A JOURNEY IN MONTENEGRO AND ALBANIA
Utovu was followed by a lull in military operations; but in the latter
part of November, as the insurgents had beleaguered all the forts in
the upper Herzegovina and the town of Niksich in the debated territory
between Montenegro and Herzegovina, Shefket gathered a force of 3000
regulars, with artillery and bashi-bazouks to escort a train of
supplies to them. He was met by Lazar Soeica, the chief of that part
of the mountain country, and disastrously defeated at Muratovizza,
leaving behind him 760 dead, and carrying away about 900 wounded, most
of whom died of their wounds, as I learned from one of the European
surgeons in the Turkish service who deserted a little later, dismayed
by the constant menaces of death to all Christian employees in the
camp, uttered by the troops, suffering, angry, and continually worsted
in the little fights. Shefket saved himself and his artillery by
sending the latter to the rear as soon as the battle was at its
height, and then, having posted a strong rear guard,--the insurgents
having neglected to close the road behind them,--retreating with all
possible speed, leaving the rear guard to be killed or taken, which it
was to a man. The insurgents lost fifty-seven killed and ninety-six
seriously wounded, but the result was to throw the whole upper
Herzegovina into their hands, and they captured and destroyed all the
small blockhouses and forts not armed with artillery. The interest
now centred on the high mountain district about Niksich, where
I determined to go to watch the operations. The winter was well
commenced, but only in the higher districts was the snow on the
ground. I returned, therefore, to Cettinje, where I was now received
as a tried friend.
At the time of which I am now writing there were practically no roads
in Montenegro but bridle-paths, over large stretches of which it was
unsafe to ride, even the Montenegrins dismounting, whether going up or
down. That passage between Cettinje and Rieka, on the Lake of Scutari,
was one of the worst I have ever found in the principality. The lower
part, nearing Rieka, was simply a Cyclopean stairway, with rocky steps
so high that the horses had to _jump_ down from one to another. My
cavalcade consisted of a Montenegrin soldier for guide, a Montenegrin
student, and the horse-boy, necessary to lead the horses when, as was
the case for a large part of the way, we could not ride them; and
halfway down to Rieka we were overtaken by a deaf-mute porter, sent as
a kind afterthought by the Prince, with a samovar and a provision of
tea, sugar, etc., in view of the dearth of comforts beyond. I carried
an order for shelter and such fare as was obtainable at Rieka, in
the little house of the Prince at that village, and we passed a
comfortable night, but found the succeeding day the opening of one of
the spells of rainy weather of which only one who has lived in
the principality much can know the inconvenience. To wait in the
half-furnished house with no resources was worse than going out in
the rain, although I had no protection other than a cape of my own
manufacture, a circle of the thinnest india-rubber cloth, with a hole
cut in the middle for my head, and covering my arms to the wrists.
Hoping for the rain to stop, we waited till nine A.M., when a break in
the clouds flattered us into starting for Danilograd, to be caught in
another downpour an hour later. The way was down a long slope, part
mud and part broken rock, over which in either case we found the
traveling easier on foot than on horseback, so that we did most of the
way on foot while daylight lasted, the unfortunate porter between the
cavalry and the infantry struggling, slipping, and moaning in his
inarticulate way in great physical distress. We had continually to
stop and wait for the horses to overtake us until the long descent
was accomplished, by which time the twilight had come, and we found
ourselves in the valley of the Suchitza, a wide waste of clay soil
saturated with rain, and two hours' ride in ordinary condition of the
roads from any shelter. The steady rain in which we had traveled for
eight hours then became a violent thunder-storm; all the brooks and
ditches by the way were over their banks, and our horses could hardly
flounder under their loads through the heavy going; while we, in the
darkness, could not see the road, even where it could he followed,
save when the lightning flashes showed it, and so, not being able to
walk, rode perforce. My horse refused a ditch a foot wide, and when
we came to one I had to get off and drag by the bridle, while the
horse-boy pushed from behind, till he yielded to the persuasion and
ventured over. The two hours' ride became four, and the way got
heavier as we went on, woodland alternating with flooded plain, in the
former of which only the experience of the guide could keep the road;
while in the latter we could follow it only by the telegraph wires
cutting against the sky. We finally saw a light and came to a cabin,
where we deposited the poor mute, with all the impedimenta, to follow
by daylight; but for us there was no place to sleep, and we gave the
reins to the horses, and let them flounder their way into Danilograd,
where we arrived at 10 P.M., drenched to the skin and hungry.
