Red dusk and the morrow : adventures and investigations in red Russia

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RED DUSK AND
THE MORROW

SIR PAUL DUKES, K.B.E.

.,

RED DUSK AND
THE MORROW

ADVENTURES

AND INVESTIGATIONS IN

RED RUSSIA

BY

SIR PAUL DUKES, K.B.E.

FORMERLY CHIEF OF

THE BRITISH SECRET INTELLIGENCE SERVICE
IN SOVIET RUSSIA

LONDON
WILLIAMS AND NORGATE

14 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. z
1923

COPTMOHT IN U.S.A., 1922, BY

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE AND COMPANY

First Printed May 1922.
Reprinted February 1923.

Printed in Great Britain

FOREWORD

IF ever there was a period when people blindly
hitched their wagons to shibboleths and slogans in-
stead of stars it is the present. In the helter-skelter
of events which constantly outrun mankind, the
essential meaning of commonly used words is be-
coming increasingly confused. Not only the abstract
ideas of liberty, equality, and fraternity, but more
concrete and more recently popularized ones such as
proletariat, bourgeois, soviet, are already surrounded
with a sort of fungous growth concealing their real
meaning, so that every time they are employed they
have to be freshly defined.

The phenomenon of Red Russia is a supreme ex-
ample of the triumph over reason of the shibboleth,
the slogan, and the political catchword. War-weary
and politics-weary, the Russian people easily suc-
cumbed to those who promised wildly what nobody
could give, the promisers least of all. Catchwords
such as " All Power to the Soviets," possessing cryptic
power before their coiners seized the reins of govern-
ment, were afterward discovered either to have no
meaning whatsoever, or else to be endowed with
some arbitrary, variable, and quite unforeseen sense.
Similarly, words such as " workers," " bourgeois,"
" proletariat," " imperialist," " socialist," " co-opera-
tive," " soviet," are endowed by mob orators every-
where with arbitrary significations, meaning one
thing one day and another the next as occasion
demands.

v

vi FOREWORD

The extreme opponents of Bolshevism, especially
amongst Russians, have sinned in this respect as
greatly as the extreme proponents, and with no
advantage to themselves even in their own class.
For to their unreasoning immoderation, as much as
to the distortion of ideas by ultra-radicals, is due
the appearance, among a certain class of people of
inquiring minds but incomplete information, of that
oddest of anomalies, the " parlour Bolshevik." Clear-
ness of vision and understanding will never be restored
until precision in terminology is again re-established,
and that will take years and years.

It was the discrepancy between the actualities of
Bolshevist Russia and the terminology employed by
the Red leaders that impressed me beyond all else.
I soon came to the conclusion that this elaborate
catch-phraseology was designed primarily for propa-
gandist purposes in foreign countries, for the Bol-
sheviks in their home press indulge at times in
unexpected spurts of candour, describing their own
failures in terms that vie with those of their most
inveterate foes. But they still cling to anomalous
terms, such as " workers' and peasants' govern-
ment " and " dictatorship of the proletariat."

It is to such discrepancies that I have sought to
draw attention in the following pages. My point of
view was neither that of the professional politician,
nor of the social reformer, nor of the stunt- journalist,
but simply that of the ordinary human individual,
the " man in the street." As an official of the in-
telligence service the Soviet Government has charged
me with conspiracies and plots to overthrow it. But
I went to Russia not to conspire but to inquire. The
Soviet Government's references to me have not been
felicitous and I may be pardoned for recalling one or

FOREWORD vii

two of the most striking. At the close of 1920 I
received an intimation from the Foreign Office that
on January 16, 1920, a certain Mr. Charles Davison
had been executed in Moscow and that to the British
Government's demand for an explanation the Soviet
Government had replied that Mr. Davison was shot
as an accomplice of my " provocative activities."
The letter from the British Foreign Office was, how-
ever, my first intimation that such a person as Mr.
Davison had ever existed. Again, on the occasion
of the last advance of General Yudenich on Petrograd
the Bolshevist Government asserted that I was the
instigator of a " White " Government which should
seize power upon the fall of the city, and a list of
some dozen or so ministers was published who were
said to have been nominated by me. Not only had
I no knowledge of or connection with the said govern-
ment, but the prospective ministers with one excep-
tion were unknown to me even by name, the exception
being a gentleman I had formerly heard of but with
whom I had never had any form of communication.

It would be tedious to recount the numerous
instances of which these are examples. I recognize
but few of the names with which the Bolshevist
Government has associated mine. The majority are
those of people I have never met or heard of. Even
of the Englishmen and women, of whom the Bol-
sheviks arrested several as my " accomplices," holding
them in prison in some cases for over a twelvemonth,
I knew but few. With only one had I had any com-
munication as intelligence officer. Some of the others,
whom I met subsequently, gave me the interesting
information that their arrest and that of many
innocent Russians was attributed by the Bolsheviks
to a " diary " which I was supposed to have kept and

viii FOREWORD

in which I was said to have noted their names. This
" diary " has apparently also been exhibited to
sympathetic foreign visitors as conclusive evidence of
the implication of the said Russians and Britishers
in my numerous " conspiracies " ! I barely need
say that, inexperienced though I was in the art and
science of intelligence work, I made it from the outset
an invariable rule in making notes never to inscribe
any name or address except in a manner intelligible to
no living soul besides myself, while the only " diary "
I ever kept was the chronicle from which this book
is partly compiled, made during those brief visits to
Finland which the reader will find described in the
following pages.

It goes without saying that this book is not de-
signed to rectify this record of inaccuracies on the
part of the Soviet Government. It was impossible in
writing my story to combine precision of narrative
with effective camouflage of individuals and places.
The part of this book which deals with my personal
experiences is therefore not complete, but is a selec-
tion of episodes concerning a few individuals, and I
have endeavoured to weave these episodes into a
more or less consecutive narrative, showing the
peculiar chain of circumstances which led to my
remaining in charge of the intelligence service in
Russia for the best part of a year, instead of a month
or two, as I had originally expected. To my later
travels in Bielorussia, the northern Ukraine, and
Lithuania I make but little reference, since my ob-
servations there merely confirmed the conclusions
I had already arrived at as to the attitude of the
Russian peasantry. In writing, I believe I have
achieved what I was bound to regard as a funda-
mental condition, namely, the masking of the char-

FOREWORD ix

acters by confusing persons and places (except in
one or two instances which are now of small import)
sufficiently to render them untraceable by the
Bolshevist authorities.

" Even when one thinks a view unsound or a
scheme unworkable," says Viscount Bryce in Modern
Democracies, " one must regard all honest efforts to
improve this unsatisfactory world with a sympathy
which recognizes how many things need to be changed,
and how many doctrines once held irrefragable need
to be modified in the light of supervenient facts."
This is true no less of Communist experiments than
of any others. If in this book I dwell almost entirely
on the Russian people's point of view, and not on
that of their present governors, I can only say that
it was the people's point of view that I set out to
study. The Bolshevist revolution will have results
far other than those anticipated by its promoters, but
in the errors and miscalculations of the Communists,
n their fanatical efforts to better the lot of man-
kind, albeit by coercion and bloodshed, lessons are
to be learned which will be of incalculable profit to
humanity. But the greatest and most inspiring
lesson of all will be the ultimate example of the
Russian people, by wondrous patience and invincible
endurance overcoming their present and perhaps
even greater tribulation, and emerging triumphant
through persevering belief in the truths of that philo-
sophy which the Communists describe as " the opium
of the people."

"... Nothing is more vital to national progress
than the spontaneous development of individual
character. . . . Independence of thought was
formerly threatened by monarchs who feared the
disaffection of their subjects. May it not again
be threatened by other forms of intolerance,
possible even in a popular government ? "

BRYCE, Modern Democracies.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

ONE OF THE CROWD ....... 1

The Revolution of March 1917 — Recalled to London — Offered
work in Secret Service — Archangel — Helsingfors — Melnikoff —
Departure for Russia — Forging passports — Crossing the frontier.

CHAPTER II

FIVE DAYS 30

Petrograd — An unpleasant encounter — Dearth and stagnation
— A secret cafe — Stepanovna — Quarters for the night — An
eating-house — Welcomed as English — Mr. Marsh — Maria — The
" Journalist " — The " Policeman " — A raid on an eating-house
— Captain Zorinsky — The Extraordinary Commission — Mr. Marsh
escapes.

CHAPTER III

THE GREEN SHAWL . . 79

Allies expected in Petrograd — A story of Archangel — Proposals
to attack Bolsheviks — Arranging Mrs. Marsh's escape — News of
Melnikoff under arrest— Attempts to arrange his escape — Buying
a disguise — In the prison of the Extraordinary Commission —
Mrs. Marsh's escape — Across the frontier in the snow.

CHAPTER IV

MESHES ......... 113

Back in Petrograd — " The Metropolis of the World Revolution "
— Communists employing bourgeois specialists — Zorinsky supplies
information and asks questions — Certificates of exemption from
military service — Plans to rescue Melnikoff.

CHAPTER V

MELNIKOFF 131

Bolshevik Saints — Melnikoff's Doctor uncle — Zorinsky sus-
pected of double dealing — A Bolshevik demonstration — A new
passport — Unrecognized by former housekeeper — A letter of
introduction — News of Melnikoff's execution.

xi

xii CONTENTS

CHAPTER VI PAGB

STEPANOVNA . . . . . . . * 152

New acquaintances — A raid on a public market — " Speculators "
— Confiscation of furniture — Stepanovna in trouble.

CHAPTER VII

FINLAND , : ' **' •';£-. . . . . . 162

Escape to Finland over the ice — Running the gauntlet of the
searchlights — Pursued — Hiding on the bare ice — Arrest by
Finnish patrols — Arranging for a service of couriers — Intrigues
in Finland — Back into Russia — On ski through the forest — A
trying experience.

CHAPTER VIII

A VILLAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST!" . . . . . 181

A Russian peasant's house — Music — The troubles of a thrifty
peasant — A village Soviet — Smuggling food and matches into
Petrograd — Attempt to stop " sackmen " — Recollections of
March 1917.

CHAPTER IX

METAMORPHOSIS . V Y . , .

Unrest in Petrograd — Attempts at arrest — A narrow escape at
the " Journalist's " — A new disguise — A friend of Melnikoff —
Zorinsky's treachery confirmed.

CHAPTER X

THE SPHINX . . *:/, ;, * .... 209

At work in a factory — Joining the Red army — Tsarist officers
in the Red army — Military service helpful to intelligence work
— To Moscow.

CHAPTER XI

THE RED ARMY . , . . . . 215

The uniform — Terrorizing Tsarist officers — Relatives used as
hostages for good behaviour — Jews in the Red army — Bronstein
or Trotzky — Trotzky conciliates Tsarist officers — Penalties of
refusing service — Mistakes of the White leaders — Discipline by
terror — A mutiny — Revolutionary Tribunals — Desertion — The
army oath — System of political control — A conscientious commis-
sar— Cultural -Enlightenment Committees — A regimental enter-
tainment.

CONTENTS xiii

CHAPTER XII

..... 251

" Government of Workers and Peasants " a misnomer — A gulf
between the Communist Party and People — The Third Inter-
national — Its relation to the Soviet Government — Disturbances
in Petrograd — Suppression and arrests — A speech by Lenin —
** Sackmen " legalized — Free trading permitted — Welfare of
people subordinate to interests of party — A party purge — Of
what did the party consist ? — Training members — Three degrees
of membership — What is a Soviet ? — Bolshevism not Soviet
Government — Soviet elections — A meeting of the Petrograd
Soviet.

CHAPTER XIII

ESCAPE .......... 285

Plans for escape — To join British Fleet in Gulf of Finland —
Sent to Latvian frontier on military service — Train searched —
The Green Guards — Across Lake Luban.

CHAPTER XIV

CONCLUSION 294

The only hope for Russian Communists, country before party- —
Influence of non-Bolshevik elements — Russian dislike of politics
— Intervention must be humanitarian — Impotence of the Third
International — Russian love of the soil — Bolsheviks despise the
Russians — Co-operative Societies proof of Russian organizing
capacity — The power of religion.

INDEX 309

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

To face page
THE AUTHOR ....... Frontispiece

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED . . . . . . .16

A FORGED CERTIFICATE OF IDENTIFICATION ... 22

THE FORTRESS OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL ... 30
THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED ....... 80

RAILWAY TRAVELLING IN SOVIET RUSSIA . . . .106

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED 128

A RUSSIAN VILLAGE . . . . . . . .176

A RUSSIAN PEASANT "CAPITALIST" 180

A DAUGHTER OF THE SOIL . . . . . .192

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED ....... 208

A REVIEW OF " RED " TROOPS ...... 216

A CERTIFICATE OF IDENTIFICATION . ... . . 224

A MEETING OUTSIDE THE TAURIDE PALACE . . . 272

RAILWAY TRAVELLING IN SOVIET RUSSIA .... 288

THE AUTHOR WITH RUSSIAN CHILDREN 296

XV

RED DUSK

AND

THE MORROW

CHAPTER I

ONE OF THE CROWD

THE snow glittered brilliantly in the frosty sunshine
on the afternoon of March 11, 1917. The Nevsky
Prospect was almost deserted. The air was tense with
excitement and it seemed as if from the girdling
faubourgs of the beautiful city of Peter the Great rose
a low, muffled rumbling as of many voices. Angry,
passionate voices, rolling like distant thunder, while
in the heart of the city all was still and quiet. A
mounted patrol stood here or there, or paced the street
with measured step. There were bloodstains on the
white snow, and from the upper end of the Prospect
still resounded the intermittent crack of rifles.

