CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH KÉRABAN PROVES THAT HE IS STRONGER IN GEOGRAPHY THAN HIS NEPHEW AHMET BELIEVED.
The town of Kertsch is situated in the peninsula of that name at the eastern extremity of the Taurida. A hill on which formerly the Acropolis was situated dominates the town. This is Mount Mithridates, so called from the implacable enemy of the Romans, who failed to drive them from Asia. The polyglot ancient, audacious general and legendary poisoner has justly his place in the front of a city which was the capital of the kingdom of the Bosphorus. There that King of Pontus, that terrible Eupator, fell on the sword of a Gallic soldier, after having vainly tried to poison his iron frame which he had accustomed to poison.
This little historical summary Van Mitten gave his companions during a short halt. But the relation only called from Kéraban the remark,—
"Mithridates was a stupid blunderer."
"How so?" asked Van Mitten.
"If he had really desired to poison himself, all he had to do was to dine at that inn at Arabat."
After such a commentary as this Van Mitten could not proceed with his eulogy of Mithridates, but he made up his mind to visit the monarch's capital in the few hours left to him.
The chaise passed through the town and created considerable surprise amongst the inhabitants, in consequence of the pair of dromedaries. Ahmet's first care on arrival at the Hotel Constantine was to inquire whether horses could be had on the following morning, and to his great satisfaction ascertained that there was no lack of steeds in the stables of the post-house.
"It is fortunate," he said to his uncle, "that Seigneur Saffar has not taken all the relays."
But the little-enduring uncle did not the less cherish a grudge against the man who had dared to travel before him, and take his horses. However, as he had no further need for his dromedaries, he sold them to the conductor of a caravan, but only obtained for them living the same price as he would have gotten for the carcases. This loss Kéraban carried in his mind's ledger to the account of Seigneur Saffar.
We may assume that Saffar was not in Kertsch, else a little dispute would probably have arisen, which might have had serious consequences. He had quitted the town two days previously, by the Caucasus route. This was fortunate, as our travellers were about to travel by the lower road.
A good supper at the Hotel Constantine, a good night in comfortable quarters, made both the masters and servants forget past troubles. So a letter written by Ahmet to his fiancée at Odessa was the bearer of good news and a report of the journey as regularly accomplished.
As the hour of departure had been fixed for ten o'clock next morning, Van Mitten was enabled to explore the town. Rising with the sun, he found Ahmet on this occasion ready to accompany him. So they walked through the wide streets of Kertsch, which have paved footways and are swarming with multitudes of vagabond dogs. These animals are looked after by a man specially appointed to knock them on the head, but that time he must have been asleep, for Ahmet and the Dutchman had considerable difficulty to escape from the dangerous brutes.
The stone quay, built into the sea at the curve of the bay, afforded them a more secure promenade. Upon the quay are the governor's palace and the custom-house. At some distance out the vessels are anchored, for there is not much water in the bay, though the anchorage is good. The port has become very commercial since the cession of the town to the Russians in 1774, and there is a large salt depot there, the mineral being furnished from the mines of Pérékop.
"Have we time to ascend that hill?" asked Van Mitten, indicating Mount Mithridates, on which a Greek temple stands, enriched with the spoils of the tumuli which are so numerous in the province. This temple has replaced the ancient Acropolis.
"Hum," said Ahmet, "I would not like to run the risk of keeping Uncle Kéraban waiting."
"Nor his nephew," said Van Mitten, smiling.
"Quite true," replied Ahmet. "All the journey I have scarcely thought of anything but our return to Scutari. You understand, I am sure, M. Van Mitten?"
"Yes, I understand, my young friend," replied the Dutchman; "nevertheless, the husband of Madame Van Mitten might be excused if he did not comprehend you."
With this profound reflection, justified by the condition of things in Rotterdam, the friends, finding that they had two hours to spare, commenced the ascent of Mount Mithridates.
