Chapter THREE

Among Real Brigands--King Nicholas and the Skreli Brigands--I
am the First Englishman to Visit them--Life with a Brigand
Band--Vatt Marashi, Chief of the Skreli--The Brigand’s Code
of Honour--Keeping Strange Company.

A year, almost to the day, after my first visit to Montenegro, I was back again in Cettigné, for I had resolved upon an adventure. I always seek to see new countries and new people for the purpose of writing novels, and trying to interest the public that has always been so kind and generous to me.

I had travelled from London by way of Trieste, and taken the Austrian Lloyd steamer, the _Graf von Wurmbrand_, to Cattaro, and then up that ladder-like road to Cettigné, where I arrived one summer’s afternoon. I called at the Palace, and wrote my name in the visitors’ book.

Within a couple of hours I was handed a command to audience. I went, and when His Majesty King Nicholas had greeted me I told him the object of my visit, saying:

“I want, your Majesty, to be allowed to go into Northern Albania, and see the mountain tribes of which so much has been said.”

“The Skreli brigands!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes in what we Montenegrins call ‘The Accursed Mountains’?”

I replied that such was my desire, whereupon he said:

“Take my advice. Don’t go. If you do, you will never return. Or you may be held to ransom, just as the American lady, Miss Stone, was. You will probably be shot at sight, like a dog. The whole country is in a lawless state. You have no idea what those uncivilized tribes are like. They are on our frontier, so I know. You are too venturesome,” declared he.

But I was determined to see what the country was like in those distant misty mountains, and I pressed His Majesty to assist me.

Twice I saw him, and on the third occasion he very reluctantly gave me, as servant, a young, black-haired, eagle-eyed man, named Palok, one of his own servants, who was a member of the tribe of the Skreli, the dreaded brigands of Albania.

Our preparations for our adventurous journey occupied four days, and on the fifth King Nicholas was kind enough to ride down to the shore of the Lake of Scutari to see us off in a boat.

“Be careful!” said he. “I have given Palok a letter to Vatt Marashi, the chief of the Skreli, asking him to give you safe conduct. I hope he will. But I am much against your adventure, Monsieur Le Queux. While you are away I shall be thinking of you. If you be held to ransom, they will say I am to blame, but there--well, _S’bogom!_ (God be with you.) But come back, and tell me all about it.”

In all the Slav countries “_S’bogom_” is a common salutation on greeting or taking farewell of a friend. And on that early summer’s morning, I felt as I was rowed across the lake that I was going into a savage, unknown region--as I really was.

At Scutari, Palok left me for six days, and returned with a fellow tribesman named Rok, a tall, cadaverous-looking ruffian. He told me that he had been up in the mountains, and that the dreaded Vatt Marashi had invited me to his forbidden fastness.

Next day we set out for the Accursed Mountains.

The Northern Albanian may be entirely uneducated, a barbarian, and at heart a brigand, but is certainly no fool.

My new friend Rok was particularly intelligent, and as we toiled along over those rough, rock-strewn paths and spoke in Italian, he gave me much information about his country, and declared that Austria and Italy were both equally their enemy.

After sunset, we rested at a point high up above a dark, gloomy defile, where a stream wound away towards the plain, and there we ate some slices of cold mutton and black bread and drank a glass of _rakhi_, the rifles of my companions lying at hand in case of sudden emergency.

I had noticed the queer, sinuous, almost uncanny way in which Rok walked. His movements at even pace irrespective of the state of the path, were stealthy. Indeed, he almost crept along, for his feet fell silently; and, with his rifle ever ready, his keen black eyes were searching every side for the enemy that he appeared to expect to meet at every turn. It was an uncanny experience.

Sometimes, as he walked in front, he would halt, and closely scan a mass of tumbled rocks, as though he suspected a lurking enemy; then, thoroughly satisfying himself, he would go forward again without glancing back. He was certain that no enemy was in his rear.

From his movements and natural caution, I could plainly see that we were traversing a country not altogether friendly, so when we sat over our evening meal, I asked Palok. His reply was:

“The Shiala are not on very friendly terms with the Skreli just now. But it is nothing, _signore_, nothing.”

We went forward till darkness closed in, and then lay down to sleep under an overhanging rock almost on the face of a sheer precipice, a place in which Rok told us he often stayed on his way down to Skodra (Scutari). He humorously called it his _han_, or hotel.

We dare not light a fire for fear of attracting hostile attention, and the cold up there was intense. I tried to sleep, but was unable, therefore I arose, sat outside in the bright, glorious moonlight, and kept watch, while Rok curled himself up like a dog and snored soundly in chorus with Palok.

