How We Entered Russia--The Passport System--Difficult to Get Into
Russia and More Difficult to Get Out.
ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA, _September 16, 1902_.
It is not easy to get into Russia; it is yet more difficult to get
out.
Before leaving the United States, I had taken due precautions and
secured a passport from the State Department, signed by Secretary Hay,
with the Great Seal of the United States upon it. In that passport I
was described. I had also provided myself with a special letter from
the State Department, in which all consuls and officials of the United
States in foreign lands had been bidden to pay particular heed to my
welfare, for I was vouched for as a worthy and respected citizen of
the Republic.
I presumed that, armed with these credentials, I should find all doors
and gateways open to my passage. I assumed that the autocracy of the
Russian Empire would be delighted to welcome a citizen of the great
Republic, so well accredited. Imagine my surprise, when I presented
myself at the ticket office of the Russian steamship line, by which we
would travel to St. Petersburg, and was refused a ticket because I
did not then have my passport in hand, so that the ticket-seller might
duly scrutinize it! An hour later, when I again presented myself with
the passport and laid down the coin, I was a second time refused. The
passport had not been certified by the American Minister in Stockholm,
our port of departure, nor had it been _viséed_ by the Russian Consul
General of the port.
I immediately drove to the American Ministry, a mile away, where the
Swedish clerk endorsed my passport as being genuine, and gave me a
note to the Russian official. A drive of another mile brought me to a
tall stone building, above the door of which reposed the Imperial
Eagle. Ascending two flights of stairs, I was shown into a small
ante-room, and, after waiting some time, was ushered into a large,
well-lighted chamber, where a big, round-headed, bearded man, in
Russian uniform, sat at a long table. He was writing. He did not deign
to look up. After standing some moments before this important
personage, I called his attention in my best French, to the fact that
I was there. Still he made no reply, but kept on writing. I noticed
that he was nearly to the bottom of the page; when he had finished it,
he looked up and inquired in German what I wanted. I replied in German
that I called upon him to have my passport _viséed_, and handed him
the document and the note. He read the latter and looked at the
former, but the description of my person was in English and he was
evidently stumped. He gazed at me and the paper, took up a metal
stamp, pressed it on an ink pad, made on the passport the imprint of
some Russian characters, signed his name to them, and advised me that
I was his debtor to the extent of twenty _kroners_ (about five
dollars). He then turned again to his writing.
I had thus spent three hours in driving about the city, visiting these
officials, and now hurried to the steamship office, where on
presenting my passport duly _viséed_, I at last obtained the tickets.
Upon boarding the ship, at a later hour, we were notified to call at
the Captain's office and surrender our passports, which were then once
more verified, along with our tickets, before we cast off from the
pier.
We left Stockholm about eight o'clock in the evening. We were a party
of four,--H and myself, and the two delightful friends whom we met
that day at Maristuen, at the head of the Laera Dal, in Norway. The
suggestions then first made had ripened into a definite plan, and we
agreed to join forces for our journey through Russia. Our friends were
Mr. and Mrs. Condit, of Chicago, and we found their ready western wit
and genial fellowship on more than one occasion of most signal aid.
We crossed the Baltic Sea in the night, and touched at the Russian
port of Hangoe, in Finland, early Sunday morning. Here I noticed a
messenger in uniform leave the ship bearing a long iron box heavily
padlocked, and was informed that this box contained the passports of
the passengers, which he was to take to St. Petersburg by a special
Imperial train that would put him there in twenty-three hours, when
the passports would be immediately filed with the police department,
verified, recorded and given to certain other officials who would meet
our ship on its arrival at the mouth of the river Neva on Tuesday
morning, and who would examine and scrutinize us and then return them
to us. If in the meantime, we should happen to change our minds and
want to remain a few days in Finland, say at Helsingfors, we would be
liable to arrest for not having our passports now gone to St.
Petersburg. We might not change our minds or alter our itinerary. It
was now St. Petersburg or jail.
The twilight was just fading into night when we cast off from the pier
and slowly made our way among the islands. The sail down the narrow
channel to the sea was in the light of the full moon. The myriad
electric lights of the city were blazing behind us. We passed the
black hulls of many vessels anchored in the harbor, and in turn were
passed by scores of little boats, with a big light on the foremast,
which were scurrying about carrying passengers between the islands.
Along the wooded shores were villas and country-seats, and ever and
anon, there seemed to be open clearings and farms, and then we came
into the blackness of wide waters. We were out upon the Baltic Sea.
In the morning we were among more islands; the Aaland Archipelago; we
had had only two hours of the open sea. The sun was behind a mass of
scudding clouds, gray and threatening; and great banks of blacker
clouds were rolling up from the south. A gale was blowing--a furious
gale--which drove the waters and whirling foam wherever open space
allowed. The wind was bitterly cold, and grew ever colder, while
higher and higher rose the tempest. We were in great danger, although
at the time I did not know it.
The steering of the Swedish pilots was skillful, and the little ship
obeyed the helm perfectly, swinging round sharp points, and traversing
narrow channels where, even in quiet waters, it is dangerous to
navigate.
