h all its feathers on.
There were other Albanians and a very old Montenegrin soldier. He
admired everything English, even Jan's tobacco which he had bought in
Pod.

We got to Alessio and packed everything hurriedly, paid the bill, tipped
an old soldier two dinars, and off. As we passed over the bridge the
clerk came running behind us. We had not paid the bridge fees, he said.

"How much?" asked Jan.

He hesitated.

"Two dinars," said he. He had been talking to the soldier.

Meanwhile Jo and Blease had found refuge in the house of the military
commandant. It was a hovel like all the houses, but they were given a
huge log fire which was built on the mud floor. Their stockings were
soon hanging on a line above the blaze, and their shins were scorching,
while they drank wonderful liqueur which was hospitably poured out by
the beautiful old host.

Turkish coffee was prepared for them by a soldier in a bursting French
fireman's uniform.

The captain's fire was the rendezvous of the village. Amiable and
picturesque people came in and talked about the unhealthiness of the
place, the relative bravery of nations with a special reference to the
courage of Montenegrins, and about the submarine raid and of how the
Austrian captain had repeatedly fired his revolver at the sailors of
the boat he had sunk while they were swimming in the water. Their eyes
were streaming, not with emotion, but because in Montenegro one has no
chimneys.

At dusk the rest of us arrived. The port captain said "To-morrow," so we
climbed up to the inn, examined the stores, a few tins of tunny,
mackerel, and milk, and the thirteen made the best of the bar-room floor
for the night, booted and ready in case a transport for the _Benedetto_
should arrive.

In the morning the captain said we could have the boat that night, and
in the evening he said we could have it in the morning. His excuse was
that the Borra was blowing its hardest, and no sailor could be found to
venture out; but Fabiano said that this was not true.

The real reason was the sleek Austrian torpedo lying on the beach, for
the Dulcinos are famed on the Adriatic coast because of their timidity.

Time passed drearily. The only amusement we had was to go and annoy the
captain of the port by asking when we could have a boat. The wind was
too cold for constitutionals, and we piled on all our clothes and sat on
our knapsacks in the bar-room--for there was no fire--and talked
wistfully of