We left St. Petersburg on the 17th June, and are on our way for a second tour around the world. This time we sail from Odessa on the Orel a boat belonging to the Volunteer Fleet, which will take us straight to Vladivostock.
June 19th.—Towards noon we arrived at Odessa where I was happy to find my mother, who had come from Moscow to see us off. We put up together at the Hôtel de Londres.
June 20th.—This morning Sergy reviewed the recruits who are to sail with us on the Orel.
June 21st.—At three o’clock in the afternoon we went on board the Orel our new dwelling for many days. I took the best place I could find at the side of the ship to see the last of Russia and mother, with whom I parted shedding abundant tears. After the last embraces we separated, our boat gave the third whistle, and slowly we moved away from the dense crowd that covered the wharf. I sent my good-byes to mother, waving wildly my handkerchief to her. I saw the shore separating us, and knew that we couldn’t meet for a very long time.
We are in the open sea, the wind is favourable, the sails are up, and our boat advances rapidly.
The Orel had on board 1300 recruits and 280 first-class passengers, Russian officers for the most part, going out to serve in Siberia, accompanied by their families. We occupy one of the largest state-cabins, with mirrors, carpets, electric light, and electric ventilators, which make, it is true, more noise than ventilation.
We sit down to meals four times a day. At nine o’clock breakfast, at one—tiffin, at four—tea, at seven—dinner. The food is good, but a trifle heavy for the tropics. To-day after dinner, the officer upon duty came up to Sergy to show him the log-book in which all the incidents of the day are noted. At nine o’clock precisely the sailors sang the evening prayers, after which all the passengers went to bed.
June 22nd.—We are on the Black Sea, between sky and water, with no land in view. The weather is beautiful, but the ship rolls dreadfully all the same. I try to brave sea-sickness, and do needlework, whilst Maria Michaelovna reads aloud to me.
June 23rd.—At ten o’clock in the morning we enter the Bosporus and anchor in the Golden Horn. Sergy with all his companions and almost all the passengers had landed in order to stroll about Constantinople. I was tired of sight-seeing and lessons of history, and was the only one of our party who remained on board. At eight o’clock in the evening the Orel weighed anchor. To-day is Saturday, and our ship’s priest performed vespers on the lower deck.
June 24th.—To-day we passed the Dardanelles and entered the Archipelago, and found ourselves near the point where ancient Troy stood.
June 25th.—It is getting hotter and hotter. My hair is out of curl, but never mind; this awful heat takes away all attempt at coquetry. A tent has been spread on deck, under which we take our repasts, protected from the rays of the scorching sun. We have given to this tent the poetical name of “Villa Borghese.” During our dinner the recruits danced a wild jig on the deck, to the accompaniment of five violins, a tambourine and a blow-pipe. One of the men began to whistle artistically, imitating the nightingale, whilst another recruit gambolled and turned somersaults, representing a trained monkey. It is pleasant to see the good relations between the recruits and the chief of their battalion, surnamed by his men “Captain Tempest,” on account of his fiery temper. He raged and stormed a great deal, but was adored by the recruits, notwithstanding his rough tongue.