Such a fiasco would have been enough to discredit the movement in any other country. But the Bolsheviks die hard, and they are quick to profit, not only by other people’s mistakes, but by their own. They saw that it was useless to attempt anything in Irkutsk without getting the artillery over to their side. So they set to work systematically to detach each battery from its allegiance to the Provisional Government. I used to hear through the German agent how they were getting on, how first one battery and then another succumbed, till at last only one was left on which the authorities could rely. In time this also was won over. The work required patience, and it was not until Christmas week that the Bolsheviks were ready to turn out the Government. The officers in the army, of course, knew what was happening, but they were powerless. In any case they were not trained political agitators, and they had received no political education. They knew little of the lives of their men, they had no especial sympathy with their desires for more freedom and power, and the inner meaning of what was going on before their eyes escaped them. It will probably be so in every army infected by Bolshevik agitators. From the outset their privileges, and the distance enjoined by their rank, handicap the officers in dealing with these men.

As usual, treachery was everywhere. Kerenski had sent down an emissary with instructions to watch the situation for him. The man’s name was Strendberg, which looks German-Jewish, but he professed to be a Finn. He spoke German fluently; but when the Allied officers came to Irkutsk to investigate the arming of the prisoners of war, he denied that he knew a word of German. After the Revolution he acknowledged that he had played Kerenski false, and had used his influence to pervert the army still more thoroughly. The Bolsheviks rewarded him by making him their Commander-in-Chief for a time. It is curious that the German prisoners of war at Krasnoyarsk had planned an insurrection to take place on the very day that fighting began at Irkutsk. A War Staff had been formed, every German officer had his task assigned to him, and if the coup had succeeded, it must have thrown the whole of Siberia into confusion. A Russian officer, who understood German, overheard the prisoners speaking about it and reported the matter to Irkutsk. The last act of the Provisional Government was to take severe measures to punish the offenders, and to make a repetition of the offence impossible. If it was a coincidence, it was surely a most remarkable one, that the Germans should have hit upon the same date as the Bolsheviks for their rising.

Meanwhile everybody knew what was coming, and people began to get very nervous. The most ordinary thing was enough to start a panic. At the sound of machine-guns practising I have seen a crowd gather and then, taken by a sudden impulse, run like a flock of sheep, they knew not where. During these long months all classes of society displayed a feverish gaiety. Never were the streets so full, the theatres and cinematographs so crowded, or the shops so busy. Money seemed to have no value except to purchase one more pleasure, before the time when there would be no pleasures at all. I shall not easily forget the evening when there came a lying telegram that Venice had fallen. The people in the streets acclaimed the news with shouts of wild laughter, and they could not have been merrier if their own army had taken Berlin. It was not so much want of sympathy for Italy, as extreme nervousness finding some excuse for expression. The sword of Damocles hung above our heads, and nobody knew when or upon whom it would fall. Ordinary good-byes in those days had something of the solemnity of an eternal farewell. The afternoon before the fighting began, I had been giving a lesson in the town and was taking leave of the family. They asked the usual question, “When will you come again?” A silence fell upon us. Who knew if we should ever meet again?

