Right on the shore and in the centre of the large bay stands a white house, a short distance from the Austrian frontier, which is Topolica, the favourite residence of the Crown Prince.  Square, undecorated, and uninteresting, it is almost an exact counterpart of the other Montenegrin royal residences.  Yet its position is superb.  From either corner of the bay, where the mountains meet the sea, stretches an unbroken chain of mountain peaks, rugged and forbidding, but extremely picturesque.  Witnessed at sunset when the soft lights mellow the sharp outlines, and the sombreness of the mountains is tinged with red, the fascination which this place holds for this lover of nature, Prince Danilo, can be well understood.  We spent two days revelling in its wild solitariness.

Our hotel was distinctly quaint, but we were very comfortable.  Again we had but one room for all, but it was clean, and the hostess, an Austrian, an excellent cook.

We hoped to have started on our further journeys the following day, and found a small sailing vessel anchored in the bay; the captain consenting to take us on to Dulcigno.  It was an Albanian boat, manned by about half a dozen cut-throats, and in spite of warnings we arranged to leave next day.  Anything would be preferable to a ride of eight hours over mountain tracks on mules to Dulcigno; and we were all well armed.

But the next day brought contrary winds, and we were forced to spend another day in Prstan.  That day a large Italian steamer arrived and anchored in the bay, to take Prince Nicolas to Italy for the christening of his little granddaughter.  Shortly before dark he arrived, attended by two adjutants, and after speaking a few words to the harbour captain, who respectfully kissed his hand, embarked in a boat, and was pulled on board the steamer.  We were again struck with the immense breadth of his figure, clad in a long, grey military overcoat, which makes him look much shorter than he really is.  He is really a typical-looking prince of a race of freeborn mountaineers.  As he receded from the shore, we drew our revolvers and joined in the parting fusillade, shouting “Zivio” as lustily as any of the little handful who had awaited him.

The agent of the Austrian Lloyd Steamship Company came to our rescue on the following morning, as the Albanian boat made no preparations for starting, and offered to take us in his own boat to Dulcigno.  This we gladly accepted, and about midday started in his large and roomy boat, built for sailing or for rowing, and manned by four Montenegrin sailors.

The wind failed us most of the way, and our four men propelled us with long oars or sweeps which are worked standing up and facing them, a method of rowing common in the Adriatic.  It is a splendid exercise, but like everything else it wants practice, as we speedily found out when we took a turn.

Coffee, without which no true Montenegrin can exist, was made en route, and proved highly acceptable.