to compensate us for the great loss of time which they were sure to involve. But we were not far beyond the sound of drums at Brza Palanka before we unwittingly fell into a Roumanian trap by drifting, as we sketched, too near that shore. A hail from the water’s edge caused us to look up, and we saw three men, dressed like ordinary peasants, as well as we could judge, beckoning us to come ashore. Thinking they had fish or some other desirable commodity to sell, we paddled nearer, intending to land just below. As we came up to them we saw they wore military belts, and at the same time we noticed a hut like those at other picket posts under a tree on the bluff above. Our first impulse was to turn our bows down-stream and paddle away, but, on the first move we made to escape, one of the men ran up to the hut, appeared instantly again with rifle and cartridge-boxes, and proceeded to go through significant exercises in the Roumanian manual of arms. We were rather tired of this game, and surrendered with bad enough grace. The soldiers, however, were ready enough to discontinue hostilities the moment they met us on the shore; the corporal examined our passports, declared them all right, and, with the present of the silver effigy of King Charles of Roumania, we stifled effectively what little enmity still lurked under their coarse linen tunics, and paddled away, friends all round. Notwithstanding our efforts, we had not by any means finished with the military yet, for, as darkness came on, and we tried to find a camp-ground, we could discover no practicable place on the Servian side, nor escape the pickets on the opposite bank. At last we decided to make a counter-move against the enemy, and boldly landed and stalked up to a group of pickets before they had time to run for their one rifle, and asked for guidance to a good camping-ground. They advised us to stay where we were, and avoid difficulties with the posts below in the darkness, so we hauled up the canoes close by their shallow well, where the Danube water filtered in through the sand, and soon forgot soldiers and passports and the Eastern question.
On this part of the river villages are infrequent, uninteresting, and almost all on the Servian side. The native architecture is neither imposing nor tasteful, but the houses are comfortable, and often very neat inside and out. The frame is made of roughly hewn poles nailed or pegged together, and skilfully wattled all over with sticks about an inch in diameter, which serve to hold the mud with which all the walls and the ceilings are thickly plastered. An open porch or veranda, often occupying nearly the whole front of the house, serves as a nursery, work-room, and general sitting-room for the women in summer, and there is often a raised platform at one side, where the men sit in Turkish fashion and smoke, and drink coffee. This latter feature of native architecture is found at all country inns, and becomes an indispensable adjunct to most houses a little farther down, within the limits of former European Turkey. The Servian houses, as well as the Roumanian structures, which are built on much the same plan, are generally whitewashed, and either roofed with red tiles, or thatched with reeds or straw. Tiles are more commonly used in most parts.
The Roumanian bank had now become flat, monotonous, and apparently deserted by everybody except the pickets. For many miles we saw not even a fishing hamlet on either shore, and when, after rather a dull forenoon, we came to the great, white, straggling village of Radujeváç, on the right bank, we found it to be the last Servian river town above the Bulgarian frontier, and, fortunately for us, the most picturesque and characteristic place we had seen for days. Few shops, and those of the most primitive order, disturb the rustic simplicity of the streets. Farm-houses
SERVIAN MILITIA, BRZA PALANKA
with great court-yards enclosed by high wattled fences are half hidden among the trees on either side the broad, dusty highways, and the part of the village near the river is still surrounded by an oaken stockade eight or ten feet high, a relic of the days when such a defence was necessary.