The train starts at two o'clock in the morning, after having been
joined by a few passengers who Popof tells me are Turkomans. I will
have a look at them when daylight comes.
For ten minutes I remained on the car platform and watched the heights
of the Persian frontier on the extreme limit of the horizon. Beyond the
stretch of verdant oasis watered by a number of creeks, we crossed wide
cultivated plains through which the line made frequent diversions.
Having discovered that Popof did not intend to go to sleep again, I
went back to my corner.
At three o'clock there was another stop. The name of Askhabad was
shouted along the platform. As I could not remain still I got out,
leaving my companions sound asleep, and I ventured into the town.
Askhabad is the headquarters of the Transcaspian, and I opportunely
remembered what Boulangier, the engineer, had said about it in the
course of that interesting journey he had made to Merv. All that I saw
on the left as I went out of the station, was the gloomy outline of the
Turkoman Fort, dominating the new town, the population of which has
doubled since 1887. It forms a confused mass behind a thick curtain of
trees.
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