Another difficulty, however, here presented itself. The Tchouch of Zaptiehs positively declined to give me a guide; and it was only by sending for the Mudir, and threatening to write a complaint to the Serdar Ekrem, that I succeeded in obtaining one. This escort duty is the principal work of the mounted Zaptiehs. Ten piastres a day, or twenty pence, is what is usually paid them by those who make use of their services. They, of course, pay for the keep of their own horses out of their regular official salary. The rain now gave place to snow, which fell in considerable quantities for two or three days. The cold was intense, and it was only by halting at every khan, generally about three hours apart, that it was possible to keep the blood in circulation. On the morning of the 20th the sun shone out bright and comparatively warm, although everything bore a most wintry aspect. Beautiful as the scenery must be when spring has clothed the trees with green, or when the early autumnal tints have succeeded the fierce heat of summer, the appearance of the country clad in its snowy garments might well compare with either of these. The hills, rugged in parts, and opening out at intervals into large open plains, trees and shrubs groaning with their milk-white burden, or sparkling like frosted silver in the moonlight, and above all the river, now yellow and swollen, rushing rapidly along, produced an effect characteristic and grand.
About ninety miles from Serayevo the river becomes much broader, and swollen as it was by the recent rain and snow, presented a very fine appearance.
On its right bank stands the town of Maglai, which is prettily situated in the side of a basin formed by the hills, a craggy eminence apparently dividing the town into two parts. Behind these, however, the houses meet, sloping down close to the river's edge. On the very summit of the central mound is an old fort mounting five guns, which command the river, but would otherwise be of little use. The only means of communication between either bank, is a ferry-boat of rude construction. After leaving this town there still remained four hours of my journey to be accomplished, before arriving at Schevaleekhan, where I intended passing the night. Unaccustomed as I was to anything like luxury, I was positively staggered at the total absence of even the commonest necessaries of life. At Maglai I had endeavoured without success to buy potatoes, fruit, and even meat; but here neither bread, eggs, nor chickens, which are nearly always procurable, were to be found. Having received the inevitable 'Nehmur' to every one of my demands, I could not help asking what the inhabitants themselves eat; and being told that they lived upon vegetables, asked for the same. Judge, then, of my astonishment when told that there were none. Fortunately my kind friends at Bosna Serai had not sent me away empty-handed, or assuredly I should have felt the pangs of hunger that day.
At all times a khan is a painful mockery of the word hotel, as it is often translated. Picture to yourself a room about eight feet square, with windows not made to open, a stove which fills one-third of the entire space, and a wooden divan occupying the other two-thirds; the whole peopled by innumerable specimens of the insect creation, and you have a very fair idea of an ordinary khan. If there be a moment when one is justified in the indulgence of a few epicurean ideas, it is when inhabiting one of these abodes of bliss.
About an hour from Schevaleekhan we crossed an arm of the Bosna by means of a ferry-boat; a little farther on the left bank stands a town of 300 houses, built very much after the same principle as Maglai. Like that place it has an eminence, around which the houses cluster. This is also surmounted by a fort with three guns, two small and one large. The Mudir told me with no little satisfaction that it was the last place taken by the Turks, when they conquered Bosnia. Profiting by my experience of the previous day, I took the precaution of buying a chicken, some bread, and a few more edibles, on my way through the town. Provisions were, however, both scarce and execrable in quality. Meat is indeed rarely to be obtained anywhere, as sheep are never killed, and bullocks only when superannuated and deemed unfit for further physical labour. Chickens are consequently almost the only animal food known. The method of killing them is peculiar. The children of the house are generally selected for this office. One secures a very scraggy fowl, while another arms himself with a hatchet of such formidable dimensions as to recall in the beholder all sorts of unpleasant reminiscences about Lady Jane Grey, Mauger, and other historic characters. The struggling bird is then beheaded, and stripped of his plumage almost before his pulses have ceased to beat. The first occasion on which I saw one of these executions, I could not help thinking of a certain cicerone at Rome, who, albeit that he spoke very good French and Italian, always broke out in English when he saw a picture of a martyrdom of any kind soever; 'That one very good man, cut his head off.' The man had but one idea of death, and the same may be said of these primitive people, who look upon decapitation as the easiest termination to a half-starved life.
