Having wished my French friend farewell, and a speedy return to his native country, we set out for the quay.

The night was fine, but away to our left dense clouds of thick black smoke obscured the lights of the town and starlit sky, while the furnaces of the "Tchornigorod" [B] blazed out of the darkness, their flames reflected in the dark waters of the Caspian, turning the little harbour into a lake of fire.
The landing stage is crowded with passengers--a motley crowd of Russian officials, soldiers, peasants, and Tartars.

With difficulty we struggle through the noisy, drunken rabble, for the most part engaged in singing, cursing, fighting, and embracing by turns, and succeed at last in finding our ship, the _Kaspia_, a small steamer of about a hundred and fifty tons burthen.

The captain is, fortunately for us, sober, which is more than can be said of the crew.

Alongside us lies the _Bariatinsky_, a large paddle-steamer bound for Ouzounada, the terminus of the Trans-Caspian Railway.