[Illustration:  ACHMET UIKO]

[Illustration:  SOKOL BACO]

While still comparatively new to the country, we once went for a week’s shooting to the Lake of Scutari.  Water-fowl abound there in marvellous numbers, consisting chiefly of crane, heron, thousands of duck, and a fair number of pelicans.

We had selected the island of Vranjina for our headquarters, known in history as the site of a famous treaty signed there between the Montenegrins and Venetians in the first half of the fifteenth century.  It lies at the north or Montenegrin end of the lake.

As we were given to understand that we could drive to the lake, or at least to the River Moraca, and thence take boat to the island, we loaded our carriage with ample luggage.  With our guide’s usual and admirable mismanagement, we were landed after a two hours’ drive on the banks of the Moraca, unable to get further without the carriage toppling down a steep bank into the rapid river.  The driver unceremoniously bundled our traps on to the ground and drove happily off.  The only person in sight was a diminutive girl, whom the guide promptly impressed into our service, and an appalling load was heaped upon her.  Then a small boy appeared, and so we were able to make another start.  The day was exceedingly hot, but we got some shooting to make up for it.  We crossed the river in a crazy ferry, found some men, and later on a boat, and reached the famous village of Zabljak about one o’clock.  The village is still overlooked by a formidable fortress, but in the rude collection of huts it was hard to see the ancient capital of Montenegro, the home of the famous Black Prince dynasty.

One of the most wretched inns that it was our lot to find in Montenegro received us and our baggage.  The village of course turned out to inspect us, and watched us eat our meal with interest.  It was of the usual kind, consisting of eggs, raw ham, eggs, and dessert of more hard-boiled eggs, washed down with a remarkably sour wine.

After this repast we retired for a short nap into the room beyond.  P. was tired and got on one bed, but I, displaying more caution, lifted the pillow before I trusted myself to the arms of Morpheus.  My fore-sight was rewarded better than I deserved, and I had P. off his bed in the twinkling of an eye.  As an explanation which his threatening attitude demanded at once, I silently lifted his pillow.  It likewise teemed with life, and we postponed our post-prandial slumbers till a more fitting occasion.

At the foot of the village the Moraca flowed past, now a formidable and swiftly running river.  We were amused to see several oxen driven into it, and swim serenely to the opposite bank.

Only one small canoe could be found for us, which would ordinarily hold one man besides the two paddlers, with comfort.  Into it were crowded three men and a quantity of baggage.  In addition, it leaked, and periodically we were turned out on to a muddy and marshy bank while the canoe was bailed out.