How still those corpses lay over there ! Their teeth
grinned ghastlily. Who were they and how did they
die? Who knew or cared? Perhaps a mother, a
wife. . . . The fighting was in the early morning.
A crowd— a cry— a command— a volley — panic— an
empty street — silence — and a little group of corpses,
hideous, motionless in the cold sunshine !

Stretched across the wide roadway lay a cordon of

2 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

police disguised as soldiers, prostrate, firing at in-
tervals. The disguise was an attempt to deceive, for
it was known that the soldiers sided with the people.
" It is coming," I found myself repeating mechanically,
over and over again, and picturing a great cataclysm,
terrible and overwhelming, yet passionately hoped for.
" It is coming, any time now — to-morrow — the day
after "

What a day the morrow was ! I saw the first revolu-
tionary regiments come out and witnessed the sacking
of the arsenal by the infuriated mob. Over the river
the soldiers were breaking into the Kresty Prison.
Crushing throngs surged round the Duma building at
the Tauride Palace, and towards evening, after the
Tsarist police had been scattered in the Nevsky
Prospect, there rose a mighty murmur, whispered in
awe on a million lips : " Revolution ! " A new era
was to open. The revolution, so thought I, would be
the Declaration of Independence of Russia ! In my
imagination I figured to myself a huge pendulum,
weighted with the pent-up miseries and woes of a
hundred and eighty millions of people, which had
suddenly been set in motion. How far would it
swing ? How many times ? When and where would
it come to rest, its vast, hidden store of energy
expended ?

Late that night I stood outside the Tauride Palace,
which had become the centre of the revolution. No
one was admitted through the great gates without a
pass. I sought a place midway between the gates and,
when no one was looking, scrambled up, dropped over
the railings, and ran through the bushes straight to the
main porch. Here I soon met folk I knew— comrades
of student days, revolutionists. What a spectacle
within the palace, lately so still and dignified ! Tired

ONE OF THE CROWD 3

soldiers lay sleeping in heaps in every hall and corridor.
The vaulted lobby, where Duma members had flitted
silently, was packed almost to the roof with all manner
of truck, baggage, arms, and ammunition. All night
long and the next I laboured with the revolutionists
to turn the Tauride Palace into a revolutionary
arsenal.

Thus began the revolution. And after ? Everyone
knows now how the hopes of freedom were blighted.
Truly had Russia's foe, Germany, who despatched the
proletarian dictator Lenin and his satellites to Russia,
discovered the Achilles heel of the Russian revolu-
tion ! Everyone now knows how the flowers of the
revolution withered under the blast of the Class War,
and how Russia was replunged into starvation and
serfdom. I will not dwell on these things. My story
relates to the time when they were already cruel
realities.

My reminiscences of the first year of Bolshevist
administration are jumbled into a kaleidoscopic
panorama of impressions gained while journeying
from city to city, sometimes crouched in the corner of
crowded box- cars, sometimes travelling in comfort,
sometimes riding on the steps, and sometimes on the
roofs or buffers. I was nominally in the service of the
British Foreign Office, but the Anglo-Russian Com-
mission (of which I was a member) having quit Russia,
I attached myself to the American Y.M.C.A., doing
relief work. A year after the revolution I found myself
in the eastern city of Samara, training a detachment of
boy scouts. As the snows of winter melted and the
spring sunshine shed joy and cheerfulness around, I
held my parades and together with my American
colleagues organized outings and sports. The new
proletarian lawgivers eyed our manoeuvres askance,

4 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

but were too preoccupied in dispossessing the " bour-
geoisie " to devote serious attention to the " counter
revolutionary " scouts, however pronounced the anti-
Bolshevik sympathies of the latter. " Be prepared ! r
the scouts would cry, greeting each other in the street.
And the answer, " Always prepared ! " had a deep
significance, intensified by their boyish enthusiasm.

Then one day, when in Moscow, I was handed an
unexpected telegram. " Urgent "—from the British
Foreign Office. " You are wanted at once in London,"
it ran. I set out for Archangel without delay. Mos-
cow, with its turbulences, its political wranglings, its
increasing hunger, its counter-revolutionary con-
spiracies, with Count Mirbach and his German
designs, was left behind. Like a bombshell followed
the news that Mirbach was murdered. Leaning over
the side of the White Sea steamer, a thousand kilo-
metres from Moscow, I cursed my luck that I was not
in the capital. I stood and watched the sun dip low
to the horizon; hover, an oval mass of fire, on the
edge of the blazing sea ; merge with the water ; and,
without disappearing, mount again to celebrate the
triumph over darkness of the nightless Arctic summer.
Then, Murmansk and perpetual day, a destroyer to
Petchenga, a tug to the Norwegian frontier, a ten-day
journey round the North Cape and by the fairy-land
of Norwegian fjords to Bergen, with finally a zigzag
course across the North Sea, dodging submarines, to
Scotland.

At Aberdeen the control officer had received orders
to pass me through by the first train to London. At
King's Cross a car was waiting, and knowing neither
my destination nor the cause of my recall I was driven
to a building in a side street in the vicinity of Trafalgar
Square. " This way," said the chauffeur, leaving the

ONE OF THE CROWD 5

car. The chauffeur had a face like a mask. We
entered the building and the elevator whisked us to
the top floor, above which additional superstructures
had been built for war-emergency offices.

I had always associated rabbit-warrens with subter-
ranean abodes, but here in this building I discovered
a maze of rabbit-burrow-like passages, corridors,
nooks, and alcoves, piled higgledy-piggledy on the
roof. Leaving the elevator my guide led me up one
flight of steps so narrow that a corpulent man would
have stuck tight, then down a similar flight on the
other side, under wooden archways so low that we
had to stoop, round unexpected corners, and again
up a flight of steps which brought us out on the roof.
Crossing a short iron bridge we entered another maze,
until just as I was beginning to feel dizzy I was
shown into a tiny room about ten feet square where
sat an officer in the uniform of a British colonel.
The impassive chauffeur announced me and withdrew.

" Good afternoon, Mr. Dukes," said the colonel,
rising and greeting me with a warm handshake. " I
am glad to see you. You doubtless wonder that no
explanation has been given you as to why you should
return to England. Well, I have to inform you,
confidentially, that it has been proposed to offer you
a somewhat responsible post in the Secret Intelligence
Service."

I gasped. " But," I stammered, " I have never

May I ask what it implies? 5:

" Certainly," he replied. " We have reason to
believe that Russia will not long continue to be open
to foreigners. We wish someone to remain there to
keep us informed of the march of events."

"But," I put in, "my present work? It is
important, and if I drop it—

6 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" We foresaw that objection," replied the colonel,
" and I must tell you that under war regulations we
have the right to requisition your services if need be.
You have been attached to the Foreign Office. This
office also works in conjunction with the Foreign
Office, which has been consulted on this question.
Of course," he added, bitingly, " if the risk or danger
alarms you "

I forget what I said but he did not continue.

" Very well," he proceeded, " consider the matter
and return at 4.30 p.m. to-morrow. If you have no valid
reasons for not accepting this post we will consider
you as in our service and I will tell you further details."
He rang a bell. A young lady appeared and escorted
me out, threading her way with what seemed to me
marvellous dexterity through the maze of passages.

Burning with curiosity and fascinated already by
the mystery of this elevated labyrinth I ventured a
query to my young female guide. " What sort of
establishment is this? " I said. I detected a twinkle
in her eye. She shrugged her shoulders and without
replying pressed the button for the elevator. " Good
afternoon," was all she said as I passed in.

Next day another young lady escorted me up and
down the narrow stairways and ushered me into the
presence of the colonel. I found him in a fair-sized
apartment with easy chairs and walls hidden by book-
cases. He seemed to take it for granted that I had
nothing to say. " I will tell you briefly what we
desire," he said. " Then you may make any com-
ments you wish, and I will take you up to interview —
er — the Chief. Briefly, we want you to return to
Soviet Russia and to send reports on the situation
there. We wish to be accurately informed as to the
attitude of every section of the community, the degree

ONE OF THE CROWD 7

of support enjoyed by the Bolshevist Government,
the development and modification of its policy, what
possibility there may be for an alteration of regime
or for a counter-revolution, and what part Germany is
playing. As to the means whereby you gain access
to the country, under what cover you will live there,
and how you will send out reports, we shall leave
it to you, being best informed as to conditions, to
make suggestions."

He expounded his views on Russia, asking for my
corroboration or correction, and also mentioned the
names of a few English people I might come into
contact with. " I will see if — er — the Chief is ready,"
he said finally, rising; " I will be back in a moment."

The apartment appeared to be an office but there
were no papers on the desk. I rose and stared at the
books on the bookshelves. My attention was arrested
by an edition of Thackeray's works in a decorative
binding of what looked like green morocco. I used at
one time to dabble in bookbinding and am always
interested in an artistically bound book. I took down
Henry Esmond from the shelf. To my bewilderment
the cover did not open, until, passing my finger
accidentally along what I thought was the edge of the
pages, the front suddenly flew open of itself, disclosing
a box ! In my astonishment I almost dropped the
volume and a sheet of paper slipped out on to the
floor. I picked it up hastily and glanced at it. It
was headed Kriegsministerium, Berlin, had the
German Imperial arms imprinted on it, and was
covered with minute handwriting in German. I had
barely slipped it back into the box and replaced the
volume on the shelf when the colonel returned.

" A — the — er — Chief is not in," he said, " but you
may see him to-morrow. You are interested in

8 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

books? " he added, seeing me looking at the shelves.
" I collect them. That is an interesting old volume
on Cardinal Richelieu, if you care to look at it. I
picked it up in Charing Cross Road for a shilling."
The volume mentioned was immediately above Henry
Esmond. I took it down warily, expecting something
uncommon to occur, but it was only a musty old
volume in French with torn leaves and soiled pages.
I pretended to be interested. " There is not much
else there worth looking at, I think," said the colonel,
casually. " Well, good-bye. Come in to-morrow."

I wondered mightily who "the Chief'1 of this
establishment could be and what he would be like.
The young lady smiled enigmatically as she showed
me to the elevator. I returned again next day after
thinking overnight how I should get back to Russia —
and deciding on nothing. My mind seemed to be a
complete blank on the subject in hand and I was
entirely absorbed in the mysteries of the roof-laby-
rinth.

Again I was shown into the colonel's sitting-room.
My eyes fell instinctively on the bookshelf. The
colonel was in a genial mood. " I see you like my
collection," he said. " That, by the way, is a fine
edition of Thackeray." My heart leaped ! " It is
the most luxurious binding I have ever yet found.
Would you not like to look at it ? ':

I looked at the colonel very hard, but his face was
a mask. My immediate conclusion was that he wished
to initiate me into the secrets of the department.
I rose quickly and took down Henry Esmond, which
was in exactly the same place as it had been the day
before. To my utter confusion it opened quite
naturally and I found in my hands nothing more than
an edition de luxe printed on India paper and pro-

ONE OF THE CROWD 9

fusely illustrated ! I stared bewildered at the shelf.
There was no other Henry Esmond. Immediately
over the vacant space stood the life of Cardinal
Richelieu as it had stood yesterday. I replaced the
volume, and trying not to look disconcerted turned
to the colonel. His expression was quite impassive,
even bored. " It is a beautiful edition," he repeated,
as if wearily. " Now if you are ready we will go and
see— er— the Chief."

Feeling very foolish I stuttered assent and followed.
As we proceeded through the maze of stairways and
unexpected passages which seemed to me like a
miniature House of Usher, I caught glimpses of
tree-tops, of the Embankment Gardens, the Thames,
the Tower Bridge, and Westminster. From the
suddenness with which the angle of view changed I
concluded that in reality we were simply gyrating in
one very limited space, and when suddenly we entered
a spacious study— the sanctum of " — er— the Chief ):
— I had an irresistible sentiment that we had moved
only a few yards and that this study was immediately
above the colonel's office.

It was a low, dark chamber at the extreme top of the
building. The colonel knocked, entered, and stood
at attention. Nervous and confused I followed,
painfully conscious that at that moment I could not
have expressed a sane opinion on any subject under
the sun. From the threshold the room seemed bathed
in semi-obscurity. The writing desk was so placed
with the window behind it that on entering everything
appeared only in silhouette. It was some seconds
before I could clearly distinguish things. A row of
half-a-dozen extending telephones stood at the left of
a big desk littered with papers. On a side table were
numerous maps and drawings, with models of aero-

10 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

planes, submarines, and mechanical devices, while a
row of bottles of various colours and a distilling outfit
with a rack of test tubes bore witness to chemical
experiments and operations. These evidences of scien-
tific investigation only served to intensify an already
overpowering atmosphere of strangeness and mystery.

But it was not these things that engaged my atten-
tion as I stood nervously waiting. It was not the
bottles or the machinery that attracted my gaze.
My eyes fixed themselves on the figure at the writing
table. In the capacious swing desk-chair, his shoulders
hunched, with his head supported on one hand, busily
writing, there sat in his shirt-sleeves

Alas, no ! Pardon me, reader, I was forgetting !
There are still things I may not divulge. There are
things that must still remain shrouded in secrecy.
And one of them is — who was the figure in the swing
desk-chair in the darkened room at the top of the
roof-labyrinth near Trafalgar Square on this August
day in 1918 ? I may not describe him, nor mention
even one of his twenty-odd names. Suffice it to say
that, awe-inspired as I was at this first encounter,
I soon learned to regard " the Chief " with feelings of
the deepest personal regard and admiration. He was a
British officer and an English gentleman of the finest
stamp, absolutely fearless and gifted with limitless
resources of subtle ingenuity, and I count it one of the
greatest privileges of my life to have been brought
within the circle of his acquaintanceship.

