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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a860d65 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61903 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61903) diff --git a/old/61903-0.txt b/old/61903-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e0aeaa1..0000000 --- a/old/61903-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5696 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cable Game, by Stanley Washburn - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Cable Game - The Adventures of an American Press-Boat in Turkish Waters - During the Russian Revolution - -Author: Stanley Washburn - -Release Date: April 23, 2020 [EBook #61903] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABLE GAME *** - - - - -Produced by deaurider, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - - Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_ - in the original text. - Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. - Illustrations have been moved so they do not break up paragraphs. - Typographical errors have been silently corrected. - - - - -[Illustration: THE DISPATCH BOAT “FRANCE” LYING AT ANCHOR IN ODESSA -HARBOR] - - - - - THE CABLE GAME - - THE ADVENTURES OF AN AMERICAN - PRESS-BOAT IN TURKISH WATERS - DURING THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION - - BY - STANLEY WASHBURN - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY - 1912 - - COPYRIGHT, 1911 - SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY - - TO - ALICE - - - - - ACKNOWLEDGMENT - - - The writer gratefully acknowledges - the constant support and unlimited - backing accorded him by THE CHICAGO - DAILY NEWS, the paper for which he - worked, and MR. VICTOR F. LAWSON, - its Publisher, whose never failing - enterprise in the realms of World - News made this narrative of - THE CABLE GAME possible. - S. W. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -It has seemed worth while to set down the account of the experiences -reported in the following pages, not because they represent any -important achievement, nor yet because they are conspicuous for any -unusual enterprise, for none realizes better than the writer that they -comprise nothing more than the day’s work, for the dozens of newspaper -men that wander the earth. - -As a lover of the Profession these few little adventures are narrated -in the hope that they may serve as an interpretation to the lay reader -of the motives of the men that go forth to gather the news of the -world. Fame, money and reputation are all secondary considerations to -the real journalist and what he does he does for his Paper and for the -pure joy of the game that he plays. - -What the writer has tried to portray is the atmosphere and fascination -of THE CABLE GAME—the game that takes a man far from home ’midst alien -races and into strange lands and makes him stake his all in his effort -to win that goal of the journalist’s ambition—A World Beat. - - S. W. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - _I From War to Peace in Manchuria—Peking—A New - Assignment, “Russia Direct”—Shanghai_ 1 - - _II The Race for the Situation—Ceylon—Across - India—Stalled in Bombay—Russia via the Suez Canal_ 20 - - _III Constantinople at Last! The Threshold of the Russian - Assignment—A Nation in Convulsion_ 35 - - _IV We Charter a Tug and become Dispatch Bearers of His - Britannic Majesty and Learn of Winter Risks in the - Black Sea too late to Retreat_ 54 - - _V We sail out into the Black Sea in the Salvage Steamer - “France” and for Sixty-five Hours Shake Dice with - Death_ 73 - - _VI We Land in Odessa on the Day Set by the - Revolutionists for a General Massacre, but because - of Effective Martial Law Secure only a “General - Situation” Story_ 94 - - _VII The France does her Best in the Run for the - Uncensored Cable, Sticks in the Mud, but Gets Away and - Arrives at Sulina Mouth with an Hour to Spare_ 113 - - _VIII We Send our Cable and Find Ourselves with 5 Francs - and Expenses of $200 a Day, but Make a Financial Coup - d’Etat, and Sail for the Crimean Peninsula_ 134 - - _IX We Reach Sevastopol and Land in Spite of Harbor - Regulations, Get a “Story” and Sail away with it to - the Coast of Asia Minor_ 150 - - _X We Send our Cable from Sinope and then Sail for the - Caucasus where Rumor States Revolution and Anarchy to - be Reigning Unmolested_ 167 - - _XI Christmas Morning on the Black Sea_ 180 - - _XII We Find Turmoil in the Caucasus but Celebrate Xmas in - Spite of Storm and Stress_ 190 - - _XIII We Sail away from Batuum with a Beat, Official - Dispatches, Foreign Mails and a Boat Load of Refugees - that Keep Us Awake Nights_ 200 - - _XIV The Return to the Golden Horn and the End of the - Assignment_ 217 - - - - - TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - The Dispatch Boat “_France_” lying at anchor - in Odessa harbor _Frontis_ - - PAGE - From far Mongolia’s borders for 180 miles eastward - stretches the line of the Japanese trenches 20 - - Regiment after regiment, fresh from Japan, pour along - the newly made highways 20 - - With clanking chains and creaking limbers, batteries - are going to the front 48 - - In eighteen months’ association with the army, we have - not seen such activity 48 - - When the _France_ entered Odessa harbor after the storm - she was pretty well shaken up 92 - - Sulina—the mouth of the Danube River 92 - - General Nogi—than whom no finer gentleman ever drew - the breath of life 198 - - Morris inspecting our Christmas dinner 198 - - - - -CHAPTER I - - - _From War to Peace in Manchuria—Peking—A New - Assignment, “Russia Direct”—Shanghai._ - -For three days we had been congratulating ourselves that we were on -the eve of the greatest battle in history. Around us in silent might, -two armies slept on their arms. From the border of far Mongolia for -a hundred and eighty miles eastward lay the line of the Japanese -trenches, and for forty miles deep every Manchu hut and village -sheltered the soldier or coolie patriot of the Island Emperor. Above -the roads for endless miles hung the heavy powdered dust of Mongol -soil; like a mist unstirred by any wind, it rose from the plodding of -the feet of limitless thousands of men and animals, pushing forward for -the last great struggle of a mighty conflict. Regiment after regiment -fresh from home, poured along the Japanese made arteries, for the blood -of an army corps. Now and again the khaki colored battalions at the -command of an officer halted at the side of the road while a battery -of artillery, with clanking chains and creaking limbers, trotted -through the thickening clouds of dust that settled on one like flour. -Cavalry, red cross, transport, coolies, bridge trains and telegraph -corps gave place the one to the other in rapid succession. In eighteen -months’ association with the Japanese we had not seen such activity. -“The Peace Conference at Portsmouth has failed” we told ourselves, and -leaving the extreme front of the army, where we had been visiting the -cavalry outposts, we turned our horses’ heads for the thirty-mile ride -to the headquarters of General Nogi, to which we had been attached -since May. All our talk was of the coming of the great battle and of -the preparations which we must make for a three weeks’ campaign in the -saddle, and more important still, how we should arrange an open line of -communications from the ever-changing front of the prospective struggle -to the cable office in the rear. - -Covered with dust an eighth of an inch deep, we rode into Fakumen, our -headquarters, late on the afternoon of September 4th. At the door of a -Chinese bean mill, where for four weary months we had been awaiting the -call to action, stood a Japanese orderly. As we dismounted, he saluted -and respectfully handed me one of the Japanese charactered envelopes of -the Military field telegraph. Turning my horse over to my Japanese boy -I opened it, and read the word “Return.” - -The Russo-Japanese War was over, and even before the armies themselves -knew that the end had come, my chief in his office in far away Chicago -had sent the word over the cable which meant as much as reams of -explanation. The same night the _London Times_ reached half around the -world and ordered home its special correspondent with the Japanese -armies in the field. - -That night I handed in at the Chinese mudhouse, where the telegraph -ticked cheerfully over the hundreds of miles of Manchurian plains and -Korean mountains to Fusan, and thence by cable to Nagasaki and the -civilized world, a short dispatch to my office in Chicago, “Leaving the -front immediately. Wire instructions Peking.” Two days later at sunrise -we took our leave. I shall not soon forget our leave-taking from the -army whose fortunes we had followed off and on for nearly eighteen -months. So many of the correspondents left the “front” with such -bitter feelings toward their erstwhile hosts that, in justice to the -Japanese, it is but fair to chronicle that in one Army of the Mikado -at least the relations between the staff and the soldiers of the press -were anything but unpleasant, and that we, who left the Third Army -that September morning, left with only the tenderest affection toward -the commander under whose shadow we had lived, slept and thought these -many months—that is General Baron Nogi—than whom no finer gentleman, -ardent patriot and gentle friend ever drew the breath of life. The -night before our departure the general entertained us at a farewell -banquet and in a kindly little toast bade us god-speed on our journey. -That night we shook the hands of all the staff whom we had known so -well, and went to our quarters thinking that we had seen them for the -last time, for we were to leave at daybreak for the long ride to the -railroad. The next morning as we were mounting our horses to begin -our journey an orderly from headquarters rode up and said that Major -General Ichinohe (Nogi’s Chief of Staff and right-hand man during the -siege of Port Arthur) had requested that we stop at headquarters on -our way out of town. So it was that accompanied by the small cavalry -escort that had been detailed to see us to the railroad, we rode into -the compound where Nogi and his staff had lived that last long summer -of the war. - -Mounted on a coal black horse in full dress uniform, with half a dozen -of his staff about him, sat old Ichinohe, a tall, gaunt man nearing -sixty, whose life typifies the ideal of Japanese chivalry. Spartan in -his simplicity and endurance, fearless as a lion in battle, and gentle -as a woman in time of peace, we had known him almost since the war -started. At Port Arthur he had commanded the Sixth Brigade of the Ninth -Division, which, more than any other, had borne the heat and burden -of the day. We had known him then, when sword in hand he had led in -person his brigade against one of the most impregnable redoubts on the -crest of that all but unconquerable fortress. Twice his column had -been thrown back shattered and bleeding, but on the third assault, and -just as the light of day was breaking in the East, this redoubtable -man covered with blood and powder, and with his broken sword clutched -in his hand, placed the Sun Flag on a position that the Russians -had regarded as beyond possibility of capture. It was impossible to -realize that this kindly old gentleman, who spoke so gently to us that -morning in distant Manchuria, was the desperate commander who had been -decorated by the Mikado for his invincible attack on the famous redoubt -before Port Arthur’s bloody trenches. - -He met us with that smile which we had come to know and love, and bade -his interpreter tell us that he and his staff would ride with us out of -the town and see us started on our journey. So, with the staff riding -about us, with clatter of saber and ring of spur, we rode through the -old winding stonewall flanked street of Fakumen to the main gate of the -town. Here the road winds out over a bridge that crosses the little -river that wends its way down from the pass in the mountains three -miles beyond and through which led our way that morning. The sun had -just risen and its first copper-colored rays turned the dew on the -grass to drops of brilliants. Away and away stretched the Oriental -landscape with the hills standing out in the background in the clear, -crisp air of early autumn. Behind us lay the town which had been our -home since May, its strange, fantastic Chinese temples and maze of -jumbled dwellings just catching the early sunlight; the whole scene -might have been a setting snatched from the banks of the Jordan in the -far away Holy Land. As we rode out of the gate and onto the old wooden -bridge with its stone parapets the full strength of the Third Army -Corps Military band blazed out the first notes of Sousa’s “The Stars -and the Stripes,” and with the glorious swing of that martial strain -taken up by drum and trumpet we crossed the river. None who has never -lived for months in an alien land among a people of a different race -can ever realize the throb of the heart that such music inspires. To -us, in far off Mongolia, it sounded like a voice from our very own, -coming across the wide Pacific. - -When we reached the open country our old friend stopped his horse -and his interpreter spake his last words to us. “You have been with -us long,” he told us. “With us you have lived through a terrible -period. For many months our paths have lain side by side. We would -not, therefore, say farewell, for the Japanese never says adieu to his -friends.” He had paused with the sweetest, gentlest of smiles before he -uttered his last words, which the interpreter then translated to us. “I -will sit here upon my horse, with my staff gathered about me. When you -reach the bend in the road you will turn in your saddles and wave your -hand at me and I will wave my hand to you and that, my friends, shall -be our last good-by.” - -Silently we wrung their hands, these hard-visaged friends on whom a -cruel war had left its scars in gray hairs and furrowed faces, and -rode on our way. Half a mile beyond the ancient Mongol highway turned -a bluff, and wound up toward the Pass in the Hills. When we reached -the bend we turned in our saddles. There below us on the outskirts -of the town we could see the general, motionless in the flooding -sunlight, with the little group of the staff crowded in the background. -As we turned in our saddles we could barely discern the flutter of a -handkerchief from the stern old figure on the black horse. Once again -the faint strains of martial music drifted to us on the still morning -air; we waved our hands and turned once more on our way. Who shall say -that we were oversentimental if there was a little mist in our eyes as -we looked our last upon the men and on the army, whose lives and ours -had been so closely linked? - -Forty miles we rode that day over dusty highways that wound their way -through waving fields of the whispering kowliang (or millet) that bent -and swayed in the breeze. A few hours’ sleep at Tieling in a deserted -shell-torn Russian house, then a five hours’ pounding over rough rails -in a box car and we were back once more at the Grand Headquarters of -the army at Moukden. - -Here we paid our final respects to the officers of the staff whom we -had known off and on for nearly two years. A few hours passed, and -again we were on the train. This time it is a ten hour stretch in a -third class car to Newchwang, the end of the neutral and uncensored -cable. - -In the early hours of the morning, with typewriter on my army trunk, -half a column cable was pounded out, and that afternoon the Chicago -_News_ printed the first cable from the field of what the army thought -of peace. A day’s delay in Newchwang to sell my horse, then two nights -on a B. & S. freight steamer to Chefoo, and thence by boat and rail two -days more to Peking, and a white man’s hotel. No one who has not lived -in a Chinese village, surrounded by the filth and vermin of a Manchu -compound, during the rainy season, with water trickling through the -roof on the inside and mud two feet deep without, can quite realize -what a bed, a bath, clean clothes and good “chow” means. Two hours -after arriving, a blue-clad Chinese boy handed in a cable from Chicago. -It ran: “Await further instructions, Peking.” - -For the first time in nearly two years, the editor in his office ten -thousand miles away had no immediate plan of action on his mind. For -the moment the world was quiet, and a brief respite from the constant -call for “stories” granted to the correspondent. - -War work for the reading public falls naturally into two distinct -classes, as different as prose and poetry in literature. Editors call -the exponents of these divisions “feature men” and “events” or “cable -men.” The former are the literary artists who write atmosphere and -artistic impressions for the monthly and weekly papers of the world. -At enormous salaries, and with the retinue and camp equipage of a -commanding general, they drift leisurely along with the army. When the -battles are over, they chronicle their impressions and send them by -mail to their home offices. They are accompanied by trained artists -of the camera, to illustrate their stories, and what is still lacking -is filled in by some artist of repute at home. Their names appear in -large letters on the covers of the magazines to which they contribute, -and to the world are they known far and wide. The other type, the -“cable men,” are collectors of what might be called “spot” news. From -them not atmosphere or color is demanded, but “accuracy of fact” and -“quick delivery” is the essence of their work. Known professionally -wherever big papers are printed, the cable man is almost unknown to -the general public. His paper requires of him first to be on the spot -where news is being made, and second to get a clear, concise and -correct report of that news to an uncensored cable, and do it before -anyone else can. Waking or sleeping, the events man has two ideas in -the back of his head, the hour his paper goes to press, and his line -of communication to his cable office. As a diver depends on his air -tube to the face of the water, so the correspondent depends on his -line of communication to the outer world. The moment his retreat is -severed he is useless and for the moment might as well be dead. He may -have a story of world importance, but if he is out of touch with the -cable his news is worthless. His paper, on the other hand, is prepared -to back him to the limit to maintain such a line. Steamers, railroad -trains, courier systems, and any means or methods his imagination or -ingenuity may devise, are his for the asking, if he can only get out -exclusive news, and get it first. His paper will pay fabulous sums, -$2,000, $5,000, even $10,000 for an account of a world event. A single -story of this kind is printed in ten thousand papers in fifty different -languages within twenty-four hours after the correspondent files it -in a cable office. His version of the affair is read first by every -foreign office in the civilized world. On his story the editorials on -the “situation” are based, from London to Buenos Ayres. The “feature -man” chronicles the events as he sees them. The “cable man,” though -in a small way, is a part of the great event. In the boiling vortex -where history is in the making, there is he, struggling against his -colleagues of the press of America and Europe to give to the world the -first facts of an international clash. He moves to the click of the -telegraph, and if he acts at all, he must act on the minute. Even -hours are too slow for the newspaper reading public. His editor at home -watches the ever-changing kaleidoscope of history, moving and reforming -on the stages of the world. Now Japan is in the public’s eye. He has -a man on the spot. Again it is a race war in Georgia—the invasion of -Thibet, a constitutional parliament in Persia, war in the Balkans, or a -revolution in Russia. All of these the restless, lynx-eyed one watches -from his office in Chicago. A hundred cables a day reach his desk from -all quarters of the globe, and in his mind from hour to hour he is -weighing the relative importance of all the interesting situations in -the world. If a parliamentary crisis develops in Europe, he has the -choice of a dozen of his foreign staff to cover it. A few words on the -pad, and in five hours the Berlin correspondent starts for Sweden, or -perhaps the Paris man telephones his wife that he is off for Algeciras -or Madrid. A pause in the career of a war correspondent for such a -paper means to him that for the moment the situation is too indefinite -to warrant any immediate action. From day to day he lives with a vague -wonder on his mind where the next day will see him. Will he be on his -way home, to Europe, Asia, or the Philippines, or perhaps to some -unfamiliar place he has to search in the Atlas to find? Surrounded by -his campaign baggage and war kit, he sits and waits, ready for a quick -call to any quarter of the globe to which the cable may order him. - -Peking is too far from the haunts of civilization for one to follow -the news of the world day by day. The telegrams are days old, and the -papers weeks and months. For over a month the correspondent waited in -Peking and played. China is ever the source of interest which ebbs and -flows. Now it is on the point of another Boxer outbreak, and next it -is in the throes of constitutional reforms. An occasional anti-foreign -riot, a Chinese execution, or perhaps even a bomb helps to while away -the lazy days, and gives material for intermittent cables on the trend -of far eastern politics. - -We were waiting on the veranda of the hotel across from the American -Legation. At this moment we seem as far from Chicago as from Mars. -The sounds and sights of Peking have weaned us from the confusion of -a world beyond. Rickshaw coolies squatting outside, the low murmur of -their voices, the jingle of a bell on a passing Peking cart, all tend -to widen the gulf that separates the East from the West. We are aroused -by a voice at our side. “Telegram have got.” It is for me. I take the -sheet of paper that in some form or other has found out my quiet in -every quarter of the globe. As you tear open the gray envelope you -wonder almost subconsciously where the next weeks will take you, and -your curiosity hurries your hand as you tear it open and read the curt -message dated Chicago, and marked “Rush.” - -“Russia direct. When do you start?” Once more the love and fascination -of the game surge through your veins. You are too far out of the world -to know what is passing for the moment in Russia, but you feel sure -it must be something good and big, with promise of long duration, to -have brought this urgent cable of five words, ordering you half around -the world. You call for a telegraph blank, and as you wait, your mind -works almost unconsciously, something unexpressed and involuntary. -“Russia direct! The Trans-Siberian road is unquestionably the quickest, -providing you can get immediate action, but it is now blocked with -troops and munitions of war. Obviously a permit will be necessary. It -would take ten days at least to make connections through the State -Department and the Petersburg Minister of Railroads to get it. Ten -days is too long to wait, and then there are the uncertainties of -days besides. The _Pacific_ might do, but the _Empress_ sails from -Shanghai to-morrow. You can’t make her, and there is not another fast -boat for a fortnight. There is a French or German mail for the Canal -surely within a week,” and your mind is made up, and on the arm of -your chair you write the reply, “Leaving to-night. Shanghai Monday, -thence first steamer Canal,” and sign your name, mark the message “R. -T. P.,” which means “Receiver to pay,” and walk to your room. Your -Japanese understudy who has been on your staff these many months jumps -up. Another man who has been waiting in the corner of the room gets -out of his chair. He is an American negro, Monroe D. Morris, who for -three weeks has been an anxious candidate for a staff position. Since -it is Russia, the Jap is obviously impossible. You tell him so, and he -shuffles his feet as he hears the ultimatum, for he had hoped for a -trip to Europe. But one man’s meat is another man’s poison, for while -the mournful Ikezwap backed up for the last time, the beaming Ethiopian -grinned from ear to ear as he rushed to his quarters to throw together -his own small belongings. - -A few hours sufficed to pack all my effects which, when mobilized, -comprised fourteen pieces of impedimenta. The theory is that a war -correspondent must move from place to place prepared at any moment to -adjust himself to any situation, from a war assignment, revolution or -riot, down to the meeting socially of a foreign ambassador. Hence these -fourteen pieces, which sound excessive, contained everything from a -frock coat and a high hat down to a kitchen camp stove. Saddles, tents, -campaign outfits of various kinds take up much room, but are really -worth the bother, for when one wants them, that want is a demand that -money often cannot meet. One’s own saddle on a hurry call that may mean -days of riding is in itself an asset beyond comparison. It may mean all -the difference between success and failure. One knows just what one can -do with an outfit tried and true, and hence it is worth while lugging -it about the world, even if it is used but once or twice. - -A few days later saw me and my grinning Ethiopian disembarked on the -Bund at Shanghai. The place looked familiar enough, for I had spent -weeks there, and this was my fifth visit. Every time I left I felt that -I had made a distinct addition to my information as to the wickedness -of the world, and every time the desire rested heavily on my mind to -write a story about this cosmopolitan mushroom on the China coast, but -each time I held my hand as I realized that fate might well bring me -back to it, but now that Shanghai is some ten thousand miles away, and -the chances of seeing the people who might read such a story remote, I -feel that I cannot pass it over without a few comments. - -Geographically, the Chinese city is almost at the end of the earth. -Morally, one could say, without any hesitation, it is at the end. -The only place that can compete with it for demoralization and -unrestriction is Port Said. The two are neck and neck for laurels of -this description. Shanghai is the final bit of dead water to which -the flotsam and jetsam of the stream of life seems to drift and then -stop in utter stagnation. People who have failed to make good in all -other quarters of the world, seem to turn naturally towards the China -coast, and Shanghai lures them as the candle does the moth. There -remittance men are as thick as sparrows in springtime. These creatures -are the black sheep and younger sons, or other undesirable members -of well-to-do families, who are allowed so many pounds a quarter by -their loving friends, on the sole condition that the cash must be paid -anywhere “east of the Canal.” They drift along through India, over to -Burma, down the States of the Malay Peninsula, and with short stops at -Singapore and Hongkong, they start straight for their final collapse -in Shanghai, where they meet shoals of their fellows, consuming bad -whiskey and soda at the bars of the various hotels. These gentlemen -form a strong and populous element in the community. Next we find a -large colony of alleged business men who have failed to accumulate the -fortunes to which their alleged abilities are supposed to have entitled -them, and who have come out to China to sell someone a gold brick. -These two classes form the matrix of the foreign unattached residents. -Then we have the men who are actually attached to some business house -with their home office in the States, or back in Europe. These are for -the most part doing short sentences, and are fairly respectable. Lastly -we have the Shanghai business man, who is one of the most strenuous -gentlemen of his kind to be seen the world over. He speculates in -shares, of which there is an enormous variety in Shanghai. The -operations in the Chicago wheat pit and the New York stock exchange in -days of a panic are mild in comparison to the fluctuations observed on -any ordinary day’s business in Shanghai stocks. The result is, people -are losing and winning fortunes every few hours. - -At 11 o’clock everyone who has the entrée begins to drift toward the -Shanghai Club. By noon the bar is packed. At 2 o’clock the rush is -over, and only those that have fallen by the way remain, cast away on -sofas. In race week or holidays, sofas are as few and far between as -snowballs in Hades. At five o’clock the rush begins again, and lasts -until the early hours of the morning. - -Everybody in Shanghai drinks, mostly to excess. It is the only place I -know of where young men with incomes of from $50 to $100 a month are -able to spend twice that sum in a week on their establishment, yet this -is unquestionably the case. I knew of one young man making perhaps -$20 a week, who in a year failed for $10,000. At no time, as far as I -could ever learn, did he ever have any assets worth mentioning. This -remarkable means of living is fostered by the so-called “chit” system. -The “chits” are small bits of paper on which one writes an I O U for -any commodity or service conceivable. Any man who has a position can -sign a chit at almost any bar, store or dive in Shanghai. The young -men of the clerk class proceed to do this with great effect, and ready -cash is used for speculative purposes, while their immediate wants are -met by the simple process of signing a “chit.” If they are successful -in their speculation, they pay the “chits,” and all goes well. If -they fail, and are unable to beg, borrow or steal means to meet their -obligations, they either commit suicide or go to Chefoo or Tientsin -until the trouble blows over, which it soon does, as there are so many -other men in the same boat. After a few months of this precarious life -about the China coast, back they come, and if they are unable to get -employment, they fall back into a semi-loafing class and ultimately -a vagrant class, which helps to swell the already large population -of this sort. The wealthy men of the place are mostly young fellows -of the kind described, who have prospered in their investments. They -go in more heavily for all sorts of deals and speculations. Chinese -concessions, promotion schemes and similar enterprises are created, to -be sold at home with great advantage. Every week fortunes are made and -lost, and everybody, nearly, is happy and irresponsible. - -The methods of doing business are quaint, and to the westerner somewhat -astonishing. Every man who is connected, in even the most remote way, -with a business deal, comes in for a squeeze of some sort. I knew of -a case where one man had a boat to sell, and another man, who had -learned the description of the boat (for the names of the gentlemen -are withheld by the middle man lest the latter be cut out entirely) -was eager to snap it up for use in running the blockade. Both the -buyer and the seller were eager to meet each other, but the only man -who knew them both declined to disclose their names until he was paid -a commission sum of $5,000. If you meet a man, and he introduces you -to another man, who makes you acquainted with a third party who sells -you a commodity, numbers one and two block all negotiations until the -seller consents to share the spoils with them. The result is that after -a business deal has gone through so many hands, there is not much -left for anyone in particular. The tendency is for the man who has -the commodity and the man who has the price to combine, and exclude -the line of grafters who would stand between, hence the gentlemen who -profit on the legitimate business men veil all their negotiations until -almost the last moment in a business deal. The names of the actual -parties are withheld from each other by the “go betweens” for fear that -the gentlemen will combine and exclude them from profit. - -A volume might easily be written in description of the various habits -of the men, women and children who lead the fierce pace of foreign life -in Shanghai, but the requirements of space demand that I pass over such -a tempting analysis of degeneracy and vice with these few comments. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - - _The Race for the Situation—Ceylon—Across - India—Stalled in Bombay—Russia via the - Suez Canal_ - -After four days of Shanghai, the German Mail Steamer _Princess Alice_, -with passengers, mail and cargo, from Yokohama to Bremen, called at -Woo Sung and put an end to our sufferings. In a driving snow and sleet -storm we boarded the big German liner as she lay at anchor at the mouth -of the Yangtse River, and had our baggage ticketed to the Suez Canal. -It was during the next weeks, while we are plowing through the China -Seas, that I began to learn more of the checkered history of my Chief -of Staff. A more or less entertaining volume might be readily written -on his wanderings and experiences. For hours on end, while I lay in -my bunk kicking my heels and waiting for the time to pass, Monroe D. -would sit on a camp stool and regale me with the story of his life. -Scientists tell us that there is no such thing as perpetual motion, but -when they made this statement, they had never seen my “Black Prince,” -and observed the phenomena of unintermittent speech which flowed -steadily and at the rate of 150 words a minute for as many minutes on -end as he was able to get a hearer. He was born in Mississippi, and had -moved early to Kansas, where in 1898, as he informed me, he was holding -an important position in a local express company. When the call to arms -for the Spanish War went forth, Morris was the first man to enlist -in the 20th Kansas. For active service in Cuba he was mustered out a -year later as Third Sergeant, and immediately re-enlisted in a colored -volunteer regiment for a campaign in the Philippines, and quickly rose -to the rank of First Sergeant in his company. After serving out his -time, he returned to the States, again renewed his associations with -the express business, and gave that up to accept the position of porter -on a Pullman car. This business, however, did not apparently prove -sufficient for the development of his intellectual assets, and he soon -gave that up to go as steward for one of the American army transports. -Thirteen times he had crossed the Pacific, and finally had left the -transport at Tientsin and attached himself to one of the officers in -the United States Marine Barracks at Peking. - -[Illustration: FROM FAR MONGOLIA’S BORDER FOR 180 MILES EASTWARD -STRETCHES THE LINE OF THE JAPANESE TRENCHES] - -[Illustration: REGIMENT AFTER REGIMENT, FRESH FROM JAPAN, POUR ALONG -THE NEWLY MADE HIGHWAYS] - -My arrival and departure had opened a new career to him, and from the -day we left Peking until his return to Kansas City, both night and day -were devoted to disproving the scientific phenomena referred to above. - -“Morris,” I would say, when I felt particularly bored, “please talk to -me.” - -“Yes, sir,” he would say, and he would begin on the moment and continue -for hours until I would say: - -“All right, Morris. Can do. Go to bed,” when he would cut it off in the -middle of a sentence with a “Yes, sir. Good Night, sir!” and be off. - -The trip from Japan to the Canal is interesting enough the first time, -but thereafter it becomes a bit monotonous. Hongkong, Singapore, -Penang and the ports were all old stories to me. The _Princess Alice_ -sighted the palm-skirted coast of Ceylon twenty-two days later. I -was desperately bored with the German boat. I was bound for Russia. -Everybody went by the Canal. I had been that way myself less than a -year before. I had a new idea. - -“Morris,” I said, as we slipped behind the breakwater at Colombo one -glorious November afternoon, “I have a scheme. Pack up chop-chop. We -are going to abandon this boat to-day. From Colombo we will cross over -to India, take the train to Bombay, go up the Persian Gulf to Bunder -Abbas, or one of those places, get some horses, camels, or whatever -they use there, and cross Persia to Teheran. From there we can hit the -Caucasus from the Caspian Sea.” - -Morris was delighted and turned on the conversation and began packing -on the spot. He was filled with delight at the idea of an 800-mile ride -across the mountains of Persia. - -“It may be bad there,” I told him. “They say the mountains are filled -with bandits.” I paused to watch the effect, and then asked Morris, -“Are you a good shot?” He stopped packing, and his eyes snapped as he -drew himself up with pride and said: - -“You just give me a ‘Martini’ or a ‘Kraig,’ and I can wing a man at 200 -yards just as fast as they can get up,” and he grinned from ear to ear. - -An hour later we landed in Ceylon. - -There are many beautiful places in the world, and there are a great -many places that are strange and quaint to the foreigner who sees -them for the first time, but the beautiful island that has Colombo -for its capital has the rest of the spots in the position of feeble -competitors, at least, that was the way it looked to me. Apparently -Ceylon has long been ranked as A-1 on its personal charm, for even -the person who wrote that old familiar hymn, which treats briefly -of various places, “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains to India’s Coral -Strands,” gave the palm to Ceylon, where even he admitted “Every -prospect pleases and only man is vile.” That is Ceylon all right as -far as the pleasing prospect is concerned, but the citizens of the -place impressed me in a very hospitable and kindly light, despite -the disparaging comment of the hymn writer. It is true that they are -somewhat active in the pursuit of business, and are chronic beggars, -but otherwise it is hard to see how they are any worse than anybody -else. However, they may have changed since his day. The harbor of -Colombo isn’t a very good harbor, and were it not for the protection -of the breakwater, it would be absolutely untenable in the spring and -summer, when the hot monsoon blows up from the sun-scorched African -coast, and piles up the great breakers in clouds of foam and spray -against the stone masonry. This breakwater is thrown across the -harbor neck to guard the ships at anchor from the stormy seas that -lash without. The harbor itself is so small that the ships scarcely -have room to swing at anchor with the changing of the tide, so that -they are tied up by their noses and sterns, or, to be more nautical, -fore and aft, to great buoys, which keep them absolutely steady. The -moment one lands on the jetty, one is besieged by droves of extremely -black gentlemen, dressed in a white effect, which seems to be a cross -between a pair of pajamas and a nightgown. Everyone of these gentlemen -endeavors to get your ear, and to tell you in most deplorable English -that he recognizes in you a man of exceptionally genial qualities, -to whom he would like to attach himself during your stay. If left -unmolested, he will hustle you into a carriage and take you off to see -the town, irrespective of your baggage or other impending business. -If you evade him on the moment of landing, and fight your way through -the streets, you will meet dozens more of the same pattern. Your first -impression is one of pleasure to think that you have found so many new -friends, for everyone you meet has to be restrained from embracing -you on the spot, and wants to do something for you—remuneration to be -discussed later. Incidentally everybody expects something. It seems -that all the native inhabitants of this place have an idea that the -foreigner is perpetually in their debt for something or other. If you -look at a man hard on the street, he at once stops, steps forward with -a winning smile and outstretched hand, seemingly under the impression -that you owe him at least 50 annas for the privilege of seeing him. At -the hotels it is even worse. You get nothing free, not even a pleasant -look. In fact, one gets into the habit of distinctly discouraging -pleasant looks, for, though they are pretty to look at, they come high, -averaging about a rupee per look. The men are extremely black, with -wonderfully perfect features, and for the most part superbly handsome. -There seems to have been some mistake, however, in the women, for they -absolutely fail to make good when it comes to personal charms. Most of -them one sees are extremely depressing spectacles, and the few that are -at all presentable have been corralled by enterprising speculators, and -are on exhibition, but, like everything else in Ceylon, they are not -free—one has to pay to look at them. - -The natural beauties of Ceylon and Colombo are beyond description. It -is almost the only place in the world, save perhaps Japan and Venice, -that is just as good as advertised. The wonderful groves of cocoanut -palms, banana trees, and I know not what other tropical wonders in -every direction, are outlined against the soft blue of the eastern -sky. All along the sea-front of Colombo the palms stretch in great -avenues and groves from the Galle-Face Hotel to Mount Lavinia, a bluff -by the sea, some four or five miles down the coast. If it is beautiful -at the seashore, it is even more wonderful in the interior, where -luxuriant tropic hills rise sharply above jungle-clad valleys, and tea -plantations abound. In the interior one finds wild elephants in great -droves, and the catching and taming of these for domestic use is not -one of the least important occupations on the island. Other places -in the tropics are so fiercely hot that one fails to appreciate the -glories that are on every hand, but here the breezes from the sea, that -spring up at night, cool the air so that one can enjoy the advantages -of the tropics, and yet sleep as comfortably as in a more northern -climate. One might spend weeks in this glorious country, but as has -been the case on my previous visits, I was pressed for time. A little -wretched B. I. boat was just starting for the tip of India, and we -transferred to her. - -The reader in search of accuracy and facts may as well know at the -start that the writer passed but five days in the Indian Empire, and, -therefore, what follows is not to be regarded as an authoritative -discussion of conditions there. My impressions began on first boarding -the steamer at Colombo for the nearest Indian port, which rejoices in -the name of Teutocorin. Behind a table on the deck of the steamer sat -a large and forbidding party in a brilliant uniform, before whom I was -dragged by the first deck-hand who discovered me wandering about the -boat with the Black Prince at my heels, trying to find an unoccupied -cabin in which to deposit my impedimenta. The man in uniform, it -appeared, was an officer of the Indian customs, and he at once pointed -out his importance in the social scheme, and, standing me up before him -like a prisoner at the bar, started on an intimate investigation of my -personal history. Large pads of paper in forms of printed matter were -piled about, and while he was busy asking questions, you are equally -busy signing papers to the effect that you are not a pirate, and not -afflicted with the plague, and so forth and so on. At last the supreme -moment arrives. Backed by all the majesty of the law and the dignity -of his brilliant uniform, he asks you in an impressive whisper if you -have any fire-arms. Here was where he landed heavily on my expedition. -I did have fire-arms of all kinds and varieties. For a moment it -looked as though I was in for a life sentence. Even Morris turned pale -in the confusion which followed. The theory seems to be that every -foreigner who happens to have a revolver or shotgun in his baggage is -the fore-runner of a revolutionary junta, and is about to inaugurate -a second Indian Mutiny, or something of that sort. After the first -outburst of excitement, and things had calmed down a little, and the -gentleman in uniform talked slow enough, so that I could understand, I -discovered that all might yet be well, providing I paid the price. I -never understood exactly what it was for, but my impression was that it -was something in the nature of a customs duty. By tending strictly to -business and writing fast, the necessary forms were finally filled out, -and, weak and exhausted, I was allowed to withdraw to recuperate in my -cabin. - -The next disappointment occurred in the morning, when I found that the -boat which starts for Teutocorin does not really get there at all, but -anchors miles away on the horizon, while the despairing passengers are -taken into the alleged port on a small smelly tender, where they sit -in determined rows, trying to keep the spray off with their umbrellas. -At the pier which is finally reached, a swarm of piratical coolies and -customs officials rush down like an avalanche upon the baggage and -carry it off to the station a quarter of a mile away, where the train -for the north is waiting. The Indian trains really are not as bad as -one would expect, considering the condition of the country and the -people. There are no sleeping cars, as the term is used in America. -They have something, however, under that name, which is a compartment -on wheels, with two sofas, that remind one of slabs in a morgue -running lengthwise. At night another slab unexpectedly lets down from -the roof. This is technically known as the upper berth. The whole is -called a sleeping car because if one remains in it long enough, one -finally falls asleep from sheer exhaustion. The wise traveler brings -a pillow and some bedding. The unwise sleeps in his overcoat. The -railroad provides nothing whatever except jolts and some dismal looking -railroad men, who appear to be chronic recipients of bad news from home. - -The country from Teutocorin to Madras is not particularly noteworthy, -and looks like any other semi-tropic country, with much cactus growth -scattered about. New Mexico and Oklahoma are the nearest things in -America which resemble it. The only new thing that really impresses -the stranger is the native, and for a short time he is interesting to -look at. His dress is distinctly simple. As far as one can observe, -there is nothing more than a long strip of red cotton cloth, perhaps -four feet wide by twenty feet long. He begins his dressing process at -his head and winds himself up in this sheet effect, until when the job -is finished, he appears extremely well dressed and quite gracefully -draped. The women have a similar arrangement, only there is more of -it. The country in the south is fairly well cultivated, and here and -there in the fields one sees the natives stripped for action, patiently -following the bullock and a wooden plow through the field. The thing -that impresses one most of all is the limitless number of brown-faced -red clad men and women that swarm around the stations and villages with -apparently nothing on their minds or any business in hand. There are no -dining cars on the train that I traveled on, and one has to put up with -eating houses, one of which occurs every five hours. The fare is not -bad, and the time allowed is certainly adequate to eat all there is in -sight. The style of drink in this country is whiskey and soda with ice, -served in glasses eight inches deep. There must be something curious -about Indian conditions which enable the residents to soak up such -enormous quantities of alcohol. There are thousands of them in India -who can drink a quart of whiskey a day and get up and walk off with it -without turning a hair. - -Madras is the first truly large city on our line, and is called the -third largest in India. I have met people since I was there who assert -strongly that Madras has attractions. Personally I was unable to find -them in my sojourn of a single day. Nobody seems to know anything or -to be interested in anything, and it seems to offend a man frightfully -if you want to do business with him. Everybody I met was unutterably -bored. Statistics say that there is much business done in Madras, -and the figures seem to prove it, but when or how it is done is a -mystery to the writer, who was unable to detect a single individual -doing anything useful or interesting. The hotels apparently are run in -the interest of the servants. There are literally millions of them, -everyone doing something different. They are strong advocates of the -minute division of labor. The halls and corridors of the hotels swarm -with them, and the compound and dining rooms are crowded with them, -standing about, getting under foot, and annoying one. At every turn -there is a black man handing you something you don’t want, calling for -a carriage when you prefer walking, getting you coffee and cigars when -you told him distinctly three times that you don’t want anything. When -you come to go away, they appear en masse in front of your room. It is -a literal fact that just before my departure from one of these hotels -I went to my room to look for a book. The corridor in front of it was -crowded with men, so that I thought there must be either a fire or a -raid by the police. Not at all! It was only the local staff waiting for -tips. When you get in your carriage to go away there is a course of -wails,— - -“I am the man who blacked your boots!” - -“I passed the sahib his paper at breakfast.” - -“I carried water for his bath,” and so forth, until you are on the -verge of nervous prostration listening to the uproar. The old travelers -in India aren’t bothered so much, for they slap a few people, kick -the porters, and insult the proprietor of the hotel, and by so doing -prosper. - -From Madras to Bombay is something over a thousand miles, which an -express train makes in about thirty-six hours. The trains on this -line are more comfortable than in the south of India. The gauge is -wider, being five feet, six inches, which makes very smooth riding. -The railroad bed itself is admirable, being well ballasted and with -heavy steel, and the bridges throughout are the latest steel and -masonry construction. Bombay, which was our destination, is the second -largest city in India. Calcutta is the biggest and most filthy. Bombay -is really a beautiful place, but was hot and sticky, and when we were -there, steaming like a Turkish bath. The streets are broad and well -kept, the buildings many stories and modern, while the general plan of -the town affords many parks, squares and driveways. The people over -there seem to be doing more business than in Madras, but even in Bombay -it is very difficult to actually discover anyone in the act of doing -anything in particular. After he has once gotten used to it, they say -the foreigner gets to thinking there is no place like it, and though -he may make an occasional break for home, in nine cases out of ten he -comes back to the luxurious life and tropical heat of India. - -Owing to mis-information, which was pleasantly given me by one of -Cook’s officials, we missed the boat up the Persian Gulf by two -hours. My personal experience with Cook’s representatives in the -far east was that what they don’t know about the country in which -they are stationed would fill a series of large volumes. There was -not another boat for five days, so, cursing our luck and the genial -young man, who had so glibly misdirected us, we took our baggage up -to the Taji-Mahal Hotel, which is certainly one of the finest in the -world. The Bombay papers were filled with telegrams of the situation -in Russia. Inasmuch as I was stalled for a number of days, I sent my -office a brief wire to keep them posted of my address in case a change -of plan might seem advisable, and then settled down for my week’s wait. -I was aroused the next morning about 5 o’clock by a yellow envelope -shoved under the mosquito-bar of my bed by a docile Indian servant,—the -never-to-be-avoided cable again. “Situation urgent,” it read. “Proceed -quickest possible route Russia.” That settled it. I shouted for Morris, -and by noon was steaming out of Bombay Harbor on a P. & O. liner headed -not for the Persian Gulf, but for the Suez Canal. At Aden the Reuters -dispatches that the agent brought on board told of the confusion and -disaster in Russia. “Wires cut. Railroads in the hands of strikers -and mutiny of sailors at Sebastopol,” ran the headings. I gave the -steamship agent, who brought them on, a cable for my office in Chicago. -“Port Said in three days. Wire more funds.” I had a few thousand in my -money belt, but “Railroads and wires cut” suggested the need of money -and lots of it to keep the pot boiling. - -At Port Said the Imperial Ottoman Bank paid me a substantial remittance -one hour after I landed. In the meantime Morris had gotten into a fight -with one of those dirty heathen negroes who infest the Canal zone. -It was a detail, however, at least for Morris, and in two hours we -were on an express train speeding for Cairo. A night at Shepherd’s -and then an express train for Alexandria, where I caught by minutes a -dilapidated old barge called the _Ismalia_ for Constantinople. My plan -was Constantinople and then by boat to Odessa, and thence where the -news was originating. - -The _Ismalia_ was the limit. She called everywhere there was a landing -place. Her chow was vile, and the company worse, and every place we -stopped the cable dispatches told of renewed disorders in Russia and -the Balkans. Every hour that we lay killing time in the dirty ports at -which we called I begrudged most bitterly. - -The Piræus and Smyrna slipped past. At Mitylene the Powers were playing -a puerile game on the Sultan, or, as the papers said, “Conducting -naval demonstrations against the Porte.” The wily old monarch having -been there many times before, no doubt recognized in it one of those -oft repeated and inefficient bluffs which so delight the heart of the -European diplomats. Anyway, he stood pat, and after the Powers had had -their play and saw that there was nothing doing, they pulled up their -anchors and sailed away, while the Turks smiled broadly. At dawn of -the fifth day from Egypt we passed the Dardanelles, crossed the Sea -of Marmora, and at six in the evening dropped anchor a mile outside -the Golden Horn. Constantinople at last, and the threshold of our -situation! - - - - -CHAPTER III - - - _Constantinople at last!—The Threshold of the Russian - Assignment—A Nation in Convulsion_ - -I always supposed that the Japanese were the most suspicious people -in the world until I went to Russia, where I discovered a brand of -officials that was so much worse than the Japanese that there was no -comparison. In fact, for years I had them marked in my mind as the -criterion for entertaining doubts as to other people’s business, but -the Turks can give the Russians cards and spades when it comes to -having an evil mind for the intents of all strangers. As far as I -can make out, every officer in Turkey, from the general down to the -policemen, is firmly convinced that every foreigner who comes to their -dismal country does so with the intention of “stalking” the Sultan, -bombing the Premier, or starting a revolution. The unfortunate monarch -is no doubt the ring-leader in this quaint idea. Anyway, he sits inside -a fortified palace, surrounded by troops, and chatters his teeth from -sunrise to sunset. The days he comes out of his hole, the reserve is -called out and the foreigners have to have permits from the embassies -to stand on a hill and watch him through a telescope as he scuttles -from his palace to his carriage. Nobody can get into Turkey without a -pass-port, nor can he get out of it without having it elaborately viséd. - -The _Ismalia_ anchored at sundown, but as it was two minutes after six, -there was nothing doing! Allow us to land that night! The police who -had boarded us to watch for a conspiracy before morning shivered at the -idea, and at once viewed us as dangerous and suspicious characters, -therefore it was nearly eight in the morning when, the sun being fairly -under way, we pulled up our anchor and started for the mouth of the -Bosphorus. - -Constantinople is really three cities in one, and is perhaps the only -town in the world that has the distinction of being in two continents. -The whole is situated at the junction of the Sea of Marmora and the -Bosphorus, that narrow defile which leads into the Black Sea. The -three cities are separated the one from the other by arms of the -sea. In Europe are Stamboul and Pera Galata, divided by the inlet of -the Golden Horn, a half mile wide, where it joins the Bosphorus and -gradually narrowing as it curves upward towards the Sweet Waters, some -six miles distant. On the eastern side of the Strait is the Asiatic -town, Scutari. One may travel well the regions of the world and find no -more picturesque scene than that which greets him as he approaches the -Turkish capital from the Sea of Marmora. The gorgeous architecture and -rich color make a picture unique throughout the globe. On the European -side are the historic battlements of the old Byzantine city which -Constantine made the capital of the Roman Empire in the fourth century, -and the picturesque confusion of domes, terraced roofs and minarets -of Stamboul, the cypress groves and white marble mansions of Scutari -skirt the Asiatic shore as far as one can see. In the center is the -mouth of the Bosphorus itself, bending toward the Euxine between rugged -hills not unlike a Norwegian Fjord. The inbound steamer passing around -Seraglio Point enters the Golden Horn which old Procopius described as -“always calm and never crested into waves, as though a barrier were -placed there to the billows, and all storms were shut out from thence -through reverence for the city.” Above the crowded building of old -Galata are the heights of Pera, on which the new and more modern part -of the town is located. Looking northward, one sees the winding course -of the Bosphorus, the shores lined with palaces, villas and terraced -gardens. No port in the world presents such a cosmopolitan aspect as -does the Golden Horn. Old pre-historic Turkish iron-clads lie at anchor -near the shore. Passenger and mail steamers from every large nation -in Europe and beyond Europe swing at their moorings or lie along the -quays. Wheat laden ships from Odessa and others deep with the golden -harvest of the Danube country lie side by side with the graceful Greek -and Turkish coasting vessels, while hundreds of tugs, launches and -ferry-boats pass to and fro in the harbor. - -There are nearly a million inhabitants in Constantinople, and a more -disreuptable and miscellaneous combination has never been herded -together in one spot since history began. At least, that is my opinion. -Moslems, Greeks, Armenians, Bulgars, and assorted Asiatics mingle -with a meager handful of foreigners. The great bulk are ignorant and -fanatical, easily aroused by their priests to any form of atrocity, and -are generally useless. Most of the population are poor, and all are -lazy. The official figures do not include the dogs, which are roughly -estimated at about a million. They are a sad lot, and the most dismal -creatures in the world. As far as I could make out, their diet consists -of a guttural abuse and ashes. The billy-goat of the comic weekly fame, -with his menu of tin cans and old rags, is an epicure compared with -the Constantinople dog. The home of this animal is everywhere, and in -the winter one sees fifteen and twenty sleeping, piled the one on top -of another in a heap three feet deep to keep warm. The day is devoted -to slumber, and the consumption of rubbish, while the night is given -over exclusively to vocal activities. As soon as night comes and people -are just going to sleep, the dogs wake up and in sad, disconsolate -tones, sitting on their haunches, with eyes closed and noses pointed -heavenwards, they proceed to unburden themselves of all their troubles. -The hours of performance are from 11 P. M. until daylight. They all -suffer from the mange and acute melancholia. The guide book says that -their numbers have materially diminished, but I was unable to trace any -symptom of race suicide during my brief sojourn in town. - -The Turkish Christians, Greeks, Armenians, and Bulgarians have nothing -whatever in common. They hate one another as much as all loathe the -Turks, which, it may be added, is in the superlative degree. There -are a few cultivated and wealthy people of these races, but the bulk -of them are as poverty stricken and illiterate as are the Moslems -themselves. From eight to a dozen languages are spoken in the streets, -and five or six appear in the advertisements and on the shop fronts. -These races have nothing to bring them together, no relations except -trade with one another. Everybody lives in perpetual horror and -dread of all the other elements in the community; there is no common -patriotism or civic feeling. However, as I am not writing a guide to -ethnological conditions in Constantinople, I will return to my own -immediate troubles, and give over the discussion of those of the people -who compose the population, for my purpose is to write one book, and -not a dozen. - -Leaving the baggage in the hands of the faithful Morris, I hurried -ashore. Rows of cadaverous and dirty officials and understrappers -lined the pier. Between the wharf and the street were innumerable -badly soiled sentinels, clothed in what appeared to be second hand -ready made garments. Armed with my pass-port I slipped through this -phalanx, giving it out that Morris would attend to the customs and the -balance of my affairs. The Turk is slow, and if you talk fast, wave -your pass-port, crowd a bit and look fierce, you have him bluffed. -Incidentally, this is not a bad receipt in other quarters of the -globe. Anyway it worked here. Upon Morris fell the heat and burden of -the day, as I learned afterwards. It would seem that there is a law -against guns and big knives coming into the sacred precincts of the -Golden Horn. I had moved so fast, that if anyone had asked me if I -had anything, I didn’t hear him. I had, of course, a modest little 38 -caliber revolver stowed away unostentatiously. Morris had my big army -Colt in his hip pocket, where it bulged out like a mountain gun. A -dozen eagle eyes saw the bulge and a dozen voices asked if he had any -fire-arms. With injured dignity Morris drew himself up and proceeded to -defend himself. “Certainly not!” Why should he, a peaceful colored man, -traveling with an American gentleman, carry such things? He, Morris, -would have it known that he regarded such allegations as little better -than an insult, and no doubt his master would take the matter up with -the American Embassy. He could not tell exactly what would happen to -the perpetrators of this outrage, but from past experience he had no -doubt that everybody present would be dismissed and disgraced from -the Turkish service, etc., etc. Morris was never short of words, and -once started he launched out and was really working himself up into a -bona fide rage when one of the officers drew back his coat, exposing -the committal black butt of the revolver. Not even for a moment was -Morris non-plussed. “Yes! Certainly it is a revolver. Why not? No, -he had not understood. Was it fire-arms they had asked about? Oh! He -thought it was dynamite they were looking for, and he was sorry, but he -misunderstood—there were so many people talking at once, and, besides, -he was not entirely conversant with the Turkish language. He would like -to speak Turkish, and thought if he remained any time he would soon -pick it up. Yes, he spoke many languages already, but he knew of none -which was more euphonic than that of the Moslems. But to return to the -subject, why yes, certainly he had a revolver. As a matter of fact, -he usually carried two. Yes! Everybody did in America. No gentleman -would dress without one. Why, my friends,” he continued, “do you know -that in America,” and here he sat down on a trunk and started in on a -story about President Roosevelt. At this point a man from the hotel, -whom I had met outside, arrived to his aid, and by a judicious use -of piastres, Morris and the fourteen pieces of baggage got through, -though unfortunately the revolver stuck in the hands of the law and -remained there, too, until I paid $25.00 to some man who arranges -those delicate matters, and got it back. Everything, I find, can be -arranged in Turkey. The secret of it is to arrange first. After you -have been denied anything, or held up, it takes three times as much to -have things adjusted. In the first place, there is the diplomat, who -enters into negotiations for remuneration; then the injured dignity -involved for the change of the official heart is much more of an item -to be considered. The safe rule in Turkey, if you are in a hurry, is -to pass out a five piastre piece to any official who raises an outcry. -If he has much gold lace, make it ten. This is enough to soothe the -conscience up to Majors. No doubt Colonels and Generals get more, but -they are all really very reasonable, if one is only thoughtful of them. -I learned all these things later. After I had gotten rooms and had a -bath at the hotel, I went down to the office, where a superb creature -in gorgeous uniform, with a sword and two revolvers, was talking with -Morris. In the center of the hall were my fourteen much-labeled pieces -of baggage. As I came down Morris came to attention, saluted with great -respect, and then asked for a few words. When we were alone he grinned, -winked, and remarked: - -“No, he ain’t no general. His name is Leo, and he is the head guy here. -I got the tip from the runner who got our baggage through. He don’t -run the hotel, but he is the works all right! I was just giving him a -‘stall’ on the situation. He thinks we are ‘it.’ In another interview -the hotel will be ours,” and he rubbed his hands, grinned and clicked -his heels. - -Morris as a “staller” was certainly a daisy. By a “stall” he referred -to a knack he had of creating an impression within an hour that we -were entitled to everything within reach the moment we landed. He was -never ostentatious, usually truthful. If we entered a train where there -were no places left, Morris would be off to see the station master, -conductor, anyone, in fact, who was handy. In a moment he would have -the station aroused and come back with half a dozen officers at his -heels, saluting and bowing, and in a few minutes some unfortunate -would be turned out, and I would have the best place on the train. If -we boarded a steamer, Morris would be busy for an hour and everything -on the boat was at my disposal, while even the Captain would stop and -inquire, with the utmost solicitude, as to the state of my health. I -first observed this interesting course of procedure applied on the -P. & O. _Egypt_ on the way from Bombay to the Suez Canal. The rates -from India to the Canal are something exorbitant. I found that to take -Morris second cabin would cost me the equivalent of a first cabin trip -on an Atlantic greyhound. The only accommodations below the second -were called “native passage” and was intended for East Indians, who -are quite contented to sleep on the deck and eat slops and rice. I -regretted the extortionate sum demanded for the second cabin, but -did not want to see my chief of staff in such a wretched plight, so -told him I would stand for the second cabin ticket. He had heard my -negotiations with the agent, and insisted on the deck passage. - -“Just you watch me, sir,” he confided, when I closed the deal. “Give -me a few pounds and watch Monroe D. Morris make a great ‘stall.’” -So I gave him two pounds and I went aboard. He objected a little at -being fumigated by the health authorities, but it lasted only a few -minutes, and he swallowed his pride. No sooner were we under way than -he directed his attention to the second steward, who had charge of -the second class passengers. In great confidence he unfolded to this -haughty dignitary, from whom I had been unable to get a pleasant -look, that he, Morris, wasn’t really a valet or servant at all, but -my private secretary. That he was making a secret and most exhaustive -study of the native races of the east, and that he, Morris, had taken a -third class ticket that he might mingle with the lowly steerage, gain -their confidence and draw them out on the ideas current in the lower -walks of Indian life. Yes, he had done this all over the world, and had -had great success in passing himself off as a lowly fellow. The first -steward might not believe it, but it was true. Of course, if he had a -second cabin passage, his fellow deck passengers would view him as an -intruder. - -Then followed a brief sketch of his career, altered and amended to -suit the case in hand. Little by little the stony steward thawed, and -at just the psychological moment, Morris slipped two golden sovereigns -into his lordship’s hands and begged that his true character might be -concealed, and that the steward would see to it that while openly he -was allotted to the deck passage, that privately he should receive -accommodations suited to his true position in life. He further -intimated that such a co-operation on the steward’s part would not pass -unnoticed, and even hinted that perhaps his chief (meaning me) might be -as much impressed with the character and intelligence of the steward -as was Morris himself, in which case it was more than probable that -the steward might be appointed to the staff of his master’s new yacht, -which was now building in America. Yes, this would be an exceptionally -fine position, and he, Morris, felt that of all the candidates who were -eager for this position, that there was none so suitable as the steward -himself. To make a long story short, by night he had the best cabin in -the second class, while his friend, the steward, detailed a special -man to attend to his wants at a private table. By the time we reached -Aden the entire staff of the boat were greeting him deferentially as -“Mr. Morris” and urging his intercession on their behalf for positions -of all sorts on the new yacht. When we finally embarked at the Canal, -half the crew were at the gangway to shake hands and give a cheer for -my “Black Prince.” As an accessory to one’s credit Morris was certainly -worth his weight in gold bullion. - -After I had listened to his account of Leo I told him to get the -interpreter of the hotel and go out and find the first boat sailing -for Odessa. Also to look up the latest arrivals from there, and see -what the captain and crew had to relate on the situation in Russia. -In the meantime I made the usual rounds where one is apt to pick up -information,—the American and other legations and consulates. I did not -get beyond the first, however. Mr. Leishman, to whom I presented my -letters of introduction from the state department, shook his head. - -“My boy,” he said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I really can’t -advise your going to Russia just now. Honestly, I don’t think it is -safe.” - -This was rather amusing, and I told him I was obliged to go, whatever -the situation might be. He smiled and said that he “guessed not. The -boats had stopped, the trains weren’t operating and the cables were -cut.” For half an hour we chatted, and he told me all that he knew -about affairs Russian, and then very kindly gave me letters to the -various members of the diplomatic and consular service whom he thought -could help me. - -In a few hours I found that nobody in Constantinople knew anything -definitely. This, however, as I soon learned, was the chronic state of -affairs in the Turkish capital. The papers are so vigorously censored -that nothing of local importance ever by any chance filters through. -The natives themselves know nothing about outside politics, and care -less, while the foreign residents must rely for all their news on -the papers that come from the outside. Books pertaining to Levantine -politics or history are almost as hard to get over the frontier as are -fire-arms, but even here in suppressed Turkey rumors of everything were -rife. From the talk, I was more than ever convinced that Russia was -the place for me, and at once. For two weeks refugees had been pouring -in from Odessa and Crimea and the Caucasus. The Russian consul-general -thought at least 50,000 people had left Odessa. Conditions in the -agrarian districts, it was reported, were at a crisis. There had been -a fearful spasm at Moscow, a free-for-all fight in the streets, and -anywhere from five to twenty-five thousand people were said to be -killed, the reports differing according to the ideas of the narrator -as to the number of dead required to make a good story. The fleet in -Sebastopol had mutinied and there had been a fight, and the town, so -it was said, had been bombarded and destroyed, and heaven only knew -how many people were killed. As to the Caucasus, well, no one could -ever guess at the dreadful state of affairs there. As a matter of fact, -no one knew anything. Everyone suspected everything. The last steamer -from Odessa had come in ten days before, and the captain painted a -lurid picture of what he expected to happen. No, he was jolly well -sure he wasn’t going back to Odessa. Any man who went there was an -ass. He thought that by this time the place was in ashes and every -ship in the harbor burned, and those of the foreigners who were still -alive weren’t worth reckoning. Being the last one in, he had the field -all to himself, and his story had grown more lurid day by day, so I -took little stock in his report. In a word, Constantinople was stiff -with the most promising rumors that ever gladdened the ear of a war -correspondent. - -At two o’clock that afternoon I returned to the Pera-Palace Hotel and -went to my room, where I found Morris disconsolately gazing out over -the terraced expanse of the Bosphorus. - -“Well,” I said, “what do you know?” - -“Nothing doing,” he replied, and then told of his trip up and down the -water front and his talk with various captains. He was heart-broken at -the discovery that steamers were no longer running to Odessa, or any -other point of interest. - -“Why, sir,” he said, “I regard this, sir, as one of the most promising -situations in the world, sir, for people in our line of business, sir. -Here is Russia all going to the devil, sir. Odessa, sir, is, no doubt, -razed to the ground. Yes, sir, I believe it, reduced to ashes. Why, -a day in Odessa, and what a story. I repeat, sir, what a story! And -what is our position? Not a boat going there, not a train to Russia, -not a cable available. I am discouraged, sir; yes, sir, I admit it, -discouraged!” And he turned back to gaze again over the strip of water -that lay below. Morris regarded my business as his always. It was never -what I was going to do, but always what “we” were doing. - -[Illustration: WITH CLANKING CHAINS AND CREAKING LIMBERS BATTERIES ARE -GOING TO THE FRONT] - -[Illustration: IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS’ ASSOCIATION WITH THE ARMY WE HAVE -NOT SEEN SUCH ACTIVITY] - -“It does look bad,” I admitted. On the table stood my typewriter and -beside it, two piles of stationery, the one of cable blanks and the -other for letter use. The moment we landed these were the first things -Morris unpacked. As soon as we entered a room in a new hotel, he would -ring for the bell boy and freeze him with a look, as he called for -cable blanks. I considered the situation for a moment. Obviously there -was nothing definite to be learned here. The rail to Russia was no -longer to be figured on. The wires were not working. No news was coming -out. The first thing to do was to get on the spot, and the second to -provide myself with the means of getting my stories out. The boats had -stopped running. Clearly enough there was but one thing to do. These -thoughts ran through my mind, and I sat down and wrote a cable to -Chicago—“Nothing definite obtainable here. Rumors indicate excellently. -If you consider situation warrants, propose charter steamer and cover -all points interest Black Sea, answer.” I handed it to Morris. From -the depths of gloom to the radiancy of bliss his spirits leaped in an -instant. He grinned from ear to ear. - -“Fine business! Yes, sir, I call that fine business,” and he was off -down the hall like a shot out of a gun. I looked out the window, and -a moment later saw him dash off in a two-horse carriage for the cable -office. Heaven only knows what he told Leo, the performer of everything -in that hotel. Anyway Leo had mounted on the box with the driver, some -A D C to his own august person, and with a gallop the horses plunged -through the narrow streets, while the assistant on the box called out -to clear the way. - -While Morris was sending my first dispatch, I was embodying in a -three-hundred-word news cable the estimate of the general situation in -the Black Sea, as seen from the haze of Constantinople ignorance and -aloofness from the outer world. This message was the boiling down of my -interviews with the various consuls and ambassadors and the information -which Morris had gotten from his tours along the water front among the -captains and officers of incoming steamers. - -As soon as the first message was out of the way I sent my Ethiopian -Mercury with No. 2, and he paid down 243 francs for charges to London, -where my paper maintained an office, as a sort of clearing house for -European news. As there were some seventy-five men in the various -European cities corresponding for the paper, all messages were sent -through the English office where news that had already been printed -and duplications were “killed,” and the valuable stuff “relayed” to -America, thus saving cable tolls on unusable copy. - -If the Turkish customs officials were annoying the cable authorities -were beyond the pale. Their theory was that every sender of a cable -was a suspicious character and must be watched until he has proven his -innocence of evil intents towards the Sultan. The very act of sending a -dispatch was ground for grave doubt as to his true business in Turkey. - -For two days I supposed that my “situation” cable had gone. On -the third, in reply to a personal cable, I sent a code message to -Minnesota. An hour later it was returned, and with it, to my disgust, -my first newspaper story, unsent. The cable office had been unable to -read English in the first instance, and thought it best to be on the -safe side, and had calmly held the message until it should develop -whether or not I really was a safe person to be trusted with such an -important privilege as sending a dispatch. My code message of two -words had convinced them that something was wrong, with the result -that neither story went, and my 243 francs were refunded. I afterwards -learned that the operators were not required to know much English, -but were carefully drilled in a few important words, such as “riot,” -“revolution,” “disorders,” “bomb,” “anarchist,” etc. The instructions -were that any message containing any such dreadful words should be -held pending an investigation. The fact that the allusions in my cable -were to Russia, and not Turkey, had no bearing on the case whatever. -The operator did not know anything about that, but did know that no -peaceable man should be sending any such inflammable words. Anyway it -was against the rules, so for the moment I was blocked on my cables, -but it was only for the hour which it took me to arrange by wire for -an agent in Sansum (which is just across the frontier in Bulgaria) to -whom I might mail my cables, thus creating a delay of but a few hours. -I reinforced this arrangement by closing a deal with a sad-looking -German, whose first name was Lewis, and whose last name I never knew, -who stood ready to start at a moment’s notice for the frontier, to -carry my dispatches in case the mailing system failed. A wire from -London the next day told me that my mail wire had been telegraphed from -the frontier and had come through safely, with only a few hours’ delay, -so I held Lewis as a reserve, but as a matter of fact, I only used -him once during activities in Turkey. On that occasion I did not dare -trust a world beat of 2000 words to the mail, and so it was that the -melancholy Lewis went for a trip over the frontier. - -But to return to my first morning in Turkey, it was obvious that at -least a day must elapse before I could receive the necessary authority -to charter a boat (for even the Turks had passed that telegram) could -be expected, so that afternoon I spent in a pouring rainstorm on a tiny -launch among the shipping interests of the Bosphorus, looking for a -boat that might answer my purposes. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - _We Charter a Tug and Become Dispatch Bearer of His - Britannic Majesty and Learn of Winter Risks in the - Black Sea Too Late to Retreat_ - -Chartering a dispatch boat is more bother, and offers as much chance of -being fleeced as the purchase of a horse. However, four months in the -graft-infested waters of the China coast, with a tug during the war, -and another month later spread out from Hong-Kong to the Suez Canal -in a vain search for a boat with which to cover the movements of the -Baltic fleet en route to its destination in the Straits of Tschurma, -had taught me at least one thing, namely, I knew what I wanted. So -I spent the afternoon in a launch in the pouring sleet and rain of -that bleak winter day on the Bosphorus in looking over the available -shipping. Nobody wanted to charter a boat for such a short time as I -contemplated needing one. Although there were dozens to choose from on -long contracts, when I talked charter by the week, the owners either -withdrew entirely, or put up the price so high that my hair stood on -end. There was the _Warren Hastings_, the finest salvage boat in the -world, to be had at the Dardanelles. She was 260 feet long with two -funnels, twin screws, that would drive her nineteen knots, and fitted -throughout like a yacht. I was sick to get her, but her owners were in -England. A small fortune in “rush” cables disclosed that nothing could -be done under a month’s charter. Next I learned of a British gunboat -whose name I forget, that had been sold to a salvage company in the Sea -of Marmora. She had left England for delivery to her new owners, and -was expected daily. She, too, was speedy, and had accommodations that -would delight the heart of an admiral. But again my hopes were blasted. -A cable stated that heavy weather in the Bay of Biscay had rendered -imperative a week’s delay at “Gib” for the overhauling of her engines, -and I saw my man-of-war dream fade away. A Russian coasting vessel next -appeared on the horizon. I could get her cheap for any length of time, -from a week up. She was a sweet little boat with clipper bows and the -grace of a fairy, but an investigation showed old compound engines that -could only do seven and a half knots in fine weather, and she passed -out of the reckoning. A German salvage boat met my requirements, but -her owners vetoed the deal at the eleventh hour. Next in line came a -twin-screw tugboat called the _Rhone_. I all but seized on her, but -her engines did not show Black Sea qualifications, and I stood off her -owners, pending further investigation. Frantic wires failed to locate -a yacht within reach which could be had for quick delivery. There was -a neat little craft reported obtainable at the Piræus, but the owners -could not be reached quickly enough, and she, too, passed into the -list of rejected possibilities. Perhaps a dozen others, whose merits -failed even to enlist consideration, were presented to my notice by -the various shipping men in town. As soon as it became known that I -was in the market for a boat and had the “spot” with which to close -the deal, I had all the steamship brokers of the Levant at my heels to -unload their old tubs on my innocence. When I went out they would get -into the carriage and go, too. At lunch, two or three would be waiting, -and when I came home to dinner an eager row would be sitting outside -my room. It looked as though I should have to take the little _Rhone_ -in spite of her sewing-machine engines, but finally I ran across a -Greek, who rejoiced in the name of M. Pandermaly. He was the head of -a fleet of salvage tugs and tow boats that lived in the waters of the -Bosphorus and the Black Sea. We spent an hour together, weighing the -respective units of his fleet. He showed me the picture of a boat then -out of port. She had two funnels and lines that indicated both speed -and sea-going qualities. - -“Where is she?” I asked, delighted with her appearance. He referred to -five telegrams. At last he found the latest record. - -“Zungeldak, coaling,” he replied. - -I told him I knew as much about Zungeldak as I did about the contour -of the North Pole, whereat he unearthed a great map of the Black Sea -and showed a spot some hundred miles from Constantinople, on the -coast of Asia Minor. A pier, a breakwater and about a score of houses -constituted the town of really important coal deposits a few miles -inland. - -“When can she be here?” I asked. - -“Two days if I wire,” and forthwith he sent the message. - -I figured that at least two days must elapse before I could get started -anyway, even if the paper sanctioned my scheme, and I felt sure enough -it would, to justify myself in taking the first steps. - -The next day, as I had anticipated, the reply came from Chicago giving -me free hand. The die was cast. I called Morris and turned him loose to -get a cook and provision the boat the moment she arrived in port, if on -examination she proved fit. Beaming from ear to ear, he disappeared. -Ten minutes later there was a tap at my door, and the magnificent Leo -entered with the greatest deference and humility. - -“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “for my intrusion, but your -secretary, Mr. Morris, tells me that you expect your private yacht to -arrive in the course of a few days. I beg of you, sir, command me if I -can be of service in facilitating your plans.” And saluting with great -respect, he withdrew. I called Morris off on the yacht story as soon as -he came in, but it was too late. My credit in Constantinople was fixed, -and as affairs transpired, it was well for me that it was so. - -While I waited for my tug to arrive there were other things to do, and -as time was the essence of my business, I had not a moment to waste. -In the first place, there was the matter of funds to be arranged, -and funds, needless to say, are the bone and sinew of any enterprise -requiring quick action in Turkey. In China it had been much simpler, -for there I had a boat under four months’ contract, and my paper -arranged a long credit in the Hong-Kong Shanghai bank, on which I drew -checks when needed. A dispatch boat (even a small one) costs five or -six thousand a month to operate. First there is the charter, and then -the fuel bill to meet, and when one is burning from fifteen to twenty -tons in the twenty-four hours, at anywhere from $5.00 to $15.00 gold a -ton, the cash goes fast. My friend, Pandermaly, insisted on two weeks’ -cash in advance for charter money, and the balance of the operating -expenses to be met by me. Besides this, I needed cable money, for down -in this suspicious zone it was all cash in advance at the telegraph -offices. I was only paying as far as London, to be sure, but even that -was fifteen cents a word. One has to figure on the possibility of at -least 5000 words a week, which counts up into big money. The worst -of it all was that what I needed was currency, for conditions were -so unsettled where I was going, that I figured I would be laughed -at if I asked for sight-drafts or checks to be honored, much less -such an impossible thing as credit. Cash here means gold coin of some -sort, for the notes that float about in Levantine banking circles are -subject to big discounts outside the vicinity of their origin. One -cannot conveniently carry more than a thousand dollars in gold, but -on this occasion I proposed to stow all I could get in my money belt -and pockets, and trust to my revolver and Morris to keep anyone from -separating me from it. So I figured on the maximum amount needed and -cabled my office to arrange so that I could get it quickly. - -Next came the question of how I was to gain access to the ports of -interest in Russia, and when in, how I was to get out. I had operated -a boat outside of Port Arthur for four months under somewhat delicate -circumstances. The Russian admirals were anxious to sink us, and the -Japs were equally anxious to be rid of us, although they did not -admit it. I learned at that time the somewhat crude way that wars are -conducted. The spectacle of a British merchant steamer sunk by the -Russians, off the Liotung peninsula one dark night, with the idea that -they were destroying my boat, had given me a graphic idea of what press -boats must expect when operating in belligerent waters. Since then it -has been my policy to avoid getting into trouble without preparing -myself in advance for the means of getting out. Down here in the Black -Sea, as I sized it up, there would be no one backing us, and as far -as I could see, any irresponsible Russian warship on a strike might -sink us with never a murmur or protest from any quarter. But I turned -up what I hoped would be a solution to this difficulty. My paper -maintained in Europe, besides some sixty local correspondents, four -staff representatives, sent out from Chicago, and occupying palatial -offices in the four most important capitals of Europe,—one in Trafalgar -Square, London; one on the Place de l’Opera, in Paris; one in Friedrich -Strasse in Berlin; and one on the famous Nevsky Prospekt in Petersburg. -All these men were picked for their tact and social qualifications, -and each was supposed to know, and be known, to all the prominent -diplomats and statesmen within his territory. At the moment, as I -well knew, there was not a foreign office in Europe that had not been -frantically trying for two weeks to get word both to and from their -consular representatives in South Russia—for all the news that came out -of Odessa, Sebastopol, and the Caucasus, these diplomatic gentlemen -residing in these places might as well have been at the bottom of -the sea. So I sent to our news bureaus in the capitals, the message -that the _News_ had chartered a dispatch boat to cover all points of -interest in the Black Sea, and that I would be glad to carry dispatches -from the respective foreign offices to their isolated consuls in the -zone of silence, and furthermore, requested an immediate reply. In -addition, I cabled Chicago a similar message, asking them to offer our -services to the State Department in Washington for a like purpose. A -package of dispatches had gotten me out of the clutches of a Japanese -fleet in Korean waters the previous year, and I had great faith in the -persuasive power of anything with an official seal in getting one out -of a tight fix. The next day our London man wired that he had seen -the foreign office and that my offer was accepted with thanks, and -that the British Ambassador at Constantinople had been instructed to -communicate with me. Berlin and Paris declined, but I did not care. -I had all that was necessary, for one bunch of official dispatches -would answer my purpose as well as a dozen. Besides, I had a wire from -Chicago that the State Department was also going to send me cables for -delivery in the Black Sea. So far so good. I had a strong card, and I -thought I knew how to play it so as to keep myself out of the hands of -any irresponsible meddlers. The next day Sir Nicolas O’Conor presented -me with two bottles of old Irish whiskey, and asked if I would carry -dispatches and official documents to the British consul in Odessa. -Without undue enthusiasm, I replied that I would be pleased to be of -service to him, and he promised to send them around that night. - -At three in the afternoon, the _France_ slipped into the Golden Horn, -after a terrible trip from Zungeldak. I went aboard with Pandermaly, -and an hour’s investigation settled my mind. She was the boat for me. -I knew enough about ships to know that if any steamer her size could -do my business, it was she. Built in Falmouth, England, five years -before, she was 125 feet long and 22 feet in the beam, with nice -lines and a maximum draft, bunkers full, of 12 feet. Seven bulkheads -and steel-plated construction steadied my mind on her toughness. The -engines interested me next, for a tug in any angry sea is like a child -in the lap of Niagara, but when I stepped down in the engine room my -mind was made up. Triple expansion engines good for 1000 H.P., with -two big Bellville boilers and a bunker capacity of 140 tons, enough -to keep her at sea for ten days at a fair speed, looked good to me. I -didn’t care much what the accommodations were, after I had seen the -vitals of her, and was pleased when I found them fairly comfortable. -Some cabin space forward had been converted into a hold for salvage -pumps and wrecking apparatus and bunks for the crew. The rest of the -accommodations was directly aft the engines. One entered a small saloon -by a ladder through a hatch. Two tiny staterooms flanked a dining-room -table, while a nice open fireplace opposite the stairs gave a homelike -look that was most acceptable. An oil lamp hung above the table, while -two others swung on pivots over the fireplace. Superficially, then, she -would do. - -“How about her boilers?” I asked. After a little debate the engineer -admitted two months without cleaning. Pandermaly agreed to draw the -fires and open up the boilers as soon as they cooled, and to turn in -with chisels all his available staff, to chip the salt out of the -tubes. We closed on the spot, and I went to get a charter drawn. -Pandermaly seemed all right, but after all, a Greek is a Greek, and -I was playing the safe game, so I got an English attorney to draw -my papers. He said he would call in some shipping friends and talk -matters over, and would have the charter ready the next morning. What -I feared most was my inability to control the crew, for I had agreed -to take those on the boat as it stood. They were all Greeks but the -stokers, who were Turks. What would I do if they refused to go on at -some critical moment? A friend of mine told me that the Greeks had no -sporting blood anyway, and would insist on flying to the nearest port -at the first cloud that appeared on the horizon. However, there is an -element in the Greek character stronger than fear. It is cupidity. At -least, that is what my friend told me, and he had lived in Greece and -Turkey, so I finally decided to enter a clause in the charter, which, -after many wailings, I persuaded Pandermaly to accept, that I thought -would cover the situation. It was mutually agreed that if the Captain, -with his superior and nautical experience, thought the sea risks too -great to venture forth, I should abide by his decision, but that every -time he insisted on going to port against my wishes, he should pay a -fine of twice his salary. Every day he remained at sea he got a bonus. - -That night a messenger from the British Embassy delivered the -dispatches into my hands. I signed the receipt for them and took them -to my room. On the top of the envelope in large letters was printed, -“On his Britannic Majesty’s Service,” and on the back in red sealing -wax as big as a dollar were the arms of Great Britain. The package was -worth its weight in gold to me! - -In the meantime my money did not arrive, and I wanted to sail at once. -Any inquiry at the cable office brought back the dismal news that there -was a blizzard of fearful proportions in western New York, and that the -telegraph wires were down. When I had laid in provisions, filled my -bunkers with 120 tons of coal and paid two weeks down on the charter in -advance and settled my hotel bill, I had only $25 to operate on, and I -must say this looked pretty small. I was to sign the charter the next -morning, and planned to sail as soon as I could get up enough steam to -start the engines. My plans were to go first to Odessa, then to run to -Sulina at the mouth of the Danube in Roumania, which, I learned, was -the nearest uncensored cable. I hoped that my 25 would get me that far, -and I could not wait longer in Constantinople for the remittance, and -decided to chance it on getting financial reinforcement when I sent my -first cable. - -The next day at ten o’clock in the morning I went to my lawyer’s -office. He had the charter drawn in due form and had brought in three -of his shipping friends to talk matters over with me. They were a sad -lot. Stiffly they sat against the wall, hands on knees, and regarded me -much as an undertaker does a prospective customer. - -“Here is your charter,” my friend said, “but before you sign it, -I would like to have you talk the situation over with my friends. -They are shipping men of a great deal of experience in this part of -the world, and what they will say ought to carry a great deal of -weight with you. As a matter of fact, they think it unwise and very -hazardous for you to attempt to get to Odessa in the month of December, -especially in that small boat.” - -One of them came forward and delivered a most violent harangue in -French with many gestures and grimaces, the sum total of which, roughly -translated was, that the Black Sea in winter was Hell. This annoyed me -a little and depressed me also. - -“No doubt it is disagreeable,” I said. “Probably I shall be as sick as -a dog, but still, people don’t die of seasickness.” - -Another long discussion from the second gentleman. He had a cheerful -tale of two steel steamers, one of 1500 tons, the other of 2500 tons, -wrecked while trying to make the entrance to the Bosphorus within the -past ten days. Seven men had escaped from one boat, while everybody -had been drowned on the other. This account was not particularly -encouraging, but I replied that I had no idea the Black Sea was so bad; -however, as I had taken dispatches from the British government and had -wired my office that I was sailing that day, I couldn’t see my way -clear to back down. The fact of the case was, my keenness was a bit -chilled. If a 2500-ton steamer had been swamped by the seas, I couldn’t -see just where my little 250-ton tug boat was going to end up. The last -man said little, but what he said was more depressing than the combined -testimony of all the rest. He looked at me for a full minute with a -pitying and incredulous expression on his face. He did not address me -at all, but turned to my attorney and said in broken French: - -“Is it possible that this young gentleman will take this small -boat—what you call the _France_, and essay to go to Odessa? He will do -this in December? He will do this on the Black Sea?” My friend said: - -“Yes, he says he can’t back out now.” (Only he said it in French.) - -The man looked at me, smiled faintly, turned up the palms of his hands, -shrugged his shoulders and said: - -“C’est impossible. Ze unfortunate young man. He will never come back.” -He took his hat and went out. - -One comes to figure risks pretty carefully in the newspaper business. -The idea of the editor at home is that he wants the maximum amount of -news, with the minimum amount of risk. When a man is taking chances -week in and week out, he must have some basis on which to act, for it -is an axiom that a live correspondent, with a small story, is better -than a dead one, with a world beat in his pocket. There is no use in -a man trying for the best story in the world, if the chances are that -he is going to be killed in getting it out. A man is, therefore, not -expected to go after a story which he has not a fighting chance of -getting away with. Once he has it, however, he is supposed to take any -chances in getting it on the cable. - -The editors like the men who figure these things closely, and don’t -get killed or shot up. Nothing is more annoying to the publisher than -to send a man to the ends of the earth and fit him out for a campaign -at an enormous expense, only to have him killed in the first action -through excess of zeal. When this happens, the editor must write -off the money spent on the man as a total loss. What is even worse, -from his standpoint, is that he has probably lost his chances for -covering the situation, unless indeed, he is fortunate enough to have -a substitute on the field of action. It is obviously impossible to -figure accurately what risks lie ahead, but it is possible to make -much closer estimates than one would imagine. As a matter of fact, -war risks, even for soldiers, are far less than one might imagine. -But a correspondent, if he be careful, need never face a more than 4% -risk, or say one chance in twenty-five. In the Russo-Japanese war, for -instance, it was shown that the great bulk of killing of soldiers was -from rifle and machine gun-fire, at a range of 200 yards and under. At -800 yards, which is near enough for the most enthusiastic journalist, -the risk is much smaller, say one in ten or fifteen. At a mile there is -not one chance in a hundred of his being killed by a rifle ball, and -the shells are the only thing that need bother him. Now, in the Far -Eastern war, only 6% of the entire casualties were from shell-fire, and -of that 6% about nine-tenths were from shells bursting where men were -bunched together or advancing to the attack in close formation. A man -who joins large masses of troops runs a 6% risk, but if he keeps to -himself and does not get near batteries in action, his chance of injury -at a mile fades to only one in perhaps a hundred and fifty. A man often -thinks he has narrowly escaped, but if he comes to estimate the matter -carefully, he will find that what he thought was a close call was in -matter of fact not one chance in ten. A bullet may pass within a foot -of a man’s head with a most insidious hum and he assumes that he has -had a close call, but if he comes to calculate that there was room -between the course of this bullet and his head for forty similar ones -to be placed side by side, and then the forty-first would make only a -scalp wound, he must realize that he has not had such a narrow escape -after all. The standard which has always seemed justifiable to me is -one in five, or a 20% risk, and that only under stress, when there is a -prize of a world story in sight. This has seemed to me as the maximum -risk a man should knowingly accept. Often he faces greater, but it -should not be of his own seeking, for the pitcher that goes to the well -too often gets broken at last, and the thoughtful journalist should -keep this then in his mind. - -When the men had gone, I asked my lawyer what in his judgment the risks -really were. Was I exceeding my 20% limit? - -“My boy,” he said, “I have been on the Pacific and on the Atlantic, -on Baffins Bay and in the Behring Sea, in the Gulf of Korea and the -Bay of Biscay, but I must say that all these at their worst are not a -circumstance to the Black Sea. I can’t estimate the percentage of risk, -but will say I shall consider you playing in great luck if you get -back.” - -What could I do? My hand was forced, and I had told my paper that I -was going, and I had the British dispatches, so I signed the charter. -When I returned to the hotel I found Morris with a Greek he had hired -to cook for us. The Greek’s name was Stomati; but more of him anon. I -sent him down to the _France_ with the provisions that he and Morris -had been gleefully buying all the morning. When he had gone I sat down -and looked at my faithful chief of staff. From my Secretary, he was -now the Chief Steward of my private yacht. In the servant’s dining -room he had risen to be the leading social light. Even the chattering -French maids held their tongues while Morris, with great dignity, held -forth on European and Far Eastern politics. Now it happened that at -this time there was in Constantinople a delegation of negroes from -Abyssinia that had come up from their torrid country to get some loan -out of the sultan. The valet of the head of this delegation heard -Morris discourse and was amazed at his glib utterances, and reported -the same to his master, with the result that Morris was soon hobnobbing -with the Abyssinian princelings, who finally invited him to come down -to their country and engage in building, railroads and other minor -enterprises. Morris, never abashed, said he thought he could raise -$2,000,000 from the colored people of America, who wished to carry out -these little enterprises, but stated that for the moment he was pressed -for time, but as soon as he had a little more leisure would give the -matter his attention. The servants were greatly impressed by all this, -and whenever he passed they would stand reverently aside, salute, -and speak in awed whispers of this Ethiopian capitalist, who shed -the radiance of his presence upon them. Morris certainly worked his -position for all there was in it. - -After I had listened to all the evidence of the shipping men that -morning, I really felt very apprehensive about our chances on the Black -Sea trip, and it seemed to me that the least I could do was to tell -Morris what I had been told, and give him the option of avoiding the -risk if the adventure was not to his liking. So I told him that I had -been talking over the Black Sea proposition with some shipping people. - -“It seems it is a pretty bad place,” I said, “and these fellows here -are willing to lay bets that we won’t get back to Constantinople. What -do you think about it?” - -“All right! Fine business,” he replied with a grin, not in the least -perturbed. I thought I would put it in plain words, so I said: - -“The fact is, Morris, two large steamers have been sunk within ten -days, trying to get into the Bosphorus, and they do say here that -the _France_ is too small for December seas, and in a word, that -we will never get to Odessa anyway, much less ever come back to -Constantinople.” This sobered Morris a little, and he stopped grinning. -“I don’t want to urge you to go,” I continued. “I have told you all I -know about the situation. Personally, I don’t think it is as bad as -they say, but, as a matter of fact, I do think we take a pretty big -risk, and if you have any particular reasons for wanting to get home, -you want to think about it now. I can give you your wages to date and -your fare to Kansas City. Now it’s up to you. What do you want to do?” -He walked to the window and looked out for perhaps a minute. Then he -came back. - -“What are you going to do?” he said. - -“My hand is forced,” I replied. “I have wired my paper that I leave -to-night. I am going anyway.” - -“All right,” said Morris. “If you go, I go.” - -“That settles it,” I replied. “Pack up and have everything aboard by -six o’clock to-night.” - -That afternoon I paid Pandermaly his due and went aboard the _France_ -for what was to prove the most strenuous two weeks in my experience. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - - _We Sail Out into the Black Sea in the Salvage Steamer - France and for Sixty-five Hours Shake Dice with Death_ - -My ideas of the Black Sea prior to my arrival in Constantinople were -based on childhood recollections of maps of Asia and Europe in the -geography. On these, that all but land-locked bit of water appeared -about an inch long and half an inch across, and wholly unworthy -of serious consideration. I had always remembered it as a kind of -overgrown lake. The day I chartered the _France_ my ideas began to -undergo a revolution, which increased in intensity with each succeeding -day. I have now totally revised my ideas. To fully appreciate this -gentle expanse, it is necessary to survive a fortnight in December -spent on a tugboat. If some universal power, bent on manufacturing -the world, should ask for a receipt for making a duplicate, I should -suggest the following: One hole 900 miles long by 700 in breadth. Make -it from 600 to 1000 feet deep, sow the bottom promiscuously with rocks, -scatter a few submerged islands in the most unexpected places, and fill -this in with the coldest water obtainable. Surround the shores with a -coast like that of Maine, and wherever there seems, by any oversight, -to be a chance of shelter, insert a line of reefs and ledges of sharp -rocks. Add a tide which varies every day in the year. Now import a -typhoon from the South seas, mix judiciously with a blizzard from North -Dakota and turn it loose. Add a frosting of snow and sleet, garnish -with white-caps, and serve the whole from a tugboat, and you have a -fair conception of the ordinary December weather in the Black Sea. - -Subsequent inquiry on this subject has brought me to the belated -realization of the fact that I am not the first, by a long way, to -have reached the same sad conclusions. Some thousands of years ago a -“Seeing Asia” trireme from Greece discovered these hospitable waters. -The people who were then living at the Hellespont, having had personal -experiences along this line, tried to head off the enterprise. The -Greeks, however, were strenuous people, and were not to be persuaded. -They listened carefully to the descriptions that were presented to -their notice of what they might expect in the Black Sea, and then -held a council of war, and decided that they would square matters in -advance with the gods of the place, so they rounded up a few bullocks -and unearthed some wine which they had with them, and proceeded to -make sacrifices and libations to the Deity, who was supposed to be so -hostile to intruders. To clinch matters they winked at each other, and -decided to call the new waters on which they were about to embark, the -“Euxine” or kindly seas. They were all delighted with themselves and -thought they had the matter settled and a pleasure trip insured, so one -fine day they sailed out of the Bosphorus where the Deity (who hadn’t -been a bit impressed) was licking his chops and waiting to give them -a warm reception. Sad to relate, they never came back. If they had, -they would certainly have called in the name which they have sent down -through the centuries for this wicked caldron, where wind and wave -mingle to the confusion of man. - -From Constantinople for forty miles each way there is a rock-bound -coast. The cliffs rise sheer above the sea, that breaks in clouds of -angry spray against those bleak and unresisting walls. Eastward from -the Bosphorus for a score of miles, government life-saving stations -every two thousand meters bespeak the menace of this deadly coast, -louder than any description. In January, 1903, on this single strip of -shore, eighty ships were broken in a single night, and I know not how -many men lay down their lives as they strove in vain to make headway -against the turbulence of hurricane and tide that swept them to their -doom. Northward lies another belt of coast; bleak and forlorn for forty -miles it stands against the sky. At the very corner of the sea, the -Bosphorus winds like a serpent through a confusion of rugged fort-clad -hills. The entrance is a mere defile. A few thousand yards back it -bends sharply to the south, thus from a few miles at sea, there seems -to the eye of the mariner searching for a haven of refuge nothing but -an unbroken line of cliffs. Two light-houses on outlying islands mark -the entrance to the channel. When the weather is clear and his engines -still can breast the wind and seas, the captain may enter safely enough -between this very Scylla and Charybdis, but woe to him who, while -beating towards this refuge, is overtaken by one of those clouds of -driving snow and sleet that shut down about the waters of the Black Sea -thicker than a London fog. These then are a few of the conditions which -have made it a paying investment for three salvage companies to locate -their headquarters in the Bosphorus. Yes, three companies, each with a -fleet of a dozen or more boats do a booming business while the storms -of winter last. The profit from the reaping of these few months is so -great that the expenses of these entire fleets are paid for the entire -year, and money for dividends besides, yielded from the misfortunes of -sailing ships and steamers that end their careers on the inhospitable -shores that girt the Euxine, or are swamped and sunk while seeking some -port of safety. Some of these things I learned from my crew as I sat -on the _France_ that December evening waiting for steam to turn the -engines. The boilers had been cleaned and the fires lighted early that -afternoon, and the soft humming forward told of the pressure mounting -steadily in the gauges. I had a more careful look at my crew. - -Was there ever a sadder lot to the eyes of an American embarking on -an enterprise, where quick action and loyal support were the bone and -sinew of the expedition? They were all pretty poor, but the skipper -(old man Gileti) was the worst. Stupid, slow and heavy, he made one’s -heart sick to look at him. His staff were all Greeks, dirty, shiftless -and dismal. The only redeeming feature was in the engine room, for -both engineers were bright and alert, and their department as neat and -clean as a new pin. The stokers were all Turks, and distinguished for -being several degrees blacker with dirt than the Greeks. Then there -was a sad little cabin boy, who, as far as I could observe, did about -three-fourths of the work on the ship, which nobody else wanted to do. -He was running about from dawn till late at night, serving everybody -from the skipper to the stokers. Another youth lived on a bench in the -galley and was supposed to exercise some useful function, but I was -never able to learn just what it was. Whenever I saw him he was eating -scraps or licking the dishes, and so we called him the Scavenger. -Whenever he was called on for action, he always flew for the galley and -sent the cabin boy or else Spero, who was the only other hard worker on -deck. Angelo Spero! Like the cabin boy, his was a life of toil. From -the chain locker in the bows to the hold, where all the rubbish lived -aftside, there was not an hour in the day when there were not loud -calls for Spero. As Morris said: - -“Old Spero is one of them sad guys that does everybody else’s work, and -then is thankful that he don’t get booted besides.” - -Last, but not least, was my faithful cook. He was the treasure that -Morris had dug up in Constantinople. Stomati was a Greek—a sea cook, -he. The roar of the wind and lurch of the ship were as the blood in -his veins. For twenty-five years he had lived the life of the galley. -The China seas, the Great Australian Bight, the sweeps of the South -American coast were as familiar to him as the native waters of the -Piræus and the Ægean Sea, beside which he played as a child. He had -sailed under every flag in Europe and had pursued the culinary art -in all quarters of the globe. He spoke seven languages, all equally -unintelligently. While we waited for steam that first night, he -expatiated in a composite language, which embodied a judicious mingling -of English, French, German and Roumanian, all the terrors of the Black -Sea. If there was any unfortunate event which had transpired in that -dismal zone during his lifetime, Stomati knew it. He could tell the -names of all the ships that had been wrecked, how many people had been -drowned on each. He could not only tell you the past, but was eager to -make estimates of the number he expected would be drowned in the coming -winter. He, himself, had been wrecked three times already, and he had -stories about frozen bodies, the details of which have never been -exceeded, even in the columns of the yellow journals. Old Man Gileti, -the skipper, had come to grief five times, while Spero, he didn’t know -how many times, but should guess it must be at least a dozen. That was -why Spero looked so sad. Morris listened with mouth open to all these -dismal forebodings, but smiled sickly every time I caught his eye. - -There are rules for everything in Constantinople and Turkey, and the -list of provisions which cover operations in Turkish harbors are as -long as your arm. Among other things, there is a standing law which -forbids the departure of any ship after the sun has set. An exception -was made, however, on behalf of the _France_ as she was registered as -a salvage tug, and was licensed to come and go at her own free will, -for even the Turks admitted that a sinking ship might well refuse to -wait till morning before taking the final plunge. So it transpired that -about one o’clock in the morning of the 16th of December, we pulled up -our anchor, swung clear of the shipping in the Golden Horn, and with -smoke pouring in clouds from our two red funnels, we turned her bows -down the Bosphorus, towards the Euxine. The skipper had promised Odessa -in thirty hours, and I was pleased enough as I turned in with the -dispatches of his Britannic Majesty Edward the VII under my pillow. - -I did not sleep long. - -The moment we emerged from the Bosphorus into the Black Sea I knew it, -and everyone else on the _France_ knew it. The creak of timbers and the -swish of clothes describing parabolas on their hooks, with the crash of -glass inside the saloon, told me that we were at sea. A look through -the small six inch port above my bunk revealed the intermittent light -of the moon now and again breaking through fleecy clouds that were -scudding across the sky. To the thud of the engines just forward of my -bunk, I could hear the seas swishing past. The little port-hole was -buried every other minute in seething froth as we rolled in the swell. -We were doing a good fourteen knots an hour. I comforted my inward -apprehensions with the cheering thought that this speed maintained -would land us in Odessa even earlier than the captain had promised. I -slept until daylight, when I was awakened by the increased rolling of -the ship. The prospect of good weather, which the moon of the previous -night had seemed to hold forth, was dissipated as I took a glance out -of the port. The dull leaden sky had turned loose a very demon of -a raw and piercing wind that was beating the sea into a passion of -discontent. The _France_, straining and groaning in every joint, was -valiantly driving her little nose into each sullen sea that rose before -her as though to block her course and drive her back. In other seas -that I had traveled, the sweep is long between the waves. Even on the -Pacific a small boat can crest the waves, slip downward in the hollow -and raise to meet the next. It was different here. Before a ship can -recover from the first wave another sweeps her deck. In great black -ridges of spray-flanked water, the seas crash upon the decks. Now they -are dead ahead, now from the starboard quarter and now from the port. -It seemed to me that it must be rougher than usual, but I said nothing. -My instinct was to go on deck at once, but internal premonitions of -disaster urged me to remain in my bunk for the moment. Morris, on the -couch in the saloon, was groaning out his anguish in spite of his -thirteen trips across the Pacific. I smiled as I listened to him. - -“Morris,” I called. - -“Standing by like steel, sir,” he answered in a weak voice as he -staggered to the door of my tiny cabin. He was the palest colored man I -ever saw. I was somewhat to the bad myself, but he looked so much worse -than I felt that it cheered me up. - -“Sick?” I queried. - -“Not seasick, sir,” he replied, his pride and his thirteen -trans-Pacific journeys holding him up, “but suffering from a touch of -indigestion, sir. Indeed, it is nothing more. The fact is, I attribute -it to the potted ham of last night, sir,” and he withdrew hastily. - -A moment later the hatch was thrown open and Stomati floundered down -the ladder in a cloud of spray. He shook the salt water out of his hair -and grinned a little as he delivered a message from the skipper. - -“Bad sea. No headway. Wanted my permission to slow down.” I was -disgusted and told myself that the old man was flinching at the first -sign of heavy weather. - -“Tell him no,” I advised Stomati, who immediately disappeared. Ten -minutes later Nicholas appeared as a second ambassador from the -captain. He spoke excellent English, if he was a Greek. He explained -that our 120 tons of coal brought us so low in the water that the -ship was pounding badly. I looked at him and realized that he knew -his business better than I did, so I told him to cut the speed down -to 7 knots. Instead of improving, things seemed to grow worse with -each succeeding minute. Even Morris, who was more than half dead to -the world, did not need to be told that she was pounding fearfully. -We could feel her lift her bows above the water, poise for a moment, -and then, like the downward blow of a sledge-hammer, fall into the sea -with a crash that shook her from stem to stern, like a rat in the teeth -of a terrier. Every time she surged down the rush of water over her -decks told us that she was shipping seas at every lurch. The crash of -timbers and boards over my head seemed to indicate that we were really -making a pretty heavy job of it. The noise and uproar of tons of water -crashing against the steel deck-house overhead continued. Every now and -again we would hear a piece of woodwork ripped off from some hatch or -companion-way with a scream of nails loosening their rusty hold, and -the snapping of breaking wood. By and by little drops of water began -to leak down through the ceiling. I watched this drip mechanically, as -it came faster and faster through the skylight and seams of the deck -above my head, until at last the drip became a trickle, and the trickle -a stream. Puddles began to appear on the floor, first on one side and -then on the other, as the ship rolled heavily in the seaway. About ten -the hatch opened and again the engineer appeared. He was wet to the -skin. - -“We can’t keep this seven knots and our heads above water,” he said. -“We’ll have to slow her down some more.” So I said “All right.” The -look on his face told me it was time for me to get up, so I staggered -out into the saloon and got into my clothes. Lamps were swinging to the -ceiling, and the howl and roar of water on the outside and the drip -of it on the inside did not make me feel any too happy. Throwing on -my heaviest campaign coat, I went up the ladder. The hatch swung out -heavily against the wind. For a moment I stood clinging to the railing -of the skylight. Like a wounded duck the _France_ was beating her wings -and laboring to make headway against the tumult, which strove to force -her back. Great mountains of sea rose before us in successive chains as -far as the eye could reach. Like assaults of infantry in close columns -they stretched for miles, and bore down upon us. Each time the staunch -little tug would put her nose into the angry front, she plowed forward. -For a moment she would smother in the crash of waters, then she would -shake herself clear of spray and foam and lift to meet the next sea. -As I stood there, a great black silent roller struck her on the bow. -She bent beneath the impact and then before she could stagger to her -feet, another hit her, and three feet deep the seas swept across her -decks. A coop of chickens torn from its position near the galley came -sailing down on the crest of the water and struck a stanchion, breaking -it open with a crash, and as the sea flowed out of the scuppers, some -dozen wet and melancholy fowls came fluttering and squawking out of the -wreck. They were wet and seasick, but their impact with the cold salt -water had put some spirit into their souls. The rooster, who seemed to -be in command of the expedition, spread himself on the rolling deck, -closed his eyes, stretched his neck and uttered one long triumphant -crow, whereat his followers began to cackle. At that moment another -wave struck us, and as it went roaring over the stem it took that sad -company of birds with it. There they sat on the crest of the wave; -surprise, indignation and distress were pictured on their silly faces -as I saw them disappear in the wake. - -Drenched and cold, I fought my way forward and crawled up over the back -of the deck-house to the bridge deck, where the two gallant little red -funnels were belching smoke into the spray and mist, undaunted by any -adverse seas, while the engines beat out with steady rhythm the tune of -their determination to fight on until the last. On the bridge old man -Gileti, covered with oil-skins, made dismal grimaces and deprecating -gestures when he saw me. With Stomati to interpret I soon learned the -meaning of his shrugs and murmurings. These big seas were getting -to the _France_ and we could not afford to take any more chances. -Already the two forward hatches had been beaten in. The chain locker, -the forecastle and the salvage hold were filled with water flush to -the deck. So low had we sunk forward that each sea swept us from end -to end. We slowed down to five, to three, and at length to one knot -to keep her from pounding into those relentless seas that surged and -beat at us from every side. In the meantime all available hands were -working at the pumps and bailing water for dear life. I saw at a glance -that we were in a bad way. Two out of seven bulkheads were flooded. -If the water forced the next, where the boilers were, we would sink -like a stone. We were making no headway, and our efforts to reclaim the -flooded parts were of small avail. The skipper renewed his plea for a -refuge on the Bulgarian coast. It was now past noon, and the men were -wet and cold, and even the dispatches must wait, so I gave assent and -we turned her nose for the shore. - -Some miles south of Konstanza a great headland peninsula juts into -the sea and swings a little south. This is called Kavarna Head. In -the elbow of this bend is a semi-bay where even the north wind fails -to wreak its vengeance, and to this shelter it was that we slid in -about six that night, wet and cold, decks sea-swept and the cables -twisted into snarls of halyards and guys. Fragments of wreckage stuck -in the scuppers and the salt encrusted funnels told of the storm we -had braved. Once in the still water we let go the starboard anchor, -which slipped into it with a splash and cheerful rattling of cables -as the steel links came clanking over the rollers out of the chain -locker. From six to ten that night the work of ousting the water was -carried on, and when four bells struck, we were as fit and sea-worthy -as when we slid out of the Bosphorus and ran into the jaws of what I -subsequently learned was one of the worst storms of the year. - -The wind howled outside our haven, and the wet and weary men appealed -strongly, so we lay to for the night, the steam simmering in the -boilers, and the crew, exhausted by their hard day’s fight against wind -and weather, slept on the grating over the boilers, for the forecastle -was still too cold and wet for comfort. - -In the dawn of as dismal a day as ever brought light we pulled up our -anchor and turned our nose seaward again. The wind had subsided, but -the waves still snapped at us, licking us now and anon with an angry -slap. But the strength of it had oozed with the dying of the wind. -Clouds hurried across the sky as we dipped and plunged northward, -parting the seas to right and left as the sturdy little ship responded -to the steady throb of the loyal heart down in the engines, that beat -out its 110 revolutions to the minute. By noon the sun was breaking -through, and the sea had subsided enough so that we could keep plates -on the table, and the first meal at sea of the trip was served. When I -came on deck after _tiffin_ the sun was shining and the air as fresh -and invigorating as a fall morning on the prairies in North Dakota. To -the west stretched the broken coast of Roumania. An hour’s run or more -northward, one could discern with a glass the site of that prosperous -little nation’s greatest port, Konstanza. Two dreary nights had made me -feel the need of rest. My saloon was cold and damp. The only place of -refuge, where warmth was sure, was the engine room, and there I went, -throwing myself on the rude bench in one corner where the engineer -spent the idle moments of his watch, and fell fast asleep. About three -I was aroused by being vigorously shaken. It was the engineer. As I sat -up I noticed, to my surprise, that we were again rolling heavily. - -“Well, what’s the trouble now?” I asked sleepily. He never smiled, but -looked at me grimly. - -“Bad. Very bad,” he said. - -“What’s bad?” I asked. I was too tired to be even apprehensive. I -wished he had let me sleep instead of bothering me with his fears. - -“Come on deck,” he said, without any further explanation, and led me -up the steel ladder to the top of the gratings and out on the deck. -I could scarcely believe my eyes. The darkness of dusk had settled -down upon us, and cloud upon cloud of snow were driving past us. I -could barely see across the deck where the captain and the bulk of the -crew were wringing their hands. As they all spoke at the same time, -either in Greek or some other unknown tongue, and as each seemed to -have a distinct and separate idea in mind as to what the exigencies -of the situation required, it was difficult to gather what all the -excitement was about. Everybody was presenting at one and the same -moment a different course of action, each of which it would appear -was the only road to safety. The captain urged in Greek that turning -about and going somewhere astern was the only thing to do. One engineer -advised Sulina in broken English, while the other had some ideas in -Greek which have not yet come through. The Turkish fireman and others -of our crew all wanted to do something or other, and each was howling -the merits of his policy at the top of his lungs in his own peculiar -dialect. Stomati was there with his seven different languages, which -he was using all at once. Someone had dug him out of the galley and -brought him forward to use his influence on the situation. Speaking -a word in each of the seven languages to one of English, he started -out into a detailed account of the storms of the Black Sea, their -origin and cause, and their inevitably fatal termination. He had all -the others faded for noise, and he soon had them in the background. -Already the sea was lashing itself into a vortex of fury. The engineer -had eased her down to half speed. I could scarcely believe my eyes. An -hour before I had not seen a cloud in the sky, and yet we now appeared -to be in the heart of a very enterprising blizzard. However, I could -not see the overpowering danger, and personally I favored Odessa as -being as safe as any other course and most convenient to the ends I had -in view. Stomati finally got my ear, and, backed by old man Gileti, -Spero and the mate, explained that these storms were the peril of the -Black Sea; that at any moment it might turn up a cyclone and bring up -seas that would swamp us in five minutes. I could not see how this -could be possible myself, and neither did Morris, who had recovered -his equilibrium, and we told them so. Stomati at once reached into -the past and told of the wreck of the Roumanian mail, a 4000-ton boat -of 21 knots, that had gone down only 20 miles from where we were, in -just such a storm. Everyone knew of a dozen similar cases, and when -word went aboard of what Stomati was saying, they all began at once to -tell of the disasters that they knew of personally. I was beginning -to be impressed, when, without warning, just as it had come, the snow -ceased, and in two minutes the sun was out and shining brightly, with -only a choppy sea and a black cloud sweeping astern to show the passing -of the storm. Everyone, but Morris and I, seemed to be disappointed -about it. However, they accepted the inevitable and returned gloomily -to their posts, and I went back to the engine room bench. By eight -o’clock that night we were off the mouth of the Danube at a place -called Sulina Mouth. I had dined and reinforced myself with a cigar, -when the captain, with his deprecating gestures and up-turned palms, -came down and asked for permission to put in for the night. This would -mean a delay of twenty-four hours at least, so I declined flatly. We -were already nearly forty-eight hours out of the Bosphorus, and Odessa -still a night’s run away, besides the night in port and one day lost. -I considered it a very bad precedent. Stomati, who was clearing the -dinner table, began to reminisce about a series of wrecks that had -occurred between Sulina and Odessa, but after the false alarm snowstorm -in the afternoon, I was determined to try the sea, even if it should be -rough. - -“Old Gileti has got cold feet sure,” volunteered Morris, who stood at -my elbow as we watched the harbor lights of Sulina fade away beyond our -bubbling wake. I was inclined to believe that he was right. - -The moon was making frantic efforts to break through the clouds, and, -though there was a brisk wind blowing, I believed we would have an easy -night, and so I turned in, but I never made a worse mistake. About -one o’clock I awoke with a realization of that fact. What we had been -through before was child’s play. I threw on my coat and got into the -dimly lighted saloon. The place looked as though a ten-inch shell had -burst. Broken glass, trunks turned upside down, clothes thrown from -their hooks, and confusion everywhere. Outside the wind and waves -roared like a thousand freight trains. It took me two minutes to get -the hatch open against the wind which seemed to be blowing everywhere -at once. I could not see my hand before my face, but felt my way -along the rail to the engine room skylight, then to the deck-house, -pausing to cling tight for the lurches that followed every succeeding -dip. It had come off cold, and ice was forming everywhere. I felt -the thin coating on bar and brace as I climbed to the bridge deck, -and, watching my opportunity, crawled toward the wheel-house, half -blinded by the spray which swept the ship from end to end. The noise -was too great for conversation, but the grim faces of the men at the -wheel bespoke their views of the situation louder than words. They -were two strong men, but flung this way and that they were, as they -wrestled with the wheel, which spun and jerked under their hands like -a live thing, as it answered the writhings of the rudder beaten by -the seas that lashed astern. I tried to stand on the bridge, but snow -and sleet-like darts of fiery steel bit my face and drove me back for -shelter to the wheel-house. Every time we struck a sea the spray rose -in solid sheets, beating against the thick glass windows until we had -to raise the wooden storm sashes to keep them from breaking. The spume -of the waves, whipped from their crest by the wind, blew across our -decks in torrents, and high above the funnels. Every time she rose -to take the sea in her teeth I drew my breath for the dip and surge -of water that followed. Every time she plunged downward it seemed as -though it must be her last. Again and again she buried her nose in the -seething vortex, and then, trembling in every fiber, she would shake -herself clear and rise to clinch the next sea that swept upon her. I -stood there for hours watching the struggle. Puny man and the fragile -creation of his hand against the forces of nature. Alone and in the -blackness of night, we fought it out to the tune of the howling wind -and the crash of water dashing itself to spray against our decks. Hour -after hour passed and still she responded to the gallant little engines -that never faltered. Half the time the screw would be beating air, -the engines racing and shaking the boat as in an ague. The engineers -clung desperately to the iron frame of the engine as they dropped in -the oil on the working bearings. The firemen in the stoke hole braced -themselves against the bulk-head as they heaved the coal. - -[Illustration: WHEN THE FRANCE ENTERED ODESSA HARBOR AFTER THE STORM -SHE WAS PRETTY WELL SHAKEN UP] - -[Illustration: SULINA—THE MOUTH OF THE DANUBE RIVER] - -The struggle lay in steam and the endurance of the engines, and they -knew it, and each man shut his teeth and did his part. - -Two o’clock came, three o’clock, four o’clock, and still we struggled -on. Suddenly the wind stopped, the sea began to subside and the moon -came out. All was lovely, only cold, so cold that one’s marrow seemed -to freeze. Three hours more and the sun rose red in the east, flanked -by two sun-dogs that justified the cold we felt. It was a perfect -winter’s day. Way off on the port bow a great bluff began to loom up, -and little by little the towers of a great city were discernible. - -An hour later, cased in ice, with icicles hanging from every part, the -_France_ crept into port. We were wreathed in ice from stem to stern. -The thermometer marked ten degrees below zero. I did not speak Greek, -but the grip old man Gileti gave my hand, spoke his relief louder than -words as we rounded to behind the breakwater in the haven, for which we -had struggled for sixty-five hours—Odessa! - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - - _We Land in Odessa on the Day Set by the Revolutionists - for a General Massacre, but Because of Effective - Martial Law, Secure Only a “General Situation” Story_ - -Odessa, as we viewed it from our ice encrusted bridge that freezing -December morning, was a distinct disappointment. Behind the breakwater -that stands between the pounding seas of the Euxine and the anchorage -and wharves, the city lay, gray, cold, gloomy and forbidding. From the -dirty streets of the shipping district the town scrambles up steeply -and spreads itself out over the bleak landscape that lies beyond. Long -lines of what the Europeans call “goods wagons,” and what we term -freight cars, were strung along both pier and water front. A half -dozen or more stranded cargo steamers chained up to the wharves, and -a few dreary looking tugboats combined to make the setting of one of -the most desolate scenes that I recall. An occasional figure slinking -about among the cars, and a single miserable Russian sentinel that -stood near one of the gray stone warehouses served only to intensify -the utter loneliness of the place. Over a year before I had been in -Dalny, pressing close on the heels of the invading army of Japan. -Big ten-inch shells from naval turrets miles away at sea, reinforced -by brigades of bristling infantry that closed in from the north, had -forced the Muscovites to evacuate. The retreating columns had straggled -out by the light of blazing warehouses tuned to the crash of falling -timber—this destruction their own handiwork to keep Dalny out of the -Japanese hands. But even that far finger of the Russian reach, obtained -in crazy frenzy of expansion and abandoned in smoke and confusion, was -cheerful compared to Odessa. There at least one saw the new life of the -Oriental armies that poured in by brigades, divisions and army corps in -the place of the retreating Russians, but here in the great commercial -city of southern Russia there was a gloom, silence and abandon that -spelled revolution, disorder and economic disaster, more loudly than -the smoking embers of deserted Dalny. Morris, who did not indulge much -in sad reflections, brought me back to the business in hand by the -true, if somewhat ungrammatical observation— - -“There sure ain’t nothing doing ashore or afloat in these diggings, and -that’s a cinch.” - -I agreed with the spirit if not with the construction of this comment. -A careful survey of the situation, as visible through my binoculars, -from the bridge of the _France_ suggested the possibility that the -irresponsible population had all gone into the interior to have an -agrarian riot or celebrate in some other simple way dear to the -Russian heart. Nevertheless, we had not come all this distance and -spent three cheerless soaking nights at sea to give up the game at -the first sign of discouragement. Here was where the dispatches of -his Britannic Majesty came to the rescue. After an elaborate search -through the International Signal Code I found a combination of flags -which exactly filled our needs, and promptly hoisted to our single -halyard the colored bunting of the code which stood for the letters “J. -& S.” This means “I am carrying government dispatches,” and implies -that everything in sight should co-operate at once. The effect was -even better than I had anticipated. A few minutes after our flags -had been snapping in the icy wind that blew in from the Black Sea I -saw the launch of the quarantine doctor come puffing out from behind -some tugboats, where it had been lying in ambush. The doctor himself -was standing in the bow. He was a portly man, and willing hands were -necessary to assist him up the side of the _France_. He was one of -those foreigners who cherish that most regrettable of ideas, namely, -that he could speak English. The result was that he flatly declined -to be addressed in any other language. This made it embarrassing and -occasioned no end of delay as his English was of the purely school book -brand. It contained such pertinent phrases as “How is your wife’s -brother? Will you go for a walk in the park to-day? Has your sister’s -husband a good pen?” and so on. This was all right, as far as it went, -but did not assist me much in the business in hand. He seemed to be -wholly unprepared in his vocabulary to take care of such a commonplace -and uninteresting subject as a health examination. He held me on deck -in the cold while he ran through his available list of sentences, which -really gave him an excellent insight into the status of my family, -the number of my brothers and sisters and their respective ages. He -followed this with a few irrelevant questions about the weather, and -ended up with “Do you find Russia a pleasant country?” This seemed -to be the last sentence which had stuck in his head. After that he -paused for breath, and before he could commence again I got him down -into my saloon where we had just been having breakfast. When he saw -the table he forgot all about his English aspirations and burst into -French, and, with tears in his eyes and a wealth of exclamation, told -us how hungry he was. We offered the remnants of the breakfast and he -fell on the food with an avidity which was appalling. The remnants -went fast and we had to send a rush order to Stomati in the galley for -reinforcements. He ate fast and well. Between gulps he told us that -in spite of his fine uniform and steam launch, he only drew $40.00 a -month for his services. I endeavored to be politely interested, until -I found that he had troubles which would fill a book, and so gently -but firmly cut him off. When he had finished the last scrap he turned -to business with evident regret. It isn’t really business, of course, -but it is what passes under that name in Russia. First he took off -his coat, then he undid his sword and took off his belt and placed -it on the table. He then looked all around the room and asked for a -cigar. He got out his penknife and carefully cut off the end, and -then lighted it. Great folios of paper were then produced, and sheet -upon sheet of printed forms were piled upon the table, and the real -work begun. Detailed information as to my lineage, aye, even unto the -second generation previous, were called for, until I was ashamed to -confess that I did not know my grandmother’s maiden name. Then I had -to give all the names of the crew, and these had to be copied in three -different blank forms to comply with Russian law. As my staff were -Greeks and Turks, with impossible names, we spent perhaps half an hour -in making these entries, discussing the correct spelling of each as it -was entered in the forms. Hoping to facilitate business, I gave the -inspector three fingers of good old Irish whiskey, but I never made a -worse mistake. He at once became genial and wanted to take a recess -and tell me the story of his life in his school book English. Finally, -with the co-operation of the entire staff and the testimony of most -of them, under cross-examination, we convinced him and saw him duly -enter in triplicate first, that we had no sickness aboard, second, -that we had no mysterious corpse packed away below the deck. (Just why -anyone wanted to smuggle a corpse into Odessa when the supply there was -greatly in excess of the demand, has never been clear to me.) Third, -that we were not bringing in any large quantity of fresh water (which -might be full of Turkish germs), and a lot of other equally immaterial -and ridiculous information. When all was said and done he politely -informed me that I could not land until he had made his report and some -other official had made some other sort of examination. This seemed to -me to be about the limit. With all the dignity at my command I ordered -Morris to bring out the dispatches. This he did with a great show -of importance. I showed the wretched official the red seals and the -official stamps and then said: - -“These are the dispatches of his Britannic Majesty, Edward VII. If you -choose to take the responsibility of detaining here a moment longer -the bearer of such important papers, of course you can do so. I have -no means of forcing you. For your own information, however, I will -tell you that such action on your part will be reported to the British -foreign office and your case will be most vigorously investigated. But -you must do as you think best.” - -He wilted on the spot, and took us ashore in his launch, where he -led us before some dignified gentlemen in gorgeous uniforms who all -talked at once in Russian. I waited and tried to look important. My -“red sealing waxed” dispatches were again laid out for inspection, and -my friend, the medical examiner, evidently repeated my remarks to him, -for an orderly was sent on the run for another launch, and I was rushed -across the harbor before another and higher official, who was covered -with gold lace, where there was another interminable discussion, -which finally ended in our being turned over to a burly ruffian in -uniform, whom I learned was assigned to act as my chief of staff while -I remained in town. Fortunately he spoke a little German, and two -minutes after I had him alone I convinced him that his services were -unnecessary. His conscience troubled him for disobeying his superior -officer, but five roubles fixed that, so, four hours after we dropped -anchor, I found myself free to pursue my way unhampered. - -The situation in Odessa at this time was intolerable, as I found within -an hour after I had delivered the dispatches to the British consul, -and had an opportunity of getting down to work. That day, as I then -learned, was the Czar’s birthday. For weeks previous there had been -talk of another grand demonstration on the part of the revolutionists. -It had been pleasantly rumored that there was to be a promiscuous -killing to be conducted under the auspices of the revolutionary -committee. These prearranged events rarely materialize in Russia, -as the gentlemen supposed to be in charge of such proceedings are -generally dug out of their cellars and are well on their way to Siberia -on the date set for their entertainments. My experience in five -visits to Russia during the period of convulsion was that the average -Muscovite revolutionist has no equal (off the stage) for simplicity -and ineffective activity. The moment you set eyes on him you know he -is a revolutionist. His hair stands on end, his eyes are wild and his -dress is in disorder. In fact, nothing is lacking to complete the -make-up of the part. Every time he has an opportunity he climbs on a -barrel or some other conspicuous spot in a public place and proceeds -to air his ideas. He will point out at the top of his lungs the -advantages of bombs and miscellaneous assassinations. He has a well -developed programme as to what ought to be done with the Czar, and as -for the grand dukes, he simply tears out his hair in handfuls when he -talks about them. When he isn’t engaged in talking he goes off and -buries himself in a garret and writes inflammatory and compromising -letters and articles, which he leaves about just as a stage hero does -important family papers. The police (whom you know to be police, just -as quickly as you recognize a revolutionist to be a revolutionist) -stand around and look wise and make notes. The moment any trouble is -brewing they go out and make a big bag of assorted anarchists, bombists -and inoffensive but loquacious students, who have been airing their -undigested views on sociology and politics. When people get together -for the glorious riot which has been planned for months in advance, -lo and behold! All of the leading spirits are kicking their heels in -the nearest fortress or packing up their belongings for a trip into -Siberia. So it was at this time in Odessa. The revolutionists had -been talking so long about what they were going to do on the Czar’s -birthday that everybody in town knew of their plans, which, among other -variations, included a massacre of all foreigners. I never learned just -why the foreigners were to be massacred, but it seemed to be admitted -in revolutionary circles that this was the proper thing to be done. -General Kaulbars of Manchurian war fame had been made military governor -of South Russia. He had rushed in two regiments of barbarous looking -Cossacks, who had been instructed to “fire with ball” at the first sign -of trouble, and they certainly looked as though they were prepared to -do it. The order was published and everybody knew what to expect. - -In spite of these precautions nearly everybody in Odessa was living -in a state of nerves as to what might happen. The erratic behavior -of the mutinous fleet the summer before, headed by the battleship -_Knias Potempkin_, had aroused general apprehension as to what extent -irresponsibility might carry the situation. The people distrusted -the army and the army the people. The soldiers hated their officers -and the officers feared their own soldiers, and both officers and -soldiers distrusted the population of the town, while the foreigners -had no confidence in anybody. The so-called Jewish massacre a few -months before did not tend to quiet the minds of the peaceful residents. -At that time the town had been given over for three days into a -free-for-all fight and general riot, where everybody killed anybody -they had it in for, and a few Jews thrown in for luck. All of the -foreign consulates had made detailed preparations for trouble. -Rendezvous had been agreed upon for the mustering of the various -flocks. A company of soldiers was to be allotted to each consulate to -act as an escort to the water front, where ships were held in readiness -for immediate departure to places of safety. The residents had been -out of touch with the outer world for weeks, owing to the postal and -telegraph strike and railroad tie-up. All seemed to think that their -respective governments were trying to do something to relieve them and -that the international fleet that at last accounts had been making its -silly demonstration off the Dardanelles, was going to be allowed to -pass through into the Black Sea. No one thought that the Sultan would -make any objection to allowing a few cruisers to pass the Bosphorus -to protect the trembling subjects of the European governments at the -various ports, but while the foreigners at every port where Russian -supremacy still held were sitting up nights waiting to be murdered, -and praying for the protection of the blue jackets, six inch rifles -and machine gun batteries, those very warships were sitting peacefully -outside Macedonia, conducting their childish and ineffective bluff. - -The economic conditions could scarcely reach a worse stage than those -existing at that time in all South Russia. Business was absolutely -at a standstill, credit had collapsed and thousands of men had been -thrown out of employment. The demand for most of the products of -local manufacture had fallen off to almost nothing. The directors -of enterprise dared not accumulate a surplus of their product for -fear their warehouses would be destroyed at the next spasm of riot, -so factories had closed up and the employés were in the streets, -destitute and in the middle of winter. Most of the better class had -left town, closed their residences, and dismissed their servants, who -were also out of town. The railroad, telegraph and postal men were all -on a strike, the end of which was not in sight. Most of them had no -funds, and were begging on the streets. Everybody who had any money -was sitting on it with a gun in each hand. With ten thousand beggars -on the streets and the coldest weather of the winter biting through -bone and marrow, and a ravenous hunger turning the ordinary docile -man into little better than a brute, and with thousands of such at -large, there is small wonder that people felt apprehensive. The bakers -dared not bake for a day ahead for fear their shops would be broken -open and looted, which indeed was happening every day. The Jews, who -comprise nearly a quarter of the population, were “squeezing” everybody -that came into their clutches and constantly fomenting trouble on the -outside. It was probable that any day a mere street brawl might in -a moment turn into a massacre, and these Russian massacres mean the -unleashing of every element of evil which the town contains. The news -that came in from the agrarian districts was increasingly serious, and -everyone was guessing as to what the outcome would be. The reports -that came in indicated that all over Russia, sometimes peaceably -and sometimes with violence, the peasants were taking the land into -their own hands. Stories of burning estates and fleeing land owners -circulated in every quarter. The question that everyone was asking was -if the peasants ever take the land, who will ever take it away from -them. Surely the army, that was manifestly sullen and discontented -and trusted by no one, could not be looked to for performing such a -task. As a matter of fact, people generally felt that the soldiers in -time of trouble are more to be feared than any other element in the -community. The Czar had just issued his latest manifesto increasing the -pay and the standard of living of his army, but the effect was about -the same as that of turning up the wick of a lamp when the oil is -gone. There was a momentary flare and then less light than ever before. -The soldiers and everyone else viewed it at best as a confession -of weakness wrung from the sovereign by his realization of his own -desperate plight. Anyway, not even the most optimistic soldier believed -that he would ever get the promised raise of pay. Patrols of the -forbidding looking Cossacks were riding about the streets from morning -until night. The plodding of their horses’ hoofs in the snow and the -metallic jingle of sabers, were almost the only sound one heard in the -streets. All else was quiet as the grave, and save for the shivering -and destitute begging from house to house, there was almost no one else -abroad in this bitter cold. - -Considering our high hopes for a general uprising the day passed -quietly enough. Only a bomb episode along in the afternoon testified -that the spirit of anarchy and revolution still smoldered beneath -the surface. Not much of an event it was, even at that. Only an -unsuccessful attempt to assassinate one of the local tyrants of the -detective force. It would make a scare head for a local police story -perhaps, but out here for the man who had the only access to the -world’s cable, it was only a “significant incident.” The immediate -scene is dramatic, terrible. A cold gray court-yard rises beyond a -gate, at which stood a half frozen sentinel, gloomy, imperturbable, -silent. Across the court was the office of the victim sought. Within -the compound a half dozen bodies, now torn and mangled, masses of -clothing and human flesh, lie steaming in the cold, while pools of -blood freeze in little lakes of red stained snow. The frost-bitten -earth crunches dryly under the feet of the clumsy officers, who, -note-books in hand, are compiling their reports of the incident. One -of them turns over with his heavy boot the stiffening carcass of the -perpetrator of the outrage, himself torn to shreds by the explosion of -his own bomb. With white teeth clinched, and glassy eyes glaring up to -the gloomy December sky, he lies, soaked in his own blood, amidst the -wreckage he has created, a grim evidence that no tyrant is safe in a -country where there are dozens willing and eager to sacrifice their own -lives to remove even one of the cogs of the vast engine of despotism, -the machine that has been grinding them smaller and smaller during -these many centuries. No wonder the prefect of police turns his heavy -visage from the scene in which he was cast to play such an important -role. He is putty colored beneath his beard as he passes to his -carriage, saber dragging in the snow and spurs ringing sharply on the -threshold of the great gate. The dull sentry hears the sound and comes -to a present. The police officers salute. The prefect climbs into his -sleigh, weighted down with rich furs, the driver cracks his whip, and -they are off up the street at a gallop. He has escaped this bomb, but -how about the next, and yet again the one to follow that? Perhaps he is -thinking what will be the ultimate end, as he is driven away through -the softly falling snow. - -The uninitiated, no doubt, view with skepticism the accuracy of quickly -gathered news, and perhaps think that a few days on the situation -is a ridiculously short time in which a man can gather any definite -information. This is in a measure true. There are times where weeks -of study are essential, but these are not the stories a special war -correspondent is after. Where he is in demand is on the spot where -there is a “visible” situation. When things quiet down he usually -withdraws, and the political and economic correspondents send the more -analytical and perhaps profounder stuff. But these men in a riot, -disaster or “emergency” are often lost in the shuffle, and here it is -where the war correspondent can often cut in and beat by days the men -who have been on the spot gathering routine political news for years. -Unimpeded by long association the special man sees at a glance the most -picturesque and prominent features. Trained as he must be to quick -action, and methods of getting out his copy, his reports are often days -ahead of the resident correspondent. - -The first thing for a “story” is a general view of the situation. Two -hours divided among the consulates and embassies of America, Great -Britain, France and Germany give the general official idea, which is -always conservative. Next a round of the newspaper offices and one -gets the (sensational) radical impressions. If there is anything big -one can always find a half dozen war correspondents in the bar of the -biggest and best hotel in town. From them one gets the sensational and -spectacular elements and an unlimited amount of exaggeration. Three -hours’ driving about town with an interpreter interviewing and talking -with everybody available, from the man loafing on the corner to the -prefect of police, gives the local color and atmosphere for your cable. -Late in the afternoon a man has in his head a mass of material ranging -from the most lurid stories of the correspondents to the “official -protests” that “all is well and no further trouble anticipated.” The -rest is merely a matter of perspective. As he writes, the correspondent -must weigh the sources of his information and estimate their probable -accuracy. Experience and many previous failures, and a sort of sixth -sense, acquired perhaps in work on a local paper, render quick and -almost subconscious judgments on news values more accurate than the -uninitiated might imagine. It is at this point that a man’s work ruins -him with his office, or he makes good. The editor is not asking for -literature, but for a quick survey of the situation. So it is that the -man who can talk with the most people in the shortest time, and from -such evidence make a connected and truthful story, is the man that is -wanted. From the combined conversations of perhaps forty informants, -ranging through all classes in the community, he must pick and choose -the salient features and the most reliable evidence on which to base -his story. In ten hours a good newspaper man can get the material for a -column cable on almost any “visible situation.” This in the main will -be accurate and correct. The moment he has gotten his message off, he -begins to sketch out his campaign for the coming days or weeks which he -expects the trouble to last. He picks out a half dozen reliable agents -and sends them all over town, interviewing, observing, collecting data -and local color in all quarters. If he knows his business he has a -small but efficient staff in forty-eight hours, which keep him posted -as to the general trend of affairs all over the city. If the wires -are working, he can probably pick up local informants in neighboring -towns to reinforce his story with ideas and viewpoints. If there is -fighting going on he tries to see it without too much risk, so as to -get the “local color,” which only presence on the scene can give. The -dull days are filled in by interviews with as many prominent people as -can be induced to talk. Thus, what seems to an outsider as a difficult -proposition and one involving guesswork and inaccuracy, becomes a very -simple matter. - -It was in much this way that I gathered material for my Odessa -cable. I had not time to collect a local staff, for I only remained -thirty-six hours, but I made out fairly well on the collection of -local information by turning Morris and three or four members of my -crew loose for the day to talk with everyone possible. My dispatches to -the consulate gave me quick and easy access to the official view, while -a number of stranded war correspondents at the hotel regaled me with -information, which they could not get out themselves on account of the -telegraph and postal tie-up all over Russia. One rarely drops on a good -situation without meeting a handful of old friends on similar business -bent. In Odessa almost the first man I met ashore was Lionel James of -the London _Times_, in my opinion the best of all the English cable -correspondents. He had been in command of the _Times_ dispatch boat -_Haimun_ in the Russo-Japanese war, and for months had been competing -in the news zone against the dispatch boat I was operating for the -Chicago _Daily News_. I first met him in Chefoo Harbor and again in -Ping Yang Inlet in Korea. He joined the second army and scored a beat -on the cable from Lioa Yang, which broke the Japanese securities in -the London money market. I lost track of him and did not see him again -until Red Sunday days in Petersburg. I was hurried up from a little -investigation of a war scare in the Balkans and almost the first man I -met in the hotel in Petersburg was James. For a few weeks I saw him -daily, and again we parted. He had been on half a dozen assignments -and I around the world when we met on the street in Odessa that cold -December day. - -By six that night I had my evidence all in and was aboard the _France_ -ready for the run to the uncensored cable in Roumania. