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p47
Home from emigration.
In beginning to tell about the course of my life, I didn't expect it to come out so long. I'm afraid that I won't get
around to the most important parts, so I am going on to the next time period now.
During the war I heard about the fall of Kurzeme [to the
Germans in 1915] and the masses of refugees who fled to Vidzeme and farther east. I knew that my mother, Marija and Kristaps
were in St. Petersburg (renamed Petrograd), and that my sisters Anna and Marija (this must be a mistake] were somewhere in
southern Russia; but I had no news about the house and Martins. After the 1917 revolution, news of any kind ran out. Every
attempt at contact through the Swiss and Swedish Red Cross failed to get results. The thought disquieted me, that I ought
to go search for them; after the armistice, it [the thought] became steadily more unremitting.
In the early summer of 1919, I arrived in New York to find a way to get to Europe; it turned out that troops and war materials
were being ferried back, but there was still no scheduled passenger transport. I sought out the Russian sailors' club in Brooklyn
to get news. I only found out that many of the Russian sailors were Latvians and Estonians, and that Pastor Podins worked
among the Latvians. I had just gotten the idea to find work on a ship going to Europe, when (I don't remember how) I ran into
Cipus Andersons, who was doing the same thing to get across. No sooner said than done: in a short time we were stokers on
a Swedish ship.
This may have been in late June or early July, in the hottest season, which we felt fully. Unaccustomed to heavy work,
and prone to seasickness, I had a hard time. The worst misfortune was that I couldn't keep much food down. I saved myself
with oat flour, which I poured into a bottle with water and shook up, then drank the oat- flour water, which we used to (oderet
= feed?] horses. That helped until I got used to the rocking of the ship.
We travelled on the northern route, around Ireland and the Shetland Islands, across the North Sea. We had to stick to
the prescribed path which had been cleared of mines. It wasn't entirely clear: one man had to stand
watch on the bow and keep a sharp lookout to avoid hitting a mine. Once, during a work break, we had gone up to the deck
to get some sun when we saw a mine, a sort of round iron (gripis=? globe?] with horns, about 25 to 30 paces from tbe side
of the ship: a contact mine. Occasionaly we could see mine-sweeping boats and little ships. It became clear why we didn't
go through the English Channel,
and why passenger transport hadn't resumed.
We got into Goteborg harbor and asked to be paid our wages; the captain answered that he had already counted on having
to do so. After a few days we took a train to Stockholm and found a little ship going to Liepaja. We went to the [Latvian]
ambassador, Grosvalds, and his secretary, Ievins (the writer), to apply for our 'sailors'' visas to Latvia. We also exchanged
quite a bit of Russian money:
Catherines and Peters at a good rate, it seemed; but our dollars, it later turned out, we let go too cheaply.
On a small ship (I have forgotten its name) we sailed to Liepaja along with a group of Latvian children returning from
a summer camp which had been provided by a Swedish charity. I remember this because one boy, asked to play 'Dazu skaistu ziedu'
['A few pretty blossoms'] on his violin, answered 'That's a traitor's song-- I won't play it." I also remember this
trip from my fit of seasickness; even after stopping at the Liepaja customs-house, I threw up the tea that I tried to drink.
Our mood was improved a little bit from hearing real Latvian being spoken.
When the pilot-boat arrived to maneuver our ship through the roads on the way into the harbor, this order rang out from
the boat to the ship's pilot: 'Langsam vorwaerts ['forward slowly', in German; presumably the speaker wasn't Latvian] , pakala
vala" ['buttocks open'; I assume he was trying to say it was clear behind us]. We laughed so hard that we had to hold
onto the rail to keep from falling down.
The border control must have gone smoothly, and Liepaja must have greeted us indifferently, since this time has disappeared
from memory. In any case it was short, since I wanted to get to Kalnieki as quickly as possible, to find out about all of
my family. The
Liepaja-Aizpute 'bahnis' [German for "train", with a Latvian suffix] was very strange--small, slow, and moving
forward as though unwilling or afraid. I think that at Dunalka they loaded on some good birch firewood; we didn't see any
coal.
Finally we arrived at the town itself. As sailors, we didn't have any extra luggage or possessions. We went to the Saja
(Laube) [?] Jewish trader and grain merchant, who owned an inn where his late father used to trade. He was very friendly and
even seemed
glad to see me again--not that he knew me, but he had heard of me. He said that my brother was at home, and that among
the travellers at the inn was a neighbor with whom we could ride farther .
The first stage of the journey had ended happily!
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