The storm broke at last. The Bolsheviks occupied the chief Government institutions and issued an ultimatum to the Younkers and Cossacks to deliver up their arms. As this was equivalent to saying, “Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed,” the invitation was refused and the fighting began. On one side were a thousand Younkers and Cossacks armed with rifles and machine-guns; on the other, twenty thousand Bolshevik soldiers and Red Guards, supported by four batteries of Field Artillery, some heavy howitzers, and a number of siege guns. Between these unequal forces the battle raged for ten days. The Younkers had possession of a few brick and stone buildings near the river Angara. The Cossacks were in their wooden barracks, and they afterwards took a children’s hospital commanding their position. The Bolsheviks were everywhere else. The Younkers showed great bravery in attack. At the third attempt they stormed the bridge over the Angara and blew it up, thus preventing reinforcements from reaching the Bolsheviks by this route. They also took the White House, the largest and strongest building in Irkutsk. Here they captured some of the leading members of the Soviet, whom, however, they treated with perfect courtesy. The cowardice of the Bolshevik soldiers was appalling. At the White House some ran and hid themselves in cellars and some in the lofts, while others reported themselves sick. It was a building which ten men could have held against a thousand, and which need never have been taken at all. The Younkers asked one lot of prisoners why they were fighting so badly. “Well,” answered the soldiers, “we are only fighting because we are ordered to.” “Aren’t you Bolsheviks, then?” “No, nothing of the sort.” “Would you fight for the Czar?” “Yes, certainly, if we were ordered to.” The Bolshevik theory of equality between officers and men worked out as it always will do under stress of actual danger. On one occasion two scouts were wanted to carry a message across a valley infested with Cossacks. A whole company refused, one after the other. At last the only two educated men in the ranks volunteered. They had held back, not out of cowardice, but merely because they had been doing all the dangerous work for the company since the fighting began. It was interesting to watch the Bolshevik general with his men. They used to come slouching in from patrol and the general would try to get a report from them. He had to put on a jovial, hail-fellow-well-met air and clap them heartily on the back, saying, “Now, comrade, what have you been doing with yourself?” The comrade might, or might not, have seen something of the enemy. Then the general, with extreme politeness, as of a shopwalker conducting a lady to the silk-counter, would suggest, “Now, comrade, do you think you could just go and have a look along those houses over there?” “Oh no,” said the soldiers, “we are hungry, comrade. We must go and have our dinner.” And the poor general had to wait about in the cold, until he could coax or wheedle some soldier into doing that bit of patrol for him.

We were privileged to be in the thick of the fighting. Our house was the nearest of the regimental buildings to the Cossacks and the most exposed to danger. On the first night a desperate struggle took place half a mile to the north of us, where the Cossacks tried to rush a Bolshevik battery. In our courtyard the air was alive with the singing of bullets, but this did not prevent us from paying or receiving visits. And then, amid the thunder of artillery, the rattle of machine-guns, and all the tumult of a battle, a report was brought to us that a mad dog in the neighbourhood had broken loose and bitten a woman, and therefore it was not advisable for us to venture out of doors! This anti-climax was too much for us, and we gave way to helpless laughter. Next morning we were in a more serious mood. During breakfast we noticed a Bolshevik soldier crouching down under our window. We asked him what he was doing. He explained that in the night the Cossacks had driven them back and that our house was now the foremost point in the Bolshevik line. We went out to have a look, and could see the Cossacks converging in upon us, while just behind our garden the Bolsheviks were advancing in open order. With all possible speed we packed a few things together and made our way through the Bolshevik lines to the barracks, bullets whistling past our ears, or burying themselves with a dull thud in the snow as we passed. At the barracks we found the remaining officers of the regiment, and their families, assembled. Those officers, who did not choose to fight for the Bolsheviks, could declare themselves neutral and were not molested. If they asked any questions, the soldiers simply ignored them. Some officers were really active on the side of the Bolsheviks; but the soldiers would not listen to their advice, with the result that hundreds of lives were lost.

In spite of the stupidity and cowardice of the Bolsheviks, the bravery of the Younkers was of little avail, as the numbers against them were too overwhelming. The town was ringed in with a girdle of fire; night and day the batteries poured down upon it an unending rain of shell. I climbed on the top story of the barracks in order to follow the results of the shooting, and saw what I would give much to forget. An especial target of the Bolsheviks was the children’s hospital occupied by the Cossacks. We could see the shells strike it, smashing in the windows and tearing great holes in the fabric, while, from the other end of the building, the children were being carried away as quickly as possible. Not all the children were saved. Great columns of smoke and fire rose unceasingly from all parts of the town, and it seemed as if nothing could survive that bombardment. After their day’s work the cannoneers, a horrible glee shining through the grime on their faces, used to go home snapping their fingers and dancing with triumph, carried beyond themselves with the lust of blood and sheer joy of destruction. In that weird setting, the red light of burning houses tingeing all the atmosphere, their dark, leaping figures seemed like devils straight from hell.

The Younkers were caught in a trap and their fate appeared certain. However, the Consuls interfered, and secured an end of fighting on honourable terms. The Younkers were to lay down their arms and to receive a safe-conduct to their homes. The Bolsheviks pledged themselves to retain only certain of their younger classes under arms, the rest were to be demobilised, and, like the Younkers, sent home. The fighting had cost the lives of about two thousand men. The numbers of the wounded will never be known, because many of the officers and others of the bourgeoisie, concealed their wounds out of fear of revenge. Even schoolboys had stolen away to take part in the fighting. Afterwards they crept back to their families again, and only their immediate friends knew anything about it.

