o'clock we were well on the road, which for the first ten miles or so
led by the sea-shore, through dense thickets of brushwood, alternating
with patches of loose drifting sand. I was agreeably disappointed in
the ponies; for though it was deep, heavy going, they stepped out well
and freely. The clear sunshine, keen air, and lovely scenery seemed to
have the same inspiriting effect on them as on ourselves.

The _coup d'oeil_ was indeed a lovely one. To our right a glorious
panorama of palm, forest, and river stretched away for miles, bounded
on the horizon by a chain of lofty precipitous mountains, their snowy
peaks white and dazzling against the deep cloudless blue, their
grassy slopes and rocky ravines hidden, here and there, by grey mists
floating lazily over depths of dark green forest at their feet. To our
left broad yellow sands, streaked with seaweed and dark driftwood, and
cold grey waters of the Caspian Sea--colourless and dead even under
this Mediterranean sky, and bringing one back, so to speak, from a
beautiful dream to stern reality.

About midday we came to a broad but fordable river, which the Khivan
called the Chulàmak. We all crossed in safety, notwithstanding the
deep holes our guide warned us against, and which, as the water was
thick and muddy, gave Gerôme and myself some anxiety. The stream was
about fifty yards across and much swollen by the snow. Landing on the
other side ahead of my companions, I rode on alone, and presently
found myself floundering about girth-deep in a quicksand. It was only
with great difficulty that we extricated the pony. These quicksands
are common on the shores of the Caspian, and natives, when travelling
alone, have perished from this cause.

Nothing occurred worthy of notice till about 3 p.m., when we reached