Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen
Crimea!This Chisones, which the ancients called Tauris, was a quadrilateral, or rather a regular rhombus, as it were dug out of the most charming Italian coast, a peninsula, which was afterwards scored twice by Monsieur with a pocketknife. and became an island; it was a corner of the earth, the object of all nations eager to claim the empire of the East, a kingdom of the ancient Bosphorus, conquered by the Eraklians in 600 B.C., It was successively conquered by the Mithridates, the Alans, the Goths, the Chinese, the Hungarians, the Tartars, the Genoese, and later Mahomet II made it a rich province of the empire, and Carter Linna II finally included it in the territory of Russia in 1791!
How could this area, blessed by the gods but contested by people, not be intertwined with various myths and legends?Had it not been desired to rediscover in the swamps of Siwaki the vestige of the inconclusive project of the Atlantean nation?Did not the poets of old place a district of hell near Cape Kerberian, whose three piers form the three-headed dogs that guard the gates of hell?Iphigenege, daughter of Agamemnon and Chrysenestra, after becoming priestess of Diana in Tauris, was not the brother who was almost blown to the coast of Parthenium by the wind? Was Orestes sacrificed to the goddess of chastity?
The present-day Crimea surpasses all the arid islands of the archipelago in its southern part alone: its Chadir-Dach, at 1,500 meters above sea level, is like a large table that can host a banquet for the gods of Olympus. table.Its mantle of forests stretches down to the sea; its clumps of wild chestnuts, cypresses, olives, jews, almonds, gorse, waterfalls sung by Pushkin.With all this, is it not the most beautiful jewel in the crown of the provinces stretching from the Black Sea to the North Sea?The climate here is cool and pleasant. Whether it is the Russians in the north or the south, don't they all come here to escape the severe cold in the northern winter or escape the dry wind in summer?At the southern tip of Tauris Island, the Cape of Ayia, which blocks the waves of the Black Sea like a sheep's head, isn't there a lot of castles, villas, and cottages around it? "Yalta", "Alupka" belonged to Prince Vorontov, outwardly a feudal lord, but inwardly he dreamed of the East; "Kisir-Tash" belonged to Paniatovsky the Count's, "Artec" is Prince Andrei Kalinin's; The Palace of Dia, with its babbling springs, changing torrents and winter gardens, was a favorite retreat of empresses throughout Russia.
In addition, the most curious, sensitive, artistic, and romantic spirits seem to be able to satisfy their longings in this corner of the earth-a real small universe where Europe and Asia meet.Tatar villages, Greek towns, oriental cities gathered here: mosques with minarets; muadins and ascetics; monasteries where Russian religious ceremonies were held; palaces of khans; hidden legends a holy place where people come from far and wide to worship; a mountain ridge belonging to the Jews belonging to the tribe of Karait; and a valley of the Josafat, sunken like a branch of the famous Sedron valley, innumerable to receive the end of the day. Those who are on trial should gather here when they hear the trumpets.
How many wonders would there be in Van Mettain to visit!How many impressions could he make in this place brought about by this strange fate!However, his friend Kerabon did not travel for sightseeing, and Ahme had seen all the good places in Crimea, so he would not agree to give him an hour to take a look.
"Perhaps, after all," mused Van Mettaine, "I might, passing by, get a glimpse of this much-admired ancient Chesones?"
Things never went as he expected.The carriage wanted to take the shortest way, so it went down a slope from north to southwest, passing neither the center of ancient Tauris nor the south.
In fact, such a course was decided during a deliberation without even asking what the Dutch thought.If it is said that when crossing Crimea, it is possible not to go around the Azov Sea Dump, which is at least 150 kilometers away, then it is possible to shorten a part of the distance by going straight from Perekop to the Kerch Peninsula. .Then from the other side of the Ienikare Strait, the Taman Peninsula has a direct road to the Caucasus coast.
So the carriage drove over the narrow isthmus, which was like a branch of an orange tree, and the Crimea was like a beautiful orange hanging from a branch.On one side is Perekop Bay and on the other is Siwak Swamp, better known as Putrid Sea.This is a vast pond with an area of 2 billion square meters, the water of which comes from the island of Tauris and the Sea of Azov, and the Gurnidri fracture becomes its waterway.
