On the 2nd of July I was up betimes. I had taken my place for Zara on board the 'San Carlo,' a small coasting steamer which trades down the Dalmatian side of the Adriatic, going in and out among that archipelago of islands which fringe the coast of Dalmatia from the mouth of the Guarnero to the entrance of the Gulf of Cattaro. It was a small, slow, and dirty little steamer, but it stopped everywhere going on its way, and that was just what I wanted.

Small as the vessel was, we had plenty of passengers, and a strange lot they were. We had two Capuchin monks going to Ragusa, one of them a most interesting man of whom I shall have more to say by and by; his lay brother, a simple, ignorant monk, and no more. We had a tall, handsome Dalmatian from Spalato, returning home to end his days in opulence and comfort after spending twenty years in India, where he had accumulated an independence which in Dalmatia will be considered a large fortune. He spoke English remarkably well. Being struck by his hale and robust looks, I asked him how he had managed to preserve his health so well after residing for twenty years in India. "Many of them," added he, "in unhealthy localities." "Simply by not drinking," he answered. "I don't mean to say that I was a water-drinker—not at all, for I believe that water-drinking is nearly as bad as spirit-drinking, and indeed I think I have observed that those who were 'teatotallers' died even sooner than drunkards. But I never drank anything before breakfast, I drank nothing but good, full-bodied claret, and I never took more than two bottles of it a day, and seldom so much; I smoked, but always in moderation, and I never had a day's illness during those twenty years. India is not a bad climate, it is the reckless habits of Europeans that make it apparently so."

We had two other Dalmatians from Sebenico, who also were returning home after residing many years abroad. These two had been in Australia; one had been a digger, and seemed the reverse of well-off; the other had kept a store at some gold-diggings, and had apparently made plenty of money. Both spoke English well, and the last one brought with him from Australia an Irish wife, who had emigrated to the Antipodes all the way from Lurgan. She was a fine comely young woman of about twenty-six, and was overjoyed at finding I knew her native place. In the afternoon I made some tea in my portable kitchen, and gave her a cup of it with some preserved milk, which she declared the most delicious thing she had tasted for many a long day.

The rest of our passengers consisted of country people returning to their homes along the coast of Istria and Dalmatia, after having been to Trieste to dispose of the produce of their lands.

As the clocks struck five, we steamed out of Trieste on one of the finest mornings that could be imagined. The sea was as smooth as a mirror, and of the most intense blue. How often we stopped as we went down the coast of Istria I cannot tell, as we were constantly heaving to for the convenience of passengers going on shore in boats which put off to receive them; we did stop however at Capo d'Istria, and then at Pirano, where I was able to take a rough sketch of that most picturesque little town, with its beautiful mediÆval castle perched on the cliff behind it.

Then we came to Parenzo, where I should very much have liked to go ashore for a couple of hours to look at the cathedral, of which I had heard so much, but unfortunately the little business the steamer had to transact was done in a few minutes, and the Captain would not delay (probably because my bribe was insufficient), so I had to comfort myself with the hope of seeing it on some future occasion, when I trust to be able again to visit all those spots which interested me so much then, as also many other places in the same countries, which accidental circumstances prevented me from seeing.

The Cathedral of Parenzo, which I was so anxious to see, and which had been described to me by a friend at Trieste as a meraviglia, was founded by Bishop Eupatius, and completed in the year 526; it is therefore as old as St. Sophia of Constantinople, and older than any other Cathedral in Europe. "It is said to have a semicircular apse behind the altar, with the Bishop's throne, and seats on either side for the clergy, instances of which are now so rarely to be met with."[2]...

"At the east end is a round apse, as glorious in its mosaics as St. Mark's, or St. Sophia. Every part of the wall and rounded roof is covered with mosaics, &c. A group of nine saints and angels surrounding the Blessed Virgin and Child, on a golden background, is exquisitely done. Heads of saints adorn the arches, all are beautiful. Below these, to about ten feet high, the walls are inlaid with whole shells of mother-of-pearl let into a dark brown stone; it looks just like a piece of Damascus furniture, and though rude it is effective and beautiful.

"The flooring of the whole church is of course mosaic, in Byzantine patterns, the same as in Murano and St. Mark's; but one can scarcely look at anything after the wall mosaics, save the capitals of the columns. The pillars themselves are of a fine brown marble; the capitals are identically the same as those in Santa Sophia, one more exquisitely under-cut than the other into lace-work of leaves, flowers, birds, &c.; they are perhaps a little bolder than those of St. Sophia, but full of life and spirit, not a line wasted nor a thought thrown away. I longed to sketch them, but I could only hope they may one day be photographed; Jerusalem and Constantinople alone can rival them.

"The Baldacchino is exceedingly curious and fine, as are also the very ancient altar hangings. There is a splendid altar front, of solid silver gilt, of the Renaissance date. The interest appertaining to this is that it is placed at the back of the altar for high mass, facing the Bishop, who is seated behind the altar, as at Torcello; this is an ancient and I believe unique privilege.

