Chapter XX

We did not hesitate to follow the left-hand branch at the Chatal d’Ismail, and, rounding the sharp bend to the north, we soon entered a great wilderness of reeds and willows. For some distance not even a picket station was visible on either shore, but as we paddled steadily along in the sluggish current we occasionally saw a Russian soldier in white uniform in the dense undergrowth among the willows. In a little more than an hour’s time we came in sight of Ismail, picturesquely situated on a gentle slope of ground beyond pleasant meadows, where the ruins of a great Turkish fortress stand. Great cultivated fields on the same side of the river, where scores of peasants were at work, stretched far back to the distant hill-sides, yellow with cornfields and dotted with villages. A large Russian picket station on an open point tempted us to land and see what would happen, so we ran the bows of the canoes into the mud and asked the soldiers assembled on the bank for a light for our cigarettes, at the same time preparing to go ashore. One of them went to the quarters for a live coal, while the others helped us out of the canoes in a very friendly manner, and we spent a sociable hour with them. We did not hurry away, because we planned to camp just above Ismail, and it was nearly sunset when we floated away towards the glittering domes rising above the dense masses of willow-trees in the distance. The peasants rattled across the fields in their farm-wagons, leaving behind them a cloud of dust all golden in the evening light. A mounted officer cantered along the bank, paused a moment to look at us, gave a sharp command to a sentinel, and went on again. Now we noticed that a soldier was stationed at every furlong of the shore, and we began to be anxious about finding a secluded camp-ground. The Roumanian side was absolutely impossible, for the mud was not only of the blackest and most adhesive variety, but it extended so far out into the river that it was quite out of the question to try to effect a landing. We kept to that bank, however, examining every foot of ground at the water’s edge, until we came to the corner of the last bend above Ismail. It was not possible to camp at this place, and if we went farther we should have to pass the town, a proceeding which might result in our being delayed there for the night. After some hesitation we made up our minds to paddle across the stream to a gravelly beach under a meadow bordered by a row of willows, and to land there in face of the sentinel whom we saw pacing to and fro. The soldier challenged us as we came near, and we answered that we were travellers and wanted to camp there for the night. A corporal speedily came up, and one of us, taking the passports, accompanied him to the officers’ quarters, a half-mile or so across the fields. Our position was soon explained to the satisfaction of the lieutenant, who, although not a particularly intelligent specimen of the officers of the line, readily comprehended the fact that we had no hostile intentions, and ordered the corporal to see that we were not molested in our camp, and to send us for our passports in the morning. In a few minutes we had our camp in order, built a fire, and cooked our dinner, all to the great entertainment of the soldier on guard, who watched every operation with the most intense interest. Before we had finished eating, a

number of officers came down from their quarters to look at our canoes, and when, a few minutes later, they saw us getting ready for bed, politely wished us good-night, and went away. Our bivouac was not far from a country road, and every passer met a prompt challenge from the soldier, who never deserted our fire except to perform this duty. Feeling very much as if we were within the lines of an army in war-time, we retired into the shelter of our tents and left the soldier to whisper to himself and utter mournful sighs by the few remaining coals. Some time in the night he was relieved, and the new sentinel withdrew into the cover of the willow-trees, and did not disturb us in any way. In the early morning a boat-load of natives rowing up-stream past our camp was immediately challenged by the guard, and ordered to come ashore. One of the men landed and carried the passports up to the officers for the regulation _visé_ before the boat was allowed to proceed. We then appreciated the fact that we were not treated any differently from the inhabitants themselves, but that, as far as the Custom-house regulations went, the river-bank was practically in a state of siege.

A hospitable-looking bath-house moored near the landing offered us a familiar refuge at Ismail, and we innocently put in there and prepared to go ashore. Before we had left the canoes, however, a fussy Custom-house guard with a short sword by his side came hurrying up, and peremptorily ordered us to cast off our painters and to land on a little beach about fifteen yards farther down-stream. We assured him we had the permission of the bath-house keeper to moor our canoes where we were, but he failed to see any point in this remark, and the more we demurred the more aggressive he became. Reinforcements now began to arrive and we thought best to yield, and consequently went ashore at the spot indicated. Just above, on the bank, was a rambling wooden structure, offensively ornamental in style, somewhat resembling a sea-side villa. We were conducted into this building by our fuming guard and found it was the Custom-house of the port, although there was no sign nor flag to suggest this fact. Entering a small room, our passports were examined and stamped by a courteous official and given back to us again. Understanding that we were now free to go into the town, we returned to the canoes, took them up to the bath-house again, and, carrying our sketching materials, started to walk out through the enclosure in which the Custom-house was situated. We were not allowed to pass with our sketch-bags, and were conducted to the Custom-house to have them examined. Of course nothing dutiable was discovered in them, but we were told that we would not be allowed to carry them into the town until the chief of the customs had given us permission, and he was not expected at the office for an hour or more. There was nothing left for us but to wander off up the long street to see if there was anything worth sketching. It was an extremely hot day and the streets were dusty, unshaded by trees, and often almost impassable by reason of deep gullies and broken culverts. The town is laid out in rectangles, and most of the houses are long and low, and built of bricks or mud plastered on the outside; a few of them, however, are made of unpainted, skilfully-hewn logs. There are several large buildings on one side of the vast, empty square opposite the great white church with several green domes which rises high above the stunted trees and adjacent houses, but with these exceptions the street architecture, as far as we saw it, is of the plainest and least attractive kind.

