On the next march a new experience awaited us. The road ran for miles
through a rocky gorge, and nothing else. The bed of the river was the
only means of travel. There is nothing so nerve-racking as to keep
one's eyes constantly glued to the ground, when each step presents a
new problem. Of course, every now and then one of the stones would turn
under our feet, and this meant a plunge up to the knees in icy water.
So far as the eye could see there was nothing but this rocky bed,
winding between towering basaltic cliffs. The task of transporting a
thousand men and horses under such conditions was almost superhuman. If
the Albanians had been openly hostile not one man would have come out
alive.
The Albanian, like most peasants, is grasping and fond of money, but
once you cross his threshold your person and property are sacred. I
never had the slightest fear once I entered an Albanian house.
On the road everything is possible. The tribes live at war with one
another and respect for human life is non-existent. It would have been
as much as our lives were worth to travel an hour after darkness. But
during the daylight an armed party inspires a certain respect.
The men physically are probably the handsomest in Europe. I have never
seen anywhere such beautiful children as those of the Albanians. Not
one in a hundred knows how to read or write or has even been more than
twenty miles from home.
It was through such a country the Serbians had to transport soldiers,
and that with the Germans and the Bulgarians in close pursuit.
The last stages of the march were probably the hardest, as fodder for
the animals and food for the men was practically unprocurable. Money
difficulties also increased daily, the Albanians refusing to accept
Serbian script at any rate of exchange. They would, however, give food
and lodgings for articles of clothing, shirts, underwear, socks and
boots. On the last stage we had, therefore, to resort to the primitive
system of barter, buying a night's lodging with a shirt and a meal with
a pair of socks.