THE KOLAŠIN MARKET PLACETHE KOLAŠIN MARKET PLACE
THE KOLOTHE KOLO
The men place their hands on each other's shouldersand 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 "Živio!" 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 ourchairs, 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.
In Montenegro there are, strangely enough, with one famous exception, no buildings of any great antiquity. This, however, can be easily accounted for by the repeated invasions of the Turks, who ravaged the land with a merciless fury. Montenegro was the only Balkan state which they were unable to bring to obedience, and the struggle, which began after the battle of Kossovo, has, perhaps, not reached its final stage yet, though other enemies have supplanted the Turk.
Far away in the heart of the mountains, and perched on the top of a high cliff, at whose feet the turbulent mountain torrent Morača races past, there is situated a monastery, which takes its name from the river below.
This monastery is the only building that has escaped the scourge of the Turk, and, though often attacked, only once has it been partially burnt. Like its famous sister at Ostrog, it is constructed in aposition where Nature has provided the best means of defence, and this the hand of man has skilfully utilised and improved. It was founded in the year 1252 by one of the sons of the famous Servian king, Stephan Nemanja, and dedicated to S. Nicholas. Right well has the saint watched over and protected his feof.
During our stay at Ostrog the Archbishop of Montenegro impressed upon us most strongly the necessity of visiting Morača before leaving the country. He himself had lived there many years as the Archimandrite, and was besieged by the Turks during his sojourn within its walls.
So, accompanied by a guide, with whom the Governor of Kolašin had provided us, we made an early start one morning for the monastery. We had a perfect ride through dense beech forests, skirting a noisy little stream, of which we were able to obtain a glimpse every now and then through a break in the trees. On either side of the ravine the hills rose steeply to some height. We soon passed a lonely cross in a small clearing, erected to the memory of five Montenegrins who had been surprised and murdered there by the Turks.
It is always so in Montenegro, when the traveller is filled with a sense of peace at the grandeur of the wild mountainous scenery, or the beauty of a sylvan forest glade, a rough cross, or cairn of stones, willbe pointed out where men have met a sudden and violent death.
A TYPICAL ROADA TYPICAL ROAD
Once, as our path led up a steep incline, our guide told us graphically how that, a few weeks ago, both a horse and its rider had fallen down the one hundred feet into the river below. The path was very narrow, and he strongly advised us in passing to take care, which remark seemed slightly superfluous after the vivid description with which he had just favoured us.
Crossing the stream we dismounted, and climbed to a small grassy plateau on which a church is being built for the shepherds of the district. It commanded a beautiful view. The path now ascended to a great height, and much walking had to be done, for a ridge of hills lay between us and our destination. At the top the valley of the Morača could be seen with a magnificent background of rugged mountains. A breakneck descent of two and a half hours, most of it on foot, brought us to the river, which was crossed by a picturesque and broken-down bridge. On a cliff opposite stood the monastery.
While leading my horse over the bridge I chanced to rest for a moment on the central arch to enjoy the view. The guide, who was behind me, thrust me unceremoniously forward. It is not always safe to admire scenery from Montenegrin bridges. Certainly, on inspecting the bridge from below, he seemed to have shown no unnecessary caution.Two of the arches had completely given, and may collapse at any moment.
A very steep and dangerous path leads up to the plateau on which the monastery is situated. It was nearly the cause of a serious accident to me, for my saddle gave, and began to slip backwards. Had the horse made one false step at this critical moment I should have been dashed over a precipice of eighty feet. Just before the gates stands a small inn, where we left our horses and proceeded on foot.
The monastery strongly resembles a fortress, for the massive walls surrounding it are liberally loop-holed, and it can be entered from one side only. We entered a large courtyard with buildings on all sides. At the back a great mountain ascends obliquely, and in front an inaccessible precipice descends to the river. It was doubtless a tough morsel for the Turks in the olden days, though modern artillery would make very short work of it.
The Archimandrite, or Abbot, soon came down and welcomed us most cordially, conducting us to his room, where we were regaled with the inevitable strong black coffee. He was a big, handsome man, with the long beard and hair which all the priests of the Greek Church wear. Quiet and benevolent as he looked, he is famed throughout the whole country as a mighty warrior; for in times of war the priests fight with the soldiers for their beloved freedom.Strangely enough, in the last war with Turkey he played an important role in saving the very monastery of which he is now the spiritual head. He was then a colonel, and commanded a battalion. The following story of the rout of the Turks is taken down from his own lips.