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - - _The France Does Her Best in the Run for the Uncensored - Cable, Sticks in the Mud, but Gets Away and Arrives - at Sulina Mouth with an Hour to Spare_ - -Every line of enterprise is subject to disappointment and the newspaper -business is no exception. I arrived on board the _France_ with my mind -picturing an eight-hour drive for the Roumanian cable, and my story in -print in the afternoon edition of my paper the next day. - -“All right,” I called from the rowboat as soon as I was in hearing -distance of the _France_. “Get up the anchor—let her go,” but the only -reply I had as I climbed over the side of my ocean-going greyhound of -a tug was the sad face of old man Gileti and a series of deprecating -shrugs and gestures accompanied by a line of guttural explanations in -Greek. Nothing is more exasperating than delays on a cable story, and -the language that floated over the expanse of Odessa harbor when I -finally learned what my skipper had to say was certainly a disgrace, -even for a journalist. In a word, the old Greek had failed to get the -_France_ port clearance, which meant that we could not get away until -the next day, and that my precious “beat” must be delayed at least 24 -hours. - -The whys and the wherefores were transmitted later by Morris, who spent -an hour in getting the facts from the slow-witted old Greek. My chief -of staff, secretary and steward was filled with disgust and had spent a -half hour outlining through an interpreter to the wretched captain the -enormity of his crimes. - -“Yes, sir,” he told me, “I have surely made old man Gileti sit up. -I have put him wise to the fact that for a sure-enough dub and -promiscuous fat-head, he has the rest of the world beat, yes sir, beat, -backed into a siding with the switch locked. In fact, I regard that -man, sir, as dead slow; yes, sir, slow, paralyzed in fact,” etc. - -Just how all these things had been translated I did not ask, but I did -ask why the man had failed to get the shipping papers, without which -we could not go to sea. When a skipper enters a port, he takes his -papers ashore and leaves them with the authorities until sailing time, -when an official brings them off and gives clearance of the harbor. If -a ship sails without its papers, it loses all caste and is liable to -confiscation by any warship that might get wind of the fact. Hence the -necessity of the delay. - -“The old man, sir,” Morris continued, “was stalled. How? Yes sir, by -some old Roosian! These dogs (meaning Greeks) are easy bluffed. Old -man Gileti goes ashore this morning as directed. He sits for some -hours on a bench. Along comes a guy in rich uniform and sees the old -man with our papers in his mit. Gileti hands over and then sits some -more. Finally another general or something comes along and gives him -a bum steer that the stuff’s off and its back to the ship with him, -bein’ as it’s a holiday and too much trouble to do business. The old -man hollers a little, but bein’ a fool and using Greek when it ain’t -getting through none, he fails to score, and next he knows he is showed -out of the office by one of those Cossack fellers that has a bayonet on -his gun. Quick as he’s out they locks up and goes home, and there ain’t -nothing doing for Gileti, so he comes aboard.” - -The next morning early I had a kindly interview with the Greek, and -sent him off again for his papers, with two men to interpret and my -Black Prince to see that the goods were delivered. But even this -formidable array found Russian officialdom a hard proposition to get -quick action out of. Eight hours of red tape, bluffs and counter -bluffs, persuasion, threats and pleadings, it took before the business -was completed, and it was five in the afternoon when I saw the official -launch with Morris and the Greeks sitting in the stern, coming out to -us. - -“Have got. Can do,” yelled the steward when he was in ear-shot. This -time there was no delay, and as soon as the skipper was on deck the -forward donkey engine was spitting the water out of the valves, and a -moment later dragging in the anchor, and a delightful sound it was to -hear it coming in over the windlass, link after link. Clang! Clang! -Clang! rang the telegraph and the dial registered, “Stand by” in the -engine room. - -Old man Gileti was slow usually, but with an anxious correspondent -at his elbow to “jack him up,” he moved fast this time. No sooner -did the rusty anchor head come dripping out of the water than “slow -ahead” rang in the engine room. Black smoke pouring out of the two -red funnels and the rattle of coal from the stoke-hold testified that -the Turkish firemen were working for once in their lazy lives. “Hard -aport” went the wheel, and the _France_ swung her nose toward the open -sea. “Steady,” and she straightened out for her course. “Half speed” -and then “Full speed ahead,” read the dial down where the engines were -picking up their sea-pace at every stroke. Two minutes later we were -outside the breakwater, dipping our sturdy little nose into the chop -of that wretched Euxine. “South by west a quarter west,” the skipper -called in Greek, and the man at the wheel spun the helm until the -compass checked the course, and the _France_ stiffened down for the 90 -mile run to Sulina, where the Roumanian cable to the outside world lay -awaiting us. - -Once on our course I went below and had my dinner served royally in -the saloon with Stomati presiding over the cuts in the galley and -Monroe D. talking like a windmill and “standing by” with the service. - -“Yes, sir. Fine business, sir. We are making 12 knots, sir, and we are -about to pull off an immense cup (no doubt intended for coup) on the -situation. Yes, sir, I regard this trip as one of the great events in -the history of journalism. I assure you I do, sir, yes, sir. I have -just told Stomati that I regard this as one of the great achievements -of our career and Stomati, sir, he was impressed. I could see it, sir, -Stomati was dead to rights. I told that man, sir, that we had all the -rest of the men in our profession looking like two-spots,” a pause for -wind, and then—“In my opinion, sir, old man O’Conor (referring to the -British Ambassador) will be delighted. His important dispatches have -been delivered. Yes, sir, delivered; in fact, placed in the hands of -his Britannic majesty’s consul at Odessa, and, sir, I must say I do say -that I regard this as a most important act. Yes, sir, most important. I -have told Stomati so, and, sir, Stomati agreed, for he told Spero and -Spero, sir, he feels awe, sir, yes, I assure you he does, awe, that he -is a member of this important expedition. Spero, sir, is a slow man and -a heavy thinker, but when Stomati explained, I could see that Spero -understood and appreciated. (Yes, sir, I will pass you another cut.) -But as I was saying, it is my opinion that the British government will -decorate us—yes, sir, handsomely. No doubt the Victoria Cross will—” - -But here I cut him off, having finished my dinner and a cigar besides, -and sent him to the galley to get his own meal, and more important, -to give me an opportunity to write my story. During the delay of the -day, I had examined every member of the crew that had been ashore, to -gather any additional data for my cable. This with the mass of material -picked up the day before, gave me enough for a column message, which -I proceeded to rap out on my machine. People generally seem to think -that newspaper stories must be in cipher, for few of the uninitiated -realize that a thousand dollars on cable toll for a single dispatch is -nothing unusual. The writing of a cable differs only from a written -article in that one cuts local color and descriptive matter a bit in -favor of facts. By force of habit, a cable arranges itself in one’s -mind unconsciously and can be written as fast as one can work a -machine. Then there only remains to read over the copy and blue pencil -all superfluous “thes,” “ands,” adjectives, and everything in fact -that the foreign editor in the office can supply by the study of the -context. Thus a 2000 word story will “skeletonize” to perhaps 1200 and -be re-expanded in the office to 2500. The office files contain vast -stores of information. If a name or place is mentioned, it is looked -up and its significance or location incorporated into the cable as -printed. The result is a detailed story and an accurate one as far as -the editorial half is concerned. It took me a half hour to write my -story and another fifteen minutes to “skeletonize” and re-copy it ready -for the telegraph office. It came to 895 words. - -When I had finished, I sent for the chief engineer. It was now ten -o’clock in the evening, and I must get my cable off surely by daylight -to insure its getting the edition. We had a heavy head sea and in spite -of Morris’ assertion of 12 knots, we weren’t doing much over 8½. We -needed all we had, and so I wanted to talk with the man who had charge -of the turns of the propeller. I wanted to imbue in him the news idea -and the news spirit which, once aroused, are stronger forces for speed -and quick action than unlimited golden promises. So when he came in, I -gave him a cigar and then for an hour I labored with him, pouring out -all the eloquence which the love of the work must always bring from the -lips of any true newspaper man who works neither for money, reputation -or glory, but for the fascination of “THE CABLE GAME” which knows not -the limitations of conventions, and is bounded only by time and space. -Any man can talk on the one subject that lies nearest his heart, and it -is a poor newspaper man indeed who cannot wax eloquent over the “cable -game.” He lives it every waking hour of the day and dreams of it when -he sleeps. It is for no material gain which he labors, but the pure -love of the work itself. There are dozens of such men who suffer untold -hardships and face any risk simply to get their stories out. They care -little whether their names are signed or not, and their one aim is that -their paper shall be the first to have the news, and that their version -of it may have the front page wherever newspapers are published. It -may be the depths of winter, and miles away from a cable office, but -he will gladly ride hours in a driving snowstorm, even if it takes his -last breath to get his story on the wire. Perhaps it is summer in the -tropics, but he faces the heat as readily as the cold of winter. Hunger -and hardships of all kinds are a part of the day’s work to him if he -can but land that priceless “story,” which is the only object of his -life from day to day. Few people who read the daily papers dream of the -suffering and heart-burn that “special cables” have cost some man in -some far corner of the globe. The story which they read complacently -at their breakfast table has often all but cost the sender his life in -getting it to the telegraph, but the correspondent does it and counts -the cost as nothing if he gets his “beat.” From the world he looks for -no recognition, and if his chief at home is satisfied, the cable man -rejoices and his heart is glad. - -All of this I told my nervous little Greek engineer and then pointed -out that now he as well as I was a correspondent, and not only he, -but every man on the boat was one. “I can do nothing alone,” I told -him. “It is only by your co-operation that we can make this expedition -a success, yours and every other member of this crew,” and then I -explained to him the value of time. How that minutes were worth dollars -and days thousands, and that an hour saved might mean the difference -between success and failure. - -“You have seen the situation in Odessa,” I pointed out to him. “You -know as well as I do that there are hundreds of foreigners, your -countrymen and mine included, whose lives and property are insecure -every day that this reign of terror lasts. They are praying for relief -from their home governments and there” (I pointed to my typewriter -cable blanks on the table) “is the story of their plight, and their -prayer for help. Ten hours after we reach Sulina, that story will be in -print, and in 24 it will have been read by every foreign office in the -world, and who can tell what will be the result? Next week this time -there may be a fleet of warships plowing these waters at full speed to -bring protection to every port in southern Russia. Have you ever been -in peril and without protection? Have you ever longed and prayed for -the sight of a battleship or cruiser flying a friendly flag? Have you -watched the harbor mouth day in and day out for the smudge of smoke -which may mean the coming of succor? Can you realize what bluejackets, -machine guns and friends mean to the people in Odessa? Realize it and -you know what the value of minutes and, much more, hours may mean. -Perhaps I understand it more than you possibly can, for training on -an American paper makes a man consider time more than anything on -earth. You people aboard don’t know how the newspapers in America and -in England, too, spend thousands to save minutes. Go to a big meeting -in my country, and sit through two hours of speeches. When you leave -the hall, a newsboy will hand you a paper with the ink still wet, with -a complete account of the first hour and a half of what has gone on -within.” - -The engineer was visibly impressed. - -“I can’t understand,” he said, “how your paper can spend so much money -for a month of news, much less for one story.” - -I laughed and told him of a correspondent in the far east who got to -the cable office with a big story. He had barely time to catch the -morning edition of his paper. He threw in his 1000 words of copy, and -while he was waiting to see that it got off, he saw through the window -the correspondent of his paper’s greatest rival at home tearing madly -toward the telegraph office with his story clutched in his hands. He -looked at his watch and saw that his rival might send his cable after -his own, and still get it published the same morning, thus preventing -him from scoring a “beat.” For a moment only he was paralyzed, and -then he drew from his pocket a novel which he had been reading. With -one quick snatch he ripped out twenty pages, stuck his scarf pin -through to hold them together, and in pencil scrawled across the top -of the first page the name of his paper and signed his name on the -last, and as his rival entered the door, he tossed to the operator -what amounted to some 7000 additional words of copy. By the time the -operator had finished sending this stuff it was just an hour too late -for his rival’s cable to get the morning edition. The result was that -his story appeared in New York the next morning and was copied all -over the world as the big “beat” of the year. To be sure, it cost the -management nearly $5000 extra in cable tolls, but they alone got the -story that morning. - -“Did the correspondent lose his job?” gasped the chief. - -“Not on your life,” I told him. “On the contrary, he got a cable of -congratulations on his quick action and a raise of salary the same day.” - -“Well, what do you think of that?” ejaculated the chief. - -I saw I had him interested, and so while I was at it I gave him the -story of how a newspaper man saved the Suez Canal to England. “In some -way the correspondent of an English paper found that the Khedive of -Egypt, who held the controlling interest in the stock of the canal, -was going to sell out. In an instant the man realized that he held in -his hand the biggest story of his day. Were it published, every power -in Europe would be bidding, and no doubt the French, who then had the -greatest influence in Egypt, would carry off the plum, which was worth -a dozen wars for any power to possess. So he held his tongue and sent -a rush message, not to his paper, but to the premier of England. Old -Palmerston saw the situation as quickly as had the newspaper man, and -closed the deal by cable for $20,000,000, and then made parliament -raise the cash. The result was that the newspaper account was the first -notice that France had of the loss of the opportunity. So you see, -chief, where hours and minutes were worth not thousands, but millions -on one occasion.” - -I had his attention now, and so I threw in the local touch to round it -off with. - -“That’s what time means to the outside world, but I have not told you -how the office is crying for it. You see, now we have been out nearly -a week, and my chief at home is getting anxious. I can see the foreign -editor sitting at his desk to-morrow. For three days he has been -expecting a cable from us. He locks up his forms about half past three, -and after that our cable will be too late. He is expecting something -good, and for two days now he has been holding space for us on the -‘front page’ up to the last moment. Every day that three o’clock comes -and no news from us, he is sick with disgust. Now, chief, if we can -get to Sulina by daybreak, we will give him his story, our story, and -the story of what Odessa is suffering. That cable there will come in to -his desk in four or five sheets about five minutes apart. When he sees -the date and first sentence, he will know it is from us, and before the -end has been received, the first pages will be in type, and in fifteen -minutes after he has O. K.’d the last sentence, the great presses in -the basement of the building will be roaring worse than one of your -Black Sea hurricanes, and the neatly folded papers will be coming out -at the rate of 60,000 an hour, and before we are through coaling in -Sulina to-morrow afternoon, every newsboy in Chicago will be crying, -‘Extra, latest news from Russia; all about Odessa,’ and our story will -be speeding east, west, south and north to a hundred different cities.” - -I could see that my little Greek friend was getting enthusiastic. I -took my dispatch lovingly in my hands and fingered it for a moment, and -then “I have done all I can do, chief. It is up to you, now, whether we -print this cable to-morrow or two days from now.” - -He jumped up from the table and seized his hat. - -“What do you want me to do?” he asked, filled with the spirit of the -game. - -“I want speed, all that you can get down there below the grating.” - -Without a word he turned and climbed the companion-way. I heard his -quick step on deck above my head, and he was gone. A few minutes later -I followed him and went down into the engine room. By the throttle -stood my little friend, with one hand on the valve gear and his eye -on the steam gauge. I put my hand on the eccentric arc of the high -pressure engine and, with my watch in hand, counted the heartbeats of -our 1000 horse power triples. - -“One hundred and eight revolutions,” I said. “Not bad.” - -The chief never took his eye from the gauge. - -“You watch. We can do better than that.” - -In the stoke-hold just ahead I could hear the Turks heaving in the -coal, and I was glad at heart. - -“You’ve got those fellows working for once,” I commented. - -“I have that,” he replied. “I’ve woke up the day shift and have two men -working on each boiler, and the gauge there tells the business.” - -I followed his eye and watched the hand flicker with each stroke of the -engine. Pound by pound the pressure from the boilers was shoving it up. -When it reached 160, the chief gave the wheel that opens the valve in -the main steam pipe from the boilers a half turn and said: - -“Now count her revolutions.” - -With my eye on the second hand of my watch, I counted “105, 6, 7, 8, 9, -10, 11, 12,” and snapped the lid with approbation. - -“We’ve more coming yet,” grinned the sturdy little Greek. - -His interest once aroused, he was doing his best. A moment later I -counted 115. - -“She did 117 on her trial trip,” volunteered the engineer, “and she’ll -do it again if she holds together,” and he opened the valve to its full -and screwed in the valve gear until he had the steam cut off to its -minimum stroke to keep pace with the up and down racing of the pistons, -while his second crawled about dropping oil in cupfuls on the working -bearings to keep her from heating. The chief timed her himself. I -watched him. - -“What is she doing?” I asked, as he closed his watch. - -“You count,” he said. - -“I make it 118,” I replied, looking at him with my best smile of -approval. - -“Right you are,” he said. “One hundred and eighteen it is, and just one -better than she’s ever done before,” and he winked as he rubbed the oil -off his grimy face with a piece of cotton waste. - -“I’d put her up some more,” he said apologetically, “but I’m afraid -she’d prime. Anyhow,” (with a glance at the gauge) “she blows at 180 -pounds, and we’re 178 now.” - -“Keep her where she is,” I said, “and you’re doing fine.” And I wrung -his hand and went on deck. - -Trembling from end to end with the revolution of her engines, the -_France_ was beating her way toward the cable at nearly 11 knots an -hour, and going into a heavy head sea at that. I blessed the sporty -little Greek and went below to try and get a bit of shut-eye before -daylight. - -In the saloon I found Morris and the second engineer, who had just -turned out of his bunk preparatory to going on his watch in the -engine room at 1 A. M. With one shoe on and the other in his hand he -sat spell-bound as he listened to the narration of one of Morris’s -hair-raising Philippine experiences. I had intended turning in at once, -but lighted a cigar instead for a chat with the machinist for the few -minutes he had to spare. - -Our conversation naturally drifted to the subject which we both had in -common, and before we knew it we were deep in a discussion as to the -respective merits of turbine and reciprocating engines. The engineer -was still nursing his unshod foot, forgetful of all but the question we -were arguing. - -“For my part,” he was saying, “give me for all around service triple -expansion—I don’t say but what for high speed like torpedo boats and -such, turbines may not be good, but they do say the blades sheer in -bucketsful at high pressure driving. Now you take a four-cylinder -triple turning her darndest—” - -He paused suddenly and looked sharply at me. We had both felt a barely -perceptible tremor run through the ship. A tumult of anger swept -through my veins. - -“She touched bottom,” I explained, furious at even the prospect of a -further delay in getting my story to the cable. - -“That’s funny,” mused the engineer, slipping on the belated boot in a -hurry. “It surely felt like sliding over a mud bank. We must be ten -miles from shore at least. But it can’t be, for the old man hasn’t even -slowed her down. We must have dreamed it.” - -“Nothing of the sort,” I replied, having been there many times before. -“We are too near the shore, and the skipper’s either drunk or asleep. I -am going on deck,” and I got up and put on my coat and started for the -stairs. - -I had barely put my foot on the bottom step when we felt the sudden -check to our speed and that subtle velvety sensation of a ship sliding -through mud. I turned and looked at the engineer, who was at my heels. - -“The fool,” he muttered, and then a lot of Greek expletives which -sounded good to me. “He’s piled her up on the mud bank.” - -And even as he spoke there came the frantic clanging of the telegraph -in the engine room, and almost instantly the dying pulse of the engines -as the chief engineer shut off the steam. The pistons had been slipping -merrily up and down in their guides driving the shaft at its maximum, -and for a few strokes their impetus carried them, but the life was -gone, and after a few half-hearted revolutions they came to a sullen -standstill, the high pressure engine just at the end of its reach -and the low caught in the middle of its stroke. The absolute silence -was broken only by the lap of the waves breaking on our steel sides. -In a moment I was on the bridge with Morris at my heels. A tumult of -Greek voices in the wheel-house told of the endeavors to adjust the -responsibility of the blunder. It is always so with the Greeks. In -an emergency they all begin to quarrel as to who is to blame. So it -was at this juncture, and until I had Stomati translating some strong -Anglo-Saxon language, the idea of how we were going to get afloat -again did not seem to have crossed any one’s mind. They all united in -condemning Spero as the simplest way out of the matter, and let it go -at that. - -It was almost full moon. The wind had gone down, and for once the sea -was as calm as a lake. Four or five miles away, dead ahead, a light -glimmered, and with my night glasses I could see the outline of the low -lying shore against the sky. It was way below zero—a dead, cold calm, -the sort of cold that hurts one’s lungs to breathe. - -As we stood arguing on the bridge the safety valves on the starboard -boilers lifted and the steam deflected from the engines came roaring -out of the steam pipe aft the funnel, going straight up into the cold -air in great expanding clouds of fleece. - -Old man Gileti rang full speed astern and eagerly the three cylinders -breathed again as they took up their triple chorus down in the engine -room. For an hour they worked, first ahead and then astern in a frantic -effort to slip her out of the bank. But it was no use. We had been -driving at nearly fourteen knots and had gone head-first into a wet -and sticky bank of mud, and her nose was buried three feet deep in the -clinging mess. - -I got the chief down into my saloon as being the only rational man -aboard, and together we studied out our position on the chart. We were -some 15 miles north of the Danube’s mouth and four miles off shore. The -skipper had mistaken a light in a house for the harbor light, and had -turned in for the shore just an hour too soon. The names we devised to -apply to that skipper would have frozen his marrow could they have been -translated. The little engineer had been moving heaven and earth to -give me speed, and he almost wept at the delay. I told him that I must -be at the cable office by seven in the morning, and to pass the word -forward to the crew that if they did not get her off by three o’clock -I should lower the boat and take four men to pull me to the shore. The -idea of a four-mile sea-pull with the mercury freezing put more life -into the crew than I could have believed possible. I told Morris that -he would have to go, too, and his teeth chattered in anticipation as he -flew forward to Stomati to get him to urge the crew into action. - -The skipper, who was really much depressed, held a council of war, and -things began to move. The boat was swung clear of the davits, while -Spero and another got away the port anchor. This was lowered gingerly -into the life-boat, and then, with four men straining at the oars, -it was pulled with the cable paying slowly out, 80 fathoms astern. I -stood aftside the _France_ shivering in the moonlight, and watched them -gently pry the seven-hundred pound anchor out of the swaying life-boat -and heard the splash of it as it went into the water. Then the donkey -engine with Nicholas at the valve began to take in the cable, and link -by link it came out of the water, until at last it stretched taut from -the forward hawser hole to the anchor that bit the mud 500 feet astern. - -“Full speed astern,” rang the order in the engine room, and the -propeller churned the mud. Nicholas threw the donkey valve wide, and -with desperate pantings and gaspings the windlass tugged at the cable. -Inch by inch almost imperceptibly it came in. For a minute or two the -struggle of steam _vs._ mud continued, and then suddenly the donkey, -choking with delight, began to gather in the cable with metallic -rattlings, and the crew cheered lustily as the _France_ slid back into -the arms of her native element. - -In five minutes we had the boat on the davits again and the anchor on -deck, and were beating down the coast. At five, a bend in the coast -showed the white glimmer of the Sulina beacon, and we cut her speed -down to a few knots, for our haven was in sight. Two hours later we -crossed the bar and steamed into the Danube, and I went below for the -hour that remained before daylight. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - - _We Send Our Cable and Find Ourselves with Five Francs - and Expenses of $200 a Day, but Make a Financial Coup - d’Etat and Sail for the Crimean Peninsula_ - -The Danube, some twenty miles before it reaches the sea, spreads out -in an enormous delta and empties into the Euxine through three mouths, -St. George’s to the south, Sulina mouth in the middle and Rilia to the -north. The Sulina being the main artery of navigation was the one that -interested us. Its channel has been cut in a straight line for perhaps -eight miles from the sea, so that it looks more like a great canal than -a river. Two breakwaters jut out for half a mile beyond the mouth to -keep the silt brought down by the great volume of water from spreading -out in a bar at the entrance of the channel. Two enormous steam dredges -live between these breakwaters and spend their entire time in keeping -the channel deep. The country all around the mouth is flat and swampy, -and the little town is built on made ground, and, like Port Said and -Suez, lives off the shipping that passes to and fro in the river. Until -I saw Sulina on the map as the nearest cable station to Odessa, I had -never heard of it, and was amazed to find it one of the big grain -shipping centers of Europe. Many of the large steamers tie up there and -load from elevators and barges. Roumania, it appears, is one of the -most Utopian little states in Europe. The people are the left-overs of -the high tide of the Roman Empire. When the centuries were countable -on the fingers of one hand, the Romans settled the country. When the -Vandals swept down on Rome, the arms of her prestige curled in like -the tentacles of an anemone, leaving this little isolated community to -struggle down through the storms of history. Though a thousand miles -separates this little lake of Romans from the spring that poured them -at its flood, the community grew and waxed strong and held itself -intact in the furnace of turmoil and clash of medieval history. -Roumania to-day is about the size of New York State. The Danube, her -great artery, waters a plain as fertile as any in the world. Each year -from seventy-five to a hundred million bushels of grain come down that -river for shipment to the outer world. - -Sulina town is a handful of houses stretching along the river. Dozens -of steamers lie alongside the stone embankment receiving their cargoes. -Floating elevators, shrouded in the mist of their own dust, shoot the -torrents of golden grain into the hatches that gape expectantly in the -decks of the great sea-tramps. - -Though it was December and the weather freezing, the embankment for a -mile was lined with great freight-carriers, while tugboats towing long -lines of wheat barges that had come from Hungary snorted down the aisle -of dignified ocean carriers, whose funnels towered fifty feet above the -waters. - -The _France_, with the “stars and stripes” snapping in the crisp -morning breeze, steamed up the busy lane, and after passing the -quarantine officer, was assigned to a berth on the outskirts of the -town. A cup of coffee in the galley served for breakfast, and then with -Spero, Stomati and Morris in the boat, I was pulled across the river to -the side where the cable office was reported to be. - -It was half past seven, and the town was just beginning to stir itself -as my boat came alongside the stone steps of one of the many landing -places. With Stomati as a pilot, I found the cable office where a -sleepy individual in uniform was lounging over a table on which a dozen -instruments were merrily clicking. We looked in through a little grated -window and Stomati (in what I suspect was very inferior Roumanian) -stated that we were not looking through the grating out of curiosity, -but because we had a message to send. The operator stretched and -shuffled forward, and I handed in my three pages of typewritten cable -blanks. He glanced at it and shoved it back with the observation that -the post-office was across the hall, and started back to his desk. When -he finally heard it was a cable for London, he scuttled out of the -room, and in a few minutes came back with two more operators, and a -fierce argument ensued. At last the one who seemed to be the head, came -over with a pitying smile and handed back the cable with the comment -that I better mail it, as it would cost 75 cents a word to cable it, -and he turned to go back to his breakfast. When I insisted he stared -in amazement, but took the message. I produced my five £5 notes, which -were declined as not being legal tender, and my message was handed -back. Stomati argued and swore, and I offered my watch as security, but -no; “pay in Roumanian bills or there shall be no cable sent.” The banks -did not open till ten, which would delay my wire two hours, and perhaps -lose the afternoon edition. Stomati turned his pockets inside out and -unearthed 20 Roumanian gold pieces, which I confiscated and sent a -short wire to London: “Hold space for thousand words Russia. Filing in -hour.” This to prepare the office so that if my wire arrived at the -eleventh hour, there would be a place in the forms all ready to slip it -in. Having got this off, I started out with my five English notes to -get a quick action change to Roumanian coin of the realm. - -Now, as stated above, there is nothing at Sulina save its shipping -interests. In a village, any new event creates a great sensation. -So it was with the advent of the _France_ with the American flag -flying at the fore. When we returned to the embankment, little knots -of Roumanians were discussing what her significance was. Every group -we met was bombarded by Stomati in his alleged Roumanian to change -English bank notes to Roumanian francs. We found an individual in the -second group who had a little over a hundred francs. He got one of my -£5 notes, and I all his spare change, which Morris took on a run to -the cable office to send as much of my message as it would pay for. -In the meantime the inhabitants began to get interested in my cable, -and everyone in the little crowd had suggestions to make, and two or -three raced off to wake up possible takers of English notes. I had -tried a half dozen shops all in vain when I heard a hurried step on the -pavement, and the knot of newly made friends exclaimed with joy as a -half dressed individual, flushing with his own importance, pushed his -way through the crowd, and, with a dramatic attitude and heroic tones, -said in fairly good English, - -“It is I, so-and-so (I forget his name), the banker. I have heard of -monsieur’s intended arrival—Sulina knows of him. I will change his -money. Come quick to my office.” - -The crowd was enormously impressed. I have often wondered what they -supposed my cable to contain. A message from the Czar to the President -certainly could not have made a greater excitement. With Stomati and -that portion of the town that was awake and had nothing else on its -mind, I repaired to the banker’s shop and got my notes into golden -francs. I hate to think of the exchange I paid, but I needed the coin -and gathered it in and started for the cable office, where I found -Morris trying to talk French to the operators, whose entire attention -was now devoted to my 900 word cable. Such a thing had never happened -there before, and they were chattering like magpies, but would not send -a word until it was all paid for. So I counted out my gold and the head -man started on the message. I watched him until the last word was on -the wire, and then took account of stock. - -I was at Sulina Mouth without any further instructions from my office. -The _France_ was lying in the river at an expense of about 200 gold -dollars a day. I counted my reserve and found it to come to 45 francs. -I paid Stomati the 20 I had confiscated from him, and put the remaining -25 francs in my pocket with great care. Morris looked at me and grinned. - -“Is that your last?” he asked. - -“It is,” I replied with great dignity, “but keep it dark. It is -nobody’s business but my own.” - -It did look rather blue. Just five dollars and a boat on my hands that -was burning up a hundred a day in coal alone, and we at the end of the -earth and the central object of interest in town. Morris keenly enjoyed -the delicateness of the situation. He was never so happy as when we -were in a tight place. - -“What are we going to do?” he queried, cracking the joints in his -knuckles. - -I looked at my watch. It was lacking five minutes of nine. - -“Morris,” I said, “we are going back to the _France_ and have some -breakfast.” And I smiled serenely, for my cable had gone and we -couldn’t be robbed of that much, even if everything else went to the -bad. - -So we walked down to the embankment and I whistled for the ship’s boat, -and was soon in my saloon eating the best breakfast that Stomati could -cook. There is nothing like a full stomach to give one courage and to -make one’s brain work up to the situation of the moment. - -There is a good rule in whist (or some game of cards) that says “When -in doubt, lead trumps.” A good axiom for a war correspondent (or anyone -else for that matter) in trouble would be “when in a desperate plight -and all seems lost—eat, and then do your thinking.” It is poor business -worrying at best, and especially on an empty stomach. So I banished -from my mind the delicacy of my situation and ate the most luxurious -breakfast which the _France_ afforded. When this duty was completed, I -lighted a cigar, which I intended to smoke to the bitter end before I -attempted that painful process of putting one’s mind through a wringer -in an endeavor to make something out of nothing. - -While the smoke from the first puff was floating out of the skylight, -there came a tap at the companion-way hatch. I sent Morris to -investigate. He returned clicking his heels and grinning from ear to -ear. - -“Here’s your chance,” he said. “It’s a banker guy named Rodwaner. He is -doing a stunt in bum English, from which I gather that here is where we -make the grand touch.” - -Morris’s English may have been ambiguous, but I translated it as it was -for the benefit of the solving of problems in slang. - -“What did you tell him?” I asked. - -Morris grinned, cracked his thumb joints. - -“Was I eager? Not on your life! I said, ‘My boss is a very busy man; -don’t think he can see you at all to-day.’ Well, the old man was some -impressed. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes, I realize your master must be busy—but -this is an important matter about a loan.’ Well, sir, when he says -loan, Monroe D. Morris makes his great stall. ‘Loan! Do you think my -master is borrowing money at every port and from an unknown party like -yourself?’ And then I gives him a line of talk and finally consents to -getting him an interview for just a moment.” - -At my direction he produced the banker, who came in with many bowings -and scrapings and apologies for his intrusion. As an introduction he -produced a telegram in German from the Branch Ottoman Bank at Budapest. -I don’t know to this day how the old man ever got it or whom it came -from—it was garbled and parts left out. It seemed that Rodwaner was the -local agent of the Roumanian National Bank and that someone had advised -the Central Bank in Bucharest that I had credit at Constantinople, -and that small drafts might be honored on presentation of proper -credentials. I had no credentials to show my friend, so I side-stepped -that question. He had received the message two days before and had -told everyone in town. When the _France_ arrived and was the center of -observation, old Rodwaner began to swell up with pride and boast of his -importance as being the man whom the Ottoman Bank had advised of my -coming. It appeared later that he had been talking freely in town, and -as his importance grew with the magnitude he gave me, he had not spared -in his praises of the “great personage” to arrive, and whom he was to -finance. He asked how much I wanted, and as a starter I said £100. He -then asked for my credentials, and I was obliged to admit I had none. -He looked at me aghast. What should he do? He could not return ashore -and tell his friends that his long heralded arrival was a “fraud” to -whom he would not advance money, and, on the other hand, the idea of -giving a stranger money without anything but a sight draft as security -nearly threw him into spasms. It was his prestige with his neighbors -ashore vs. risking his shekels, and it was a hard fight. But he was -in the enemy’s country, and the sight of the _France_ and my crew and -Morris standing at my elbow like an ebony statue, saluting every time -I looked his way, made a great impression. I gave him some whiskey and -a cigar, and told him what a genuine pleasure it was to meet a banker -of such importance and business sagacity in a little town like Sulina. -I outlined to him how much I appreciated his trust in me (which was -an anticipation, to be sure), and I pointed out how really great men -depended on their intuitions in business rather than conventional -forms. He swallowed it all and two more drinks of whiskey besides. -Fortunately he had the money on him, for I don’t believe I would have -gotten it so easily had we been obliged to attack him in his own lair. -After the drink he began to loosen and at the third he drew a bag of -gold out of his trousers pocket and counted out 100 gold pieces, being -English sovereigns and German 20 mark gold pieces. I signed a receipt -and filled my money belt on the spot before he could have a change of -heart. I wanted twice as much, but I must be sure of something anyway, -and I did not propose to risk it all by asking too much at the start. -After Rodwaner had parted with his money he became very sad, but I -cheered him up and about noon sent him ashore in the ship’s boat with -Morris to break ground for an event which was to come off during the -afternoon. - -While the leaven was working ashore I pounded out a mail story and read -over a batch of English papers which the banker had been thoughtful -enough to bring aboard with him when he came. A glance through the -papers, coupled with the gossip I had picked up ashore, indicated that -the situation was about the same as when I had left Constantinople. -The same crop of alarms and reports of disaster were circulating here -as they had been at every point I had touched. Odessa, Sevastopol and -the Caucasus generally named as being in the most desperate plights. I -knew that Odessa, though in a bad way, might keep for a few weeks, but -did not feel so sure of the other places. An interview with the skipper -and a careful scrutiny of the chart determined me to go first to -Sevastopol, which was only a night’s run from the mouth of the Danube. -From there I figured I could reach the coast of Asia Minor is another -fourteen hours and get the Turkish cable for my story from the Crimean -city, and then be within striking distance of the Caucasus if on closer -view-point the situation looked good. - -I called the engineer, and he admitted coal in bunkers to last five -days. Stomati urged a replenishment of the larder, and I gave him some -of my Rodwaner gold to get it, and then sent the skipper out to clear -the ship for Sevastopol so that we might be ready to sail by four in -the afternoon. - -In the meantime Morris was standing by the banker, saluting and -exhibiting deference at every step. Rodwaner, with three drinks under -his belt and an Ethiopian attendant, began to swell, and an hour after -he had set foot on shore everyone in town was pointing him out as -the only man in town whom outsiders knew and turned to for financial -matters. The stories my banker circulated about his distinguished -friend on the “yacht” simply made his rivals green with envy. - -At three in the afternoon Morris returned and reported on Rodwaner’s -satisfaction and also on his own activity in boosting my credit ashore. -The moment was now ripe for the second attack. So we got up our anchor -and steamed majestically up the river and made directly in front of -Rodwaner’s minute establishment. With all flags flying and steam -blowing off the _France_ certainly made an excellent appearance. Quite -a crowd gathered while we were tying up. With Morris clearing the way, -I came down the gang-plank and entered the banker’s shop. He met me at -the door wreathed in smiles and ignoring absolutely his old friends -that crowded about the door. I sat down and had some tea while the two -clerks in the place gaped at me over their ledgers, and a score or more -of faces peered through the front windows. - -“Yes,” old Rodwaner was saying, so loud that a rival money-lender in -the front rank could take it in, “it has been a great pleasure to do -business with you. I hope you will always call on me. I can always give -you up to £1000.” - -I saw him trying to gather out of the corner of his eye the impression -that he was making. Everything was working finely, even better than I -had hoped. - -“Yes, of course,” I said. “That £100 I drew was indeed a trifle.” - -“Nothing at all,” replied the banker. “A mere detail. A drop in the -bucket. I might have done much better by you had you needed it,” and he -fairly hugged himself at the great coup he was making before the rest -of the town. - -A dozen had come in and stood listening to our conversation. It was -now about four, and so I delivered my bomb which I had held until the -psychological moment. So I said: - -“I hesitated to ask for more, Mr. Rodwaner, as I did not suppose your -institution was such an important one.” - -“Important? Yes,” he replied, “though I say it myself, perhaps the most -so in Roumania.” - -“That being the case,” I replied easily, “I believe I’ll have a little -more, say £200,” and I lighted a fresh cigar. - -It was cruel to do it right before them all, but I needed the money, -and quickly at that. - -Rodwaner actually turned pale. One of the clerks, whom I learned was -his son, burst forth in German that, already this strange man had -borrowed £100, with little or no security, and he objected. I could see -that there was a row on, and I must confess that I was mean enough to -enjoy it thoroughly. - -The banker wavered for a second. What should he do? At this moment one -of the by-standers, a Greek money-lender, called from the back of the -crowd: - -“I have the moneys for Monsieur if Rodwaner cannot do.” - -This turned the scale. - -“Ha, Ha!” cried my friend. “You would steal my customers, you dirty -pig. Rodwaner can lend—he will. He does so with pride,” and he booted -the protesting son into the corner and then proceeded to clear the -shop. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. His local prestige was safe. -How much did I need? - -“Two hundred pounds would do.” - -Couldn’t I do with less, perhaps. I thought I might be satisfied with -£150, and he began to dig. It was evident he hadn’t even that, and so I -said we would make it a hundred flat. All his gold came only to £90. - -“Will that do?” he asked appealingly. - -“I’m afraid not,” I replied, “but if it is going to inconvenience you, -perhaps the Greek banker will.” - -He held up his hand more in sorrow than in anger, and asked if I could -use silver. I agreed, and he began to count it out into piles, first -five franc pieces, then two franc and at last ones, and still he was -short a few pounds. But he was thoroughly aroused now, and put on his -hat and in a few minutes returned with sufficient gold to make up my -£100, and I signed a sight draft on the Chicago _News_, shook him -warmly by the hand and walked across the street to the _France_, that -lay almost at his door. - -Without any exaggeration, there were three or four hundred people -crowding about the gangway. Morris had hurried ahead, and had Stomati -and two of the crew on deck to salute as I came aboard through a narrow -lane of humanity. In two minutes we had cast off and our engines were -slowly pulling the _France_, stern first, into the stream. As her head -came slowly around, and her nose pointed seaward, Morris dipped the -flag on account of our poor old Rodwaner left with his empty purse. - -“What interests me,” I told Morris that night, as I sat smoking after -my dinner, “is where the old man got the balance of that gold.” - -“He sure was up against it,” replied my chief of staff. “Yes, sir, -old man Rodwaner had to scratch. It’s my opinion, sir, that old man -Rodwaner is all in.” - -“How’s that?” I asked. - -“You took all he had and then he puts on his hat and goes and pawns -Rachel’s sealskin sacque and diamonds, and that, sir, is where your -last £5 came from. Yes, sir, I believe it. That’s just what old man -Rodwaner done.” - -With $1000 gold in my belt, we shaped our course for the Crimea. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - - _We Reach Sevastopol and Land in Spite of Harbor - Regulations, Get a Story and Sail Away with It to the - Coast of Asia Minor_ - -The reader of stories of adventure naturally expects to have something -sensational doing every minute. Why else, indeed, has he paid his -money? But there are dull spots in even the most strenuous tales (that -is, in real life), and the narrator of fact must blushingly, or, at -best, hurry over the places where interest flags. Our trip from the -Danube mouth to the Crimean Peninsula was unusual only in the fact that -the sea was quiet, and that it was possible to remain in one’s bunk. No -world diplomat ever felt more perfect satisfaction at a successfully -executed international coup d’état than I did that night as, with money -belts stuffed with gold, the _France_ cut through the waves, turning up -with her steel nose a ridge of ripples that left an ever wider wedge of -silver in our moonlit wake. A square meal and a good cigar combined to -make that evening a picture, which still stands out in my mind as an -oasis in the desert of that Black Sea trip. At ten o’clock I took a -“look-see” around the boat before turning in for the night, and found -that every member of the crew, save the man at the wheel, had crawled -off into some corner and gone to sleep. Even the look-out had squeezed -himself into the chain locker out of the wind, and was making a sound -like the exhaust of a gasoline launch. For a few minutes I was tempted -to wake up the various delinquents, but when I thought of the past -days and nights of cold and overwork, I softened and let them sleep -peacefully on. The only danger on such a smooth sea that I could think -of was collision, and that seemed improbable, as there were almost no -ships navigating those waters just at that time, and, anyway, surely -the other ship would keep watch and see us, even if we failed to see -them. So we would be safe anyway. One comes to realize after a time -that it is foolish to worry about dangers all the time. After months of -being on needles and pins as to what the future has up its sleeve, one -gets so tired that it is simpler to accept the inevitable and be killed -outright (if so it is written on the cards) than to lay awake nights -and think about it. So leaving the situation on “the lap of the gods,” -I went to my cabin and rolled into my bunk without the formality of -undressing, and in two seconds was sleeping with that indifference to -fate and the morrow that only hardship, exposure and utter exhaustion -can make possible. - -The situation at Sevastopol, according to the rumors that had been -circulating in the ports at which I had touched, were all that the -most blood-thirsty correspondent could desire. The mutiny of the Black -Sea fleet was but a recent history, and as no word had come from the -Crimea for some weeks, it was generally supposed that further riot and -bloodshed had been added to the long list of upheavals which had marked -that year in the Czar’s dominions. So it was with keen interest that we -stood on the bridge of the _France_ the following morning and watched -the white line of the snow-clad, low lying hills come out of the sea as -we approached the barren bleakness of the historic battlefields of ’55. - -We entered the harbor without molestation and anchored a few hundred -yards from half a dozen sullen looking ships of war, which completed -the dismal setting of the whole scene. We waited an hour or more, -as usual in Russian ports, without our presence being noted in the -slightest degree. Finally about nine o’clock a launch with a bevy of -hungry waiting-to-be-fed port officials came aboard. Nothing could be -done until a hot breakfast was placed before them. Then a few drinks -and cigars warmed their hearts sufficiently so that they consented -to commence the endless examination into our past, which forms such -an important part of Russian procedure. About eleven they took their -departure, with the instructions to us that we would not be allowed -to land until our case had been carefully considered by those in -authority ashore. This was most discouraging to one in a hurry to do -business, and who had not the slightest intention of being left over -night in the harbor. We watched the launch steam back to shore, and -when it had finally disappeared behind some docks, and when, with my -glasses, I had observed the portly officials walk off up a near by -street, I ordered out my own long boat. Fortunately this hung on the -side away from the harbor. Taking four of the best rowers and the -faithful Morris, we pulled quietly away from the _France_, and, without -further discussion, rowed around behind a bluff that sloped down to the -water, in a little frequented part of the town, and without once being -hailed, landed, climbed over said bluff, and walked boldly down into -the main street of the town, just as though we lived there. - -I made my base at the best hotel in the city and proceeded to pump -everyone in sight as to the news of the hour in the Crimean port. Four -hours of active work convinced me that the situation in Sevastopol had -been vastly exaggerated, as indeed is usually the case with war or riot -stories originating in remote localities. To the excited citizen caught -in the hurly burly uproar and tumult of a mob, with shots ringing out -and Cossacks charging about and riding people down, it no doubt seems -as though the last great spasm of history were being enacted. A dozen -killed and a score wounded look like hundreds to the man who has not -seen corpses and wounded “in bulk.” In fact, there is nothing in the -world so misleading as the importance of riots and the alleged losses. -When one comes to analyze it, half the supposed dead prove to be only -wounded or stunned, while the bulk of the alleged fatally wounded are -only slightly hurt, or so badly frightened that they fall over each -other in their anxiety to get away. All this to the amateur observer -looks like a world sensation, but if one digests it all a day or two -later, when the excitement has subsided, it appears that the police -have merely dispersed a disorderly rabble with a few casualties. In the -meantime, however, the excited witness, who perchance has never heard -a shot fired in anger before, has sent out his story of “atrocious -massacre by the police” with all the lurid details which, in his mind, -are unparalleled. The story does not lose as it travels through the -big centers of news distribution, and when it finally gets into the -daily papers it gives the reader the impression that a world spasm -has been enacted. The “special correspondent” is rushed to the scene -of the occurrence, and when he arrives a week afterwards he finds the -life of the town moving much as before, and a few bullet holes in some -wall the only visible signs of the “horrible riot.” He learns that -the revolutionists are in durance vile, and if he takes the pains -to investigate, he will find a few poor peasants and a handful of -long-haired, wild-eyed Russian students shut up in a dirty room. This, -then, is a type of the great majority of Russian riot or revolution -“stories.” - -In the newspaper world it often happens that “no news” is really -important news, though perhaps not sensational. And so it was in -Sevastopol at this time. I was able to draft an accurate cable pricking -the bubble of mystery and horror with which the outside world was then -viewing the Sevastopol situation. - -There are newspapers, I believe, that won’t stand for the “no news” -types of communications, but expect and insist on getting their column -a day, more or less, news or no news. This is the policy which has bred -“yellow journalism.” It is no doubt a hard proposition to work for, -and I am sure it is a hard one to work against, for I’ve tried it many -times. The correspondent that represents a conservative paper has a -truly mean time when he is on an assignment with a number of fellows -who are cabling for the other type, for it is not at all uncommon for -them to take rumors, or even fakes, agree on the details, and send -them broadcast. Naturally, the man who is there and does not send such -stories gets the credit of having missed a good thing and of being -asleep on his assignment. But in the long run it does not pay (to put -it on the lowest grounds), for the senders of inaccurate dispatches -soon get discredited, and when they really turn up a good story, no -one believes it, and its value is nil. The Chicago _News_ asked for -news—not space matter. For months at a time I have sent no cables home, -and then suddenly turned loose with a thousand words a day. Their -attitude was, and rightly, that their space was worth money, lots of -it, and unless the news in itself was worth as much as that space, it -was not wanted in the office. It was for this reason that I never had -to pad or press with my stuff, and on this occasion, as on many others, -I sent merely what it was worth, quite irrespective of the money we had -been spending to get it, which is rightly no criterion as to the value -of a bit of news. - -From the British Consul, to whom I had letters, I learned some of the -details of the earlier troubles, and of the mutiny of the fleet. At -no time it seemed was the uprising of the sailors generally popular -with those simple hearted folk. It was said that at least 75% of the -men were unwilling participants in the romantic adventure of the then -famous Lieutenant Schmidt, who stole one of the big Russian battleships -and ran off with it, to the confusion of the rest of the fleet. The -laborers at the naval station in Sevastopol whom we had supposed to -be blood-thirsty wretches marching the streets, howling for the blood -of the Czar, a Grand Duke or two, or, in fact, any old tyrant, had, -instead of performing these picturesque acts, gone quietly to work -and organized themselves into a police force to help patrol the city, -and in this role they had shown themselves more effective than the -regular police. Another good story gone wrong! The really obstreperous -characters of the movement had been caught and were shut up on the -ships that we had seen lying in the harbor. - -There were some dramatic incidents, without doubt, during the few -days in which the mutiny was at its height, but the capture of the -ring-leaders resulted in its utter collapse. - -What I did hear, however, was that there really was a fierce row in -progress down in the Caucasus, at the other end of the Black Sea, and -the details seemed to be sufficiently numerous and accurate to convince -me that I would be better off there than where I was. Anyway, it would -be only a question of a few hours before some “kill-joy” would hold me -up for my pass-port and learn that I was on shore without leave and be -sure to kick up a row that might delay me for days. - -So, after getting a good square meal at the hotel and smoking a cigar, -I walked leisurely out to the remote nook among the rocks, where my -ship’s boat lay, and with no more trouble than at landing was rowed -back to the _France_. - -As soon as I was aboard the captain raised the Blue Peter, that little -white centered blue flag, which says “I am sailing to-day. Please come -out quick and give me a clearance.” Of course, no one noticed the flag, -but as we had plenty of steam under our decks, we kept the fog horn -groaning dismally until the officials ashore, in sheer distress at our -tumult, came back in their launch. The man in charge was the same as -had come off to us in the morning, and almost his first words were that -it would be impossible for us to go ashore that day. So, looking as -disappointed as I could, and after a few protests at being kept in the -harbor all day without being allowed to go into their most interesting -town, I told him that we had decided not to wait any longer, and would -go away that very night if he would fix up our papers. The complacent -smile of the official who had succeeded in blocking someone in the -pursuit of his business wreathed his face. He was sure it was best for -us to go away, he told us, for it would be quite impossible for him -to permit us to land. If we would wait he would go back to his office -and fix our papers and have them aboard so that we might get away that -night. Strangely enough, he was as good as his word, and a little after -8 P. M. a launch came alongside, and the papers, properly viséd and -countersigned, in a sufficient number of places, which authorized us -to depart, were handed over the rail. Our friend then departed with -self satisfied regrets that we had been able to see nothing of their -beautiful city. - -Sevastopol is an interesting town of nearly 60,000, replete in the -history of that ghastly siege of the Crimean war, the marks of which -are still traceable on the bleak hills lying about the town. But as -nothing of very keen interest related to this story transpired on the -occasion of my visit, I will not burden the reader with more than a -bare paragraph on the subject. The roadstead and the harbor and the -extensive establishments connected with them form the most important -features of the place. The great harbor fortifications which existed -at the period of the siege were planned in 1834. The hand defenses, -lines of trenches, and so forth, had not been fairly completed -when the allied armies of England and France commenced their siege -operations. Though compressed into a comparatively small space, the -real strength was enormous, five to six thousand men being engaged on -them daily during the eleven months of the siege. The garrison during -this period was usually about 30,000 men, and the number of guns said -to have been in position at the final assault was placed at 800, -though several times that number were rendered unserviceable during -the siege. The Russian loss in the defense has been placed at 80,000. -The fortifications and naval establishments were after the capture -destroyed by the allies, and by the treaty of Paris, which terminated -the war, Russia was debarred from building arsenals and maintaining a -naval force in the Black Sea above a very limited magnitude, but this -restriction was removed in 1871. The town has been completely rebuilt, -and since 1885 the fortifications have been actively replaced and the -docks reconstructed. Sevastopol has become a pleasant watering place, -and is Russia’s greatest southern Naval Headquarters. - -It was a little after eight when a “Stand By” on the engine telegraph -and a “Heave Away” to Spero at the donkey engine brought the crew to -their stations. The gentle throb of the engines ahead and astern to -clear the water out of the valves and the chug chug and “clinkety -clink” of the anchor chain as it came jerking through the hawser hole -in the bow was the only sound on the stillness of the water, save -the occasional far away call of a sentry on one of the battleships. -While the deck crew were hoisting the anchor over the side and lashing -it into place, the _France_ swung gently about, and the steady -strengthening beat of her engines pulsed through the ship as she headed -out to sea. - -The moon was all but full, and cast a silvery sheen over the still -waters of the harbor. Every prospect during the early afternoon and -evening had cheered us with a hope of a still night, but the “kill -joy” barometer that hung over our little fireplace had been steadily -falling. We had hoped that, like our weather men at home, it might -be on one of its breaks. But before we had fairly cleared the harbor -our friend, the moon, politely made its apologies, and, with a last -flicker of light, disappeared into a cloud bank. One by one the stars -that twinkled brightly in the cold, crisp air faded from sight, until -at nine o’clock the only light on the horizon was the steady glow of -the beacon on a bit of a peninsula that lay to the south of us. In -half an hour we had cleared this, and the _France_ was riding with -long sweeps over an oily sea that was coming up from the south in long -rippleless swells. An occasional gust of wind foretold what was coming. -With each minute the bursts became more frequent, and in an hour we -were running into a steady gale that by midnight had become a veritable -tempest, driving the waves before it in great sweeping billows, their -crests shrouded in spray that blew across our bridge and decks almost -unintermittently. - -By midnight the hope of a night’s sleep had been abandoned, and the -roar and crash of waters flooding us at every dip, mingled with the -melancholy howling of the wind, that seemed to whip and circle around -our little craft like an avenging spirit, created a tumult, which would -have banished rest even had we been able to remain in our bunks. As a -matter of fact, this was a proposition which I abandoned after a few -futile attempts. - -Earlier in the day I had weighed carefully our next move, and had -decided to run for the little port of Sinope, almost due south of -Sevastopol on the coast of Asia Minor. I wanted to go there for two -reasons: first, because it was a cable station, from which I could -send my Sevastopol story, and, second, because there I hoped I might -learn more definitely of the situation in the Caucasus, which had -been reported so acute at my last two ports of call. I figured that if -the outlook there was good for a “story,” I would keep right on down -the Black Sea, and if not, I would be within easy run of the Bosphorus -or any other point of interest. Hence it was that we were driving -southward through the storm on this winter night. - -A description of the wretched night we passed would merely be a -repetition of those that had gone before, and so the reader can, and, -no doubt, will, gladly pass over the next few hours. Along toward -daylight I snatched a few hours of sleep, wedged in a corner of the -cabin, with pillows stuffed about me to keep me steady in my moorings. -We had reckoned on reaching Sinope by nine or ten in the morning at -the latest, but the gale and head sea had fought our every inch of -progress, and it was past that hour when we first traced through the -mist of spray ahead of us the range of dreary snow-capped hills that -loomed dimly before us, barely discernible with our glasses. By ten the -clouds began to clear and the face of the sun showed itself brightly -over the waters. - -The wind died away as suddenly as it had risen, leaving the sea an -undirected tumbling mass of water, which seemed to lash at us from -every direction at once. I ordered breakfast served in my saloon, and -for an hour preparations were in progress, but the first attempt to -set the table resulted in a mass of broken crockery, and breakfast -being deposited in one corner of the saloon. I told Morris that I would -take my breakfast in the galley, where I could be right at the fountain -head of all good breakfasts. I found Stomati there hanging on to one -of the steel columns with one hand and holding a pot of oatmeal in -place with the other. A coffee pot was wired in place on the other end -of his stove, and the contents thereof were slopping out every time -the ship rolled. He announced that the coffee was ready, and while he -was taking off the wire the oatmeal pot, released for a second, leapt -nimbly from its place and landed in the garbage receptacle across the -galley. However, I did get the coffee and a piece of burned toast into -the bargain, which, after all, wasn’t too bad under the circumstances. - -The hills along the coast of Asia Minor rise steeply from the sea, -and with the clearing of the heavens they stood out radiantly in the -morning sunlight, and in spite of the discomforts of the sea and -wetness that was blowing across us still, our hearts rejoiced. After -all there is nothing that revives one’s spirits like the good old sun. -Great schools of porpoises were playing along beside the boat, and I -amused myself until noon by practicing on them with my Colt, not so -much to kill them as to increase my prestige, which wasn’t much at -best, with my mongrel crew of Greeks and Turks, who enjoyed the target -practice immensely, and, as Morris said, “Are sure impressed.” - -An attempt to serve lunch proved a miserable failure, and as we were -within a few hours of port, we postponed that enterprise until three -o’clock, when we ran in behind the bit of a headland that juts out -around Sinope. - -Approaching Sinope from the north one sees little or nothing of the -town until one rounds in behind the peninsula which sticks out from -the mainland like the letter T, with the little port nestled in the -shoulder of the letter. The books which I have since read say that it -is a good harbor, but even after we had gotten around the point and -anchored, the swell was enough to force one to walk gingerly along -the deck to keep from being spilled across the rail. Personally (this -is a true narrative and facts must be allowed) I had never heard of -the place until I spied it on the chart when I was poring over that -useful adjunct to navigation while we lay in the harbor of Sevastopol -awaiting the Russians to give us our clearance papers. It does appear, -however, upon investigation, that it has been on the map for a good -long time. We even learned (to shame our ignorance) that Mithradates -the Great, whose life is no doubt familiar to all our readers, first -saw the light of day here as recently as 134 B. C. It was the capital -also of Pontus, a name equally well known and distinguished. At lot -of interesting people seem to have found this place, at one time or -another. It seems that Mohammed Number II came in here in 1470 and -created quite a sensation with the population at that time by capturing -the place to the confusion of the survivors. A Russian Admiral with -an ingenious name fought a naval battle with the Ottoman fleet here -in 1853, and said fleet suffered its own loss with four thousand of -its crew. This last interesting event decided England and France to -interfere and brought on the Crimean war. Besides being famous for -all these interesting incidents, Sinope exports fruit, fish, skins, -nuts and tobacco. The day I was there all these useful products of its -industries were not in evidence, or much of anything else, for that -matter. But I take the word of the reference book (the refuge of all -writers who travel) that on sunny days the inhabitants do as above -mentioned. - -So it was in this city of these remarkable traditions, linked with -ancient history and seemingly with no connection to the modern world, -that the _France_, flying the ensign of the Chicago _Daily News_, let -go her anchor, to the astonishment of the natives, who, no doubt, knew -more of the illustrious Mithradates and his doings than of the city -of Chicago, which, in the form of the _France_, had so unexpectedly -descended on their legend laden harbor. - -So much then for the due we owe to the reader who wishes to be -instructed. But in the meantime (even before the dawn of this -knowledge was upon us) I had ordered Stomati to do his worst, and in -fifteen minutes after we anchored we began the first substantial meal -we had touched since leaving Sevastopol. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - - _We Send Our Cable from Sinope and Then Sail for the - Caucasus, Where Rumor States Revolution and Anarchy - to Be Reigning Unmolested_ - -After the meal mentioned so enthusiastically in the last chapter, we -rowed ashore in the longboat and effected a landing at a decaying old -pier (which in truth gave the appearance of being little used for the -disembarking of the fish, skins, etc., before mentioned) and were -welcomed (?) by a ragged crowd of open-mouthed, very dirty creatures -that inhabit this interesting coast. Accompanied by Morris, the second -engineer and Stomati, who was practicing his seven languages at once -on such victims as seem to promise hope of intellect, we wound our way -up a street of fallen-down dirty houses toward the telegraph station. -Fortunately Stomati knew the word for “Telegraph Office” in the -language of the country. I never felt quite so much like a brass band -or an elephant as during that short journey to the “Imperial Ottoman -Postal and Telegraph Office.” I am sure any circus that had such a -following in its street parade would count the day a successful one -indeed. - -It was with a little dubiousness that I filed my wire, for the Turkish -officials are far more strict in their censorship than those of any -other government. But I hoped that a message originating at this out -of the way place might get on one of the through wires and slip past -the central station, where the censors preyed in Constantinople. -For, as a rule, the actual senders care nothing about the contents -of a dispatch, and, as a matter of fact, generally do not know the -language, simply sending the letters as they read them. So I hoped mine -might slip through the back door, as it were, and never be noticed -by the officious uniformed functionary that sits in the front office -of the Constantinople stations and reads other people’s confidential -communications. This operator knew a little English, and at his first -sign of suspicion as he read over my “story” of the revolutionary -situation in Russia, I handed him a cigar and a golden English -sovereign, which cheered him up so much that he stopped reading my -message and went out and got me a dirty cup of Turkish coffee about as -thick as molasses. Experience has taught me that there are two useful -forms of influence; first, the exchange of pleasantries, accompanied -by a coin of appropriate value, and, secondly, a polite but firm -intimation that the “mailed fist” is available in case of obstreperous -conduct. So, while the coffee was coming I wrote a short commercial -message to the head of our London office, as follows: - - Am filing an important press dispatch of 287 words. If - it does not reach you simultaneously with this or shows - signs of being tampered with, have the matter vigorously - investigated by the proper authorities. - -I knew that the commercial messages usually went promptly and were -censored leniently, if at all. The operator also knew this fact. Also -did a great light loom upon him as to complications which might arise, -if the message were delayed. So without a word he went into the rear -room, where ticked the instruments and my cable was started on its way. -I learned weeks later, when I finally reached London, that the same -messenger boy had brought both telegrams at the same time, the news -dispatch being 287 words exactly. - -As the ground felt pretty solid and comfortable, after the _France_, -and as the coffee was not nearly as bad as it looked, we sat in the -office until the last word had gone, and then engaged the Turkish -operator in pleasant converse. He invited us into a more pretentious, -if even dirtier, apartment (which might be termed his lair), and we -signified that we would be glad to pay the price of the drink of -the country, if his influence could procure the same. More cigars -circulated. Kind words passed freely. After the foundation for and that -peculiar atmosphere particularly adapted to confidences had been firmly -established, we began gently to encourage communication on those -subjects which had been passing over the wire between the Caucasus and -Constantinople. Probably outside of this extremely dirty gentleman in -blouse and red trousers, who now seemed so well disposed, there was -not a soul in town who had any information on any subject that would -have been of the slightest interest outside of the port of Sinope. But -our host, in his leisure moments (which I gathered comprised a fair -share of the twenty-four hours), had noted what the wires were saying. -Once he had become aroused in the subjects of interest along his -line, he had made it a point to interview such seamen and others that -touched the little town. He really knew a lot. When he had finished, -we flattered ourselves that we knew as much as he did anyway as to the -situation up in the Caucasus up to the past ten days, when, as our -friend opined, the extension of the cable into the Caucasus had been -suddenly cut. Anyway, communications thence had ceased abruptly. What -we learned in brief was as follows: - -That the strikes and riots which had been prevalent all over Russia -had hit the eastern end of the Caucasus, and hit it hard! Batuum, the -main port at the end of the Black Sea, was in a ferment and filled with -refugees. That the ships had all stopped going there, that the town -was full of sweepings of the entire region plus Cossacks sent there to -keep order. No one seemed to know which side the soldiers would take. -It was reported that the Russian officials were besieged in one of the -public buildings. That the troops were disloyal to their officers and -were killing the population promiscuously, and that all of the decent -citizens were shut up in their houses praying for relief. A French ship -had brought out the last word ten days earlier, to the effect that a -railroad strike was on and that towns were burning everywhere, and that -anarchy was blazing in all quarters of the Caucasus. With this boat had -come two hundred refugees, and it was said that there were hundreds -more in Batuum hoping against hope that some ship would come and take -them away. These were just a few of the things that the operator -told us. To be sure, some of the facts conflicted, and a lot of the -statements did seem a bit improbable. But before our interview was half -finished I was convinced that, even though nine-tenths of the tales -might be fabrications, there was enough left in the remaining tenth to -make a cable. When we had pumped our informant dry, my mind was made -up. We would certainly leave that very night for Batuum. - -Our trip on the Black Sea thus far had been one of constant hardship, -cold and discomfort, which makes a more unfavorable impression on one -than do active dangers, though these too seemed quite stiff enough. -The news results seemed so far, inadequate to the outlay, in the way -of effort and endurance. One does like to feel in taking chances that -there is to be an equivalent return in some direction. The outlook up -in the Caucasus pleased us all. In the first place, there seemed to -be important news features there, and in the second place, there were -refugees (probably some of them Americans) who were praying for relief. -So it did seem as though we would be justified in taking what risks -presented themselves. After one has been in tight places one’s own self -on various occasions, one has more sympathy for others suffering in a -like manner, and the idea of perhaps getting some refugees as well as -news appealed strongly. So before leaving the telegraph office I sent -a wire home, mentioning briefly the situation and winding up with the -following: - - Shall bring off all American refugees would suggest that - our State Department request the Porte (Which signifies - the Sultan’s government) to permit American warships pass - through Bosphorus and protect our interests which appear - to be in danger that place. - -I also sent a wire to the American Embassy at Constantinople on the -same lines advising them that if I did not show up within a week to -please make an effort to see what had become of us. After both of these -cables were on the wire I felt that I had taken all precautions for the -future that I could think about, and we returned to the _France_ and -put to sea. - -About every day that winter seemed to be the same on those peaceful -waters, as far as storm and stress were concerned. We were running up -the coast of Asia Minor a few miles off shore all of that night and the -next day. It is a bleak and barren shore, with snow-covered mountains -rising abruptly from the ragged rocks, against which the sea beat and -frothed with a boom that came to us at sea, as loud as distant thunder. - -It was about noon on the following day that I opened my diary to make -the day’s entry. It was December 24th. Christmas eve! I had even -forgotten that Christmas existed, and for the first time it occurred to -me that we would celebrate rather a dismal day on the little _France_. -It is the season of the year when one’s mind wanders far from wars -and waves and tumult, and my thoughts drifted back across the broad -Atlantic to a certain home, where festivities would be going forward -apace on this day, and little children would be expectantly doing up -bundles and trimming all with green and holly. - -I sent Morris forward for the skipper and asked him if there was a -cable station within range of us. Together we pored over the chart -and figured that we might reach Trebizond by four that afternoon, if -all went well, and the course was duly altered. Sure enough, promptly -on the hour we rounded the point and sailed into the mere angle on -the coast they call a harbor at Trebizond. Half a dozen ships lay at -anchor riding the heavy swell that came booming in from the sea, and -then swept on to break with grim fury on the shore a mile or so beyond. -One of these ships was a French mail steamer of 3500 tons, which had -been lying there for ten days waiting for the storm to abate, and the -others had been standing by for varying lengths of time for a similar -purpose. - -There was a bit of rotten old stone pier sticking out from the jumble -of houses on the shore. The sea was beating about it with great waves -that hid it intermittently from our view, by the spray and spume -created by their angry lashings. However, there did not seem to be any -other place to land, so we ordered out our biggest boat, and with not a -little difficulty got her into the sea without damage. - -Then one by one we piled aboard, each waiting the moment to jump, while -the crew on the _France_ held the dancing shell away with poles. Four -men and Morris formed the escort, and once aboard they gave away with -a will as the close proximity to our tug threatened to upset us any -minute. But once we got her head into the sea, and our four men tugging -in rhythm at the oars, all went well. I had often been in a ship’s boat -in a seaway, but nothing quite like this. Every minute a great sea -would come racing in from the open waters and a mountain black it would -sweep under our stern, lifting us high in the air, and then our little -boat would go sliding back into the valley behind like a cat trying -to climb a steep roof. Down, down we would go into the trough until -our horizon was bounded only by the waves that had swept under us, and -its big black brother following close behind. Each time we would mount -the crest we would see the shore ahead and the _France_ astern of us; -each time we dipped the ridges of spray capped seas would shut them -from sight. But each dip brought us nearer shore. As we approached the -pier I saw that there was a kind of breakwater jutting out from one -side and behind it a still patch of water. Between the pier and the -stone masonry was a channel of perhaps fifty feet. Each moment the seas -would go roaring through this little opening, whose walls were flanked -with clouds of spray breaking on both sides. Then the next second back -would come the wash to meet the next wave. This looked to me to be our -best place to land. In fact, it seemed the only place. Waiting just the -right time and mounted on the crest of a roller we came sweeping down -toward this veritable millrace. Standing up in the stern to steer I -encouraged the crew to pull their hardest. For a moment we hung on the -crest and then like a toboggan we bore down toward the narrow passage, -the sailors pulling their oaken oars till they fairly bent. For an -instant we were in a cloud of spray and ’midst the tumult of the seas -breaking over the masonry at either side, and then we shot into the -quiet waters like a sled gliding over smooth ice. - -In a few minutes we pulled up to a flight of stone steps and were -arguing with a stupid Turk about passports. I forget the details now, -but anyway we bluffed him, and ten minutes later I handed in a wire -at the telegraph office to that home across the seas. I was wet, cold -and wondering in the back of my head how in the world we would ever -manage to get back to the _France_ through that surf as I passed in the -two words for home: “Merry Christmas,” and signed my name. Somehow I -felt that the words did not adequately describe my own feelings, but -then no one at home would know the difference, so it would not matter -anyway. I called on the American consul and gathered from him a general -confirmation of the story that I had picked up at Sinope. He was a -nice man and very gossipy. His house was on a bluff overlooking the -harbor. He was surprised to see us at all, and more surprised to learn -that we had come in the _France_, which was plainly visible bobbing up -and down in the harbor like a duck in rough water. His advice was to -remain in port awhile, as we were going to have a big storm, and he -thought the _France_ ridiculously small at best. It was he who pointed -out the French Mail to me and gave her as a precedent for remaining -in port. However, as we had been having storms pretty steadily for a -week, and as we were still intact, I told him that I thought we would -go ahead anyhow. He was very cordial, and so I invited him to dinner -on the _France_, but after verifying his earlier impressions of her by -a careful scrutiny through a spyglass, he politely but firmly declined -the pleasure. - -Trebizond stands out in my mind as one of the most wonderfully -picturesque places that I have ever seen. It is the contact point, as -it were, between the East and the West. The setting is Oriental to a -degree, with the streets filled with riff-raff and hodge-podge of a -dozen different races. Here starts that great overland trail, across -mountain plain and desert, that leads far far away into Persia, India, -aye, and it is said even unto Turkestan and China itself. Long trains -of the patient mangy camels, with their trappings of dirty red and -their escorts of strange attendants, come with them from heaven only -knows where, are moving through the streets toward the trail that lies -beyond. - -It is with a curious fascination that one watches the slow dignified -movements that carry them over the ground at the rate of but a meager -mile or two an hour. It seems impossible to realize that these -melancholy beasts with their quivering pendulous lips and woebegone -eyes, will keep up that same pace for weeks and months, hour after -hour, until at last they lay them down in their distant terminus in the -far off East that ever stands in our minds as the land of mystery. - -Trebizond has a very mongrel population indeed, and it is a constant -wonder to see so many different peoples packed into this one dirty -town. There seems to be many Armenians, and as the reader no doubt -recalls, this little port was freely mentioned in the press a few years -ago as the scene of the ghastly massacres perpetrated on these dismal -people. One always hesitates to criticize with a merely superficial -knowledge, yet the Armenians impress one casually as being about the -most unpleasant people imaginable. They have a genius for conspiracy -and the making of fifty-seven varieties of trouble that is perhaps -unique. The result is that every once in a while some Turk in a genial -mood says, “Come on, fellows, let’s kill-up a few Armenians,” and the -massacre is on. It does seem outrageous to do all these things, but one -who sees the Armenians sometimes wonders if they don’t bring a lot of -trouble on themselves by their own actions and characters. - -The good kind missionary whom I met did not think so, and very likely -he knew what he was talking about, while my opinion is merely a shot in -the dark on a subject viewed superficially. - -My friend the missionary took me around and introduced me to the -governor, a somewhat besmirched gentleman in a dirty red uniform, who -had eyes like a rat, which wandered over my person until I felt for my -watch. He did not speak English nor I Turkish, so our conversation was -not particularly entertaining. I don’t know what his opinion of me was, -but my opinion of him was that he was about the worst looking specimen -that I had ever seen. He had G-R-A-F-T written all over him in large -letters. - -He rather queered his town with me, and I went back to the harbor just -at dusk. The wind had changed and the tide was running out, so that -we managed to get out through the breakwater with nothing worse than -a pretty severe wetting. The barometer (as usual) was falling. So I -decided to have one more square meal before we put to sea. So it was -nine o’clock when the anchor came up and we turned our nose away from -the lights of the town, far more hospitable in appearance, by night -than by day, and headed into the darkness that lay without. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -_Christmas Morning on the Black Sea._ - -It is approximately a ninety-mile run from Trebizond to the harbor of -Batuum, and for this entire distance there is not an anchorage along -the coast. From the time one leaves Trebizond the mountains rise sheer -up from the sea, their bases studded with reefs and ragged rocks or -else rising in cliffs, going straight up for hundreds of feet above -the water. At Batuum there is a bit of a bay with a breakwater across -the narrowest part of it, which justifies its being called a harbor. -Then the coast reaches on in another bleak and barren stretch of forty -miles to another nominal port rejoicing in the name of Poti. And for -this distance the mountains march grandly along, reaching an altitude -which must be at least six or seven thousand feet. The constant storms -of winter had left them mantled deep in the glaring white of winter -snows, save where here and there some great black elbow of rock had -been stripped of its cloak by the whipping winter winds. - -The sea was running strong and the wind high when we put out that Xmas -Eve, but in spite of adverse conditions we figured that daylight would -find us off the little town of Batuum. As we did not want to get there -before the light should show to us the uncertain channel ’midst the -rocks and reefs that led to the harbor, we turned the engines down to -a conservative ninety revolutions, which kept her going easily into -the seas, which she was riding with the serenity of a strong swimmer -disporting himself in the surf. - -The motion, though a bit too active to permit of continued sleep, was -still not vigorous enough to cause any particular anxiety. A large part -of the night we spent on the bridge. The moon rose late, and by its -intermittent light, as it sailed along behind the ribbon of clouds that -spread o’er the heavens, we could see the grim and ghostly line of the -mountain range that silvered and darkened as the light of the moon came -and went. - -The first gray light of Christmas day disclosed a bleakness of coast -far more dismal than we had left behind. - -We were running along the rim of the Black Sea basin, so near that we -could plainly see the coming and going of the clouds of spray that -told of the never ceasing struggle of the waves against the relentless -cliffs that for centuries have grimly turned the surging waters into -foam and noisy tumult. Aye, and long before the dawn the roar rose and -fell on our ears as sea after sea dashed upon the sterile sternness -that ever hemmed them in. - -In the dim half light of the morning I stood by the skipper on the -spray showered bridge, and with him through the dissolving darkness -tried to pick out the harbor bearings of the port that was to be our -Christmas refuge. The man had evidently been drinking during the night, -as I gathered, and he was dense in mind and stupid beyond conception. -The little engineer, who spoke English, joined us on the bridge, -for all realized the general necessity of reaching port within a -reasonable length of time, as our coal was running short. We had just -about enough, as a matter of fact, to get back to Trebizond, but I had -learned on the previous day that none was obtainable there, and hence -we were relying on Batuum to replenish our bunkers. By eight o’clock -the sky gave promise of a dreary day, and the barometer, with no -uncertain index finger, was pointing to worse. In fact, it was creeping -down perceptibly each hour, and already recorded the lowest figure that -we had read on its ever cynical face since we had come to live in its -sinister shadow. - -Breakfast, as usual, was out of the question, and anyway we were all -eagerly searching the coast line for the harbor mouth that had brought -us hence. A new snow during the night had turned the whole landscape -white, and with the snowy mountain wall rising up sharply in the -background, we could not discover a sign of anything that might be -construed into a symptom of a port. Eight-thirty came at last, and the -little engineer discovered a mountain elbow on our port bow which he -emphatically stated that he knew, and knew well. In his opinion, we had -overshot Batuum. The skipper was easily persuaded that this was the -case, and so we put about, and with a redoubled watch crept back along -the coast. An hour or more we cruised with our eager spyings, rewarded -by not a sign which might betoken the longed for haven. In the meantime -in the west the evergrowing cloud of black verified the fact that the -barometer had not been working in the dark. I was eager enough to -reach the harbor in the beginning, but with each minute that I watched -that black mass grow and bulge against the western sky, my anxiety -increased. I called the Chief and asked for an estimate as to how much -coal we had remaining in our bunkers. He was gone fifteen minutes, and -his troubled face confirmed my intuitions of uncertainties ahead. - -“Not as much coal as we had hoped,” he replied to my look rather than -to any spoken word. “We have enough to last until this afternoon, and -no doubt we will be in port ere that, unless—” and his bright little -eyes swept the western heavens where the great relentless cloud was -throwing its sable mantle across the sky. - -“Yes, unless—” I replied. It was obvious to us both that we must make -that harbor before the storm should shut us in, for once the snow and -mist and sleet was upon us, our only hope of reaching port would be -gone, and we would have to run for the open sea and ride it out. Not a -very hopeful enterprise, this, even with full coal bunkers, but still -less alluring with but six or eight hours steaming ability left, and -these barren rocks leering at us for ninety miles along the coast. - -For an hour we ran west, and then one of the crew picked up a familiar -landmark. His statement was verified by others. In our backward run we -had again slipped by the port without seeing it! The landmark was on -the Trebizond side of Batuum! - -Once more we put her head about, and once more cruised back along the -coast. We talked it over and all agreed that we must find our refuge -within the scanty hour that the storm would be upon us. The crew, too, -began to realize our plight. Indeed, it did look grave enough. All that -were not on duty in the engine room were peering toward the shore, -their trained eyes trying to develop some tangible sign or landmark out -of the snowy hillside that rose from the sea and swept backward till -its peaks stood dimly outlined against the leaden winter’s sky. - -For an hour we cruised along, every man on the boat chattering his -anxiety and apprehension. They are not very strong on danger, these -Black Sea sweepings (at least, that was my impression); only Morris -grinned imperturbably, though in truth his grin became less and less -heartfelt and finally slipped into the grimace type of humor. Yet he -would not show his fear. - -And ever did the great storm cloud grow in size and blackness in the -west. - -Faint streaks of green, yellow and purple shot its somber masses, until -it grew like an image of Dante’s Inferno in our minds. Though I looked -the other way, a dreadful fascination ever brought my eyes back to the -rising menace, that steadily, surely, even as the mantle of death swept -on toward us. - -By nine-thirty the heavens were filled with its suppressed fury, and -the wind awed by the impending presence of a far greater force seemed -to fade to nothing and slink away before this towering passion that -wrapped in silence was sweeping down upon us—a silence that became -oppressive, and was broken only by the slap of the waves against our -steel sides, and the dreary refrain of the sea rolling monotonously on -the rock-bound shore. - -“Well, we’re back to our original landmark!” remarked the engineer, -half to himself. I looked and sure enough there was the black elbow -that he had diagnosed hours before as being beyond Batuum. - -We held a hurried council on the bridge. We had cruised this coast -now three times, and we knew that three times we had slipped past our -haven of refuge, with its landmarks hidden to us by the whiteness of -the background. Poti lay perhaps thirty-five miles beyond. The storm -was coming up faster, ever faster. Three times we had failed to find -Batuum, and there seemed little chance that the fourth would be more -successful. So we decided on Poti and called for “full speed.” The -_France_ responded promptly to the order from the bridge. - -But the decision came too late. - -Already the storm was flanking us, and its blackness had swept to -seaward of us and rapidly promised to cut off our advance. Some miles -ahead of us was a great steel steamer evidently in a similar plight. -She too was heading for port, and columns of smoke were issuing from -her big black funnel. Presently as we watched, a white cloud of spray -crossed her bow and even as a curtain, shut out the beyond. Gradually -she came about and started westward down the coast. Her skipper -realized just as we did, that naught but wreck and misery lay within -that churning cloud that had unloosed its fury upon the deep. Already -its steadily rising howl whined and moaned across the waters, not -unlike the melancholy wail of the starving timber wolf penetrates the -stillness of the night and reaches the lonely trapper in his winter -camp and causes him to throw another armful of wood on the fire and -whistle to assuage that subtle foreboding of calamity that the thin -knife-like cry in the night seems vaguely to predict. - -It was hopeless for us to drive further into that storm. Five hours -at best would see us out of fuel, and then driven before the wind -and sea we would be dashed upon the rocks. We did not even discuss -the situation. Involuntarily the man at the wheel brought her head -around, and for the fourth time we began our trip down the coast. To -the west of us the storm had shut out the mountains. To the north a -veritable blizzard was lashing the waves into a frenzy; to the east -snow and sleet shut out our progress. Perhaps five miles of shore bare -and forbidding remained to us. If we could but find Batuum’s shrouded -entrance within that five miles, all would be well, yet thrice had we -striven and failed. Somehow my optimistic spirit failed to respond to -the occasion. In the meantime every minute was cutting our five miles -of open coast line—aye, and cutting it down fast, for the storm was -shutting in from both sides and from the sea as well. - -The steel steamer was overtaken by the great bank of snow and sleet and -disappeared from our view, and I might add from our thoughts, for we -had troubles of our own. - -The crew were running about frantically. Half of them were on the -bridge waving their arms and evidently abusing the skipper. I walked -back in disgust and stood by the companion-way that led down into my -little saloon and, leaning against the towing post, just aft, I looked -across the sea. Morris followed me and for a moment stood silent. He -smiled faintly and then murmured: - -“Merry Christmas, sir.” And we both laughed, only it was not such a -hearty laugh as one generally associates with the day. - -There was nothing to do but wait. There seemed no alternative. - -What a way to end up! We looked at the rocks and then at the sea, and I -wondered what the sensations would be. - -Christmas! It seemed almost providential that I had made the effort -the day before and got off my message for home. It would be my last -word! It seemed hard to realize that it actually was Xmas. I looked at -my watch. It was almost the exact hour that they would be having their -Christmas tree, away back across the ocean. - -“Morris,” I said, “this looks like the end to me. How does it strike -you?” - -He did not look at me as he replied so low as barely to be audible, -“Yes, sir; it looks pretty bad to me, too.” - -I looked at him curiously and wondered how he really felt behind that -black face of his. - -“Morris,” I said again after a moment, “how do you feel about death, -anyway?” - -He looked at me and then he looked at the sea, and smiled faintly as he -answered: - -“Well, sir, the water looks cold to me.” - -At that moment there was a break in the clouds. Oh, such a little -break! Out of it fell a mere handful of sunlight, as rays fall into a -darkened room when the blinds are thrown open. The clear, transcendent -shafts fell across the waters like a message from heaven, and suddenly -there was a shout on the bridge, echoed by every member of the crew -that was on deck. - -From the whiteness of the hillside, just on our beam, there stood out a -golden spot, that seemed no larger than a five dollar gold piece. For -a moment it flashed like fire against the white. Then as quickly as it -had come it dissolved from view. - -It was the dome on the Greek church in Batuum. - -The sun for just that tiny space had turned its brazen cupola to liquid -light that marked for us the haven of our seeking. - -Thirty minutes later we anchored behind the breakwater, and a mountain -slid from off our souls. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - - _We Find Turmoil in the Caucasus but Celebrate - Christmas in Spite of Storm and Stress_ - -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 -knew a sliding panel in the back of the locker provided for just such -exigencies, so with an easy conscience we watched the red wax and seal -being placed on our supply of cheer. - -In the meantime I was told, as usual, that I could not leave the -boat, and on coming on deck found two bayoneted sentinels marching up -and down the decks, just to show that the order meant business. But -while I was arguing my case with the officer in charge, a boat, rowed -by four uniformed sailors, came alongside. It was the American Vice -Consul Stuart, who, seeing the big American ship’s flag flying at the -fore, had started out as soon as we had anchored. We nearly embraced -on the deck. At least, I did, for it was good to see someone from a -civilized land, though I learned that Stuart was an Englishman and only -acting consul. He seemed glad to see us, and stated that it was the -first American flag that he had seen in behind the breakwater during -the eighteen years that he had been in Batuum, an interesting if -somewhat depressing bit of information to an American who likes to feel -that his country’s flag is at least known by sight in all quarters of -the globe. - -The consul at Trebizond had given me some grouse to present to Stuart, -and after these had been thoroughly investigated and passed upon by the -examiner, a permit was given for them to be passed. Stuart evidently -had a strong pull with the government, for he quickly arranged with -the officer that the sentries were to be withdrawn, and that I and any -member of my crew might come and go at our own sweet will. After the -dreary inspection was over, my newly acquired friend came down and -took lunch with us, and little by little I drew from him fragments of -that crazy quilt of actions and counter-actions, assassinations and -executions, revolutions and suppressions that in Russia masquerade -under the name of current politics. - -From a newspaper point of view, the situation was full of interest. -No correspondent had been here for weeks, and as the cables were long -since out of commission, the cream of it was mine. What I learned in -effect in the hour or two that I talked with my guest was that from -the Black Sea to the Caspian the entire Caucasus was in a state of -convulsion, revolution and anarchy. Street fighting and incendiarism -had been rampant in practically all of the cities, both large and -small. Only a few days before a mob had been dispersed by machine guns -and Cossacks in the streets of Batuum. The latter had become quite -lawless, and it was the custom to kill any suspicious character first -and investigate afterwards. If the aforesaid killed character proved -on investigation to be a reputable citizen—well, then the joke was on -him. Anyway, he ought to have stayed at home where he belonged, instead -of roaming about the streets like a common Armenian. The latter, by -the way, are always the red rag to the government bull, anywhere in -this region, and the motto might be well adopted, “When in doubt, kill -a few Armenians,” just as one takes a dose of quinine when one gets -wet. I gathered that Armenianitis had been having quite a run in Batuum -about this time. Not because they were specially offensive just now, -but just for luck. Street fighting in Russia is as well recognized a -stage of revolution as an increased temperature and a quickened pulse -is in typhoid fever. The cure is usually Cossacks and machine guns in -hourly doses until improvement is noticed. This street fighting rarely -means much except that people are voicing a long repressed sentiment of -resentment and finally march in irresponsible bodies and are promptly -dispersed with heavy losses. The Russian officers get medals, the -dead are buried, and all moves on much as before. This was much what -happened in Batuum the week before my arrival. A lot of poor ignorants -had been killed. The town was in a state of siege, and people were -being murdered in the name of the law every day. Poti (the port we had -aimed at and been turned back) was filled with armed revolutionists, -who were said to be well organized and preparing to move on Batuum, -which was the then center of Russian military strength in the Caucasus. -Tiflis, up the railroad line (which had stopped running), was rent with -strife and was the stage on which the Armenians and the Tartars were -fighting over some involved question among themselves. For a month -before these same two peaceful races had been tearing Elizabethpol -(a town in the interior) into small fragments with their perpetual -fights. Our town was full of refugees, who were stiff with lurid -details. It was generally believed that Russian agents had started -these inter-race troubles, always at fever heat, to prevent both from -combining against Russia. The Armenians and Tartars are always ready -to fly at one another’s throats at two minutes’ notice. It was quiet -for the moment in Baku, but, as my informant advised me, the lull was -merely temporary, as they were gathering energy there for another spasm -of fighting. The railroad strike had crippled business and almost -extinguished the remaining spark of commercial vitality left in the -storm-tossed country. Trains were being run by the revolutionists -simply to help their own plans of mobilization. As I wrote in my cable, -the general situation was complex. Practically every town in the -Caucasus was a situation peculiar only to itself. From Tiflis to the -Black Sea the dominating factor was the attitude of the Georgians, who -were rebels rather than revolutionists. They were divided into many -parties, each of which had aims and ideas that would require a chapter -to describe. Some wanted absolute independence, while other factions -were aiming at reforms only. All had stopped paying taxes, and the -police were absolutely helpless and asked only to be let alone. The -Georgians were openly defying these dejected officers of the law, and -their boasted strength of 8000 organized men within a radius of forty -miles of Batuum made their bluff (if indeed it was one) hold good. -It was reported that the authorities at Tiflis were going to try and -reopen the line of the railroad by force. The revolutionists replied -to this that twenty-four hours after such an attempt should be made -the railroad in the Caucasus would be non-existent; in other words, -that they would blow it into small pieces. The situation was really -depressing to the Russians. - -All of these events have long since ceased to be of vital interest, and -the semblance of peace and tranquillity have been restored, and once -more the volcano which ever lies beneath the surface in that country of -never ending turmoil is smoldering for the moment. It is not my intent -to go into the history of the endless complications which were then -rife further than the brief outline mentioned, as I merely wish to show -the nature of the story which we had to gather. - -Stuart advised me not to come ashore except unarmed, as he stated that -during the past few days being armed had been considered sufficient -provocation to administer instant death by the bands of Cossacks that -patrolled the streets. Every morning bodies were found lying about -in the snow—victims who had not given sufficiently good account of -themselves to the half-drunken rowdies that roamed the streets under -the name of Cossack patrols. - -The storm was raging without, and so we decided to lie in the harbor -until the sea had abated sufficiently for me to get some coal barges -alongside to replenish our bunkers. - -At three that afternoon we went ashore and had a splendid Xmas dinner -with the Consul and absorbed the details and the atmosphere of the -remarkable conditions that were the sole topic of conversation among -the guests, each of whom had personal experiences and ghastly details -to add to what I had already learned. - -So interesting was the occasion that I had about made up my mind to -accept my new friend’s invitation to spend the night ashore to meet -some other people, when Morris, with tears in his eyes, begged me to -return to the _France_ for dinner, as he said he had a surprise for -me. So I told him to have the boat at the landing place at seven that -evening, and a few minutes after that hour I was in my little saloon on -board the _France_. - -It was a surprise! Morris met me at the foot of the companion-way -wreathed in smiles, clad in my dress-suit, and my only clean white -shirt. The fact that the trousers came up to his ankles, the sleeves -almost to his elbows, and that each breath he took threatened to burst -the back from the shoulders down, and that the collar he had squeezed -into was nearly choking him to death, in no way seemed to diminish -his keen enjoyment of the idea that he was the perfect representation -of the most ideal of butlers. For a moment I was annoyed, for somehow -one’s dress clothes seem to be too sacred for promiscuous distribution. -But his delight was so apparent and his anticipation of my pleasure in -his transformation was so genuine that I had not the heart to spoil his -little surprise. - -Our little table was elaborately set for eight, with carefully prepared -menu-cards at each plate. Four sad-looking strangers were seated in a -melancholy row on a sofa and the captain and the two engineers, who had -been obviously scrubbed, grinned sheepishly as I came in. - -Morris, fairly knocking his heels together in sheer delight, swept a -profound obeisance and in a ringing voice announced, “Christmas dinner -is served, your honor!” - -Well, I was surprised and no mistake! - -“Who are these men in the corner, Morris?” I inquired. - -[Illustration: GENERAL NOGI—THAN WHOM NO FINER GENTLEMAN EVER DREW THE -BREATH OF LIFE] - -[Illustration: MORRIS INSPECTING OUR CHRISTMAS DINNER] - -“Well, sir,” he replied, “I don’t just know exactly much about them, -but it did not seem quite the thing to have Xmas dinner with just old -man Gileti and the engineers, so these gentlemen, sir, are some that -I found ashore to fill in, sir. I am sure you will find them quite -satisfactory.” - -Perhaps I sighed a little inwardly, but I am sure I showed no outward -emotion as I welcomed the shy and reticent quartette on the sofa. -Morris had literally “stood by like steel” every minute of the voyage -and this was his occasion, and I was bound that my appreciation should -not be lacking. - -It really was a wonderful dinner. - -The faithful Morris as I then learned had been surreptitiously laying -in the wherewithal for this banquet at every port. A young live pig at -Sulina Mouth, a goose at Sinope, some birds at Trebizond and heaven -only knows what besides. With the back panel of the sealed locker -carefully slid out we tapped our liquid refreshment and in very truth -the dinner proved a great success. Even the imported guests cheered up -and by the end of the banquet were drinking toasts to me, the Chicago -_Daily News_, to Morris, aye, and even unto the fat live pig, alive no -longer, alas. - -It was midnight when we wound up and sent our guests ashore and -ourselves turned in for the night after a day perhaps the most varied -in experience that I have ever lived through. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - - _We sail Away from Batuum with a Beat, Official - Dispatches, Foreign Mails and a Boatload of Refugees - That Keep Us Awake Nights_ - -I had hoped to sail away from Batuum the day after Christmas, but -so fierce was the storm that it was impossible to take on coal. All -this day and well into the next the roar of the sea on the breakwater -sounded in our ears like a never-ending bombardment of big guns. Not -in the memory of the oldest inhabitant had such a furious tempest -raged within the harbor. Even the buildings along the shore were in -danger and the beautiful little yacht clubhouse, a fraction of a mile -above the port, was completely carried away by the great waves that -broke beyond their accustomed bounds and crushed the frail structure -as though it had been but a house of cards. But there is an end of all -things and on the morning of the third day the wind abated and only the -heavy swell that surged without in the winter sunshine was left to tell -the tale of wreck and devastation that had swept the coast during the -past days. - -By ten o’clock I had two barges of coal alongside and a double crew at -work passing baskets over the side and emptying them into the bunker -holes in the deck. It was vile stuff that we were getting and the -engineer fairly tore his hair as he saw the little better than dust -being poured into his bunkers. - -“She will never make steam on that rubbish,” he kept crying again and -again. Yet it was all that there was in Batuum and we had to take it -or leave it. So we took it and at war prices at that. It certainly -was a scandal and it broke my heart to pay out fifteen dollars a ton -for stuff that in any other market would have gone begging at three -dollars. But there was no alternative, so we took it, paid out our -Rodwaner gold and smiled. - -By noon we were fairly well stocked and ready to put to sea. Then there -came to my mind the cable that I had sent not only to my paper but also -to the American Embassy at Constantinople. “I propose to bring off -American refugees,” they had read. I had talked the matter over with -Stuart and it appeared that the only Americans there were Armenians -(nationalized in name only) and they for the most part declined to be -deported, not even to help me to live up to my cables. I called Morris -and explained the situation to him. American refugees was what the -contract called for, but lacking the letter of my cable we would have -to fill in with any kind of refugees that the market offered. I told -him to go ashore and make the necessary arrangements and to pass the -word around that we were sailing that very afternoon at four o’clock. -In the meantime I ordered up the “Blue Peter” to the foremast head -that all ashore might know that we proposed to depart that day for -the world that lay without. I went ashore and had lunch with Stuart, -who introduced me to a number of the consuls of the Powers that were -represented in Batuum, all of whom were eager to get word out to -their governments. By three that afternoon I had packages of official -dispatches, inscribed in impressive terms and sealed authoritatively, -consigned to the governments of Austria, Holland, America and Great -Britain, while a fair-sized sack was required to hold the mail that -poured in upon us. - -Stuart could not leave his office and I bade him farewell at his desk, -accepting his cheery promise to “look me up” in America at an early -planned visit to my country. Little did either of us think that ere a -month would pass an assassin’s bullet would cut him down in the very -prime of his life. Yet so it was. I read a few weeks later in the -European press my good, kind, cheery friend was shot from ambush by -some unknown man, even as he was entering the door of his house. An -excellent man was Stuart and a public servant true to his trust in time -of trouble; so true, in fact, that in the execution of his official -duties he had encountered the opposition of some discontent in that -seething vortex, who had availed himself of the cure of all evils in -that wild country—assassination. A bare line or two announced his death -and he was forgotten. Yet this man was in his way as much of a martyr -to his duty as any soldier who falls gloriously in battle. - -I made my way down to the landing place that afternoon with my -dispatches and the bag of mail. On the pier alongside of which -bobbed the little ship’s boat of the _France_ a great crowd was -gathered. To me there seemed to be at least five hundred. And such a -collection! Every race and nationality that a nightmare might conjure -up. Armenians, Georgians, Turks, Jews, Persians, Russians from the -Caucasus, Tartars and a dozen other races that resembled nothing that -I had ever beheld. Each had his own roll of filthy baggage, mostly -done up in sacks. Never had I in my life seen such an heterogeneous -gathering nor such an assemblage of men that looked so utterly -desperate and woebegone. It took me five minutes to work my way through -the mass to the stairs where my boat lay. Morris was there swearing and -arguing with the mob that was crowding about him yelling and entreating -all at the same time. It sounded like the tumult one hears in the -parrot house at the Zoo. - -I jumped into my boat and called to the crew to “give way” for the -_France_. As soon as I could make my voice heard above the din I asked -Morris what in the world it all meant anyway. I nearly fainted when he -told me. They were my refugees! Not less than half a thousand, each -with his heart set on escape from the country. Their plight was pitiful -indeed, for the bulk of them had come from burning villages with only -what they could carry in their hands. Driven from place to place they -had finally landed in Batuum, which they found the worst of all, what -between warring factions and the brutal soldiery, who chased them about -the streets like sheep. Morris had done his work too well. It appeared -that he had been to every shipping agent and had notices posted up that -the _France_ was leaving that very day and would carry refugees out of -the Caucasus free of charge. No wonder the mob was on the pier! Morris -was in high feather and fairly clicking his teeth with sheer delight. -“Yes, sir,” he said, “this is our busy day, sir! There hasn’t been a -minute since I came back from shore this noon that Monroe D. Morris -hasn’t been attending strictly to business. We are sure going to carry -The Mails this trip, sir, and carry them right!” and he took me down -in the little saloon where he had hung up a row of gunny sacks. Above -them was a crudely printed notice: “Mails Close at 3:30 P. M. to-day.” -On each sack was a separate placard which read “Constantinople Mail,” -“Russian Mail,” “Trebizond Mail,” etc., on down the line of bags. Much -to my surprise each of the bags was pretty well filled and more was -coming in every few minutes. - -But in the meantime I had to decide about our refugees who were still -roaring in the distance, not clearly understanding whether they were to -be abandoned entirely or not. I called the skipper and asked him how -many we could possibly carry. As a matter of fact there was no room -for any save on the deck and in the chain locker forward, as our own -crew filled the balance of the _France’s_ very small accommodations. -We made an inspection and finally decided that we might stretch our -space to hold thirty. Stomati the cook, armed with his seven languages, -was sent off in the boat to pick out thirty likely-looking refugees. I -instructed him to accept none without passports, which at once cut the -total down about half. When the crowd on shore heard that only thirty -could go there was a rush for the boat that nearly put the entire front -rank into the sea. So after all there was not much of a chance to pick -and choose and the boat brought off the first that came to hand, with -their sacks and miscellaneous dunnage. Morris and Spero stood at the -gangway inspecting passports and hustled the unaccepted passportless -back into the boat to be relanded. For an hour the little boat plied -back and forth until the _France_ was alive with the human wrecks and -their impedimenta. - -In the meantime I was entertaining a few friends in my saloon who had -come out to say good-by. By four in the afternoon our refugees were all -aboard and our papers duly received from the port officials. The sun -had gone under a cloud and a stiff wind was blowing in from the sea as -with anchor up, we swung around the end of the breakwater, with long -blasts from our deep-toned foghorn as a farewell to friends ashore. The -flag on the American Consulate was dipped and some enthusiast on the -roof let go both barrels of a shotgun, to which we replied by bending -our own ensign. In fifteen minutes we were at sea and the top of the -Greek Church, the only sign left to us of the little town, to which it -had been the first to welcome us from the storm a few days before. - -At nightfall we were pounding into a heavy sea that swept across us at -every dip. Not that it made any difference to us but it did play the -mischief with our refugees quartered out on the deck. The first sea to -come aboard was greeted with yelps and squeals from the poor wretches -we had undertaken to rescue. In a few minutes it became obvious that -the deck would not serve at all and we began to look about us for -shelter somewhere on board. Then I began to curse myself for a fool for -loading myself and the _France_ down with these thirty irresponsible -nondescripts whose only effort to help themselves was to cling to the -rails and scream piteously every time we took a sea. Besides this most -of them were desperately seasick. Finally, however, we disposed of -them in a way. When we had them packed away for the night there was -not a spot on the boat that was not occupied, barring my own quarters, -as I positively refused to introduce fifty-seven varieties of vermin -(which did not have to be imagined) into my little cabin. Anyway I was -afraid some of these disreputable creatures might steal what gold I -had left from my coal deal in Batuum. In the engine room, stoke-hold, -chain locker and on the grating above the boilers were packed refugees, -like sardines in a box. As they began to steam and dry out with the -heat I wished more than ever that I had let them remain to be eaten -alive if need be by the gentle citizens of the Caucasus. About midnight -it became very rough and a great fear seemed to seize one and all of -my dear passengers. Every little while they would break out of their -retreats and rush out on the deck under the impression that we were -sinking. Then the first wave that swept us would soak them to the skin -and with piercing howls they would scuttle back to the place where -they belonged. All night long this kept up until for the first time I -felt that shipwreck might not be such an unmixed evil after all. Any -change would be preferable to this. By one A. M. I had decided that my -refugees should start life anew at Trebizond, and that not one foot -further should they go with me. They might get another boat from there -if they so desired, but not the _France_! At daylight they began to beg -for food and sat around the head of my companion-way like so many apes -watching me eat my breakfast. Above my head were a dozen faces peering -eagerly through the skylight. Finally I sent them all to the galley and -ordered Stomati to give them breakfast. - -At nine we anchored in Trebizond and I sighed with relief, for it -seemed to me that my troubles with the refugee problem were over, if -nothing else pleasant ever happened again. - -After their rough night at sea mingled with fear and seasickness my -passengers were as eager to disembark as we all were to get rid of -them, and even before we anchored they were crowded at the gangway -waiting to land. But alas! We had reckoned without our host! The -rat-eyed governor saw a chance to display his authority. When I went -ashore to arrange for relieving myself of the refugees he promptly -replied that it could not be done. After an involved argument which -accomplished nothing I appealed to the acting consul who lived on the -bluff and accompanied by him and the missionary who lived in town, -we made another assault on the potentate who was giving himself such -airs. Finally he agreed to go out to the _France_ and look over my -importations. All of these negotiations had taken time and the refugees -had become restless and anxious as to their fate and when they saw the -governor’s boat with armed soldiers coming out toward them a panic -seized them, or at least some of them, which I thought curious at the -time, but saw a possible reason for before the day was over. - -With as much dignity as though he had been the Sultan himself our -dirty visitor climbed over the side and demanded that the men from -the Caucasus be placed in line before him and show their passports. -He evidently thought that he had me there, and that none would be -forthcoming, for his face fell visibly when each and every one of the -trembling wretches produced the frayed and filthy rags of paper from -mysterious pockets in their garments. Some underling that belonged to -the governor inspected the first passport and a long debate in Turkish -ensued between the officials. The governor’s countenance brightened -perceptibly and with great dignity he spoke to the consul and then -turned around and glared at me, no doubt feeling my lack of reverence -for his august person. - -“What does he say?” I asked the consul impatiently, for I was anxious -to be off. - -“He says,” replied the consul, with just the shade of a deprecating -smile, “that inasmuch as these passports have not been properly viséd -in Batuum, it will be quite impossible for him to allow them to land -here. You should have had the Turkish representative there inspect and -countersign all these papers.” - -I was certainly indignant. - -“Do you mean to say,” I retorted with some heat, “that he insists -on a visé from a port that is in a state of siege with people being -killed in the streets? These men don’t live in Batuum anyway and most -of them have come from towns in the interior and barely escaped with -their lives. Besides some of them actually live here in Trebizond!” My -reply was translated but my expression did not need an interpreter. The -governor distinctly had the upper hand and sneeringly replied that the -situation in Batuum was not due to him and that he did not care a rap -whether the town was in a state of siege or not. “No visé no landing” -was his ultimatum. I asked him what he expected me to do with them, to -which he shrugged his shoulders scornfully and prepared to leave. I was -too angry to engage in further discussion and as I watched him go over -the side an inspiration broke upon me. So I merely remarked politely -that I would think the matter over and would advise him later as to -my decision. This obviously did not please him as he apparently did -not see where I had any particular decision coming my way. So he only -growled a surly reply as he rowed away. - -As soon as he was gone I called a council of war in my saloon and -proposed my plan. I figured on sailing from Trebizond to the mouth of -the Danube and thence back to Russia, and it was obvious that there -would be no welcome to my passengers in either of these places. My idea -was that we would say no more about it but make all of our preparations -to depart and just before we weighed anchor put all our refugees in -our two ship’s boats with their equipment of oars and just simply -leave them in the harbor. If the governor wanted to keep them adrift -there with no food—well, then that would be his affair and not mine. -He could drown them if he thought best, once they were off my hands. -No one but Morris sympathized with my project, but I was running the -enterprise, and issued the ultimatum and went ashore to send a cable -before leaving. - -But once again my plans were changed for there was an urgent cable -awaiting me from Chicago: “Return Constantinople give up _France_ -proceed quickest possible St. Petersburg investigate Witte’s charges -against our correspondent there whom he asserts has misquoted him.” -So here was my whole program upset once more and for the first time -my scheme for marooning my passengers began to seem injudicious. I -could make no excuse for disobeying the governor at Trebizond if my -next call was to be at a Turkish port. I thought a minute and my pet -project evaporated. I would take them to the Golden Horn. But to -forestall difficulties there I cabled Mr. Peter Jay, then chargé at -our Embassy in Constantinople, that I was coming with refugees and to -arrange to have the authorities take delivery of same on my arrival. -Then I went back to the landing. The missionary, who was a lovely man -and sympathized strongly with me, had been pleading with the governor -for the refugees. While that mighty man stood bashfully by playing -coyly with his sword tassels, the missionary delicately intimated to -me that his Excellency on account of his good impression of me and -of his desire to oblige, would waive the formalities of the pass-port -visés and allow the unfortunates to land if I could see my way clear to -defray his trouble in the matter for the sum of five pounds sterling -per refugee. The old swine! I was indignant! I told the missionary -that he could tell his fat friend that I would see him sizzling first -and that I was going straight back to Constantinople, where I knew a -general who was close to the Sultan and I would stay there a month if -necessary but I certainly intended to get him “fired” for a rotten old -grafter. I could not speak his language and the missionary declined -to translate—so I left. I am afraid the Turk never really knew all I -thought of him, but he did know that his generous offer was turned -down, for his face flushed crimson and he spun on his heel and went to -his office. I decided not to wait for him to make another move and so -I jumped into the boat and pulled for the _France_. As soon as I was -within calling distance I shouted to the skipper to get up the anchor, -and as I stepped over the side, her engines were already turning over -and her nose coming around toward the sea. I had sent Morris directly -from the cable office to buy food of the refugee type and we brought -off a boatload of cabbages and green things which should keep them -until we could put them ashore at Constantinople. - -It was about nine-thirty that night as we were spinning merrily along -over a fair sea, when the chief engineer came into my saloon. His face -was like putty. - -“What is wrong?” I asked with some apprehension, for he was the -pluckiest of the lot. - -For reply he threw on the table two large coils of fuses, the type -one uses to set off a bomb or dynamite cartridges. I recognized them -at once, for I had used the identical thing in a little dynamiting -enterprise of my own a few years before. - -“Where did these come from?” I asked sharply, looking at his white face. - -“One of the stokers found them in the coal bunkers,” he replied -quietly, and then added tensely, “and he nearly put them in the furnace -with the coal.” - -“Well, these are only fuses,” I said to reassure him. “They won’t do -any thing but fizzle a bit.” - -He smiled a bit sadly. - -“Yes, I know that,” he replied, “but has it occurred to you that the -man who carries fuses is apt to have the caps and the charge that -they are meant to explode? And has it occurred to you that whoever -put the fuse in the bunker probably put in the bomb as well? And has -it occurred to you that at any moment they may go into the furnace by -mistake with the coal? And has it occurred to you that when they do we -will all go to Kingdom Come?” - -This was certainly a new idea. No, it had not occurred to me at all. -However, it did strike me as being a pertinent thought now that he -spoke of it and I sat on the edge of my berth, with the shoe I had been -removing still in my hand. Finally something else occurred to me as -well and after a moment’s deliberation I replied, “You go right back to -the stoke-hold, Chief, and explain the whole situation to the stokers. -If they put a bomb in the furnace they will all be scalded to death -beyond a shadow of a doubt. The rest of us have a chance to get away. -Not a big one—but still it is a chance anyway. The stokers down there -have not the most remote hope if they should make a blunder like that. -Explain it carefully to them and then you go to bed. For it is my guess -that under the circumstances they won’t put anything in the furnace -to-night that does not bear a very decided resemblance to good black -coal.” - -The Chief thought a little and then went and did as I had suggested. In -fifteen minutes he returned with the word that the day shift of stokers -had turned out and, assisted by the balance of the crew not otherwise -occupied, were making a careful personal inspection of every shovelful -that went into the furnace. We both laughed a little and decided that -we could safely turn in and sleep soundly. - -But before I did so I called the skipper in for council. We talked -it all over and decided that someone of our refugees had had the -explosives on him and when we got into the row with the governor at -Trebizond and it looked as though there were to be an examination of -passengers, the guilty man had become panic stricken and, prying up -the bunker lid on the deck, had dropped the damaging evidence against -himself into the bunker, never doubting that he would be well ashore at -Trebizond before the _France_ was at sea again. He must also be passing -a restless night knowing what was in the bunkers. - -This time I was more than indignant! - -It seemed a poor return for all the pains that I had taken in behalf of -these wretched people. I called in Morris and told him that I wanted -him to watch the refugees carefully from this time on, as I suspected -that one of them at least, might be a desperate man, and the Lord only -knew what he might be up to before we landed back in the Golden Horn. - -“Now, Morris,” I told him, “I am going to assign you to watch these men -just as carefully as you know how and if you see the slightest sign of -a single one of them making any move which in your judgment is going to -endanger the _France_ and the lives of any of us I want you to shoot -him on the spot!” And I gave him my big army Colt. - -The black man’s face shone with excitement and his teeth gleamed, as he -replied: - -“Yes, sir; yes, sir. I’ll do just as you say, sir. And if I see -anything suspicious, I’ll shoot him right through the head, sir,” and -he went on deck to look for symptoms. - -But it proved unnecessary. Whether anything more was in the bunkers or -not we never knew. Suffice it to say that we did not blow up, but kept -blithely on our way towards the mouth of the Bosphorus, whence we had -steamed nearly two weeks before. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -_The Return to the Golden Horn and the End of the Assignment_ - -It was just four o’clock three days later on the afternoon of December -30th that the tired little _France_ poked her steel nose into the -waters of the Bosphorus and, running around the first promontory, -dropped her anchor in quiet waters just off the Turkish fort that -stands sentinel at the eastern end of that wonderful cleft in the -mountains that divide the East from the West, Asia and her mediæval -civilization from Europe and all her enlightened progress. Half an -hour served to pass us through the customs and with hearts rejoicing -and care free we steamed on through that picturesque gap. As we sailed -around the bend I stood on the bridge and watched the dull, grim waters -of the Black Sea cut off from view by the rising headlands. It was one -of our typical days. The barometer was falling and the wind was coming -up and the surly sea without was beating itself into one of its chronic -rages that we knew so well, and its white-caps and froth seemed to whip -angrily after us almost as though we were its natural prey and that it -now beheld us eluding its maw. - -With each turn of the screw we were getting into smoother water and -in a few minutes were cutting up the still surface as a knife passes -through cheese. - -The relief of having it all over was excessive and I dare say we all -behaved like children. I am sure that I did. I ordered up our good old -American flag under which I had sailed for four months in the mine-sown -waters off Port Arthur, the year before, and which during these last -weeks had been snapping almost constantly at our fore, whipped by -the bleak winter winds of the Black Sea. Its ends were frayed and -raveled by the constant gales, yet with all its dirt of travel and -disheveled parts, it looked good enough to me as it floated proudly -at our masthead as we plowed serenely down the Bosphorus. I stationed -Stomati at the stern to stand by the halyards of our big French ensign -which, designating the nationality of our register, spread its ample -bunting from our stern. And not a boat did we pass that did not get a -cordial dip from us, and not a boat did we pass but I saw the men on -the bridge turn and study through their glasses that rarely seen emblem -that we bore at our foremast-head. Just before reaching the Golden -Horn one passes Roberts College, perched high above the Bosphorus on -a great bluff. The college, as all good Americans know, was founded -by Dr. Washburn, one of our own true citizens who has brought greater -glory to our Name and Flag in the Near East than all the ambassadors -and warships that ever penetrated that remote land. With childish glee -I went below to the engineer and bade him turn out all of his stokers -and heap on all the coal he could crowd into the furnaces and speed up -the engines to their topmost notch, for, as I told him, “I want the -_France_ to look and do her prettiest as we pass the American College.” - -I returned to the bridge and swelled with pride as I glanced at the -dense columns of smoke pouring majestically from our two chubby -funnels, and the white wake that our screw was turning up astern as -the engines beat out their maximum energy down in the bowels of the -ship. As we were fairly abeam of the College I pulled the whistle lever -and the deep foghorn bayed out its hoarse-throated blast. For a solid -minute it roared and then came the response from the hill. Someone had -heard the tumult and recognized the emblem that we carried, and in a -jiffy windows were thrown open, and handkerchiefs, towels and sheets -were waved frantically toward us. Again and again the _France_ tooted -in response and again and again Stomati dipped our ensign in salute, -while the crew cheered hysterically, just as though they were all -Americans. - -“What a childish performance,” thinks the reader. No doubt it was. But -after one has been at sea surrounded by indifference and hostility by -the peoples one encounters and attacked by savage seas for two solid -weeks, isn’t one to be forgiven a slight slip from dignity? - -An hour later we were alongside the wharf and friends from the shore -who had been advised that we had entered the Bosphorus came aboard -to welcome us safely back. On the wharf was drawn up a company of -savage-looking Turkish soldiers. They proved to be the Sultan’s welcome -to his prodigals, returning from the storm-tossed Caucasus. I have -never just fathomed the status of a refugee in Turkey, but I gathered -then that it must be against the law to escape slaughter in a foreign -land and come home to your own. Anyway my refugees were promptly -marched off to jail, and they, their past and future faded forever from -my interest. - -I found wires urging me make haste for Russia and so turning the -_France_ over to her owners I hurried to the Pera-Palace Hotel and -got into some clean clothes and while Morris was throwing my baggage -together for the Berlin train, I was making my formal calls. First -on Mr. Jay at the American Legation, who welcomed me cordially and -showed me the wire all drawn and addressed to the State Department -at Washington, advising them that the _France_ had been wrecked. For -two days it had lain on his desk and only been held up on receipt of -my wire from Trebizond that I was on my way back to the Golden Horn. -Now for the first time I learned in full of the widespread havoc of -wreck and misery that storm had caused these past ten days. Dozens of -ships had suffered disaster and the hope of the _France’s_ safety, it -appeared, had been well-nigh abandoned. But it was all passed now and -Jay and I laughed at it that night as we sat in our evening clothes -over our wine and cigars at the Club. A few words with the British -Ambassador and the turning over of my mails and dispatches and my -duties in Constantinople were over. - -The carefully prepared cable from the Caucasus I had brought with me, -and not daring to trust it to the Turkish wire, I had given it into -the hands of a courier who had caught a train within the hour for the -frontier where he had filed it in an uncensored telegraph office. I -waited in the hotel for the few hours to elapse before a wire came to -me from our London office confirming its safe arrival and then with -my impedimenta I was on the train once more, hurrying for the Russian -capital. - -My story is almost done. - -The situation was quietly adjusting itself. - -Five nights I spent on the train and on the morning of the sixth -day I was on the Nevsky Prospekt once more. Two weeks sufficed to -reorganize our news service in Russia and to turn the situation over -to our correspondent whose duty it was to look after affairs in that -territory. - -I had been doing war assignments pretty steadily now for more than two -years and both my mind and body craved repose. My reprieve from further -work came one night as I was chatting over Russian politics in one of -Petersburg’s fashionable restaurants. I read my cable and sighed with -satisfaction. - -The assignment that had come to me months before in Peking was at an -end. “Russia direct,” it had read and half around the world and into -strange lands and among stranger peoples, it had carried me. - -The next Nord Express that pulled from the Petersburg station bound for -Paris carried me homeward turned and with a mind for the first time in -months free from anxiety. - -The situation was over. - -My work was done. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cable Game, by Stanley Washburn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABLE GAME *** - -***** This file should be named 61903-0.txt or 61903-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/0/61903/ - -Produced by deaurider, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Cable Game - The Adventures of an American Press-Boat in Turkish Waters - During the Russian Revolution - -Author: Stanley Washburn - -Release Date: April 23, 2020 [EBook #61903] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABLE GAME *** - - - - -Produced by deaurider, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="FRONTIS" id="FRONTIS"> </a> - <img src="images/the_france.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="359" /> - <p class="center space-below1">THE DISPATCH BOAT “FRANCE” LYING AT ANCHOR IN ODESSA HARBOR</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h1>THE CABLE GAME</h1> - -<p class="f120">THE ADVENTURES OF AN AMERICAN<br /> -PRESS-BOAT IN TURKISH WATERS<br />DURING THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION</p> - -<p class="center space-below2"><small>BY</small><br /><big>STANLEY WASHBURN</big></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="196" /> -</div> - -<p class="center space-above2">BOSTON<br />SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY<br />1912</p> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1911</span><br />Sherman, French & Company</p> -<p class="center space-above3">TO<br />ALICE</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="center">ACKNOWLEDGMENT</p> - -<p>The writer gratefully acknowledges the constant -support and unlimited backing accorded him by THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS, -the paper for which he worked, and MR. VICTOR F. LAWSON, its Publisher, -whose never failing enterprise in the realms of World News made this -narrative of THE CABLE GAME possible.</p> - -<p class="author">S. W.</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break">INTRODUCTION</h2></div> - -<p>It has seemed worth while to set down the account of the experiences -reported in the following pages, not because they represent any -important achievement, nor yet because they are conspicuous for any -unusual enterprise, for none realizes better than the writer that they -comprise nothing more than the day’s work, for the dozens of newspaper -men that wander the earth.</p> - -<p>As a lover of the Profession these few little adventures are narrated -in the hope that they may serve as an interpretation to the lay reader -of the motives of the men that go forth to gather the news of the -world. Fame, money and reputation are all secondary considerations to -the real journalist and what he does he does for his Paper and for the -pure joy of the game that he plays.</p> - -<p>What the writer has tried to portray is the atmosphere and fascination -of THE CABLE GAME—the game that takes a man far from home ’midst alien -races and into strange lands and makes him stake his all in his effort -to win that goal of the journalist’s ambition—A World Beat.</p> - -<p class="author">S. W.