When we returned to the Custom-house one of the clerks, who had been educated in St. Petersburg, spoke French, and was an amateur artist, presented us to the head official, who rather curtly informed us that we must of course get the _visé_ of the chief of police on our passports before we were allowed to sketch or even carry our materials into the town. The obstacles put in the way of our pursuit of art stimulated us to continue our efforts to overcome them, especially after the communicative young official above mentioned assured us that he had to have his passport _viséed_ by the police before he was allowed to sketch. So we tramped through the heat and dust a mile or more to the police-station, produced our passports, and asked for the necessary _visé_. None of the high officials were there at the time, and a young Moldavian clerk, much inflated by the proud consciousness of his temporary authority, received our request with sneers and scoffing. We did not stop to consider that perhaps our dress and general appearance might not strike him as characteristic of professional men, but, very much vexed at his impertinence and annoyed that he did not even take the trouble to open our passports, we made use of some emphatic expressions in common use among the Russians. Thereupon the clerk grew livid with sudden wrath, and pointing to a cheap lithograph of the Czar hanging over the desk, shouted in angry tones that we had insulted his majesty by using strong language in his presence. The soldier-policeman who stood on guard in the little office at once took the cue from the clerk and added his torrent to the rising flood of abuse. They both worked themselves into such a state of frantic passion that for a brief moment it looked as if we were going to have immediate war. All our efforts to pacify them were in vain, and while they were yet raging and threatening to have our gore we seized our passports and escaped. We related the incident at the Custom-house, and the officials there begged us to go to the residence of the chief of police and report the conduct of the clerk, saying it was no uncommon behavior among the Moldavians who are in the employ of the Government, and declaring it would be a public benefit to teach them a lesson. But we thought the game was scarcely worth the loss of the whole afternoon, and after having our passports ornamented with a second stamp giving us permission to depart, went away richer only in experience.

If these accounts of our troubles with Custom-house officials and the military give an impression that such experiences seriously interfered with the enjoyment of our trip, a false idea has certainly been conveyed. We were annoyed at times, it must be confessed, but whenever we paused to reflect, we remembered that we took no chances in our favor. We were travelling between two frontiers rigorously guarded and vigilantly watched to prevent smuggling, and whenever we went ashore made no effort to appear in the character of tourists, but with our stained garments, weather-beaten hats, and ragged boating-shoes exposed ourselves to the same delays, inconveniences, and discourteous treatment which the inhabitants themselves suffer in their dealings with the official class, not only in this but in many other parts of Europe. It is undoubtedly true that if we had landed at Ismail in smart yachting uniform, or perhaps even with a coat on, we should have had little or no difficulty with any one from the fussy autocrat at the landing to the bantam clerk at the police headquarters. Indeed, after all was said and done, we had experienced, even in these last few days, no greater annoyance than we had endured at the frontier of Germany on our way to Donaueschingen, where our baggage, part of it being of unusual shape, was examined with great deliberation and minute curiosity, and we were at last obliged to pay sixteen pfennigs duty on two tins of cocoatina and a pot of vaseline, the only canoe stores we had with us. Whatever disagreeable happened in our visits to the towns we always speedily

forgot when we reached camp, for there we were generally quite free and undisturbed and, moreover, exceedingly comfortable. We travelled from the very start on the principle that we could see more and work better if we treated ourselves well, and we therefore scorned neither comforts nor luxuries, made every reasonable effort to have regular meals and a varied bill of fare, and never, under any circumstances, neglected to keep our outfit clean and in good order. This may sound as if our out-of-door life was not what is usually called “roughing it,” and it certainly was not, if we accept the common definition of the term as qualifying the experiences of the raw recruit, the apprentice sailor, and the amateur camper. We found the maxim of the best men in the hunting field: “When the hounds are not running, never take a fence unless you are obliged to,” applied equally well to our excursion, and we therefore never roughed it unless we were compelled to do so by circumstances. In the whole extent of our trip, among all the novel scenes and the unique and interesting experiences, every incident of our camp life remains perfectly fresh in our memory.

