as we do at home, but the driver would not hear of it. "No, no," he
said. "You must not walk here. The dogs are too fierce." And then
he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he
looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"And you may
have enough of such matters before you go to sleep." The only stop
he would make was a moment's pause to light his lamps.
When it grew dark there seemed to be some excitement amongst the
passengers, and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as
though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses
unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of
encouragement urged them on to further exertions. Then through the
darkness I could see a sort of patch of grey light ahead of us, as
though there were a cleft in the hills. The excitement of the
passengers grew greater. The crazy coach rocked on its great
leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I
had to hold on. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly
along. Then the mountains seemed to come nearer to us on each side
and to frown down upon us. We were entering on the Borgo Pass. One
by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they
pressed upon me with an earnestness which would take no denial.
These were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given
in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that
same strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen
outside the hotel at Bistritz— the sign of the cross and the guard
against the evil eye. Then, as we flew along, the driver leaned
forward, and on each side the passengers, craning over the edge of
the coach, peered eagerly into the darkness. It was evident that
something very exciting was either happening or expected, but
though I asked each passenger, no one would give me the slightest
explanation. This state of excitement kept on for some little time.
And at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the easternAnd at last we saw before us the Pass opening out on the eastern
side. There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the
heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the
mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had
got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the
conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I
expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness, but all
was dark. The only light was the flickering rays of our own lamps,
in which the steam from our hard-driven horses rose in a white
cloud. We could see now the sandy road lying white before us, but
there was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with
a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. I
was already thinking what I had best do, when the driver, looking
at his watch, said to the others something which I could hardly
hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone, I thought it
was "An hour less than the time." Then turning to me, he spoke in
German worse than my own.
"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all.
He will now come on to Bukovina, and return tomorrow or the next
day, better the next day." Whilst he was speaking the horses began
to neigh and snort and plunge wildly, so that the driver had to
hold them up. Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants
and a universal crossing of themselves, a caleche, with four
horses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the
coach. I could see from the flash of our lamps as the rays fell on
them, that the horses were coal-black and splendid animals. They
were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great
black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us. I could only see
the gleam of a pair of very bright eyes, which seemed red in the
lamplight, as he turned to us.
He said to the driver, "You are early tonight, my friend."
The man stammered in reply, "The English Herr was in a
hurry."The man stammered in reply, "The English Herr was in a
hurry."
To which the stranger replied, "That is why, I suppose, you
wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend.
I know too much, and my horses are swift."
As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hardlooking
mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as
ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from
Burger's "Lenore".
"Denn die Todten reiten Schnell." ("For the dead travel
fast.")
The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up
with a gleaming smile. The passenger turned his face away, at the
same time putting out his two fingers and crossing himself. "Give
me the Herr's luggage," said the driver, and with exceeding
alacrity my bags were handed out and put in the caleche. Then I
descended from the side of the coach, as the caleche was close
alongside, the driver helping me with a hand which caught my arm in
a grip of steel. His strength must have been prodigious.
Without a word he shook his reins, the horses turned, and we
swept into the darkness of the pass. As I looked back I saw the
steam from the horses of the coach by the light of the lamps, and
projected against it the figures of my late companions crossing
themselves. Then the driver cracked his whip and called to his
horses, and off they swept on their way to Bukovina. As they sank
into the darkness I felt a strange chill, and a lonely feeling come
over me. But a cloak was thrown over my shoulders, and a rug across
my knees, and the driver said in excellent German—
"The night is chill, mein Herr, and my master the Count bade me
take all care of you. There is a flask of slivovitz (the plum
brandy of the country) underneath the seat, if you should require
it."
I did not take any, but it was a comfort to know it was there
all the same. I felt a little strangely, and not a little
frightened. I think had there been any alternative I should have
taken it, instead of prosecuting that unknown night journey. The