Journey to Scutari--Atrocities--A runaway--The vale of Rieka--A
Montenegrin sailor--The lions of Rieka--The perils of the night.
We left Cettinje early on a sunny, fresh October morning. Our baggage
was strapped on the back of one of the sturdy little horses of the
country, which was led by a diminutive native, not twelve years of age,
yet armed with yataghan and loaded revolver. His father--a tall, fine
fellow, who came to see us off--had been subjected to a horrible
mutilation. His nose had been cut off by the Albanians, taking with it
the whole upper lip, giving him a ghastly appearance. One meets with an
astonishing number of men who have been victims of this barbarous
custom. The Montenegrins are quite as great offenders in this respect
as are their Albanian foemen. Indeed, I came across more mutilated men
in Scutari alone than in all Montenegro.
In the last war, a handsome young Montenegrin was taken prisoner by the
Turks. As he was wounded, he was sent to the hospital at Scutari. Some
of the ladies of the different consulates, who were doing all that lay
in their power to alleviate the sufferings of the wounded, took great
interest in this interesting young man. A curious and most offensive
smell was noticed at his bedside; it increased, day by day, till it
became quite unsupportable. At last its origin was discovered. Rolled
up in his coat, which lay by his side, were eighteen Turkish
noses!--the tokens of his valour in the field.
Our Montenegrin friends were not pleased to hear that we were going to
Albania. "Stay with us," they said; "travel in our country. There is
more to see than in Turkey. You will like us. Those beasts of Albanians
will cut your throats of a certainty, devils that they are." But we
wished to hear the other side of the question, and notwithstanding the
warnings of owe hosts, determined to visit the "beasts" and "devils,"
and form our own opinion about them.
A crowd of wild-looking mountaineers had assembled to see us off. We
had scarcely got under weigh when an amusing incident happened. Our
pack-horse, exhilarated by the fine fresh air of the morning, and a
hearty breakfast, thought that a nice canter across the plain of
Cettinje would be a pleasant way of beginning the day. So off he went
at a canter over the low stone walls, across the potato-fields, through
the dried torrent-beds, in a direction quite opposite to that which his
_compagnons de route_ had chosen. It must have been a ridiculous
sight. First a saddle-bag fell off his back, then he would throw a
blanket off, until our properties lay scattered all over the plain. We
followed as fast as we could with our heavy boots and rifles. We at
last caught him, readjusted our baggage, and once more turned his head
to the mountain, where soon the narrow and precipitous path obviated
all chance of his repeating the performance.
I was smoking a cigarette at the time of the mishap, and swallowed it
by accident as I leaped over a wall. The result was an unwonted silence
and solemnity on my part for the next half-hour or so.
I was much struck by the behaviour of our guide and the other
Montenegrins, when the refractory horse was captured.
English carters, under the same circumstances, would have given vent to
much foul language, and would probably have brutally belaboured the
wretched animal. But these Montenegrins showed no sign of impatience,
said not a word, but quietly repacked the horse and led it off. Turks,
Albanians, Montenegrins, and all Easterns, whatever their other faults,
are very good to the dumb animals that serve them, and never ill-treat
them.
To shoot any animal wilfully, for the mere sake of killing, excites
great indignation in the breast of an Albanian. An English naturalist,
who travelled in their country in order to make a collection of birds,
was looked upon as something not much better than a devil. His very
servant was so horrified at the wholesale massacre of the innocents
carried on by his master, that he gave him notice that he could serve
such a fiend no longer, and left him on the spot. Yet these are the
very people who feel no compunction in blowing your brains out from
behind a fence, in satisfaction of some trifling quarrel.
It is an easy morning's march to Rieka. The rough path first ascends
the rocky ridge which divides the plain of Cettinje from the valley of
Rieka (Rieka = river). When we reached the summit of this ridge a most
magnificent scene opened out before us.
The great valley lay at our feet. From the windy desolate height on
which we stood we saw far beneath the silver stream of the Rieka,
fringed with poplars, winding down a long fertile vale. From the edge
of the water-side meads the great mountains rose sheer up on either
side--of every form and colour--some barren, in curious strata which
shone in the morning sun like successive rings of opal and Parian
marble, others covered with woods, that had already assumed their
autumn tints, and sent forth a perpetual moan as the strong highland
wind passed over them.
From the lofty eminence on which we stood chain was seen rising over
chain, valley behind valley, till, far away behind all, there gleamed a
long broad sheet of water, the great lake of Scutari, backed by the
fantastic-shaped rugged mountains of Albania, utterly barren, serrated
and pinnacled like a gigantic gothic cathedral, and through the medium
of the clear southern atmosphere appearing of a delicate pinkish hue.
This valley of Rieka is far the most fertile of Montenegro, and the
village of the same name which is situated on the brink of the clear
stream is the prettiest, cleanest, and seemingly most prosperous of the
country.
The extreme smallness of some of the fields, if they can be so called,
which is remarkable all over Montenegro, struck us much, on our descent
down the rough slopes of the mountain.
