The Land of the Black Mountain Part 10

"As if every movement was of the greatest exertion he picked up the traps, saying as he did so, 'Thou shalt remember these insults.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARKO IVANKOVIC]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BRIDGE AT RIJEKA]

"'Be still!' I cried, covering him with my gun, 'and now precede me.'

"And in this fas.h.i.+on we returned to my house. He threw the load into a corner of the room, and at the door he returned and repeated his warning, vanis.h.i.+ng in the darkness.

"From this time onwards I shot alone. Try as I would I could get no one to come with me, and this I put down to the worthy Marko's influence. Thrice I saw him while out shooting, but only once within speaking distance. I then called to him 'Marko, I know thou wilt try and kill me; but listen, I am married and have a wife and child at home. For their sakes I ask thee to shoot at me from the front, and thus give me a chance to defend myself.'

"He smiled strangely again, saying, 'Thou wilt remember thy insults,'

and disappeared.

"I always took cover when I saw him, but nothing happened, and the eve of my departure arrived. The steamer left in the early morning, and just as dawn was breaking and I was still in bed Marko entered the room. He approached my bed, and laid upon the table by my head the sum of money I had advanced him to repay his debt. Then he spoke:--

"'I saidst that thou wouldst remember the insults thou hast put upon me. Here is thy money, and now listen to my story. Thou hadst scarce set foot in Dulcigno when thy death was planned by an enemy, and I was hired to do the deed. That was why I would take no wages, for I was already well paid; besides, it was thought that thou wouldst then certainly engage my services. I was to accidentally shoot thee while hunting. What more easy than to stumble and for my gun to explode? But when I knew thee, then I could not kill thee thus. I tried to provoke thee that night, knowing thee to be a violent-tempered man; I provoked thee into insulting me. I hoped thou wouldst have struck me, and then it would have been easy. Thou wast very near death at that moment, for in spite of thy gun I could have shot thee, but thou hadst grown too much into my heart. Even in my rage I was powerless. And now here is thy money. I have kept my word, and am an honourable man.'

"I sprang from my bed and stopped him. 'Who was my enemy?' I cried.

"'One who knew thee in Bosnia. This man had hoped that thou wouldst visit him, and thy coffee was ready poisoned. When I left thy service another man was hired to kill thee, but I followed thee wherever thou went. Thus didst thou see me these three times.'

"I knew now who my enemy was. A man exiled by the Austrians for treasonable practices whilst I was still an official in Bosnia. Marko accompanied me to the s.h.i.+p, but not until I swore on my honour to otherwise throw the money into the sea would he accept it, and then only that which he had actually earned, not a kreutzer more, for I would have willingly made him a present. Thus Marko Ivankovic went out of my life, but I shall never forget him."

Such was the story we heard one evening in Podgorica, and which we were here able to prove in part. When Marko heard that we were friends of his former master, his face lighted up with joy, and he kissed our hands. During our stay he was always with us, a devoted attendant and servant. Another very interesting phase of his life had been spent in the Hercegovina, where he fought as an outlaw for many years against the Austrians. He still possesses two mementoes of his adventures in that land, one in the form of an officer's undress jacket, technically called a "blouse," and the other of a more permanent character, namely, a maimed hand. He and his band were surprised one night by gendarmes, and a fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued, during which an Austrian aimed a cut at Marko with his sword. Marko caught the blow on his hand and held the blade fast, but the gendarme drew back the weapon sharply and severed all the tendons of his hand. Marko cannot now open his hand, but his wounder was sped to the happy hunting-grounds there and then, as he modestly relates.

Shooting of the same kind as on the Lake of Scutari is to be found in abundance all round Dulcigno. Unfortunately the Bojana and the afore-mentioned island at its mouth was closed to us. The evening of our arrival two men had been shot there, and it is doubtful, even had we insisted on going, whether the authorities would have permitted it.

It is not good to visit localities just after shooting affrays. In this instance the peasants on both sides were excited, and we reluctantly gave up the trip to which we had looked forward for some time. However, there was plenty left to shoot over, and we had much good sport with pelican, duck, and crane.

One rather unpleasant incident occurred during our stay, which very nearly ended seriously.

