The Northern Mediterranean. — Depth of the Sea. — Where Amber Comes From. — A Thousand Isles. — City of Abo. — Departed Glory. — Capital of Finland. — Local Scenes. — Russian Government. — Finland’s Dependency. — Billingsgate. — A Woman Sailor in an Exigency. — Fortress of Sweaborg. — Fortifications of Cronstadt. — Russia’s Great Naval Station. — The Emperor’s Steam Yacht. — A Sail Up the Neva. — St. Petersburg in the Distance. — First Russian Dinner.

Embarking at Stockholm for St. Petersburg one crosses the Baltic,—that Mediterranean of the North, but which is in reality a remote branch of the Atlantic Ocean, with which it is connected by two gulfs, the Cattegat and the Skager-Rack. It reaches from the south of the Danish archipelago up to the latitude of Stockholm, where it extends a right and left arm, each of great size, the former being the Gulf of Finland, and the latter the Gulf of Bothnia, the whole forming the most remarkable basin of navigable inland water in the world. The Finnish Gulf is two hundred miles long by an average width of sixty miles, and that of Bothnia is four hundred miles long averaging a hundred in width. The peninsula of Denmark, known under the name of Jutland, stands like a barrier between the Baltic and the North Sea, midway between the two extremes of the general western configuration of the continent of Europe. We have called the Baltic the Mediterranean of the North, but it has no such depth as that classic inland sea, which finds its bed in a cleft of marvellous depression between Europe and Africa. One thousand fathoms of sounding-line off Gibraltar will not reach the bottom, and two thousand fathoms fail to find it a few miles east of Malta. The maximum depth of the Baltic on the contrary is found to be only a hundred and fifty fathoms, while its average depth is considerably less than a hundred fathoms. It cannot be said that these waters deserve the expressive epithet which has been applied to the sea that laves the coast of Italy and the Grecian Isles; namely, “The cradle of the human race,” but yet the ages ancient and modern have not been without their full share of startling episodes in these more northern regions.

It is a curious though familiar fact that the waters of the Baltic, or rather the bottom of the basin in which it lies, is rich in amber, which the agitated waters cast upon the shores in large quantities annually,—a process which has been going on here for three or four centuries at least. We all know that amber is an indurated fossil resin produced by an extinct species of pine; so that it is evident that where these waters ebb and flow there were once flourishing forests of amber pines. These were doubtless submerged by the gradual encroachment of the sea, or suddenly engulfed by some grand volcanic action of Nature. Pieces of the bark and the cones of the pine-tree are often found adhering to the amber, and insects of a kind unknown to our day are also found embedded in its yellow depths. The largest piece of amber extant is in the Berlin Museum, and is about the size of a child’s head. This is dark and lacks transparency, a quality which is particularly sought for by those who trade in the article. It is known that the peninsula of Scandinavia is gradually becoming elevated above the surrounding waters at the north, and depressed in an equal ratio in the extreme south,—a fact which is held to be of great interest among geologists. The total change in the level has been carefully observed and recorded by scientific commissions, and the aggregate certified to is a trifle over three feet occurring in a period of a hundred and eighteen years.

We took passage on a neat little steamer of about four hundred tons which plies regularly between the capitals of Sweden and Russia, stopping on the way at Abo and Helsingfors, a distance in all of about six hundred miles. By this route, after crossing the open sea, one passes through an almost endless labyrinth of picturesque islands in the Gulf of Finland, including the archipelago known as the Aland Isles, besides many isolated ones quite near to the coast of Finland. This forms a most delightful sail, the waters being nearly always smooth, except during a few hours of necessary exposure in the open Gulf. The islands are generally covered with a variety of trees and attractive verdure, many of them being also improved for the purpose of small farms, embracing appropriate clusters of buildings, about which were grouped domestic cattle and bevies of merry children, making memorable pictures as we wound in and out among them pursuing the course of the channel. The great contrast between these low-lying verdant islands and those lofty, frowning, jagged, and snow-capped ones which we had so lately encountered in the far North was striking indeed. By and by we enter the fjord which leads up to Abo from the Gulf, which is also dotted here and there by the most beautiful, garden-like islands imaginable, and upon which are built many pretty chalets, forming the summer homes of the citizens of Finmark’s former capital. It would be difficult to name a trip of a mingled sea-and-land character so thoroughly delightful; it constantly and vividly recalled the thousand islands of the St. Lawrence in North America, and the Inland Sea of Japan. The town of Abo has a population of about twenty-five thousand, who are mostly of Swedish descent. It is thrifty, cleanly, and wears an aspect of quiet prosperity. The place is venerable in years, and has a record reaching back for over seven centuries. Here the Russian flag—red, blue, and white—first begins to greet one from all appropriate points, and more especially from the shipping; but we almost unconsciously pass from one nationality to another where the dividing lines are of so mingled a character. The most prominent building to catch the stranger’s eye on entering the harbor is the long barrack-like prison upon a hillside. In front of us loomed up the famous old castle of Abo, awkward and irregular in shape, and snow white. Here in the olden time Gustavus Vasa, Eric XIV., and John III. held royal court. The streets are few but very broad, which causes the town to cover an area quite out of proportion to the number of its inhabitants. The buildings are all modern, as the fire-fiend destroyed nearly the entire place so late as 1827, when nine hundred buildings and over were consumed within the space of a few hours.

