[Footnote 4: This, however, is not the case, as we afterwards learnt.]

When the path broadened out slightly our two guards left us and returned home. Both emptied their magazines into the air at parting, which we answered, and the din was tremendous. Below us was a small village or collection of shepherds' huts, and, in that moment, confusion reigned supreme. The men seized their rifles, the women rushed into the huts, dogs barked, and horses stampeded. It seemed rather thoughtless to thus alarm the village, but, on being remonstrated with, the men only laughed and fired another shot. Had it been a town below us the result might have been more serious.

A little further on, we stopped for rest and food at a narrow pa.s.s overlooking Gusinje on the one side and Montenegro on the other. The murdered Kuc general, whose memorial stone we had seen earlier in the day, was buried here. Strange that his body should find its last resting-place overlooking the home of his murderers.

By using the Montenegrin telephone (the art of talking at great distances), we ordered some milk from the village below, and drank it with that enjoyment which is only known to a thoroughly hungry and thirsty man.

Our afternoon's ride was again particularly stiff. Climbing one hill, Dr. S., who was leading, missed the path, a very easy thing to do, so undefined as it sometimes is. He got on to a very steep and rocky bit of the hill and his horse lost its footing. It began stumbling and slipping about in a most alarming manner. We held our breath for the next few seconds, for a long fall was in store for him, and certain death. He tried to dismount, and succeeded in getting off his horse, but his foot stuck in the stirrup, the horse still sliding on.

Fortunately, the animal recovered its balance, and Dr. S. extricated himself, but it was a nasty moment. That is the worst of the Montenegrins; they rely so implicitly on the sure-footedness of their ponies that they ride up anywhere, only condescending to dismount for very steep descents. And accidents often happen when horse or man, or even both, are killed; but this presumable laziness affords no example to others.

About five p.m. we began anxiously inquiring the whereabouts of our night quarters. The usual Montenegrin _quart d'heure_ was given--and rightly enough. A sharp descent, lasting over an hour, made painfully on foot, saw us in a great hollow basin among the mountains, with the pretty lake of Rikavac at the further end and a small collection of wooden huts.

To these we proceeded and were met by the village Fathers. Dr. S. was well known here and they had recognised him coming down. Five dear old boys they were, who kissed Dr. S. most affectionately, one unshaven old ruffian including me in his salute. I do not appreciate the Montenegrin custom of kissing among men; it is not pleasant. An empty hut was immediately put at our disposal. It was the most primitive and tumble-down habitation that we had had as yet. Of course it rained. It was almost the first rain on the trip, and we had to lie up here a whole day as P. was unwell and unable to ride. Everyone turned out to make the hut comfortable, but it was not a success. I lay down outside and promptly fell asleep, when a sharp thunderstorm came on and drove me inside. There was not a dry corner to be found. The rain came through in steady rivulets everywhere. There was no getting away from those persistent little streams, either head, body, or feet had to suffer--and the fire refused to burn. Added to that, the whole population crowded in to look at us. It was no fun at all Stephan stood cursing in German that he could not get near the fire to cook, and that he would not cook at all if the mob were not cleared out.

This Dr. S. refused to allow, as it would be considered inhospitable.

In course of time the rain stopped and our visitors left us, but only temporarily. Stephan cooked and we went outside to dry ourselves. The food was then ready, and after putting away a good meal we were able to view the world with more equanimity.

After supper it came on to rain again and damped us thoroughly before going to bed. I was very annoyed to find, after having discovered as I fondly imagined a dry corner, that one of my pockets was full of water. I should not have been so irritated had my tobacco been in another pocket; it was a leather coat and held the water beautifully.

Then we tried to go to sleep. My pillow was a stone, like Jacob's, and though I tried covering it with my coat it was of no avail, since the cold forced me to put it on again. I do not mind a hard bed, but a hard pillow is distinctly objectionable. We were just on the point of sleeping when in stalked two men for an after-supper smoke and chat, and one of them, to P.'s intense disgust, sat on his feet. It cost Dr.

S. all his diplomacy to hint that we had been up since three a.m. and were disinclined to talk.

CHAPTER XVI

More memorial stones--We get wet again--Unwilling hosts--A fall--The Franciscan of Zatrijebac--The ravine of the Zem--Methods of settling tribal differences--A change of diet and more pleasant evenings--A fatalist--Sunday morning.

Punctually at eight a.m. next morning we took an affectionate farewell of the Fathers, though I mounted hurriedly first to avoid the repet.i.tion of the welcoming chaste salute.

Our path lay for two hours over a rocky and barren country similar to the naked Katunska district round Cetinje. Gone were the rich green pasturages and wooded valleys in exchange for a waste of grey rocks.