About noon we slipped in between two rocky islets, scarcely a
cable-tow's length apart, rising only a few feet above the level of
the sea, and turning sharp to port came into the rock-bound harbor of
Hangoe, a town of Finland, whence the railway goes on to Helsingfors
and St. Petersburg.
The gale now grew into a tornado with deluges of rain, a storm so
fierce that, until it should subside, the Captain refused to leave the
protection of the port.
Thus we lay-to at Hangoe until the dawn of the following day, when we
cast off from the long pier and plunged once more among the islands of
the Archipelago. Hundreds of islands there were, barren and
uninhabited, the big ones covered with dwarf birches, a few stunted
pines and firs, the lesser islets thick with tangled grasses, or more
often bare of all except lichens and gray moss, the vegetation of a
desolate, wintry latitude.
[Illustration: FACING THE GALE.]
The wind was now somewhat abated, but not so the sea. It was angry,
stirred to its depths. It was a bad day for a landsman,--a bad day
even for an old salt. Two stalwart seamen stood ever at the wheel in
addition to the pilot and our Captain, and it took all their combined
strength and skill to save us from certain wreck. The conflicting
currents churned and swirled with maelstrom violence, while we crept
steadily on among the shoals and sunken bars and hidden reefs.
It was long past noon when we swung round a bold rocky point, and saw
before us Finland's capital, Helsingfors. The city surrounds the
harbor much like a crescent. On either horn, granite promontories jut
out into the sea, where are fortifications, one of them the formidable
fortress of Sveaborg, where we could see brown-coated Cossacks
gathered in large numbers watching our entrance to the port. A great
garrison there seemed to be, and everywhere floated the Russian
flag,--parallel stripes of white, blue and red. Russian troops not
merely man all these fortifications, but there are also soldiers
within the city itself, and more are quartered in every village of
consequence in Finland. The ancient Senate and House of Chevaliers are
no longer permitted to enact the laws. A Russian Governor-General
issues his Ukases, which the Russian bayonets are here savagely to
enforce. All this you already know, but it comes vividly upon one when
you see the Cossack, clad in his long kaftan-like military coat,
everywhere about you visible evidence of how harshly Finland has been
stripped of her rights and liberties.
Helsingfors astonished us. Lying upon a rising slope, it presents an
imposing outline from the sea. It is a city of ninety-six thousand
people. We were not prepared for so large and substantial a city. It
has well-kept parks, well-paved streets, frequently asphalted as in
Stockholm, and blocks of big granite buildings five and six stories
high; the city is clean, and the streets are alive with well-dressed,
rosy-cheeked, vigorous people. Everywhere there are electric tram-cars
and electric lights, and on the broad thoroughfares are large and
handsome shops. It is evident that in the Finnish hinterlands there is
an extensive and well-to-do population.
Our ship was to lie at her pier for several hours, and the passengers
were told that they might safely visit the town; if arrested for not
having passports, we might refer to the Captain of the ship. So we
wandered up along the quays, following a wide boulevard. Everywhere on
the sidewalks and driving through the streets were Russian officials
in their long gray coats and flat black caps; there were also many
soldiers upon the streets.
Finland was once a province of Sweden, and the Teutonic Swedish
language is yet that of the educated classes, who are chiefly of
Swedish descent. In the country, however, and among the working
classes, there remains the original population of primitive Finnish
race, "The old Finns," cousins to the Hungarians, and these have a
Turanian language of their own. They have accepted for centuries the
Swedish rule and fraternized with the Swedish leaders, but have held
to their ancient tongue. Now is also the Slavonic Russian speech, by
Ukase, commanded to be the language of the schools, of the courts and
of the government. Thus the Finlander must be acquainted with three
fundamentally different tongues, and all of the streets of Helsingfors
are named in the three languages on the same placard. The Russian name
is in Greek text, then in Latin text the Swedish name, and under that
the native Finnish name; thus there is much babel of tongues in
Helsingfors, while all the Finlanders bitterly resent the brutal
attempt to substitute the Russian for their own.
[Illustration: FISHING BOATS ALONG THE QUAY, HELSINGFORS.]
[Illustration: THE PIER, HELSINGFORS.]
Finland has, also, heretofore been privileged to coin her own
money,--but now the Russian _ruble_ is supreme. We had boarded a
tram-car, as modern and comfortable as those of New York, and were
whirling along the boulevard, when we tendered the conductor our fare
in Russian coin (we had provided ourselves with "_kopeeks_" and
_rubles_ before leaving Stockholm), but he declined to take the money.
He was about to stop the car and put us off, when a courtly-mannered
Finn, addressing the passengers as well as the conductor, explained
that, under the present laws, Russian money must be taken when
tendered, and that we were entitled to ride,--so H tells me, who
understood his speech, so much is it like the Danish. But the
conductor, patriot that he was, refused to touch the _ruble_ I
offered him, preferring to let us ride without making charge. If I had
been able to do so, I would have explained to our fellow-passengers
that I intended no insult, and would thus probably have restored
myself to their confidence. As it was they glowered at me as a friend
of hated Russia.
