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 Kolasin--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 Kolasin. 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 altitude, 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.

There was no food, except a half lamb, which Stephan had brought on the pack-horse, and its condition was unpleasant from its many hours' exposure to the sun and attendant flies. It took over an hour to cook, and by that time our ravenous hunger had passed, stilled by a few quarts of delicious milk. The inn--for such was the character of the house--unlike similar institutions of more civilised lands, had neither accommodation for man nor beast. There was no hay for our hungry horses, who had to wait for two hours while a man took an hour's climb up a mountain to the next village and brought back a load of 45 kilos (100 lbs.) on his back. A little thought can be given to this fact. Suffice it to say that this lean and athletic man took off his shirt and literally wrung the sweat from it. This, too, at the end of a long day's work. Part of the hay served for our beds, and little enough it seemed too.

P. and I were given the two beds, or rather we were forced to take them, and I turned in at once, after looking at the mutton broth, and fell asleep immediately. In the night I was awakened by a child crying in the room, and in the dim light I was startled to see the floor--empty when I went to bed--strewn with sleeping figures.

A heap that I rightly guessed was the doctor, moved uneasily.

"Doctor," I said softly, "are you awake?"

"Yes," came the answer. "A small child has evidently mistaken me for its father or mother. Will you have it?"

I feigned sleep.

Other figures were snoring peacefully and emphatically, but the tiny inmates of my hay bed were painfully awake and sleep seemed banished. However, I must have slept again, for when I awoke the room was empty, except for Stephan, who was packing up. We had a wash in the stream and made a hurried breakfast, and were off by a fairly early hour. Stephan had found a horse, which must have come as a blessing to him. He had walked yesterday about thirty miles. The path was much better to-day, and we were enabled to make better pace. At a small village named Lijeva Rijeka we made a long halt to allow the doctor to transact some official business. We ate up what meat we had left, and had great fun with the village big-wigs.

Strangers are beings of rare occurrence in the mountains, and we always came in for much "courteous curiosity." Dr. S. and Stephan enjoyed answering inquiries as to who we were immensely. One time we were engineers making plans for the new road; another time we were enterprising merchants about to open up the country; and once a man remarked, when he was told that I was the British Minister, "And wears patched trousers?" He referred to the knee pads of my riding-breeches.

Our arms, as was only natural to this fighting race, attracted great interest. The carbines, of the Austrian Mannlicher system, invariably went the round to a chorus of delighted appreciation. Likewise our field-glasses, through which they would look for hours.

Shortly after leaving this village we had a fortunately short but exceedingly steep hill to climb, which brought us on to a magnificent plateau of rich green grass, carpeted with wild flowers. From this point onwards the scenery changed completely. We were in the Alpine regions. It was very beautiful, the trees covered every hill with a mass of green foliage, and every here and there a snow-capped mountain peak would appear. Not only was the scenery different, but the dwellings of the peasants took quite another style of architecture; conical thatched roofs of a height out of all proportion to the size of the house, and a massive verandah or loggia built into the house, The inhabitants are snowed up for many months every year, and have to lay in great stores of food. But how delightful it must be here in winter! What an opportunity for snow-shoeing! The peasants can do the journey to Podgorica in about half the time on their primitive snow-shoes.

The ride from here to Kolasin was nearly perfection. We skirted rushing mountain torrents, through woodland glades and soft green swards; the air was glorious and cool, for though the sun was powerful there was an abundance of shade. One drawback, however, a drawback sufficient to mar our happiness, was not denied us. Every mile or so we had to plunge through a quagmire, equal to the worst South African mudhole, which is saying a great deal. Much care had to be exercised to prevent the horses getting fairly bogged or breaking their legs, but all passed without an accident, though our condition at the end of the day was awful. We were bespattered from head to foot.

Several halts at hans were made during the day for rest, food, and milk, and about three p.m. we struck the River Tara, and had crossed the water-shed of the Adria and the Black Sea. We followed the Tara till Kolasin, where we arrived about seven o'clock.

Montenegrins have no idea of judging time and distance, which is curious. There is another favourite way of describing a distance: by cigar (cigarette) smoking. You will be informed that the distance is one cigarette, which means that the traveller has time to smoke one cigarette on the way. As an ordinary smoker consumes a cigarette in about ten minutes, the distance would seem small, but it is not so. It is better to reckon two hours. Quarters of hours and cigarette-smoking measurements take a lot of learning, and cause much vexation to the spirit before they are mastered. When the stranger has mastered them, he ceases to ask, and patiently waits. One word of warning to intending travellers. If you are told that the next village is _two_ hours away, then rest awhile and eat and drink, for two hours means "X."

About seven p.m. we clattered up the little street of Kolasin, which is the capital of the same-named district.