THE MORAČA MONASTERYTHE MORAČA MONASTERY
In those years (1876-7) all this district was in the hands of the Sultan, and the Turks had just made an unsuccessful attack upon the Monastery of Ostrog. Their army, under the command of the famous Mehmet Ali Pasha, was retreating on Kolašin, pursued by the Montenegrins. On reaching the Monastery of Morača they halted with the intention of first destroying it, and Mehmet Ali placed a battery in a commanding position on the opposite heights for the bombardment.
Unknown to the Turks, half a battalion of Montenegrins were stationed there as garrison, and the Pasha, thinking that he had but a handful of priests to deal with, sent down a small detachment to effect an entrance. The gate was opened, and they were enticed inside. Hardly had the last man set his foot within the courtyard when the Montenegrins fell upon them and beheaded them every one.
The Turks, deeming all safe, sent a second detachment to assist in bringing out the booty, and they met with a similar fate. Then Mehmet began to suspect that something was wrong, and made preparations for a bombardment; but it was too late. A brigade of pursuing Montenegrins had come up. They fell upon him from flank and rear, and a horrid slaughter ensued.
It must be confessed that the account seems incredible, and is, doubtless innocently enough, greatly exaggerated. But the worthy Abbot distinctly stated that out of 25,000 Turks only 2,000 or 3,000 escaped. It was indeed "a terrible tale of a Turk that is ghastly and grim and gory." The Montenegrins were but men 1,800 strong, just three battalions, one of which was commanded by Michael Dožić, the Abbot, and his battalion it was that took the Turks in the rear, throwing them into utter confusion.
To-day the peasants still find heaps of bones in the crevices and hollows of the rocks.
After this very pleasant story, we descended into the courtyard, which is formed in a semicircle. In the centre stands the church. It is built in the shape of a cross, and its porch and interior are gorgeously adorned with the most quaint frescoes; indeed, every particle of the walls and ceiling is covered with frescoes of the most crude design and vivid colouring, and the altar-screen is magnificently gilded. The colours are well preserved, and seem as fresh as when the monks first laid them on, for the painting all dates back to the time of the foundation.
It was somewhat horrifying to find that the frescoes behind the altar-screen were completely scribbled over. At first we put this down to impious tourists who delight in leaving their miserable names on the most historical buildings; but, on closer inspection, we found that they were copious notes in the form of a diary. The Abbot told us that Mitrofan Ban, the Archbishop, had written them during his lengthy abbacy many years ago.
There is another church, or rather tiny chapel, within the monastery which is about a century older than the rest of the buildings, and the interior is likewise covered with frescoes of the same crude and vivid painting. They represent scenes from the life of S. Nicholas, and the chapel is only used once a year during the pilgrimage which takes place on the feast of their patron saint.
Every year large numbers of Montenegrins flock to the monastery to offer prayers and offerings. Just outside the walls stands a small cannon, with a Turkish inscription, which four Montenegrins carried away one night from Kolašin when that town was in Turkish hands. Not only the bravado of such a deed, but the athletic feat of carrying such a weighty object over that difficult country, are very characteristic of this people. It is fired annually during the feast of S. Nicholas.
The worthy Abbot was greatly annoyed to findthat we had ordered food below, and still more when he heard that we were returning to Kolašin the same afternoon. He repeatedly urged us to spend a few days with him, but, enjoyable as the visit would have been, previous engagements forbade our acceptance.
A second priest waylaid us as we were leaving for our meal, and carried us off to his room, where more coffee was served. He had travelled much in Turkey and the Black Sea, and we had a very pleasant conversation, but, after a short time, the pangs of hunger forced us to excuse ourselves. Our humble meal, which we partook of in the best chamber (and only bedroom), was hardly over when the young priest again rejoined us, bringing with him an enormous bottle of wine. Very solemnly he filled our glasses, and proposed the health of His Majesty King Edward VII. Our surprise was so great that we almost forgot to drink. And then came many questions as to the progress of the Boer war, questions with which, by the way, we were often assailed by the more intelligent classes during our travels.
To quote an instance which happened to myself once in Cetinje. While waiting outside the monastery for the appearance of the Prince, who was attending divine service within, I entered into conversation with a gendarme. We spoke of many things, and to my surprise, for he was but an ignorantpeasant, he inquired as to the progress of the war. He asked the nature of the country, on which subject I was luckily able to enlighten him. Parts of it are not at all unlike Montenegro. At this he pricked up his ears.
"Thou hast been to the Transvaal?" he asked with increased interest. "Are the people brave like we are?"
"They are brave," I said, "but not as ye are. They only shoot at long distances, and object very strongly to hand-to-hand fighting."
The stalwart Montenegrin looked puzzled.
