I was now bound for Uibanya, in the Valea Tissovitza, a few miles from Orsova on the Danube. There is an English firm down there engaged in working the coal mines, and I had an introduction to one of the partners. I rode from Oravicza to Szaszka—the place had become quite familiar to me by this time—and I slept there. The night was not long, for I left before sunrise. It is the only way to enjoy the ride; for the middle of the day in July is really too hot for exertion in this part of the world, and I found it was best to rest during the great heat of the day. From Szaszka I pushed on to Moldova, and judging from my former experience of driving the same road, I must say I prefer the saddle infinitely. I should observe that on leaving Szaszka I got into a dense mist on the top of the mountain. Fortunately I knew my bearings. When it cleared off I had a magnificent view all the way, reaching the Danube about nine o'clock. Here I spent the day and night at the house of Mr G——, with whom I was slightly acquainted, and who received me hospitably. The next morning very early I started for Svenica, a lovely ride along the Szechenyi road. I had been in the saddle from five to eleven A.M., and reaching Drenkova, I was not sorry to stop on account of the great heat. It has only a wretched inn, where myself and horse fared very badly. The Danube steamers are not unfrequently obliged to stop at Drenkova and reship their passengers into smaller boats. This happens when the water is low, and sometimes when the season is very dry the river has to be abandoned for the road. When the Eastern Question is settled a vast number of improvements are to be carried out on the Danube it is said. The first ought to be the deepening of the channel in this particular part of the river. There would surely be no great difficulty in removing the obstructions caused by the rocks. But there are always political difficulties creeping up in this part of the world to prevent the carrying out of useful works.

My siesta over, I was off again, soon after three P.M., on my way to Svenica. I had a splendid view of the river, and stopped my horse more than once to watch the boatmen at their perilous work of shooting the rapids. Getting to Svenica soon after six o'clock, I made inquiries about the distance to Uibanya. No two people agreed, but the chief spokesman declared it was a couple of hours' walk, and he volunteered to show me the way. The inn was horribly dirty, as one might expect from the appearance of the village, which is inhabited entirely by Serbs, otherwise Rascians. It appears that a vast number of Slavs from Servia took refuge in Hungary at the end of the seventeenth century. Some were Roman Catholics, but they were mostly of the Greek Church. A colony settled at Buda. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, writing from that town in 1717, says that the Governor of Buda assured her that the Rascian colony without the walls would furnish him with 12,000 fighting men at any moment. They were always a card in the hands of the Austrians against the Magyars.

Leopold I. granted the Servian refugees very considerable privileges and immunities, causing thereby great jealousy among the Hungarians. Always favoured by the Government of Vienna, these people have invariably shown themselves pro-Austrian; and in 1848 they were destined to be a thorn in the side of the proud Magyars, who despised them, and took no pains to disguise the feeling, even at a moment so singularly unpropitious as the eve of their own rupture with Austria. It seems that in the month of May in that eventful year the Rascians sent a deputation to Pesth, to the Diet, setting forth certain grievances and demanding redress. The Magyars rejected their petition with haughty contempt, "a grievous fault," says General Klapka in his history. The result was that the Rascian deputies returned home in a state of great disgust at their reception, and immediately took up arms against the Hungarians. This was before the Government of Vienna had thrown off the mask. These facts are not without significance at the present time. The Rascians are strongly imbued with ideas of Panslavism, and now disdain any other name than that of Servians; it would be a great offence to call the humblest individual of the race by the old appellation of Rascian or Ratzen. These so-called Servian subjects of the crown of St. Stephen number about 800,000!

The subject is worth mentioning at some length, because a good deal of confusion exists respecting this particular division of the great Slav family.

Judging from what I saw of the inhabitants of Svenica, I think they have not progressed very far in the ways of civilisation. I could get nothing in the whole place but a piece of bread; but I was not to be balked of my tea, so I entered the principal room in the wretched little inn, and proceeded to take out my cooking apparatus. I was obliged to content myself with a thick fluid, which they called water; no better was to be procured. Now it happens that my spirit-lamp, when it begins to boil up, makes a tremendous row for two or three minutes, as if it meant to burst up with a general explosion. This circumstance, and my other novel proceedings, had attracted a lot of idlers round the door, and before the tea-making was over a number of Serbs and Wallacks crowded into the room in a state of excited curiosity, and it was with difficulty that I defended my tea-machine from absolute dismemberment. Though my horse and I had done a good day's work, I determined to push on to Uibanya, for it seemed to be not much more than a two hours' walk; moreover, I had been warned of the bad reputation of the people in the village. I had heard it was not an uncommon trick with them to steal a traveller's horse in the night, and quietly ship him over the Danube into Servia. I had no fancy for losing my possessions in this way, so altogether it seemed better to go on.

When I started with the guide I had hired from Svenica, there was still a good half-hour before sunset. We commenced at once climbing a very steep and stony path, where I had to lead my horse; indeed at times it was very much like getting my horse over the top of a high-pitched roof, if such an exploit were possible. We shortly lost all trace of a path. I turned several times to look at the fine glimpses of the Danube far below us. Arriving at a fringe of wood, I was not a little surprised to see emerge from thence a sturdy Wallack, carrying the usual long staff, armed with an axe at one end. I say surprised, because he at once joined in with us, and though I had not seen him during our climb, I had my strong suspicions that he had followed us all the way. My guide spoke a little German, and I demanded of him in a sharp tone what the other fellow meant by joining us. My guide answered that he was afraid to return alone, for that presently we should get into "the forest, where it would be as dark as a cave," and he had asked the other man to come with us from Svenica. As according to his own account he had traversed the forest for nineteen years, I thought he might very well have gone back alone; besides, if there was any truth in what he said, why should he have made a mystery about his companion till we were some way on our journey?

We were now on the outskirts of a thick forest, the sun had set in great beauty, but every hue of colour had now faded from "the trailing clouds of glory;" faded, indeed, so quickly that before the fact of twilight could be realised, it was already night! It was literally dark as a cave when we penetrated into the forest. My guide had a lantern, which he lighted; for it would, indeed, have been impossible to make any progress without the light. Though we were again in a path, the way was frequently barred by the trunks of fallen trees. We were still ascending, occasionally coming upon a steep rough bit, difficult for the horse on account of the loose stones. I think we must have looked very much like a party of smugglers. The ex-forester walked first, swinging his lantern as he moved; then came the Wallack volunteer, stumping along with axe-headed staff. He wanted very much to fall into the rear, but this I would not allow, and in a resolute tone ordered him forward. I followed with my little grey horse close upon the heels of my companions, keeping all the time a keen and suspicious eye upon their movements. They spoke together occasionally, but I was profoundly ignorant of what they said, not understanding a word of Wallachian.

Where it was anyhow possible we went at a good pace, but the underwood and fallen trees hindered us a good deal. My guide told me to look out for wolves. These forests are said to be full of them in summer, and he added that a lot of pigs belonging to a neighbour of his had been carried off by the wolves only the night before. I took this opportunity of telling him that I was a dead shot, pointing to my revolver, which was handy; adding a piece of information that I made much of, namely, that I was expected at Uibanya.

The doubts I felt about the honesty of the guide and the other fellow were increased by a suspicion that they were leading me the wrong way. We had been three hours in the forest, always ascending. Now I knew that my destination was situated in a valley. I asked repeatedly when we should get there, and invariably came the same short answer, "Gleich" (directly). I noticed that we were steadily walking in the same direction, for the trees being less thick I could keep my eye on the Polar star: this was so far satisfactory. Presently I saw a light or two in the distance, and before long we came to a cottage, the first in what turned out to be the little village of Eibenthal. Here we came upon a party of miners, who gave me the pleasant information that we were still an hour's walk from Uibanya! There was nothing for it but to go on. I confess I breathed more freely in the open; we were quite clear of the forest now. On we went, a regular tramp, tramp, through a long valley skirted with woods on either side. This last part of the walk seemed interminable. It was eighteen hours since I had started in the morning. I was physically weary, and I really believe I went off to sleep for a second or two, though my legs kept up their automatic motion. I am sure I must have slept, for I had a notion, like one has sometimes in sleep, of extraordinary extension of time. It seemed to me that for years of my life I had done nothing else than walk under the starlit sky into a vast cave of black darkness, which only receded farther and farther as the swinging of the lamp advanced with its monotonous vibration of light.

