← catalogue

A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of Europe

by John MacGregor · English · Gutenberg #40238 · 472,602 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of Europe
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of Europe

Author: John MacGregor


        
Release date: July 15, 2012 [eBook #40238]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40238

Credits: Produced by Chris Curnow, fh and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
        produced from images generously made available by The
        Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A THOUSAND MILES IN THE ROB ROY CANOE ON RIVERS AND LAKES OF EUROPE ***

Transcriber's Note:

  The dagger symbol is denoted by the [+] sign
  The asterism symbol is denoted by **

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration]




    A
    THOUSAND MILES
    IN THE
    ROB ROY CANOE

    ON RIVERS AND LAKES OF
    EUROPE.

    BY J. MACGREGOR, M.A.,

    TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE;
    BARRISTER AT LAW:

    With Numerous Illustrations and a Map.

    _SIXTH THOUSAND._

    LONDON:
    SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON
    MILTON HOUSE, LUDGATE-HILL.
    1866.

    (_The Right of Translation reserved._)




PREFACE.


The voyage about to be described was made last Autumn in a small Canoe,
with a double paddle and sails, which the writer managed alone.

The route led sometimes over mountains and through forests and plains,
where the boat had to be carried or dragged.

The waters navigated were as follows:--

The Rivers Thames, Sambre, Meuse, Rhine, Main, Danube, Reuss, Aar, Ill,
Moselle, Meurthe, Marne, and Seine.

The Lakes Titisee, Constance, Unter See, Zurich, Zug, and Lucerne,
together with six canals in Belgium and France, and two expeditions in
the open sea of the British Channel.

  TEMPLE, LONDON,
      _April 25, 1866_.




     THE AUTHOR'S PROFITS FROM THE FIRST AND SECOND EDITIONS, WERE
     GIVEN TO THE ROYAL NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION AND TO THE
     SHIPWRECKED MARINERS' SOCIETY.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                           Page

  RAPIDS OF THE REUSS (_Frontispiece_).     --

  SEA ROLLERS IN THE CHANNEL                19

  SWIMMING HERD ON THE MEUSE                28

  SINGERS' WAGGON ON THE DANUBE             49

  A CROWD IN THE MORNING                    65

  HAYMAKERS AMAZED                          80

  NIGHT SURPRISE AT GEGGLINGEN              93

  THE ROB ROY IN A BUSTLE                  110

  SAILING UPON LAKE ZUG                    134

  SHIRKING A WATERFALL                     152

  A CRITICAL MOMENT                        168

  ASTRIDE THE STERN                        186

  THE ROB ROY AND THE COW                  213

  POLITE TO THE LADIES                     230

  GROUP OF FRENCH FISHERS                  246

  PASSING A DANGEROUS BARRIER              263

  A CHOKED CANAL                           281

  RIGGING ASHORE                           290

  ROUTE OF THE CANOE (_Map_)               291

  CHART OF CURRENTS AND ROCKS              302




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.                                               Page

  Canoe Travelling--Other Modes--The Rob
  Roy--Hints--Tourists--The Rivers--The Dress--I and We      1


  CHAPTER II.

  The Start--The Nore--Porpoises--A Gale--The Channel--Ostend
  Canal--River Meuse--Earl of Aberdeen--Holland--The
  Rhine--The Premier's Son--River Main--Heron
  Stalking--The Prince of Wales                             12


  CHAPTER III.

  Hollenthal Pass--Ladies--Black Forest--Night Music--Beds--Lake
  Titisee--Pontius Pilate--Storm--Starers--Banket--Four
  in hand--Source of the Danube                             38


  CHAPTER IV.

  River Donau--Singers--Shady nooks--Geisingen--Mill
  Weirs--Rapids--Morning Crowd--Donkey's
  Stable--Islands--Monks--Spiders--Concert--Fish--A
  race                                                      55


  CHAPTER V.

  Sigmaringen--Treacherous trees--Congress of herons--Flying
  Dutchman--Tub and shovel--Bottle race--Snags--Bridge
  Perils--Ya Vol--Ferry Rope--Benighted--Ten eggs           75


  CHAPTER VI.

  Day-dream--River Iller--Ulm--A stiff king--Lake Constance--Seeing
  in the dark--Switzerland--Coloured
  Canvas--Sign talk--Synagogue--Amelia--Gibberish           96


  CHAPTER VII.

  Fog--Fancy pictures--Boy soldiers--Boat's billet--Eating--Lake
  Zurich--Crinoline--Hot walk--Staring--Lake
  Zug--Swiss shots--Fishing Britons--Talk-book             118


  CHAPTER VIII.

  Sailing on Lucerne--Seeburg--River scenes--Night and
  snow--The Reuss--A dear dinner--Seeing a rope--Passing
  a fall--Sullen roar--Bremgarten rapids                   142


  CHAPTER IX.

  Hunger--Music at the mill--Sentiment and chops--River
  Limmat--Fixed on a fall--River Aar--Rhine again--Douaniers--Falls
  of Lauffenburg--The cow cart                             159


  CHAPTER X.

  Field of Foam--Precipice--Puzzled--Philosophy--Rheinfelden
  Rapids--Dazzled--Lower Rapids--Astride--Fate
  of the Four-oar--Very Salt--Ladies--Whirlpool--Funny
  English--Insulting a baby--Bride                         177


  CHAPTER XI.

  Private concert--Thunderer--La Hardt Forest--Mulhouse
  Canal--River Ill--Reading Stories--Madame Nico--Night
  Noises--Pets--Ducking--The Vosges mountains--Admirers--Boat
  on wheels--New wine                                      196


  CHAPTER XII.

  Bonfire--My wife--Matthews--Tunnel
  picture--Imposture--Fancy--Moselle--Cocher--Saturday
  Review Tracts--Gymnastics--The
  paddle--A spell--Overhead--Feminine
  forum--Public breakfast                                  216


  CHAPTER XIII.

  River Moselle--The Tramp--Halcyon--Painted woman--Beating
  to quarters--Boat in a hedge--River Meurthe--Moving
  House--Tears of a mother--Five francs                    234


  CHAPTER XIV.

  Ladies in muslin--Chalons Camp--Officers shouting--Volunteers'
  umbrella--Reims--Leaks--Madame
  Clicquot--Heavy blow--The Elephant--First Cloud          255


  CHAPTER XV.

  Meaux on the Marne--Hammering--Popish forms--Wise
  dogs--Blocked in a Tunnel--A dry voyage--Arbour
  and Garret--Odd fellows--Dream on the Seine--Almost
  over--No admittance--Charing-cross                       276


  APPENDIX.

  Hints for Canoists--The Rob Roy's Stores--Chart of rocks
  and currents--The Kent--Danger--Exercise--Sun--Walking
  machine--Odds and ends--Future voyages                   291




CHAPTER I.

     Canoe Travelling--Other Modes--The Rob
     Roy--Hints--Tourists--The Rivers--The Dress--I and We--The
     Election.


The object of this book is to describe a new mode of travelling on the
Continent, by which new people and things are met with, while healthy
exercise is enjoyed, and an interest ever varied with excitement keeps
fully alert the energies of the mind.

Some years ago the Water Lily was rowed by four men on the Rhine and on
the Danube, and its "log" delighted all readers. Afterwards, the boat
Water Witch laboured up French rivers, and through a hundred tedious
locks on the Bâle canal. But these and other voyages of three or five
men in an open boat were necessarily very limited. In the wildest parts
of the best rivers the channel is too narrow for oars, or, if wide, it
is too shallow for a row-boat; and the tortuous passages, the rocks and
banks, the weeds and snags, the milldams, barriers, fallen trees,
rapids, whirlpools, and waterfalls that constantly occur on a river
winding among hills, make those very parts where the scenery is wildest
and best to be quite unapproachable in an open boat, for it would be
swamped by the sharp waves, or upset over the sunken rocks which it is
utterly impossible for a steersman to see.

But these very things, which are obstacles or dangers to the "pair oar,"
become interesting features to the voyager in a covered canoe. For now,
as he sits in his little bark, he looks forward, and not backward. He
sees all his course, and the scenery besides. With one powerful sweep of
his paddle he can instantly turn the canoe, when only a foot distant
from fatal destruction. He can steer within an inch in a narrow place,
or pass through reeds and weeds, branches and grass; can hoist and lower
his sail without changing his seat; can shove with his paddle when
aground, or jump out in good time to prevent a decided smash. He can
wade and haul the light craft over shallows, or drag it on dry ground,
through fields and hedges, over dykes, barriers, and walls; can carry it
by hand up ladders and stairs, and can transport his boat over high
mountains and broad plains in a cart drawn by a horse, a bullock, or a
cow.

Nay, more than this, the covered canoe is far stronger than an open
boat, and may be fearlessly dropped headforemost into a deep pool, a
lock, or a millrace, and yet, when the breakers are high, in the open
sea or in fresh water rapids, they can only wash over the covered deck,
while it is always dry within.

Again, the canoe is safer than a rowing-boat, because you sit so low in
it, and never require to shift your place or lose hold of the paddle;
while for comfort during long hours, for days and weeks of hard work, it
is evidently the best, because you lean all the time against a
backboard, and the moment you rest the paddle on your lap you are as
much at ease as in an arm-chair; so that, while drifting along with the
current or the wind, you can gaze around, and eat or read or chat with
the starers on the bank, and yet, in a moment of sudden danger, the
hands are at once on the faithful paddle ready for action.

Finally, you can lie at full length in the canoe, with the sail as an
awning for the sun, or a shelter for rain, and you can sleep in it thus
at night, under cover, with an opening for air to leeward, and at least
as much room for turning in your bed as sufficed for the great Duke of
Wellington; or, if you are tired of the water for a time, you can leave
your boat at an inn--it will not be "eating its head off," like a horse;
or you can send it home or sell it, and take to the road yourself, or
sink into the dull old cushions of the "Première Classe," and dream you
are seeing the world.

With such advantages, then, and with good weather and good health, the
canoe voyage about to be described was truly delightful, and I never
enjoyed so much continuous pleasure in any other tour.

But, before this deliberate assertion has weight with intending
"canoists," it may well be asked from one who thus praises the paddle,
"Has he travelled in other ways, so as to know their several pleasures?
Has he climbed glaciers and volcanoes, dived into caves and catacombs,
trotted in the Norway carriole, ambled on an Arab, and galloped on the
Russian steppes? Does he know the charms of a Nile boat, or a Trinity
Eight, or a sail in the Ægean, or a mule in Spain? Has he swung upon a
camel, or glided in a sleigh, or trundled in a Rantoone?"

Yes, he has most thoroughly enjoyed these and other modes of locomotion
in the four corners of the world; but the pleasure in the canoe was far
better than all.

The weather last summer was, indeed, exceptionally good; but then rain
would have diminished some of the difficulties, though it might have
been a bore to paddle ten hours in a downpour. Two inches more of water
in the rivers would have saved many a grounding and wading, while, at
worst, the rain could have wetted only the upper man, which a cape can
cover; so, even in bad weather, give me the canoe.

Messrs. Searle and Sons, of Lambeth, soon built for me the very boat I
wanted.

The Rob Roy is built of oak, and covered fore and aft with cedar. She is
made just short enough to go into the German railway waggons; that is to
say, fifteen feet in length, twenty-eight inches broad, nine inches
deep, weighs eighty pounds, and draws three inches of water, with an
inch of keel. A paddle seven feet long, with a blade at each end, and a
lug sail and jib, are the means of propulsion; and a pretty blue silk
Union Jack is the only ornament.

The elliptic hole in which I sit is fifty-four inches long and twenty
broad, and has a macintosh cover fastened round the combing and to a
button on my breast; while between my knees is my baggage for three
months, in a black bag one foot square and five inches deep.

But, having got this little boat, the difficulty was to find where she
could go to, or what rivers were at once feasible to paddle on, and
pretty to see.

Inquiries in London as to this had no result. Even the Paris Boat Club
knew nothing of French rivers. The best German and Austrian maps were
frequently wrong. They made villages on the banks which I found were a
mile away in a wood, and so were useless to one who had made up his mind
(a good resolve) never to leave his boat.

It was soon, therefore, evident that, after quitting the Rhine, this was
to be a voyage of discovery. And as I would most gladly have accepted
any hints on the matter myself, so I venture to hope that this narrative
will lessen the trouble, while it stimulates the desire of the numerous
travellers who will spend their vacation in a canoe.[I.]

 [I.] See Appendix. Special hints for those who intend to "canoe
  it" will usually be given in the footnotes, or in the Appendix.

Not that I shall attempt to make a "handbook" to any of the streams. The
man who has a spark of enterprise would turn from a river of which every
reach was mapped and its channels all lettered. Fancy the free
traveller, equipped for a delicious summer of savage life, quietly
submitting to be cramped and tutored by a "Chart of the Upper Mosel,"
in the style of the following extracts copied literally from two
Guide-books;--

(1) "Turn to the r. (right), cross the brook, and ascend by a broad and
steep forest track (in 40 min.) to the hamlet of Albersbach, situate in
the midst of verdant meadows. In five min. more a cross is reached,
where the path to the l. must be taken; in 10 min. to the r., in the
hollow, to the saw mill; in 10 min. more through the gate to the r.; in
3 min. the least trodden path to the l. leading to the Gaschpels Hof;
after 1/4 hr. the stony track into the wood must be ascended," &c.,
&c.--_From B----'s Rhine, p. 94_.

(2) "_To the ridge of the Riffelberg_ 8,000 ft. _Hotel_ on top very
good. 2 hrs. up. Guide 4 fr. Horse and man 10 fr. Path past the Church:
then l. over fields; then up through a wood 1 hr. Past châlets: then r.
across a stream."-- _----'s Handbook_.

This sort of guide-book is not to be ridiculed. It is useful for some
travellers as a ruled copy-book is of use to some writers. For first
tours it may be needful and pleasant to have all made easy, to be
carried in steamers or railways like a parcel, to stop at hotels
Anglified by the crowd of English guests, and to ride, walk, or drive
among people who know already just what you will want to eat, and see,
and do.

Year after year it is enough of excitement to some tourists to be
shifted in squads from town to town, according to the routine of an
excursion ticket. Those who are a little more advanced will venture to
devise a tour from the mazy pages of Bradshaw, and with portmanteau and
bag, and hat-box and sticks, they find more than enough of judgment and
tact is needed when they arrive in a night train, and must fix on an
omnibus in a strange town. Safe at last in the bedroom of the hotel,
they cannot but exclaim with satisfaction "Well, here we are all right
at last!"

But after mountains and caves, churches and galleries, ruins and
battle-fields have been pretty well seen, and after tact and fortitude
have been educated by experience, the tourist is ready for new lines of
travel which might have given him at first more anxiety than pleasure,
and these he will find in deeper searches among the natural scenery and
national character of the very countries he has only skimmed before.

The rivers and streams on the Continent are scarcely known to the
English tourist, and the beauty and life upon them no one has well seen.

In his guide-book route, indeed, from town to town, the tourist has
crossed this and that stream--has admired a few yards of the water, and
has then left it for ever. He is carried again on a noble river by night
in a steamboat, or is whisked along its banks in a railway, and, between
two tunnels, gets a moment's glimpse at the lovely water, and lo! it is
gone.

But a mine of rich beauty remains there to be explored, and fresh gems
of life and character are waiting there to be gathered. These are not
mapped and labelled and ticketed in any handbook yet; and far better so,
for the enjoyment of such treasures is enhanced to the best traveller by
the energy and pluck required to get at them.

On this new world of waters we are to launch the boat, the man, and his
baggage, for we must describe all three,

    "Arma virumque canoe."

So what sort of dress did he wear?

The clothes I took for this tour consisted of a complete suit of grey
flannel for use in the boat, and another suit of light but ordinary
dress for shore work and Sundays.

The "Norfolk jacket" is a loose frock-coat, like a blouse, with
shoulder-straps, and belted at the waist, and garnished by six pockets.
With this excellent new-fashioned coat, a something in each of its
pockets, and a Cambridge straw hat, canvas wading shoes, blue
spectacles, a waterproof overcoat, and my spare jib for a sun shawl,
there was sure to be a full day's enjoyment in defiance of rain or sun,
deeps or shallows, hunger or _ennui_.

Four hours' work to begin, and then three of rest or floating, reading
or sailing, and again, a three hours' heavy pull, and then with a swim
in the river or a bath at the inn, a change of garments and a pleasant
walk, all was made quite fresh again for a lively evening, a hearty
dinner, talk, books, pictures, letters, and bed.

Now I foresee that in the description of this tour I shall have to write
"I," and the word "me" must be used by me very often indeed; but having
the misfortune to be neither an Emperor, an editor, nor a married man,
who can speak in the plural, I cannot help it if I am put down as a
bachelor _egotist_, reserving the "we" for myself and my boat.

The manner of working the double-bladed paddle was easily learned by a
few days' practice on the Thames, and so excellent is the exercise for
the muscles of the limbs and body that I have continued it at intervals,
even during the winter, when a pretty sharp "look out" must be kept to
pilot safely among the red and yellow lights of steamers, barges,
embankments, and bridges in an evening's voyage from Putney to
Westminster.

All being ready and the weather very hot at the end of July, when the
country had caught the election fever, and M.P.'s had run off to
scramble for seats, and the lawyers had run after them to thicken the
bustle, and the last bullet at Wimbledon had come "thud" on the target,
it was time for the Rob Roy to start.




CHAPTER II.

THE START.

     The Thames--The Cornwall--Porpoises--A Gale--The
     Channel--Ostend Canal--The Meuse--Earl of
     Aberdeen--Holland--The Rhine--The Premier's Son--The River
     Main--Heron stalking--The Prince of Wales.


The Rob Roy bounded away joyously on the top of the tide through
Westminster Bridge, and swiftly shooting the narrow piles at
Blackfriars, danced along the waves of the Pool, which looked all golden
in the morning sun, but were in fact of veritable pea-soup hue.

A fine breeze at Greenwich enabled me to set the new white sail, and we
skimmed along with a cheery hissing sound. At such times the river is a
lively scene with steamers and sea-bound ships, bluff little tugs, and
big looming barges. I had many a chat with the passing sailors, for it
was well to begin this at once, seeing that every day afterwards I was
to have talk with the river folk in English, French, Dutch, German, or
else some hotchpotch patois.

The bargee is not a bad fellow if you begin with good humour, but he
will not stand banter. Often they began the colloquy with, "Holloah you
two!" or "Any room inside?" or "Got your life insured, Gov'nor?" but I
smiled and nodded to every one, and every one on every river and lake
was friendly to me.

Gravesend was to be the port for the night, but Purfleet looked so
pretty that I took a tack or two to reconnoitre, and resolved to stop at
the very nice hotel on the river, which I beg to recommend.

While lolling about in my boat at anchor in the hot sun a fly stung my
hand; and although it was not remarked at once, the arm speedily
swelled, and I had to poultice the hand at night and to go to church
next day with a sling, which appendage excited a great deal of comment
in the village Sunday-school. This little incident is mentioned because
it was the only occasion on which any insect troubled me on the voyage,
though several croakers had predicted that in rivers and marshes there
would be hundreds of wasps, venomous flies, and gnats, not to mention
other residents within doors.

Just as I entered the door of the quiet little church, an only gentleman
about to go in fell down dead in the path. It was impossible not to be
much impressed with this sudden death as a solemn warning, especially to
one in vigorous health.

The "Cornwall" Reformatory School-ship is moored at Purfleet. Some of
the boys came ashore for a walk, neatly clad and very well behaved.
Captain Burton, who commands this interesting vessel, received me on
board very kindly, and the evening service between decks was a sight to
remember for ever.

About 100 boys sat in rows along the old frigate's main-deck, with the
open ports looking on the river, now reddened by a setting sun, and the
cool air pleasantly fanning us. The lads chanted the Psalms to the music
of a harmonium, played with excellent feeling and good taste, and the
Captain read a suitable portion from some selected book, and then prayer
was offered; and all this was by and for poor vagrant boys, whose claim
on society is great indeed if measured by the wrong it has done them in
neglect if not in precept, nay, even in example.

Next morning the canoe was lowered down a ladder from the hay-loft, where
it had been kept (it had to go up into many far more strange places in
subsequent days), and the Cornwall boys bid me a pleasant voyage--a wish
most fully realized indeed.

After taking in supplies at Gravesend, I shoved off into the tide, and
lit a cigar, and now I felt I had fairly started. Then there began a
strange feeling of _freedom_ and _novelty_ which lasted to the end of
the tour.

Something like it is felt when you first march off with a knapsack ready
to walk anywhere, or when you start alone in a sailing-boat for a long
cruise.

