A somewhat curious feature in certain places is that the pavements, instead of being composed of flags of stone or brick, are made of small pierced iron squares. The great solemn masses of the men-of-war lying at anchor in the harbour seemed to be sleeping on the still waters—unconscious as yet of the fearful doom that awaited so many of them in the Sea of Japan.
I was interested watching a young naval officer from a pinnace trying to conceal from public view beneath his cloak a superb bouquet of bright red flowers, evidently the symbol of the very ardent love he bore ashore.
The sentinels apparently considered I was too long stationary in one place, as they began to look me up and down with suspicion, which amused me very much.
A lovely walk bordered by a number of weeping willows runs for a long distance by the sea into which they dip their branches.
At that tune, there was living at Cronstadt an Orthodox priest, Father John of Cronstadt. He possessed a great personality, and was very well known in Russia. People, in some instances, positively worshipped him, giving him a reputation for working miracles, also of being a very holy man and even a prophet.
Once I ran after a war hero and pulled him by his sleeve, whereupon he turned round and gave me such a saucy look! But, showing my photographic apparatus, I made him understand that I only wanted to take his photograph. He beamed all over and I placed next to him another hero. They were both survivors of the glorious Koreitz which not long before perished in the fatal Sea of Japan.
Then, I was told of a church which was nearer to us; so one Sunday I determined to go there, but, to my horror, I suddenly found myself in the courtyard of some military barracks where there was a chapel—but not mine!
There I was, I and my coucouchka or little cab, surrounded by a double row of soldier giants, but luckily being able to mutter a few words in Russian a friendly policeman put me on the right road.
We flew along, passing woods, bridges, and a large palace which was used for the Red Cross work.
I was told that the preceding winter, at The Hermitage, where the Empress often came to work, she had a nigger who helped her to pull out the bastings from her sewing.