The winter was well commenced, but only in the higher districts was the snow on the ground.

I returned, therefore, to Cettinje, where I was now received as a tried friend.
At the time of which I am now writing there were practically no roads in Montenegro but bridle-paths, over large stretches of which it was unsafe to ride, even the Montenegrins dismounting, whether going up or down.

That passage between Cettinje and Rieka, on the Lake of Scutari, was one of the worst I have ever found in the principality.

The lower part, nearing Rieka, was simply a Cyclopean stairway, with rocky steps so high that the horses had to _jump_ down from one to another.

My cavalcade consisted of a Montenegrin soldier for guide, a Montenegrin student, and the horse-boy, necessary to lead the horses when, as was the case for a large part of the way, we could not ride them; and halfway down to Rieka we were overtaken by a deaf-mute porter, sent as a kind afterthought by the Prince, with a samovar and a provision of tea, sugar, etc., in view of the dearth of comforts beyond.