But a large wood was ultimately reached, only a little less dangerous than the wood of Vucipotok. Similar precautions were observed in pa.s.sing through--in fact, our carbines were carried loaded again all day. The Albanian border was never more than a rifle-shot away.

Numerous gentle reminders of the dangers of the path existed in the shape of memorial stones all the way along. We met several families, all fully armed of course, driving their flocks before them to the mountain grazing-grounds of the Kom.

It was about one o'clock when we emerged on a large barren plateau.

On the further side, just across the border, lay the Albanian village of Korito, which Dr. S. knew, and where we intended spending the rest of the day and night.

Half-way across, a sudden storm of rain and hail came down, and I have never got wet through so quickly in my life. Within five minutes, the water was running out of my boots. My leather coat, though waterproof, let regular rivers down my neck. It was a rain that would not be denied, and icy cold.

In that waterspout we sat and waited while Dr. S. hunted up his friends; but apparently they had all left, with their flocks. A few Albanians appeared, and by the dint of much persuasion Dr. S. induced them to show us an empty hut. As soon as they had done this they left us, looking at us in an unfriendly and suspicious manner. We got our baggage in as quickly as possible, and by this time we were shivering with cold. No wood could be seen, and Dr. S. again sallied forth, and by the aid of small bribes some wood was brought and we soon had a fire burning.

However, our natural buoyancy rose again with the fire, and we made a very light meal off the food that we had with us. It was not more than a few mouthfuls apiece, but nothing could be got here. Then we solemnly stood round the fire and dried ourselves, the steam rising like pillars of cloud, and hiding our figures from each other. The warmth was very agreeable and comforting.

Several Albanians now crowded in, examining our arms, and were so unfriendly, not to say threatening, that we hastily reconsidered our plans. Firstly and foremostly, we had no food, watch would have to be kept all the time, over the horses and at the hut, using up two men, so the prospect was not pleasing.

So we saddled up and left about three for Zatrijebac, four hours'

distance, happy to be rid of our unwilling hosts.

The difference between the treatment of strangers by Albanians and Montenegrins was very marked.[5]

Our path led us through the great wood of Kostice, and, owing to the recent heavy rain, the track, never very plain, was in parts entirely obliterated. Twice we lost ourselves, and once more a drenching shower came on, repeating the morning douche. Still we plodded on with stumbling horses over the slippery way till we emerged on the great plain or plateau of Zatrijebac. Zatrijebac is an Albanian clan several thousand strong who live under Montenegrin rule. They serve as Montenegrin subjects in the army, give no trouble except in occasional border fights with rival Albanian clans, and their bravery is proverbial. Further, they are Roman Catholics. The country is most curious, great slabs of stone lying about in a promiscuous fashion as if it had once rained them, and the path was certainly the most vile of the whole trip, which is putting it as strongly as possible.

[Footnote 5: I have since learnt differently.--R.W.]

It was climbing or rather scaling a small rock that my long-expected fall came. Alat, my horse, floundered badly at an angle of forty-five degrees and lost his balance completely. The doctor, who was behind, shouted to me to pull him up, but as I was sliding off his back with a broken girth at an ever-increasing velocity, I was unable to follow this very excellent advice. Down I came heavily on the stones, luckily on the high side of the path, landing on my back with my legs all mixed up in Alat's. My saddle and saddlebags followed me in quick succession, and something hit me violently over the head--that was my carbine. Providentially Alat stood still, and my cartridge belt saved my back.

I got up when I could sort out my legs, making remarks to Dr. S. about that girth which he said afterwards were quite artistic. Many, many years ago the girth may have been good and strong, and it had undoubtedly seen better days. Next I sought one named Stephan. He had always a.s.sured me that it would last another week. Montenegrins are careless about such things.

The rest of the way I had to walk, which dried me, as the path was steep and tiring. At the house of Dr. S. in Podgorica we had met a young Franciscan monk, a Neapolitan and a great student. He at once invited us to visit him in Zatrijebac, where he is the spiritual shepherd, and to spend a few weeks with him. On approaching a roofless church, in the course of rebuilding, we espied this young monk rushing to meet us. With all the fervour of his race, he embraced and kissed us repeatedly, welcoming us to his home. He gave me his bed, and the other remaining one was put at P.'s disposal, and he would not hear of our leaving next day or the next.

There are but two other Roman Catholic churches in Montenegro, in Antivari and Dulcigno,[6] in fact only where the Albanians are in sufficient evidence.

[Footnote 6: The Austrian Legation in Cetinje has also its own chapel.]