It is a beautiful mountainous tract of country, as unlike to Montenegro proper as is the sun to the moon, richly wooded with dense primeval beech forests, full of rushing streams and rich pasturages. The little town itself is rather uninteresting; it has about 1,500 inhabitants, all Montenegrin, for the Turk has almost entirely disappeared. Only in a ruined mosque and one or two dilapidated Turkish houses is the traveller reminded that once the Unspeakable was master here. The houses are all built with the afore-mentioned high conical roof and of substantial aspect.

Our inn was a curiosity, and as we drew rein before it we noticed a crowd of men in the balcony of the first or top floor, for here the ground floor was devoted to stabling. Doctor S. hastily whispered that the Governor and General of Kolasin was one of the men upstairs. On going up the rickety stairs, we were at once introduced to him, and received most friendlily. He was a small wiry man, and reminded one strongly in appearance of Lord Roberts. Also, he spoke excellent German, having studied years ago in the Viennese Military Academy. Very kindly he promised to assist us during our stay in every way, and invited us to his house next morning.

We overlooked the Market Square and had real beds, though the only available room was tiny. Dr. S. and Stephan slept somewhere else. After the heat of the valley, we found the air very keen up here; Kolasin lies over 3,000 feet, and is the highest town of any size in Montenegro.

On the following morning we visited the Governor Martinovic formally in his house. It is only recently that he has ceased to be the Artillery General of Montenegro, a post which he held all through the Turkish war, taking part in all the important engagements.

His ambition is to see the road connecting his district with Podgorica finished, which would bring the two towns within a six hours' drive of each other, instead of the present two days' very hard riding. The benefit to Kolasin is obvious. At present the vast beech forests, literally rotting, could be utilised, for wood is dear in the barren districts of Montenegro. Pyrite, too, is found in great quantities. In fact, Kolasin is cut off from the rest of the country. Everything must be painfully carried on horses or mules, and for a woman, other than a peasant, it is a journey of great difficulty. Side saddles are things unknown, and we heard of one lady, the wife of a foreign minister, who bravely undertook the journey, spending six days on the way from Podgorica. The Governor gave us a graphic description of the difficulties that he had experienced when he brought his family up here.

We also visited the local doctor, a most extraordinary individual with a crank. He had started a Montenegrin temperance society, called the "Band of Good Hope." At present, I believe, the three hundred odd members were all from Kolasin, and it was meeting with very little encouragement. The cultivation of plums for the manufacture of spirits is a staple industry, and these peasants wish to know what they shall do with their fruit. Besides, as the Montenegrins very rarely get drunk, it seems rather an unnecessary movement, and the Prince himself does not favour it.

Bismarck once said that England's greatness began to diminish when the "three-bottle man" died out; perhaps Prince Nicolas has like thoughts of his hardy subjects, who certainly can consume enormous quantities of alcohol with impunity. Besides, it would destroy a large source of the revenue, which Montenegro cannot afford to do. In the meantime the gallant three hundred feel very unhappy.

The few days that we spent in Kolasin were passed pleasantly in daily excursions into the surrounding country shooting, though with indifferent results. The Crown Prince Danilo's birthday came one day during our stay, and Governor, staff, and officials went to church attired in glorious raiment. They literally sparkle in gold lace embroidery, orders, and decorations, and for a gorgeous but absolutely tasteful effect commend me to the gala dress of the Montenegrin high official. It is the most artistic blending of gold, crimson, blue, and white.

After the service spirits were served out free on the market-place (what agonies must the three hundred have suffered!), and a dance was formed. The national dance--in this instance the "kolo"--is usually performed by men, though the women do sometimes join in, and it is a slow and stately measure.

The men place their hands on each other's shoulders and form a ring, which, however, is never completed. New men can join in, but a space is always left open. One step is taken sideways to the left, and then three to the right, and the movement is accompanied by singing. The singers are three or four men on the opposite horns of the circle, who alternately chant verses in honour of the Prince.

The ring of men slowly danced their way from the Market Square to the Governor's house, where more spirits were given, and an accordion player joined the ring.

Loud cries of "Zivio!" followed the cessation of every movement. We followed and went in to the Governor, to offer our congratulations and drink His Royal Highness's health. The room was quite full, two or three men being rough peasants, relations of the Governor. There is very little class distinction in Montenegro. Often the humblest peasant can claim relationship with the Voivoda, or Duke, of the province, and will always be cordially received.

We felt quite ashamed of our appearance--leather coats, collarless shirts, and so forth--amongst such rich costumes. The complete outfit of a Montenegrin dandy costs over forty pounds, and takes a bit of beating.

Carefully tucking our rough riding-boots under our chairs, to avoid marking the contrast with our host's resplendent jack-boots of patent-leather, and buttoning up our coat collars, we endeavoured to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible in this brilliant assembly. But in spite of our tramp-like garb, we were always highly honoured guests.