TOWN OF ANTIVARI—FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF TURKEY—ORIENTAL
PASSENGERS—VALUE OF A KNOWLEDGE OF ARABIC OR TURKISH—A MAHOMETAN
MERCHANT AND HIS FAMILY—TURKISH TROOPS IN ALBANIA—TOWN AND
FORTRESS OF CASTEL DURAZZO—RETURN TO TRIESTE—FAREWELL TO THE
READER.
After leaving Budua we kept close in shore, enjoying the wild rugged
scenery of the Dalmatian coast till we reached Antivari, where we first
came into immediate contact with the Turks on their own Ottoman soil.
The first impression, I must confess, was certainly not a favourable one.
Should any one of my readers, with a bias in favour of Ottomans and
Ottoman rule, ever determine on visiting Turkey, let him not receive
his first impression of that empire by a visit to Antivari. A few
wretched hovels, a miserable white-washed house, with a small and dirty
red flag over it; a group of miserably-dressed, vile-countenanced,
ragamuffin-looking soldiers, in baggy blue trousers and crimson fezzes,
constituted all the features of the place. The town of Antivari itself,
I heard, was a few miles inland, but if one may judge of the town from
its villainous port, it must be wretched in the extreme.
The steamer remained here a couple of hours to land goods and take in
passengers, but as the heat was excessive and the prospect of the country
most unpromising, I made no attempt to land. I did not however lack
entertainment, and while I lounged over the bulwarks on the shady side
of the steamer, I amused myself pitching half-francs into the water,
which was of very considerable depth and of the clearest and limpidest
blue, to half a score or so of lads and small boys who were swimming,
and diving, and treading the water in the most surprising manner; they
seemed just as much at home in the sea as on the land, and fetched up
the coins from the bottom as easily as I could have picked them up from
the deck.
When tired of looking at the swimmers, I turned to watch the new arrivals,
of which we had a considerable number, all Orientals, and almost all
deck passengers. The first which caught my eye, coming up the side of
the steamer, was a wretched-looking, squalid creature, dressed in rags,
but most picturesque withal. He was small, slight, and extremely dark,
just short of black, but with distinctly Caucasian features, not a
negroid by any means. He had a small bundle over his shoulders, and in
his right hand he carried a short lance, with a very bright steel head,
ornamented with a few lines of Damascene work in gold. His head was
covered with a somewhat conical-shaped cap, encircled with a scanty and
very ragged green turban, while at his side he carried a moderate sized
bottle-gourd. He was a very singular looking being, and all I could make
out through the captain was that he thought he was a dervish returning
home from visiting some sacred shrine in Mahomedan Europe. As to his
home, he suspected from his costume it might be in Kurdistan, but it
was very much guess work, as the Captain spoke neither Arabic nor Turkish.
Another interesting group consisted of three gaily dressed Orientals, in
bag trousers tight at the knees, turban, and highly embroidered jackets.
They made their way to the quarter-deck abaft the paddle box, and were
about being summarily ejected by the steward in consequence of being deck
passengers, when I interposed, and got him to let them stay for a while.
They perfectly well understood that it was owing to my interference they
were allowed to remain, and so we knocked up a sort of acquaintance, and
carried on a lame, very lame conversation by the help of the youngest,
who could speak a very few words of Italian. I could not make out any
thing about them, whence they came, or whither they were going, but
from their features I could easily see they were Asiatics, Arabs most
probably, and the youngest, who was also the lightest in colour, had
three scars on each cheek, not unlike in shape to our broad arrow.
How I longed for a knowledge of Arabic, how I envied Captain Burton! If
he had been there we should at once have known all about them, and the
dervish and everyone else, including a tall, handsome Soudani slave,
who kept grinning and showing his teeth from ear to ear, while I was
carrying on my lame conversation with the Arabs.
Up to this point, Italian and German had enabled me to get on famously;
but now that I was getting among Asiatics, although I was still in
Europe, I felt my utter helplessness, and the absolute necessity for a
knowledge of the language of the Koran, for those who wish to visit the
East with pleasure and profit.