But then in walking you are bounded by every sea and river, and in a
common sailing-boat you are bounded by every shallow and shore; whereas,
I was in a canoe, which could be paddled or sailed, hauled, or carried
over land or water to Rome, if I liked, or to Hong-Kong.

The wind was fair again, and up went my sail. The reaches got wider and
the water more salt, but I knew every part of the course, for I had once
spent a fortnight about the mouth of the Thames in my pretty little
sailing-boat, the Kent, alone, with only a dog, a chart, a compass, and
a bachelor's kettle.

The new steamer Alexandra, which plies from London daily, passed me
here, its high-terraced American decks covered with people, and the
crowd gave a fine loud cheer to the Rob Roy, for the newspapers had
mentioned its departure. Presently the land seemed to fade away at each
side in pale distance, and the water was more sea than river, till near
the Nore we entered a great shoal of porpoises. Often as I have seen
these harmless and agile playfellows I had never been so close to them
before, and in a boat so small as to be almost disregarded by them, wily
though they be. I allowed the canoe to rock on the waves, and the
porpoises frequently came near enough to be struck by my paddle, but I
did not wage war, for a flap of a tail would have soon turned me upside
down.

After a pleasant sail to Southend and along the beach, the wind changed,
and a storm of heavy rain had to be met in its teeth by taking to the
paddle, until near Shoeburyness, where I meant to stop a day or two in
the camp of the National Artillery Association, which was assembled here
for its first Prize shooting.

The Royal Artillery received us Volunteers on this occasion with the
greatest kindness, and as they had appropriated quarters of officers
absent on leave for the use of members of the Council of the
Association, I was soon comfortably ensconced. The camp, however, in a
wet field was moist enough; but the fine tall fellows who had come from
Yorkshire, Somerset, or Aberdeen to handle the 68-pounders, trudged
about in the mud with good humour and thick boots, and sang round the
camp-fire in a drizzle of rain, and then pounded away at the targets
next day, for these were volunteers of the right sort.

As the wind had then risen to a gale it seemed a good opportunity for a
thorough trial of the canoe in rough water, so I paddled her to a corner
where she would be least injured by being thrown ashore after an upset,
and where she would be safe while I might run to change clothes after a
swim.

The buoyancy of the boat astonished me, and her stability was in every
way satisfactory. In the midst of the waves I even managed to rig up the
mast and sail, and as I had no baggage on board and so did not mind
being perfectly wet through in the experiments, there was nothing left
untried, and the confidence then gained for after times was invaluable.

Early next morning I started directly in the teeth of the wind, and
paddled against a very heavy sea to Southend, where a nice warm bath was
enjoyed while my clothes were getting dried, and then the Rob Roy had
its first railway journey in one of the little cars on the Southend pier
to the steamboat.

It was amusing to see how much interest and curiosity the canoe excited
even on the Thames, where all kinds of new and old and wonderful boats
may be seen. The reasons for this I never exactly made out. Some
wondered to see so small a boat at sea, others had never seen a canoe
before, the manner of rowing was new to most, and the sail made many
smile. The graceful shape of the boat pleased others, the cedar covering
and the jaunty flag, and a good many stared at the captain's uniform,
and they stared more after they had asked, "Where are you going to?" and
were often told, "I really do not know."

From Sheerness to Dover was the route, and on the branch line train the
Rob Roy had to be carried on the coals in the engine-tender, with
torrents of rain and plenty of hot sparks driven into her by the gale;
but after some delay at a junction the canoe was formally introduced to
a baggage-waggon and ticketed like a portmanteau, the first of a series
of transits in this way.

The London Chatham and Dover Railway Company took this new kind of "box"
as passengers' luggage, so I had nothing to pay, and the steamer to
Ostend was equally large-hearted, so I say, "Canoemen, choose this
channel."

But before crossing to Belgium I had a day at Dover, where I bought some
stuff and had a jib made for the boat by deft and fair fingers, had
paddled the Rob Roy on the green waves which toss about off the
pier-head most delectably. The same performance was repeated on the top
of the swell, tumbling and breaking on the "digue"[II.] at Ostend, where,
even with little wind, the rollers ran high on a strong ebb tide. Fat
bathers wallowed in the shallows, and fair ones, dressed most bizarre,
were swimming like ducks. All of these, and the babies squalling
hysterically at each dip, were duly admired; and then I had a quieter
run under sail on their wide and straight canal.

[Illustration: Rollers off the Digue.]

 [II.] At Ostend I found an English gentleman preparing for a
  voyage on the Danube, for which he was to build a "centre board" boat.
  Although no doubt a sailing boat could reach the Danube by the Bamberg
  canal, yet, after four tours on that river from its source as far as
  Pest, I am convinced that to trust to sailing upon it would entail much
  tedious delay, useless trouble, and constant anxiety. If the wind is
  ahead you have all the labour of tacking, and are frequently in slack
  water near the banks, and often in channels where the only course would
  be dead to windward. If the wind is aft the danger of "running" is
  extreme where you have to "broach to" and stop suddenly near a shallow
  or a barrier. With a strong side wind, indeed, you can sail safely, but
  this must come from north or south, and the high banks vastly reduce its
  effect.

With just a little persuasion the railway people consented to put the
canoe in the baggage-van, and to charge a franc or two for "extra
luggage" to Brussels. Here she was carried on a cart through the town to
another station, and in the evening we were at Namur, where the Rob Roy
was housed for the night in the landlord's private parlour, resting
gracefully upon two chairs.

Two porters carried her through the streets next morning, and I took a
paddle on the Sambre, but very soon turned down stream and smoothly
glided to the Meuse.

Glancing water, brilliant sun, a light boat, and a light heart, all your
baggage on board, and on a fast current,--who would exchange this for
any diligence or railway, or steamboat, or horse? A pleasant stream was
enough to satisfy at this early period of the voyage, for the excitement
of rocks and rapids had not yet become a charm.

It is good policy, too, that a quiet, easy, respectable sort of river
like the Meuse should be taken in the earlier stage of a water tour,
when there is novelty enough in being on a river at all. The river-banks
one would call tame if seen from shore are altogether new when you open
up the vista from the middle of the stream. The picture that is rolled
sideways to the common traveller now pours out from before you, ever
enlarging from a centre, and in the gentle sway of the stream the
landscape seems to swell on this side and on that with new things ever
advancing to meet you in succession.

How careful I was at the first shallow! getting out and wading as I
lowered the boat. A month afterwards I would dash over them with a shove
here and a stroke there in answer to a hoarse croak of the stones at the
bottom grinding against my keel.

And the first barrier--how anxious it made me, to think by what means
shall I get over. A man appeared just in time (N.B.--They _always_ do),
and twopence made him happy for his share of carrying the boat round by
land, and I jumped in again as before.

Sailing was easy, too, in a fine wide river, strong and deep, and with a
favouring breeze, and when the little steamer passed I drew alongside
and got my penny roll and penny glass of beer, while the wondering
passengers (the first of many amazed foreigners) smiled, chattered, and
then looked grave--for was it not indecorous to laugh at an Englishman
evidently mad, poor fellow?

The voyage was chequered by innumerable little events, all perfectly
different from those one meets on shore, and when I came to the forts at
Huy and knew the first day's work was done, the persuasion was complete
that quite a new order of sensations had been set going.

Next morning I found the boat safe in the coach-house and the sails
still drying on the harness-pegs, where we had left them, but the ostler
and all his folks were nowhere to be seen. Everybody had gone to join
the long funeral procession of a great musician, who lived fifty years
at Huy, though we never heard of him before, or of Huy either; yet you
see it is in our Map at page 291.

The pleasure of meandering with a new river is very peculiar and
fascinating. Each few yards brings a novelty, or starts an excitement. A
crane jumps up here, a duck flutters there, splash leaps a gleaming
trout by your side, the rushing sound of rocks warns you round that
corner, or anon you come suddenly upon a millrace. All these, in
addition to the scenery and the people and the weather, and the
determination that you _must_ get on, over, through, or under every
difficulty, and cannot leave your boat in a desolate wold, and ought to
arrive at a house before dark, and that your luncheon bag is long since
empty; all these, I say, keep the mind awake, which would perchance dose
away for 100 miles in a first-class carriage.

It is, as in the voyage of life, that our cares and hardships are our
very Mentors of living. Our minds would only vegetate if all life were
like a straight canal, and we in a boat being towed along it. The
afflictions that agitate the soul are as its shallows, rocks, and
whirlpools, and the bark that has not been tossed on billows knows not
half the sweetness of the harbour of rest.

The river soon got fast and lively, and hour after hour of vigorous work
prepared me well for breakfast. Trees seemed to spring up in front and
grow tall, but it was only because I came rapidly towards them. Pleasant
villages floated as it were to meet me, gently moving. All life got to
be a smooth and gliding thing, of dreamy pictures and far-off sounds,
without fuss and without dust or anything sudden or loud, till at
length the bustle and hammers of Liege neared the Rob Roy--for it was
always the objects and not myself that seemed to move. Here I saw a fast
steamer, the Seraing, propelled by water forced from its sides, and as
my boat hopped and bobbed in the steamer's waves we entered a dock
together, and the canoe was soon hoisted into a garden for the night.

Gun-barrels are the rage in Liege. Everybody there makes or carries or
sells gun-barrels. Even women walk about with twenty stocked rifles on
their backs, and each rifle, remember, weighs 10 lbs. They sell plenty
of fruit in the market, and there are churches well worth a visit here,
but gun-barrels, after all, are the prevailing idea of the place.

However, it is not my purpose to describe the towns seen on this tour. I
had seen Liege well, years before, and indeed almost every town
mentioned in these pages. The charm then of the voyage was not in going
to strange lands, but in seeing old places in a new way.

Here at length the Earl of Aberdeen met me, according to our plans
arranged long before. He had got a canoe built for the trip, but a foot
longer and two inches narrower than the Rob Roy, and, moreover, made of
fir instead of strong oak. It was sent from London to Liege, and the
"combing" round the edge of the deck was broken in the journey, so we
spent some hours at a cabinet-maker's, where it was neatly mended.

Launching our boats unobserved on the river, we soon left Liege in the
distance and braved the hot sun.

The pleasant companionship of two travellers, each quite free in his own
boat, was very enjoyable. Sometimes we sailed, then paddled a mile or
two, or joined to help the boats over a weir, or towed them along while
we walked on the bank for a change.[III.]

 [III.] Frequent trials afterwards convinced me that towing is only
  useful if you feel very cramped from sitting. And this constraint is
  felt less and less as you get accustomed to sit ten or twelve hours at a
  time. Experience enables you to make the seat perfectly comfortable, and
  on the better rivers you have so frequently to get out that any
  additional change is quite needless. Towing is slower progress than
  paddling, even when your arms are tired, though my canoe was so light to
  tow that for miles I have drawn it by my little finger on a canal.

Each of us took whichever side of the river pleased him best, and we
talked across long acres of water between, to the evident surprise of
sedate people on the banks, who often could see only one of the strange
elocutionists, the other being hidden by bushes or tall sedge. When
talking thus aloud had amplified into somewhat uproarious singing, the
chorus was far more energetic than harmonious, but then the Briton is at
once the most timid and shy of mortal travellers, and the most _outré_
and singular when he chooses to be free.

The midday beams on a river in August are sure to conquer your fresh
energies at last, and so we had to pull up at a village for bread and
wine.

The moment I got into my boat again a shrill whining cry in the river
attracted my attention, and it came from a poor little boy, who had
somehow fallen into the water, and was now making his last faint efforts
to cling to a great barge in the stream. Naturally I rushed over to save
him, and my boat went so fast and so straight that its sharp prow caught
the hapless urchin in the rear, and with such a pointed reminder too
that he screamed and struggled and thus got safely on the barge, which
was beyond his reach, until thus roughly but fortunately aided.

On most of the Belgian, German, and French rivers there are excellent
floating baths, an obvious convenience which I do not recollect
observing on a single river in Britain, though in summer we have quite
as many bathers as there are abroad.

The floating baths consist of a wooden framework, say 100 feet long,
moored in the stream, and through which the water runs freely, while a
set of strong bars and chains and iron network forms a false bottom,
shallow at one end and deeper at the other, so that the bather cannot be
carried away by the current.

Round the sides there are bathing boxes and steps, ladders, and spring
boards for the various degree of aquatic proficiency.

The youths and even the little boys on the Rhine are very good swimmers,
and many of them dive well. Sometimes there is a ladies' bath of similar
construction, from which a good deal of very lively noise may be heard
when the fair bathers are in a talkative mood.

The soldiers at military stations near the rivers are marched down
regularly to bathe, and one day we found a large number of young
recruits assembled for their general dip.

While some were in the water others were firing at the targets for ball
practice. There were three targets, each made of cardboard sheets,
fastened upon wooden uprights. A marker safely protected in a ball-proof
_mantelet_ was placed so close to these targets that he could see all
three at once. One man of the firing party opposite each target having
fired, his bullet passed through the pasteboard and left a clear round
hole in it, while the ball itself was buried in the earth behind, and
so could be recovered again, instead of being dashed into fragments as
on our iron targets, and then spattered about on all sides, to the great
danger of the marker and everybody else.

When three men had thus fired, signals were made by drum, flag, and
bugle, and the firing ceased. The marker then came out and pointed to
the bullet-mark on each target, and having patched up the holes he
returned within his mantelet, and the firing was resumed. This very safe
and simple method of ball practice is much better than that used in our
military shooting.

Once as we rounded a point there was a large herd of cattle swimming
across the stream in close column, and I went right into the middle of
them to observe how they would welcome a stranger. In the Nile you see
the black oxen swim over the stream night and morning, reminding you of
Pharaoh's dream about the "kine" coming up out of the river, a notion
that used to puzzle in boyhood days, but which is by no means
incongruous when thus explained. The Bible is a book that bears full
light to be cast upon it, for truth looks more true under more light.

We had been delayed this morning in our start, and so the evening
fell sombre ere we came near the resting-place. This was the town of
Maastricht, in Holland, and it is stated to be one of the most strongly
fortified places in Europe; that is, of the old fashion, with straight
high walls quite impervious to the Armstrong and Whitworth guns--of a
century gone by.

[Illustration: CATTLE SWIMMING THE MEUSE. Page 28.]

But all we knew as we came near it at night was, that the stream was
good and strong, and that no lights appeared. Emerging from trees we
were right in the middle of the town, but where were the houses? had
they no windows, no lamps, not even a candle?

Two great high walls bounded the river, but not a gate or port could we
find, though one of us carefully scanned the right and the other
cautiously scraped along the left of this very strange place.

It appears that the commerce and boats all turn into a canal above the
old tumble-down fortress, and so the blank brick sides bounded us thus
inhospitably. Soon we came to a bridge, looming overhead in the
blackness, and our arrival there was greeted by a shower of stones from
some Dutch lads upon it, pattering pitilessly upon the delicate
cedar-covered canoes.

Turning up stream, and after a closer scrutiny, we found a place where
we could cling to the wall, which here sloped a little with debris, and
now there was nothing for it but to haul the boats up bodily over the
impregnable fortification, and thus carry them into the sleepy town. No
wonder the _octroi_ guard stared as his lamplight fell on two gaunt men
in grey, carrying what seemed to him a pair of long coffins, but he was
a sensible though surprised individual, and he guided us well, stamping
through the dark deserted streets to an hotel.

Though the canoes in a cart made a decided impression at the
railway-station next day, and arguments logically proved that the boats
must go as baggage, the porters were dense to conviction, and obdurate
to persuasion, until all at once a sudden change took place; they rushed
at us, caught up the two neglected "batteaux," ran with them to the
luggage-van, pushed them in, and banged the door, piped the whistle, and
as the train went off--"Do you know why they have yielded so suddenly?"
said a Dutchman, who could speak English. "Not at all," said we.
"Because I told them one of you was the son of the Prime Minister, and
the other Lord Russell's son."

But a change of railway had to be made at Aix-la-Chapelle, and after a
hard struggle we had nearly surrendered the boats to the "merchandise
train," to limp along the line at night and to arrive "perhaps
to-morrow." Indeed the Superintendent of that department seemed to
clutch the boats as his prize, but as he gloried a little too loudly,
the "Chef" of the passengers' baggage came, listened, and with calm mien
ordered for us a special covered truck, and on arriving at Cologne there
was "nothing to pay."[IV.]

 [IV.] This is an exceptional case, and I wrote from England to
  thank the officer. It would be unreasonable again to expect any baggage
  to be thus favoured. A canoe is at best a clumsy inconvenience in the
  luggage-van, and no one can wonder that it is objected to. In France the
  railway _fourgons_ are shorter than in other countries, and the
  officials there insisted on treating my canoe as merchandise. The
  instances given above show what occurred in Belgium and Holland. In
  Germany little difficulty was made about the boat as luggage. In
  Switzerland there was no objection raised, for was not I an English
  traveller? As for the English railway guards, they have the good sense
  to see that a long light article like a canoe can be readily carried on
  the top of a passenger carriage. Probably some distinct rules will be
  instituted by the railways in each country, when they are found to be
  liable to a nautical incursion, but after all one can very well arrange
  to walk or see sights now and then, while the boat travels slower by a
  goods-train.

To be quiet we went to the Belle Vue, at Deutz, which is opposite
Cologne, but a great Singing Society had its gala there, and sang and
drank prodigiously. Next day (Sunday too) this same quiet Deutz had a
"Schutzen Fest," where the man who had hit the target best was dragged
about in an open carriage with his wife, both wearing brass crowns, and
bowing royally to a screaming crowd, while blue lights glared and
rockets shot up in the serene darkness.

At Cologne, while Lord A. went to take our tickets at the steamer, the
boats were put in a handcart, which I shoved from behind as a man pulled
it in front. In our way to the river I was assailed by a poor vagrant
sort of fellow, who insisted on being employed as a porter, and being
enraged at a refusal he actually took up a large stone and ran after the
cart in a threatening passion. I could not take my hands from the boats,
though in fear that his missile would smash them if he threw it, but I
kicked up my legs behind as we trotted along. One of the sentries saw
the man's conduct, and soon a policeman brought him to me as a prisoner,
but as he trembled now with fear more than before with anger, I declined
to make any charge, though the police pressed this course, saying,
"Travellers are sacred here." This incident is mentioned because it was
the sole occasion when any discourtesy happened to me during this tour.

We took the canoes by steamer to a wide part of the Rhine at Bingen.
Here the scenery is good, and we spent an active day on the river,
sailing in a splendid breeze, landing on islands, scudding about in
steamers' waves, and, in fact, enjoying a combination of yacht voyage,
pic-nic, and boat race.

This was a fine long day of pleasure, though in one of the sudden
squalls my canoe happened to ground on a bank just at the most critical
time, and the bamboo mast broke short. The uncouth and ridiculous
appearance of a sail falling overboard is like that of an umbrella
turned inside out in a gust of wind. But I got another stronger mast,
and made the broken one into a boom.

Lord Aberdeen went by train to inspect the river Nahe, but reported
unfavourably; and I paddled up from its mouth, but the water was very
low.

Few arguments were needed to stop me from going against stream; for I
have a profound respect for the universal principle of gravitation, and
quite allow that in rowing it is well to have it with you by always
going down stream, and so the good rule was to make steam, horse, or man
take the canoe against the current, and to let gravity help the boat to
carry me down.

Time pressed for my fellow-paddler to return to England, so we went on
to Mayence, and thence by rail to Asschaffenburg on the Main. The canoes
again travelled in grand state, having a truck to themselves; but
instead of the stately philosopher superintendent of Aix-la-Chapelle,
who managed this gratuitously, we had a fussy little person to deal
with, and to pay accordingly,--the only case of decided cheating I can
recollect during the voyage.

A fellow-passenger in the railway was deeply interested about our tour;
and we had spoken of its various details for some time to him before we
found that he supposed we were travelling with "two small cannons,"
mistaking the word "canôts" for "canons." He had even asked about their
length and weight, and had heard with perfect placidity that our
"canons" were fifteen feet long, and weighed eighty pounds, and that we
took them only for "plaisir," not to sell. Had we carried two pet
cameleopards, he probably would not have been astonished.

The guests at the German inn of this long-named town amused us much by
their respectful curiosity. Our dress in perfect unison, both alike in
grey flannel, puzzled them exceedingly; but this sort of perplexity
about costume and whence why and whither was an everyday occurrence for
months afterwards with me.

A fine breeze enabled us to start on the river Main under sail, though
we lost much time in forcing the boats to do yachts' work; and I am
inclined to believe that sailing on rivers is rather a mistake unless
with a favourable wind. The Main is an easy stream to follow, and the
scenery only so-so. A storm of rain at length made it lunch-time, so we
sheltered ourselves in a bleak sort of arbour attached to an inn, where
they could give us only sour black bread and raw bacon. Eating this poor
cheer in a wet, rustling breeze and pattering rain, half-chilled in our
macintoshes, was the only time I fared badly, so little of "roughing it"
was there in this luxurious tour.

