Chapter V

The busiest part of Ratisbon is the twelfth-century stone bridge which, from daybreak until dark, resounds to the tramp of heavy-footed peasants, and to the clatter of farm wagons and other vehicles. A narrow street plunges from the end of the bridge under the archway of an old city gate into a maze of narrow thoroughfares with towering mediæval houses and a jumble of small shops of all kinds. One of the houses near the bridge has a startling decoration covering the whole of its front--a colossal figure of Goliath painted on the stucco--and there are preserved in some of the other streets the only specimens extant of the fortified dwelling-houses of the Middle Ages. The Cathedral of St. Peter, with its exquisite Gothic details, is one of the chief architectural glories of all Germany, and in its solemn interior are forgot for the time the Danube, its hurrying current, and the impatient canoes. The fact that we were not in the ordinary costume of travellers gave us immunity from the annoyances of guides, and this freedom added wonderfully to our enjoyment of Ratisbon. We sat on the clean pavement of the great market-place, in the shadow of church walls, and nearly made ourselves ill with quantities of wild strawberries from the baskets of the friendly market-girls close by, paying a ridiculously small sum for a quart of the luscious fruit. We wandered in and out of the churches, stood and gazed at our ease on the architectural beauties of the town, and never were we once spoken to, or even, to our knowledge, once stared at with curiosity. Even our presence in the crowded tavern, where the crowds of market-people took their mid-day meal, did not excite any comment, and during the few hours we passed in Ratisbon we had the supreme satisfaction of passing unnoticed, which rarely comes to any one in a foreign country. It is said that 17 per cent. of the 35,000 inhabitants of the city are Protestants, but we concluded that we did not come in contact with any of the choice minority in religious belief, for we saw on all sides shrines and crosses and other indications of the strict adherence of the people to the observances of the Roman Catholic faith.

The old stone bridge has been saddled with a bad reputation among river-folk ever since some one started the legend, long ages ago, that the devil had a hand in its construction. It crosses the river at the upper end of a rocky island which divides the stream into two unequal parts, the one on the town side alone being navigable. Four narrow arches, springing from immense boat-shaped piers, confine the current into a very narrow compass, and cause the water to rush under the bridge with great velocity. We had listened to a long description by our boating friends at Ulm of the dangers of shooting this bridge, and all the river-side people we had talked with for the previous day or two had warned us of the perils of the passage. But we saw from the parapet what we had to encounter in the shape of rapids and whirlpools, and did not hesitate to trust ourselves and our canoes to the mercies of the current. The first of the series of bugbears which were in turn presented to us by the Danube river-folk, and by the accounts we had read, was disposed of in such an easy manner that the mention of it is scarcely warranted by its importance as an episode of our journey.

Opposite the lower part of the town the Danube receives the turbid waters of the Regen (hence the German name Regensburg) coming in from the north, and then the great river settles down into a gently-flowing, well-behaved water highway, at times lively with steam tow-boats, barges, and rafts. It skirts the hills on the left bank for five or six miles, and then lazily meanders away through the great plain of Straubing, the chief grain-growing district of Bavaria. The point where the river leaves the hills is the most northerly limit of its whole course, and here it changes its general north-easterly direction--which it has held with many minor variations since Donaueschingen--and bears away in a south-easterly course towards Vienna. This angle is not far from midway between these two places, which are 535 miles apart by the river channel. On one of the great rounded hills, fully 300 feet above the water’s edge, the great German Temple of Fame, the Walhalla, makes a conspicuous landmark. Lewis I. of Bavaria, who, it will be remembered, was the founder of the Befreiungshalle, saw the completion of the Walhalla the very year he laid the corner-stone of its fellow monument, thirty miles away, in 1842. It is a classical structure built in imitation of the Parthenon, but of somewhat larger dimensions, and occupies a most commanding position. We saw by the guide-book that it contained Victories and Walkyries, busts of heroes, and friezes painted to celebrate the early history of the German race. After the perfect harmony of the Ratisbon cathedral we had no appetite for German classicality, and paddled past, content to gaze from afar upon the noble proportions of the temple.

