CHAPTER XI. Chamois and bear hunting--First battue--Luxurious dinner 5000 feet above the sea-level--Storm in the night--Discomforts--The bear's supper--The eagle's breakfast--Second and third day's shooting--Baking a friend as a cure for fever--Striking camp--View into Roumania.

We started for our first battue in capital time, taking with us a crowd of Wallack beaters. Our places were appointed to us by the director of the hunt, and some of us had a stiffish climb before reaching the spot indicated. At a right angle to this valley there protrudes one of those characteristic limestone ridges; it terminates in an abrupt precipice or declivity above the stream. My place was some half-way up, a good position; for while I could see the course of the stream, I could command a fair range of ground above me.

It was impossible not to take note of the exquisite beauty of the whole scene, particularly as it then appeared. The sun breaking through the clouds, threw his sharply-defined rays of light into the depths of the misty defile, playing upon the foam of the water, and giving life and colour to the hanging woods. I hardly took it in at the time, but rather remembered the details afterwards; for my thoughts were occupied in trying to judge the distance up to which I might fire with any chance of success—distances are always very deceptive on the mountains.

I must observe that we hoped to get a shot at some bears, but the chamois were the legitimate object of the hunt. The late autumn or early winter is the best time for bear-hunting.

I had not been long at my post when I heard two shots in quick succession fired below me. I found a chamois had been shot.

For our next battue we turned right-about face, the beaters coming from the other side; but we had bad luck. One of our party saw a bear at some distance, fired, and—missed it. The fact of a bear having been sighted encouraged us in keeping up our battues pretty late, but nothing more was shot that day. It was very disappointing, because if the bear was thereabouts our numerous staff of beaters ought to have turned him up again. Some of the party were altogether sceptical about a bear having been seen at all. Of course the man who had fired held to the bear as if it was the first article in his creed. The dissentients remarked that "believing is seeing," as some one cleverly said of spiritualism. I don't know whether it was better to think you had missed your bear or had no bear to miss.

When we returned to the hut in the evening we found that a couple of men left in charge had made some great improvements. The Wallacks, who are sharp ready-handed fellows, to do them justice, had in our absence cut down some trees, split them with wooden pegs, and constructed out of the rough timber a long table and a couple of benches. These were placed in front of our hut; the supper was spread, the table being lighted with some four lanterns, supplemented by torches of resinous pine-wood.

The weather had been fair, though sport had been bad, so with a feeling not "altogether sorrow-like" we sat down to a hearty good meal. One of the dishes was chamois-liver, which is considered a great delicacy. We had, indeed, several capital dishes, well dressed and served hot—a most successful feast at 5000 feet above the sea-level. A vote of thanks was proposed for the cook, and carried unanimously. The wines were excellent. We had golden Mediasch, one of the best wines grown in Transylvania, RoszamÁber from Karlsburg and Bakatar. The peculiarity about the first-named wine is that it produces an agreeable pricking on the tongue, called in German tschirpsen.

Before turning in we had a smoke, accompanied by tea with rum, the invariable substitute for milk in Hungary.

As there were four big fires burning in the clearing outside the hut, the whole scene was very bright and cheerful. The wood crackled briskly, the flames lit up the green foliage, and the moving figures of our attendants gave animation to the picture. Amongst ourselves there were a few snatches of song, and from up the hill where the Wallacks were camped came a chorus of not unmusical voices. One after another of our party dropped off, betaking himself to his natural rest. I was not the last, and must have slept as soon as I pulled the plaid over my ears, for I remembered nothing more.

I daresay I slept two or three hours; it may have been more or less, I don't know, but the next moment of consciousness, or semi-consciousness, was an uneasy feeling that a thief was trying to carry off a large tin bath that belonged to me, in my dream. As he dragged it away it seemed to me that he bumped it with all his might, making a horrible row. Meanwhile, oppressed by nightmare, I could not budge an inch nor utter a cry, though I would have given the world to stop the thief. I daresay this nonsense of my dream occupied but an instant of time. I woke to the consciousness of a loud peal of thunder. "We are in for a storm," thought I, turning drowsily on my other side, not yet much awake to the probable consequences.

There was no sleep for me, however. The rest of the party were, one and all, up and moving about; and the noise of the storm also increased—the flashes of lightning were blinding, and the crash of the thunder was almost simultaneous. Through the open side of our hut I could see and hear the rain descending in torrents; fortunately it did not beat in, but it was not long before the wet penetrated the roof—that roof of leaves that I had mentally condemned the day before. After the rain once came through, the ground was soon soaking.

