The Land of the Black Mountain Part 11

Owing to the absence of the British Consul, we went to see the acting Vice-Consul, who is a Scutarine, and a very courteous gentleman. Like all the rich merchants of Scutari, he spoke Italian fluently, and through him we got an insight into the merchant houses. An extremely aged kava.s.s, in the long white skirt or kirtle worn largely in Scutari, and with the British Arms emblazoned on his fez, respectfully kissed our hands, and we were told that he had been in English service for over forty years. But he could not speak a word of any language except Albanian.

The Vice-Consul placed another kava.s.s at our disposal to accompany us on our explorations of the town, and gave him further permission to attend us on our proposed ride to Podgorica. This latter idea we were forced to give up ultimately, as the roads were considered too dangerous. As a matter of fact, a big shooting affray took place in the district through which we should have traversed a few days afterwards.

Quite one of the sights is Mr. Paget's house (of Paget's Horse fame), situated in the heart of the town. The clock tower affords a fine view, though the time that it keeps is startling to the new-comer. As is known, the Turks have a time of their own, which has a difference of four hours and a half to our time. It is misleading to get up at an early hour, say six o'clock, and find that it is already half-past ten. And again you feel you ought to be sleeping at one o'clock at night, till you remember that it is really only about eight o'clock.

In the bazaar of Scutari representatives of every clan in Albania can be seen, and each tribe has his distinctive dress, so that the variety of national costumes to be seen there can be imagined. The Scutarines are of course very much in evidence, clad in a jaunty sleeveless and magnificently-embroidered jacket, silk shirt, and enormous baggy breeches of black, and heavily pleated. How heavily pleated they are can be gathered when twenty to twenty-five yards of a kind of black alpaca are used for one pair of knee-breeches. White stockings and a red skull-cap--not the high Turkish fez--with a huge blue silk ta.s.sel reaching to the waist, complete the attire. Their women-folk look picturesque in a large scarlet cloak, with a hood half covering the face.

The student of Albanian costumes can make a complete study of the subject in Scutari, rendering a journey into the vast country beyond almost unnecessary.

We always took a camera with us, but with very poor results. It is against the Mahometan religion to be photographed, neither are photographers looked upon with pleasure. We did once plant our camera in the main street of the bazaar, to the great anger of a policeman who ordered us off, luckily after we had secured a picture.

When we were quite new to Scutari, it happened we were waiting for a boat to take us off to the steamer, when we were struck with a particularly fine old Scutariner in red fez and long flowing skirt.

Through the medium of an interpreter, I politely asked the permission to take his picture. He solemnly nodded his head backwards, and I, rejoiced at so good a subject, hurriedly erected the stand. When I next glanced at him, his face was purple with rage, and he made a threatening movement. For a moment I was quite at a loss to understand the why and wherefore, until our interpreter hastily explained that it was against the old man's religion.

"But he said 'yes,'" I expostulated. "At least he nodded."

"That means 'no,'" said the interpreter.

"What does?" I demanded. "Saying 'yes,' or nodding it."

Then the man explained to me at some length, as I repacked my camera, that in the Orient to shake the head means "yes," and a nod--a quick elevation of the chin accompanied by a click of the tongue--is negative. This custom is largely adopted in Montenegro, particularly amongst the peasants, but even then we never quite knew if a shake of the head was meant in the Turkish or European sense. It is a confusing and irritating habit, and takes months to get accustomed to.

Visitors to Montenegro usually spend a day in Scutari, for the route by steamer is the only perfectly safe way of entering the town.

Pa.s.sengers by the steamer are not required to have their pa.s.sports vised, if they state their intention to the official, who promptly boards the steamer on its arrival, to return by it next day. But names and particulars are carefully noted and laid before the Governor.

During this particular visit, we were already well known to the Turkish officer in charge of this department, a pleasant little fellow, inordinately proud of his French which he had just learnt; but still he worried us greatly, calling daily and even sending obvious spies to find out how long we really meant to stay and our object. We tried to impress upon him that we had no base intentions on the town, and were really quite harmless individuals, but he remained friendlily suspicious till he bade farewell to us on board the little steamer _Danitza_.

