passengers are congregated about this table, some sitting, others
standing, and all reaching here and there, everybody helping himself and
eating with his fingers. Now and then each one tosses off a little
tumbler of vodka. We proceed to the table and do our best to imitate the
Russians in their apparent determination to clean off the table. The
edibles before us comprise the elements of a first-class cold luncheon,
and we sit down prepared to do it ample justice. By and by the Russians
leave this table one by one, and betake themselves to another, on the
opposite side of the saloon. As they sit down, waiters come in bearing
smoking hot roasts and vegetables, wine and dessert.

A gleam of intelligence dawns upon my companion as he realizes that we
are making a mistake, and pausing in the act of transferring bread and
caviare to his mouth, he says to me, impressively: "This is only sukuski,
you know, on this table." "Why, of course. Didn't you know that. Your
ignorance surprises me; I thought you knew.". And then we follow the
example of everybody else and pass over to the other side.

The sukuski is taken before the regular meal in Russia. The tidbits and
the vodka are partaken of to prepare and stimulate the appetite for the
regular meal. Not yet, however, are we fully initiated into the mysteries
of the Caspian steamer's service. Wine is flowing freely, and as we seat
ourselves the captain passes down his bottle. Presently I hold my glass
to be refilled by a spectacled naval officer sitting opposite. With a
polite bow he fills it to the brim. The next moment, I happen to catch
the captain's eye, it contains a meaning twinkle of amusement. Heavens!
this is not a French steamer, even if the cookery is somewhat Frenchy;
neither is it a table-d'hote with claret flowing ad libitum. The
ridiculous mistake has been made of taking the captain's polite
hospitality and the liberal display of bottles for the free wine of the
French table-d'hote. The officer with the eyeglasses lands at Tchislikar
in the afternoon, for which I am not sorry.

At Tchislikar we are met by a lighter with several Turcoman passengers.
The sea is pretty rough, and the united efforts of several boatmen are
required to hoist aboard each long-gowned Turcoman, each woman and child.
They are Turcoman traders going to Baku and Tiflis with bales of the
famous kibitka hangings and carpets. Tchislikar is the port whence a few
years ago the Russian expedition