Fine weather came soon again and pleasure,--nay, positive sporting; for
there were wild ducks quite impudent in their familiarity, and herons
wading about with that look of injured innocence they put on when you
dare to disturb them. So my friend capped his revolver-pistol, and I
acted as a pointer dog, stealing along the other side of the river, and
indicating the position of the game with my paddle.

Vast trouble was taken. Lord A. went ashore, and crawled on the bank a
long way to a wily bird, but, though the sportsman had shown himself at
Wimbledon to be one of the best shots in the world, it was evidently not
easy to shoot a heron with a pocket revolver.

As the darker shades fell, even this rather stupid river became
beautiful; and our evening bath was in a quiet pool, with pure yellow
sand to rest on if you tired in swimming. At Hanau we stopped for the
night.

The wanderings and turnings of the Main next day have really left no
impression on my memory, except that we had a pleasant time, and at last
came to a large Schloss, where we observed on the river a boat evidently
English. While we examined this craft, a man told us it belonged to the
Prince of Wales, "and he is looking at you now from the balcony."

For this was the Duchess of Cambridge's Schloss at Rumpenheim, and
presently a four-in-hand crossed the ferry, and the Prince and Princess
of Wales drove in it by the river-side, while we plied a vigorous paddle
against the powerful west wind until we reached Frankfort, where our wet
jackets were soon dried at the _Russie_, one of the best hotels in
Europe.

The Frankfort boatmen were much interested next day to see the two
English canoes flitting about so lightly on their river; sometimes
skimming the surface with the wind, and despising the contrary stream;
then wheeling about, and paddling hither and thither in shallows where
it seemed as if the banks were only moist.

On one occasion we both got into my canoe, and it supported the
additional weight perfectly well, which seemed to prove that the
dimensions of it were unnecessarily large for the displacement required.
However, there was not room for both of us to use our paddles
comfortably in the same canoe.

On the Sunday, the Royal personages came to the English church at
Frankfort, and, with that quiet behaviour of good taste which wins more
admiration that any pageantry, they walked from the place of worship
like the rest of the hearers.

There is a true grandeur in simplicity when the occasion is one of
solemn things.

Next day my active and pleasant companion had to leave me on his return
to England. Not satisfied with a fortnight's rifle practice at
Wimbledon, where the best prize of the year was won by his skill, he
must return to the moors and coverts for more deadly sport; and the
calls of more important business, besides, required his presence at
home. He paddled down the Rhine to Cologne, and on the way several times
performed the difficult feat of hooking on his canoe to a steamer going
at full speed.

Meantime, my boat went along with me by railway to Freyburg, from whence
the new voyage was really to begin, for as yet the Rob Roy had not
paddled in parts unknown.




CHAPTER III.

     Höllenthal Pass--Ladies--Black Forest--Night Music--Beds--Lake
     Titisee--Pontius Pilate--Storm--Starers--Singers--Source of the
     Danube.


Planning your summer tour is one of the most agreeable of occupations.
It is in June or July that the Foreign Bradshaw becomes suddenly of
intense interest, and the well-known pages of "Steamers and
Railways"--why, it is worth while being a bachelor to be able to read
each of these as part of your sketched-out plan, and (oh, selfish
thought!) to have only one mind to consult as to whither away.

All this pleasure is a good deal influenced, however, by true answers to
these questions,--Have you worked hard in working time, so as to be
entitled to play in these playhours? Is this to be a vacation of
refreshment, or an idle lounge and killing of time? Are you going off to
rest, and to recruit delicate health, or with vigour to enjoy a summer
of active exertion?

But now the infallible Bradshaw could not help me with the canoe one
iota, and Baedeker was not written for a boat; so at Freyburg my plans
resolved themselves into the simple direction, "Go at once to the source
of the Danube."

Next morning, therefore, found the Rob Roy in a cart, and the
grey-clothed traveller walking beside it on the dusty Höllenthal road.
The gay, light-hearted exultation of being strong and well, and on a
right errand, and with unknown things to do and places to see and people
to meet, who can describe this? How easy it is at such times to be glad,
and to think this is being "thankful."

After moralizing for a few miles, a carriage full of English people
overtook me, and soon we became companions. "The English are so distant,
so silent, such _hauteur_, and gloomy distrust," forsooth! A false
verdict, say I. The ladies carried me off through the very pretty glen,
and the canoe on its cart trundled slowly after us behind, through the
Höllenthal Pass, which is too seldom visited by travellers, who so often
admire the spire of Freyburg (from the railway perhaps), passing it on
their route to Switzerland.

This entrance to the Schwartzwald, or Black Forest, is a woody, rocky,
and grim defile, with an excellent road, and good inns.

The villages are of wood, and there is a saw-mill in every other house,
giving a busy, wholesome sound, mellowed by the patter of the
water-wheel. Further on, where tourists' scenery stops, it is a grand,
dark-coloured ocean of hills. The houses get larger and larger, and
fewer and fewer, and nearly every one has a little chapel built
alongside, with a wooden saint's image of life-size nailed on the gable
end. One night I was in one of these huge domiciles, when all the
servants and ploughboys came in, and half said, half sung, their
prayers, in a whining but yet musical tone, and then retired for a
hearty supper.

Our carriage mounted still among crags, that bowed from each side to
meet across the narrow gorge, and were crested on high by the grand
trees that will be felled and floated down the Rhine on one of those
huge rafts you meet at Strasbourg. But everybody must have seen a Rhine
raft, so I need not describe it, with its acres of wood and its street
of cabin dwellings, and its gay bannerets. A large raft needs 500 men to
navigate it, and the timber will sell for 30,000_l._

At the top of this pass was the watershed of this first chain of hills,
where my English friends took leave of me. The Rob Roy was safely housed
in the Baar Inn, and I set off for a long walk to find if the tiny
stream there would possibly be navigable.

Alone on a hillside in a foreign land, and with an evening sun on the
wild mountains, the playful breeze and the bleating sheep around
you--there is a certain sense of independent delight that possesses the
mind then with a buoyant gladness; but how can I explain it in words,
unless you have felt this sort of pleasure?

However, the rivulet was found to be eminently unsuited for a canoe; so
now let me go to bed in my wooden room, where the washingbasin is oval,
and the partitions are so thin that one hears all the noises of the
place at midnight. Now, the long-drawn snore of the landlord; then, the
tittle-tattle of the servants not asleep yet,--a pussy's plaintive mew,
and the scraping of a mouse; the cows breathing in soft slumber; and,
again, the sharp rattle of a horse's chain.

The elaborate construction of that edifice of housewifery called a
"bett" here, and which we are expected to sleep upon, can only be
understood when you have to undermine and dismantle it night after night
to arrive at a reasonable flat surface on which to recline.

First you take off a great fluff bag, at least two feet thick, then a
counterpane, and then a brilliant scarlet blanket; next you extract one
enormous pillow, another enormous pillow, and a huge wedge-shaped
bolster,--all, it appears, requisite for the Teutonic race, who yet
could surely put themselves to sleep at an angle of forty-five degrees,
without all this trouble, by merely tilting up the end of a flat
bedstead.

Simple but real courtesy have I found throughout. Every one says "Gut
tag;" and, even in a hotel, on getting up from breakfast a guest who has
not spoken a word will wish "Gut morgen" as he departs, and perhaps "Bon
appetit" to those not satisfied like himself. About eight o'clock the
light repast of tea or coffee, bread, butter, and honey begins the day;
at noon is "mittagessen," the mid-day meal, leaving all proper excuse
for another dining operation in the shape of a supper at seven.

No fine manners here! My driver sat down to dinner with me, and the
waiter along with him, smoking a cigar between whiles, as he waited on
us both. But all this is just as one sees in Canada and in Norway, and
wherever there are mountains, woods, and torrent streams, with a sparse
population; and, as in Norway too, you see at once that all can read,
and they do read. There is more reading in one day in a common house in
Germany than in a month in the same sort of place in France.

I had hired the cart and driver by the day, but he by no means admired
my first directions next morning--namely, to take the boat off the main
road, so as to get to the Titisee, a pretty mountain lake about four
miles long, and surrounded by wooded knolls. His arguments and
objections were evidently superficial, and something deeper than he said
was in his mind. In fact, it appears that, by a superstition long
cherished there, Pontius Pilate is supposed to be in that deep, still
lake, and dark rumours were told that he would surely drag me down if I
ventured upon it.[V.]

 [V.] The legend about Pilate extends over Germany and Italy.
  Even on the flanks of Stromboli there is a _talus_ of the volcano which
  the people dare not approach, "because of Pontius Pilate."

Of course, this decided the matter, and when I launched the Rob Roy from
the pebbly shore in a fine foggy morning, and in full view of the
inhabitants of the region (eight in number at last census), we had a
most pleasant paddle for several miles.

At a distance the boat was invisible being so low in the water, and they
said that "only a man was seen, whirling a paddle about his head."

There is nothing interesting about this lake, except that it is 3,000
feet above the sea and very lonely, in the middle of the Black Forest.
Certainly no English boat has been there before, and probably no other
will visit the deserted water.

After this, the Rob Roy is carted again still further into the forests.
Lumbering vehicles meet us, all carrying wood. Some have joined three
carts together, and have eight horses. Others have a bullock or two
besides, and all the men are intelligent enough, for they stop and
stare, and my driver deigns to tell them, in a patois wholly beyond me,
as to what a strange fare he has got with a boat and no other luggage.
However, they invariably conclude that the canoe is being carried about
for sale, and it could have been well sold frequently already.

About mid-day my sage driver began to mutter something at intervals, but
I could only make out from his gestures and glances that it had to do
with a storm overhead. The mixture of English, French, and German on the
borders of the Rhine accustoms one to hear odd words. "Shall have you
pottyto?" says a waiter, and he is asking if you will have potatoes.
Another hands you a dish, saying, it is "sweetbone," and you must know
it is "sweetbread."

Yes, the storm came, and as it seldom does come except in such places. I
once heard a thunder peal while standing on the crater of Mount
Vesuvius, and I have seen the bright lightning, in cold and grand
beauty, playing on the Falls of Niagara in a sombre night, but the
vividness of the flashes to-day in the Black Forest, and the crashing,
rolling, and booming of the terrible and majestic battery of heaven was
astounding. Once a bolt fell so near and with such a blaze that the
horse albeit tired enough started off down a hill and made me quite
nervous lest he should overturn the cart and injure my precious boat,
which naturally was more and more dear to me as it was longer my sole
companion.

As we toiled up the Rothenhaus Pass, down came the rain, whistling and
rushing through the cold, dark forests of larch, and blackening the top
of great Feldberg, the highest mountain here, and then pouring heavy and
fast on the cart and horse, the man, the canoe, and myself. This was the
last rain my boat got in the tour. All other days I spent in her were
perfectly dry.

People stared out of their windows to see a cart and a boat in this
heavy shower--what! a boat, up here in the hills? Where can it be going,
and whose is it? Then they ran out to us, and forced the driver to
harangue, and he tried to satisfy their curiosity, but his explanation
never seemed to be quite exhaustive, for they turned homeward shaking
their heads and looking grave, even though I nodded and laughed at them
through the bars of the cart, lifting up my head among the wet straw.

The weather dried up its tears at last, and the sun glittered on the
road, still sparkling with its rivulets of rain, but the boat was soon
dried by a sponge, while a smart walk warmed its well-soaked captain.

The horse too had got into a cheerful vein and actually trotted with
excitement, for now it was down hill, and bright sun--a welcome change
in ten minutes from our labouring up a steep forest road in a
thunder-storm.

The most rigid teetotaller (I am only a temperance man) would probably
allow that just a very small glass of kirchwasser might be prescribed at
this moment with advantage, and as there was no "faculty" there but
myself, I administered the dose medicinally to the driver and to his
employer, and gave a bran-mash and a rub down to the horse, which made
all three of us better satisfied with ourselves and each other, and so
we jogged on again.

By dusk I marched into Donaueschingen, and on crossing the little
bridge, saw at once I could begin the Danube from its very source, for
there was at least three inches of water in the middle of the stream.

In five minutes a crowd assembled round the boat, even before it could
be loosened from the cart.[VI.]

 [VI.] After trying various modes of securing the canoe in a
  springless cart for long journeys on rough and hilly roads, I am
  convinced that the best way is to fasten two ropes across the top of a
  long cart and let the boat lie on these, which will bear it like springs
  and so modify the jolts. The painter is then made fast fore and aft, so
  as to keep the boat from moving back and forward. All plans for using
  trusses of straw, &c., fail after a few miles of rolling gravel and
  coarse ruts.

The ordinary idlers came first, then the more shy townspeople, and then
a number of strange folk, whose exact position I could not make out,
until it was explained that the great singing meeting for that part of
Germany was to be held next day in the town, and so there were 600
visitors, all men of some means and intelligence, who were collected
from a wide country round about.

The town was in gala for this meeting of song. The inns were full, but
still the good landlord of the "Poste" by the bridge gave me an
excellent room, and the canoe was duly borne aloft in procession to the
coachhouse.

What a din these tenors and basses did make at the table d'hôte!
Everything about the boat had to be told a dozen times over to them,
while my driver had a separate lecture-room on the subject below.

The town was well worth inspection next day, for it was in a violent fit
of decoration. Every house was tidied up, and all the streets were
swept clean. From the humbler windows hung green boughs and garlands,
rugs, quilts, and blankets; while banners, Venetian streamers, arches,
mottoes, and wreaths of flowers announced the wealthier houses. Crowds
of gaping peasants paraded the streets and jostled against bands
drumming and tromboning (if there be such a word), and marching in a
somewhat ricketty manner over the undoubtedly rough pavement. Every now
and then the bustle had a fresh paroxysm when four horses rattled along,
bringing in new visitors from some distant choir. They are coming you
see in a long four-wheeled cart, covered with evergreens and bearing
four pine trees in it erect among sacks which are used as seats--only
the inmates do not sit but stand up in the cart, and shout, and sing,
and wave banners aloft, while the hundreds of on-lookers roar out the
"Hoch," the German Hurrah! with only one note.

As every window had its ornament or device, I made one for mine also,
and my sails were festooned (rather tastefully, I flatter myself) to
support the little blue silk English jack of the canoe. This
complimentary display was speedily recognized by the Germans, who
greeted it with cheers, and sung glees below, and improvised verses
about England, and then sang round the boat itself, laughing, shouting,
and hurraing boisterously with the vigour of youthful lungs. Never tell
me again that the Germans are phlegmatic!

[Illustration: Singers' Waggon.]

They had a "banket" in the evening at the Museum. It was "free for all,"
and so 400 came on these cheap terms, and all drank beer from long
glass cylinders at a penny a glass, all smoked cigars at a farthing a
piece, and all talked and all sang, though a splendid brass band was
playing beside them, and whenever it stopped a glee or chorus commenced.

The whole affair was a scene of bewildering excitement, very curious to
contemplate for one sitting in the midst. Next me I found a young
bookseller who had sold me a French book in the morning. He said I must
take a ticket for the Sunday concert; but I told him I was an
Englishman, and had learned in my country that it was God's will and for
man's good to keep Sunday for far better things, which are too much
forgotten when one day in seven is not saved from the business,
excitement, and giddiness of every-day life.

And is there not a feeling of dull sameness about time in those
countries and places where the week is not steadied and centred round a
solid day on which lofty and deep things, pure and lasting things may
have at least some hours of our attention?

So I left the merry singers to bang their drums and hoch! at each other
in the great hall provided for their use by the Prince of Furstemburg.
He had reared this near his stables, in which are many good horses, some
of the best being English, and named on their stalls "Miss," "Pet,"
"Lady," or "Tom," &c.

An English gentleman whom I met afterwards had been travelling through
Germany with a four-in-hand drag, and he came to Donaueschingen, where
the Prince soon heard of his arrival. Next day His Serene Highness was
at his stables, and seeing an English visitor there, he politely
conducted the stranger over the whole establishment, explaining every
item with minute care. He found out afterwards that this visitor was not
the English gentleman, but only his groom!

The intelligence, activity, and good temper of most of the German
waiters in hotels will surely be observed by travellers whose daily
enjoyment depends so much on that class. Here, for instance, is a little
waiter at the Poste Inn. He is the size of a boy, but looks twenty years
older. His face is flat, and broad, and brown, and so is his jacket. His
shoulders are high, and he reminds you of those four everlasting German
juveniles, with thick comforters about their necks, who stand in London
streets blowing brass music, with their cheeks puffed out, and their
cold grey eyes turning on all the passing objects while the music, or at
any rate a noise, blurts out as if mechanically from the big, unpolished
instruments held by red benumbed fingers.

This waiter lad then is all the day at the beck of all, and never gets a
night undisturbed, yet he is as obliging at ten o'clock in the dark as
for the early coffee at sunrise, and he quite agrees with each guest, in
the belief that _his_ particular cutlet or cognac is the most important
feature of the hour.

I honour this sort of man. He fills a hard place well, and Bismarck or
Mussurus cannot do more.

Then again, there is Ulric, the other waiter, hired only for to-day as
an "extra," to meet the crush of hungry vocalists who will soon fill the
_saal_. He is timid yet, being young, and only used to a village inn
where "The Poste at Donaueschingen" is looked up to with solemn
admiration as the pink of fashion. He was learning French too, and was
sentimental, so I gave him a very matter-of-fact book, and then he asked
me to let him sit in the canoe while I was to paddle it down the river
to his home! The naïve simplicity of this request was truly refreshing,
and if we had been sure of shallow water all the way, and yet not too
shallow, it would perhaps have been amusing to admit such a passenger.

The actual source of the Danube is by no means agreed upon any more than
the source of the Nile. I had a day's exploration of the country, after
seeking exact information on this point from the townspeople in vain.
The land round Donaueschingen is a spongy soil, with numerous rivulets
and a few large streams. I went along one of these, the Brege, which
rises twenty miles away, near St. Martin, and investigated about ten
miles of another, the Brigach, a brook rising near St. Georgen, about a
mile from the source of the Neckar, which river runs to the Rhine. These
streams join near Donaueschingen, but in the town there bubbles up a
clear spring of water in the gardens of the Prince near the church, and
this, the infant Danube, runs into the other water already wide enough
for a boat, but which then for the first time has the name of Donau.

The name, it is said, is never given to either of the two larger
rivulets, because sometimes both have been known to fail in dry summers,
while the bubbling spring has been perennial for ages.

The Brege and another confluent are caused to fill an artificial pond
close by the Brigach. This lake is wooded round, and has a pretty
island, and swans, and gold fish. A waterwheel (in vain covered for
concealment) pumps up water to flow from an inverted horn amid a group
of statuary in this romantic pond, and the stream flowing from it also
joins the others, now the Danube.[VII.]

 [VII.] The old Roman Ister. The name Donau is pronounced
  "Doanou." Hilpert says, "Dönau allied to Dón and Düna (a river)." In
  Celtic _Dune_ means "river," and _Don_ means "brown," while "_au_" in
  German is "island" (like the English "eyot").

  The other three rivers mentioned above, and depicted in the plan on the
  map with this book, seem to preserve traces of their Roman names. Thus
  the "Brigach" is the stream coming from the north where "Alt Breisach"
  now represents the Roman "Mons Brisiacus," while the "Brege" may be
  referred to "Brigantii," the people about the "Brigantinus Lacus," now
  the "Boden See" (Lake Constance), where also Bregentz now represents the
  Roman "Brigantius." The river Neckar was "Nicer" of old, and the Black
  Forest was "Hercynia Silva."

  The reader being now sufficiently confused about the source of the
  Danube and its name, let us leave the Latin in the quagmire and jump
  nimbly into our canoe.

That there might be no mistake however in this matter about the various
rivulets, I went up each stream until it would not float a canoe. Then
from near the little bridge, on August 28, while the singers _sol-faed_
excessively at the boat, and shouted "hocks" and farewells to the
English "flagge," and the landlord bowed (his bill of thirteen francs
for three full days being duly paid), and the populace stared, the Rob
Roy shot off like an arrow on a river delightfully new.




CHAPTER IV.

     The Danube--Singers--Shady nooks--Geisingen--Mill
     weirs--Rapids--Morning Crowd--Donkey's
     stable--Islands--Monks--Spiders--Concert--Fish--A race.


