CHAPTER XIX

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 tothe 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 thebold 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

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.

THE navigation of the Danube from Galatz to the mouth is controlled and regulated by an international commission, which was called into existence by the importance of the commerce with the corn-producing countries along the lower river. Forty-five miles below Galatz the river divides into two branches, the left-hand one, the Kilia arm, taking a general north-easterly course, with many turns and subdivisions, past the Russian towns of Ismail and Kilia, and, a short distance beyond the fishing-village of Vilkoff, flows into the Black Sea through seven narrow channels. The right-hand branch, actually the main stream, divides again ten miles below the first fork, the former running in a general easterly direction to the port of Sulina, on the Black Sea, and the latter arm winding sluggishly on towards the south-east under the extreme eastern spurs of the great range of Dobrudscha hills. Each side of the irregular equilateral triangle bounded by the Kilia and Saint George’s arms and the sea-coast measures about fifty miles in a straight line, and the larger part of the tract thus enclosed is marsh and swamp-land, covered with a dense growth of tall reeds, interspersed with numerous lakes and cut up into countless islands by narrow lagoons. In the whole of this great delta there are only a few square miles of ground higher than the general level of the marsh, and these are two broad ranges of sand-dunes running north-east and south-west several miles inland, marking the line of

GALATZ

the ancient sea-coast when the waves and wind raised this barrier long before the memory of man. These sandy elevations are now covered with a forest of oak-trees, and support a sparse population. With this exception the delta is uncultivated, and the few natives who inhabit the great marsh are almost all engaged in fishing. They build themselves rude huts out of the tall reeds, make their beds, and even their net-floats, out of the same useful plant, and during the summer months set their nets in every lake and lagoon, preserving their catch in salt or carrying it at convenient times to the distant markets. This great waste is at all seasons most impressive, and in summer, when the reeds have grown to their full height and are in blossom, the landscape, although monotonous in the extreme, often has great elements of beauty. Narrow waterways, seldom more than a fathom broad, intersect the marsh in all directions, and only the natives who are familiar with the intricate windings of these thoroughfares can find their way from one point to another of this labyrinth. Some of these waterways are known to have existed in the period of Roman occupation, and the race of fishermen who now make use of them have preserved their type, their dress, their boats, and their implements practically unchanged since the time when Ovid was exiled to the shores of the Euxine. Myriads of wild-fowl breed in the solitude of the broad morass, and fish abound in its quiet waters. In the autumn, when the frost has killed the reeds, great tracts of the delta are often swept over by fires, consuming all the vegetation above the level of the mud, but clearing the way for a new and vigorous growth in the spring. Only during the winter months is the marsh passable for vehicles or even for pedestrians, and when the whole region is frozen hard the mails and the few passengers who are obliged to travel are carried on sledges straight across from one station to another over the level surface of land and water.

PEASANTS OF THE DELTA

Russia took possession of this region after the capture of Ismail, in the early part of the century, and, in order to help commerce at home, put various restrictions on the Danube trade, which almost annihilated it for a time. The adoption of free-trade by England naturally stimulated the export business in the corn-producing countries of the Danube, and great pressure was brought to bear to induce Russia to remove the hampering restrictions on the navigation of the river. International disputes arising from this cause finally culminated in the Crimean War, and it was not without reason, therefore, that the treaties of peace contained articles intended to place the navigation of the river in control of the countries most interested in the corn supply. Oneclause of the treaty created a riverian commission, whose duty was to regulate the general navigation of the river, and another clause established a European Commission of the Danube, “to clear the mouths of the river, as well as the neighboring parts of the sea, from the sand and other impediments which obstruct them.” The first of these commissions found its task impossible on account of the conflicting interests of the small countries along the river, and has never done anything, although it is still recognized diplomatically. The Powers represented in the active commission are Great Britain, Austro-Hungary, France, Germany, Italy, Roumania, Russia, and Turkey. Owing to a misunderstanding of the nature of the work to be done, the commission was established for a term of only two years. This period was extended at various times, and at last it was settled by the Treaty of 1878 that the functions of this body should continue until it should be dissolved by the Powers. It has been constantly at work since its first meeting in 1856. A few statistics will give an idea of the effect on English trade of the improvements to navigation brought about by the commission. Before 1847 from 3 to 52 English vessels entered the Danube annually. Between 1847 and 1860, 2648 English ships entered the river, representing a net tonnage of 509,723. Between 1861 and 1889 these numbers were raised to 12,363 and 9,842,260 respectively. In 1861, 214 English sailing-vessels and 35 steamers came to the port of Sulina, and in 1889, 842 steamers and not a single sailing-vessel. In 1890 the total number of vessels of all nationalities entering the Danube was 1519, including many steamers of 1400 to 1600 tons. The commission began in 1860 to collect tolls to maintain the improvements, and in that year the revenue was 256,583 francs. In 1889 this sum was increased to 1,348,552 francs. British ships have paid from 71 to 82 per cent. of the whole dues levied duringthe past ten years. The exports from the river consist chiefly of wheat, barley, and Indian-corn, but oats, rye, rape and linseed, petroleum, tallow, hides, salt fish, wines and spirits, cheese, lumber, and wool are also shipped in large quantities. Machinery, coal, bar and sheet iron, and articles of clothing form the bulk of the imports. In general terms, the work of the commission has consisted in the construction of groynes and revetments, straightening the river-banks, shortening the channel by cuttings, and dredging the shallow places. The whole delta has been surveyed, and accurate maps made. A great part of the Sulina arm has been canalized, and the channel deepened from 8 feet at extreme low-water to over 16 feet, or to 20½ feet at average low-water. Under the direction of Sir Charles A. Hartley, the consulting engineer of the commission, and the able supervision of Mr. Charles Kühl, since 1872 the resident engineer, the improvements are carried on with constant regularity and great energy, and every year the navigation of the Sulina branch becomes less difficult and dangerous. Vessels of 2000 tons may now steam up as far as Braila with perfect safety.

