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An old Jew having previously agreed to convert, at exorbitant interest, our rouble notes into "sheis" and keráns, negotiations for horses were then opened by Gerôme, and, as the patois spoken in Astará is a mixture of Turkish and Persian, with a little Tartar thrown in, his task was no easy one, especially as every one spoke at once and at the top of their voices.
My instructions made me responsible for producing something, and surely not without reason. What? Not an adventure from Tiflis to Pekin? Evidently that could only be my fault! And I resolved to do everything to avoid such a misfortune. It is half-past ten when I sit down on one of the seats in the stern of the Astara. But with this increasing wind it is impossible for me to remain there.
The same landing difficulties are experienced at Astara and Lenkoran, the places of call between Enzelli and Baku. Should there be any intention of eventually making a railway from the coast to Kasvin and Hamadan, there to meet a line to Baghdad, then it would be the best course in every way to connect Resht with Baku by a railway along the coast, passing through Astara and Lenkoran.
Hassan had been busy in our absence; he had prepared an excellent pilaff, and sent to Russian Astará for some kakèti wine, which was brought over in a goatskin. This, with our own provisions bought in the morning, furnished a substantial and much-needed meal. Persian native bread is somewhat trying at first to a weak digestion.
I could not help realizing, on landing at Astará, the huge area of this vast empire. How many thousand miles now separated me from the last border town of the Great White Czar that I visited Kiakhta, on the Russo-Chinese frontier? Surrounded by a ragged mob, we walked to the village to see about horses and a lodging for the night.
I leaned over and placed my ear timidly against the outer panel. There was no sound of breathing. The products of the house of Strong, Bulbul & Co., of New York, could not be more noiseless in their boxes. A fear seizes upon me the fear of seeing all my reporter's hopes vanish. Was I deceived on board the Astara? That respiration, that sneeze; had I dreamed it all?
I also notice with what attention Monsieur Caterna looks after his wife, and encourages her to make up for the time lost when she was unwell on board the Astara. He keeps her glass filled, he chooses the best pieces for her, etc. "What a good thing it is," I hear him say, "that we are not to leeward of the Teuton, for there would be nothing left for us!"
He is panting, he runs, he cannot run much farther. The gangway has been drawn ashore, and the steamer is already moving off. How will this late comer get on board? Luckily there is a rope out astern which still keeps the Astara near the quay. The German appears just as two sailors are manoeuvring with the fender. They each give him a hand and help him on board.
In an instant a sheet of flame burst out all round the steamer The boiling came from a submarine spring of naphtha, and the cigar end had set it alight. Screams arise. The Astara rolls amid sheaves of flame; but a movement of the helm steers us away from the flaming spring, and we are out of danger. The captain comes aft and says to me in a frigid tone: "That was a foolish thing to do."
"He is not late this time," said I to Ephrinell. "The dinner hour is never forgotten in the German Empire!" replied the American. "Do you know that German's name?" "Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer." "And with that name is he going to Pekin?" "To Pekin, like that Russian major who is sitting near the captain of the Astara." I looked at the man indicated.
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