The sun shone brightly next morning as we woke on the shores of the Caspian Sea, and it looked calm and inviting, so different from the description of his stormy journey given by Anthony Jenkinson in the sixteenth century. He says: “This sea is freshwater in many places, and in other places as salt as our great Ocean. It hath many goodly Rivers falling into it, and it avoideth not itselfe except it be underground. During the time of our Navigation wee set up the redde crosse of S. George in our flagges, for honour of the Christians, which I suppose was never seen in the Caspian Sea before.” The terminus of the railway line is a miserable little sun-baked village called Krasnovodsk, with only one imposing edifice, the railway station. We took our things at once to the boat, through a maze of railway trucks and carriages, and were delighted to find it a comfortable little steamer, with a Finnish captain who had served long on English ships and looked like a Scotchman. There was a gigantic sturgeon lying on the landing-stage, and he told us some have been caught in the Caspian Sea weighing two tons. Our voyage only lasted about thirteen hours, but none of the passengers save myself faced dinner, and I was surprised to see next morning that there had been some eight or nine on board. During the night a little child died, so there was a delay while the health officer made his inquiry, and we were all duly inspected.
The view of Baku, although seen through driving rain, was eminently picturesque, and the old ruined maiden’s tower (in the centre of my sketch) which is close to the wharf stands up boldly from amongst the modern buildings. Forty years ago Baku was a small town with its picturesque eastern quarter, but now it is a city boasting more than a quarter of a million inhabitants, as cosmopolitan as a seaport on the Mediterranean. The extraordinary change is of course due to the discovery of oil, which has brought wealth, ugliness, and other undesirable things to the surrounding country.
The country round Baku is hideous, a sort of eruption of oil derricks covers miles of it. These are pyramidal buildings like square mill chimneys, only considerably thicker at the base, and there are no less than 2000 at Balakhani closely packed together. There is such an abundance of oil that in many parts it is only necessary to make a hole in the ground with a stick and a jet of flame will rise in the air. On still nights it is possible to set light to the oil which gathers on the surface of the sea. No wonder that the Parsees worshipped the strange fire, and there still exists a curious temple at a place called Surakhany, about half a day’s journey from Baku, where the so-called “eternal fires” burn, though the last worshippers left it some quarter of a century ago. The modern spirit has changed it into a profitable petroleum factory.
TIFLIS
A PERSIAN
The town is evidently well worth seeing, but the pitiless rain drove us to the Hotel d’Europe, and we were glad to resume our journey, deciding to go round by Tiflis instead of direct from Baku to Vienna. There is a through train to the frontier, Volochisk, which takes four nights and three days, and from thence it is another day and night journey to Vienna. We were told that it would be only a difference of hours if we took the other route, and that by so doing we could see the magnificent pass through the Caucasus, travelling from Tiflis to Vladikavkaz by public automobile. It was impossible in Baku to ascertain anything definite as to the hours of starting or arriving of the automobile, but as our train was due at 6.30 A.M. we fondly imagined we should be in time to catch it. Nothing of the sort. With Russian perversity it started in connection with no train, but at 6 A.M. We could hardly regret the delay, however, for we found ourselves in such comfortable quarters at the quiet Hotel de Londres, which had been recommended to us, and we should have appreciated it the more had we known then that they were the last beds we should occupy till we reached London a week later.
Tiflis is well worth a visit: it is situated on the lofty banks of a tumultuous river, and its green and red roofs, varied by the gleaming domes of the churches, are most picturesque. There is a large number of these, and Tiflis has become the home of many religious refugees, for in order to stamp out heresy, orthodox Russia exiles her Baptists, Stundists, &c., to the outlying parts of the empire, such as Siberia and the Caucasus. It boasts a fine German church, also a Swedish mission, and a depôt of the Bible Society. The Swedish missionaries have been working there for twenty-two years, but are not allowed by the Government to have any medical or educational work, which greatly limits their usefulness. It is hard work, but bravely done.
Tiflis is noted for its sulphur baths, and attracts many visitors from different parts of Russia on that account. After a drive round the town we went up the funicular railway, and from the summit a magnificent panoramic view is to be had, for Tiflis is in the heart of the mountains. The ruins of the old walls can be traced on the north side of the river, and the old Georgian fortress, now included in the botanical garden. Tiflis was founded in the fifth century, and became the capital of the Georgian kingdom in the beginning of the sixth century. It fell into the hands of Russia in 1801, and the feelings of the Georgians are still intensely bitter after a century of foreign rule. It is a cosmopolitan city, and Professor Brugsch estimates that seventy languages may be heard in it. One unusual feature of the population is that the men are double the number of the women.