Although we had rain the night before, it was hotter than ever as the sun mounted high in the heavens, and before we had penetrated far into the heart of the great plain we found the air so dead and the heat so oppressive that we

were obliged to paddle in self-defence, and by this means create a draught along the water. The glare of the sun was reflected into our eyes with painful brilliancy; a few dazzling clouds hung in the sky, apparently quite stationary. The pitiless force of the sun was never once hidden by a veil of vapor during the hours we paddled down the current, which scarcely rippled the surface of the water, as dense in appearance as molten lead. The town of Straubing, plainly enough visible when we left the hills, and

seemingly only a short distance away, avoided us for a long time with aggravating success. Now it would loom up in front of us, now on one side and again on the other, and often hid away behind us. At last, about noon, having quite lost our points of compass in the contortions of the river, we sneaked up to the will-of-the-wisp town, and, dodging around a point, came fairly upon it and landed there. We made it a rule in this part of the river, and, indeed, wherever towns and villages were frequent, to take our mid-day meal in some hotel or restaurant, for, unless we did so, we saw absolutely nothing of the shore life. By this time our standard for towns had become so high that we could not care much for Straubing, although the stay there refreshed us and interested us somewhat; but we were off down the sluggish stream, eager to reach the hills where we knew the current would be faster and the landscape more interesting. Near Bogen, a few miles below, at the hour in the afternoon when the heat of the sun seems more intense even than at full noon, the western sky was suddenly darkened, and a dense storm-cloud rapidly raised its jagged edge towards the zenith. Opinions varied as to the advisability of riding out the threatening squall, or going ashore to wait for it to pass. We paddled on for a considerable distance discussing this question, and finally decided to run ashore near a large farm-house resembling in character a large Alpine chalet. We landed not one moment too soon, for before we got our hatches fastened we heard the roar of the wind up-stream, and the next instant the squall tore down the river, lashing the water into a sheet of foam, and bending the trees like switches. Our loose rigging stood straight out in the blast, and the hastily-furled sails fluttered like clewed-up top-sails in an Atlantic gale. We had all we could do to keep the boats from being blown bodily along the rough beach. In a few minutes the violence of the gale abated, and a heavy rain set in. We made our little fleet as snug as possible and as safe as we could by lashing the masts together, and ran to the farm-house near by, where the farmer and his family welcomed us with dignified courtesy, and offered us the freedom of the house with such hearty good-will that we could not help making ourselves at home. It was a characteristic establishment of the better class, and the main building was of some antiquity, as the date 1683 on the lintel of the front door testified. This immense structure was mostly of wood, and a great shingled roof covered not only a large living apartment, with many bedrooms, but the stables for the horses and cattle as well. Most of the farm-work was evidently done by girls, and the farmer told us he employed them because they were almost as useful as the men, and their wages were only fifty guldens ($25) a year. A half-dozen of these girls, indifferent to the pouring rain, with short petticoats, tight bodices, and with kerchiefs on their heads, were carrying manure in hand-barrows when we arrived, and when they had finished this task, and had materially increased the huge pile that occupied the only front yard there was, they all had a vigorous scrub at the pump, and then came in and ate bread and milk with us, and chattered away as freely as if we were old friends. We were loath to leave this pleasant, pastoral company, but as the sky was bright again at sunset we felt obliged to be off. We did not succeed in persuading any one to take the money which we felt was due for the food we had eaten, so we dropped it in the poor-box near the forlorn little chapel, and paddled away to a camp on a dripping hill-side, where we found a delicious cold spring and a mossy bed for our canoes to rest on.

We had met at intervals since leaving Ratisbon great empty flat-boats towed up-river by horses, and an

occasional one laden with shingles or other building material had drifted down past our camp before we started in the morning. As high up as Ulm we had seen these boats in process of construction, and had learned all about the cheap flat-boats which in the spring-time carry cargoes to the lower river, and are then broken up for the sake of their timber. We had expected to see much more of this kind of river life than we actually met with, but the fact is the competition of the railways has practically killed this kind of river commerce, and its glories are all in the past. The local business still continues to flourish, however, for many of the river towns have no connection with the railway, and depend almost entirely on the water highway for cheap transportation of freight. The day after the storm we ran across several of the great local freight-boats floating down with the current. These boats are ordinarily about 20 yards in length, 5 or 6 in beam, and with a depth of from 4 to 6 feet from the great flat, keelless bottom to the rail. The bow is high, and the stern-post is often carved and otherwise decorated. They are built of soft wood, the seams are calked with moss, and since paint is seldom used except on the perpendicular black stripes, which is the almost universal fashion for boats on the German and Austrian Danube, the life of the best of these craft is not often more than ten years. Each boat has a small, rude skiff for convenient use, and a supplementary scow large enough to carry considerable cargo, as well as afford open-air stabling for a pair of strong horses. On the down trip the horses lead a lazy life in their floating stall, but on the return they drag the empty boats up against the rapid current, trained to know every yard of the way, for the varying heights of the river and the conformation of the banks make a regular towpath out of the question, and the horses splash along through the shallows for miles at a stretch. The crew of these boats usually consists of an experienced skipper with two men and a boy. They all take turns at the steering-oar, and are constantly obliged to handle the immense sweeps to keep the cumbersome craft in the best channel. The work of baling water is no light one, and apparently goes on day and night with little intermission. They use for this purpose a great wooden scoop, or shovel, and throw the water out over the side from the floor of the rude little hut which shelters the bunks of the crew.