It is about four hours to Plavnica, and the trip across the lake is very fine, surrounded as it is by magnificent mountains and dotted with tiny wooded islands along its northern bank. We did not disembark at Plavnica, the nearest point for Podgorica, but proceeded _via_ Virpazar up the river to Rijeka, the final station of the steamer and connecting link with Cetinje. The voyage up to Rijeka is delightful, as the boat threads her way through a narrow channel between lofty green hills. It is a picture of as true sylvan beauty, peace and quiet, as can be found on many of the upper reaches of the Thames.

At Rijeka we waited in an inn for the carriage, which we had ordered by telegraph from Cetinje to take us back to Podgorica, and were startled to hear a revolver-shot fired in the village. Everyone was running excitedly to a certain small "dugan," or shop, and thither we also directed our steps and found a bleeding Montenegrin standing over a prostrate and insensible Turk.

What had happened was as follows. The Montenegrin had bought some tobacco from the Turk, and claimed to have been given two kreutzers (under a halfpenny) short in change, whereupon the Turk accused the other of having hidden it.

"Thou art a liar!" promptly cried the Montenegrin, and received a bullet in the thigh as an answer from the enraged Turk. Not seriously hurt, the Montenegrin, equally quickly, drew his revolver and, using it as a club, knocked the Turk insensible; in fact, he was thought to be dead. However, we afterwards heard that he had recovered.

Shortly afterwards we were spending a few days in Cetinje, and were again witnesses of the final act of another small drama which was enacted about this time.

One morning we saw about twenty Montenegrins brought into the town heavily chained, and on inquiry we were told the following story.

A young man, whom we will call Andreas to prevent confusion, had been for some time in Austria, and not finding work he returned to his village, named Ljubotin, half-way between Rijeka and Cetinje, or, to be more correct, just below the Bella Vista in the hollow. He arrived in the night, penniless and in a desperate condition, and waited outside his widowed mother's house till he saw that all the men, his relations, had left and gone to work in the fields. Entering the house he demanded money of his aged mother, who indignantly refused him--he seems to have been a bad lot altogether--and as he threatened to take it by force, she hurriedly called in the village kmet, or mayor, to protect her. But the kmet was also aged and infirm, and brought a young man with him. This young man remonstrated with Andreas, who was breaking open the chest, and said--

"Give me thy revolver."

"Thus I give it thee," answered Andreas, and drawing his revolver he shot the man dead.

Andreas then fled out of the house into the fields, and the murdered man's relations speedily gathered together and pursued him. They espied the fugitive running and fired at him, whereupon Andreas threw up his arms and fell to the ground. His pursuers thinking him dead, left him. Andreas was in reality shamming, and crawling through the bushes saw his uncle at work and promptly fired at _him_.

This time he met his deserts, for his uncle, unhurt, returned the compliment and shot him through the head.

These shots brought the original pursuers to the spot, and seeing Andreas dead, and shot by his uncle and not by them, they began abusing the old man for taking their lawful prey from them.

He bared his chest dramatically, saying that as he knew that the vendetta must continue, they should shoot him then and there and end the matter. But they would not, and going further found another relation of Andreas; this time a young man, and the pride of the family. They shot and wounded him slightly. He fired and mortally wounded one of his attackers, which was as far as they got.

The gendarmes had come and arrested them all, and these were the men of both sides, which we had seen that morning.

As we knew several of them personally, we were doubly interested.

CHAPTER XI

Preparations for our tour in the Brda--We start--Where it is not good to be giddy--A trying ride--Our inn--Nocturnal episodes--The journey continued--Pleasant surroundings--The Montenegrin _quart d'heure_--Arrival in Kolain--We meet the Governor--Visiting--The Band of Good Hope--The Crown Prince's birthday--We are ashamed.

The preparations for our tour through the mountainous districts of North-East Montenegro, known as the Brda, took a few days.