There was a light still burning in the house of the village doctor,
on whom we had an order from the Prince, and who found us a
sleeping-place in the loft of a neighbor, where we got a supper of
trout and maize bread, and a bundle of straw to lie on in our wet
clothes. The doctor was a German, and, though he was an official, the
instinct of hospitality which rules the Montenegrin did not exist in
him, so he offered us the house of his neighbor. The day broke fine
for our journey to the convent of Ostrog, the only bit of good weather
we had until our return to Cettinje, ten days later.
Ostrog is one of the three sanctuaries of Montenegro, the others being
Moratcha, on the old Servian frontier, and Piperski Celia, above the
fortress of Spuz, where the valley of the Zeta then entered into the
Turkish dominions. The convent is on a site of singular beauty and
salubrity, on a fertile plateau several hundred feet above the valley
of the Zeta, at the foot of a precipice, in the face of which is a
cave enlarged into a chapel, where lies the body of St. Basil, a
Herzegovinian bishop of the early days of the Turkish conquest,
who did his Christian duty by the scattered Orthodox Christians in
Herzegovina and Montenegro, visiting stealthily and at the constant
risk of his life the little groups of the faithful over a territory
vast for the supervision of one man. He died in this refuge, and was
buried at the foot of the cliff; but on an attempt being made to
remove the body some years later, it was found to be uncorrupted, upon
which he was canonized, and the body was placed in a fine coffin and
removed to the little chapel, which has a single window also rock-cut
and is only to be approached by a narrow stairway of the same
structure. Outside, at the foot of the cliff, is the convent, in which
reside two or three priests and as many _kalogheri_, constituting the
community, for the convents of the Orthodox church are not communities
of idle devotees, but of men who are mostly engaged in the culture of
the land belonging to the convent, when not engaged in the performance
of the rites of the church. The hegumenos I found to be more a man
of war than one of ritual, and really the commander of an outpost of
observation on the frontier towards Niksich. He delighted more in arms
than in the mass, and I made a firm friend of him by the gift of a
small Colt's revolver. I was permitted to see the body of St. Basil in
the chapel, which was filled with a fragrance like that of cedar
wood, which I naïvely attributed to the wood of the coffin, when the
attendant protested with indignation that what I smelled was the odor
of sanctity. I was incompetent to distinguish it. St. Basil is held in
great reverence for his miracles, and immense numbers of pilgrims come
to his annual festa with their sick from all the country round, even
Mussulman families from Albania paying their devotions in the hope and
faith of cures, and it is said that many miracles take place every
year.
In this hermitage Mirko, the father of the Prince, in company with
thirty-two of his voivodes, was once besieged by a large body of
Turks, but repelled all attacks for nineteen days, with the loss of
only two men, killed by shots which passed through the window. One of
the garrison descended by a rope to bury one of the dead, and, this
accomplished, made his way by night through the Turkish army and
carried the news of the siege to Danilo, then the reigning prince, who
raised an army and dispersed the Turkish forces. During the siege,
two parties of Mussulmans, mistaking each other for relief parties of
Christians, attacked each other with great slaughter, an event which
was considered to be the effect of the intervention of St. Basil.
The hegumenos strongly opposed my attempt to penetrate to Niksich,
assuring me that the plain was so infested by bands of Turks that it
was to the last degree unsafe to travel on the road, the truth being
that the city was beleaguered by Montenegrin bands, a fact which he
desired to conceal. This, I was convinced, was the real reason of
his opposition; but, to strengthen his argument, the rain, which had
lifted for the one day of the journey from Danilograd, changed into
snow in the mountains, and made the attempt impossible. We waited
several days at the convent, and, as the rain and snow were insistent,
and Niksich too difficult of access, I decided to turn the other way
and go to Scutari by land. Returning to Danilograd, I learned that
this was practically impossible, the road beyond Podgoritza being
not only dangerous for persons, but impracticable for beasts, as the
country was under water. No Montenegrin would venture into the Turkish
territory with the certainty of incurring decapitation,--if not in my
company, at any rate on his return without me; so, on consultation
with the sirdar in command at Danilograd, I sent back to Cettinje the
horses we had come with, and hired those of a rayah of Podgoritza who
had come to market at Danilograd, intending to go to Podgoritza, where
we should hire other horses to Plamnitza, on the lake shore, whence we
could proceed by water to Scutari. I telegraphed the Prince to send
his steam launch to meet me at Plamnitza; and, as my interpreter, the
Montenegrin student, determined to run the risks of decapitation
and go with me, I imposed on him a European costume, took away his
revolver as a safeguard against dangerous excitement, put him under
severe charge not to show that he understood the Serb language, and
started in a pouring rain.
