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 Grünen 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 vertebræ, 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 Mörül, 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 Mörül 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 _laubhütte_, 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.]