After so long a bombardment, I expected to find Irkutsk laid waste. But, on the whole, surprisingly little damage was done. Certain buildings held by the Younkers had been battered about, one or two schools and a printing establishment had been burnt outright. The soldiers had plundered and then set fire to Vtorova’s—the Harrod’s of Irkutsk. There was also some miscellaneous bombardment of houses in which lived capitalists obnoxious to the Bolsheviks. This was mean and dastardly, but fortunately the shooting was very bad, and the houses suffered little. Considering that the town was quite at the mercy of a victorious and revolutionary soldateska, it came off marvellously well. The soldiers looted whatever houses they were quartered in, but there was little forcible entry. One Jewish tradesman told me how a party of soldiers broke into his shop and demanded food. He was in great fear of the Bolsheviks, and thought they were going to rob him of all he possessed. But they only took thirty pounds of sausage, and left him without troubling about anything else. He was amused, because the sausages happened to be “kosher,” and contained no pork at all. I am the more inclined to insist on the comparative moderation of the soldiers, because the most alarming reports of the Irkutsk fighting have appeared in American and English magazines. Here is a specimen. In an article which appeared in Harper’s and the Fortnightly for November, 1918, an American journalist says that a Russian gave him the following account of the fight: “We had a nice little fuss here in January at the time the Red Guards captured the city. Some of the finest buildings were shelled. Three thousand citizens lost their lives after a terrible siege in the public museum. Several Englishmen and Americans were killed.” Scarcely one of these statements is true; in fact, the passage is pure invention on the face of it. The fighting took place, not in January, but in December. Only two thousand fell altogether, of these few were non-combatants, and not a single one was American or English.

One non-combatant certainly was foully murdered. This was the Socialist-Revolutionary Patlych. He was one of the great champions of Socialism, and he had repeatedly suffered under the Czar for his opinions. All who knew him respected him for the firmness with which he had borne hardship, and for the unspoiled kindliness of his nature. Conceiving a great horror of bloodshed, he took no part in the fighting, but worked for the Red Cross among the wounded. After a time it occurred to him that he might be able to put a stop to the slaughter by ascertaining the terms on which the parties were prepared to negotiate. Accompanied by a friend, he first went to the Younkers, who received him politely, and communicated to him their terms. Afterwards he went to the Bolsheviks, who treated him with great harshness and suspicion. At last they took him to their leaders—three common soldiers who refused to have anything to do with him. He was led back through the Bolshevik lines, and then suddenly shot from behind. His friend managed to escape, although the Bolsheviks did their best to kill him too, in order to get rid of an inconvenient witness. Patlych received a public funeral, the most imposing that I have seen in Russia, and Russia is a land of imposing funerals. All classes of society joined in showing their respect to the great Socialist, and even the Bolsheviks had the insolence to follow in the procession. But they did nothing to punish his murderers. I have mentioned the crime because it is so characteristic of the Bolshevik system. They have been extolled by certain journalists as having discovered a new principle of universal benevolence and the world-wide brotherhood of the working-man. An American journalist, C. E. Russell, has written a book, “Unchained Russia,” in which he sweetly discourses on the loving-kindness of the Bolsheviks. And yet we find them murdering a fellow-socialist only because his opinions were a shade less red than their own. Their doctrine is not one of love, but of hate, and much as they hate the capitalist, they hate other Socialists far more. Family quarrels are always the bitterest, and the lot of the Socialists has been harder under the Bolsheviks than it ever was under the Czar.

One final touch of horror, and I have done with horrors. I only mention it as it is characteristic of that Russian morbidity of temperament which Englishmen find it so hard to understand. After the fighting was ended, the dead bodies were collected and stacked in various public buildings. For days this was one of the sights of Irkutsk, and people flocked to see it. Corpses of men, women, and children were piled in heaps for every one to look at. You could see fashionable women daintily lifting their skirts and picking their way between the dead bodies, or young girls and boys staring with naÏve curiosity at the sight. In one building the room of the Army Paymaster was requisitioned, and he used to sit at his desk, faced by a wall of dead bodies, while men and women came to receive their money. The prisoners of war went too, and vowed that never should a revolution cause such scenes in Germany; they were prepared to suffer anything rather than that.