There, in the East, the full moon seems to shine with greater brilliance than in Northern Europe, and beneath its white rays those bare, rugged mountains looked like a veritable fairyland. Only the cry of a night-bird and the low music of the stream far below broke the stillness of the Oriental night, and as I sat there I reflected that I was the first Englishman who had ever been the guest of the redoubtable chieftain, Vatt Marashi, the man whom the Turks so hated, the man of whom blood-curdling tales had been told me both in Montenegro and in Skodra, and whose fame as a leader of a wild band had not long before been proclaimed by the London newspapers.

For hours I sat thinking, sometimes of my good fortune, at others of my perilous position alone in the hands of such a people. But I had heard that, notwithstanding their barbaric customs, an Albanian’s word was his bond. Therefore I reassured myself that I should not be the victim of treachery and reported to Constantinople as “missing.”

Slowly at last the moon paled, and I grew sleepy. That terrible road had worn me out. Therefore I woke Palok to mount guard, and flung myself down in his place and slept till the sun, shining in my face, awakened me.

Through the whole day we went forward again, over a path so bad that I often had to scramble with difficulty. I tried to ride the mule, but it was out of the question, so I walked and stumbled, and was helped over the rough boulders by my companions. The Skreli country was surely an unapproachable region.

That night we slept again in the open, but in a spot less sheltered. Then on once more with the first grey of dawn, till, just before noon, Rok halted in the narrow track that wound around the face of the bare grey mountain, and, drawing his revolver, fired three times into the air.

The shots reverberated in a series of echoes. It was a signal, and almost ere they had died away came three answering shots from no great distance, and I was told that we were now in the Skreli region, and there was nothing more to fear.

In Podgoritza, in Cettigné, in Skodra, and in Djakova I had heard terrible stories of this fighting race, and of Vatt’s fierce hatred of the Turks. Yet everyone had told me that, the chief having invited me, I need not have a moment’s apprehension of my personal safety.

So I went forward, reassured, to meet my host.

Half an hour later I came face to face with real brigands--brigands who looked like illustrations out of a boy’s story-book, the men who had so often held up travellers and compelled the Turkish Government to pay heavy ransoms.

There were about twenty, certainly the fiercest and most bloodthirsty gang on which I have ever set my eyes. They were dressed in the usual skin-tight white woollen trousers, with broad black bands running down the legs, a short white jacket, also black-braided, the sleeveless woolly bolero of mourning, hide shoes with uppers consisting of a network of string, and small white skull-caps. Each man carried in his belt a great silver-mounted pistol of antique type and a silver-sheathed, curved knife, while around both shoulders were well-filled bandoliers, and in the hand of each a rifle. Like Rok, the heads of all were shaven, leaving a long tuft at the back, in the mediæval Florentine style.

With one accord they all raised their rifles aloft and shouted me welcome, whereupon one man stepped forward--a big, muscular fellow with handsome face and proud gait--the great chief Vatt Marashi himself!

Attired very much as his followers, his dress was richer, the jacket being ornamented with gold braid. The silver hilt of his pistol was studded with coral and green stones, probably emeralds, but he carried no rifle. Jauntily, and laughing merrily, he approached me, and bent till his forehead touched mine--the Skreli sign of welcome.

And all this in Europe in the twentieth century!

Was I dreaming? Was it real? I was the guest of actual brigands, those men about whom I had read in story-books!

Vatt Marashi, holding my hand the while, addressed me. What he said was interpreted into Italian by Palok as:

“You are welcome here to my country--very welcome. And you are an Englishman, and have travelled so far to see us! It is wonderful--wonderful! You live so far away--farther than Constantinople, they say. Well, I cannot give you much here or make you very comfortable--not so comfortable as you have been down in Skodra. But I will do my best. Come, let us eat.”

I returned his greeting, whereupon the whole crowd of us walked along to a spot where a cauldron was standing on a wood fire, and out of it my host, myself, and Palok had pieces of boiled chicken and rice that had especially been prepared for my coming.

The object of this meal, I afterwards learnt, was to cement our friendship. The Albanian code of honour is astounding, even to our Western ideas. A word once given by those Albanian tribes is never broken, and if the stranger eats the food of the Skreli, even though he prove an enemy, his person is sacred for twenty-four hours afterwards. While the food remains undigested he may not be injured or captured.

So while I ate with this wild chieftain his band squatted round, apparently discussing me.

It was probably the first time they had seen an Englishman, Palok explained, and they were at first inclined to regard me as a secret agent of the Government, till later that afternoon their chief assured them to the contrary.

