Round About the Carpathians

by Andrew F. Crosse

Besides my toilette de voyage, I had my cooking apparatus, a small jar of Liebig's meat, and some compressed tea, and other little odds and ends of comforts. I had also provided myself with some bacon and slivovitz for barter, a couple of bottles of the spirit being turned into a big flask slung alongside of my lesser flask for wine. Nor was this all, for having duly secured my saddle-bags, I had the plaid and mackintosh rolled up neatly and strapped in front of the saddle; then my gun, field-glass, and roll of three maps were slung across my shoulders. Nota bene my pockets were full to repletion. In my leathern belt was stuck a revolver, handy, and a bowie-knife not far off.

But the portrait of this Englishman as he appeared to the Kronstadt people on that day is not yet complete. His legs were encased in Hessian boots; his shooting-jacket was somewhat the worse for wear; and his hat, which had been eminently respectable at first starting, had acquired a sort of brigandish air; and to add to the drollery of his general appearance, the excellent little Servian horse he rode was not high enough for a man of his inches.

With my weapons of offence and defence I must have appeared a "caution" to robbers, and it seems that the business of the fair was suspended to witness my departure. I was profoundly unconscious at the time of the public interest taken in my humble self, but later I heard a very humorous account of the whole proceeding from some relatives who visited Kronstadt about three weeks afterwards. I believe I am held in remembrance in the town as a typical Englishman!

Well, to take up the thread of my narrative—like Don Quixote, "I travelled all that day." If any reader can remember Gustave Doré's illustration of the good knight on that occasion, he will have some idea of how the sky looked on this very ride of mine. As evening approached, the settled grey clouds, which had hung overhead like a pall all the afternoon, were driven about by a rough wind, which went on rising steadily. The grim phantom-haunted clouds came closer and closer round about me as darkness grew apace, and now and then the gust brought with it a vicious "spate" of rain. With no immediate prospect of shelter, my position became less and less lively. I had not bargained for a night on the highroad, or lodgings in a dry ditch or under a tree. Indeed those luxuries were not at hand; for trees there were none bordering the road, or in the open fields which stretched away on either side; and as for a dry ditch, I heard the streams gurgling along the watercourses, which were full to overflowing, as well they might be, seeing that it had rained for three days.

My object was to reach the village of Büksad, but where was Büksad now in reference to myself? I had no idea it was such a devil of a way off when I started. I had foolishly omitted to consult the map for myself, and had just relied on what I was told, though I might have remembered how loosely country-people all the world over speak of time and space.

When at length the darkness had become perplexing—entre chien et loup, as the saying is—I met a peasant with a fierce-looking sheep-dog by his side. The brute barked savagely round me as if he meant mischief, and I soon told the peasant if he did not call off his dog directly I would shoot him. He called his dog back, which proved he understood German, so I then asked if I was anywhere near Büksad. To my dismay he informed me that it was a long way off; how long he would not say, for without further parley he strode on, and he and his dog were soon lost to view in the thick misty darkness.

Not a furlong farther, I came suddenly upon a house by the roadside, and a man coming out of the door with a light at the same moment enabled me to see "Vendéglo" on a small signboard. Good-luck: here, then, was an inn, where at least shelter was possible; and shelter was much to be desired, seeing that the rain was now a steady downpour. On making inquiries, I found that I was already in Büksad. The peasant had played off a joke at my expense, or perhaps dealt me a Roland for an Oliver, for threatening to shoot his dog. A paprika handl was soon prepared for me. In all parts of the country where travellers are possible, the invariable reply to a demand for something to eat is the query, "Would the gentleman like paprika handl?" and he had better like it, for his chances are small of getting anything else. While I was seeing after my horse, the woman of the inn caught a miserable chicken, which I am sure could have had nothing to regret in this life; and in a marvellously short time the bird was stewed in red pepper, and called paprika handl.

I was aware that Count M—— owned a good deal of property in the neighbourhood of Büksad, and as I had a letter of introduction to his bailiff, I set off the next morning to find him. My object in coming to this particular part of the country was principally to explore that curious place Mount Büdos, mentioned by Dr Daubeny and others. I wanted to see for myself what amount of sulphur deposits were really to be found there. Count M——'s bailiff was very ready to be obliging, and he provided me with a guide, and further provided the guide with a horse, so that I had no difficulty in arranging an expedition to the mount of evil smell.

Having arranged the commissariat as usual, I started one fine morning with my guide. We rode for about two hours through a forest of majestic beech-trees, and then came almost suddenly, without any preparation, upon a beautiful mountain lake, called St Anna's Lake. It lies in a hollow; the hills around, forming cup-like sides, are clothed with thick woods down to its very edge. Looking down from above, I saw the green reflection of the foliage penetrating the pellucid water till it met the other heaven reflected below. The effect was very singular, and gave one the idea of a lovely bit of world and sky turned upside down; it produced, moreover, a sort of fascination, as if one must dive down into its luring depths. No human sight or sound disturbed the weird beauty of this lonely spot. I longed at last to break the oppressive silence, and I fired off my revolver. This brought down a perfect volley of echoes, and at the same time, from the highest crags, out flew some half-dozen vultures; they wheeled round for a few moments, then disappeared behind the nearest crest of wood.

My guide soon set about making a fire; and while dinner was being cooked, I bethought me I would have a bath. I took a header from a projecting rock, but I very soon made the best of my way out of the water again. It was icy cold; I hardly ever recollect feeling any water so cold—I suppose because the lake is so much in shadow. After the meal we pushed on to Büdos, another two hours of riding; this time through a forest so dense that we could scarcely make our way. At last we reached a path, and this brought us before long to a roughly-constructed log-hut. This, I was told, was the "summer hotel." Further on there were a few more log-huts, the "dependence" of the hotel itself. The bathing season was over, so hosts and guests had alike departed. This must be "roughing it" with a vengeance, I should say; but my guide told me that very "high-born" people came here to be cured.