"Shooting is good," he answered; and after a pause he added, "atfirst, but that is not fighting. It is an empty glory to shoot one's enemy, if one cannot prove it afterwards." I knew he was alluding to the decapitating process. "And then the wild charge, the cutting with the handjar when rifles are thrown away—thatis fighting."
I explained that our soldiers loved the bayonet as much as the Montenegrin loved the handjar.
"But what can you do when the other side won't wait for it?" I asked.
"Then they are cowards," he answered judicially. "Are thy countrymen all as big as thou art?" he continued thoughtfully, feeling my biceps and scrutinising me closely.
"Some of them are bigger," I said.
"Then the Boers will have no chance," he said emphatically, and at this moment the Prince emerged from the church. This personal allusion to my size I took as a great compliment, for in a land where physical strength is an all-important factor candid appreciation of this kind is not meted out to one and all alike.
Extremely fatigued after our early start and long ride, it was an effort to keep from falling asleep, and noticing this the priest left. We were both comfortably asleep in corners when the wretched landlord appeared with armfuls of sheets and pillows at the order of the priest. He cruelly woke us up and proceeded to make beds. After that all thought of sleep was gone. Furthermore, in dirty and dusty riding-clothes one has not the heart to lie down on spotlessly clean sheets.
Soon afterwards the horses were ready, and we cantered up to the monastery to take our leave. But leave-taking was no such easy matter. Our pockets were filled with dried fruits, and after we were already in the saddle the Abbot presented us with packets of incense which he hurriedly fetched from the church. Waving him and the other fathers a last farewell, we started on our long ride back to Kolašin.
During our rambles in Kolašin the doctor took us to a peasant's house whom he knew very well. This acquaintance proved one of our most pleasantrecollections of the country. The head of the house was a fine-looking man, lean and active, and possessed many decorations for past acts of bravery in the field. His son was in prison at the time for some political offence, but his daughter-in-law and two little babies, besides two or three unmarried daughters and sons, were living with him. The whole family outdid themselves in courtesy to us, and we were, as usual, considerably embarrassed by the behaviour of the women-folk. Though we went several times to the house, they would rarely seat themselves while we were present, and invariably kissed our hands in coming and going.
The doctor played games of cards with our host, but the united efforts of P. and myself failed to discover any method or system in the game. The doctor tried to explain at first, but after five minutes we begged him to desist. So we sat and looked on, drinking cups of black coffee and endeavouring to make friendly overtures to the babies, who openly showed that they considered us distinctly dangerous.
The house itself was curious. The ceiling was low and the walls were of great thickness. The windows were so small that it was barely possible to squeeze one's head through the opening. The idea of the house is to obtain the maximum amount of warmth, for the cold of these mountainous regions is intensein winter. In summer, however, these houses are delightfully cool.
The evening before our departure from Kolašin we were invited to an open-air feast at the peasant's country house.
The "country house" was, it is true, only a rough wooden shanty, but, as our meal was outside, it didn't matter.
When we arrived, after an hour's walk, we found a table set out with a white cloth and three wooden chairs on a green slope overlooking the valley of Kolašin. It was a delightful spot. Some little distance away the last few turns were being given to a lamb roasted whole on a spit over an open fire.
The feast was soon served up. The entire lamb, on a great wooden platter, an enormous bowl of milk, eggs, sheeps' cheese, and unlimited spirits. The women-folk waited on us and kept our platters full. Other men with their wives joined us, not to partake of this Homeric feast, but to see us gorge ourselves. It may not be a nice expression, but we were literally forced to eat to an uncomfortable state of repletion. They took no denial, and even then the lamb was not nearly finished. These mountaineers eat meat only on great festivals, and consume enough to last them for the next few months. They did not realise that we were content with sufficient to last us for the next few hours.
Our glasses, too, were kept replenished with the potent spirit of the land, and our respective healths were drunk, on the average, once every three minutes. When this began to pall they toasted each other, in which we had naturally to join, and these were followed by patriotic toasts. It was rather an uproarious evening.
About ten we took our leave, and our hosts drew their pocket cannons and started firing; we naturally replied, and a deafening fusillade went on till every man had emptied his revolver. With singing ears we returned to our hotel to find the town alarmed, excited groups were congregated in the Market Square. Ourfeu-de-joiewas speedily explained, and the men flocked into the inn. As a slight return for the fright we had given them, we paid for a few quarts of spirits. The Governor overlooked our law-breaking, for after dark firing is not allowed, and no doubt he envied us in his heart, for, poor man, he is in the clutches of the Band of Good Hope, much, we heard, to his disgust.
We left next day, and had a hearty send-off from the town, who turned outen masseto witness our departure. The local doctor was not present. We had found no favour in his eyes.