It was a dismal scene. I sat up with the others, "the lanterns dimly burning," and occupied myself for some time contriving gurgoyles at different angles of my body, but the wet would trickle down my neck.

We made a small fire inside the hut, essaying thereby to dry some of our things. My socks were soaking; my boots, I found, had a considerable storage of water; the only dry thing was my throat, made dry by swallowing the wood-smoke. A more complete transformation scene could hardly be imagined than our present woeful guise compared with the merriment of the supper-table, where all was song and jollity.

A German, who was sitting on the same log with myself, looking the picture of misery, had been one of the most jovial songsters of the evening.

"Thousand devils!" said he, "you could wring me like a rag. This abominable hut is a sponge—a mere reservoir of water."

"Oh, well, it is all part of the fun," said I, turning the water out of my boots, and proceeding to toast my socks by the fire on the thorns of a twig. "Suppose we sing a song. What shall it be?—'The meeting of the waters'?"

I had intended a mild joke, but the Teuton relapsed into grim silence.

The storm after a while appeared to be rolling off. The thunder-claps were not so immediately over our heads, and the flashes of lightning were less frequent; in fact a perfect lull existed for a short space of time, marking the passage probably to an oppositely electrified zone of the thunder-cloud. During this brief lull we were startled by hearing all at once a frightful yelling from the quarter where the Wallacks were camping, a little higher up than our hut.

Amidst the general hullabaloo of dogs barking and men shouting we at last distinguished the cry of "Ursa, ursa!" which is Wallachian for bear. Our camp became the scene of the most tremendous excitement; everybody rushed out, but in the thick darkness it was impossible to pursue the bear. The more experienced sportsmen were not so eager to sally out after the bear, as they were anxious to prevent a stampede of the horses. When the latter were secured as well as circumstances would permit, a few guns were fired off to warn the bear, and then there was nothing for it but to watch and wait. The dogs went on barking for more than an hour, but otherwise the camp relapsed into stillness. I spent the remainder of the night sitting on a log before the fire, smoking my pipe with the bowl downwards, for the rain had never ceased, and clouds of steam rose from our camp-fires. The fear was that the powder would get wet. I must have dropped off my perch asleep, for I picked myself up the next morning out of a pool of water. It was already dawn, and looking eastward I saw a streak of light beneath a dark curtain of cloud, like the gleam on the edge of a sword, so sharp and defined was it. This was hopeful; it had ceased raining too, and a brisk wind came up the valley.

There was plenty to be done, in drying our clothes and preparing breakfast under difficulties. In the midst of this bustle a Wallack came in to tell us that the bear had really got into the camp in the night, and that he had killed and partly eaten one of the horses. This confirmed the fact that the bear had been sighted by one of our party the day before; though we missed him, he had had his supper, and we were minus a horse.

I followed the Wallack a few steps up the hill, and there, not far off, on a knoll to the left, lay the carcass of the horse. It was a strange sight! Crowds of eagles, vultures, and carrion-crows were already feasting on the remains. Every moment almost, fresh birds came swooping down to their savage breakfast. Bears do not always eat flesh; but it seems when once tasted, they have a liking for it, and cease to be vegetarians. A simple-minded bear delights in maize, honey, wild apples and raspberries.

Our guns required a good deal of cleaning before we were ready to start for the second day's sport.

The result of the battues were not satisfactory. A fine buck was shot, and two or three chamois were bagged. We sighted no less than three bears, but they all broke through the line, and got off into the lower valleys. The provoking thing was that the bear or bears came again to our camp the second night; but they were able to do no mischief this time. The horses were kept better together, and the dogs scared the intruders from close quarters I imagine. Fires certainly do not frighten the bear in districts where they get accustomed to the shepherds' fires.

The third day of our shooting the weather was good, but we had no sport at all. I believe we should have done better with a different set of beaters, and this opinion was shared by several of our party. The FÖrstmeister had made a mistake in choosing men from the villages in the plain, instead of getting some of the hill shepherds, who know the mountains thoroughly well, and are not afraid of a bear when they see one. Some of our beaters were funky, I believe, and gave the bear a wide berth I feel sure, otherwise we must have had better sport.