It was just midnight when I descried a faint light in the distance. It grew as we tramped on. I knew therefore it was no deceptive star setting in the horizon, but the welcome firelight of a human habitation. This time it was my goal—Uibanya! I stopped for a moment and fired off a couple of shots to announce our approach, whereupon some of the people in the house rushed out to see what was up, and I made myself known by an English "halloo," and out of the darkness came a voice saying, "All right."

"All's well that ends well," I said to myself as I paid my guide for his night's work. I looked round for the Wallack, but the fellow had sloped off!

I was most kindly and hospitably received, and, O ye gods, with what an appetite I ate the excellent supper quickly prepared for me!



CHAPTER VIII.

Hospitable welcome at Uibanya—Excursion to the Servian side of the Danube—Ascent of the Stierberg—Bivouac in the woods—Magnificent views towards the Balkans—Fourteen eagles disturbed—Wallack dance.

A couple of days after my arrival at Uibanya, my friend F—— kindly arranged a little expedition into Servia, with the object of making the ascent of the Stierberg, a mountain of respectable elevation, commanding very fine views. Our guide was the postmaster of Plavishovitza, who professed a knowledge of the country round about. We drove down to the Danube, and there crossed the river in a primitive "dug-out," and almost immediately commenced the ascent of the Stierberg. It became quite dark by the time we got half-way up the mountain; this we were prepared for, having made arrangements for camping out the night. We had brought with us an ample store of provisions, not forgetting our plaids. The heat was so great when we started that we dispensed with coats, and even waistcoats, and went on rejoicing in the cool freedom of our shirt-sleeves. Each wore a broad leather waist-belt, stuck round with revolvers and bowie-knives. I believe we looked like a couple of the veriest brigands. Had we only been spotted by a "correspondent," I make little doubt that we should have been telegraphed as "atrocities" to the London evening papers.

The more civilisation closes round one, the more enjoyable is an occasional "try back" into barbarism. This feeling made the mere fact of camping out seem delightful. Our first care was to select a suitable spot; we found a clearing that promised well, and here we made a halt. We deposited our batterie de cuisine, arranged our plaids, and then proceeded to make a fire with a great lot of dried sticks and logs of wood. The fire was soon crackling and blazing away in grand style, throwing out mighty tongues of flame, which lit up the dark recesses of the forest.

Now came the supper, which consisted of robber-steak and tea. I always stuck to my tea as the most refreshing beverage after a long walk or ride. I like coffee in the morning before starting—good coffee, mind; but in the evening there is nothing like tea. The robber-steak is capital, and deserves an "honourable mention" at least: it is composed of small bits of beef, bacon, and onion strung alternately on a piece of stick; it is seasoned with pinches of paprika and salt, and then roasted over the fire, the lower end of the stick being rolled backwards and forwards between your two palms as you hold it over the hot embers. It makes a delicious relish with a hunch of bread.

Our camp-fire and its surroundings formed a romantic scene. We had three Serbs with us as attendants, and there was F—— and myself, all seated in a semicircle to windward of the smoke. The boles of the majestic beech-trees surrounding us rose like stately columns to support the green canopy above our heads, and in the interstices of the leafy roof were visible spaces of sky, so deeply blue that the hue was almost lost in darkness; but out of the depths shone many a bright star in infinite brilliancy. The scene was picturesque in the highest degree. The flickering firelight, our Serbians in their quaint dresses moving about the gnarled roots and antlered branches of the trees, upon which the light played fitfully, and the mystery of that outer rim of darkness, all helped to impress the fancy with the charm of novelty.

After supper was finished, and duly cleared away, we all disposed ourselves for sleep, taking care to have the guns ready at hand, for we might be disturbed by a wolf or a bear on his nightly rounds. Our attendants had previously collected some large logs of wood, large almost as railway-sleepers, to keep up a good fire through the night. Wrapping my plaid round me, I laid myself down, confident that I should sleep better than in the softest feather bed. I gave one more look at the romantic scene, and then turned on my side to yield to the drowsiness of honest fatigue.

But, alas! there was no sleep for me. I had hardly closed my eyes when I was attacked by a regiment of mosquitoes. I was so tormented by these brutes that I never slept a wink. I sat up the greater part of the night battling with them; and what provoked me more was the tranquillity of F——'s slumbers. I could bear it no longer, so at three A.M. I woke him up, saying it was time for us to be stirring if we wanted to get to the top of the mountain to see the sun rise. I believe he thought I need not have called him so early, and grumbled a little, which was very unreasonable, for the fellow had been sleeping for hours to my knowledge. Rousing our Serbs, we set them about making preparations for breakfast; but when the water was boiled and the tea made, it turned out to be utterly undrinkable. The water-cask had had sour wine in it, and the water was spoiled. We consoled ourselves with the hope that we might get some sheep's milk on the mountain.

We reached the summit of the Stierberg before five o'clock; it has no great elevation, but the position commands magnificent views of all the surrounding country. Advancing to the verge of the precipice overlooking the Danube, a sheer wall of rock 2000 feet in depth, we signalled our arrival by discharging our rifles simultaneously. This "set the wild echoes flying." Each cliff and scaur of the narrow gorge flung back the ringing sound till the sharp reverberations stirred the whole defile. Before the fusillade had ceased we beheld a sight I shall never forget. The sound had disturbed a colony of eagles, who make their nests in these rocky fissures. They flew out in every direction from the face of the cliff, and went soaring round and round, evidently in much alarm at the unwonted noise. We counted fourteen of these magnificent birds. I wanted to get a shot at one, but they never came near enough. After circling round for several minutes they flew with one accord to the opposite woods, and were no more seen.

The view from the Stierberg is splendid. On every side were stretches of primeval forest. Bounding the horizon on the north-east we made out the Transylvanian Alps; to the south lay Servia, and more distant still the Balkan Mountains. As the sun rose higher, lighting up in a marvellous way all the details of this fair landscape, we could see far eastward a strip of the Danube flashing in the sunbeams.

We turned reluctantly from the grand panorama, but we began to feel the distressing effects of thirst. We had failed to procure any sheep's milk, but the postmaster declared that when we got back to our camping-place we should be able to find some fresh water. Arrived at this pleasant spot, we rested under the beech-trees, and sent off two of the Serbs to look for water. After waiting some time one of them brought us some, but it was from a stagnant pool, alive with animalculae, quite unfit to drink. I never remember suffering so much from thirst. The heat was excessive, but happily before reaching the Danube we found a delicious spring gushing out from the limestone rock. It was an indescribable refreshment for thirsty souls. We further regaled ourselves with a good meal at the village on the Hungarian side of the Danube, after crossing again in the "dug-out."

The pope of the village entered into conversation with us, and finding I was a stranger he ordered a Wallack dance for our amusement. The costumes of the women were picturesque, but the dance itself was a slow affair, very unlike the lively czardas of the Magyar peasant.



CHAPTER IX.

A hunting expedition proposed—Drive from Uibanya to Orsova—Oriental aspect of the market-place—Cserna Valley—Hercules-Bad, Mehadia—Post-office mistakes—Drive to Karansebes—Rough customers en route—Lawlessness—Fair at Karansebes—Podolian cattle—Ferocious dogs.

During my stay at Uibanya the Foerstmeister (head of the forest department) from Karansebes came over on business, and he told us there was to be a shooting expedition on the Alps in his district. He further invited us to take part in it, and I gladly accepted, as it fitted in very well indeed with my plans. Karansebes is directly on the route to Transylvania, whither I was bound. The district we were to shoot over is the rocky border-land between Hungary and Roumania. My friend F——agreed to accompany me, and on our way we proposed visiting the celebrated baths of Mehadia. Early one morning we started for Orsova, a drive of thirty miles, splendid scenery all the way. The latter part of our journey was by the side of the Danube, on the Szechenyi road again.

We passed a number of hay-ricks in trees, which I have before described. Some of them were built up in the form of an inverted cone. The luxuriance of the foliage is very striking. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the wild vines so frequent on the banks of the Danube. They fall in graceful festoons from the trees; sometimes they reach across to the trees on the other side of the road, forming a complete arch of greenery. In the autumn the vine leaves turn to a glowing red, like the Virginian creeper, and then the effect of this mass of rich colouring is indeed glorious. Meanwhile gay butterflies of rare form fluttered about among the trailing vines, and bright green lizards darted in and out of the stone wall. Then an eagle or a vulture would swoop down from the heights, and settle himself on some pinnacle of rock, where he remained, motionless as a stuffed bird.

