My destination now was St Miklos. My road thither lay
through a pine-forest, as lonely a tract as could well be imagined, for
there were no signs whatever of human habitations. Certainly the weird
solitude of a pine-wood is more impressive than any other kind of forest
scenery. Under the impervious shade and the long grey vistas, one moves
forward with something of a superstitious feeling, as though one were
intruding into the sanctuary of unseen spirits. I cannot say that I was
a prey to such idle fancies, for the spirits I was likely to meet would
be very tangible enemies. This district had a bad reputation, owing to
several robberies having been committed in the neighbourhood; in fact
the whole country was just then under martial law. I was well armed, and
being alone I kept my weather-eye open; but I saw not even the ghost of
a brigand, and reached St Miklos in safety.
It is usual when incendiary fires or robberies have been rife in any
district to place that part of the country under the _Statorium_, so
that if any person or persons are caught in _flagrante delicto_, they
are summarily tried and hung before a week is over. When I was in
Transylvania in the autumn of '75, the whole of the north-eastern corner
was under the _Statorium_.
At St Miklos I put up at the house of an Armenian, who received me with
a most frank and kindly welcome, conducting me to the guest-chamber
himself after giving orders to the servants to attend to my horse.
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