Leaving Kotauski, where I passed the night of the 21st, at 7 a.m., I reached Brod at 8.30 in the evening. The distance is considerable, but might have been accomplished in a far shorter time, had not the country been one sheet of ice, which rendered progression both difficult and dangerous. Each person of whom I enquired the distance told me more than the one before, until I thought that a Bosnian 'saht' (hour) was a more inexplicable measure than a German 'stunde' or a Scottish 'mile and a bittoch.' At length, however, the lights of Brod proclaimed our approach to the Turkish town of that name. On the left bank of the Save stands Austrian Brod, which, like all the Slavonic towns near the river, is thoroughly Turkish in character. Late as it was, I hoped to cross the river the same night, and proceeded straight to the Mudir, who raised no objections, and procured men to ferry me across. But we had scarcely left the shore when we were challenged by the Austrian sentry on the other side. As the garrisons of all the towns on the frontier are composed of Grenzer regiments, or confinarii, whose native dialect is Illyric, a most animated discussion took place between the sentry on the one hand, and the whole of my suite, which had increased considerably since my arrival in the town. My servant Eugene, who had been educated for a priest, and could talk pretty well, tried every species of argument, but without success; the soldier evidently had the best of it, and clenched the question with the most unanswerable argument—that we were quite at liberty to cross if we liked; but that he should fire into us as soon as we came into good view. There was therefore no help for it, and unwillingly enough, I returned to a khan, and crossed over early the following morning. At his offices, close to the river, I found M.M., le Directeur de la Quarantine, and general manager of all the other departments. He accompanied me to the hotel, which, though not exactly first-rate, appeared luxurious after my three months of khans and tents. I was somewhat taken aback at finding that the steamer to Belgrade was not due for two days, and moreover that the fogs had been so dense that it had not yet passed up on its voyage to Sissek; whence it would return to Belgrade, calling at Brod, and other places en route.
It therefore appeared the better plan to go up in it to Sissek, than to await its return to Brod. By this means I was enabled to see many of the towns and villages on the Bosnian, Slavonian, and Croatian frontiers. Leaving my servant and horses at Brod, I went on board the steamer as soon as it arrived. The scene I there found was curious. In a small saloon, of which the windows were all shut, and the immense stove lighted, were about thirty persons, three or four of whom were females, the remainder merchants and Austrian officers. The atmosphere was so oppressive that I applied for a private cabin, a luxury which is paid for, in all German companies, over and above the regular fare. I was told that I might have one for eleven florins a night. To this I demurred, but was told that any reduction was impossible; it was the tariff. At length the inspector came on board; to him I appealed, and received the same answer. After a little conversation, he agreed to break through a rule. I might have it for seven florins. No! well, he would take the five which I had originally offered; and so I got my cabin. That it was the nicest little room possible, I must admit, with its two large windows, a maple table, a large mirror, and carpeted floor; and a very much pleasanter resting-place than the hot saloon. The night was rainy and dark, and we lay-to throughout the greater part of it, as is the invariable rule on the Save, and even on the Danube during the autumn months. At eight on the following morning we touched at Gradiska. There are two towns of the name, the old one standing close to the river, and embellished with a dilapidated castle; the new town being about an hour's distance inland.
About noon we reached Cenovatz, which, like the other towns and villages on the frontier, might be mistaken rather for a Turkish than a German town.
The Castle of Cenovatz is an irregular quadrilateral, with three round and one square tower at the angles. It is now occupied by priests. It is interesting from its connection with the military history of the country. There, on a tongue of land which projects into the river, waved the flag of France during the occupation of the Illyrian provinces by the old Napoleon, while on the main land on either side the sentinels of Austria and Turkey were posted in close juxtaposition. Hence it has received the name of "la lingua di tré regni."