December 18, 1918

Today I feel that in all fairness I must put on record a more detailed account of my relations with Nicholas, his Royal Highness, King of Montenegro, which has been long withheld even from these confidential files. I must admit that these relations have not escaped misrepresentation in some quarters. They go back twenty-five years, and perhaps a few more, and I have for him such a deep admiration that when the problem which his future presented to the Supreme War Council came up, I felt it was only right that I should reveal to the Colonel, my chief, the ties of ancient friendship that bound us; and also, to confess that on this subject my judgment might be colored by the admiration I had long felt for the “alone-standing, stalwart fighter” of the Balkans. This frank confession earned me a compliment that I cherish. “That is just like you,” said the Colonel. “You have put your cards on the table. I shall of course be glad to discuss with you the Montenegrin problem, but when it comes to a decision, I shall have to go it alone.” And then the Colonel made the only ill-natured remark that I ever heard fall from his lips. “You are different from X; whenever he tips away to lunch at the Hotel Eduard VII where, as is well known, the Italians set a magnificent table, I feel in my heart that the Yugoslavs will lose another island.”

“I never broke bread with King Nicholas,” I protested; but weakening under the Colonel’s scrutiny I confessed, “I had a few slivoviches with him, and once or twice, after the heat of the day was over, we pledged our respective countries in raki.”

“That rules you out,” decided the Colonel; “you must see that you cannot sit as a member of the jury before which the King comes as a suppliant.” As I was excluded from the jury, I felt that I could go the limit as an advocate. ‘‘As a passing stranger, I sat with the King as an as-. sessor or coadjutor on his bed of justice in Cetinje years ago, and what I saw justified me in maintaining that Nicholas is a great and good man as well as a stalwart fighter. Yes, I sat with him and saw him, as did Ulysses of old, ‘deal unequal laws unto a savage race.’ While it was certainly rough and ready justice, strictly according to the Law of the Mountain, in only one instance can I recall a verdict perhaps not in strict accordance with the evidence. The King did close an eye to help an old soldier who had stood by his side in one of the many battles for the coveted port of Scutari. A magnificent-looking fellow he was, who fed his flocks on the mountaintops in summer, in the valleys in winter, and who was ready to fight the Turks, or anyone else, whenever the signal fires on Lovčen blazed.”

“In that I see no basis for your exclusion,” said the Colonel. “We all love the soldier, but I fear you are holding back the gravamen of the charge.”

“Give me time,” I stuttered. “It was this way. A lowlander, a villager, a measly looking fellow who sat quite still in the days when brave men were arming, now declared that this mountaineer soldier had herded into his flocks sheep and goats that did not belong to him.

“ ‘ ’Tis a lie—an atrocious lie!’ answered the mountain man. ‘Had I been in want of sheep or even goats, I had only to tell my Gospodar, my King, and he would have helped his soldier in need.’

“ ‘True, true,’ said the King, ‘that is the course I would have pursued.’

“Then the King argued with the accusing villager. ‘May you not be mistaken?’ he suggested. ‘Wise indeed is the shepherd who knows his own sheep. And then, of course, if they are there, your sheep may have forced their way into Petko’s flock without the least inducement from him.’

“The King now lit a fat cigarette and with a dark look at the villager announced, amid applause from the many who had gathered under the great tree where the bed of justice was held: ‘The case is dismissed; I cannot convict an old soldier on evidence as flimsy as this.’

“‘But my sheep! my goats!’ screamed the villager. ‘My brand marks on them are perfectly plain.’

“‘Well! well!’ said the King, ‘it may be so. Yet perhaps your goats forced their way into Petko’s flocks of their own volition. Bring me the evidence on this point set out in writing by the Elders of the village this day fortnight when, God willing, I shall once again dispense justice.’“

The Colonel grew thoughtful. He was evidently interested now in the monarch of the Black Mountain. “I must meet King Nicholas. Clearly that is my duty,” he mused.