian village of Korito, which Dr. S. knew, and where we intended spending the rest of the day and night.

Half-way across, a sudden storm of rain and hail came down, and I have never got wet through so quickly in my life.  Within five minutes, the water was running out of my boots.  My leather coat, though waterproof, let regular rivers down my neck.  It was a rain that would not be denied, and icy cold.

In that waterspout we sat and waited while Dr. S. hunted up his friends; but apparently they had all left, with their flocks.  A few Albanians appeared, and by the dint of much persuasion Dr. S. induced them to show us an empty hut.  As soon as they had done this they left us, looking at us in an unfriendly and suspicious manner.  We got our baggage in as quickly as possible, and by this time we were shivering with cold.  No wood could be seen, and Dr. S. again sallied forth, and by the aid of small bribes some wood was brought and we soon had a fire burning.

However, our natural buoyancy rose again with the fire, and we made a very light meal off the food that we had with us.  It was not more than a few mouthfuls apiece, but nothing could be got here.  Then we solemnly stood round the fire and dried ourselves, the steam rising like pillars of cloud, and hiding our figures from each other.  The warmth was very agreeable and comforting.

Several Albanians now crowded in, examining our arms, and were so unfriendly, not to say threatening, that we hastily reconsidered our plans.  Firstly and foremostly, we had no food, watch would have to be kept all the time, over the horses and at the hut, using up two men, so the prospect was not pleasing.

So we saddled up and left about three for Zatrijebac, four hours’ distance, happy to be rid of our unwilling hosts.

The difference between the treatment of strangers by Albanians and Montenegrins was very marked.[5]

Our path led us through the great wood of Kostice, and, owing to the recent heavy rain, the track, never very plain, was in parts entirely obliterated.  Twice we lost ourselves, and once more a drenching shower came on, repeating the morning douche.  Still we plodded on with stumbling horses over the slippery way till we emerged on the great plain or plateau of Zatrijebac.  Zatrijebac is an Albanian clan several thousand strong who live under Montenegrin rule.  They serve as Montenegrin subjects in the army, give no trouble except in occasional border fights with rival Albanian clans, and their bravery is proverbial.  Further, they are Roman Catholics.  The country is most curious, great slabs of stone lying about in a promiscuous fashion as if it had once rained them, and the path was certainly the most vile of the whole trip, which is putting it as strongly as possible.

[Footnote 5:  I have since learnt differently.—­R.W.]