Sven Hedin, "The Black Sea" (1906) - Part 2

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 Governor issued a proclamation forbidding any man, whosoever he might be, to show himself abroad after 6 p.m.—a more than doubtful pleasure in any case, when the streets were as dark as midnight, and you ran the risk of being shot down at any moment. If the terrorists suspected any person of possessing a revolver they at once swooped down upon him and appropriated it for their own use. In this way they had, I understood, become possessed of a very considerable supply of weapons. The Cossacks and soldiers had received orders to seize at once all the fire-arms they could get hold of, except such as belonged to the military.

On October 31 [1905], there were eight murders in Batum, five of the victims being soldiers and one a gendarme. The acting captain of police was attacked by a band of the terrorist party and shot in the cheek, but his life was saved by the peak of his cap; and had he not had the presence of mind to drop from his horse and lie as if dead, he would have had two or three more bullets into him. Thereupon a fight took place which cost three of the attacking party their lives, whilst several more were wounded. This took place in broad daylight. After the first two or three days I ceased to pay any particular heed to the report of fire-arms, although it was very painful to hear them echoing through the stillness of the night.

That same night there was a serious affray in the Turkish bazaar. A hundred Cossacks or so went galloping past my window on their way to the scene of the disturbance. A volley was fired, then another, and another; but only a few people were wounded, for the soldiers fired for the most part into the air. After that the bazaar was cleared by the Cossacks with their nagaikas (whips). That same evening the warships in the harbour fired about a score of shots from their big guns, so that all the windows rattled in their frames, conveying a reminder of the power of Russia, and a threat of bombardment if any further outbreak occurred. And all night long the searchlights of the war vessels played upon the town, lighting up brilliantly the windows of the houses that looked upon the sea, and etching here and there on the black background of the night the outline of a white Turkish minaret with startling vividness. Restless, searching, penetrating, those cold, inquisitive eyes of the armoured warships swept over the unhappy town all through the hours of that long October night. Listen \ A shot under my very window! The clatter of horses' hoofs die away in the distance; all is again silent. Has another human being lost his life?

Next day, November 1, a peaceable Turk from Trebizond came to Batum, paid a visit to the Turkish bazaar, and was on his way home when a patrol of two or three Cossacks overtook him, and cried, "Stoi! (Stop)." The Turk walked on unheeding. There followed a second challenge, and a third. The Turk paid no heed. The Cossacks then, obeying the order that had been given to them to shoot without further ado any man who refused to obey their triple challenge, shot the Turk dead in the street.

Neither the Colonel nor the consul nor I found the time heavy on our hands. Every evening we took a turn on the shore boulevard, then clothed in tropical greenery, but by dusk we had generally sought the shelter of our hotel, though occasionally curiosity led us out again about nine; but we were never molested. On the evening of November 2 we lingered a little longer than usual on a seat by the shore. The sun had just set over Trebizond, in a blaze of blood-red fire, but a vivid yellow reflection still hung above the level waters of the Black Sea. The evening was silent and still. A steamer was slowly labouring towards Trebizond, its outline showing up as black as midnight against the fiery yellow background. In the north we saw the crest of the Caucasus, capped with snowfields, but faint and evanescent as in a dream, like an interplay of pure vanishing colour. In the north-west the mountains faded away softly into an impalpable mist. The sea was like a mirror, except that a flat swell dimpled its surface. The mountains motionless and solemn like ghosts, not a breath of wind moved. The earth was at perfect peace. But man—man alone was restless, man alone was evil!

The next day I was present at a funeral. A police-constable had been shot on his beat and was to be interred. It was a touching service, the silver-white coffin in the midst of the tall lighted candles, the priests and acolytes singing funeral hymns, and the clouds of incense enwreathing the ceremony in mystic vapour. The service finished, the funeral procession set forth. First marched a man with a big crucifix, then followed another with a wreath, and two more carrying church banners; then came the priest with a little cross in his hand, and behind him the coffin, borne by officers of rank, amongst them the Governor himself—a touching and ennobling sight. The rear of the procession consisted of the friends and relatives of the dead man, a company of infantry, two bands of music, playing solemn funeral marches alternately, the music being thoroughly Russian, melancholy and monotonous, but high pitched, so that its echoes affected the listener with a sense of impressive solemnity as they floated up over the slumbering town. The procession was closed by a troop of mounted Cossacks, while on each side the streets were lined with crowds of onlookers. Who was the dead man? Was the abrupt termination of his life but the atonement for some great sin he had committed? Not at all; he was but one victim amongst many, many thousands of an antiquated and unjust system, which, like this poor victim himself, is now, unless all indications are false, on its way to the grave.

