Ten miles below Silistria the Roumanian frontier crosses the river, and
the district of the Dobrudscha begins. To our surprise, the line of
pickets still continued along the left bank, although we were fairly in
the Roumanian kingdom, and now and then a soldier would appear in sight,
take a lively interest as we passed, and sometimes order us to come
ashore. We treated these summonses with scorn, and paddled along
heedless of the shouts which followed us.
The river life was fast becoming more active as we went down. Numerous
tow-boats with lighters passed to and fro, and every open reach was
lively with gaudily painted sailing-vessels, manned by Turks dressed in
all colors of the rainbow, and looking as little like sailors as the
craft they were in looked like modern civilized ships. On one occasion
we were watching a large fleet of these quaint vessels merrily careering
up-stream with a favorable wind, when a sudden squall struck them and
scattered them like leaves with the violence of its blast. One succeeded
in gaining the land in deep water, and made fast to the trees there, and
through the dense showers of rain which followed the wind we could see
the remainder of the proud fleet, all scattered and dilapidated,
stranded along the shore in every direction. We now had our own boats to
look after, for there was no shelter in which to land! A group of
friendly Greek lighters in tow gave us but temporary protection from
the squall, for, as the storm increased in violence and the wind veered
round, we found ourselves on as ugly a lee shore as could be
imagined--the iron sides of a loaded barge. However, we managed at last
to moor the canoes under the overhanging stern of one of the lighters,
and, in company with a native boat full of men and women, rode out the
storm in safety.
[Illustration: ROUMANIAN PEASANTS SELLING FLOWERS AND FRUIT]
From Silistria to Chernavoda the topography of the country near the
river alters very little in character, but we noted various other
changes which interested us. The type of small boat was now entirely
different from the rude skiff farther up-stream, resembling the Turkish
caïque, with high pointed bow and stern; and our old friends, the
current-mills, no longer had a supplementary scow to support the axle,
but, with a wheel on either side, made a sort of caricature of a
steamboat anchored in the stream. On the hills above the villages
numerous windmills waved their long arms, testifying to the prevalence
of wind, and everywhere ancient tumuli broke the rounded contours of the
grassy summits. Here, too, Trajan has left an imperishable monument to
his mighty conquest--an immense wall of earth, which extends across the
Dobrudscha from Chernavoda to Kustendji on the Black Sea, and the high
rampart is plainly visible on the great rolling hills, apparently as
well preserved in shape after the lapse of so many centuries as the
Russian earthworks constructed a decade and a half ago on the
neighboring summits. A fine railway bridge is now building across the
river at Chernavoda, to connect the Kustendji Railway with the Roumanian
system, and immense stone piers on the north bank are already finished.
The construction-shops and workmen’s quarters in connection with this
enterprise have transformed the simple little village of Chernavoda into
a hideously commonplace settlement. At this point the river sweeps round
in a wide curve, changing its course from a general easterly to a
northerly direction, and at Hirsova, thirty miles below--a long
straggling town at the foot of a bold spur of rocky hills--it divides
into a number of small branches, which enclose and intersect with
sinuous windings a great irregular marsh, twelve or fifteen miles in
width, and extending to the River Pruth, at the Russian frontier, fifty
miles to the north.
As we left Hirsova, near the end of the day, and saw the
[Illustration: HIRSOVA]
grand outlines of the hills grow all purple in the afternoon light, we
were slow to realize the fact that our route would no longer lead us
past these pleasant slopes, which from the distant Carpathian range
downward had shown us an ever-varying and ever-beautiful panorama along
the river-bank. The shortest of the sluggish branches of the river
skirts the eastern limits of the Roumanian plain, and paddling into this
narrow channel, we found ourselves in a brief half-hour in a region
quite unlike any we had yet seen. Both banks are low, and covered with
tall reeds alternating with willow patches. The only habitations are
little fishing-stations, and these are miles apart. Even the line of
picket-houses is no longer seen along the shore, for it follows the
branch that flows along the eastern boundary of the marsh under the high
land there. The fishermen’s dwellings are hovels of the rudest kind,
built of mud, thatched with reeds, and surrounded by fences of the same
material. How human beings can exist in these fever-infested marshes
will always remain a mystery to us.