In silhouette I saw myself motioned to a chair. The
Chief wrote for a moment and then suddenly turned
with the unexpected remark, " So I understand you
want to go back to Soviet Russia, do you? '' as
if it had been my own suggestion. The conversation
was brief and precise. The words Archangel, Stock-

ONE OF THE CROWD 11

holm, Riga, Helsingfors recurred frequently, and the
names were mentioned of English people in those places
and in Petrograd. It was finally decided that I alone
should determine how and by what route I should
regain access to Russia and how I should despatch
reports.

" Don't go and get killed," said the Chief in con-
clusion, smiling. " You will put him through the
ciphers," he added to the colonel, " and take him to
the laboratory to learn the inks and all that."

We left the Chief and arrived by a single flight of
steps at the door of the colonel's room. The colonel
laughed. " You will find your way about in course of
time," he said. " Let us go to the laboratory at

once . . ."

And here I draw a veil over the roof-labyrinth.
Three weeks later I set out for Russia, into the
unknown.

I resolved to make my first attempt at entry from
the north, and travelled up to Archangel on a troop-
ship of American soldiers, most of whom hailed from
Detroit. But I found the difficulties at Archangel
to be much greater than I had anticipated. It was
600 miles to Petrograd and most of this distance would
have to be done on foot through unknown moorland
and forest. The roads were closely watched, and
before my plans were ready autumn storms broke and
made the moors and marshes impassable. But at
Archangel, realizing that to return to Russia as an
Englishman was impossible, I let my beard grow and
assumed an appearance entirely Russian.

Failing in Archangel I travelled down to Helsingfors
to try my luck from the direction of Finland. Hel-
singfors, the capital of Finland, is a busy little city
bristling with life and intrigue. At the time of which

12 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

I am writing it was a sort of dumping-ground for every
variety of conceivable and inconceivable rumour,
slander, and scandal, repudiated elsewhere but
swallowed by the gullible scandalmongers, especially
German and ancien regime Russian, who found in this
city a haven of rest. Helsingfors was one of the
unhealthiest spots in Europe. Whenever mischance
brought me there I lay low, avoided society, and made
it a rule to tell everybody the direct contrary of my
real intentions, even in trivial matters.

In Helsingfors I was introduced at the British
Consulate to an agent of the American Secret Service
who had recently escaped from Russia. This gentle-
man gave me a letter to a Russian officer in Viborg,
by name Melnikoff. The little town of Viborg, being
the nearest place of importance to the Russian
frontier, was a hornets' nest of Russian refugees,
counter-revolutionary conspirators, German agents,
and Bolshevist spies, worse if anything than Hel-
singfors. Disguised now as a middle-class commercial
traveller I journeyed on to Viborg, took a room at the
hotel I had been told Melnikoff stayed at, looked him
up, and presented my note of introduction. I found
him to be a Russian naval officer of the finest stamp
and intuitively conceived an immediate liking for him.
His real name, I discovered, was not Melnikoff, but
in those parts many people had a variety of names to
suit different occasions. My meeting with him was
providential, for it appeared that he had worked with
Captain Crombie, late British Naval Attache at
Petrograd. In September, 1918, Captain Crombie was
murdered by the Bolsheviks at the British Embassy
and it was the threads of his shattered organization
that I hoped to pick up upon arrival in Petrograd.
Melnikoff was slim, dark, with stubbly hair, blue eyes,

ONE OF THE CROWD 13

short and muscular. He was deeply religious and was
imbued with an intense hatred of the Bolsheviks —
not without reason, since both his father and his
mother had been brutally shot by them, and he him-
self had only escaped by a miracle. " The searchers
came at night," he related the story to me. " I had
some papers referring to the insurrection at Yaroslavl
which my mother kept for me. They demanded access
to my mother's room. My father barred the way,
saying she was dressing. A sailor tried to push past,
and my father angrily struck him aside. Suddenly
a shot rang out and my father fell dead on the thres-
hold of my mother's bedroom. I was in the kitchen
when the Reds came and through the door I fired and
killed two of them. A volley of shots was directed
at me. I was wounded in the hand and only just
escaped by the back stairway. Two weeks later my
mother was executed on account of the discovery of
my papers."

Melnikoff had but one sole object left in life— to
avenge his parents' blood. This was all he lived for.
As far as Russia was concerned he was frankly a
monarchist, so I avoided talking politics with him.
But we were friends from the moment we met, and I
had the peculiar feeling that somewhere, long, long ago,
we had met before, although I knew this was not so.

Melnikoff was overjoyed to learn of my desire to
return to Soviet Russia. He undertook not only to
make the arrangements with the Finnish frontier
patrols for me to be put across the frontier at night
secretly, but also to precede me to Petrograd and make
arrangements there for me to find shelter. Great
hostility still existed between Finland and Soviet
Russia. Skirmishes frequently occurred, and the
frontier was guarded jealously by both sides. Melni-

14 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

koff gave me two addresses in Petrograd where I
might find him, one at a hospital where he had formerly
lived, and the other of a small cafe which still existed
in a private flat unknown to the Bolshevist authorities.

Perhaps it was a pardonable sin in Melnikoff that he
was a toper. We spent three days together in Viborg
making plans for Petrograd while he drank up all my
whisky except a small medicine bottle full which I
hid away. When he had satisfied himself that my
stock was really exhausted he announced himself
ready to start. It was a Friday and we arranged
that I should follow two days later, on Sunday night,
the 24th of November. Melnikoff wrote out a pass-
word on a slip of paper. " Give that to the Finnish
patrols," he said, " at the third house, the wooden one
with the white porch, on the left of the frontier
bridge."

At six o'clock he went into his room, returning in
a few minutes so transformed that I hardly recognized
him. He wore a sort of seaman's cap that came right
down over his eyes. He had dirtied his face, and this,
added to the three-days-old hirsute stubble on his chin,
gave him a truly demoniacal appearance. He wore
a shabby coat and trousers of a dark colour, and a
muffler was tied closely round his neck. He looked a
perfect apache as he stowed away a big Colt revolver
inside his trousers.

" Good-bye," he said, simply, extending his hand;
then stopped and added, " let us observe the good old
Russian custom and sit down for a minute together."
According to a beautiful custom that used to be
observed in Russia in the olden days, friends sit down
at the moment of parting and maintain a moment's
complete silence while each wishes the others a safe
journey and prosperity. Melnikoff and I sat down

ONE OF THE CROWD 15

opposite each other. With what fervour I wished him
success on the dangerous journey he was undertaking
for me ! Suppose he were shot in crossing the frontier ?
Neither I nor any one would know ! He would just
vanish — one more good man gone to swell the toll of
victims of the revolution. And I ? Well, I might follow !
'Twas a question of luck, and 'twas all in the game !

We rose. " Good-bye," said Melnikoff again. He
turned, crossed himself, and passed out of the room.
On the threshold he looked back. " Sunday evening,"
he added, " without fail." I had a curious feeling I
ought to say something, I knew not what, but no
words came. I followed him quickly down the stairs.
He did not look round again. At the street door he
glanced rapidly in every direction, pulled his cap still
further over his eyes, and passed away into the dark-
ness— to an adventure that was to cost him his life.
I only saw him once more after that, for a brief
moment in Petrograd, under dramatic circumstances
— but that comes later in my story.

I slept little that night. My thoughts were all of
Melnikoff, somewhere or other at dead of night risk-
ing his life, outwitting the Red outposts. He would
laugh away danger, I was sure, if caught in a tight
corner. His laugh would be a devilish one — the sort
to allay all Bolshevist suspicions ! Then, in the last
resort, was there not always his Colt? I thought of
his past, of his mother and father, of the story he had
related to me. How his fingers would itch to handle
that Colt !

I rose early next day but there was not much for me
to do. Being Saturday the Jewish booths in the
usually busy little market-place were shut and only
the Finnish ones were open. Most articles of the
costume which I had decided on were already procured,

16 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

but I made one or two slight additions on this day and
on Sunday morning when the Jewish booths opened.
My outfit consisted of a Russian shirt, black leather
breeches, black knee boots, a shabby tunic, and an old
leather cap with a fur brim and a little tassel on top,
of the style worn by the Finns in the district north of
Petrograd. With my shaggy black beard, which by
now was quite profuse, and long unkempt hair dangling
over my ears I looked a sight indeed, and in England
or America should doubtless have been regarded as a
thoroughly undesirable alien !

On Sunday an officer friend of MelnikofP s came to
see me and make sure I was ready. I knew him by
the Christian name and patronymic of Ivan Sergeie-
vitch. He was a pleasant fellow, kind and consider-
ate. Like many other refugees from Russia he had no
financial resources and was trying to make a living
for himself, his wife, and his children by smuggling
Finnish money and butter into Petrograd, where both
were sold at a high premium. Thus he was on good
terms with the Finnish patrols who also practised this
trade and whose friendship he cultivated.

" Have you any passport yet, Pavel Pavlovitch? ':
Ivan Sergeievitch asked me.

" No," I replied, " Melnikoff said the patrols would
furnish me with one."

"Yes, that is best," he said; "they have the
Bolshevist stamps. But we also collect the passports
of all refugees from Petrograd, for they often come in
handy. And if anything happens remember you are
a ' speculator.' :

All were stigmatized by the Bolsheviks as specu-
lators who indulged in the private sale or purchase
of foodstuffs or clothing. They suffered severely,
but it was better to be a speculator than what I was.

p. 16

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED

ONE OF THE CROWD 17

When darkness fell Ivan Sergeievitch accompanied
me to the station and part of the way in the train,
though we sat separately so that it should not be seen
that I was travelling with one who was known to be a
Russian officer.

" And remember, Pavel Pavlovitch," said Ivan
Sergeievitch, " go to my flat whenever you are in need.
There is an old housekeeper there who will admit you
if you say I sent you. But do not let the house porter
see you— he is a Bolshevik— and be careful the house
committee do not know, for they will ask who is
visiting the house."

I was grateful for this offer, which turned out to be
very valuable.

We boarded the train at Viborg and sat at opposite
ends of the compartment, pretending not to know each
other. When Ivan Sergeievitch got out at his
destination he cast one glance at me but we made no
sign of recognition. I sat huddled up gloomily in my
corner, obsessed with the inevitable feeling that
everybody was watching me. The very walls and seat
seemed possessed of eyes ! That man over there, did
he not look at me— twice ? And that woman, spying
constantly (I thought) out of the corner of her eye !
They would let me get as far as the frontier, then they
would send word over to the Reds that I was coming !
I shivered and was ready to curse myself for my fool
adventure. But there was no turning back ! Forsan
et haec olim meminisse juvabit, wrote Virgil. (I used
to write that on my Latin books at school — I hated
Latin.) " Perhaps some day it will amuse you to
remember even these things " — cold comfort, though,
in a scrape and with your neck in a noose. Yet these
escapades are amusing— afterwards.

At last the train stopped at Rajajoki, the last

18 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

station on the Finnish side of the frontier. It was a
pitch-dark night with no moon. Half-a-mile remained
to the frontier, and I made my way along the rails in
the direction of Russia and down to the wooden bridge
over the little frontier river Sestro. I looked curiously
across at the gloomy buildings and the dull, twinkling
lights on the other bank. That was my Promised
Land over there, but it was flowing not with milk and
honey but with blood. The Finnish sentry stood at
his post at the bar of the frontier bridge, and twenty
paces away, on the other side, was the Red sentry. I
left the bridge on my right and turned to look for the
house of the Finnish patrols to whom I had been
directed.

Finding the little wooden villa with the white porch
I knocked timidly. The door opened, and I handed
in the slip of paper on which Melnikoff had written the
password. The Finn who opened the door examined
the paper by the light of a greasy oil lamp, then held
the lamp to my face, peered closely at me, and finally
signalled to me to enter.

" Come in," he said. " We were expecting you.
How are you feeling? ': I did not tell him how I was
really feeling, but replied cheerily that I was feeling
splendid.

" That's right," he said. " You are lucky in having
a dark night for it. A week ago one of our fellows
was shot as we put him over the river. His body
fell into the water and we have not yet fished it
out."

This, I suppose, was the Finnish way of cheering
me up. "Has anyone been over since?'1 *i
queried, affecting a tone of indifference. " Only
Melnikoff." "Safely?" The Finn shrugged his
shoulders. " We put him across all right— a dalshe ne

ONE OF THE CROWD 19

zanyu . . . what happened to him after that I don't
know."