When we reached Orsova we only stopped long enough to get some dinner and take the usual siesta. This place is on the frontier; three miles farther down you pass out of Hungary into Roumanian territory. Had we stayed any time we should certainly have gone to see Trajan's bridge, about eighteen miles hence. The so-called "Iron Gates" are just below Orsova. The designation is a misnomer, for the river ceases to be pent up between a defile, the hills recede from the shore, and the "Gates" are merely ledges of rock peculiarly difficult for navigation. Orsova is celebrated as the place where the regalia of Hungary were concealed by Kossuth and his friends from 1849 to 1853. The iron chest which held the palladium of the kingdom, the sacred crown of St Stephen, was buried in a waste spot, covered with willows, not far from the road. There is a somewhat Oriental look about Orsova. In the market-place there is a profusion of bright-coloured stuffs, prayer-carpets, and Turkish slippers. A narrow island of no great length, just below Orsova, is still held by the Turks. There is a small mosque with minarets visible amongst a group of the funeral cypress-tree, so characteristic of the presence of the Turk.

Our road to Mehadia was away from the river, following instead the lead of a lateral valley. As we drove out of Orsova we passed a lot of Wallack huts forming a kind of suburb. These huts are built of wattles stuccoed with mud, always having on one side of the dwelling a space enclosed by stockades some ten feet high; this is a necessary protection for their animals against the depredations of wolves and bears, which abound here.

Leaving this village we continued our way through the Cserna Valley, which has few signs of cultivation beyond the orchards and vineyards that climb up the hillsides of the narrow ravine. On our left we passed a ruined aqueduct of Turkish origin, eleven arches still remaining. As we proceeded, the valley narrowed considerably, and the scenery became more wild and striking. Here vegetation is in its richest profusion; the parasitical plants are surpassingly graceful, wreathing themselves over rocks and trees.

Mehadia, or more strictly, Hercules-Bad, is the most fashionable bath in Hungary. The village of Mehedia must not be confounded with it, for it lies at a distance of six miles thence. The situation of Hercules-Bad is extremely romantic. Above the narrow rocky valley rise bare limestone peaks, girdled with rich forests of every variety of foliage. There are two kinds of springs, the sulphurous and the saline. The Hercules source bursts out from a cleft of the rock in such an immense volume that it is said to yield 5000 cubic feet in an hour. The water has to be cooled before it is used, the natural heat being as much as 131 deg. Fahrenheit. Its efficacy is said to be so great that the patient while in the bath "feels the evil being boiled out of him"! Some of the visitors had not yet had their turn of cooking, I suppose, or if they had been boiled, were rather underdone, for I met a good many gouty and rheumatic patients still in the hobbling condition.

The country round Mehadia is so wild, both in regard to the scenery and to the native population, that the contrast of dropping suddenly into a fashionable watering-place is very curious. This bath is much frequented for pleasure and health by the luxury-loving Roumanians, who invariably display the latest extravagance of Parisian fashion. Men in patent-leather boots devoted to cards and billiards, while in the immediate neighbourhood of glorious scenery, with bear and chamois shooting to be had for the asking, seem to me "an unknown species," as Voltaire said of the English. From what I learned of the ways of the place it seems that the Magyar and Transylvanian visitors keep quite aloof from the Roumanian coterie; they have never anything pleasant to say of one another. At Boseg, a bath in the Eastern Carpathians which I visited later, the separation is so complete that the Roumanians go at one period of the season and the Hungarian visitors at another.

It had always been my intention to stay a few days at the Hercules-Bad, and I had given the place as an address for English letters. Accordingly I presented myself at the poste restante. Seeing that I was a Britisher, the postmaster gave me all the letters he possessed with English postmarks. Many of them were of considerable antiquity. Out of the goodly pile I selected some half-dozen that bore my name; but I was greatly surprised to come across one that had made a very bad shot for its destination. It bore the simple name of some poor Jacktar, with the address "H.M.S. Hercules."

The Romans had their etablissement here. The present name comes from the "Thermae Herculis" of classic times. There are many interesting remains here—fragments of altars, sculptured capitals, and stones with inscriptions, all telling the same story—the story of Roman dominion and greatness.

Just then we had no time for archaeology, for we wanted to push on to Karansebes, and we stayed only a day and a half at Mehadia. As it was more than we could comfortably manage to do the whole distance in a day, we arranged to drive as far as Terregova and sleep there. We left Mehadia early in the afternoon, F——'s groom riding my horse. The road was excellent—all the roads are in the districts of the Military Frontier. As an example of the quick temper of the Wallacks, I will mention a little incident which happened on the road. We met some of these people, and one of them, who was looking another way, stumbled most awkwardly against the groom's horse, and very nearly met with an accident. Though it was so clearly his own fault, he had hardly recovered himself when, raising his axe, he was about to strike our servant on the head. Meanwhile another fellow seized a big stone, which I believe was going to make a target of the same head. Luckily I turned, and seeing the scuffle, I was out with my revolver in a moment, pointing it at the man with the axe. He understood my language, and made a hasty retreat. F—— said he had no doubt it would have gone badly with the groom if the distance between us had been greater.

We were in for adventures in a small way that evening. Just after sunset, when it was already rather dark in the valley, we found ourselves suddenly stopped by a man, who leaped out from behind a rock, seized the horses, and with a powerful grasp brought them down on their haunches. F—— had the reins, so I jumped down and made straight at the fellow, revolver in hand. I imagine he did not expect to find us armed, or he found us literally too many for him, but diving into the bushes, he was gone even quicker than he came.

We had hardly got the horses into full trot again, when we noticed two cartloads of Wallacks driving side by side on in front of us. When we came up they would not let us pass, and continued this little game for more than ten minutes, notwithstanding all our expostulations. They were driving much slower than ourselves, and F—— began to lose patience; so holding the horses well in hand, he told me to fire off my revolver in the air. After this they thought proper to draw aside, but even then leaving us so little room that we risked our necks in passing them in a very awkward corner. I was told afterwards by the postmaster of Karansebes that a diligence had fallen over the precipice at this very place, only a very short time before, owing to the Wallack drivers purposely obstructing the road. Such are the Wallacks—I beg their pardon, Roumanians!

When we got to Terregova, we were glad to find quite a decent inn, the Wilder Mann, kept by civil people. After supper we had a chat with our hostess, who being a regular gossip, was very pleased to tell us a lot of stories about the wild character of the country-people. She was very sorry that the frontier was no longer under the Austrian military rule, for, she said, having been accustomed to the strict military system so long, the Wallacks, now they have more liberty, have become utterly lawless, and exceedingly troublesome to their German neighbours. She added that the gendarmes, who were supposed to keep order in the district, were far too few to be of any real use. She complained bitterly against the Wallacks for firing the forests, and they had become much worse since '48. "In fact the time will come," she said, "when wood will be scarce, and then everybody will suffer; but they don't think, and they don't care, and just lay their hands on anything."

The Government certainly ought to look to the preservation of the forests, and above all they ought to make the law respected amongst a population which is so little advanced in civilisation as to be indifferent to the first principles of order. The Wallacks want education, and above all they want a decent priesthood, before they can make any sound progress. With all their ignorance and lawlessness, it is curious that they pride themselves on being descendants of the ancient Romans, ignoring their "Dacian sires."

The next day we went on to Karansebes—a good road and charming scenery. This is the highroad into Transylvania, called the Eisenthor Pass; but it hardly merits the name of pass, inasmuch as it only crosses the spur of the hills. The distance from Orsova on the Danube to Hatszeg in Transylvania is 110 miles: the district is known as the "Romanen Banat," and, as the name imports, is principally inhabited by Wallacks, otherwise Roumanians.

We arrived at Karansebes in the afternoon, and by good-luck it chanced to be fair-day. This is a central market for a considerable extent of country, so that there is always a great gathering of people. In driving into the town we passed a long bridge which crosses a low-lying meadow, the central arch being sufficient to span the stream, at least in summer. From this elevation we had a capital view of the fair, which was being held in these meadows, and could look down leisurely on the whole scene; and a very novel and amusing sight it was.

There were hundreds of people; and what a variety of races and diversity of costumes! The Wallack women, in their holiday suits, were the most picturesque. Many of them were handsome, and they have generally a very superior air to the men; they are better dressed and more civilised looking. There were a sprinkling of Magyars in braided coats, or with white felt cloaks richly embroidered in divers colours. But the blue-eyed, fair-complexioned German was far more numerous. The Magyar element is very much in the minority in this particular part of Hungary. The Jews and the gipsies were there in great numbers—they always are at fairs—in the quality of horse-dealers and vendors of wooden articles for the kitchen. The Jew is easily distinguished by his black corkscrew ringlets, and his brown dressing-gown coat reaching to his heels. This ancient garment suits him "down to the ground;" in fact his yellow visage and greasy hat would not easily match with anything more cleanly. These Jewish frequenters of fairs are, as a rule, of the lowest class, hailing either from the Marmaros Mountains in North-Eastern Hungary, or from Galicia.

