The ladies all smoke cigarettes
incessantly. There is not a handsome woman aboard, and they show the
lingering traces of Russian barbarism by wearing beads and gewgaws.
The most interesting of our passengers is a Persian dealer in precious
stones. He is a well-educated individual, quite a linguist, and a
polished gentleman withal. He is taking diamonds and turquoises that he
has collected in Persia, to Vienna and Paris.
Another night of drenching dew, and by six o'clock next morning we are
drawing near to the great petroleum port of Baku. From Krasnovodsk we
have crossed the Caspian from east to west right on the line of latitude
40 deg.
CHAPTER XIII.
ROUNDABOUT TO INDIA.
Baku looks the inartistic, business-like place it is, occupying the base
of brown, verdureless hills. Scarcely a green thing is visible to relieve
the dull, drab aspect roundabout, and only the scant vegetation of a few
gardens relieves the city a trifle itself. To the left of the city the
slopes of one hill are dotted with neatly kept Christian cemeteries, and
the slopes of another display the disorderly multitude of tombstones
characteristic of the graveyards of Islam. On the right are seen numbers
of big iron petroleum-tanks similar to those in the oil regions of
Pennsylvania.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403