At first the river is a few feet broad, but it soon enlarges, and the
streams of a great plain quickly bring its volume to that of the Thames
at Kingston. The quiet, dark Donau winds about then in slow serpentine
smoothness for hours in a level mead, with waving sedge on the banks and
silken sleepy weeds in the water. Here the long-necked, long-winged,
long-legged heron, that seems to have forgotten to get a body, flocks by
scores with ducks of the various wild breeds, while pretty painted
butterflies and fierce-looking dragon-flies float, as it were, on the
summer sunbeams, and simmer in the air. The haymakers are at work; and
half their work is hammering the soft edges of their very miserable
scythes, which they then dip in the water. Now they have a chat; and as
I whiz by round a corner, there is a row of open mouths and wondering
eyes, but an immediate return to courtesy with a touch of the hat, and
"Gut tag" when presence of mind is restored. Then they call to their
mates, and laugh with rustic satisfaction--a laugh that is real and
true, not cynical, but the recognition of a strange incongruity, that of
a reasonable being pent up in a boat and hundreds of miles from home,
yet whistling most cheerfully all the time.

Soon the hills on either side have houses and old castles, and then
wood, and, lastly, rock; and with these, mingling the bold, the wild,
and the sylvan, there begins a grand panorama of river beauties to be
unrolled for days and days. No river I have seen equals this Upper
Danube, and I have visited many pretty streams. The wood is so thick,
the rocks so quaint and high and varied, the water so clear, and the
grass so green. Winding here and turning there, and rushing fast down
this reach and paddling slow along that, with each minute a fresh view,
and of new things, the mind is ever on the _qui vive_, or the boat will
go bump on a bank, crash on a rock, or plunge into a tree full of gnats
and spiders. This is veritable travelling, where skill and tact are
needed to bear you along, and where each exertion of either is rewarded
at once. I think, also, it promotes decision of character, for you
_must_ choose, and that promptly, too, between, say, five channels
opened suddenly before you. Three are probably safe, but which of these
three is the shortest, deepest, and most practicable? In an instant, if
you hesitate, the boat is on a bank; and it is remarkable how speedily
the exercise of this resolution becomes experienced into habit, but of
course only after some severe lessons.

It is exciting to direct a camel over the sandy desert when you have
lost your fellow-travellers, and to guide a horse in trackless wilds
alone; but the pleasure of paddling a canoe down a rapid, high-banked,
and unknown river, is far more than these.

Part of this pleasure flows from the mere sense of rapid motion. In
going down a swift reach of the river there is the same sensation about
one's diaphragm which is felt when one goes forward smoothly on a lofty
rope swing. Now the first few days of the Danube are upon very fast
waters. Between its source and Ulm the descent of the river is about
1,500 feet.[VIII.] This would give 300 feet of fall for each of a five
days' journey; and it will be seen from this that the prospect for the
day's voyage is most cheering when you launch in the morning and know
you will have to descend about the height of St. Paul's Cathedral before
halting for the night.

 [VIII.] The best geographical books give different estimates of
  this, some above and others below the amount here stated.

Another part of the pleasure--it is not to be denied--consists in the
satisfaction of overcoming difficulties. When you have followed a
channel chosen from several, and, after half-a-mile of it, you see one
and another of the rejected channels emerging from its island to join
that you are in, there is a natural pride in observing that any other
streamlet but the one you had chosen would certainly have been a
mistake.

These reflections are by the way; and we have been winding the while
through a rich grassy plain till a bridge over the river made it seem
quite a civilized spot, and, just as I passed under, there drove along
one of the green-boughed waggons of jovial singers returning from
Donaueschingen. Of course they recognised the canoe, and stopped to give
her a hearty cheer, ending with a general chorus made up of the few
English words of their vocabulary, "All r-r-r-r-ight, Englishmánn!" "All
r-r-r-r-ight, Englishmánn!"[IX.]

 [IX.] See sketch, _ante_, page 49.

The coincidence of these noisy but good-humoured people having been
assembled in the morning, when the canoe had started from the source of
the Danube, caused the news of its adventure to be rapidly carried to
all the neighbouring towns, so that the Rob Roy was welcomed at once,
and the newspapers recorded its progress not only in Germany and France,
but in England, and even in Sweden and in America.

At the village of Geisingen it was discovered that the boiler of my
engine needed some fuel, or, in plain terms, I must breakfast. The
houses of the town were not close to the river, but some workmen were
near at hand, and I had to leave the canoe in the centre of the stream
moored to a plank, with very strict injunctions (in most distinct
English!) to an intelligent boy to take charge of her until my return;
and then I walked to the principal street, and to the best-looking
house, and knocked, entered, asked for breakfast, and sat down, and was
speedily supplied with an excellent meal. One after another the people
came in to look at the queer stranger who was clad so oddly, and had
come--aye, _how_ had he come? that was what they argued about in
whispers till he paid his bill, and then they followed to see where he
would go, and thus was there always a congregation of inquisitive but
respectful observers as we started anew.

Off again, though the August sun is hot. But we cannot stop now. The
shade will be better enjoyed when resting in the boat under a high rock,
or in a cool water cave, or beneath a wooden bridge, or within the
longer shadow of a pine-clad cliff.

Often I tried to rest those midday hours (for one cannot always work) on
shore, in a house, or on a grassy bank; but it was never so pleasant as
at full length in the canoe, under a thick grown oak-tree, with a book
to read dreamily, and a mild cigar at six for a penny, grown in the
fields we passed, and made up at yesterday's inn.[X.]

 [X.] Two stimulants well known in England are much used in
  Germany,--tea and tobacco.

  (1) The tobacco plant (sometimes styled a weed, because it also grows
  wild) produces leaves, which are dried and rolled, and then treated with
  fire, using an appropriate instrument, by which the fumes are inhaled.
  The effect upon many persons is to soothe; but it impairs the appetite
  of others. The use is carried to excess in Turkey. The leaves contain a
  deadly poison.

  (2) The tea weed (sometimes styled a plant, because it also grows under
  cultivation) produces leaves, which are dried and rolled, and then
  treated with fire, using an appropriate instrument, by which the
  infusion is imbibed. The effect upon many persons is to cheer; but it
  impairs the sleep of others. The use is carried to excess in Russia. The
  leaves contain a deadly poison.

  Both these luxuries are cheap and portable, and are daily enjoyed by
  millions of persons in all climates. Both require care and moderation in
  their use. Both have advocates and enemies; and it cannot be settled by
  argument whether the plant or the weed is the more useful or hurtful to
  mankind.

Let it be well understood that this picture only describes the resting
time, and not the active hours of progress in the cooler part of the day
before and after the bright meridian sun.

In working hours there was no lazy lolling, the enjoyment was that of
delightful exertion, varied at every reach of the river.

You start, indeed, quietly enough, but are sure soon to hear the
well-known rushing sound of a milldam, and this almost every day, five
or six times. On coming to it I usually went straight along the top edge
of the weir, looking over for a good place to descend by, and surveying
the innumerable little streams below to see my best course afterwards.
By this time the miller and his family and his men, and all the
neighbours, would run down to see the new sight, but I always lifted out
my little black knapsack and put my paddle on shore, and then stepped
out and pulled my boat over or round the obstruction, sometimes through
a hayfield or two, or by a lane, or along a wall, and then launched her
again in deep water. Dams less than four feet high one can "shoot" with
a headlong plunge into the little billows at the foot, but this wrenches
the boot if it strikes against a stone, and it is better to get out and
ease her through, lift her over, or drag her round.

In other places I had to sit astride on the stern of the canoe, with
both legs in the water, fending her off from big stones on either side,
and cautiously steering.[XI.]

 [XI.] The invention of this method was made here, but its
  invaluable advantages were more apparent in passing the second rapid of
  Rheinfelden. See _post_, page 186, where described, with a sketch.

But with these amusements, and a little wading, you sit quite dry, and,
leaning against the backboard, smoothly glide past every danger, lolling
at ease where the current is excessive, and where it would not be safe
to add impetus, for the shock of a collision there would break the
strongest boat.

If incidents like these, and the scenery and the people ashore, were not
enough to satisfy the ever greedy mind, some louder plashing, with a
deeper roar, would announce the rapids. This sound was sure to waken up
any sleepiness, and once in the middle of rough water all had to be
energy and life.

I never had a positive upset, but of course I had to jump out
frequently to save the boat, for the first care was the canoe, and the
second was my luggage, to keep it all dry, the sketch-book in
particular, while the third object was to get on comfortably and fast.

After hours of these pleasures of work and rest, and a vast deal seen
and heard and felt that would take too long to tell, the waning sun, and
the cravings within for dinner, warned me truly that I had come near the
stopping-place for the night.

The town of Tuttlingen is built on both sides of the river, and almost
every house is a dyer's shop or a tannery, with men beating, scraping,
and washing hides in the water. As I allowed the boat to drift among
these the boys soon found her out--a new object--and therefore to boys
(and may it always be so) well worth a shout and a run; so a whole posse
of little Germans scampered along beside me, but I could not see any
feasible-looking inn.

It is one of the privileges of this water tour that you can survey
calmly all the whereabouts; and being out of reach of the touters and
porters who harass the wretched traveller delivered to their grasp from
an omnibus or a steamboat, you can philosophize on the whole _morale_ of
a town, and if so inclined can pass it, and simply go on. In fact, on
several occasions I did not fancy a town, so we went on to another.
However, I was fairly nonplussed now. It would not do to go further, for
it was not a thickly-peopled country; but I went nearly to the end of
the place in search of a good landing, till I turned into a millrace and
stepped ashore.

The crowd pressed so closely that I had to fix on a boy who had a toy
barrow with four little wheels, and amid much laughter I persuaded the
boy to lend it (of course as a great honour to him), and so I pulled the
boat on this to the hotel. The boy's sixpence of reward was a fact that
brought all the juvenile population together, and though we hoisted the
canoe into a hayloft and gave very positive injunction to the ostler to
keep her safe, there was soon a string of older sightseers admitted one
by one; and even at night they were mounting the ladder with lanterns,
women as well as men, to examine the "schiff."

A total change of garments usually enabled me to stroll through the
villages in the evening without being recognised, but here I was
instantly known as I emerged for a walk, and it was evident that an
unusual attendance must be expected in the morning.

Tuttlingen is a very curious old town, with a good inn and bad pavement,
tall houses, all leaning here and there, and big, clumsy,
honest-looking men lounging after their work, and wonderfully
satisfied to chat in groups amid the signal darkness of unlighted
streets; very fat horses and pleasant-looking women, a bridge, and
numerous schoolboys; these are my impressions of Tuttlingen.

[Illustration: MORNING VISITORS. Page 65.]

Even at six o'clock next morning these boys had begun to assemble for
the sight they expected, and those of them who had satchels on their
backs seemed grievously disappointed to find the start would not come
off before their hour for early school.

However, the grown-up people came instead, and flocked to the bridge and
its approaches. While I was endeavouring to answer all the usual
questions as to the boat, a man respectfully asked me to delay the start
five minutes, as his aged father, who was bedridden, wished exceedingly
just to see the canoe. In all such cases it is a pleasure to give
pleasure, and to sympathize with the boundless delight of the boys,
remembering how as a boy a boat delighted me; and then, again, these
worthy, mother-like, wholesome-faced dames, how could one object to
their prying gaze, mingled as it was with friendly smile and genuine
interest?

The stream on which I started here was not the main channel of the
Danube, but a narrow arm of the river conducted through the town, while
the other part fell over the mill-weir. The woodcut shows the scene at
starting, and there were crowds as large as this at other towns; but a
picture never can repeat the shouts and bustle, or the sound of guns
firing and bells ringing, which on more than one occasion celebrated the
Rob Roy's morning paddle.

The lovely scenery of this day's voyage often reminded me of that upon
the Wye,[XII.] in its best parts between Ross and Chepstow. There were the
white rocks and dark trees, and caverns, crags, and jutting peaks you
meet near Tintern; but then the Wye has no islands, and its muddy water
at full tide has a worse substitute in muddier banks when the sea has
ebbed.

 [XII.] Murray says: "The Meuse has been compared to the Wye; but
  is even more romantic than the English river." I would rank the Wye as
  much above the Meuse as below the Danube for romance in scenery.

The islands on beauteous Donau were of all sizes and shapes. Some low
and flat, and thickly covered with shrubs; others of stalwart rock,
stretching up at a sharp angle, under which the glassy water bubbled all
fresh and clear.

Almost each minute there was a new scene, and often I backed against
the current to hold my post in the best view of some grand picture.
Magnificent crags reached high up on both sides, and impenetrable
forests rung with echoes when I shouted in the glee of health, freedom,
and exquisite enjoyment.

But scenes and sentiments will not feed the hungry paddler, so I decided
to stop at Friedingen, a village on the bank. There was a difficulty now
as to where the canoe could be left, for no inn seemed near enough to
let me guard her while I breakfasted. At length a mason helped me to
carry the Rob Roy into a donkey's stable, and a boy volunteered to guide
the stranger to the best inn. The first, and the second, and the third
he led me to were all beerhouses, where only drink could be had; and as
the crowd augmented at every stage, I dismissed the ragged cicerone, and
trusted myself instead to the sure leading of that unnamed instinct
which guides a hungry man to food. Even the place found at last, was
soon filled with wondering spectators. A piece of a German and English
dictionary from my baggage excited universal attention, and was several
times carried outside to those who had not secured reserved seats
within.

The magnificent scenery culminated at Beuron, where a great convent on a
rich mound of grass is nearly surrounded by the Danube, amid a spacious
amphitheatre of magnificent white cliffs perfectly upright, and clad
with the heaviest wood.

The place looks so lonely, though fair, that you could scarcely believe
you might stop there for the night, and so I had nearly swept by it
again into perfect solitude, but at last pulled up under a tree, and
walked through well ploughed fields to the little hamlet in this
sequestered spot.

The field labourers were of course surprised at the apparition of a man
in flannel, who must have come out of the river; but the people at the
Kloster had already heard of the "schiff," and the Rob Roy was soon
mounted on two men's shoulders, and borne in triumph to the excellent
hotel. The Prince who founded the monastery is, I believe, himself a
monk.

Now tolls the bell for "even song," while my dinner is spread in an
arbour looking out on this grand scene, made grander still by dark
clouds gathering on the mountains, and a loud and long thunder peal,
with torrents of rain.

This deluge of wet came opportunely when I had such good shelter, as it
cooled the air, and would strengthen the stream of the river; so I
admired the venerable monks with complacent satisfaction, a feeling
never so complete as when you are inside, and you look at people who
are out in the rain.

A young girl on a visit to her friends here could talk bad French
rapidly, so she was sent to gossip with me as I dined; and then the
whole family inspected my sketch-book, a proceeding which happened at
least twice every day for many weeks of the voyage. This emboldened me
to ask for some music, and we adjourned to a great hall, where a concert
was soon in progress with a guitar, a piano, and a violin, all well
played; and the Germans are never at a loss for a song.

My young visitor, Melanie, then became the interpreter in a curious
conversation with the others, who could speak only German; and I
ventured to turn our thoughts on some of the nobler things which ought
not to be long absent from the mind--I mean, what is loved, and feared,
enjoyed, and derided, as "religion."

In my very limited baggage I had brought some selected pieces and
Scripture anecdotes and other papers in French and German, and these
were used on appropriate occasions, and were always well received, often
with exceedingly great interest and sincere gratitude.

Some people are shy about giving tracts, or are even afraid of them. But
then some people are shy of speaking at all, or even dislike to ride,
or skate, or row. One need not laugh at another for this.

The practice of carrying a few printed pages to convey in clear language
what one cannot accurately speak in a foreign tongue is surely
allowable, to say the least. But I invariably find it to be very useful
and interesting to myself and to others; and, as it hurts nobody, and
has nothing in it of which to be proud or ashamed, and as hundreds of
men do it, and as I have done it for years, and will do it again, I am
far too old a traveller to be laughed out of it now.

The Kloster at Beuron is a favourite place for excursionists from the
towns in the neighbourhood, and no doubt some day soon it will be a
regular "place to see" for English travellers rowing down the Danube;
for it is thus, and only thus, you can approach it with full effect. The
moon had come forth as I leaned out of my bedroom window, and it
whitened the ample circus of beetling crags, and darkened the trees,
while a fainter and redder light glimmered from the monks' chapel, as
the low tones of midnight chanting now and then reached the ear. Perhaps
it is better to wear a monk's cowl than to wear consistently a layman's
common coat in the workday throng of life; and it _may_ be better to
fast and chant and kneel at shrines than to be temperate and thankful
and prayerful in the busy world. But I doubt.

After leaving Beuron, with the firing of guns and the usual pleasant
good wishes from the shore, the Danube carried us between two lofty
rocks, and down calm reaches for hours. The water was unspeakably clear;
you could see right into deep caverns far below. I used to gaze
downwards for so long a time at the fish moving about, and to strike at
them with my long paddle (never once hitting any), that I forgot the
boat was swinging along all the time, till bump she went on a bank, or
crash against a rocky isle, or rumbling into some thick trees, when a
shower of leaves, spiders, and rubbish wakened up my reverie. Then,
warned by the shock, I return to the plain duty of looking ahead, until,
perhaps, after an hour's active rushing through narrow "guts," and over
little falls, and getting out and hauling the boat down larger ones, my
eyes are wandering again, gazing at the peaks overhead, and at the
eagles soaring above them, and at the clear blue sky above all; till
again the Rob Roy heels over on a sunken stone, and I have to jump out
nimbly to save her from utter destruction. For days together I had my
feet bare, and my trousers tucked up, ready to wade at any moment, and
perfectly comfortable all the time, for a fiery sun dried every thing in
a few minutes.

The physical enjoyment of such a life to one in good health and good
spirits, with a good boat and good scenery, is only to be appreciated
after experience; for these little reminders that one must not actually
_sleep_ on a rushing river never resulted in any disaster, and I came
home without a cold or a scratch, or a hole in the boat, or one single
day regretted. May this be so for many a John Bull let loose on the
Continent to "paddle his own canoe."

On the rivers where there is no navigation and no towing paths it was
impossible to estimate the distances traversed each day, except by the
number of hours I was at work, the average speed, the strength of the
wind and current, and the number of stoppages for food or rest, or
mill-weirs, waterfalls, or barriers. Thirty miles was reckoned to be a
good day's work, and I have sometimes gone forty miles in a day; but
twenty was quite enough when the scenery and incidents on the way filled
up every moment of time with varied sensations of new pleasures.

It will generally be found, I think, that for walking in a pleasant
country twenty miles a day is enough for mind and body to be active and
observant all the time. But the events that occur in river work are far
more frequent and interesting than those on the road, for you have all
the circumstances of your boat in addition to what fills the
pedestrian's journal, and after a little time your canoe becomes so much
a companion (friend, shall I say?) that every turn it takes and every
knock and grate on its side is felt as if it were your own. The boat
gets to be individualized, and so does the river, till at last there is
a pleasant rivalry set up, for it is "man and boat" _versus_ the river
and all it can place in your way.

After a few tours on the Continent your first hour in a railway or
diligence may be new and enjoyable, but you soon begin to wish for the
end of the road, and after a short stay in the town you have come to you
begin to talk (or think) of when you are to leave. Now a feature of the
boating tour is that quiet progress can be enjoyed all the time, because
you have personal exertion or engagement for every moment, and your
observation of the scenery around is now most minute and interesting,
because every bend and slope of it tells at once what you have to do.

Certainly the pleasure of a day is not to be measured by the number of
miles you have gone over. The voyage yesterday, for instance, was one of
the very best for enjoyment of scenery, incident, and exercise, yet it
was the shortest day I had. The guide-book says, "Tuttlingen is twelve
miles"--by river, say eighteen--"from Kloster Beuron, where the fine
scenery begins. This part of the Danube is not navigable."

I will not say that on some occasions I did not wish for the end of the
day's work, when arms were weary, and the sun was low, and yearnings of
the inner man grumbling for dinner, especially when no one could tell
how far it was to any house, or whether you could stop there all night
if you reached it.




CHAPTER V.

     Sigmaringen--Treacherous trees--Congress of herons--Flying
     Dutchman--Tub and shovel--Bottle race--Snags--Bridge perils--Ya
     Vol--Ferry rope--Benighted.


The sides of the river were now less precipitous, and the road came
within a field or two of the water, and made it seem quite homely for a
time.

I had heard a loud jingling sound on this road for at least
half-an-hour, and observed a long cart with two horses trotting fast,
and evidently daring to race with the Rob Roy. But at length such
earnest signals were made from it that I stopped, and the cart at once
pulled up, and from it there ran across the field a man breathless and
hot, without his hat, and followed by two young ladies, equally hurried.
He was a German, resident for a short time in London, and now at home
for a month's holiday, and he was prodigal of thanks for my "great
courtesy" in having stopped that the ladies might see the canoe which
they had followed thus for some miles, having heard of its fame at their
village. On another occasion three youths voluntarily ran alongside the
boat and panted in the sun, and tumbled over stocks and stones at such a
rate, that after a mile of the supererogatory exercise, I asked what it
was all about. Excellent villagers! they had taken all this trouble to
arrive at a point further down the stream where they knew there was a
hard place, and they thought they might help me in passing it.

