One could barely sit, much
less stand, and the atmosphere of the saloon may be better imagined
than described.
Every aperture tightly closed; every one, with the
exception of the captain, Gerome, and myself, sea-sick; no food, no
fire, though we certainly did not miss the former much.
About ten o'clock Z - - weighed anchor and stood out to sea. It would
not be safe, he said, to trust to our slender cable another night.
About midnight I struggled on deck, to get a breath of fresh air
before turning in. The night was fine and clear, but the sea around
black as ink, with great foaming white rollers. The decks, a foot
deep in snow, were deserted save by Z - - and the steersman, whose
silhouettes stood out black and distinct against the starlit sky as
they paced the rickety-looking little bridge flanked by red and green
lights. The Enzelli lighthouse was no longer visible. The latter is
under the care of Persians, who light it, or not, as the humour takes
them. This is, on dark nights, a source of considerable danger to
shipping; but, though frequently remonstrated with by the Russian
Government, the Shah does not trouble his head about the matter.
Three routes to Teheran were now open to us: 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.
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