The lakes and swamps over which we shot lay at about an hour and a half's walk from the town, and it was necessary to be there by daybreak. We had ordered our paddlers to await us one morning at dawn, and on our arrival were considerably annoyed to find no one there but a boy. After a short wait we started, taking the boy and the larger londra, or canoe, Marko and Stephan paddling as well. A longer delay would have spoilt our morning, as the fowl disappear long before the sun is well up in the heavens. About an hour later we discerned a boat paddling furiously towards us, and, coming alongside, the inmates proved to be our missing crew. Seizing our canoe, the spokesman addressed our boy, abusing him roundly, saying he had stolen his canoe, and demanded the paddles peremptorily. The boy looked at us helplessly, and naturally refused, for we were in the middle of a lake. The man then became livid with rage, rocked our canoe violently, threatening to overturn us into the water. Then his hand dropped on his revolver, and in his face appeared unmistakably the l.u.s.t to kill.

All this pa.s.sed so quickly that we had listened to the altercation in open-mouthed astonishment. The rage and violence took us utterly by surprise, for nothing of the kind had ever happened to us before from the naturally courteous Montenegrins. However, now the man's rage communicated itself to us, and in the twinkling of an eye both Marko and myself had covered him with our firearms--we both had guns at our side--and Stephan began to talk. Stephan was a violent-tempered man, and now he let himself go. He spoke for some minutes, and it was lurid. The muzzle of my carbine began to wobble, for his fluency and comprehensiveness were distinctly amusing, while our attacker, who soon let go the b.u.t.t of his revolver, listened with pained but undisguised admiration. "And now, thou accursed one," wound up Stephan, after he had paid attention, in his burst of eloquence, to the man's family, antecedents, personal appearance, and probable future, "go back to the hotel, and await my master's return! Thou knowest the law. For even laying the hand on thy revolver in anger, and against strangers in our land, thou wilt be thrown into prison, and thou wilt receive ten months. I will come and see thee, and listen to the music of thy clanking chains, and we will talk of to-day's doings!" By the time Stephan had finished, abject fear was depicted on the man's face, and his companions showed signs of having heard enough. Murmuring apologies, they sheered off, and with a slow and thoughtful rhythm paddled back the way they had come.

On our return to the inn several hours later the three men were standing stiffly outside the door, cap in hand and thoroughly scared.

He who had attacked us spoke tremblingly, offering as an excuse that they had fished all night and had but gone for some food before taking us out again. They were direly poor, he said, and the fear of losing their wages had upset them, the long night without sleep had destroyed their powers of reasoning, and--would we forgive them for the dastardly outrage? Needless to say we dismissed them, as do the magistrates, with a caution.

We met amongst other Montenegrin officials the district doctor, an interesting man of varied experience. At his invitation we witnessed the annual vaccination, which is compulsory in Montenegro.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VACCINATION]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BAZAAR LIFE, DULCIGNO]

Outside the door of the princ.i.p.al mosque the doctor and his a.s.sistants and some other officials took up their position one morning and waited. Shortly afterwards crowds of children appeared on the scene, mostly in charge of their Turkish fathers or elder brothers, some of the latter scarcely able to carry their little burdens. Very rarely a Turkish mother appeared, closely veiled, but the Christian mothers invariably came; that is, the Albanian Christians from the outlying villages. Very quaint are these women in a most picturesque costume and carrying their infants in a c.u.mbersome and unwieldy cradle slung on their backs. It was a very varied a.s.sortment of babies which was presented to the doctor, many of the Turkish children being so emaciated and such a ma.s.s of repulsive sores, that many were sent away as too weak. Most of them shrieked with fear, but a few came up smiling, one and all comforted by their protector, either Turk, child, or fond mother. The fathers invariably showed the most distressed concern. It was a comical sight; outside the rails a motley crowd of interested spectators and waiting children, and in the inclosure the doctor p.r.i.c.king his patients one after the other in a most indifferent manner. His clerk noted the names, and we, with some of the local grandees, drank tiny cups of coffee and looked on.

