href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@48835@[email protected]#CHAPTER_X" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">CHAPTER X.

TIFLIS.

The Russo-Turkish War—Sukhoum—Alleged abundance of game—Poti—My fellow-travellers—Sport in Kutais—Arrival in Tiflis—Hotels and other features of the town—The British Consul—Organ-grinders in request—A ‘happy day’—Drinking habits—Native wines—German settlers—Shooting expedition—A caravan—Kariâs steppe—A lawless country—Fevers—Antelope-hunting—An unpleasant adventure: running for dear life—A wounded antelope—The lions of Tiflis—Museum and bazaar—Schoolboys—Prevalence of uniforms and orders—Phenomena of Russian life—Buying a travelling pass—Professor Bryce’s ascent of Ararat 186 CHAPTER XI.

EN ROUTE FOR DAGHESTAN. Start from Tiflis—My yemstchik—Travelling carts—Caucasian road-makers—Camel caravans—On the bleak steppe—Persian hawking—Subterranean dwellings—Shooting at Kariur—Elizabetpol—An execrable journey—Hawks and starling—Banditti—Curing official corruption at Tiflis—Goktchai—A wearying day’s sport—Fear of highwaymen—My guide, Allai—Arrival at Gerdaoul—Hospitable Lesghians 231 CHAPTER XII.

THE LESGHIAN MOUNTAINS. Gerdaoul—Shooting partridges—Native wine-vaults—Expedition among the hills—Native houses—An inhospitable village—A dangerous ride—A welcome reception—Shepherd-boys—The Lesghians—Russian love for the Czar—Unsuitable education—Mountain-climbing—Magnificent scenery—Red deer—Vegetation—A chamois—A weary descent—A happy people—Photographing the scenery—A ‘Baboushka’—‘Developing’ our photographs—A mountain châlet—The snow peaks—Wild goats and sheep—Difficult mountaineering—An alluring chase—Suspended over a precipice—A bleak night’s lodging—Mountain turkeys—Black pheasants—Lammergiers—Advice to travellers—Return to Goktchai 255 CHAPTER XIII.

FROM GOKTCHAI TO LENKORAN. Rough travelling—Shooting by the way—Shemakha and Aksu—Tarantasses and post-roads—A wretched station—Mud volcanoes and naphtha springs—Bustards—On the road to Salian—Swarms of wild-fowl—A rascally official—Disappointed hopes—A good Samaritan—Rival hosts—Asiatic fever—The Mooghan steppe—Pelicans and myriads of other birds—Tartar orgies—Banished secretaries: the Molochans and Skoptsi—Arrival at Lenkoran—A Persian gunsmith—Fellow-sportsmen 287 CHAPTER XIV.

SHORES OF THE CASPIAN.—RETURN TO TIFLIS. Lenkoran—Abundance of game—Eryvool forest—Native fowlers—A hunting lodge—Swarming coverts—Wild boar—A paradise for sportsmen—Pigs at bay—‘Old Shirka’ and his quarry—A dying eagle—Caspian woodpeckers—Festive nights—Watching for a tiger—Forest life by night—The eagle-owl and his prey—End of a long vigil—The rainy season—The streets of Lenkoran—The return journey to Tiflis—Adventure at Adji Kabool—Experiences of post-travel—Bullying a station-master—Armenian Protestants—Russian telegraph service—In miserable plight—A spill over a precipice—Refitting our tarantasse—Argumentum ad hominem—An awkward predicament—Chasing a yemstchik—Renewed life at Tiflis—Great snowfall—Running down antelope—The ‘black death’ 311 CHAPTER XV.

THE RAINS. Poti—Chasing wild boar—Red-deer—Turks and Cossacks—Sotcha—Lynxes—Game in the Caucasus—A hunting party—A wounded sow—Beautiful scene—An unexpected bag—Our cuisine—The ‘evil eye’—Overtaken by the rains—Our tent inundated—Surrounded by wolves—Cheerless days—A terrible catastrophe—Welcome help—Golovinsky—A wild scene—Eluding the storm—Fording a torrent—A refuge—Scant supplies—Cossack cradle-song—The Cossacks of to-day—Russian plantations—A terrible ride—Struggling for life—Cossack loafers—Ride to Duapsè—Forlorn days—Mad wolves—Wrestling a Tartar—Laid up with fever—Return to England 340

A verst is equal to three-quarters of an English mile.

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SPORT IN THE CRIMEA AND THE CAUCASUS.

CHAPTER I.

SPORT IN THE CRIMEA.

Scarcely a week’s journey from London, with delicious climates and any quantity of game, it always seemed a marvel to me how few English sportsmen ever found their way to the Crimea or Caucasus. It is now something more than five years ago since I first made myself acquainted with the breezy rosemary-clad steppes of the former, or the low wooded hills on the Black Sea coast of the latter. For nearly three years resident at Kertch, I had ample opportunity of testing all the pleasures of the steppe, and a better shooting-ground for the wild-fowler or man who likes a lot of hard work, with a plentiful and varied bag at the end of his day, could nowhere be found. Of course the sportsman in the Crimea must rough it to a certain extent, but his roughing it, if he only has a civil tongue and cheery manner, will be a good deal of the ‘beer and beefsteak’ order. The Russians are hospitable to all men, especially to the sportsman; and the peasants, even the Tartars, are cordial good fellows if taken the right way.

On the steppes you need rarely want for a roof overhead, if you prefer stuffiness, smoke, and domestic insects to wild ones, with dew and the night air. If you can put up with sour cream (very good food when you are used to it), black bread, an arboose, fresh or half-pickled, with a bumper of fearful unsweetened gin (vodka) to digest the foregoing, you need never suffer hunger long. But for the most part sportsmen take their food with them. Perhaps if my readers will let me, it would be better to take them at once on to the steppe, and tell them all this en route.

Imagine then that for the last two days you have been hard at work out of office hours loading cartridges with every variety of shot, from the small bullets used for the bustard down to the dust-shot for the