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Updated: May 14, 2025
We left Podgorica about 6.30, accompanied by Dr. S., who came with us partly on business and partly out of friendship. As he knew the country perfectly, he did much to render our tour more interesting. The mountains ascend abruptly, and our path was for some hours along the turbulent Morača, which we met at the end of the plain. In five minutes we were surrounded by mountain scenery.
The Club and its members Gugga Irregularities of time The absence of the gentle muse and our surprise The musician's story and his subsequent fate The Black Earth A typical border house The ordeal of infancy A realistic performance which is misunderstood Concerning a memorable drive A fervent prayer. Before we leave Podgorica for good our readers must be introduced to the Club.
Not far from Podgorica, at the junction of the rivers Morača and Zeta, lie the remains of the once famous Dioclea or Dukla, as it is locally called. The town is of Roman origin, and was surrounded by a complete moat, which the Romans formed by digging a channel between the rivers.
There are no lawyers or costs; each man brings his own case and witnesses in civil matters, and criminals are dealt with summarily that is to say, his district captain sends him in chains to Podgorica, where he receives his final sentence.
Their names and addresses are hurriedly scribbled and handed with many peremptory requests for the picture to be sent as soon as possible. Just before we left Cetinje, on our way to Podgorica, during our first visit, a bowing and deeply humble individual accosted us in the hotel. When he had straightened himself up a bit, and we could see his face, we recognised one of the prison warders.
This led to words and words to revolvers, and the man was shot. Then the egg was found to be a clever imitation in stone. Though Podgorica is the trading centre of Montenegro, business is not carried on in the same brisk way as in other lands. We once wished to send a parcel of feathers home, and went accordingly to the post office.
We wired to the hotel in Cetinje in the morning, ordering supper to be ready for eight o'clock. Then we had hoped to leave at one p.m. At two we again wired from Podgorica for supper to be delayed till ten. A hundred yards from the town we stopped, and the driver mended some harness with a piece of wire. A mile further on something else broke.
Like Esau, with the smell of the field upon them, they love to listen, too, to stories of unknown lands, where the houses are even larger and finer than those of Cetinje or Podgorica, which towns many even have not seen; but too much of the outside world one cannot tell them, for then they look hurt at being deemed so childish.
Suddenly the old man stopped his wild yelling and burst out laughing. He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. We glanced behind us at the loophole door, and there, with a horrified look, peered our driver, revolver in hand. He thought that we were being murdered. He was a foreigner and new to Podgorica, but more of him anon.
For their violating the border laws? No, for deserting their comrade, and leaving him to meet his death alone, and the sentence for this craven deed is ten years. Next morning we rode into Podgorica, and comparative civilisation, after a period of roughing it of the hardest description.
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