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.
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 Kolašin. 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 Vasović 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, andwas 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.
ANDRIJEVICA
The little township is prettily situated on a slight eminence at the junction of the Lim and the Perušica, 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 Lakić Voivodić, 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.
CHURCH PARADE
On Sunday we went to church—at least we wentto 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 Vasović 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.