The Story Teller of the Desert—"Backsheesh!" / or, Life and Adventures in the Orient

by Thomas Wallace Knox

In one of your promenades you may visit the bain des pauvres, where both sexes bathe together with only the scantiest apparel.

The place is hot and steamy, and the odors anything but charming. A single glance satisfied me, and I was glad to seek the open air and sit at one of the tables in the beer garden, until the perspiration had dried from my forehead and the steam from my clothing. This bath-house is a dome-like structure, lighted by a single window in the top. It was built by the Turks, and was used by them as a convent of dervishes.

Hungary is now as thoroughly Austrian as any part of the Monarchy. The Hungarians have all they ever asked for, and some of them say they have more. They have their own parliament; their finances are kept separate from those of Austria, and they run their own affairs pretty much as they please. The Emperor was crowned King of Hungary, and his prime minister, Count Andrassy, is a Hungarian; the Emperor is well disposed towards the country of the Magyars—one of my friends persists in calling them the Maguires—and as for the Empress, it is well known that she likes the Hungarians much better than the Austrians, and prefers Pesth to Vienna. The gossips whisper that the august couple have their “miffs” occasionally, and one cause of these matrimonial jars is the decided preference which Her Majesty shows for the Hungarians. All things considered, Hungary has reason to be content. She can let alone wars and insurrections, and attend to the development of her resources, which are by no means small, and that is what she is doing, and evidently intends to do.

From Pesth to Belgrade the Danube has a general southerly course, and flows for the most part through a broad plain, extremely fertile but rather sparsely inhabited. There is little animation on the river; the principal objects to catch the eye are the numerous water-mills, but they are an old story to one who has descended the Danube from Lintz to Vienna, and from Vienna to Pesth.

These mills are very simple, inexpensive, and effective, and they utilize a power which would otherwise run to waste. Two barges, or flat boats, one larger than the other, are anchored in the river, and held about twenty feet apart by means of a couple of wooden beams. A rude wheel with the floats at right angles to the current, is built between the two boats; an end of the shaft is supported by each, and in the larger of the boats the shaft turns the machinery of a flour mill. A house is built over the mill, and sometimes the miller lives there with his family. Communication with the shore is maintained by means of a plank or a small boat. The mill costs but little at the outset, and the power that turns it is always ready as long as water runs in the river.

I wonder why these mills are not introduced in America. On our western rivers where the current is strong, they could be used to great advantage, and many thousands of them could be run without interfering with navigation.

The navigation of the great river of Austria is managed by two companies—one Austrian and the other Hungarian. The latter is confined to Hungarian waters, but the other—The Danube Steam Navigation Company—extends its operations along the whole line of the river from Lintz to its mouth, and it even runs a line of sea-going boats between Galatz and Odessa. On the lower Danube below Pesth it has two kinds of boats, the one local and the other express, or, as they call them, “accelerated.” The local boats stop at all the landings, and do not travel much at night. The “accelerated boats” only touch at a few points; and travel day and night, weather permitting. On the local boats your ticket includes nothing but your passage; meals and berths are extras. On the “accelerated boats” you pay for everything in a lump, and have no trouble about settling at each meal or piecemeal.

I took passage on the “accelerated” steamer Franz Josef and found her very comfortable; her cabins were clean, her table was good and well supplied, and her captain was designed by nature to charm the heart of traveling man or woman—especially the latter—and the design of nature had been further developed by art and education. He spoke French like a Parisian, was as handsome as his own picture (it is not always thus); wore such a lovely mustache, and was as polite as a courtier of the days of Louis Quatorze. He had a mixed party to entertain, but he was fully equal to the task.

There were four Russians, two men and two women; all were polite and well bred, and the women were sociable and dignified, without being pert or bashful. There were Servians and Roumanians of both sexes; there were Austrians and Hungarians likewise; there were two Frenchmen—engineers connected with the location of the Roumanian railways; there were two English women of the independent class that travels about the world unprotected by man, and perfectly capable of protecting itself under all circumstances; and there were three Americans.

At dinner I made a comparison of the manners of the table with those of steamboat tables in America, and the comparison was not favorable to my own country. There you generally see men eating in silence and rapidity, and with very little regard for the comfort of their neighbors. Here the meal was eaten leisurely; everybody was civil to everybody else; conversation was general, and instead of fifteen minutes for refreshments, we had an hour and a half, and seasoned the meal with pleasant exchanges of information upon a variety of topics. There was no distinction of age or sex in the conversation, but every one seemed determined to faire son mieux to enable the rest to pass the time agreeably.