The Russian Chapel is a conspicuous and characteristic building, and so is the Astronomical Observatory, situated on the highest eminence in the town. This structure has lately been converted into a scientific school. Crowds of pupils were filing out of its doors just as we made fast to the shore in full view. The cathedral is an object of some interest, and contains many curious relics. Abo however is a very quiet little town, whose glory has departed since it ceased in 1819 to be the political capital of Finland. It formerly boasted a University, but that institution and its large library were swept away by the fire already mentioned.

Helsingfors is situated still farther up the Gulf, facing the ancient town of Revel on the Esthonian coast, and is reached from Abo in about twelve hours’ sail, also through a labyrinth of islands so numerous as to be quite confusing, but whose picturesqueness and beauty will not easily be forgotten. This is the present capital of Finland, and it contains from fifty to fifty-five thousand inhabitants, but has several times been partially destroyed by plague, famine, and fire. It was founded by Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, in the sixteenth century. The University is represented to be of a high standard of excellence, and contains a library of about two hundred thousand volumes. A gentleman who was himself a graduate of the institution and a fellow passenger on the steamer, entertained us with an interesting account of the educational system enforced here. The present number of students exceeds seven hundred, and there are forty professors attached to the institution, which is the oldest university in Russia, having been founded as far back as 1640. It is interesting to recall the fact that printing was not introduced into Finland until a year later.

The most striking feature of Helsingfors as one approaches it from the sea is the large Greek Church with its fifteen domes and minarets, each capped by a glittering cross and crescent with pendant chains in gilt, and as it is built upon high ground the whole is very effective. The Lutheran Church is also picturesque and notable, with its five domes sparkling with gilded stars upon a dark green ground, a style of finish quite new to us, but which became familiar after visiting the interior of Russia. The approach to the entrance of this church is formed by many granite steps, which extend across the base of the façade and are over two hundred feet in width. The streets of the town are handsomely and evenly paved, of good width, and bordered with excellent raised side-walks,—a convenience too generally wanting in old European cities and towns. Through the centre of some of the main streets a broad walk is constructed, lined on either side by trees of the linden family, and very ornamental. The buildings are imposing architecturally, being mostly in long uniform blocks, quite Parisian in effect. Several large buildings were observed in course of construction, and there were many tokens of prosperity manifest on all hands. The Imperial Palace is a plain but substantial building, with heavy Corinthian pillars in front. Its situation seemed to us a little incongruous, being located in a commercial centre quite near the wharves.

We need hardly remind the reader that Finland is a dependency of Russia; yet it is nearly as independent as is Norway of Sweden. Finland is ruled by a governor-general assisted by the Imperial Senate, over which a representative of the Emperor of Russia presides. There is also resident at St. Petersburg a Secretary of State, so to designate the official, for Finland. Still, the country pays no tribute to Russia. It imposes its own taxes, and forms its own codes of law; so that Norway, as regards constitutional liberty, is scarcely freer or more democratic. When Finland was joined to Russia, Alexander I. assured the people that the integrity of their constitution and religion should be protected; and this promise has thus far been honestly kept by the dominant power.

The port of Helsingfors is defended by the large and famous fortress of Sweaborg, which repelled the English and French fleets during the Crimean war. It was constructed by the Swedish General Ehrenswaerd, who was a poet as well as an excellent military engineer. The fort is considered to be one of the strongest in the world, and is situated upon seven islands, each being connected with the main fortress by tunnels under the waters of the harbor constructed at enormous expense, mostly through ledges of solid granite. The natural rock of these islands has, in fact, been utilized somewhat after the elaborate style of Gibraltar. An extensive and most substantial granite quay extends along the water in front of the town, where a large fleet of fishing-boats managed mostly by women is moored daily, with the freshly caught cargoes displayed for sale, spread out in great variety both upon the immediate shore and on the decks of their homely but serviceable little vessels. The energy of the fishwomen in their efforts to trade with all comers, accompanied by loud expressions and vociferous exclamations, led us to think that there might be a Finnish Billingsgate as well as an English. While we stood watching the busy scene on and near the wharves, a fishing-boat of about twenty tons, with two masts supporting fore and aft sails and a fore-stay-sail, was just getting under way outward bound. The boat contained a couple of lads and a middle-aged woman, who held the sheet of the mainsail as she sat beside the tiller. The little craft had just fairly laid her course close-hauled towards the mouth of the bay, and was hardly a quarter of a mile from the dock when one of the sudden squalls so common in this region, accompanied by heavy rain, came down upon the craft like a flash, driving her lee gunwales for a moment quite under water. The main sheet was instantly let go, so also with the fore and stay sails, and the boat promptly brought to the wind, while the woman at the helm issued one or two orders to her boy-crew which were instantly obeyed. Ten minutes later, under a close-reefed foresail, the boat had taken the wind upon the opposite tack and was scudding into the shelter of the dock, where she was properly made fast and her sails quietly furled to await the advent of more favorable weather. No experienced seaman could have managed the boat better under the circumstances than did this woman.

