We were now fairly in the port of Gravosa, and the steamer was surrounded by native boats conveying eager candidates for the privilege of carrying ourselves and luggage to the shore. The real port is at Ragusa itself, sheltered and protected by the ancient bastions and towers of the city, but, though amply deep enough for its ancient galleys, and for those argosies (so named after this very city of Ragusa) which in ancient times monopolized with Venice the commerce of the world, it is not now large enough or deep enough to accommodate our modern practical, though inelegant fire-ships. It has consequently been abandoned for the port of Gravosa, which is not only large, safe, and commodious, but also exquisitely beautiful, though inconveniently distant, being nearly a mile from the city. An excellent road, however, originally made by the French and subsequently improved by the Austrians, communicates between the two places, and numerous small carriages drawn by one or two horses are constantly in readiness to convey for a trifle those who do not wish to walk to Ragusa.
The two monks and I were soon on shore, and there I reluctantly parted with them; they went on foot towards their convent, while I took a small one-horse carriage and started off to the city.
Away we went at full gallop skirting the harbour, till the rising ground at the end of the little valley compelled our lively little horse to a slower rate of progression. We soon however topped the hill, when we again came in view of the sea on our right hand, while on our left were numbers of villas peeping out through masses of oleanders and gigantic aloes, whose flower stems, like colossal candelabra, fifteen to twenty feet in height, gave a peculiarly exotic character to the scene. Many of these villas were in ruins, and others more or less damaged, still bearing evidence of the French occupation at the beginning of this century, and of their expulsion by the Russian and Montenegrin troops.
Ragusa was now fairly again in sight, and a noble city it is, and how picturesque! so far as its greatness is concerned, Ragusa is now but the shadow of what it was in bygone days. Its political importance has faded away—its commercial supremacy is a thing of the past; but its local beauty, its domes, its campaniles, its lofty cut-stone palaces, its churches and public buildings, its exquisitely clean streets, its balmy air, its azure sea and its pleasant society—all these are things real and of the present. But Ragusa is not a place to be described, it must be seen and studied to be appreciated. See it from the land, or from the sea—wander through its narrow, quaint, artistic streets, ramble round its walls and ramparts, and you will find it from every point of view a most remarkable place.