We found a reasonably solid landing-place on a little island near one of
these stations, and a short distance above the little hamlet of Gura
Ghirlitza. The botanist, whose duty it was to gather drift wood, brought
back from his rambles a great bouquet of wild-flowers--melilot,
loosestrife, convolvulus, blue veronica, chiccory, tamarisk,
snap-dragon, and many others: and we were both so much engaged, one with
his botanizing and the other with his pots and pans, that we did not
notice the approach of a great lotka full of people until it ran ashore
in the mud near our camp two or three yards from the bank. They shouted
to us to come and pull them up; but, seeing among the crowd in the boat
two soldiers fixing their bayonets, and several other men armed with
guns, to say nothing of an officer in full uniform, we did not propose
to assist this hostile force to disembark, and paid no attention to
them. Finally one of the party jumped out into the mud, helped the rest
to land, and the small army bore down upon us in martial array. When
they came near enough to see the canoes, the officer in command, an
intelligent young fellow of agreeable manners and cultivated speech,
suddenly threw aside all show of hostility, and asked us politely what
kind of craft these were, and where we had come from in such frail
boats. This was a prelude to friendly relations we had not anticipated,
for we looked with distrust on every man in uniform. Of course we were
only too glad to explain who we were and what we were after, and arms
were at once laid aside, and the whole party instantly began to inspect
our canoes from bow to stern, enchanted with the polished rudder,
astonished at the folding centre-board, and delighted with every detail
of the finish. In a half-hour or less, with many apologies for
interrupting the preparation of our dinner, they withdrew, after making
us promise to return their call at the village the next morning. We
heard the grocer and the butcher fire off the guns they had loaded on
the way to assist in capturing the suspected smugglers, and we were
interrupted no more that night.
[Illustration: GURA GHIRLITZA]
Early the next forenoon we landed at the village, and had quite a
reception by our friends of the evening before. The whole population
gathered around the canoes, and studied them with intelligent curiosity.
They were the first natives since we passed the Bulgarian frontier above
Widdin who had shown any particular emotion at the sight of the novel
craft, and our hearts warmed to them in consequence. Perhaps it was
partly on this account that we liked the village, for, after all, it was
only a small collection of low, whitewashed, roughly-thatched cottages,
straggling along crooked, dusty streets partly shaded by small trees,
and everywhere enclosed by fences of dry reeds. But there were a good
many bright flowers in the tiny gardens, luxuriantly-growing squashes
and gourds were climbing all over the thatched roofs, the clean white
linen garments of both sexes were refreshing to look upon, and the
brilliant aprons and elaborate red embroidery worn by the women made
rich spots of color in the warm sunlight. It was well for us that we
went away from Gura Ghirlitza in an agreeable frame of mind, for a
persistent head-wind blew straight up-stream, no matter how the river
turned and twisted. We passed scores of Turkish vessels dashing along up
the choppy current with a great splashing at the bows, and others trying
to work down-river by the force of the stream. For several hours we
struggled against the gale and the rough sea, between banks with few
signs of human life and scarcely a rod of cleared land, and in the
afternoon passed through miles of unbroken forest, extending in every
direction as far as we could see. From this the most desolate and
deserted reach of the whole river we had navigated, we at last emerged
quite suddenly into a sunny open country, with a high bluff a short
distance below, where tall chimneys showed above the dense foliage on a
large island, and in a few moments we were in the main stream again,
opposite the bustling town of Braila, where the straggling arms of the
river unite, and it again assumes its normal width and majestic aspect.
The stream was crowded with vessels of every description, from the
native lotkas to the great English freight propellers, whose ugly iron
hulls towered high over all local craft. On the shore opposite the town
scores of Turkish vessels were made fast to the bank, miles of loaded
lighters were anchored along the channel, and great steamers were moored
to the quay several ranks deep, all receiving their loads of grain.
Thousands of men of every nationality and in motley dress were swarming
like bees all over the cargo boats, carrying sacks of grain from the
army of carts on the shore and pouring it into the
[Illustration: LOADING GRAIN AT BRAILA]
open hatches. The English flag fluttered from many a mast, the names of
familiar ports could be read on almost every great rounded stern, and
the English language distinctly reached our ears in the babel of several
other tongues. We had paddled a long forty miles against a heavy wind
and sea, and preferring the quiet of camp to the confusion of the busy
town, landed on an unoccupied meadow in full view of Braila, extending
far along the bluff and looking down upon the forest of masts on the
river, and with the spires and domes of Galatz distinctly visible on a
high point of land a few miles below us.
