244 BIRD-HUNTING 



these people and their poor belongings — bedding, 

 brightly coloured chests, and rude bundles. They 

 take a deck passage to Cattaro, from whence they 

 are transhipped to New York. I heard they earned 

 good wages in the States, and send money back to 

 their relatives in Montenegro. 



Though the passengers — mostly German and 

 Austrian tourists — and the ship's officials might 

 consider them savages, I knew from previous expe- 

 rience that, despite the shouting and bravado and 

 flourish of revolvers, they carried sore hearts in their 

 breasts at parting from their rugged birthplace, and 

 that sad eyes will strain through the falling tears 

 for the last sight of the ship as she fades away from 

 the vision of those left behind on the shore. 



But there was no time for sentiment. I could see 

 several friendly faces as the boat drew near, and as 

 soon as the Montenegrins had all surged on board I 

 had my luggage stored away in it, while I inquired 

 about horses to tranship it to the town. Nikola was 

 there, smiling a welcome, and I was overwhelmed 

 with offers of cigarettes from all and sundry. It 

 was a very different arrival from that first one only 

 twelve months before. Even the men in charge 

 of the packhorses grinned at me delightedly, and 

 kept rolling cigarettes to offer me as we clambered 

 up the rocky terraces through the grey-green olive 

 trees. I felt quite an habitui of the place, and the 



