CHAPTER XXV. Copper mine of Balanbanya--Miners in the wine-shop--Ride to St Miklos--Visit to an Armenian family--Capture of a robber--Cold ride to the baths of BorsEk.

Having expressed a wish to see the copper mine at Balanbanya, which is some five miles from Szent Domokos, my host proposed to drive me over the next morning. When the morning came the weather looked most unpromising; there was a steady downpour, without any perceptible break in the clouds in any quarter. I had made up my mind to go, and as after the noonday meal it cleared slightly, we started. The mud was nearly up to the axletree of our cart. After driving some time we reached a wild and rather picturesque valley, in which rises the Alt, or, as it is called when it reaches Roumania, the Aluta. The course of this stream is singularly tortuous, winding about through rocks and defiles, often changing its direction, and finally making a way for itself through the Carpathian range.

As we approached the copper mine it had all the appearance of a volcano, for a heavy cloud of smoke hung over the spot like a canopy. This mine has been worked for many years; formerly it paid well, but now it is in the hands of a company, who are working at a loss, if I could believe what I was told.

I have repeatedly noticed in Hungary that people commit themselves to works of this kind without the technical knowledge necessary to carry them on successfully. The necessary capital, too, is generally wanting to bring these mining operations to a successful issue; added to this the managers are often not conspicuous for their honesty.

I went over these works, and gave particular attention to the refinery. Some of the processes for collecting the metal are ingeniously simple and effective. The copper-ore is remarkably pure, being, it is said, free from arsenic and antimony. The concern ought to pay, for the copper is so well esteemed that it obtains the best price in the market.

After inspecting the place, we went into the inn to have some supper, and while there, several miners came in. I had heard that they were renowned for their mining songs down in these parts, so I made friends with the men and begged them to sing. After a little persuasion and a refilling of glasses they began.

The music of their songs was very mournful, and the words equally so, descriptive of the dangers the poor miner had to encounter in searching for ore in the gloomy depths of the earth. I believe my companion, the postmaster, was very puzzled to understand what could interest me in these rough miners. The scene was exceedingly picturesque; for some six or eight of these stalwart fellows, with skin and clothes reddened by the earth, sat by a long table, each with his flask of wine before him, while the flicker of an oil-lamp threw its yellow light over the group. One of the men spoke German, and with him I talked. He had elicited from me the fact of my being an Englishman, whereupon he asked me a variety of questions about our mines and our forests. Finally he inquired whether our bears were as large as theirs. When I told him we had none he could not credit it, saying, "But you must have bears on the frontier?" When I explained that we lived upon an island he seemed much surprised. I saw that his natural politeness prevented his saying what was in his mind, but it was evident he thought that if the English lived in an island they could not be such a great people after all.

Not wishing to put my host to expense, more especially as the expedition was undertaken solely for my benefit and at my suggestion, I paid the score at the Balanbanya Inn without saying anything. I was very vexed to find, however, that by doing so I had offended my companion very much. He reminded me that I was a stranger in Szeklerland and his guest, and it was contrary to all his ideas of hospitality that I should be the paymaster. Instead of starting homewards, as we were ready to do, he ordered more wine and some sardines, being the greatest delicacy the house afforded. I was obliged to make a show of partaking of something more, though I had amply supped. For these extras of course my friend paid, but he was only half appeased, and was never quite the same again.

The following morning I left the house of my too-hospitable entertainers. My destination now was St Miklos. My road thither lay through a pine-forest, as lonely a tract as could well be imagined, for there were no signs whatever of human habitations. Certainly the weird solitude of a pine-wood is more impressive than any other kind of forest scenery. Under the impervious shade and the long grey vistas, one moves forward with something of a superstitious feeling, as though one were intruding into the sanctuary of unseen spirits. I cannot say that I was a prey to such idle fancies, for the spirits I was likely to meet would be very tangible enemies. This district had a bad reputation, owing to several robberies having been committed in the neighbourhood; in fact the whole country was just then under martial law. I was well armed, and being alone I kept my weather-eye open; but I saw not even the ghost of a brigand, and reached St Miklos in safety.

It is usual when incendiary fires or robberies have been rife in any district to place that part of the country under the Statorium, so that if any person or persons are caught in flagrante delicto, they are summarily tried and hung before a week is over. When I was in Transylvania in the autumn of '75, the whole of the north-eastern corner was under the Statorium.

At St Miklos I put up at the house of an Armenian, who received me with a most frank and kindly welcome, conducting me to the guest-chamber himself after giving orders to the servants to attend to my horse. St Miklos is charmingly situated in the valley of GyergyÓ, at an elevation of nearly 3000 feet above the sea-level. Here one is right in amongst the mountains, the higher summits rising grandly around. The scenery is very fine. There are interminable forests on every side, broken by ravines and valleys, with strips of green pasture-land. In former times these primeval woods were tenanted by the wild aurochs, but now one sees only the long-horned white cattle and the wiry little horses belonging to the villages that nestle about in unexpected places. St Miklos is almost entirely inhabited by Armenians. There is a market here, and it is considered the central place of the district. The year before my visit the town was nearly destroyed by fire. Upwards of three hundred houses were burned down in less than three hours. The loss of property was considerable, including stores of hay and kukoricz (Indian corn). Since this conflagration, which caused such widespread distress in the place, they have established a volunteer fire brigade. This ought to exist in every village. Prompt action would often arrest the serious proportions of a fire. It would be a good thing if some substitute could be found for the wooden tiles used for roofing; in course of time they become like tinder, and a spark will fire the roof. The houses in Hungary are not, as a rule, constructed of wood, as in Upper Austria and Styria, nor are they nearly so picturesque as in that part of the world. In some Hungarian villages the cottages are painted partly blue and partly yellow, which has a very odd effect; and throughout the country they are built with the gable-end to the road.

When I was at St Miklos there was great excitement over the recent capture of a famous robber chief, whose band had kept the country-side in a state of alarm for some months past. I was asked if I would like to go and see him, and of course I was glad to get a sight at last of one of the robbers of whom I had heard so much in my travels. I was never more surprised than, on arriving in front of a very shaky wooden building, to be told that this was the prison. A few resolute fellows might have easily broken in and effected the rescue of their chief.

There was no romance about the appearance of the miserable wretch that we found within, stretched on a rough bed with wrists and feet heavily ironed. These manacles were hardly needed, for he was severely wounded, and seemed incapable of rising from his pallet. I never saw so repulsive a countenance; and the flatness of the head was quite remarkable. His eyes were very prominent, and had the restless look of a hunted animal, which was painful in the extreme; but there was absolutely no redeeming expression of human feeling in the dark coarse face. Well, there was something human about him though. I was told he had been photographed that morning, and that he had expressed considerable satisfaction at the idea of his portrait being preserved. He was under sentence of death! There were various stories told of his capture, but I think the following is the true account. It appears that he and his gang made their appearance from time to time in the forest round the well-known watering-place of BorsÉk. When visitors were on their way to the baths, they were frequently stopped by the robbers in a mountain pass, in the immediate neighbourhood of a dense forest that stretches far away for miles and miles over the frontier. It was the custom of the robbers to demand all the money, and they would relieve the travellers of their fur cloaks and overcoats, and other useful articles; but if they did not offer any resistance, they were permitted to go on uninjured, to take their cure at the baths. I should doubt, however, that anybody would be welcome there without a well-filled purse; at least I judge so from what I heard of the eminently commercial character of the place.

The robbers had the game in their own hands for a long while, but they made a mistake one fine day. They stopped a handsome equipage, which seemed to promise a good haul; but lo, behold, it was the Obergespannirz, the lord-lieutenant of the county! He had four good horses, and so saved himself by flight. But the authorities now really bestirred themselves, and the soldiers were called out to exterminate this troublesome brood. They were accompanied by a renowned bear-slayer who knew the forest well. It was with great difficulty that they succeeded at last in tracking the robbers, or rather robber, for it was only the chief who was trapped after all. It appears that the soldiers and their guide came upon a small hut surrounded by almost impenetrable thickets. The hunter crept on in advance of the rest, and looking into the interior through the chinks of timbers, he saw a man drying his clothes by a small fire. He quietly said, "Good-day." The robber started up, and seizing his gun, flung open the door and fired his fowling-piece at once at his visitor. Fortunately the powder proved to be damp, or he must have received the full charge. The bear-slayer was now in close quarters, and fired off his revolver within a short distance of the other's head. The shot took effect, and he fell in a heap stunned and senseless. At first they thought he was dead, and it is marvellous that the well-aimed discharge did not kill him. His skull must have been uncommonly thick. This fellow was known to be the leader. The rest of the gang had probably escaped into Moldavia, from whence they came.

My friends at St Miklos were kind enough to promise to get up a bear-hunt for me, and it was arranged that I should go and see the baths of BorsÉk, and return on Saturday night, so as to be ready for the bear-hunt on Sunday. The "better observance of the Sabbath" is always associated with bear-hunting in these parts.

I left St Miklos in a snowstorm, though it was only the 16th of September—very early for such signs of winter. I was not prepared for wintry weather. It frustrated my plans and expectations a good deal. I was disappointed, too, in the climate, for I had always heard that the late autumn is about the finest time for Transylvania.

I have invariably remarked that whenever I go to a new country it is the signal for "abnormal meteorological disturbances," as they call bad weather in the newspapers. My own notion is that weather is a very mixed affair everywhere.

For three mortal hours I rode on through a blinding snowstorm. At length I espied the ruin of an unfinished cottage by the wayside, and here I bethought me I would take shelter and see after my dinner; for whatever happens, I can be hungry directly afterwards—I think an earthquake would give me an appetite.