From the summit an extensive view is to be had over the bay of Kertsch. In the south the extreme end of the promontory is visible. Towards the east the two tongues of land which enclose the bay of Taman are evident, beyond the strait of Yenikale. The clear atmosphere permitted all the features of the country to be seen, and even the khourghans or ancient tombs with which the province is studded were visible, even to the smallest.
When Ahmet thought that time was up, he led Van Mitten down into the market-place again by a monumental staircase ornamented with balustrades. A quarter of an hour later they rejoined Kéraban, who was endeavouring to discuss some point with his host—a placid Tartar. It was quite time that his friends arrived, for Kéraban was getting angry because there was nothing to put him out of temper. The chaise was quite ready. The horses, of Persian breed, were already harnessed; and when our travellers had taken their seats, they departed at a gallop, which was a pleasant relief from the fatiguing trot of the dromedaries.
Ahmet could not overcome a certain anxiety which oppressed him when approaching the strait. He was aware that it would have to be passed when the route had been changed at Kherson. At his nephew's request Kéraban had consented not to go round the Sea of Azof, and thus make a short cut across the Crimea. But it never occurred to Kéraban that there was not terra firma all the way. He was mistaken, and Ahmet did not undeceive him.
One may be a good Turk, an excellent tobacco-merchant, and yet an indifferent geographer. Kéraban was probably unaware that the flow of the Sea of Azof into the Black Sea is carried through a wide "sound," the ancient Cimmerian Bosphorus, known as the Strait of Yenikale, and must be crossed by any one who wishes to pass between the peninsulas of Kertsch and Taman.
Now Seigneur Kéraban had for the sea a repugnance which his nephew was fully aware of. What would he say then when he found himself by the strait, and if, in consequence of currents or want of water, it became necessary to cross it at its widest part—a distance of nearly twenty miles? Suppose he refused to venture? Suppose he insisted on remounting the whole eastern side of the Crimea to gain the littoral of the Sea of Azof, up to the spurs of the Caucasus? What a prolongation of the journey this would be—what lost time—what interests would be compromised! How could they then hope to reach Scutari by the appointed time?
These were the thoughts that perplexed Ahmet as the chaise rolled on. In less than two hours the shore would be reached, and the uncle would have to decide. How was he to prepare himself for the event? He must take care that no discussion arose. If the hot-headed Kéraban once took a side, nothing would turn him from his idea, and he would insist on turning round and retracing his way to Kertsch.
Ahmet was at a loss. If he confessed his little ruse, he might put his uncle in a passion. It would be better, he thought, to pass himself off as ignorant of the geographical features of the province, and to feign the greatest surprise when he discovered a strait where he quite expected dry land.
"Allah aid me!" muttered Ahmet, and then he waited, with all a Turk's fatalism, the result.
The peninsula of Kertsch is divided by a long trench made in ancient times, which is called the rampart of Akos. The road which in part follows it is good enough as far as the Lazaretto; then it becomes difficult and slippery in descending towards the coast.
The horses could not proceed very fast during the morning, so Van Mitten had an opportunity to look over this portion of the Chersonese at leisure. He perceived a Russian steppe in all its bareness. Some caravans were crossing the plain, or seeking shade under the rampart of Akos in camp, with all the picturesque surroundings of an Oriental halt. Innumerable khourghans covered the country, and gave the plain the appearance of an immense cemetery. These, or similar tombs, had furnished antiquaries with the jewels, Etruscan vases, cenotaph stones, and other relics which now bedeck the walls of the temple and the halls of the museum at Kertsch.
Towards midday the travellers came in sight of a great square tower, flanked by four turrets: this is the fort which is situated to the north of the village of Yenikale. To the south, at the extremity of the Bay of Kertsch, is Cape Au-Bouroum, dominating the shore of the Black Sea. Then the strait opens with its two points, which enclose the Bay of Taman. In the distance the nearest profiles of the Caucasian range are visible.
