At noon of the day following our introduction to the system of keeping
the frontier in Roumania, we heard the sound of rifle-firing and the
beating of drums in the Servian village of Brza Palanka, and, on landing
there, found the place in the liveliest commotion. Scores of men and
women were filling gourds at the wells, and hurrying away up the
hill-side back of the town. Besides the burden of water, most of the
women and a great crowd of children were carrying baskets of bread and
cooked food, and kerchiefs full of grapes. The hot and dusty streets
were alive with peasants, mostly in white linen garments, with brilliant
red sashes on the men, and richly colored aprons on the women. Both
sexes wore very clumsy sandals and heavy woollen socks, or
leg-wrappings, bound to the ankle by thongs. While we were wondering at
the extraordinary activity of the village, we heard the beat of a drum
coming nearer and nearer, and soon a militia company of the
wildest-looking men who ever carried a rifle came marching up at quick
pace, and wheeling into a narrow lane, tramped along in a cloud of dust,
and disappeared over the brow of the hill. Another and then another
company, each more savage-looking than the last, went through the same
manœuvres, and the whole population followed them, we among the rest.
When we came out on the hill-top we saw before us the strangest and most
barbaric encampment imaginable. The broad, arid plateau was covered
with shelters or great huts made of oak-boughs, ranged around in a sort
of quadrangle, enclosing a level space of twenty-five or thirty acres.
In the shadows of these rude shelters were seated hundreds of men eating
their mid-day meal, which was brought to them by the women and children,
who, after the men were served, squatted on the dry turf a little
distance away, and ate their own frugal dinner. Across the great
parade-ground were two long heaps of straw in parallel lines, which were
evidently the beds of the men at night. We understood, of course, that
we were in the annual camp of the Servian militia, and were not
surprised that our appearance caused some little interest and curiosity,
as we were the only ones in European dress anywhere in sight. Besides,
our costume would doubtless have excited comment anywhere, for Danube
mud had so changed its tone, and hard usage had so distorted its shape,
that it was now decidedly unique in general appearance. The camp guard
halted us, and inquired our business, which we, for want of a better
answer, stated to be a visit to the captain, trusting to the probability
of there being a number of officers of this rank. The guard seemed
perfectly satisfied with our reply, and did not even ask which captain
we wanted to see, but let us pass at once. We made the same explanation
to various inquisitive militiamen, who seemed to resent our sketching,
and we slowly made our way into the enclosure. We had eaten nothing
since sunrise, and had paddled twenty miles or more, therefore, after
our first curiosity was satisfied, we thought we had better return to
the village for luncheon, and come back again to see the afternoon
drill. But the moment we began to move away, the suspicions of the whole
camp were aroused at once, and from all sides came a chorus of shouts
and cries in what seemed to us very violent and angry tones. In another
instant we were the centre of an excited
[Illustration: CARRYING WATER FOR THE CAMP, BRZA PLANKA]
throng of fierce-looking rascals all armed with knives, and several of
them with rifles and bayonets. Explanations were now futile, and,
indeed, quite impossible, for our small stock of Servian words was soon
exhausted, and, after making several attempts to push past the men who
blocked our path, we finally yielded, and were marched off to the hut
which was apparently the headquarters. Here we found two officers of the
regular army, a captain and a lieutenant, who had charge of the
encampment, the former being, as we now understood, the only captain in
the camp, and therefore the one whom we had declared we were about to
visit.