We had some difficulty about horses, though ultimately P. and I secured two good animals for ourselves, but the third, destined for the bulk of our baggage and Stephan, was a dilapidated apology for the equine race. As a matter of fact, it stood the trying journey in a remarkable manner.

Then there were a few pots and pans for cooking purposes to purchase, some necessary additions with which to supplement our humble fare, and two days' rations of meat and bread.

It made a formidable pile when we reviewed it one morning at daybreak, though we had cut down our baggage as close as possible. It took Stephan about an hour to load up, and when he had finished, he had left no room on top for himself.

We carried ourselves each a carbine, revolver, and bandolier of cartridges, and a pair of saddlebags; but what with a camera, camping utensils, guns and cartridges, sleeping-coats, etc., the pack-horse was full up. However, there was no help for it, and Stephan had to walk the first day.

We left Podgorica about 6.30, accompanied by Dr. S., who came with us partly on business and partly out of friendship. As he knew the country perfectly, he did much to render our tour more interesting.

The mountains ascend abruptly, and our path was for some hours along the turbulent Moraca, which we met at the end of the plain. In five minutes we were surrounded by mountain scenery. Some little way up the valley a bridge is in the course of construction across the stream, and will form part of the projected road from Podgorica to Kolain. On its completion, we were told, it would be the highest bridge in the Balkans. Men were working on a loose and steeply sloping bank of crumbling earth a few feet above a precipitous rock, which overhangs the Moraca, at a height of two hundred and fifty feet.

"They very rarely fall," said Dr. S. in answer to our unspoken question.

It made us giddy and sick to watch them. But our own position was often not much safer. The path see-sawed up and down; one moment we were splashed by the spray of a waterfall as it dashed into a creamy pool, and the next we were up on a dizzy height, with one foot hanging over a precipice, gazing on the foam-flecked mill-race below. Verily, it is no journey for a giddy man to take. A single false step on the part of the horse would send both it and its rider to a sudden death.

With the ordinary mountain pony, for the horses are practically only that, it is not necessary to guide it--in fact it might be dangerous.

The Montenegrin rides with a loose rein over the most ticklish ground, only tightening his grip on descending a very steep hill to help his horse when it occasionally stumbles.

Despite a slight nervousness, we were still able to appreciate to the full the grand scenery of the valley of the Moraca. It turned out to be quite as fine as anything we saw in the mountains.

About four hours after our start we crossed the stream by a wooden bridge and dismounted at an inn. Stabling our horses in the ground floor, we ascended to the upper regions where the human beings live, and clamoured for food.

Raw ham and, of course, eggs were all that was to be had, and, as it turned out, it was our only meal that day. The flies were terrible, but Dr. S. comforted us, saying that every hour would bring us to higher regions and consequently fewer flies. A prophecy which was only partially fulfilled.

We made the best of our repast, and after an hour's rest we made another start. We left the river now, and seemed to climb a breakneck hill for interminable hours. The region was barren and absolutely waterless, while the heat was tremendous. I only remember one view during that broiling ride. We had reached a great alt.i.tude, and were crossing a narrow ridge. On one side was the Moraca, and on the other the Mala, both streams mere threads in the hazy distance.

It was the want of water that tried us more than anything. About midday we halted for a while at a small village, and under the refreshing shade of a large tree. Some young men kindly fetched us a little water in a dirty vessel, which tasted abominably.

Another long climb and we at last found shade, and rode for the rest of the afternoon through beech forests. If the path had been bad before, it was worse now, and it was a perfect marvel how the horses kept their feet. I was somewhat unfortunate in my horse Alat, who was blind in one eye, so that I always had to guide him over difficult places. This kept me for ever on the alert, and became trying. At every hut we pulled up and asked for milk, but invariably got "Nema"

(I have none) for an answer. The Montenegrins are singularly laconic at times.

Now began a long descent, so atrocious that we had to dismount and climb down on foot, leaving the horses to pick their way as best they could, and about seven p.m. we reached the house where we were to spend the night. It consisted of two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom, the sole furniture of the latter consisting of two wooden bedsteads.