Shortly after leaving the town we passed the Montenegrin Militia, hard at their weekly drill. No uniform is worn, every man coming in his everydayclothes, bringing only his rifle. But they drill very well and the discipline is excellent. A company was being dismissed as we came up, and a large number accompanied us for a long way.
The ride was magnificent that afternoon. The way wound up and up, and our last glimpse of Kolašin showed us the little town far away below us.
The usual Montenegrin trick was again played successfully on us, the "only two hours' ride" developing into a journey of six hours. But to-day we did not murmur; it is only at the end of a long and trying day that this style of humour is out of place.
For two hours our path threaded its way through dense beech forests. At one spot P. and I had ridden on so far in advance of the others that we dismounted and waited for them to come up. In the interval I was assailed by a man with a bandaged head. Doctors always wear European clothes in Montenegro, and without further inquiry, this man proceeded to sit down before me and remove his bandages, disclosing ultimately a ghastly eye.
"What must I do for it, Gospodin Doctor?" he asked at length, for beyond the usual greeting he had not spoken. One glance was sufficient, and P. got up and left us.
"Take it away!" I said, with averted face. "I am not a doctor, and never shall be."
I felt him looking at me with his uninjured eye.These simple peasants are always under the impression that our modern education comprises that of medicine.
"But, Gospodin, it has been like this for weeks," he went on, "and is very painful."
"There is a doctor at Kolašin. Go to him.Hewill be pleased."
Evidently much hurt at my indifference, he slowly replaced his bandages and departed. Then our party caught us up, and we continued our way.
Later on we emerged from the woods, and, still climbing, we rode for the remaining distance on magnificent grassy slopes far above the forest belt. Several snow-patches still lay unmelted in the shady hollows, and often far below us. From this ridge we obtained our first good view of the lofty Kom, the second highest mountain in Montenegro, and our ultimate destination.
These great downs, across which we rode, had been only thrown open to the public, so to say, a few days ago, and were full of flocks of sheep and goats and large herds of cattle, grazing to their hearts' content after their long winter's imprisonment in the villages below. The Government fix the date when the shepherds may migrate into the mountain pasturages and when they must leave again for the lowlands.
We overtook or met several parties of Montenegrins, and even Turks, for the border is not far distant,travelling from place to place. We were viewed with obvious interest, and invariably greeted with respect, though there is nothing of subservience in a Montenegrin's salute. He feels himself in no way your inferior as a man until you have proved your superiority in shooting or physical strength.
In this part of the country Dr. S. always told the peasants that we were engineers, as a road is being contemplated.
About seven p.m. we branched off from the main path, and descended on foot a steep path into a thickly wooded valley. In a clearing of the trees stood a collection of wooden huts, a summer village of shepherds, called Raskrsnica.
It was our halting-place, and as our visit had been notified, we were received by a schoolmaster and taken to his hut, which was placed at our disposal.
No schools are held during the summer months, and the teachers often turn shepherds, as in this case, and migrate with their flocks to the mountains.
OUR HUT AT RASKRSNICAOUR HUT AT RASKRSNICA
It was nearly dark by the time that we were unloaded and had got our traps into our hut. As half our time was spent in similar constructions during our mountain tour, it may be as well to describe them now.
They are usually built entirely of wood, rough, irregularly hewn planks, and no attempt is made to make them air-tight; often great crevices gape, through which a hand can be put. The roof is generally fairly water-tight. A mancanstand up-right in the middle, but the roof slopes steeply down to the sides. The word "can" is used advisedly,i.e.if one is able to breathe the densely smoky atmosphere at the top. Chimneys or outlets in the roof to permit the smoke to escape are unknown, and when cooking is going on, or at night when a roaring fire is kept burning, the appearance of the hut from outside gives a stranger the impressionthat it is on fire, and that the flames must burst out at any moment. It leaks smoke at every crevice.
Inside is an open space reserved for the wood fire, and a primitive arrangement, often a chain suspended from the roof, for hanging the cooking pot. A few blocks of wood serve as easy-chairs, beds there are none, an armful of rushes or grass, which is usually damp, serving their purpose. On entering, the new-comer will first cough violently, then choke, and finally make a hurried exit to the fresh air. Summoning courage and with a fresh supply of oxygen, he dashes into the hut again, and throws himself on his heap of rushes. As the smoke rises, the atmosphere on the ground is less dense, but the penetrating smell of the burning wood is sufficiently strong to make his eyes pour with water. These are first impressions; later on, he can even sit up, and after a few days will be able to walk comparatively slowly in and out of the hut.
Usually at the back is a small partition, behind which a rough shelf can be found, laden with the day's milking and cheese. The whole family sleep in the hut, no division separating the men from the women. But the Montenegrin peasant sleeps in his clothes, so privacy is considered unnecessary.