[Illustration: “OUR GUARD,” SERVIAN MILITIA CAMP]
The officers were naturally astonished at seeing two men in boating
dress appear at the door of their hut, for the militiamen stood off at a
respectful distance and sent us ahead to announce ourselves; however,
they received us with great courtesy, gave us the only two chairs they
had, and tried to conceal their bewilderment by urgent offers of
hospitality. We produced our passports, displayed the great water-mark
of the eagle and shield and the arms of the British Empire, and made
ourselves as agreeable as possible, all the while wondering what was
going to be the result of the interview. They seemed to be in no great
hurry to get rid of us, and were evidently puzzled what to do with us
anyhow; for there could be no question of the validity of our
credentials, and they undoubtedly had received no orders to cover this
unexpected episode. The difficulty lay in our inability to explain our
business; for although we could understand the greater part of what they
said, from the resemblance of the language to Russian, we had a very
limited stock of Servian words to use in this emergency. Even if we had
successfully managed the philological feat of explaining the object of
our trip in comprehensible Servian, we should have found the same
difficulty here as at every other place since the beginning of our
voyage in convincing them that we were engaged in no commercial
enterprise, but were simply on a pleasure excursion. The captain sent
men in various directions to find some one who spoke German or
Hungarian, and at last a gypsy was brought who was supposed to be a
linguist. His German was limited to one phrase, “Was wollen Sie?” and
not a word of Hungarian did he know, so he was promptly kicked out
again. While they were scouring the camp for another interpreter, it
suddenly occurred to us to say we were engineers, believing that this
must be a recognized profession along the Danube. The word “Ingenieur”
acted like a charm. The captain immediately apologized for his stupidity
in not understanding our position sooner, and called a guard to conduct
us safely to the lines, saying that he could not let us remain in the
camp, for the orders were against it; besides, there would be nothing to
see, for the soldiers were going to have their after-dinner nap, and the
parade would not take place until evening. We shook hands cordially with
both officers, and followed the brawny chested peasant towards the road
to the village. As we marched across the parade-ground we could not
resist the
[Illustration: MASSING OF SERVIAN TROOPS ON THE BULGARIAN FRONTIER]
temptation to make a little note of the encampment in our sketch-books,
but before we could draw a line an excited party of soldiers rushed
towards us, the leader brandishing a long knife. It was evident they had
all the Oriental fear and aversion to being sketched, and we saw they
were disposed to make it unpleasant for us. We promptly put away our
books, and one of us, drawing a penknife from his pocket, deliberately
opened the smallest blade and flourished it in the air as if in a
mocking challenge to the giant with the long dagger. The ridiculous
situation was appreciated in an instant; the whole crowd stopped
shouting to laugh; the weapons were put up, and peace was declared on
the basis of mutual mirth. Once beyond the camp lines we did not attempt
to enter again, but waved our adieus from the canoes as we floated off.
Our adventure had been a most interesting one, and the result had not
been disagreeable. We could not help thinking that these people were
very little understood by those correspondents who are continually
fermenting the Eastern question and making it a nauseous topic of
ignorant discussion in the Press of the civilized world. Such an
encampment, we thought, would be sure to be described as a massing of
Servian troops near the Bulgarian frontier, and a similar experience to
ours would furnish text for interminable letters on the belligerent
character of the people of the Balkan provinces. For our part we could
readily picture the excitement in an encampment of militia in the United
States or of volunteers in England if two Servians, in native costume
and carrying sketch-books, should succeed in penetrating the lines,
unable to excuse or explain their presence. It is curious to note that a
few days after our visit to the camp we saw an English newspaper, and
almost the first paragraph we observed in the column of telegraphic news
was headed, “Massing of Servian Troops on the Bulgarian Frontier.”
We did not care to come in contact with the military any more, for the
reason that, now the novelty was worn off, we should scarcely find
future experiences interesting enough
[Illustration: DRAWING WATER FOR THE CAMP, BRZA PALANKA]
to compensate us for the great loss of time which they were sure to
involve. But we were not far beyond the sound of drums at Brza Palanka
before we unwittingly fell into a Roumanian trap by drifting, as we
sketched, too near that shore. A hail from the water’s edge caused us to
look up, and we saw three men, dressed like ordinary peasants, as well
as we could judge, beckoning us to come ashore. Thinking they had fish
or some other desirable commodity to sell, we paddled nearer, intending
to land just below. As we came up to them we saw they wore military
belts, and at the same time we noticed a hut like those at other picket
posts under a tree on the bluff above. Our first impulse was to turn our
bows down-stream and paddle away, but, on the first move we made to
escape, one of the men ran up to the hut, appeared instantly again with
rifle and cartridge-boxes, and proceeded to go through significant
exercises in the Roumanian manual of arms. We were rather tired of this
game, and surrendered with bad enough grace. The soldiers, however, were
ready enough to discontinue hostilities the moment they met us on the
shore; the corporal examined our passports, declared them all right,
and, with the present of the silver effigy of King Charles of Roumania,
we stifled effectively what little enmity still lurked under their
coarse linen tunics, and paddled away, friends all round.