The road to Spuz was unique. Now that Montenegro has entered into
possession of the region, there is a carriage road, but the ancient
one was a pavement of the days of Dushan which now ran along the top
of a ridge like a hog-back in the middle of the road, on each side of
which the track had been worn down by travel until the original road
was as high as the backs of our horses above the actual track each
side of it. At the gate of Spuz we were stopped and our passports were
demanded. Mine had been visaed at Ragusa for Mostar, and Gosdanovich
had the Russian passport, which is freely accorded to all
Montenegrins. The sentinel could read neither, and sent them to the
konak with a demand for instructions. Meanwhile the guard turned out
to laugh at us sitting on our market horses in the pouring rain, our
saddles being only blankets fastened on the pack saddles, on which we
were perched high, the rain pouring off from every extremity of our
costumes. The messenger brought word to send us to the police office,
and there we went.
A binbashi, grave, polite, and curious, invited us to be seated and
ordered coffee. He could speak only Turkish, and I tried English,
French, and Italian in vain, when a bright Albanian lieutenant
standing by made a remark in Romaic, and for the needs of the case
I caught on. He knew much less Romaic than I, but I could make him
understand that I was the correspondent of an English journal going
to Scutari, etc., etc. Gosdanovich played his part well, and was as
stolid as an ox, though the conversation, which he understood, between
the Mussulman Serbs present was not at all cheering. "Bah!" said one
of the secretaries who sat writing on the mat beside the bimbashi, "I
can kill twenty such men as that with a stick, and should like to do
it--such rubbish as they are--I should like to send them all to the
devil." "So should I," replied the other. Then one of them suggested
that, though I was evidently a stranger, he felt sure he had seen
Gosdanovich in Cettinje. "Impossible!" replied the other; "no
Montenegrin would dare to come here now." Finally came the doctor, an
Italian, and we had an excursion into general politics, after which
another coffee and cigarette, and then, with the visa of the bimbashi,
we were permitted to move on to Podgoritza.
We had no further adventure on the road, and early in the afternoon
arrived at Podgoritza, an ancient Servian city, much dilapidated and
very picturesque, taking lodgings at an inn kept by a Christian, a
rather creditable establishment but absolutely empty of guests. We
waited half an hour for the food and fire I ordered (for we were wet
and fasting), when my guide returned and said that there were no
lodgings there, but that the chief of police would provide us, and
that we were to accompany him to the police office. There we were
allowed to dry ourselves over a huge brazier full of glowing coals,
while the zapties cleaned out the adjoining room, a closet about ten
by fourteen feet, in which the dust of years lay accumulated and to
all appearance undisturbed. This was simply a cell in the police
prison, and there we ate what the _miralai_ saw fit to order for
us. Our passports were again examined and discussed, and we were
reëxamined as to our whence and whither and wherefore by the aid of
two or three Catholic Albanians of the vicinity, who did what they
could to find out if we had any secret business, professing to
be themselves the victims of the oppression of the Turks, and
sympathizing with us. They did not draw me, however, and I professed
no anxiety as to my treatment.
The miralai finally gave over his search for hostile motive in our
visit, and we discussed the programme for the morrow. I found that
there was a healthy fear of the Prince of Montenegro, for, when I
told him that the Prince's little steamer would be waiting for me at
Plamnitza the next day at noon, the whole circle broke out in wonder
if it could be true that the Prince took so much interest in us, for
if so, they must be prudent. We had the interesting advantage in that
Gosdanovich understood all that they said as they talked Serb to each
other, for they were a mixed company, and mostly of that race, and
they supposed that he was a Russian and I an Englishman, and that both
of us were ignorant of their language. If, they finally agreed, the
Prince of Montenegro would send his steamer for me, I must be a person
of greater distinction than they thought me, and they must be careful.
So the miralai called the chief of the zapties, and in our presence
gave him his charge, viz., to escort us to Plamnitza, leaving by early
light, and, if the steamer did not come for us, to bring us back to
the prison he took us from, and to kill us on the spot if we attempted
to escape. And so to sleep, as far as the crowing of many cocks
outside and the activity of multitudinous fleas within would permit;
and to make sure of us, we were locked in--fairly at last in a Turkish
prison.
