The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Danube, by F. D. Millet This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: The Danube From the Black Forest to the Black Sea Author: F. D. Millet Illustrator: Alfred Parsons Release Date: May 16, 2020 [EBook #62150] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DANUBE *** Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive) Contents. List of Illustrations (In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.) (etext transcriber's note) {ii} {iii} [Image unavailable.] THE DANUBE FROM THE BLACK FOREST TO THE BLACK SEA BY F. D. M I L L E T AUTHOR OF “A CAPILLARY CRIME” ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR AND ALFRED PARSONS NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. — All rights reserved. {iv} {v} “Wenn ich dann zu Nacht alleine Dichtend in die Wellen schau’, Steigt beim blanken Mondenscheine Auf die schmucke Wasserfrau Aus der Donau Aus der schönen, blauen Donau.” —Beck. CONTENTS CHAPTER I The Black Forest—The Brigach and the Brege—The Highest Sources of the Danube—Journey thence from London— Villingen—Arrival at Donaueschingen—The Canoes and Outfit—Arbitrary Source of the Danube Page I CHAPTER II The Start—Swans and Spectators—The First Weir and First Luncheon—Society for the Preservation of the Banks of the Danube—Tuttlingen and Max Schneckenburger—First Public Performance at a Weir—First Night in Camp and a Spoiled Breakfast—Monastery of Beuron and its Monks—Crags and Castles 15 CHAPTER III Sigmaringen and Hohenzollern—Nuns at Riedlingen—Haymakers and Haymaking—The Last Weir—A Vigorous Current— The Confluence of the Iller and the Danube—Ulm and the Danube Rowing Club—Start from Ulm—Appointment of Camp-finder 32 CHAPTER IV Lauingen; Its Architecture and its People—Blenheim and Höchstädt—Donauwörth—Lumber-rafts and our Narrow Escape —Virtuous Vohburg—Roman Remains and one of the Scenes in the “Niebelungenlied”—Weltenburg Abbey—The Befreiungshalle and Kelheim—In Sight of Ratisbon 46 CHAPTER V Ratisbon; Its Architecture and its People—The Walhalla—The Plain of Straubing—A Summer Squall—A Typical Bavarian Farm-house—Visit to a Local Freight Flat-boat—Rowing Clubs at Deggendorf and at Winzer 59 CHAPTER VI Fourth of July at Passau—The Austrian Frontier—Through the Gorge in Rainy Weather—A Curious Ferry—A Brief Halt at Linz and a Camp at the Mouth of the Traun—Shooting the Rapids below Grein—Melk and the Pass below 74 CHAPTER VII Dürrenstein, the Dungeon of Richard Cœur de Lion—Ruins and Sentiment—A Gem of River Scenery—Canalization of the River—The only “Blue Danube”—Tulln and its Antiquities—Active River Commerce—Our Raftsmen Friends 88 CHAPTER VIII Vienna; Its History and Characteristics—The Lia Rowing Club—Our Stay at Hainburg and Excursions in the Neighborhood —Theben, the Frontier Town of Hungary—A Model Postmaster 102 CHAPTER IX Pressburg and the River below—Monotony of Landscape and our Introduction to Dust and Mud—Gran; Its Situation and Attractions—Visegrád—Our Hospitable Reception—General Görgei—Our Reluctant Parting—Approach to Budapest— The First Accident to the Fleet—The Neptune Club—Gypsy Music 119 CHAPTER X Budapest almost our Capua—The Bridges and Baths—The Great Hungarian Plain—Cheery River Folk—Duna Földvár—A Surprise Picnic and a Severe Storm—In the Heart of Hungary—Mohács and a Veteran of Two Wars—Tokay and Patriotic Sentiments 133 CHAPTER XI The Franzens Canal between the Danube and the Theiss—A Heterogeneous Population—Monostorszég and a Peasants’ Dance—Curious Types and Costumes—A Spectacular Sunday—First Signs of Oriental Life 151 {vii} {vi} {viii} {ix} CHAPTER XII A Watermelon Metropolis—Our Fleet taken for Torpedo-boats—A Gypsy Queen—Peterwardein and Carlowitz—Busy Life on the Banks—In Sight of Belgrade—Evening in Camp—The Servian Frontier—Semlin and Belgrade—Oriental Characteristics and Modern Improvements—A Sculptor’s Paradise—An Unexpected Encounter 164 CHAPTER XIII Semendria and its Great Castle—Our Passports are Useless—Bazias and the Entrance to the Carpathians—The Emperor’s Birthday on a Gunboat—Castle of Golubáç—Drenkova and the First Rapids—Escape from a Whirlpool and a Dash through the Cataracts 184 CHAPTER XIV Improvements to Navigation—Rapids of the Jur—The Kasan Defile—Remarkable River Scenery—Trajan’s Tablet and Old Roman Roadway—Orsova and the Herkulesbad—Ada Kaleh, the Turkish Settlement—The Iron Gates—The Danube and the Ister—Origin of the Name of the Danube—We Lose our Admiral—The Iron Gates—Captured by Roumanian Soldiers—Under Military Supervision 197 CHAPTER XV We are Arrested in a Servian Militia Camp—Barbaric Soldiery and Strange People—We Surrender to a Roumanian Picket —A Characteristic Servian Village—The Frontier of Bulgaria 211 CHAPTER XVI Kalafat and Widdin—A Gale out of a Clear Sky—Bulgarian Fishermen—Widdin and its People—Quaint Turkish Sailing Craft—The River Landscape and the Bulgarian Villages—Custom-house Annoyances—Our Passports save us 230 CHAPTER XVII A Grazing Country—Wild-fowl in Abundance—Nicopolis and the First Reminder of the War of 1877-78—Exodus of Turks at Sistova—Trip to Plevna—Echoes of the War—Rustchuk and Silistria—Monotony and Mud 247 CHAPTER XVIII Squally Weather and Head-winds—The Dobrudscha—Trajan’s Great Wall—Our Camp is Besieged, but Peace is soon Declared—A Roumanian Village—Braila and Galatz—A Tribe of Gypsies 267 CHAPTER XIX The Danube Delta—The European Commission and its Work—Sulina, a Town on English Soil—We Enter the Territory of the Czar—The River divides and the Delta begins 280 CHAPTER XX We Fraternize with Russian Soldiers—A Night at a Picket Station—Custom-house Formalities at Ismail—We Encounter the Police—A Desolate Land—We Camp in the Mud—Kilia—Moldavian Peasants and Russian Pickets 295 CHAPTER XXI We reach Vilkoff and Renew our Struggles with the Custom-house—A