Two of us accepted a cheery invitation to go aboard one of these boats, and we spent the larger part of the forenoon lounging in the shade of the deck-house and indolently watching the ever-changing panorama on either side of the river. The skipper, a very fatherly old man, a shrewd observer, with a great knowledge of river life, was busy part of the time in tending a large tin kettle which was thrust, gypsy-like, into the side of a fire which was brightly burning on the tiles with which the boat was laden. As soon as we saw that the meal was almost ready to be served we made a move to leave, not wishing to interrupt this ceremony. But the old man detained us almost by force, and insisted on our eating before they began. He placed

between us a large bowl of coarse, yellow-glazed pottery, gave us a wooden spoon apiece, and a thick wedge of black bread, which we broke, according to his commands, into the capacious vessel. When the soup was ready he poured it over the bread, filled the bowl to the brim, handed us each a bottle of beer, and bade us eat and drink until not a crumb or a drop remained. We were hungry, the soup was delicious, and the beer cool and refreshing, and we did not longer hesitate, but fell to at once. The only thing which interfered with our full enjoyment of the meal was the presence of a generous supply of beef in the soup, in chunks as large as our fists. Our maxillary muscles were not sufficiently well developed to enable us to masticate the phenomenally tough fibre of this meat, and we chose our opportunity when the broad back of the hospitable skipper was turned and slid it overboard. To our relief it went to the bottom like a sounding lead, and did not, as we feared, come bobbing up astern to bear witness to our insincerity. We gave our host a tiny American flag as a souvenir of our visit. He would take no money nor any of our stores, but was delighted with the Stars and Stripes, more especially as we had explained that the following day was Freiheit’s Tag, or Independence Day, in the great Republic of the West. We left him diligently digging a hole with his knife in the high stem-piece of the boat to plant the flag there.

Rowing clubs are numerous all along the river from Ulm to Vienna. Soon after leaving the flat-boat we landed at one near Deggendorf, a quiet old town with miraculous relics in the church, which attract many thousands of pious pilgrims annually. Later on in the day, as we were rounding a great bend in a solitary part of the river where we least expected to see anything afloat, we suddenly met a single-scull boat of the newest pattern shooting up the river like an arrow. A handsome athletic young fellow was pulling with all his might, evidently in training for a race. Our surprise was naturally mutual, for he no more expected to see a fleet of graceful, polished canoes than we did to see the Danube waters parted by the keen bow of a racing boat. He recovered from his astonishment first, and shouted heartily, “Hip! hip! Hip! hip!” We replied with the same salutation, for we had learned by this time that this call was not, as we had at first supposed, a playful imitation of the English cheer, but the common greeting in boating circles. We needed no further introduction, and could, indeed, have had no better one than our canoes, and we freely accepted the hospitalities of the Winzer Ruder Verein, whose tidy boat-house stands on the river-bank a mile or more from the village. The club has a membership of thirty-six, all of them sturdy young fellows of the neighborhood, with an enthusiastic love of water sports. A certain count, the local magnate, is the patron of the club, and contributes largely towards the training of the oarsmen, who compete with success in the regattas all over Germany. The jolly young fellows made so much of us, and received us so heartily into their brotherhood, that we had not the courage to explain that we were not real boating men at all, but only temporary members of the guild. Indeed, it is doubtful if they would have believed our statement, for we were quite as sunburned as they were, and our five days’ canoing had put us in first-rate physical condition. But on this, as on several other similar occasions, we had a lingering feeling of mental discomfort, because we could not help knowing that we were passing for what we were not, and never expected to be--sporting men.