the Black Mountain, my
first glance next morning dispelled it. I woke at four, dressed, and
then put my head out of the one small window, from which I could see the
village of Cetigna, bathed in white moonlight. This village, which, by
the way, is the capital of Montenegro, seemed to consist of scarcely
twenty hovels or houses, scattered about; a corner of a larger building
was visible, which I found afterwards was the Prince-bishop's palace. A
crag rose opposite my window, on the top of which stood a low round
tower, crowned with at least twenty Turkish skulls, fixed to tall
stakes. Strange trophies those Turkish heads were for the residence of
a Christian bishop! Spira's entrance diverted my eyes and thoughts from
these horrible proofs of Montenegrin ferocity; and after partaking of an
inviting little breakfast of Mr Popham'a arranging I mounted my mule,
and we set out. He rode also, and Spira and Giuro trudged alongside.
Leaving Cetigna and its grassy plain behind, we rode down a rough and
dangerous ascent. We saw not a human being till, on turning a sharp
corner, we suddenly came on a party of Black Mountaineers--
active-looking fellows, coming up from the Turkish frontier, and singing
snatches of wild songs as they went. They were going to their homes to
celebrate some feast, and meant to be back again under their Bishop's
standard before night. As usual with these highland soldiers, they had
asked nobody's leave but their own for this freak. They looked hard at
me and then at Mr Popham, and pointed out to one another, well pleased,
the Fez cap which he wore and politely took off to them. Hats and
European caps of all sorts, you must know, they have a special dislike
to. Spira and some of them exchanged greetings, and in reply to her
questions one of them said:--"Basil Basilovich was well at sunset; I saw
him with a fresh head at his girdle, guarding the hut of the wounded
stranger from the west." There was nothing to be gleaned from them
respecting Mr Englefield's state, so we pushed on once more, my eyes
fixed on the brightening east, where presently the sun came up like a
torch. We now came down on a rapid, clear, green stream, which hurries
to the Lake of Scutari.

The stream widened into a little river, and we suddenly turned to the
right, and went down to its bank through a patch of Indian corn seven
feet high. A number of wild ducks flew out of the reeds, startled
partly by our approach, part