Then that wild horde, to a man, became my devoted servants. I photographed them, and the picture appeared in my book on the Near East, together with Princess Xenia’s photographs.

Vatt, the _Baryaktar_ (from the Turkish _bairakdar_, or standard-bearer), unlike most Albanians, was fair-haired, above the average height, and extremely muscular. He had a constant smile of hearty good-fellowship. His eyes were fierce and barbaric; nevertheless, he was pleasant of countenance, and I certainly found him, from first to last, a staunch and excellent friend.

Lord of those wild, rugged mountains, his word was obeyed with a precision that amazed me. A striking figure he presented as, with me, he marched at head of his bodyguard, his chest thrown out proudly, his head up, his keen eyes ever searching forward like every Albanian of the hills, the wildest ruler of wildest Europe.

On every side, as we went forward to the tiny clusters of little houses that formed the village where I was to be quartered, were bare grey limestone rocks, without a single blade of grass, a desolate mountain region into which no foreigner had penetrated except when captured and held to ransom, as Miss Stone had been, the United States Government having paid a large sum for her release. Through centuries have that same tribe ruled that barren land, and no conqueror of Albania has ever succeeded in ousting them.

“You have, no doubt, heard down in Scutari terrible things about me,” he said, laughing, as, later on, we walked together. He had rolled me a cigarette and given it to me unstuck. “I expect you feared to come and see me--eh?”

I admitted that I had heard things of him not altogether calculated to make me feel at ease.

“Ah!” he laughed, “that is because the Turks do not like us. Whenever a Turkish soldier puts his foot a kilometre outside Skodra, we either take away his Mauser and send him back, or else--well, we shoot him first.”

“But they say that your men capture travellers.”

“And why not?” he asked. “We are Christians. Is it not permissible for us to do everything to annoy those devils of Turks? But,” he added, “if they say that I treat my prisoners badly, they lie. Why, they get plenty of food and are well treated. I give them some shooting if they like, and they generally enjoy themselves. But I know. I too have been told that the Turks say I once cut off a man’s ears. Bah! all Turks are liars!”

“Then it is only to annoy the Turks that your men commit acts of brigandage?”

“Of course. The ransom is useful to us, I admit, but we live by our flocks, and our wants are few. We are not like the people down in Skodra. We are better, I hope.”

“And do you always watch the roads on the other side of the mountains yonder?”

“Always. Our men are there now, all along the route between Ipek and Prisrend. Who knows who may not pass along--a rich pasha perhaps.” And his face relaxed into a humorous smile at the thought of such a prize.

Then I marched along--a brigand for the nonce, like my host!

Surely it was one of the quaintest experiences of a varied and adventurous life.

The tiny house in which I was given quarters had an earthen floor, and consisted of two rooms, the ceilings and walls of which were blackened by the smoke of years. The owner was an old man with a wife and married daughter, the latter being a pretty young woman of about nineteen, dressed in the gorgeous gala costume with golden sequins, identical with those I saw down at Scutari during the _festà_. In my honour she wore her finest garments, and her husband, a good-looking young fellow five years her senior, seemed justly proud of her. His name was Lûk. I named him “Lucky,” but he did not appreciate the wit. He was, I found, one of the chiefs bodyguard who had come to greet me at the confines of the Skreli territory, and proved a most sociable fellow, ever ready to render me a service.

“These good people will look after you and make you as comfortable as they can,” my host said, when he had introduced me to them. “I have to go along the ravine, but will return in time to eat with you this evening. You like good cigarettes? I will send you some.” And he shook my hands, and, turning, went out, stalking again at the head of his ferocious-looking band.

The bedroom, occupied in common by the family, was given over to me. My bed on the floor was a big sack filled with dried maize-leaves. It was not inviting, but Palok, having examined it critically, declared it to be “_Cosi-cosi!_” and, having slept out for a couple of nights, I was compelled to accept his verdict.

The girl in the sequins boiled us coffee over the fire, and with her father and husband I sat outside the house in the golden sunset, smoking and chatting. Both were full of curiosity. England was to them a mere legendary land, but they knew more of London. When I mentioned it, they declared that it could not possibly be so large as Skodra!

I told them of Cettigné and of other towns in Montenegro I had visited, but they held all Montenegro in contempt, for were they not always raiding over the frontier? Lûk declared that he had walked in Podgoritza openly, and in the market-place shot a man with whom he was in _gyak_, or blood-feud.

“I walked out again, and no one dared to stop me,” he added, with pride. “It would have been worse for them if they had!”

“But the Montenegrins are no cowards” I ventured to remark.