The Finn was a lean, cadaverous-looking fellow.
He led me into a tiny eating-room, where three men
sat round a smoky oil lamp. The window was closely
curtained and the room was intolerably stuffy. The
table was covered with a filthy cloth on which a few
broken lumps of black bread, some fish, and a samovar
were placed. All four men were shabbily dressed and
very rough in appearance. They spoke Russian well,
but conversed in Finnish amongst themselves. One
of them said something to the cadaverous man and
appeared to be remonstrating with him for telling me
of the accident that had happened to their colleague
a week before. The cadaverous Finn answered with
some heat. " Melnikoff is a chuckle-headed scatter-
brain," persisted the cadaverous man, who appeared
to be the leader of the party. " We told him not to be
such a fool as to go into Petrograd again. The Red-
skins are searching for him everywhere and every detail
of his appearance is known. But he would go. I
suppose he loves to have his neck in a noose. With
you, I suppose, it is different. Melnikoff says you are
somebody important— but that's none of our business.
But the Redskins don't like the English. If I were
you I wouldn't go for anything. But it's your affair,
of course."

We sat down to the loaves and fishes. The samovar
was boiling and while we swilled copious supplies of
weak tea out of dirty glasses the Finns retailed the
latest news from Petrograd. The cost of bread, they
said, had risen to about 800 or 1000 times its former
price. People hacked dead horses to pieces in the
streets. All the warm clothing had been taken and
given to the Red army. The Tchrezvichaika (the

20 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

'

Extraordinary Commission) was arresting and shooting
workmen as well as the educated people. Zinoviev
threatened to exterminate all the bourgeoisie if any
further attempt were made to molest the Soviet
Government. When the Jewish Commissar Uritzky
was murdered Zinoviev shot more than 500 at a
stroke; nobles, professors, officers, journalists,
teachers, men and women, and a list of a further
500 was published who would be shot at the next
attempt on a Commissar's life. I listened patiently,
regarding the bulk of these stories as the product
of Finnish imagination. " You will be held up
frequently to be examined," the cadaverous man
warned me, " and do not carry parcels — they will be
taken from you in the street."

After supper we sat down to discuss the plans of
crossing. The cadaverous Finn took a pencil and paper
and drew a rough sketch of the frontier.

" We will put you over in a boat at the same place as
Melnikoff," he said. " Here is the river with woods on
either bank. Here, about a mile up, is an open meadow
on the Russian side. It is now ten o'clock. About
three we will go out quietly and follow the road that
skirts the river on this side till we get opposite the
meadow. That is where you will cross."

" Why at the open spot ? " I queried, surprised.
" Shall I not be seen there most easily of all ? Why
not put me across into the woods ? ':

" Because the woods are patrolled, and the outposts
change their place every night. We cannot follow
their movements. Several people have tried to cross
into the woods. A few succeeded, but most were either
caught or had to fight their way back. But this
meadow is a most unlikely place for any one to cross,
so the Redskins don't watch it. Besides, being open

ONE OF THE CROWD 21

we can see if there is any one on the other side. We
will put you across just here," he said, indicating a
narrow place in the stream at the middle of the
meadow. " At these narrows the water runs faster,
making a noise, so we are less likely to be heard.
When you get over run up the slope slightly to the
left. There is a path which leads up to the road. Be
careful of this cottage, though," he added, making a
cross on the paper at the extreme northern end of the
meadow. " The Red patrol lives in that cottage,
but at three o'clock they will probably be asleep."

There remained only the preparation of " certi-
ficates of identification " which should serve as
passport in Soviet Russia. Melnikoff had told me I
might safely leave this matter to the Finns, who kept
themselves well informed of the kind of papers it was
best to carry to allay the suspicions of Red guards and
Bolshevist police officials. We rose and passed into
another of the three tiny rooms which the villa con-
tained. It was a sort of office, with paper, ink, pens,
and a typewriter on the table.

"What name do you want to have? " asked the
cadaverous man.

" Oh, any," I replied. " Better, perhaps, let it
have a slightly non-Russian smack. My accent "

"They won't notice it," he said, "but if you
prefer "

" Give him an Ukrainian name," suggested one of
the other Finns, " he talks rather like a Little
Russian." Ukrainia, or Little Russia, is the south-west
district of European Russia, where a dialect with an
admixture of Polish is talked.

The cadaverous man thought for a moment.
" ' Afirenko, Joseph Hitch,' " he suggested, " that
smacks of Ukrainia."

22 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

I agreed. One of the men sat down to the type-
writer and carefully choosing a certain sort of paper
began to write. The cadaverous man went to a small
cupboard, unlocked it, and took out a box full of
rubber stamps of various sizes and shapes with black
handles.

" Soviet seals," he said, laughing at my amazement.
" We keep ourselves up to date, you see. Some of
them were stolen, some we made ourselves, and this
one," he pressed it on a sheet of paper leaving the
imprint Commissar of the Frontier Station Bielo'ostrof,
" we bought from over the river for a bottle of vodka."
Bielo'ostrof was the Russian frontier village just
across the stream.

I had had ample experience earlier in the year of
the magical effect upon the rudimentary intelligence
of Bolshevist authorities of official " documents "
with prominent seals or stamps. Multitudinous
stamped papers of any description were a great asset
in travelling, but a big coloured seal was a talisman
that levelled all obstacles. The wording and even
language of the document were of secondary im-
portance. A friend of mine once travelled from
Petrograd to Moscow with no other passport than a
receipted English tailor's bill. This " certificate of
identification " had a big printed heading with the
name of the tailor, some English postage stamps
attached, and a flourishing signature in red ink. He
flaunted the document in the face of the officials, assur-
ing them it was a diplomatic passport issued by the
British Embassy ! This, however, was in the early days
of Bolshevism. The Bolsheviks gradually removed
illiterates from service and in the course of time
restrictions became very severe. But seals were as
essential as ever.

p. 22

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A FORGED CERTIFICATE OF IDENTIFICATION

ONE OF THE CROWD 23

When the Finn had finished writing he pulled the
paper out of the typewriter and handed it to me for
perusal. In the top left-hand corner it had this
heading :

Extraordinary Commissar of the Central Executive
Committee of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers' and
Red Armymen's Deputies.

Then followed the text :

CERTIFICATE

This is to certify that Joseph Afirenko is in the
service of the Extraordinary Commissar of the Central
Executive Committee of the Petrograd Soviet of
Workers' and Red Armymen's Deputies in the
capacity of office clerk, as the accompanying signatures
and seal attest.

" In the service of the Extraordinary Commission ? '
I gasped, taken aback by the amazing audacity of the
thing.

" Why not ? 5: said the cadaverous man coolly,
46 what could be safer? 5:

What, indeed ? What could be safer than to purport
to be in the service of the institution whose duty it
was to hound down all, old or young, rich or poor,
educated or illiterate — who ventured to oppose and
sought to expose the pseudo-proletarian Bolshevist
administration ? Nothing, of course, could be safer !
S volkami zhitj, po voltchi vitj, as the Russians say.
44 If you must live amongst wolves, then howl, too,
as the wolves do ! ''

44 Now for the signatures and seal," said the Finn.
44 Tihonov and Friedmann used to sign these papers,
though it don't matter much, it's only the seal that

24 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

counts." From some Soviet papers on the table he
selected one with two signatures from which to copy.
Choosing a suitable pen he scrawled beneath the text
of my passport in an almost illegible slanting hand,
" Tihonov." This was the signature of a proxy of the
Extraordinary Commissar. The paper must also be
signed by a secretary, or his proxy. " Sign for your
own secretary," said the Finn, laughing and pushing
the paper to me. " Write upright this time, like this.
Here is the original. ' Friedmann ' is the name."
Glancing at the original I made an irregular scrawl,
resembling in some way the signature of the Bolshevist
official.

" Have you a photograph? " asked the cadaverous
man. I gave him a photograph I had had taken at
Viborg. Cutting it down small he stuck it at the side
of the paper. Then, taking a round rubber seal, he
made two imprints over the photograph. The seal
was a red one, with the same inscription inside the
periphery as was at the head of the paper. The inner
space of the seal consisted of the five-pointed Bol-
shevist star with a mallet and a plough in the centre.

" That is your certificate of service," said the Finn ;
" we will give you a second one of personal identifi-
cation." Another paper was quickly printed off with
the words, " The holder of this is the Soviet employee,
Joseph Hitch Afirenko, aged 36 years." This paper
was unnecessary in itself, but two " documents "
were always better than one.

It was now after midnight and the leader of the
Finnish patrol ordered us to lie down for a short rest.
He threw himself on a couch in the eating-room.
There were only two beds for the remaining four of us
and I lay down on one of them with one of the Finns.
I tried to sleep but couldn't. I thought of all sorts

ONE OF THE CROWD 25

of things— of Russia in the past, of the life of adventure
I had elected to lead for the present, of the morrow,
of friends still in Petrograd who must not know of my
return— if I got there. I was nervous, but the dejec-
tion that had overcome me in the train was gone. I
saw the essential humour of my situation. The whole
adventure was really one big exclamation mark !
Forsan et haec olim. ...

The two hours of repose seemed interminable. I
was afraid of three o'clock and yet I wanted it to come
quicker, to get it over. At last a shuffling noise
approached from the neighbouring room and the
cadaverous Finn prodded each of us with the butt of
his rifle. " Wake up," he whispered, " we'll leave in
a quarter of an hour. No noise. The people in the
next cottage mustn't hear us."

We were ready in a few minutes. My entire
baggage was a small parcel that went into my pocket,
containing a pair of socks, one or two handkerchiefs,
and some dry biscuits. In another pocket I had the
medicine bottle of whisky I had hidden from Melni-
koff and some bread, while I hid my money inside my
shirt. One of the four Finns remained behind. The
other three were to accompany me to the river. It
was a raw and frosty November night, and pitch dark.
Nature was still as death. We issued silently from
the house, the cadaverous man leading. One of the
men followed up behind, and all carried their rifles
ready for use.

We walked stealthily along the road the Finn had
pointed out to me on paper overnight, bending low
where no trees sheltered us from the Russian bank. A
few yards below on the right I heard the murmur
of the river stream. We soon arrived at a ram-
shackle villa standing on the river surrounded by trees

26 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

and thickets. Here we stood stock-still for a moment
to listen for any unexpected sounds. The silence was
absolute. But for the noise of the water there was
not a sound.

We descended to the water under cover of the
tumble-down villa and the bushes. The stream was
about twenty paces wide at this point. Along both
banks there was an edging of ice. I looked across at
the opposite side. It was open meadow, but the trees
loomed darkly a hundred paces away on either hand
in the background. On the left I could just see the
cottage of the Red patrol against which the Finns had
warned me.

The cadaverous man took up his station at a slight
break in the thickets. A moment later he returned
and announced that all was well. " Remember,"
he enjoined me once more in an undertone, " run
slightly to the left, but— keep an eye on that cottage."
He made a sign to the other two and from the bushes
they dragged out a boat. Working noiselessly they
attached a long rope to the stern and laid a pole
in it. Then they slid it down the bank into the
water.

" Get into the boat," whispered the leader, " and
push yourself across with the pole. And good luck ! ''

I shook hands with my companions, pulled at my
little bottle of whisky, and got into the boat. I
started pushing, but with the rope trailing behind
it was no easy task to punt the little bark straight
across the running stream. I was sure I should be
heard, and had amidstream the sort of feeling I should
imagine a man has as he walks his last walk to the
gallows. At length I was at the farther side, but it
was impossible to hold the boat steady while I landed.
In jumping ashore I crashed through the thin layer

ONE OF THE CROWD 27

of ice. I scrambled out and up the bank. And the
boat was hastily pulled back to Finland behind me.

" Run hard ! " I heard a low call from over the
water.

Damn it, the noise of my splash had reached the
Red patrol ! I was already running hard when I
saw a light emerge from the cottage on the left. I
forgot the injunctions as to direction and simply
bolted away from that lantern. Halfway across the
sloping meadow I dropped and lay still. The light
moved rapidly along the river bank. There was
shouting, and then suddenly shots, but there was no
reply from the Finnish side. Then the light began to
move slowly back towards the cottage of the Red
patrol, and finally all was silent again.

I lay motionless for some time, then rose and
proceeded cautiously. Having missed the right
direction I found I had to negotiate another small
stream that ran obliquely down the slope of the
meadow. Being already wet I did not suffer by
wading through it. Then I reached some garden
fences over which I climbed and found myself in the
road.

Convincing myself that the road was deserted, I
crossed it and came out on to the moors where I found
a half -built house. Here I sat down to await the
dawn— blessing the man who invented whisky, for I
was very cold. It began to snow, and half- frozen I
got up to walk about and study the locality as well as
I could in the dark. At the cross-roads near the
station I discovered some soldiers sitting round a
bivouac fire, so I retreated quickly to my half-built
house and waited till it was light. Then I approached
the station with other passengers. At the gate a
soldier was examining passports. I was not a little

28 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

nervous when showing mine for the first time, but the
examination was a very cursory one. The soldier
seemed only to be assuring himself the paper had a
proper seal. He passed me through and I went to the
ticket office and demanded a ticket.

" One first class to Petrograd," I said, boldly.

" There is no first class by this train, only second
and third."

" No first ? Then give me a second." I had asked
the Finns what class I ought to travel, expecting
them to say, third. But they replied, "First, of course,"
for it would be strange to see an employee of the
Extraordinary Commission travelling other than first
class. Third class was for workers and peasants.