The fair is really a very important exhibition of the products and manufactures of the country, and it is well worth the attention of the stranger, who may pass on with the motley crowd through streets of stalls and booths. One annexe is devoted to furniture, from a winged wardrobe down to a wooden spoon. In another part you see piles of Servian rugs, coarse carpets, sheepskin bundas, hairy caps of a strange peaked form, broad hats made of reed or rush, and the delightful white felt garments before mentioned, which are always embroidered with great taste and skill. Horses, cows, and pigs are also brought here in great numbers to exchange owners. The long-horned cattle are perhaps the most striking feature in the whole fair. They are white, with a little grey on the necks, flanks, and buttocks. Oxen are much used for hauling purposes as well as for the plough. A pair of oxen, it is considered, will do the work of four horses.

Professor Wrightson says: "The Podolian is an aboriginal race, descended from the wild urox (Bos primigenius). The race is remarkable for its capability of resisting influences of climate, and its contentedness with poor diet.... The Hungarian oxen are considered by naturalists as the best living representative of the original progenitors of our domestic cattle." Of the buffalo the same writer says: "It was introduced into Hungary by Attila; it is found in the lowlands, on both sides of the Danube and the Theiss, Lower Hungary, and Transylvania. In 1870 there were upwards of 58,000 in Transylvania, and more than 14,000 in Hungary."[10]

Later in my tour, when at Klausenburg, I had an opportunity of seeing an extensive dairy where upwards of a hundred buffalo cows were kept. The farm alluded to is admirably managed, and, I am told, yields very profitable returns.

It is the opinion of Professor Wrightson that cattle are diminishing in Hungary owing to the breaking up of pastures and the recurrence of rinderpest. He says he does not think that the English market can look to Hungary for a supply of cattle at present. This gentleman did not, I believe, visit Transylvania, and I am inclined to think the supply from that part of the kingdom is greatly on the increase; there the pastures are not in process of being turned into arable land, and the rise in prices has given an impetus to the profitable employment of capital in raising stock.

In walking round the fair, we took notice of the horses. I could have made a better bargain than I did in Servia. A useful cart-horse could be bought, I found, for about six or seven pounds. I daresay I could have picked out a few from the lot fit for riding, but of course they were rough animals, mere peasant horses. Some of the colts, brought in a string fresh from the mountains, were wild, untamed-looking creatures; but hardly as wild as the Wallacks who led them, dressed in sheepskin, and followed each by his savage wolf-like dog. The dogs are very formidable in Hungary. It is never safe to take a walk, even in the environs of a town, without a revolver, on account of these savage brutes, who, faithful to their masters, are liable to make the most ferocious attacks on strangers. This special kind of dog is in fact most useful—to the shepherd on the lonely puszta, to the keeper of the vineyard through the night-watches, when the wild boar threatens his ravages—and in short he acts the part of rural police generally.

In Hungary, as elsewhere, there are dogs of kindly nature and gentle culture. I can record a curious instance of reasoning power in a dog named "Jockey," who is well known at Buda Pest. He has the habit of crossing over from Pest to Buda every morning of his life in one or another of the little steamboats that ply backwards and forwards. He regularly takes his walk over there, and then returns as before by steamer. This is his practice in summer; but when winter arrives, and the ice on the Danube stops the traffic of the steamboats, then Jockey has recourse to the bridge. I believe there is no doubt of this anecdote. Another instance of sagacity is attributed to him. His master lost a lawsuit through the rascality of his attorney; Jockey feels so strongly on the subject that he snarls and growls whenever a lawyer enters his master's house. Here, of course, the instinct is stronger than the powers of discrimination.

[Footnote 10: 'Report on the Agriculture of the Austro-Hungarian Empire,' Journal of the Royal Agricultural Society, vol. x. Part xi. No. xx.]



CHAPTER X.

Post-office at Karansebes—Good headquarters for a sportsman—Preparations for a week in the mountain—The party starting for the hunt—Adventures by the way—Fine trees—Game—Hut in the forest—Beauty of the scenery in the Southern Carpathians.

We put up at the Gruenen Baum, the principal inn at Karansebes. My first business was to worry everybody about my guns, which I had telegraphed should be sent from Buda Pest to this place. I am afraid the postmaster will never hear the name of an Englishman without associating the idea of a fussy, irritable, impatient being, such as I was, about my guns. Of course it was very provoking that they had not arrived. This postmaster was a pattern official, an honour to his calling; he not only bore with me, but he offered to lend me a gun if mine did not come. In Germany there is a saying, "So grob wie ein postbeamter." The postmaster of Karansebes was a glorious exception to the rule.

On one occasion, while I was waiting in the office for an answer to one of the many telegrams that I had despatched, a peasant woman came in with a letter without an address. The postmaster seeing this, and thinking she could not write, asked her to whom he should address the letter. She was dreadfully indignant with him for his well-meant offer, and said, "My son knows all about it—it is no business of yours."

"But I can't forward it without an address," objected the postmaster.

"Yes, you must," she rejoined, getting more and more angry—"you must; that's what you are paid for doing."

Here some other people came to the rescue, and by dint of all talking at once for full twenty minutes, they induced her to give her son's address; but it was a clear case of "convinced against her will," for as she quitted the office she turned round and said, with a shake of the head, "It's all very well to put that; but my son will know who it is from."

Karansebes is not at all a bad place as headquarters for the sportsman. In the neighbourhood there is very good snipe-shooting in spring and autumn. The fishing too is excellent for trout and grayling. The bear, the wolf, and the chamois are to be met with on the heights, which form this portion of the great horseshoe of the Carpathians.

The day before our expedition we were occupied with a few necessary preparations. When these matters were settled to our satisfaction, we went off in good time to secure a few hours' sleep, as we were to start at four A.M.

F—— and I were up in capital time, eager for the day's work, and anxious, moreover, not to keep the rest of the party waiting. There was an Austrian general, however, amongst the number, and therefore we might safely have slept another hour. The morning was very unpromising, the rain descended in a dull persistent downpour. We tried to hope it was the pride of the morning. The prospect was dreary enough to damp the spirits of some of our party. One man found that urgent private affairs called him hence; another averred he had an inflammatory sore throat. I expected a third would say he had married a wife and could not come. Happily, however, the weather cleared a little as the morning advanced, and further desertions were arrested.

At length the whole party got off in sundry leiterwagen, a vehicle which has no counterpart in England, and the literal rendering of a ladder-waggon hardly conveys the proper notion of the thing itself. This long cart, it is needless to say, is without springs; but it has the faculty of accommodating itself to the inequalities of the road in a marvellous manner. It has, moreover, a snake-like vertebrae, and even twists itself when necessary.

My guns never came after all, and I was obliged to borrow. The one lent me had one barrel smooth-bore, the other rifled.

We drove for some distance along the Hatszeg highroad, then turned off to the right. Continuing our course for some time, we came to the pretty little village of Moeruel, where we breakfasted. It was quite the cleanest and neatest Wallack settlement that I had seen at all. It is celebrated for the beauty of its women. Several very pretty girls in their picturesque costume were gathered round the village well, engaged in filling their classical-shaped pitchers. Every movement of their arms was grace itself. The action was not from the elbow, but from the shoulder, whereby one sees the arm extended in the curved line of beauty, instead of sticking out at a sharp angle, as with us Western races.

The weather had improved considerably. Our breakfast, for which we halted on the further outskirts of the village, was very agreeably discussed amidst much general good-humour. The peasants regarded us with frank undisguised curiosity, coming round to watch our proceedings.

After leaving Moeruel we got really into the wilds. A very bad road led up through a magnificent valley, the scenery most romantic; indeed every turn brought to view some new aspect, calling forth admiration. On our right was a fine trout-stream of that delicious brown tint welcome to the eye of the fisherman. At times the water was seen breaking over a rocky bed with much foam and fret, and then would find for itself a tranquil pool beneath the shadow of some mighty beech-tree.

The foliage of the forest, which closed down upon the valley, was simply magnificent. The trees in the Southern Carpathians are far finer than those of the Austrian Alps; they attain a greater average height. The variety, too, was very striking in many places. The strip of green pasturage that bordered our road was fringed with weeping birch-trees, which gave a singular charm to the woodland scene.

