ext 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.

Luckily we had taken a supply of food with us, though we had been told
that we should be in Dulcigno for supper, and this again we devoured
with ravenous appetites as the long hours wore on. The coast was
monotonous, a never-varying bank of hills descending to the water's
edge. Here and there a tiny village could be seen, but otherwise no
life, and little vegetation.

Not till nine o'clock in the evening did we reach Dulcigno, and the
impression that the lights in the houses on the hillsides made is not
easily to be forgotten. It seemed like a colony of spacious and
luxurious villas on well-wooded slopes. In pitch dark we arrived at a
quay, and groped our way out of the boat, and were led to the inn.
Great knoc