Dr. S. was here officially to inspect the flocks, and had an appointment with the district captain. He was not there, and shortly after our arrival a manturned up, delivering a message from the captain, somewhat in the following fashion.
"Sir, it is my privilege to be the bearer of the captain's message. The captain would have you know that he will do himself the honour to meet you here to-morrow in the early morning."
The man stood smartly at the attention and saluted at the conclusion.
It is extraordinary the grandiloquent language which even the most humble peasant will use, and he speaks with the polished ease of a gentleman.
The baggy blue breeches and red jackets are not worn in these regions, and are replaced by white woollen tight-fitting trousers and jackets, bordered with black braid. In fact, the dress strongly resembles that worn by the Albanians, except that the black braid is narrower and less elaborate, and the national cap of Montenegro is carried instead of the white head-cloth or fez. The costume is national, and has not been altered to that of the Montenegrin proper, because it is considered warmer. The first time that Prince Nicolas visited his new subjects a man said to him in that characteristically familiar way in which the Prince's subjects are wont to address him:—
"Gospodar" ("Lord," and the universal form of address for the reigning Prince), "wilt thou not exchange thy blue breeches for our white trousers. They would suit thee better."
The answer of the Prince is not recorded.
Stephan called us into our shanty when the evening meal was ready. Our host wished to slaughter a lamb, but we deferred that till the morrow, and we ate what we had brought with us. It was, barring the smoke, a delightful experience, and its charm never diminished. That hour spent before turning in, after supper, when the tobacco tins circulate, and the shepherds crowd in from the neighbouring huts, made an impression which it will not be easy to forget.
The fire, with its dancing flames and uneven light, shows up the ring of men squatting round it. Everything beyond is shrouded in impenetrable gloom, throwing out the wild picturesque figures, with their bronzed and honest faces, in bold relief. The ruddy glare rounds off all hard corners and softens every inharmonious line, flashing fitfully here and there on a steel revolver barrel. The musical voices rise and fall, and outside the stars are shining. All is peace and calm.
That first evening a young shepherd, strikingly handsome, with clean-cut features, went outside and sang a wild Albanian song in our honour, his weird chanting echoing in the mountains. Then came a crackling of pistol-shots from the near distance, a novel way of applause. With very happy feelings we rolled ourselves in our great coats and went to sleep.
Next morning we rose at five, and had a delightful wash in a stream of icy-cold water. As usual, our ablutions caused much amusement. The mountaineer contents himself with a ladle of water poured into his hands. Very shortly afterwards the captain arrived. He insisted on going out shooting with us, as well as the schoolmaster. We plunged into the forest and were soon deep in the excitement of stalking.
P. was with the captain, and the schoolmaster and myself soon lost them. Later on, I too lost my companion, and it being near our advertised time for dining, I made my way back, which presented very little difficulty. On coming in view of the clearing I was received with shouts. Not being gifted with the Montenegrin skill at hearing and talking at great distances I walked on, and was ultimately able to distinguish the question as to where I had left P. I answered that I had not seen him for hours, and passed on to our hut.
The excitement seemed to wax, and Dr. S. speedily enlightened me as to the cause. Both the captain and the schoolmaster had returned,i.e.they had stood and talked from a hill about a mile away, saying that P. was lost.
"Well," I said, "P. knows at what time we eat, and I have never known him to be late for a meal yet. And it is in an hour's time."
"But the woods are dangerous. There are bears. The Albanian frontier is not far away. He can lose himself for hours," were among the remarks that I could hear.
"Considering that he has a magazine carbine and a revolver, I don't think that we need be afraid. It is easy enough to find one's way back, and P. will have the sense to watch the sun. He has been out alone before in his life," I remarked, feeling rather irritated.
Then an old lady began abusing me for having deserted him, "and he so young, a mere child," etc., until I fairly lost my temper.
"You must not take it amiss," explained the doctor, who knew me. "It is only their love for you."
"Thanks," said I. "But that is enough. If that old lady doesn't stop expressing her love for me shortly ——. Look here, doctor," I continued, waxing wrath, "you stop her. You understand the more talkative sex better than I do. I'll stop the men."
About ten minutes before dinner P. turned up, serenely unconscious of the trouble, telling us how he had found a delightful shepherd, who had carried him off to his shanty and feasted him on bread and milk, but that he was still ravenously hungry. The incident did not close here either. When P. heard of the anxiety caused by his absence he took it as apersonal insult to himself, and began abusing everyone in his turn. But all the same, the people remained obdurate, and we were never left alone, though they let us ramble whither we wished.