Travelers passing by can see this Siwak swamp, which is only a meter deep on average and is almost saturated with salinity in some places.Since the salt that crystallized under these conditions began to naturally precipitate, it is possible to make the Putrid Sea one of the most productive salt pans on Earth.
But it should be admitted that when walking along this Siwak swamp, there is no pleasant smell.The air was mixed with some hydrogen sulfide, and fish entering the lake died almost immediately.So it can be said to be comparable to Lake Asfartit in Palestine.
A railway runs through these swamps from Aleksandrov to Sebastopol.So at night Lord Kerabong would be terrified to hear the deafening whistle of the locomotive whizzing along the railroad tracks, while the muddy waters of the Putrid Sea bumped against the railroad tracks from time to time.
The next day was August 31, and the roads during the day were all in the green fields.The leaves of the olive groves were turned by the breeze and quivered in clusters like thousands of quicksilver.There are also black-green cypresses, majestic oaks, and tall wild strawberry trees.With layers of grapes growing on the hillsides, the French wines produced here aren't too bad.
Under Ahmey's instruction, relying on his large amount of rubles, the horses were always ready to pull the cart, and the excited coachmen also took the shortest route.In the evening they passed through the town of Dort, and the shore of the Putrid Sea was again a few kilometers away.
This place is an interesting lagoon separated from the Sea of Azov by a low sand island of piled-up shells, with an average width of about a quarter of a kilometer.
This place is called the Araba Spit.It stretches from the village of Araba southward to Ghenitri, and to the north is solid land, but here it passes through a channel 300 feet wide, through which, as said above, the sea of Azov enters.
When the sun rose, Lord Kerabong and his companions were surrounded by a damp, thick and noxious mist, which gradually dispersed under the rays of the sun.
The wilderness has also become desolate, with fewer and fewer trees.The sight of some tall dromedary camels grazing freely makes the area seem like part of the Arabian desert.Some large wooden carts passed by, without a single iron part, and the asphalt-coated axles made a harsh sound when they rubbed against each other.These aspects are very primitive, but there is still the generous hospitality of the Tartars in the cottages of the country, in remote farmsteads.Everyone gets to go in, sit down at the host's table, eat up the never-ending supply of food, and walk away when their fill is full, all paid by saying "thank you."
It is needless to say that the travelers never abused these soon-to-disappearing, unadorned old customs, and they always left here and there, in the form of rubles, sufficient tokens of their passage.In the evening, the horses that pulled the cart were exhausted after running for a long time, and they stopped in the town of Araba at the southern end of the spit.
There rose a fort on the sand, with houses scattered at its feet.There are copious amounts of fennel everywhere, they are a real concentration of snakes;
At nine o'clock in the evening, the carriage stopped at the door of a shabby-looking hotel.But it should be admitted that this is already the best hotel in the area.In these outlying parts of Chesones, there was no room for airs.
"Nephew Ahme," said Lord Kerabong, "we've been running for days and nights, and we only stopped at the inn, so if we lie for a few hours in a bed, even a bed in a hotel, I don't know. won't be unhappy."
"I was even more delighted," added Van Mettaine, stretching himself.
"What! Twelve hours' delay!" Ahme yelled. "12 hours in a six week trip!"
"You want to have a debate on this?" Kerabong asked, a tone of menace that befits him.
"No, uncle, no!" replied Ahme. "When you need a break..."
"Yes! I need rest, and Van Mittern needs rest, and Bruno, I think, and Nisib too!"
"My lord Kerabon," replied Bruno, who was called directly, "I take this idea as the best you've ever had, especially with a good meal prepared for us to sleep well. for dinner!"
Bruno's suggestion came at the right time.The food stores on the wagon were almost exhausted.It is important to never eat the contents of the crates until reaching Kerch.Kerch is an important city on the Kerch peninsula, where food reserves can be fully renewed.
It's a pity that if the beds at the Araba Hotel are passable even for such an important traveler, the food is not.No matter what time of year, there are not many tourists adventuring in the remote areas of Tauris Island.Only some salt merchants, whose horses or carts used to come and go on the road from Kerch to Perekop, were the usual patrons of the Araba Hotel, they were easy to attend to, could sleep on hard beds, and eat what they could get!
