“Thou hast been to the Transvaal?” he asked with increased interest.  “Are the people brave like we are?”

“They are brave,” I said, “but not as ye are.  They only shoot at long distances, and object very strongly to hand-to-hand fighting.”

The stalwart Montenegrin looked puzzled.

“Shooting is good,” he answered; and after a pause he added, “at first, but that is not fighting.  It is an empty glory to shoot one’s enemy, if one cannot prove it afterwards.”  I knew he was alluding to the decapitating process.  “And then the wild charge, the cutting with the handjar when rifles are thrown away—­that is fighting.”

I explained that our soldiers loved the bayonet as much as the Montenegrin loved the handjar.

“But what can you do when the other side won’t wait for it?” I asked.

“Then they are cowards,” he answered judicially.  “Are thy countrymen all as big as thou art?” he continued thoughtfully, feeling my biceps and scrutinising me closely.

“Some of them are bigger,” I said.

“Then the Boers will have no chance,” he said emphatically, and at this moment the Prince emerged from the church.  This personal allusion to my size I took as a great compliment, for in a land where physical strength is an all-important factor candid appreciation of this kind is not meted out to one and all alike.

Extremely fatigued after our early start and long ride, it was an effort to keep from falling asleep, and noticing this the priest left.  We were both comfortably asleep in corners when the wretched landlord appeared with armfuls of sheets and pillows at the order of the priest.  He cruelly woke us up and proceeded to make beds.  After that all thought of sleep was gone.  Furthermore, in dirty and dusty riding-clothes one has not the heart to lie down on spotlessly clean sheets.

Soon afterwards the horses were ready, and we cantered up to the monastery to take our leave.  But leave-taking was no such easy matter.  Our pockets were filled with dried fruits, and after we were already in the saddle the Abbot presented us with packets of incense which he hurriedly fetched from the church.  Waving him and the other fathers a last farewell, we started on our long ride back to Kolasin.

During our rambles in Kolasin the doctor took us to a peasant’s house whom he knew very well.  This acquaintance proved one of our most pleasant recollections of the country.  The head of the house was a fine-looking man, lean and active, and possessed many decorations for past acts of bravery in the field.  His son was in prison at the time for some political offence, but his daughter-in-law and two little babies, besides two or three unmarried daughters and sons, were living with him.  The whole family outdid themselves in courtesy to us, and we were, as usual, considerably embarrassed by the behaviour of the women-folk.  Though we went several times to the house, they would rarely seat themselves while we were present, and invariably kissed our hands in coming and going.