A turn in the direction of the valley brought us within sight of the high range of mountains forming the frontier between Hungary and Roumania. Some of the higher summits were ominously covered with dirty clouds. It was observed that they were lifting, at least some of the most sanguine thought so. However, judging from my former experiences in Upper Austria and Styria, I could not say that I thought it was a good sign, supposing even they were lifting. I think myself there is better chance of fine weather in high regions when the clouds descend and disappear in the valleys.

Coming shortly to the foot of the mountain, the Sarka, which is upwards of 6000 feet in height, we made a temporary halt. We had now to change our leiterwagen for horses. All signs of a road had long ceased. On the green knoll in front were a herd of shaggy mountain horses with their Wallack drivers—as wild a scene as could well be imagined. Here we unpacked our various stores of provisions, fortified ourselves with a good dinner, and made necessary arrangements for the change of locomotion. There was some trouble in properly distributing the things for the pack-horses. Care had to be taken to give each horse his proper weight and no more. It was also very important to see that the packages were rightly balanced to avoid shifting.

I had left my own horse at Karansebes, because he was in need of rest; so F—— and I had to select horses from amongst the promiscuous lot brought up by the "hunt." We chose out a couple of decent-looking animals—indeed I rather prided myself on my selection, drew attention to his good points, and rallied F—— on his less successful choice.

At length everything was ready. Judging from the amount of baggage, the commissariat department was all right. The order of march was this: ten gentlemen, like so many knights on horseback with lances in rest, rode on in front, in Indian file: our long alpen-stocks really somewhat resembled lances. Each man had his gun slung behind. In the rear of these gallant knights came a dozen pack-horses heavily laden, each with his burden well covered up with sheepskins; behind again followed a lot of Wallacks—these irregulars were to act as beaters.

On we went in this order for seven hours. The pace was so slow that I confess it made me impatient, but our path through the forest was too narrow and too steep to do more than walk our horses in single file. The character of the vegetation visibly changed as we ascended. We left the oak and beech, and came upon a forest of pine-trees, and I thought of the lines—

"This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight."

The grey moss which hangs in such abundant festoons from the fir-trees has a most singular effect, almost weird at times. These ancients of the forest, with their long grey beards and hoary tresses, look very solemn indeed in the gloaming.

What unheeded wealth in these majestic trees, which grow but to decay! Enormous trunks lay on every side: some had passed into the rottenness which gives new life; and here fungi of bright and varied hues, grey lichen, and green moss preserved together the contour of the gigantic stem, which, prostrate and decayed now, had once held its head high amongst the lordlings of the forest.

In the last century these woods were tenanted by wild aurochs and the ibex, but both are extinct now in Hungary. Red-deer and the roe are still common enough. "The wild-cat, fox, badger, otter, marten, and other smaller carnivora are pretty numerous." Mr Danford[11] goes on to say that "feathered game is certainly not abundant. There are a good many capercailzie in the quiet pine-woods, pretty high up, but they are only to be got at during the pairing season. Hazel-grouse too are common in the lower woods, but are not easily found unless the call-system be adopted. Black game are scarcely worth mentioning as far as sport is concerned. Partridges scarce, not preserved, and the hooded crows and birds of prey making life rather hard for them." Mr Danford further speaks of the chamois-eagle as "not rare in the higher mountains." The fisher-eagle "generally distributed." The king-eagle also "not rare." The carrion-vulture "common throughout the country," also the red-footed falcon. At one time and another I have myself seen most of these birds in the Carpathians, which form the frontier between Transylvania and Roumania.

Meanwhile I must resume the description of our march, which was a very slow affair. As we ascended, the trees decreased in size. We had long ago left the deciduous foliage behind us; but the pines themselves were smaller, interspersed with what is called "crooked timber," which grows in grotesque dwarf-like forms. The forest at last diminished into mere sparse shrubs, and finally we reached the treeless region, called in German the Alpen, where there is rich pasturage for cattle and sheep during the summer. We were now on tolerably level ground, and I thought we should get a trot out of our wretched horses, but no, not a step faster would they go. I believe we went at the rate of about two miles and a half an hour. We tried everything—I mean F——and I—to get the animals to stretch out over the turf; but they set to kicking vigorously, backing and rearing, so that to avoid giving annoyance to our companions, we were obliged to give in, and let the brutes go their own pace.

We had gone but a very little way on the Alpen before we found ourselves enveloped in a thick mist, added to which the track itself became uncertain. We went on: if the saying "slow but sure" has any truth in it, we ought to have been sure enough. My horse reminded me of the reply of the Somersetshire farmer, who, when he was asked if his horse was steady, answered, "He be so steady that if he were a bit steadier he would not go at all." Notwithstanding that we moved like hay-stacks, and the cavalcade seemed to be treading on one another's heels, yet, ridiculous to say, we got separated from our baggage. Darkness set in, and with it a cold drizzling rain—not an animated storm that braces your nerves, but a quiet soaking rain, the sort of thing that takes the starch out of one's moral nature.

All at once I was aroused from my apathy by a shout from the front calling out to the cavalcade to halt. I must observe a fellow on foot was leading the way in quality of guide. A pretty sort of a guide he turned out to be. He had led us quite wrong, and in fact found all of a sudden that he was on the verge of a precipice!

There was a good deal of unparliamentary language, expressed in tones both loud and deep. It was an act of unwisdom, however, to stop there in a heap on the grassy slope of a precipice, swearing in chorus at the poor devil of a Wallack. I turned my horse up the incline, resolved to try back, hoping to regain the lost track. It was next to impossible to halt, for we had not even got our plaids with us—everything was with the baggage-horses. Of course "some one had blundered." We all knew that! The guide stuck to it to the last that "he had not exactly lost his way." The fellow was incapable of a suggestion, and would have stood there arguing till doomsday if we had not sent him off with a sharp injunction to find some shepherds, and that quickly, who could take us to the rendezvous. Being summer time, there would be many shepherds about in different places on the Alpen, and the Wallack could hardly fail to encounter some herdkeeper before long.

We waited, as agreed, on the same spot nearly an hour, and then we heard a great shouting to the right of us. This was the guide, who I believe must have been born utterly without the organ of locality. He had found some shepherds, he told us subsequently, not long after he had left us, but then the fool of a fellow could not find his way back to us, to the spot where we agreed to wait for him. There was a great deal of shouting before we could bring him to our bearings: the fog muffled the sound, adding to the perplexity.

The shepherds now took us in tow. We had to go back some distance, and then make a sharp descent to the right, which brought us to the rendezvous, and we effected at last a junction with our lost luggage. Arriving at the hut, which had been previously built for us, we were delighted to find a meal already prepared; it was in fact a very elaborate supper, but I think we were all too exhausted to appreciate the details. I know I was very glad to wrap my plaid round me and stretch myself on the floor.

The next morning we were up with the first streak of dawn. It was with some curiosity that I looked round at our impromptu dwelling and its surroundings, upon which we had descended in total obscurity the night before. The position of our camping-place was not badly chosen; we were just within the girdle of forest above which rises the grassy Alpen. About forty yards to the left or north-east of us was a small stream, the boundary, it seems, between the Banat and Transylvania. We were provided with two necessaries of life, wood and water, close at hand.

The hut, however, was more picturesque than practical, as subsequent events proved. The Wallacks had constructed it by driving two strong posts into the ground about ten yards apart. A tree was placed across, with a couple of smaller supports, and on this was made on a rough framework a sloping roof to the windward side. The roofing consisted entirely of leaves: it is called in German laubhuette, but is in fact more of a parasol than an umbrella. I should have preferred a hut made of bark, such as I have seen used by shepherds and sportsmen in Styria.

The interior of the hut had a droll appearance. Bacon, sausages, meal-bags, and various other things were hanging from pegs fastened into the supports of the roof; and the gear belonging to ten sportsmen were stowed away somehow. The place might have passed for the head-centre of a band of brigands.

The mountain on which we were encamped forms part of the western side of a long valley, at the bottom of which, quite 2000 feet below us, is a magnificent trout-stream. The sides of this valley are clothed with dense forests, with broken cliffs obtruding in places. The height of the Carpathians in this part of the range must not be taken as a gauge of the scenery, which quite equals in grandeur the higher Alps in many parts of Switzerland and the Tyrol. Comparisons are dangerous, for the lovers of Switzerland will silence me with glaciers and eternal snow; these advantages I must concede, still contending, however, for the extreme beauty and wildness of the Southern Carpathians. The characteristics of the scenery are due to the broken forms of the crystalline rocks, the singular occurrence of sharp limestone ridges, and the deep forest-clad valleys, traversed by mountain torrents, which everywhere diversify the scene.