Remote Town—The Sturgeon Fishery and Caviar— We Push on to the Black Sea—A Gale is Blowing, and We make a Landing with Difficulty—The Roumanian “Cordon”— A Paddle in the Black Sea—We dismantle our Canoes and reach Sulina 312 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Alfred Parsons, Poultney Bigelow and F. D. Millet. Frontispiece Peasant Girl of the Black Forest 2 A Haymaker 3 Donaueschingen Girls 5 The Sketch-book 7 Black Forest Cow Team 10 Spectators 13 The Start—Donaueschingen 17 Pforen 20 {x} {xi} Hut for Duck Shooting—Neidingen 22 Max Schneckenburger, Author of “Die Wacht am Rhein” 23 Below Mühlheim, Kallenberg 25 Wernwag 28 Wildenstein 29 The Monks of Beuron 30 Sigmaringen 33 Hohenzollern 34 Nuns at Riedlingen 35 Crossing the Weir—Rottenacker 37 Peasant Girls Mowing 39 Bridge at Rottenacker 40 Wood-sawyer at Ulm 43 From Strasburg to Ulm 44 The Bell Tower—Lauingen 48 Donauwörth 49 The Ferry 51 From Ulm to Straubing 53 Between Weltenburg and Kelheim 54 An Early Visitor 55 Ratisbon from the Bridge 61 Returning from Market, Ratisbon 64 Oberau, near Straubing 65 Local Freight Flat-boat 69 On the Tile-boat 71 From Straubing to Dürrenstein 75 Grein, from the Camp, July 6, 1891 77 Pump at Pöchlarn 81 The Benedictine Monastery, Melk 85 Early Morning Opposite Dürrenstein 89 Dürrenstein 93 From Dürrenstein to Budapest 96 Lumber Raft 98 A Little Girl of Hainburg 103 Peasant Wagon, Hainburg 105 A Hungarian Ferry 107 The Wienerthor, Hainburg 108 The Town Wall, Hainburg 110 Hundsheim 113 Gossips, Hundsheim 116 The Watch-tower, Theben 117 Peasant Girl, Theben 120 Hungarian Cattle 121 Gran (Esztergom) 123 Visegrád 126 Swineherd 127 A Family Wash 130 An Ark-boat 131 Country Market-boat, Budapest 134 Washer-women 137 Duna Földvár 139 Water-carriers, Duna Földvár 142 Fishing-station 143 Peasant Girls at Mohács 146 {xii} From Budapest to Belgrade 152 Schokacz Types 154 In Sunday Dress, Monostorszég 157 Hungarian Girls at Bezdán 159 Erdöd 160 Current Mills 162 Vukovár Watermelons 166 A Pig-wallow 167 A Gypsy Girl 171 Threshing Wheat 173 A Croatian Bivouac 175 Ó Szlankamen 176 Servian Women 177 Fortress at the Junction of the Danube and the Save—Belgrade 178 Bulgarian Bozaji, Belgrade 180 Fountain in the Square, Belgrade 182 Semendria 185 Rama 189 Golubáç 191 Roumanian Peasant Girl 194 The Kasan Defile 199 Remains of Trajan’s Road near Orsova 202 From Belgrade to Rustchuk 204 Remains of Trajan’s Bridge, Turnu Severin 207 Roumanian Peasants 209 Servian Fishing-canoes 210 Carrying Water for the Camp—Brza Palanka 213 “Our Guard,” Servian Militia Camp 215 Massing of Servian Troops on the Bulgarian Frontier 217 Drawing Water for the Camp, Brza Palanka 219 Servian Militia, Brza Palanka 223 Building a House in Servia 225 House at Radujeváç 226 Roumanian Picket Guard 227 Bulgarian Fisherman Basket-making 232 Cann, opposite Kalafat 235 Bulgarian Peasant Types 237 Turkish Types 239 Turkish Quarter, Widdin 241 Turkish Vessels 243 Bulgarian Village 245 Becalmed 247 On the Bulgarian Shore, near Rahova 249 Turkish Flat-boat 252 Turkish Women at Sistova 253 Old Mosque, Rustchuk 257 Bulgarian Buffalo Cart 259 Market-place, Silistria 261 Mosque in Silistria 264 From Rustchuk to Sulina 265 Roumanian Peasants Selling Flowers and Fruit 268 Hirsova 270 Gura Ghirlitza 272 {xiii} A [Image unavailable.] Loading Grain at Braila 274 Gipsy Camp at Galatz 277 Galatz 281 Peasants of the Delta 284 Dredging the Delta 287 Turkish Sailing Lotka, Sulina 288 Hills near Matchin 289 Kilia 290 Chatal Saint George 291 Toultcha 293 Windmills of Toultcha 294 Russian Picket Post 297 Fishing-hut among the Reeds 303 A Late Camp 307 Moldavian Peasants: A Windy Day in the Delta 309 Vilkoff 313 Fishing Station on the Black Sea 315 Roumanian Sailors at the “Cordon” 319 The Last Toilet in Camp 323 By the Black Sea 327 THE DANUBE FROM THE BLACK FOREST TO THE BLACK SEA CHAPTER I T the head of a pleasant little valley high up among the bristling mountain-tops of the Black Forest, a tiny stream of clear water comes tumbling down the rocks, and, gathering strength and volume from an occasional spring or a rivulet, cuts a deep channel into the rich soil of the hayfields, and dances along gayly over its bed of glistening pebbles. To the north, west, and south the bold summits of the water-shed, heavily clothed in dark masses of coniferous trees, make a rugged, strongly accentuated sky line, and to the east delightful vistas of sunny slopes and fertile intervales stretch away in enchanting perspective to the hazy distance. This little stream, the Brigach, with its twin sister, the Brege, which rises about ten miles farther to the south, are the highest sources of the mighty River Danube, the great water highway of Europe since earliest history, celebrated for ages in legend and song, gathering on its banks in its course of nearly two thousand miles to the Black Sea the most varied and interesting nationalities in the civilized world, and unfolding in its flow the most remarkable succession of panoramas of natural beauty known to the geographer. The Black Forest Railway, which crosses the mountains from the valley of the Rhine into the upper valley of the Danube by the way of Triberg, mounts the western escarpment of the range by a series of steep grades, curves, and short tunnels, in the midst of beautiful scenery of a semi-Alpine character, and, after the divide is reached, follows the course of the Brigach to Donaueschingen, a tidy little town in the Grand Duchy of Baden, usually called the source of the Danube, and, for the greater part of the year, the head of navigation for small boats on the upper river. A mile and a half below Donaueschingen the Brigach and the Brege join, and the stream here receives the name of the Danube. Our party of three was made up of ideal elements. The accuracy of this statement