"The Chapel of St. Andrew, at the north-east corner of the church, is very interesting and curious. There has been a porch or cloister at the west entrance, but only two or three columns remain of it. I venture to think this church is well worth a special journey from England to see. I could think of nothing else the rest of the day, although our onward voyage was full of beauty."[3]

We then came to Rovigno with its beautiful campanile, and here again I could not get half an hour to go on shore to look at it, though I believe there is not much more to be seen beside it.

At three p.m. we came in sight of the harbour of Pola—the Portsmouth of Austria;—but Pola itself we could not see, as it lies at the bottom of a bay communicating with the sea by a deep and winding channel, apparently well defended by numerous forts which surround it. The harbour itself is of very considerable dimensions, and so deep that the largest vessels can come alongside the quays.

Although so important a place, there did not appear to be much life or bustle about it. The country around it is flat and marshy, and sometimes in the year very unhealthy. It must have been, however, an important place in the days of ancient Rome, judging from the size of its amphitheatre, and the beauty of the Temple and triumphal arches which still remain, and which constitute after all the great attractions of Pola. They are quite close to the landing, so they can be visited with the utmost facility during the stay which the steamer generally makes there. The amphitheatre alone is worth a special visit, as the exterior of it is perfect, and at a short distance does not even look like a ruin. It dates from the third century and is very fine. It consists of a basement story about four hundred and thirty feet in length, by three hundred and fifty feet in width, surmounted by two tiers of arches, with half columns of the Tuscan order between each, all about eighty feet high.

Beautifully preserved as is the exterior, the condition of the interior is most disappointing, as nothing remains of the internal arrangement except on one side, the one furthest from the sea, where there are still a few seats cut in the rock, some even bearing what most probably were the initials of their owners carved into them.

What can have caused this utter ruin of all the accommodation for the spectators? Have the natives from time to time removed the building materials from the inside, for the purpose of building the modern town? not daring to lay a sacrilegious hand on the shell of the building itself, which bore no semblance to a ruin, while at the same time they treated the interior as a quarry! or were the seats made of woodwork, and destroyed by fire, as some have imagined?

The steamer always remains long enough to permit the traveller to visit the amphitheatre and the temples, as well as the triumphal arches, and to take a stroll through the Piazza. I did so, and still further improved the passing hour by eating an excellent dinner al fresco under a pergola of vines at the Trattoria of the place.

It was just dark as I got on board again, having been warned by the unmusical steam-whistle that the vessel would soon be under way again. Just before starting, a military band came to play before the Commandant's house, which is on the quays just opposite to where the steamer was moored. It being now dark, the band was accompanied by a score of soldiers carrying a peculiarly shaped lantern fastened to the top of a pole, to enable the men to see their music. At first as the band came marching down the quays with their lights dancing high up in the air before and behind, I could not make out what it was, and only for the liveliness of the music I might have thought it was a funeral, the whole thing was very picturesque and the music excellent. At last we got under way and steamed out of the harbour on our way to the coast of Dalmatia, across the Gulf of the Quarnero, so well known for its dangerous navigation and so much dreaded even by the hardy sailors of the Adriatic, when swept by the fierce impetuous Bora.

Fortunately for me, who am not the most intrepid of mariners, and who prefer admiring a tempestuous sea from off a rocky vantage point upon the shore, to tossing on its stormy waves, the dreaded Quarnero was as smooth as a millpond. The night was magnificent; the heavens cloudless, and studded with countless stars, but scarcely as bright as I have seen them at other times, owing to the intense brilliancy of the moon now nearly at the full. The track of the steamer was clearly marked out far in the rear by a broad phosphorescent wake, while the water which was dashed off from the paddles seemed like liquid fire.

The cabins were all occupied, so I had to make my bed on deck; but even if I could have got one, I never could have slept below, it was so hot and stuffy. I was soon settled for the night; a doubled-up rug laid lengthwise on the deck was my bed, and my dressing-bag was my pillow. It was so warm that I required no covering save my light tweed suit, and I was no sooner down than I was fast asleep. I don't know how long I slept; but I would have slept still longer, if I had not been awoke by the steamer stopping to put down and take up passengers and goods at some place on the coast of Dalmatia.

We had safely crossed the mouth of the Quarnero, the moon had set, and the blue black vault of heaven was studded with countless stars sparkling like diamonds. The steamer was hove to a little distance from the shore, while scores of boats, each with a coloured lantern at the prow, came and went, making as pretty a scene as can be imagined; but for all that, after sitting up and admiring it for a few minutes, I lay down again on my rug, and falling asleep never awoke again till the sun was high in the heavens the next morning.