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break">CONTENTS</h2></div> - -<table border="0" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC" cellpadding="0" > - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdl"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> - <td class="tdc"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>I</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>From War to Peace in Manchuria—Peking—A New Assignment, - “Russia Direct”—Shanghai</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_I"> 1</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>II</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>The Race for the Situation—Ceylon—Across - India—Stalled in Bombay—Russia via the Suez Canal</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_II">20</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>III</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>Constantinople at Last! The Threshold of the Russian - Assignment—A Nation in Convulsion</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_III">35</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>IV</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Charter a Tug and become Dispatch Bearers of His - Britannic Majesty and Learn of Winter Risks in the Black Sea too late to Retreat</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_IV">54</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>V</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We sail out into the Black Sea in the Salvage Steamer - “France” and for Sixty-five Hours Shake Dice with Death</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_V">73</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>VI</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Land in Odessa on the Day Set by the Revolutionists for a General Massacre, - but because of Effective Martial Law Secure only a “General Situation” Story</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_VI">94</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>VII</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>The France does her Best in the Run for the - Uncensored Cable, Sticks in the Mud, but Gets Away and - Arrives at Sulina Mouth with an Hour to Spare</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_VII">113</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>VIII</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Send our Cable and Find Ourselves with 5 Francs - and Expenses of $200 a Day, but Make a Financial Coup - d’Etat, and Sail for the Crimean Peninsula</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_VIII">134</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>IX</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Reach Sevastopol and Land in Spite of Harbor Regulations, - Get a “Story” and Sail away with it to the Coast of Asia Minor</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_IX">150</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>X</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Send our Cable from Sinope and then Sail for the Caucasus - where Rumor States Revolution and Anarchy to be Reigning Unmolested</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_X">167</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>XI</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>Christmas Morning on the Black Sea</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_XI">180</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>XII</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Find Turmoil in the Caucasus but Celebrate Xmas in - Spite of Storm and Stress</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_XII">190</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>XIII</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>We Sail away from Batuum with a Beat, Official Dispatches, - Foreign Mails and a Boat Load of Refugees that Keep Us Awake Nights</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_XIII">200</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr_top"><i>XIV</i></td> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent"><i>The Return to the Golden Horn and the End of the Assignment</i></p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#CHAP_XIV">217</a></td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break">TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></div> - -<table border="0" cellspacing="0" summary="LOI" cellpadding="0" > - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">The Dispatch Boat “<i>France</i>” lying at anchor in Odessa harbor</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#FRONTIS"><i>Frontis</i></a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr" colspan="2"><br /><small>PAGE</small></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl_ws1"><p class="neg-indent">From far Mongolia’s borders for 180 miles eastward stretches - the line of the Japanese trenches</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_20A">20</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">Regiment after regiment, fresh from Japan, - pour along the newly made highways</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_20B">20</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">With clanking chains and creaking limbers, - batteries are going to the front</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_48A">48</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">In eighteen months’ association with the army, - we have not seen such activity</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_48B">48</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">When the <i>France</i> entered Odessa harbor after - the storm she was pretty well shaken up</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_92A">92</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">Sulina—the mouth of the Danube River</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_92B">92</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">General Nogi—than whom no finer gentleman - ever drew the breath of life</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_198A">198</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><p class="neg-indent">Morris inspecting our Christmas dinner</p></td> - <td class="tdr_bott"><a href="#PAGE_198B">198</a></td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_I">CHAPTER I</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>From War to Peace in Manchuria—Peking—A New - Assignment, “Russia Direct”—Shanghai.</i></p> - -<p>For three days we had been congratulating ourselves that we were on -the eve of the greatest battle in history. Around us in silent might, -two armies slept on their arms. From the border of far Mongolia for -a hundred and eighty miles eastward lay the line of the <a href="#PAGE_20A">Japanese -trenches</a>, and for forty miles deep every Manchu hut and village -sheltered the soldier or coolie patriot of the Island Emperor. Above -the roads for endless miles hung the heavy powdered dust of Mongol -soil; like a mist unstirred by any wind, it rose from the plodding of -the feet of limitless thousands of men and animals, pushing forward for -the last great struggle of a mighty conflict. <a href="#PAGE_20B">Regiment after regiment</a> -fresh from home, poured along the Japanese made arteries, for the blood -of an army corps. Now and again the khaki colored battalions at the -command of an officer halted at the side of the road while a battery -of artillery, with <a href="#PAGE_48A">clanking chains and creaking limbers</a>, -trotted through the thickening clouds of dust that settled on one like flour. -Cavalry, red cross, transport, coolies, bridge trains and telegraph -corps gave place the one to the other in rapid succession. In eighteen -months’ association with the Japanese <a href="#PAGE_48B">we had not seen such activity</a>. -“The Peace Conference at Portsmouth has failed” we told ourselves, and -leaving the extreme front of the army, where we had been visiting the -cavalry outposts, we turned our horses’ heads for the thirty-mile ride -to the headquarters of <a href="#PAGE_198A">General Nogi</a>, to which we had been -attached since May. All our talk was of the coming of the great battle and of -the preparations which we must make for a three weeks’ campaign in the -saddle, and more important still, how we should arrange an open line of -communications from the ever-changing front of the prospective struggle -to the cable office in the rear.</p> - -<p>Covered with dust an eighth of an inch deep, we rode into Fakumen, our -headquarters, late on the afternoon of September 4th. At the door of a -Chinese bean mill, where for four weary months we had been awaiting the -call to action, stood a Japanese orderly. As we dismounted, he saluted -and respectfully handed me one of the Japanese charactered envelopes of -the Military field telegraph. Turning my horse over to my Japanese boy -I opened it, and read the word “Return.”</p> - -<p>The Russo-Japanese War was over, and even before the armies themselves -knew that the end had come, my chief in his office in far away Chicago -had sent the word over the cable which meant as much as reams of -explanation. The same night the <i>London Times</i> reached half around -the world and ordered home its special correspondent with the Japanese -armies in the field.</p> - -<p>That night I handed in at the Chinese mudhouse, where the telegraph -ticked cheerfully over the hundreds of miles of Manchurian plains and -Korean mountains to Fusan, and thence by cable to Nagasaki and the -civilized world, a short dispatch to my office in Chicago, “Leaving the -front immediately. Wire instructions Peking.” Two days later at sunrise -we took our leave. I shall not soon forget our leave-taking from the -army whose fortunes we had followed off and on for nearly eighteen -months. So many of the correspondents left the “front” with such -bitter feelings toward their erstwhile hosts that, in justice to the -Japanese, it is but fair to chronicle that in one Army of the Mikado -at least the relations between the staff and the soldiers of the press -were anything but unpleasant, and that we, who left the Third Army -that September morning, left with only the tenderest affection toward -the commander under whose shadow we had lived, slept and thought these -many months—that is <a href="#PAGE_198A">General Baron Nogi</a>—than whom no -finer gentleman, ardent patriot and gentle friend ever drew the breath -of life. The night before our departure the general entertained us at -a farewell banquet and in a kindly little toast bade us god-speed on -our journey. That night we shook the hands of all the staff whom we -had known so well, and went to our quarters thinking that we had seen -them for the last time, for we were to leave at daybreak for the long -ride to the railroad. The next morning as we were mounting our horses -to begin our journey an orderly from headquarters rode up and said that -Major General Ichinohe (Nogi’s Chief of Staff and right-hand man during -the siege of Port Arthur) had requested that we stop at headquarters on -our way out of town. So it was that accompanied by the small cavalry -escort that had been detailed to see us to the railroad, we rode into -the compound where Nogi and his staff had lived that last long summer -of the war.</p> - -<p>Mounted on a coal black horse in full dress uniform, with half a dozen -of his staff about him, sat old Ichinohe, a tall, gaunt man nearing -sixty, whose life typifies the ideal of Japanese chivalry. Spartan in -his simplicity and endurance, fearless as a lion in battle, and gentle -as a woman in time of peace, we had known him almost since the war -started. At Port Arthur he had commanded the Sixth Brigade of the Ninth -Division, which, more than any other, had borne the heat and burden -of the day. We had known him then, when sword in hand he had led in -person his brigade against one of the most impregnable redoubts on the -crest of that all but unconquerable fortress. Twice his column had -been thrown back shattered and bleeding, but on the third assault, and -just as the light of day was breaking in the East, this redoubtable -man covered with blood and powder, and with his broken sword clutched -in his hand, placed the Sun Flag on a position that the Russians -had regarded as beyond possibility of capture. It was impossible to -realize that this kindly old gentleman, who spoke so gently to us that -morning in distant Manchuria, was the desperate commander who had been -decorated by the Mikado for his invincible attack on the famous redoubt -before Port Arthur’s bloody trenches.</p> - -<p>He met us with that smile which we had come to know and love, and bade -his interpreter tell us that he and his staff would ride with us out of -the town and see us started on our journey. So, with the staff riding -about us, with clatter of saber and ring of spur, we rode through the -old winding stonewall flanked street of Fakumen to the main gate of the -town. Here the road winds out over a bridge that crosses the little -river that wends its way down from the pass in the mountains three -miles beyond and through which led our way that morning. The sun had -just risen and its first copper-colored rays turned the dew on the -grass to drops of brilliants. Away and away stretched the Oriental -landscape with the hills standing out in the background in the clear, -crisp air of early autumn. Behind us lay the town which had been our -home since May, its strange, fantastic Chinese temples and maze of -jumbled dwellings just catching the early sunlight; the whole scene -might have been a setting snatched from the banks of the Jordan in the -far away Holy Land. As we rode out of the gate and onto the old wooden -bridge with its stone parapets the full strength of the Third Army -Corps Military band blazed out the first notes of Sousa’s “The Stars -and the Stripes,” and with the glorious swing of that martial strain -taken up by drum and trumpet we crossed the river. None who has never -lived for months in an alien land among a people of a different race -can ever realize the throb of the heart that such music inspires. To -us, in far off Mongolia, it sounded like a voice from our very own, -coming across the wide Pacific.</p> - -<p>When we reached the open country our old friend stopped his horse -and his interpreter spake his last words to us. “You have been with -us long,” he told us. “With us you have lived through a terrible -period. For many months our paths have lain side by side. We would -not, therefore, say farewell, for the Japanese never says adieu to his -friends.” He had paused with the sweetest, gentlest of smiles before he -uttered his last words, which the interpreter then translated to us. “I -will sit here upon my horse, with my staff gathered about me. When you -reach the bend in the road you will turn in your saddles and wave your -hand at me and I will wave my hand to you and that, my friends, shall -be our last good-by.”</p> - -<p>Silently we wrung their hands, these hard-visaged friends on whom a -cruel war had left its scars in gray hairs and furrowed faces, and -rode on our way. Half a mile beyond the ancient Mongol highway turned -a bluff, and wound up toward the Pass in the Hills. When we reached -the bend we turned in our saddles. There below us on the outskirts -of the town we could see the general, motionless in the flooding -sunlight, with the little group of the staff crowded in the background. -As we turned in our saddles we could barely discern the flutter of a -handkerchief from the stern old figure on the black horse. Once again -the faint strains of martial music drifted to us on the still morning -air; we waved our hands and turned once more on our way. Who shall say -that we were oversentimental if there was a little mist in our eyes as -we looked our last upon the men and on the army, whose lives and ours -had been so closely linked?</p> - -<p>Forty miles we rode that day over dusty highways that wound their way -through waving fields of the whispering kowliang (or millet) that bent -and swayed in the breeze. A few hours’ sleep at Tieling in a deserted -shell-torn Russian house, then a five hours’ pounding over rough rails -in a box car and we were back once more at the Grand Headquarters of -the army at Moukden.</p> - -<p>Here we paid our final respects to the officers of the staff whom we -had known off and on for nearly two years. A few hours passed, and -again we were on the train. This time it is a ten hour stretch in a -third class car to Newchwang, the end of the neutral and uncensored -cable.</p> - -<p>In the early hours of the morning, with typewriter on my army trunk, -half a column cable was pounded out, and that afternoon the Chicago -<i>News</i> printed the first cable from the field of what the army thought -of peace. A day’s delay in Newchwang to sell my horse, then two nights -on a B. & S. freight steamer to Chefoo, and thence by boat and rail two -days more to Peking, and a white man’s hotel. No one who has not lived -in a Chinese village, surrounded by the filth and vermin of a Manchu -compound, during the rainy season, with water trickling through the -roof on the inside and mud two feet deep without, can quite realize -what a bed, a bath, clean clothes and good “chow” means. Two hours -after arriving, a blue-clad Chinese boy handed in a cable from Chicago. -It ran: “Await further instructions, Peking.”</p> - -<p>For the first time in nearly two years, the editor in his office ten -thousand miles away had no immediate plan of action on his mind. For -the moment the world was quiet, and a brief respite from the constant -call for “stories” granted to the correspondent.</p> - -<p>War work for the reading public falls naturally into two distinct -classes, as different as prose and poetry in literature. Editors call -the exponents of these divisions “feature men” and “events” or “cable -men.” The former are the literary artists who write atmosphere and -artistic impressions for the monthly and weekly papers of the world. -At enormous salaries, and with the retinue and camp equipage of a -commanding general, they drift leisurely along with the army. When the -battles are over, they chronicle their impressions and send them by -mail to their home offices. They are accompanied by trained artists -of the camera, to illustrate their stories, and what is still lacking -is filled in by some artist of repute at home. Their names appear in -large letters on the covers of the magazines to which they contribute, -and to the world are they known far and wide. The other type, the -“cable men,” are collectors of what might be called “spot” news. From -them not atmosphere or color is demanded, but “accuracy of fact” and -“quick delivery” is the essence of their work. Known professionally -wherever big papers are printed, the cable man is almost unknown to -the general public. His paper requires of him first to be on the spot -where news is being made, and second to get a clear, concise and -correct report of that news to an uncensored cable, and do it before -anyone else can. Waking or sleeping, the events man has two ideas in -the back of his head, the hour his paper goes to press, and his line -of communication to his cable office. As a diver depends on his air -tube to the face of the water, so the correspondent depends on his -line of communication to the outer world. The moment his retreat is -severed he is useless and for the moment might as well be dead. He may -have a story of world importance, but if he is out of touch with the -cable his news is worthless. His paper, on the other hand, is prepared -to back him to the limit to maintain such a line. Steamers, railroad -trains, courier systems, and any means or methods his imagination or -ingenuity may devise, are his for the asking, if he can only get out -exclusive news, and get it first. His paper will pay fabulous sums, -$2,000, $5,000, even $10,000 for an account of a world event. A single -story of this kind is printed in ten thousand papers in fifty different -languages within twenty-four hours after the correspondent files it -in a cable office. His version of the affair is read first by every -foreign office in the civilized world. On his story the editorials on -the “situation” are based, from London to Buenos Ayres. The “feature -man” chronicles the events as he sees them. The “cable man,” though -in a small way, is a part of the great event. In the boiling vortex -where history is in the making, there is he, struggling against his -colleagues of the press of America and Europe to give to the world the -first facts of an international clash. He moves to the click of the -telegraph, and if he acts at all, he must act on the minute. Even -hours are too slow for the newspaper reading public. His editor at home -watches the ever-changing kaleidoscope of history, moving and reforming -on the stages of the world. Now Japan is in the public’s eye. He has -a man on the spot. Again it is a race war in Georgia—the invasion of -Thibet, a constitutional parliament in Persia, war in the Balkans, or a -revolution in Russia. All of these the restless, lynx-eyed one watches -from his office in Chicago. A hundred cables a day reach his desk from -all quarters of the globe, and in his mind from hour to hour he is -weighing the relative importance of all the interesting situations in -the world. If a parliamentary crisis develops in Europe, he has the -choice of a dozen of his foreign staff to cover it. A few words on the -pad, and in five hours the Berlin correspondent starts for Sweden, or -perhaps the Paris man telephones his wife that he is off for Algeciras -or Madrid. A pause in the career of a war correspondent for such a -paper means to him that for the moment the situation is too indefinite -to warrant any immediate action. From day to day he lives with a vague -wonder on his mind where the next day will see him. Will he be on his -way home, to Europe, Asia, or the Philippines, or perhaps to some -unfamiliar place he has to search in the Atlas to find? Surrounded by -his campaign baggage and war kit, he sits and waits, ready for a quick -call to any quarter of the globe to which the cable may order him.</p> - -<p>Peking is too far from the haunts of civilization for one to follow -the news of the world day by day. The telegrams are days old, and the -papers weeks and months. For over a month the correspondent waited in -Peking and played. China is ever the source of interest which ebbs and -flows. Now it is on the point of another Boxer outbreak, and next it -is in the throes of constitutional reforms. An occasional anti-foreign -riot, a Chinese execution, or perhaps even a bomb helps to while away -the lazy days, and gives material for intermittent cables on the trend -of far eastern politics.</p> - -<p>We were waiting on the veranda of the hotel across from the American -Legation. At this moment we seem as far from Chicago as from Mars. -The sounds and sights of Peking have weaned us from the confusion of -a world beyond. Rickshaw coolies squatting outside, the low murmur of -their voices, the jingle of a bell on a passing Peking cart, all tend -to widen the gulf that separates the East from the West. We are aroused -by a voice at our side. “Telegram have got.” It is for me. I take the -sheet of paper that in some form or other has found out my quiet in -every quarter of the globe. As you tear open the gray envelope you -wonder almost subconsciously where the next weeks will take you, and -your curiosity hurries your hand as you tear it open and read the curt -message dated Chicago, and marked “Rush.”</p> - -<p>“Russia direct. When do you start?” Once more the love and fascination -of the game surge through your veins. You are too far out of the world -to know what is passing for the moment in Russia, but you feel sure -it must be something good and big, with promise of long duration, to -have brought this urgent cable of five words, ordering you half around -the world. You call for a telegraph blank, and as you wait, your mind -works almost unconsciously, something unexpressed and involuntary. -“Russia direct! The Trans-Siberian road is unquestionably the quickest, -providing you can get immediate action, but it is now blocked with -troops and munitions of war. Obviously a permit will be necessary. It -would take ten days at least to make connections through the State -Department and the Petersburg Minister of Railroads to get it. Ten -days is too long to wait, and then there are the uncertainties of -days besides. The <i>Pacific</i> might do, but the <i>Empress</i> sails from -Shanghai to-morrow. You can’t make her, and there is not another fast -boat for a fortnight. There is a French or German mail for the Canal -surely within a week,” and your mind is made up, and on the arm of -your chair you write the reply, “Leaving to-night. Shanghai Monday, -thence first steamer Canal,” and sign your name, mark the message “R. -T. P.,” which means “Receiver to pay,” and walk to your room. Your -Japanese understudy who has been on your staff these many months jumps -up. Another man who has been waiting in the corner of the room gets -out of his chair. He is an American negro, Monroe D. Morris, who for -three weeks has been an anxious candidate for a staff position. Since -it is Russia, the Jap is obviously impossible. You tell him so, and he -shuffles his feet as he hears the ultimatum, for he had hoped for a -trip to Europe. But one man’s meat is another man’s poison, for while -the mournful Ikezwap backed up for the last time, the beaming Ethiopian -grinned from ear to ear as he rushed to his quarters to throw together -his own small belongings.</p> - -<p>A few hours sufficed to pack all my effects which, when mobilized, -comprised fourteen pieces of impedimenta. The theory is that a war -correspondent must move from place to place prepared at any moment to -adjust himself to any situation, from a war assignment, revolution or -riot, down to the meeting socially of a foreign ambassador. Hence these -fourteen pieces, which sound excessive, contained everything from a -frock coat and a high hat down to a kitchen camp stove. Saddles, tents, -campaign outfits of various kinds take up much room, but are really -worth the bother, for when one wants them, that want is a demand that -money often cannot meet. One’s own saddle on a hurry call that may mean -days of riding is in itself an asset beyond comparison. It may mean all -the difference between success and failure. One knows just what one can -do with an outfit tried and true, and hence it is worth while lugging -it about the world, even if it is used but once or twice.</p> - -<p>A few days later saw me and my grinning Ethiopian disembarked on the -Bund at Shanghai. The place looked familiar enough, for I had spent -weeks there, and this was my fifth visit. Every time I left I felt that -I had made a distinct addition to my information as to the wickedness -of the world, and every time the desire rested heavily on my mind to -write a story about this cosmopolitan mushroom on the China coast, but -each time I held my hand as I realized that fate might well bring me -back to it, but now that Shanghai is some ten thousand miles away, and -the chances of seeing the people who might read such a story remote, I -feel that I cannot pass it over without a few comments.</p> - -<p>Geographically, the Chinese city is almost at the end of the earth. -Morally, one could say, without any hesitation, it is at the end. -The only place that can compete with it for demoralization and -unrestriction is Port Said. The two are neck and neck for laurels of -this description. Shanghai is the final bit of dead water to which -the flotsam and jetsam of the stream of life seems to drift and then -stop in utter stagnation. People who have failed to make good in all -other quarters of the world, seem to turn naturally towards the China -coast, and Shanghai lures them as the candle does the moth. There -remittance men are as thick as sparrows in springtime. These creatures -are the black sheep and younger sons, or other undesirable members -of well-to-do families, who are allowed so many pounds a quarter by -their loving friends, on the sole condition that the cash must be paid -anywhere “east of the Canal.” They drift along through India, over to -Burma, down the States of the Malay Peninsula, and with short stops at -Singapore and Hongkong, they start straight for their final collapse -in Shanghai, where they meet shoals of their fellows, consuming bad -whiskey and soda at the bars of the various hotels. These gentlemen -form a strong and populous element in the community. Next we find a -large colony of alleged business men who have failed to accumulate the -fortunes to which their alleged abilities are supposed to have entitled -them, and who have come out to China to sell someone a gold brick. -These two classes form the matrix of the foreign unattached residents. -Then we have the men who are actually attached to some business house -with their home office in the States, or back in Europe. These are for -the most part doing short sentences, and are fairly respectable. Lastly -we have the Shanghai business man, who is one of the most strenuous -gentlemen of his kind to be seen the world over. He speculates in -shares, of which there is an enormous variety in Shanghai. The -operations in the Chicago wheat pit and the New York stock exchange in -days of a panic are mild in comparison to the fluctuations observed on -any ordinary day’s business in Shanghai stocks. The result is, people -are losing and winning fortunes every few hours.</p> - -<p>At 11 o’clock everyone who has the entrée begins to drift toward the -Shanghai Club. By noon the bar is packed. At 2 o’clock the rush is -over, and only those that have fallen by the way remain, cast away on -sofas. In race week or holidays, sofas are as few and far between as -snowballs in Hades. At five o’clock the rush begins again, and lasts -until the early hours of the morning.</p> - -<p>Everybody in Shanghai drinks, mostly to excess. It is the only place I -know of where young men with incomes of from $50 to $100 a month are -able to spend twice that sum in a week on their establishment, yet this -is unquestionably the case. I knew of one young man making perhaps -$20 a week, who in a year failed for $10,000. At no time, as far as I -could ever learn, did he ever have any assets worth mentioning. This -remarkable means of living is fostered by the so-called “chit” system. -The “chits” are small bits of paper on which one writes an I O U for -any commodity or service conceivable. Any man who has a position can -sign a chit at almost any bar, store or dive in Shanghai. The young -men of the clerk class proceed to do this with great effect, and ready -cash is used for speculative purposes, while their immediate wants are -met by the simple process of signing a “chit.” If they are successful -in their speculation, they pay the “chits,” and all goes well. If -they fail, and are unable to beg, borrow or steal means to meet their -obligations, they either commit suicide or go to Chefoo or Tientsin -until the trouble blows over, which it soon does, as there are so many -other men in the same boat. After a few months of this precarious life -about the China coast, back they come, and if they are unable to get -employment, they fall back into a semi-loafing class and ultimately -a vagrant class, which helps to swell the already large population -of this sort. The wealthy men of the place are mostly young fellows -of the kind described, who have prospered in their investments. They -go in more heavily for all sorts of deals and speculations. Chinese -concessions, promotion schemes and similar enterprises are created, to -be sold at home with great advantage. Every week fortunes are made and -lost, and everybody, nearly, is happy and irresponsible.</p> - -<p>The methods of doing business are quaint, and to the westerner somewhat -astonishing. Every man who is connected, in even the most remote way, -with a business deal, comes in for a squeeze of some sort. I knew of -a case where one man had a boat to sell, and another man, who had -learned the description of the boat (for the names of the gentlemen -are withheld by the middle man lest the latter be cut out entirely) -was eager to snap it up for use in running the blockade. Both the -buyer and the seller were eager to meet each other, but the only man -who knew them both declined to disclose their names until he was paid -a commission sum of $5,000. If you meet a man, and he introduces you -to another man, who makes you acquainted with a third party who sells -you a commodity, numbers one and two block all negotiations until the -seller consents to share the spoils with them. The result is that after -a business deal has gone through so many hands, there is not much -left for anyone in particular. The tendency is for the man who has -the commodity and the man who has the price to combine, and exclude -the line of grafters who would stand between, hence the gentlemen who -profit on the legitimate business men veil all their negotiations until -almost the last moment in a business deal. The names of the actual -parties are withheld from each other by the “go betweens” for fear that -the gentlemen will combine and exclude them from profit.</p> - -<p>A volume might easily be written in description of the various habits -of the men, women and children who lead the fierce pace of foreign life -in Shanghai, but the requirements of space demand that I pass over such -a tempting analysis of degeneracy and vice with these few comments.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_II">CHAPTER II</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>The Race for the Situation—Ceylon—Across -India—Stalled in Bombay—Russia via the Suez Canal</i></p> - -<p>After four days of Shanghai, the German Mail Steamer <i>Princess Alice</i>, -with passengers, mail and cargo, from Yokohama to Bremen, called at -Woo Sung and put an end to our sufferings. In a driving snow and sleet -storm we boarded the big German liner as she lay at anchor at the mouth -of the Yangtse River, and had our baggage ticketed to the Suez Canal. -It was during the next weeks, while we are plowing through the China -Seas, that I began to learn more of the checkered history of my Chief -of Staff. A more or less entertaining volume might be readily written -on his wanderings and experiences. For hours on end, while I lay in -my bunk kicking my heels and waiting for the time to pass, Monroe D. -would sit on a camp stool and regale me with the story of his life. -Scientists tell us that there is no such thing as perpetual motion, but -when they made this statement, they had never seen my “Black Prince,” -and observed the phenomena of unintermittent speech which flowed -steadily and at the rate of 150 words a minute for as many minutes on -end as he was able to get a hearer. He was born in Mississippi, and had -moved early to Kansas, where in 1898, as he informed me, he was holding -an important position in a local express company. When the call to arms -for the Spanish War went forth, Morris was the first man to enlist -in the 20th Kansas. For active service in Cuba he was mustered out a -year later as Third Sergeant, and immediately re-enlisted in a colored -volunteer regiment for a campaign in the Philippines, and quickly rose -to the rank of First Sergeant in his company. After serving out his -time, he returned to the States, again renewed his associations with -the express business, and gave that up to accept the position of porter -on a Pullman car. This business, however, did not apparently prove -sufficient for the development of his intellectual assets, and he soon -gave that up to go as steward for one of the American army transports. -Thirteen times he had crossed the Pacific, and finally had left the -transport at Tientsin and attached himself to one of the officers in -the United States Marine Barracks at Peking.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="PAGE_20A" id="PAGE_20A"> </a> - <img src="images/i_020_a.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="432" /> - <p class="center space-below1">FROM FAR MONGOLIA’S BORDER FOR 180 MILES EASTWARD<br /> - STRETCHES THE LINE OF THE JAPANESE TRENCHES</p> - - <a name="PAGE_20B" id="PAGE_20B"> </a> - <img src="images/i_020_b.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="434" /> - <p class="center space-below1">REGIMENT AFTER REGIMENT, FRESH FROM JAPAN,<br /> - POUR ALONG THE NEWLY MADE HIGHWAYS</p> -</div> - -<p>My arrival and departure had opened a new career to him, and from the -day we left Peking until his return to Kansas City, both night and day -were devoted to disproving the scientific phenomena referred to above.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I would say, when I felt particularly bored, “please talk to me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he would say, and he would begin on the moment and continue -for hours until I would say:</p> - -<p>“All right, Morris. Can do. Go to bed,” when he would cut it off in the -middle of a sentence with a “Yes, sir. Good Night, sir!” and be off.</p> - -<p>The trip from Japan to the Canal is interesting enough the first time, -but thereafter it becomes a bit monotonous. Hongkong, Singapore, -Penang and the ports were all old stories to me. The <i>Princess Alice</i> -sighted the palm-skirted coast of Ceylon twenty-two days later. I -was desperately bored with the German boat. I was bound for Russia. -Everybody went by the Canal. I had been that way myself less than a -year before. I had a new idea.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I said, as we slipped behind the breakwater at Colombo one -glorious November afternoon, “I have a scheme. Pack up chop-chop. We -are going to abandon this boat to-day. From Colombo we will cross over -to India, take the train to Bombay, go up the Persian Gulf to Bunder -Abbas, or one of those places, get some horses, camels, or whatever -they use there, and cross Persia to Teheran. From there we can hit the -Caucasus from the Caspian Sea.”</p> - -<p>Morris was delighted and turned on the conversation and began packing -on the spot. He was filled with delight at the idea of an 800-mile ride -across the mountains of Persia.</p> - -<p>“It may be bad there,” I told him. “They say the mountains are filled -with bandits.” I paused to watch the effect, and then asked Morris, -“Are you a good shot?” He stopped packing, and his eyes snapped as he -drew himself up with pride and said:</p> - -<p>“You just give me a ‘Martini’ or a ‘Kraig,’ and I can wing a man at 200 -yards just as fast as they can get up,” and he grinned from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>An hour later we landed in Ceylon.</p> - -<p>There are many beautiful places in the world, and there are a great -many places that are strange and quaint to the foreigner who sees -them for the first time, but the beautiful island that has Colombo -for its capital has the rest of the spots in the position of feeble -competitors, at least, that was the way it looked to me. Apparently -Ceylon has long been ranked as A-1 on its personal charm, for even -the person who wrote that old familiar hymn, which treats briefly -of various places, “From Greenland’s Icy Mountains to India’s Coral -Strands,” gave the palm to Ceylon, where even he admitted “Every -prospect pleases and only man is vile.” That is Ceylon all right as -far as the pleasing prospect is concerned, but the citizens of the -place impressed me in a very hospitable and kindly light, despite -the disparaging comment of the hymn writer. It is true that they are -somewhat active in the pursuit of business, and are chronic beggars, -but otherwise it is hard to see how they are any worse than anybody -else. However, they may have changed since his day. The harbor of -Colombo isn’t a very good harbor, and were it not for the protection -of the breakwater, it would be absolutely untenable in the spring and -summer, when the hot monsoon blows up from the sun-scorched African -coast, and piles up the great breakers in clouds of foam and spray -against the stone masonry. This breakwater is thrown across the -harbor neck to guard the ships at anchor from the stormy seas that -lash without. The harbor itself is so small that the ships scarcely -have room to swing at anchor with the changing of the tide, so that -they are tied up by their noses and sterns, or, to be more nautical, -fore and aft, to great buoys, which keep them absolutely steady. The -moment one lands on the jetty, one is besieged by droves of extremely -black gentlemen, dressed in a white effect, which seems to be a cross -between a pair of pajamas and a nightgown. Everyone of these gentlemen -endeavors to get your ear, and to tell you in most deplorable English -that he recognizes in you a man of exceptionally genial qualities, -to whom he would like to attach himself during your stay. If left -unmolested, he will hustle you into a carriage and take you off to see -the town, irrespective of your baggage or other impending business. -If you evade him on the moment of landing, and fight your way through -the streets, you will meet dozens more of the same pattern. Your first -impression is one of pleasure to think that you have found so many new -friends, for everyone you meet has to be restrained from embracing -you on the spot, and wants to do something for you—remuneration to be -discussed later. Incidentally everybody expects something. It seems -that all the native inhabitants of this place have an idea that the -foreigner is perpetually in their debt for something or other. If you -look at a man hard on the street, he at once stops, steps forward with -a winning smile and outstretched hand, seemingly under the impression -that you owe him at least 50 annas for the privilege of seeing him. At -the hotels it is even worse. You get nothing free, not even a pleasant -look. In fact, one gets into the habit of distinctly discouraging -pleasant looks, for, though they are pretty to look at, they come high, -averaging about a rupee per look. The men are extremely black, with -wonderfully perfect features, and for the most part superbly handsome. -There seems to have been some mistake, however, in the women, for they -absolutely fail to make good when it comes to personal charms. Most of -them one sees are extremely depressing spectacles, and the few that are -at all presentable have been corralled by enterprising speculators, and -are on exhibition, but, like everything else in Ceylon, they are not -free—one has to pay to look at them.</p> - -<p>The natural beauties of Ceylon and Colombo are beyond description. It -is almost the only place in the world, save perhaps Japan and Venice, -that is just as good as advertised. The wonderful groves of cocoanut -palms, banana trees, and I know not what other tropical wonders in -every direction, are outlined against the soft blue of the eastern -sky. All along the sea-front of Colombo the palms stretch in great -avenues and groves from the Galle-Face Hotel to Mount Lavinia, a bluff -by the sea, some four or five miles down the coast. If it is beautiful -at the seashore, it is even more wonderful in the interior, where -luxuriant tropic hills rise sharply above jungle-clad valleys, and tea -plantations abound. In the interior one finds wild elephants in great -droves, and the catching and taming of these for domestic use is not -one of the least important occupations on the island. Other places -in the tropics are so fiercely hot that one fails to appreciate the -glories that are on every hand, but here the breezes from the sea, that -spring up at night, cool the air so that one can enjoy the advantages -of the tropics, and yet sleep as comfortably as in a more northern -climate. One might spend weeks in this glorious country, but as has -been the case on my previous visits, I was pressed for time. A little -wretched B. I. boat was just starting for the tip of India, and we -transferred to her.</p> - -<p>The reader in search of accuracy and facts may as well know at the -start that the writer passed but five days in the Indian Empire, and, -therefore, what follows is not to be regarded as an authoritative -discussion of conditions there. My impressions began on first boarding -the steamer at Colombo for the nearest Indian port, which rejoices in -the name of Teutocorin. Behind a table on the deck of the steamer sat -a large and forbidding party in a brilliant uniform, before whom I was -dragged by the first deck-hand who discovered me wandering about the -boat with the Black Prince at my heels, trying to find an unoccupied -cabin in which to deposit my impedimenta. The man in uniform, it -appeared, was an officer of the Indian customs, and he at once pointed -out his importance in the social scheme, and, standing me up before him -like a prisoner at the bar, started on an intimate investigation of my -personal history. Large pads of paper in forms of printed matter were -piled about, and while he was busy asking questions, you are equally -busy signing papers to the effect that you are not a pirate, and not -afflicted with the plague, and so forth and so on. At last the supreme -moment arrives. Backed by all the majesty of the law and the dignity -of his brilliant uniform, he asks you in an impressive whisper if you -have any fire-arms. Here was where he landed heavily on my expedition. -I did have fire-arms of all kinds and varieties. For a moment it -looked as though I was in for a life sentence. Even Morris turned pale -in the confusion which followed. The theory seems to be that every -foreigner who happens to have a revolver or shotgun in his baggage is -the fore-runner of a revolutionary junta, and is about to inaugurate -a second Indian Mutiny, or something of that sort. After the first -outburst of excitement, and things had calmed down a little, and the -gentleman in uniform talked slow enough, so that I could understand, I -discovered that all might yet be well, providing I paid the price. I -never understood exactly what it was for, but my impression was that it -was something in the nature of a customs duty. By tending strictly to -business and writing fast, the necessary forms were finally filled out, -and, weak and exhausted, I was allowed to withdraw to recuperate in my -cabin.</p> - -<p>The next disappointment occurred in the morning, when I found that the -boat which starts for Teutocorin does not really get there at all, but -anchors miles away on the horizon, while the despairing passengers are -taken into the alleged port on a small smelly tender, where they sit -in determined rows, trying to keep the spray off with their umbrellas. -At the pier which is finally reached, a swarm of piratical coolies and -customs officials rush down like an avalanche upon the baggage and -carry it off to the station a quarter of a mile away, where the train -for the north is waiting. The Indian trains really are not as bad as -one would expect, considering the condition of the country and the -people. There are no sleeping cars, as the term is used in America. -They have something, however, under that name, which is a compartment -on wheels, with two sofas, that remind one of slabs in a morgue -running lengthwise. At night another slab unexpectedly lets down from -the roof. This is technically known as the upper berth. The whole is -called a sleeping car because if one remains in it long enough, one -finally falls asleep from sheer exhaustion. The wise traveler brings -a pillow and some bedding. The unwise sleeps in his overcoat. The -railroad provides nothing whatever except jolts and some dismal looking -railroad men, who appear to be chronic recipients of bad news from home.</p> - -<p>The country from Teutocorin to Madras is not particularly noteworthy, -and looks like any other semi-tropic country, with much cactus growth -scattered about. New Mexico and Oklahoma are the nearest things in -America which resemble it. The only new thing that really impresses -the stranger is the native, and for a short time he is interesting to -look at. His dress is distinctly simple. As far as one can observe, -there is nothing more than a long strip of red cotton cloth, perhaps -four feet wide by twenty feet long. He begins his dressing process at -his head and winds himself up in this sheet effect, until when the job -is finished, he appears extremely well dressed and quite gracefully -draped. The women have a similar arrangement, only there is more of -it. The country in the south is fairly well cultivated, and here and -there in the fields one sees the natives stripped for action, patiently -following the bullock and a wooden plow through the field. The thing -that impresses one most of all is the limitless number of brown-faced -red clad men and women that swarm around the stations and villages with -apparently nothing on their minds or any business in hand. There are no -dining cars on the train that I traveled on, and one has to put up with -eating houses, one of which occurs every five hours. The fare is not -bad, and the time allowed is certainly adequate to eat all there is in -sight. The style of drink in this country is whiskey and soda with ice, -served in glasses eight inches deep. There must be something curious -about Indian conditions which enable the residents to soak up such -enormous quantities of alcohol. There are thousands of them in India -who can drink a quart of whiskey a day and get up and walk off with it -without turning a hair.</p> - -<p>Madras is the first truly large city on our line, and is called the -third largest in India. I have met people since I was there who assert -strongly that Madras has attractions. Personally I was unable to find -them in my sojourn of a single day. Nobody seems to know anything or -to be interested in anything, and it seems to offend a man frightfully -if you want to do business with him. Everybody I met was unutterably -bored. Statistics say that there is much business done in Madras, -and the figures seem to prove it, but when or how it is done is a -mystery to the writer, who was unable to detect a single individual -doing anything useful or interesting. The hotels apparently are run in -the interest of the servants. There are literally millions of them, -everyone doing something different. They are strong advocates of the -minute division of labor. The halls and corridors of the hotels swarm -with them, and the compound and dining rooms are crowded with them, -standing about, getting under foot, and annoying one. At every turn -there is a black man handing you something you don’t want, calling for -a carriage when you prefer walking, getting you coffee and cigars when -you told him distinctly three times that you don’t want anything. When -you come to go away, they appear en masse in front of your room. It is -a literal fact that just before my departure from one of these hotels -I went to my room to look for a book. The corridor in front of it was -crowded with men, so that I thought there must be either a fire or a -raid by the police. Not at all! It was only the local staff waiting for -tips. When you get in your carriage to go away there is a course of -wails,—</p> - -<p>“I am the man who blacked your boots!”</p> - -<p>“I passed the sahib his paper at breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“I carried water for his bath,” and so forth, until you are on the -verge of nervous prostration listening to the uproar. The old travelers -in India aren’t bothered so much, for they slap a few people, kick -the porters, and insult the proprietor of the hotel, and by so doing -prosper.</p> - -<p>From Madras to Bombay is something over a thousand miles, which an -express train makes in about thirty-six hours. The trains on this -line are more comfortable than in the south of India. The gauge is -wider, being five feet, six inches, which makes very smooth riding. -The railroad bed itself is admirable, being well ballasted and with -heavy steel, and the bridges throughout are the latest steel and -masonry construction. Bombay, which was our destination, is the second -largest city in India. Calcutta is the biggest and most filthy. Bombay -is really a beautiful place, but was hot and sticky, and when we were -there, steaming like a Turkish bath. The streets are broad and well -kept, the buildings many stories and modern, while the general plan of -the town affords many parks, squares and driveways. The people over -there seem to be doing more business than in Madras, but even in Bombay -it is very difficult to actually discover anyone in the act of doing -anything in particular. After he has once gotten used to it, they say -the foreigner gets to thinking there is no place like it, and though -he may make an occasional break for home, in nine cases out of ten he -comes back to the luxurious life and tropical heat of India.</p> - -<p>Owing to mis-information, which was pleasantly given me by one of -Cook’s officials, we missed the boat up the Persian Gulf by two -hours. My personal experience with Cook’s representatives in the -far east was that what they don’t know about the country in which -they are stationed would fill a series of large volumes. There was -not another boat for five days, so, cursing our luck and the genial -young man, who had so glibly misdirected us, we took our baggage up -to the Taji-Mahal Hotel, which is certainly one of the finest in the -world. The Bombay papers were filled with telegrams of the situation -in Russia. Inasmuch as I was stalled for a number of days, I sent my -office a brief wire to keep them posted of my address in case a change -of plan might seem advisable, and then settled down for my week’s wait. -I was aroused the next morning about 5 o’clock by a yellow envelope -shoved under the mosquito-bar of my bed by a docile Indian servant,—the -never-to-be-avoided cable again. “Situation urgent,” it read. “Proceed -quickest possible route Russia.” That settled it. I shouted for Morris, -and by noon was steaming out of Bombay Harbor on a P. & O. liner headed -not for the Persian Gulf, but for the Suez Canal. At Aden the Reuters -dispatches that the agent brought on board told of the confusion and -disaster in Russia. “Wires cut. Railroads in the hands of strikers -and mutiny of sailors at Sebastopol,” ran the headings. I gave the -steamship agent, who brought them on, a cable for my office in Chicago. -“Port Said in three days. Wire more funds.” I had a few thousand in my -money belt, but “Railroads and wires cut” suggested the need of money -and lots of it to keep the pot boiling.</p> - -<p>At Port Said the Imperial Ottoman Bank paid me a substantial remittance -one hour after I landed. In the meantime Morris had gotten into a fight -with one of those dirty heathen negroes who infest the Canal zone. -It was a detail, however, at least for Morris, and in two hours we -were on an express train speeding for Cairo. A night at Shepherd’s -and then an express train for Alexandria, where I caught by minutes a -dilapidated old barge called the <i>Ismalia</i> for Constantinople. My plan -was Constantinople and then by boat to Odessa, and thence where the -news was originating.</p> - -<p>The <i>Ismalia</i> was the limit. She called everywhere there was a landing -place. Her chow was vile, and the company worse, and every place we -stopped the cable dispatches told of renewed disorders in Russia and -the Balkans. Every hour that we lay killing time in the dirty ports at -which we called I begrudged most bitterly.</p> - -<p>The Piræus and Smyrna slipped past. At Mitylene the Powers were playing -a puerile game on the Sultan, or, as the papers said, “Conducting -naval demonstrations against the Porte.” The wily old monarch having -been there many times before, no doubt recognized in it one of those -oft repeated and inefficient bluffs which so delight the heart of the -European diplomats. Anyway, he stood pat, and after the Powers had had -their play and saw that there was nothing doing, they pulled up their -anchors and sailed away, while the Turks smiled broadly. At dawn of -the fifth day from Egypt we passed the Dardanelles, crossed the Sea -of Marmora, and at six in the evening dropped anchor a mile outside -the Golden Horn. Constantinople at last, and the threshold of our -situation!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_III">CHAPTER III</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>Constantinople at last!—The Threshold of the Russian -Assignment—A Nation in Convulsion</i></p> - -<p>I always supposed that the Japanese were the most suspicious people -in the world until I went to Russia, where I discovered a brand of -officials that was so much worse than the Japanese that there was no -comparison. In fact, for years I had them marked in my mind as the -criterion for entertaining doubts as to other people’s business, but -the Turks can give the Russians cards and spades when it comes to -having an evil mind for the intents of all strangers. As far as I -can make out, every officer in Turkey, from the general down to the -policemen, is firmly convinced that every foreigner who comes to their -dismal country does so with the intention of “stalking” the Sultan, -bombing the Premier, or starting a revolution. The unfortunate monarch -is no doubt the ring-leader in this quaint idea. Anyway, he sits inside -a fortified palace, surrounded by troops, and chatters his teeth from -sunrise to sunset. The days he comes out of his hole, the reserve is -called out and the foreigners have to have permits from the embassies -to stand on a hill and watch him through a telescope as he scuttles -from his palace to his carriage. Nobody can get into Turkey without a -pass-port, nor can he get out of it without having it elaborately viséd.</p> - -<p>The <i>Ismalia</i> anchored at sundown, but as it was two minutes after six, -there was nothing doing! Allow us to land that night! The police who -had boarded us to watch for a conspiracy before morning shivered at the -idea, and at once viewed us as dangerous and suspicious characters, -therefore it was nearly eight in the morning when, the sun being fairly -under way, we pulled up our anchor and started for the mouth of the -Bosphorus.</p> - -<p>Constantinople is really three cities in one, and is perhaps the only -town in the world that has the distinction of being in two continents. -The whole is situated at the junction of the Sea of Marmora and the -Bosphorus, that narrow defile which leads into the Black Sea. The -three cities are separated the one from the other by arms of the -sea. In Europe are Stamboul and Pera Galata, divided by the inlet of -the Golden Horn, a half mile wide, where it joins the Bosphorus and -gradually narrowing as it curves upward towards the Sweet Waters, some -six miles distant. On the eastern side of the Strait is the Asiatic -town, Scutari. One may travel well the regions of the world and find no -more picturesque scene than that which greets him as he approaches the -Turkish capital from the Sea of Marmora. The gorgeous architecture and -rich color make a picture unique throughout the globe. On the European -side are the historic battlements of the old Byzantine city which -Constantine made the capital of the Roman Empire in the fourth century, -and the picturesque confusion of domes, terraced roofs and minarets -of Stamboul, the cypress groves and white marble mansions of Scutari -skirt the Asiatic shore as far as one can see. In the center is the -mouth of the Bosphorus itself, bending toward the Euxine between rugged -hills not unlike a Norwegian Fjord. The inbound steamer passing around -Seraglio Point enters the Golden Horn which old Procopius described as -“always calm and never crested into waves, as though a barrier were -placed there to the billows, and all storms were shut out from thence -through reverence for the city.” Above the crowded building of old -Galata are the heights of Pera, on which the new and more modern part -of the town is located. Looking northward, one sees the winding course -of the Bosphorus, the shores lined with palaces, villas and terraced -gardens. No port in the world presents such a cosmopolitan aspect as -does the Golden Horn. Old pre-historic Turkish iron-clads lie at anchor -near the shore. Passenger and mail steamers from every large nation -in Europe and beyond Europe swing at their moorings or lie along the -quays. Wheat laden ships from Odessa and others deep with the golden -harvest of the Danube country lie side by side with the graceful Greek -and Turkish coasting vessels, while hundreds of tugs, launches and -ferry-boats pass to and fro in the harbor.</p> - -<p>There are nearly a million inhabitants in Constantinople, and a more -disreuptable and miscellaneous combination has never been herded -together in one spot since history began. At least, that is my opinion. -Moslems, Greeks, Armenians, Bulgars, and assorted Asiatics mingle -with a meager handful of foreigners. The great bulk are ignorant and -fanatical, easily aroused by their priests to any form of atrocity, and -are generally useless. Most of the population are poor, and all are -lazy. The official figures do not include the dogs, which are roughly -estimated at about a million. They are a sad lot, and the most dismal -creatures in the world. As far as I could make out, their diet consists -of a guttural abuse and ashes. The billy-goat of the comic weekly -fame, with his menu of tin cans and old rags, is an epicure compared -with the Constantinople dog. The home of this animal is everywhere, -and in the winter one sees fifteen and twenty sleeping, piled the one -on top of another in a heap three feet deep to keep warm. The day is -devoted to slumber, and the consumption of rubbish, while the night -is given over exclusively to vocal activities. As soon as night comes -and people are just going to sleep, the dogs wake up and in sad, -disconsolate tones, sitting on their haunches, with eyes closed and -noses pointed heavenwards, they proceed to unburden themselves of all -their troubles. The hours of performance are from 11 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> -until daylight. They all suffer from the mange and acute melancholia. -The guide book says that their numbers have materially diminished, -but I was unable to trace any symptom of race suicide during my brief -sojourn in town.</p> - -<p>The Turkish Christians, Greeks, Armenians, and Bulgarians have nothing -whatever in common. They hate one another as much as all loathe the -Turks, which, it may be added, is in the superlative degree. There -are a few cultivated and wealthy people of these races, but the bulk -of them are as poverty stricken and illiterate as are the Moslems -themselves. From eight to a dozen languages are spoken in the streets, -and five or six appear in the advertisements and on the shop fronts. -These races have nothing to bring them together, no relations except -trade with one another. Everybody lives in perpetual horror and -dread of all the other elements in the community; there is no common -patriotism or civic feeling. However, as I am not writing a guide to -ethnological conditions in Constantinople, I will return to my own -immediate troubles, and give over the discussion of those of the people -who compose the population, for my purpose is to write one book, and -not a dozen.</p> - -<p>Leaving the baggage in the hands of the faithful Morris, I hurried -ashore. Rows of cadaverous and dirty officials and understrappers -lined the pier. Between the wharf and the street were innumerable -badly soiled sentinels, clothed in what appeared to be second hand -ready made garments. Armed with my pass-port I slipped through this -phalanx, giving it out that Morris would attend to the customs and the -balance of my affairs. The Turk is slow, and if you talk fast, wave -your pass-port, crowd a bit and look fierce, you have him bluffed. -Incidentally, this is not a bad receipt in other quarters of the -globe. Anyway it worked here. Upon Morris fell the heat and burden of -the day, as I learned afterwards. It would seem that there is a law -against guns and big knives coming into the sacred precincts of the -Golden Horn. I had moved so fast, that if anyone had asked me if I -had anything, I didn’t hear him. I had, of course, a modest little 38 -caliber revolver stowed away unostentatiously. Morris had my big army -Colt in his hip pocket, where it bulged out like a mountain gun. A -dozen eagle eyes saw the bulge and a dozen voices asked if he had any -fire-arms. With injured dignity Morris drew himself up and proceeded to -defend himself. “Certainly not!” Why should he, a peaceful colored man, -traveling with an American gentleman, carry such things? He, Morris, -would have it known that he regarded such allegations as little better -than an insult, and no doubt his master would take the matter up with -the American Embassy. He could not tell exactly what would happen to -the perpetrators of this outrage, but from past experience he had no -doubt that everybody present would be dismissed and disgraced from -the Turkish service, etc., etc. Morris was never short of words, and -once started he launched out and was really working himself up into a -bona fide rage when one of the officers drew back his coat, exposing -the committal black butt of the revolver. Not even for a moment was -Morris non-plussed. “Yes! Certainly it is a revolver. Why not? No, -he had not understood. Was it fire-arms they had asked about? Oh! He -thought it was dynamite they were looking for, and he was sorry, but he -misunderstood—there were so many people talking at once, and, besides, -he was not entirely conversant with the Turkish language. He would like -to speak Turkish, and thought if he remained any time he would soon -pick it up. Yes, he spoke many languages already, but he knew of none -which was more euphonic than that of the Moslems. But to return to the -subject, why yes, certainly he had a revolver. As a matter of fact, -he usually carried two. Yes! Everybody did in America. No gentleman -would dress without one. Why, my friends,” he continued, “do you know -that in America,” and here he sat down on a trunk and started in on a -story about President Roosevelt. At this point a man from the hotel, -whom I had met outside, arrived to his aid, and by a judicious use -of piastres, Morris and the fourteen pieces of baggage got through, -though unfortunately the revolver stuck in the hands of the law and -remained there, too, until I paid $25.00 to some man who arranges -those delicate matters, and got it back. Everything, I find, can be -arranged in Turkey. The secret of it is to arrange first. After you -have been denied anything, or held up, it takes three times as much to -have things adjusted. In the first place, there is the diplomat, who -enters into negotiations for remuneration; then the injured dignity -involved for the change of the official heart is much more of an item -to be considered. The safe rule in Turkey, if you are in a hurry, is -to pass out a five piastre piece to any official who raises an outcry. -If he has much gold lace, make it ten. This is enough to soothe the -conscience up to Majors. No doubt Colonels and Generals get more, but -they are all really very reasonable, if one is only thoughtful of them. -I learned all these things later. After I had gotten rooms and had a -bath at the hotel, I went down to the office, where a superb creature -in gorgeous uniform, with a sword and two revolvers, was talking with -Morris. In the center of the hall were my fourteen much-labeled pieces -of baggage. As I came down Morris came to attention, saluted with great -respect, and then asked for a few words. When we were alone he grinned, -winked, and remarked:</p> - -<p>“No, he ain’t no general. His name is Leo, and he is the head guy here. -I got the tip from the runner who got our baggage through. He don’t -run the hotel, but he is the works all right! I was just giving him a -‘stall’ on the situation. He thinks we are ‘it.’ In another interview -the hotel will be ours,” and he rubbed his hands, grinned and clicked -his heels.</p> - -<p>Morris as a “staller” was certainly a daisy. By a “stall” he referred -to a knack he had of creating an impression within an hour that we -were entitled to everything within reach the moment we landed. He was -never ostentatious, usually truthful. If we entered a train where there -were no places left, Morris would be off to see the station master, -conductor, anyone, in fact, who was handy. In a moment he would have -the station aroused and come back with half a dozen officers at his -heels, saluting and bowing, and in a few minutes some unfortunate -would be turned out, and I would have the best place on the train. If -we boarded a steamer, Morris would be busy for an hour and everything -on the boat was at my disposal, while even the Captain would stop and -inquire, with the utmost solicitude, as to the state of my health. I -first observed this interesting course of procedure applied on the -P. & O. <i>Egypt</i> on the way from Bombay to the Suez Canal. The rates -from India to the Canal are something exorbitant. I found that to take -Morris second cabin would cost me the equivalent of a first cabin trip -on an Atlantic greyhound. The only accommodations below the second -were called “native passage” and was intended for East Indians, who -are quite contented to sleep on the deck and eat slops and rice. I -regretted the extortionate sum demanded for the second cabin, but -did not want to see my chief of staff in such a wretched plight, so -told him I would stand for the second cabin ticket. He had heard my -negotiations with the agent, and insisted on the deck passage.</p> - -<p>“Just you watch me, sir,” he confided, when I closed the deal. “Give -me a few pounds and watch Monroe D. Morris make a great ‘stall.’” -So I gave him two pounds and I went aboard. He objected a little at -being fumigated by the health authorities, but it lasted only a few -minutes, and he swallowed his pride. No sooner were we under way than -he directed his attention to the second steward, who had charge of -the second class passengers. In great confidence he unfolded to this -haughty dignitary, from whom I had been unable to get a pleasant -look, that he, Morris, wasn’t really a valet or servant at all, but -my private secretary. That he was making a secret and most exhaustive -study of the native races of the east, and that he, Morris, had taken a -third class ticket that he might mingle with the lowly steerage, gain -their confidence and draw them out on the ideas current in the lower -walks of Indian life. Yes, he had done this all over the world, and had -had great success in passing himself off as a lowly fellow. The first -steward might not believe it, but it was true. Of course, if he had a -second cabin passage, his fellow deck passengers would view him as an -intruder.</p> - -<p>Then followed a brief sketch of his career, altered and amended to -suit the case in hand. Little by little the stony steward thawed, and -at just the psychological moment, Morris slipped two golden sovereigns -into his lordship’s hands and begged that his true character might be -concealed, and that the steward would see to it that while openly he -was allotted to the deck passage, that privately he should receive -accommodations suited to his true position in life. He further -intimated that such a co-operation on the steward’s part would not pass -unnoticed, and even hinted that perhaps his chief (meaning me) might be -as much impressed with the character and intelligence of the steward -as was Morris himself, in which case it was more than probable that -the steward might be appointed to the staff of his master’s new yacht, -which was now building in America. Yes, this would be an exceptionally -fine position, and he, Morris, felt that of all the candidates who were -eager for this position, that there was none so suitable as the steward -himself. To make a long story short, by night he had the best cabin in -the second class, while his friend, the steward, detailed a special -man to attend to his wants at a private table. By the time we reached -Aden the entire staff of the boat were greeting him deferentially as -“Mr. Morris” and urging his intercession on their behalf for positions -of all sorts on the new yacht. When we finally embarked at the Canal, -half the crew were at the gangway to shake hands and give a cheer for -my “Black Prince.” As an accessory to one’s credit Morris was certainly -worth his weight in gold bullion.</p> - -<p>After I had listened to his account of Leo I told him to get the -interpreter of the hotel and go out and find the first boat sailing -for Odessa. Also to look up the latest arrivals from there, and see -what the captain and crew had to relate on the situation in Russia. -In the meantime I made the usual rounds where one is apt to pick up -information,—the American and other legations and consulates. I did not -get beyond the first, however. Mr. Leishman, to whom I presented my -letters of introduction from the state department, shook his head.</p> - -<p>“My boy,” he said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I really can’t -advise your going to Russia just now. Honestly, I don’t think it is safe.”</p> - -<p>This was rather amusing, and I told him I was obliged to go, whatever -the situation might be. He smiled and said that he “guessed not. The -boats had stopped, the trains weren’t operating and the cables were -cut.” For half an hour we chatted, and he told me all that he knew -about affairs Russian, and then very kindly gave me letters to the -various members of the diplomatic and consular service whom he thought -could help me.</p> - -<p>In a few hours I found that nobody in Constantinople knew anything -definitely. This, however, as I soon learned, was the chronic state of -affairs in the Turkish capital. The papers are so vigorously censored -that nothing of local importance ever by any chance filters through. -The natives themselves know nothing about outside politics, and care -less, while the foreign residents must rely for all their news on -the papers that come from the outside. Books pertaining to Levantine -politics or history are almost as hard to get over the frontier as are -fire-arms, but even here in suppressed Turkey rumors of everything were -rife. From the talk, I was more than ever convinced that Russia was -the place for me, and at once. For two weeks refugees had been pouring -in from Odessa and Crimea and the Caucasus. The Russian consul-general -thought at least 50,000 people had left Odessa. Conditions in the -agrarian districts, it was reported, were at a crisis. There had been -a fearful spasm at Moscow, a free-for-all fight in the streets, and -anywhere from five to twenty-five thousand people were said to be -killed, the reports differing according to the ideas of the narrator -as to the number of dead required to make a good story. The fleet in -Sebastopol had mutinied and there had been a fight, and the town, so -it was said, had been bombarded and destroyed, and heaven only knew -how many people were killed. As to the Caucasus, well, no one could -ever guess at the dreadful state of affairs there. As a matter of fact, -no one knew anything. Everyone suspected everything. The last steamer -from Odessa had come in ten days before, and the captain painted a -lurid picture of what he expected to happen. No, he was jolly well -sure he wasn’t going back to Odessa. Any man who went there was an -ass. He thought that by this time the place was in ashes and every -ship in the harbor burned, and those of the foreigners who were still -alive weren’t worth reckoning. Being the last one in, he had the field -all to himself, and his story had grown more lurid day by day, so I -took little stock in his report. In a word, Constantinople was stiff -with the most promising rumors that ever gladdened the ear of a war -correspondent.</p> - -<p>At two o’clock that afternoon I returned to the Pera-Palace Hotel and -went to my room, where I found Morris disconsolately gazing out over -the terraced expanse of the Bosphorus.</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “what do you know?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing doing,” he replied, and then told of his trip up and down the -water front and his talk with various captains. He was heart-broken at -the discovery that steamers were no longer running to Odessa, or any -other point of interest.</p> - -<p>“Why, sir,” he said, “I regard this, sir, as one of the most promising -situations in the world, sir, for people in our line of business, sir. -Here is Russia all going to the devil, sir. Odessa, sir, is, no doubt, -razed to the ground. Yes, sir, I believe it, reduced to ashes. Why, -a day in Odessa, and what a story. I repeat, sir, what a story! And -what is our position? Not a boat going there, not a train to Russia, -not a cable available. I am discouraged, sir; yes, sir, I admit it, -discouraged!” And he turned back to gaze again over the strip of water -that lay below. Morris regarded my business as his always. It was never -what I was going to do, but always what “we” were doing.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="PAGE_48A" id="PAGE_48A"> </a> - <img src="images/i_048_a.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="436" /> - <p class="center space-below1">WITH CLANKING CHAINS AND CREAKING LIMBERS<br /> - BATTERIES ARE GOING TO THE FRONT</p> - - <a name="PAGE_48B" id="PAGE_48B"> </a> - <img src="images/i_048_b.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="430" /> - <p class="center space-below1">IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS’ ASSOCIATION WITH THE<br /> - ARMY WE HAVE NOT SEEN SUCH ACTIVITY</p> -</div> - -<p>“It does look bad,” I admitted. On the table stood my typewriter and -beside it, two piles of stationery, the one of cable blanks and the -other for letter use. The moment we landed these were the first things -Morris unpacked. As soon as we entered a room in a new hotel, he would -ring for the bell boy and freeze him with a look, as he called for -cable blanks. I considered the situation for a moment. Obviously there -was nothing definite to be learned here. The rail to Russia was no -longer to be figured on. The wires were not working. No news was coming -out. The first thing to do was to get on the spot, and the second to -provide myself with the means of getting my stories out. The boats had -stopped running. Clearly enough there was but one thing to do. These -thoughts ran through my mind, and I sat down and wrote a cable to -Chicago—“Nothing definite obtainable here. Rumors indicate excellently. -If you consider situation warrants, propose charter steamer and cover -all points interest Black Sea, answer.” I handed it to Morris. From -the depths of gloom to the radiancy of bliss his spirits leaped in an -instant. He grinned from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>“Fine business! Yes, sir, I call that fine business,” and he was off -down the hall like a shot out of a gun. I looked out the window, and -a moment later saw him dash off in a two-horse carriage for the cable -office. Heaven only knows what he told Leo, the performer of everything -in that hotel. Anyway Leo had mounted on the box with the driver, some -A D C to his own august person, and with a gallop the horses plunged -through the narrow streets, while the assistant on the box called out -to clear the way.</p> - -<p>While Morris was sending my first dispatch, I was embodying in a -three-hundred-word news cable the estimate of the general situation in -the Black Sea, as seen from the haze of Constantinople ignorance and -aloofness from the outer world. This message was the boiling down of my -interviews with the various consuls and ambassadors and the information -which Morris had gotten from his tours along the water front among the -captains and officers of incoming steamers.</p> - -<p>As soon as the first message was out of the way I sent my Ethiopian -Mercury with No. 2, and he paid down 243 francs for charges to London, -where my paper maintained an office, as a sort of clearing house for -European news. As there were some seventy-five men in the various -European cities corresponding for the paper, all messages were sent -through the English office where news that had already been printed -and duplications were “killed,” and the valuable stuff “relayed” to -America, thus saving cable tolls on unusable copy.</p> - -<p>If the Turkish customs officials were annoying the cable authorities -were beyond the pale. Their theory was that every sender of a cable -was a suspicious character and must be watched until he has proven his -innocence of evil intents towards the Sultan. The very act of sending a -dispatch was ground for grave doubt as to his true business in Turkey.</p> - -<p>For two days I supposed that my “situation” cable had gone. On -the third, in reply to a personal cable, I sent a code message to -Minnesota. An hour later it was returned, and with it, to my disgust, -my first newspaper story, unsent. The cable office had been unable to -read English in the first instance, and thought it best to be on the -safe side, and had calmly held the message until it should develop -whether or not I really was a safe person to be trusted with such an -important privilege as sending a dispatch. My code message of two -words had convinced them that something was wrong, with the result -that neither story went, and my 243 francs were refunded. I afterwards -learned that the operators were not required to know much English, -but were carefully drilled in a few important words, such as “riot,” -“revolution,” “disorders,” “bomb,” “anarchist,” etc. The instructions -were that any message containing any such dreadful words should be -held pending an investigation. The fact that the allusions in my cable -were to Russia, and not Turkey, had no bearing on the case whatever. -The operator did not know anything about that, but did know that no -peaceable man should be sending any such inflammable words. Anyway it -was against the rules, so for the moment I was blocked on my cables, -but it was only for the hour which it took me to arrange by wire for -an agent in Sansum (which is just across the frontier in Bulgaria) to -whom I might mail my cables, thus creating a delay of but a few hours. -I reinforced this arrangement by closing a deal with a sad-looking -German, whose first name was Lewis, and whose last name I never knew, -who stood ready to start at a moment’s notice for the frontier, to -carry my dispatches in case the mailing system failed. A wire from -London the next day told me that my mail wire had been telegraphed from -the frontier and had come through safely, with only a few hours’ delay, -so I held Lewis as a reserve, but as a matter of fact, I only used -him once during activities in Turkey. On that occasion I did not dare -trust a world beat of 2000 words to the mail, and so it was that the -melancholy Lewis went for a trip over the frontier.</p> - -<p>But to return to my first morning in Turkey, it was obvious that at -least a day must elapse before I could receive the necessary authority -to charter a boat (for even the Turks had passed that telegram) could -be expected, so that afternoon I spent in a pouring rainstorm on a tiny -launch among the shipping interests of the Bosphorus, looking for a -boat that might answer my purposes.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Charter a Tug and Become Dispatch Bearer of His -Britannic Majesty and Learn of Winter Risks in the Black Sea Too Late to Retreat</i></p> - -<p>Chartering a dispatch boat is more bother, and offers as much chance of -being fleeced as the purchase of a horse. However, four months in the -graft-infested waters of the China coast, with a tug during the war, -and another month later spread out from Hong-Kong to the Suez Canal -in a vain search for a boat with which to cover the movements of the -Baltic fleet en route to its destination in the Straits of Tschurma, -had taught me at least one thing, namely, I knew what I wanted. So -I spent the afternoon in a launch in the pouring sleet and rain of -that bleak winter day on the Bosphorus in looking over the available -shipping. Nobody wanted to charter a boat for such a short time as I -contemplated needing one. Although there were dozens to choose from on -long contracts, when I talked charter by the week, the owners either -withdrew entirely, or put up the price so high that my hair stood on -end. There was the <i>Warren Hastings</i>, the finest salvage boat in the -world, to be had at the Dardanelles. She was 260 feet long with two -funnels, twin screws, that would drive her nineteen knots, and fitted -throughout like a yacht. I was sick to get her, but her owners were in -England. A small fortune in “rush” cables disclosed that nothing could -be done under a month’s charter. Next I learned of a British gunboat -whose name I forget, that had been sold to a salvage company in the Sea -of Marmora. She had left England for delivery to her new owners, and -was expected daily. She, too, was speedy, and had accommodations that -would delight the heart of an admiral. But again my hopes were blasted. -A cable stated that heavy weather in the Bay of Biscay had rendered -imperative a week’s delay at “Gib” for the overhauling of her engines, -and I saw my man-of-war dream fade away. A Russian coasting vessel next -appeared on the horizon. I could get her cheap for any length of time, -from a week up. She was a sweet little boat with clipper bows and the -grace of a fairy, but an investigation showed old compound engines that -could only do seven and a half knots in fine weather, and she passed -out of the reckoning. A German salvage boat met my requirements, but -her owners vetoed the deal at the eleventh hour. Next in line came a -twin-screw tugboat called the <i>Rhone</i>. I all but seized on her, but -her engines did not show Black Sea qualifications, and I stood off her -owners, pending further investigation. Frantic wires failed to locate -a yacht within reach which could be had for quick delivery. There was -a neat little craft reported obtainable at the Piræus, but the owners -could not be reached quickly enough, and she, too, passed into the -list of rejected possibilities. Perhaps a dozen others, whose merits -failed even to enlist consideration, were presented to my notice by -the various shipping men in town. As soon as it became known that I -was in the market for a boat and had the “spot” with which to close -the deal, I had all the steamship brokers of the Levant at my heels to -unload their old tubs on my innocence. When I went out they would get -into the carriage and go, too. At lunch, two or three would be waiting, -and when I came home to dinner an eager row would be sitting outside -my room. It looked as though I should have to take the little <i>Rhone</i> -in spite of her sewing-machine engines, but finally I ran across a -Greek, who rejoiced in the name of M. Pandermaly. He was the head of -a fleet of salvage tugs and tow boats that lived in the waters of the -Bosphorus and the Black Sea. We spent an hour together, weighing the -respective units of his fleet. He showed me the picture of a boat then -out of port. She had two funnels and lines that indicated both speed -and sea-going qualities.</p> - -<p>“Where is she?” I asked, delighted with her appearance. He referred to -five telegrams. At last he found the latest record.</p> - -<p>“Zungeldak, coaling,” he replied.</p> - -<p>I told him I knew as much about Zungeldak as I did about the contour -of the North Pole, whereat he unearthed a great map of the Black Sea -and showed a spot some hundred miles from Constantinople, on the -coast of Asia Minor. A pier, a breakwater and about a score of houses -constituted the town of really important coal deposits a few miles inland.</p> - -<p>“When can she be here?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Two days if I wire,” and forthwith he sent the message.</p> - -<p>I figured that at least two days must elapse before I could get started -anyway, even if the paper sanctioned my scheme, and I felt sure enough -it would, to justify myself in taking the first steps.</p> - -<p>The next day, as I had anticipated, the reply came from Chicago giving -me free hand. The die was cast. I called Morris and turned him loose to -get a cook and provision the boat the moment she arrived in port, if on -examination she proved fit. Beaming from ear to ear, he disappeared. -Ten minutes later there was a tap at my door, and the magnificent Leo -entered with the greatest deference and humility.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “for my intrusion, but your -secretary, Mr. Morris, tells me that you expect your private yacht to -arrive in the course of a few days. I beg of you, sir, command me if I -can be of service in facilitating your plans.” And saluting with great -respect, he withdrew. I called Morris off on the yacht story as soon as -he came in, but it was too late. My credit in Constantinople was fixed, -and as affairs transpired, it was well for me that it was so.</p> - -<p>While I waited for my tug to arrive there were other things to do, and -as time was the essence of my business, I had not a moment to waste. -In the first place, there was the matter of funds to be arranged, -and funds, needless to say, are the bone and sinew of any enterprise -requiring quick action in Turkey. In China it had been much simpler, -for there I had a boat under four months’ contract, and my paper -arranged a long credit in the Hong-Kong Shanghai bank, on which I drew -checks when needed. A dispatch boat (even a small one) costs five or -six thousand a month to operate. First there is the charter, and then -the fuel bill to meet, and when one is burning from fifteen to twenty -tons in the twenty-four hours, at anywhere from $5.00 to $15.00 gold a -ton, the cash goes fast. My friend, Pandermaly, insisted on two weeks’ -cash in advance for charter money, and the balance of the operating -expenses to be met by me. Besides this, I needed cable money, for down -in this suspicious zone it was all cash in advance at the telegraph -offices. I was only paying as far as London, to be sure, but even that -was fifteen cents a word. One has to figure on the possibility of at -least 5000 words a week, which counts up into big money. The worst -of it all was that what I needed was currency, for conditions were -so unsettled where I was going, that I figured I would be laughed -at if I asked for sight-drafts or checks to be honored, much less -such an impossible thing as credit. Cash here means gold coin of some -sort, for the notes that float about in Levantine banking circles are -subject to big discounts outside the vicinity of their origin. One -cannot conveniently carry more than a thousand dollars in gold, but -on this occasion I proposed to stow all I could get in my money belt -and pockets, and trust to my revolver and Morris to keep anyone from -separating me from it. So I figured on the maximum amount needed and -cabled my office to arrange so that I could get it quickly.</p> - -<p>Next came the question of how I was to gain access to the ports of -interest in Russia, and when in, how I was to get out. I had operated -a boat outside of Port Arthur for four months under somewhat delicate -circumstances. The Russian admirals were anxious to sink us, and the -Japs were equally anxious to be rid of us, although they did not -admit it. I learned at that time the somewhat crude way that wars are -conducted. The spectacle of a British merchant steamer sunk by the -Russians, off the Liotung peninsula one dark night, with the idea that -they were destroying my boat, had given me a graphic idea of what press -boats must expect when operating in belligerent waters. Since then it -has been my policy to avoid getting into trouble without preparing -myself in advance for the means of getting out. Down here in the Black -Sea, as I sized it up, there would be no one backing us, and as far -as I could see, any irresponsible Russian warship on a strike might -sink us with never a murmur or protest from any quarter. But I turned -up what I hoped would be a solution to this difficulty. My paper -maintained in Europe, besides some sixty local correspondents, four -staff representatives, sent out from Chicago, and occupying palatial -offices in the four most important capitals of Europe,—one in Trafalgar -Square, London; one on the Place de l’Opera, in Paris; one in Friedrich -Strasse in Berlin; and one on the famous Nevsky Prospekt in Petersburg. -All these men were picked for their tact and social qualifications, -and each was supposed to know, and be known, to all the prominent -diplomats and statesmen within his territory. At the moment, as I -well knew, there was not a foreign office in Europe that had not been -frantically trying for two weeks to get word both to and from their -consular representatives in South Russia—for all the news that came out -of Odessa, Sebastopol, and the Caucasus, these diplomatic gentlemen -residing in these places might as well have been at the bottom of -the sea. So I sent to our news bureaus in the capitals, the message -that the <i>News</i> had chartered a dispatch boat to cover all points of -interest in the Black Sea, and that I would be glad to carry dispatches -from the respective foreign offices to their isolated consuls in the -zone of silence, and furthermore, requested an immediate reply. In -addition, I cabled Chicago a similar message, asking them to offer our -services to the State Department in Washington for a like purpose. A -package of dispatches had gotten me out of the clutches of a Japanese -fleet in Korean waters the previous year, and I had great faith in the -persuasive power of anything with an official seal in getting one out -of a tight fix. The next day our London man wired that he had seen -the foreign office and that my offer was accepted with thanks, and -that the British Ambassador at Constantinople had been instructed to -communicate with me. Berlin and Paris declined, but I did not care. -I had all that was necessary, for one bunch of official dispatches -would answer my purpose as well as a dozen. Besides, I had a wire from -Chicago that the State Department was also going to send me cables for -delivery in the Black Sea. So far so good. I had a strong card, and I -thought I knew how to play it so as to keep myself out of the hands of -any irresponsible meddlers. The next day Sir Nicolas O’Conor presented -me with two bottles of old Irish whiskey, and asked if I would carry -dispatches and official documents to the British consul in Odessa. -Without undue enthusiasm, I replied that I would be pleased to be of -service to him, and he promised to send them around that night.</p> - -<p>At three in the afternoon, the <i>France</i> slipped into the Golden Horn, -after a terrible trip from Zungeldak. I went aboard with Pandermaly, -and an hour’s investigation settled my mind. She was the boat for me. -I knew enough about ships to know that if any steamer her size could -do my business, it was she. Built in Falmouth, England, five years -before, she was 125 feet long and 22 feet in the beam, with nice -lines and a maximum draft, bunkers full, of 12 feet. Seven bulkheads -and steel-plated construction steadied my mind on her toughness. The -engines interested me next, for a tug in any angry sea is like a child -in the lap of Niagara, but when I stepped down in the engine room my -mind was made up. Triple expansion engines good for 1000 H.P., with -two big Bellville boilers and a bunker capacity of 140 tons, enough -to keep her at sea for ten days at a fair speed, looked good to me. I -didn’t care much what the accommodations were, after I had seen the -vitals of her, and was pleased when I found them fairly comfortable. -Some cabin space forward had been converted into a hold for salvage -pumps and wrecking apparatus and bunks for the crew. The rest of the -accommodations was directly aft the engines. One entered a small saloon -by a ladder through a hatch. Two tiny staterooms flanked a dining-room -table, while a nice open fireplace opposite the stairs gave a homelike -look that was most acceptable. An oil lamp hung above the table, while -two others swung on pivots over the fireplace. Superficially, then, she -would do.</p> - -<p>“How about her boilers?” I asked. After a little debate the engineer -admitted two months without cleaning. Pandermaly agreed to draw the -fires and open up the boilers as soon as they cooled, and to turn in -with chisels all his available staff, to chip the salt out of the -tubes. We closed on the spot, and I went to get a charter drawn. -Pandermaly seemed all right, but after all, a Greek is a Greek, and -I was playing the safe game, so I got an English attorney to draw -my papers. He said he would call in some shipping friends and talk -matters over, and would have the charter ready the next morning. What -I feared most was my inability to control the crew, for I had agreed -to take those on the boat as it stood. They were all Greeks but the -stokers, who were Turks. What would I do if they refused to go on at -some critical moment? A friend of mine told me that the Greeks had no -sporting blood anyway, and would insist on flying to the nearest port -at the first cloud that appeared on the horizon. However, there is an -element in the Greek character stronger than fear. It is cupidity. At -least, that is what my friend told me, and he had lived in Greece and -Turkey, so I finally decided to enter a clause in the charter, which, -after many wailings, I persuaded Pandermaly to accept, that I thought -would cover the situation. It was mutually agreed that if the Captain, -with his superior and nautical experience, thought the sea risks too -great to venture forth, I should abide by his decision, but that every -time he insisted on going to port against my wishes, he should pay a -fine of twice his salary. Every day he remained at sea he got a bonus.</p> - -<p>That night a messenger from the British Embassy delivered the -dispatches into my hands. I signed the receipt for them and took them -to my room. On the top of the envelope in large letters was printed, -“On his Britannic Majesty’s Service,” and on the back in red sealing -wax as big as a dollar were the arms of Great Britain. The package was -worth its weight in gold to me!</p> - -<p>In the meantime my money did not arrive, and I wanted to sail at once. -Any inquiry at the cable office brought back the dismal news that there -was a blizzard of fearful proportions in western New York, and that the -telegraph wires were down. When I had laid in provisions, filled my -bunkers with 120 tons of coal and paid two weeks down on the charter in -advance and settled my hotel bill, I had only $25 to operate on, and I -must say this looked pretty small. I was to sign the charter the next -morning, and planned to sail as soon as I could get up enough steam to -start the engines. My plans were to go first to Odessa, then to run to -<a href="#PAGE_92B">Sulina at the mouth of the Danube</a> in Roumania, -which, I learned, was the nearest uncensored cable. I hoped that my 25 -would get me that far, and I could not wait longer in Constantinople -for the remittance, and decided to chance it on getting financial -reinforcement when I sent my first cable.</p> - -<p>The next day at ten o’clock in the morning I went to my lawyer’s -office. He had the charter drawn in due form and had brought in three -of his shipping friends to talk matters over with me. They were a sad -lot. Stiffly they sat against the wall, hands on knees, and regarded me -much as an undertaker does a prospective customer.</p> - -<p>“Here is your charter,” my friend said, “but before you sign it, -I would like to have you talk the situation over with my friends. -They are shipping men of a great deal of experience in this part of -the world, and what they will say ought to carry a great deal of -weight with you. As a matter of fact, they think it unwise and very -hazardous for you to attempt to get to Odessa in the month of December, -especially in that small boat.”</p> - -<p>One of them came forward and delivered a most violent harangue in -French with many gestures and grimaces, the sum total of which, roughly -translated was, that the Black Sea in winter was Hell. This annoyed me -a little and depressed me also.</p> - -<p>“No doubt it is disagreeable,” I said. “Probably I shall be as sick as -a dog, but still, people don’t die of seasickness.”</p> - -<p>Another long discussion from the second gentleman. He had a cheerful -tale of two steel steamers, one of 1500 tons, the other of 2500 tons, -wrecked while trying to make the entrance to the Bosphorus within the -past ten days. Seven men had escaped from one boat, while everybody -had been drowned on the other. This account was not particularly -encouraging, but I replied that I had no idea the Black Sea was so bad; -however, as I had taken dispatches from the British government and had -wired my office that I was sailing that day, I couldn’t see my way -clear to back down. The fact of the case was, my keenness was a bit -chilled. If a 2500-ton steamer had been swamped by the seas, I couldn’t -see just where my little 250-ton tug boat was going to end up. The last -man said little, but what he said was more depressing than the combined -testimony of all the rest. He looked at me for a full minute with a -pitying and incredulous expression on his face. He did not address me -at all, but turned to my attorney and said in broken French:</p> - -<p>“Is it possible that this young gentleman will take this small -boat—what you call the <i>France</i>, and essay to go to Odessa? He will do -this in December? He will do this on the Black Sea?” My friend said:</p> - -<p>“Yes, he says he can’t back out now.” (Only he said it in French.)</p> - -<p>The man looked at me, smiled faintly, turned up the palms of his hands, -shrugged his shoulders and said:</p> - -<p>“C’est impossible. Ze unfortunate young man. He will never come back.” -He took his hat and went out.</p> - -<p>One comes to figure risks pretty carefully in the newspaper business. -The idea of the editor at home is that he wants the maximum amount of -news, with the minimum amount of risk. When a man is taking chances -week in and week out, he must have some basis on which to act, for it -is an axiom that a live correspondent, with a small story, is better -than a dead one, with a world beat in his pocket. There is no use in -a man trying for the best story in the world, if the chances are that -he is going to be killed in getting it out. A man is, therefore, not -expected to go after a story which he has not a fighting chance of -getting away with. Once he has it, however, he is supposed to take any -chances in getting it on the cable.</p> - -<p>The editors like the men who figure these things closely, and don’t -get killed or shot up. Nothing is more annoying to the publisher than -to send a man to the ends of the earth and fit him out for a campaign -at an enormous expense, only to have him killed in the first action -through excess of zeal. When this happens, the editor must write -off the money spent on the man as a total loss. What is even worse, -from his standpoint, is that he has probably lost his chances for -covering the situation, unless indeed, he is fortunate enough to have -a substitute on the field of action. It is obviously impossible to -figure accurately what risks lie ahead, but it is possible to make -much closer estimates than one would imagine. As a matter of fact, -war risks, even for soldiers, are far less than one might imagine. -But a correspondent, if he be careful, need never face a more than 4% -risk, or say one chance in twenty-five. In the Russo-Japanese war, for -instance, it was shown that the great bulk of killing of soldiers was -from rifle and machine gun-fire, at a range of 200 yards and under. At -800 yards, which is near enough for the most enthusiastic journalist, -the risk is much smaller, say one in ten or fifteen. At a mile there is -not one chance in a hundred of his being killed by a rifle ball, and -the shells are the only thing that need bother him. Now, in the Far -Eastern war, only 6% of the entire casualties were from shell-fire, and -of that 6% about nine-tenths were from shells bursting where men were -bunched together or advancing to the attack in close formation. A man -who joins large masses of troops runs a 6% risk, but if he keeps to -himself and does not get near batteries in action, his chance of injury -at a mile fades to only one in perhaps a hundred and fifty. A man often -thinks he has narrowly escaped, but if he comes to estimate the matter -carefully, he will find that what he thought was a close call was in -matter of fact not one chance in ten. A bullet may pass within a foot -of a man’s head with a most insidious hum and he assumes that he has -had a close call, but if he comes to calculate that there was room -between the course of this bullet and his head for forty similar ones -to be placed side by side, and then the forty-first would make only a -scalp wound, he must realize that he has not had such a narrow escape -after all. The standard which has always seemed justifiable to me is -one in five, or a 20% risk, and that only under stress, when there is a -prize of a world story in sight. This has seemed to me as the maximum -risk a man should knowingly accept. Often he faces greater, but it -should not be of his own seeking, for the pitcher that goes to the well -too often gets broken at last, and the thoughtful journalist should -keep this then in his mind.</p> - -<p>When the men had gone, I asked my lawyer what in his judgment the risks -really were. Was I exceeding my 20% limit?</p> - -<p>“My boy,” he said, “I have been on the Pacific and on the Atlantic, -on Baffins Bay and in the Behring Sea, in the Gulf of Korea and the -Bay of Biscay, but I must say that all these at their worst are not a -circumstance to the Black Sea. I can’t estimate the percentage of risk, -but will say I shall consider you playing in great luck if you get back.”</p> - -<p>What could I do? My hand was forced, and I had told my paper that I -was going, and I had the British dispatches, so I signed the charter. -When I returned to the hotel I found Morris with a Greek he had hired -to cook for us. The Greek’s name was Stomati; but more of him anon. I -sent him down to the <i>France</i> with the provisions that he and Morris -had been gleefully buying all the morning. When he had gone I sat down -and looked at my faithful chief of staff. From my Secretary, he was -now the Chief Steward of my private yacht. In the servant’s dining -room he had risen to be the leading social light. Even the chattering -French maids held their tongues while Morris, with great dignity, held -forth on European and Far Eastern politics. Now it happened that at -this time there was in Constantinople a delegation of negroes from -Abyssinia that had come up from their torrid country to get some loan -out of the sultan. The valet of the head of this delegation heard -Morris discourse and was amazed at his glib utterances, and reported -the same to his master, with the result that Morris was soon hobnobbing -with the Abyssinian princelings, who finally invited him to come down -to their country and engage in building, railroads and other minor -enterprises. Morris, never abashed, said he thought he could raise -$2,000,000 from the colored people of America, who wished to carry out -these little enterprises, but stated that for the moment he was pressed -for time, but as soon as he had a little more leisure would give the -matter his attention. The servants were greatly impressed by all this, -and whenever he passed they would stand reverently aside, salute, -and speak in awed whispers of this Ethiopian capitalist, who shed -the radiance of his presence upon them. Morris certainly worked his -position for all there was in it.</p> - -<p>After I had listened to all the evidence of the shipping men that -morning, I really felt very apprehensive about our chances on the Black -Sea trip, and it seemed to me that the least I could do was to tell -Morris what I had been told, and give him the option of avoiding the -risk if the adventure was not to his liking. So I told him that I had -been talking over the Black Sea proposition with some shipping people.</p> - -<p>“It seems it is a pretty bad place,” I said, “and these fellows here -are willing to lay bets that we won’t get back to Constantinople. What -do you think about it?”</p> - -<p>“All right! Fine business,” he replied with a grin, not in the least -perturbed. I thought I would put it in plain words, so I said:</p> - -<p>“The fact is, Morris, two large steamers have been sunk within ten -days, trying to get into the Bosphorus, and they do say here that -the <i>France</i> is too small for December seas, and in a word, that -we will never get to Odessa anyway, much less ever come back to -Constantinople.” This sobered Morris a little, and he stopped grinning. -“I don’t want to urge you to go,” I continued. “I have told you all I -know about the situation. Personally, I don’t think it is as bad as -they say, but, as a matter of fact, I do think we take a pretty big -risk, and if you have any particular reasons for wanting to get home, -you want to think about it now. I can give you your wages to date and -your fare to Kansas City. Now it’s up to you. What do you want to do?” -He walked to the window and looked out for perhaps a minute. Then he -came back.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” he said.</p> - -<p>“My hand is forced,” I replied. “I have wired my paper that I leave -to-night. I am going anyway.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Morris. “If you go, I go.”</p> - -<p>“That settles it,” I replied. “Pack up and have everything aboard by -six o’clock to-night.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon I paid Pandermaly his due and went aboard the <i>France</i> -for what was to prove the most strenuous two weeks in my experience.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_V">CHAPTER V</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Sail Out into the Black Sea in the Salvage Steamer -France and for Sixty-five Hours Shake Dice with Death</i></p> - -<p>My ideas of the Black Sea prior to my arrival in Constantinople were -based on childhood recollections of maps of Asia and Europe in the -geography. On these, that all but land-locked bit of water appeared -about an inch long and half an inch across, and wholly unworthy -of serious consideration. I had always remembered it as a kind of -overgrown lake. The day I chartered the <i>France</i> my ideas began to -undergo a revolution, which increased in intensity with each succeeding -day. I have now totally revised my ideas. To fully appreciate this -gentle expanse, it is necessary to survive a fortnight in December -spent on a tugboat. If some universal power, bent on manufacturing -the world, should ask for a receipt for making a duplicate, I should -suggest the following: One hole 900 miles long by 700 in breadth. Make -it from 600 to 1000 feet deep, sow the bottom promiscuously with rocks, -scatter a few submerged islands in the most unexpected places, and fill -this in with the coldest water obtainable. Surround the shores with a -coast like that of Maine, and wherever there seems, by any oversight, -to be a chance of shelter, insert a line of reefs and ledges of sharp -rocks. Add a tide which varies every day in the year. Now import a -typhoon from the South seas, mix judiciously with a blizzard from North -Dakota and turn it loose. Add a frosting of snow and sleet, garnish -with white-caps, and serve the whole from a tugboat, and you have a -fair conception of the ordinary December weather in the Black Sea.</p> - -<p>Subsequent inquiry on this subject has brought me to the belated -realization of the fact that I am not the first, by a long way, to -have reached the same sad conclusions. Some thousands of years ago a -“Seeing Asia” trireme from Greece discovered these hospitable waters. -The people who were then living at the Hellespont, having had personal -experiences along this line, tried to head off the enterprise. The -Greeks, however, were strenuous people, and were not to be persuaded. -They listened carefully to the descriptions that were presented to -their notice of what they might expect in the Black Sea, and then -held a council of war, and decided that they would square matters in -advance with the gods of the place, so they rounded up a few bullocks -and unearthed some wine which they had with them, and proceeded to -make sacrifices and libations to the Deity, who was supposed to be so -hostile to intruders. To clinch matters they winked at each other, and -decided to call the new waters on which they were about to embark, the -“Euxine” or kindly seas. They were all delighted with themselves and -thought they had the matter settled and a pleasure trip insured, so one -fine day they sailed out of the Bosphorus where the Deity (who hadn’t -been a bit impressed) was licking his chops and waiting to give them -a warm reception. Sad to relate, they never came back. If they had, -they would certainly have called in the name which they have sent down -through the centuries for this wicked caldron, where wind and wave -mingle to the confusion of man.</p> - -<p>From Constantinople for forty miles each way there is a rock-bound -coast. The cliffs rise sheer above the sea, that breaks in clouds of -angry spray against those bleak and unresisting walls. Eastward from -the Bosphorus for a score of miles, government life-saving stations -every two thousand meters bespeak the menace of this deadly coast, -louder than any description. In January, 1903, on this single strip of -shore, eighty ships were broken in a single night, and I know not how -many men lay down their lives as they strove in vain to make headway -against the turbulence of hurricane and tide that swept them to their -doom. Northward lies another belt of coast; bleak and forlorn for forty -miles it stands against the sky. At the very corner of the sea, the -Bosphorus winds like a serpent through a confusion of rugged fort-clad -hills. The entrance is a mere defile. A few thousand yards back it -bends sharply to the south, thus from a few miles at sea, there seems -to the eye of the mariner searching for a haven of refuge nothing but -an unbroken line of cliffs. Two light-houses on outlying islands mark -the entrance to the channel. When the weather is clear and his engines -still can breast the wind and seas, the captain may enter safely enough -between this very Scylla and Charybdis, but woe to him who, while -beating towards this refuge, is overtaken by one of those clouds of -driving snow and sleet that shut down about the waters of the Black Sea -thicker than a London fog. These then are a few of the conditions which -have made it a paying investment for three salvage companies to locate -their headquarters in the Bosphorus. Yes, three companies, each with a -fleet of a dozen or more boats do a booming business while the storms -of winter last. The profit from the reaping of these few months is so -great that the expenses of these entire fleets are paid for the entire -year, and money for dividends besides, yielded from the misfortunes of -sailing ships and steamers that end their careers on the inhospitable -shores that girt the Euxine, or are swamped and sunk while seeking some -port of safety. Some of these things I learned from my crew as I sat -on the <i>France</i> that December evening waiting for steam to turn the -engines. The boilers had been cleaned and the fires lighted early that -afternoon, and the soft humming forward told of the pressure mounting -steadily in the gauges. I had a more careful look at my crew.</p> - -<p>Was there ever a sadder lot to the eyes of an American embarking on -an enterprise, where quick action and loyal support were the bone and -sinew of the expedition? They were all pretty poor, but the skipper -(old man Gileti) was the worst. Stupid, slow and heavy, he made one’s -heart sick to look at him. His staff were all Greeks, dirty, shiftless -and dismal. The only redeeming feature was in the engine room, for -both engineers were bright and alert, and their department as neat and -clean as a new pin. The stokers were all Turks, and distinguished for -being several degrees blacker with dirt than the Greeks. Then there -was a sad little cabin boy, who, as far as I could observe, did about -three-fourths of the work on the ship, which nobody else wanted to do. -He was running about from dawn till late at night, serving everybody -from the skipper to the stokers. Another youth lived on a bench in the -galley and was supposed to exercise some useful function, but I was -never able to learn just what it was. Whenever I saw him he was eating -scraps or licking the dishes, and so we called him the Scavenger. -Whenever he was called on for action, he always flew for the galley and -sent the cabin boy or else Spero, who was the only other hard worker on -deck. Angelo Spero! Like the cabin boy, his was a life of toil. From -the chain locker in the bows to the hold, where all the rubbish lived -aftside, there was not an hour in the day when there were not loud -calls for Spero. As Morris said:</p> - -<p>“Old Spero is one of them sad guys that does everybody else’s work, -and then is thankful that he don’t get booted besides.”</p> - -<p>Last, but not least, was my faithful cook. He was the treasure that -Morris had dug up in Constantinople. Stomati was a Greek—a sea cook, -he. The roar of the wind and lurch of the ship were as the blood in -his veins. For twenty-five years he had lived the life of the galley. -The China seas, the Great Australian Bight, the sweeps of the South -American coast were as familiar to him as the native waters of the -Piræus and the Ægean Sea, beside which he played as a child. He had -sailed under every flag in Europe and had pursued the culinary art -in all quarters of the globe. He spoke seven languages, all equally -unintelligently. While we waited for steam that first night, he -expatiated in a composite language, which embodied a judicious mingling -of English, French, German and Roumanian, all the terrors of the Black -Sea. If there was any unfortunate event which had transpired in that -dismal zone during his lifetime, Stomati knew it. He could tell the -names of all the ships that had been wrecked, how many people had been -drowned on each. He could not only tell you the past, but was eager to -make estimates of the number he expected would be drowned in the coming -winter. He, himself, had been wrecked three times already, and he had -stories about frozen bodies, the details of which have never been -exceeded, even in the columns of the yellow journals. Old Man Gileti, -the skipper, had come to grief five times, while Spero, he didn’t know -how many times, but should guess it must be at least a dozen. That was -why Spero looked so sad. Morris listened with mouth open to all these -dismal forebodings, but smiled sickly every time I caught his eye.</p> - -<p>There are rules for everything in Constantinople and Turkey, and the -list of provisions which cover operations in Turkish harbors are as -long as your arm. Among other things, there is a standing law which -forbids the departure of any ship after the sun has set. An exception -was made, however, on behalf of the <i>France</i> as she was registered as -a salvage tug, and was licensed to come and go at her own free will, -for even the Turks admitted that a sinking ship might well refuse to -wait till morning before taking the final plunge. So it transpired that -about one o’clock in the morning of the 16th of December, we pulled up -our anchor, swung clear of the shipping in the Golden Horn, and with -smoke pouring in clouds from our two red funnels, we turned her bows -down the Bosphorus, towards the Euxine. The skipper had promised Odessa -in thirty hours, and I was pleased enough as I turned in with the -dispatches of his Britannic Majesty Edward the VII under my pillow.</p> - -<p>I did not sleep long.</p> - -<p>The moment we emerged from the Bosphorus into the Black Sea I knew it, -and everyone else on the <i>France</i> knew it. The creak of timbers and the -swish of clothes describing parabolas on their hooks, with the crash of -glass inside the saloon, told me that we were at sea. A look through -the small six inch port above my bunk revealed the intermittent light -of the moon now and again breaking through fleecy clouds that were -scudding across the sky. To the thud of the engines just forward of my -bunk, I could hear the seas swishing past. The little port-hole was -buried every other minute in seething froth as we rolled in the swell. -We were doing a good fourteen knots an hour. I comforted my inward -apprehensions with the cheering thought that this speed maintained -would land us in Odessa even earlier than the captain had promised. I -slept until daylight, when I was awakened by the increased rolling of -the ship. The prospect of good weather, which the moon of the previous -night had seemed to hold forth, was dissipated as I took a glance out -of the port. The dull leaden sky had turned loose a very demon of -a raw and piercing wind that was beating the sea into a passion of -discontent. The <i>France</i>, straining and groaning in every joint, was -valiantly driving her little nose into each sullen sea that rose before -her as though to block her course and drive her back. In other seas -that I had traveled, the sweep is long between the waves. Even on the -Pacific a small boat can crest the waves, slip downward in the hollow -and raise to meet the next. It was different here. Before a ship can -recover from the first wave another sweeps her deck. In great black -ridges of spray-flanked water, the seas crash upon the decks. Now they -are dead ahead, now from the starboard quarter and now from the port. -It seemed to me that it must be rougher than usual, but I said nothing. -My instinct was to go on deck at once, but internal premonitions of -disaster urged me to remain in my bunk for the moment. Morris, on the -couch in the saloon, was groaning out his anguish in spite of his -thirteen trips across the Pacific. I smiled as I listened to him.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I called.</p> - -<p>“Standing by like steel, sir,” he answered in a weak voice as he -staggered to the door of my tiny cabin. He was the palest colored man I -ever saw. I was somewhat to the bad myself, but he looked so much worse -than I felt that it cheered me up.</p> - -<p>“Sick?” I queried.</p> - -<p>“Not seasick, sir,” he replied, his pride and his thirteen -trans-Pacific journeys holding him up, “but suffering from a touch of -indigestion, sir. Indeed, it is nothing more. The fact is, I attribute -it to the potted ham of last night, sir,” and he withdrew hastily.</p> - -<p>A moment later the hatch was thrown open and Stomati floundered down -the ladder in a cloud of spray. He shook the salt water out of his hair -and grinned a little as he delivered a message from the skipper.</p> - -<p>“Bad sea. No headway. Wanted my permission to slow down.” I was -disgusted and told myself that the old man was flinching at the first -sign of heavy weather.</p> - -<p>“Tell him no,” I advised Stomati, who immediately disappeared. Ten -minutes later Nicholas appeared as a second ambassador from the -captain. He spoke excellent English, if he was a Greek. He explained -that our 120 tons of coal brought us so low in the water that the -ship was pounding badly. I looked at him and realized that he knew -his business better than I did, so I told him to cut the speed down -to 7 knots. Instead of improving, things seemed to grow worse with -each succeeding minute. Even Morris, who was more than half dead to -the world, did not need to be told that she was pounding fearfully. -We could feel her lift her bows above the water, poise for a moment, -and then, like the downward blow of a sledge-hammer, fall into the sea -with a crash that shook her from stem to stern, like a rat in the teeth -of a terrier. Every time she surged down the rush of water over her -decks told us that she was shipping seas at every lurch. The crash of -timbers and boards over my head seemed to indicate that we were really -making a pretty heavy job of it. The noise and uproar of tons of water -crashing against the steel deck-house overhead continued. Every now and -again we would hear a piece of woodwork ripped off from some hatch or -companion-way with a scream of nails loosening their rusty hold, and -the snapping of breaking wood. By and by little drops of water began -to leak down through the ceiling. I watched this drip mechanically, as -it came faster and faster through the skylight and seams of the deck -above my head, until at last the drip became a trickle, and the trickle -a stream. Puddles began to appear on the floor, first on one side and -then on the other, as the ship rolled heavily in the seaway. About ten -the hatch opened and again the engineer appeared. He was wet to the skin.</p> - -<p>“We can’t keep this seven knots and our heads above water,” he said. -“We’ll have to slow her down some more.” So I said “All right.” The -look on his face told me it was time for me to get up, so I staggered -out into the saloon and got into my clothes. Lamps were swinging to the -ceiling, and the howl and roar of water on the outside and the drip -of it on the inside did not make me feel any too happy. Throwing on -my heaviest campaign coat, I went up the ladder. The hatch swung out -heavily against the wind. For a moment I stood clinging to the railing -of the skylight. Like a wounded duck the <i>France</i> was beating her wings -and laboring to make headway against the tumult, which strove to force -her back. Great mountains of sea rose before us in successive chains as -far as the eye could reach. Like assaults of infantry in close columns -they stretched for miles, and bore down upon us. Each time the staunch -little tug would put her nose into the angry front, she plowed forward. -For a moment she would smother in the crash of waters, then she would -shake herself clear of spray and foam and lift to meet the next sea. -As I stood there, a great black silent roller struck her on the bow. -She bent beneath the impact and then before she could stagger to her -feet, another hit her, and three feet deep the seas swept across her -decks. A coop of chickens torn from its position near the galley came -sailing down on the crest of the water and struck a stanchion, breaking -it open with a crash, and as the sea flowed out of the scuppers, some -dozen wet and melancholy fowls came fluttering and squawking out of the -wreck. They were wet and seasick, but their impact with the cold salt -water had put some spirit into their souls. The rooster, who seemed to -be in command of the expedition, spread himself on the rolling deck, -closed his eyes, stretched his neck and uttered one long triumphant -crow, whereat his followers began to cackle. At that moment another -wave struck us, and as it went roaring over the stem it took that sad -company of birds with it. There they sat on the crest of the wave; -surprise, indignation and distress were pictured on their silly faces -as I saw them disappear in the wake.</p> - -<p>Drenched and cold, I fought my way forward and crawled up over the back -of the deck-house to the bridge deck, where the two gallant little red -funnels were belching smoke into the spray and mist, undaunted by any -adverse seas, while the engines beat out with steady rhythm the tune of -their determination to fight on until the last. On the bridge old man -Gileti, covered with oil-skins, made dismal grimaces and deprecating -gestures when he saw me. With Stomati to interpret I soon learned the -meaning of his shrugs and murmurings. These big seas were getting -to the <i>France</i> and we could not afford to take any more chances. -Already the two forward hatches had been beaten in. The chain locker, -the forecastle and the salvage hold were filled with water flush to -the deck. So low had we sunk forward that each sea swept us from end -to end. We slowed down to five, to three, and at length to one knot -to keep her from pounding into those relentless seas that surged and -beat at us from every side. In the meantime all available hands were -working at the pumps and bailing water for dear life. I saw at a glance -that we were in a bad way. Two out of seven bulkheads were flooded. -If the water forced the next, where the boilers were, we would sink -like a stone. We were making no headway, and our efforts to reclaim the -flooded parts were of small avail. The skipper renewed his plea for a -refuge on the Bulgarian coast. It was now past noon, and the men were -wet and cold, and even the dispatches must wait, so I gave assent and -we turned her nose for the shore.</p> - -<p>Some miles south of Konstanza a great headland peninsula juts into -the sea and swings a little south. This is called Kavarna Head. In -the elbow of this bend is a semi-bay where even the north wind fails -to wreak its vengeance, and to this shelter it was that we slid in -about six that night, wet and cold, decks sea-swept and the cables -twisted into snarls of halyards and guys. Fragments of wreckage stuck -in the scuppers and the salt encrusted funnels told of the storm we -had braved. Once in the still water we let go the starboard anchor, -which slipped into it with a splash and cheerful rattling of cables -as the steel links came clanking over the rollers out of the chain -locker. From six to ten that night the work of ousting the water was -carried on, and when four bells struck, we were as fit and sea-worthy -as when we slid out of the Bosphorus and ran into the jaws of what I -subsequently learned was one of the worst storms of the year.</p> - -<p>The wind howled outside our haven, and the wet and weary men appealed -strongly, so we lay to for the night, the steam simmering in the -boilers, and the crew, exhausted by their hard day’s fight against wind -and weather, slept on the grating over the boilers, for the forecastle -was still too cold and wet for comfort.</p> - -<p>In the dawn of as dismal a day as ever brought light we pulled up our -anchor and turned our nose seaward again. The wind had subsided, but -the waves still snapped at us, licking us now and anon with an angry -slap. But the strength of it had oozed with the dying of the wind. -Clouds hurried across the sky as we dipped and plunged northward, -parting the seas to right and left as the sturdy little ship responded -to the steady throb of the loyal heart down in the engines, that beat -out its 110 revolutions to the minute. By noon the sun was breaking -through, and the sea had subsided enough so that we could keep plates -on the table, and the first meal at sea of the trip was served. When I -came on deck after <i>tiffin</i> the sun was shining and the air as fresh -and invigorating as a fall morning on the prairies in North Dakota. To -the west stretched the broken coast of Roumania. An hour’s run or more -northward, one could discern with a glass the site of that prosperous -little nation’s greatest port, Konstanza. Two dreary nights had made me -feel the need of rest. My saloon was cold and damp. The only place of -refuge, where warmth was sure, was the engine room, and there I went, -throwing myself on the rude bench in one corner where the engineer -spent the idle moments of his watch, and fell fast asleep. About three -I was aroused by being vigorously shaken. It was the engineer. As I sat -up I noticed, to my surprise, that we were again rolling heavily.</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s the trouble now?” I asked sleepily. He never smiled, but -looked at me grimly.</p> - -<p>“Bad. Very bad,” he said.</p> - -<p>“What’s bad?” I asked. I was too tired to be even apprehensive. I -wished he had let me sleep instead of bothering me with his fears.</p> - -<p>“Come on deck,” he said, without any further explanation, and led me -up the steel ladder to the top of the gratings and out on the deck. -I could scarcely believe my eyes. The darkness of dusk had settled -down upon us, and cloud upon cloud of snow were driving past us. I -could barely see across the deck where the captain and the bulk of the -crew were wringing their hands. As they all spoke at the same time, -either in Greek or some other unknown tongue, and as each seemed to -have a distinct and separate idea in mind as to what the exigencies -of the situation required, it was difficult to gather what all the -excitement was about. Everybody was presenting at one and the same -moment a different course of action, each of which it would appear -was the only road to safety. The captain urged in Greek that turning -about and going somewhere astern was the only thing to do. One engineer -advised Sulina in broken English, while the other had some ideas in -Greek which have not yet come through. The Turkish fireman and others -of our crew all wanted to do something or other, and each was howling -the merits of his policy at the top of his lungs in his own peculiar -dialect. Stomati was there with his seven different languages, which -he was using all at once. Someone had dug him out of the galley and -brought him forward to use his influence on the situation. Speaking -a word in each of the seven languages to one of English, he started -out into a detailed account of the storms of the Black Sea, their -origin and cause, and their inevitably fatal termination. He had all -the others faded for noise, and he soon had them in the background. -Already the sea was lashing itself into a vortex of fury. The engineer -had eased her down to half speed. I could scarcely believe my eyes. An -hour before I had not seen a cloud in the sky, and yet we now appeared -to be in the heart of a very enterprising blizzard. However, I could -not see the overpowering danger, and personally I favored Odessa as -being as safe as any other course and most convenient to the ends I had -in view. Stomati finally got my ear, and, backed by old man Gileti, -Spero and the mate, explained that these storms were the peril of the -Black Sea; that at any moment it might turn up a cyclone and bring up -seas that would swamp us in five minutes. I could not see how this -could be possible myself, and neither did Morris, who had recovered -his equilibrium, and we told them so. Stomati at once reached into -the past and told of the wreck of the Roumanian mail, a 4000-ton boat -of 21 knots, that had gone down only 20 miles from where we were, in -just such a storm. Everyone knew of a dozen similar cases, and when -word went aboard of what Stomati was saying, they all began at once to -tell of the disasters that they knew of personally. I was beginning -to be impressed, when, without warning, just as it had come, the snow -ceased, and in two minutes the sun was out and shining brightly, with -only a choppy sea and a black cloud sweeping astern to show the passing -of the storm. Everyone, but Morris and I, seemed to be disappointed -about it. However, they accepted the inevitable and returned gloomily -to their posts, and I went back to the engine room bench. By eight -o’clock that night we were off the mouth of the Danube at a place -called <a href="#PAGE_92B">Sulina Mouth</a>. I had dined and reinforced myself -with a cigar, when the captain, with his deprecating gestures and up-turned palms, -came down and asked for permission to put in for the night. This would -mean a delay of twenty-four hours at least, so I declined flatly. We -were already nearly forty-eight hours out of the Bosphorus, and Odessa -still a night’s run away, besides the night in port and one day lost. -I considered it a very bad precedent. Stomati, who was clearing the -dinner table, began to reminisce about a series of wrecks that had -occurred between Sulina and Odessa, but after the false alarm snowstorm -in the afternoon, I was determined to try the sea, even if it should be -rough.</p> - -<p>“Old Gileti has got cold feet sure,” volunteered Morris, who stood at -my elbow as we watched the harbor lights of Sulina fade away beyond our -bubbling wake. I was inclined to believe that he was right.</p> - -<p>The moon was making frantic efforts to break through the clouds, and, -though there was a brisk wind blowing, I believed we would have an easy -night, and so I turned in, but I never made a worse mistake. About -one o’clock I awoke with a realization of that fact. What we had been -through before was child’s play. I threw on my coat and got into the -dimly lighted saloon. The place looked as though a ten-inch shell had -burst. Broken glass, trunks turned upside down, clothes thrown from -their hooks, and confusion everywhere. Outside the wind and waves -roared like a thousand freight trains. It took me two minutes to get -the hatch open against the wind which seemed to be blowing everywhere -at once. I could not see my hand before my face, but felt my way -along the rail to the engine room skylight, then to the deck-house, -pausing to cling tight for the lurches that followed every succeeding -dip. It had come off cold, and ice was forming everywhere. I felt -the thin coating on bar and brace as I climbed to the bridge deck, -and, watching my opportunity, crawled toward the wheel-house, half -blinded by the spray which swept the ship from end to end. The noise -was too great for conversation, but the grim faces of the men at the -wheel bespoke their views of the situation louder than words. They -were two strong men, but flung this way and that they were, as they -wrestled with the wheel, which spun and jerked under their hands like -a live thing, as it answered the writhings of the rudder beaten by -the seas that lashed astern. I tried to stand on the bridge, but snow -and sleet-like darts of fiery steel bit my face and drove me back for -shelter to the wheel-house. Every time we struck a sea the spray rose -in solid sheets, beating against the thick glass windows until we had -to raise the wooden storm sashes to keep them from breaking. The spume -of the waves, whipped from their crest by the wind, blew across our -decks in torrents, and high above the funnels. Every time she rose -to take the sea in her teeth I drew my breath for the dip and surge -of water that followed. Every time she plunged downward it seemed as -though it must be her last. Again and again she buried her nose in the -seething vortex, and then, trembling in every fiber, she would shake -herself clear and rise to clinch the next sea that swept upon her. I -stood there for hours watching the struggle. Puny man and the fragile -creation of his hand against the forces of nature. Alone and in the -blackness of night, we fought it out to the tune of the howling wind -and the crash of water dashing itself to spray against our decks. Hour -after hour passed and still she responded to the gallant little engines -that never faltered. Half the time the screw would be beating air, -the engines racing and shaking the boat as in an ague. The engineers -clung desperately to the iron frame of the engine as they dropped in -the oil on the working bearings. The firemen in the stoke hole braced -themselves against the bulk-head as they heaved the coal.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="PAGE_92A" id="PAGE_92A"> </a> - <img src="images/i_092_a.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="438" /> - <p class="center space-below1">WHEN THE FRANCE ENTERED ODESSA HARBOR AFTER THE STORM<br /> - SHE WAS PRETTY WELL SHAKEN UP</p> - - <a name="PAGE_92B" id="PAGE_92B"> </a> - <img src="images/i_092_b.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="438" /> - <p class="center space-below1">SULINA—THE MOUTH OF THE DANUBE RIVER</p> -</div> - -<p>The struggle lay in steam and the endurance of the engines, and they -knew it, and each man shut his teeth and did his part.</p> - -<p>Two o’clock came, three o’clock, four o’clock, and still we struggled -on. Suddenly the wind stopped, the sea began to subside and the moon -came out. All was lovely, only cold, so cold that one’s marrow seemed -to freeze. Three hours more and the sun rose red in the east, flanked -by two sun-dogs that justified the cold we felt. It was a perfect -winter’s day. Way off on the port bow a great bluff began to loom up, -and little by little the towers of a great city were discernible.</p> - -<p>An hour later, cased in ice, with icicles hanging from every part, the -<i>France</i> crept into port. We were wreathed in ice from stem to stern. -The thermometer marked ten degrees below zero. I did not speak Greek, -but the grip old man Gileti gave my hand, spoke his relief louder than -words as we rounded to behind the breakwater in the haven, for which we -had struggled for sixty-five hours—<a href="#PAGE_92A">Odessa!</a></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Land in Odessa on the Day Set by the Revolutionists for a -General Massacre, but Because of Effective Martial Law, Secure Only a “General Situation” Story</i></p> - -<p>Odessa, as we viewed it from our ice encrusted bridge that freezing -December morning, was a distinct disappointment. Behind the breakwater -that stands between the pounding seas of the Euxine and the anchorage -and wharves, the city lay, gray, cold, gloomy and forbidding. From the -dirty streets of the shipping district the town scrambles up steeply -and spreads itself out over the bleak landscape that lies beyond. Long -lines of what the Europeans call “goods wagons,” and what we term -freight cars, were strung along both pier and water front. A half -dozen or more stranded cargo steamers chained up to the wharves, and -a few dreary looking tugboats combined to make the setting of one of -the most desolate scenes that I recall. An occasional figure slinking -about among the cars, and a single miserable Russian sentinel that -stood near one of the gray stone warehouses served only to intensify -the utter loneliness of the place. Over a year before I had been in -Dalny, pressing close on the heels of the invading army of Japan. -Big ten-inch shells from naval turrets miles away at sea, reinforced -by brigades of bristling infantry that closed in from the north, had -forced the Muscovites to evacuate. The retreating columns had straggled -out by the light of blazing warehouses tuned to the crash of falling -timber—this destruction their own handiwork to keep Dalny out of the -Japanese hands. But even that far finger of the Russian reach, obtained -in crazy frenzy of expansion and abandoned in smoke and confusion, was -cheerful compared to Odessa. There at least one saw the new life of the -Oriental armies that poured in by brigades, divisions and army corps in -the place of the retreating Russians, but here in the great commercial -city of southern Russia there was a gloom, silence and abandon that -spelled revolution, disorder and economic disaster, more loudly than -the smoking embers of deserted Dalny. Morris, who did not indulge much -in sad reflections, brought me back to the business in hand by the -true, if somewhat ungrammatical observation—</p> - -<p>“There sure ain’t nothing doing ashore or afloat in these diggings, -and that’s a cinch.”</p> - -<p>I agreed with the spirit if not with the construction of this comment. -A careful survey of the situation, as visible through my binoculars, -from the bridge of the <i>France</i> suggested the possibility that the -irresponsible population had all gone into the interior to have an -agrarian riot or celebrate in some other simple way dear to the -Russian heart. Nevertheless, we had not come all this distance and -spent three cheerless soaking nights at sea to give up the game at -the first sign of discouragement. Here was where the dispatches of -his Britannic Majesty came to the rescue. After an elaborate search -through the International Signal Code I found a combination of flags -which exactly filled our needs, and promptly hoisted to our single -halyard the colored bunting of the code which stood for the letters -“J. & S.” This means “I am carrying government dispatches,” and implies -that everything in sight should co-operate at once. The effect was -even better than I had anticipated. A few minutes after our flags -had been snapping in the icy wind that blew in from the Black Sea I -saw the launch of the quarantine doctor come puffing out from behind -some tugboats, where it had been lying in ambush. The doctor himself -was standing in the bow. He was a portly man, and willing hands were -necessary to assist him up the side of the <i>France</i>. He was one of -those foreigners who cherish that most regrettable of ideas, namely, -that he could speak English. The result was that he flatly declined -to be addressed in any other language. This made it embarrassing and -occasioned no end of delay as his English was of the purely school book -brand. It contained such pertinent phrases as “How is your wife’s -brother? Will you go for a walk in the park to-day? Has your sister’s -husband a good pen?” and so on. This was all right, as far as it went, -but did not assist me much in the business in hand. He seemed to be -wholly unprepared in his vocabulary to take care of such a commonplace -and uninteresting subject as a health examination. He held me on deck -in the cold while he ran through his available list of sentences, which -really gave him an excellent insight into the status of my family, -the number of my brothers and sisters and their respective ages. He -followed this with a few irrelevant questions about the weather, and -ended up with “Do you find Russia a pleasant country?” This seemed -to be the last sentence which had stuck in his head. After that he -paused for breath, and before he could commence again I got him down -into my saloon where we had just been having breakfast. When he saw -the table he forgot all about his English aspirations and burst into -French, and, with tears in his eyes and a wealth of exclamation, told -us how hungry he was. We offered the remnants of the breakfast and he -fell on the food with an avidity which was appalling. The remnants -went fast and we had to send a rush order to Stomati in the galley for -reinforcements. He ate fast and well. Between gulps he told us that -in spite of his fine uniform and steam launch, he only drew $40.00 a -month for his services. I endeavored to be politely interested, until -I found that he had troubles which would fill a book, and so gently -but firmly cut him off. When he had finished the last scrap he turned -to business with evident regret. It isn’t really business, of course, -but it is what passes under that name in Russia. First he took off -his coat, then he undid his sword and took off his belt and placed -it on the table. He then looked all around the room and asked for a -cigar. He got out his penknife and carefully cut off the end, and -then lighted it. Great folios of paper were then produced, and sheet -upon sheet of printed forms were piled upon the table, and the real -work begun. Detailed information as to my lineage, aye, even unto the -second generation previous, were called for, until I was ashamed to -confess that I did not know my grandmother’s maiden name. Then I had -to give all the names of the crew, and these had to be copied in three -different blank forms to comply with Russian law. As my staff were -Greeks and Turks, with impossible names, we spent perhaps half an hour -in making these entries, discussing the correct spelling of each as it -was entered in the forms. Hoping to facilitate business, I gave the -inspector three fingers of good old Irish whiskey, but I never made a -worse mistake. He at once became genial and wanted to take a recess -and tell me the story of his life in his school book English. Finally, -with the co-operation of the entire staff and the testimony of most -of them, under cross-examination, we convinced him and saw him duly -enter in triplicate first, that we had no sickness aboard, second, -that we had no mysterious corpse packed away below the deck. (Just why -anyone wanted to smuggle a corpse into Odessa when the supply there was -greatly in excess of the demand, has never been clear to me.) Third, -that we were not bringing in any large quantity of fresh water (which -might be full of Turkish germs), and a lot of other equally immaterial -and ridiculous information. When all was said and done he politely -informed me that I could not land until he had made his report and some -other official had made some other sort of examination. This seemed to -me to be about the limit. With all the dignity at my command I ordered -Morris to bring out the dispatches. This he did with a great show -of importance. I showed the wretched official the red seals and the -official stamps and then said:</p> - -<p>“These are the dispatches of his Britannic Majesty, Edward VII. If you -choose to take the responsibility of detaining here a moment longer -the bearer of such important papers, of course you can do so. I have -no means of forcing you. For your own information, however, I will -tell you that such action on your part will be reported to the British -foreign office and your case will be most vigorously investigated. But -you must do as you think best.”</p> - -<p>He wilted on the spot, and took us ashore in his launch, where he -led us before some dignified gentlemen in gorgeous uniforms who all -talked at once in Russian. I waited and tried to look important. My -“red sealing waxed” dispatches were again laid out for inspection, and -my friend, the medical examiner, evidently repeated my remarks to him, -for an orderly was sent on the run for another launch, and I was rushed -across the harbor before another and higher official, who was covered -with gold lace, where there was another interminable discussion, -which finally ended in our being turned over to a burly ruffian in -uniform, whom I learned was assigned to act as my chief of staff while -I remained in town. Fortunately he spoke a little German, and two -minutes after I had him alone I convinced him that his services were -unnecessary. His conscience troubled him for disobeying his superior -officer, but five roubles fixed that, so, four hours after we dropped -anchor, I found myself free to pursue my way unhampered.</p> - -<p>The situation in Odessa at this time was intolerable, as I found within -an hour after I had delivered the dispatches to the British consul, -and had an opportunity of getting down to work. That day, as I then -learned, was the Czar’s birthday. For weeks previous there had been -talk of another grand demonstration on the part of the revolutionists. -It had been pleasantly rumored that there was to be a promiscuous -killing to be conducted under the auspices of the revolutionary -committee. These prearranged events rarely materialize in Russia, -as the gentlemen supposed to be in charge of such proceedings are -generally dug out of their cellars and are well on their way to Siberia -on the date set for their entertainments. My experience in five -visits to Russia during the period of convulsion was that the average -Muscovite revolutionist has no equal (off the stage) for simplicity -and ineffective activity. The moment you set eyes on him you know he -is a revolutionist. His hair stands on end, his eyes are wild and his -dress is in disorder. In fact, nothing is lacking to complete the -make-up of the part. Every time he has an opportunity he climbs on a -barrel or some other conspicuous spot in a public place and proceeds -to air his ideas. He will point out at the top of his lungs the -advantages of bombs and miscellaneous assassinations. He has a well -developed programme as to what ought to be done with the Czar, and as -for the grand dukes, he simply tears out his hair in handfuls when he -talks about them. When he isn’t engaged in talking he goes off and -buries himself in a garret and writes inflammatory and compromising -letters and articles, which he leaves about just as a stage hero does -important family papers. The police (whom you know to be police, just -as quickly as you recognize a revolutionist to be a revolutionist) -stand around and look wise and make notes. The moment any trouble is -brewing they go out and make a big bag of assorted anarchists, bombists -and inoffensive but loquacious students, who have been airing their -undigested views on sociology and politics. When people get together -for the glorious riot which has been planned for months in advance, -lo and behold! All of the leading spirits are kicking their heels in -the nearest fortress or packing up their belongings for a trip into -Siberia. So it was at this time in Odessa. The revolutionists had -been talking so long about what they were going to do on the Czar’s -birthday that everybody in town knew of their plans, which, among other -variations, included a massacre of all foreigners. I never learned just -why the foreigners were to be massacred, but it seemed to be admitted -in revolutionary circles that this was the proper thing to be done. -General Kaulbars of Manchurian war fame had been made military governor -of South Russia. He had rushed in two regiments of barbarous looking -Cossacks, who had been instructed to “fire with ball” at the first sign -of trouble, and they certainly looked as though they were prepared to -do it. The order was published and everybody knew what to expect.</p> - -<p>In spite of these precautions nearly everybody in Odessa was living -in a state of nerves as to what might happen. The erratic behavior -of the mutinous fleet the summer before, headed by the battleship -<i>Knias Potempkin</i>, had aroused general apprehension as to what extent -irresponsibility might carry the situation. The people distrusted -the army and the army the people. The soldiers hated their officers -and the officers feared their own soldiers, and both officers and -soldiers distrusted the population of the town, while the foreigners -had no confidence in anybody. The so-called Jewish massacre a few -months before did not tend to quiet the minds of the peaceful -residents. At that time the town had been given over for three days -into a free-for-all fight and general riot, where everybody killed -anybody they had it in for, and a few Jews thrown in for luck. All of -the foreign consulates had made detailed preparations for trouble. -Rendezvous had been agreed upon for the mustering of the various -flocks. A company of soldiers was to be allotted to each consulate to -act as an escort to the water front, where ships were held in readiness -for immediate departure to places of safety. The residents had been -out of touch with the outer world for weeks, owing to the postal and -telegraph strike and railroad tie-up. All seemed to think that their -respective governments were trying to do something to relieve them and -that the international fleet that at last accounts had been making its -silly demonstration off the Dardanelles, was going to be allowed to -pass through into the Black Sea. No one thought that the Sultan would -make any objection to allowing a few cruisers to pass the Bosphorus -to protect the trembling subjects of the European governments at the -various ports, but while the foreigners at every port where Russian -supremacy still held were sitting up nights waiting to be murdered, -and praying for the protection of the blue jackets, six inch rifles -and machine gun batteries, those very warships were sitting peacefully -outside Macedonia, conducting their childish and ineffective bluff.</p> - -<p>The economic conditions could scarcely reach a worse stage than those -existing at that time in all South Russia. Business was absolutely -at a standstill, credit had collapsed and thousands of men had been -thrown out of employment. The demand for most of the products of -local manufacture had fallen off to almost nothing. The directors -of enterprise dared not accumulate a surplus of their product for -fear their warehouses would be destroyed at the next spasm of riot, -so factories had closed up and the employés were in the streets, -destitute and in the middle of winter. Most of the better class had -left town, closed their residences, and dismissed their servants, who -were also out of town. The railroad, telegraph and postal men were all -on a strike, the end of which was not in sight. Most of them had no -funds, and were begging on the streets. Everybody who had any money -was sitting on it with a gun in each hand. With ten thousand beggars -on the streets and the coldest weather of the winter biting through -bone and marrow, and a ravenous hunger turning the ordinary docile -man into little better than a brute, and with thousands of such at -large, there is small wonder that people felt apprehensive. The bakers -dared not bake for a day ahead for fear their shops would be broken -open and looted, which indeed was happening every day. The Jews, who -comprise nearly a quarter of the population, were “squeezing” everybody -that came into their clutches and constantly fomenting trouble on the -outside. It was probable that any day a mere street brawl might in -a moment turn into a massacre, and these Russian massacres mean the -unleashing of every element of evil which the town contains. The news -that came in from the agrarian districts was increasingly serious, and -everyone was guessing as to what the outcome would be. The reports -that came in indicated that all over Russia, sometimes peaceably -and sometimes with violence, the peasants were taking the land into -their own hands. Stories of burning estates and fleeing land owners -circulated in every quarter. The question that everyone was asking was -if the peasants ever take the land, who will ever take it away from -them. Surely the army, that was manifestly sullen and discontented -and trusted by no one, could not be looked to for performing such a -task. As a matter of fact, people generally felt that the soldiers in -time of trouble are more to be feared than any other element in the -community. The Czar had just issued his latest manifesto increasing the -pay and the standard of living of his army, but the effect was about -the same as that of turning up the wick of a lamp when the oil is -gone. There was a momentary flare and then less light than ever before. -The soldiers and everyone else viewed it at best as a confession -of weakness wrung from the sovereign by his realization of his own -desperate plight. Anyway, not even the most optimistic soldier believed -that he would ever get the promised raise of pay. Patrols of the -forbidding looking Cossacks were riding about the streets from morning -until night. The plodding of their horses’ hoofs in the snow and the -metallic jingle of sabers, were almost the only sound one heard in the -streets. All else was quiet as the grave, and save for the shivering -and destitute begging from house to house, there was almost no one else -abroad in this bitter cold.</p> - -<p>Considering our high hopes for a general uprising the day passed -quietly enough. Only a bomb episode along in the afternoon testified -that the spirit of anarchy and revolution still smoldered beneath -the surface. Not much of an event it was, even at that. Only an -unsuccessful attempt to assassinate one of the local tyrants of the -detective force. It would make a scare head for a local police story -perhaps, but out here for the man who had the only access to the -world’s cable, it was only a “significant incident.” The immediate -scene is dramatic, terrible. A cold gray court-yard rises beyond a -gate, at which stood a half frozen sentinel, gloomy, imperturbable, -silent. Across the court was the office of the victim sought. Within -the compound a half dozen bodies, now torn and mangled, masses of -clothing and human flesh, lie steaming in the cold, while pools of -blood freeze in little lakes of red stained snow. The frost-bitten -earth crunches dryly under the feet of the clumsy officers, who, -note-books in hand, are compiling their reports of the incident. One -of them turns over with his heavy boot the stiffening carcass of the -perpetrator of the outrage, himself torn to shreds by the explosion of -his own bomb. With white teeth clinched, and glassy eyes glaring up to -the gloomy December sky, he lies, soaked in his own blood, amidst the -wreckage he has created, a grim evidence that no tyrant is safe in a -country where there are dozens willing and eager to sacrifice their own -lives to remove even one of the cogs of the vast engine of despotism, -the machine that has been grinding them smaller and smaller during -these many centuries. No wonder the prefect of police turns his heavy -visage from the scene in which he was cast to play such an important -role. He is putty colored beneath his beard as he passes to his -carriage, saber dragging in the snow and spurs ringing sharply on the -threshold of the great gate. The dull sentry hears the sound and comes -to a present. The police officers salute. The prefect climbs into his -sleigh, weighted down with rich furs, the driver cracks his whip, and -they are off up the street at a gallop. He has escaped this bomb, but -how about the next, and yet again the one to follow that? Perhaps he is -thinking what will be the ultimate end, as he is driven away through -the softly falling snow.</p> - -<p>The uninitiated, no doubt, view with skepticism the accuracy of quickly -gathered news, and perhaps think that a few days on the situation -is a ridiculously short time in which a man can gather any definite -information. This is in a measure true. There are times where weeks -of study are essential, but these are not the stories a special war -correspondent is after. Where he is in demand is on the spot where -there is a “visible” situation. When things quiet down he usually -withdraws, and the political and economic correspondents send the more -analytical and perhaps profounder stuff. But these men in a riot, -disaster or “emergency” are often lost in the shuffle, and here it is -where the war correspondent can often cut in and beat by days the men -who have been on the spot gathering routine political news for years. -Unimpeded by long association the special man sees at a glance the most -picturesque and prominent features. Trained as he must be to quick -action, and methods of getting out his copy, his reports are often days -ahead of the resident correspondent.</p> - -<p>The first thing for a “story” is a general view of the situation. Two -hours divided among the consulates and embassies of America, Great -Britain, France and Germany give the general official idea, which is -always conservative. Next a round of the newspaper offices and one -gets the (sensational) radical impressions. If there is anything big -one can always find a half dozen war correspondents in the bar of the -biggest and best hotel in town. From them one gets the sensational and -spectacular elements and an unlimited amount of exaggeration. Three -hours’ driving about town with an interpreter interviewing and talking -with everybody available, from the man loafing on the corner to the -prefect of police, gives the local color and atmosphere for your cable. -Late in the afternoon a man has in his head a mass of material ranging -from the most lurid stories of the correspondents to the “official -protests” that “all is well and no further trouble anticipated.” The -rest is merely a matter of perspective. As he writes, the correspondent -must weigh the sources of his information and estimate their probable -accuracy. Experience and many previous failures, and a sort of sixth -sense, acquired perhaps in work on a local paper, render quick and -almost subconscious judgments on news values more accurate than the -uninitiated might imagine. It is at this point that a man’s work ruins -him with his office, or he makes good. The editor is not asking for -literature, but for a quick survey of the situation. So it is that the -man who can talk with the most people in the shortest time, and from -such evidence make a connected and truthful story, is the man that is -wanted. From the combined conversations of perhaps forty informants, -ranging through all classes in the community, he must pick and choose -the salient features and the most reliable evidence on which to base -his story. In ten hours a good newspaper man can get the material for a -column cable on almost any “visible situation.” This in the main will -be accurate and correct. The moment he has gotten his message off, he -begins to sketch out his campaign for the coming days or weeks which he -expects the trouble to last. He picks out a half dozen reliable agents -and sends them all over town, interviewing, observing, collecting data -and local color in all quarters. If he knows his business he has a -small but efficient staff in forty-eight hours, which keep him posted -as to the general trend of affairs all over the city. If the wires -are working, he can probably pick up local informants in neighboring -towns to reinforce his story with ideas and viewpoints. If there is -fighting going on he tries to see it without too much risk, so as to -get the “local color,” which only presence on the scene can give. The -dull days are filled in by interviews with as many prominent people as -can be induced to talk. Thus, what seems to an outsider as a difficult -proposition and one involving guesswork and inaccuracy, becomes a very -simple matter.</p> - -<p>It was in much this way that I gathered material for my Odessa -cable. I had not time to collect a local staff, for I only remained -thirty-six hours, but I made out fairly well on the collection of -local information by turning Morris and three or four members of my -crew loose for the day to talk with everyone possible. My dispatches to -the consulate gave me quick and easy access to the official view, while -a number of stranded war correspondents at the hotel regaled me with -information, which they could not get out themselves on account of the -telegraph and postal tie-up all over Russia. One rarely drops on a good -situation without meeting a handful of old friends on similar business -bent. In Odessa almost the first man I met ashore was Lionel James of -the London <i>Times</i>, in my opinion the best of all the English cable -correspondents. He had been in command of the <i>Times</i> dispatch boat -<i>Haimun</i> in the Russo-Japanese war, and for months had been competing -in the news zone against the dispatch boat I was operating for the -Chicago <i>Daily News</i>. I first met him in Chefoo Harbor and again in -Ping Yang Inlet in Korea. He joined the second army and scored a beat -on the cable from Lioa Yang, which broke the Japanese securities in -the London money market. I lost track of him and did not see him again -until Red Sunday days in Petersburg. I was hurried up from a little -investigation of a war scare in the Balkans and almost the first man I -met in the hotel in Petersburg was James. For a few weeks I saw him -daily, and again we parted. He had been on half a dozen assignments -and I around the world when we met on the street in Odessa that cold -December day.</p> - -<p>By six that night I had my evidence all in and was aboard the <i>France</i> -ready for the run to the uncensored cable in Roumania.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>The France Does Her Best in the Run for the Uncensored -Cable, Sticks in the Mud, but Gets Away and Arrives at Sulina Mouth with an Hour to Spare</i></p> - -<p>Every line of enterprise is subject to disappointment and the newspaper -business is no exception. I arrived on board the <i>France</i> with my mind -picturing an eight-hour drive for the Roumanian cable, and my story in -print in the afternoon edition of my paper the next day.</p> - -<p>“All right,” I called from the rowboat as soon as I was in hearing -distance of the <i>France</i>. “Get up the anchor—let her go,” but the only -reply I had as I climbed over the side of my ocean-going greyhound of -a tug was the sad face of old man Gileti and a series of deprecating -shrugs and gestures accompanied by a line of guttural explanations in -Greek. Nothing is more exasperating than delays on a cable story, and -the language that floated over the expanse of Odessa harbor when I -finally learned what my skipper had to say was certainly a disgrace, -even for a journalist. In a word, the old Greek had failed to get the -<i>France</i> port clearance, which meant that we could not get away until -the next day, and that my precious “beat” must be delayed at least 24 hours.</p> - -<p>The whys and the wherefores were transmitted later by Morris, who spent -an hour in getting the facts from the slow-witted old Greek. My chief -of staff, secretary and steward was filled with disgust and had spent a -half hour outlining through an interpreter to the wretched captain the -enormity of his crimes.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he told me, “I have surely made old man Gileti sit up. -I have put him wise to the fact that for a sure-enough dub and -promiscuous fat-head, he has the rest of the world beat, yes sir, beat, -backed into a siding with the switch locked. In fact, I regard that -man, sir, as dead slow; yes, sir, slow, paralyzed in fact,” etc.</p> - -<p>Just how all these things had been translated I did not ask, but I did -ask why the man had failed to get the shipping papers, without which -we could not go to sea. When a skipper enters a port, he takes his -papers ashore and leaves them with the authorities until sailing time, -when an official brings them off and gives clearance of the harbor. If -a ship sails without its papers, it loses all caste and is liable to -confiscation by any warship that might get wind of the fact. Hence the -necessity of the delay.</p> - -<p>“The old man, sir,” Morris continued, “was stalled. How? Yes sir, by -some old Roosian! These dogs (meaning Greeks) are easy bluffed. Old -man Gileti goes ashore this morning as directed. He sits for some -hours on a bench. Along comes a guy in rich uniform and sees the old -man with our papers in his mit. Gileti hands over and then sits some -more. Finally another general or something comes along and gives him -a bum steer that the stuff’s off and its back to the ship with him, -bein’ as it’s a holiday and too much trouble to do business. The old -man hollers a little, but bein’ a fool and using Greek when it ain’t -getting through none, he fails to score, and next he knows he is showed -out of the office by one of those Cossack fellers that has a bayonet on -his gun. Quick as he’s out they locks up and goes home, and there ain’t -nothing doing for Gileti, so he comes aboard.”</p> - -<p>The next morning early I had a kindly interview with the Greek, and -sent him off again for his papers, with two men to interpret and my -Black Prince to see that the goods were delivered. But even this -formidable array found Russian officialdom a hard proposition to get -quick action out of. Eight hours of red tape, bluffs and counter -bluffs, persuasion, threats and pleadings, it took before the business -was completed, and it was five in the afternoon when I saw the official -launch with Morris and the Greeks sitting in the stern, coming out to us.</p> - -<p>“Have got. Can do,” yelled the steward when he was in ear-shot. This -time there was no delay, and as soon as the skipper was on deck the -forward donkey engine was spitting the water out of the valves, and a -moment later dragging in the anchor, and a delightful sound it was to -hear it coming in over the windlass, link after link. Clang! Clang! -Clang! rang the telegraph and the dial registered, “Stand by” in the -engine room.</p> - -<p>Old man Gileti was slow usually, but with an anxious correspondent -at his elbow to “jack him up,” he moved fast this time. No sooner -did the rusty anchor head come dripping out of the water than “slow -ahead” rang in the engine room. Black smoke pouring out of the two -red funnels and the rattle of coal from the stoke-hold testified that -the Turkish firemen were working for once in their lazy lives. “Hard -aport” went the wheel, and the <i>France</i> swung her nose toward the open -sea. “Steady,” and she straightened out for her course. “Half speed” -and then “Full speed ahead,” read the dial down where the engines were -picking up their sea-pace at every stroke. Two minutes later we were -outside the breakwater, dipping our sturdy little nose into the chop -of that wretched Euxine. “South by west a quarter west,” the skipper -called in Greek, and the man at the wheel spun the helm until the -compass checked the course, and the <i>France</i> stiffened down for the 90 -mile run to Sulina, where the Roumanian cable to the outside world lay -awaiting us.</p> - -<p>Once on our course I went below and had my dinner served royally in -the saloon with Stomati presiding over the cuts in the galley and -Monroe D. talking like a windmill and “standing by” with the service.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. Fine business, sir. We are making 12 knots, sir, and we are -about to pull off an immense cup (no doubt intended for coup) on the -situation. Yes, sir, I regard this trip as one of the great events in -the history of journalism. I assure you I do, sir, yes, sir. I have -just told Stomati that I regard this as one of the great achievements -of our career and Stomati, sir, he was impressed. I could see it, sir, -Stomati was dead to rights. I told that man, sir, that we had all the -rest of the men in our profession looking like two-spots,” a pause for -wind, and then—“In my opinion, sir, old man O’Conor (referring to the -British Ambassador) will be delighted. His important dispatches have -been delivered. Yes, sir, delivered; in fact, placed in the hands of -his Britannic majesty’s consul at Odessa, and, sir, I must say I do say -that I regard this as a most important act. Yes, sir, most important. I -have told Stomati so, and, sir, Stomati agreed, for he told Spero and -Spero, sir, he feels awe, sir, yes, I assure you he does, awe, that he -is a member of this important expedition. Spero, sir, is a slow man and -a heavy thinker, but when Stomati explained, I could see that Spero -understood and appreciated. (Yes, sir, I will pass you another cut.) -But as I was saying, it is my opinion that the British government will -decorate us—yes, sir, handsomely. No doubt the Victoria Cross will—”</p> - -<p>But here I cut him off, having finished my dinner and a cigar besides, -and sent him to the galley to get his own meal, and more important, -to give me an opportunity to write my story. During the delay of the -day, I had examined every member of the crew that had been ashore, to -gather any additional data for my cable. This with the mass of material -picked up the day before, gave me enough for a column message, which -I proceeded to rap out on my machine. People generally seem to think -that newspaper stories must be in cipher, for few of the uninitiated -realize that a thousand dollars on cable toll for a single dispatch is -nothing unusual. The writing of a cable differs only from a written -article in that one cuts local color and descriptive matter a bit in -favor of facts. By force of habit, a cable arranges itself in one’s -mind unconsciously and can be written as fast as one can work a -machine. Then there only remains to read over the copy and blue pencil -all superfluous “thes,” “ands,” adjectives, and everything in fact -that the foreign editor in the office can supply by the study of the -context. Thus a 2000 word story will “skeletonize” to perhaps 1200 and -be re-expanded in the office to 2500. The office files contain vast -stores of information. If a name or place is mentioned, it is looked -up and its significance or location incorporated into the cable as -printed. The result is a detailed story and an accurate one as far as -the editorial half is concerned. It took me a half hour to write my -story and another fifteen minutes to “skeletonize” and re-copy it ready -for the telegraph office. It came to 895 words.</p> - -<p>When I had finished, I sent for the chief engineer. It was now ten -o’clock in the evening, and I must get my cable off surely by daylight -to insure its getting the edition. We had a heavy head sea and in spite -of Morris’ assertion of 12 knots, we weren’t doing much over 8½. We -needed all we had, and so I wanted to talk with the man who had charge -of the turns of the propeller. I wanted to imbue in him the news idea -and the news spirit which, once aroused, are stronger forces for speed -and quick action than unlimited golden promises. So when he came in, I -gave him a cigar and then for an hour I labored with him, pouring out -all the eloquence which the love of the work must always bring from the -lips of any true newspaper man who works neither for money, reputation -or glory, but for the fascination of “THE CABLE GAME” which knows not -the limitations of conventions, and is bounded only by time and space. -Any man can talk on the one subject that lies nearest his heart, and it -is a poor newspaper man indeed who cannot wax eloquent over the “cable -game.” He lives it every waking hour of the day and dreams of it when -he sleeps. It is for no material gain which he labors, but the pure -love of the work itself. There are dozens of such men who suffer untold -hardships and face any risk simply to get their stories out. They care -little whether their names are signed or not, and their one aim is that -their paper shall be the first to have the news, and that their version -of it may have the front page wherever newspapers are published. It -may be the depths of winter, and miles away from a cable office, but -he will gladly ride hours in a driving snowstorm, even if it takes his -last breath to get his story on the wire. Perhaps it is summer in the -tropics, but he faces the heat as readily as the cold of winter. Hunger -and hardships of all kinds are a part of the day’s work to him if he -can but land that priceless “story,” which is the only object of his -life from day to day. Few people who read the daily papers dream of the -suffering and heart-burn that “special cables” have cost some man in -some far corner of the globe. The story which they read complacently -at their breakfast table has often all but cost the sender his life in -getting it to the telegraph, but the correspondent does it and counts -the cost as nothing if he gets his “beat.” From the world he looks for -no recognition, and if his chief at home is satisfied, the cable man -rejoices and his heart is glad.</p> - -<p>All of this I told my nervous little Greek engineer and then pointed -out that now he as well as I was a correspondent, and not only he, -but every man on the boat was one. “I can do nothing alone,” I told -him. “It is only by your co-operation that we can make this expedition -a success, yours and every other member of this crew,” and then I -explained to him the value of time. How that minutes were worth dollars -and days thousands, and that an hour saved might mean the difference -between success and failure.</p> - -<p>“You have seen the situation in Odessa,” I pointed out to him. “You -know as well as I do that there are hundreds of foreigners, your -countrymen and mine included, whose lives and property are insecure -every day that this reign of terror lasts. They are praying for relief -from their home governments and there” (I pointed to my typewriter -cable blanks on the table) “is the story of their plight, and their -prayer for help. Ten hours after we reach Sulina, that story will be in -print, and in 24 it will have been read by every foreign office in the -world, and who can tell what will be the result? Next week this time -there may be a fleet of warships plowing these waters at full speed to -bring protection to every port in southern Russia. Have you ever been -in peril and without protection? Have you ever longed and prayed for -the sight of a battleship or cruiser flying a friendly flag? Have you -watched the harbor mouth day in and day out for the smudge of smoke -which may mean the coming of succor? Can you realize what bluejackets, -machine guns and friends mean to the people in Odessa? Realize it and -you know what the value of minutes and, much more, hours may mean. -Perhaps I understand it more than you possibly can, for training on -an American paper makes a man consider time more than anything on -earth. You people aboard don’t know how the newspapers in America and -in England, too, spend thousands to save minutes. Go to a big meeting -in my country, and sit through two hours of speeches. When you leave -the hall, a newsboy will hand you a paper with the ink still wet, with -a complete account of the first hour and a half of what has gone on -within.”</p> - -<p>The engineer was visibly impressed.</p> - -<p>“I can’t understand,” he said, “how your paper can spend so much money -for a month of news, much less for one story.”</p> - -<p>I laughed and told him of a correspondent in the far east who got to -the cable office with a big story. He had barely time to catch the -morning edition of his paper. He threw in his 1000 words of copy, and -while he was waiting to see that it got off, he saw through the window -the correspondent of his paper’s greatest rival at home tearing madly -toward the telegraph office with his story clutched in his hands. He -looked at his watch and saw that his rival might send his cable after -his own, and still get it published the same morning, thus preventing -him from scoring a “beat.” For a moment only he was paralyzed, and -then he drew from his pocket a novel which he had been reading. With -one quick snatch he ripped out twenty pages, stuck his scarf pin -through to hold them together, and in pencil scrawled across the top -of the first page the name of his paper and signed his name on the -last, and as his rival entered the door, he tossed to the operator -what amounted to some 7000 additional words of copy. By the time the -operator had finished sending this stuff it was just an hour too late -for his rival’s cable to get the morning edition. The result was that -his story appeared in New York the next morning and was copied all -over the world as the big “beat” of the year. To be sure, it cost the -management nearly $5000 extra in cable tolls, but they alone got the -story that morning.</p> - -<p>“Did the correspondent lose his job?” gasped the chief.</p> - -<p>“Not on your life,” I told him. “On the contrary, he got a cable of -congratulations on his quick action and a raise of salary the same day.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what do you think of that?” ejaculated the chief.</p> - -<p>I saw I had him interested, and so while I was at it I gave him the -story of how a newspaper man saved the Suez Canal to England. “In some -way the correspondent of an English paper found that the Khedive of -Egypt, who held the controlling interest in the stock of the canal, -was going to sell out. In an instant the man realized that he held in -his hand the biggest story of his day. Were it published, every power -in Europe would be bidding, and no doubt the French, who then had the -greatest influence in Egypt, would carry off the plum, which was worth -a dozen wars for any power to possess. So he held his tongue and sent -a rush message, not to his paper, but to the premier of England. Old -Palmerston saw the situation as quickly as had the newspaper man, and -closed the deal by cable for $20,000,000, and then made parliament -raise the cash. The result was that the newspaper account was the first -notice that France had of the loss of the opportunity. So you see, -chief, where hours and minutes were worth not thousands, but millions -on one occasion.”</p> - -<p>I had his attention now, and so I threw in the local touch to round it -off with.</p> - -<p>“That’s what time means to the outside world, but I have not told you -how the office is crying for it. You see, now we have been out nearly -a week, and my chief at home is getting anxious. I can see the foreign -editor sitting at his desk to-morrow. For three days he has been -expecting a cable from us. He locks up his forms about half past three, -and after that our cable will be too late. He is expecting something -good, and for two days now he has been holding space for us on the -‘front page’ up to the last moment. Every day that three o’clock comes -and no news from us, he is sick with disgust. Now, chief, if we can -get to Sulina by daybreak, we will give him his story, our story, and -the story of what Odessa is suffering. That cable there will come in to -his desk in four or five sheets about five minutes apart. When he sees -the date and first sentence, he will know it is from us, and before the -end has been received, the first pages will be in type, and in fifteen -minutes after he has O. K.’d the last sentence, the great presses in -the basement of the building will be roaring worse than one of your -Black Sea hurricanes, and the neatly folded papers will be coming out -at the rate of 60,000 an hour, and before we are through coaling in -Sulina to-morrow afternoon, every newsboy in Chicago will be crying, -‘Extra, latest news from Russia; all about Odessa,’ and our story will -be speeding east, west, south and north to a hundred different cities.”</p> - -<p>I could see that my little Greek friend was getting enthusiastic. I -took my dispatch lovingly in my hands and fingered it for a moment, and -then “I have done all I can do, chief. It is up to you, now, whether we -print this cable to-morrow or two days from now.”</p> - -<p>He jumped up from the table and seized his hat.</p> - -<p>“What do you want me to do?” he asked, filled with the spirit of the game.</p> - -<p>“I want speed, all that you can get down there below the grating.”</p> - -<p>Without a word he turned and climbed the companion-way. I heard his -quick step on deck above my head, and he was gone. A few minutes later -I followed him and went down into the engine room. By the throttle -stood my little friend, with one hand on the valve gear and his eye -on the steam gauge. I put my hand on the eccentric arc of the high -pressure engine and, with my watch in hand, counted the heartbeats of -our 1000 horse power triples.</p> - -<p>“One hundred and eight revolutions,” I said. “Not bad.”</p> - -<p>The chief never took his eye from the gauge.</p> - -<p>“You watch. We can do better than that.”</p> - -<p>In the stoke-hold just ahead I could hear the Turks heaving in the -coal, and I was glad at heart.</p> - -<p>“You’ve got those fellows working for once,” I commented.</p> - -<p>“I have that,” he replied. “I’ve woke up the day shift and have two men -working on each boiler, and the gauge there tells the business.”</p> - -<p>I followed his eye and watched the hand flicker with each stroke of the -engine. Pound by pound the pressure from the boilers was shoving it up. -When it reached 160, the chief gave the wheel that opens the valve in -the main steam pipe from the boilers a half turn and said:</p> - -<p>“Now count her revolutions.”</p> - -<p>With my eye on the second hand of my watch, I counted “105, 6, 7, 8, 9, -10, 11, 12,” and snapped the lid with approbation.</p> - -<p>“We’ve more coming yet,” grinned the sturdy little Greek.</p> - -<p>His interest once aroused, he was doing his best. A moment later I -counted 115.</p> - -<p>“She did 117 on her trial trip,” volunteered the engineer, “and she’ll -do it again if she holds together,” and he opened the valve to its full -and screwed in the valve gear until he had the steam cut off to its -minimum stroke to keep pace with the up and down racing of the pistons, -while his second crawled about dropping oil in cupfuls on the working -bearings to keep her from heating. The chief timed her himself. I -watched him.</p> - -<p>“What is she doing?” I asked, as he closed his watch.</p> - -<p>“You count,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I make it 118,” I replied, looking at him with my best smile of -approval.</p> - -<p>“Right you are,” he said. “One hundred and eighteen it is, and just one -better than she’s ever done before,” and he winked as he rubbed the oil -off his grimy face with a piece of cotton waste.</p> - -<p>“I’d put her up some more,” he said apologetically, “but I’m afraid -she’d prime. Anyhow,” (with a glance at the gauge) “she blows at 180 -pounds, and we’re 178 now.”</p> - -<p>“Keep her where she is,” I said, “and you’re doing fine.” And I wrung -his hand and went on deck.</p> - -<p>Trembling from end to end with the revolution of her engines, the -<i>France</i> was beating her way toward the cable at nearly 11 knots an -hour, and going into a heavy head sea at that. I blessed the sporty -little Greek and went below to try and get a bit of shut-eye before -daylight.</p> - -<p>In the saloon I found Morris and the second engineer, who had just -turned out of his bunk preparatory to going on his watch in the engine -room at 1 <span class="smcap">a. m.</span> With one shoe on and the other in -his hand he sat spell-bound as he listened to the narration of one of Morris’s -hair-raising Philippine experiences. I had intended turning in at once, -but lighted a cigar instead for a chat with the machinist for the few -minutes he had to spare.</p> - -<p>Our conversation naturally drifted to the subject which we both had in -common, and before we knew it we were deep in a discussion as to the -respective merits of turbine and reciprocating engines. The engineer -was still nursing his unshod foot, forgetful of all but the question we -were arguing.</p> - -<p>“For my part,” he was saying, “give me for all around service triple -expansion—I don’t say but what for high speed like torpedo boats and -such, turbines may not be good, but they do say the blades sheer in -bucketsful at high pressure driving. Now you take a four-cylinder -triple turning her darndest—”</p> - -<p>He paused suddenly and looked sharply at me. We had both felt a barely -perceptible tremor run through the ship. A tumult of anger swept -through my veins.</p> - -<p>“She touched bottom,” I explained, furious at even the prospect of a -further delay in getting my story to the cable.</p> - -<p>“That’s funny,” mused the engineer, slipping on the belated boot in a -hurry. “It surely felt like sliding over a mud bank. We must be ten -miles from shore at least. But it can’t be, for the old man hasn’t even -slowed her down. We must have dreamed it.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort,” I replied, having been there many times before. -“We are too near the shore, and the skipper’s either drunk or asleep. I -am going on deck,” and I got up and put on my coat and started for the -stairs.</p> - -<p>I had barely put my foot on the bottom step when we felt the sudden -check to our speed and that subtle velvety sensation of a ship sliding -through mud. I turned and looked at the engineer, who was at my heels.</p> - -<p>“The fool,” he muttered, and then a lot of Greek expletives which -sounded good to me. “He’s piled her up on the mud bank.”</p> - -<p>And even as he spoke there came the frantic clanging of the telegraph -in the engine room, and almost instantly the dying pulse of the engines -as the chief engineer shut off the steam. The pistons had been slipping -merrily up and down in their guides driving the shaft at its maximum, -and for a few strokes their impetus carried them, but the life was -gone, and after a few half-hearted revolutions they came to a sullen -standstill, the high pressure engine just at the end of its reach -and the low caught in the middle of its stroke. The absolute silence -was broken only by the lap of the waves breaking on our steel sides. -In a moment I was on the bridge with Morris at my heels. A tumult of -Greek voices in the wheel-house told of the endeavors to adjust the -responsibility of the blunder. It is always so with the Greeks. In -an emergency they all begin to quarrel as to who is to blame. So it -was at this juncture, and until I had Stomati translating some strong -Anglo-Saxon language, the idea of how we were going to get afloat -again did not seem to have crossed any one’s mind. They all united in -condemning Spero as the simplest way out of the matter, and let it go -at that.</p> - -<p>It was almost full moon. The wind had gone down, and for once the sea -was as calm as a lake. Four or five miles away, dead ahead, a light -glimmered, and with my night glasses I could see the outline of the low -lying shore against the sky. It was way below zero—a dead, cold calm, -the sort of cold that hurts one’s lungs to breathe.</p> - -<p>As we stood arguing on the bridge the safety valves on the starboard -boilers lifted and the steam deflected from the engines came roaring -out of the steam pipe aft the funnel, going straight up into the cold -air in great expanding clouds of fleece.</p> - -<p>Old man Gileti rang full speed astern and eagerly the three cylinders -breathed again as they took up their triple chorus down in the engine -room. For an hour they worked, first ahead and then astern in a frantic -effort to slip her out of the bank. But it was no use. We had been -driving at nearly fourteen knots and had gone head-first into a wet -and sticky bank of mud, and her nose was buried three feet deep in the -clinging mess.</p> - -<p>I got the chief down into my saloon as being the only rational man -aboard, and together we studied out our position on the chart. We were -some 15 miles north of the Danube’s mouth and four miles off shore. The -skipper had mistaken a light in a house for the harbor light, and had -turned in for the shore just an hour too soon. The names we devised to -apply to that skipper would have frozen his marrow could they have been -translated. The little engineer had been moving heaven and earth to -give me speed, and he almost wept at the delay. I told him that I must -be at the cable office by seven in the morning, and to pass the word -forward to the crew that if they did not get her off by three o’clock -I should lower the boat and take four men to pull me to the shore. The -idea of a four-mile sea-pull with the mercury freezing put more life -into the crew than I could have believed possible. I told Morris that -he would have to go, too, and his teeth chattered in anticipation as he -flew forward to Stomati to get him to urge the crew into action.</p> - -<p>The skipper, who was really much depressed, held a council of war, and -things began to move. The boat was swung clear of the davits, while -Spero and another got away the port anchor. This was lowered gingerly -into the life-boat, and then, with four men straining at the oars, -it was pulled with the cable paying slowly out, 80 fathoms astern. I -stood aftside the <i>France</i> shivering in the moonlight, and watched them -gently pry the seven-hundred pound anchor out of the swaying life-boat -and heard the splash of it as it went into the water. Then the donkey -engine with Nicholas at the valve began to take in the cable, and link -by link it came out of the water, until at last it stretched taut from -the forward hawser hole to the anchor that bit the mud 500 feet astern.</p> - -<p>“Full speed astern,” rang the order in the engine room, and the -propeller churned the mud. Nicholas threw the donkey valve wide, and -with desperate pantings and gaspings the windlass tugged at the cable. -Inch by inch almost imperceptibly it came in. For a minute or two the -struggle of steam <i>vs.</i> mud continued, and then suddenly the donkey, -choking with delight, began to gather in the cable with metallic -rattlings, and the crew cheered lustily as the <i>France</i> slid back into -the arms of her native element.</p> - -<p>In five minutes we had the boat on the davits again and the anchor on -deck, and were beating down the coast. At five, a bend in the coast -showed the white glimmer of the Sulina beacon, and we cut her speed -down to a few knots, for our haven was in sight. Two hours later we -crossed the bar and steamed into the Danube, and I went below for the -hour that remained before daylight.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Send Our Cable and Find Ourselves with Five Francs and -Expenses of $200 a Day, but Make a Financial Coup d’Etat and Sail for the Crimean Peninsula</i></p> - -<p>The Danube, some twenty miles before it reaches the sea, spreads out -in an enormous delta and empties into the Euxine through three mouths, -St. George’s to the south, Sulina mouth in the middle and Rilia to the -north. The Sulina being the main artery of navigation was the one that -interested us. Its channel has been cut in a straight line for perhaps -eight miles from the sea, so that it looks more like a great canal than -a river. Two breakwaters jut out for half a mile beyond the mouth to -keep the silt brought down by the great volume of water from spreading -out in a bar at the entrance of the channel. Two enormous steam dredges -live between these breakwaters and spend their entire time in keeping -the channel deep. The country all around the mouth is flat and swampy, -and the little town is built on made ground, and, like Port Said and -Suez, lives off the shipping that passes to and fro in the river. Until -I saw Sulina on the map as the nearest cable station to Odessa, I had -never heard of it, and was amazed to find it one of the big grain -shipping centers of Europe. Many of the large steamers tie up there and -load from elevators and barges. Roumania, it appears, is one of the -most Utopian little states in Europe. The people are the left-overs of -the high tide of the Roman Empire. When the centuries were countable -on the fingers of one hand, the Romans settled the country. When the -Vandals swept down on Rome, the arms of her prestige curled in like -the tentacles of an anemone, leaving this little isolated community to -struggle down through the storms of history. Though a thousand miles -separates this little lake of Romans from the spring that poured them -at its flood, the community grew and waxed strong and held itself -intact in the furnace of turmoil and clash of medieval history. -Roumania to-day is about the size of New York State. The Danube, her -great artery, waters a plain as fertile as any in the world. Each year -from seventy-five to a hundred million bushels of grain come down that -river for shipment to the outer world.</p> - -<p>Sulina town is a handful of houses stretching along the river. Dozens -of steamers lie alongside the stone embankment receiving their cargoes. -Floating elevators, shrouded in the mist of their own dust, shoot the -torrents of golden grain into the hatches that gape expectantly in the -decks of the great sea-tramps.</p> - -<p>Though it was December and the weather freezing, the embankment for a -mile was lined with great freight-carriers, while tugboats towing long -lines of wheat barges that had come from Hungary snorted down the aisle -of dignified ocean carriers, whose funnels towered fifty feet above the -waters.</p> - -<p>The <i>France</i>, with the “stars and stripes” snapping in the crisp -morning breeze, steamed up the busy lane, and after passing the -quarantine officer, was assigned to a berth on the outskirts of the -town. A cup of coffee in the galley served for breakfast, and then with -Spero, Stomati and Morris in the boat, I was pulled across the river to -the side where the cable office was reported to be.</p> - -<p>It was half past seven, and the town was just beginning to stir itself -as my boat came alongside the stone steps of one of the many landing -places. With Stomati as a pilot, I found the cable office where a -sleepy individual in uniform was lounging over a table on which a dozen -instruments were merrily clicking. We looked in through a little grated -window and Stomati (in what I suspect was very inferior Roumanian) -stated that we were not looking through the grating out of curiosity, -but because we had a message to send. The operator stretched and -shuffled forward, and I handed in my three pages of typewritten cable -blanks. He glanced at it and shoved it back with the observation that -the post-office was across the hall, and started back to his desk. When -he finally heard it was a cable for London, he scuttled out of the -room, and in a few minutes came back with two more operators, and a -fierce argument ensued. At last the one who seemed to be the head, came -over with a pitying smile and handed back the cable with the comment -that I better mail it, as it would cost 75 cents a word to cable it, -and he turned to go back to his breakfast. When I insisted he stared -in amazement, but took the message. I produced my five £5 notes, which -were declined as not being legal tender, and my message was handed -back. Stomati argued and swore, and I offered my watch as security, but -no; “pay in Roumanian bills or there shall be no cable sent.” The banks -did not open till ten, which would delay my wire two hours, and perhaps -lose the afternoon edition. Stomati turned his pockets inside out and -unearthed 20 Roumanian gold pieces, which I confiscated and sent a -short wire to London: “Hold space for thousand words Russia. Filing in -hour.” This to prepare the office so that if my wire arrived at the -eleventh hour, there would be a place in the forms all ready to slip it -in. Having got this off, I started out with my five English notes to -get a quick action change to Roumanian coin of the realm.</p> - -<p>Now, as stated above, there is nothing at Sulina save its shipping -interests. In a village, any new event creates a great sensation. -So it was with the advent of the <i>France</i> with the American flag -flying at the fore. When we returned to the embankment, little knots -of Roumanians were discussing what her significance was. Every group -we met was bombarded by Stomati in his alleged Roumanian to change -English bank notes to Roumanian francs. We found an individual in the -second group who had a little over a hundred francs. He got one of my -£5 notes, and I all his spare change, which Morris took on a run to -the cable office to send as much of my message as it would pay for. -In the meantime the inhabitants began to get interested in my cable, -and everyone in the little crowd had suggestions to make, and two or -three raced off to wake up possible takers of English notes. I had -tried a half dozen shops all in vain when I heard a hurried step on the -pavement, and the knot of newly made friends exclaimed with joy as a -half dressed individual, flushing with his own importance, pushed his -way through the crowd, and, with a dramatic attitude and heroic tones, -said in fairly good English,</p> - -<p>“It is I, so-and-so (I forget his name), the banker. I have heard of -monsieur’s intended arrival—Sulina knows of him. I will change his -money. Come quick to my office.”</p> - -<p>The crowd was enormously impressed. I have often wondered what they -supposed my cable to contain. A message from the Czar to the President -certainly could not have made a greater excitement. With Stomati and -that portion of the town that was awake and had nothing else on its -mind, I repaired to the banker’s shop and got my notes into golden -francs. I hate to think of the exchange I paid, but I needed the coin -and gathered it in and started for the cable office, where I found -Morris trying to talk French to the operators, whose entire attention -was now devoted to my 900 word cable. Such a thing had never happened -there before, and they were chattering like magpies, but would not send -a word until it was all paid for. So I counted out my gold and the head -man started on the message. I watched him until the last word was on -the wire, and then took account of stock.</p> - -<p>I was at Sulina Mouth without any further instructions from my office. -The <i>France</i> was lying in the river at an expense of about 200 gold -dollars a day. I counted my reserve and found it to come to 45 francs. -I paid Stomati the 20 I had confiscated from him, and put the remaining -25 francs in my pocket with great care. Morris looked at me and grinned.</p> - -<p>“Is that your last?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“It is,” I replied with great dignity, “but keep it dark. It is -nobody’s business but my own.”</p> - -<p>It did look rather blue. Just five dollars and a boat on my hands that -was burning up a hundred a day in coal alone, and we at the end of the -earth and the central object of interest in town. Morris keenly enjoyed -the delicateness of the situation. He was never so happy as when we -were in a tight place.</p> - -<p>“What are we going to do?” he queried, cracking the joints in his knuckles.</p> - -<p>I looked at my watch. It was lacking five minutes of nine.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I said, “we are going back to the <i>France</i> and have some -breakfast.” And I smiled serenely, for my cable had gone and we couldn’t -be robbed of that much, even if everything else went to the bad.</p> - -<p>So we walked down to the embankment and I whistled for the ship’s boat, -and was soon in my saloon eating the best breakfast that Stomati could -cook. There is nothing like a full stomach to give one courage and to -make one’s brain work up to the situation of the moment.</p> - -<p>There is a good rule in whist (or some game of cards) that says “When -in doubt, lead trumps.” A good axiom for a war correspondent (or anyone -else for that matter) in trouble would be “when in a desperate plight -and all seems lost—eat, and then do your thinking.” It is poor business -worrying at best, and especially on an empty stomach. So I banished -from my mind the delicacy of my situation and ate the most luxurious -breakfast which the <i>France</i> afforded. When this duty was completed, I -lighted a cigar, which I intended to smoke to the bitter end before I -attempted that painful process of putting one’s mind through a wringer -in an endeavor to make something out of nothing.</p> - -<p>While the smoke from the first puff was floating out of the skylight, -there came a tap at the companion-way hatch. I sent Morris to investigate. -He returned clicking his heels and grinning from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>“Here’s your chance,” he said. “It’s a banker guy named Rodwaner. He is -doing a stunt in bum English, from which I gather that here is where we -make the grand touch.”</p> - -<p>Morris’s English may have been ambiguous, but I translated it as it was -for the benefit of the solving of problems in slang.</p> - -<p>“What did you tell him?” I asked.</p> - -<p>Morris grinned, cracked his thumb joints.</p> - -<p>“Was I eager? Not on your life! I said, ‘My boss is a very busy man; -don’t think he can see you at all to-day.’ Well, the old man was some -impressed. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes, I realize your master must be busy—but -this is an important matter about a loan.’ Well, sir, when he says -loan, Monroe D. Morris makes his great stall. ‘Loan! Do you think my -master is borrowing money at every port and from an unknown party like -yourself?’ And then I gives him a line of talk and finally consents to -getting him an interview for just a moment.”</p> - -<p>At my direction he produced the banker, who came in with many bowings -and scrapings and apologies for his intrusion. As an introduction he -produced a telegram in German from the Branch Ottoman Bank at Budapest. -I don’t know to this day how the old man ever got it or whom it came -from—it was garbled and parts left out. It seemed that Rodwaner was the -local agent of the Roumanian National Bank and that someone had advised -the Central Bank in Bucharest that I had credit at Constantinople, -and that small drafts might be honored on presentation of proper -credentials. I had no credentials to show my friend, so I side-stepped -that question. He had received the message two days before and had -told everyone in town. When the <i>France</i> arrived and was the center of -observation, old Rodwaner began to swell up with pride and boast of his -importance as being the man whom the Ottoman Bank had advised of my -coming. It appeared later that he had been talking freely in town, and -as his importance grew with the magnitude he gave me, he had not spared -in his praises of the “great personage” to arrive, and whom he was to -finance. He asked how much I wanted, and as a starter I said £100. He -then asked for my credentials, and I was obliged to admit I had none. -He looked at me aghast. What should he do? He could not return ashore -and tell his friends that his long heralded arrival was a “fraud” to -whom he would not advance money, and, on the other hand, the idea of -giving a stranger money without anything but a sight draft as security -nearly threw him into spasms. It was his prestige with his neighbors -ashore vs. risking his shekels, and it was a hard fight. But he was -in the enemy’s country, and the sight of the <i>France</i> and my crew and -Morris standing at my elbow like an ebony statue, saluting every time -I looked his way, made a great impression. I gave him some whiskey and -a cigar, and told him what a genuine pleasure it was to meet a banker -of such importance and business sagacity in a little town like Sulina. -I outlined to him how much I appreciated his trust in me (which was -an anticipation, to be sure), and I pointed out how really great men -depended on their intuitions in business rather than conventional -forms. He swallowed it all and two more drinks of whiskey besides. -Fortunately he had the money on him, for I don’t believe I would have -gotten it so easily had we been obliged to attack him in his own lair. -After the drink he began to loosen and at the third he drew a bag of -gold out of his trousers pocket and counted out 100 gold pieces, being -English sovereigns and German 20 mark gold pieces. I signed a receipt -and filled my money belt on the spot before he could have a change of -heart. I wanted twice as much, but I must be sure of something anyway, -and I did not propose to risk it all by asking too much at the start. -After Rodwaner had parted with his money he became very sad, but I -cheered him up and about noon sent him ashore in the ship’s boat with -Morris to break ground for an event which was to come off during the -afternoon.</p> - -<p>While the leaven was working ashore I pounded out a mail story and read -over a batch of English papers which the banker had been thoughtful -enough to bring aboard with him when he came. A glance through the -papers, coupled with the gossip I had picked up ashore, indicated that -the situation was about the same as when I had left Constantinople. -The same crop of alarms and reports of disaster were circulating here -as they had been at every point I had touched. Odessa, Sevastopol and -the Caucasus generally named as being in the most desperate plights. I -knew that Odessa, though in a bad way, might keep for a few weeks, but -did not feel so sure of the other places. An interview with the skipper -and a careful scrutiny of the chart determined me to go first to -Sevastopol, which was only a night’s run from the mouth of the Danube. -From there I figured I could reach the coast of Asia Minor is another -fourteen hours and get the Turkish cable for my story from the Crimean -city, and then be within striking distance of the Caucasus if on closer -view-point the situation looked good.</p> - -<p>I called the engineer, and he admitted coal in bunkers to last five -days. Stomati urged a replenishment of the larder, and I gave him some -of my Rodwaner gold to get it, and then sent the skipper out to clear -the ship for Sevastopol so that we might be ready to sail by four in -the afternoon.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Morris was standing by the banker, saluting and -exhibiting deference at every step. Rodwaner, with three drinks under -his belt and an Ethiopian attendant, began to swell, and an hour after -he had set foot on shore everyone in town was pointing him out as -the only man in town whom outsiders knew and turned to for financial -matters. The stories my banker circulated about his distinguished -friend on the “yacht” simply made his rivals green with envy.</p> - -<p>At three in the afternoon Morris returned and reported on Rodwaner’s -satisfaction and also on his own activity in boosting my credit ashore. -The moment was now ripe for the second attack. So we got up our anchor -and steamed majestically up the river and made directly in front of -Rodwaner’s minute establishment. With all flags flying and steam -blowing off the <i>France</i> certainly made an excellent appearance. Quite -a crowd gathered while we were tying up. With Morris clearing the way, -I came down the gang-plank and entered the banker’s shop. He met me at -the door wreathed in smiles and ignoring absolutely his old friends -that crowded about the door. I sat down and had some tea while the two -clerks in the place gaped at me over their ledgers, and a score or more -of faces peered through the front windows.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” old Rodwaner was saying, so loud that a rival money-lender in -the front rank could take it in, “it has been a great pleasure to do -business with you. I hope you will always call on me. I can always give -you up to £1000.”</p> - -<p>I saw him trying to gather out of the corner of his eye the impression -that he was making. Everything was working finely, even better than I -had hoped.</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course,” I said. “That £100 I drew was indeed a trifle.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing at all,” replied the banker. “A mere detail. A drop in the -bucket. I might have done much better by you had you needed it,” and he -fairly hugged himself at the great coup he was making before the rest -of the town.</p> - -<p>A dozen had come in and stood listening to our conversation. It was -now about four, and so I delivered my bomb which I had held until the -psychological moment. So I said:</p> - -<p>“I hesitated to ask for more, Mr. Rodwaner, as I did not suppose your -institution was such an important one.”</p> - -<p>“Important? Yes,” he replied, “though I say it myself, perhaps the most -so in Roumania.”</p> - -<p>“That being the case,” I replied easily, “I believe I’ll have a little -more, say £200,” and I lighted a fresh cigar.</p> - -<p>It was cruel to do it right before them all, but I needed the money, -and quickly at that.</p> - -<p>Rodwaner actually turned pale. One of the clerks, whom I learned was -his son, burst forth in German that, already this strange man had -borrowed £100, with little or no security, and he objected. I could see -that there was a row on, and I must confess that I was mean enough to -enjoy it thoroughly.</p> - -<p>The banker wavered for a second. What should he do? At this moment one -of the by-standers, a Greek money-lender, called from the back of the crowd:</p> - -<p>“I have the moneys for Monsieur if Rodwaner cannot do.”</p> - -<p>This turned the scale.</p> - -<p>“Ha, Ha!” cried my friend. “You would steal my customers, you dirty -pig. Rodwaner can lend—he will. He does so with pride,” and he booted -the protesting son into the corner and then proceeded to clear the -shop. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. His local prestige was safe. -How much did I need?</p> - -<p>“Two hundred pounds would do.”</p> - -<p>Couldn’t I do with less, perhaps. I thought I might be satisfied with -£150, and he began to dig. It was evident he hadn’t even that, and so I -said we would make it a hundred flat. All his gold came only to £90.</p> - -<p>“Will that do?” he asked appealingly.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid not,” I replied, “but if it is going to inconvenience you, -perhaps the Greek banker will.”</p> - -<p>He held up his hand more in sorrow than in anger, and asked if I could -use silver. I agreed, and he began to count it out into piles, first -five franc pieces, then two franc and at last ones, and still he was -short a few pounds. But he was thoroughly aroused now, and put on his -hat and in a few minutes returned with sufficient gold to make up my -£100, and I signed a sight draft on the Chicago <i>News</i>, shook him -warmly by the hand and walked across the street to the <i>France</i>, that -lay almost at his door.</p> - -<p>Without any exaggeration, there were three or four hundred people -crowding about the gangway. Morris had hurried ahead, and had Stomati -and two of the crew on deck to salute as I came aboard through a narrow -lane of humanity. In two minutes we had cast off and our engines were -slowly pulling the <i>France</i>, stern first, into the stream. As her head -came slowly around, and her nose pointed seaward, Morris dipped the -flag on account of our poor old Rodwaner left with his empty purse.</p> - -<p>“What interests me,” I told Morris that night, as I sat smoking after -my dinner, “is where the old man got the balance of that gold.”</p> - -<p>“He sure was up against it,” replied my chief of staff. “Yes, sir, -old man Rodwaner had to scratch. It’s my opinion, sir, that old man -Rodwaner is all in.”</p> - -<p>“How’s that?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“You took all he had and then he puts on his hat and goes and pawns -Rachel’s sealskin sacque and diamonds, and that, sir, is where your -last £5 came from. Yes, sir, I believe it. That’s just what old man -Rodwaner done.”</p> - -<p>With $1000 gold in my belt, we shaped our course for the Crimea.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Reach Sevastopol and Land in Spite of Harbor -Regulations, Get a Story and Sail Away with It to the Coast of Asia Minor</i></p> - -<p>The reader of stories of adventure naturally expects to have something -sensational doing every minute. Why else, indeed, has he paid his -money? But there are dull spots in even the most strenuous tales (that -is, in real life), and the narrator of fact must blushingly, or, at -best, hurry over the places where interest flags. Our trip from the -Danube mouth to the Crimean Peninsula was unusual only in the fact that -the sea was quiet, and that it was possible to remain in one’s bunk. No -world diplomat ever felt more perfect satisfaction at a successfully -executed international coup d’état than I did that night as, with money -belts stuffed with gold, the <i>France</i> cut through the waves, turning up -with her steel nose a ridge of ripples that left an ever wider wedge of -silver in our moonlit wake. A square meal and a good cigar combined to -make that evening a picture, which still stands out in my mind as an -oasis in the desert of that Black Sea trip. At ten o’clock I took a -“look-see” around the boat before turning in for the night, and found -that every member of the crew, save the man at the wheel, had crawled -off into some corner and gone to sleep. Even the look-out had squeezed -himself into the chain locker out of the wind, and was making a sound -like the exhaust of a gasoline launch. For a few minutes I was tempted -to wake up the various delinquents, but when I thought of the past -days and nights of cold and overwork, I softened and let them sleep -peacefully on. The only danger on such a smooth sea that I could think -of was collision, and that seemed improbable, as there were almost no -ships navigating those waters just at that time, and, anyway, surely -the other ship would keep watch and see us, even if we failed to see -them. So we would be safe anyway. One comes to realize after a time -that it is foolish to worry about dangers all the time. After months of -being on needles and pins as to what the future has up its sleeve, one -gets so tired that it is simpler to accept the inevitable and be killed -outright (if so it is written on the cards) than to lay awake nights -and think about it. So leaving the situation on “the lap of the gods,” -I went to my cabin and rolled into my bunk without the formality of -undressing, and in two seconds was sleeping with that indifference to -fate and the morrow that only hardship, exposure and utter exhaustion -can make possible.</p> - -<p>The situation at Sevastopol, according to the rumors that had been -circulating in the ports at which I had touched, were all that the -most blood-thirsty correspondent could desire. The mutiny of the Black -Sea fleet was but a recent history, and as no word had come from the -Crimea for some weeks, it was generally supposed that further riot and -bloodshed had been added to the long list of upheavals which had marked -that year in the Czar’s dominions. So it was with keen interest that we -stood on the bridge of the <i>France</i> the following morning and watched -the white line of the snow-clad, low lying hills come out of the sea as -we approached the barren bleakness of the historic battlefields of ’55.</p> - -<p>We entered the harbor without molestation and anchored a few hundred -yards from half a dozen sullen looking ships of war, which completed -the dismal setting of the whole scene. We waited an hour or more, -as usual in Russian ports, without our presence being noted in the -slightest degree. Finally about nine o’clock a launch with a bevy of -hungry waiting-to-be-fed port officials came aboard. Nothing could be -done until a hot breakfast was placed before them. Then a few drinks -and cigars warmed their hearts sufficiently so that they consented -to commence the endless examination into our past, which forms such -an important part of Russian procedure. About eleven they took their -departure, with the instructions to us that we would not be allowed -to land until our case had been carefully considered by those in -authority ashore. This was most discouraging to one in a hurry to do -business, and who had not the slightest intention of being left over -night in the harbor. We watched the launch steam back to shore, and -when it had finally disappeared behind some docks, and when, with my -glasses, I had observed the portly officials walk off up a near by -street, I ordered out my own long boat. Fortunately this hung on the -side away from the harbor. Taking four of the best rowers and the -faithful Morris, we pulled quietly away from the <i>France</i>, and, without -further discussion, rowed around behind a bluff that sloped down to the -water, in a little frequented part of the town, and without once being -hailed, landed, climbed over said bluff, and walked boldly down into -the main street of the town, just as though we lived there.</p> - -<p>I made my base at the best hotel in the city and proceeded to pump -everyone in sight as to the news of the hour in the Crimean port. Four -hours of active work convinced me that the situation in Sevastopol had -been vastly exaggerated, as indeed is usually the case with war or riot -stories originating in remote localities. To the excited citizen caught -in the hurly burly uproar and tumult of a mob, with shots ringing out -and Cossacks charging about and riding people down, it no doubt seems -as though the last great spasm of history were being enacted. A dozen -killed and a score wounded look like hundreds to the man who has not -seen corpses and wounded “in bulk.” In fact, there is nothing in the -world so misleading as the importance of riots and the alleged losses. -When one comes to analyze it, half the supposed dead prove to be only -wounded or stunned, while the bulk of the alleged fatally wounded are -only slightly hurt, or so badly frightened that they fall over each -other in their anxiety to get away. All this to the amateur observer -looks like a world sensation, but if one digests it all a day or two -later, when the excitement has subsided, it appears that the police -have merely dispersed a disorderly rabble with a few casualties. In the -meantime, however, the excited witness, who perchance has never heard -a shot fired in anger before, has sent out his story of “atrocious -massacre by the police” with all the lurid details which, in his mind, -are unparalleled. The story does not lose as it travels through the -big centers of news distribution, and when it finally gets into the -daily papers it gives the reader the impression that a world spasm -has been enacted. The “special correspondent” is rushed to the scene -of the occurrence, and when he arrives a week afterwards he finds the -life of the town moving much as before, and a few bullet holes in some -wall the only visible signs of the “horrible riot.” He learns that -the revolutionists are in durance vile, and if he takes the pains -to investigate, he will find a few poor peasants and a handful of -long-haired, wild-eyed Russian students shut up in a dirty room. This, -then, is a type of the great majority of Russian riot or revolution -“stories.”</p> - -<p>In the newspaper world it often happens that “no news” is really -important news, though perhaps not sensational. And so it was in -Sevastopol at this time. I was able to draft an accurate cable pricking -the bubble of mystery and horror with which the outside world was then -viewing the Sevastopol situation.</p> - -<p>There are newspapers, I believe, that won’t stand for the “no news” -types of communications, but expect and insist on getting their column -a day, more or less, news or no news. This is the policy which has bred -“yellow journalism.” It is no doubt a hard proposition to work for, -and I am sure it is a hard one to work against, for I’ve tried it many -times. The correspondent that represents a conservative paper has a -truly mean time when he is on an assignment with a number of fellows -who are cabling for the other type, for it is not at all uncommon for -them to take rumors, or even fakes, agree on the details, and send -them broadcast. Naturally, the man who is there and does not send such -stories gets the credit of having missed a good thing and of being -asleep on his assignment. But in the long run it does not pay (to put -it on the lowest grounds), for the senders of inaccurate dispatches -soon get discredited, and when they really turn up a good story, no -one believes it, and its value is nil. The Chicago <i>News</i> asked for -news—not space matter. For months at a time I have sent no cables home, -and then suddenly turned loose with a thousand words a day. Their -attitude was, and rightly, that their space was worth money, lots of -it, and unless the news in itself was worth as much as that space, it -was not wanted in the office. It was for this reason that I never had -to pad or press with my stuff, and on this occasion, as on many others, -I sent merely what it was worth, quite irrespective of the money we had -been spending to get it, which is rightly no criterion as to the value -of a bit of news.</p> - -<p>From the British Consul, to whom I had letters, I learned some of the -details of the earlier troubles, and of the mutiny of the fleet. At -no time it seemed was the uprising of the sailors generally popular -with those simple hearted folk. It was said that at least 75% of the -men were unwilling participants in the romantic adventure of the then -famous Lieutenant Schmidt, who stole one of the big Russian battleships -and ran off with it, to the confusion of the rest of the fleet. The -laborers at the naval station in Sevastopol whom we had supposed to -be blood-thirsty wretches marching the streets, howling for the blood -of the Czar, a Grand Duke or two, or, in fact, any old tyrant, had, -instead of performing these picturesque acts, gone quietly to work -and organized themselves into a police force to help patrol the city, -and in this role they had shown themselves more effective than the -regular police. Another good story gone wrong! The really obstreperous -characters of the movement had been caught and were shut up on the -ships that we had seen lying in the harbor.</p> - -<p>There were some dramatic incidents, without doubt, during the few -days in which the mutiny was at its height, but the capture of the -ring-leaders resulted in its utter collapse.</p> - -<p>What I did hear, however, was that there really was a fierce row in -progress down in the Caucasus, at the other end of the Black Sea, and -the details seemed to be sufficiently numerous and accurate to convince -me that I would be better off there than where I was. Anyway, it would -be only a question of a few hours before some “kill-joy” would hold me -up for my pass-port and learn that I was on shore without leave and be -sure to kick up a row that might delay me for days.</p> - -<p>So, after getting a good square meal at the hotel and smoking a cigar, -I walked leisurely out to the remote nook among the rocks, where my -ship’s boat lay, and with no more trouble than at landing was rowed -back to the <i>France</i>.</p> - -<p>As soon as I was aboard the captain raised the Blue Peter, that little -white centered blue flag, which says “I am sailing to-day. Please come -out quick and give me a clearance.” Of course, no one noticed the flag, -but as we had plenty of steam under our decks, we kept the fog horn -groaning dismally until the officials ashore, in sheer distress at our -tumult, came back in their launch. The man in charge was the same as -had come off to us in the morning, and almost his first words were that -it would be impossible for us to go ashore that day. So, looking as -disappointed as I could, and after a few protests at being kept in the -harbor all day without being allowed to go into their most interesting -town, I told him that we had decided not to wait any longer, and would -go away that very night if he would fix up our papers. The complacent -smile of the official who had succeeded in blocking someone in the -pursuit of his business wreathed his face. He was sure it was best -for us to go away, he told us, for it would be quite impossible for -him to permit us to land. If we would wait he would go back to his -office and fix our papers and have them aboard so that we might get -away that night. Strangely enough, he was as good as his word, and a -little after 8 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> a launch came alongside, -and the papers, properly viséd and countersigned, in a sufficient -number of places, which authorized us to depart, were handed over the -rail. Our friend then departed with self satisfied regrets that we had -been able to see nothing of their beautiful city.</p> - -<p>Sevastopol is an interesting town of nearly 60,000, replete in the -history of that ghastly siege of the Crimean war, the marks of which -are still traceable on the bleak hills lying about the town. But as -nothing of very keen interest related to this story transpired on the -occasion of my visit, I will not burden the reader with more than a -bare paragraph on the subject. The roadstead and the harbor and the -extensive establishments connected with them form the most important -features of the place. The great harbor fortifications which existed -at the period of the siege were planned in 1834. The hand defenses, -lines of trenches, and so forth, had not been fairly completed -when the allied armies of England and France commenced their siege -operations. Though compressed into a comparatively small space, the -real strength was enormous, five to six thousand men being engaged on -them daily during the eleven months of the siege. The garrison during -this period was usually about 30,000 men, and the number of guns said -to have been in position at the final assault was placed at 800, -though several times that number were rendered unserviceable during -the siege. The Russian loss in the defense has been placed at 80,000. -The fortifications and naval establishments were after the capture -destroyed by the allies, and by the treaty of Paris, which terminated -the war, Russia was debarred from building arsenals and maintaining a -naval force in the Black Sea above a very limited magnitude, but this -restriction was removed in 1871. The town has been completely rebuilt, -and since 1885 the fortifications have been actively replaced and the -docks reconstructed. Sevastopol has become a pleasant watering place, -and is Russia’s greatest southern Naval Headquarters.</p> - -<p>It was a little after eight when a “Stand By” on the engine telegraph -and a “Heave Away” to Spero at the donkey engine brought the crew to -their stations. The gentle throb of the engines ahead and astern to -clear the water out of the valves and the chug chug and “clinkety -clink” of the anchor chain as it came jerking through the hawser hole -in the bow was the only sound on the stillness of the water, save -the occasional far away call of a sentry on one of the battleships. -While the deck crew were hoisting the anchor over the side and lashing -it into place, the <i>France</i> swung gently about, and the steady -strengthening beat of her engines pulsed through the ship as she headed -out to sea.</p> - -<p>The moon was all but full, and cast a silvery sheen over the still -waters of the harbor. Every prospect during the early afternoon and -evening had cheered us with a hope of a still night, but the “kill -joy” barometer that hung over our little fireplace had been steadily -falling. We had hoped that, like our weather men at home, it might -be on one of its breaks. But before we had fairly cleared the harbor -our friend, the moon, politely made its apologies, and, with a last -flicker of light, disappeared into a cloud bank. One by one the stars -that twinkled brightly in the cold, crisp air faded from sight, until -at nine o’clock the only light on the horizon was the steady glow of -the beacon on a bit of a peninsula that lay to the south of us. In -half an hour we had cleared this, and the <i>France</i> was riding with -long sweeps over an oily sea that was coming up from the south in long -rippleless swells. An occasional gust of wind foretold what was coming. -With each minute the bursts became more frequent, and in an hour we -were running into a steady gale that by midnight had become a veritable -tempest, driving the waves before it in great sweeping billows, their -crests shrouded in spray that blew across our bridge and decks almost -unintermittently.</p> - -<p>By midnight the hope of a night’s sleep had been abandoned, and the -roar and crash of waters flooding us at every dip, mingled with the -melancholy howling of the wind, that seemed to whip and circle around -our little craft like an avenging spirit, created a tumult, which would -have banished rest even had we been able to remain in our bunks. As a -matter of fact, this was a proposition which I abandoned after a few -futile attempts.</p> - -<p>Earlier in the day I had weighed carefully our next move, and had -decided to run for the little port of Sinope, almost due south of -Sevastopol on the coast of Asia Minor. I wanted to go there for two -reasons: first, because it was a cable station, from which I could -send my Sevastopol story, and, second, because there I hoped I might -learn more definitely of the situation in the Caucasus, which had -been reported so acute at my last two ports of call. I figured that if -the outlook there was good for a “story,” I would keep right on down -the Black Sea, and if not, I would be within easy run of the Bosphorus -or any other point of interest. Hence it was that we were driving -southward through the storm on this winter night.</p> - -<p>A description of the wretched night we passed would merely be a -repetition of those that had gone before, and so the reader can, and, -no doubt, will, gladly pass over the next few hours. Along toward -daylight I snatched a few hours of sleep, wedged in a corner of the -cabin, with pillows stuffed about me to keep me steady in my moorings. -We had reckoned on reaching Sinope by nine or ten in the morning at -the latest, but the gale and head sea had fought our every inch of -progress, and it was past that hour when we first traced through the -mist of spray ahead of us the range of dreary snow-capped hills that -loomed dimly before us, barely discernible with our glasses. By ten the -clouds began to clear and the face of the sun showed itself brightly -over the waters.</p> - -<p>The wind died away as suddenly as it had risen, leaving the sea an -undirected tumbling mass of water, which seemed to lash at us from -every direction at once. I ordered breakfast served in my saloon, and -for an hour preparations were in progress, but the first attempt to -set the table resulted in a mass of broken crockery, and breakfast -being deposited in one corner of the saloon. I told Morris that I would -take my breakfast in the galley, where I could be right at the fountain -head of all good breakfasts. I found Stomati there hanging on to one -of the steel columns with one hand and holding a pot of oatmeal in -place with the other. A coffee pot was wired in place on the other end -of his stove, and the contents thereof were slopping out every time -the ship rolled. He announced that the coffee was ready, and while he -was taking off the wire the oatmeal pot, released for a second, leapt -nimbly from its place and landed in the garbage receptacle across the -galley. However, I did get the coffee and a piece of burned toast into -the bargain, which, after all, wasn’t too bad under the circumstances.</p> - -<p>The hills along the coast of Asia Minor rise steeply from the sea, -and with the clearing of the heavens they stood out radiantly in the -morning sunlight, and in spite of the discomforts of the sea and -wetness that was blowing across us still, our hearts rejoiced. After -all there is nothing that revives one’s spirits like the good old sun. -Great schools of porpoises were playing along beside the boat, and I -amused myself until noon by practicing on them with my Colt, not so -much to kill them as to increase my prestige, which wasn’t much at -best, with my mongrel crew of Greeks and Turks, who enjoyed the target -practice immensely, and, as Morris said, “Are sure impressed.”</p> - -<p>An attempt to serve lunch proved a miserable failure, and as we were -within a few hours of port, we postponed that enterprise until three -o’clock, when we ran in behind the bit of a headland that juts out -around Sinope.</p> - -<p>Approaching Sinope from the north one sees little or nothing of the -town until one rounds in behind the peninsula which sticks out from -the mainland like the letter T, with the little port nestled in the -shoulder of the letter. The books which I have since read say that it -is a good harbor, but even after we had gotten around the point and -anchored, the swell was enough to force one to walk gingerly along -the deck to keep from being spilled across the rail. Personally (this -is a true narrative and facts must be allowed) I had never heard of -the place until I spied it on the chart when I was poring over that -useful adjunct to navigation while we lay in the harbor of Sevastopol -awaiting the Russians to give us our clearance papers. It does appear, -however, upon investigation, that it has been on the map for a good -long time. We even learned (to shame our ignorance) that Mithradates -the Great, whose life is no doubt familiar to all our readers, first -saw the light of day here as recently as 134 <span class="smcap">b. c.</span> -It was the capital also of Pontus, a name equally well known and -distinguished. At lot of interesting people seem to have found this -place, at one time or another. It seems that Mohammed Number II came -in here in 1470 and created quite a sensation with the population at -that time by capturing the place to the confusion of the survivors. A -Russian Admiral with an ingenious name fought a naval battle with the -Ottoman fleet here in 1853, and said fleet suffered its own loss with -four thousand of its crew. This last interesting event decided England -and France to interfere and brought on the Crimean war. Besides being -famous for all these interesting incidents, Sinope exports fruit, fish, -skins, nuts and tobacco. The day I was there all these useful products -of its industries were not in evidence, or much of anything else, for -that matter. But I take the word of the reference book (the refuge of -all writers who travel) that on sunny days the inhabitants do as above -mentioned.</p> - -<p>So it was in this city of these remarkable traditions, linked with -ancient history and seemingly with no connection to the modern world, -that the <i>France</i>, flying the ensign of the Chicago <i>Daily News</i>, -let go her anchor, to the astonishment of the natives, who, no doubt, knew -more of the illustrious Mithradates and his doings than of the city -of Chicago, which, in the form of the <i>France</i>, had so unexpectedly -descended on their legend laden harbor.</p> - -<p>So much then for the due we owe to the reader who wishes to be -instructed. But in the meantime (even before the dawn of this -knowledge was upon us) I had ordered Stomati to do his worst, and in -fifteen minutes after we anchored we began the first substantial meal -we had touched since leaving Sevastopol.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_X">CHAPTER X</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Send Our Cable from Sinope and Then Sail for the -Caucasus, Where Rumor States Revolution and Anarchy to Be Reigning Unmolested</i></p> - -<p>After the meal mentioned so enthusiastically in the last chapter, we -rowed ashore in the longboat and effected a landing at a decaying old -pier (which in truth gave the appearance of being little used for the -disembarking of the fish, skins, etc., before mentioned) and were -welcomed (?) by a ragged crowd of open-mouthed, very dirty creatures -that inhabit this interesting coast. Accompanied by Morris, the second -engineer and Stomati, who was practicing his seven languages at once -on such victims as seem to promise hope of intellect, we wound our way -up a street of fallen-down dirty houses toward the telegraph station. -Fortunately Stomati knew the word for “Telegraph Office” in the -language of the country. I never felt quite so much like a brass band -or an elephant as during that short journey to the “Imperial Ottoman -Postal and Telegraph Office.” I am sure any circus that had such a -following in its street parade would count the day a successful one indeed.</p> - -<p>It was with a little dubiousness that I filed my wire, for the Turkish -officials are far more strict in their censorship than those of any -other government. But I hoped that a message originating at this out -of the way place might get on one of the through wires and slip past -the central station, where the censors preyed in Constantinople. -For, as a rule, the actual senders care nothing about the contents -of a dispatch, and, as a matter of fact, generally do not know the -language, simply sending the letters as they read them. So I hoped mine -might slip through the back door, as it were, and never be noticed -by the officious uniformed functionary that sits in the front office -of the Constantinople stations and reads other people’s confidential -communications. This operator knew a little English, and at his first -sign of suspicion as he read over my “story” of the revolutionary -situation in Russia, I handed him a cigar and a golden English -sovereign, which cheered him up so much that he stopped reading my -message and went out and got me a dirty cup of Turkish coffee about as -thick as molasses. Experience has taught me that there are two useful -forms of influence; first, the exchange of pleasantries, accompanied -by a coin of appropriate value, and, secondly, a polite but firm -intimation that the “mailed fist” is available in case of obstreperous -conduct. So, while the coffee was coming I wrote a short commercial -message to the head of our London office, as follows:</p> - -<p class="blockquot">Am filing an important press dispatch of 287 -words. If it does not reach you simultaneously with this or shows signs -of being tampered with, have the matter vigorously investigated by the -proper authorities.</p> - -<p>I knew that the commercial messages usually went promptly and were -censored leniently, if at all. The operator also knew this fact. Also -did a great light loom upon him as to complications which might arise, -if the message were delayed. So without a word he went into the rear -room, where ticked the instruments and my cable was started on its way. -I learned weeks later, when I finally reached London, that the same -messenger boy had brought both telegrams at the same time, the news -dispatch being 287 words exactly.</p> - -<p>As the ground felt pretty solid and comfortable, after the <i>France</i>, -and as the coffee was not nearly as bad as it looked, we sat in the -office until the last word had gone, and then engaged the Turkish -operator in pleasant converse. He invited us into a more pretentious, -if even dirtier, apartment (which might be termed his lair), and we -signified that we would be glad to pay the price of the drink of -the country, if his influence could procure the same. More cigars -circulated. Kind words passed freely. After the foundation for and that -peculiar atmosphere particularly adapted to confidences had been firmly -established, we began gently to encourage communication on those -subjects which had been passing over the wire between the Caucasus and -Constantinople. Probably outside of this extremely dirty gentleman in -blouse and red trousers, who now seemed so well disposed, there was -not a soul in town who had any information on any subject that would -have been of the slightest interest outside of the port of Sinope. But -our host, in his leisure moments (which I gathered comprised a fair -share of the twenty-four hours), had noted what the wires were saying. -Once he had become aroused in the subjects of interest along his -line, he had made it a point to interview such seamen and others that -touched the little town. He really knew a lot. When he had finished, -we flattered ourselves that we knew as much as he did anyway as to the -situation up in the Caucasus up to the past ten days, when, as our -friend opined, the extension of the cable into the Caucasus had been -suddenly cut. Anyway, communications thence had ceased abruptly. What -we learned in brief was as follows:</p> - -<p>That the strikes and riots which had been prevalent all over Russia -had hit the eastern end of the Caucasus, and hit it hard! Batuum, the -main port at the end of the Black Sea, was in a ferment and filled with -refugees. That the ships had all stopped going there, that the town -was full of sweepings of the entire region plus Cossacks sent there to -keep order. No one seemed to know which side the soldiers would take. -It was reported that the Russian officials were besieged in one of the -public buildings. That the troops were disloyal to their officers and -were killing the population promiscuously, and that all of the decent -citizens were shut up in their houses praying for relief. A French ship -had brought out the last word ten days earlier, to the effect that a -railroad strike was on and that towns were burning everywhere, and that -anarchy was blazing in all quarters of the Caucasus. With this boat had -come two hundred refugees, and it was said that there were hundreds -more in Batuum hoping against hope that some ship would come and take -them away. These were just a few of the things that the operator -told us. To be sure, some of the facts conflicted, and a lot of the -statements did seem a bit improbable. But before our interview was half -finished I was convinced that, even though nine-tenths of the tales -might be fabrications, there was enough left in the remaining tenth to -make a cable. When we had pumped our informant dry, my mind was made -up. We would certainly leave that very night for Batuum.</p> - -<p>Our trip on the Black Sea thus far had been one of constant hardship, -cold and discomfort, which makes a more unfavorable impression on one -than do active dangers, though these too seemed quite stiff enough. -The news results seemed so far, inadequate to the outlay, in the way -of effort and endurance. One does like to feel in taking chances that -there is to be an equivalent return in some direction. The outlook up -in the Caucasus pleased us all. In the first place, there seemed to -be important news features there, and in the second place, there were -refugees (probably some of them Americans) who were praying for relief. -So it did seem as though we would be justified in taking what risks -presented themselves. After one has been in tight places one’s own self -on various occasions, one has more sympathy for others suffering in a -like manner, and the idea of perhaps getting some refugees as well as -news appealed strongly. So before leaving the telegraph office I sent -a wire home, mentioning briefly the situation and winding up with the -following:</p> - -<p class="blockquot">Shall bring off all American refugees would -suggest that our State Department request the Porte (Which signifies -the Sultan’s government) to permit American warships pass through -Bosphorus and protect our interests which appear to be in danger that place.</p> - -<p>I also sent a wire to the American Embassy at Constantinople on the -same lines advising them that if I did not show up within a week to -please make an effort to see what had become of us. After both of these -cables were on the wire I felt that I had taken all precautions for the -future that I could think about, and we returned to the <i>France</i> and -put to sea.</p> - -<p>About every day that winter seemed to be the same on those peaceful -waters, as far as storm and stress were concerned. We were running up -the coast of Asia Minor a few miles off shore all of that night and the -next day. It is a bleak and barren shore, with snow-covered mountains -rising abruptly from the ragged rocks, against which the sea beat and -frothed with a boom that came to us at sea, as loud as distant thunder.</p> - -<p>It was about noon on the following day that I opened my diary to make -the day’s entry. It was December 24th. Christmas eve! I had even -forgotten that Christmas existed, and for the first time it occurred to -me that we would celebrate rather a dismal day on the little <i>France</i>. -It is the season of the year when one’s mind wanders far from wars -and waves and tumult, and my thoughts drifted back across the broad -Atlantic to a certain home, where festivities would be going forward -apace on this day, and little children would be expectantly doing up -bundles and trimming all with green and holly.</p> - -<p>I sent Morris forward for the skipper and asked him if there was a -cable station within range of us. Together we pored over the chart -and figured that we might reach Trebizond by four that afternoon, if -all went well, and the course was duly altered. Sure enough, promptly -on the hour we rounded the point and sailed into the mere angle on -the coast they call a harbor at Trebizond. Half a dozen ships lay at -anchor riding the heavy swell that came booming in from the sea, and -then swept on to break with grim fury on the shore a mile or so beyond. -One of these ships was a French mail steamer of 3500 tons, which had -been lying there for ten days waiting for the storm to abate, and the -others had been standing by for varying lengths of time for a similar -purpose.</p> - -<p>There was a bit of rotten old stone pier sticking out from the jumble -of houses on the shore. The sea was beating about it with great waves -that hid it intermittently from our view, by the spray and spume -created by their angry lashings. However, there did not seem to be any -other place to land, so we ordered out our biggest boat, and with not a -little difficulty got her into the sea without damage.</p> - -<p>Then one by one we piled aboard, each waiting the moment to jump, while -the crew on the <i>France</i> held the dancing shell away with poles. Four -men and Morris formed the escort, and once aboard they gave away with -a will as the close proximity to our tug threatened to upset us any -minute. But once we got her head into the sea, and our four men tugging -in rhythm at the oars, all went well. I had often been in a ship’s boat -in a seaway, but nothing quite like this. Every minute a great sea -would come racing in from the open waters and a mountain black it would -sweep under our stern, lifting us high in the air, and then our little -boat would go sliding back into the valley behind like a cat trying -to climb a steep roof. Down, down we would go into the trough until -our horizon was bounded only by the waves that had swept under us, and -its big black brother following close behind. Each time we would mount -the crest we would see the shore ahead and the <i>France</i> astern of us; -each time we dipped the ridges of spray capped seas would shut them -from sight. But each dip brought us nearer shore. As we approached the -pier I saw that there was a kind of breakwater jutting out from one -side and behind it a still patch of water. Between the pier and the -stone masonry was a channel of perhaps fifty feet. Each moment the seas -would go roaring through this little opening, whose walls were flanked -with clouds of spray breaking on both sides. Then the next second back -would come the wash to meet the next wave. This looked to me to be our -best place to land. In fact, it seemed the only place. Waiting just the -right time and mounted on the crest of a roller we came sweeping down -toward this veritable millrace. Standing up in the stern to steer I -encouraged the crew to pull their hardest. For a moment we hung on the -crest and then like a toboggan we bore down toward the narrow passage, -the sailors pulling their oaken oars till they fairly bent. For an -instant we were in a cloud of spray and ’midst the tumult of the seas -breaking over the masonry at either side, and then we shot into the -quiet waters like a sled gliding over smooth ice.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes we pulled up to a flight of stone steps and were -arguing with a stupid Turk about passports. I forget the details now, -but anyway we bluffed him, and ten minutes later I handed in a wire -at the telegraph office to that home across the seas. I was wet, cold -and wondering in the back of my head how in the world we would ever -manage to get back to the <i>France</i> through that surf as I passed in the -two words for home: “Merry Christmas,” and signed my name. Somehow I -felt that the words did not adequately describe my own feelings, but -then no one at home would know the difference, so it would not matter -anyway. I called on the American consul and gathered from him a general -confirmation of the story that I had picked up at Sinope. He was a -nice man and very gossipy. His house was on a bluff overlooking the -harbor. He was surprised to see us at all, and more surprised to learn -that we had come in the <i>France</i>, which was plainly visible bobbing up -and down in the harbor like a duck in rough water. His advice was to -remain in port awhile, as we were going to have a big storm, and he -thought the <i>France</i> ridiculously small at best. It was he who pointed -out the French Mail to me and gave her as a precedent for remaining -in port. However, as we had been having storms pretty steadily for a -week, and as we were still intact, I told him that I thought we would -go ahead anyhow. He was very cordial, and so I invited him to dinner -on the <i>France</i>, but after verifying his earlier impressions of her by -a careful scrutiny through a spyglass, he politely but firmly declined -the pleasure.</p> - -<p>Trebizond stands out in my mind as one of the most wonderfully -picturesque places that I have ever seen. It is the contact point, as -it were, between the East and the West. The setting is Oriental to a -degree, with the streets filled with riff-raff and hodge-podge of a -dozen different races. Here starts that great overland trail, across -mountain plain and desert, that leads far far away into Persia, India, -aye, and it is said even unto Turkestan and China itself. Long trains -of the patient mangy camels, with their trappings of dirty red and -their escorts of strange attendants, come with them from heaven only -knows where, are moving through the streets toward the trail that lies -beyond.</p> - -<p>It is with a curious fascination that one watches the slow dignified -movements that carry them over the ground at the rate of but a meager -mile or two an hour. It seems impossible to realize that these -melancholy beasts with their quivering pendulous lips and woebegone -eyes, will keep up that same pace for weeks and months, hour after -hour, until at last they lay them down in their distant terminus in the -far off East that ever stands in our minds as the land of mystery.</p> - -<p>Trebizond has a very mongrel population indeed, and it is a constant -wonder to see so many different peoples packed into this one dirty -town. There seems to be many Armenians, and as the reader no doubt -recalls, this little port was freely mentioned in the press a few years -ago as the scene of the ghastly massacres perpetrated on these dismal -people. One always hesitates to criticize with a merely superficial -knowledge, yet the Armenians impress one casually as being about the -most unpleasant people imaginable. They have a genius for conspiracy -and the making of fifty-seven varieties of trouble that is perhaps -unique. The result is that every once in a while some Turk in a genial -mood says, “Come on, fellows, let’s kill-up a few Armenians,” and the -massacre is on. It does seem outrageous to do all these things, but one -who sees the Armenians sometimes wonders if they don’t bring a lot of -trouble on themselves by their own actions and characters.</p> - -<p>The good kind missionary whom I met did not think so, and very likely -he knew what he was talking about, while my opinion is merely a shot in -the dark on a subject viewed superficially.</p> - -<p>My friend the missionary took me around and introduced me to the -governor, a somewhat besmirched gentleman in a dirty red uniform, who -had eyes like a rat, which wandered over my person until I felt for my -watch. He did not speak English nor I Turkish, so our conversation was -not particularly entertaining. I don’t know what his opinion of me was, -but my opinion of him was that he was about the worst looking specimen -that I had ever seen. He had G-R-A-F-T written all over him in large -letters.</p> - -<p>He rather queered his town with me, and I went back to the harbor just -at dusk. The wind had changed and the tide was running out, so that -we managed to get out through the breakwater with nothing worse than -a pretty severe wetting. The barometer (as usual) was falling. So I -decided to have one more square meal before we put to sea. So it was -nine o’clock when the anchor came up and we turned our nose away from -the lights of the town, far more hospitable in appearance, by night -than by day, and headed into the darkness that lay without.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>Christmas Morning on the Black Sea.</i></p> - -<p>It is approximately a ninety-mile run from Trebizond to the harbor of -Batuum, and for this entire distance there is not an anchorage along -the coast. From the time one leaves Trebizond the mountains rise sheer -up from the sea, their bases studded with reefs and ragged rocks or -else rising in cliffs, going straight up for hundreds of feet above -the water. At Batuum there is a bit of a bay with a breakwater across -the narrowest part of it, which justifies its being called a harbor. -Then the coast reaches on in another bleak and barren stretch of forty -miles to another nominal port rejoicing in the name of Poti. And for -this distance the mountains march grandly along, reaching an altitude -which must be at least six or seven thousand feet. The constant storms -of winter had left them mantled deep in the glaring white of winter -snows, save where here and there some great black elbow of rock had -been stripped of its cloak by the whipping winter winds.</p> - -<p>The sea was running strong and the wind high when we put out that Xmas -Eve, but in spite of adverse conditions we figured that daylight would -find us off the little town of Batuum. As we did not want to get there -before the light should show to us the uncertain channel ’midst the -rocks and reefs that led to the harbor, we turned the engines down to -a conservative ninety revolutions, which kept her going easily into -the seas, which she was riding with the serenity of a strong swimmer -disporting himself in the surf.</p> - -<p>The motion, though a bit too active to permit of continued sleep, was -still not vigorous enough to cause any particular anxiety. A large part -of the night we spent on the bridge. The moon rose late, and by its -intermittent light, as it sailed along behind the ribbon of clouds that -spread o’er the heavens, we could see the grim and ghostly line of the -mountain range that silvered and darkened as the light of the moon came -and went.</p> - -<p>The first gray light of Christmas day disclosed a bleakness of coast -far more dismal than we had left behind.</p> - -<p>We were running along the rim of the Black Sea basin, so near that we -could plainly see the coming and going of the clouds of spray that -told of the never ceasing struggle of the waves against the relentless -cliffs that for centuries have grimly turned the surging waters into -foam and noisy tumult. Aye, and long before the dawn the roar rose and -fell on our ears as sea after sea dashed upon the sterile sternness -that ever hemmed them in.</p> - -<p>In the dim half light of the morning I stood by the skipper on the -spray showered bridge, and with him through the dissolving darkness -tried to pick out the harbor bearings of the port that was to be our -Christmas refuge. The man had evidently been drinking during the night, -as I gathered, and he was dense in mind and stupid beyond conception. -The little engineer, who spoke English, joined us on the bridge, -for all realized the general necessity of reaching port within a -reasonable length of time, as our coal was running short. We had just -about enough, as a matter of fact, to get back to Trebizond, but I had -learned on the previous day that none was obtainable there, and hence -we were relying on Batuum to replenish our bunkers. By eight o’clock -the sky gave promise of a dreary day, and the barometer, with no -uncertain index finger, was pointing to worse. In fact, it was creeping -down perceptibly each hour, and already recorded the lowest figure that -we had read on its ever cynical face since we had come to live in its -sinister shadow.</p> - -<p>Breakfast, as usual, was out of the question, and anyway we were all -eagerly searching the coast line for the harbor mouth that had brought -us hence. A new snow during the night had turned the whole landscape -white, and with the snowy mountain wall rising up sharply in the -background, we could not discover a sign of anything that might be -construed into a symptom of a port. Eight-thirty came at last, and the -little engineer discovered a mountain elbow on our port bow which he -emphatically stated that he knew, and knew well. In his opinion, we had -overshot Batuum. The skipper was easily persuaded that this was the -case, and so we put about, and with a redoubled watch crept back along -the coast. An hour or more we cruised with our eager spyings, rewarded -by not a sign which might betoken the longed for haven. In the meantime -in the west the evergrowing cloud of black verified the fact that the -barometer had not been working in the dark. I was eager enough to -reach the harbor in the beginning, but with each minute that I watched -that black mass grow and bulge against the western sky, my anxiety -increased. I called the Chief and asked for an estimate as to how much -coal we had remaining in our bunkers. He was gone fifteen minutes, and -his troubled face confirmed my intuitions of uncertainties ahead.</p> - -<p>“Not as much coal as we had hoped,” he replied to my look rather than -to any spoken word. “We have enough to last until this afternoon, and -no doubt we will be in port ere that, unless—” and his bright little -eyes swept the western heavens where the great relentless cloud was -throwing its sable mantle across the sky.</p> - -<p>“Yes, unless—” I replied. It was obvious to us both that we must make -that harbor before the storm should shut us in, for once the snow and -mist and sleet was upon us, our only hope of reaching port would be -gone, and we would have to run for the open sea and ride it out. Not a -very hopeful enterprise, this, even with full coal bunkers, but still -less alluring with but six or eight hours steaming ability left, and -these barren rocks leering at us for ninety miles along the coast.</p> - -<p>For an hour we ran west, and then one of the crew picked up a familiar -landmark. His statement was verified by others. In our backward run we -had again slipped by the port without seeing it! The landmark was on -the Trebizond side of Batuum!</p> - -<p>Once more we put her head about, and once more cruised back along the -coast. We talked it over and all agreed that we must find our refuge -within the scanty hour that the storm would be upon us. The crew, too, -began to realize our plight. Indeed, it did look grave enough. All that -were not on duty in the engine room were peering toward the shore, -their trained eyes trying to develop some tangible sign or landmark out -of the snowy hillside that rose from the sea and swept backward till -its peaks stood dimly outlined against the leaden winter’s sky.</p> - -<p>For an hour we cruised along, every man on the boat chattering his -anxiety and apprehension. They are not very strong on danger, these -Black Sea sweepings (at least, that was my impression); only Morris -grinned imperturbably, though in truth his grin became less and less -heartfelt and finally slipped into the grimace type of humor. Yet he -would not show his fear.</p> - -<p>And ever did the great storm cloud grow in size and blackness -in the west.</p> - -<p>Faint streaks of green, yellow and purple shot its somber masses, until -it grew like an image of Dante’s Inferno in our minds. Though I looked -the other way, a dreadful fascination ever brought my eyes back to the -rising menace, that steadily, surely, even as the mantle of death swept -on toward us.</p> - -<p>By nine-thirty the heavens were filled with its suppressed fury, and -the wind awed by the impending presence of a far greater force seemed -to fade to nothing and slink away before this towering passion that -wrapped in silence was sweeping down upon us—a silence that became -oppressive, and was broken only by the slap of the waves against our -steel sides, and the dreary refrain of the sea rolling monotonously on -the rock-bound shore.</p> - -<p>“Well, we’re back to our original landmark!” remarked the engineer, -half to himself. I looked and sure enough there was the black elbow -that he had diagnosed hours before as being beyond Batuum.</p> - -<p>We held a hurried council on the bridge. We had cruised this coast -now three times, and we knew that three times we had slipped past our -haven of refuge, with its landmarks hidden to us by the whiteness of -the background. Poti lay perhaps thirty-five miles beyond. The storm -was coming up faster, ever faster. Three times we had failed to find -Batuum, and there seemed little chance that the fourth would be more -successful. So we decided on Poti and called for “full speed.” The -<i>France</i> responded promptly to the order from the bridge.</p> - -<p>But the decision came too late.</p> - -<p>Already the storm was flanking us, and its blackness had swept to -seaward of us and rapidly promised to cut off our advance. Some miles -ahead of us was a great steel steamer evidently in a similar plight. -She too was heading for port, and columns of smoke were issuing from -her big black funnel. Presently as we watched, a white cloud of spray -crossed her bow and even as a curtain, shut out the beyond. Gradually -she came about and started westward down the coast. Her skipper -realized just as we did, that naught but wreck and misery lay within -that churning cloud that had unloosed its fury upon the deep. Already -its steadily rising howl whined and moaned across the waters, not -unlike the melancholy wail of the starving timber wolf penetrates the -stillness of the night and reaches the lonely trapper in his winter -camp and causes him to throw another armful of wood on the fire and -whistle to assuage that subtle foreboding of calamity that the thin -knife-like cry in the night seems vaguely to predict.</p> - -<p>It was hopeless for us to drive further into that storm. Five hours -at best would see us out of fuel, and then driven before the wind -and sea we would be dashed upon the rocks. We did not even discuss -the situation. Involuntarily the man at the wheel brought her head -around, and for the fourth time we began our trip down the coast. To -the west of us the storm had shut out the mountains. To the north a -veritable blizzard was lashing the waves into a frenzy; to the east -snow and sleet shut out our progress. Perhaps five miles of shore bare -and forbidding remained to us. If we could but find Batuum’s shrouded -entrance within that five miles, all would be well, yet thrice had we -striven and failed. Somehow my optimistic spirit failed to respond to -the occasion. In the meantime every minute was cutting our five miles -of open coast line—aye, and cutting it down fast, for the storm was -shutting in from both sides and from the sea as well.</p> - -<p>The steel steamer was overtaken by the great bank of snow and sleet and -disappeared from our view, and I might add from our thoughts, for we -had troubles of our own.</p> - -<p>The crew were running about frantically. Half of them were on the -bridge waving their arms and evidently abusing the skipper. I walked -back in disgust and stood by the companion-way that led down into my -little saloon and, leaning against the towing post, just aft, I looked -across the sea. Morris followed me and for a moment stood silent. He -smiled faintly and then murmured:</p> - -<p>“Merry Christmas, sir.” And we both laughed, only it was not such a -hearty laugh as one generally associates with the day.</p> - -<p>There was nothing to do but wait. There seemed no alternative.</p> - -<p>What a way to end up! We looked at the rocks and then at the sea, and I -wondered what the sensations would be.</p> - -<p>Christmas! It seemed almost providential that I had made the effort -the day before and got off my message for home. It would be my last -word! It seemed hard to realize that it actually was Xmas. I looked at -my watch. It was almost the exact hour that they would be having their -Christmas tree, away back across the ocean.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I said, “this looks like the end to me. How does it strike you?”</p> - -<p>He did not look at me as he replied so low as barely to be audible, -“Yes, sir; it looks pretty bad to me, too.”</p> - -<p>I looked at him curiously and wondered how he really felt behind that -black face of his.</p> - -<p>“Morris,” I said again after a moment, “how do you feel about death, -anyway?”</p> - -<p>He looked at me and then he looked at the sea, and smiled faintly as -he answered:</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, the water looks cold to me.”</p> - -<p>At that moment there was a break in the clouds. Oh, such a little -break! Out of it fell a mere handful of sunlight, as rays fall into a -darkened room when the blinds are thrown open. The clear, transcendent -shafts fell across the waters like a message from heaven, and suddenly -there was a shout on the bridge, echoed by every member of the crew -that was on deck.</p> - -<p>From the whiteness of the hillside, just on our beam, there stood out a -golden spot, that seemed no larger than a five dollar gold piece. For -a moment it flashed like fire against the white. Then as quickly as it -had come it dissolved from view.</p> - -<p>It was the dome on the Greek church in Batuum.</p> - -<p>The sun for just that tiny space had turned its brazen cupola to liquid -light that marked for us the haven of our seeking.</p> - -<p>Thirty minutes later we anchored behind the breakwater, and a mountain -slid from off our souls.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We Find Turmoil in the Caucasus but -Celebrate Christmas in Spite of Storm and Stress</i></p> - -<p>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 <i>France</i>, 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 <i>France</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -knew a sliding panel in the back of the locker provided for just such -exigencies, so with an easy conscience we watched the red wax and seal -being placed on our supply of cheer.</p> - -<p>In the meantime I was told, as usual, that I could not leave the -boat, and on coming on deck found two bayoneted sentinels marching up -and down the decks, just to show that the order meant business. But -while I was arguing my case with the officer in charge, a boat, rowed -by four uniformed sailors, came alongside. It was the American Vice -Consul Stuart, who, seeing the big American ship’s flag flying at the -fore, had started out as soon as we had anchored. We nearly embraced -on the deck. At least, I did, for it was good to see someone from a -civilized land, though I learned that Stuart was an Englishman and only -acting consul. He seemed glad to see us, and stated that it was the -first American flag that he had seen in behind the breakwater during -the eighteen years that he had been in Batuum, an interesting if -somewhat depressing bit of information to an American who likes to feel -that his country’s flag is at least known by sight in all quarters of -the globe.</p> - -<p>The consul at Trebizond had given me some grouse to present to Stuart, -and after these had been thoroughly investigated and passed upon by the -examiner, a permit was given for them to be passed. Stuart evidently -had a strong pull with the government, for he quickly arranged with -the officer that the sentries were to be withdrawn, and that I and any -member of my crew might come and go at our own sweet will. After the -dreary inspection was over, my newly acquired friend came down and -took lunch with us, and little by little I drew from him fragments of -that crazy quilt of actions and counter-actions, assassinations and -executions, revolutions and suppressions that in Russia masquerade -under the name of current politics.</p> - -<p>From a newspaper point of view, the situation was full of interest. -No correspondent had been here for weeks, and as the cables were long -since out of commission, the cream of it was mine. What I learned in -effect in the hour or two that I talked with my guest was that from -the Black Sea to the Caspian the entire Caucasus was in a state of -convulsion, revolution and anarchy. Street fighting and incendiarism -had been rampant in practically all of the cities, both large and -small. Only a few days before a mob had been dispersed by machine guns -and Cossacks in the streets of Batuum. The latter had become quite -lawless, and it was the custom to kill any suspicious character first -and investigate afterwards. If the aforesaid killed character proved -on investigation to be a reputable citizen—well, then the joke was on -him. Anyway, he ought to have stayed at home where he belonged, instead -of roaming about the streets like a common Armenian. The latter, by -the way, are always the red rag to the government bull, anywhere in -this region, and the motto might be well adopted, “When in doubt, kill -a few Armenians,” just as one takes a dose of quinine when one gets -wet. I gathered that Armenianitis had been having quite a run in Batuum -about this time. Not because they were specially offensive just now, -but just for luck. Street fighting in Russia is as well recognized a -stage of revolution as an increased temperature and a quickened pulse -is in typhoid fever. The cure is usually Cossacks and machine guns in -hourly doses until improvement is noticed. This street fighting rarely -means much except that people are voicing a long repressed sentiment of -resentment and finally march in irresponsible bodies and are promptly -dispersed with heavy losses. The Russian officers get medals, the -dead are buried, and all moves on much as before. This was much what -happened in Batuum the week before my arrival. A lot of poor ignorants -had been killed. The town was in a state of siege, and people were -being murdered in the name of the law every day. Poti (the port we had -aimed at and been turned back) was filled with armed revolutionists, -who were said to be well organized and preparing to move on Batuum, -which was the then center of Russian military strength in the Caucasus. -Tiflis, up the railroad line (which had stopped running), was rent with -strife and was the stage on which the Armenians and the Tartars were -fighting over some involved question among themselves. For a month -before these same two peaceful races had been tearing Elizabethpol -(a town in the interior) into small fragments with their perpetual -fights. Our town was full of refugees, who were stiff with lurid -details. It was generally believed that Russian agents had started -these inter-race troubles, always at fever heat, to prevent both from -combining against Russia. The Armenians and Tartars are always ready -to fly at one another’s throats at two minutes’ notice. It was quiet -for the moment in Baku, but, as my informant advised me, the lull was -merely temporary, as they were gathering energy there for another spasm -of fighting. The railroad strike had crippled business and almost -extinguished the remaining spark of commercial vitality left in the -storm-tossed country. Trains were being run by the revolutionists -simply to help their own plans of mobilization. As I wrote in my cable, -the general situation was complex. Practically every town in the -Caucasus was a situation peculiar only to itself. From Tiflis to the -Black Sea the dominating factor was the attitude of the Georgians, who -were rebels rather than revolutionists. They were divided into many -parties, each of which had aims and ideas that would require a chapter -to describe. Some wanted absolute independence, while other factions -were aiming at reforms only. All had stopped paying taxes, and the -police were absolutely helpless and asked only to be let alone. The -Georgians were openly defying these dejected officers of the law, and -their boasted strength of 8000 organized men within a radius of forty -miles of Batuum made their bluff (if indeed it was one) hold good. -It was reported that the authorities at Tiflis were going to try and -reopen the line of the railroad by force. The revolutionists replied -to this that twenty-four hours after such an attempt should be made -the railroad in the Caucasus would be non-existent; in other words, -that they would blow it into small pieces. The situation was really -depressing to the Russians.</p> - -<p>All of these events have long since ceased to be of vital interest, and -the semblance of peace and tranquillity have been restored, and once -more the volcano which ever lies beneath the surface in that country of -never ending turmoil is smoldering for the moment. It is not my intent -to go into the history of the endless complications which were then -rife further than the brief outline mentioned, as I merely wish to show -the nature of the story which we had to gather.</p> - -<p>Stuart advised me not to come ashore except unarmed, as he stated that -during the past few days being armed had been considered sufficient -provocation to administer instant death by the bands of Cossacks that -patrolled the streets. Every morning bodies were found lying about -in the snow—victims who had not given sufficiently good account of -themselves to the half-drunken rowdies that roamed the streets under -the name of Cossack patrols.</p> - -<p>The storm was raging without, and so we decided to lie in the harbor -until the sea had abated sufficiently for me to get some coal barges -alongside to replenish our bunkers.</p> - -<p>At three that afternoon we went ashore and had a splendid Xmas dinner -with the Consul and absorbed the details and the atmosphere of the -remarkable conditions that were the sole topic of conversation among -the guests, each of whom had personal experiences and ghastly details -to add to what I had already learned.</p> - -<p>So interesting was the occasion that I had about made up my mind to -accept my new friend’s invitation to spend the night ashore to meet -some other people, when Morris, with tears in his eyes, begged me to -return to the <i>France</i> for dinner, as he said he had a surprise for -me. So I told him to have the boat at the landing place at seven that -evening, and a few minutes after that hour I was in my little saloon on -board the <i>France</i>.</p> - -<p>It was a surprise! Morris met me at the foot of the companion-way -wreathed in smiles, clad in my dress-suit, and my only clean white -shirt. The fact that the trousers came up to his ankles, the sleeves -almost to his elbows, and that each breath he took threatened to burst -the back from the shoulders down, and that the collar he had squeezed -into was nearly choking him to death, in no way seemed to diminish -his keen enjoyment of the idea that he was the perfect representation -of the most ideal of butlers. For a moment I was annoyed, for somehow -one’s dress clothes seem to be too sacred for promiscuous distribution. -But his delight was so apparent and his anticipation of my pleasure in -his transformation was so genuine that I had not the heart to spoil his -little surprise.</p> - -<p>Our little table was elaborately set for eight, with carefully prepared -menu-cards at each plate. Four sad-looking strangers were seated in a -melancholy row on a sofa and the captain and the two engineers, who had -been obviously scrubbed, grinned sheepishly as I came in.</p> - -<p>Morris, fairly knocking his heels together in sheer delight, swept a -profound obeisance and in a ringing voice announced, “<a href="#PAGE_198B">Christmas dinner -is served</a>, your honor!”</p> - -<p>Well, I was surprised and no mistake!</p> - -<p>“Who are these men in the corner, Morris?” I inquired.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="PAGE_198A" id="PAGE_198A"> </a> - <img src="images/i_198_a.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="431" /> - <p class="center space-below1">GENERAL NOGI—THAN WHOM NO FINER GENTLEMAN<br /> - EVER DREW THE BREATH OF LIFE</p> - - <a name="PAGE_198B" id="PAGE_198B"> </a> - <img src="images/i_198_b.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="437" /> - <p class="center space-below1">MORRIS INSPECTING OUR CHRISTMAS DINNER</p> -</div> - -<p>“Well, sir,” he replied, “I don’t just know exactly much about them, -but it did not seem quite the thing to have Xmas dinner with just old -man Gileti and the engineers, so these gentlemen, sir, are some that -I found ashore to fill in, sir. I am sure you will find them quite -satisfactory.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps I sighed a little inwardly, but I am sure I showed no outward -emotion as I welcomed the shy and reticent quartette on the sofa. -Morris had literally “stood by like steel” every minute of the voyage -and this was his occasion, and I was bound that my appreciation should -not be lacking.</p> - -<p>It really was a wonderful dinner.</p> - -<p>The faithful Morris as I then learned had been surreptitiously laying -in the wherewithal for this banquet at every port. A young live pig at -Sulina Mouth, a goose at Sinope, some birds at Trebizond and heaven -only knows what besides. With the back panel of the sealed locker -carefully slid out we tapped our liquid refreshment and in very truth -the dinner proved a great success. Even the imported guests cheered up -and by the end of the banquet were drinking toasts to me, the Chicago -<i>Daily News</i>, to Morris, aye, and even unto the fat live pig, alive no -longer, alas.</p> - -<p>It was midnight when we wound up and sent our guests ashore and -ourselves turned in for the night after a day perhaps the most varied -in experience that I have ever lived through.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>We sail Away from Batuum with a Beat, Official -Dispatches, Foreign Mails and a Boatload of Refugees That Keep Us Awake Nights</i></p> - -<p>I had hoped to sail away from Batuum the day after Christmas, but -so fierce was the storm that it was impossible to take on coal. All -this day and well into the next the roar of the sea on the breakwater -sounded in our ears like a never-ending bombardment of big guns. Not -in the memory of the oldest inhabitant had such a furious tempest -raged within the harbor. Even the buildings along the shore were in -danger and the beautiful little yacht clubhouse, a fraction of a mile -above the port, was completely carried away by the great waves that -broke beyond their accustomed bounds and crushed the frail structure -as though it had been but a house of cards. But there is an end of all -things and on the morning of the third day the wind abated and only the -heavy swell that surged without in the winter sunshine was left to tell -the tale of wreck and devastation that had swept the coast during the -past days.</p> - -<p>By ten o’clock I had two barges of coal alongside and a double crew at -work passing baskets over the side and emptying them into the bunker -holes in the deck. It was vile stuff that we were getting and the -engineer fairly tore his hair as he saw the little better than dust -being poured into his bunkers.</p> - -<p>“She will never make steam on that rubbish,” he kept crying again and -again. Yet it was all that there was in Batuum and we had to take it -or leave it. So we took it and at war prices at that. It certainly -was a scandal and it broke my heart to pay out fifteen dollars a ton -for stuff that in any other market would have gone begging at three -dollars. But there was no alternative, so we took it, paid out our -Rodwaner gold and smiled.</p> - -<p>By noon we were fairly well stocked and ready to put to sea. Then there -came to my mind the cable that I had sent not only to my paper but also -to the American Embassy at Constantinople. “I propose to bring off -American refugees,” they had read. I had talked the matter over with -Stuart and it appeared that the only Americans there were Armenians -(nationalized in name only) and they for the most part declined to be -deported, not even to help me to live up to my cables. I called Morris -and explained the situation to him. American refugees was what the -contract called for, but lacking the letter of my cable we would have -to fill in with any kind of refugees that the market offered. I told -him to go ashore and make the necessary arrangements and to pass the -word around that we were sailing that very afternoon at four o’clock. -In the meantime I ordered up the “Blue Peter” to the foremast head -that all ashore might know that we proposed to depart that day for -the world that lay without. I went ashore and had lunch with Stuart, -who introduced me to a number of the consuls of the Powers that were -represented in Batuum, all of whom were eager to get word out to -their governments. By three that afternoon I had packages of official -dispatches, inscribed in impressive terms and sealed authoritatively, -consigned to the governments of Austria, Holland, America and Great -Britain, while a fair-sized sack was required to hold the mail that -poured in upon us.</p> - -<p>Stuart could not leave his office and I bade him farewell at his desk, -accepting his cheery promise to “look me up” in America at an early -planned visit to my country. Little did either of us think that ere a -month would pass an assassin’s bullet would cut him down in the very -prime of his life. Yet so it was. I read a few weeks later in the -European press my good, kind, cheery friend was shot from ambush by -some unknown man, even as he was entering the door of his house. An -excellent man was Stuart and a public servant true to his trust in time -of trouble; so true, in fact, that in the execution of his official -duties he had encountered the opposition of some discontent in that -seething vortex, who had availed himself of the cure of all evils in -that wild country—assassination. A bare line or two announced his death -and he was forgotten. Yet this man was in his way as much of a martyr -to his duty as any soldier who falls gloriously in battle.</p> - -<p>I made my way down to the landing place that afternoon with my -dispatches and the bag of mail. On the pier alongside of which -bobbed the little ship’s boat of the <i>France</i> a great crowd was -gathered. To me there seemed to be at least five hundred. And such a -collection! Every race and nationality that a nightmare might conjure -up. Armenians, Georgians, Turks, Jews, Persians, Russians from the -Caucasus, Tartars and a dozen other races that resembled nothing that -I had ever beheld. Each had his own roll of filthy baggage, mostly -done up in sacks. Never had I in my life seen such an heterogeneous -gathering nor such an assemblage of men that looked so utterly -desperate and woebegone. It took me five minutes to work my way through -the mass to the stairs where my boat lay. Morris was there swearing and -arguing with the mob that was crowding about him yelling and entreating -all at the same time. It sounded like the tumult one hears in the -parrot house at the Zoo.</p> - -<p>I jumped into my boat and called to the crew to “give way” for the -<i>France</i>. As soon as I could make my voice heard above the din I asked -Morris what in the world it all meant anyway. I nearly fainted when he -told me. They were my refugees! Not less than half a thousand, each -with his heart set on escape from the country. Their plight was pitiful -indeed, for the bulk of them had come from burning villages with only -what they could carry in their hands. Driven from place to place they -had finally landed in Batuum, which they found the worst of all, what -between warring factions and the brutal soldiery, who chased them about -the streets like sheep. Morris had done his work too well. It appeared -that he had been to every shipping agent and had notices posted up that -the <i>France</i> was leaving that very day and would carry refugees out of -the Caucasus free of charge. No wonder the mob was on the pier! Morris -was in high feather and fairly clicking his teeth with sheer delight. -“Yes, sir,” he said, “this is our busy day, sir! There hasn’t been a -minute since I came back from shore this noon that Monroe D. Morris -hasn’t been attending strictly to business. We are sure going to carry -The Mails this trip, sir, and carry them right!” and he took me down -in the little saloon where he had hung up a row of gunny sacks. Above -them was a crudely printed notice: “Mails Close at 3:30 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> -to-day.” On each sack was a separate placard which read “Constantinople -Mail,” “Russian Mail,” “Trebizond Mail,” etc., on down the line of -bags. Much to my surprise each of the bags was pretty well filled and -more was coming in every few minutes.</p> - -<p>But in the meantime I had to decide about our refugees who were still -roaring in the distance, not clearly understanding whether they were to -be abandoned entirely or not. I called the skipper and asked him how -many we could possibly carry. As a matter of fact there was no room -for any save on the deck and in the chain locker forward, as our own -crew filled the balance of the <i>France’s</i> very small accommodations. -We made an inspection and finally decided that we might stretch our -space to hold thirty. Stomati the cook, armed with his seven languages, -was sent off in the boat to pick out thirty likely-looking refugees. I -instructed him to accept none without passports, which at once cut the -total down about half. When the crowd on shore heard that only thirty -could go there was a rush for the boat that nearly put the entire front -rank into the sea. So after all there was not much of a chance to pick -and choose and the boat brought off the first that came to hand, with -their sacks and miscellaneous dunnage. Morris and Spero stood at the -gangway inspecting passports and hustled the unaccepted passportless -back into the boat to be relanded. For an hour the little boat plied -back and forth until the <i>France</i> was alive with the human wrecks and -their impedimenta.</p> - -<p>In the meantime I was entertaining a few friends in my saloon who had -come out to say good-by. By four in the afternoon our refugees were all -aboard and our papers duly received from the port officials. The sun -had gone under a cloud and a stiff wind was blowing in from the sea as -with anchor up, we swung around the end of the breakwater, with long -blasts from our deep-toned foghorn as a farewell to friends ashore. The -flag on the American Consulate was dipped and some enthusiast on the -roof let go both barrels of a shotgun, to which we replied by bending -our own ensign. In fifteen minutes we were at sea and the top of the -Greek Church, the only sign left to us of the little town, to which it -had been the first to welcome us from the storm a few days before.</p> - -<p>At nightfall we were pounding into a heavy sea that swept across us at -every dip. Not that it made any difference to us but it did play the -mischief with our refugees quartered out on the deck. The first sea to -come aboard was greeted with yelps and squeals from the poor wretches -we had undertaken to rescue. In a few minutes it became obvious that -the deck would not serve at all and we began to look about us for -shelter somewhere on board. Then I began to curse myself for a fool for -loading myself and the <i>France</i> down with these thirty irresponsible -nondescripts whose only effort to help themselves was to cling to the -rails and scream piteously every time we took a sea. Besides this most -of them were desperately seasick. Finally, however, we disposed of -them in a way. When we had them packed away for the night there was -not a spot on the boat that was not occupied, barring my own quarters, -as I positively refused to introduce fifty-seven varieties of vermin -(which did not have to be imagined) into my little cabin. Anyway I was -afraid some of these disreputable creatures might steal what gold I -had left from my coal deal in Batuum. In the engine room, stoke-hold, -chain locker and on the grating above the boilers were packed refugees, -like sardines in a box. As they began to steam and dry out with the -heat I wished more than ever that I had let them remain to be eaten -alive if need be by the gentle citizens of the Caucasus. About midnight -it became very rough and a great fear seemed to seize one and all of -my dear passengers. Every little while they would break out of their -retreats and rush out on the deck under the impression that we were -sinking. Then the first wave that swept us would soak them to the skin -and with piercing howls they would scuttle back to the place where they -belonged. All night long this kept up until for the first time I felt -that shipwreck might not be such an unmixed evil after all. Any change -would be preferable to this. By one <span class="smcap">a. m.</span> -I had decided that my refugees should start life anew at Trebizond, -and that not one foot further should they go with me. They might get -another boat from there if they so desired, but not the <i>France</i>! At -daylight they began to beg for food and sat around the head of my -companion-way like so many apes watching me eat my breakfast. Above -my head were a dozen faces peering eagerly through the skylight. -Finally I sent them all to the galley and ordered Stomati to give them -breakfast.</p> - -<p>At nine we anchored in Trebizond and I sighed with relief, for it -seemed to me that my troubles with the refugee problem were over, if -nothing else pleasant ever happened again.</p> - -<p>After their rough night at sea mingled with fear and seasickness my -passengers were as eager to disembark as we all were to get rid of -them, and even before we anchored they were crowded at the gangway -waiting to land. But alas! We had reckoned without our host! The -rat-eyed governor saw a chance to display his authority. When I went -ashore to arrange for relieving myself of the refugees he promptly -replied that it could not be done. After an involved argument which -accomplished nothing I appealed to the acting consul who lived on the -bluff and accompanied by him and the missionary who lived in town, -we made another assault on the potentate who was giving himself such -airs. Finally he agreed to go out to the <i>France</i> and look over my -importations. All of these negotiations had taken time and the refugees -had become restless and anxious as to their fate and when they saw the -governor’s boat with armed soldiers coming out toward them a panic -seized them, or at least some of them, which I thought curious at the -time, but saw a possible reason for before the day was over.</p> - -<p>With as much dignity as though he had been the Sultan himself our -dirty visitor climbed over the side and demanded that the men from -the Caucasus be placed in line before him and show their passports. -He evidently thought that he had me there, and that none would be -forthcoming, for his face fell visibly when each and every one of the -trembling wretches produced the frayed and filthy rags of paper from -mysterious pockets in their garments. Some underling that belonged to -the governor inspected the first passport and a long debate in Turkish -ensued between the officials. The governor’s countenance brightened -perceptibly and with great dignity he spoke to the consul and then -turned around and glared at me, no doubt feeling my lack of reverence -for his august person.</p> - -<p>“What does he say?” I asked the consul impatiently, for I was anxious -to be off.</p> - -<p>“He says,” replied the consul, with just the shade of a deprecating -smile, “that inasmuch as these passports have not been properly viséd -in Batuum, it will be quite impossible for him to allow them to land -here. You should have had the Turkish representative there inspect and -countersign all these papers.”</p> - -<p>I was certainly indignant.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say,” I retorted with some heat, “that he insists -on a visé from a port that is in a state of siege with people being -killed in the streets? These men don’t live in Batuum anyway and most -of them have come from towns in the interior and barely escaped with -their lives. Besides some of them actually live here in Trebizond!” My -reply was translated but my expression did not need an interpreter. The -governor distinctly had the upper hand and sneeringly replied that the -situation in Batuum was not due to him and that he did not care a rap -whether the town was in a state of siege or not. “No visé no landing” -was his ultimatum. I asked him what he expected me to do with them, to -which he shrugged his shoulders scornfully and prepared to leave. I was -too angry to engage in further discussion and as I watched him go over -the side an inspiration broke upon me. So I merely remarked politely -that I would think the matter over and would advise him later as to -my decision. This obviously did not please him as he apparently did -not see where I had any particular decision coming my way. So he only -growled a surly reply as he rowed away.</p> - -<p>As soon as he was gone I called a council of war in my saloon and -proposed my plan. I figured on sailing from Trebizond to the mouth of -the Danube and thence back to Russia, and it was obvious that there -would be no welcome to my passengers in either of these places. My idea -was that we would say no more about it but make all of our preparations -to depart and just before we weighed anchor put all our refugees in -our two ship’s boats with their equipment of oars and just simply -leave them in the harbor. If the governor wanted to keep them adrift -there with no food—well, then that would be his affair and not mine. -He could drown them if he thought best, once they were off my hands. -No one but Morris sympathized with my project, but I was running the -enterprise, and issued the ultimatum and went ashore to send a cable -before leaving.</p> - -<p>But once again my plans were changed for there was an urgent cable -awaiting me from Chicago: “Return Constantinople give up <i>France</i> -proceed quickest possible St. Petersburg investigate Witte’s charges -against our correspondent there whom he asserts has misquoted him.” -So here was my whole program upset once more and for the first time -my scheme for marooning my passengers began to seem injudicious. I -could make no excuse for disobeying the governor at Trebizond if my -next call was to be at a Turkish port. I thought a minute and my pet -project evaporated. I would take them to the Golden Horn. But to -forestall difficulties there I cabled Mr. Peter Jay, then chargé at -our Embassy in Constantinople, that I was coming with refugees and to -arrange to have the authorities take delivery of same on my arrival. -Then I went back to the landing. The missionary, who was a lovely man -and sympathized strongly with me, had been pleading with the governor -for the refugees. While that mighty man stood bashfully by playing -coyly with his sword tassels, the missionary delicately intimated to -me that his Excellency on account of his good impression of me and -of his desire to oblige, would waive the formalities of the pass-port -visés and allow the unfortunates to land if I could see my way clear to -defray his trouble in the matter for the sum of five pounds sterling -per refugee. The old swine! I was indignant! I told the missionary -that he could tell his fat friend that I would see him sizzling first -and that I was going straight back to Constantinople, where I knew a -general who was close to the Sultan and I would stay there a month if -necessary but I certainly intended to get him “fired” for a rotten old -grafter. I could not speak his language and the missionary declined -to translate—so I left. I am afraid the Turk never really knew all I -thought of him, but he did know that his generous offer was turned -down, for his face flushed crimson and he spun on his heel and went to -his office. I decided not to wait for him to make another move and so -I jumped into the boat and pulled for the <i>France</i>. As soon as I was -within calling distance I shouted to the skipper to get up the anchor, -and as I stepped over the side, her engines were already turning over -and her nose coming around toward the sea. I had sent Morris directly -from the cable office to buy food of the refugee type and we brought -off a boatload of cabbages and green things which should keep them -until we could put them ashore at Constantinople.</p> - -<p>It was about nine-thirty that night as we were spinning merrily along -over a fair sea, when the chief engineer came into my saloon. His face -was like putty.</p> - -<p>“What is wrong?” I asked with some apprehension, for he was the -pluckiest of the lot.</p> - -<p>For reply he threw on the table two large coils of fuses, the type -one uses to set off a bomb or dynamite cartridges. I recognized them -at once, for I had used the identical thing in a little dynamiting -enterprise of my own a few years before.</p> - -<p>“Where did these come from?” I asked sharply, looking at his white face.</p> - -<p>“One of the stokers found them in the coal bunkers,” he replied -quietly, and then added tensely, “and he nearly put them in the furnace -with the coal.”</p> - -<p>“Well, these are only fuses,” I said to reassure him. “They won’t do -any thing but fizzle a bit.”</p> - -<p>He smiled a bit sadly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know that,” he replied, “but has it occurred to you that the -man who carries fuses is apt to have the caps and the charge that -they are meant to explode? And has it occurred to you that whoever -put the fuse in the bunker probably put in the bomb as well? And has -it occurred to you that at any moment they may go into the furnace by -mistake with the coal? And has it occurred to you that when they do we -will all go to Kingdom Come?”</p> - -<p>This was certainly a new idea. No, it had not occurred to me at all. -However, it did strike me as being a pertinent thought now that he -spoke of it and I sat on the edge of my berth, with the shoe I had been -removing still in my hand. Finally something else occurred to me as -well and after a moment’s deliberation I replied, “You go right back to -the stoke-hold, Chief, and explain the whole situation to the stokers. -If they put a bomb in the furnace they will all be scalded to death -beyond a shadow of a doubt. The rest of us have a chance to get away. -Not a big one—but still it is a chance anyway. The stokers down there -have not the most remote hope if they should make a blunder like that. -Explain it carefully to them and then you go to bed. For it is my guess -that under the circumstances they won’t put anything in the furnace -to-night that does not bear a very decided resemblance to good black -coal.”</p> - -<p>The Chief thought a little and then went and did as I had suggested. In -fifteen minutes he returned with the word that the day shift of stokers -had turned out and, assisted by the balance of the crew not otherwise -occupied, were making a careful personal inspection of every shovelful -that went into the furnace. We both laughed a little and decided that -we could safely turn in and sleep soundly.</p> - -<p>But before I did so I called the skipper in for council. We talked -it all over and decided that someone of our refugees had had the -explosives on him and when we got into the row with the governor at -Trebizond and it looked as though there were to be an examination of -passengers, the guilty man had become panic stricken and, prying up -the bunker lid on the deck, had dropped the damaging evidence against -himself into the bunker, never doubting that he would be well ashore at -Trebizond before the <i>France</i> was at sea again. He must also be passing -a restless night knowing what was in the bunkers.</p> - -<p>This time I was more than indignant!</p> - -<p>It seemed a poor return for all the pains that I had taken in behalf of -these wretched people. I called in Morris and told him that I wanted -him to watch the refugees carefully from this time on, as I suspected -that one of them at least, might be a desperate man, and the Lord only -knew what he might be up to before we landed back in the Golden Horn.</p> - -<p>“Now, Morris,” I told him, “I am going to assign you to watch these men -just as carefully as you know how and if you see the slightest sign of -a single one of them making any move which in your judgment is going to -endanger the <i>France</i> and the lives of any of us I want you to shoot -him on the spot!” And I gave him my big army Colt.</p> - -<p>The black man’s face shone with excitement and his teeth gleamed, as he -replied:</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; yes, sir. I’ll do just as you say, sir. And if I see -anything suspicious, I’ll shoot him right through the head, sir,” and -he went on deck to look for symptoms.</p> - -<p>But it proved unnecessary. Whether anything more was in the bunkers or -not we never knew. Suffice it to say that we did not blow up, but kept -blithely on our way towards the mouth of the Bosphorus, whence we had -steamed nearly two weeks before.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"><h2 class="no-break" id="CHAP_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2></div> - -<p class="neg-indent space-below2"><i>The Return to the Golden Horn and the End of the Assignment</i></p> - -<p>It was just four o’clock three days later on the afternoon of December -30th that the tired little <i>France</i> poked her steel nose into the -waters of the Bosphorus and, running around the first promontory, -dropped her anchor in quiet waters just off the Turkish fort that -stands sentinel at the eastern end of that wonderful cleft in the -mountains that divide the East from the West, Asia and her mediæval -civilization from Europe and all her enlightened progress. Half an -hour served to pass us through the customs and with hearts rejoicing -and care free we steamed on through that picturesque gap. As we sailed -around the bend I stood on the bridge and watched the dull, grim waters -of the Black Sea cut off from view by the rising headlands. It was one -of our typical days. The barometer was falling and the wind was coming -up and the surly sea without was beating itself into one of its chronic -rages that we knew so well, and its white-caps and froth seemed to whip -angrily after us almost as though we were its natural prey and that it -now beheld us eluding its maw.</p> - -<p>With each turn of the screw we were getting into smoother water and -in a few minutes were cutting up the still surface as a knife passes -through cheese.</p> - -<p>The relief of having it all over was excessive and I dare say we all -behaved like children. I am sure that I did. I ordered up our good old -American flag under which I had sailed for four months in the mine-sown -waters off Port Arthur, the year before, and which during these last -weeks had been snapping almost constantly at our fore, whipped by -the bleak winter winds of the Black Sea. Its ends were frayed and -raveled by the constant gales, yet with all its dirt of travel and -disheveled parts, it looked good enough to me as it floated proudly -at our masthead as we plowed serenely down the Bosphorus. I stationed -Stomati at the stern to stand by the halyards of our big French ensign -which, designating the nationality of our register, spread its ample -bunting from our stern. And not a boat did we pass that did not get a -cordial dip from us, and not a boat did we pass but I saw the men on -the bridge turn and study through their glasses that rarely seen emblem -that we bore at our foremast-head. Just before reaching the Golden -Horn one passes Roberts College, perched high above the Bosphorus on -a great bluff. The college, as all good Americans know, was founded -by Dr. Washburn, one of our own true citizens who has brought greater -glory to our Name and Flag in the Near East than all the ambassadors -and warships that ever penetrated that remote land. With childish glee -I went below to the engineer and bade him turn out all of his stokers -and heap on all the coal he could crowd into the furnaces and speed up -the engines to their topmost notch, for, as I told him, “I want the -<i>France</i> to look and do her prettiest as we pass the American College.”</p> - -<p>I returned to the bridge and swelled with pride as I glanced at the -dense columns of smoke pouring majestically from our two chubby -funnels, and the white wake that our screw was turning up astern as -the engines beat out their maximum energy down in the bowels of the -ship. As we were fairly abeam of the College I pulled the whistle lever -and the deep foghorn bayed out its hoarse-throated blast. For a solid -minute it roared and then came the response from the hill. Someone had -heard the tumult and recognized the emblem that we carried, and in a -jiffy windows were thrown open, and handkerchiefs, towels and sheets -were waved frantically toward us. Again and again the <i>France</i> tooted -in response and again and again Stomati dipped our ensign in salute, -while the crew cheered hysterically, just as though they were all -Americans.</p> - -<p>“What a childish performance,” thinks the reader. No doubt it was. But -after one has been at sea surrounded by indifference and hostility by -the peoples one encounters and attacked by savage seas for two solid -weeks, isn’t one to be forgiven a slight slip from dignity?</p> - -<p>An hour later we were alongside the wharf and friends from the shore -who had been advised that we had entered the Bosphorus came aboard -to welcome us safely back. On the wharf was drawn up a company of -savage-looking Turkish soldiers. They proved to be the Sultan’s welcome -to his prodigals, returning from the storm-tossed Caucasus. I have -never just fathomed the status of a refugee in Turkey, but I gathered -then that it must be against the law to escape slaughter in a foreign -land and come home to your own. Anyway my refugees were promptly -marched off to jail, and they, their past and future faded forever from -my interest.</p> - -<p>I found wires urging me make haste for Russia and so turning the -<i>France</i> over to her owners I hurried to the Pera-Palace Hotel and -got into some clean clothes and while Morris was throwing my baggage -together for the Berlin train, I was making my formal calls. First -on Mr. Jay at the American Legation, who welcomed me cordially and -showed me the wire all drawn and addressed to the State Department -at Washington, advising them that the <i>France</i> had been wrecked. For -two days it had lain on his desk and only been held up on receipt of -my wire from Trebizond that I was on my way back to the Golden Horn. -Now for the first time I learned in full of the widespread havoc of -wreck and misery that storm had caused these past ten days. Dozens of -ships had suffered disaster and the hope of the <i>France’s</i> safety, -it appeared, had been well-nigh abandoned. But it was all passed now and -Jay and I laughed at it that night as we sat in our evening clothes -over our wine and cigars at the Club. A few words with the British -Ambassador and the turning over of my mails and dispatches and my -duties in Constantinople were over.</p> - -<p>The carefully prepared cable from the Caucasus I had brought with me, -and not daring to trust it to the Turkish wire, I had given it into -the hands of a courier who had caught a train within the hour for the -frontier where he had filed it in an uncensored telegraph office. I -waited in the hotel for the few hours to elapse before a wire came to -me from our London office confirming its safe arrival and then with -my impedimenta I was on the train once more, hurrying for the Russian -capital.</p> - -<p>My story is almost done.</p> - -<p>The situation was quietly adjusting itself.</p> - -<p>Five nights I spent on the train and on the morning of the sixth -day I was on the Nevsky Prospekt once more. Two weeks sufficed to -reorganize our news service in Russia and to turn the situation over -to our correspondent whose duty it was to look after affairs in that -territory.</p> - -<p>I had been doing war assignments pretty steadily now for more than two -years and both my mind and body craved repose. My reprieve from further -work came one night as I was chatting over Russian politics in one of -Petersburg’s fashionable restaurants. I read my cable and sighed with -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The assignment that had come to me months before in Peking was at an -end. “Russia direct,” it had read and half around the world and into -strange lands and among stranger peoples, it had carried me.</p> - -<p>The next Nord Express that pulled from the Petersburg station bound for -Paris carried me homeward turned and with a mind for the first time in -months free from anxiety.</p> - -<p>The situation was over.</p> - -<p>My work was done.</p> - -<div class="transnote bbox"> -<p class="f120 space-above1">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="indent">The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up - paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.</p> -<p class="indent">Typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cable Game, by Stanley Washburn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABLE GAME *** - -***** This file should be named 61903-h.htm or 61903-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/0/61903/ - -Produced by deaurider, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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