Early on the morning of October the 9th, we commenced our journey in earnest. We passed through the land-side gate of the town, where our Montenegrin guide with the horse was awaiting us. Just outside this gate is the Montenegrin Bazaar, as it is called. It consists merely of two rough sheds built for the use of the Black Mountaineers, who come down to sell their produce at Cattaro. Here, too, before they enter the town, they are obliged to leave their mules and arms.
The latter was found to be a very necessary regulation, as quarrels which ended in bloodshed used often to occur between the fierce highlanders and the Cattarines. The two peoples are never on the best of terms—the former being accused of many a midnight descent into the valleys, to pillage and carry off all they can lay hands on. But the present Prince of Montenegro has to a great extent reformed his savage subjects.
A small Morlak boy was deputed by the Montenegrin to lead the horse, and guide us to the capital of the land of stones.
He was the proud possessor of a lockless Turkish pistol, which he stuck jauntily in his sash, and of which he was evidently very proud, for he would stop every now and then to readjust the formidable weapon.
It is not a six hours' march from Cattaro to Cettinje.
Every few yards of progress up the zigzag path revealed some new view over the indescribably grand gulf below.
At last we were far above town and fortress. They lay at our feet like a map. The eye could follow all the windings of the Bocche; and so high were we above it, that we could look over three successive chains of lofty mountains. The blue water stretched in three long streaks between them; while far away, over the furthest range, the blue Adriatic lay peacefully under a cloudless sky. It was a scene of unparalleled vastness and magnificence.
The summit of the pass was 4500, the fortress that tops the walls 1000 feet above the sea, by our aneroid.
We had chosen a gala day for our entry into Montenegro—for following us a mile or so behind, were the Duke of Wittemburg and a numerous cortège on horseback, on their way to Prince Nikita's palace.
We turned a rocky bluff, and a stone marked the frontier of the huge Empire and little Principality.