Sven Hedin, "The Black Sea" (1906) - Part 1

Sven Hedin (1865-1952) was a Swedish explorer, photographer and travel writer who had spent most of his career criss-crossing Asia and the Middle East. In 1905, he organized his fourth expedition to the Central Asia where he spent three years exploring the Central Persian desert basins, the western highlands of Tibet and the Transhimalaya.

Traveling to Tehran where his expedition was to embark from, Sven Hedin had several routes to choose from but decided to sail across the Black Sea to Batum where he would get on train to Tiflis before proceeding to Erivan, Nakitchevan, and Tabriz on his way to the Iranian capital. Yet Hedin reached the Georgian shores at a very auspicious time. In the wake of the Bloody Sunday massacre in St. Petersburg, tens of thousands of workers went on strike across the Russian Empire, protesting their wages and working conditions as well as expressing their discontent at the government's policies; the unsuccessful and bloody Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905) only further exacerbated tensions.  Even in cities as distant from the Russian capital as Tiflis, Baku, and Batum, workers in large numbers went on strike on hearing of the massacre. The strikes were ultimately suppressed by the government forces but, by the time Hedin landed at Batoum, western Georgia remained the hot bed of revolutionary activities. The 1905 revolution revived the suppressed sentiments of the Gurian peasantry, which had already revolted  in the preceding three years. Better organized this time, the peasants expelled landlords and government representatives, established their authorities, and introduced radical reforms. Mounting a fierce resistance to the government forces, the Gurian rebels scored a series of victories in October-November, capturing Ozurgeti, Guria’s administrative center, in December 1905. Alarmed by their success, the Russian government diverted large forces of the regular Russian army, which entered Guria in January 1906. Despite their resistance, the Gurian revolutionaries were defeated and the ir revolt ruthlessly crushed. 

Remaining in Batumi throughout October-November, Hedin witnessed some of these events, which he recorded in his journal. His notes were published in volume XXII of "The Monthly Review," (edited by Charles Hanbury-Williams, London: John Murray) in January 1906. Hedin's observations reveal his staunchly conservative and monarchist sentiments, which in turn had been shaped by his great admiration for the German Empire.

The Black Sea! And stormy, tumultuous, and black it indeed was when I crossed it in the end of October [1905] on a Russian steamer from Constantinople, our route being via Sebastopol, Yalta, Kertch, Novorossisk, Poti, and Batum. And yet as compared with the tempests that were then raging amongst the peoples who dwell on the northern and eastern shores of that sea, its tumbling waves were even peaceful, hospitable, and friendly.

The [ship] Svatoi Nikolai (Holy Nicholas) which carried myself and a few other passengers, but a heavy cargo, to Batum, was tossed like a nut-shell on the waves as they ran mountains high. I should never have believed that the Kara Denis of the Turks and the Chernoye More of the Russians could be, if I may use a topographical expression, so deeply trenched. After putting some of our passengers ashore op the Crimea, by the time we reached Novorossiisk there were only three of us first-class passengers left—the Three Musketeers as we afterwards called ourselves, namely, Colonel Ileschenko from Van on the Persian frontier, a place lying south of Shusha, Consul Akimovitch, on his way to Bayazid, on the borders of Turkish Armenia and the Persian province of Azerbaijan, and myself. 

During the last stage of the journey we did not see much of each other. The sea ran so high that to get to the saloon required something of the skill of an acrobat. We preferred to keep the horizontal in our berths. Every time the vessel rolled, my outlook window, which was on the portside, dipped a couple of yards under the water, but when she went over to the starboard I caught glimpses, two or three cable-lengths away, of the outline of the shore and the forest-clad creek of the Caucasus, already in part capped with snow, and glittering in the sunshine.

In the roadstead of Sukhum-Kaleh [Sokhumi] we lay to for several minutes, whilst some sinewy Abkhasians came off in the boats to fetch a few bales and packages. One of these men climbed up on board and said something to a young woman who was traveling second-class. She burst suddenly into tears, and her grief was so violent and so self-abandoned, that all attempts to comfort her failed. Her husband had been shot in a disturbance. But she was only one of thousands upon thousands of Russian women who are made to weep in these days! Her wailings continued to echo distressingly and inconsolably through the fitful gusts of the tempest to the end of the journey.

