Achmet Uiko tells his story--Sokol Baco, ex-Albanian chief--Shooting
on the Lake of Scutari--Our journey thither--Our frustrated
nap--Arrival at the chapel--The island of Vranjina--The
priest--Fishing and fishermen--Our visitors--We return to Podgorica.
One market day, walking through the streets of Podgorica, we overheard
a strange conversation. A Montenegrin Turk was sitting on a stone,
when two Albanians approached him. Touching his revolver, one of the
Albanians said--
"Sooner than own the whole of Montenegro, would I empty _this_ into
thy body."
The Turk, a small man, with slightly grey hair, looked up, and said
indifferently--
"And thy desire is mine."
So they separated.
Almost immediately an acquaintance joined us, and we asked him the
meaning.
"That man," said he, "is the famous Achmet Uiko. A terrible man, who
has killed many men, and at the present moment there is an enormous
sum of money on his head in Albania."
We then went to him, and asked him to come to our hotel to-morrow, and
to tell us the story of his life. He consented readily, saying that
he would be with us at nine next morning, "if," he added
significantly, "nothing occurred to detain him."
It happened that evening that an Englishman arrived on a short tour
through the country, believing firmly that everything was as safe and
as orderly as the average stranger thinks. A Turkish girl had been
abducted from her home shortly before, and the town was in a state of
great excitement, as it was the second case within the last few weeks.
A rising of the Turkish inhabitants was feared nightly, and the house
where the girl was confined--previous to her marriage with her
Montenegrin lover--was carefully guarded by a score of armed
Montenegrins.
We took the Englishman to this house, and as we were showing him the
men with rifles around the doors and windows, we heard sounds of a
sharp rifle fire some distance away on the border. Not long afterwards
a Montenegrin doubled into the town with a report that heavy firing
had been taking place at the village of Dinos. Nothing further came of
it, but our countryman went to bed with other ideas of Montenegro.
We awaited Achmet next morning, but at nine he had not arrived, and we
began to wonder, as the hours went by, if his fate had at last
overtaken him. But at noon he turned up, as quiet and self-possessed
as yesterday, and excused himself in the following way. The Albanians
who had expressed such murderous desires upon him yesterday at the
market lived in Dinos, and he had spent the night in emptying his
magazine rifle repeatedly into their village.
"To show these dogs," he concluded, "that they cannot express such
wishes to me with impunity."
His story, which is given shortly here, was taken down from his lips,
but it is impossible to reproduce the man's quaint phraseology. He
spoke in an indifferent way, and detailed all the circumstances in a
most matter-of-fact manner and without the faintest trace of boasting.
He was born in Podgorica, then Turkish, and at fifteen fought in his
first battle, killing three men. At seventeen he had a fight in the
town, and was forced to flee to Scutari, where, shortly afterwards, he
entered the Turkish service as a gendarme. He took unto himself a
wife, but finding her faithless, he laid a trap to catch her and her
lover together, when he killed them both. After this Achmet returned
to Podgorica, where he was at once seized and imprisoned for his
original offence, but he soon broke out and fled to the Albanian
mountains. Here he lived as a robber until things began to get too hot
for him, and he fled to Bosnia. In Bosnia he was the guest of a Serb,
who befriended him, and when a Turk seduced his benefactor's wife, he
killed the Turk to show his gratitude, and again was forced to flee
the country. He next turned up in Antivari, where he was promptly
imprisoned, but he overpowered the warder, took his rifle, and again
escaped.
At this time the town captain of Dulcigno had been murdered, in
revenge for a deadly insult, by a young Kuc, named Jovan, and Achmet
was sent for, on the promise of pardon if he would follow Jovan into
Albania and kill him. This he did, bringing Jovan's head with him as
evidence. For this he received a large reward, and the Prince of
Montenegro, having heard of him and his deeds, sent for him, pardoning
all his previous offences, besides giving him one hundred napoleons.