must be permitted for a moment to eclipse the habitual modesty of that member of the expedition whose duty it has become to tell the story of the trip. The originator of the enterprise was an expert canoist who had steered his frail craft through breakers of various seas and over shoals of countless rivers. On him was to devolve the literary part of the expedition—an arrangement which would have been carried out but for the ruthless interference of that all-powerful tyrant, Time. The other two members of the alliance expected to take elaborate notes of all attractive features of the landscape and all interesting types of humanity, the one meanwhile joyfully anticipating the pursuit of his favorite study of botany, and the other indulging in the exhilarating prospect of explorations in the fascinating field of philology, and looking forward with no little interest to revisiting under the pleasantest of auspices old friends and familiar scenes. We agreed to meet at Donaueschingen on June 22d, and made all our arrangements to have the canoes reach that point on or previous to that {xiv} {xv} {xvi} {1} {2} {3} PEASANT GIRL OF THE BLACK FOREST [Image unavailable.] A HAYMAKER date. The experience of old travellers with canoes was all against the successful consummation of this plan, particularly as two of the boats had to be shipped from New York, and would not be finished until the 3d of the month. The fate of the other canoe was more or less certain, for the owner decided to watch it himself all the way from London to the place of meeting, having learned after many disappointments that this process of transportation, although irksome, was the only one he could depend upon. On the evening of Saturday, June 20th, two of us left London in the wake of the Admiral of the fleet, who had paddled his canoe down the Thames to the Flushing boat some days before. Thirty-six hours later, on the morning of the 22d, refreshed and cheered by the brisk air of the mountains after two feverish nights on the journey, we saw between the showers of rain the brilliant sunlight sparkling on a tiny mountain brook near the little hamlet of Sommerau, on the eastern slope of the water-shed. Although we had no map or guide-book, we knew at once that our acquaintance with the Danube had begun. The long- dormant sporting corpuscles in our blood took on a sudden and stimulating activity, and we were in a nervous quiver to begin our long-dreamed-of cruise. The Rhine had failed to charm us with its majestic scenery; we had seen only the hideous scars that modern man has made on the fair face of nature there, with villas of carpenter’s Gothic and summer hotels of repulsively mammoth proportions. Cologne, Mayence, Strasburg, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been joys to us, had been on this journey aggravating impediments in the way of our progress, for all the trains had seemed to combine viciously to break connections at these points and to force us to delay our eager flight. The charms of architecture and art, although always potent, had been but a meagre consolation to us in our impatience to begin our intimate communion with Nature. Even the wonderful railway journey over the pass, while it had put us in a better mood and temporarily stirred our emotions, had not given us a tithe of the sensation that the sparkle of the rivulet caused as we caught sight of it after a great gray curtain of rain had been driven away by an all- powerful flood of sunlight. The quaintest and strangest of costumes met our eyes as we leaned out of the window of our compartment when the train stopped at the station of St. Georgen, eager to see how the brook had widened there. The hurrying peasant women, in queer skull- caps with immense ribbon bows, stiff bodices, and short petticoats, seemed to be the supernumeraries in the prologue of an exciting, drama now about to begin. The train rolled slowly on with that peculiar settling-down motion that denotes a descending grade, and we watched the yard-wide brook gradually expand its channel and assume the proportions of a goodly stream. In the fertile valley near Villingen, where the country opens out [Image unavailable.] DONAUESCHINGEN GIRLS and the landscape becomes more extensive, the stream was now fully a half-dozen yards wide, and the recent heavy rains had filled it nearly to overflowing with a yellow flood. We had a sudden and strong temptation to stop and begin our cruise at this point, but the uncertainty of the fate of our canoes, of which we had received no item of information since they had been shipped at New York, made it imperative for us to push on to Donaueschingen, and our ambition to make the highest start on record in the Danube annals was forever crushed by the considerations of transportation. Donaueschingen was still dripping from a heavy shower when we arrived about noon-time, but the eloquently beaming face of our companion would have dispelled the gloom of the heaviest thunder-storm, and we heeded not the weather, for we understood at once that the canoes had arrived and were all right. Indeed, contrary to all precedent and all prophecy, they had turned up safe and sound the day before; and when we saw them for the first time, all sleek and shiny and dainty, resting on the flag-stones of the inn-yard as lightly as bubbles on a pool of water, we felt that kind and quality of elation that had been a stranger to us since the first happy day of school vacation. Graceful as violins, with sails whiter than the fresh whitewash of the tidy hostlery, with shining nickel fittings and every detail highly finished, they combined in their construction beauty and strength in a near approach to perfection. Under the very wall of the inn-yard the Brigach, now quite a river and much swollen by the floods, rushed and foamed and filled