Part 8 (1/2)
”That man,” said he, ”is the famous Achmet Uiko. A terrible man, who has killed many men, and at the present moment there is an enormous sum of money on his head in Albania.”
We then went to him, and asked him to come to our hotel to-morrow, and to tell us the story of his life. He consented readily, saying that he would be with us at nine next morning, ”if,” he added significantly, ”nothing occurred to detain him.”
It happened that evening that an Englishman arrived on a short tour through the country, believing firmly that everything was as safe and as orderly as the average stranger thinks. A Turkish girl had been abducted from her home shortly before, and the town was in a state of great excitement, as it was the second case within the last few weeks.
A rising of the Turkish inhabitants was feared nightly, and the house where the girl was confined--previous to her marriage with her Montenegrin lover--was carefully guarded by a score of armed Montenegrins.
We took the Englishman to this house, and as we were showing him the men with rifles around the doors and windows, we heard sounds of a sharp rifle fire some distance away on the border. Not long afterwards a Montenegrin doubled into the town with a report that heavy firing had been taking place at the village of Dino. Nothing further came of it, but our countryman went to bed with other ideas of Montenegro.
We awaited Achmet next morning, but at nine he had not arrived, and we began to wonder, as the hours went by, if his fate had at last overtaken him. But at noon he turned up, as quiet and self-possessed as yesterday, and excused himself in the following way. The Albanians who had expressed such murderous desires upon him yesterday at the market lived in Dino, and he had spent the night in emptying his magazine rifle repeatedly into their village.
”To show these dogs,” he concluded, ”that they cannot express such wishes to me with impunity.”
His story, which is given shortly here, was taken down from his lips, but it is impossible to reproduce the man's quaint phraseology. He spoke in an indifferent way, and detailed all the circ.u.mstances in a most matter-of-fact manner and without the faintest trace of boasting.
He was born in Podgorica, then Turkish, and at fifteen fought in his first battle, killing three men. At seventeen he had a fight in the town, and was forced to flee to Scutari, where, shortly afterwards, he entered the Turkish service as a gendarme. He took unto himself a wife, but finding her faithless, he laid a trap to catch her and her lover together, when he killed them both. After this Achmet returned to Podgorica, where he was at once seized and imprisoned for his original offence, but he soon broke out and fled to the Albanian mountains. Here he lived as a robber until things began to get too hot for him, and he fled to Bosnia. In Bosnia he was the guest of a Serb, who befriended him, and when a Turk seduced his benefactor's wife, he killed the Turk to show his grat.i.tude, and again was forced to flee the country. He next turned up in Antivari, where he was promptly imprisoned, but he overpowered the warder, took his rifle, and again escaped.
At this time the town captain of Dulcigno had been murdered, in revenge for a deadly insult, by a young Kuc, named Jovan, and Achmet was sent for, on the promise of pardon if he would follow Jovan into Albania and kill him. This he did, bringing Jovan's head with him as evidence. For this he received a large reward, and the Prince of Montenegro, having heard of him and his deeds, sent for him, pardoning all his previous offences, besides giving him one hundred napoleons.
Achmet now settled down at his present home near Podgorica, but was caught by the Turks and imprisoned on a false charge for four months, when he was able to prove an alibi.
Achmet fought in many border fights with the Montenegrins against the Albanians and distinguished himself greatly. Two Albanians once attacked the son of a famous standard-bearer, whose life he saved, capturing the a.s.sailants alive and bringing them into Podgorica. For this act the Prince gave him an old fortress for his home, and where he still lives.
Later on Jovan's brother, whom he had killed near Dulcigno, came early one morning to Achmet and fired at him; but Achmet caught him, and again brought his prisoner alive into the town, where he received ten years' imprisonment. These deeds are all the more remarkable as he brought his captures alive and delivered them over to justice. It is, firstly, not customary to take men alive; secondly, the feat is of extreme difficulty, for men fight to a finish in these lands.
Achmet is known to disappear periodically for several weeks, but of these affairs he would say nothing. But the most striking and romantic episode of this marvellous man's life has yet to be told.
Recently he was caught by his now arch enemies, the Turks, and imprisoned in the powerful fortress of Tusi, a few miles from Podgorica. Not content with putting on the usual extremely heavy chains, they added to their prisoner a second set of fetters. But friends smuggled into his possession a file, concealed in a loaf of bread. He filed through his chains, and the day previous to his escape he noticed a lot of straw bedding lying at the foot of the fortress walls. That night he completed the filing of the fetters, broke open the cell-door, and rus.h.i.+ng through the sleeping soldiers he jumped the wall, landing without hurt on the pile of straw bedding below. Though fired at and pursued, he escaped unhurt.
We heard many such stories, but the story of Achmet was certainly the best, and these men do not lie. As the man took his leave, he gave us a pressing invitation to visit his fortress home in the mountains.
”I will slaughter my best lamb,” he added, as a special inducement.
There was another highly interesting personality living in Podgorica, an ex-Albanian chief and refugee from his country, named Sokol Baco.
This fine old fellow, standing well over six feet, looked fifty instead of his sixty-five years, and had an equally interesting past.
As a youth he had fought in many battles for the Turks, and was eventually selected with five other young men of high standing for the personal bodyguard of the Sultan. While on leave, which he was spending in his Albanian home, the order came for the disarming of the whole of Albania. Sokol's tribe refused, as did most of these warlike clans, though Sokol advised obedience. But his clan remained obdurate, and he was placed in the awkward predicament of being either considered a traitor by his countrymen or by his Sovereign. Sokol threw in his lot with his clan, and led them in battle against a Turkish force; but though he fought like a lion, the clan were defeated, and he was forced to fly. For many years Sokol lived in the Albanian mountains, half robber and wholly patriot; but the pursuit became too keen, and he came to Podgorica, where he entered the service of Prince Nicolas. His new Prince he serves loyally, and is highly esteemed in Montenegro, where he will doubtless end his days.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ACHMET UIKO]
[Ill.u.s.tration: SOKOL BACO]
While still comparatively new to the country, we once went for a week's shooting to the Lake of Scutari. Water-fowl abound there in marvellous numbers, consisting chiefly of crane, heron, thousands of duck, and a fair number of pelicans.
We had selected the island of Vranjina for our headquarters, known in history as the site of a famous treaty signed there between the Montenegrins and Venetians in the first half of the fifteenth century.
It lies at the north or Montenegrin end of the lake.
As we were given to understand that we could drive to the lake, or at least to the River Moraca, and thence take boat to the island, we loaded our carriage with ample luggage. With our guide's usual and admirable mismanagement, we were landed after a two hours' drive on the banks of the Moraca, unable to get further without the carriage toppling down a steep bank into the rapid river. The driver unceremoniously bundled our traps on to the ground and drove happily off. The only person in sight was a diminutive girl, whom the guide promptly impressed into our service, and an appalling load was heaped upon her. Then a small boy appeared, and so we were able to make another start. The day was exceedingly hot, but we got some shooting to make up for it. We crossed the river in a crazy ferry, found some men, and later on a boat, and reached the famous village of abljak about one o'clock. The village is still overlooked by a formidable fortress, but in the rude collection of huts it was hard to see the ancient capital of Montenegro, the home of the famous Black Prince dynasty.
One of the most wretched inns that it was our lot to find in Montenegro received us and our baggage. The village of course turned out to inspect us, and watched us eat our meal with interest. It was of the usual kind, consisting of eggs, raw ham, eggs, and dessert of _more_ hard-boiled eggs, washed down with a remarkably sour wine.