The strait certainly resembles an arm of the sea at the point where Van Mitten, aware of his friend's antipathy, gazed at Ahmet in consternation.
Ahmet made him a sign to hold his tongue. Fortunately his uncle was just then dozing, and saw nothing of the Black Sea or the Sea of Azof, which confronted him in the sound, whose narrowest part measures five or six miles across.
"Diable!" muttered Van Mitten.
It was certainly annoying that Seigneur Kéraban did not live a hundred years later. Had his journey been made at that time, Ahmet would not have felt so uneasy.[1] For the sand in that strait has a growing tendency to silt up, and this cause will limit the passage to a swiftly running stream in time. If, a hundred and fifty years ago, the ships of Peter the Great were enabled to besiege Azof, at the present time vessels are forced to wait until the south wind heaps up the waves and gives them ten or twelve feet of water under their keels.
But our travellers were there in 1882, not in the year 2000, A.D., and were obliged to accept hydrographical conditions as they then existed.
Meanwhile the chaise descended the slopes, which trend down to Yenikale, disturbing, as it rolled on, flocks of bustards from the high grass. The travellers stopped at the principal hotel, and then Seigneur Kéraban awoke.
"Is this the relay station? Are we having them put to?" he inquired.
"Yes; relays of Yenikale," replied Ahmet simply.
All the travellers alighted while the carriage went on to the posting-house. Thence it would be conveyed to the quay, where the ferry-barge was lying for the conveyance of travellers on foot, or on horseback, or in carriages, and even for the transport of whole caravans, which pass and repass between Europe and Asia.
Yenikale is the headquarters of a lucrative commerce in salt, caviare, tallow, and wool. The sturgeon and turbot fisheries occupy a large proportion of the population, which is almost entirely Greek. The sailors engaged in the coasting-trade pursue their avocation in small, lateen-sail boats. Yenikale occupies an important strategical position: that is why the Russians fortified it after seizing it in 1771. It is one of the ports of the Black Sea, which hereabouts has two keys of safety: the key of Yenikale on one side, and Taman on the other.
After a halt of an hour Seigneur Kéraban gave his companions the signal to proceed, and they walked towards the quay, where the ferry-barge was waiting for them.
Suddenly Kéraban glanced right and left, and uttered an exclamation.
"What is the matter, uncle?" asked Ahmet, who was not quite at his ease.
"There is a river yonder," said Kéraban, indicating the strait.
"Yes, indeed; so there is," replied Ahmet, who thought it best to leave his uncle under that impression.
"A river!" began Bruno.
But a sign from his master gave him to understand that the point need not be insisted on.
"No," said Nizib. "It is a—"
He was not permitted to finish his sentence, for a violent blow from his comrade Bruno cut short his explanation, just as he was developing his hydrographical attainments.
Meanwhile Seigneur Kéraban was steadfastly regarding the "river" that barred his way. "It is wide," he said.
"Well, yes—pretty wide—in consequence of a flood most likely," replied Ahmet.
"Floods, you know, owing to the melting of the snow," added Van Mitten, with the laudable intention to back up his young friend.
"Melting of the snow—in September?" said Kéraban, turning upon Van Mitten.
"Certainly; the melting of the snow. The old snow of course, the Caucasian snow," replied Van Mitten, who had not the least idea of what he was saying.
"But I do not see the bridge by which we can cross this river," continued Kéraban.
"The fact is," said Ahmet, "there is no longer a bridge." As he spoke he closed his hands and looked through them, as through a field-glass, the better to examine the mythical bridge over the pretended river.
"They ought to have a bridge here," said Van Mitten. "My 'guide' mentions the existence of a bridge."
"Ah! your guide mentions the bridge, does it?" said Kéraban, frowning as he gazed at the Dutchman.
"Yes, the famous bridge," stammered Van Mitten, "the—the Pontus Euxinus, you know—Pontus Axenos—of the ancients."
"So very ancient," replied Kéraban, and the words came hissing through his set teeth, "so very ancient that it could not resist the flood caused by the melting of the ancient snows."