The journey to Petrograd was about twenty-five
miles, and stopping at every station the train took
nearly two hours. As we approached the city the
coaches filled up until people were standing in the
aisles and on the platforms. There was a crush on
the Finland Station at which we arrived. The
examination of papers was again merely cursory. I
pushed out with the throng, and looking around me
on the dirty, rubbish-strewn station I felt a curious
mixture of relief and apprehension. A flood of strange
thoughts and recollections rushed through my mind.
I saw my whole life in a new and hitherto undreamt-
of perspective. Days of wandering Europe, student
days in Russia, life amongst the Russian peasantry,
and three years of apparently aimless war work
all at once assumed symmetrical proportions and
appeared like the sides of a prism leading to a common
apex at which I stood. Yes, my life, I suddenly
realized, had had an aim — it was to stand here on the
threshold of the city that was my home, homeless,
helpless, and friendless, one of the common crowd.

ONE OF THE CROWD 29

That was it— one of the common crowd I I wanted not
the theories of theorists, nor the doctrines of doctri-
naires, but to see what the greatest social experiment
the world has ever witnessed did for the common
crowd. And, strangly buoyant, I stepped lightly out
of the station into the familiar streets.

CHAPTER II

FIVE DAYS

ONE of the first things that caught my eye as I
emerged from the station was an old man, standing
with his face to the wall of a house, leaning against a
protruding gutter-pipe. As I passed him I noticed he
was sobbing. I stopped to speak to him.

" What is the matter, little uncle ? " I said.

" I am cold and hungry," he whimpered without
looking up and still leaning against the pipe. " For
three days I have eaten nothing." I pushed a twenty-
rouble note into his hand. " Here, take this," I said.

He took the money but looked at me, puzzled.
" Thank you," he mumbled, " but what is the good
of money ? Where shall I get bread ? " So I gave
him a piece of mine and passed on.

There was plenty of life and movement in the streets,
though only of foot-passengers. The roadway was
dirty and strewn with litter. Strung across the street
from house to house were the shreds of washed-out red
flags, with inscriptions that showed they had been
hung out a few weeks earlier to celebrate the anniver-
sary of the Bolshevist coup d'etat. Occasionally one
came across small groups of people, evidently of the
educated class, ladies and elderly gentlemen in worn-
out clothes, shovelling away the early snow and slush
under the supervision of a workman, who as task-
master stood still and did nothing.

Crossing the Liteiny Bridge on my way into the

30

p. 30

THE FORTRESS OF ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL

FIVE DAYS 31

city I stopped, as was my wont, to contemplate the
marvellous view of the river Neva. No capital in
Europe possesses so beautiful an expanse of water as
this city of Peter the Great. Away on the horizon the
slender gilded spire of the cathedral of St. Peter and
St. Paul rose from the gloomy fortress. By force of
habit I wondered who was now incarcerated in those
dark dungeons. Years ago, before the revolution, I
used to stand and look at the " Petropavlovka," as
the fortress is popularly called, thinking of those who
pined in its subterranean cells for seeking the liberty
of the Russian people.

My first destination was the house of an English
gentleman, to whom I shall refer as Mr. Marsh. Marsh
was a prominent business man in Petrograd. I did
not know him personally, but he had been a friend of
Captain Crombie and until recently was known to be
at liberty. He lived on the quay of the Fontanka, a
long, straggling branch of the Neva flowing through
the heart of the city. Melnikoff knew Marsh and had
promised to prepare him for my coming. I found the
house and, after assuring myself the street was clear
and I was not observed, I entered. In the hall I was
confronted by an individual, who might or might not
have been the house-porter — I could not tell. But I
saw at once that this man was not disposed to be
friendly. He let me in, closed the door behind me,
and promptly placed himself in front of it.

" Whom do you want? " he asked.

" I want Mr. Marsh," I said. " Can you tell me
the number of his flat? " I knew the number per-
fectly well, but I could see from the man's manner
that the less I knew about Marsh, the better for me.

" Marsh is in prison," replied the man, " and his
flat is sealed up. Do you know him? "

32 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Devil take it, I thought, I suppose I shall be arrested
too, to see what I came here for ! The idea occurred
to me for a moment to flaunt my concocted passport
in his face and make myself out to be an agent of the
Extraordinary Commission, but as such I should
have known of Marsh's arrest, and I should still
have to explain the reason of my visit. It wouldn't
do. I thought rapidly for a plausible pretext.

" No, I don't know him," I replied. " I have never
seen him in my life. I was sent to give him this
little parcel." I held up the packet containing my
trousseau of socks, biscuits, and handkerchiefs. " He
left this in a house at Alexandrovsky the other night.
I am an office clerk there. I will take it back."

The man eyed me closely. " You do not know Mr.
Marsh ? " he said again, slowly.

" I have never seen him in my life," I repeated,
emphatically, edging nearer the door.

" You had better leave the parcel, however," he said.

" Yes, yes, certainly," I agreed with alacrity, fearful
at the same time lest my relief at this conclusion to
the incident should be too noticeable.

I handed him over my parcel. " Good-morning,"
I said civilly, " I will say that Mr. Marsh is arrested."
The man moved away from the door, still looking hard
at me as I passed out into the street.

Agitated by this misfortune, I turned my steps in
the direction of the hospital where I hoped to find
Melnikoff. The hospital in question was at the
extreme end of the Kamenostrovsky Prospect, in the
part of the city known as The Islands because it
forms the delta of the river Neva. It was a good
four-mile walk from Marsh's house. I tried to get on
to a street- car, but there were very few running and
they were so crowded that it was impossible to board

FIVE DAYS 33

them. People hung in bunches all round the steps
and even on the buffers. So, tired as I was after the
night's adventure, I footed it.

Melnikoff, it appeared, was a relative of one of the
doctors of this hospital, but I did not find him here.
The old woman at the lodge said he had been there
one night and had not returned since. I began to think
something untoward must have occurred, although
doubtless he had several other night-shelters besides
this one. There was nothing to do but wait for the
afternoon and go to the clandestine cafe to which he
had directed me.

I retraced my steps slowly into town. All around
was shabbiness. Here and there in the roadway lay
a dead horse. The wretched brutes were whipped to
get the last spark of life and labour out of them
and then lay where they fell, for the ladies who were
made to sweep the streets were not strong enough to
remove dead horses. Every street, every building,
shop, and porch spoke to me of bygone associations,
which with a pang I now realized were dead. A few
stores remained open, notably for music, books, and
flowers, but Soviet licences were required to purchase
anything except propagandist literature, which was
sold freely at a cheap price, and flowers, which were
fabulously dear. Hawkers with trucks disposed of
second-hand books, obviously removed from the
shelves of private libraries, while a tiny basement
store, here and there peeping shamefacedly up from
beneath the level of the street, secreted in semi'
obscurity an unappetizing display of rotting vegetables
or fruits and the remnants of biscuits and canned
goods. But everything spoke bitterly of the pro-
gressive dearth of things and the increasing stagnation
of normal life.

34 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

I stopped to read the multifarious public notices
and announcements on the walls. Some bore refer-
ence to Red army mobilization, others to compulsory
labour for the bourgeoisie, but most of them dealt
with the distribution of food. I bought some seedy-
looking apples, and biscuits that tasted several years
old. I also bought all the newspapers and a number
of pamphlets by Lenin, Zinoviev, and others. Finding
a cab with its horse still on four legs, I hired it and
drove to the Finland Station, where upon arrival in
the morning I had noticed there was a buffet. The
food exhibited on the counter, mostly bits of herring
on microscopic pieces of black bread, were still less
appetizing than my biscuits, so I just sat down to
rest, drank a weak liquid made of tea-substitute, and
read the Soviet papers.

There was not much of news, for the ruling Bol-
shevist l class had already secured a monopoly of the
Press by closing down all journals expressing opinions
antagonistic to them, so that all that was printed was
propaganda. While the Press of the Western world
was full of talk of peace, the Soviet journals were
insisting on the creation of a mighty Red army that
should set Europe and the globe aflame with world-
revolution.

At three o'clock I set out to look for Melnikoff s
cafe, a clandestine establishment in a private flat on
the top floor of a house in one of the streets off the
Nevsky Prospect. When I rang the bell the door
was opened just a wee bit and I espied a keen and
suspicious eye through the chink. Seeing it was

1 In March, 1918, the Bolsheviks changed their official title
from " Bolshevist Party " to that of " Communist Party of
Bolsheviks." Throughout this book, therefore, the words Bol-
shevik and Communist are employed, as in Russia, as inter-
changeable terms.

FIVE DAYS 35

immediately about to close again I slid one foot into
the aperture and asked quickly for Melnikoff.

"Melnikoff?" said the voice accompanying the
eagle eye. " What Melnikoff? ?:

" N— ," I said, giving Melnikoff s real name.
At this point the door was opened a little wider and I
was confronted by two ladies, the one (with the eagle
eye) elderly and plump, the other young and good-
looking.

" What is his first name and patronymic? " asked
the younger lady. " Nicolas Nicolaevitch," I replied.
"It is all right," said the younger lady to the elder.
" He said someone might be coming to meet him this
afternoon. Come in," she went on, to me. " Nicolas
Nicolaevitch was here for a moment on Saturday and
said he would be here yesterday but did not come. I
expect him any minute now."

I passed into a sitting-room fitted with small tables,
where the fair young lady, Vera Alexandrovna, served
me to my surprise with delicious little cakes which
would have graced any Western tea-table. The room
was empty when I arrived, but later about a dozen
people came in, all of distinctly bourgeois stamp, some
prepossessing in appearance, others less so. A few of
the young men looked like ex-officers of dubious type.
They laughed loudly, talked in raucous voices, and
seemed to have plenty of money to spend, for the
delicacies were extremely expensive. This cafe, I
learned later, was a meeting-place for conspirators,
who were said to have received funds for counter-
revolutionary purposes from representatives of the
allies.

Vera Alexandrovna came over to the table in the
corner where I sat alone. " I must apologize," she
said, placing a cup on the table, " for not giving you

36 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

chocolate. I ran out of chocolate last week. This is
the best I can do for you. It is a mixture of cocoa and
coffee— an invention of my own in these hard times."
I tasted it and found it very nice.

Vera Alexandrovna was a charming girl of about
twenty summers, and with my uncouth get-up and
general aspect I felt I was a bad misfit in her company.
I was painfully conscious of attracting attention and
apologized for my appearance.

" Don't excuse yourself," replied Vera Alexan-
drovna, " we all look shabby nowadays." (She her-
self, however, was very trim.) " Nicolas Nicolaevitch
told me you were coming and that you were a friend
of his — but I shall ask no questions. You may feel
yourself quite safe and at home here and nobody will
notice you." (But I saw four of the loud-voiced young
officers at the next table looking at me very hard.)

" I scarcely expected to find these comforts in hungry
Petrograd," I said to Vera Alexandrovna. " May I
ask how you manage to keep your cafe going ? "

" Oh, it is becoming very difficult indeed," com-
plained Vera Alexandrovna. " We have two servants
whom we send twice a week into the villages to bring
back flour and milk, and we buy sugar from the Jews
in the Jewish market. But it is getting so hard.
We do not know if we shall be able to keep it going
much longer. Then, too, we may be discovered.
Twice the Reds have been to ask if suspicious people
live in this house, but the porter put them off because
we give him flour."

Vera Alexandrovna rose to attend to other guests.
I felt extremely ill at ease, for it was clear I was
attracting attention and I did not at all like the looks
of some of the people present.

" Ah, ma chere Vera Alexandrovna ! " exclaimed a

FIVE DAYS 37

fat gentleman in spectacles who had just come in,
kissing her hand effusively. " Here we are again !
Well, our Redskins haven't long to last now, I'll be
bound. The latest is that they are going to mobilize.
Mobilize, indeed ! Just a little push from outside,
and pouf ! up they'll go like a bubble bursting ! 5:

At once one of the four young men rose from the
next table and approached me. He was tall and thin,
with sunken eyes, hair brushed straight up, and a
black moustache. There was a curious crooked twitch
about his mouth.

" Good-afternoon," he said. " Allow me to intro-
duce myself. Captain Zorinsky. You are waiting
for Melnikoff, are you not? I am a friend of his."

I shook hands with Zorinsky, but gave him no
encouragement to talk. Why had Melnikoff not told
me I should meet this " friend of his " ? Had this
Zorinsky merely guessed I was waiting for Melnikoff,
or had Vera Alexandrovna told him— Vera Alex-
androvna, who assured me no one would notice me?

" Melnikoff did not come here yesterday," Zorinsky
continued, " but if I can do anything for you at any
time I shall be glad."

I bowed and he returned to his table. Since it was
already six I resolved I would stay in this cafe no
longer. The atmosphere of the place filled me with
indefinable apprehension.

" I am so sorry you have missed Nicolas Nicolae-
vitch," said Vera Alexandrovna as I took my leave.
' Will you come in to-morrow ? 5: I said I would,
fully determined that I would not. " Come back at
any time," said Vera Alexandrovna, with her pleasant
smile; "and remember," she added, reassuringly, in
an undertone, " here you are perfectly safe."

Could anybody be more charming than Vera

38 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Alexandrovna ? Birth, education, and refinement were
manifested in every gesture. But as for her cafe, I
had an ominous presentiment about it, and nothing
would have induced me to re-enter it.

I resolved to resort to the flat of Ivan Sergeievitch,
Melnikoff s friend who had seen me off at Viborg.
The streets were bathed in gloom as I emerged from
the cafe. Lamps burned only at rare intervals. And
suppose, I speculated, I find no one at Ivan Sergeie-
vitch's home ? What would offer a night's shelter— a
porch, here or there, a garden, a shed ? Perhaps one
of the cathedrals, Kazan, for instance, might be open.
Ah, look, there was a hoarding round one side of the
Kazan Cathedral ! I stepped up and peeped inside.
Lumber and rubbish. Yes, I decided, that would do
splendidly !

