With Siberian Deliberation

THE CONTRIBUTORS’ CLUB

Extract from a letter written by Harry Clemons, representative of the American Library Association at Vladivostok, to his wife in China.

VLADIVOSTOK, February, 1919. STRENGTHENED by your letter, I got that Shanghai box of books out of customs yesterday afternoon. Thank you for the letter. I don’t believe I can recall all the ramifications. Tuesday morning I took the blue bill of lading and sallied into Vladivostok. I went to the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank and loaded up with dollars and roubles first, and then hunted for the office of the Russian Volunteer Fleet. After a little search I located that. I got into an office full of people and waited. Finally I caught an official’s eye and waved the blue document at him. He took it, perused it with deliberation, then carried it to another official. The second perused it with deliberation, then wrote out a supplement to the document. The second official handed it to the first, and the first handed it to me and said, ‘Pay three roubles, four kopecks, at Cash.’

I received the papers and started in the direction of his gesture for ‘Cash.’ I went into a hallway and wandered about a bit, and then sighted a window like a ticket-seller’s arrangement. The window was closed, but I knocked on it. A third official woke up inside, gathered in my money and papers, stamped the supplement, and handed back the papers. For want of further directions I returned to the first office. Official number one deliberately perused the stamp and handed the papers to official number two. The latter perused the stamp with deliberation and returned the papers to number one. Number one handed them back to me and said, ‘Go Customs House.'

I went back to the maddening world and hunted for the Customs House. Once I got lost in a maze of unclean backyards, but finally I located the building on a certain block. Then I made a systematic search. The first building was a bank. Into the second building a man with a portfolio under his arm was going. So I put my blue document and supplement under my arm and followed. It was a good scent. I got into a crowded office and found an official, number four. He knew some English and was obviously proud of it. But his method was to think each sentence through before uttering it, which gave an air of deliberation to the conversation. After a friendly interchange of remarks, he seemed to reach the facts in my case, and then delivered himself thus: ‘You will please go upstairs and see the Superintendent.’

I went obediently upstairs. A page took my papers and disappeared down a long corridor. Later he came back and indicated that I was to follow him. I was ushered into the presence of the Superintendent, who was clothed like the Lord Mayor of London. We spoke briefly in different languages, and then an interpreter was summoned. I was asked what this was about. I said it was about a box of books. For whom was this box of books? For the American soldiers. Who was this Clemons, American Library Association? I indicated myself. But if the box of books was for the American soldiers, there must be some official document from the American army to indicate that. Then they could consider whether the books should be admitted free of duty. But nothing could be done without that document. And I might come again tomorrow. I indicated a shade of impatience, I fear, but this only brought a repetition of the same statement. So I pocketed my blue documents and supplements and departed.

At Headquarters the adjutant told me that he would be glad to give me a letter identifying me, but that the other letter ought to come from the quartermaster at the Base. So I came back — back from Vladivostok.

That afternoon I approached the quartermaster with my tale, and he cheered me with a show of hearty sympathy and promised the letter.

The letter came yesterday. (So did yours.) At half-past one I started for the Customs House. The same page took the same blue documents plus the official letter to the same Lord-Mayor Superintendent. Then in the same way he waved me down the long corridor. This time, instead of the interpreter, there was a sixth official summoned. He read the letter from the quartermaster, and the Superintendent pondered. Then he apparently washed his hands of the whole blue matter and departed. The sixth official inquired if the books were for the American troops. I affirmed that they were. Then he asked if I wrote Russian. I uttered a regretful negative. Thereupon the sixth official condescended to write out a statement about the destination of the books on the back of the blue document, and asked me to sign it. I inquired if I should write the statement in English also. This seemed to grieve him, and so I assumed that the signature would be safe. Then I was asked to wait a few minutes.

I did. Twenty. At the end official number six said I would please follow him. He was correct. We went downstairs into the office full of people. Number six pushed over into a corner where an important-looking number seven sat, and an earnest conversation ensued. I remained discreetly in the background. In due time official number six had persuaded official number seven to add a supplement to the document; so I returned with him to the room down the long corridor of the second story. When we arrived there, he informed me that now I should go to the Customs House!

I confess that I was a bit startled, and had to ask for a repetition of the information. But I had heard correctly. This time I took the precaution of asking the name of the building. He informed me that it was Korabelnaia Kontora. I practised this under his instruction; and telling number six, in true Chinese style, that I feared I had caused him much trouble, I departed.

The fresh air was invigorating, and after getting my lungs full, I fell into step to the tune of ‘Korabelnaia Kontora.’ It was almost as difficult for this purpose as the Wedding March. Whenever I met a person of intelligent mien, I stopped him and remarked, ‘Korabelnaia Kontora.’ For the first three attempts there was no result. But as I got near the wharves, I found two Russians who responded by violent pointing to the right. On I went, and was again urged forward; and again, a third time. Then I discovered a building with a sign over the door. Once I won half a small prize for an examination in Greek. But yesterday I felt as if I had got the equivalent of the other half also, when my Greek letters enabled me to spell out ‘Korabelnaia Kontora’ itself.

I entered proudly and immediately got lost. But a youth with a dog found me and steered me and my blue documents and supplements into a crowded office. After a time an eighth official took the documents and perused them with deliberation, and then led me to another office. It seemed that the necessary official here was missing, and I was given a chair with a considerable show of politeness. Official number eight had an imposing array of stars on his shoulders, but rather feeble trousers. He seemed to be a general above and a camp-follower below. But he was polite. So I sat down. For twenty-five minutes. Then the missing official number nine entered briskly, bowed, and examined my documents with deliberation. Whereupon he uttered an exclamation and led me and my documents back into the former office. It appears that the proper official for my case had really been there. But meanwhile he had departed.

So I waited. Thirty minutes. Then official number ten wandered in, and everybody looked up and said, ‘Here he is,’ in Russian. Number ten perused my blue document and its supplements with unusual deliberation, and then rose and beckoned me to follow. We went forth into the fresh air, down along the docks, for a walk of some little distance, tried a warehouse or two unsuccessfully, and then in a third apparently found something. There was much conversation in Russky, and suddenly a little box bearing my name appeared. My heart leaped up when I beheld that little box. But workmen had to be summoned and the box opened and one of the books gravely felt and peeped into. Then the box was closed. But official number ten had forgotten to bring his orderbook, and so I was led reluctantly out away from my box and back to Korabelnaia Kontora. The order was there filled out with elaborate care, and was given to me in exchange for my blue companion and its supplements. So I went forth for the third journey over that walk of some little distance back to the warehouse and my box of books.

But I grew more cheerful as I found myself again in reach of the little box, and after a moderately short wait was able to hand over the order so elaborately prepared. But the warehouse boss, when he arrived, looked at the box and then at the order and then at me, and then struck his forehead with his open palm, in dismay. Something was wrong. A little crowd collected. The warehouse boss found a document of an appearance new to me and asked if I did not have one like that. At least, I so interpreted his inquiry. I responded in English that I had never seen anything like it, but was perfectly willing that he should use that for me. Then he called a minion, who was wearing Joseph’s coat of many colors, and sent him hurrying off for something. After a moderately long wait he returned and uttered a negative. Then there was another little crowd, and a sub-boss appeared. He was Chinese and spoke English! Are there Bolshevist miracles? The Chinese took me away from my little box of books for another walk, — briefer this time, — and we interviewed official number eleven. Official number eleven said that I should have to pay forty-five kopecks. I paid them. Then he handed me a document of this new style, like the one exhibited; and the Chinese Good Samaritan and I gayly wended our way back to the little box of books.

At last it was surrendered to me, and the Good Samaritan helped me to find a Chinese coolie with one of the picturesque chair-shaped carriers on his back, and we loaded the little box of books on the contrivance. But at this moment of escape, the Chinese turned to me suddenly and asked, ‘Have you got a pass to go out of the gate?'

Well, no. I had n’t any pass. So we lowered the box of books and left it there in the warehouse, and went forth to find official number one-dozenth. It was n’t really a very long operation, and I was moving on and on as in a dream, anyway. Yes, we got the pass, and went back to the little box of books, and loaded it on the coolie’s back, and I said an almost tearful good-bye to the Chinese Good Samaritan, and the coolie and the box and hurried through the gate — and night was falling.

How I paid the coolie, and got a droshky, and lumbered in that brokendown vehicle back toward the Base, and how the driver struck three times for higher fare, and how I finally paid him ten roubles, and how we reached the warehouse, and how two enlisted friends of mine carried the box up to the library without letting me help, are other stories.

The quartermaster called on me today to inquire about results—and he seemed to think that I was lucky! I was. I have got the box. Nothing was broken in it except a pint bottle of ink.