Bendigo Advertiser/1910/Railway Traveling in the Caucasus

Very practical some of the arrangements of this Caucasian train⁠—some, not all, for in a first-class carriage the only light was a fag-end of a candle that barely enabled one to tell the time when standing up! At the larger (!) stations the buffets are excellent and the time is ample to prove it. Hot bortsch, omelettes, various steaming meats, and delicious tea, cheese, and cakes, prices plainly marked, stood all ready on a counter. You helped yourself, carried your plate to a table, and were happy. A bell rings three times by way of warning⁠—one stroke first, a few minutes after two strokes, about three minutes afterwards three strokes, and then the train moves out. Moreover, the guard, in whose Mingrelian breast my Russian phrase-book and my struggles with the names of the stations stirred pity and amusement, lent me his timetable, giving time of arrival and departure at every little station, with the exact number of minutes the train stopped there. Nor shall I ever forget the kindness of another Georgian, whom I discovered in the third-class as I walked through, who suddenly addressed me in French. Six feet high, bearded, his tcherkeska a perfect armory of weapon, his long nose suggesting more than Semitic sympathy, he strode up and informed me that he had once been guide, interpreter, and friend for an Englishman (Lord Somebody, whose name I never discovered, for he pronounced it like a sneeze) In Daghestan, but who knew no French. (“And why was that?” ho asked, “when France is at the door of London?”) This warrior, without molesting me in any way, insisted on steering me through the bewilderment of Tiflis Station, finding cab and luggage, telling me exactly what to pay porter and coachman, and then strode off and disappeared In the darkness with the bow of an ambassador and a gentle haughtiness that made a tip an impossible offence.⁠—