Our dinner that day was a kind of feast of honour to the captain. The lamb was served, as usual, whole. Half a dozen men joined us besides our party. The doctor, P., and I had knives and forks and a plate apiece.
"Help yourself to all you want at the beginning," said the doctor kindly. "Take as much as you think you can possibly stow away."
We were glad afterwards that we had followed the doctor's advice, for when we had finished helping ourselves the men fell upon that lamb and rent it limb from limb with their horny hands. Montenegrins have not pretty table manners. Forks are superfluous, a hunting-knife will do for the bread, and spoons are only used for fluids, when they dip in the common bowl.
That evening we went out shooting in another direction, and were amply rewarded for an exceeding tiring climb, although deer were not abundant. In fact, the moment that the shepherds take possession of the mountains, game nearly always disappears, returning with the peace and solitariness of the autumn.
On the following day we left Raskrsnica at anearly houren routefor Andrijevica, which lies at a considerably lower altitude than Kolašin. Consequently we had a lot of downhill work. We had another magnificent view of the Kom on our way, but otherwise our ride of about six hours was uneventful. Andrijevica is first seen from a great height, and really looks quite close.
"Half an hour," said our guides, "will see us in the town."
The descent was of a breakneck description, and had to be done on foot. The heat was tremendous, and, the way proving to be an hour and a half, our tempers suffered. It was about noon when we rode into the little town or village, for it is nothing more, though the capital of the Vasović district, Montenegro's most eastern and consequently most dangerous possession. It borders on Gusinje, the wildest and fiercest of Albania's clans.
The office of the Governor, or Voivoda, to give him his proper Montenegrin title, corresponding to our word Duke, is therefore no sinecure. His position calls for more diplomacy and acumen than any other in the country. A false move, a thoughtless action or word could plunge the tribes of Northern Albania and Montenegro in a fierce warfare. But a few weeks after our departure, war very nearly did break out at Mokra, over a dispute as to the rights of a small grazing-ground, andwas only averted at the last moment. Then Andrijevica was full of troops, for 25,000 Albanians stood fully armed on the border, and a pistol-shot would have started an invasion of Montenegro.
ANDRIJEVICAANDRIJEVICA
The little township is prettily situated on a slight eminence at the junction of the Lim and the Perušica, the former a tributary of the Danube. It has a population of five hundred clad in the white Albanian dress, and is celebrated, rightly or wrongly, for the beauty of its women. Certainly our landlady was a pretty enough looking woman of most refined manners. The men are very fine-looking fellows. The country all round is magnificent.
Our inn was also the town bakery, and we had a nice large bedroom well stocked with flies, and real beds, though in daytime it was the dining and drawing-room combined.
Really many of the inns we visited in Montenegro could be aptly described by the song sung in London a few years ago of a coster describing his home. He informed the audience that if they wanted to see his library, his kitchen, or his best spare bedroom, "You just stops where you is." In slightly more grammatical language, it could be well applied to these hostels.
Towards evening we were taken and presented to Voivoda Lakić Voivodić, who was sitting in semi-state before the house of a rival drinking-place.
He had a remarkably strong face, and was of powerful build. Speedily we were introduced to his adjutant, the town captain, and other officials, and a great circle was formed of which we were the centre of attraction. Our arms were brought out and examined with great glee and appreciation; also our field-glasses came in for their usual share of admiration, and our clothes were likewise carefully overhauled.
When we laughingly said that we hoped for some sport with the Albanians and perhaps to shoot a few, our popularity was complete; our backs were clapped, and a great scene of joy and enthusiasm took place. Such remarks are liable to be taken rather literally in this region.
We gave the Voivoda and his adjutant a dinner one evening, the best that we could manage, though it certainly was not the kind of feast to which one would ordinarily invite a Duke.
Being five of us, our table was not big enough, so we joined on a second smaller and lower table at which the doctor and P. sat. P. put a salt-cellar between the upper table and the lower, saying that as they now sat "below the salt," they could behave as they liked. It was a most uproarious meal, and later on the Voivoda retired to a bed which was just behind him to laugh himself out.
CHURCH PARADECHURCH PARADE
On Sunday we went to church—at least we wenttothe church and met the Voivoda outside. It was a very hot day and the little edifice was crowded. We had a suspicion that the worthy Voivoda came late on purpose. He just glanced at the crowd which had overflowed into the open space before the door, and to the relief of his staff proposed a quiet cup of coffee instead. Under the shade of the trees, discreetly apart from the merrymakers who were celebrating the Mass of a departed comrade, we sat in the customary ring and were served with coffee. It was a pleasant hour, and as the Voivoda, who was a bit of a wit, if somewhat irreverent, said, "This is better than inside."
