as they had crossed the border and seemingly eluded the vigilance of the Montenegrin frontier guards.  A party of Montenegrins lay in wait for them in Dr. S.’s summer garden (a spot where we had often spent many pleasant hours) and the Turks were challenged.  As an answer the marauders fired at their unseen challengers, doing no harm, but an answering volley killed two of them.  The rest were captured, one only making good his escape, and were brought into the town.  But the volleys had alarmed the whole district, hundreds of men pouring into Podgorica from all the neighbouring villages and hills, till many thousands had assembled.  —­Cetinje, March, 1902.]

But the mischief done was great.  Many families emigrated, much to Prince Nicolas’ anger, for he encourages by every means in his power the extension of the Turkish population.  They bring trade and cultivate the lands far more diligently than the Montenegrin warriors.

So it was that we witnessed during these few days the festival of the Sultan’s birthday, which seemed strangely incongruous considering the mixed feelings of the inhabitants.

In the morning, all the town officials called on the Turkish Consul.  The militia were formed up and the whole, led by the Montenegrin War Banner, proceeded in solemn procession to the principal mosque.  On their return, a royal salute was fired from a bastion of the old wall, and in the evening the town was illuminated.

It was an extraordinary sight, and one not easily to be forgotten.  All the houses stuck candles in every window, by order of the Prince; the market-place and the War Memorial were covered with lamps, but the most striking feature of all was the illumination on a small hill immediately behind the old town.  This hill overlooks the town, and was covered by rows of lamps.  In the streets Turks, Albanians, and Montenegrins jostled each other; at peace, at any rate, for one evening.

A day or two later, a very different spectacle could have been witnessed.  The main street leading to the church on the outskirts of the town was lined by waiting Montenegrins, and not a Turk was to be seen.  Soon a carriage drove rapidly from the church, with a blushing Montenegrin girl and a gold-embroidered Montenegrin at her side.  It was the late Turkish maiden, now a radiant Montenegrin bride and Christian.  Several Turks had been caught endeavouring to approach the church with revolvers concealed, but were promptly turned back.

And so ended an eventful week.

One day, quite by accident, we discovered the arrest-house, or place where prisoners are detained pending their trial and sentence.  We were passing a door which led down by a few steps into a courtyard, when an acquaintance of ours accosted us.

We went inside and spoke to him for some minutes.  He was a merry individual and a clerk in a Government office.

He requested us to bring our camera and photograph him on the next day.  Then he moved and a chain clanked.  Neither of us had realised that this was a prison till that moment, though we had passed that door many times.