Part 19 (1/2)

On the following Sunday during the Ma.s.s, as he turned to his congregation to give the Benediction, to his horror he saw the man with the s.h.i.+rt drawn over all his ragged clothes, in a front row. It was with the greatest difficulty, he concluded, that he could restrain a smile.

We were afforded a novel and striking scene before we left Zatrijebac in the form of an open-air Ma.s.s on Sunday.

The church being in the course of rebuilding, a rough altar had been hastily constructed, or rather knocked up--for it was of most crude workmans.h.i.+p--of wood planks on a small gra.s.s plot.

From nine a.m. onwards the people began to a.s.semble, coming from all parts of the large and straggling district, and sat about in groups gravely talking. Towards eleven o'clock a large number of peasants had arrived, and the altar was covered with not a fair white cloth as usual, but with something suspiciously resembling a long and not overclean towel. A tiny crucifix was placed upon it, and the young priest robed himself there in sight of the whole congregation.

A group of elder men knelt or squatted on the small open s.p.a.ce immediately in front of the High Altar, but the majority of wors.h.i.+ppers ranged themselves under the shade of some small trees and on the low surrounding walls.

These same trees bear weekly a strange and incongruous fruit, for they are used as pegs whereon the Albanians hang their rifles during service. All round, the walls are stacked with rifles, for, like the Puritans of old, they come to church fully armed with rifle, handjar, and revolver, and round their waists, the inevitable bandolier of cartridges.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AFTER Ma.s.s AT ZATRIJEBAC]

On approaching the altar every man pushed back the cloth which is swathed round his half-shaven head, and kneeling, piously crossed himself. The older men displayed even more reverence, and kissed the earth. The younger men were much the same as their cultured and civilised brothers, lounging through the service, half seated on a wall, and barely crossing themselves.

But the general effect was one of great reverence and striking in the extreme. We watched this strange congregation with great interest, and during the most sacred part of the service, when all, even the blase young men, prostrated themselves, the effect was unique.

Picture a cut-throat, shave half his head, leaving a tuft of hair on the back by which he kindly a.s.sists his victor to decapitate him, expecting a like consideration in return, long drooping moustachios, clad in Turkish clothes, a belt full of cartridges, with revolver and murderous-looking yataghan artistically displayed--of such was this congregation. Men who half-an-hour afterwards would shoot an enemy in the course of a vendetta, or otherwise, without any thought of remorse. Yes, and coolly cut off his head and bring it home to his admiring wife and daughters, now so discreetly and respectfully kneeling behind them. This is not an over-drawn picture. It happens often.

Of such consisted the congregation under the green trees, blue sky, brilliant suns.h.i.+ne, in that perfect landscape this Sunday morning. And of such is peopled a part of the vast country of Albania. A people who hold human life as nothing--a reckless and brave nation of devout Roman Catholics.

At the conclusion of the service we came in for a lot of inspection, and going in to dine soon afterwards we chanced to look out of the window overlooking the scene of the morning Ma.s.s. Still a great crowd hung about, and on the late High Altar sat men smoking cigarettes.

After dinner we bade farewell to our young host, amidst honest regrets on both sides. The Franciscan had given us a new insight into the mysteries of life.

CHAPTER XVII

A modern hero, and our sojourn under his roof--Keco's story--The laws of Vendetta and their incongruity--We return to Podgorica--The Montenegrin telephone--An elopement causes excitement--The Sultan's birthday--The reverse of the picture--A legal anomaly.

”At Fundina,” said Dr. S., ”you will meet one of the modern heroes of Montenegro. A man named Keco, whose fame has reached to the uttermost ends of the land.”

We had bidden farewell to our host and were riding past the last houses and huts of the clan of Zatrijebac on our way to Fundina. The path tended downwards, and shortly the great plain of the Zeta burst suddenly into view as we rounded a corner of the mountains. Beyond lay the Lake of Scutari with its background of mountains.

It was early in the evening when we reined in our horses before a modest stone house and dismounted. It was Fundina, a straggling village built on the sloping sides of a mountain from which it takes its name.

Voivoda Marko, the hero of Medun, defeated the Turks on these slopes in the first engagement of the last war, successfully inaugurating the campaigning which secured to Montenegro all the territory through which we had been riding for so many weeks, including the towns of Podgorica and Nikic, and the great valley now stretched at our feet.

Podgorica lies like an oasis of green trees on the rolling, but treeless, plain.

The Albanian border is but a rifle-shot away, and the village of Dino and the fortress of Tusi are plainly to be seen.

We decided to spend the night here and hear Keco's story, though Podgorica was only three hours' distance. It would be a fitting finish to our mountain tour to sleep on the battlefield of Fundina, and in the house of a modern hero.

”I warn you,” remarked the doctor, ”that Keco much belies his deeds by his appearance.”

Keco was not in his house when we arrived, and we had our ceremonial and inevitable black coffee brought to us on a small natural platform of rock overlooking the magnificent valley.

Shortly afterwards a small and insignificant man approached us, with haggard looks and grey hair. He greeted the doctor effusively.

”This is Keco,” said Dr. S.