After a short paddle down a pleasant reach under perpendicular bluffs on the Russian shore, past frequent irrigating machines ingeniously constructed to lift the water upon the high plateau, we came out into a perfectly flat country partly wooded on either side. The strong north-east wind which had been blowing almost continuously for days gave us no rest, and raised a choppy sea which seriously checked our speed. About ten miles below Ismail the river divides into three parts, which join into one stream at Kilia fifteen miles farther on. We planned to camp somewhere above the latter town, and chose the central passage as probably the most direct one. For the rest of the afternoon we worked steadily, expecting to come in sight of Kilia long before sunset. A swampy wilderness surrounded us, and not a yard of solid earth did we see. The frontier runs along the northerly limit of the delta on the banks of the smallest of the three lesser arms just described, and we therefore did not even have the company of the picket stations. Indeed, the only human habitations we came across were at a fishing-camp, where several rude huts were scattered about among the reeds and willows, their mud-floors scarcely a foot above the level of the water. It began to rain, and heavy storm-clouds, driven by the rising gale, swept over the whole sky. The sun went down and we had left the region of willows, and now saw nothing but reeds on all sides of us. Soon the gathering twilight drove us to seek a camp, although the domes of Kilia were not yet in sight. The only place we could find after a long search was a small clearing among the reeds on the left bank, where some fisherman had dried the stalks for floats to his nets. Here we hauled up the canoes, settled them firmly in the soft mud of the marsh, bow to bow, at an angle with each other, and, spreading a thick layer of freshly-cut reeds over the triangular space between the canoes and the edge of the bank, put up our tents and built a fire. The latter operation was not so easy as it sounds, for all the wood we could find was the water-soaked branches of willow which we broke from the snags or pulled out of the ooze of the banks. We were, however, prepared for just such an emergency and, lighting an ordinary little wire-gauze spirit-lamp, arranged the smallest twigs over the frame so they soon dried, then caught fire, and by their heat dried others, until we shortly had enough strength of flame to kindle the large pieces of sodden wood. Sheltered from the rain by our sketching umbrellas in the lee of the canoe tents, we cooked an elaborate dinner of several courses, and enjoyed as comfortable a meal as if our camp had been made on the sound turf of an English meadow. As for our snug beds, they were quite as dry and warm as at any other bivouac, notwithstanding the fact that the canoes were lying in a slough of black mire.

A prolonged struggle with the mud the next morning did not increase our courage to face the strong head-wind, but we got away at last fairly free from the stains which defiled clothes, sails, and varnish, and after a short paddle came out into the main stream which here runs towards the south-east for a short distance, and were soon scudding past the town of Kilia under full sail. The town stretches far inland among groves of trees, and we could see the green-topped domes of several churches and the roofs of large houses. The water-front was by no means inviting, with its ugly sheds and dilapidated landing-stages, and, moreover, there was such an active running to and fro among the soldiers near a battery on the point that we concluded it was best not to land, but to dash boldly past not only this military post but the Roumanian one of Staroi-Kilia opposite, and try to reach the Black Sea before sunset. We were hailed as we went along, and the marines on a small Russian cruiser looked with astonishment at our flags straightened out by the breeze, but we did not alter our course nor start a sheet until we were obliged to take to our paddles again at the next bend.

After our first introduction to real mud just below Belgrade, we had always looked forward to an ideal bivouac on a clean sandy beach on the shores of the Black Sea, where we should find drift-wood in abundance, firm smooth ground under our feet, and pure sweet air to breathe. We felt a certain elation, then, as we passed Kilia and saw before us a great flat, unbroken reed-covered marsh, in the belief that within a few hours we should probably reach this ideal camp and bid good-bye to Danube mud and its accompanying annoyances. We stole along in the shelter of a fringe of large willows on the Russian bank for about five miles. Through the trees we could see great vineyards and cultivated fields and occasional farm-houses. Peasants were at work repairing the low dikes that protect the farms from the overflow of the river, or weaving fresh rods in the wattled fences. We occasionally checked our speed to watch these operations, and if we had attempted to land would probably have been met with a prompt challenge, for all along at regular intervals the white uniforms of the sentinels could be distinguished among the undergrowth, and

the glint of bayonets often flashed in the foliage. At the end of this reach the river broadens out to a width of a mile or more, but only for a short distance, and then divides around a perfect maze of islands with no marks anywhere to indicate the best passage. According to our map, which for this part of the river was very inaccurate and almost useless, the northern arm along the frontier would be scarcely navigable, and, withal, much the longest route. Noticing the roof of a small house among the reeds just after we had entered the middle branch, we stopped to inquire the way and to find out the distance. The whole peasant family trooped down to greet us, and took the friendliest interest in the canoes and in the journey we were making. The boys ran and gathered melons which they forced upon us, and the father gave us most accurate directions for our navigation, much too intricate and detailed to be remembered, and told us it was about forty versts (twenty-five miles) to the sea.