Such exertions on behalf of a stranger were really most kind, and when I
allowed them to give a nominal help, where in reality it was easy enough
to get on unaided, they were much delighted and more than rewarded, and
went back prattling their purest Suabian in a highly satisfied frame of
mind.

Many are the bends and currents, but at last we arrive at the town of
Sigmaringen. It has certainly an aristocratic air, though there are only
3,000 inhabitants; but then it has a Principality, though the whole
population of this is only 52,000. Fancy a parish in London with a
Prince all to themselves, and--bearing such a fine grand name too--"His
Royal Serene Highness the Hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern
Sigmaringen." But though I have often laughed at this petty kingdom in
the Geography books, I shall never do so again, for it contains some of
the most beautiful river scenery in the world, and I never had more
unalloyed pleasure in passing through a foreign dominion.

There are pretty gardens here, and a handsome Protestant church, and a
few good shops, schlosses on the hills, and older castles perched on
high rocks in the usual picturesque and uncomfortable places where our
ancestors built their nests.

The Deutscher Hof is the hotel just opened three weeks ago, and all its
inmates are in a flutter when their first English guest marches up to
the door with a boat and a great company of gazers. The waiter too, all
fresh from a year in London at the Palace Hotel, Buckingham Gate, how
glad he is that his English is now in requisition, sitting by me at
dinner and talking most sensibly all the time.

The weather still continued superb as we paddled away. Deep green woods
dipped their lower branches in the water, but I found that the stream
had sometimes a fashion of carrying the boat under these, and it is
especially needful to guard against this when a sharp bend with a fast
current hurries you into a wooded corner. Indeed, strange as it may
seem, there was more danger to the boat from these trees than from rocks
or banks, and far more trouble. For when the boat gets under their low
branches your paddle is quite powerless, because you cannot lower one
end to hold the water without raising the other and so catching it in
the trees. Then if you put your head down forward you cannot see, and
the boughs are generally as hard as an ordinary skull when the two are
in collision. Finally, if you lean backwards the twigs scrape your face
and catch upon a nose even of ordinary length, and if you take your hand
from the paddle to protect the face away goes the paddle into the river.
Therefore, although my hat was never knocked off, and my skull was
always the hardest, and my paddle was never lost, and my nose was never
de-Romanized by the branches, I set it down as a maxim, to keep clear of
trees in a stream.

Still it was tempting to go under shady groves when I tried to surprise
a flock of herons or a family of wild ducks.

Once we came upon twenty-four herons all together. As my boat advanced
silently, steadily gliding, it was curious to watch these birds, who had
certainly never been disturbed before by any boat in such a place.

They stared eagerly at me and then looked at each other, and evidently
took a vote of the assembly as to what all this could mean. If birds'
faces can give any expression of their opinions, it is certain that one
of these herons was saying then to the others "Did you ever?" and an
indignant sneer was on another's beak that plainly answered, "Such
impudence indeed!" while a third added, with a sarcastic chirp, "And a
foreigner too!" But, after consultation, they always got up and circled
round, flew down stream, and then settled all again together in an
adjourned meeting. A few minutes brought me to their new retreat, and so
we went on for miles, they always flying down stream, and always
assembling, though over and over again disturbed, until an amendment on
the plan was moved and they bent their way aside.

A pleasant and favourable breeze springing up, which soon freshened into
a gale, I now set my sails, and the boat went with very great speed;
dashing over rocks and bounding past the haymakers so fast that when one
who caught sight of her had shouted to the rest of his "mates," the
sight was departed for ever before they came, and I heard them behind me
arguing, probably about the ghost.

But it was a shame to be a phantom ship too often, and it was far more
amusing to go right into the middle of these people, who knew nothing
about the canoe, who had never seen a boat, and never met a foreigner in
their lives. Thus, when a waterfall was found too high to "shoot," or a
wide barrier made it advisable to take the boat by land, I used to walk
straight into the hayfields, pushing the boat point foremost through a
hedge, or dragging her steadily over the wet newly-mown grass in literal
imitation of the American craft which could go "wherever there was a
heavy dew." On such occasions the amazement of the untaught clowns,
beholding suddenly such an apparition, was beyond all description. Some
even ran away, very often children cried outright, and when I looked
gravely on the ground as I marched and dragged the boat, and then
suddenly stopped in their midst with a hearty laugh and an address in
English, the whole proceeding may have appeared to them at least as
strange as it did to me.

[Illustration: "In the Hayfields."]

The water of the river all at once became here of a pale white colour,
and I was mourning that my pretty scenes below were clouded; but in
about thirty miles the pebbly deeps appeared again, and the stream
resumed its charming limpid clearness. This matter of dark or bright
water is of some importance, because, when it is clear you can easily
estimate after a little experience the general depth, even at some
distance, by the shades and hues of the water, while the sunk rocks, big
stones, and other particular obstacles are of course more visible then.

Usually I got well enough fed at some village, or at least at a house,
but in this lonely part of the river it seemed wise to take provender
with me in the boat, and to picnic in some quiet pool, with a shady tree
above. One of the very few boats I saw on the river appeared as I was
thus engaged, and a little boy was in it. His specimen of naval
architecture (no doubt the only one he had ever seen) was an odd
contrast to the beautifully finished canoe made by Searle. He had a pole
and a shovel; the latter article he used as a paddle, and his boat was
of enormous thickness and clumsiness, made of three planks, abundantly
clamped with iron. I gave him some bread, and we had a chat; then some
butter, and then some cheese. He would not take wine, but he produced a
cigar from his wet jacket, and also two matches, which he lighted with
great skill. We soon got to be friends, as people do who are together
alone, and in the same mode of travelling, riding, or sailing, or on
camels' backs. So we smiled in sympathy, and I asked him if he could
read, and gave him a neat little page prettily printed in German, with a
red border. This he read very nicely and was glad to put in his ragged
pocket; but he could scarcely part from me, and struggled vainly to urge
his tub along with the shovel till we came to a run of dashing waves,
and then of course I had to leave him behind, looking and yearning, with
a low, murmuring sound, and a sorrowful, earnest gaze I shall never
forget.

Shoals of large and small fish are in this river, and very few
fishermen. I did not see ten men fishing in ten days. But the pretty
little Kingfisher does not neglect his proper duties, and ever and anon
his round blue back shines in the sun as he hurries away with a note of
protest against the stranger who has invaded his preserves. Bees are
buzzing while the sun is hot, and when it sinks, out gush the endless
mazes of gnats to hop and flit their tangled dances, the creatures of a
day--born since the morning, and to die at night.

Before the Danube parted with the rocks that had been on each side for
days together, it played some strange pranks among them, and they with
it.

Often they rose at each side a hundred feet without a bend, and then
behind these were broken cliffs heaved this way and that, or tossed
upside down, or as bridges hanging over chasms.

Here and there a huge splinted tooth-like spire of stone stuck out of
the water, leaning at an angle. Sometimes in front there was a veritable
upright wall, as smooth as if it were chiselled, and entirely cutting
off the middle of the stream. In advancing steadily to such a place it
was really impossible to determine on which side the stream could by any
means find an exit, and once indeed I was persuaded that it must descend
below.

In other cases the river, which had splayed out its width to that of the
Thames at Hungerford, would suddenly narrow its size to a six-foot
passage, and rush down that with a "whishhh!" The Rob Roy cheerily sped
through these, but I landed to scan the course before attempting the
most difficult cuts.--Oh how lonely it was! A more difficult vagary to
cope with was when in a dozen petty streams the water tumbled over as
many little cascades, and only one was passable--sometimes not one. The
interest of finding these, examining, trying, failing, and succeeding,
was a continuous delight, and filled up every mile with a series of
exciting incidents, till at length the rocks were done.

And now we enter a vast plain, with the stream bending round on itself,
and hurrying swiftly on through the innumerable islands, eddies, and
"snags," or trees uprooted, sticking in the water. At the most critical
part of this labyrinth we were going a tremendous pace, when suddenly we
came to a fork in the river, with the volumes of water going down both
channels nearly equal. We could not descend by one of these because a
tree would catch the mast, so I instantly turned into the other, when up
started a man and shouted impetuously that no boat could pass by _that_
course. It was a moment of danger, but I lowered the sails in that
moment, took down my mast, and, despite stream and gale, I managed to
paddle back to the proper channel. As no man had been seen for hours
before, the arrival of this warning note was opportune.

A new amusement was invented to-day--it was to pitch out my empty
wine-bottle and to watch its curious bobbings and whirlings as the
current carried it along, while I floated near and compared the natural
course taken by the bottle with the selected route which intelligence
gave to the Rob Roy. Soon the bottle became impersonated, and we were
racing together, and then a sympathy began for its well-known cork as it
plumped down when its bottom struck a stone--for the bottle drew more
water than my canoe--and every time it grounded there came a loud and
melancholy clink of the glass, and down it went.

The thick bushes near the river skirted it now for miles, and at one
place I could see above me, through the upper branches, about 20
haymakers, men and women, who were honestly working away, and therefore
had not observed my approach.

I resolved to have a bit of fun here, so we closed in to the bank, but
still so as to see the industrious group. Then suddenly I began in a
very loud voice with--

    "Rule, Britannia,
    Britannia rules the waves."

Long before I got to the word "slaves" the whole party were like
statues, silent and fixed in amazement. Then they looked right, left,
before, behind, and upwards in all directions, except, of course, into
the river, for why should they look _there_? nothing had ever come up
from the river to disturb their quiet mead. I next whistled a lively
air, and then dashing out of my hiding-place stood up in my boat, and
made a brief (but, we trust, brilliant) speech to them in the best
English I could muster, and in a moment afterwards we had vanished from
their sight.

A little further on there was some road-making in progress, and I pulled
up my boat under a tree and walked up to the "barraque," or workman's
canteen, and entered among 30 or 40 German "navvies," who were sitting
at their midday beer. I ordered a glass and drank their health standing,
paid, bowed, and departed, but a general rush ensued to see where on
earth this flannel-clad being had come from, and they stood on the bank
in a row as I waded, shoved, hauled, paddled, and carried my boat
through a troublesome labyrinth of channels and embankments, with which
their engineering had begun to spoil the river.

But the bridges one had now more frequently to meet were far worse
encroachments of civilization, for most of them were so low that my mast
would not pass under without heeling the boat over to one side, so as to
make the mast lean down obliquely. In one case of this kind she was very
nearly shipwrecked, for the wind was so good that I would not lower the
sail, and this and a swift current took us (me and my boat--she is now,
you see, installed as a "person") rapidly to the centre arch, when just
as we entered I noticed a fierce-looking snag with a sharp point exactly
in my course. To swerve to the side would be to strike the wooden pier,
but even this would be better (for I might ward off the violence of a
blow near my hands) than to run on the snag, which would be certain to
cut a hole.

With a heavy thump on the pier the canoe began to capsize, and only by
the nearest escape was she saved from foundering. What I thought was a
snag turned out to be the point of an iron stake or railing, carelessly
thrown into the water from the bridge above.

It may be here remarked that many hidden dangers occur near bridges, for
there are wooden or iron bars fixed under water, or rough sharp stones
lying about, which, being left there when the bridge was building, are
never removed from a river not navigable or used by boats.

Another kind of obstruction is the thin wire rope suspended across the
rivers, where a ferry is established by running a flat boat over the
stream with cords attached to the wire rope. The rope is black in
colour, and therefore is not noticed till you approach it too near to
lower the mast, but this sort of danger is easily avoided by the
somewhat sharp "look-out" which a week or two on the water makes quite
instinctive and habitual. Perhaps one of the many advantages of a river
tour is the increased acuteness of observation which it requires and
fosters.

I stopped next at a clumsy sort of town called Riedlingen, where an
Englishman is a very rare visitor. The excitement here about the boat
became almost ridiculous, and one German, who had been in America and
could jabber a little in English, was deputed to ask questions, while
the rest heard the answers interpreted.

Next morning at eight o'clock at least a thousand people gathered on the
bridge and its approaches to see the boat start, and shoals of
schoolboys ran in, each with his little knapsack of books.[XIII.]

 [XIII.] Knapsack, from "schnap," "sach," provision bag, for "bits
  and bats," as we should say; havresack is from "hafer," "forage bag."
  Query.--Does this youthful carriage of the knapsack adapt boys for
  military service, and does it account for the high shoulders of many
  Germans?

The scenery after this became of only ordinary interest compared with
what I had passed through, but there would have been little spare time
to look at it had it been ever so picturesque, for the wind was quite a
gale,[XIV.] and right in my favour, and the stream was fast and tortuous
with banks, eddies, and innumerable islands and cross channels, so that
the navigation occupied all one's energy, especially as it was a point
of honour not to haul down the sail in a fair wind.

 [XIV.] In the newspaper accounts of the weather it was stated that
  at this time a storm swept over Central Europe.

Midday came, and yet I could find no place to breakfast, though the
excitement and exertion of thus sailing was really hard work. But still
we hurried on, for dark clouds were gathering behind, and thunder and
rain seemed very near.

"Ah," said I inwardly, "had I only listened to that worthy dame's
entreaties this morning to take good provision for the day!" She had
smiled like the best of mothers, and timidly asked to be allowed to
touch my watch-chain, "it was so _schon_," so beautiful to see. But,
oddly enough, we had taken no solid food on board to-day, being so
impatient to get off when the wind was strong and fair. The rapid pace
then brought us to Ehingen, the village I had marked on the map for this
night's rest. But now we came there it was found to be _too soon_--I
could not stop for the day with such a splendid breeze inviting
progress; nor would it do to leave the boat on the bank and go to the
village to eat, for it was too far from the river, and so the current
and sails must hurry us on as before.

Now and then I asked some gazing agriculturist on the bank where the
nearest houses were, but he never could understand that I meant
_nearest, and also close to the river_; so the end of every discussion
was that he said, "Ya vol," which means in Yankee tongue, "That's so";
in Scottish, "Hoot, aye"; in Irish, "Troth, an' it is"; and in French,
"C'est vrai"; but then none of this helps one a bit.

I therefore got first ravenous and then faint, and after mounting the
bank to see the turns of the river in advance, I actually fell asleep
under a tree. The wind had quite subsided when I awoke, and then quaffed
deep draughts of water and paddled on.

The banks were now of yellow mud, and about eight or ten feet high,
quite straight up from the water, just like those on the Nile, and
several affluent streams ran from the plain to join the river. Often,
indeed, I saw a church tower right ahead, and laboured along to get
there, but after half-a-mile the stream would turn sharp round to one
side, and still more and more round, and at last the tower once in front
was directly behind us. The explanation of this tormenting peculiarity
was simply this,--that the villages were carefully built _away_ from the
river bank because it is a bad foundation, and is washed away as new
channels are formed by the flood.

When the light began to fail I took a good look at the map, and
serpentine bends were marked on it plain enough indeed, but only in
one-half of their actual number; and, moreover, I saw that in the forest
we had now entered there would be no suitable villages at all. The
overhanging trees made a short twilight soon deepen into night; and to
add to the interest the snags suddenly became numerous, and some of them
waved about in the current, as they do on the Upper Mississippi, when
the tenacious mud holds down the roots merely by its weight. All this
made it necessary to paddle slowly and with great caution, and to cross
always to the slack side of the stream instead of by one's usual course,
which, in descending, is to keep with the rapid current.

Sometimes I had to back out of shallows which were invisible in the
dark, and often I stopped a long time before a glance of some ripple
obscurely told me the probable course. The necessity for this caution
will be evident when it is remembered that in case of an upset here
_both_ sets of clothes would have been wet together, and without any
house at hand to dry them.

All at once I heard a bell toll quite near me in the thick wood, and I
came to the bank, but it was impossible to get ashore on it, so I passed
that place too, and finally made up my mind to sleep in the boat, and
soon had all sorts of plans in course of devising.

Just then two drops of rain came on my nose, and I resolved at once to
stop, for if my clothes got wet before I was snug in the canoe there
would be little comfort all night, without anything solid to eat since
morning, and all my cigars already puffed away.

As I now cautiously searched for some root projecting from the bank to
make fast to, a light appeared straight in front, and I dashed forward
with the boat to reach it, and speedily ran her into a strange sort of
lake or pond, where the stream ceased, and a noise on the boat's side
told of weeds, which proved to be large round leaves on the surface,
like those of the Victoria Regia lily.

I drew up the boat on shore, and mounted the high bank through a
thicket, carrying my long paddle as a protection against the large dogs
which farmhouses sport here, and which might be troublesome to quarrel
with in the dark. The house I came to on the top of the precipice had
its window lighted, and several people were talking inside, so I
knocked loudly, and all was silence. Then I knocked again, and whined
out that I was a poor benighted "Englander," and hoped they would let me
in, at which melancholy tale they burst out laughing, and so did I!
After an argument between us, which was equally intelligible on both
sides, a fat farmer cautiously took the light upstairs, and, opening a
window, thrust the candle forward, and gazed out upon me standing erect
as a true Briton, and with my paddle, too, but in reality a humiliated
vagrant begging for a night's lodging.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

After due scrutiny he pulled in his head and his candle, shut the
window, and fell to laughing immoderately. At this I was glad, for I
never found it difficult to get on with a man who begins in good humour.

Presently the others went up, and I stood their gaze unflinchingly, and,
besides, made an eloquent appeal in the vernacular--mine, not theirs, be
it clearly understood.

Finally they were satisfied that I was alone, and, though probably mad,
yet not quite a match for all of them, so they came down gallantly; but
then there was the difficulty of persuading the man to grope down to the
river on this dark night to carry up a boat.

With some exertion we got it up by a better way, and safely locked it in
the cowhouse of another establishment, and there I was made thoroughly
comfortable. They said they had nothing to eat but kirchwasser, bread,
and eggs, and how many eggs would I like? so I said, "To begin with,
ten," and I ate them every one. By this time the priest had come; they
often used to send for the _prester_ to do the talk. The large room soon
got full, and the sketch-book was passed round, and an India-rubber band
made endless merriment for the smaller fry, all in the old routine, the
very mention of which it may be tedious to hear of so often, as indeed
it was to me to perform.

But then in each case it was _their_ first time of going through the
performance, and they were so kind and courteous one could not refuse to
please such people. The priest was very communicative, and we tried to
converse in Latin, for my German was not good enough for him nor his
French for me. But we soon agreed that it was a long time since our
schoolboy Latin days, though I recollect having had long conversations
in Latin with a monk at Nazareth, but there we had ten days together,
and so had time to practise.

Thus ended the 1st of September, the only occasion on which I had to
"rough it" at all during the voyage; and even then, it may be seen, the
very small discomforts were all the results of gross want of prudence on
my own part, and ended merely by a hard day's work with breakfast and
dinner merged into a late supper. My bill here was 3_s._ 6_d._, the day
before, 4_s._ 6_d._, including always wine and luxuries.




CHAPTER VI.

     Day-dream--River Iller--Ulm--A stiff king--Lake
     Constance--Seeing in the dark--Switzerland--Coloured
     Canvas--Sign talk--Synagogue--Amelia--Gibberish.


The threatening rain had not come during the night, and it was a lovely
morning next day, like all the rest before and after it; and as we were
leaving this place I found it was called Gegglingen,[XV.] and was only
nine miles from Ulm.

 [XV.] It will be noticed how the termination "_ingen_" is common
  here. Thus in our water route we have passed Donaueschingen, Geisingen,
  Mehringen, Tuttlingen, Friedingen, Sigmaringen, Riedlingen, Ehingen,
  Dischingen, and Gegglingen, the least and last. In England we have the
  "ing" in Dorking, Kettering, &c.

The lofty tower of the Cathedral of this town soon came in view, but I
noticed it without any pleasure, for this was to end my week on the
Danube; and in my ship's log it is entered as "one of the most pleasant
weeks of my life for scenery, health, weather, exercise, and varied
adventure."

In a pensive mood, therefore, I landed at a garden, and reclined on a
warm mossy bank to have a rest and a day-dream, but very soon the loud
booming of artillery aroused the hill echoes, and then sharp rattling of
infantry firing. The heights around were crested with fringes of
blue-coated soldiers and glistening bayonets, amid the soft round,
cotton-like volumes of smoke from the great guns spurting out fire long
before the sound comes. It was a review of troops and a sham attack on a
fort surmounting the hill, near the battlefield of long years ago at
Ulm. If they fought in heat and fury, let them now rest in peace.