But the Governor and other distinguished officers soon quitted their positions as pall-bearers, their places being taken by comrades of the dead man. At the corner of a street a carriage was waiting. The Governor and his adjutant stepped in, and off started the horses at full gallop, so that none but a really skilled marksman could have hit him. Meanwhile the funeral procession moved slowly and solemnly along the street, the sorrowful music grew fainter and fainter in the distance, and finally the white uniforms disappeared from sight.

The Governor, [Major] General [Edmund von] Parkau, was amiability itself, and amid all the tumult and disorder by which he was surrounded exhibited the utmost sang-froid. But it was evident to me that his charming wife, and still more charming daughters, were very uneasy on his account, and they

Major General Edmund von Parkau

did not leave him out of their sight even when he retired to his study, for he was overwhelmed with work. He was a man who would die at his post with unperturbed serenity of mind. He was, however, exposed to far greater danger than anybody else. The threats of the terrorists are directed in the first place against the military and the police, the hapless instruments of a wretched tyranny.

But time will not allow me to dwell upon further episodes of my stay in Batum. My chief concern was by hook or by crook to get safely to Teheran; but day by day, though I still waited, the railway station remained deserted and without sign of life, but always inflexibly guarded by the soldiery. The bridge over the River Rion had been blown up, and the rails torn up in numerous places. Company after company of sappers were despatched from Batum to Tiflis to repair the line and the bridge; but whilst they were making good the damage at one spot the rails were destroyed at another. A heavy military train was sent from Kutais to Poti, but it left the line before it reached the first station, eight persons being killed and twenty-three severely injured, while a colonel had both his legs cut off". The preparations for the catastrophe had been made with diabolical cunning. The rails were in their places and everything appeared to be in perfect order; but over a distance of about 200 yards the iron bolts which fasten them to the sleepers had been removed. The engine and some of the carriages passed the danger in safety, but the rest of the train was wrecked.

Under these circumstances we could not expect a very pleasant or very comfortable journey to Tiflis, nevertheless we were fully resolved to risk it. Every day there came news of this or the other body of engineers having been attacked whilst at work, and of bloody encounters between them and the strikers. The first train that was to be despatched to Tiflis would be protected by a strong body of military, and we were informed that 5000 men had been sent from Tiflis to keep guard over the line.

On the evening of November 4, I went to see the Governor again, and he assured me that a train would probably be able to start within about three days, but that it would be a long time on the road, and at every stretch of broken line and at every ruined bridge we should have to change trains. With the view of confirming this opinion he telephoned to the engineer-in-chief in charge of the railway; the reply was that the connection between Poti and Kutais was restored, and that it would probably be possible to get on from Kutais to Tiflis. I at once made up my mind to proceed to Poti with the steamboat which was to start that same evening for Odessa, and the Governor very kindly gave me an authorization to travel with the first military train that should leave Poti for Kutais.

I hurried off, hunted up the other two "musketeers," and we had only just time to get our baggage packed, our hotel bills paid, and to scramble on board. At midnight we landed at Poti, the night pitch dark and the rain coming down in torrents. Here, however, we found cabs at least. The Colonel and the Consul drove up into the town, which is a good mile and a quarter from the quayside; but I had to stay behind to look after my mass of baggage (nearly seven hundredweight altogether) and get it safely under cover in a shed. When I at length set off to follow them, the rain beat upon the hood of the carriage and splash-splashed in the slush on the road. But we got safely over the two bridges that span the Rion, notwithstanding that here and there a plank was wanting. In the very first street that I entered I was stopped by Cossacks; but when they found that my papers were all in order they allowed me to proceed. Every hotel was packed full of travelers wanting to go on to Tiflis; and it was not until well on towards morning that we succeeded in finding a wretched room in a fourth-class hotel, situated on an island surrounded by marshes, from which fever-breeding miasmas were being exhaled.