Lord Kerabong and his companions were therefore obliged to content themselves with a very poor meal, namely risotto.This kind of meal has existed since ancient times, but now there are more rice and less chicken, and more bones and less chicken.Besides, the chicken is so old, so the meat is so tough, it is almost as good as Kerabong himself, but the strong molars of this stubborn man will not budge, and in this case he is still as usual. .
After this prescribed meal, a pot of real "yoghurt," or curdled milk, followed.It came at just the right time and helped to get the risotto down.Then came the rather savory pancakes, known locally by their local name "Catlamas".
Bruno and Nisib didn't share as much food as their master, or less than the master, whatever you said.Sure, their jaws are tougher than chicken, but that doesn't stand a chance of showing.The risotto on the table was replaced by something black and smoky like a long-worn fireplace deep in the hearth.
"What is this?" Najib asked.
"I can't say for sure," Nisib said.
"Why, you are a local and don't know?..."
"I'm not from here."
"Probably, because you are a Turk!" Bruno replied. "Well, buddy, try this dry sole, and tell me what it is!"
The always obedient Nisib took a big bite out of the sole of the shoe.
"How?..." Bruno asked.
"That's it, of course it's not delicious! But it's still edible!"
"Yes, Nisib, that's when you're starving and have nothing else to eat!"
And Bruno tasted it too, like a man who is determined to risk anything at all.
All in all, with the help of a few glasses of beer that the two of them had mixed with alcohol, the stuff was bearable.
But Nisib suddenly cried out:
"Ah! May Allah help me!"
"What's wrong with you, Nisib?"
"Did I just eat pork?"
"Pork!" said Bruno. "Oh! That's right, Nisib! A good Muslim like you can't eat such a delicious but unclean animal! Well, if this unknown dish is pork, I think you only have one something to do..."
"whats the matter?"
"Since the pork has been eaten by you, then digest it quietly!"
Nisib obeyed Muhammad's precepts very much, so he was still uneasy and at a loss, so Bruno had to ask the hotel owner about the situation.
Nisib was finally relieved and could digest it without any regrets.The blackened dish isn't even meat but fish, called "shebak," a type of dory.It was split in half like a fin, dried in the sun, hung over the hearth to be smoked, and eaten raw, or almost raw.This stuff was exported in large quantities to the entire coastal strip of the port of Rostovo, deep in the northeastern Sea of Azov.
The masters and servants could only be satisfied with this meager dinner at the Araba Hotel.They felt that the bed was harder than the cushions of a carriage, but at last they did not suffer the bumps of the road, but stopped moving, and the sleep in these very uncomfortable rooms was enough to wear off their fatigue from the previous days. recovered.
The next day, September 2, just as the sun rose, Ahme got up and was busy looking for a post to change horses.The horses of the previous day were exhausted after pulling such a long and difficult road, and they had to rest for at least 24 hours before going back on the road.
Ahme planned to take the harnessed cart to the hotel, so that his uncle and Van Mittain could just get in and drive to the Kerch peninsula.
The station is there, at the end of the village.The roof is decorated with curved wooden strips, like the neck of a double bass, but there are no visible horses to replace.The stables were empty, and it was impossible for the stationmaster to provide the horses, even if gold coins were paid.
Ahme was so dismayed by this unexpected situation that he had to go back to the hotel.Lord Kerabon, Van Mittern, Bruno, and Nisib are all ready to go and are waiting for the carriage to arrive.One of them - needless to say his name - began to look impatient.
"Ah! Ahme," he asked loudly, "how come you came back by yourself? Do you want us to go to the post station to find a carriage?"
"Unfortunately, it's useless to look for it, Uncle!" Ahme replied. "Not even a horse!"
"No horses?..." Kerabong asked.
"Only tomorrow will we have horses!"
"Only tomorrow?..."
"Not bad! That's 24 hours lost!"
"Twenty-four hours to lose!" Kerabong yelled, "but I'm not going to lose 10 hours, not even five hours, not even one hour!"
"But," the Dutchman reminded his friend, who had begun to lose his temper, "what if there were no horses? . . . "
"There will be!" Lord Kerabong replied.
He made a gesture and everyone followed him.
A quarter of an hour later they came to the station and stopped at the door.
The station master stood lolling at the door, knowing full well that he could not be compelled to produce what he did not have.
"Don't you have any horses?" Kelabang asked, his tone was not easy to discuss.
"I have only the horses you brought last night," replied the station master, "and they cannot walk."