the air with an inviting murmur. Donaueschingen has long been the starting-point for boating expeditions to Vienna, but, as we rightly conjectured, no craft similar to the American cruising canoe had ever before been seen there. Curiosity to examine the novelties, coupled with the knowledge of our plan to cruise as far as the Black Sea, which had been widely disseminated by our advance agent in his brief stay, made a ripple of excitement all over the town, and the inn-yard was constantly crowded with visitors, many of them skilled mechanics, for the neighborhood is widely famous for its clocks and wood-carvings. Only one of us, as I have already confessed, was acquainted with a canoe of this kind, but we were all experienced in the management of birch-barks and Canadians and other small craft. We effectually concealed our ignorance from the spectators, however, and in the guise of testing the apparatus after its long journey, worked the sails, rudder, and centre-board, set up the tents, shipped and unshipped the hatches, until we {4} {5} {6} became quite familiar with the working of them all. It may be as well at the beginning to show the result of our examination of the canoes and to describe them briefly, for the reason that our adventures will be better appreciated and our river life better understood if some adequate notion can be given of the craft that carried us by day and housed us for the night for three happy months. [Image unavailable.] THE SKETCH-BOOK The three canoes were as nearly alike in dimensions, lines, weight, and fittings as the skill of an old and famous builder on the banks of the East River, New York, could make them. They measured 15 feet in length, 30 inches in width, and about 18 inches in extreme depth. A deck of thin mahogany covered the whole with the exception of an oval opening about 6 feet long and 20 inches wide, which was surrounded by an oak coaming about 2 inches high. A series of hatches was fitted to this coaming, and these could be adjusted in various ways, so that the canoe could be converted in a moment from an open boat into a modified Rob Roy, or entirely covered up and locked as securely as a jewel-box. Like all similar craft, a good strong oaken keel made the backbone, and a great many small ribs of riven heart-of-oak were copper-riveted to this keel, forming, with the stem—and stern-post and a few cross- timbers, a light, strong, and not too rigid skeleton. The sheer-strake was of mahogany, and the others of selected white cedar. All the fastenings were of the best copper, and the trimmings and fittings of nickel-plated brass. One peculiarity of the construction was that the deck-boards and all the strakes ran from stem to stern without a splice. The weight of each canoe, empty, was about eighty pounds, but with the nickel-plated drop rudder, heavy brass folding centre-board, two sails with masts and spars, paddles and general outfit, the whole weight in cruising trim must have been fully 200 pounds, but we never verified this estimate, judging only by the fact that at no time during the trip were they too heavy to be lifted easily by two of us. We were naturally quite as much interested in the practical working of the canoes as in their appearance, for we knew that the brilliant varnish would soon grow dim, the smooth surface of the mahogany become dented and scratched, and that the lines and proportions would alone [Image unavailable.] BLACK FOREST COW TEAM remain to testify to the original perfection of the build. The two sails, a large leg-of-mutton main-sail and a mizzen of similar shape but much smaller, could be raised, lowered, reefed, and furled from the canoist’s seat on the floor of the cockpit. The mizzen-mast could be unshipped, the rudder raised out of the water or lowered below the keel; the centre-board, which shut up like a fan into a long slot in the keel, could be adjusted to any desirable depth; the hatches could be shipped and unshipped, the canoe baled out, and all other necessary operations of navigation performed with the greatest ease and rapidity. A double-blade paddle 8 feet long, and jointed so that the blades could be turned at right angles to each other, was to be depended upon for the ordinary means of propulsion, but we anticipated using the sails as often as wind, weather, and the run of the river would permit. When paddling or sailing, the after-hatch of {7} {8} {9} {10} the cockpit was to be left on, and a movable bulkhead, upon which the forward part of the hatch rested, was intended to serve as a back-rest for the occupant, who also might sit upon the hatch and thus change his position at discretion. The length between the bulkheads was 8 feet, and on the cedar floor-boards of this space we proposed to make our bed for the night, trigging the canoe up on the shore for the purpose, and thus providing for ourselves a dry, sheltered, and comfortable bed under all circumstances. A box- tent of good duck was made to be slung between the masts and to button securely along the gunwales. This was provided with flaps for ventilation and entrance, and with mosquito-proof curtains. The water-tight compartments fore and aft made excellent spaces for dry storage, and during the day all articles for handy use were to be kept behind the back-rest where they could be easily got at. The spare paddle, unjointed for the sake of packing, the sketching apparatus, maps and note-books, and the foot-steering gear and the fore-hatches, were to be the only encumbrances of the cockpit proper. When we came to experiment with our outfit we found that we had plenty of room and to spare, and subsequent experience proved to us the accuracy of our first plans for the stowage and arrangement of all our traps. We naturally depended largely on the advice of the veteran cruiser of the party for the