A TURKISH ENCAMPMENT.

171

rugged hill side, now across couloirs of débris, as they call them in the Alps, now through jungles of thorn, and now up almost perpendicular rocks. The rain had ceased, and the sun was uncomfortably hot for such work as this. Our Montenegrin fellow-traveller, who started with us this morning, dismounted from his horse, and was obliged to push him bodily over the worst parts. We had to keep a sharp eye on Rosso and Effendi ; they slipped and stumbled incessantly. Rosso proved to be the best mountaineer of the two. Effendi was far less sure-footed. This little

animal again was so well fed that his circumference was a mathematical circle in form. Thus, as he had none of the Rosinante-like angles of Rosso, which gave hold to the strappings, his pack was continually twisting round and rolling under him. At last, hot and thirsty, we reached a little plateau just over the lake, where were pitched three or four tents, the quarters of a small party of the most utterly miserable-looking Turkish soldiers I had ever cast eyes upon. were in rags. Their uniforms were supplemented with some garments of the country. They were bare-footed, or wore the native punkoa.

All

"What important garrison town may this be, Marco ?" said Jones.

"Ca bonne, monsor, ça bonne," replied our grinning domestic. I don't know whether the place

has a name; I should say it had, being in this country, where three houses constitute a town. There were three officers here, who shared one miserable tent. The poor fellows had not seen pay for a very long time. One, a Crimean medallist, a defender of Kars, was down with fever badly. They invited us into their wretched quarters, and ordered coffee for us. They had no sugar, but this we were able to provide them with. We also had some cakes of chocolate, which we presented to them, and which they seemed very glad to get. They were fine-looking fellows, but all had that sad look which true Turks wear in these latter days. With the aid of Marco as interpreter, we were able to converse with them on various subjects. They seemed to despair of their country, and, like all I met, put all the blame on the evil system of government. They told us that a londra would be here soon, bearing provisions from the fortress of Helm for this post. The londra would then return, and we could go with it, thus saving ourselves a five hours' very rough march. We gladly availed ourselves of the offer, and waited for the arrival of the boat. We studied our maps, and tried to make out where we were, and what branch of the lake this might be which we were to traverse. The maps on this occasion, as on all others, gave no information on the subject. The fact of the matter is, there is no

ACROSS THE LAKE.

173

map of this part of the Turkish dominions. The rivers, lakes, and towns, are put in by guess-work. The londra at last arrived. It was manned by six or seven disreputable and hungry-looking soldiers. The provisions were landed; these consisted of a few maize loaves and a small bag of rice.

We bid adieu to our friends the officers, with a little difficulty persuaded Rosso and Effendi to embark, and were soon gliding swiftly across the smooth lake, In about an hour we had reached the opposite side. Here were three or four houses, occupied by Turkish officers, while the men were camped out on the edge of the lake in tents, so ragged and torn that they must have been next to useless. In the background, a few miles from the lake, there was a steep mountain, on whose summit was a large fortress. This place we found is called Helm. We landed, and at once resumed our march, which lay under the mountain, and across a broad and lengthy plain which lies between Podgoritza and the lake. There was no sign of cultivation anywhere. The plain was a pebbly desert, scanty grass and a sort of prickly thorn being the sole vegetation.

The heavy rain had once more set in, and before we had marched very far, the waters, rushing down from the distant mountains, converted the plain into a lake, across which we waded, the muddy compound rising above our top-boots. Dark

NIGHT VISITORS.

175

projecting nasal organs. But this was quite enough for our friends. Throughout the night they came and went through the open door: there were never less than a dozen admiring us at a time.

Towards the morning the bard of the district came in, tuned up his guzla, and favoured us with a dismal selection from his repertoire.

His voice was high and cracked, but he sang fiercely and energetically, while all the natives listened, spellbound and silent. I presume he was singing our praises he was evidently chanting the doings of some great warriors.

Jones at last sneezed so violently in the middle of his song that the minstrel was quite disconcerted, and sadly laying down his instrument, stretched himself on the floor and slept. Being ow at peace, we followed his example.

I might as well mention the fact that I have never seen a Montenegrin or Albanian take off his lothes before retiring for the night. I believe, xcept when one of these people buys a new suit, e never does, on any occasion whatever, undress. The poorer people, who never do indulge in new suits, merely patch up the old while on them.

The next morning, at daybreak, we swallowed ome boiling coffee, and prepared for the march. Our toilet was simple enough: as Jones said, " All have to do is to rub in dubbin on my boots, and ling on my pocket filter, and I am ready.”