"Then tell me why you don't have a replacement horse in your stable?"
"Because they were all taken away by a Turkish lord who was going to Kerch to cross the Caucasus from there to Poti."
"A lord from Turkey!" exclaimed Kerabong. "Must be a European-style Ottoman! Exactly! They're not enough to stop you in the streets of Constantinople, you'll run into them on the way to the Crimea! Who's he?"
"I know his name is Lord Safar, that's all," the postmaster replied calmly.
"Well, why do you dare to give the rest of the horses to Lord Safar?" Kelabang asked, his tone full of contempt.
"Because this tourist arrived at the post station yesterday morning, 12 hours earlier than you. At that time, there was a horse to exchange for. I have no reason not to give it to him."
"On the contrary, there are horses! . . . "
"And horses? . . . " repeated the station master.
"There must be more, because I'm coming."
What can be said about such arguments?Van Metter thought of intervening, only to be elbowed by his friend.The postmaster looked at Mr. Kerabong with a mocking look, and was about to go back to the house, but Kerabong stopped him and said:
"At the end of the day, it's nothing to worry about! Horses or no horses, we're going!"
"Immediately?" asked the postmaster. "I tell you again I have no horses."
"Go find it!"
"There are no more horses in Arabah."
"Find two horses, find one," Kerabong replied, beginning to lose control of himself, "find half a horse...but go find it!"
"But... what if there is no?..." The easy-going Dutchman thought it necessary to repeat euphemistically.
"Must have!"
"Perhaps you can harness a mule or mule for us?" Ahme asked the postmaster.
"I have never seen a mule or a mule in this province!" replied the station master.
"Then he can see one today," Bruno pointed to Kerabon and whispered in the master's ear, "and it's a famous mule."
"And the donkey?..." Ahme asked.
"There's nothing like a donkey like a mule!"
"Not even a donkey! . . . " cried Lord Kerabong. "Ha! You're laughing at me, Mr. Stationmaster! There's no donkeys in this place! Whatever it is. Isn't there anything for a cart? Isn't there anything for a horse to pull a cart?"
The stubborn man said so, and his angry eyes swept back and forth at the dozen or so locals gathered at the gate of the post station.
"He can get them to pull the carriage!" said Bruno.
"Yes! ...they or us!" replied Nisib, who knew his master like the back of his hand.
Since there were no horses, nor mules and donkeys, it was obvious that they could not start.That means a 24 hour delay.Ahme was as annoyed by this as his uncle, but still wanted him to face the reality of the impossibility of having a horse. At this moment, Lord Kairabong shouted:
"Whoever harnesses my horses will give him 100 rubles!"
The natives of Alaba shuddered with excitement.One of them stood up decisively.
"My lord Turkey," said he, "I have two dromedaries for sale!"
"I bought it!" Kerabong replied.
No one has ever seen a stagecoach pulled by a dromedary, and this time they have seen it.
The transaction was negotiated in less than an hour, and the price was not low.It was nothing, and Lord Kerabong paid double the price.The two dromedary camels were put on saddles and bridles, and put on the shafts. Their old masters also became coachmen with the promise of a large tip, and they sat in front of the humps proudly.And then, sure enough, the car stunned the Araba locals.But the carriage, which the travelers were extremely satisfied with, was strangely pulled by camels and trotted on the road leading to Kerch.
In the evening, they successfully arrived at Aljing Village, 12 kilometers away from Arabba.
There were no horses in the station, and that was the case after Lord Safar passed by.A resolution must be made to spend the night in the village of Arking in order to give the camels a rest.
The next morning, September 3, the carriage continued to drive as usual. During the day, it traveled 17 kilometers from the village of Argin to the village of Maliyangtar, where it stayed overnight and then left at dawn. Time to reach Kerch.The journey was uneventful, but the bumps were severe, for the strong camels were not trained to pull carts.
In short, after 19 days of traveling since starting on August 17, Lord Kairabang and his companions have completed three-sevenths of the distance—that is, 300 kilometers out of the 700 kilometers.So their speed is still quite fast. If they maintain this speed in the next 26 days until September 30th, they should be able to complete the trip around the Black Sea within the original deadline.
"But," Bruno used to say to his master, "I always have a premonition of a bad end!"
"For my friend Kerabong?"
"To your friend Kerabong...or to all who accompany him!"
Notes:
Notes: