Round About the Carpathians | Page 9

like the Rhine near Bingen. We looked
right over into Transylvania and Roumania from the commanding
position afforded by the terraced road up which we slowly toiled.
We had hardly gained the highest point when we remarked that the sky
was becoming rapidly overcast by clouds from the west. Our Servian
driver swore it would not rain; he knew the signs of the weather, he
said, but as he applied the whip and galloped his horses at every
available opportunity, it was clear he had an inner consciousness of
coming trouble. The road now led through a forest. Here and there a
gap in the thick foliage gave us a glimpse of the distant landscape, and
of the curious atmospheric effects produced by the coming storm. The
clouds rolled up behind us in dense masses, throwing the near
mountains into deep shadow, while the plain far beneath was flooded

with bright sunshine.
The effect, however, was transitory, for the dark shadow soon engulfed
the distant plain, blurring the fair scene even while we looked upon it.
The change was something marvellous, so sudden and so complete. Up
to this time the air had been still, and very hot; but suddenly a fierce
wind came upon us with a hoarse roar--almost like the waves of the
sea--up the valley and over the hill-top it came, right down upon us,
tearing at the forest-trees. The branches, in all the full foliage of leafy
June, swayed to and fro as the wind went roaring and shrieking down
the hillside; the next moment the earth shook with the clap of a terrific
burst of thunder.
The horses stood still and shuddered in their harness, and it was with
difficulty they were made to go on. It was evident the storm was right
over us, for now succeeded flash upon flash of forked lightning, with
thunder-claps that were instantaneous and unceasing.
At the same time the windows of heaven were opened upon us, or
rather the sluices of heaven it seemed to me; for the rain descended in
sheets, not streams, of water. Without any adventitious difficulties, the
road was as objectionable as a road could be; deep ruts alternated with
now a bare bit of rock strewn with treacherous loose stones, and now a
sharp curve with an ugly slant towards the precipice.
About half an hour after the storm first broke upon us it had become
night, indeed it was so dark that we could hardly see a pace in advance.
The repeated flashes of lightning helped us to make out our position
from time to time, and we trusted to the horses mainly to get us along
in the safe middle course. At moments when the heavens were lit up, I
could see the swaying branches of the fir-trees high above us battling
with the wind, for we were still in the forest. The sound of many waters
around on every side forcibly impressed us with the notion that we
must be washed away--a result not by any means improbable, for the
road we traversed was little better than a watercourse.
I have experienced storms in Norway, and in the Swiss and Austrian
Alps, but I never remember anything to equal this outburst of the

elements.
To stop still or to go forward was almost equally difficult, but we
struggled on somehow at the rate, I should think, of a mile and a half in
the hour. The horses were thoroughly demoralised, as one says of
defeated troops, and stumbled recklessly at every obstacle. The driver
was a stupid fellow, without an ounce of pluck in his composition, and
declared more than once that he would not go on, preferring to stop
under such shelter as the trees afforded. We were of another mind, and
insisted on his pushing on. One of us walked at the horses' heads, and
thus we splashed and blundered on for three mortal hours, wishing all
the time that we had slept at Milanovacz. The route became so much
worse that I declared we must have missed the track. We were
apparently in a deep gully, traversed by a mountain torrent hardly a foot
below the level of our road; but the Servian said he knew we were "all
right," and that we should come directly to a house where we could get
shelter.
He had hardly spoken when H---- descried some lights not very far
ahead, and in less than ten minutes we came alongside a good-sized hut,
which turned out to be the welcome wine-shop the driver had promised
us. Here was a roof anyhow, so we entered, hoping for supper and beds
in the wayside inn. All our host could produce was a very good bottle
of Servian "black" wine and some coarse bread of the