In that horrible hole we were detained four days, having for company rats as big as rabbits. Nevertheless, we kept our courage up and were in excellent spirits ; in fact, as merry and sportive as students. One advantage I enjoyed, in getting a few good lessons in Russian, though I will swear the other two "musketeers" did not learn a single word of Swedish during the whole of the four days. The station-master of Poti, M. Lopatin, who had married a fascinating Swedish lady, was the only railway official left on duty; all the rest had gone on strike. He, however, lived in a state of perpetual siege, and his life was in danger. It was quite touching to witness his wife's anxiety on his account, and good reason she had to be disquieted, for four of the station-masters between Poti and Tiflis had already been murdered. M. Lopatin advised us to wait; he believed a strong military train would arrive at Tiflis in a day or two; he could, he said, send us as far as Samtredia at any time, for as far as that point the line was clear.

Every day we visited these excellent and hospitable people, one of them a Swede, the other a Russian, and yet so happy together. At noon on November 8 I went to pay my usual visit at the Lopatins. A soldier directed me to a goods' shed in the vicinity, in which the railwaymen were holding a meeting. It began at 9 a.m. and did not close until 1 p.m. It was rather interesting to listen for nearly an hour to the exposition of their political opinions. Some of the speakers put forward absurd demands and impossible proposals for the distribution and redivision of all property. A violent attack was made upon Lopatin because he had held aloof from the general strike and refused to participate in it, and one unblushing scoundrel proposed to kill him on the spot. But another speaker took the station-master's part, and reminded the meeting that Lopatin had always championed the cause of the workmen. Finally a couple of Georgians came forward; but as they spoke in their mother-tongue I understood nothing of what they said, except a few borrowed words, such as revolutsii, liberalnii, parti, politika, autonomiya, socialdemokrati, and other similar significant and encouraging expressions. It was dark and stuffy in the shed, the floor of which was strewn with straw. Those of the audience who stood near the two doors were alone in the light, all the rest were wrapped in almost fuliginous gloom. But I saw that they were of mixed races—wild Caucasian types—Georgians, Gurians, Lesghians, Imeritians, Mingrelians, and all the rest of them. The discussion was still being continued with unabated vigour when I and Lopatin left the meeting; the only resolution upon which they could come to any agreement was, that they would not work.

On the whole there appears to be an absence of method in the agitation, and a study of only a few days is insufficient to give one a clear idea of what the real tendencies of the movement are. In great part the impelling motives are economical, agrarian, and social democratic; but, as far as I was able to judge, it is the political character which predominates. It is no longer of any use to attempt to moderate these breaking seas of revolt by liberal manifestoes: the people just laugh at them. It is too late to offer the right of public meeting and freedom of the press: the people now demand full political freedom and the eradication of autocratic government; they are determined to participate themselves in the work of government. And there is also a third movement, which profits from the general confusion, namely, that fomented by the purely revolutionary and insurrectionary elements, who have roused certain Caucasian tribes and put them on a war footing. The leaders of this movement aim at complete separation from Russia, an ambition for which they will sooner or later have to pay pretty smartly. The Georgians are a warlike race, who were involved in incessant feuds with their neighbours, with Persia, Turkey, and lastly with Russia. They are delighted, after the long spell of peace, at the present opportunity to try their weapons again: they are wild mountain tribes, brave warriors, who live in the saddle, despise death, and set little value on human life. In Guria, the southern half of the Russian government of Kutais, they are at this present time in open revolt against their conquerors; and so far as I can gather, the only prospect of a return to peace is the separation of Caucasia from Russia, the alternative being a bloody war on the part of Russia and the extermination of tens of thousands of the rebels.

Is it not civil war when a body of a hundred and fifty Cossacks are surrounded, as they were lately at Osurgeti, by a couple of thousand of well-armed Georgians? The captain of the little force sent off a messenger to Batum to ask for help. The messenger never arrived. A second who was sent after him was captured, and a third and a fourth disappeared. At last the fifth messenger, a Mussulman, succeeded in getting through and in reaching Batum in safety. A reinforcement of about two hundred men with four machine-guns was sent out from Poti. But my friend the colonel considered that they were bound on a desperate errand, for they would have to force their way through narrow passes and defiles, where they could be ambushed by marksmen hidden in the woods that crown the heights above, and so be shot down one after the other without a chance of defending themselves. Meanwhile intelligence came in from various quarters that the beleaguered Cossack force had been killed to the last man. All this time the detached parties of sappers who were engaged in repairing the railway line were being continually attacked, and every attack cost some soldiers their lives. A guerrilla war surely, if ever there was one!