Achmet now settled down at his present home near Podgorica, but was
caught by the Turks and imprisoned on a false charge for four months,
when he was able to prove an alibi.
Achmet fought in many border fights with the Montenegrins against the
Albanians and distinguished himself greatly. Two Albanians once
attacked the son of a famous standard-bearer, whose life he saved,
capturing the assailants alive and bringing them into Podgorica. For
this act the Prince gave him an old fortress for his home, and where
he still lives.
Later on Jovan's brother, whom he had killed near Dulcigno, came early
one morning to Achmet and fired at him; but Achmet caught him, and
again brought his prisoner alive into the town, where he received ten
years' imprisonment. These deeds are all the more remarkable as he
brought his captures alive and delivered them over to justice. It is,
firstly, not customary to take men alive; secondly, the feat is of
extreme difficulty, for men fight to a finish in these lands.
Achmet is known to disappear periodically for several weeks, but of
these affairs he would say nothing. But the most striking and romantic
episode of this marvellous man's life has yet to be told.
Recently he was caught by his now arch enemies, the Turks, and
imprisoned in the powerful fortress of Tusi, a few miles from
Podgorica. Not content with putting on the usual extremely heavy
chains, they added to their prisoner a second set of fetters. But
friends smuggled into his possession a file, concealed in a loaf of
bread. He filed through his chains, and the day previous to his escape
he noticed a lot of straw bedding lying at the foot of the fortress
walls. That night he completed the filing of the fetters, broke open
the cell-door, and rushing through the sleeping soldiers he jumped the
wall, landing without hurt on the pile of straw bedding below. Though
fired at and pursued, he escaped unhurt.
We heard many such stories, but the story of Achmet was certainly the
best, and these men do not lie. As the man took his leave, he gave us
a pressing invitation to visit his fortress home in the mountains.
"I will slaughter my best lamb," he added, as a special inducement.
There was another highly interesting personality living in Podgorica,
an ex-Albanian chief and refugee from his country, named Sokol Baco.
This fine old fellow, standing well over six feet, looked fifty
instead of his sixty-five years, and had an equally interesting past.
As a youth he had fought in many battles for the Turks, and was
eventually selected with five other young men of high standing for the
personal bodyguard of the Sultan. While on leave, which he was
spending in his Albanian home, the order came for the disarming of the
whole of Albania. Sokol's tribe refused, as did most of these warlike
clans, though Sokol advised obedience. But his clan remained obdurate,
and he was placed in the awkward predicament of being either
considered a traitor by his countrymen or by his Sovereign. Sokol
threw in his lot with his clan, and led them in battle against a
Turkish force; but though he fought like a lion, the clan were
defeated, and he was forced to fly. For many years Sokol lived in the
Albanian mountains, half robber and wholly patriot; but the pursuit
became too keen, and he came to Podgorica, where he entered the
service of Prince Nicolas. His new Prince he serves loyally, and is
highly esteemed in Montenegro, where he will doubtless end his
days.
[Illustration: ACHMET UIKO]
[Illustration: SOKOL BACO]
While still comparatively new to the country, we once went for a
week's shooting to the Lake of Scutari. Water-fowl abound there in
marvellous numbers, consisting chiefly of crane, heron, thousands of
duck, and a fair number of pelicans.
We had selected the island of Vranjina for our headquarters, known in
history as the site of a famous treaty signed there between the
Montenegrins and Venetians in the first half of the fifteenth century.
It lies at the north or Montenegrin end of the lake.
