Quite at the prow of the vessel, somewhat apart, and separated from the rest, was a military officer, evidently of some considerable rank, if one could judge by the orders and stars fastened to his breast, his handsome hilted sabre, and his patent leather boots. He was a heavy morose-looking man of about fifty, with close cropped black beard, blue Turkish uniform, and crimson fez. I was told he was a real pasha, and had with him a suite of two officers and half a dozen soldiers. He was only a deck passenger like the others; but whether he travelled so from poverty, from motives of economy, or from scorning to associate with the hated and _envied_ Nazarenes, I cannot tell, though I strongly suspect that genuine impecuniosity was the real cause of it.
The Turkish troops I saw in this part of Albania were the most wretched specimens I ever witnessed, small, mean, dirty, disreputable-looking in the extreme, and their officers matched them to perfection. Having remarked on their appearance, I was told by the captain of the steamer not to form an opinion of the Ottoman army by such samples, as they always sent their worst regiments to Albania, and that these wretched troops, both officers and men, were always months in arrears of pay.
At last every one was on board, the last package was hoisted over the side, and again we were steaming down southwards. The afternoon was very enjoyable, the heat much less, and as the number of cabin passengers was small, we were able to have our supper on deck, which we enjoyed immensely.
After the meal was concluded, I again went forward among the natives, and soon made friends with many of the dusky passengers by means of a few signs; but our conversation was not lively—signs and gesticulations and dumb show were the principal means of conversation—of language we made little or no use. Had I known ever so little of Arabic we could have got on fairly enough—the pantomime of these Orientals being so wonderfully expressive. So I returned to the quarter-deck, where I had some coffee with the captain, and then feeling tired, I went down to my _camerino_, and was soon asleep.
On awaking the next morning I found we were at anchor opposite the town and fortress of Castel Durazzo, telling of its Venetian origin by its name. Here we remained a few hours, but the place did not look attractive, and as I did not feel quite "the thing," I did not go on shore, but remained on deck looking at the motley groups as they passed up and down. Again we had the usual interchange of passengers and goods, and after a few hours' delay we were just about steaming away when the return steamer from Corfu came alongside of us.