While we remained on board waiting for the completion of the custom-house formalities, we were entertained with the most picturesque and animated scene imaginable. It was Sunday, and the whole population was scattered over the shore and the adjoining heights. Groups of sailors, Arnaouts, and girls as gracefully formed as those of the Grecian isles, were ascending the steep path to the fortress, or were dancing to the shrill music of a balalaika. All the balconies were filled with spectators, who were busy, no doubt, discussing the apparition of a brig in their port; for the trade of Balaclava, so flourishing under the Genoese, is now fallen to such a degree that the arrival of a single vessel is an event for the whole town.
Balaclava, the Cembalo of the Genoese, is now the humble capital of a little Greek colony founded in the reign of Catherine II., and now numbering several villages with 600 families. During her wars with the Porte, the empress thought of appealing to the national sentiments of the Greeks, and their hatred of the Turks. The result answered her expectations, and Russia soon had a large naval force that displayed the most signal bravery in all its encounters with the enemy. When the campaign against Turkey was ended, the Greek auxiliaries took part in the military operations in the Crimea; and after the conquest of the peninsula, they were employed in suppressing the revolts of the Tatars, and striking terror into them by the sanguinary cruelty of their expeditions. It was at that period the Mussulmans of the Crimea gave them the name of Arnaouts, which they have retained ever since.
The peninsula having been finally subjugated, the Greeks were formed into a regimental colony, with the town and territory of Balaclava for their residence. They now number 600 fighting men, who are only employed in guarding the coasts. The colonist is only liable to be called out for active service during four months in the year; the other eight he has at his own disposal for the cultivation of his lands. Each soldier has twenty-eight rubles yearly pay, and finds his own equipment.
The day after our arrival at Balaclava we made a boating excursion to examine the geology of the coast, and landed in a beautiful little cove lined with flowering trees and shrubs. On our return the boatmen made themselves coronals of hawthorn and blossoming apple sprays, and decorated the boat with garlands of the same, and in this festive style we made our entry into Balaclava. In our poetic enthusiasm as we looked on the lovely sky, the placid sea, and the Greek mariners, who thus retained on a foreign shore, and after the lapse of so many centuries, the cheerful customs of their ancestors, we could not help comparing ourselves to one of the numerous deputations that used every year to enter the Pyraeus, with their vessels' prows festooned with flowers, to take part in the brilliant festivals of Athens.
We bade adieu that day to our excellent friend M. Taitbout de Marigny, who continued his cruise to Ialta, where we were again to meet him. We set out for the convent of St. George, our minds filled with classical reminiscences, which fortified us to endure the horrible bumping of our pereclatnoi. This vehicle is a sort of low four-wheeled cart, so narrow as barely to accommodate two persons, who have nothing to sit on but boxes and packages laid on a great heap of hay. It is no easy matter to keep one's balance on such a seat, especially when the frail equipage is galloped along from post to post at the full speed of three stout horses. Yet this is the manner in which most Russians travel, and often for a week together, day and night.
The road from Balaclava to the monastery presents no striking features; it runs over a vast plateau, as barren as the steppes. A little before sunset we were quite close to the convent, but saw nothing indicative of its existence, and were, therefore, not a little surprised when the driver jumped down and told us to alight. We thought he was making game of us, when he led the way into an arched passage, but when we reached the further end a cry of admiration escaped our lips, as we beheld the monastery with its cells backed against the rock, its green-domed church, its terraces and blooming gardens, suspended several hundred feet above the sea. Long did we remain wrapt in contemplation of the magic effect produced by man's labour on a scene that looked in its savage and contorted aspect as if it had been destined only to be the domain of solitude.