At four o’clock the following morning we left Orsova, lighted by a perfect galaxy of stars; but shivering from the damp vapours which were hanging in dense folds about the Danube. The light was just breaking as we reached the foot of the mountains, and began to ascend a precipitous road, slightly guarded on the outer edge by a wooden railing; whence we looked down into rifts and chasms filled with the most profuse foliage; at whose bottom rippled along the pigmy streams which in the winter season swell to torrents, and awake the depths of the forest-fastnesses with their brawling voices.
It is impossible to give the faintest picture of this mountain-pass, with its bridges of rude timber flung over almost unfathomable gulfs—its bold, overhanging paths, along which the narrow wheels have scarcely space to pass—its dense masses of forest foliage, linked together by the graceful wreaths of the wild vine with its blood red leaves, and the clinging tendrils of the wild cotton plant with its snowy tufts of down—its herds of cattle—its flocks of goats—and its green grassy glades, laughing in the sunshine—its ever-recurring effects of light and shade—its mysterious silence—and its surpassing majesty.
As we travelled on, the day-beam grew brighter in the heavens, and the horizon became one rich canopy of pink and violet. There were moments when I was breathless with awe as we traversed that leafy solitude. I never thought of danger; even when the half wild animals that drew us were galloping at their greatest speed down the mountain-side, with a shelf of rock walling us up on the one hand, and a deep precipice yawning over against us on the other. I had not an instant to spare to the possible peril of our position; I saw only, I felt only, the glory which surrounded me. I could at that moment fully understand why the mountaineer clung to liberty as to existence—how he who had once breathed the pure air of heaven from the rocky brow on which the clouds of night were wont to rest, and the sunshine of day to sport, must pine amid the gloom of the valley, and the monotony of the plain. And when we once more descended to the river’s edge, where all was safe and level, I only felt regret that I could not call back the mystery and the magnificence of the rock-seated forests, even although there might be peril in their paths.
The road into which we passed at the foot of the mountain-chain led us along fields of Indian corn, to the village of Plauwischewitza; where we were compelled to remain a couple of hours, in order to rest the horses. It was nine o’clock when we reached it; and as the little hamlet boasted no wine-house, at which we could satisfy the keen appetite that we had acquired by four hours of rapid travelling among the mountains, we were preparing to breakfast in one of the waggons; when the Chevalier Peitrich was recognized by an Officer of Austrian Engineers, who immediately invited us to a very comfortable house that had been built for himself and his brother-officers, during their superintendence of the road to which I have already alluded.
We availed ourselves of his politeness most readily, and were received with the greatest courtesy by the whole party; who showed and explained to us several beautifully-coloured plans of the Danube, and the projected roads and canals. In their bookcase I found Bulwer’s “England and the English,” and Marryat’s “Naval Officer;” both published by Baudry of Paris. It was like meeting old friends in a strange land, to turn over the leaves of these well-remembered volumes in an obscure Hungarian village!
At eleven o’clock we resumed our journey, which lay along the bank of the river, but at a considerable height above the water. In one or two places we wound round the base of rocks that jutted into the bed of the stream, and which were rent and riven in an extraordinary manner; one mass resting upon another, and so apparently insecure as to appear ready to loosen their hold with the next blast of wind. By this picturesque route we passed the rapids called Izlas; a singular ridge of rock extending nearly across the river, at a spot where the shores are extremely bold and beautiful; and at three o’clock in the afternoon we again halted in another small hamlet.
The scene was a very cheerful one, as, owing to its being Sunday, all the peasants were in their holyday garb; and were clustered at the doors of their cottages, enjoying the pure air and the genial sunshine. I was much amused at the method adopted by the Hungarian mothers of nursing their infants; they carry a small box, in shape not unlike a coffin, slung over their shoulders, in which the child lies upon a mattress; and when the little being requires their care, they sit down upon the first stone, or piece of timber in their path, swing the box to their knees, and quietly attend to the wants of their nursling; the suspended cradle is then restored to its original position, and their own occupations are resumed.
On our arrival at the steam station at Drinkova, which is simply a large block of building containing apartments for the resident agent and stores for the housing of merchandize, we learnt that, owing to the long drought, the water had become so low in the Danube that the vessel could not descend beyond Alibec, the next station; and consequently, fatigued as we were with a journey of sixty-five miles in rough carriages over steep roads, we were compelled to continue our route at all speed; and in about twenty minutes we reached the pretty and extensive village of Drinkova, in which we found an Austrian regiment, occupying a commodious barrack in the principal street. We remained here an hour, in order to rest the unfortunate horses, which we were obliged to take on, as there were no means of procuring others; and we started again just as the sun was setting, and throwing fairy lights upon the mountain crests.
Many a gay group did we encounter as we pursued our way, hurrying home to the village after a day of recreation among the hills; and we even passed one party who had lingered so long that the blaze of the fire that they had kindled in the woods streamed across our path.
At nine o’clock we reached Alibec by the light of a bright young moon, which just disappeared behind the hills as we were hailed from the vessel. At daylight the next morning we were under weigh; and about noon the Francis I. was abreast of the extensive monastery and dependencies of Voilovitch on the Hungarian side of the river; and shortly afterwards we passed the town of Panchova, seated on the Temes, which here empties itself into the Danube. About a mile and a half beyond Panchova, we entered a shoal, and the steam was almost entirely stopped, while we glided over the treacherous surface of the stream; the boat scarcely appeared to make any way; but there was a slight tremulous motion that seemed as though her heart still beat, while her progress was impeded.