[Footnote 11: The Ibis, vol. v., 1875. The Birds of Transylvania. By Messrs. Danford and Brown.]



CHAPTER XI.

Chamois and bear hunting—First battue—Luxurious dinner 5000 feet above the sea-level—Storm in the night—Discomforts—The bear's supper—The eagle's breakfast—Second and third day's shooting—Baking a friend as a cure for fever—Striking camp—View into Roumania.

We started for our first battue in capital time, taking with us a crowd of Wallack beaters. Our places were appointed to us by the director of the hunt, and some of us had a stiffish climb before reaching the spot indicated. At a right angle to this valley there protrudes one of those characteristic limestone ridges; it terminates in an abrupt precipice or declivity above the stream. My place was some half-way up, a good position; for while I could see the course of the stream, I could command a fair range of ground above me.

It was impossible not to take note of the exquisite beauty of the whole scene, particularly as it then appeared. The sun breaking through the clouds, threw his sharply-defined rays of light into the depths of the misty defile, playing upon the foam of the water, and giving life and colour to the hanging woods. I hardly took it in at the time, but rather remembered the details afterwards; for my thoughts were occupied in trying to judge the distance up to which I might fire with any chance of success—distances are always very deceptive on the mountains.

I must observe that we hoped to get a shot at some bears, but the chamois were the legitimate object of the hunt. The late autumn or early winter is the best time for bear-hunting.

I had not been long at my post when I heard two shots in quick succession fired below me. I found a chamois had been shot.

For our next battue we turned right-about face, the beaters coming from the other side; but we had bad luck. One of our party saw a bear at some distance, fired, and—missed it. The fact of a bear having been sighted encouraged us in keeping up our battues pretty late, but nothing more was shot that day. It was very disappointing, because if the bear was thereabouts our numerous staff of beaters ought to have turned him up again. Some of the party were altogether sceptical about a bear having been seen at all. Of course the man who had fired held to the bear as if it was the first article in his creed. The dissentients remarked that "believing is seeing," as some one cleverly said of spiritualism. I don't know whether it was better to think you had missed your bear or had no bear to miss.

When we returned to the hut in the evening we found that a couple of men left in charge had made some great improvements. The Wallacks, who are sharp ready-handed fellows, to do them justice, had in our absence cut down some trees, split them with wooden pegs, and constructed out of the rough timber a long table and a couple of benches. These were placed in front of our hut; the supper was spread, the table being lighted with some four lanterns, supplemented by torches of resinous pine-wood.

The weather had been fair, though sport had been bad, so with a feeling not "altogether sorrow-like" we sat down to a hearty good meal. One of the dishes was chamois-liver, which is considered a great delicacy. We had, indeed, several capital dishes, well dressed and served hot—a most successful feast at 5000 feet above the sea-level. A vote of thanks was proposed for the cook, and carried unanimously. The wines were excellent. We had golden Mediasch, one of the best wines grown in Transylvania, Roszamaber from Karlsburg and Bakatar. The peculiarity about the first-named wine is that it produces an agreeable pricking on the tongue, called in German tschirpsen.

Before turning in we had a smoke, accompanied by tea with rum, the invariable substitute for milk in Hungary.

As there were four big fires burning in the clearing outside the hut, the whole scene was very bright and cheerful. The wood crackled briskly, the flames lit up the green foliage, and the moving figures of our attendants gave animation to the picture. Amongst ourselves there were a few snatches of song, and from up the hill where the Wallacks were camped came a chorus of not unmusical voices. One after another of our party dropped off, betaking himself to his natural rest. I was not the last, and must have slept as soon as I pulled the plaid over my ears, for I remembered nothing more.

I daresay I slept two or three hours; it may have been more or less, I don't know, but the next moment of consciousness, or semi-consciousness, was an uneasy feeling that a thief was trying to carry off a large tin bath that belonged to me, in my dream. As he dragged it away it seemed to me that he bumped it with all his might, making a horrible row. Meanwhile, oppressed by nightmare, I could not budge an inch nor utter a cry, though I would have given the world to stop the thief. I daresay this nonsense of my dream occupied but an instant of time. I woke to the consciousness of a loud peal of thunder. "We are in for a storm," thought I, turning drowsily on my other side, not yet much awake to the probable consequences.

There was no sleep for me, however. The rest of the party were, one and all, up and moving about; and the noise of the storm also increased—the flashes of lightning were blinding, and the crash of the thunder was almost simultaneous. Through the open side of our hut I could see and hear the rain descending in torrents; fortunately it did not beat in, but it was not long before the wet penetrated the roof—that roof of leaves that I had mentally condemned the day before. After the rain once came through, the ground was soon soaking.

It was a dismal scene. I sat up with the others, "the lanterns dimly burning," and occupied myself for some time contriving gurgoyles at different angles of my body, but the wet would trickle down my neck.

We made a small fire inside the hut, essaying thereby to dry some of our things. My socks were soaking; my boots, I found, had a considerable storage of water; the only dry thing was my throat, made dry by swallowing the wood-smoke. A more complete transformation scene could hardly be imagined than our present woeful guise compared with the merriment of the supper-table, where all was song and jollity.

A German, who was sitting on the same log with myself, looking the picture of misery, had been one of the most jovial songsters of the evening.

"Thousand devils!" said he, "you could wring me like a rag. This abominable hut is a sponge—a mere reservoir of water."

"Oh, well, it is all part of the fun," said I, turning the water out of my boots, and proceeding to toast my socks by the fire on the thorns of a twig. "Suppose we sing a song. What shall it be?—'The meeting of the waters'?"

I had intended a mild joke, but the Teuton relapsed into grim silence.

The storm after a while appeared to be rolling off. The thunder-claps were not so immediately over our heads, and the flashes of lightning were less frequent; in fact a perfect lull existed for a short space of time, marking the passage probably to an oppositely electrified zone of the thunder-cloud. During this brief lull we were startled by hearing all at once a frightful yelling from the quarter where the Wallacks were camping, a little higher up than our hut.

Amidst the general hullabaloo of dogs barking and men shouting we at last distinguished the cry of "Ursa, ursa!" which is Wallachian for bear. Our camp became the scene of the most tremendous excitement; everybody rushed out, but in the thick darkness it was impossible to pursue the bear. The more experienced sportsmen were not so eager to sally out after the bear, as they were anxious to prevent a stampede of the horses. When the latter were secured as well as circumstances would permit, a few guns were fired off to warn the bear, and then there was nothing for it but to watch and wait. The dogs went on barking for more than an hour, but otherwise the camp relapsed into stillness. I spent the remainder of the night sitting on a log before the fire, smoking my pipe with the bowl downwards, for the rain had never ceased, and clouds of steam rose from our camp-fires. The fear was that the powder would get wet. I must have dropped off my perch asleep, for I picked myself up the next morning out of a pool of water. It was already dawn, and looking eastward I saw a streak of light beneath a dark curtain of cloud, like the gleam on the edge of a sword, so sharp and defined was it. This was hopeful; it had ceased raining too, and a brisk wind came up the valley.

There was plenty to be done, in drying our clothes and preparing breakfast under difficulties. In the midst of this bustle a Wallack came in to tell us that the bear had really got into the camp in the night, and that he had killed and partly eaten one of the horses. This confirmed the fact that the bear had been sighted by one of our party the day before; though we missed him, he had had his supper, and we were minus a horse.

I followed the Wallack a few steps up the hill, and there, not far off, on a knoll to the left, lay the carcass of the horse. It was a strange sight! Crowds of eagles, vultures, and carrion-crows were already feasting on the remains. Every moment almost, fresh birds came swooping down to their savage breakfast. Bears do not always eat flesh; but it seems when once tasted, they have a liking for it, and cease to be vegetarians. A simple-minded bear delights in maize, honey, wild apples and raspberries.

Our guns required a good deal of cleaning before we were ready to start for the second day's sport.

The result of the battues were not satisfactory. A fine buck was shot, and two or three chamois were bagged. We sighted no less than three bears, but they all broke through the line, and got off into the lower valleys. The provoking thing was that the bear or bears came again to our camp the second night; but they were able to do no mischief this time. The horses were kept better together, and the dogs scared the intruders from close quarters I imagine. Fires certainly do not frighten the bear in districts where they get accustomed to the shepherds' fires.

