It was a close shave for us all that Christmas morning, for in another hour the storm broke in all its fury, and the site of the breakwater was only discernible by the dashing of the spray above it as the great waves rushing in from the sea broke against it until it seemed as though even the masonry must give before the weight of wind and water and leave us in the open once more. Of the steel steamer we had seen the last, for she, less fortunate than the _France_, was shut in by the storm, and that very afternoon was driven on the rocks a total wreck, though we knew it not until days later when we reached the Golden Horn and the pigmy _France_, with her two hundred odd tons register, was ordered back to try and make what she could out of the salvage of her big 2500-ton steel sister, that had come to such a bitter end within a few miles of the haven that we had scuttled into that morning. However, a miss is as good as a mile, and indeed where danger is concerned far better, for one always has that exhilaration of having come through a tight hole, which in itself seems worth the price of admission. Never was there a more enthusiastic crew, and one more replete in the true Christmas spirit than the little handful that beamed cheerfully on the Customs Officer as he came aboard that morning. The tedious examination which always comes in Russia now ensued more rigorously than ever before. Every locker was pried open in search of bombs or some evidence of some evil intent. The only high light of the occasion was a dispute that one of the examining officers fell into with one of his subordinates. The object of contention was my innocent typewriter sitting on the saloon table. The man with the gold lace and sword was insisting that it was a musical instrument, and as such should be carefully put in bond during our stay in port, as it appears that there is some strange law involving a heavy tax on a number of useful articles that might help the inhabitants of the Caucasus to wile away the time. Next our gorgeously uniformed official tumbled over a case of champagne in one of the lockers. He at once called for seals with which to close up the locker until we departed, as it seemed that drinks too were not to be landed without a tax. I explained patiently in German that these drinks were not for introduction into the Caucasus, but were brought along purely for local consumption. But my explanations were objected to as unworthy of comment and the seals were promptly produced. I explained to the officer that it was Christmas, and that we wanted the wine for our dinner. After much deliberation he admitted that we should have a little refreshment under the circumstances, but decided that one quart of champagne would be all that was good for us. Fancy! Four men, and on Christmas day, too! And the worst of all from a Russian! However, we assented, as Stomati, the ever faithful cook, had whispered that it mattered not for he