A typical mountain hut--Costume of the north-eastern borderers--Supper
and a song--We go out hunting, and cause excitement--The Feast of
Honour--We ride to Andrijevica--Andrijevica and our inn--The
Voivoda--We go to church--Turkish visitors--Alarums.
[Illustration: OUR 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 man _can_ stand 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 impression that 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 man turned 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 a personal 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 an early hour _en route_
for Andrijevica, which lies at a considerably lower altitude than
Kolasin. 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 Vasovic 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, and was 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.
[Illustration: ANDRIJEVICA]
The little township is prettily situated on a slight eminence at the
junction of the Lim and the Perusica, 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 Lakic Voivodic,
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.
[Illustration: CHURCH PARADE]
On Sunday we went to church--at least we went _to_ the 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
Vasovic 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 of all
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.