Ivan Sergeievitch's house was in a small street at
the end of Kazanskaya, and like Vera Alexandrovna's
his flat was on the top floor. My experience of the
morning had made me very cautious, and I was
careful to enter the house as though I were making
a mistake, the easier to effect an escape if necessary.
But the house was as still as death. I met nobody
on the stairs, and for a long time there was no reply
to my ring. I was just beginning to think seriously
of the hoarding round the Kazan Cathedral when I
heard footsteps, and a female voice said querulously
behind the door, " Who is there? "

" From Ivan Sergeievitch," I replied, speaking just
loud enough to be heard through the door.

There was a pause. " From which Ivan Sergeie-
vitch ? " queried the voice.

I lowered my tone. I felt the other person was
listening intently. " From your Ivan Sergeievitch, in
Viborg," I said in a low voice at the keyhole.

FIVE DAYS 39

There was another pause. " But who are you? ':
came the query.

" Do not be alarmed," I said in the same tone.
" I have a message to you from him."

The footsteps receded. I could hear voices con-
ferring. Then two locks were undone, and the door
was partially opened on a short chain. I saw a
middle-aged woman peering at me with fear and
suspicion through the chink.

I repeated what I had already said, adding in a
whisper that I myself had just come from Finland
and would perhaps be going back shortly. The chain
was then removed and I passed in.

The woman who opened the door, and who proved
to be the housekeeper spoken of by Ivan Sergeievitch,
closed it again hastily, locked it securely, and stood
before me, a trembling little figure with keen eyes
that looked me up and down with uncertainty. A
few paces away stood a girl, the nurse of Ivan
Sergeievitch's children, who were in Finland.

" Ivan Sergeievitch is an old friend of mine," I
said, not truthfully, but very anxious to calm the
suspicions of my humble hostesses. " I knew him
long ago and saw him again quite recently in Finland.
He asked me, if I found it possible, to come round
and see you."

" Come in, come in, please," said the housekeeper,
whom I shall call Stepanovna, still very nervously.
" Excuse our showing you into the kitchen, but it is
the only room we have warmed. It is so difficult to
get firewood nowadays."

I sat down in the kitchen, feeling very tired.
ic Ivan Sergeievitch is well and sends his greetings,"
I said. " So are his wife and the children. They
hope you are well and not suffering. They would

40 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

like you to join them but it is impossible to get
passports."

" Thank you, thank you," said Stepanovna. " I
am glad they are well. We have not heard from
them for so long. May we offer you something to
eat ?"

" Ivan Pavlovitch is my name," I interpolated,
catching her hesitation.

" May we offer you something to eat, Ivan Pavlo-
vitch?" said Stepanovna kindly, busying herself at
the stove. Her hands still trembled. " Thank you,"
I said, " but I am afraid you have not much yourself."

" We are going to have some soup for supper," she
replied. " There will be enough for you, too."

Stepanovna left the kitchen for a moment, and the
nursing maid, whose name was Varia, leaned over to
me and said in a low voice, " Stepanovna is frightened
to-day. She nearly got arrested this morning at the
market when the Reds came and took people buying
and selling food."

I saw from Varia's manner that she was a self-
possessed and intelligent girl and I resolved to speak
to her first regarding my staying the night, lest I
terrified Stepanovna by the suggestion.

" When I went to my home this afternoon," I said,
" I found it locked. I expect the housekeeper was
out. It is very far, and I wonder if I may stay the
night here. A sofa will do to lie on, or even the
floor. I am dreadfully tired and my leg is aching
from an old wound. Ivan Sergeievitch said I might
use his flat whenever I liked."

" I will ask Stepanovna," said Varia. " I do not
think she will mind." Varia left the room and,
returning, said Stepanovna agreed — for one night.

The soup was soon ready. It was cabbage soup,

FIVE DAYS 41

and very good. I ate two big platefuls of it, though
conscience pricked me in accepting a second. But I
was very hungry. During supper a man in soldier's
uniform came in by the kitchen door and sat down
on a box against the wall. He said nothing at all,
but he had a good-natured, round, plump face, with
rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. With a jack-knife
he hewed square chunks off a loaf of black bread, one
of which chunks was handed to me.

" This is my nephew Dmitri," said Stepanovna.
" He has just become a volunteer so as to get Red
army rations, so we are better off now."

Dmitri smiled at being mentioned, but said nothing.
After two platefuls of soup I could scarcely keep my
eyes open. So I asked where I might spend the night
and was shown into the study, where I threw myself
on the couch and fell fast asleep.

When I awoke I had such a strange sensation of
unaccustomed surroundings that I was completely
bewildered, and was only brought to my senses by
Varia entering with a glass of tea— real tea, from
Dmitri's Red rations.

Then I recalled the previous day, my adventurous
passage across the frontier, the search for Marsh and
Melnikoff, the secret cafe, and my meeting with my
present humble friends. With disconcerting brusque-
ness I also recollected that I had as yet no prospects
for the ensuing night. But I persuaded myself that
much might happen before nightfall and tried to
think no more about it.

Stepanovna had quite got over her fright, and
when I came into the kitchen to wash and drink
another glass of tea she greeted me kindly. Dmitri
sat on his box in stolid silence, munching a crust of
bread.

42 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Been in the Red army long ? " I asked him, by
way of conversation.

" Three weeks," he replied.

" Well, and do you like it ? "

Dmitri pouted and shrugged his shoulders dis-
paragingly.

" Do you have to do much service ? " I persisted.

" Done none yet."

"No drill?"

" None."

" No marching ? "

" None."

Sounds easy, I thought. " What do you do ? "

" I draw rations."

" So I see," I observed.

Conversation flagged. Dmitri helped himself to
more tea and Stepanovna questioned me further as
to how Ivan Sergeievitch was doing.

" What were you in the old army? " I continued
at the first opportunity to Dmitri.

" An orderly."

" What are you now ? "

" A driver."

" Who are your officers ? ':

" We have a commissar." A commissar in the
army is a Bolshevist official attached to a regiment
to supervise the actions of the officer staff.

"Who is he?"

" Who knows ? " replied Dmitri. "He is one like
the rest," he added, as if all commissars were of an
inferior race.

" What is the Red army? " I asked, finally.

" Who knows ? " replied Dmitri, as if it were the
last thing in the world to interest any one.

Dmitri was typical of the mass of the unthinking

FIVE DAYS 43

proletariat at this time, regarding the Bolshevist
Government as an accidental, inexplicable, and merely
temporary phenomenon which was destined at an
early date to decay and disappear. As for the think-
ing proletariat they were rapidly dividing into two
camps, the minority siding with the Bolsheviks for
privilege and power, the majority becoming increas-
ingly discontented with the suppression of the liberties
won by the revolution.

" Have you a Committee of the Poor in this house ? 5:
I asked Stepanovna. " Yes," she said, and turning
to Dmitri added, " Mind, Mitka, you say nothing to
them of Ivan Pavlovitch."

Stepanovna told me the committee was formed of
three servant girls, the yard-keeper, and the house-
porter. The entire house with forty flats was under
their administration. " From time to time," said
Stepanovna, " they come and take some furniture to
decorate the apartments they have occupied on the
ground floor. That is all they seem to think of. The
house-porter is never in his place in the hall " (for
this I was profoundly thankful), " and when we need
him we can never find him."

Varia accompanied me to the door as I departed.
" If you want to come back," she said, " I don't
think Stepanovna will mind." I insisted on paying
for the food I had eaten and set out to look again for
Melnikoff.

The morning was raw and snow began to fall.
People hurried along the streets clasping bundles and
small parcels. Queues, mostly of working women,
were waiting outside small stores with notices printed
on canvas over the lintel " First Communal Booth,"
" Second Communal Booth," and so on, where bread
was being distributed in small quantities against food

44 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

cards. There was rarely enough to go round, so
people came and stood early, shivering in the biting
wind. Similar queues formed later in the day outside
larger establishments marked " Communal Eating
House, Number so-and-so." One caught snatches of
conversation from these queues. " Why don't the
' comrades ' have to stand in queues ? " a woman
would exclaim indignantly. " Where are all the
Jews ? Does Trotzky stand in a queue ? " and so on.
Then, receiving their modicum of bread, they would
carry it hastily away, either in their bare hands, or
wrapped up in paper brought for the purpose, or
shielded under the shawls which they muffled round
their ears and neck.

Again I trudged across the river and up the long
Kamenostrovsky Prospect to Melnikoff s hospital, but
again he had not returned and they knew nothing of
him. Wandering irresolutely about the city I drifted
into the district where I had formerly lived, and here
in a side-street I came unexpectedly upon a window
on which a slip of paper was pasted with the word
" Dinners," written in pencil. This, I could see, was
no " communal eating-house." Without a ticket I
could not go to a communal eating-house, so I peered
cautiously into the door of the little establishment
and found that a single room on the ground floor,
probably once a store, had been cleared out and fitted
with three tiny tables, large enough to accommodate
half-a-dozen people in all. Everything was very
simple, clearly a temporary arrangement, but very
clean. The room being empty, I entered.

" Dinner? " queried a young lady, appearing from
behind a curtain. " Yes, please." " Will you sit
down a moment ? " she said. "It is rather early,
but it will be ready soon."

FIVE DAYS 45

Presently she brought a plate of gruel, small in
quantity but good. " Bread, I am afraid, is extra,"
she observed when I asked for it. " Can I get dinner
here every day? " I inquired. " As long as they do
not close us down," she replied with a shrug. I drew
her into conversation. " We have been here a week,"
she explained. " People come in who have no food
cards or who want something better than the com-
munal eating-houses. My father used to keep a big
restaurant in Sadovaya Street and when the Bol-
sheviks shut it he went into a smaller one in the
backyard. When that was closed, too, we moved in
here, where one of father's cooks used to live. We
cannot put up a sign, that would attract attention,
but you can come as long as the paper is in the
window. If it is not there, do not enter; it will
mean the Reds are in possession."

For second course she brought carrots. Three other
people came in during the meal and I saw at once
that they were persons of education and good station,
though they all looked haggard and worn. All ate
their small portions with avidity, counting out their
payment with pitiful reluctance. One of them looked
a typical professor, and of the others, both ladies, I
guessed one might be a teacher. Though we sat
close to each other there was no conversation.

Purchasing three small white loaves to take with
me, I returned in the afternoon to Stepanovna's. My
humble friends were delighted at this simple con-
tribution to the family fare, for they did not know
white bread was still procurable. I telephoned to
Vera Alexandrovna, using a number she had given
me, but Melnikoff was not there and nothing was
known of him.

So with Stepanovna's consent to stay another, night

46 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

I sat in the kitchen sipping Dmitri's tea and listening
to their talk. Stepanovna and Varia unburdened
their hearts without restraint, and somehow it was
strange to hear them abusing their house committee,
or committee of the poor, as it was also called,
composed of people of their own station. " Com-
missars " and " Communists " they frankly classed
as svolotch, which is a Russian term of extreme
abuse.

It was a prevalent belief of the populace at this
time that the allies, and particularly the British, were
planning to invade Russia and relieve the stricken
country. Hearing them discussing the probability
of such an event, and the part their master Ivan
Sergeievitch might take in it, I told them straight out
that I was an Englishman, a disclosure the effect of
which was electric. For a time they would not credit
it, for in appearance I might be any nationality but
English. Stepanovna was a little frightened, but
Dmitri sat still and a broad smile gradually spread
over his good-natured features. When we sat down
about nine I found quite a good supper with meat
and potatoes, prepared evidently chiefly for me, for
their own dinner was at midday.

" However did you get the meat ? " I exclaimed as
Stepanovna bustled about to serve me.

" That is Dmitri's army ration," she said, simply.
Dmitri sat still on his box against the kitchen wall,
but the smile never departed from his face.

That night I found Varia had made up for me the
best bed in the flat, and lying in this unexpected
luxury I tried to sum up my impressions of the first
two days of adventure. For two days I had wandered
round the city, living from minute to minute and hour
to hour, unnoticed. I no longer saw eyes in every

FIVE DAYS 47

wall. I felt that I really passed with the crowd.
Only now and again someone would glance curiously
and perhaps enviously at my black leather breeches.
But the breeches themselves aroused no suspicions,
for the commissars all wore good leather clothes.
None the less, I resolved I would smear my breeches
with dirt before sallying forth on the morrow, so that
they would not look so new. How shabbily everyone
was dressed, I mused drowsily. But the peasants
looked the same as ever in their sheepskin coats and
bast shoes. One of the pamphlets I had bought was
an address to the peasantry, entitled Join the Com-
munes, urging the peasants to labour not for pecuniary
gain but for the common weal, supplying bread to
the town workers who would in turn produce for the
peasantry. The idea was a beautiful one, but the
idealistic conception was completely submerged in
the welter of rancour and incitement of class-hatred.
I recalled my talk with the cabman who told me it
cost him two hundred roubles a day to feed his horse
because the peasantry refused to bring provender to
the cities. Two hundred roubles, I reflected dreamily
as I dozed off, was half my monthly wages of the
previous year and twice as much as I earned before
the war teaching English. I reheard snatches of con-
versation at the railway station, at the little dining-
room, and with Stepanovna. Was everyone really so
bitter as Stepanovna said they were ? Stepanovna
and Varia were devoted to their master and thought
in their simplicity Ivan Sergeievitch would return
with the English. Anyway, it was nice of them to
give me this bed. There were no sheets, but the
blankets were warm and they had even found me
an old pair of pyjamas. I nestled cosily into the
blankets; the streets, Stepanovna, and the room

48 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

faded away in a common blur, and I passed into the
silent land of no dreams.

