I had a delightful night’s rest in my comfortable cabin, and woke at dawn to find the Poseidon close to the Albanian shore, and under the superb snow-crowned Acrokerannian Mountains. The scenery superb—with Samothrace, and the Isle of Ulysses, etc., etc., seaward, and the beautiful mountainous shores of Corfù (here called Kepkuga, Kêrkyra) on the S.W. and S. There was a special Consul-Deputation on board, to land two, and also to take off a number of Turks, Albanians, and Epeirotes for Constantinople. We put in after breakfast at Eavri Kagavri—a Greco-Albanian township of Turkey. The scattered oriental ‘town’ of the Forty Saints crowns a long ridge at a considerable height—the harbour-town is a cluster of Turkish houses beside an extraordinary absolutely deserted set of gaunt ruins. Hundreds of Albanians and Epeirotes, Moslem priests and two Greek papas (or popes) were on the shore-roads, with several caravans each of from 20 to 50 mules and horses. Costumes extraordinarily picturesque, especially the white-kilted or skirted Albanian mountaineers, and the Larissa Turks. We were 3 hours—and I the only ‘privileged’ person to get thro’ with the consul. We took many aboard—a wonderful crew, from a wonderful place, the fairyland of my Greek resident from Paris—who is on his way to spend a month with his mother in Athens, and has asked me to visit him at his house there....
Well, the Poseidon swung slowly out of the bay,—a lovely, exciting, strange, unforgettable morning—and down the lovely Albanian coast—now less wild, and wooded and craggy, something like the West Highlands at Loch Fyne, etc., but higher and wilder. When off a place on the Turkish Albanian coast called Pothlakov (Rothroukon) the shaft of the screw suddenly broke! The engineer told the captain it would be five hours at least before it could be mended—adding, a little later, that the harm could probably not be rectified here, and that we should have to ride at sea till a relief boat came from Corfù or Greece to take off the passengers, etc.
As no one has a Turkish passport, no one can get ashore except lucky me, with my influential friend, in a Turkish steam-pinnacle! (It is so beautiful, so warm, and so comfortable on the Poseidon, that, in a sense, I’m indifferent—and would rather not be relieved in a hurry.)
(Later.) Late afternoon on board—still no sign of getting off. No Corfù to-day, now, though about only an hour’s sail from here! Perhaps tonight—or a relief steamer may come. I’ll leave this now, as I want to see all I can in the sundown light. It is all marvellously strange and lovely. What a heavenly break-down! What luck!
Just had a talk with another passenger stamping with impatience. I didn’t soothe him by remarking I hoped we should adrift ashore and be taken prisoners by the Turks. He says he wants to get on. Absurd. “There’s more beauty here than one can take-in for days to come,” I said—“Damn it, sir, what have I got to do with beauty,”—he asked indignantly. “Not much, certainly,” I answered drily, looking him over. An Italian maestro is on board on his way to Athens—now playing delightfully in the salon. A Greek guitarist is going to play and sing at moonrise. No hills in the world more beautiful in shape and hue and endless contours—with gorgeous colours. Albania is lost Eden, I think. Just heard that a steamer is to come for us in a few hours, or less, from Corfù, and tow us into Kêrkyra (the town)—and that another Austro-Lloyd from Trieste or Brindisi will take us on to-morrow sometime from Corfù to Athens.... The only perfectly happy person on board.
Yours,
Will.
Athens, 29th Jan.
... This lovely place is wonderful. How I wish you were here to enjoy it too. I take you with me mentally wherever I go. It is a marvellous home-coming feeling I have here. And I know a strange stirring, a kind of spiritual rebirth.
Athens, Feb. 1st.