After leaving Helsingfors we next come upon Cronstadt, formed by a series of low islands about five miles long by one broad, which are important only as fortifications and as being the acknowledged key of St. Petersburg, forming also the chief naval station of the great empire. The two fortifications of Sweaborg and Cronstadt insure to Russia the possession of the Gulf of Finland. The cluster of islands which form the great Russian naval station are raised above the level of the sea barely sufficient to prevent their being overflowed, while the foundations of many of the minor works are considerably below the surrounding waters, which are rather shallow, being less than two fathoms in depth. The fortifications are of brick faced with granite, and consist mainly of a rounded structure with four stories of embrasures, from the top of which rises a tall signal-mast supporting the Muscovite flag. The arsenals and docks here are very extensive, and unsurpassed of their kind in completeness. The best machinists in the world find employment here, the latest inventions a sure market. In all facilities for marine armament Russia is fully abreast of if it does not surpass most of the nations of Europe. The quays of Cronstadt are built of granite and form a grand monument of engineering skill, facing the mouth of the Neva, less than twenty miles from the Russian capital. Six or eight miles to the south lies Istria, and about the same distance to the north is the coast of Carelia. The population of the adjoining town will aggregate nearly fifty thousand persons, more than half of whom belong either directly or indirectly to the army or navy. The Russian fleet, consisting of iron-clads, rams, torpedo-boats, and sea-going steamers of heavy armament, lies at anchor in a spacious harbor behind the forts. The united defences here are so strong that the place is reasonably considered to be impregnable. An enemy could approach only by a narrow winding passage, which is commanded by such a cross-fire from the heaviest guns as would sink any naval armament now afloat. As we have intimated, every fresh improvement in ordnance is promptly adopted by Russia, whose army and navy are kept at all times if not absolutely upon what is called a war-footing, still in a good condition for the commencement of offensive or defensive warfare.

As we came into the river from the Gulf we passed the Emperor’s private steam-yacht, which is a splendid side-wheel steamer of about two thousand tons burden. She was riding quietly at anchor, a perfect picture of nautical beauty. Yet a single order from her quarter-deck would instantly dispel this tranquillity, covering her decks with sturdy seamen armed to the teeth, opening her ports for huge death-dealing cannon, and peopling her shrouds with scores of sharp-shooters. The captain of our own vessel told us that she was the fastest sea-going steamer ever built. Behind the royal yacht, some little distance upon the land, the Palace and surroundings of Peterhoff were lit up by the sun’s rays playing upon the collection of gilded and fantastic domes. It was a fête day. A baby of royal birth was to be christened, and the Emperor, Empress, and royal household were to assist on the auspicious occasion; hence all the out-door world was dressed in national flags, and the passenger steamers were crowded with people bent upon making a holiday. The sail up that queen of northern rivers presented a charming panorama. Passenger steamers flitting about with well-peopled decks; noisy tug-boats puffing and whistling while towing heavily-laden barges; naval cutters propelled by dozens of white-clad oarsmen, and steered by officers in dazzling uniforms; small sailing yachts glancing hither and thither,—all gave life and animation to the maritime scene. Here and there on the river’s course long reaches of sandy shoals would appear covered with myriads of white sea-gulls, scores of which would occasionally rise, hover over our steamer and settle in her wake. As we approached nearer and nearer, hundreds of gilded domes and towers of the city flashing in the warm light came swiftly into view. Some of the spires were of such great height in proportion to their diameter as to present a needle-like appearance. Among these reaching so bravely heavenward were the slender spire of the Cathedral of Peter and Paul within the fortress, nearly four hundred feet in height, and the lofty pinnacle of the Admiralty.

Notwithstanding its giddy towers and looming palaces rising above the level of the capital, the want of a little diversity in the grade of the low-lying city is keenly felt. Like Berlin or Havana, it is built upon a perfect level, the most trying of positions. A few custom-house formalities were encountered, but nothing of which a person could reasonably complain; and half an hour after the steamer had moored to the wharf, we drove to the Hotel d’Angleterre, on Isaac’s Square. Then followed the first stroll in a long-dreamed-of city. What a thrilling delight! Everything so entirely new and strange; all out-of-doors a novelty, from the Greek cross on the top of the lofty cupolas to the very pavement under one’s feet; and all permeated by a seductive Oriental atmosphere, as stimulating to the imagination as hashish.

We will not describe in detail the bill of fare at the first regular meal partaken of in Russia, but must confess to a degree of surprise at the dish which preceded the dinner; namely, iced soup. It was certainly a novelty to the author, and by no means palatable to one not initiated. As near as it was possible to analyze the production, it consisted of Russian beer, cucumbers, onions, and slices of uncooked fish floating on the surface amid small pieces of ice. With this exception, the menu was not very dissimilar to the sparse service of northern European hotels. But let us dismiss this mention of food as promptly as we did that odious, frosty soup, and prepare to give the reader the impressions realized from the grandest city of Northern Europe.