The morning broke with the rain pouring in torrents. I had tried to
buy a pair of shoes before going to sleep, but they brought me a pair
for a boy of twelve and assured me that there were no others in the
town, and those I had come with were in tatters which were hardly to
be kept on my feet. The mud was indescribable,--the entire country
flooded, and all the bridges across a river we must pass carried away,
except one over a narrow gorge where the rocks approached so closely
that a couple of logs reached from side to side, and over these the
horses must be led. To say that I was at ease on this trip would be
exaggeration, the more as the zaptie-bimbashi talked freely to his
subordinate about us, and vented his rage at being obliged to make
such a journey for two beastly infidels, to whom the only grateful
service he could render was decapitation. However, we reached the
lake, to find the steamer waiting, tied to the top of one of the
largest oaks a half mile from the actual shore, for the country was so
inundated that we floated over entire villages as we boated out to
it. I delighted the heart of the bimbashi by a baksheesh of half a
napoleon, which so astonished him that he hardly knew how to express
himself, after all his bitter words and unkind intentions. I was later
convinced that if the Turkish authorities had known who I was,--their
old enemy in Crete,--we should not have come out alive from
Podgoritza. In fact, when Danish Effendi at Ragusa heard that I had
been put in prison in Albania he exclaimed, "If I had been there it is
not only a night in prison he would have had, but a file of soldiers
at daylight."
Our steamer had come, however, not to carry me to Scutari, but, and
perhaps fortunately, to take me back to Rieka, whence I had to go to
Cettinje to get a refit, for I was ragged, bootless as my errand to
Scutari, and draggled with mud from head to foot; notwithstanding
which, as soon as the Prince had learned of my arrival, though in the
midst of a diplomatic dinner, he sent for me to come to the palace,
and made me sit down with the company as I was and tell my story. I
had to wait a few days for the voyage to Scutari, profiting by the
occasion of the return of some engineers and the French consul at that
place. We found the town flooded, a fisherman by the side of one of
the streets showing us a fine string of fish which he had caught in
the roadside ditch. Decay, neglect, and utter demoralization were
written large on the general aspect of the capital of one of the most
important of the provinces of the Turkish Empire in Europe, i.e.
important to Turkey. The magnificent country around Scutari for miles
on miles square--most fertile ground, producing, beside wheat, the
finest tobacco known for cigarettes generally sold as of Cavalla (and
how many nervous hours I have soothed with it during these campaigns),
and enormous crops of maize--lies a large part of the time every year
under water, as I had found it, for the sole reason that the Drin,
which ought to empty into the sea below the Boyana (the outlet of the
Lake of Scutari, the Moratcha, etc.), has built a bar by its floods
and abandoned its proper course, emptying into the lake a flood which
the Boyana is incapable of managing.
The fortress was a relic of Dushan, little mended by the Turk, and had
been three times struck by lightning, the magazine each time exploding
(once while I was in Montenegro), only because the Turkish government,
in putting up the lightning-rod and finding the supply of rod short,
had pieced it out with telegraph wire. The body of the rod had
fulfilled its destiny in attracting the lightning, while the telegraph
wire, not being able to carry the load brought to it, had discharged
it into the magazine. And, when I saw it, the wire was still inviting
another disaster. I found in Eshref Pasha a most interesting and
amiable personage, out of his place completely in the management of a
turbulent and really hostile Christian population, with whom his very
best qualities were a disqualification. Eshref was a poet, a dreamer,
and, I was told, the second man of letters in the empire. He
laughingly asked me if I had been at Podgoritza, and I as
good-humoredly replied that I had not come to complain of my treatment
there, but to pay my compliments to a fellow man of letters. His
broad, good-natured face lighted up with pleasure, and, dropping
politics and fighting, we talked poetry and letters. Secretaries and
messengers were coming and going with papers to be signed, or orders
to be given, and we could talk only by interludes. I remarked that he
must have little time for letters in all this complication of cares,
and he replied that "poetry was his refuge in the night when he was
unable to sleep; he had no other time." I tried to get a sample of
his verse, and he recited me one, of which I could judge only by
the sound, which was very musical; but to my urging for a copy for
publication in England he objected that translators were not good for
the reputation of a poet, which we all know. I assured him of the
entire competence of literary London to render him the completest
justice, and he finally yielded in the spirit to my solicitations, but
put them to the rout in the letter; for, though he promised the script
for the next morning, it never came. It is curious that Eshref fell
through his good faith, for when, a few months later, the Porte issued
an irade asking for indication of the reforms needed in the provinces,
he replied by calling the population to formulate their wants, which
they did, asking for the reopening of the Drin so as to facilitate the
draining of the Lake of Scutari, the making of roads and a railway
from Scutari to Antivari on the seacoast. The Porte, unaccustomed to
be taken at its word, recalled the poet, who shared the fate of his
great predecessor Ovid.