We thus see Bolshevism sitting throned on a pile of dead bodies. Since so many people are still inclined to regard the movement as to some extent an expression of the people’s will, it may be interesting to state exactly how the Bolsheviks came into power. It was only through the soldiers, and these soldiers they won over to their side only by the promise of peace. The elections for the Constituent Assembly at Irkutsk just before the second Revolution showed that the Bolsheviks had no following except in the army. The soldiers were bitterly hated by the people. I have seen peasant women shake their fists in the soldiers’ faces and curse them for the disasters they had brought on Russia. The soldiers merely laughed and shouted, “Peace, peace.” Many of the demobilized soldiers, when they arrived at their homes, were shot by the peasants. Once the Bolsheviks were in power, the soldiers insisted on their promises being kept and on being demobilized. They were implored to stay and fight for the good old cause of Socialism; but they answered roughly, “We are not Socialists. We are Bolsheviks.” They had not the slightest notion what the Bolsheviks were, and if you had told them they were extreme Monarchists, it would have made no difference, so long as they brought peace. A list of volunteers was opened at Irkutsk, and only fifty men enrolled themselves. The Bolsheviks began to feel the disadvantages of the Soldiers’ Councils they had created. The new Government issued an order that the demobilized soldiers were to give up their equipment and rifles. The Soldiers’ Councils met and passed a resolution that each soldier was free to take his equipment home with him. Soldiers were willing to sell their rifles for a song, and the bourgeois were thus enabled to equip themselves for the next struggle with the Bolsheviks. The most amazing scenes took place. A friend of mine was approached by a soldier and asked what he would give for a machine-gun. He thought the whole affair was a joke, and answered quite gravely that he had got in a sufficient stock of machine-guns for the summer, but he was rather short of field artillery. The soldier said he would talk to his comrades about it, and next day actually returned with an offer to steal and sell a field-gun at a stated price. The bargain was concluded, and although the Bolsheviks searched high and low for it, they never found where the gun was hidden. Government and regimental stores were openly plundered. The second-hand market was full of them for weeks. Sugar to the value of thousands of pounds was stolen from the 12th Regiment. One night the sentry set to guard the regimental chest disappeared, taking with him a month’s pay for the whole regiment. Such things as the Bolsheviks particularly wanted to keep were removed from the different storehouses to a common centre. On the way the waggons openly stopped at the second-hand market and a certain proportion of the stores was sold. So badly was the Bolshevik State organized that these thefts were never discovered by the officials in control, the reason being that they were mostly ignorant soldiers who could not even count. Bolshevism, as conceived by its leaders, may be something great and exhilarating. But the Bolsheviks were put into power by the soldiers, and the soldiers only wanted two things—peace and opportunities for plunder.

Conspiracies were constantly being formed against them. In one of these, the town was divided into eight districts, each under its leader. The eight leaders knew one another, but in the separate districts each conspirator knew only his leader, and he did not know who else belonged to the cause. It behoved one in those days to guard carefully one’s tongue. I had a pupil with whom I was on excellent terms, a business man in the town. He showed me the damage that the Bolsheviks had done to his house, without expressing an opinion about it, however. He did not know whether I might not be a Bolshevik spy. I, on the other hand, said nothing, because I had at last learned to hold my tongue. But one day during the lesson there came on a great fall of snow; I had incautiously gone out without an overcoat, and he offered to lend me his to go back home in. It was the only one the Bolsheviks had left him, a musty, mouldy, old green thing, not worth the stealing. I put it on, and the effect was too much for his caution. “Why,” he said, “you look just like a Bolshevik!” Our laughter broke the ice, and we became fast friends.

The Bolsheviks had no means of satisfying the discontent of the people. They had little food, and did not know how to obtain more. The peasants absolutely refused to sell to them. The prisoners of war used to organize expeditions to the surrounding villages to buy flour. The peasants would at first regard them with suspicion, and deny that they had anything to sell. The prisoners used to protest that they were not Bolsheviks, they were only prisoners of war—and they got as much as they wanted. The Bolshevik army was crumbling to pieces, and scarcely a man was left. They managed in time to collect a few men—ne’er-do-wells, criminals, former policemen, and some of the unemployed—and with these they made up a kind of army. And on one pretext or another they disarmed the whole of the bourgeoisie. But they had no means of resisting any strong concerted effort to put them down. And then some one had the brilliant idea of organizing the prisoners of war.

