Neither money nor
threats would induce them to produce provisions of any kind, so we
fell back on sticks of chocolate and Valentine's meat-juice. The
latter I never travel without - it is invaluable in uncivilized and
desert countries.
The inhabitants of Katvesera are under a score in number, and live
chiefly on fish, though I noticed in the morning that a considerable
quantity of land was under cultivation - apparently rice and barley.
They were a sullen, sulky lot, and we had almost to take the hut
by force. The Khivan, Gerome, and myself took it in turns to watch
through the night. It was near here that the Italian was assassinated.
A start was made at daybreak. The weather had now changed. A cutting
north-easter was blowing, accompanied with snow and sleet. We forded,
about 11 a.m., the Kokajeri river, a mountain stream about thirty
yards wide, unfordable except upon the sea-beach. At midday we halted
at Tchergari, a fishing-village on the shores of the Caspian.
Tchergari contains about two hundred inhabitants, mostly fishermen
employed by a Russian firm. The houses, built of tree-trunks plastered
with mud, had roofs of thatched reed, and were far more substantial
and better built than any I had yet seen in Persia.