The Albanian or Turkish element is very strong in Dulcigno, and they are the only Montenegrin subjects exempt from compulsory military service. The Montenegrin authorities told us that they were very peaceable and industrious, giving no trouble whatever. It is, after Podgorica, the largest town in Montenegro, and does a lot of trade in small sailing-boats down the coast. As many as seventy-five per cent of the men are usually away at sea, carrying the Montenegrin flag as far as Constantinople. It is quite cut off from the rest of Montenegro, except by a mule track connecting it over a difficult mountain path with Antivari and the rest of the country. By sea it is connected by the Austrian-Lloyd weekly Albanian Line, and by one or two smaller steamers which occasionally call there, with Cattaro and the Albanian coast towns.

CHAPTER X

We ride to Scutari--The Albanian Customs officials--We suffer much from Turkish saddles--Arrival at Scutari, and again pa.s.s the Customs--"Buon arrivato"--Scutari and its religious troubles--The town and bazaar--A slight misunderstanding, Yes and No--We return to Rijeka by steamer--The beauties of the trip--Wrong change--The prodigal son's return, when the fatted calf is _not_ killed.

Before we left Dulcigno it was necessary to have our pa.s.sports vised by the Turkish Consul, as we intended returning to Podgorica _via_ Scutari. We had to go through a lot of tedious formality, though the Consul was a most pleasant man, and laughed at the precautions which his orders forced him to take. But as he supplied us with horses and an escort--for the path is considered somewhat dangerous--we resigned ourselves to the inevitable with a good grace. Our guns and carbines we were forced to send back to Podgorica with Stephan, as the law is very strict against the introduction of firearms into Albania, where, however, even the poorest peasant goes fully armed. But as strangers our weapons would have been confiscated on the border. Verily the ways of the Turk are pa.s.sing strange.

We made a start at four o'clock one morning just as the sun was appearing above the hills, and the day promised to be extremely hot.

Our horses were fairly good, and the man who const.i.tuted our guard, an Albanian, seemed a pleasant fellow, which much belied his appearance.

A more villainous-looking face, with half his teeth missing, could hardly be imagined. However, the whole way he rolled us cigarettes most industriously, rarely taking one from us. Our saddles were Turkish, and were our first experience of them, and, it is to be hoped, the last.

The high road, or rather path, to Scutari, is considered good for Montenegro. In reality it is a mere track, in places paved with cobblestones atrociously laid. It is odd that many important districts in this country are entirely unconnected by roads with the neighbouring towns, and consequently such things as carriages do not exist. As an instance, the whole of the country lying beyond Rijeka towards the sea, containing two important towns, and in size about an eighth of Montenegro, possesses one short road--from Virpazar to Antivari--and one carriage.

Our path lay for the first three hours through a richly vegetated country, and the scenery at times was quite English, owing to the amount of oak trees which overhang the path. But at nearly every open s.p.a.ce was a Turkish graveyard. The indiscriminate way in which the Turks bury their dead is most extraordinary.

We reached the River Bojana, and rode along the bank some time before we came to the ferry. It is a broad and swiftly flowing river of quite imposing size. The heat was now getting tremendous, and a friendly Albanian picking apricots on the roadside gave us many handfuls, which proved very acceptable.

Two Albanians came across in a large barge in answer to our hail, and we and our horses--the latter, by the way, stepping into the barge most unconcernedly--were piloted across. Here we entered Albania, and were examined by a fierce-looking Customs official. He turned our baggage out on to a mat, and evidently meant to overhaul it thoroughly, when a few _Daily Graphics_ caught his eye. After that he dismissed the remainder of our things with a wave of the hand, which our men promptly repacked, and retired into the papers. A lot of other men came up, and we were pleased to afford so much delight with our ill.u.s.trated journals.

As we were drinking coffee in the very primitive inn, a heavy thunderstorm came on, and deluges of rain, keeping us here for about an hour, when it cleared up sufficiently to proceed. Our landlord at Dulcigno had packed us up a meal with a bottle or two of wine at our orders, and we, now being hungry, inspected the basket. It was, to put it mildly, distinctly disappointing, and not fit to eat or drink.

Added to this, my hunting knife was stolen, and we were very glad to get on again.

The rest of the ride was the reverse of monotonous. The path was now as slippery as grease, and our horses floundered at every other step, and at times we plashed through quagmires, and became bespattered from head to foot. Several men pa.s.sed us with rifles slung over their shoulders, but interchanged salutations with our guard. With the exception of one small revolver, we were unarmed and practically helpless. A short time after our ride through this district, a stranger was killed. It is very unfair to refuse foreigners the permission to carry any arms through such dangerous parts, when it is considered a disgrace to go unarmed by the inhabitants. Our saddles, too, were beginning to cause us much discomfort. After the first few hours on a Turkish saddle, every movement of the horse becomes agony.