I was able to follow this movement closely through all its stages until I left Irkutsk. I was at the first meeting called to discuss the question. The hall was filled with Austro-Hungarian and German prisoners of war, and with a miscellaneous public of Red Guards, Bolsheviks, and their sympathizers. A president, vice-presidents, and various other officials were elected from among the prisoners. The Germans were conspicuous by their reserve, and held aloof. Nominally, the meeting was under the leadership of an Austrian, but it soon passed into the hands of a member of the Soviet called Izaaksohn. Whenever it appeared to be going off the rails, he brought it back, and kept it on what was obviously a definitely thought-out course. The feeling between the Germans and the Austrians was very bad, and was not improved by the taunts hurled at the former for their cowardice in not speaking out. Finally, a resolution was passed condemning the German Government in round terms for its greed and aggression, and declaring the intention of the meeting to form an association of prisoners of war. The misdeeds of Austria were altogether ignored in the resolution. Prisoners’ Associations had been formed all over Siberia. At Stretensk the prisoners had torn the national cockade from their caps and replaced it with the red ribbon of the International. At Beresovka fighting had taken place between the Germans and the Hungarians, because the former still hung back. At Omsk the town was in the hands of the prisoners, who kept their officers in close confinement and had killed some of them. They also had the railway station in their power, and would not allow any prisoners to return home. A prisoner could either become a member of the Omsk Red Guard or be sent back to where he came from. The new German Association declared that they would go home first and prepare the ground for the Revolution, and then the bourgeois could follow. The German Government thought otherwise. Not a single prisoner of war was allowed through the German lines. I know of one sergeant who escaped and reached the German lines in Central Russia. He was warned to go back, but he could not believe his ears; he thought the Germans would be certain to welcome their own men. He insisted on advancing, and was shot dead. Later in the summer I was informed that the Germans were shooting all returned prisoners who could be proved to have had anything to do with the Bolsheviks. The success of the Revolution in Germany proves that some, at any rate, managed to get through. The Austrians put their Bolsheviks in internment camps.

Meanwhile strange things were happening at Irkutsk itself. Although peace had been signed, prisoners of war from Russia were being concentrated at Irkutsk. Two or three hundred of them were armed and were set to guard not only their own encampment, but also the munition stores of the Bolsheviks. The Russians had no faith in their own men, and insisted on having Germans. Many prisoners in the town were instructing the Red Guards and Anarchists in the various branches of war—artillery, cavalry, and the machine-gun. Two or three flying machines were brought to Irkutsk, to be flown, it was said, by German aviators. Transports of prisoners from the east were held up indefinitely in the town. They came with the soldiers, subject to military discipline as at the front. Within a day all that was changed. Saluting ceased and discipline existed no longer. In one case the leader of a transport was arrested because he was paying the officers more per day than the men. All his money, to the amount of several thousands of pounds, was taken from him. All the protocols that had been collected against the prisoners were destroyed. A German sergeant was killed in the streets of Irkutsk for refusing to remove the badges of his rank. The Allies took alarm at the concentration of such large armed forces, and sent officers to investigate the movement. They were put off with bare-faced lies. At a time when at least ten thousand prisoners were under arms, they were assured that only fifteen hundred of them were so. In April there was a great meeting of delegates from all the associations of prisoners in Siberia. The rules of membership were decided upon, and among them was the following: “The members are pledged to take up arms whenever the Central Committee calls upon them to do so, or if there is no time to appeal to the Central Committee, whenever the Local Committee calls upon them to do so.” In addition to those already enrolled in the Red Army, the Association gave the Bolsheviks an enormous number of men pledged to support them with arms when called upon. I say enormous advisedly. An Austrian with whom I talked reckoned the number at a million. This is certainly too large, but in any case the Association doubled, if it did not treble, the number of soldiers at the Soviet’s disposal.

This propaganda soon made itself felt. Simeonof had been able to do what he liked with the Red Guards; they never stood up to him. The Bolshevik Commissar for Foreign Affairs made a despairing speech, in which he candidly admitted that the Red Army was worthless. The prisoners changed the aspect of affairs altogether, and without them the Bolsheviks would not have been able to resist either Simeonof or the Czecho-Slovaks. By means of their propaganda the Bolsheviks killed two birds with one stone. They obtained help against their enemies, they also undermined the capitalist states of Central Europe. They were cleverer than the Germans. Suppose that the Germans after the Kaiser’s fall had treated our prisoners kindly, and preached to them the doctrines of Socialism. If it had been done in the proper way it might have been dangerous. But then the Russian Socialist leaders were true to the International, and really desired some higher ideal than country to guide their class. The German worker will fight to get privileges for himself, but I never found that he had a feeling of community with the workers outside Germany. He preached the doctrine of hate as cordially as his officers.

