Still they were not satisfied with the result, and, after an hour of howling in sitting and kneeling positions, they stood up to put a more emotional finishing touch to their devout proceedings. By this time the floor was littered with fallen turbans and the rugs used to kneel upon were scattered about the room. After several more exhaustive efforts to work off their superfluous religious ardour had been resorted to without apparent avail, the men snatched drums and cymbals from hooks upon the wall and commenced beating them furiously, in rhythm to the wails of the priests. The din produced on these instruments was almost deafening and the antics and shouts of the chanting fanatics transformed the place, literally, into the interior of a madhouse. During the final scene all were shouting at once, each trying to outdo the other, as if to receive some recognition for his religious ability from the high priests. From time to time a Dervish would fall upon the floor, completely enervated but trying, unconsciously, to continue his part. On the whole it constituted one of the most repulsive sights of infidel worship. At half-past eleven the “dance” was over and I was quite willing to take up my position behind Jim and be guided through the narrow streets back to civilization. CHAPTER XII FROM SARAJEVO TO THE COAST Jablaniča—Mostar—Across the Mountains—The Balkan Riviera—Ragusa: The Fairy City of the Adriatic. From Sarajevo the narrow-gauge railway line makes a gradual ascent of the mountains, the engineer assuring the safety of himself and his passengers now and again by applying the rachet attachment, for the grades are very steep. Finally the divide is crossed a short while before the train reaches the picturesque little village of Konjiča, a meagre assortment of red-roofed, white-walled houses, including the inevitable mosque tower, literally dumped in among the green hills with pleasing effect. [Illustration: A GORGE OF THE NARENTA, NEAR JABLANIČA.] Farther along at Jablaniča—where, although a village of but two hundred souls, the accommodations of a good hotel beckon to the traveller to spend some time in this vicinity, should the grandeur of the surrounding mountain scenery appeal to him as it did to us—a gorge of the Narenta is crossed and from this point the line follows the defile of the river as far as Mostar. A military road of stone foundation, which would tempt the most apprehensive of automobile tourists, twines itself, like a white thread, along the opposite side of the river from the railway, now bridging with stone arches the waterfall of a mountain stream at its debouchment into the river below, now circling the base of an overhanging cliff, now shooting into a short tunnel blasted through the solid rock. A wall of stone masonry borders the outer edge of the road at the dangerous places.