“Certainly not. They are very brave, but they dare not follow us here. They always get lost in the mountains, and once they lose their way they lose their lives,” he added, with a grin. “Our men killed four over yonder mountain a few days ago.”

“The blood-feud?”

“Of course. It arose out of that.”

From the half-dozen other poor mountain homes came forth men, women, and children, who grouped around us, watching us with curiosity. According to Palok, rumour had at first gone round that I was a prisoner, therefore they had refrained from gathering round to see me. Now, however, they knew the truth, they welcomed me as their guest.

Just before it grew dark the _Baryaktar_ returned, followed by his bodyguard, without whom he never seemed to move. They did his bidding, executed his orders, and were ever at his beck and call--the picked men of the tribe.

While Vatt squatted on the floor, I sat on my battered old suit-case, and together we ate a kind of mutton stew, rather rich but not unpalatable. There was an absence of table cutlery, therefore we ate with the aid of our pocket-knives and fingers. Now and then the old woman would pick a tit-bit out of the pot and hand it to me with her fingers. I was compelled to accept the well-meant hospitality, even though her hands were not particularly clean.

The hot dish was tasty, but I could not manage the sour black bread, for it was mouldy and gritty into the bargain.

It was a weird picture, the interior of that lowly hut, lit by a dim oil lamp similar to those used by the early Greeks. The uncertain firelight glinted on the sequin-ornamented dresses of the chieftain and of Lûk’s pretty wife, throwing, now and then, into relief those strangely unfamiliar faces that recalled the barbarians of an age bygone and forgotten. The very language they were speaking was, as an unwritten one, utterly incomprehensible and unintelligible to any but the born Albanian.

It was difficult to believe that it was really only a very few weeks ago that I had driven a car from London down to Brighton, that I had dined at White’s, and, with a lady, had trod the red carpet of the Savoy after the theatre.

And to-night I was actually having supper with real live brigands of the mountains!

Lûk produced a bottle of _rakhi_, and Vatt Marashi lifted his tin mug to me. I took a little of the potent spirit in the bottom of my own drinking-cup, and tossed it off. It was not half so bad as I expected.

Then, as I rubbed my eyes, on account of the smoke, the chief took me outside the house, and in the clear moonlight we sat down with Palok on a big rock to chat.

He rolled me a cigarette of most excellent Turkish tobacco--of his own growing, he told me--lit one himself, and we sipped the thick, sweet coffee brought to us by Lûk’s wife.

The scene stretching before us was superb--a magnificent panorama of mountains, some tipped with snow, white and brilliant under the moonbeams. Below us, the valley was a great chasm, and lay in unfathomable blackness.

With my strange host, I chatted about many subjects, and found him far more intelligent than I would have believed. Keen-witted, quick of perception, just in his judgment, and yet filled with an intense hatred alike for both Turk and Montenegrin, he explained to me many things of great interest.

He told me of the glorious traditions of his sturdy race, and of the prince of the Skender Beg family, who, they hoped, would one day come back to rule them.

“We, the chieftains, hold authority from him,” he declared. “Oh, yes, he will come some day. Of that we are quite certain.”

“Englishmen have never dared to come here, have they?” I asked, with some curiosity.

“Only once, a year or two ago. I discovered three of your compatriots poking about in the rocks and chipping little pieces off. I had them captured, and brought to me. At first I thought I would hold them to ransom and make the Turks pay. But they were evidently poor fellows, for their clothes were worn almost to rags, and they had very little money. So I gave them their money back and sent them with an escort down to the plain, forbidding them to enter our country again. I wonder why they came, and why they were chipping the rocks?”

I told him that they were evidently mining prospectors; that Englishmen travelled all over the world to discover minerals; and that a mine in his country would be a source of great wealth. But my explanation did not appeal to him. He could not see why they were chipping off those pieces of rock. It was not flint, otherwise they might have wanted them for gun-locks. No, the trio were distinctly suspicious characters, and he was glad that he had expelled them.

“Have you ever held an Englishman to ransom?” I inquired.

“One. Five years ago. He came here shooting--after bears, I think. He was evidently a great gentleman, for his guns were beautiful. The Turks paid promptly.”

“Because he was an Englishman, eh?”

“Most probably,” he laughed. “Are they afraid of you English as they are afraid of us?”

Soon afterwards he bade me good-night. Then I threw myself down on my mattress of leaves and listened to the snoring of Palok and the assembled family in the adjoining room.

I had thought Skodra barbaric, but here I was in an utterly unknown corner of the earth, in an absolutely savage land--a land that knew no law and acknowledged no master; a land that is the same to-day, even after the war, as it was in the days of Diocletian and of Constantine the Great--Albania the Unchanging.