selection of our outfit, and we two novices had a consultation with him shortly after our expedition was decided upon. Knowing nothing about the canoes, we asked him what we should take along to make a bed with; whether we should carry an air-pillow or one of the small cork mattresses we had seen advertised for such trips. “Dear me, no!” he said. “You don’t need any blanket. Sleep in your clothes!” “But a pillow?” we urged. “Just fold up your trousers for a pillow!” “Then what do you cover yourself up with?” “That’s simple enough. Pop your legs in the sleeves of your coat and your feet and ankles will be as warm as toast.” “What about your shoulders?” “Oh, well; haul any old thing over your shoulders. You’ll soon get used to that. The less you carry the better.” This unique method of making one’s self comfortable for the night appealed more to our sense of humor than it did to the practical side of our nature, and we decided to carry a good thick woollen blanket, a rubber one of extra quality, a canvas boat-bag with a suit of shore-going clothes, a sleeping-suit, various spare flannels, socks, boating-shoes, and other small articles. This bag would make, if packed with that end in view, an excellent pillow; and we proposed to trust to our constitutional endurance to become indifferent to the hardness of the canoe floor. A bicycle cape, a sketching umbrella and camp-stool, together with a sketch-bag full of materials, practically completed the personal outfit of the majority of the party. Of all these articles we found the rubber ones alone to be of no real use. The bicycle cape shed water for a few minutes and then converted itself into a complicated system of gargoyles which conducted the drip into the most intimate recesses of our clothing, and soon made the canoe floor a perfect swamp. As for the expensive rubber blankets, they were a fetich for many weeks. The hours and hours we waited for those dew-dripping sheets to dry! The care we took of them lest they should get burned or torn, and prove worthless in the hour of need! The trouble we took to pack them by day and to cover them up at night lest they should gather all the moisture of the neighborhood and communicate it to our clothing! We never but once used them to shed the rain, and that was the third night of our expedition, but we conscientiously lugged them along with us the whole distance, and got only our bother for our pains. The sketching umbrellas and the camp-stools were, on the other hand, of the greatest use and a constant comfort. When it rained we sat at our ease on the stools and comfortably cooked and ate and smoked under the spreading expanse of white linen. When a shower overtook us on the water we often hoisted the umbrellas and drifted along as sheltered and as dry as could be. [Image unavailable.] SPECTATORS Our batterie de cuisine consisted of three spirit-lamps of different sizes and styles, a few plates and cups of white enamelled ironware, a tin kettle, coffee-pot, teapot, and water-can, knives, forks, spoons, and ladle. These necessary articles, together with the hatchet, a few tools and copper nails, medicines and general stores, we soon learned to distribute properly among the three canoes, and thus divide the weight and amicably share the trouble of transportation. It was astonishing how much the canoes would hold, and every time we unpacked them we always marvelled at their loading capacity. In addition to the outfit described we often had to carry fresh meat, vegetables, milk and wine, and a large store of burning spirits, to say nothing of a great many canned provisions. The limit seemed to be fixed only by the weight we were individually willing to struggle with. Our experiments with the canoes in the inn-yard and the rearrangement of our luggage occupied us most of the whole afternoon of the long summer day, but we had daylight enough left in which to see the town and stroll through the extensive park with its lakes and its sociable swans, and to gaze from afar on the inhospitable looking palace of the Princes of Fürstenberg, who have arbitrarily {11} {12} {13} {14} T declared for their own glorification that a large spring in their pleasure-grounds is the actual source of the Danube. They have surrounded the spring with expensive masonry, and erected a stone tablet with an inscription giving the information, among other things, that that spot is 678 metres above sea level and 2840 kilometres from the Black Sea by way of the Danube. The hotel where we stayed is at the southern end of the fine stone bridge connecting the two sections into which the Brigach divides the town. Conveniently near to the hotel is a large flight of stone steps leading down to the water, and here we proposed to launch the canoes early the next morning and make our start, a few yards above the source of the Danube, according to the prince’s tablet, and about 2000 yards above the junction of the Brigach and the Brege, where the stream is first christened the Danube. CHAPTER II HE final preparations for our cruise occupied more time than we anticipated, and it was quite eight o’clock before the canoes touched water at the foot of the slippery stone steps. A large proportion of the inhabitants of Donaueschingen gathered on the bridge and near the landing to see us off, and a dozen eager volunteers helped us carry our boats and launch them into the yellow stream. A few minutes sufficed to stow the traps, for we had sent the sails and tents and various other articles by rail to Ulm, thinking they would be more trouble than use on the upper part of the river, with its succession of dams and weirs. Then, amid the “Hochs!” and “Glückliche Reises!” of the multitude, we scrambled in, each in turn, and pushed off. We firmly believe that no one in the great crowd of spectators detected that two of us