I devoted a few days to a visit in Cettinje, which, far from what my imagination had pictured it, was nothing but a collection of hovels, but the people were in marked contrast to their surroundings and made up for the shortcomings of their homes. The men were tall, very few of them being under six feet, and handsome; the girls were beautiful, with the grace and features of nobility, but, as most of the hard work fell to them while the men protected them, they aged quickly. In their picturesque native costume, resplendent with crimson and gold, they were the handsomest race I had seen in Europe. War enthusiasm was rampant and nothing else was talked of. I was tempted to stay and fight with them; if I had known their language I think I would have done so, for they are born warriors and the love of it will never fail them. Their dream, as with all of their race in the Balkans, is the restoration of the great Servian Empire of six hundred years ago, which included practically all of the peninsula, and so long as they exist they will be trying to drive the Turk out of Europe. I loafed along through the Mediterranean on my way back to London and spent the next year or more in enjoying myself and squandering money, which, in those days, was my favorite pastime after a series of adventures. I knew I had only to go to sea to coin more money, so the spending of it produced nothing but pleasure. In the Spring of 1879, with the breaking out of the boundary war in which always aggressive Chile was matched against Peru and Bolivia, which two neighbors had long been in secret alliance to guarantee the independence of each other, the call to South America came to me again. I itched to have a hand in the affair and my desire was soon gratified when I responded to a summons from the manager for Sir William Armstrong & Co., the gun makers. He said he had a shipment of heavy guns for Peru, which were to be delivered at San Lorenzo, a fort on an island, which guards the city, at the entrance to the Bay of Callao. Callao is the port of Lima, the capital, and I was advised that the Chilanos were maintaining an effective blockade there. Peru had only six serviceable ships when the war started. Chile had a much stronger fleet though her ships were of inferior speed. She had so many of them, however, that Peru had been unable to raise the blockade. After stating the situation, Armstrong’s manager sent me to Great Portland Place to interview the Peruvian naval _attaché_, who had charge of the shipment. “It is a ticklish job,” was the manager’s parting advice. “You will find spies all along the line and it will require all of your skill to deliver the cargo. Don’t be mealy-mouthed about the price you ask for it.”