It was a weary journey down to the river-bank, and we did not reach the ferry until noon. The ferryman lives in a hut a good way from the river, and it was only after firing half a dozen shots in the air that we succeeded in attracting his attention. That half-hour of waiting among the reeds, with the sun right overhead, was the warmest half-hour I ever spent. At length the ferry-boat, a long tree-trunk with the inside burnt out of it, came across the stream, and we took our saddles and bridles and laid them in it. The horses had, of course, to swim, and it was a long and difficult task to get them all over. The current is very strong, and it was a subject for congratulation that none of them were carried away by it. Excepting at the ferry, the banks are so steep that it is impossible to land. When all had safely reached the other side we lay down under the shade of the trees, and lunched off cucumbers and coarse bread, washed down by the white Kakhetian wine, of which we carried a full sheepskin.
The hottest part of our day’s work was over; instead of burnt, shadowless plains we should now have the sunless forest to ride through until we reached our halting-place for the night. But we well knew that we should not be in clover for the rest of the day, for we had often been told that this wood was infested by a horse-fly of a very malignant character, and as we rode along the northward path we had an opportunity of making the acquaintance of the insect in question. Within a mile of the bank we were surrounded by swarms of them, and the horses, becoming more and more restless, at last went perfectly mad with pain, while the blood dripped plentifully from their flanks. To think of holding them in by bit and bridle was out of the question, the only thing to be done was to let them gallop ahead and to keep a sharp look-out for the many boughs that overhung the scarcely perceptible track. Although Georgia is not in the tropics, this was a truly tropical forest with all its luxuriant and beautiful vegetation; walnut and other fancy woods abound, but they are allowed to fall and rot unutilized; the undergrowth on either hand is so thick as to be impenetrable; on all sides are masses of strange, bright flowers, making the air heavy with perfume, and birds of dazzling plumage sit chattering on every tree.
About an hour before sunset we reached the river Kabalo, a swift, shallow mountain stream, which we forded, and then rode up a fine glade to the encampment of my friends’ Tatar herdsmen. About a score of families live there all the summer in large tents, which are not altogether devoid of comfort; in the interior may be seen carpeted divans, gold and silver ornaments are not uncommon, and the copper household utensils are thoroughly artistic in shape and beautifully engraved. We dismounted at the chief man’s tent, and, lying down on the greensward, waited impatiently for dinner. The fare was abundant and good, as was to be expected in a country so rich in game and fish, and we slaked our thirst with cool kumiss (fermented mare’s milk). The Tatars are fine, bold-looking fellows; there is in their faces a look of wild freedom that is extremely attractive to one who has spent the most of his life in cities. I believe that if I had stayed a week or two in that camp on the Kabalo, I should have been content to renounce civilized life altogether. A very houri, a gazelle of the wilderness, a sixteen-year old maiden in red tunic and wide trousers, with long dark hair in countless tiny braids and pretty little white bare feet and ankles, cast timid glances in our direction, and lovely, languorous eyes said as plainly as possible, “Fly to the desert! fly with me” ... and many other things which the curious reader may find recorded in the works of the late Mr. Thos. Moore.
At nightfall we rode away, accompanied by a few Tatars, to visit the large herds of horses and cattle which feed near here, and then proceeded to the little cluster of cottages where the Georgian farm-labourers live, about a couple of miles higher up the river. We were received by the steward, a Greek from Cilicia, and after chatting merrily over our tea for a few hours, we spread our burkas on the ground and slept as well as the clouds of fierce mosquitoes would allow us to do, under the starlit sky, lulled by the music of the stream.
About an hour before dawn the cold aroused us all, and after a bath in the icy waters of the Kabalo, and a hasty breakfast, we visited the farm-buildings. Tobacco is the chief commodity produced, but its cultivation is at present rather unprofitable; I saw three hundred bales of the finest leaves of last year’s growth lying in the store unsold; it is quite equal to Turkish, and can be bought at a ridiculously low price, but it is not yet known in Europe, even in Russia “Batumskii tabak” has only recently been introduced, although it is far superior to that which is grown on the Don. Georgian landowners cannot afford to push the sale of their wares in Europe, but I am sure that if English firms would send out buyers they would not regret it, unless they dealt with the wily Armenian middle-man instead of the Georgian producer. The fear of the Lesghian robber-bands prevents any great outlay of capital in the development of such a district, and, indeed, nobody in Georgia has much capital to spare, so the greater part of the estate I am speaking of, hundreds of square miles in extent, is a pathless forest.
By eight o’clock we were in the saddle. The path rises through thick woodlands to the summit of a hill crossed by a narrow, rocky pass which has an unpleasant reputation as being the haunt of brigands; only a few weeks before, a party of travellers had been attacked there, two of their number were wounded, and they were all relieved of their purses, jewellery, and arms. We were within half a mile of the top when we perceived a Lesghian prowling about a little in advance of us. We halted, unslung our fire-arms and loaded, then extending for attack, as far as the nature of of the country would allow, we went forward at a quick walking pace. We soon caught sight of three more Lesghians, but this was evidently the whole force, for they contented themselves with looking at us from a distance, and seeing that the odds were in our favour, they galloped away into the depths of the forest, and left us to pursue our journey unmolested.
Climbing to the summit of the hill, we enjoyed a splendid view of the Alazana valley from the opposite side to that whence we had been accustomed to see it; behind us rose the white peaks of the Caucasus, looking very near in the clear morning air. A little way off the blue smoke rising from among the trees showed us where our friends, the highwaymen, were cooking their breakfast. To the eastward, almost at the foot of the hill, lay the Russian military colony of Mikhailovka, to which we descended.
Mikhailovka is fairly prosperous compared with other Russian colonies in Transcaucasia, but to a European it does not seem an Arcadia; it is one wide, straggling street of poor, dirty-looking farmhouses. The colonists have to struggle with fever and ague, not to speak of Lesghians, and altogether do not seem to enjoy their life very much. Mikhailovka is the point at which the military road from Signakh turns to the eastward, and about five miles farther on arrives at Lagodekh, the staff head-quarters of an army corps, into which we rode about an hour before noon.
Lagodekh is a place of some size, with wide, clean streets and large grassy squares, planted with fine trees, the houses are neat and comfortable-looking. Swift mountain streams run through it and supply delicious water. The public buildings comprise barracks, hospital, stores, a fine church of red sandstone, a modest club-house, bazar, &c. We made our way to the quarters of an officer of the 39th, whose hospitality we enjoyed until evening. In spite of the terrible heat, our host showed us everything worth seeing. The park is the great attraction, it is beautifully kept, and contains a fine long avenue of tall poplars; in the middle of it is a pavilion with the garrison ball-room, and near the entrance may be seen a small cemetery where there is a real, old-fashioned ghost, which, under the semblance of a white lady carrying a cross, affrights the local Tommy Atkins every year in the month of June. I commend this sprite to the attention of the Psychical Research Society, and I am quite willing to proceed to Lagodekh and spend a month there in investigating the matter—at the Society’s expense.
The troops suffer a good deal in the summer months, and there are many casualties from apoplexy, dysentery, and other complaints.