When we reached Poti the storm increased in violence. The sky was black as ink, and the rain beat violently on the deck and against the windows of the saloon. But we had only three hours more of it; at midnight the steamer "stamped " into the harbour of Batum. But what a landing! The rain pouring down in torrents, the night as black as pitch, not a street light visible, not a porter to be seen, no cabs or droshkies to be had, and, to crown all, the comforting intelligence that all railway traffic had ceased three days ago I In a word, we had dropped into the midst of the "great strike," which extended to labourers of every class, and was completely paralysing all commerce. 

By dint of the promise of a handsome reward, we induced two or three rough harbour loafers to help us with our luggage, and under cover of the darkness they guided us to the nearest " hotel." It was a veritable den of thieves, crowded with Georgians and all kinds of riff-raff. Our guides assured us that, if they were detected breaking the strike, they would be shot down without mercy, and, as we learnt afterwards, in so saying they did not exaggerate one bit .

I was bound for Teheran. But why in the name of wonder should the spirit of unrest, now so rife in Russia, choose just at that very time to visit the Caucasus? You may well ask. When I left Constantinople on October 25, provided with two extra passports from the Russian Ambassador, M. Zinovieff, who had formerly been in Stockholm, Russia was comparatively quiet, and the railways, at any rate, were running without hindrance. I had the choice of three routes—(1) Batum, Tiflis, Baku, Reshd, Teheran; (2) Batum, Tiflis, Erivan, Nakitchevan, Tabriz, Teheran; (3) Trebizond, Erzerum, Bayazid, Khoi, Tabriz, Teheran. The first of these I was quite familiar with, and wanted to avoid it. With regard to the third route, that starting from Trebizond, I had been told in Constantinople, by Dr. Martin, that at that season of the year it was practically closed in consequence of rain and snow and the swollen state of the rivers, and the Persian Ambassador, Mirza Riza Khan, who also had formerly been Minister in Stockholm, dissuaded me from making such a long and tiring journey across the mountains of Asia Minor. In consequence of this, and with the view of saving time, I decided to travel via Erivan; from Batum five days would bring me to Tabriz, and two weeks more to Teheran. But the fates had decreed otherwise. I was forced to waste two valuable weeks, and at the present moment I am writing on board an Austrian steamer bound for Trebizond. If I had travelled from Constantinople to Trebizond direct I should by this be in Bayazid.

But have these two weeks really been wasted? No. I have unexpectedly had an opportunity of witnessing at first hand, at all events, one small scene in the gigantic struggle for freedom which is now shaking Russia to her foundations, and which, it seems to me, is the prelude to a revolution of the most stupendous character. 

I hasten to say that Batum, so long as I remained within the town, was entirety cut off from all communication with the rest of the world, even from such places as Poti, Kutais, and Tiflis, all, comparatively speaking, in the same neighbourhood. All the telegraph lines were cut, the railways torn up, the postal service stopped. Thus for nearly two weeks I was without any news except what was brought by special messengers on horseback or by the boats from Russia, and that consisted of uncertain and contradictory rumours. It was for all the world like being shut up in a beleaguered town or being detained in compulsory confinement, surrounded by spies and brigands, in danger of one's life and loss of one's property. Not a day passed without murders and rifle-shots in our immediate vicinity. Hymns of mourning, white coffins, bareheaded drunken priests, weeping relatives, broadsides from the warships (four large ones and three small ones) in the harbour, patrols of Cossacks, mounted gendarmes, companies of infantry on the march—all armed to the teeth— these were the sights and sounds observable all day long from our windows.

Waiting is always trying to the patience; but to be tied hand and foot when you are dying to be in action is galling in the extreme. Yet these days passed rapidly enough—a continuously changing kaleidoscope of fantastic scenes, full of vivid contrasts, burning themselves in upon the memory.

After remaining one day the Holy Nicholas steamed back to Odessa, taking all her cargo with her, and the same thing happened to all the vessels which arrived subsequently, whether they came from Russia or from elsewhere. The losses must have run up to millions of roubles.

We spent the night in Versal's den, which was kept open in spite of wind and weather, so that every living creature inside it, men and animals alike, ran the risk of being dealt with as "strike-breakers." But early the next morning I made my way to the Hotel Frantsia, where I should, at any rate, have a roof over my head that was weatherproof. 

