We made no stay at the customhouse, but rode on a couple of miles farther, where, coming upon a nice spring, we dined.  Not a single shepherd had we met, so there had been no chance of bartering for milk; it was not surprising, because our track had been almost entirely in the forests, and of course the shepherds are higher up on the Alpen.  At this last halting-place we nearly set the forest on fire.  The grass was very dry all round, and before I was aware of it, the fire ran along the ground and caught the trees.  It blazed up in an inconceivably short time.  I rushed up directly, to cut off what branches I could with my bowie-knife; but though calling loudly to the Wallack to assist me, he never concerned himself in the least.  This exasperated me beyond measure, seeing what mischief was likely to accrue from the misadventure.  Luckily a man came up, riding on one horse and leading another, and he readily gave me a helping hand, and between us we put out the fire.  The Wallack never raised a finger!

Getting into conversation with the new-comer, I found that he was going to Orlat, whereupon I arranged to go on with him.  Accordingly I paid my guide, and was not sorry to have done with him, he had so disgusted me about the fire, and I was especially glad to get quit of his wretched horse, which had greatly retarded our progress.  I transferred my saddle-bags to the spare horse, and we got on much faster, reaching Orlat by sunset.

Before descending into the plain we had a magnificent view.  Herrmannstadt seemed almost at our feet, though in reality it was still a long way off; the Fogaraser Mountains stretching away towards Kronstadt, appeared in all their picturesque irregularity, and along the plain at their base were scattered the villages of the Saxonland, each with its fortress-church, a relic of the old time, when the brave burghers had to hold their own against Turk and Tartar.

At Orlat I found a small inn, but they had no travellers’ room in it; however some of the family were good enough to turn out, and I was very glad to turn in, and that rather early.

CHAPTER XVI.

Herrmannstadt—­Saxon immigrants—­Museum—­Places of interest in the neighbourhood—­The fortress-churches—­Heltau—­The Rothen Thurm Pass—­Turkish incursions.

The following morning a ride of ten miles brought me to Herrmannstadt.  Here I put up at the Hotel Neurikrer, a comfortable house; it was a new sensation getting into the land of inns.  The fact is, the Saxons are not indifferent to the existence of inns; it relieves them of the necessity of hospitality.  The Hungarian will take the wheels off his guest’s carriage and hide them to prevent his departure, whereas the Saxon would be more inclined to speed the parting guest with amiable alacrity.  There is an old-world look about Herrmannstadt that gives one the sensation of being landed in another age; it is a case of Rip Van Winkle, only “t’other way round,” as the saying is:  one has awakened from the sleep in the hills to walk down into a mediaeval town, finding the speech and fashions of old Germany—­Luther’s Germany!