The church was about a quarter of a mile from the town and lay almost hid in a beautiful wood. The bells, as is often the case, were hung about a hundred yards away from the church on a wood scaffolding, and on the green grass sat many groups of Montenegrins.
The occasion was a feast. Mass was being said for the soul of a man who had recently died, and it is the custom for the dead man's relations to give a feast to all comers. Large dishes of roast lamb were being handed round to the men who sat in circles, the women eating apart, and much spirit was drunk. About six priests were also present, feasting.
We had altogether a very merry stay in Andrijevica, and the men of Vasović are sturdy, honest, fearless, and excellent companions.
Once, as I was admiring an old pistol worn by a man who was visiting us—for men were continually dropping in on us at any hour, in a most unceremonious fashion—he promptly took it off and gave it to me. It had been carried thirty years by a priest, he told me, before it came into his possession, and had killed at least twenty men. Afterwards I gave him a present of six florins.
There are no police in Andrijevica, but the population take their turn to patrol the town at night with rifles. This is not to keep order amongst themselves, but as a guard against an eventual raid of Albanians. Crime is unknown in this mountain town.
One afternoon we were startled to see half a dozen Turkish officers ride into the town, accompanied by an escort of Turkish soldiers, all fully armed. They were proceeding to Gusinje, where fighting had been taking place and many men had been killed. It is very curious to observe the way that the Turkish and Montenegrin authorities visit each other, for the intricate formation of the border often necessitates the traversing of a small portion of the other's country. Owing to the danger, everyone goes fully armed. The greatest possible harmony reigns between the Turks and Montenegrins, as the formidable array of Turkish decorations which adorn the breasts ofall Montenegrin border officials will testify. The Albanian is the only cause of trouble, and it is chiefly against him that the Albanian borders are garrisoned by Turkish troops.
In the above-mentioned border dispute, the Turks sent down a formidable army to assist the Montenegrins and prevent an incursion into a friendly state. Truly things have changed very much, for it was not so very many years ago that Albania held aloof when Turk and Montenegrin were fighting. Their sympathies, if for either side, were with the Montenegrins, and now the hated Turk throws himself into the balance for Montenegro.
No man goes any distance unarmed. A rifle is part and parcel of his being. So it is that visiting Albanians carry theirs too, and it is no uncommon sight to see eight or ten Gusinje men, conspicuous by their white head-cloths, rifles slung over their shoulders, and a girdle of cartridges, come into Andrijevica to market, or perhaps even to consult the Voivoda on a question of blood-guilt.
No one knows in these parts when an alarm will be given, either by trumpet-call or rapid magazine firing, and each man must be ever prepared to hurry to the appointed rendezvous at a moment's notice. If he be guarding his flock, eating at home, or carrying produce to the market, it is the same; his rifle must be ready to his hand and everything left standing to answer the call to arms. Life is very real on these turbulent borders, and a chance dispute may assemble a brigade of Montenegrins and a horde of Albanians, each ready to attack the other on the spot. The shepherd private knows where to find his section commander, the latter, on completion of his section, meets his company officer, companies assemble, battalions form, and the brigade is ready within an hour or two.
Such is the state of affairs to-day along the whole Albanian frontier, but nowhere to such a degree as in the provinces bordering on Gusinje.
One evening the Voivoda invited us to ride with him on an official visit to Velika, an offer which we eagerly accepted.
Velika is a narrow strip of Montenegrin territory lying practically in Albania, or rather Gusinje, for the men of Gusinje owe and give no allegiance. Velika is not cut off from Montenegro, but the mountain connecting it with, so to speak, the mainland is steep and almost inaccessible, besides entailing a long and weary détour of many hours. Therefore our path to-day would lead us across an intervening strip of Gusinje territory.
Next morning at an early hour saw us in our saddles, the Voivoda having first ascertained that our arms were in good order. "Not that there is any danger," he said. "But we never know if anything may happen, and it is well just to be prepared."
Besides the Voivoda, we were accompanied by hisadjutant, a lieutenant in the standing army, who had studied in Italy, and an escort of about six men, armed with modern magazine rifles. Later on, this escort was materially increased.
About three hours' ride up the magnificent valley of the Lim brought us to a khan, and here we found another half-dozen men awaiting us, and another officer. These preparations seemed rather formidable for a journey of about an hour through a friendly country, but we knew already the uncertainty of the Albanian temper, and did not wonder.