Come back, my thoughts, to the river at my feet.

I had been with this river from its infancy, nay, even from its birth in
the Schwartzwald. I had followed it right and left, as it seemed to
toddle in zigzag turnings like a child; and I had wound with it hither
and thither as it roamed away further like free boyhood. Then it grew in
size by feeding on the oozy plain, and was still my companion when it
got the strength of youth, dashing over the rocks, and bounding through
the forests; and I had come at last to feel its powerful stream stronger
than my strength, and compelling my respect. And now, at Ulm, I found it
a noble river, steady and swift, as if in the flower of age; but its
romance was gone. It had boats on it, and navigation, and bridges, and
railways, like other great waters; and so I would let it go on alone,
tumbling, rushing, swelling, till its broad bosom bears whole fleets at
Ofen, and at length as a great water giant it leaps down headlong into
the Black Sea.

Having seen Ulm in a former tour, I was in no mood to "go over" the
sights again, nor need they be related here, for it is only river travel
and lake sailing that we are concerned with; while reference may be made
to the Guide-books if you wish to hear this sort of thing: "Ulm, lat.
97°, an old Cathedral (_a_) town, on two (§) hills (see Appx.). Pop.
9763; situated [+][+] on the Danube." At that I stop, and
look into the water once more.

The river is discoloured here,--what is called in Scotland "drumly;" and
this seems partly owing to the tributary _Iller_, which rises in the
Tyrol, and falls into the Danube, a little way above the town. The Iller
has a peculiar air of wild, forlorn bleakness, with its wide channel
half occupied by cold white gravel, and its banks scored and torn, with
weird, broken roots, gnarled trees, bleakness and fallen, all lying
dishevelled; surely in flood times, and of dark wintry nights, a very
deluge boils and seethes along there.

Then, at last, there are the barges on the Danube, and very rudimental
they are; huge in size, with flat bottoms, and bows and stems cocked up,
and a roofed house in the middle of their sprawling length. The German
boys must have these models before them when they make the Noah's Arks
for English nurseries; and Murray well says of these barges, they are
"nothing better than wooden sheds floating in flat trays."

In 1839 a steamer was tried here, but it got on a bank, and the effort
was abandoned; so you have to go on to Donauwerth before this mode of
travelling is reached, but from thence you can steam down to the Black
Sea, and the passage boats below Vienna are very fast and well
appointed.

Rafts there are at Ulm, but we suppose the timber for them comes by the
Iller, for I did not notice any logs descending the upper part of the
Danube.

Again, there are the public washhouses in the river, each of them a
large floating establishment, with overhanging eaves, under which you
can see, say, fifty women all in a row, half kneeling or leaning over
the low bulwarks, and all slapping your best shirts mercilessly.

I made straight over to these ladies, and asked how the Rob Roy could
get up so steep a bank, and how far it was to the railway; and so their
senior matron kindly got a man and a hand-cart for the boat, and, as the
company of women heard it was from England, they all talked louder and
more together, and pounded and smacked the unfortunate linen with
additional emphasis.

The bustle at the railway-station was only half about the canoe; the
other half was for the King of Wurtemburg, who was getting into his
special train to go to his palace at Fredrickshafen.

Behold me, then, fresh from Gegglingen and snags, in the immediate
presence of Royalty! But this King was not at all kingly, though
decidedly stiff. He is, however, rather amusing sometimes; as when by
his order, issued lately, he compels sentries to salute even empty Royal
carriages.

I got a newspaper here, and had twelve days to overtake of the world's
doings while we had roamed in hill, forest, and waves. Yet I had been
always asked there to "give the news," and chiefly on two points,--the
Great Eastern, with its electric cable, and the catastrophe on the
Matterhorn glacier, the two being at times vaguely associated, as if
the breaking of the cable in the one had something to do with the loss
of mountaineers in the other.

So, while I read, the train bore us southwards to Fredrickshafen, the
canoe being charged as baggage three shillings, and patiently submitting
to have a numbered label pasted on its pretty brown face.

This lively port, on the north side of the Lake of Constance, has a
charming view in front of it well worth stopping to enjoy. It is not
fair to treat it as only a half-hour's town, to be seen while you are
waiting for the lake steamer to take you across to Switzerland.

But now I come to it for a Sunday's rest (if you wish to travel fast and
far, rest every Sunday), and, as the hotel faced the station, and the
lake faced the hotel, this is the very place to stop in with a canoe.

So we took the boat upstairs into a loft, where the washerwoman not only
gave room for the well worked timbers of the Rob Roy to be safe and
still, but kindly mended my sails, and sundry other odds and ends of a
wardrobe, somewhat disorganized by rough times.

Next day there was service in the Protestant church, a fine building,
well filled, and duly guarded by a beadle in bright array.

The service began by a woman singing "Comfort ye" from Handel, in
exquisite taste and simple style, with a voice that made one forget that
this solemn melody is usually sung by a man. Then a large number of
school children were ranged in the chancel, round a crucifix, and sang a
very beautiful hymn, and next the whole congregation joined in chanting
the psalms in unison, with tasteful feeling and devoutness. A young
German preacher gave us an eloquent sermon, and then the people were
dismissed.

The afternoon was drummed away by two noisy bands, evidently rivals, and
each determined to excel the other in loudness, while both combined to
persecute the poor visitors who _do_ wish for quietness, at any rate
once a week. I could scarcely escape from this din in a long walk by the
lake, and on coming back found a man bathing by moonlight, while
rockets, squibs, and Catherine wheels were let off in his boat. Better
indeed was it to look with entranced eyes on the far off snowy range,
now lit up by the full harvest moon, and on the sheen of "each
particular star," bright above, and bright again below, in the mirror of
the lake.

The Lake of Constance is forty-four miles long, and about nine miles
wide. I could not see a ripple there when the Rob Roy was launched at
early morn, with my mind, and body, and soul refreshed, and an eager
longing to begin the tour of Switzerland once more, but now in so new a
fashion. Soon we were far from the shore, and in that middle distance of
the lake where all sides seem equally near, and where the "other side"
appears never to get any nearer as you go on. Here, in the middle, I
rested for a while, and the sensation then was certainly new. Beauty was
everywhere around, and there was full freedom to see it. There was no
cut-and-dry route to be followed, no road, not even a track on the
water, no hours, or time to constrain. I could go right or left by a
stroke of the paddle, and I was utterly my own master of whither to
steer, and where to stop.

The "pat-a-pat" of a steamer's wheels was the only sound, and that was
very distant, and when the boat came near, the passengers cheered the
canoe, and smiles of (was it not?) envy told of how pleasant and pretty
she looked. After a little wavering in my plans, I settled it was best
to go to the Swiss side, and, after coasting by the villages, I selected
a little inn in a retired bay, and moored my boat, and ordered
breakfast. Here was an old man of eighty-six, landlord and waiter in
one, a venerable man, and I respect age more while growing older.

He talked with me for five hours while I ate, read, and sketched, and
feasted my eyes on mountain views, and answered vaguely to his remarks,
said in a sleepy way, and in a hot, quiet, basking sun. There are
peaceful and almost dreamy hours of rest in this water tour, and they
are sweet too after hard toil. It is not all rapids and struggles when
you journey with a canoe.

Close to the inn was the idiot asylum, an old castle with poor demented
women in it. The little flag of my boat attracted their attention, and
all the inmates were allowed to come out and see it, with many smiles of
pleasure, and many odd remarks and gestures.

Disentangling myself from this strange group, I landed again further
down, and, under a splendid tree, spent an hour or two in carpenter's
work (for I had a few tools on board), to repair the boat's damages and
to brighten her up a bit for the English eyes I must expect in the next
part of the voyage.

Not a wave had energy to rise on the lake in the hot sun. A sheep-bell
tinkled now and then, but in a tired, listless, and irregular way. A
gossamer spider had spun his web from my mast to the tree above, and
wagtails hopped near me on the stones, and turned an inquiring little
eye to the boat half in the water, and its master reclining on the
grass. It was an easy paddle from this to the town of Constance, at the
end of the lake.

Here a _douanier_ made a descent upon me and was inexorable. "You _must_
have the boat examined." "Very well, pray examine it." His Chief was
absent, and I must put the canoe in the Custom-house till to-morrow
morning. An hour was wasted in palaver about this, and at first I
protested vigorously against such absurdity in "free Switzerland." But
Constance is not in Switzerland, it is in the Grand Duchy of Baden, and
so to keep it "grand," they must do very little things, and at any rate
can trouble travellers. At length an obliging native, ashamed of the
proceeding, remonstrated with the douanier, and persuaded him at least
to search the boat and let it pass.

He took as much time to inspect as if she were a brig of 300 tons, and,
when he came to look at the stern, I gravely pointed to a round hole cut
in the partition for this very purpose! Into this hole he peered, while
the crowd was hushed in silence, and as he saw nothing but darkness,
extremely dark, for (nothing else was there), he solemnly pronounced the
canoe "free," and she was duly borne to the hotel.

But Constance once had a man in it who was really "grand," John Huss,
the noble martyr for the truth. In the Council Hall you see the
veritable cell in which he was imprisoned some hundreds of years ago,
and on a former visit I had seen, from the tower, through a telescope,
the field where the faggots burned him, and from whence his great soul
leaped up to heaven out of the blazing pile.

    "Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
      Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
      E'en them who kept thy truth so pure of old
    When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones."

        --_Milton._

Does not a thought or two on such great things make other common things
look small?

True and good--but we may not stop always in the lake to ponder thus,
for the current is moving again, so let us launch the Rob Roy on our old
friend, the Rhine.

It is a change to cross a quiet lake after being hurried on a rapid
stream like the Danube, and now it is another change to paddle from the
lake into a wide river like the Rhine, which speeds fast and steady
among lively scenes. The water is deep, and of a faint blue, but clear
enough to show what is below. The pebbly bottom seems to roll towards
you from underneath, and village churches appear to spin quietly round
on the banks, for the land and its things seem to move, not the water,
so glassy its surface steadily flowing.

Here are the fishers again, slowly paying out their fine-spun nets, and
there is a target-hut built on four piles in the river.

The target itself is a great cube of wood, say six feet on each side. It
is fired at from another hut perched also on post in the water, and a
"marker" safely placed behind the great block of wood turns it round on
a vertical pivot, and so patches up the bullet-hole, and indicates its
position to those who have fired.

The Rhine suddenly narrows soon after leaving the Boden See, or Lake
Constance as we call it, but the banks again open out till it is a mile
or two in breadth. Here and there are grassy islands, and you may
notice, by long stakes stuck on the shallows, which tremble as the water
presses them, that the channel for steamers is very roundabout, though
the canoe will skim over any part of it comfortably. Behind each islet
of tall reeds there is a fishing-boat held fast by two poles stuck in
the bottom of the river; or it is noiselessly moving to a more lucky
pool, sculled by the boatman, with his oar at only one side,--rather a
novel plan,--while he pays out the net with his other hand. Rudely-made
barges are afloat, and seem to turn round helplessly in the current of
the deeper parts, or hoist their great square sails in the dead
calm--perhaps for the appearance of the thing--a very picturesque
appearance, as the sail has two broad bands of dark blue cloth for its
centre stripes. But the pointed lateen sail of Geneva is certainly a
more graceful rig than the lug, especially when there are two masts, and
the white sails swell towards you, goosewinged, before a flowing breeze.

The river has probably a very uneven bottom in this part, for the water
sometimes rushes round in great whirlpools, and strange overturnings of
itself, as if it were boiling from below in exuberant volume with a
gushing upwards; and then again, it wheels about in a circle with a
sweep far around, before it settles to go onward.[XVI.]

 [XVI.] These maelstroms seem at first to demand extra caution as
  you approach, but they are harmless enough, for the water is deep, and
  it only twists the boat round; and you need not mind this except when
  the sail is up, but have a care _then_ that you are not taken aback. In
  crossing one of these whirlpools at full speed it will be found needless
  to try to counteract the sudden action on your bow by paddling against
  it, for it is better to hold on as if there were no interference, and
  presently the action in the reverse direction puts all quite straight.

On the borders of Switzerland the German and French tongues are both
generally known at the hotels, and by the people accustomed to do
business with foreigners travelling among them.

But in your course along a river these convenient waiters and polyglot
commissionaires are not found exactly in attendance at every village,
and it is, therefore, to the bystanders or casual loungers your
observations must be addressed.

Frequent intercourse with natives of strange countries, where there is
no common language between them and the tourist, will gradually teach
him a "sign language" which suits all people alike.

Thus, in any place, no matter what was their dialect, it was always easy
to induce one or two men to aid in carrying the canoe. The _formula_ for
this was something in the following style.

I first got the boat on shore, and a crowd of course soon collected,
while I arranged its interior, and sponged out the splashed water, and
fastened the cover down. Then, tightening my belt for a walk, I looked
round with a kind smile, and selecting a likely man, would address him
in English deliberately as follows--suiting each action to the word, for
I have always found that sign language is made more natural when you
speak your own tongue all the time you are acting:--"Well now, I think
as you have looked on enough and have seen all you want, it's about time
to go to an hotel, a _gasthaus_. Here! you--yes, _you_!--just take that
end of the boat up, so,--gently, '_langsam!_' '_langsam!_'--all right,
yes, under your arm, like this,--now march off to the best hotel,
_gasthaus_."

[Illustration: "Langsam."]

Then the procession naturally formed itself. The most humorous boys of
course took precedence, because of services or mischief willing to be
performed; and, meanwhile, they gratuitously danced about and under the
canoe like Fauns around Silenus. Women only came near and waited
modestly till the throng had passed. The seniors of the place kept on
the safer confines of the movement, where dignity of gait might comport
with close observation.

In a case of sign talking like the foregoing you can be helped by one
substantive and one adverb; and if you pronounce these clearly, and use
them correctly, while all the other expressions are evidently _your_
language and not theirs, they will understand it much better than if you
try signs in dumb show or say the whole in bad German, and so give rise
to all possible mistakes of your meaning.

But it is quite another matter when you have forgotten (or have never
acquired) the foreign word for the noun you wish to name, though, even
then, by well chosen signs, and among an intelligent people, a good deal
can be conveyed, as may be shown in the following cases.

Once I was riding among the Arabs along the Algerian coast, on my way
from Carthage, and my guide, a dense Kabyle, was evidently taking me
past a place I wished to visit, and which had been duly entered in the
list when he was engaged.

I could not make him understand this, for my limited Arabic had been
acquired under a different pronunciation in Syria; but one night, it
happened that a clever chief had me in a tent, or rather a hut, just
like the top of a gipsy cart. I explained to him by signs (and talking
English) that the muleteer was taking me past the place it was desired
to see. Then I tried to pronounce the name of that place, but was always
wrong, or he could not make it out; it was Maskutayn, or "bewitched
waters," a wonderful volcanic valley, full of boiling streams and little
volcanoes of salt.

At length, sitting in the moonlight, signs were tried even for this
difficult occasion. I put my chibouque (pipe) under the sand and took
water in my hand, and as he looked on intently--for the Arabs love this
speaking action--I put water on the fire in the pipe-bowl, and blew it
up through the sand, talking English all the time. This was done again,
and suddenly the black lustrous eyes of the Ishmaelite glistened
brighter. He slapped his forehead. He jumped up. You could almost be
sure he said "I know it now;" and then he roused the unfortunate
muleteer from his snorings to give him an energetic lecture, by means of
which we were directed next day straight to the very place I desired to
find.

In a few cases of this international talking it becomes necessary to
sketch pictures, which are even better than signs, but not among Arabs.
During a visit to the fair of Nijni Novgorod, in the middle of Russia, I
passed many hours in the "Chinese street" there, and found it was very
difficult to communicate with Ching Loo, and even signs were useless.
But they had some red wax about the tea-chests, and there was a white
wall beside us, so upon this I put the whole story in large pictures,
with an explanatory lecture in English all the time, which proceeding
attracted an audience of several scores of Chinamen and Kalmuks and
other outlandish people, and the particular group I meant to enlighten
seemed perfectly to understand all that was desired.

And so we suppose that if you can work your paddle well, and learn the
general sign language, and a little of the pencil tongue, you can go
very far in a canoe without being starved or homeless; while you are
sure to have a wide field in which to study the various degrees of
intelligence among those you meet.

To come back, however, from the Volga to the Rhine.

The current flows more and more gently as we enter the Zeller See, or
Unter See, a lake which would be called pretty if our taste has not been
sated for a while by having a snowy range for the background to the
views on Constance.

But the Lake of Constance sadly wants islands, and here in the Zeller
See are several, one of them being of great size. The Emperor of the
French had passed two days at his chateau on this lake, just before we
arrived. No doubt he would have waited a week had he known the Rob Roy
was coming.[XVII.]

 [XVII.] His Majesty has not forgotten the canoe, as will be seen by
  the following extract from the Paris intelligence in the "Globe" of
  April 20 (His Majesty's birthday):--

       "By an edict, dated April 6, 1866, issued this morning, the
       Ministre d'Etat institutes a special committee for the
       organisation of a special exhibition, at the Exposition
       Universelle of 1867, of all objects connected with the arts and
       industry attached to pleasure boats and river navigation. This
       measure is thought to display the importance which amateur
       navigation has assumed during the last few years--to display
       the honour in which is held this _sport nouveau_, as it is
       denominated in the report, and to be successful in abolishing
       the old and absurd prejudices which have so long prevented its
       development in France. The Emperor, whose fancy for imitating
       everything English leads him to patronise with alacrity all
       imitation of English sports in particular, is said to have
       suggested the present exhibition after reading MacGregor's
       'Cruise of the Rob Roy,' which developes many new ideas of the
       purposes besides mere pleasure to which pleasure boats may be
       applied, and would be glad to encourage a taste for the
       exploration of solitary streams and lonely currents amongst the
       youth of France."

However, as we were too late to breakfast with his Majesty, I pulled in
at the village of Steckborn, where an inn is built on the actual edge of
the water, a state of things most convenient for the aquatic tourist,
and which you find often along this part of the Rhine. In a case of this
sort you can tap at the door with the paddle, and order a repast before
you debark, so that it is boiling and fizzing, and the table is all
ready, while you put things to rights on board, and come leisurely
ashore, and then tie the boat to the window balcony, or, at any rate, in
some place where it can be seen all the time you breakfast or dine, and
rest, and read, and draw.

Experience proved that very few boys, even of the most mischievous
species, will meddle with a boat which is floating, but that very few
men, even of the most amiable order, will refrain from pulling it about
when the little craft is left on shore.

To have your boat not only moored afloat but in your sight too,--that is
perfection, and it is worth additional trouble to arrange this, because
then and for hours of the midday stoppage, you will be wholly at ease,
or at any rate, you will have one care the less, the weary resting
traveller will not then be anxious about his absent boat, as if it were
a valuable horse in a strange stable.

The landlord was much interested in the story of my voyage as depicted
in the sketch-book, so he brought a friend to see me who could speak
French, and who had himself constructed a boat of two tin tubes,[XVIII.] on
which a stage or frame is supported, with a seat and rowlocks, the
oddest looking thing in nautical existence. I persuaded him to put this
institution into the water, and we started for a cruise; the double-tube
metal boat, with its spider-like gear aloft, and the oak canoe, so low
and rakish, with its varnished cedar deck, and jaunty flag, now racing
side by side, each of them a rare sight, but the two together quite
unprecedented.

 [XVIII.] Each of these was in shape like the cigar ship which I had
  sailed past on the Thames, and which has since been launched.

The river here is like parts of the Clyde and the Kyles of Bute, with
French villages let in, and an Italian sky stretched overhead. We rowed
across to a village where a number of Jews live, for I wished to visit
their Synagogue; but, lo! this was the Grand Duchy of Baden land, and a
heavily-armed sentry found us invading the dominion, so he deployed and
formed square to force us to land somewhere else. The man was civil, but
his orders were unreasonable, so we merely embarked again and went over
to Switzerland, and ran our little fleet into a bramble bush, to hide it
while we mounted to an auberge on the hill for a sixpenny bottle of
wine.

The pretty Swiss lass in charge said she once knew an Englishman--but
"it was a pity they were all so proud." He had sent her a letter in
English, which I asked her to let me read for her. It began, "My dear
little girl, I love you;" and this did not sound so very proud for a
beginning. My boating friend promised to make her a tin _cafetiere_, and
so it may be divined that he was the tinman of the village, and a most
agreeable tinman too.

She came to see us on board, and her father arrived just in time to
witness a triangular parting, which must have puzzled him a good deal,
Amelia waving farewell to a "proud" Englishman and a nautical
whitesmith, who both took leave also of each other, the last sailing
away with huge square yards and coloured canvas, and the Rob Roy
drifting with the stream in the opposite direction.