were handling a double-bladed paddle for the first time— not even the two ladies from Massachusetts whom we met at the inn, for their hearty interest in our trip, and their enthusiastic admiration for the canoes, doubtless blinded them to the observance of our awkwardness. The swelling, curling stream bore us merrily out of sight of the town, and only an occasional paddle stroke was necessary to keep the bow in the right direction. Boys and girls ran along the shady path trying to keep pace with us, and we saw on the highway a carriage with our lady friends, who loyally kept sight of us for several miles. A very short time sufficed to familiarize us with the management of the canoes, so we could thoroughly enjoy the beauty of the landscape and indulge in the unalloyed feeling of satisfaction at our successful start, and we swept on through the great alternating patches of sunlight and shadow, under trailing boughs of large trees and past beds of tall rushes. In a few moments the Brege came in with a volume of water about equal to the Brigach, and then the real Danube rushed on, already quite majestic in aspect, through fields kaleidoscopic with myriads of flowers, reflecting in its pools the clear blue of the sky with brilliant summer clouds, adding new charms to the landscape at every turn. A number of swans from the park at Donaueschingen swam just ahead of us nearly to the first village, Pforen, with its dominating church edifice and huge wooden bridge. When they reached this self-imposed limit of their excursion they rose into the air with great flutterings and splashings, wheeled around and passed us so near at hand that we could feel the air from their great wings, then sailed away in graceful flight to their home in the secluded islands of the park. Large white wing-feathers danced along down stream; and when, many weeks afterwards, we dismantled our canoes on the shores of the Black Sea, we found one of these carefully stowed away in an angle of the underpart of the deck, and, with mock ceremony of a message from the Swan of the Source to the Sturgeon of the Sea, threw it to the strong north wind. The meadows were full of haymakers—men, women, and children—laughing and chattering and bidding us “Grüss Gott!” as we passed. The odors of the fresh hay and the perfumes of the flowers were almost intoxicating in their strength. Nature on every side of us had that peculiar freshness and depth of color which comes with the first clear weather at the end of a long-continued rain, and the [Image unavailable.] THE START—DONAUESCHINGEN landscape, seen from the level of the water, had the increased beauty of line and composition which so often comes from this point of view in the perspective. In less than an hour we reached our first weir near the little village of Neidingen, but the banks were easily accessible owing to the height of the stream, and in five minutes we had dragged the canoes across a grassy point and had launched them again. From the accounts we had read of these obstructions to navigation of the upper river, we anticipated much greater difficulties than we encountered at any of the one-and-twenty weirs and dams we navigated between Donaueschingen and Ulm, although the first one of all was by far the easiest to pass, and should not be mentioned as a fair sample. The weirs are far more numerous than the dams; indeed, there are but two or three of the latter. These, of course, must be carried over because of the sheer descent of the construction, whereas the weirs usually consist of a long slope of masonry over which the canoes can be shot without {15} {16} {17} {18} {19} difficulty at the end of a long painter. The delight of our first luncheon in the open air will never lose its freshness in the memory of either of us three. After a struggle with a weir at Geisingen, we landed in a pleasant meadow just below the village among waist-high ranks of wonderfully brilliant flowers, and lay for an hour basking in the balmy, perfume-laden, sunny air. At our feet the Danube, not the “beautiful blue” of song, but a vigorous, rushing stream, danced and sparkled in the sunlight. Before us were heavily-wooded hills with cool and tempting shadows, behind us the cluster of half-timbered houses and dignified church-tower of the village, and everywhere around the glories of a perfect June day. A few children, attracted by the sight of the canoes, interrupted our siesta; but when the school-bell sounded they all scampered away, and their prompt obedience to the call of authority made our independence seem all the more real and desirable. Then and there at our first landing-place we formed ourselves into a Society for the Preservation of the Banks of the Danube, appointed a president, secretary, and treasurer, and a board of management, and unanimously adopted one regulation, which was to the effect that we should not disfigure in any way the spots we might occupy as camps, but that all rubbish and unsightly debrís should be carefully hidden or thrown into the stream. To the honor of the S. P. B. D. let it be chronicled here that the regulation was strictly observed to the very end of the cruise. [Image unavailable.] PFOREN Below Neidingen and past Geisingen, Immendingen, and Möhringen the river winds through broad, fertile meadows, and in summer it is a panorama of wild-flowers. In the quiet pools of the stream we startled many water-fowl, and once caught sight of a deer feeding near the water. Numerous huts along the bank showed us that this was a favorite shooting-ground in the season, and there were many indications that the game is carefully preserved. The whole of that perfect first day was one uninterrupted succession of surprises and delights, both in landscape and architecture. The frequent villages were all of them interesting and picturesque both