With the idea of coaxing the prisoners into their association the Bolsheviks used to arrange “evenings” for them. There would be speeches, plays, some music, and, at the end of it all, dancing. The Anarchists always attended, and were easily the most interesting people present. Their leader was the man I have described in a previous chapter as having murdered two whole families. He was thought to be insane, and there was a horrible set stare in his eyes as if he were haunted by the ghosts of his victims. His manners seemed to indicate that among other laws to be abolished were those of good society. He used to come smoking a long thick pipe, and when he saw that any one was at the proper distance behind him, he used to swing round suddenly and hit the man a smack in the face with the hot bowl. Then his pipe used to be passed round from one to other of the Anarchists, and, with the terrible eye of their leader upon them, they would have to look as if they enjoyed it. The Bolsheviks did not quite know what to do with the Anarchists, as none of their hirelings were anxious to pull this particular chestnut out of the fire for them. They gave a great deal of trouble. They once raided the Police Office and destroyed all the criminal records. On another occasion they surrounded the market, and after having fired into the air, stole everything they could grab in the panic that followed. At last the Bolsheviks hit upon the plan of sending them to fight Simeonof. They rode through the town in fine style, their band playing, their black flag flying, and a pleased crowd to see them off. But when the train reached the front scarcely an Anarchist was left. They had nearly all sold their rifles and run away en route.

Meanwhile the treaty with Germany had been signed and ratified, and German influence once more became dominant in Russia. German officers travelled up and down Siberia inspecting positions for defence. Under their directions, it was said, a great camp had been built on the River Selenga in order to hold up any advance from the east. At Irkutsk a building was got ready to house a staff of eighty German officers. From time to time prisoners of war occupied the telegraph office, took notes of all telegrams that had been sent, and for days together were in immediate communication with the Fatherland. German trade agents were busy in Irkutsk concluding contracts on terms which the Russians protested were very easy. Delivery of the goods was promised for August, payment was to be in three instalments, the third not to be till a year after the close of war, and the rouble was to be taken at par. The rich merchant class, I found, were quite reconciled to the separate peace, since it gave them an opportunity of trading with Germany. They violently objected to doing business with any one else. They understood the Germans and the Germans understood them. It is so all over Russia, and when the peace of the world is restored, the Russian merchants will welcome the chance of returning to their German friends. Nearly all the newspapers wrote in the German interest. An account of the attack on Zeebrugge appeared in a Soviet newspaper under the heading, “How they lie.” Even now German influence is still almost as strong as ever. Within the last month or two newspapers have been suppressed because of their rabid Anglophobia combined with pro-Germanism. At a certain Siberian town, when the English Consul gave to the local papers an account of the terms of the Armistice, they absolutely refused to print them. They declared that Germany would never assent to a fifth of those terms. And finally the Bolsheviks appointed as their Commander-in-Chief a German noble from Riga—Baron von Taube. How came a nobleman to be in that galley? The relations between the Bolsheviks and the Germans were hard to fathom. On the one hand, there was the pro-German, anti-Entente propaganda of their newspapers, and the fact that some hundreds of German officers of high rank were in the Bolshevik service assuming control of operations. On the other hand, there was the Socialist, anti-monarchical propaganda among the prisoners, which must have been extremely distasteful to the German Government. With characteristic perfidity the Bolsheviks were trying to make the best of both worlds, taking from the Capitalist Governments what they were willing to give, and using the breathing-space they gained in order to undermine Capitalism everywhere. But it is still not clear how far the German Government was ready to go, and whether they would have allowed all the prisoners to be armed and sent to the Japanese front. The concentration of prisoners at Irkutsk could not have taken place without their consent, and it must have meant something. It seems very much as if the recent sudden activity in the Bolshevik armies was due to a German brain. This vigorous and successful fighting north, east, south and west points to a superior intellect at work somewhere. And the Bolsheviks have shown no such military genius in their campaigns that one might expect it to come from them.

