The Luck of Thirteen Part 32

We discovered the truth later, let us tell the story here.

Berane, to which we were descending, was once a populous growing Turkish town. After the Balkan war it fell into Montenegrin territories. The Montenegrins chased out all the Turkish landowners, who fled to these mountains, where they formed bands of brigands and caused no little consternation and trouble to the authorities, who could not catch them.

The authorities pa.s.sed a little Act, reinstating the landowners in their territories; but when an attempt was made to put the Act into force, it was found that the authorities themselves were in possession of the lands. What was to be done? The blockhouse was the solution.

We stopped at a primitive cafe and lunched. Jo gave the children some chocolate. They did not know what it was. She smeared some on to the baby's lips, and after that it sucked hard. Soon the little girl licked hers; but the boy, more suspicious, would not eat, holding the lump till it melted into a sticky ma.s.s in his fingers. The scenery was very beautiful. There was a faint rain which greyed everything, and the near birches had lost all their leaves and the twigs made a reddish fog through which could be seen the slopes of the opposite hillsides. The professor began to be worried about the rain.

"If this should turn to snow," said he, "we would be snowed up. And I am sure I don't know what I should do if I were snowed up."

We hoped to reach our halting place, which was called Vrbitza, before dark; but it was further away than our informant had said. Once more we found ourselves floundering about in the mud of the village path after dusk. We reached houses which we could not see; walked over slippery poles set over heaven knows what middens. Clambered up creaky steps into the usual sort of dirty wooden room--and there, his stockings off, warming his toes at the blaze of the wood fire, was "Eyebrows."

We were immediately attracted by three paintings on the wall. They were decorative designs, very beautiful. We asked the proprietor who had done them.

"I did," he said.

"Will you sell them?" we asked.

He giggled like a girl. "Ah, who would buy them?" he said.

"We will."

"I couldn't let you have them for less than sixpence," he said. "You see the papers cost a penny each."

Whatmough coveted one, so he had his choice, we took the other two.

The policeman came to tell us that rooms had been prepared in two clean houses. We scrambled out into the dark again, stumbled along in the mud, and at last found an open square of light, through which we came into a room.

There was a red rug over half the floor, and a brasier on three legs filled with charcoal standing in the centre. One or two of our men had already found the place and were lying on the rug. In one corner was a large baking oven like a beehive, half in one and half in the room next door. A wide shelf ran from the beehive almost to the open door. There were two small windows, each about the size of this book wide open. Jan and Jo sniffed. Where had they smelt that odour before?

An old woman in Albanian costume crept up to Jo and caught her by the skirt.

"See," she said, dragging her into the next room, "here is a fine bed.

The ladies will sleep with me this night."

Jo looked at the old lady's greasy hair and filthy raiment.

"We always sleep with our own people," she said firmly.

The old lady protested. All the while our men were packing the baggage beneath the shelf. It was a tight fit, but at last it was got in.

The professor entered once more on the scene.

"This house will do very well for the common people," he said, "but the Herr Commandant" (meaning Jan) "and the two ladies will come over to sleep with me."

"No, we won't," said Jan, Jo and Miss Brindley in one voice.

"Then what will you do?"

"We will give you two policemen, or all four if you like. We will pack in here somehow. You can take the other house all to yourself."

"That will not do," said the professor. "If you are all determined to sleep here, I too, will come here. You will need somebody to protect you."

Jo's back went up.

"If you are afraid to sleep in the other house," she said, "you can sleep here with us. But if you are coming here to protect us, we don't require _you_."

"But you do not understand," said the professor kindly, as if to a child: "there is danger. You will need me to protect you."

"Not in the least," answered Jo. "If you will say that you are afraid, we will offer you our shelter. Otherwise you can have all four policemen at the other house."

The professor was afraid to say that he was afraid, so after stating that we were curious people, he went off with the guards.

With great difficulty we packed in. Cutting and Whatmough were forced to climb on to the shelf and the brazier was pushed out of the room. One by one we rolled up in our rugs, made pillows out of a pair of boots or a cocoa tin, cursed each other for taking up so much s.p.a.ce, and at last all were jammed together like sardines. It was like the family in the drawing: If father says turn, we all turn.

We did not rest well. Thirteen people in a room which would comfortably hold three was a little too close packing. There was a lot of grumbling coming from one corner, and after a while a light was struck.

"Good lord," said somebody, "my pillow's crawling!"

Bugs were cascading down the walls. Stajitch jumped to his feet, and began stamping hard. "Rivers of them," he yelled.

Cutting and Whatmough were groaning about the heat, so we opened the door. Immediately all the dogs of the village, half wolves, hurled themselves at the lighted s.p.a.ce. Stajitch slammed it just in time; had they burst in, lying down as we were, we should have been unable to protect ourselves.

A dark face peered in between the baking oven and the wall, a swarthy Albanian face. It looked at us and then silently withdrew.

"It doesn't matter," said somebody at last, "we've got to stick it."

We roused up neither rested nor refreshed. The room seen in the dim light of the morning seemed even more revolting than it had been the night before. We demanded the bill, it was brought--five francs for apples which we had bought. And for the room? Nothing. We gave our host three francs extra, and he bowed, putting his hands to his bosom and kissed our palms.

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 sh.o.r.es 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.