As we led our horses across a rickety wooden bridge, the Voivoda called to us and said we were now about to enter Albania, and spoke of the temporary armed alliance between England and Montenegro, which remark seemed to please him greatly. A great cairn of stones marked the border, and the adjutant reined in his horse, for we were going to ride in single file, to tell us that it would be better to unsling our carbines. "It looked better," he said. Many Albanians could be seen working peacefully in their fields, and huts dotted the mountain-sides. It was a scene of agricultural peace, enhanced by magnificent scenery.
Suddenly, at some distance, two rifle-shots were distinctly heard, and the calm of the picture was as rudely and suddenly disturbed as if an earthquake had happened. The peaceful peasants stooped,throwing away the spade, and in exchange each had a Martini rifle in his hand, which he rapidly loaded from the bandolier of cartridges round his waist. Men rushed out of the slumbering cottages, and a great shouting commenced.
"It is nothing," said the adjutant. "They become excited like this very often."
But I noticed our escort closing in, and every man's face wore a look of great interest. Still we rode on, just as if nothing unusual were happening.
To our left the hill ascended to a great height, and about one-third of the way up a belt of trees commenced, stretching to the top. Towards this wood ran hundreds of Albanians, and disappeared from view. I confess that I had a most uncomfortable feeling that I was being covered by many unseen rifles. We should have stood a poor chance had they begun firing at us, for there was practically no cover near.
But our pace, that of a smart walk, neither increased nor decreased, and it ill became me to show my innermost feelings to these fearless mountaineers who so evidently considered this sudden excitement a most everyday occurrence.
The noise of the shouting, however, continued, and was answered by men in all directions. It was a regular pandemonium of yelling fiends, for the Albanians are not beautiful to look upon.
Suddenly a man appeared from some bushes close to our little party and headed straight for us, running like a deer.
He had barely reached us and seized my stirrup leather, on which he hung, panting heavily, when from the woods emerged a pursuing crowd, brandishing their rifles as they ran. Within a few minutes we were surrounded by about a hundred and fifty Albanians, whose gestures were not to be misunderstood.
They wanted to kill the man at my stirrup, who looked beseechingly up to me for protection. Why he selected me I have no idea, and I did not relish the compliment at all. Our escort formed a meagre ring around us, and we were forced to halt.
"Are they going to shoot?" I asked the adjutant, who was next to me, in excusable excitement, "because if so, I would like to dismount."
It was not a pleasant feeling, perched up on a horse within fifty yards of reputed good marksmen.
"Oh no," answered the officer, "they only want the man, not you."
"Still, you are not going to hand back the man, are you?" I asked in Italian.
"We must hear what the Voivoda says," said the adjutant, shrugging his shoulders.
I looked at the man, while an excited conversation was carried on by our party and the Albanians,and found him a pleasant-looking young man; his breath was coming in great gasps from his heaving breast, but otherwise he showed no traces of excitement.
"Save me," he said in broken Serb. "They fired at me as I was working in my field. I am blood-guilty."
All this time his pursuers were evidently debating if our lives must be sacrificed as well, for to shoot the man meant killing some of us at any rate.
At this juncture several Albanians came to us and ranged themselves on our side, and amidst still greater excitement we began again moving forward.
"It is all right," laughed the adjutant, who throughout preserved the same air of utter indifference. "They daren't shoot, the cowards, and we shall take him to Velika with us, and then decide what to do with him."
"You don't seem to mind this sort of thing much," I said, "but for a beginner like myself it appears rather nervous work."
"Oh no," he answered. "I live here, and have been in many border fights. They always make a noise like that, and they very seldom shoot at big people."
"But if they do?" I queried.
"Oh, well, we must all die once," he laughed.
In another half-hour we passed the second landmark, and were informed we were again in Montenegrin territory. Our friendly Albanians left us, and rifles were more carelessly carried.
"What hast thou done?" I asked the fugitive at my stirrup. "Tell me thy story."
"I am a doomed man; my days are numbered," he said, smiling, and rolling a cigarette. "But life is sweet, and I wish to live a little longer."
Strange, this man who was at death's door barely an hour ago, was smiling and smoking happily as he walked by my side. He had a most fascinating smile and laughing eyes, and now that the immediate danger was over he had forgotten it.
"Some months ago in my village, many hours from here, a woman fell in love with me," he said. "She was beautiful and I loved her too, but not so much as she loved me, for I feared her. She hated her husband, who beat her. One evening she came to me when her husband was away and told me that she loved me and that we would fly together. 'I love thee as I hate my husband, and see, if thou wilt not do this, I will break my spinning-wheel before thee.' And I trembled, for now I knew that my life was doomed. For should I not take her, she must kill me as sure as there is a God in heaven, and if I fled with her, her husband and his relations would surely track me down. And she was very beautiful, and we mustall die. So we fled here that same night. What could I do?" he asked, smiling again.