My unfurnished lodgings were in as wild a spot as imagination could picture. No wonder that the builder had abandoned the construction of this solitary dwelling; why it had ever been commenced passes my comprehension. It was just at the entrance of a mountain valley, treeless, stony, and rugged, through which there were at intervals the semblance of a track—a desolate, God-forgotten-looking place. On consulting the map I found that the "road" led to Moldavia. I resolved it should not lead me there. Here then, in this dreary spot, with its gable-end to the road, and turning away from the prospect—and no wonder—stood the carcass of a cottage. My horse and I scrambled over the breach in the wall, where a garden never had smiled, and got into the roofless house. It was with considerable difficulty that I found sticks enough for my kitchen fire. I had to try back on the route I had passed, for I remembered not far in the rear a group of firs standing sentinels in the pass. I always took care to have an end of rope in my pocket; with this I tied up my fagot, shouldered it, and returned to the house of entertainment. The result of my trouble was a blazing fire, whereat I cooked an excellent robber-steak. I made myself some tea, and afterwards enjoyed—yes, actually enjoyed—my pipe. There is a pleasure in battling with circumstances, even in such a small affair as getting one's dinner under difficulties.

After washing-up (by good-luck there was a stream near by), I packed up my belongings, and giving a last look around to see that I had left nothing, I departed without as much as a pourboire for "service," one of the advantages of self-help.

The prospect for the rest of my ride was not lively, a good ten miles yet to be done on a bad road. It had ceased to snow, but the clouds kept driving down into the valley as if the very heavens themselves were in a state of mobilisation. It is curious to notice sometimes in the higher Carpathians how the clouds march continuously through the winding valleys; always moving and driving on, these compact masses of vapour are impelled by the currents of air in the defiles which seam the mountains.

My way was now through an interminable pine-forest, the road stretching in a perfectly straight line and at a perceptible rise. Indeed it was uphill work altogether. The ceaseless dripping of the rain made the whole scene as cheerless as it well could be. The snow had turned to cold dull rain, which was far more depressing. I wished the mineral springs at BorsÉk had never been discovered. It was too late to turn back to St Miklos, where I devoutly wished myself, so I had nothing to do but plod on with my waterproof tight round me. It was impossible to go fast, for in places the mud was very deep and the road was beset with big stones.

It was dark when I reached BorsÉk, and again I wished I had never come. The inn was very uncomfortable; there was no fireplace in any of the rooms. The baths are only used in the height of summer, and if it turns cold, as it does sometimes at this elevation, people I suppose must freeze till it gets warm again. I had come a fortnight too late; the world of fashion departs from BorsÉk at the end of August. Ten or twelve springs rise within a short area, and vary curiously in quality and temperature. The source which is principally used for exportation is remarkable for the quantity of carbonic acid it contains. About 12,000 bottles are filled every day; some 1500 on an average break soon after corking, owing partly to the bad quality of the bottles. There is a glass manufactory in the place, and though they have good material they turn out the work badly.

The export trade in the mineral waters is very large. They are much valued for long sea voyages, as the water keeps for years without losing its gaseous qualities.[21]

The baths of BorsÉk belong to two different parishes, and they are by no means agreed as to the management. Some years ago the principal spring was struck by lightning and entirely lost for a time, but after much digging it was found again. The situation of BorsÉk is extremely romantic, and in the height of summer it must be very delightful; but in summer only—let no one follow my example and go there out of season. Of course the place is surrounded by magnificent forests, but it is a crying shame to see how they have been treated. In every direction there is evidence of the ravages of fire. You may see in a morning's walk the blackened stems of thousands of trees, the results of Wallack incendiarism. If the Wallacks go on destroying the forests in this way, they will end in injuring the value of the place as a health resort; for the efficacy of the perfumed air of the pine-woods is well known, especially for all nervous diseases.

The houses are badly built at BorsÉk, and the arrangements for comfort are very incomplete. Most of the habitations appear to have been run up with green wood; the result may be pleasant and airy in summer, when the balmy breeze comes in from cracks in the doors and window-frames, but except in great heat, a perforated house is a mistake. People have to bring their own servants and other effects. I should say a portable stove would not be a bad item amongst the luggage.

The BorsÉk waters are very much drunk throughout Hungary, especially mixed with wine. Everywhere I noticed that eight people out of ten would take water with their wine at meals. In the district round there is splendid pasturage for cattle. Large numbers of cattle fed in these parts are now sent to Buda-Pest and Vienna. The serious drawback to BorsÉk is its great distance from a railway. The nearest station is Maros VÁsÁrhely, which is nearly ninety miles away. The drive between the two places is very fine—that is, the scenery is fine, but the road itself is execrable. A telegraph wire connects BorsÉk with the outside world, but the post only comes twice a-week.

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