Meanwhile in this nest of German intrigue my position became very difficult. I have not dwelt at length upon my reasons for severing my connection with Germany. I think they will be obvious to any civilized person. In renouncing my allegiance I left all I possessed in the hands of the Germans, so that at any rate I did not get the best of the bargain. In the circumstances I went to the English Consul, explained to him how I stood, and that I feared that I might be made to fight for Germany or the Bolsheviks in the immediate future, and asked him for a paper enabling me to get out of Russia. There followed weary months of waiting while we telegraphed to the Home Government. The Bolsheviks delayed all and suppressed half of what we tried to send. At last a wire arrived announcing that British protection was to be accorded to me. But that was only half the battle, the more strenuous half was with the Soviet. They absolutely refused to let me go. The British Consul at Irkutsk had a great name with them; they were more afraid of him than of all the other consuls put together. When they heard that he was interested in a matter, they used to give up resistance to him as a bad job. But in my case some influence stiffened them, and they were obstinate. Not that they wished me ill. With that touch of topsy-turvydom, which is never absent from Russian affairs, they urged the Consul to let me escape. “Why doesn’t he escape?” they said. “It is quite easy.” And it was—for Germans. Meanwhile I was spied on wherever I went. In the morning when I went down to the Consul’s, a tall Austrian officer used to pick me up and march behind me with set military pace until I had “reached my objective.” Afterwards he would follow me home again, keeping exactly the same distance all the while. His countenance was so lean and mournful that I could not help christening him “Don Quixote.” But I was sorry for the Austrians; I thought they had more brains than to spy like that. Then, quite unexpectedly, the Central Soviet at Moscow telegraphed that I was to be allowed to go. I have since found out that it was through a lucky misunderstanding.[1] Anyhow the Irkutsk people at last gave me a licence to travel. But my troubles were not over yet. The stations all along the line were picketed with prisoners of war, whose business it was to see that only the right prisoners escaped. They cared nothing for the Soviet’s licence. At other stations there were Red Guards whose business it was to see that no one left Russia too rich. Our journey was full of thrills, but fortunately without adventure. We only just escaped, however. We wanted to leave the train and go down the river by boat from Stretensk; but as our passports said nothing about this route, the local Soviet would not allow us to go. We watched the others depart with envy and regret. That boat was held up by brigands, and the passengers robbed of all they possessed. At other times it is a journey I can recommend—especially in May. Once more the hills were purple with rhododendron, and the woods were deep with a profusion of wild flowers, all the prettier for being unknown. At last one evening our train ran down into Vladivostok, and we saw again the sea, and the Suffolk flying the English flag.

I have tried in these papers to avoid as much as possible questions of principle, and without malice or favour to relate what my experiences were. To some I may appear like those Catholic historians, who think that they have demolished the Reformation when they have proved the land-hunger of the great Protestant nobles, or like the Protestants, who imagine that they have demonstrated the absurdity of Catholicism when they have made out a list of the crimes of the Borgias. What I have said has scarcely anything to do with first principles. The Revolution will fail, as all Revolutions fail, in that it will be followed by a violent reaction apparently sweeping away every trace of its existence. The Revolution will succeed, as all Revolutions succeed, in that it has planted an idea in men’s minds, where it is inviolable, and in due time it will ripen and bring forth fruit an hundredfold. I should be sorry if it should be thought that I have done an injustice to Russia. There is no country so difficult for an Englishman to understand. Nothing is certain about it except its surprises. The Russians are as muddle-headed and stupid as the Englishman of a Daily Mail nightmare, and as quick in perception and polished as a Frenchman, as fond of tea and talk as an Oriental, as open-minded, acute, and subtle as an Athenian, as lazy as a Spaniard, as passionate as an Italian, as cold at heart and calculating as an Irishman, honest, simple, and kindly as the German of the good old fairy tales, yet, in their wrath, as brutal as the Tartars from whom they spring, and, in revenge, as cunning and implacable as a Jew, capable in one and the same person of superb devotion and repellent treachery, dreamers and idealists, yet with a terrible gift of clear vision, especially with regard to themselves, in the highest examples of the race the body all fire and the brain all light, the inheritors of a language the most flexible, persuasive, and harmonious ever moulded by the lips of man—how could I do justice to them? There is no need to fear for Russia. When, in the words of Shelley’s famous chorus, the world’s great age begins anew and the golden years return, Russia, made alive in every part of her by the struggle for freedom, is sure to take a giant’s share in the building up again of our shattered universe.