The third day of our shooting the weather was good, but we had no sport at all. I believe we should have done better with a different set of beaters, and this opinion was shared by several of our party. The Foerstmeister had made a mistake in choosing men from the villages in the plain, instead of getting some of the hill shepherds, who know the mountains thoroughly well, and are not afraid of a bear when they see one. Some of our beaters were funky, I believe, and gave the bear a wide berth I feel sure, otherwise we must have had better sport.

During the evening of the third day F—— got a bad attack of fever, the intermittent fever common in all the Danubian Provinces. After supper the rain came on again, not violently, but enough to make everything very damp. I felt that under the circumstances the hut was a very bad place for him, so I cast about to see what I could do. As good-luck would have it, not very far off I discovered a horizontal fissure in the cliff, a sort of wide slit caused by one rock overhanging another ledge. It was fortunately sheltered from the wind, and promised to suit my purpose very well.

I collected a pile of sticks and firewood, thrust them blazing into the cavity, and fed the fire till the rocks were fit to crack with the heat. I remembered having seen cottagers heat their ovens in this way in Somersetshire. I now raked out the fire and all the mortuary remains of insects, and then laid down a plaid thrice doubled for softness. Having done this, I seized upon my friend, weak and prostrate as he was, and shoved him into his oven like a batch of bread. I had previously given him a big dose of quinine (without which medicine I never travel in these parts), and now I set to work rubbing him, for he was really very bad indeed. In ten minutes or so F——became warm as a toast. The terrible shivering was stopped, so my plan of baking was succeeding capitally. It is true he complained a little of one shoulder being rather overdone, but that was nothing. The vigorous rubbing was of great service also. I remembered the saying, "Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well," so I rubbed my patient with a will. He objected rather, but he was too weak to make any resistance, so I rubbed on. I knew it would do him good in the end; so it did—I cured him. I think, however, the cure was mainly due to the baking!

After I had satisfied myself that my friend was going on well, I arranged our waterproofs in front of the opening like curtains; and then I turned in myself, for there was room for me too in the oven. The rain descended pretty heavily in the night, but we slept well; and my patient presented a most creditable appearance in the morning.

On the fourth day some of our party bagged a few chamois, but the incidents of the day were in no way remarkable. At night F—— and I returned to our cave. The others had dubbed it the "Hotel d'Angleterre." Considering the capability we had of warming-up, our quarters were not half bad.

The succeeding morning it was settled that we should strike our camp and move on to a fresh place. The beaters were sent back, for they were not a bit of good. Some of the party also left, amongst them my German friend. I do not think he will ever join a bear-hunt again, and his departure did not surprise us. After leaving our late quarters we rode for some hours along a singular ridge, so narrow at places as to leave little more than the width of the sheep-track on the actual summit. This ridge, more or less precipitous, rises above the zone of forest, and is covered with short thick grass. We passed, I should think, thirty flocks of sheep at different times, attended by the wild-looking Wallacks and their fierce dogs.

We made a halt in the middle of the day, but the rain was coming down, and we were glad to be soon off again.

In the afternoon we got over into the Roumanian side of the frontier. The lofty limestone ridge of which I have spoken is in fact the boundary-line at this part. We were at an elevation of about 6000 feet, judging from the heights above us, when suddenly, or almost suddenly, the clouds were lifted which hitherto had enveloped us. It was like drawing up the curtain of a theatre. I never remember to have seen anything so striking as this sudden revealing of the fair world at our feet, bathed in glowing sunlight. We beheld the plains of Roumania far away stretched as a map beneath us; there, though one cannot discern it, the swift Aluta joins the Danube opposite Nicopolis; and there, within range of the glass, are the white mosques of Widdin in Bulgaria. We looked right down into Little Wallachia, where woods, rocks, and streams are tumbled about pellmell in a picturesque but unsettled sort of way. The very locality we were traversing is the part where the salt-smugglers used to carry on their trade, and many a sharp encounter has been fought here between them and the soldiers. This is now a thing of the past, since Roumania has also introduced a salt monopoly.

We were treated to this glorious view for little more than half an hour; the clouds then enveloped us again, and blotted out that fair world, with all its brightness, as if it were not. A strong wind blew up from the north, bringing with it a storm of rain and sleet which chilled us to the bones. The horses went slower and slower. Including the noonday halt, we had been ten hours in the saddle, and men and horses had had pretty well enough. I never recollect a colder ride.

We encamped that night in the forest. I looked out for another rock oven, and found one not otherwise unsuitable for shelter; but unfortunately this time the opening was to the windward side, so it was useless for our purpose. It was a good thing F—— did not have a return of his fever here, for we had to pass the night very indifferently.

The next morning the weather continued so persistently bad in the mountains that we voted the "hunt" at an end, and made the best of our way towards Mehadia, from which place we were in fact not so very distant. The descent was very rapid; at first through a thick forest, then into the open valley, where the heat became intense. The change of temperature was very striking.



CHAPTER XII.

Back at Mehadia—Troubles about a carriage—An unexpected night on the road—Return to Karansebes—On horseback through the Iron Gate Pass—Varhely, the ancient capital of Dacia—Roman remains—Beauty of the Hatszeg Valley.

After a week of such weather as we had had in the mountains, a water-tight roof over one's head was in itself a luxury; so we were not inclined to quarrel with our quarters at the hotel at Mehadia, had they been even less good than they were.

F—— and I wished the next day to get back to Karansebes; he had left his carriage, and I my Servian horse. A Hungarian gentleman, one of the late expedition, said he would arrange to have a vorspann, if we would join him, as he also wanted to go there. This well-understood plan insures to the traveller relays of horses, and we were only too glad to acquiesce in the prospect of making the journey pleasantly and quickly.

The driver who was to take us the first stage came in and asked for a florin to get some oats for his horses. Very foolishly I gave him the money, nothing doubting; and off he went to spend it on slivovitz, the result being that he was soon drunk and incapable. If we had realised the fact at once it might have been better, but we waited and waited, not knowing for a long time what had happened. This upset all our vorspann arrangements, and to our great disgust the best part of the day was wasted in seeking another vehicle and horses to take us to Karansebes. At last we succeeded in obtaining a lumbering sort of covered conveyance, whose speed we doubted from the first; but the owner, who was to drive us, declared he would get us to our journey's end in an incredibly short space of time.

We took care to give no pourboire in advance; but what with the inevitable dilatoriness of the people down in these parts, it was after seven o'clock before we left the Hercules-Bad, and we had fifty miles to drive.

Not even the ten hours of undisturbed consecutive repose in the downy bed at the Mehadia hotel had made up the deficiency of sleep during the foregoing week, and drowsiness overcame us. I think we must have had a couple of hours of monotonous jog-trot on the fairly level road when I fell asleep, and I suppose my companions did the same.

I must have slept long and profoundly, for when I woke, pulling myself together with some difficulty, having slept in the form of a doubled-up zigzag, I found it was daylight. I was surprised that we were not moving; I rubbed my eyes, and looked out at the back of the cart, and there I saw a round tower on a slight eminence, encircled by a belt of fir-wood, the very counterpart of a pretty bit of scenery I had noticed in the twilight. I looked again, and sure enough it was just the tower itself and no other, and the very same belt of wood. The explanation was not far to seek. I was the first to wake up in our "fast coach." Every mortal soul—and there were five of us, besides the four horses—had, it seems, gone to sleep much about the same time that I did. The magic sleep of eld must have fallen upon us. The simple fact was, we had passed the night in the middle of the highroad. Was there ever anything so ridiculous?

We were about seven miles from Mehadia; I knew the country perfectly well. Of course we made a confounded row with the idiot of a driver, who certainly had been hired—not to go to sleep. I have known these Wallacks drive for miles in a state of somnolency, the horses generally keeping in the "safe middle course" of their own accord. As there were some awkward turns not far ahead of us, it was perhaps just as well that the horses stopped on this occasion.

Well, we jogged on all that day, reaching Karansebes between one and two o'clock. We had been some eighteen hours on the road!

Here F—— and I parted, my friend returning to Uibanya, while I pursued my way to Transylvania.

I slept the night at Karansebes, rising very early; indeed I started soon after four o'clock. I was again on my little Servian horse, who was quite fresh after his long rest, and I saw no reason why I should not reach Hatszeg the same evening, as the distance is not more than forty-five miles. About two miles from Karansebes I passed a hill crowned with a picturesque ruin, locally called Ovid's Tower. Tradition fondly believes that Ovid spent the last years of his banishment, not on the shores of the stormy Euxine, but in the tranquillity of these lovely valleys. Certain it is that the name and fame of many of the great Romans are still known to the Wallacks; and the story is told by Mr Boner, that they have a catechism which teaches the children to say that they have Ovid and Virgil for their ancestors, and that they are descended from demigods!