The whole deck forward was encumbered with passengers. In one corner
seated on a pile of luggage, but well bolstered up by rolls of
Persian carpets, was a most truculent-looking Oriental, attended by an
intelligent-looking young negro, with a most astonishing Caucasian type
of countenance. He wore nothing but a white calico sort of shirt with
loose sleeves, and a string of red beads round his neck. He had none of
the characteristics of the negro except the colour; had I known anything
of Arabic, I could most probably have learnt something about his origin.
In another corner of the deck a Mahomedan merchant (as I was informed he
was) had contrived to screen off a place for himself and his family, one
of whom, about three years old, was sprawling stark naked on a rug in
the broiling sun, while a closely veiled female, his mother I suppose,
was chasing small deer all over his person, which was closely spotted
as if with measles—but they were only bites!
Quite at the prow of the vessel, somewhat apart, and separated from
the rest, was a military officer, evidently of some considerable rank,
if one could judge by the orders and stars fastened to his breast, his
handsome hilted sabre, and his patent leather boots. He was a heavy
morose-looking man of about fifty, with close cropped black beard, blue
Turkish uniform, and crimson fez. I was told he was a real pasha, and
had with him a suite of two officers and half a dozen soldiers. He was
only a deck passenger like the others; but whether he travelled so from
poverty, from motives of economy, or from scorning to associate with the
hated and _envied_ Nazarenes, I cannot tell, though I strongly suspect
that genuine impecuniosity was the real cause of it.
The Turkish troops I saw in this part of Albania were the most wretched
specimens I ever witnessed, small, mean, dirty, disreputable-looking
in the extreme, and their officers matched them to perfection. Having
remarked on their appearance, I was told by the captain of the steamer
not to form an opinion of the Ottoman army by such samples, as they
always sent their worst regiments to Albania, and that these wretched
troops, both officers and men, were always months in arrears of pay.
At last every one was on board, the last package was hoisted over the
side, and again we were steaming down southwards. The afternoon was very
enjoyable, the heat much less, and as the number of cabin passengers
was small, we were able to have our supper on deck, which we enjoyed
immensely.
After the meal was concluded, I again went forward among the natives,
and soon made friends with many of the dusky passengers by means of a few
signs; but our conversation was not lively—signs and gesticulations and
dumb show were the principal means of conversation—of language we made
little or no use. Had I known ever so little of Arabic we could have got
on fairly enough—the pantomime of these Orientals being so wonderfully
expressive. So I returned to the quarter-deck, where I had some coffee
with the captain, and then feeling tired, I went down to my _camerino_,
and was soon asleep.
On awaking the next morning I found we were at anchor opposite the
town and fortress of Castel Durazzo, telling of its Venetian origin
by its name. Here we remained a few hours, but the place did not look
attractive, and as I did not feel quite "the thing," I did not go on
shore, but remained on deck looking at the motley groups as they passed
up and down. Again we had the usual interchange of passengers and goods,
and after a few hours' delay we were just about steaming away when the
return steamer from Corfu came alongside of us.
As chance would have it, it turned out to be the very boat which had
brought me down to Cattaro; and no sooner did the captain spy me out
on deck than he shouted that the quarantine had been declared at Corfu
against all vessels coming from Trieste, and that if I went on I should
be detained to perform fourteen days of quarantine in the Lazzaretto,
instead of being allowed to continue my journey on to Constantinople.
I asked him to come over, which he did at once, and having held a
consultation with the other captain, who entirely agreed with him that I
should most certainly be detained a fortnight at Corfu, and be compelled
to perform my quarantine in the Lazzaretto, I determined on returning
to Trieste. Fourteen days in a Lazzaretto anywhere would be a severe
ordeal, but fourteen days of such an imprisonment during the dog-days
at Corfu could not possibly have been faced; it would not only have been
a severe trial of patience in every shape and form, but might have been
conducive to serious illness.
There was no time to be lost, so my luggage was at once put into the
captain's boat, and in a few minutes I again found myself on board the
old steamer, where Giovanni, the steward, greeted me as if I had been
an old friend.
At sunset we steamed away northward from Castel Durazzo. The captain
was delighted to see me again, and Giovanni was most affable, doing his
utmost to promote my happiness. But like Rachel of old I would not be
comforted, all my plans were thoroughly upset; I could not bring myself
to make fresh arrangements. I was turning my back on my beloved South
and I was retracing my steps—both things I utterly detested. But _non
ci era rimedio_, the quarantine and the Lazzaretto I could not face, so
there was nothing else to do but resign oneself to the fates.
The next morning we came abreast of Budua, but I did not land as I did
not feel well. I screwed up my courage, however, and attempted a little
sketch of its castle and harbour, with its blue sea and its background
of rocky mountains. After a little, and just as we were leaving the
place, I felt worse, so I took some medicine and went to lie down. In
two hours more I was in high fever, with a racking pain in my head and
back, and I felt my mind almost wandering. We reached the Bocche that
evening, but the beauties of the Fjord were lost to me—I lay in my cabin
prostrated. Giovanni came instantly to see me, trying to comfort me by
telling me I had only caught "_la febbre_," and that I should send for
the doctor at Cattaro to get myself bled, and take quinine, when I should
be all right. I think that the idea of Giovanni's bringing a doctor and
having me bled, _nolens volens_, roused me up. I made myself some tea,
and just as we reached Cattaro I felt much better—the fever had abated,
and now, said I, is the time to take the quinine.
I had brought lots of it with me, so I measured out as much as I could
pile upon a shilling, and bolted it. It certainly cut short the disease,
as the fever did not set in again; but I was not well for many days
after, and even when I arrived at Trieste I felt quite weak and out of
sorts.
The next morning early we left Cattaro, and in the afternoon got to
Gravosa. I felt somewhat better, and hearing that Consul Paton, who was
then alive, and his family were in a villa just opposite to where the
steamer was moored, I took a boat and spent two delightful hours with
them, till the steam-whistle told me how quickly the time had flown. I
reluctantly made my adieux, and soon was steaming out of the harbour.
It wanted scarcely an hour of sunset: the sun was low in the horizon—all
the lights and shades were the more intensely marked, while the constantly
changing tints, from brightest rose and golden yellow to the deepest
violets and blues, created such a fairy scene that I would not venture
to describe it.
I was in the fullest enjoyment of that sunset, gazing on where the sun
was just dipping into the sea, sending a flood of golden light along the
surface from himself to us, when the captain tapped me on the shoulder,
saying, "_Vada giù_, you had _la febbre_ last night; don't expose yourself
to the air _al tramonto_;" so I took his advice, and went down below,
notwithstanding the heat, and so ended the 23rd day of July!
The following day saw us at Lesina and at Curzola, and again at Lissa. The
day after brought us abreast of Spalato, where again I enjoyed a couple
of hours' ramble among those glorious ruins. Then we cruised through the
countless islands near the mouth of the Quarnero, and finally reached
Trieste, where, after having enjoyed two pleasant days with Captain
Burton and his charming and talented lady, I turned my steps towards home.
Here I take my leave of the reader. If he shall be disappointed with my
style and my many shortcomings I shall not be surprised; but I shall be
disappointed indeed if, following a somewhat similar track to the one
I have been tracing, only penetrating, if possible, more into Servia
proper, and going across it from the Danube to the Adriatic, he shall
not feel himself amply repaid by having taken my advice in visiting
those countries which I have endeavoured to describe.
THE END.
London: Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Since writing the above I have obtained the following
authentic description of this ship. The "Lissa" ironclad was
built at Trieste. She is a full-rigged casemated ironclad of
5950 tons, 320 feet long, 60 feet beam, and drawing 28 feet
of water. Armoured with 6-inch Austrian plates, the armament
consisting of ten 9-inch breech-loading Krupp guns in her
maindeck casemate, and two 9-inch breech-loading Krupp guns
on turn-tables in semi-circular overhanging casemates on the
open deck, the guns being protected from above by a sort of
central hurricane deck. The "Lissa" steams at the rate of
twelve knots, and carries coals for 420 hours; among other
improvements she has a powerful electric light placed on the
bridge, and gimballed, so as to allow it to be thrown in any
direction.
[2] Sir J. G. Wilkinson's "Dalmatia and Montenegro."
[3] Lady Strangford's "Eastern Shores of the Adriatic."