We visited the splendid Parliament buildings, where the Finnish Senate
and House of Chevaliers have been wont to meet,--now closed forever by
the Ukase of the Czar. I understand, also, that the Finnish judges
have recently been deposed from the courts, and Russians appointed in
their stead; and we were told by a friendly Finn that so completely
are the people terrorized, that no patriot dare give open evidence of
opposition to the Russian rule. One may only detect it by the sullen,
disquieted faces of the people one meets upon the streets. In the dour
glances cast at the Russian officials I saw everywhere expression of
hatred and revenge.[1]
[Footnote 1: The reverses of the Japanese War, the assassination of
Governor Bobrikoff and threat of revolution have at last frightened
the Russian Autocracy into partially restoring to Finland her pillaged
liberties.]
It was middle afternoon when we set sail again. No other vessel dared
leave the port, but our Captain, being anxious to reach St.
Petersburg, decided to venture on the voyage. As soon as we emerged
from the protecting barriers of the islands at the harbor's mouth, we
came into open waters. A furious sea was running and the ship rolled
heavily. She plunged and reared and pitched, until most of the
passengers were driven to their staterooms,--indeed, so mad was now
the sea that we were told there would be no more hot coffee and hot
steak, since the cooks in the kitchen could not keep their legs, nor
could dishes be set upon the tipping tables. Those who were able to
eat might get a snack from the steward, who would hand it out--cold
fish and cheese at that. The boat rolled until her gunwales were
awash, and frequently the roaring waters swept across the decks.
Although it was a wild and dangerous night, yet the clouds were
parting and the stars were out. No grander panorama of the sea have I
looked upon than these mighty foam-capped billows--greater even than
our ship,--between which we hid, and on the summits of which we
climbed,--the angry, pitch-black waters, the star-lit firmament, and
the serene moon shining with fullest splendor.
[Illustration: THE DOEBLN AT HER PIER, HELSINGFORS.]
[Illustration: MARKET SQUARE, HELSINGFORS.]
At dawn on Tuesday morning, we passed the great naval fortification of
Kronstadt, and three hours later, after threading our way among
fishing boats, were entering the canal which leads from the gulf of
Finland to the river Neva and the city of St. Petersburg.
South and east of us, behind low shores, the land stretched away green
and flat as far as the eye could see, an apparently indefinitely
extending plain. Only the glint of a gilded oriental dome, the bulbous
cupola of a Russian village church, lightened here and there the green
monotony. Then far to the east we saw not one but many domes
glittering and flashing in the light of the lifting sun--the gilded
towers of the cathedrals and churches of the city of St.
Petersburg--then we saw a tangle of tall chimneys, then ships and
barks and schooners and enormous barges from Lake Ladoga, and immense
docks on either side. We were upon the river Neva. We were come to the
city of "Petersborg," the splendid capital of the Russian Czars.
Just as we were entering the canal, a steam-tug came up alongside us
and a company of government officials in long gray coats climbed on
board. They were the customs inspectors and officers of the police
department. The two chief officials seated themselves at a long table.
An officer of the ship directed the passengers to form in a queue, and
one by one we appeared before the official examiner, while the Captain
called off our names, reading the list from a little book. When my
name was announced a clerk handed one of the officials a passport. It
was numbered--my name was upon it--it had been received in St.
Petersburg from the messenger who left Hangoe Sunday morning;--it had
been filed with the police department; it had been _viséed_; it had
been translated into Russian, and the official now read over the
description to his assistants;--I was scrutinized,--the passport was
found correct--the officials so endorsed it and handed it to me. The
passenger immediately behind me, seemingly, did not correspond with
his passport, and was directed to stand to one side. There were a
number of these, who were to have a difficult time with the
authorities. Our baggage was also examined, but not closely. With the
Russian official the main thing is the passport, not the baggage.
[Illustration: A WILD SEA--LEAVING HELSINGFORS.]
[Illustration: FISHING BOATS, MOUTH OF RIVER NEVA.]
We were now arrived at the pier and were ready to go ashore. Two
sailors carried our small steamer trunk upon the wharf, and we were in
St. Petersburg. Instantly we were surrounded by a howling mob of
bearded, blond-headed, dressing-gown-coated men, clamoring for our
fares. They were _izvostchiks_ in their native _kaftans_. I beckoned
to one of them, and pointed to our trunk. He lifted it to his shoulder
and led us to his _droschky_,--a diminutive open vehicle, much like a
small sledge on wheels. We entered it and in a moment were galloping
through the streets of the city, the driver constantly shouting to his
horse and yelling to all foot-farers to get out of the way. I gave him
the name of our destination, Hotel de l'Europe. He seemed to
comprehend my meaning, and never drew rein until we stopped before the
imposing entrance of that hostelry.
We were in Russia. We had run the gauntlet of the border,--our
passports had been sufficient, and we were at last safely within the
dominions of the Czar. Would it be as difficult to get out?