As we were given to understand that we could drive to the lake, or at
least to the River Moraca, and thence take boat to the island, we
loaded our carriage with ample luggage. With our guide's usual and
admirable mismanagement, we were landed after a two hours' drive on
the banks of the Moraca, unable to get further without the carriage
toppling down a steep bank into the rapid river. The driver
unceremoniously bundled our traps on to the ground and drove happily
off. The only person in sight was a diminutive girl, whom the guide
promptly impressed into our service, and an appalling load was heaped
upon her. Then a small boy appeared, and so we were able to make
another start. The day was exceedingly hot, but we got some shooting
to make up for it. We crossed the river in a crazy ferry, found some
men, and later on a boat, and reached the famous village of Zabljak
about one o'clock. The village is still overlooked by a formidable
fortress, but in the rude collection of huts it was hard to see the
ancient capital of Montenegro, the home of the famous Black Prince
dynasty.
One of the most wretched inns that it was our lot to find in
Montenegro received us and our baggage. The village of course turned
out to inspect us, and watched us eat our meal with interest. It was
of the usual kind, consisting of eggs, raw ham, eggs, and dessert of
_more_ hard-boiled eggs, washed down with a remarkably sour wine.
After this repast we retired for a short nap into the room beyond. P.
was tired and got on one bed, but I, displaying more caution, lifted
the pillow before I trusted myself to the arms of Morpheus. My
fore-sight was rewarded better than I deserved, and I had P. off his
bed in the twinkling of an eye. As an explanation which his
threatening attitude demanded at once, I silently lifted his pillow.
It likewise teemed with life, and we postponed our post-prandial
slumbers till a more fitting occasion.
At the foot of the village the Moraca flowed past, now a formidable
and swiftly running river. We were amused to see several oxen driven
into it, and swim serenely to the opposite bank.
Only one small canoe could be found for us, which would ordinarily
hold one man besides the two paddlers, with comfort. Into it were
crowded three men and a quantity of baggage. In addition, it leaked,
and periodically we were turned out on to a muddy and marshy bank
while the canoe was bailed out.
This end of the lake is very curious, a series of natural canals run
in all directions through vast swamps which only afford foothold in
the height of summer. The thrifty peasants utilise the dry season to
plant fields of maize, for the scorching sun dries these swamps in a
very short space of time. In the winter or early spring, they are
nearly or quite under water. As the lake is reached, small islands of
dense willow trees grow out of the water, and in these islands are
vast colonies of waterfowl. The effect is decidedly pretty, but very
irritating to the sportsman, as the birds hide in the centre, and it
is nearly impossible to force one's way in, even by wading.
We reached our destination, a little chapel with a house for the
priest adjoining it, locally termed a "manastir," built on a rather
high and conical hill on the south end of the island of Vranjina. The
view from the chapel, as we afterwards found, was superb. The whole
lake spreads out in its vast expanse. Scutari, or rather the hill
behind which it lies, can be seen dimly in the distance. To the right,
the Lovcen and the Rumija rear their lofty heads, and divide the lake
from the Adria beyond. Away to the left the rugged snow-clad Albanian
Alps stretch as far as the eye can see, piling themselves up in a wild
and grand confusion. Several green submerged willow islands lay at our
feet, round which crowds of snow-white cranes were circling. Such was
our view as we reached the plateau in front of the chapel that
evening, tired, hungry, and irritated, but still appreciative.
The priest, or "pop," clad in the national costume, as indeed are all
the country clergy, and only distinguishable from his wild-looking
parishioners by his uncut hair and beard (the Greek Church do not
allow their ministers to cut their hair or beards), met us in a
friendly manner, but absolutely refused to take us in at first. He
said he had absolutely nothing in the house but a little goat's
cheese, and no beds. However, we were desperate; to go to the village
meant another hour's cramp in the canoe, and perhaps no better
accommodation than here. Here we would stay, and starve.
By dint of much persuasion, the priest produced a mattress, and a man
was sent down to the village to procure anything that he could find,
and so we stayed in the monastery a week, and really enjoyed
ourselves. We used to go out shooting at daybreak in canoes with two
paddles apiece, and again in the evening, for the heat was
overpowering about midday.