"From the Caucasus," added Van Mitten, who had come to the end of his imaginative topography.
Ahmet stood a little apart all this time. He did not know what reply to make to his uncle, and did not wish to provoke any discussion on the topic.
"Well, nephew," said Kéraban drily, "how are we to pass this 'river,' since the bridge has been carried away?"
"We shall find a ford, no doubt, said Ahmet. "There is so little water—"
"Scarcely enough to wet our feet," added Van Mitten, who had better have held his tongue.
"Well, then, my friend, turn up your trousers and wade across this river. We will follow you," said Kéraban.
"But—I—"
"Come, come; tuck them up."
The faithful Bruno here thought it time to interfere to bring his master out of the dilemma.
"It is no use, Seigneur Kéraban. We can pass without wetting our feet. There is a ferry close by."
"Ah! there is a ferry-boat, is there? it is very fortunate that we can go in a barge which has no doubt been kindly substituted for the bridge, the famous Pontus Axenos. Why didn't you say so before? Where is this barge—this raft?"
"Here, uncle," replied Ahmet, indicating the flat-bottomed boat which was made fast to the quay. "Our carriage is already on board."
"Indeed, our carriage is already on board?"
"Yes, and with the horses already harnessed."
"Harnessed? Who gave that order?"
"Nobody, uncle. The post-master has done it as usual."
"Since the bridge has broken down, I suppose?"
"Besides, uncle, there is no other way of continuing our journey," said Ahmet, ignoring the bridge.
"There is another way, nephew Ahmet. We can return and skirt the northern shore of the Sea of Azof."
"Two hundred league further, uncle. And my wedding. The date is the thirtieth. Have you forgotten the thirtieth?"
"By no means, nephew; and before that date I shall have surely returned. Let us go."
Ahmet experienced a pang for a moment. Would his uncle put his mad project in execution and return; or would he take his place in the ferry, and cross the Strait of Yenikale.
Seigneur Kéraban directed his steps towards the boat. Van Mitten and the rest followed him, not wishing to afford him any pretext for the discussion which was threatening.
Kéraban paused for fully a minute upon the quay, looking round him. His companions also stopped.
Kéraban entered the ferry-barge. So did his friends.
Kéraban mounted into the chaise. The others did likewise. Then the boat was cast off, and the current impelled it towards the opposite side.
Kéraban never spoke. His friends were equally silent.
Fortunately the water was calm and the boatmen had no trouble to guide the ferry-boat with their long "gaffs" or poles according to the exigencies of the transit. Nevertheless there was a moment when an accident seemed imminent.
A gentle current, turned by the southern point of the Bay of Taman, had caught the boat obliquely, and instead of landing at that point, it seemed as if the boat would be carried out into the bay, and have to traverse five leagues instead of one. In that case probably Kéraban would have given orders to return.
But the boatmen, to whom Ahmet had said some encouraging words in which the term "rouble" was of frequent occurrence, manœuvred the ferry-boat well, and escaped the current. Thus in an hour after quitting the quay of Yenikale, travellers, horses, carriage, all were landed at the extreme point of the southern side of the bay which is by the Russians called Ioujnaïa-Kossa. There was no difficulty in disembarking, and the men were liberally remunerated.
In former times the strip of land had formed two islands and a peninsula; that is to say, it was cut in two places by a channel, and it would have been impossible to cross it in a carriage. But the channels are now filled up. So the chaise had no difficulty in passing over the four versts which separate the point from the village of Taman.
An hour after disembarkation the travellers entered Taman, and Seigneur Kéraban, looking hard at his nephew, merely said,—
"Decidedly, the waters of the Black Sea and the Sea of Azof agree wonderfully well in the Strait of Yenikale!"
That was all; and never after was there any mention of the "river" discovered by Ahmet, or of the celebrated "Pontus Axenos" of Van Mitten.
- ↑ Nor would this tale have been written,—Translator.