The latest information that Lopatin had to give me contained but the coldest of comfort. The railway which had hitherto been intact as far as Samtredia, had been torn up again between the latter place and Poti. We discussed together the various routes that were open, or rather closed to me, between Poti and Teheran. I saw it was hopeless to wait for a train for Tiflis and Erivan. How would it be if I were to try the route via Novorossisk, Vladikavkaz, and the Georgian military road, or go to Petrovsk and Baku? No, that would not do. The strike no doubt extended as far as that, although it was impossible to obtain any certain information in the matter. The colonel proposed that we should ride from Batum to Artvin and Kars, and thence make our way along the frontier to Erivan. But one or two Georgians earnestly dissuaded me from attempting it, for I should be certain to be plundered by some band of robbers or other; in these unquiet times these gentry were much more active than usual. I had nothing I knew to fear for my life; but what use should I be without my scientific instruments and without money? It would no doubt be interesting and romantic enough to plod back to Batum in rags and tatters, but I could not afford the time for such risky experiments.

All at once I made up my mind to turn my back upon this inhospitable land of Colchis and make for Trebizond, and thence journey to Teheran by way of Erzerum, Bayazid, Khoi, and Tabriz. That route was, it is true, not safe, but it was a great deal better than any route through Caucasia. It would take three weeks longer than the route through Erivan; but, on the other hand, it would give me an opportunity to learn something of Turkish Armenia, the mountains of Asia Minor, and proud Ararat. Once past Bayazid I should be past all danger, for I had with me an autograph letter from the King of Sweden to Muzaffer ed-Din, Shah of Persia, and the frontier authorities had been informed of this by Mirza Riza Khan, who moreover had himself given me letters to the Valiad or Crown Prince of Persia, and to the Governor-general of the Province of Azerbaijan.

All I required therefore was to secure permission to land at Trebizond. When in Constantinople I had taken no steps to procure such permission; I had in fact not seen the necessity for it, because I had then no intention of touching Asiatic Turkey. I sent a wire via Novorossisk and Odessa to Baron Ramel, our Minister at the Sublime Porte, asking his kindly assistance. Fortunately he had already introduced me to Tewfik Pasha, the Foreign Minister, and to Ferid Pasha, the Grand Vizier. They would consequently know that I should prove no menace to the power of the Crescent or the stability of the Sublime Porte. My resolve taken, I hurried down to the steamship office in Poti to find out when the next boat started for Batum. The agent was unable to tell me, he had had no telegrams lately, and believed that the boats had ceased to run because of the strike. But whilst we were still talking a messenger ran in to say that the steamer Alexei was just entering the harbour. We hurried down to the pier. The captain told us of the horrors which had been perpetrated in Odessa. He proposed remaining at Poti all night; so that, after seeing all my luggage stowed on board, I had time to dine for the last time with the other two "musketeers," who had decided to try the route via Novorossisk. At dusk I went on board, and spent a peaceful night in a magnificent cabin.

At 8 a.m. on the morning of [November] 9 I once more steamed southwards, bound for Batum. The captain of the Alexei told me I should have to wait there ten days for the next boat to Trebizond, and that foreign steamboats no longer touched at Batum, owing to the impossibility of getting their cargoes discharged. But there were, 1 knew, several vessels lying in the harbour waiting to be unloaded, and as I could not, and would not, lose any more time on the coast of Colchis, I resolved to try and hire one of them, though it would cost me at least £50. Another plan would be to engage a Turkish sailing-boat, though that would require several days longer to reach Trebizond, and if a storm were to burst from the north the voyage would be dangerous. Anyway, let the cost be what it would, I was now bound for Trebizond. The Alexei glided slowly into the harbour, greeted by three shots from one of the streets of the town. As we entered we brushed past an Austrian steamboat, the Saturno, from Trieste. I hailed the captain and asked him when he left Batum ?" In two hours' time," he answered!