[Illustration: THE POP OF VRANJINA]
[Illustration: AN ALBANIAN GIRL]
The method of fishing here is distinctly interesting. A large number
are required to work the net, but they make enormous hauls. The
procedure is as follows: One large boat is anchored near the shore and
made fast to trees, and a huge net is taken out and spread in a
circle, the ends being kept in the stationary boat. Two men, naked,
stand a few feet from the boat in the water, keeping the sides of the
net down and preventing the escape of fish as the circle is gradually
narrowed by the men in the boat slowly pulling it in. The last bit
requires their united efforts, for it is full of fish, some of
considerable size. At the conclusion of the "haul" one of the men
chose two of the largest fish and threw them into my canoe as a
present; as thanks I lent my tobacco-tin, which they gratefully
emptied.
Montenegrins carry tobacco in a tin and roll their own cigarettes; no
other form of smoking is known amongst them, except the tchibouque by
some of the older men, a relic of Turkish times. The tobacco is
excellent, being often equal to the best Turkish, and ridiculously
cheap.
We owe these worthy fisherfolk thanks for having given us one of the
finest moonlight effects that it has ever been our lot to witness. We
were returning home late one evening in our canoes, and as we rounded
a corner of the island we came suddenly on their encampment. The men
in their ragged but artistic costumes were sitting round numerous
camp-fires cooking their evening meal on the bank, which sloped gently
upwards, an old ruined fortress or "kula" forming a background.
As we gazed the moon came slowly over the brow of the intervening
hill, illuminating the scene with its soft and silvery radiance,
blending fantastically with the ruddy flames of the fires.
Cooking-pots steamed and bubbled, and one group of men broke into an
old Montenegrin fighting song, the water of the vast lake sparkled and
danced in the distance, and we felt that only we and this rough group
of fishermen were alive in the world.
It was an idyllic life that we led during our stay at Vranjina, though
every comfort known to civilisation was lacking. We lived as did the
hardy fishermen of the island, and a hard life it proved to be. The
heat, however, was something tremendous, quite precluding any exertion
from ten in the morning till the late afternoon. We had even in the
early morning to use the greatest care to keep our necks and arms
covered from the scorching rays of the sun, for bad blisters and burns
were the sure reward of carelessness. The concussion of rapid shooting
combined with the heat often brought on headaches so violent that to
fire another cartridge was exquisite torture. One thing we did not
suffer from, and that was loneliness.
The news of our visit spread to all the neighbouring villages, and we
had a constant stream of visitors. Our swim, which we took after our
early morning shoot in a delightfully cool spot, where a spring
bubbled into the lake, was invariably witnessed by a group of
fishermen, and very much amused they were too over our hair-brushes,
soap, and other toilet articles.
They sometimes ascribed powers of healing to us, and were evidently
quite distressed when we endeavoured to impress upon them our entire
ignorance of medicine. Once a man insisted on baring his leg and
showing me a horrible wound which would not heal.
Another time the school was marched out from the village of Vranjina,
probably to have an object-lesson in geography. Doubtless the boys,
after having seen real live Englishmen, would henceforth display an
intelligent interest in the position of the British Isles. They came
and spent a morning with us, and the young teacher, who spoke good
Italian, asked us many questions, such as a young child asks his
father, and equally difficult at times to answer.
Our messing arrangements were of the simplest, raw ham and eggs
forming the staple food. We bought a lamb once, but it only lasted one
meal, as everyone developed an extraordinary appetite--the parson,
Lazo our servant, and all the men in the vicinity.
When we left we had the blessing of our worthy priest and fervent
invitations to return again soon from some of the fishermen. One of
the men took a great fancy to us, urging us to come to his house in
Vranjina then and there, and "we would," he said, "drink gallons of
wine," going on next day. "At any rate," he said, as we gently
refused, "let us have a big drink together when ye come again."
We arranged our return to Podgorica ourselves, and got back within
five hours, shooting a fine pelican on the way, which was the last
shot that we fired on the Lake of Scutari.