_Aug. 27th._—There was nothing to see in Coinica except the bridge and a mosque or two, so we were again on our way this morning, following the road along the Narenta valley. The scenery much reminded us of the valley of the Izonzo as you descend southwards across the Julian Alps. The whiter and more barren rocks: the signs of a more southern climate in the ripe grapes and what vegetation there was, as well as in the intense heat of the sun over our heads: the houses, no longer of wood, but of white stone,[280] almost tower-like, with high stone stairs outside—recalled one after the other the metamorphoses which had struck us on a former pilgrimage when emerging on the stifling valleys of Gradisca from the Predil Pass. And assuredly the Narenta flowing beside us was as emerald green in its transparency as ever those Sontian pools which feasted Dante’s eyes when the guest of Pagano della Torre. The Narenta in its upper course is very dangerous to bathe in, since the current is not only very rapid, but has short cuts by underground caverns which form whirlpools not easy to detect in the general turmoil of the surface waters, but which are capable none the less of occasionally sucking down into earth’s bowels some of the enormous trees which are seen to float down this river. We, however, discovered a safe and sheltered pool of this wonderful blue-emerald purity, in which we disported ourselves while the soup of our mid-day meal was brewing on the shore. Towards evening, still following the road, we began to leave the Narenta valley, and to cut off a great bend of its course by zigzagging over some heights. Here we passed some sick and wounded Turks _en route_ from the scene of war, and other soldiers with them, but our pass again stood us in good stead. The heights above the road looked more desolate than any we had seen, as the brushwood had been set on fire, apparently to prevent the enemy from advancing unperceived and perhaps surprising a convoy, so that, as we passed, volumes of smoke were rising above us from blackened thickets. From the summit of this pass opened out a grand view of naked mountain peaks. Rapidly descending we came once more upon the Narenta at a point where a party of Turks, under the direction of a Belgian engineer, were using their best endeavours to complete an iron bridge across the river.