who was three nationalities rolled into one—­to explain, born in Roumania, he entered into Austrian service and became an Austrian subject, and finally twelve years in Montenegro had quite “Montenegrinised” him.  He was very angry if we told him this.  In the course of his duties as sole veterinary surgeon he had travelled, and travelled continually from one end of the land to the other, there was not a corner or collection of huts where he had not been.  He had been snowed up in winter in the mountains, attacked by wolves, and shot at by Albanians, and had witnessed many a scene of the vendetta.

Another even more interesting character was L., an Austrian, who for years had been employed by scientific institutions in ornithological and geological research in Montenegro and Albania.  He had carried his life in his hands for weeks together amongst the untameable mountaineers across the border.  A man whose terribly hard life had turned him into a man of bone and muscle, rivalling the most active Montenegrin in strength and endurance.  And what a fund of anecdote and adventure he could reel off!  Without doubt he was one of the most interesting and fascinating men we have ever met; a perfect rifle, gun, and revolver shot, fine horseman and entertaining companion.

Then there was a Montenegrin professor, he was the father of the party, though the tales he told were not at all becoming to his age and learning.  He spoke about eight languages well and perhaps that had slightly turned his brain.  Once he had served a term of imprisonment for an outspoken criticism, and when he became tired of it, he sent an ultimatum to the effect that if he were not released at once, he would break out himself, take a rifle and bundle of cartridges and hold the Lovcen (a high mountain) against all comers.  The originality of his threat gained him his freedom.  Since then he has kept a closer guard over that unruly member and only unburdened himself in the seclusion of the Club.  Otherwise P., myself, and a young and intensely patriotic Scotchman completed the list of regular members.

We had a few occasional “country members,” officers and officials whom some of us knew well from Cetinje or Niksic, but we were mostly alone.  At first we met in the garden of one Petri, a good-tempered giant of about six feet eight inches, but in spite of our patronage he managed to ruin himself at cards and so we were forced to adjourn to an old Albanian rascal named Gugga.  What fun we had with that dear old boy, whom we irreverently called Skenderbeg!  One day in a moment of ill-advised confidence he had told us that he was descended from that great Albanian hero and patriot.  But he was an educated and travelled man, having lived for many years in Venice, spoke an excellent Italian and correspondingly atrocious German, which latter he delighted to inflict upon us.  He was most amusing in his hatred and contempt of the Montenegrin peasant.