Year 1913: In the mountains the Turks destroyed, in the plains the Montenegrins, the Muslim believers prayed in the Church, the Albanians were one and went to war with songs...

In the summer of 1913, when the London Conference had finished its work, Aubrey Herbert visited Albania. The purpose of the visit was to inform him of the reaction of the Albanians regarding the results of the conference which took harmful decisions regarding the territorial extension of the new Albanian state. The conference had decided that Hoti and Gruda should be given to Montenegro. Herbert visited these parts and below is his note regarding the disposition of the Albanians he had seen on the ground. This is a part of Herbert's two-day diary that can serve as historical fact today.

Shkodër, Saturday, August 30, 1913:

I went out, early in the morning. The air was fresh and smelled incredible. With quick steps we went to the edge of Bardanjoli, passed the Montenegrin cemetery and the burnt Koplik.

The soft and fertile land made the burning houses appear with more marked horror. We stopped at Mirash Luci's house, where we found the people digging up hidden ammunition from the ground in preparation for the coming war with the Montenegrins. It was terribly hot. The children were naked. We were drenched in sweat until we climbed the mountains.

After a long journey, which I would not shorten for a minute, we found a cool cave in the mountain that had crystal water. There we drank water and talked, until the Albanians were announced with their red and black friends. “Thus,” they said, “was the only way we showed loyalty to our country. The Turks have never noticed this".

They sang patriotic songs, always against Montenegro, until the mountains echoed again. "Auuu Karadak" (Montenegro). Every beautiful and shining field has its own story, the old 500-year-old story, retold differently except in the drop of blood of the last four years. Each peak has its own memory, but what the years have made romantic, the days make terrifying. One can feel the vengeance in the air. All the houses are without roofs; the Turks have destroyed in the mountains, while the Montenegrins have created ruins in the plains.

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The Montenegrins have not brought destruction to the Catholics, as they did to the Muslims. They have looted many Catholic houses, cut off the noses of the saints of the churches and desecrated the cross, but they did not kill and destroy. The Catholics say that this was not done because they [the Montenegrins] are good-hearted. A priest I met told me that he had seen the Montenegrins cut off the noses of Muslims who were imprisoned in Tuz. The priest had no illusions about the "goodness" of Montenegro. They [Catholics] have no doubt what their fate will be if the Montenegrins come.

A young man, like a panther, served as our guide. The news of our arrival had arrived before us in the village of Repshë where we met a group of 25 people who were waiting for our arrival: we sat down and drank beer with them. They were constantly shooting with their revolvers. Everyone was welcoming, kind and refused to let me pay for this party which was perfect.

We arrived in Rapshë at 6:00, a village high up in the mountains. There were two priests, Father Sebastiani, a pleasant man, while the other was not in a good mood. Voivode Gjelosh Gjoka was also there, a big man who looked like granite in which there was no humor left, but it turned out that he was a joker and an atmosphere fixer.

I was given Father Sebastian's room, which was full of rifles, holy things, bottles of brandy, and books of religious ceremonies. Another voivode, one of the stern leaders of the mountains, humbly left the drawing room and we sat down to dinner. The whole conversation was about Hoti and Gruda. The arguments were strict, like the brandy that Albanians drank.

"It is ours. It is our land. Why should we submit it? Europe has broken our law because we are poor or because it is ignorant. It has failed us. It will fail again. The border is white with the bones of our ancestors. Aren't we less men than the Montenegrins? If Montenegro takes Hoti and Gruda, it will keep the entrance door to Albania, which is an entrance for the fighters, and a gate for their politicians. They have betrayed us. They said that the war against the Turks is a war for freedom. Will Europe now pay them back for treason with the money of the people it has robbed? Montenegro is poor. Montenegro will bring civilization to us, to us who are also poor? Montenegro comes to rob us. We have preserved our country for 500 years. The Turks have been better than the Montenegrins, as we have held our own with them. Should we hand it in now? We, the five tribes, have sworn on our lives to fight and our brothers will join us."

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During the meal, the priests served the guests. They were given drinks, food, cigarettes, and sometimes they would go out and shoot with guns in response to someone else in the valley. The priests were in on all the jokes and it seemed to me that they had good control over their griza. The priests were mostly Albanian by nationality, but most of them were educated in Austria. It is Austria where they keep their eyes and which supports them with money. Priests have mustaches, according to the custom of the East. In Repshë they were against the Government of Vlora. I am not surprised if they try to announce a Government for the North. Faik Bej Konica, Sali Hoxha, Bajram Curri, Isa Boletini are in this work.