During the evening of the third day F—— got a bad attack of fever, the intermittent fever common in all the Danubian Provinces. After supper the rain came on again, not violently, but enough to make everything very damp. I felt that under the circumstances the hut was a very bad place for him, so I cast about to see what I could do. As good-luck would have it, not very far off I discovered a horizontal fissure in the cliff, a sort of wide slit caused by one rock overhanging another ledge. It was fortunately sheltered from the wind, and promised to suit my purpose very well.

I collected a pile of sticks and firewood, thrust them blazing into the cavity, and fed the fire till the rocks were fit to crack with the heat. I remembered having seen cottagers heat their ovens in this way in Somersetshire. I now raked out the fire and all the mortuary remains of insects, and then laid down a plaid thrice doubled for softness. Having done this, I seized upon my friend, weak and prostrate as he was, and shoved him into his oven like a batch of bread. I had previously given him a big dose of quinine (without which medicine I never travel in these parts), and now I set to work rubbing him, for he was really very bad indeed. In ten minutes or so F——became warm as a toast. The terrible shivering was stopped, so my plan of baking was succeeding capitally. It is true he complained a little of one shoulder being rather overdone, but that was nothing. The vigorous rubbing was of great service also. I remembered the saying, "Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well," so I rubbed my patient with a will. He objected rather, but he was too weak to make any resistance, so I rubbed on. I knew it would do him good in the end; so it did—I cured him. I think, however, the cure was mainly due to the baking!

After I had satisfied myself that my friend was going on well, I arranged our waterproofs in front of the opening like curtains; and then I turned in myself, for there was room for me too in the oven. The rain descended pretty heavily in the night, but we slept well; and my patient presented a most creditable appearance in the morning.

On the fourth day some of our party bagged a few chamois, but the incidents of the day were in no way remarkable. At night F—— and I returned to our cave. The others had dubbed it the "HÔtel d'Angleterre." Considering the capability we had of warming-up, our quarters were not half bad.

The succeeding morning it was settled that we should strike our camp and move on to a fresh place. The beaters were sent back, for they were not a bit of good. Some of the party also left, amongst them my German friend. I do not think he will ever join a bear-hunt again, and his departure did not surprise us. After leaving our late quarters we rode for some hours along a singular ridge, so narrow at places as to leave little more than the width of the sheep-track on the actual summit. This ridge, more or less precipitous, rises above the zone of forest, and is covered with short thick grass. We passed, I should think, thirty flocks of sheep at different times, attended by the wild-looking Wallacks and their fierce dogs.

We made a halt in the middle of the day, but the rain was coming down, and we were glad to be soon off again.

In the afternoon we got over into the Roumanian side of the frontier. The lofty limestone ridge of which I have spoken is in fact the boundary-line at this part. We were at an elevation of about 6000 feet, judging from the heights above us, when suddenly, or almost suddenly, the clouds were lifted which hitherto had enveloped us. It was like drawing up the curtain of a theatre. I never remember to have seen anything so striking as this sudden revealing of the fair world at our feet, bathed in glowing sunlight. We beheld the plains of Roumania far away stretched as a map beneath us; there, though one cannot discern it, the swift Aluta joins the Danube opposite Nicopolis; and there, within range of the glass, are the white mosques of Widdin in Bulgaria. We looked right down into Little Wallachia, where woods, rocks, and streams are tumbled about pellmell in a picturesque but unsettled sort of way. The very locality we were traversing is the part where the salt-smugglers used to carry on their trade, and many a sharp encounter has been fought here between them and the soldiers. This is now a thing of the past, since Roumania has also introduced a salt monopoly.

We were treated to this glorious view for little more than half an hour; the clouds then enveloped us again, and blotted out that fair world, with all its brightness, as if it were not. A strong wind blew up from the north, bringing with it a storm of rain and sleet which chilled us to the bones. The horses went slower and slower. Including the noonday halt, we had been ten hours in the saddle, and men and horses had had pretty well enough. I never recollect a colder ride.

We encamped that night in the forest. I looked out for another rock oven, and found one not otherwise unsuitable for shelter; but unfortunately this time the opening was to the windward side, so it was useless for our purpose. It was a good thing F—— did not have a return of his fever here, for we had to pass the night very indifferently.

The next morning the weather continued so persistently bad in the mountains that we voted the "hunt" at an end, and made the best of our way towards Mehadia, from which place we were in fact not so very distant. The descent was very rapid; at first through a thick forest, then into the open valley, where the heat became intense. The change of temperature was very striking.

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