Chapter XVIII

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.