Braila is at the head of navigation for sea-going vessels, and as it is
only about 125 miles from the mouth of the river, is practically a port
on the Black Sea. A few years ago it was of secondary commercial
importance to Galatz, a larger town similarly placed on a bluff fifteen
miles farther down-stream. Since the Turkish war, however, the grain
trade has been gradually transferred to the former city, until it has
now absorbed the whole of this commerce, and has become the chief
shipping port for all the produce of the grain-growing regions of
Roumania and northern Bulgaria. Extensive docks and immense grain
elevators have been built there, and will soon be in active operation.
We had seen at various places below Rustchuk indications of the
proximity of Russia, chiefly in the architecture of churches, with their
green domes and bulbous spires, but also in various details of costume,
carriages, and harnesses. At Braila all the carts which carry grain to
the steamers have the Russian bow over the horses’ withers, and many
Russian signs are seen on the shops. All the public carriages of Galatz
are driven by Russians, members of a peculiar religious sect, who wear
their national costume, consisting of a long black velvet coat with full
skirts, plaited at the waist, and two rows of silver buttons on the
breast, tall boots, and the characteristic flat-topped cap. The fashion
of employing Russian coachmen, once prevalent all over Roumania, is fast
dying out now, however, and is said to continue in full force in Galatz
alone.
The army of the Czar made the first crossing of the Danube in 1877 from
Galatz, across the marsh to a spur of the bold hills near the village
of Matchin, and it was in one of the narrow arms of the river here that
the Turkish monitors were entrapped and destroyed. Galatz covers much
more territory than its neighbor above, spreading far out over a level
plateau, along highways which are deserts of dust in summer and sloughs
of mire in winter. Part of the town is laid out with some regularity,
and there are a few streets well cared for and with new buildings; but
the thoroughfares on the slope of the plateau near the river are narrow,
crooked, and steep, and most of the pavements are simply atrocious.
There is no gas manufactured, but an abundance of water is brought into
the town, and a fountain is in constant operation in the tiny park,
where a military band plays light French airs every evening to a motley
crowd of many nationalities. The better class of Roumanians have a
deeply-rooted admiration for France and for everything French, and in
all the cities there are curious and often ludicrous attempts to imitate
Parisian architecture and to follow the customs of that capital. This is
the result, of course, of the French education of the youth of the
leading families for generations past, and here, as in all countries
where civilization has reached only the second stage--the purely
commercial one--the few who leaven the mass do not always judiciously
winnow the wheat from the chaff in the foreign seed they plant at home.
The larger part of the town consists of houses only one story in height,
with stucco façades and tiled roofs. There is almost nothing to interest
the sight-seer in the way of architecture or relics of antiquity, and,
indeed, the most notable object of interest in town is the tomb of
Mazeppa in the Church of St. Maria. In certain quarters the population
is very dense, and the streets and dwellings there are in a state of
indescribable filth. The crowded market-places are in the morning
perfect museums of types and costumes. Albanians
[Illustration: GYPSY CAMP AT GALATZ]
in fustinellas like ballet-dancers’ skirts jostle Slovac raftsmen in
their skin-tight woollen trousers; smart marines from the naval station
at the upper part of the town haggle with peddlers of Turkish tobacco;
and florid-faced cooks of English steamers shoulder their way to the
meat-shops, regardless of Roumanian, Bulgarian, Russian, Greek, or Jew.
In the outskirts of the town several large bands of gypsies camp on the
hill-sides; for here, as in most other places in Roumania and Hungary,
they are not allowed to occupy houses. Of all the specimens of this
remarkable race we saw in our trip, those at Galatz were by far the most
savage and repulsive in appearance. As we approached their squalid camp
on the bare slope of a great hill, exposed to wind and sun, hundreds of
half-clothed howling maniacs swooped down upon us, wildly gesticulating
and shrieking for alms, tearing open their garments to show their
emaciated bodies, and holding aloft naked children shivering in the cold
breeze. Raven black hair falling over their faces in tangled masses half
hid their small cunning eyes, and sun and dirt had given their skins the
color and texture of long-tanned leather. Everything about
them--clothes, blankets, and tents--was of the same suggestive brown
hue, and this monotone was only relieved by gaudy trinkets in the matted
tresses of the women and by an occasional ornamental knife handle in the
girdle of the men. We were unable to endure for any length of time the
filth of the camp and the proximity of the evil-looking, ill-smelling
crowd, which at every moment became more and more difficult to avoid;
and we soon retreated, followed for a long distance by a number of
urchins, all limbs and rags, who turned somersaults in the dust and
yelled frantically for money. We did not feel purified from the contact
with these gypsies until we were seated again in the canoes and facing
the brisk east wind on the broad reach below Galatz.