Before we leave Ostrog, we will mention one of the miracles which we had the opportunity of authenticating.

A wretched Turk living to-day in Podgorica, a cripple crawling painfully on hands and knees, once made the pilgrimage to Ostrog.  Friends carried him to the shrine, where he lay all night.  Then he rose up and walked back to Podgorica rejoicing, with those who had carried him the day before.  As he crossed the Vizier bridge, he sceptically remarked that he would have been healed without undergoing the farce of the pilgrimage.  Straightway he fell to the ground, the same helpless cripple that he was before.

The Turk and the witnesses still live—­in fact it happened but a few years ago—­to tell the tale.

The road to Niksic, which we left to proceed to Ostrog, climbs to the height of 750 metres in crossing the mountain ridge dividing the valley of the Zeta from that of Niksic.  The scenery is throughout fine and wild.  In a succession of serpentines, the road descends sharply on to the great plain, the fertile valley of Niksic.

The town can be seen immediately on leaving the mountainous gorge, the cupola of the cathedral standing up boldly from the surrounding flat.

A long viaduct is crossed, built by the Russians, at the foot of the mountain, for in the winter floods are common, and Niksic was at times nearly cut off from the rest of Montenegro.

Niksic is probably the coming capital of Montenegro.  In fact, it has been but a question of money that has prevented the removal of the Government from Cetinje a long time ago.

The Prince has recently built himself a large palace, the Russians have erected a large church, and roads are now in the course of construction connecting it with Risano on the Bocche di Cattaro, and Cetinje, and again with the Cattaro-Cetinje road.

When these roads are completed, Niksic will have a most central position, and the unquestionably rich and fertile plain can be opened up.  Without doubt it is the coming trading centre, and already it is running Podgorica very close.

The day after our arrival—­we had arrived in the night—­we saw the town under most unfavourable conditions.  A violent thunderstorm had raged incessantly for many hours, and the streets were in parts inundated.  Water was pouring in miniature waterfalls from the ground floors of many houses which possessed a higher background.  Braving the elements, and often making detours to avoid the lakes, we walked to the palace and the church.  Both lie together outside the town.

A flight of steps lead up an artificial mound, over-shadowing the somewhat barrack-like palace, where stands the new cathedral.  It is the most striking edifice in the whole country, surmounted with a dingy light yellow cupola.  It is not pretty or tasteful, but it is distinctly imposing, and one can well realise the marvellings that it has given the simple Montenegrins.  Inside it is severely plain and void of any furniture, except the thrones for the Royal Family.  Round the walls are lists of the men who have fallen in recent wars.