Notwithstanding our efforts, we had not by any means finished with the
military yet, for, as darkness came on, and we tried to find a
camp-ground, we could discover no practicable place on the Servian side,
nor escape the pickets on the opposite bank. At last we decided to make
a counter-move against the enemy, and boldly landed and stalked up to a
group of pickets before they had time to run for their one rifle, and
asked for guidance to a good camping-ground. They advised us to stay
where we were, and avoid difficulties with the posts below in the
darkness, so we hauled up the canoes close by their shallow well, where
the Danube water filtered in through the sand, and soon forgot soldiers
and passports and the Eastern question.
On this part of the river villages are infrequent, uninteresting, and
almost all on the Servian side. The native architecture is neither
imposing nor tasteful, but the houses are comfortable, and often very
neat inside and out. The frame is made of roughly hewn poles nailed or
pegged together, and skilfully wattled all over with sticks about an
inch in diameter, which serve to hold the mud with which all the walls
and the ceilings are thickly plastered. An open porch or veranda, often
occupying nearly the whole front of the house, serves as a nursery,
work-room, and general sitting-room for the women in summer, and there
is often a raised platform at one side, where the men sit in Turkish
fashion and smoke, and drink coffee. This latter feature of native
architecture is found at all country inns, and becomes an indispensable
adjunct to most houses a little farther down, within the limits of
former European Turkey. The Servian houses, as well as the Roumanian
structures, which are built on much the same plan, are generally
whitewashed, and either roofed with red tiles, or thatched with reeds or
straw. Tiles are more commonly used in most parts.
The Roumanian bank had now become flat, monotonous, and apparently
deserted by everybody except the pickets. For many miles we saw not even
a fishing hamlet on either shore, and when, after rather a dull
forenoon, we came to the great, white, straggling village of Radujeváç,
on the right bank, we found it to be the last Servian river town above
the Bulgarian frontier, and, fortunately for us, the most picturesque
and characteristic place we had seen for days. Few shops, and those of
the most primitive order, disturb the rustic simplicity of the streets.
Farm-houses
[Illustration: SERVIAN MILITIA, BRZA PALANKA]
with great court-yards enclosed by high wattled fences are half hidden
among the trees on either side the broad, dusty highways, and the part
of the village near the river is still surrounded by an oaken stockade
eight or ten feet high, a relic of the days when such a defence was
necessary.
[Illustration: BUILDING A HOUSE IN SERVIA]
On every veranda and in every farm-yard the women sat
[Illustration: HOUSE AT RADUJEVÁÇ]
in the shadow spinning and weaving wool, and their lively gossiping
voices mingled cheerily with the clatter of the looms and the whir of
the reel. Large-eyed, gray-coated oxen lay and peacefully chewed the cud
at the very elbows of the women as they worked. Bright scarlet peppers
and great piles of husked Indian-corn made rich splashes of color
against the cool shadows of the whitewashed walls, and everywhere
brilliant touches of red in the peasant costume flashed among the
foliage or gleamed in the sunshine. A few idlers were assembled under
the rude awning in front of the wine-shop, to drink the rank plum brandy
or thin acid wine; but, with the exception of these drones of the busy
hive, everybody was actively engaged in harvest-work or in some domestic
manufacture. The bi-weekly Danube steamer touches at the landing at
every trip up and down; freight is delivered, produce shipped and sent
to some convenient market; but the little community is as far away from
civilization as if steamers did not exist, and life there is still quite
as primitive as in the days before the enterprising
[Illustration: ROUMANIAN PICKET GUARD]
scouts of modern commerce began to corrupt the native taste of the
peasantry with the crudities of modern productions.
In the long reaches below Radujeváç a wider landscape meets the eye. Far
to the north the high Carpathians raise their noble heads in grand
array, and stretch away to the eastward until their forms are lost in
the shimmering distance across the Roumanian plain, while to the south
the bold outlines of the Balkans may be faintly distinguished, half
hidden by summer clouds. The river takes longer and more stately curves,
and flows with somewhat sleepy current. No obstacles now impede its
course, no cliffs and crags narrow its channel, and it winds peacefully
along without a check until it pours its great flood through a dozen
outlets into the Black Sea. Nor is this peaceful stream without its own
peculiar charm and beauty. The sunny, smiling landscapes never tire the
eye or fatigue the mind, for the majestic stream opens new vistas at
every bend, and discloses ever-varied combinations of shore and stream
and distance.