with the telegraph, I had to resign the pleasure of the campaign, and I passed the time in studying up accessories.  The Prince started directly for Mostar, accompanied by the Austrian military attaché, Colonel Thoemel, one of the most intensely anti-Montenegrin Austrian officials I ever met.  If the Austrian government had intended to inflict on the Prince the most humiliating censor in its service, and make the relations between the governments as bad as possible, they could not have chosen an agent more effective than Thoemel.  In his hatred of Montenegro and enjoyment of the fortiter in re, he entirely threw off the suaviter in modo.  He enjoyed intensely every petty humiliation he could inflict on the Prince, who, with the greatest tact, never noticed his rudeness.  The maintenance of good relations with Austria tasked the Prince’s diplomacy to the utmost.  As I saw nothing of the campaign, I will dispose of it by saying that, when the Prince had nearly reached Mostar, the colonel informed him officially that if he took Mostar he would be driven out of it by the Austrian army, and, after a slight skirmish on the hills commanding the city, the Prince took the road towards Trebinje.  Meanwhile the operations on the southern frontier, under the direction of the amiable and competent Bozo Petrovich, remained for my observation.

One of the chiefs of clans who were waiting at Cettinje for the plan of the southern campaign was Marko Millianoff, hereditary chief of the Kutchi, an independent Slav tribe on the borders of Albania, generally allied in the frontier operations with the Montenegrins.  The Turks desired particularly to subdue this people in the outset of the campaign, as their territory commanded the upper road from Podgoritza to Danilograd, and hostilities commenced with an attack on them.  While waiting I made the acquaintance of Marko, whom I found to be one of the most interesting characters I met in Montenegro.  His courage and resource in stratagem were proverbial in the principality.  I had a capital Ross field-glass, and amused him one day by showing its powers.  He had never seen a telescope before, and his delight over it was childlike.  “Why,” he exclaimed in rapture, “this is worth a thousand men.”  “Then take it,” I said, “and I hope it will prove worth a thousand men.”  His force of 2500 men was then blockading the little fortress of Medun, a remotely detached item of the defensive system of Podgoritza, and on the next day he set out for his post.

I saw him some months later, and he told me that when the great sortie from Podgoritza to relieve Medun came in view of the blockading force, though at a distance of several miles, his men declared that they could not fight that immense army, which filled the valley with its numbers and had the appearance of a force many times greater than their own.  Marko looked at it through the glass and found it to be mainly a provision train, for Medun was on the verge