Sunday, August 31, 1913:

This morning was perfect, and the morning on earth was like Heaven. Later came the heat which became severe. All this Sunday there was a loud crack of rifles, all the way down in the valley. The stones served as telephones; news came and went. In the silky morning, an unpleasant atmosphere was created, an unusual occurrence among Albanians. I later found out from Don Sebastian that the reason for this was the presence of A who was with me. Three or four years ago, the Albanians had pledged allegiance and had sworn in front of the cross to fight against the Turks without the Montenegrins. It was said that A had betrayed them in Podgorica. He had also behaved very badly in matters of taking blood, because he had killed a Muslim, somewhere about a kilometer from here, which was all right, but knowing that he had fallen in blood with the relatives of this the Muslim had gone that same afternoon and killed two others, which was considered to be outside the rules. He deserved to die now.

I told them that I would be very grateful if they did not kill him while he was with me. They could tell him to leave. They said it was not a matter of killing him, as the agreement was still in force and that they were honest people. If he had killed five of them, they would not touch him but they did not want him in my presence and wanted me to leave him. I told them that I could not intervene in their fights, since I was without information. It could be what they said, but then again, it might not be. If they wanted him to leave, they had to tell him themselves. After that, the atmosphere calmed down and their good mood returned. Everyone sang songs, solo and in chorus, in the priest's house. The songs were against Montenegro.

Two Muslims came to mass. One of them was the chieftain of Hoti and was the only member of a Muslim family in the city. He prayed before St. John, like the Catholics, the best from whom he had been protected when the Montenegrins had come to Rapshë. The other Muslim, Salih Hoxha, and I sat in the shade of the church wall as the heat was terrible. He started to smoke a cigarette while getting up in the church, but thought of politeness and put the cigarette out. The chanting of the prayers [Ave Maria] in Albanian created music in the mountains, while from the valley below came the shots of the rifles to which the priests responded with their rifles, rushing out of the mass. Albanians were celebrating Saint John's Day and some of them were not exactly sober. My servant Deli was one of them. "What good people", he said.

They pulled me out of the church into the shade of an oak tree and told me that if I didn't want to make a speech, I should at least listen to their answers to some questions I had to ask. I was spoken to in French, which was translated into Albanian by an educated doctor.

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"I am English, but I do not speak for England. You have many friends in England who are happy that Albania has been saved, since you and I have always fought for freedom, which you have now achieved. During 500 years you mourned for Skanderbeg; soon, I hope, with God's help, you will wear white clothes for your king. England is the place where your other friends and I try to do what we can for Albania. It is your job to lay the foundations of the Albanian state here. Your enemies have said that you cannot overcome your entanglements and enmities. Prove your enemies wrong. We hope to see a strong and united Albania."

At the end of the speech there were long and continuous cheers of satisfaction: the rifles were discharged with a crack; everyone who had a weapon emptied it; the smoke caused suffocation and terror; the leaves fell from the wood as if the autumn storm were blowing and a blank cartridge or some blind bullet cut my cheek. My servant Delius hurried to his feet to empty a stream of rhetoric, but I jumped and stopped him.

Then A became stressed and took out his revolver to shoot in all directions calling on God and me as a witness that he would fight against Montenegro. His goal was to insert himself among others. Fiery speeches and chants continued: "Does Europe know who the Montenegrins are? They are sons of the first five. Hooray for Mrs. Durham. Hooray for Saint John. Long live Albania! Long live Mrs. Durham! Long live Herbert! Boom, boom, boom! The gray-haired old men stood up and showed him the marks of their wounds; the mountains trembled with their voices; The shots of the rifles echoed at the bottom of the valley until the priests shouted: "Boll ma, boll"!

We went to a house, but my ears were deaf, and my nose and throat were dry from the gunpowder that was emptied. After climbing the mountain, we arrived at the place where Ded Gjon Luli's house once stood, which, like the others, had burned down. The old man [Ded Gjon Luli] sat on a carpet spread over branches of careless leaves, while another carpet was hanging as protection from the sun. The party quickly dispersed; Ded Gjon Luli was willing to talk about his past struggles. He was not too worried about talking about the future.

I finished my food and said goodbye to the old man [Ded Gjon Luli], admiring him with all my heart. My Muslim friend arrived, but I left him behind discussing theology and the Trinity with Ded Gjon Lul.  /Telegraph/

(This article was prepared exclusively for the Telegraph)