Every day for weeks past had been as a picnic to me, but I prolonged
this one into night, the air was so balmy and the red sun setting was so
soon replaced by the white moon rising, and besides, the navigation here
had no dangers, and there were villages every few miles.

When I had enough of it, cruising here and there by moonlight, I drew up
to the town of Stein, but all was now lonely by the water-side. This is
to be expected when you arrive late; however, a slap or two on the water
with the paddle, and a loud verse of a song, Italian, Dutch, a pibroch,
any noise in fact, soon draws the idlers to you, and it is precisely the
idlers you want.

One of them readily helped me with the boat to an inn, where an
excellent landlady greeted the strange guest. From this moment all was
bustle there, and very much it was increased by a German guest, who
insisted on talking to me in English, which I am sure I did not
understand a bit better than the Germans who came to listen and look
on.




CHAPTER VII.

     Fog--Fancy pictures--Boy soldiers--Boat's billet--Eating--Lake
     Zurich--Crinoline--Hot walk--Staring--Lake Zug--Swiss
     shots--Fishing Britons--Talk-book.


In the morning there was a most curious change of air; all around was in
a dense white fog. Truly it was now to be "sensation rowing;" so we
hastened to get off into this milky atmosphere. I have an idea that we
passed under a bridge; at least the usual cheers sounded this time as if
they were above me, but the mist was as thick as our best November
Cheshire-cheese fogs, and quite as interesting. On several occasions I
positively could not see the bow of my boat, only a few feet from my
nose. The whole arrangement was so unexpected and entirely
novel,--paddling on a fast invisible stream--that I had the liveliest
emotions of pleasure without seeing anything at all.

But then fancy had free play all the time, and the pictures it drew were
vivid and full of colour, and, after all, our impressions of external
objects are only pictures, so say the philosophers; and why not then
enjoy a tour in a fog, with a good album of pictures making the while in
the brain?

Sounds too there were, but like those of witches and fairies--though
perhaps it was only the cackling of some antique washerwomen on the
banks. However, I addressed the unseen company in both prose and poetry,
and was full of emphasis, which now and again was increased by my boat
running straight into the shore.

The clearing away of the fog was one of the most interesting evolutions
of nature to be seen. In one sort or other every traveller has enjoyed
the quick or gradual tearing up of a fog curtain on mountain or moor,
but here it was on a beauteous river.

I wish to describe this process, but I cannot. It was a series of
"Turner pictures," with glimpses right and left, and far overhead, of
trees, sky, castles, each lightened and shown for a moment, and then
gauzed over again and completely hidden; while the mind had to imagine
all the context of the scenery, and it was sure to be quite wrong when
another gleam of sun disclosed what was there in reality. For it cleared
away at last, and Father Sol avenged himself by an extra hot ray, for
thus trifling with his beams.

The Rhine banks here were sloping but steep, with pleasant meadows,
vineyards, and woods, mingled with tolerable fairness to all three. In
short, though I appreciate scenery with an eager admiration, any scenery
seemed good when the genial exercise of the canoe was the medium for
enjoying it.

Soon afterwards the woods thickened, the mountains rose behind them, the
current got faster and faster, the houses, at first dotted on the
knolls, got closer and more suburb like, and at last a grand sweep of
the stream opened up Schaffhausen to the eye, while a sullen sound on
the water warned of "rapids ahead." As I intended to keep them always in
front, some caution was needed in steering, though there is no
difficulty here, for steamboats navigate thus far, and of course it is
easy for a canoe.

But when I glided down to the bridge there was the "Goldenen Schiff"
hotel, and I resolved to patronise it on account of its name, and
because there was a gigantic picture of a Briton on the adjoining wall.
He was in full Highland costume, though the peculiar tartan of his kilt
showed that there is still one clan we have not yet recognised.

Here began a novel kind of astonishment among the people; for when, on
my arrival, they asked, "Where have you come from?" and were told,
"From England," they could not understand how my course seemed as if in
reality from Germany.

The short morning's work being soon over, there was all the day before
me to wander about.

Drums and a band presently led me to a corps of little boys in full
uniform, about 200 of them, all with real guns and with boy officers,
most martial to behold, albeit they were munching apples between the
words of command, and pulling wry faces at urchins of eight years old,
who strove in vain to take long steps with short legs.

They had some skirmishing drill, and used small goats' horns to give the
orders instead of bugles. These horns are used on the railways too, and
the note is very clear, and may be heard well a long way off. Indeed I
think much might be done in our drill at home by something of this sort.

It is a short three miles to the Belle Vue, built above the falls of
Schaffhausen, and in full view of this noble scene. These great falls of
the Rhine looked much finer than I had recollected them some twelve
years before; it is pleasant, but unusual, for one's second visit to
such sights to be more striking than the first. At night the river was
splendidly illuminated by Bengal lights of different colours, and the
effect of this on the tossing foam and rich full body of ever pouring
water--or fire as it then seemed to be--was to present a spectacle of
magical beauty and grandeur, well seen from the balcony of the hotel, by
many travellers from various lands. On one side of me was a Russian, and
a Brazilian on the other.

Next day, at the railway-station, I put the sharp bow of the Rob Roy in
at the window of the "baggages" office, and asked for the "boat's
ticket." The clerk did not seem at all surprised, for he knew I was an
Englishman, and nothing is too odd, queer, mad in short, for Englishmen
to do.

But the porters, guards, and engine-drivers made a good deal of talk
before the canoe was safely stowed among the trunks in the van; and I
now and then visited her there, just for company's sake, and to see that
the sharp-cornered, iron-bound boxes of the American tourists had not
broken holes in her oaken skin. One could not but survey, with some
anxiety, the lumbering casks on the platform, waiting to be rolled in
beside the canoe; and the fish baskets, iron bars, crates, and clumsy
gear of all sorts, which at every stoppage is tumbled in or roughly
shovelled out of the luggage-van of a train.

This care and sympathy for a mere boat may be called enthusiasm by
those who have not felt the like towards inanimate objects linked to our
pleasures or pains by hourly ties of interest; but others will
understand how a friendship for the boat was felt more every day I
journeyed with her: her strong points were better known as they were
more tried, but the weak points, too, of the frail traveller became now
more apparent, and the desire to bring her safely to England was rapidly
increased when we had made the homeward turn.

The mere cost of the railway ticket for the boat's carriage to Zurich
was two or three shillings,--not so much as the expense of taking it
between the stations and the hotels.

Submitting, then, to be borne again on wheels and through tunnels in the
good old railway style, we soon arrive among the regular Swiss
mountains, and where gather the Swiss tourists, for whom arise the Swiss
hotels, those huge establishments founded and managed so as best to
fatten on the wandering Englishman, and to give him homoeopathic
feeding while his purse is bled.

For suffer me again to have a little gossip about _eating_. Yes, it is a
mundane subject, and undoubtedly physical; but when the traveller has to
move his body and baggage along a route by his own muscles, by climbing
or by rowing, or by whipping a mule, it is a matter of high moment, to
him at least, that fibrine should be easily procurable.

If you wish, then, to live well in Switzerland and Germany go to German
hotels, and avoid the grand barracks reared on every view-point for the
English tourist.

See how the omnibus, from the train or the steamer, pours down its
victims into the landlords' arms. Papa and Mamma, and three daughters
and a maid: well, of course _they_ will be attended to. Here is another
timid lady with an alpenstock, a long white cane people get when they
arrive in Switzerland, and which they never know what on earth to do
with. Next there will issue from the same vehicle a dozen newly-fledged
Londoners; and the whole party, men and women, are so demure, so afraid
of themselves, that the hotel-keeper does just what he likes with them,
every one.

Without a courier, a wife, heavy baggage, or young ladies, I enter too,
and dare to order a cutlet and potatoes. After half-an-hour two chops
come and spinach, each just one bite, and cold. I ask for fruit, and
some pears are presented that grate on the knife, with a minute bunch of
grapes, good ones let us acknowledge. For this we pay 2_s._

Next day I row three miles down the lake, and order, just as before, a
cutlet, potatoes, and fruit, but this time at a second-rate German inn.
Presently behold two luscious veal cutlets, with splendid potatoes, and
famous hot plates; and a fruit-basket teeming gracefully with large
clusters of magnificent grapes, peaches, pears all gushing with juice,
and mellow apples, and rosy plums. For this I pay 1_s._ 6_d._ The secret
is that the Germans won't pay the prices which the English fear to
grumble at, and won't put up with the articles the English fear to
refuse.

Nor may we blame the hotel-keepers for their part in this business. They
try to make as much money as they can, and most people who are making
money try to do the same.

In the twilight the Rob Roy launched on the Lake of Zurich, so lovely by
evening, cool and calm, with its pretty villages painted again on the
water below, and soft voices singing, and slow music floating in the
air, as the moon looked down, and the crests of snow were silvered on
far-off hills.

The canoe was now put up in a boathouse where all seemed to be secure.
It was the only time I had found a boathouse for my boat, and the only
time when she was badly treated; for, next morning, though the man in
charge appeared to be a solid, honest fellow, I saw at once that the
canoe had been sadly tumbled about and filled with water, the seat cast
off and floating outside, the covering deranged, the sails untied, and
the sacred paddle defiled by clumsy hands.

The man who suffered this to be perpetrated will not soon forget the
Anglo-German-French set-down he received (with a half-franc), and I
shall not forget in future to observe the time-honoured practice of
carrying the canoe invariably into the hotel.

Another piece of experience gained here was this, that to send your
luggage on by a steamer, intending to regain it on your arrival, adds
far less of convenience than it does of anxiety and trouble, seeing that
in this sort of travel you can readily take the baggage with you always
and everywhere in your boat.

Much of the charm of next day's paddle on the lake consisted in its
perfect independence of all previous arrangements, and in the absence of
such thraldom as, "You must be here by ten o'clock;" or, "You have to
sleep there at night." So now, let the wind blow as it likes, I could
run before it, and breakfast at this village; or cross to that point to
bathe; or row round that bay, and lunch on the other side of the lake,
or anywhere else on the shore, or in the boat itself, as I pleased. I
felt as a dog must feel on his travels who has no luggage and no
collar, and has only one coat, which always fits him, and is always
getting new.

When quite sated with the water, I fixed on Horgen to stop at for a
rest, to the intense delight of all the Horgen boys. How they did jump
and caper about the canoe, and scream with the glee of young hearts
stirred by a new sight!

It was one of the great treats of this voyage to find it gave such hours
of pleasure to the juvenile population in each place. Along the vista of
my recollection as I think over the past days of this excursion, many
thousand childish faces brimming with happiness range their chubby or
not chubby cheeks.

These young friends were still more joyous when the boat was put into a
cart, and the driver got up beside it, and the captain of the canoe
began his hot walk behind.

A number of their mammas came out to smile on the performance, and some
asked to have a passage to England in the boat, to which there was the
stock reply, given day by day, "Not much room for the crinoline." Only
once was there the rejoinder, that the lady would willingly leave her
expansion at home; though on another occasion (and that in France, too)
they answered, "We poor folks don't wear crinoline."

In every group there were various forms of inquisitiveness about the
canoe. First, those who examined it without putting questions; and then
those who questioned about it without examining. Some lifted it to feel
the weight; others passed their hands along its smooth deck to feel the
polished cedar; others looked underneath to see if there was a keel, or
bent the rope to feel how flexible it was, or poised the paddle (when I
let them), and said, "How light!" and then more critical inquirers
measured the boat's dimensions, tapped its sides with their knuckles,
and looked wise; sketched its form, scrutinized its copper nails, or
gently touched the silken flag, with its frayed hem and colour fading
now; in all places this last item, as an object of interest, was always
the first exclaimed about by the lady portion of the crowd.

It is with such little but pleasant trivialities that a traveller's day
may be filled in this enchanting atmosphere where simply to exist, to
breathe, to gaze, and to listen, are enough to pass the sunny hours, if
not to engage the nobler powers of the mind.

The Lakes of Zurich and Zug are not far separate. About three hours of
steady road walking takes you from one to the other, over a high neck of
forest land, and a hot walk this was from twelve to three o'clock, in
the brightest hours of the day. The heat and the dust made me eager
again to be afloat. By the map, indeed, it seemed as if one could row
part of this way on a river which runs into Zug, but maps are no
guidance as to the fitness of streams for a boat. They make a black line
wriggling about on the paper do for all rivers alike, and this tells you
nothing as to the depth or force of the current, nor can the drivers or
innkeepers tell much more, since they have no particular reason for
observing how a river comports itself; their business is on the road.

The driver was proud of his unusual fare, a boat with an English flag,
and he gave a short account of it to every friend he met, an account no
doubt frightfully exaggerated, but always accepted as sufficient by the
gratified listener. The worthy carter, however, was quite annoyed that I
stopped him outside the town of Zug (paying thirteen francs for the
cart), for I wished to get the canoe into the water unobserved, as the
morning's work had left me yet no rest, and sweet repose could best be
had by floating in my boat. However, there was no evading the
townspeople's desire to see "the schiff in a cart from England." We took
her behind a clump of stones, but they climbed upon the stones and
stood. I sat down in a moody silence, but they sat down too in
respectful patience. I tried then another plan, turned the canoe bottom
upward, and began lining a seam of the planks with red putty. They
looked on till it was done, and I began the same seam again, and told
them that all the other seams must be thus lined. This, at last, was too
much for some of the wiser ones, who turned away and murmured about my
slowness, but others at once took their places in the front row. It
seemed unfriendly to go on thus any longer, and as it was cooler now, I
pushed the boat into the lake, shipped my luggage on board, and after
the usual English speech to them all from the water, bid every one
"adieu."[XIX.]

 [XIX.] This word, like other expressive French words, is commonly
  used in Germany and Switzerland.

New vigour came when once the paddle was grasped again, and the soft
yielding water and gentle heaving on its bosom had fresh pleasure now
after the dusty road. It seems as if one must be for ever spoiled for
land travel by this smooth liquid journeying.

Zug is a little lake, and the mountains are over it only at one end, but
then there are glorious hills, the Rigi and a hundred more, each behind
another, or raising a peak in the gaps between. I must resolutely
abstain from describing these here. The sight of them is well known to
the traveller. The painted pictures of them in every shop window are
faithful enough for those who have not been nearer, and words can tell
very little to others of what is seen and felt when you fill the
delighted eye by looking on the snowy range.

Near one end of the lake I visited the line of targets where the
Switzers were popping away their little bullets at their short ranges,
with all sorts of gimcrack instruments to aid them, lenses, crooks, and
straps for the arms, hair-triggers, and everything done under cover too.
Very skilful indeed are they in the use of these contrivances; but the
weapons look like toy-guns after all, and are only one step removed from
the crossbows you see in Belgium and France, where men meet to shoot at
stuffed cockrobins fixed on a pole, and do not hit them, and then
adjourn for beer.

The Swiss are good shots and brave men, and woe be to their invaders.
Still, in this matter of rifle shooting their _dilettanti_ practice
through a window, at the short range of 200 yards, seems really childish
when compared with that of the manly groups at Wimbledon, where, on the
open heath, in sun or drifting hail, the burly Yorkshireman meets with
the hardy Scot, and sends his heavier deadly bullet on its swift errand
right away for a thousand yards in the storm.

Leaving the shooters to their bulls' eyes, I paddled in front of the
town to scan the hotels, and to judge of the best by appearances. Out
came the boats of Zug to examine the floating stranger. They went round
and round, in a criticising mood, just as local dogs strut slowly in
circles about a new-come cur who is not known to their street, and
besides is of ambiguous breed. These boats were all larger than mine,
and most of them were brighter with plenty of paint, and universally
they were encumbered with most awkward oars.

A courteous Frenchman in one of the boats told me all the Zug news in a
breath, besides asking numerous questions, and giving a hasty commentary
on the fishing in the lake. Finally, he pointed out the best hotel, and
so the naval squadron advanced to the pier, led by the canoe. A gracious
landlady here put my boat safe in the hotel coachhouse, and offered to
give me the key of the padlock, to make sure. In the _salle à manger_
were some English friends from London, so now I felt that here was an
end of lone wanderings among foreigners, for the summer stream of
tourists from England was encountered at this point.

An early start next morning found the mists on the mountains, but they
were quickly furled up out of the way in festoons like muslin curtains.

We skirted the pretty villas on the verge of the lake, and hauled in by
some apple-trees to rig up the sails. This could be done more easily
when the boat was drawn ashore than when it was afloat; though, after
practice, I could not only set the mast and hoist the sails "at sea,"
but could even stand up and change my coat, or tie the flag on the
masthead, or survey a difficult channel, while the boat was rocking on
the waves of a rapid.[XX.]

 [XX.] This is so very useful in extending the horizon of view,
  and in enabling you to examine a whole ledge of sunken rocks at once,
  that it is well worth the trouble of a week or two's practice.

Sailing on a lake in Switzerland is a full reward for carrying your mast
and sails unused for many a long mile. Sometimes, indeed, the sails
seemed to be after all an encumbrance, but this was when they were not
available. Every time they came into use again the satisfaction of
having brought them was reassured.

In sailing while the wind is light you need not always sit, as must be
done for paddling. Wafted by the breeze you can now recline, lie down,
or lie up, put your legs anyhow and anywhere, in the water if you like,
and the peak of the sail is a shade between the sun and your eyes,
while the ripples seem to tinkle cheerfully against the bow, and the
wavelets seethe by smoothly near the stern. When you are under sail the
hill tops look higher than before, for now you see how far they are
above your "lofty" masthead, and the black rocks on the shore look
blacker when seen in contrast with a sail like cream.

[Illustration: "Sailing on Lake Zug."]

After a cruise that left nothing more to see of Zug, we put into port at
Imyn, and though it is a little place, only a few houses, the boys there
were as troublesome as gnats buzzing about; so the canoe had to be
locked in the stable out of sight.

Three Britons were waiting here for the steamer. They had come to fish
in Switzerland. Now fishing and travelling kill each other, so far as my
experience goes, unless one of them is used as a _passetemps_ because
you cannot go on with the other. Thus I recollect once at the town of
Vossevangen, in Norway, when we had to wait some hours for horses, it
was capital fun to catch three trout with a pin for a hook fastened on
the lash of a gig-whip, while a fellow-traveller shot with a pistol at
my Glengarry cap on a stone.

The true fisherman fishes for the fishing, not for the fishes. He
himself is pleased even if he catches nothing, though he is more pleased
to bring back a full basket, for that will justify him to his friends.

Now when you stop your travelling that you may angle, if you catch
nothing you grudge the day spent, and keep thinking how much you might
have seen in it on the road. On the other hand, if you do happen to
catch one or two fish, you don't like to leave the place where more
might be taken, and your first ten miles after departure from it is a
stage of reflection about pools, stones, bites, and rises, instead of
what is going on all around. Worst of all, if you have hooked a fish and
lost him, it is a sad confession of defeat then to give up the sport and
moodily resume the tour.

As for the three visitors at Imyn, they had just twenty minutes sure, so
they breakfasted in five minutes, and in the next three minutes had got
their rods ready, and were out in the garden casting as fast as
possible, and flogging the water as if the fish also ought to be in a
hurry to get taken. The hot sun blazed upon the bald head of one of
these excited anglers, for he had not time to put on his hat. The other
had got his line entangled in a bush, and of course was _hors de
combat_. The third was a sort of light skirmisher, rushing about with
advice, and pointing out shoals of minnows everywhere else but where his
companions were engaged. However, they managed to capture a few monsters
of the deep, that is to say, a couple of misguided gudgeons, probably
dissipated members of their tribe, and late risers, who had missed
their proper breakfasts. Ardent as I am with the rod I could not enjoy
fishing after this sort.

To be in this tide of wandering Britons, and yet to look at them and
listen to them as if you were distinct--this is a post full of interest
and amusement; and if you can, even for one day, try to be (at least in
thought) a Swiss resident or a Parisian, and so to regard the English
around you from the point they are seen from by the foreigners whom they
visit, the examination becomes far more curious. But this has been done
by many clever tourists, who have written their notes with more or less
humour, and with more rather than less severity; so I shall not attempt
to analyse the strange atoms of the flood from our islands which
overflows the Continent every year.

It is the fashion to decry three-fourths of this motley company as
"snobs," "spendthrifts," or "greenhorns." With humble but firm voice I
protest against this unfairness; nor can I help thinking that much of
the hard criticism published by travellers against their fellows is a
crooked way of saying, what it does not do to assert directly, that the
writer has at any rate met some travellers inferior to himself.

