kings and shoutings summoned the innkeeper from his early
slumbers. While waiting in the darkness below, the Turkish muezzins
ascended the many minarets, and began the evening call to prayer. The
weird chanting from so many voices (there are seven mosques in
Dulcigno) in the otherwise utter stillness had a most uncanny effect.

It was a strange arrival.

Our inn was slightly less primitive than the preceding ones. We had a
tiny bedroom apiece, and there was a room downstairs for eating
purposes, though we were always able to take our meals outside under
the trees.

Dulcigno, or Ulcinj, is certainly the prettiest town in Montenegro,
though it is to all intents and purposes Turkish in appearance. Built
partly on a hill overlooking the sea, it descends into a small bay
where the occasional passing steamers anchor. Well wooded and hilly,
it is really a delightful spot, though the Turkish element may or may
not detract from its beauty according to personal taste. The irregular
houses, the mosques with their slender towers, the bazaar, and the
gaily-dressed if dirty crowds that circulated between the rows of
shops--gave a distinctly pleasing effect. The heavily-veiled women,
wearing in addition to the veil a thick cloth cape with a capacious
hood, amused us greatly, for on meeting us, lest our bold eyes should
pierce their disguise, they would stop and turn their faces to the
wall. What these poor creatures suffer from the heat in these
ponderous cloaks can only be imagined, and Dulcigno is by no means
cold.

Though the fantastic picture conjured up the night of our arrival by
the twinkling lights, peeping out of the dark foliage, on the hillside
was not realised, still the entirely different picture of the reality
was equally pleasing.

We called the next morning on the harbour captain, an Austrian and
ex-sea-captain, who received us most kindly and courteously. Through
him we were at once able to make the acquaintance of one Marko
Ivankovic, a hunter of great prowess, whom we immediately engaged to
attend us for the shooting in the neighbourhood.

Now, though we will not go so far as to say that he was the sole
object of our visit to Dulcigno, still he did certainly influence our
plans. Once, during our very first stay at Podgorica, we met an
Austrian ornithologist and sportsman who told us a wonderful
experience of his at Dulcigno with this very man, Marko Ivankovic. He
had come to Dulcigno one night by steamer, to