in construction and in situation, and as the houses lost their alpine character and became more solid and settled in type, they formed fascinating groups, and made a charming feature of every view. In the late afternoon we floated out of the sweet air of the meadows into a stratum of effluvia from the tanneries of Tuttlingen, and but for the fact that the town claims as its hero Max Schneckenburger, the author of the words of “Die Wacht am Rhein” who was educated here in his youth, and for the more cogent reason of hunger, we probably should have paddled past the town without pausing longer than to admire some of its architectural features. Tuttlingen is not all tanneries, although, as we approached, we thought it must be, by the smell. It is a goodly-sized place, with the usual castle, an unusual church, and red-tiled houses, many of them elaborately half-timbered. Opposite the town, which straggles along the right bank of the stream, a great open meadow is in process of reclamation from the floods, and is being converted into a park or public pleasureground. In this flat expanse of rough ground stands a great square mass of masonry, which will sometime or other support the statue of Schneckenburger, for the Tuttlingers are actively engaged in gathering subscriptions for this monument. Schneckenburger can scarcely be called a poet, for these verses are probably the only ones of any account he ever wrote—at least, no others have been preserved—and they came from his pen at the age of twenty-one. Nine years later, in 1849, he died, having become established as a small merchant, after several years’ experience as a commercial traveller. From the accounts given of him by his widow, the distinctive feature of his character was patriotic fervor, which found its earliest expression in his choice of a motto, “Deutsch,” in his school-boy days, and later in the sentiments of “Die Wacht am Rhein.” The ever-active discussion in our camp, whether the extraordinary popularity of the patriotic song is due to the verses or to the music, is hereby passed on for final settlement to the readers of this narrative. We never could agree about it. {20} {21} {22} [Image unavailable.] MAX SCHNECKENBURGER, AUTHOR OF “DIE WACHT AM RHEIN” [From an old portrait] [Image unavailable.] Hut for duck shooting Neidingen. As it was already late when we reached Tuttlingen, we proposed to hurry our dinner so as to have plenty of daylight to shoot the great weir which filled the air with its roaring. But the deliberate ways of German landlords are not easily changed, and we only succeeded in getting off in the late twilight. With some misgivings we paddled out into mid-stream, towards the sound of the falling water, between the two great bridges. The fame of our expedition had spread far and wide, and it was the hour of leisure, so the Tuttlingers had assembled by thousands along the banks and on the bridges to see the mad strangers come to grief in the cataract on the great weir. The sight of the black masses of people stimulated us almost to rashness, and, without mutual consultation, we steered straight for some snags which had caught on the angle of the weir, and jumping out into the knee-deep water, each of us shot his canoe over at the end of the painter fastened to the stern and, holding the line, scrambled down the incline where the water was shallowest, jumped into his canoe and swept away under the second bridge. All this was done in very little longer time than it takes to tell about it. When the three canoes appeared almost simultaneously in the smooth water below the second bridge, shouts of “Hip! Hip!” and “Glückliche Reise!” echoed from the hill-sides to the towers of Honberg Castle. We replied in chorus “Schneckenburger soll hoch leben!” and dramatically disappeared in the gathering darkness. A half-dozen youths, ambitious to discover where and how we were going to pass the night, followed us along the bank, and we were loath to make our first camp until we had gotten rid of them. We accordingly paddled on and on, scarcely able to see the banks, and at last found an apparently secluded spot and landed. We hauled up the canoes into the dew-drenched meadow, made our simple preparations for the night, and lay down in the snug, warm cockpits. The first night in camp is never a very restful one, and the unaccustomed and somewhat cramped berth with all sorts of sharp projecting corners and the hardest of floors, did not assist our slumbers. Nor did the visit of a bevy of peasant girls who had ventured out from a neighboring farm-house, which we had not noticed in the darkness, help us to lose consciousness as they stood for a long time in the moonlight chattering in soft voices and repeating the story of our exploit at the great weir, which had evidently been related to them by the youths whom we had successfully dodged when we landed. The heavy dew obliged us to cover up our berths in some way, and we tried the rubber blanket as the proper article for such a purpose. This was far too hot. Then we tried the deck hatches, which shut down so closely that they left no room for us to turn over and, besides, were as hot as the rubber blanket. So we passed the night between fitful naps and impatient struggles with temporary roofs. The sun had not begun to dissipate the river fog before we had taken our plunge and were ready for breakfast. By general understanding, the experienced cruiser, or Admiral of the fleet, was expected to do the cooking, and he had made elaborate preparations for this duty. The other two hungry members of the expedition watched the operation of preparing this first breakfast with eager interest, listening meanwhile to the words of wisdom which came from the chef as he sat in his canoe wedged into the narrow cockpit by all the paraphernalia of his temporary