We had no hesitation in tackling the Montenegrin soldiers, for at least we could do no harm, considering that our whole pharmacopœia was a little boracic, some bismuth capsules, Epsom salts, quinine, iodine, and one of the party owned a bottle of some patent unknown stuff, against fever and many other ailments.
We were first taken to the barracks in the evening, scrambling up a stony hill. The building looked like the disreputable ruins of somebody's "Folly." Half the roof was off, and the walls were full of holes. We stumbled up some black steps and entered a huge dark barn with four log fires down the centre of the room.
Round these were huddled crowds of men. They pulled some rough planks out of a hole in the wall to let in the sunset light, and the icy Borra rushed in, playing with the smoke and setting the men to coughing. Here and there on the ground were long mounds, covered completely with rough hand-woven rugs. These were the invalids, who moaned as the rugs were pulled off their faces. A great many had malaria; others had, as far as we could see, very bad pleurisy; and one old Albanian with rattling breath was huddled up in a far corner, too miserable to speak.
Whatmough sent for a dribble of camphorated oil he had stored in his knapsack, "to cheer them up," said he, and rubbed everybody who had pain and a cough.
"Give them hot drinks," said Jo, in a large way. "Milk or—"
"Milk! There is no milk in Medua," said the sergeant.
"No tinned milk—eggs to be bought?"
"Nothing, no meat; we have not even enough bread, and that is all we get."
Very depressed, we sent them the remains of our Bovril and some tins of milk from the tiny hotel store, and bought the last three eggs in the place.
"Can't you send for more?" we asked.