I was awakened rudely by a loud ring at the bell,
and sprang up, all alert. It was a quarter to eight.
Who, I asked myself, could the callers be ? A search ?
Had the house committee heard of the unregistered
lodger? What should I say? I would say Stepa-
novna was a relative, I would complain rudely of
being disturbed, I would bluster, I would flaunt my
passport of the Extraordinary Commission. Or per-
haps Stepanovna and Varia would somehow explain
away my presence, for they knew the members of
the committee. I began dressing hastily. I could
hear Stepanovna and Varia conferring in the kitchen.
Then they both shuffled along the passage to the
door. I heard the door opened, first on the chain,
and then a moment's silence. At last the chain was
removed. Someone was admitted and the door closed.
I heard men's voices and boots tramping along the
passage. Convinced now that a search was to be
made I fished feverishly in my pockets to get out
my passport for demonstration, when — into the room
burst Melnikoff ! Never was I so dumbfounded in my
life ! Melnikoff was dressed in other clothes than I
had seen him in when we last parted and he wore
spectacles which altered his appearance considerably.
Behind him entered a huge fellow, a sort of Ilia
Murometz, whose stubble-covered face brimmed over
with smiles beaming good-nature and jollity. This
giant was dressed in a rough and ragged brown suit
and in his hand he squeezed a dirty hat.

" Marsh," observed Melnikoff, curtly, by way of
introduction, smiling at my incredulity. We shook
hands heartily all round while I still fumbled my

FIVE DAYS 49

passport. " I was about to defy you with that ! " I
laughed, showing them the paper. " Tell me, how
the I thought you were in prison ! "

" Not quite ! ': Marsh exclaimed, dropping into
English at once. " I had a lucky escape ! Slithered
down a drainpipe outside the kitchen window into
the next yard as the Reds came in at the front door.
Shaved my beard at once." He rubbed his chin.
" About time, by the way, I saw the barber again.
The blighters are looking for me everywhere. I was
held up one evening by one of their damned spies under
a lamp-post. I screwed my face into a grimace and
asked him for a light. Then I knocked him down.
And yesterday evening I was going into a yard on
Sadovaya Street when under the arch I heard someone
behind me say, ' Marsh ! ' I sprang round, just about
to administer the same medicine, when I saw it was
Melnikoff ! "

" But how did you find me here ? " I said.

" Ask Melnikoff." I asked Melnikoff in Russian.
He was nervous and impatient.

" Luck," he replied. " I guessed you might pos-
sibly be in Sergeievitch's flat, and so you are. But
listen, I can't stay here long. I'm being looked for,
too. You can meet me safely at three this afternoon
at the 15th communal eating-house in the Nevsky.
You don't need a ticket to enter. I'll tell you every-
thing then. Don't stay more than two nights in one
place."

"All right," I said, "three o'clock at the 15th
eating-house."

" And don't go to Vera's any more," he added as he
hurried away. " Something is wrong there. Good-bye."

" Get dressed," said Marsh when Melnikoff had
gone, " and I'll take you straight along to a place

50 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

you can go to regularly. But rely mainly on
Melnikoff, he's the cleverest card I ever saw."

Stepanovna, beaming with pleasure and pride at
having two Englishmen in her flat, and nervous at
the same time on account of the circumstances, brought
in tea, and I told Marsh of my mission to Russia.
Though he had not been connected with intelligence
organizations, he knew people who had, and men-
tioned the names of a number of persons whose aid
might be re-enlisted. One or two occupied high
positions in the Ministry of War and the Admiralty.

But there was a more pressing task on hand than
intelligence. The Bolsheviks suspected Marsh, to-
gether with other Englishmen, of complicity, in
assisting allied citizens who were refused passports to
escape from the country secretly. Numerous arrests
among foreigners were being made and Marsh had had
a hairbreadth escape. But his wife had been seized
in his stead as hostage, and this calamity filled him
with concern.

Mrs. Marsh was imprisoned at the notorious No. 2
Gorohovaya Street, the address of the Extraordinary
Commission, and Marsh was awaiting the report
of a man who had connections with the Commission
as to the possibilities of effecting her escape. " This
man," explained Marsh, " was, I believe, an official
of the ohrana (the Tsar's personal secret police) before
the revolution, and is doing some sort of clerical work
in a Soviet institution now. The Bolsheviks are
re-engaging Tsarist police agents for the Extraordinary
Commission, so he has close connections there and
knows most of what goes on. He is a liar and it is
difficult to believe what he says, but " (Marsh paused
and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together to
indicate that finance entered into the transaction),

FIVE DAYS 51

" if you outbid the Bolsheviks, this fellow can do
things. Understand ? 5:

Marsh put me up to the latest position of every-
thing in Petrograd. He also said he would be able
to find me lodging for a few nights until I had some
settled mode of living. He had wide acquaintance-
ship in the city and many of his friends lived in a
quiet, unobtrusive manner, working for a living in
Soviet offices.

" Better be moving along now," he said when we
had finished tea. " I'll go ahead because we mustn't
walk together. Follow me in about five minutes,
and you'll find me standing by the hoarding round
the Kazan Cathedral."

" The hoarding round the Kazan Cathedral ? So
you know that hoarding, too?" I asked, recalling
my intention of hiding in that very place.

" I certainly do," he exclaimed. " Spent the first
night there after my escape. Now I'll be off. When
you see me shoot off from the hoarding follow me as
far behind as you can. So long."

" By the way," I said, as he went out, " that hoard-
ing—it doesn't happen to be a regular shelter for— for
homeless and destitute Englishmen or others, does it ? "

" Not that I know of," he laughed. " Why ? "

" Oh, nothing. I only wondered."

I let Marsh out and heard his steps re-echoing down
the stone staircase.

" I shall not be back to-night, Stepanovna," I said,
preparing to follow him. " I can't tell you how
grateful—

" Oh, but, Ivan Pavlovitch," exclaimed the good
woman, " you can come here any time you like. If
anything happens," she added in a lower tone, " we'll
say you belong to us. No one need know."

52 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Well, well," I said, " but not to-night. Good-
bye, good-bye." While Stepanovna and Varia let
me out I had a vision of Dmitri standing at the
kitchen door, stolidly munching a crust of black
bread.

Outside the hoarding of the Kazan Cathedral I
espied the huge figure of Marsh sitting on a stone.
When he saw me over the way he rose and slouched
along with his collar turned up, diving into side streets
and avoiding the main thoroughfares. I followed at
a distance. Eventually we came out on to the
Siennaya market, crossed it, and plunged into the
maze of streets to the south. Marsh disappeared
under an arch and, following his steps, I found myself
in a dark, filthy, reeking yard with a back-stair entrance
on either hand. Marsh stood at the stairway on the
left. " Flat No. 5 on the second floor," he said.
" We can go up together."

The stairway was narrow and littered with rubbish.
At a door with " 5 " chalked on it Marsh banged
loudly three times with his fist, and it was opened by
a woman dressed plainly in black, who greeted Marsh
with exclamations of welcome and relief.

" Aha, Maria," he shouted boisterously, " here we
are, you see — not got me yet. And won't get me,
unless I've got a pumpkin on my shoulders instead
of a head ! "

Maria was his housekeeper. She looked question-
ingly at me, obviously doubtful whether I ought to
be admitted. Marsh roared with laughter. " All
right, Maria," he cried, " let him in. He's only my
comrade — comrades in distress, and ha ! ha ! ha !
' comrades ' in looks, eh, Maria ? "

Maria smiled curiously. " Certainly ' comrades '
in looks," she said, slowly.

FIVE DAYS 53

" By the way," asked Marsh, as we passed into an
inner room, " what name are you using? "

"Afirenko," I said. "But that's official. Tell
Maria I'm called ' Ivan Hitch.' '

Maria set the samovar and produced some black
bread and butter.

" This flat," said Marsh, with his mouth full, " be-
longed to a business colleague of mine. The Reds
seized him by mistake for someone else. The silly
fool nearly (here Marsh used a very unparliamentary
expression) with funk when he got arrested. Sat
in chokey three days and was told he was to be shot,
when luckily for him the right man was collared.
Then they let him out and I shipped him over the
frontier. They'll forget all about him. In the
daytime this is one of the safest places in town."

The flat was almost devoid of furniture. A bare
table stood in one room and a desk in another. An
old couch and a few chairs made up the outfit. The
windows were so dirty that they were quite opaque
and admitted very little light from the narrow street.
Although it was nearly midday an oil lamp burned on
the table of the room we sat in. Electric light was
becoming rarer and rarer and only burned for a few
hours every evening.

Marsh sat and talked of his adventures and the
work he had been doing for the allied colonies. His
country farm had been seized and pillaged, his city
business was ruined, he had long been under suspicion,
and yet he refused to leave. But the arrest of his
wife bore constantly on his mind. From time to time
his boisterous flow of talk would suddenly cease. He
would pass his hand over his brow, a far-away, troubled
look coming into his eyes.

" If only it were an ordinary prison," he would say,

54 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" if only they were human beings. But these !

By the way, will you come with me to see the Police-
man? I am going to meet him in half-an-hour."
The " Policeman " was the nickname by which we
referred to the Tsarist official of whom Marsh had
spoken in the morning. I reflected for a moment.
Perhaps the Policeman might be useful to me later.
I consented.

Telling Maria to look out for us both about that
time next morning, we left the flat by the back en-
trance, as we had entered it. Again Marsh walked
ahead, and I followed his slouching figure at a dis-
tance as he wound in and out of side streets. The
dwelling we were going to, he told me, was that of
an ex- journalist, who was now engaged as a scribe in
the Department of Public Works, and it was at
the Journalist's that he had arranged to meet the
Policeman.

The Journalist lived all alone in a flat in the Liteiny
Prospect. I watched Marsh disappear into the en-
trance and waited a moment to convince myself he
was not being tracked. From the opposite sidewalk
I saw him look back through the glass door, signalling
that all was well within, so giving him time to mount
the stairs I followed.

He rang the bell at a door covered with oilcloth
and felt. After a moment's silence there was a
shuffling of slippers, an inner door opened, and a
voice said, "Who's there?"

" He expects me to say who's here, the silly fool,"
growled Marsh under his breath, adding just loud
enough to be heard through the door, "I."

" Who ? ' I ' ? " persisted the voice.

" I, Peter Sergeievitch " (aloud), " blithering idiot "
(undertone), said Marsh.

FIVE DAYS 55

There was much undoing of bars and bolts, and
finally, the door opening slightly on the chain, a pair
of nervous, twinkling eyes peered through the chink.

" Ah ! " said the nervous face, breaking into a smile,
" Ivan Petrovitch ! ': The door closed again and the
chain was removed. Then it reopened and we
passed in.

" Why the devil couldn't you open at once ? "
grumbled Marsh. " You knew I was coming.
c Who's there ? ' indeed ! Do you want me to bawl
4 Marsh ' at the top of my voice outside your door ? '
At this the nervous man looked terrified. " Well,
then, why don't you open ? ' Ivan Petrovitch ' or
' Peter Sergeievitch ' — can't any one be Ivan Petro-
vitch ? Isn't that just why I am ' Ivan Petrovitch ' ? "

" Yes, yes," answered the nervous man, " but
nowadays one never knows who may be at the door."

" Well, then, open and look, or next time I will
shout ' Marsh.' : The nervous man looked more
terrified than ever. " Well, well," laughed Marsh,
" I am only joking. This is my friend — er "

" Michael Mihailovitch," I put in.

" Very glad to see you, Michael Mihailovitch," said
the nervous man, looking anything but glad.

The Journalist was a man of thirty-five years of age,
though his thin and pale features, dishevelled hair,
and ragged beard gave him the appearance of being
nearly fifty. He was attired in an old greenish over-
coat with the collar turned up, and dragged his feet
about in a pair of worn-out carpet slippers. The
flat was on the shady side of the street, the sun never
peered into its gloomy precincts, it was dark and
musty, and icy cold.

" Well, how go things, Dmitri Konstantinovitch ? 5:
asked Marsh.

56 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Poorly, poorly, Ivan Petrovitch," said the Jour-
nalist, coughing. " This is the third day I have not
been to work. You will excuse my proceeding with
business ; I'm having lunch. Come into the kitchen,
it is the least cold of all rooms."

The Journalist, preparing his noonday meal, was
engaged in boiling a few potatoes over a stick fire in
a tiny portable stove. " Two days' rations," he re-
marked, ironically, holding up a salt herring. " How
do they expect us to live, indeed ? And half-a-pound
of bread into the bargain. That's how they feed the
bourgeois in return for sweating for them. And
if you don't sweat for them, then you get nothing.
' He who toileth not, neither let him eat,' as they say.
But it's only ' toil ' if it is to their advantage. If you
toil to your own advantage, then it is called ' specu-
lation,' and you get shot. Ugh ! A pretty state our
Russia has come to, indeed ! Do we not rightly say
we are a herd of sheep ? '

Continuing in this strain the Journalist scraped his
smelly herring and began eating it with his potatoes
ravenously and yet gingerly, knowing that the quicker
he finished the scanty repast the sooner he would
realize there was nothing more. Picking the skeleton
clean, he sucked the tail and dug his fork into the
head for the last scraps of meat.