The longest cutting yet undertaken, which will shorten the channel by four and a quarter miles, is now in active progress, and the operation of cutting through the marsh is extremely interesting. Far out of sight of any human habitation the black funnel and grimy framework of an immense dredger are seen rising high above the waving mass of reeds which stretches away on every side as far as the eye can reach. A chain of steel-shod iron buckets working on a movable arm which projects in front of the dredger cuts its way through the spongy mass of which the marsh is composed, and the mixture of roots, mud, and shells is shot out upon the bank of the cutting through a long adjustable iron trough. There the material is worked by hand into a dike, strengthened bythe ingenious use of reeds and roots, and finally protected by a revetment of broken stone. This cutting will be five miles and a quarter in length, and 6,500,000 cubic yards will have to be dredged before the work is completed in 1895.

DREDGING IN THE DELTA

The headquarters of the commission are at Sulina, on the Black Sea. As early as the time of the Irish famine in 1847-48 hundreds of English sailing-vessels came to the Black Sea for grain. Most of them anchored in the mouth of the Sulina branch, discharged ballast there, and loaded with corn to supply the urgent demand for bread-stuffs at home. A squalid little settlement rapidly sprang up among the heaps of gravel deposited on the marshy banks, and as years went on the constantly accumulating ballast was spread farther and farther up along the stream, and inland over the morass, and streets and houses followed the

TURKISH SAILING LOTKA, SULINA

expanding area of solid ground. The establishment of the European Commission of the Danube gave a fresh impulse to the growing place, and a busy commercial town soon covered the deposit of ballast, having its foundations, literally, on English soil. Commodious offices, large warehouses, and repair-shops were built; churches were erected by followers of various creeds; a life-saving station was established; a fine stone quay was constructed on the south bank of the stream; and two jetties with light-houses were pushed far out into the shallow waters of the Black Sea. Few travellers ever visit Sulina, because the passenger boats usually touch there in the night. Its cosmopolitan character and its peculiar situation in the marsh make it an interesting spot. Types of a score of nationalities may be studied on its quay, and there is a great deal of picturesqueness, of a squalid order to be sure, in its narrow streets.No long walks or drives are possible, for the wilderness of reeds crowds up to the very back doors of the town, but there is a unique fascination in its isolated position, and a special charm in the character of its surroundings.

We made up our minds long before reaching Braila that we would follow the most northerly arm of the delta, both because it marks the frontier between Roumania and Russia, and would consequently let us have a glimpse of the latter country, and also because that branch is not navigable by large craft, and we would escape steamers and tourists, and really see something of native life. The busy, bustling port of Braila, where English is heard at every step, and the river is almost blocked by great iron grain steamers, gave us an indication of what we might expect between that point and the Black Sea, and we determined to escape if possible all these signs of civilization and enterprise, and steal out to the sea-coast through a comparatively deserted channel. How we carried out this plan will soon be related, and I have alluded to the work of the Danube Commission, and described Sulina, because we visited the one and investigated the other on our way back from the real goal of our journey.