We reached the outskirts of Scutari about seven hours after our start, and the town is entered by a great bridge. But before coming to the bridge we rode through a great a.s.sembly of Albanians, judging from their different costumes, from every part of the country, with their flocks and herds for the market. The men were lying about singly or in groups, sometimes under a rough tent, while the women attended to their wants and to the flocks. Each man was heavily armed with rifle and revolver, and turned lazily as we pa.s.sed, with no friendly looks, plainly intimating that we were intruders. Still they were fine, fierce-looking men, though their expression is not nearly so prepossessing as that of the Montenegrin. It was a strange scene of life, but only one of many that abound in and about the capital of Albania.

At the bridge we had to dismount and cross on foot, and a very painful operation it proved after so many hours in the saddle.

The custom-house was situated immediately at the other end of the bridge, and here we entered. In the guard-house, full of disreputable-looking Turkish soldiers, were hung rifles and revolvers on nails in great number and variety, which the mountaineers have to leave on entering the town precincts. The custom-house official was peacefully sleeping when we came in, and had to be awakened. We were led to a divan, and cigarettes and coffee promptly brought to us while our pa.s.sports were examined. In a quarter of an hour we were allowed to proceed, but a man came running after us saying that our baggage had not been examined. He gently hinted that he had no wish to examine it all if ..., and we understood. We forced a handful of backsheesh in his seemingly unwilling hand, and slowly, with many muttered exclamations, climbed into the saddles. We even did not scorn the friendly aid of a low wall, so painfully stiff were we.

A short ride round the once mighty and historical fortress of Scutari, past a ruined building liberally painted with white crosses, said to have been once the Cathedral, and where we had noticed that Christian Albanians piously crossed themselves on pa.s.sing, led us to the famous bazaar.

It was not our first visit to Scutari (we had visited the town by steamer from Montenegro on several previous occasions), but as we clattered through the evil-smelling alleys filled with a surging ma.s.s of more or less unclean humanity, we were struck more forcibly than ever with the picture. At times our pa.s.sage was blocked by the crowds, and misshapen figures and hideous faces would peer out of doors and shop windows at us, and swaggering Albanians would jostle each other, their belts for the most part empty, though many were armed in spite of the stringent rules to the contrary. Slowly we forged our way through this seething crowd, and emerged on the open road beyond, leading to the town proper, which lies about half-an-hour's distance away.

At the hotel we dismissed the man (and the horses), who remarked with a certain grimness, in Italian, "Buon arrivato," and we staggered into a meal which our eight-hour fast and torture had rendered extremely necessary.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CONSULAR QUARTERS, SCUTARI]

Though Scutari, strictly speaking, does not belong to this account of Montenegro, it is still so interesting, being in former days part of Montenegro, that it deserves some mention.

The actual town is Mahometan, three-quarters of the inhabitants belonging to that faith; but as the surrounding mountains are all Christian, and it is the seat of the Roman Catholic Bishopric of Albania, religious feuds are common. The Christian Albanian belongs literally to the "Church Militant," and emphasises his feelings occasionally by throwing a dead pig into a mosque. On other occasions playful Albanians have been known to tie white cloths round a fez, thereby imitating the headgear of a Mahometan priest, and so parade through the town. Very naturally the Mahometans object to it, and trouble ensues. About a year ago Scutari was in a state of siege, and closed to trade for a fortnight.[3]

The consular quarter of the town is really quite fine, and here all the rich merchants, of whom there are very many, live in large houses often beautifully fitted up and surrounded by a formidable wall. A street where such houses are situated is externally very gloomy, nothing to be seen but high walls pierced by ma.s.sive gates. Behind those walls, however, are lovely gardens and imposing houses.

[Footnote 3: This has again happened since writing the above.]

The consulates are very much in evidence, with guards of splendid-looking Albanian kava.s.ses. Politically only Austria and Italy are vitally interested in Albania, and these countries have large consular staffs and fine buildings and post offices.