trade. {23} {24} {25} [Image unavailable.] Below Mühlheim, Kallenberg “It’s no use to get out of your canoe to cook a meal,” he said, with a tone of authority that silenced our incipient suggestions as to a tidy spot on the flat surface of an adjacent rock. “It’s a thousand times simpler and easier to cook in your canoe, for your things are so handy. All you have to do is to sit just where you are and reach for whatever you want. Besides, you never lose anything, for nothing can get far out of sight in a canoe.” All this time he was carefully arranging a towering, complex construction of tin and brass, with a large spirit-lamp beneath. It was a coffee-machine of his own invention, which, after having been charged with the various materials, was expected to make a most excellent brew at one operation. The water was to come to a boil at the same time with the milk, and then be forced in some mysterious way through the coffee, and come out café au lait of a quality not to be found this side Paris. Everything went on quite satisfactorily for a few minutes, and then the spectators saw a cloud of steam and a fountain of milk suddenly rise high into the air, and, simultaneously with the explosion, saw the cook leap from the canoe all ablaze and roll wildly in the long wet grass. The canoe was covered with flaming spirits, but the fire was extinguished with little difficulty. The milk was all lost, the coffee scattered into the remotest crevices of the cockpit, the eggs were broken, the bread soaked with a nauseous mixture, and breakfast was in a mess generally. Fortunately, the damage to the person of the cook was slight, but the laceration of his feelings was far more serious and lasting, and he gave up the position of cook of the expedition which he had talked about for six weeks and had filled for six minutes, and became second dish-washer and scullery-boy. We were eager to be afloat once more, so we picked up a scratch breakfast and launched the canoes while the ring of the scythe was still in the air, and the busy spreaders had not yet begun their work. [Image unavailable.] Wernwag. {26} {27} {28} We shot three weirs in as many hours, and passed Neudingen, Mühlheim, and Friedingen before eleven o’clock. At the last- named village, a sweetly pastoral place among the hills, we encountered our first rapids, for the flood was so high that all the shallows in the river above had been quite covered, and we had seen white water at the weirs alone. The channel narrows at this point, the hills crowd close to the banks, and great gray crags rise from the dark foliage on the steep slopes. Ruins of castles crown almost every prominent summit, and the scenery grows wilder and more beautiful at every bend of the river. Kallenberg, Wildenstein, Wernwag, Falkenstein, and a half-score of other ruins, equally wonderful in situation, tempted us to sketch them, and we found the most delightful spots imaginable wherever we paused and exchanged the paddle for the pencil. About eighteen miles below Tuttlingen, in the midst of the castle-crowned hills, we passed the monastery of Beuron, covering with its extensive buildings a great flat point in the river, under sheer towering limestone cliffs, surmounted by a grim black cross several hundred feet above the chapel spire. [Image unavailable.] Wildenstein The monastery is imposing in extent but not in style, and the railway bridge close by does not add to the charm of the landscape. The rapid current hurried us on, not against our will, and we only paused to watch the monks haymaking in the meadows, wearing a dress which looked like a compromise between the costumes of a washerwoman and a Cape Cod fisherman. They must have suffered in the hot sun, with their gowns of heavy woollen stuff, but they suffered in silence, and did not deign to answer our greetings or even to turn their eyes upon us. We practically finished the day’s cruise at the little village of Gutenstein, where we dined in the simple country gasthaus for a ridiculously trifling sum, and listened to the droning gossip of a lounging locksmith, who was minding his little child while the mother was at work in the hayfields. With the exception of this descendant of the Jan Steen type and the landlord and his wife, we saw only small children and decrepit old people. The rest were all at work haymaking, and we left before the population returned to the village. We selected our camp-ground—with an eye to beauty of situation as well as comfort—on a high point in a perfect paradise of wild- flowers. From Alfred Parsons’s note-book for the first two days of the cruise I take the following extract, which will give an idea of the wealth of the flora of this district: [Image unavailable.] THE MONKS OF BEURON “From Donaueschingen downward the meadow flowers have a subalpine character—masses of ragged-robin and bladder- lychnis (the calyx of which is a delicate mauve), knotweed, various campanulas (one with bright mauve flowers in a very loose panicle), buttercups, purple sage, and grasses in flower. On the river banks for a long way down are masses of yellow iris, and occasionally sweet-calamus. In one meadow a purple variety of rocket; and generally the usual English meadow flowers. Lower down Campanula glomerata grows in fine purple masses with the sage; and in the rocky parts about Beuron were bright pinks, like the chedder-pink, Geranium sanguineum, and saxifrages. A bright blue veronica grows plentifully as you go down (Quære spicata?). Other plants on the rocks were a purple lactuca, dog-rose, systopteris, wall-rue, and Adiantum nigrum.” As long as daylight lasted we botanized and sketched; and when twilight came on we watched the glowing hill-sides fade into a simple mass in silhouette against the starlit sky, and then slept like tired children. CHAPTER III {29} {30} {31} {32}