On May 24, at 9 o'clock in the morning, I went to the ship with one of my valets; other people and my things were already on the ship. Our steamship was called "Northern Star". The weather was calm and clear; the sea was smooth as a mirror. There were many flags flying in the roadstead; mourners on the boats crowded around our side. Exactly at 10 o'clock a cannon shot was heard, the wheels of the steamer frothed the water, and we quickly rushed into the open sea, leaving behind us the beautiful Odessa whitening on the hills.
There were quite a lot of passengers on the ship. In addition to the diplomats and generals I mentioned, among the travelers was Dr. Pinner, a learned Orientalist from Berlin, who went to the East on behalf of learned societies to study Karaite manuscripts and Talmudic antiquities. An extremely well-read man, a deep connoisseur of Eastern languages and Jewish literature, he turned out to be a precious interlocutor for me. We spent long hours on deck with him in conversations about the origins of the Talmud, about ancient traditions, about the difference between Karaites and Rabbis, and about the fate of the Jewish people scattered over the face of the earth.
The next day of the voyage, early in the morning, I went out on deck. The ladies did not sleep all night because of the stuffiness in the cabins and spent it on the deck in sun loungers. Suddenly a herd of dolphins surrounded our ship. These sea creatures have never amused me so much! There were a great many of them: they tumbled in the waves, overtook the ship, jumped into the air, sparkling with silver scales in the rays of the rising sun, and seemed to be flirting with us.
By midday the wind had freshened, the sky was overcast with gray clouds, and the Black Sea lived up to its formidable name. Strong rolling began. The waves crashed noisily against the bow of the steamer and sprayed the deck. Almost all the passengers came down with seasickness; Only I, thanks to my habit of the sea, remained on my feet and inhaled the salty sea wind with pleasure. The day was spent fighting the waves; By nightfall the storm had subsided, and bright southern stars appeared in the clear sky.
At dawn on the third day, the blue shores of Thrace and Asia Minor appeared on the horizon. My heart began to beat with inexplicable excitement: we were approaching the ancient Thracian Bosphorus! How many historical memories are associated with this narrow strait connecting the Black Sea with the Marmara Sea! Here the Argonauts looked for the Golden Fleece; here passed the formidable squads of the Kyiv princes Oleg and Igor, nailing their shields to the gates of Constantinople on fragile boats; here the crusaders went to liberate the Holy Sepulcher; East and West have collided here for centuries!
At the very entrance to the Bosphorus from the Black Sea, on the Cyanean Island (Simplegades) on the European side, stands the so-called Pompey’s Column. It is carved from white marble and crowned with a Corinthian capital. On its pedestal there is an ancient Latin inscription in honor of Caesar Augustus (CAESARI AVGVSTO E. CL. ANNIDIVS LF. CLA.). On the high rocky shore above the island stands the European Lighthouse (Rumeli Feneri), and on the opposite Asian shore stands the Asian Lighthouse (Anadolu Feneri). The distance between them does not exceed two miles.
Entering the strait, we saw on the hills the batteries built by the French Baron de Tott in 1773 to protect the entrance against the Russian fleet; Heavy guns are blackening menacingly at them. Downstream stands the first European castle - Rumeli-Kavak, and opposite it on the Asian shore - Anadolu-Kavak and the picturesque ruins of the ancient Genoese fortress, above which rises the Giant Mountain (Yusha-Dag), where the Turks revere the tomb of the biblical Joshua.
Further, the banks narrow and become inexpressibly picturesque. The hillsides are covered with dense forests of oak, chestnut, plane trees and cypresses; Between them are colorful Turkish villages, minarets, coffee houses and magnificent summer cottages of the nobility (yalas), washed by the azure streams of the strait.
The vast Buyukder Bay soon opened. Here is the magnificent summer residence of the Russian Imperial Embassy, headed by the then envoy extraordinary A.P. Butenev. As soon as our steamer dropped anchor in the bay, an elegant fourteen-oared boat flying the St. Andrew's flag pulled away from the embassy pier. Mission officials arrived on it to receive diplomatic mail and greet noble travelers. I took advantage of the kind invitation to drive ashore and spend a few hours at Buyuk-Dere, among the shady plane trees of the famous valley where Godfrey of Bouillon had once pitched his tent during the First Crusade.