Well, I must go with him. But I had no passport for Turkish territory. Away I hurried on foot—there was of course no cab to be got—to the Austrian consulate, to the police-station to get my passport vised, to the office of the Russian steam-boat company, to the office of the Austrian Lloyds, and there i learnt that in consequence of a Russian police regulation the Saturno would not take any passengers with her. I besought the Agent by all the powers to let me go with the Saturno. At last he gave way, and promised to report my departure to the police, but he urged me to hurry up; there was only half an hour left before the boat startedIf the police refused to let me go I should just have to submit to my fate.

Back I hastened to the Alexei. But how in the world was I going to get my heavy packages transferred from the Russian to the Austrian steamboat in that blessed port? there wasn't so much as a dog to help one. A fine fellow that captain of the Alexei/ He let his sailors lower a boat from the davits and row me and my baggage across to the accommodation ladder of the Saturno. At the foot I was met by her captain, a weather-beaten sea-bear. He roared at me like a lion, and told me, literally, to go to the devil, for he was forbidden to carry passengers. I replied that my papers were all in order, and that smoothed him down a bit, and he condescended to allow his men to get my baggage on board, and a ticklish job it was, owing to the swell that was on. It was quite a relief to me when I saw the last package safely hoisted on deck, and, once established there, I felt pretty certain that nothing but the crane would get me and my belongings overboard again. During the two hours or so that I had been racing about Batum I had heard that a police officer had just been shot and that the revolutionaries were planning a general massacre of the citizens, who were on the point of hiring an English steamboat to carry them to Trebizond. I had had quite enough of that hole of a place, and was eager to get to a fresh and better country. Strange that one should long to get away from Russia amongst Persians, Turks, and Tartars in order to secure safety for one's life and property!

Meanwhile the captain of the Saturno was pacing the deck growling like a Polar bear. "What was the object of my journey?" "Geographical discovery." "Oh! indeed; and do you take any interest in philatelic discoveries?" "No, but I have just bought some Persian stamps; would you like to see them?" "Of course, he would." He put aside those he did not already possess and asked if I would sell them to him? I offered to make a present of them, and after sundry " Ohs" and "Buts" he accepted them. After that we were on the best of terms, I and the captain of the Saturno. What a stroke of luck that I should have come across those Persian stamps and bought them out of mere caprice.

My ticket, which I bought on board, cost me 13s. I had saved not only ten days but also £49 7s! One minute after I got on board the Saturno was off. When my passport came to be examined, it turned out that I had forgotten the most important thing of all, namely, the vise of the Turkish Consul. "You won't be allowed to land without it," declared the captain. "The Turkish authorities at Trebizond are wonderfully strict." "Here's a nice fix !" thought I; "but it will all come right somehow, I've no doubt.'' And I became too engrossed with watching the houses and minarets and churches of Batum disappearing in the distance to worry very much about the difficulties of the future.

Next day the Saturno anchored in the roads of Trebizond. The police made no end of fuss ; my passport was not vised! They treated me as if I were afflicted with the plague. But I stopped their mouths by citing my acquaintance with the late Osman Pasha and Mumi Pasha, with Tewfik Pasha and Ferid Pasha, and several other distinguished pashas, and swore that I had been a guest at the table of Abdul Hamid himself at Yildiz Kiosk. But the thing which impressed them most was the fact of my being a countryman of Temir Bash or Charles XII of Sweden. This was not the first time his name had helped me at a pinch in the Orient. I was allowed to land; but the little hand-bag which I carried with me was turned inside out even to the very tooth-brush, and two or three French novels by Alphonse Daudet and Francois Coppee were confiscated, as well as a map of Persia.

One hour later I was safe under the protection of the English and French consuls, who overwhelmed me with kindness and hospitality. The bells are tinkling underneath my window: they are those of the caravans about to start for Persia with the goods that were refused a landing at Batum. The lamps are being lighted along the balconies of the minarets; the muezzin is crying his musical "La illaha il Allah!" into the peaceful afternoon of Ramadan. The Turks are gathering for their evening meal. Peace and prosperity reign in this beautiful seaside town, with the Black Sea rolling in against the foot of the promontory on which it stands. But here I must stop for the present.