CHAPTER XXXI.
Orsova—Castle of the Pass—Turkish Guard—Quarantaine Ground—Village of Tekia—Awkward Mistake—Pretty Woman—Gay Dress—A Visiter—Servian Cottagers—A Discovery—Departure—A Volunteer—Receiving House—A Forced March—The Grave-Yard—The Quarantaine—A Welcome to Captivity—A Verbal Coinage—Pleasant Quarters—M. le Directeur—The Restaurant—Pleasant Announcement—Paternal Care of the Austrian Authorities—The Health-Inventory—The Guardsman’s Sword—Medical Visits—Intellectual Amusements—A Friendly Warning.
We reached Orsova after a drive of about three hours; and passed through the court of the castle that guards the pass on the Servian side, and which must have been of great strength when in repair. A buttressed tower, perforated from its base to its summit with loop-holes for musketry, occupies the side of the hill immediately above the fort; and the site of this stronghold is so cunningly chosen, that it is invisible from the Viennese side of the river until you come close upon it, owing to its being built in a gorge between two boldly-projecting rocks. A couple of Turks, armed to the teeth, were lounging at the outer gate, who uttered a courteous “Bouroum” as we passed the archway; while a man, stationed on the roof of the tower, gave out a wild shrill cry, evidently intended as a signal.
The town and fortress of Orsova occupy an island of considerable length, and have a very picturesque appearance; the gleaming minaret of the solitary mosque cutting against the party-coloured foliage that clothes the hills by which it is overshadowed; and the castellated and buttressed wall of the town reflecting itself in the river-tide. Much of this wall is now in ruin, although it may still be traced entirely along the bank. The island was fortified by the Austrians, but was afterwards ceded to the Turks, together with the fortress of Belgrade by the Emperor Leopold.
From this point we could distinguish the Quarantaine establishment, niched in at the foot of the Banût mountains, and distant from the town of Alt Orsova about a mile. But we were obliged to overshoot it by nearly half a league, from the fact of there being no boats for hire until we reached the village of Tekia, situated by the river side, whence the embarkations of the “condemned” universally take place.
As we had considerably out-travelled our companions who had remained with the luggage-waggons, we resolved to await them here; and, the gentlemen having discovered what they supposed to be a coffee-kiosk, I gladly availed myself of the cool, clean apartment to which they summoned me; and the more readily that I was welcomed on the threshold by one of the prettiest women imaginable. She must have been about eighteen; and she had all the bloom of youth, combined with all the grace of womanhood.
I have already remarked on the erect carriage of the Servian females; and our new acquaintance was no exception from the rest of her countrywomen. Her eyes and hair were dazzlingly dark and bright; and she had a lovely glow upon her cheek that told a tale of health and happiness. Her rich tresses were wound about her head above a small Smyrniote fèz, with a falling tassel of purple silk; and the smooth braids that pressed her fair young brow were partly shrouded beneath a painted muslin handkerchief. Her dress of violet silk was made precisely like those of the Constantinopolitan Jewesses, and girt about the waist by a girdle of pale yellow; and above it she wore a scarf of pink muslin embroidered with gold, crossed upon her bosom; and a jacket of wadded green sarsenet with wide sleeves; stockings she had none, but her feet were shrouded in purple slippers; and altogether she was as pleasant a specimen of Servian beauty as the eye could desire to look upon.
As we were self-deluded into the conviction that we were in a coffee-kiosk, and as we were suffering severely from heat and thirst, we unhesitatingly ordered coffee and wine, which were instantly brought; and to which our pretty hostess added sweetmeats and water, presented by herself with a blush and a smile that quite verified the sentiment of the old song, which says: