But having rowed some distance up the Bosphorus and already passed Dolma Bagche Palace, I found no ship labelled Batoum. Most of the craft seemed to use only numbers as distinguishing marks. What was worse, most of them flew the German flag; although two of the masts sported a yellow-and-blue standard which I failed to recognize. Certainly none flew the Russian eagle.
Our only chance of finding the Batoum was to ask directions. We visited several lighters near the quay; but the kaiktche's questions to Turks and Greeks were unproductive. As a last chance I told him to row close to a large steamer, on the deck of which I could see some German sailors.
"Please tell me where I can find the Russian boat Batoum," I shouted in German, standing up while the kaiktche kept the little craft steady with his oars.
"Don't know the Batoum," said a sailor. "Here there are no Russian ships now. They've become German or Austrian."
"And those two over there?" I asked, pointing toward the vessels with the green-and-black ensign.
"Ukrainian."
"Thanks very much," I called as we sheered off. My mistake, I realized, had been in forgetting for the moment the existence of that newly-made-in-Germany republic the Ukraine. Any vessel from Odessa not flying the German or the Austrian flag would now be Ukrainian; and the yellow-and-blue standard must be that of the Ukrainian Republic. One of the pair flying this flag proclaimed itself to be the Nikolaieff. It followed that the other, which was marked only by a number, must be the Batoum.
Having made the kaiktche take me to the bottom of its gangway, I climbed to the deck. At the top of the gangway was a tall man made noticeable by a bristling moustache and a well-pressed uniform of white drill. Obviously he was a ship's officer, and as such he must be one of the syndicate whom Captain White and I were bribing. If so, he would know of Wilkowsky.
"Russky vapor Batoum?" I asked in pidgin-Russian.
"Da."