Of course, among the Englishmen whom I met now and then in the course
of this voyage there were some strange specimens, and their remarks were
odd enough, when alluding to the canoe. One said, for example, "Don't
you think it would have been more commodious to have had an attendant
with you to look after your luggage and things?" The most obvious answer
to this was probably that which I gave, "Not for me, if he was to be in
the boat; and not for him, if he had to run on the bank."

Another Englishman at home asked me in all seriousness about the canoe
voyage, "Was it not a great waste of time?" And when I inquired how _he_
had spent his vacation, he said, "Oh, I was all the time _at Brighton_!"

In returning once more to English conversation, one is reminded how very
useless and unpractical are all the "Talk-books" published to facilitate
the traveller's conversation in foreign languages. Whether they are
meant to help you in French, German, Italian, or Spanish, these little
books, with their well-known double columns of words and phrases, and
their "Polite Letter-writer" at the end, all seem to be equally
determined to force words upon you which you never will need to use;
while the things you are always wanting to say in the new tongue are
either carefully buried among colloquies on botany or precious stones,
or among philosophical discussions about metaphysics, or else the
desirable phrases are not in the book at all.

This need of a brief and good "Talk-book" struck me particularly when I
had carefully marked in my German one all the pages which would never be
required in the tour, so that I could cut them out as an unnecessary
addition to the weight of my ship's library. Why, the little book, when
thus expurgated, got so lamentably thin that the few pages left of it,
as just possible to be useful, formed only a wretched skeleton of the
original volume.

Another fault of these books is that half the matter in them is made up
of what the imaginary chatting foreigner says _to you_, the unhappy
Englishman, and this often in long phrases, or even in set speeches.

But when, in actual life, the real foreigner speaks to you, he somehow
says quite a different set of words from any particular phrases you see
in the book, and you cannot make out his meaning, because it does not
correspond with anything you have learned.

It is evident that a dictionary is required to get at the English
meaning of what is said to you by another; while a talk-book will
suffice for what you wish to say to him; because you can select in it
and compose from it before you utter any particular phrase.

The Danish phrase-book for Norway and Sweden is a tolerably good one,
and it holds in a short compass all the traveller wants; but I think a
book of this kind for each of the other principal languages might well
be constructed on the following basis.

First, let us have the expression "I want," and then the English
substantives most used in travel talk, arranged in alphabetical order,
and with their foreign equivalents. Next, put the request "Will you,"
and after it place each of the verbs of action generally required by
travellers. Then set forth the question, "Does the," with a column of
events formed by a noun, verb, and preposition in each, such as "coach
stop at," "road lead to," "steamer start from," &c.; and, lastly, give
us the comprehensive "Is it," with a long alphabetical list of
adjectives likely to be employed. Under these four heads, with two pages
of adverbs and numerals, I think that the primary communications with a
foreigner can be comprised; and as for conversations with him on special
subjects, such as politics, or art, or scenery, these are practically
not likely to be attempted unless you learn his language, and not merely
some of its most necessary _words_; but this study of language is not
the purpose for which you get a talk-book.

Having now delivered a homily on international talking, it is time to be
on the move again.




CHAPTER VIII.

     Sailing on Lucerne--Seeburg--River scenes--Night and snow--The
     Reuss--A dear dinner--Seeing a rope--Passing a fall--Bremgarten
     rapids.


When the steamer at Imyn had embarked the three sportsmen, and the
little pier was quiet, we got a cart out for the Rob Roy, and bargained
to have it rumbled over the hill to the Lake of Lucerne for the sum of
five francs--it is only half-an-hour's walk. The landlord himself came
as driver, for he was fully interested about the canoe, and he did not
omit to let people know his sentiments on the subject all along the way,
even calling out to the men plucking fruit in the apple-trees, who had
perhaps failed to notice the phenomenon which was passing on the road
beneath them. There was a permanent joke on such occasions, and, oddly
enough, it was used by the drivers in Germany as well as in Switzerland,
and was of course original and spontaneous with each of them as they
called out, "Going to America!" and then chuckled at the brilliant
remark.

The village we came to on Lucerne was the well-known Kussnacht, that
is, _one_ of the well-known Kussnachts, for there are plenty of these
honeymoon towns in Central Europe; and with the customary assembly of
_quidnuncs_, eloquently addressed this time by the landlord-driver, the
canoe was launched on another lake, perhaps the prettiest lake in the
world.

Like other people, and at other times, I had traversed this beautiful
water of the Four Cantons, but those only who have seen it well by
steamer and by walking, so as to know how it juts in and winds round in
intricate geography, can imagine how much better you may follow and
grasp its beauties by searching them out alone and in a canoe.

For thus I could penetrate all the wooded nooks, and dwell on each
view-point, and visit the rocky islets, and wait long, longer--as long
as I pleased before some lofty berg, while the ground-swell gently
undulated, and the passing cloud shaded the hill with grey, and the red
flag of a steamer fluttered in a distant sunbeam, and the plash of a
barge's oar broke on the boatman's song; everything around changing just
a little, and the stream of inward thought and admiration changing too
as it flowed, but, all the time, and when the eye came back to it again,
there was the grand mountain still the same,

    "Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved."

How cool the snow looked up there aloft even in the heat of summer! and,
to come down again to one's level on the water, how lively the steamer
was with the music of its band and the quick beat of its wheels curling
up white foam. Let us speed to meet it and to get a tossing in the
swell, while Jones and Smith, under the awning, cry out, "Why, to be
sure, that's the Rob Roy canoe," and Mrs. Jones and the three Miss
Smiths all lift up their heads from their "Murrays," where they have
been diligently reading the history of Switzerland from A.D. 1682, and
then the description in words of all the scenery around, although they
have suffered its speaking realities in mountain, wood, and lake to pass
unnoticed.

As I was quite fresh (having worked chiefly the sails on Zug) and now in
good "training," so as to get on very comfortably with ten or twelve
hours' rowing in the day, I spent it all in seeing this inexhaustible
Lake of Lucerne, and yet felt that at least a dozen new pictures had
been left unseen in this rich volume of the book of nature.

But as this book had no page in it about quarters for the night it was
time to consider these homely affairs, and to look out for an hotel; not
one of the big barracks for Englishmen spoken of before, but some quiet
place where one could stop for Sunday. Coming suddenly then round a
shady point, behold the very place! But can it be an hotel? Yes, there
is the name, "Seeburg." Is it quiet? Observe the shady walks. Bathing?
Why, there is a bath in the lake at the end of the garden. Fishing? At
least four rods are stretched over the reeds by hopeful hands, and with
earnest looks behind, watching for the faintest nibble.

Let us run boldly in. Ten minutes, and the boat is safely in a shed, and
its captain well housed in an excellent room; and, having ordered
dinner, it was delicious to jump into the lake for a swim, all hot with
the hot day's work, and to stretch away out to the deep, and circle
round and round in these limpid waters, with a nice little bath-room to
come back to, and fresh dry clothes to put on. In the evening we had
very pretty English music, a family party improvised in an hour, and
broken up for a moonlight walk, while, all this time (one fancied), in
the big hotel of the town the guests were in stiff _coteries_, or each
set retired to its sitting-room, and lamenting how unsociable everybody
else had become.

I never was more comfortable than here, with a few English families "en
pension," luxuriating for the sum of six francs per day, and an old
Russian General, most warlike and courteous, who would chat with you by
the hour, on the seat under the shady chestnut, and smiled at the four
persevering fishermen whose bag consisted, I believe, of three bites,
one of them allowed on all hands to have been _bonâ fide_.

Then on Sunday we went to Lucerne, to church, where a large congregation
listened to a very good sermon from the well-known Secretary of the
Society for Colonial and Continental Churches. At least every traveller,
if not every home-stayed Englishman, ought to support this Association,
because it many times supplies just that food and rest which the soul
needs so much on a Sunday abroad, when the pleasures of foreign travel
are apt to make only the mind and body constitute the man.

I determined to paddle from Lucerne by the river Reuss, which flows out
of the lake and through the town. This river is one of four--the Rhine,
Rhone, Reuss, and Ticino, which all rise near together in the
neighbourhood of the St. Gothard; and yet, while one flows into the
German ocean, another falls into the Mediterranean, both between them
having first made nearly the compass of Switzerland.

The walking tourist comes often upon the rapid Reuss as it staggers and
tumbles among the Swiss mountains. To me it had a special interest, for
I once ascended the Galenhorn over the glaciers it starts from, and with
only a useless guide, who lost his head and then lost his way, and then
lost his temper and began to cry. We groped about in a fog until snow
began to fall, and the snowstorm lasted for six hours--a weary time
spent by us wandering in the dark and without food. At length we were
discovered by some people sent out with lights to search for the
benighted pleasure-seeker.

The Reuss has many cascades and torrent gorges as it runs among the
rough crags, and it falls nearly 6,000 feet before it reaches the Lake
of Lucerne, this lake itself being still 1,400 feet above the sea.

A gradual current towards the end of the lake entices you under the
bridge where the river starts again on its course, at first gently
enough, and as if it never could get fierce and hoarse-voiced when it
has taken you miles away into the woods and can deal with you all alone.

The map showed the Reuss flowing into the Aar, but I could learn nothing
more about either of these rivers, except that an intelligent man said,
"The Reuss is a mere torrent," while another recounted how a man some
years ago went on the Aar in a boat, and was taken up by the police and
punished for thus perilling his life.

Deducting from these statements the usual 50 per cent. for exaggeration,
everything appeared satisfactory, so I yielded my boat to the current,
and, at parting, waved my yellow paddle to certain fair friends who had
honoured me with their countenance, and who were now assembled on the
bridge. After this a few judicious strokes took the Rob Roy through the
town and past the pleasant environs, and we were now again upon running
water.

The current, after a quiet beginning, soon put on a sort of "business
air," as if it did not mean to dally, and rapidly got into quick time,
threading a devious course among the woods, hayfields, and vineyards,
and it seemed not to murmur (as streams always do), but to sing with
buoyant exhilaration in the fresh brightness of the morn.

It certainly was a change, from the sluggish feeling of dead water in
the lakes to the lively tremulous thrilling of a rapid river like the
Reuss, which, in many places, is as wide as the Rhine at Schaffhausen.
It is a wild stream, too fast for navigation, and therefore the villages
are not built on the banks, and there are no boats, and the lonely,
pathless, forest-covered banks are sometimes bleak enough when seen from
the water.

For some miles it was easy travelling, the water being seldom less than
two feet deep, and with rocks readily visible by the eddy bubbling about
them, because they were sharp and jagged. It is the long smooth and
round-topped rock which is most treacherous in a fast river, for the
spray which the current throws round such a rock is often not different
from an ordinary wave.

Now and then the stream was so swift that I was afraid of losing my
straw hat, simply from the breeze created by great speed--for it was a
day without wind.

It cannot be concealed that continuous physical enjoyment such as this
tour presented is a dangerous luxury if it be not properly used. When I
thought of the hospitals of London, of the herds of squalid poor in
foetid alleys, of the pale-faced ragged boys, and the vice, sadness,
pain, and poverty we are sent to do battle with if we be Christian
soldiers, I could not help asking, "Am I right in thus enjoying such
comfort, such scenery, such health?" Certainly not right, unless to get
vigour of thought and hand, and freshened energy of mind, and larger
thankfulness and wider love, and so, with all the powers recruited, to
enter the field again more eager and able to be useful.

In the more lonely parts of the Reuss the trees were in dense thickets
to the water's edge, and the wild ducks fluttered out from them with a
splash, and some larger birds like bustards often hovered over the
canoe. I think among the flying companions I noticed also the bunting,
or "ammer" (from which German word comes our English "yellow hammer"),
wood-pigeons, and very beautiful hawks. The herons and kingfishers were
here as well, but not so many of them as on the Danube.

Nothing particular occurred, although it was a pleasant morning's work,
until we got through the bridge at Imyl, where an inn was high up on the
bank. The ostler helped me to carry the boat into the stable, and the
landlady audaciously charged me 4_s._ 6_d._ for my first dinner (I
always had two dinners on full working days), being pretty sure that she
need not expect her customer to stop there again.

The navigation after this began to be more interesting, with gravel
banks and big stones to avoid, and a channel to be chosen from among
several, and the wire ropes of the ferries stretched tightly across the
river requiring to be noticed with proper respect.

You may have observed how difficult it is, sometimes, to see a rope when
it is stretched and quite horizontal, or at any rate how hard it is to
judge correctly of its distance from your eye. This can be well noticed
in walking by the seashore among fishing-boats moored on the beach, when
you will sometimes even knock your nose against a taut hawser before you
are aware that it is so close.

This is caused by the fact that the mind estimates the distance of an
object partly by comparing the two views of its surface obtained by the
two eyes respectively, and which views are not quite the same, but
differ, just as the two pictures prepared for the stereoscope. Each eye
sees a little round one side of the object, and the solid look of the
object and its distance are thus before the mind.

Now when the rope is horizontal the eyes do not see round the two sides
in this manner, though if the head is leant sideways it will be found
that the illusion referred to no longer appears.

Nor is it out of place to inquire thus at length into this matter, for I
can assure you that one or two blunt slaps on the head from these ropes
across a river make it at least interesting if not pleasant to examine
"the reason why." And now we have got the philosophy of the thing, let
us leave the ropes behind.

The actual number of miles in a day's work is much influenced by the
number of waterfalls or artificial barriers which are too dry or too
high to allow the canoe to float over them.

[Illustration: "Shirking a Fall."]

In all such cases, of course, I had to get out and to drag the boat
round by the fields, as has been already described (p. 80); or to lower
her carefully among the rocks, as is shown in the accompanying sketch,
which represents the usual appearance of this part of the day's
proceedings. Although this sort of work was a change of posture, and
brought into play new muscular action, yet the strain sometimes put on
the limbs by the weight of the boat, and the great caution required
where there was only slippery footing, made these barriers to be
regarded on the whole as bores.

Full soon however we were to forget such trifling troubles, for more
serious work impended.

The river banks suddenly assumed a new character. They were steep and
high, and their height increased as we advanced between the two upright
walls of stratified gravel and boulders.

A full body of water ran here, the current being of only ordinary force
at its edges, where it was interrupted by rocks, stones, and shingle,
and was thus twisted into eddies innumerable.

To avoid these entanglements at the sides, it seemed best, on the whole,
to keep the boat in mid-channel, though the breakers were far more
dangerous there, in the full force of the stream.

I began to think that this must be the "hard place coming," which a wise
man farther up the river had warned me was quite too much for so small a
boat, unless in flood times, when fewer rocks would be in the way. In
reply, I had told him that when we got near such a place I would pull
out my boat and drag it along the bank, if requisite. To this he said,
"Ah! but the banks are a hundred feet high." So I had mentally resolved
(but entirely forgot) to stop in good time and to climb up the rocks and
investigate matters ahead before going into an unknown run of broken
water.

Such plans are very well in theory, but somehow the approach to these
rapids was so gradual, and the mind was so much occupied in overcoming
the particular difficulty of each moment, that no opportunity occurred
for rest or reflection. The dull heavy roar round the corner got louder
as the Rob Roy neared the great bend. For here the river makes a turn
round the whole of a letter S, in fact very nearly in a complete figure
of 8, and in wheeling thus it glides over a sloping ledge of flat rocks,
spread obliquely athwart the stream for a hundred feet on either hand,
and just a few inches below the surface.

The canoe was swept over this singular place by the current, its keel
and sides grinding and bumping on the stones, and sliding on the soft
moss which here made the rock so slippery and black.

The progress was aided by sundry pushes and jerks at proper times, but
we advanced altogether in a clumsy, helpless style, until at length
there came in sight the great white ridge of tossing foam where the din
was great, and a sense of excitement and confusion filled the mind.

I was quite conscious that the sight before me was made to look worse
because of the noise around, and by the feeling of the loneliness and
powerlessness of a puny man struggling in a waste of breakers, where to
strike a single one was sure to upset the boat.

From the nature of the place, too, it was evident that it would be
difficult to save the canoe by swimming alongside it when capsized or
foundered, and yet it was utterly impossible now to stop.

Right in front, and in the middle, I saw the well-known wave which is
always raised when a main stream converges, as it rushes down a narrow
neck. The depression or trough of this was about two feet below, and the
crest four feet above the level, so the height of the wave was about six
feet.

Though rather tall it was very thin and sharp-featured, and always
stationary in position, though the water composing it was going at a
tremendous pace. After this wave there was another smaller one, as
frequently happens.

It was not the _height_ of the wave that gave any concern; had it been
at sea the boat would rise over any lofty billow, but here the wave
stood still, and the canoe was to be impelled against it with all the
force of a mighty stream, and so it _must_ go through the body of water,
for it could not have time to rise.

And so the question remained, "What is _behind_ that wave?" for if it is
a rock then this is the last hour of the Rob Roy.[XXI.]

 [XXI.] I had not then acquired the knowledge of a valuable fact,
  that a sharp wave of this kind _never_ has a rock behind it. A sharp
  wave requires free water at its rear, and it is therefore in the safest
  part of the river so far as concealed dangers are concerned. This at
  least was the conclusion come to after frequent observation afterwards
  of many such places.

The boat plunged headlong into the shining mound of water as I clenched
my teeth and clutched my paddle. We saw her sharp prow deeply buried,
and then (I confess) my eyes were shut involuntarily, and before she
could rise the mass of solid water struck me with a heavy blow full in
the breast, closing round my neck as if cold hands gripped me, and quite
taking away my breath.[XXII.]

 [XXII.] See a faithful representation of this incident, so far as
  relates to the water, in the Frontispiece.

Vivid thoughts coursed through the brain in this exciting moment, but
another slap from the lesser wave, and a whirl round in the eddy below,
told that the battle was over soon, and the little boat slowly rose from
under a load of water, which still covered my arms, and then, trembling,
and as if stunned by the heavy shock, she staggered to the shore. The
river too had done its worst, and it seemed now to draw off from
hindering us, and so I clung to a rock to rest for some minutes, panting
with a tired thrilling of nervousness and gladness strangely mingled.

Although the weight of water had been so heavy on my body and legs, very
little of it had got inside under the waterproof covering, for the whole
affair was done in a few seconds, and though everything in front was
completely drenched up to my necktie, the back of my coat was scarcely
wet. Most fortunately I had removed the flag from its usual place about
an hour before, and thus it was preserved from being swept away.

Well, now it is over, and we are rested, and begin with a fresh start;
for there is still some work to do in threading a way among the
breakers. The main point, however, has been passed, and the difficulties
after it look small, though at other times they might receive attention.

Here is our resting-place, the old Roman town of Bremgarten, which is
built in a hollow of this very remarkable serpent bend of the rapid
Reuss. The houses are stuck on the rocks, and abut on the river itself,
and as the stream bore me past these I clung to the doorstep of a
washerwoman's house, and pulled my boat out of the water into her very
kitchen, to the great amusement and surprise of the worthy lady, who
wondered still more when I hauled the canoe again through the other side
of her room until it fairly came out to the street behind!

It must have astonished the people to see a canoe thus suddenly
appearing on their quiet pavement. They soon crowded round and bore her
to the hotel, which was a moderately bad one. Next morning the bill was
twelve francs, nearly double its proper amount; and thus we encountered
in one day the only two extortionate innkeepers met with at all.[XXIII.]

 [XXIII.] However, I made the landlord here take eight francs as a
  compromise.

This quaint old place, with high walls and a foss, and several
antiquities, was well worth the inspection of my early morning walk next
day, and then the Rob Roy was ordered to the door.




CHAPTER IX.

     Hunger--Music at the mill--Sentiment and chops--River
     Limmat--Fixed on a fall--On the river Aar--The Rhine
     again--Douaniers--Falls of Lauffenburg--The cow cart.


The wetting and excitement of yesterday made me rather stiff in
beginning again; and anon, when a rushing sound was heard in front I was
aware of a new anxiety as to whether this might not mean the same sort
of rough work as yesterday's over again, whereas hitherto this sound of
breakers to come had always promised nothing but pleasure. However,
things very soon came back to their old way, a continuous and varied
enjoyment from morning to night.

The river was rapid again, but with no really difficult places. I saw
one raft in course of preparation, though there were not many boats, for
as the men there said, "How could we get boats _up_ that stream?"

The villages near the river were often so high up on lofty cliffs, or
otherwise unsuitable, that I went on for some miles trying in vain to
fix on one for my (No. 1) dinner. Each bend of the winding water held
out hopes that down there at last, or round that bluff cape at farthest,
there must be a proper place to breakfast. But when it was now long past
the usual hour, and the shores got less inhabited and hunger more
imperative, we determined to land at a mill which overhung the stream in
a picturesque spot.

I landed unobserved. This was a blunder in diplomacy, for the canoe was
always good as credentials; but I climbed up the bank and through the
garden, and found the hall door open; so I walked timid

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/40238