By degrees the passengers one by one came on deck, when by making interest with Giovanni, the steward, I obtained the use of a camerino (cabin) to make my toilet in. Having completed my ablutions I called in Giovanni to empty my tub, for as the camerino was extremely small it was next to impossible to stand in it, unless with one's feet in the water. Never was steward so astonished and so puzzled as Giovanni was at the sight of my flimsy mackintosh tub; he had no idea of how to take it up to empty it, he was afraid to touch it until I had taken it up on three sides and showed him how to lift it, when he was so delighted with the whole arrangement that he placed it on the table of the cabin just as it was, and fetched down the passengers to see the ingenious English device. By the time it had been well examined and then emptied, I was up and dressed. When I came out of the camerino, I showed the assembled company how it could be rolled up into the smallest compass, and stowed away in a travelling bag.

There was no regular breakfast on board, but everyone as he wanted it got a cup of coffee and a bit of bread or a biscuit; preserved milk also could be had, but of butter there was none.

Our passengers had somewhat varied since leaving Trieste. We had deposited many on the coast of Istria as we went along, and taken up others in their place. We had a remarkable Oriental-looking woman, plain perhaps, and yet handsome, a Montenegrin of rank, a cousin of the present Prince, dressed in full native costume. She was on her way to her native country to petition the Prince to permit certain of his cousins, who had been expatriated for political causes, to return to their homes.

The costume of the Montenegrin women is not becoming; even this handsome woman, and the beautiful Princess whom I subsequently had the honour of seeing at Montenegro, failed to render it attractive to my eyes, whereas the costume of the men is eminently becoming. This lady's dress consisted of a sort of white chemise of fine lawn, tight, but gathered very full round the neck, without any frill, and open down the front for six or eight inches, where it was closed by a row of very small buttons. This white garment, which reached down to the ankles, was fastened round her waist by a massive silver belt, made in compartments three inches by four and joined together by hinges. Each compartment was highly ornamented with rich repoussÉ work in alto rilievo, and from a side-piece hung down several ornaments of the chÂtelaine species, while from the other side depended an exquisite little dagger in a sheath of silver repoussÉ.

The sleeves of this white garment were tight at the shoulders, but grew wider and wider as they approached the wrist, where they were upwards of two feet six inches in diameter. They were bordered with a rich margin of embroidery in gold and silver thread, mingled with red and blue silk, in excellent taste, and the same embroidery was continued up the external seam of the sleeve on the outside of the elbow up to the shoulder. From below the silver belt she wore a large apron of rich black silk coming down to her ankles, and over all a peculiar white cloth coat without sleeves, the typical garment of the Montenegrins, both male and female. This coat was made of a very soft white cloth, so close and yet soft and pliable, that although sitting next to her and touching it with my finger, I could not at once determine if it was cloth or some sort of beautifully tanned leather. As I said before, this coat was without sleeves or collar, but scooped tight to the back of the neck. In front it did not come further forward than about half way between the point of the shoulders and the middle of the neck, and then straight down like a sack till just below the calf of the leg. This coat was bound right round the whole way with a narrow pattern of embroidery in the same style as round the sleeves of the muslin dress, and in addition had a row of very small round silver buttons down the front on one side. On her head she wore a very large black Indian silk kerchief fastened into her hair with pins, and hanging down behind her back as low as her waist.

The costume is decidedly ugly, though containing the elements of great beauty, if only put together with taste and harmony. Nothing, for instance, can be more attractive and becoming than that black kerchief, be it of silk, gauze or lace, when gracefully put on the head, as the women of Spain or Genoa know so well how to wear it; but the Montenegrin arrangement is as clumsy and inelegant in the women as it is manly and picturesque in the men.

We had on board also several Austrian officers going to join their quarters, some to Zara and some to Cattaro, Budua, and Kosmatch. Very nice, pleasant, gentlemanlike fellows they were, some of them speaking French, but all able to converse freely in Italian, and all well-informed, agreeable companions. Acquaintances are made much more easily abroad than in England, so we were soon quite at home together, and what with chatting, smoking and walking up and down the deck, we quickly passed over the time, till at ten o'clock a.m., we came in front of Zara, celebrated in ancient times for its long siege, when "in 1346 Marino Faliero earned his laurels by the most daring assault," and in modern times for its excellent Maraschino!

Zara is an important place even at the present time. It is the capital of Dalmatia, and the seat of the Archbishop of the province. It is well-built, clean, and tolerably well-paved, and well-worth a visit. The time, however, allowed by the stay of the steamer is amply sufficient to enable one to see it; but the heat was so great that I felt more inclined to stay on board smoking cigarettes under the awning of the steamer than to go on shore. The prospect of some cafÉ À la glace, however, which I knew was to be obtained in the Piazza, added to the more important fact that I was to receive here a letter for the Archimandrite of Montenegro, induced me to shake off my apathy.

Having landed on the quay, I passed through the gate over which is sculptured the grim effigy of the Lion of St. Mark, everywhere seen down the Eastern shores of the Adriatic wheresoever the Venetians had established their authority, I proceeded to execute my plans; but the heat was so intense that I was glad to come back to the steamer where I imagined it was something less stifling. But this day was unusually hot and close, and with the exception of one at Cattaro, when the thermometer registered at four o'clock p.m., 105° Fahrenheit, was the hottest I experienced in all my journey.