About ten we took our leave, and our hosts drew their pocket cannons and started firing; we naturally replied, and a deafening fusillade went on till every man had emptied his revolver. With singing ears we returned to our hotel to find the town alarmed, excited groups were congregated in the Market Square. Our feu-de-joie was speedily explained, and the men flocked into the inn. As a slight return for the fright we had given them, we paid for a few quarts of spirits. The Governor overlooked our law-breaking, for after dark firing is not allowed, and no doubt he envied us in his heart, for, poor man, he is in the clutches of the Band of Good Hope, much, we heard, to his disgust.
We left next day, and had a hearty send-off from the town, who turned out en masse to witness our departure. The local doctor was not present. We had found no favour in his eyes.
Shortly after leaving the town we passed the Montenegrin Militia, hard at their weekly drill. No uniform is worn, every man coming in his everyday clothes, bringing only his rifle. But they drill very well and the discipline is excellent. A company was being dismissed as we came up, and a large number accompanied us for a long way.
The ride was magnificent that afternoon. The way wound up and up, and our last glimpse of Kolašin showed us the little town far away below us.
The usual Montenegrin trick was again played successfully on us, the "only two hours' ride" developing into a journey of six hours. But to-day we did not murmur; it is only at the end of a long and trying day that this style of humour is out of place.
For two hours our path threaded its way through dense beech forests. At one spot P. and I had ridden on so far in advance of the others that we dismounted and waited for them to come up. In the interval I was assailed by a man with a bandaged head. Doctors always wear European clothes in Montenegro, and without further inquiry, this man proceeded to sit down before me and remove his bandages, disclosing ultimately a ghastly eye.
"What must I do for it, Gospodin Doctor?" he asked at length, for beyond the usual greeting he had not spoken. One glance was sufficient, and P. got up and left us.
"Take it away!" I said, with averted face. "I am not a doctor, and never shall be."
I felt him looking at me with his uninjured eye. These simple peasants are always under the impression that our modern education comprises that of medicine.
"But, Gospodin, it has been like this for weeks," he went on, "and is very painful."