HILLS NEAR MATCHIN

We set out from Galatz late one windy afternoon, and camped for the night on a low sandy flat nearly opposite the River Pruth, which forms the boundary between Roumania and Russia, planning to make a fair start by

KILIA

daybreak into the territory of the Czar. A banker friend in Galatz had strongly advised us not to attempt the voyage to the Black Sea by way of the Kilia arm, insisting that the Russian Custom-house regulations were extremely rigorous, and that we would probably be prohibited from landing anywhere along that shore, while the Roumanian bank was marshy and deserted, and did not offer any possible camping places. We had no desire to make the acquaintance of any more autocratic system than that with which we had become unwillingly intimate, but the advice of our friend did not deter us from carrying out our plan, and we profited by his warnings so far as to lay in three or four days’ store of provisions in case we should be obliged to defy both Russia and Roumania, and paddle down mid-channel to the Black Sea without touching land on either side. We were rather late in getting afloat the next morning, for the wind had risen to a gale in the night, and had drifted the fine sand over everything, half burying the boats, and penetrating every crevice and cranny in them. This added a great deal to the labor of packing up, and the only way we succeeded in getting rid of this nuisance was by carrying everything down close to the water’s edge where the sand was wet and hard. The Pruth is a narrow, deep stream winding under the western slopes of a range of low hills which divert the course of the Danube sharply from

CHATAL SAINT GEORGE

TOULTCHA

the north-east to the south-east at this point. The first Russian town, Reni, with its turnip-shaped church-spires and ugly warehouses, stands on a high bluff overlooking this bend of the river, and offers nothing of interest, not even at the water-front, where there is little or no activity, and few craft of any kind. The hills abruptly recede again just below the town limits, and the river sweeps majestically round towards the east, and takes an almost straight course to the first branching in the delta. Both shores are now quite flat and well cultivated, and on either side frequent picket stations are the only houses in sight. To the south and east, across a narrow strip of meadow land, the great hills of the Dobrudscha, dotted with ancient tumuli, extend far into the distance, where a range of mountains cuts sharply against the sky with bold, jagged outlines; to the north, the irregular base spurs of the line of low hills which touch the river at Reni are seen jutting out over the great marsh at intervals until they vanish in the perspective. The wind veered round in the middle of the forenoon and almost died away, and as we alternately sailed and paddled down the long straight reach towards the delta, past the red-roofed town of Isaktcha on the Roumanian shore,half hidden behind a wooded island, and the great Russian monastery of Saint Theraspont across the river, we heard not so much as a single hail from the soldiers on either bank, although we often passed close to their stations. In the early afternoon we saw before us a stone jetty with a spindle on the end, and soon found that this marked the place where the river divides and the delta actually begins, forty-five miles below Galatz. The fork is known as the Chatal d’Ismail, and the embankment was built by the Danube Commission to divert the strength of the current from the Kilia arm into the main stream. Three or four miles to the south the white houses of Toultcha shone brightly among the dark green foliage of the trees, and numerous windmills were waving their arms on the rocky promontory below the town. A half-dozen miles farther to the eastward is the Chatal Saint George, where the stream divides into the Sulina and the Saint George arms.

WINDMILLS OF TOULTCHA

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 thefields 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

RUSSIAN PICKET POST

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 regulationvisébefore 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 thebank, 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 theviséof 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 passportviséedby 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 necessaryvisé. 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

FISHING-HUT AMONG THE REEDS

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 longbefore 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 onthe 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 LATE CAMP

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 stretchesfar 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

MOLDAVIAN PEASANTS—A WINDY DAY IN THE DELTA

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.

FOR the next two hours we paddled steadily between banks covered with tall reeds, waving and rustling in the wind, occasionally startling broods of young ducks out of their hiding-places, but seeing no other living thing. About noon we came out into a stream at right angles with the one we had followed, and seeing the familiar figure of a Russian soldier among the willows, knew we were on the right road. In a few minutes more we saw a row of white sand-dunes glistening in the sun beyond grassy meadows, and to the right and below the green domes of two churches. Rounding a low point we were shortly off the village of Vilkoff, the last settlement on the Kilia arm. Very little of the place was visible from the river as we came down, for it extends some distance back, and only the roofs of two large fish warehouses and a few fishermen’s huts are seen among the trees near the river. There was no landing-place, and not even a boat along the shore, so we pushed on against the wind, now blowing a gale, and shortly came to the mouth of a narrow inlet, forming the tiny harbor of the place. Along both sides of this passage we saw, jumbled together in confusion, many rambling wooden structures, quite like those at any remote fishing village in New England, and a fleet of boats, large and small, moored to rotting, neglected landing-stages. We grounded once or twice on a mud-bank on our way into the harbor, but presently were in sheltered waters,and, following the directions of some fishermen, came alongside the steps in front of a low white building which we found was the Custom-house. With the exception of the lotkas, or native boats, all our surroundings, from the unpainted shanties and the shaky wharves to the rough boots and tarpaulins of the fishermen, suggested Cape Ann or Cape Cod; but the appearance on the quay of a very short and stout official with an extraordinary bottle nose and wearing the Russian uniform, located the place instantly.

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