[4] In August, 1647, a Pasha of Bosnia, pouring an army of
30,000 men into the lowlands, attempted the capture of Sebenico
and its fort; but it was so well defended by the 6000 Venetians
and German mercenaries of the garrison, that after twenty-six
days' cannonade the Pasha was obliged to retire.
[5] The brave King Richard, having recruited himself at
Ragusa, is said, by some, to have gone to Aquileia by sea, by
others to have continued his journey by land; anyhow, it is
pretty certain, that having stopped to take some refreshment
at a way-side inn in the mountains of Dalmatia, or Styria,
he incautiously handed a large gold piece to the landlady to
change, and her suspicions being roused by this circumstance,
she informed the authorities; and the end was that the King was
seized by the treacherous Leopold of Austria, and imprisoned,
as everyone knows. There is a tradition, however, which is not
so well known, that shortly after his treacherous conduct to
his brother-in-arms, Leopold of Austria, when out hunting, met
with a severe injury to his right leg—surgery was not then what
it is now—the limb mortified, and it was agreed on all hands
that nothing could save the Prince's life but amputation. But
who was to do it? No one would venture—when Leopold himself
proposed that a sharp hatchet should be laid across his limb,
and that, at his word of command, it should be struck with a
ponderous mallet, when it was expected that the limb would be
severed. The operation succeeded so far as the cutting went,
but the bystanders were unable to staunch the blood, and the
Prince bled to death—a fitting retribution for his treachery.
[6] The story, as well as I remember it, was as follows:—A
probably well-meaning but decidedly weak-minded Protestant,
bent on missionary work, arrived one day at Tangier. He had
never been in the East, and did not know a word of Arabic. He
was determined, however, to improve the opportunity by letting
in a ray of Gospel truth into the minds of the benighted
Mussulmans. That he did not know a word of their native
language was no obstacle to this energetic missionary, he
would employ an interpreter. Having found one in the person
of a 'Gibraltar Jew,' he explained to him what he wanted;
the bargain was soon struck, and the Jew undertook, for a
consideration, to interpret for him on the next market day.
He, however, advised the missionary to have a certain quantity
of tobacco and coffee ready to treat the assembled hearers,
as it was always customary to do so in that country whenever
an important meeting was held—to which the missionary at once
consented. The fact of the danger he would be running into
himself, dragging his interpreter after him, from telling the
most bigoted perhaps of all Mussulmans, that their religion was
false, and their Prophet an emissary of the Evil One, never
once entered into his head; but, fortunately for them both,
the Jew had more brain than his employer. Market-day came,
and the Jew had bespoke, in a couple of cafés, a large supply
of coffee. The town and country people having been informed
that an "Effendi Engleez" would make a great speech to them,
they collected in large numbers in the market-place, where
they squatted down round a hogshead, on which the missionary
was mounted. He at once began in the usual terms—his religion
was the only true one, and all those who differed from him
went straight down head foremost into Gehenna, which the wise
Jew translated thus: "The Effendi has come all the way from
England to get cured; he is mad, but quite harmless, and if you
only have patience, you will get plenty of coffee." And so the
missionary went on ringing the changes on his subject, whilst
the wiser Jew rang the changes on his; which, however, always
ended in the stereotyped, "and you'll get plenty of coffee."
The report, probably made to head-quarters by that enterprising
missionary, would be interesting to read, especially by the
light thrown upon it by the interpreter; and how many more
missionary efforts might prove equally distressing could we
but have together with the sermon the running commentary of
a non-interested looker-on.
[7] I had taken exact measurements, but some of my notes were
unfortunately lost—the above measurements are, therefore, only
approximative.
[8] I was informed at Cettigne that trout were caught in the
Moratcha of fifty or sixty pounds weight; not salmon, for
the Moratcha does not go to the sea, and if it did go, there
are no salmon in the Adriatic. Thinking it must be a joke, I
asked several persons of standing, who all assured me that
it was perfectly true. I regret that being unprovided with
tackle, in addition to being short of time, I was unable to
test the accuracy of these assertions, mainly in reference to
my readers, because as to myself I have no reason whatever to
doubt the truth, accuracy, and bona-fides of my informants;
I fully accept what I heard from them, especially from my
previous knowledge of the amazing number and size of the trout
in the Servian rivers.