Soil is scarce. We here saw walled enclosures so small that three or
four potato-plants at the most filled them up. Our procession entered
Rieka about mid-day. This village consists of one street along the
river side. The houses are built tastefully of wood, something in the
Swiss style. Outside each house was the usual stone bench, on which,
again, as usual, half the family sat, smoking lazily, evidently with
nothing on earth to do. Of course we were inspected with some curiosity
as we passed.
Not understanding the language, we were utterly at the mercy of our
guide. We tried to signify to him that we wished him to conduct us to a
_khan_. He shook his head, and paid no other attention to our remarks,
but deliberately marched us off to the establishment which he thought
was alone suitable for the English _Gospodinas_. It was the largest
house in the place, whitewashed, and partly hanging over the water, at
the corner of the pretty bridge which spans the stream.
We halted at the foot of the stone steps which led up to the door, and
unpacked our horse; while the crowd stood round, admiringly, and
whispering to our guide queries as to what these curious strangers
might be.
The door of the house opened, and a pleasant-looking old lady,
richly-attired, and tinkling at every motion with the strings of
Turkish coins which she wore as ornaments, came down smiling, bowed low
to us, kissed our hands, and invited us within. We were soon made at
home, and a welcome repast of wheaten cakes and goats' flesh was placed
before us, with good _raki_ to wash it down.
The captain of the village came in while we were lunching--a
splendid-looking fellow, who stalked in with the magnificent carriage
which distinguishes the chieftains of _Tchernagora_. He approached us
with both hands stretched out, and shook us cordially by the hands,
and gave us what was evidently a very kindly welcome, in words we
unfortunately could not understand. A few other men of rank came in
to see us, but none could speak any language but their own, so our
conversation was limited to smiling welcomes on the one hand, and
smiling thanks on the other. We all found that this after a time became
monotonous, so we endeavoured to render the interview a little more
amusing by a mutual inspection of weapons.
After lunch a room was prepared for us. This was by far the most
civilized mansion we came across in Montenegro. There were actually
beds in it. Such a luxury was quite unknown a few years ago in this
country.
The Montenegrin never takes his clothes off. On retiring for the night,
he merely rolls himself up in his plaid, and lies down on the bare
floor of his house.
A shake, and then an inspection and buckling on of arms, suffice for
his toilette in the morning. We were sketching the village after lunch,
when a man passed us, stopped, looked at us a moment curiously, and
then, to our astonishment and delight said, "You should be Englishmen,
strangers."
This man turned out to be a Montenegrin, who had once got somehow to
Constantinople. Here he shipped on board an English brig, and so had
visited London, Liverpool, and other ports. It is a question whether a
Montenegrin had ever before adopted the sea as a profession, it is
hardly in the line of the Karatag, detesting as he does discipline and
confinement of any kind.
He was known as Greek Jack on board the brig, he told us. English
sailors I have always found, have rather a vague idea as to the limits
of the little realm of King George. Any one who has a cut-throat
appearance, and is picked up anywhere between Dalmatia and Cyprus, is
at once looked upon by our tars as one of them blank Greek chaps. His
English was scanty, but rich at any rate in every foullest oath our
seaports can teach the foreign visitor.
Nearly every other word was an emphasis of this nature. From him we
learnt that the house we occupied belonged to the prince. He himself
was now a hand on board the prince's steam-yacht, a very small vessel,
in which the great Nikita is wont to travel on the Lake of Scutari,
when on a dynamite fishing expedition.
Our new friend kindly offered to act as our guide if we wished to do
the lions of Rieka.
These consisted of two little public-houses, one famous for its wine,
the other for its raki. We did them; the result was that our cicerone's
English became more and more indistinct, but at the same time more and
more larded with profanity, till gradually, from every other word, two
out of every three words at least, were oaths. Had there been one more
lion to be done, I verily believe that every word of his conversation
would in our country have rendered him liable to that small pecuniary
penalty which our statutes inflict in such cases.
Raki and mastic, the favourite beverages of this part of Europe, are
drinkable: that is all that can be said for them.
Raki is a colourless spirit, extracted from the skins of grapes after
the wine-making. It is not nice, but is, I should say, pure and
wholesome.
Mastic is extracted from mountain herbs, tastes like absinthe, and is
probably nearly as poisonous.
This was a night of tribulation for Brown.
Our room swarmed with the far-famed Montenegrin fleas, and other still
more ferocious natives. The ramparts of insecticide with which he
surrounded himself availed nought. Sleep he knew not.
In the dead of night I was suddenly awakened by the utter collapse of
the wooden bed on which I slept. It fell to pieces without any warning,
and precipitated me on the floor.
Stories I had read in Christmas Annuals of robber inns, and traps that
opened out in floors to swallow up the sleeping traveller, flashed
across my brain. But there was no occasion for alarm. On lighting a
match and inspecting the ruins, I came to the conclusion that the bed
had been undermined by vermin--that was all.