We had intended to visit Zatrijebac at the beginning of our mountain tour, but the district was considered unsafe at that time. A quarrel over the appointment of a new captain had led to the relations of the disappointed candidate shooting the brother of the new captain. Two boys, aged fifteen and sixteen respectively, had ambushed their victim, and put no less than seven bullets into him at a distance of four hundred yards, which is pretty good shooting. The boys got away across the border, but wholesale arrests took place, and it is not well to visit districts thus excited. The young Franciscan repeated to us the story that evening round the kitchen fire, where we spent very many happy hours. He spoke of it sadly.

"The vendetta is a terrible thing," he said. "It respects neither the laws of G.o.d nor man."

Our host would not rest till he had shown me the famous view, and Dr.

S. accompanied us. As one stands outside the church, a magnificent panorama is spread out, seemingly without a break. But should one wish to ascend the mountains opposite so temptingly near, a great ravine must be first descended. Ten minutes' walk brings one to the edge of a precipice 2,400 feet deep, so appalling and so sudden that one's breath is momentarily taken away. It is a spot to sit and meditate on the grandeur of the work of the Master of all architects. The majesty of that mighty ravine is, indeed, awe-inspiring.

At the bottom, a mere tiny thread, flows the Zem, a river which has often run blood, and whose source is hardly known as it rises in the unknown Procletia, "the Accursed Mountains" of history. A wall of mountains rises beyond. Steep and precipitous as is the descent on the Zatrijebac side, still a path trodden daily by mountaineers winds and zigzags down to the bottom. Then as we seated ourselves on a carefully selected and safe ledge and gazed on this unique picture, the monk told us of a b.l.o.o.d.y battle fought not so very many years ago by the men of Zatrijebac and the clan of Hotti who inhabit the opposite mountains. It was a quaint ill.u.s.tration how questions of boundary lines are settled without the aid of expensive Courts of Arbitration.

When the new frontier was laid down at the conclusion of the late war, the River Zem was Montenegro's limit. On the hill beyond lies a grazing-ground which has been used as a summer pasturage by the Zatrijebac from times immemorial. Though technically now belonging to Albania, and in particular to the clan of Hotti, the Zatrijebac still continued to drive their flocks across the ravine. The Hotti remonstrated, and finding this of no avail, took possession of the plateau. Their opponents coming over found the rival clan posted in a seemingly impregnable position on every point of vantage on that steep ascent. Though armed with inferior rifles (in those days), they attacked at once, and by reckless bravery came to hand-to-hand conflict. Then a terrible encounter ensued, men seized each other and threw themselves over the cliffs, and to complete the utter discomfiture of the Hotti, the Kuc came to the a.s.sistance of their neighbours and the Hotti were nearly annihilated. Since then no questions have been asked, and annually the cattle and sheep of Zatrijebac graze in peace in Albania.

It was a very similar dispute which has happened so very recently at Mokra near Andrijevica.[7]

Supper gave us a much needed change of diet. Boiled fowl and vegetables came as a luxury after days of tough and stringy lamb. We sat at a table again too, on chairs, and felt quite ashamed of our recently acquired habits.

The evenings round the kitchen fire were just as delightful as our hut experiences, and if possible, more novel. Here we had fierce Albanians, with their half-shaven heads and scalping lock, and a scholar, a student of philosophy, a man of wonderful ideals, in the form of the young Franciscan, instead of unkempt shepherds.

[Footnote 7: Since writing the above another tribal disturbance has taken place between the Zatrijebac and the Hotti. This time it was the Hotti who drove their flocks, also from time immemorial, to a certain spot in Zatrijebac, and as the latter tribe have since cultivated the intervening ground, they felt justly irritated. As the only real argument is the rifle, they met and argued the point in this fashion in February, 1902, and many fell on both sides. A notable incident which is worth recording is, that a man of Hotti fought on the side of the Zatrijebac against his brethren and was killed. His body was afterwards handed back and his clan demanded to know if he had fought as a man. "In the front rank," was the answer. Then they took the body and gave it an honourable burial and agreed to let the dispute drop.

In this action our friend the monk had his habit riddled with bullets whilst attending the wounded.]

Round the fire another evening an argument as to the wrongs of Fatalism, _i.e._ G.o.d's Will, led to a characteristic story by the monk in defence of his views. Dr. S., like many men who lead such lives as he does, was a rigid fatalist.

An Albanian found his enemy in vendetta, working in a field. Hiding himself, he prayed to G.o.d and S. Nicholas to direct the bullet.

"Lord," he prayed, "should I hit this man in the breast, then I shall know that I do this deed by Thy Will."

He laid his rifle on a stone, took careful aim, and the other fell dead shot through the breast.

"By G.o.d's Will I killed him," he answered, when the priest endeavoured to impress upon him his crime.

The lighter side of nature was given us by another story.

Shortly after the priest's arrival at Zatrijebac a half-naked man came to him. The worthy friar took pity on him and gave him a clean white shirt of his own.