e in
order by the afternoon. But we declined, even though he made us a
cheap offer, below the ordinary price. We had no more confidence in
him or his carriage, or his wonderful kicking horse--in fact, we gave
quite a curt and rude refusal, when he pressed the matter.

Safe inside the old-fashioned hostelry of Reinwein, we thanked
Providence for our safe arrival. We had been through a few dangerous
experiences during our sojourn in the Land of the Black Mountain, but
none worse than this.

The carriage was small, and we suffered agonies from cramp; every
moment we expected to see it fall to pieces; one of the horses lashed
out violently, narrowly missing the face of the driver, if only
touched with the whip, every time hitching itself over a trace and
threatening to kick the decrepit structure behind it to bits; the
devilish anger of the man, his lurid and comprehensive cursing in that
soft voice, the danger of dashing over a precipice, constituted a
journey which we fervently pray may never again fall to our lot.

CHAPTER XX

We reconsider our opinion of Cetinje--A Montenegrin wake and its
consequences--A hero's death--Montenegrin conversation--Needless
appeals to the Deity--We visit the hospital.

We have said that there are not many stirring events happening in
Cetinje. But this was due to the fact that we had only a very
superficial knowledge of the town. To appreciate it fully, though, it
is absolutely necessary to know the country and the people first. We
had quite made up our minds to go down to Cattaro the day following
the memorable drive from Podgorica, but a mutual acquaintance, a
Montenegrin of high standing, met us as we strolled aimlessly down the
main street that morning. When he heard that we were leaving in a few
hours, he became quite excited. Had we really seen everything, in
Cetinje too?

"Yes," said we. "We have visited the monastery, watched the soldiers
drilling, chatted with the criminals, and know every burgher of the
town, at least by sight."

"First you must see the hospital and then you must attend a trial in
the Supreme Court of Appeal," said our seducer. "And as for
vendettas," he added with pride, "we too have our little quarrels. On
the spot you are standing a man was shot five years ago, and in the
act of dying he killed his assailant."

"Tell us the story," we broke in eagerly. Montenegro is demoralising
in this respect. One becomes so used to bloodthirsty anecdotes th