On my way I passed the villages of Ohaba, Marga, and Bukova. On arriving at Varhely, or Gradischtie, as it is called in Wallack language, I found that it was worth while to stay the night, for the sake of having the afternoon to examine the Roman remains scattered about the neighbourhood.

The Wallack villages I had passed through were very miserable-looking places: they are generally in the south of Transylvania. The houses are mostly mere wattled wigwams, without chimneys; a patch of garden, rudely hurdled in, with the addition of a high stockaded enclosure for cattle. Some of the women are extremely pretty, and, as I have said before, the costume can be very picturesque; but they are often seen extremely dirty, in which case the filthy fringe garment gives them the appearance of savages.

Varhely is conspicuous for its dirt even among Wallachian villages, yet once it was a royal town. It is built on the site of the famous Sarmisegethusa, the capital of ancient Dacia. In Trajan's second expedition against Decebalus, King of the Dacians, he came from Orsova on the Danube by the same route that forms the highroad of this day—the same I had traversed in my way hither. It is curious to reflect how nation succeeding nation tread in each other's footsteps, through the self-same valley, beneath the shadow of the old hills. Here they have trudged, old Dacian gold-seekers, returning from the daily labours of washing the auriferous sands of the mountain streams; here, too, have tramped victorious Roman soldiers—Avars, Tartars, Turks, and other intruders. A long and motley cavalcade has history marshalled along this route for two thousand years and more!

The old Dacians were strong enough we know to exact a yearly tribute from Domitian: it was for this insult that Trajan marched upon Dacia, defeating Decebalus at Klausenburg, in the heart of Transylvania, which was at the time their greatest strong-hold. It was after this that the Dacian king retreated upon Sarmisegethusa, and there Trajan came down upon them through the Iron Gate Pass. Unable to defend themselves, the Dacians set fire to their royal city and fled to the mountains. On these ruins the Romans, ever ready to appropriate a good site, erected the city of Ulpia Trajana, connecting it by good roads with the existing Roman colonies at Karlsburg and Klausenburg.

Unless the traveller had brought historic facts with him to Gradischtie, he would hardly be induced to search for tesselated pavements and relics of royalty amongst the piggeries of this dirty Wallack village. It is a literal fact that a very fine specimen of Roman pavement exists here in an unsavoury outhouse, not unknown to pigs and their congeners.

This Hatszeg Valley, in the county of Hunyad, has long been celebrated for the richness of its Dacian and Roman antiquities. These treasures have unfortunately been dispersed about amongst various general collections of antiquity, instead of being well kept together as illustrative of local facts and history. The archaeologist must seek for these remains specially in the Ambras collection of the Archaeological Museum at Vienna, the National Museum at Buda Pest, in the Bruckenthal Museum at Herrmannstadt, also in the Klausenburg Museum. Dr H. Finaly, Professor of Archaeology at the University of Klausenburg, is the great living authority on this interesting subject. To him I am indebted for some information, conveyed in a letter to a private friend.[12] The professor alludes to the fact of the treasures being all carried away, adding that on the spot very little is to be found except the remains of Roman encampments (castra stativa), Roman military roads, together with the foundations of buildings, the materials of which however are usually carried away by the peasants. Nor are the records of former interesting discoveries to be found in one volume, but are dispersed about in the various publications of learned societies, such as the 'Archaelogiaei Koezlemenyek' of the Hungarian Academy, the 'Year-Book of the Transylvanian Museum,' and 'Verhandlungen und Mittheilungen' of the Verein fur Siebenbuergische Landeskunde of Herrmannstadt.

That the materials of the old Roman buildings are now used for baser purposes, one has abundant proof; even in my hurried inspection I saw many a sculptured stone and fragment of fluted column doing duty as the support of a wretched Wallack shanty. Another evidence of the Roman occupation of the country occurs in the case of certain plants now found growing wild, which are exotic to the soil. This, I am told, occurs in a marked manner at Thorda, which was known to be a Roman colony. The plants, it may be presumed, were brought thither by the Roman legionaries. The most picturesque bit of Roman antiquity is the Temple at Demsus, within a short drive of Varhely. It is on a small eminence overlooking a cluster of Wallack dwellings, and has long been used as a church by these people.

The Hatszeg Valley, which comprehends the district I am now describing, is the pride of Transylvania, not less for its fertility than for its beauty. It has the appearance of having been filled in former geological ages by the waters of a widespread lake.

It was a lovely afternoon, but very hot, when I rode into the little town of Hatszeg. Everywhere is to be seen evidence of the careful cultivation of the maize and other crops. Numerous villages dot the plain and cluster amidst the thickly-wooded hillsides. And now we come upon the railway system again, which has stretched out its feelers into the wilds of the Southern Carpathians. The railroad enters Transylvania by two routes. The main line is from Buda-Pest to Grosswardein, and so on by Klausenburg—the Magyar capital—to the present terminus of Kronstadt, one of the chief towns of the Saxon immigrants. This includes a branch to Maros Vasarhely. It is proposed to carry this line over a pass in the Carpathians to Bucharest. The second line of railway entering Transylvania starts from Arad, and terminates at Herrmannstadt, the Saxon capital, having a branch to the mineral district of Petroseny.

It will be seen from the above that this "odd corner of Europe," as Transylvania has been called, is fairly well off for iron roads; and considering how short a time some portions of them have been opened, they have already borne good fruit in developing the resources of the country.

[Footnote 12: Martin Diosy, Esq.]



CHAPTER XIII.

Hungarian hospitality—Wallack laziness—Fishing—"Settled gipsies"—Anecdote—Old regime—Fire—Old Roman bath—The avifauna of Transylvania—Fly-fishing.

I had brought with me from London a letter of introduction to a Hungarian gentleman residing near Hatszeg, and finding his place was not far off, I rode over to see him the evening of my arrival.

I had merely intended to make a call, but Herr von B——, with true Hungarian hospitality, insisted that I should stay at his house as long as I remained in the neighbourhood.

"What! allow a stranger to remain at the inn?—impossible!" he said with resolute kindness.

It was in vain that I made any attempt to plead that I felt it was trespassing too much on his hospitality. His answer was very decided. He put the key of the stable which held my horse in his pocket, and turning to one of his people he gave orders that my things should be brought hither from the Hatszeg inn.

I was soon quite at home with my new friends, a young married couple, whose menage, though very simple, was thoroughly refined and agreeable. As it was my first visit to a Hungarian house, I found many things to interest me. Several of the dishes at table were novelties, the variety consisting more in the cooking than in the materials; for instance, we had maize dressed in a dozen different ways. It was generally eaten as a sort of pudding at breakfast, at which meal there was also an unfailing dish of water-melons. Of course we had paprika handl (chicken with red pepper), and gulyas, a sort of improved Irish stew; and gipsy's meat, also very good, besides excellent soups and many nameless delicacies in the way of sweets.

All Hungarian men are great smokers, but as a rule the ladies do not smoke; there are some exceptions, but it is considered "fast" to do so.

The peasants in the Hatszeg Valley are all Wallacks, and as lazy a set as can well be imagined; in fact, judging by their homes, they are in a lower condition than those of the Banat. So much is laziness the normal state with these people that I think they must regard hard work as a sort of recreation. Their wants are so limited that there is no inducement to work for gain. What have they to work for beyond the necessary quantity of maize, slivovitz, and tobacco? Their women make nearly all the clothes. Wages of course are high—that is the trouble throughout the country. If the Wallack could be raised out of the moral swamp of his present existence he might do something, but he must first feel the need of what civilisation has to offer him.

The village of Rea, where I was staying, is about the wildest-looking place one can well imagine in Europe. The habitations of the peasants are made of reed and straw; the hay-ricks are mere slovenly heaps, partially thatched; the fences are made up of odds and ends. As for order, the whole place might have been strewn with the debris of a whirlwind and not have looked worse. As a natural consequence of all this slatternly disorder, fire is no uncommon occurrence; and when a fire begins, it seldom stops till it has licked the whole place clean—a condition not attainable by any other process.

Fishing was a very favourite amusement with us, and Herr von B—— several times organised some pleasant excursions with that object. One day we went up the Lepusnik, a magnificent trout-stream.

We drove across the valley, and then followed a narrow gorge near the village of Klopotiva. The scenery was enchanting, but our fishing was only moderately successful; for the trout were very much larger than in the valley nearer home, and they bothered us sadly by carrying away our lines.