Back to Baku, thence to
Tiflis, and over the mountains to Talriz, - very dubious on account of
the snow;
The second, from Baku to Astrabad, and thence _via_ Mount
Demavend, - still more dubious on account of bad landing as well as
blocked passes; there remained to us Astara, and along the sea-beach
(no road) to Enzelli, with swollen rivers and no post-horses. All
things considered, we resolved to land at Astara, even at the risk of
a ducking. Daylight found us there, anchored a mile from the shore,
and a heavy swell running. But there is no bar here; only a shelving
sandy beach, on which, even in rough weather, there is little
danger. Some good-sized boats came out to the _Kaspia_ with fish and
vegetables, and we at once resolved to land. Anything sooner than
return to Baku!
"There is no road from Astara," said Z - - , "and deep rivers to cross.
You will be robbed and murdered like the Italian who travelled this
way three years ago! He was the last European to do so."
Gerome remembers the incident. In fact, he says, the murdered man was
a friend of his, travelling to Teheran with a large sum of money.
Unable to land at Resht, and impatient to reach his destination, he
took the unfrequented route, was waylaid, robbed, tied to a tree, and
left to starve. "He was alone and unarmed, though," says my companion;
adding with a wink, "Let them try it on with us!"
Seeing remonstrance is useless, Z - - wishes us God-speed. The
good-natured Swede presses a box of Russian cigarettes into my hand
as I descend the ladder - a gift he can ill afford - and twenty minutes
later our boat glides safely and smoothly on Persian soil.
It was a lovely day, and the blue sky and sunshine, singing of birds,
and green of plain and forest, a pleasant relief to the eye and senses
after the cold and misery of the past two days. Astara (though the
port of Tabriz) is an insignificant place, its sole importance lying
in the fact that it is a frontier town. On one side of the narrow
river a collection of ramshackle mud huts, neglected gardens, foul
smells, beggars, and dogs - Persia; on the other, a score of neat stone
houses, well-kept roads and paths, flower-gardens, orchards, a pretty
church, and white fort surrounded by the inevitable black-and-white
sentry-boxes, guarded by a company of white-capped Cossacks - Russia. I
could not help realizing, on landing at Astara, 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. The latter was soon found - a
flat-roofed mud hut about thirty feet square, devoid of chimney or
furniture of any kind.
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