The hotel was closed and empty, the windows shuttered, and all the servants had run away, nobody being left except the landlord and two boys. However, I was given a room, though they told me I should have to look after myself. There was precious little to eat and drink, nothing but a little bread and wine and some cold sturgeon several days old. Meat was not to be had for love or money; to make a fire was forbidden, though the samovar might be heated morning and evening. There was not even water to wash one's hands and face in; all the sutchis or "water-men," who usually retail water about the streets, had, like everybody else, gone out oh strike, and I had to wash with the contents of mineral water bottles. It put me in mind of the privations of the Taklimakan [Desert in northwest China], except that now the sea echoed stormily in my ears.

In the Frantsia I found also a Georgian prince. The very first evening we became warm friends and supped together. He swore by all that was holy that he would guide me through the forests of Georgia and over the pass of Suram, and would bring me safe and sound to Tiflis; and a very good reason he had for saying so: he was himself a robber chief, and would have acted in collusion with the bandits. I thanked him politely for his kindly proffer, and was congratulated by my two traveling companions, who were certain I should very soon have been stripped of everything if I had accepted the man's guidance. No, there was nothing for it but patience— patience; but to be content to kick one's heels in such a miserable place as Batum one needed the patience of a saint.

The first day of our stay in Batum, namely, the last day of the month of October, we spent in trying to learn something of the position of affairs, and we soon became convinced that the strike was something different from an ordinary strike, however inflexible the discipline and vigour with which it was carried out; it was a political movement of a very serious character. The town lay as if in the stupefaction of sleep, and except for the reports of firearms the dreary cobbled streets, with their monotonous rows of ugly houses, were silent and empty, though at other times they are noisy enough with the rattle of carriages and freight wagons. All shops and offices were closed, shuttered, locked and barred. A Georgian who had sold food secretly by the back-door to some of his customers received a warning in writing from the strike committee that he had been condemned to death, and would be shot on the following day. The respectable citizens kept within doors; nobody ventured abroad except loafers, spies, and riff-raff. Not a single woman was visible, except such as belonged to the offscourings of the people. Public gatherings were forbidden, and it was only here and there that a small group of workmen was to be seen. Every carriage that appeared on the street was driven by a soldier, with his rifle close at his hand, and the occupants were invariably officers. The only folk on horseback were Cossacks, and they patrolled the town backwards and forwards in every direction. All the public buildings were guarded by military; the banks in especial were closely watched. Soldiers were always on guard outside the Hotel Frantsia.

Numbers of boys, ten to twelve years of age, prowled about the streets; to all appearance they wore the most innocent air, but in reality they were the spies of the strike committee, and reported everything they saw, particularly every breach of the committees regulations. Even the foreign consulates were kept closed, and it was only by back ways that one was able to get at the consuls; at all events, that was the case with regard to the two whom I visited. The merchant was unable to visit his office; if he did, he was at once reported by the boy spies, and might esteem himself lucky if nothing worse befell him than to have all his windows broken and himself get a good drubbing. In some cases he would be informed by letter that he had to pay such and such a sum of money in ransom for his life. To enter a bank was considered to be in the highest degree dangerous—you ran a risk of being robbed on your way home. Nevertheless, I went to the Tiflis Commercial Bank and got an advance on my credit note, and managed to reach the hotel unmolested.

As for the economic strike, the railway men were demanding an increase in their wages to the extent of 40 per cent., namely, an advance from twenty-five to thirty-five roubles a month. And in conjunction with them the terrorists were labouring with remarkable—indeed, with irresistible—energy, and were cleverly making use of the general discontent to further their own ends for the dissolution of society. They were stirring up the people with revolutionary addresses in secret meetings. They declared that the Czar [Nicholas II] was already deposed and driven out of the country, and that [Finance Minister Sergei] Witte was President of the Russian Republic; the time was come for the people to take the power into their own hands; all property was going to be divided justly; the poor would get land and bread. Away with tyranny! Down with the rule of the autocrat! Down with slavery! Speeches of this character were cheered to the echo by the uncritical crowd, whose imaginations were feasting on the good things which the immediate future was to bring them. Every man you met on the street may be a leader of the terrorist party or an agent of the same. The passers-by looked at one another with suspicion. It was as though the entire inhabitants of the place lived in momentary expectation of something dreadful happening.

On the countenances of the more distinguished amongst the Caucasians—and they were mostly Georgians with fur caps and long coats and cartridge bandoliers slung across their shoulder—the prevailing expression was one of satisfaction. They were manifestly delighted at the serious difficulties against which the Russian authorities had to contend; they were clearly comforting themselves with the hope that the sway of the Russians over their formerly free Caucasia was now approaching its end.