BEAUTIFUL ROAD—ATTACK OF FEVER—ARRIVAL AT BUDUA—BARON HEYDEG AND SIGNOR MARCO MEDIN—A RESTAURANT—OUR HOST—DOCTOR, DENTIST AND APOTHECARY—WALK ROUND THE FORTIFICATIONS—EXPLORATION OF BUDUA—THE PARTING GLASS.

THE twilight of Cattaro was fast merging into darkness when I returned with my companions to the esplanade, where my horses were ready to take me on to Budua. Our adieux were short but cordial, and in a few minutes I was cantering away in company with Signor Jackschich, who lives in a villa a couple of miles away from Cattaro. 281

If the tracks and paths of Montenegro are rugged and wild, the beautiful road we were now travelling on made ample amends for the discomfort I had endured in riding during the last few days. As we passed Signor Jackschich's villa, I insisted on his remaining there, or his courtesy would have induced him to keep me company ever so much further on; so wishing him adieu for the twentieth time, I lit my cigar, and sticking spurs into my pony, cantered away on my road to Budua. The ride was not interesting. I started too late; I should have remembered that in those latitudes, except at Cattaro, there is no twilight.

On leaving Cattaro the road is at first directly south, leading across the isthmus of the peninsula which forms the western shore of the gulf of that name. Having reached the sea, it continues to skirt the Adriatic, except in those places where to avoid rounding a headland it runs inland straight across the base of the promontory.

The night was fine, and we got on famously, but whether in consequence of the good dinner, or the genial sensation produced by the atmosphere, 282 or the early hour I had risen in the morning, when it came to be about eleven o'clock an indescribable feeling of lassitude and intense sleepiness came over me. I would have given anything to lie down even for half-an-hour; but it was out of the question, as we were at that time crossing a sort of marsh, and there was not a dry spot to lie down on. So I was compelled to ride on; but I suspect I dozed, and then during those moments of extreme lassitude and prostration, when my vital powers were standing at their lowest, I fear I imbibed some of those zymotic germs, some malarious molecules, which a few days later manifested themselves by a smart attack of fever. Thanks, however, to a good constitution and a few doses of quinine, I was able to cut it short in three days, though it stuck to me for a little while longer in the shape of an indescribable sort of malaise.

At one o'clock a.m., we reached the gates of Budua, where I was met by Baron Heydeg and Signor Marco Medin. Heydeg was an officer quartered with his regiment at Budua, whose acquaintance I had made at Pola, and with whom 283 I had subsequently travelled. Medin was a native of Budua, who had left his country many years before, had made money in California, had married there a buxom Irish girl, a native of Ballinrobe, and had now returned, a rich man, to end his days among his relations in Dalmatia.

They had been waiting for me a long time, and had walked some miles on the road to Cattaro to meet me, but were beginning to think I was not going to keep my word.

We were soon seated together at a comfortable supper, and at half-past two a.m. I was finally allowed to retire to my bed, which Medin had kindly procured for me in a private house—because here, as in Cattaro, there is no hotel of any kind.

Tired and sleepy as I was, I passed but an indifferent night, for, notwithstanding that my room had two large windows overlooking the sea, and that I kept them both open, the heat was perfectly stifling.

I was just thinking of going out the next morning about ten, when in walked the Baron and Signor Medin, and we at once adjourned for 284 breakfast at the same place where we had supped the previous night; I say place, as it was neither an inn nor a café. How shall I describe it? The following is the way we got at it, anyhow. In the main street of Budua, near to the land gate, on the left hand as you come in, you meet with five rugged stone steps, flanked by a shaky single iron railing. These lead up to a strong wooden door, which at some period, of its existence may have enjoyed the privilege of paint, but of which no trace remains at the present moment, not even enough to enable one to make a guess at the colour it once enjoyed.

Entering by this door, I found myself in a stuffy, dirty hall, "a terreno" pervaded by a multitude of vile smells, one more awful than the other, but all so dovetailed and commingled that it was perfectly impossible to tell what the composition was. Turning sharp to the left, we mounted a steep stone staircase, at the top of which we were greeted by the same odour that had met us on entering, in which now the smell of assaf?tida and garlic clearly predominated. We found ourselves in the kitchen of the establishment, over 285 which reigned supreme a good-humoured, fat German Frau of fifty or more, assisted by two bright-eyed, sharp-looking Dalmatian lads, begrimed with dirt and shining with grease and perspiration. The Frau piloted us through this kitchen, where the heat must have been 110°, if not more, and brought us into the dining-room, a pretty good-sized room with windows round the three sides of it, the furniture consisting s............