" Plus 1,000 roubles a month," he went on. " Here
I eat two days' rations at a single meal, and what can
I buy with 1,000 roubles ? A few pounds of potatoes,
a pound or two of bread and butter ? Then there's
nothing left for fuel, when wood that used to cost
5 roubles a sazhen now costs 500 ! ':

From his overcoat pocket Marsh produced half-a-
pound of bread. " Here, Dmitri Konstantinovitch,"
he said, thrusting it toward him, " your health ! "

FIVE DAYS 57

The Journalist's face became transfigured. Its hag-
gard look vanished. He glanced up, his mouth fixed
in a half-laugh of delight and incredulity, his sunken
eyes sparkling with childlike pleasure and gratitude.

" For me ? " he exclaimed, scarcely believing his
eyes. "But what about yourself? Surely you do
not get sufficient, especially since "

" Don't worry about me," said Marsh, with his
good-natured smile. " You know Maria ? She is
a wonder ! She gets everything. From my farm
she managed to save several sacks of potatoes and
quite a lot of bread, and hide it all here in town. But
listen, Dmitri Konstantinovitch, I'm expecting a
visitor here soon, the same man as the day before
yesterday. I will take him into the other room,
so that he need not see you."

The Journalist, I could see, was overcome with
fear at being obliged to receive Marsh's unwelcome
visitor, but he said nothing. He wrapped the bread
carefully up in paper and put it away in a cupboard.
A moment later there were three sharp rings at the
bell. Marsh hurried to the door, admitted his visitor,
and led him into the Journalist's study.

' You may as well come in, too," he said to me,
looking into the kitchen.

" Michael Ivanitch," I whispered, pointing at my-
self, as we passed in. Marsh introduced me. " My
friend, Michael Ivanitch Schmit," he said.

My first impulse when I saw the individual Marsh
nicknamed " the Policeman " was to laugh, for any
one less like a policeman than the little man who rose
and bowed I have seldom seen. I will not describe
him too precisely, but he was short, red-faced, and
insignificant-looking. In spite of this, however, his
manner showed that he had a very high opinion of

58 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

his own importance. He shook hands and reseated
himself with comical dignity.

" Go on, Alexei Fomitch," said Marsh. " I want
my friend to know how matters stand. He may be
able to help."

" Madame Marsh, as I was saying," proceeded
the Policeman, " is incarcerated in chamber No. 4
with thirty-eight other women of various station, in-
cluding titled personages, servant girls, and prostitutes.
The chamber is not a large one and I fear the condi-
tions are far from pleasant. My informants tell me
she is cross-examined several hours every day with
the object of eliciting the hiding-place of Monsieur
Marsh, which they believe she knows. Unfortunately
her case is complicated by the confused replies she has
given, for after several hours' interrogation it often
becomes difficult to retain clarity of mind. Confused
or incoherent replies, even though accidental, lead to
further and still more exacting interpellation."

Marsh followed every word with a concern that was
not lost upon the Policeman. " But can we not get
round the interrogators? " he asked, " they all have
their price, damn it."

" Yes, that is often so," continued the Policeman in
a tone of feigned consolation. " The investigator can
frequently be induced to turn the evidence in favour
of the accused. But in this case it is unfortunately
useless to offer the usual bribe, for even if Madame
Marsh's innocence is proven to the hilt, she will still
be detained as a hostage until the discovery of
Monsieur Marsh."

Marsh's face twitched. " I feared so," he said in
a dull voice. " What are the chances of flight? ?:

" I was coming to that," said the Policeman,
suavely. " I am already making inquiries on the

FIVE DAYS 59

subject. But it will take some days to arrange. The
assistance of more than one person will have to be
enlisted. And I fear— I hesitate," he added in
unctuous tones of regret, " I hesitate to refer to such a
matter— but I am afraid this method may be a little
more — er — costly. Pardon me for "

" Money ? " cried Marsh. "Damn it all, man,
don't you realize it is my wife? How much do you
want? "

" Oh, Monsieur Marsh," expostulated the Police-
man, raising his palm, " you are well aware that I
take nothing for myself. I do this out of friendship
to you— and our gallant allies. But there is a prison
janitor, I must give him 5,000, two warders 10,000,
a go-between 2,000, odd expenses "

" Stop ! " put in Marsh, abruptly, " tell me how
much it will cost."

The Policeman's face assumed a pained expression.
" It may cost," he said, " twenty-five, possibly thirty
thousand roubles."

" Thirty thousand. You shall have it. I gave you
ten thousand, here are another ten thousand; you
shall have the third ten thousand the day my wife
leaves prison."

The Policeman took the notes, and with a look of
offended dignity, as though the handling of money
were altogether beneath him, hid them in an inner
pocket.

" When will you be able to report again ? " asked
Marsh.

" I expect the day after to-morrow. If you like to
come to my house it is quite safe."

" Very well, we will meet there. And now, if you
are not in a hurry, I'll see if I can raise some tea.
It's damned cold in this room."

60 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

When Marsh had gone into the kitchen the little
Policeman ventured to open conversation.

" Such times, such times," he sighed. " Who
would have thought it possible? You live in Petro-
grad, Michael Ivanitch ? "

" Yes."

"You are in service, perhaps? ):

" Yes."

There was a pause.

" Yours must have been an interesting occupation,"
I remarked, " in days gone by."

"You mean?"

" You were connected with the police, were you
not?"

I saw at once I had made a faux pas. The little
man turned very red. " I beg your pardon," I hast-
ened to add, " I understood you were an official of
the ohrana."

This apparently was still worse. The little Police-
man sat up very straight, flushing deeply and looking
rather like a turkey-cock.

'' No, sir," he said in what were intended to be icy
tones, " you have been grossly misinformed. I have
never been connected either with the police or the
ohrana. Under the Tsar, sir, I moved in Court
circles. I had the ear of his late Imperial Majesty,
and the Imperial Palace was open to me at any
time."

At this point, fortunately for me, Marsh returned
with three glasses of tea, apologizing for not providing
sugar, and the conversation turned to the inevitable
subject of famine. At length the Policeman rose
to go.

" By the way, Alexei Fomitch," said Marsh, " can
you find me a lodging for to-night? "

FIVE DAYS 61

" A lodging for to-night ? I shall be honoured,
Monsieur Marsh, if you will accept such hospitality
as I myself can offer. I have an extra bed, though
my fare, I am afraid, will not be luxurious. Still, such
as it is "

" Thank you. I will come as near nine o'clock as
possible."

" Give three short rings, and I will open the door
myself," said the Policeman.

When he had gone I told Marsh of our conversation
and asked what the little man meant by " moving in
Court circles." Marsh was greatly amused.

" Oh, he was a private detective or something," he
said. " Conceited as hell about it. ' Ear of the Tsar,'
indeed ! What he's after is money. He'll pocket
most of the 30,000. But he's afraid of us, too. He's
cocksure the Allies are coming into Petrograd, so
if you have anything to do with him tell him you're
an Englishman and he'll grovel. By the way, we had
better let Dmitri Konstantinovitch into the secret,
too, because you will find this flat very useful. The
Journalist is a damned old coward, but buy him
some grub or, still better, pay for his fuel and he will
let you use the flat as much as you like."

So the nervous ex- journalist was initiated into the
great secret, and when Marsh said, " You don't mind
if he comes in occasionally to sleep on the sofa,
do you? " Dmitri Konstantinovitch nearly died with
fear. His thin lips vibrated, and clearer than any
words his twitching smile and tear-filled eyes im-
plored, " Oh, for God's sake, leave me alone ! "—until
I said boldly, " But I don't like sleeping in the cold,
Dmitri Konstantinovitch. Perhaps you could get
some wood in for me. Here is the price of a sazhen
of logs; we will share the wood, of course." Then

62 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

his care-worn, troubled face again became suddenly
transfigured as it had when Marsh gave him bread.
" Ah, splendid, splendid," he cried in delight, his fears
completely obliterated by the anticipation of coming
warmth. " I will get the wood in this very afternoon,
and you shall have sheets and blankets and I will
make you comfortable." So it was arranged that
unless Melnikoff found me a more suitable place I
should return to the Journalist's that night.

It was now time for me to be thinking of keeping
my appointment with Melnikoff at the communal
eating-house. So I left Marsh, arranging to meet him
at the empty flat " No. 5 " next morning. Musing on
the events of the day I made my way down the stair-
case and came out again into the Liteiny Prospect.
It seemed ages since, but two days ago, I walked
along this same street on the day of my arrival in
Petrograd, after crossing the frontier. What would
Melnikoff now have to tell me, I wondered?

As I rounded the corner of the Nevsky Prospect I
noticed a concourse of people outside the communal
eating-house toward which I was directing my steps.
I followed the people, who were moving hurriedly
across the street to the other side. At the entrance
to the eating-house stood two sailors on guard with
fixed bayonets, while people were filing out of the
building singly, led by militiamen. In the dark lobby
within one could dimly discern individuals being
searched. Their documents were being examined
and, standing in their shirt-sleeves, their clothing
was being subjected to strict investigation.

I waited to see if Melnikoff would emerge from the
building. After a moment I felt a tap on my arm
and looking round I was confronted by Zorinsky,
the officer who had accosted me in the cafe of Vera

FIVE DAYS 63

Alexandrovna on the day of my arrival. Zorinsky
signalled to me to move aside with him.

"Were you to meet Melnikoff here?" he asked.
" It is lucky for you you did not enter the restaurant.
The place is being raided. I was about to go in
myself, but came a little late, thank God. Melnikoff
was one of the first to be arrested and has already
been taken away."

" What is the cause of the raid ? " I asked, dismayed
by this news.

" Who knows? " replied Zorinsky. " These things
are done spasmodically. Melnikoff has been tracked
for some days, I believe, and it may have been on his
account. Anyway, it is serious, for he is well known."

People were beginning to move away and the search
was clearly nearing its end.

" What are you going to do ? " said my companion.

" I do not know," I replied, not wishing to confide
any of my movements to Zorinsky.

" We must begin to think of some way of getting
him out," he said. " Melnikoff was a great friend of
mine, but you are, I expect, as interested in his
release as I am."

" Is there any chance? " I exclaimed. " Of course
I am interested."

' Then I suggest you come home with me and we
will talk it over. I live quite near."

Anxious to learn of any possibility of saving
Melnikoff, I consented. We passed into Troitzkaya
Street and entered a large house on the right.

" How do you wish me to call you ? " asked Zorinsky
as we mounted the staircase. I was struck by the
considerateness of his question and replied, " Pavel
Ivanitch."

The flat in which Zorinsky lived was large and

64 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

luxuriously furnished, and showed no signs of molesta-
tion. " You live comfortably," I remarked, sinking
into a deep leather arm-chair. " Yes, we do pretty
well," he replied. " My wife, you see, is an actress.
She receives as many provisions as she wants and our
flat is immune from requisition of furniture or the
obtrusion of workmen. We will go round some
evening, if you like, and see her dance. As for me,
my wife has registered me as a sub-manager of the
theatre, so that I receive additional rations also.
These things, you know, are not difficult to arrange !
Thus I am really a gentleman at large, and living like
many others at the expense of a generous proletarian
regime. My hobby," he added, idly, " is contre-
espionnage."

"What?" I cried, the exclamation escaping me
inadvertently.

" Contre-espionnage" he repeated, smiling. When
he smiled one end of his crooked mouth remained
stationary, while the other seemed to jut right up
into his cheek. " Why should you be surprised ?
Tout le monde est contre-revolutionnaire : it is merely
a question of whether one is actively or passively so."
He took from a drawer a typewritten sheet of paper
and handed it to me. " Does that by any chance
interest you? "

I glanced at the paper. The writing was full of
uncorrected orthographical errors, showing it had
been typed by an unpractised hand in extreme haste.
Scanning the first few lines I at once became com-
pletely absorbed in the document. It was a report,
dated two days previously, of confidential negotia-
tions between the Bolshevist Government and the
leaders of non-Bolshevist parties with regard to the
possible formation of a coalition Government. Nothing

FIVE DAYS 65

came of the negotiations, but the information was of
great importance as showing the nervousness of the
Bolshevist leaders at that time and the clearly defined
attitude of the Socialist-Revolutionary and Men-
shevist parties toward the military counter-revolution.

"Is it authentic? " I inquired, dubiously.

" That report," replied Zorinsky, " is at this moment
being considered by the central committee of the
Menshevist party in this city. It was drawn up by
a member of the Menshevist delegation and despatched
secretly to Petrograd, for the Bolsheviks do not permit
their opponents to communicate freely with each
other. I saw the original and obtained a copy two
hours before it reached the Menshevist committee."

The suspicion of forgery immediately arose, but I
could see no reason for concocting the document on
the off-chance of somebody's being taken in by it.
I handed it back.

" You may as well keep it," said Zorinsky. " I
should have given it to Melnikoff and he would doubt-
less have given it to you. I am expecting a further
report shortly. Yes," he added, nonchalantly, tap-
ping the arm of the desk-chair in which he sat, " it is
an amusing game — contre-espionnage. I used to provide
your Captain Crombie with quite a lot of information.
But I'm not surprised you have not heard of me, for I
always preferred to keep in the background."

He produced a large box of cigarettes and, ringing
a bell, ordered tea.

" I don't know what you Allies propose doing with
regard to Russia," he observed, offering me a light.
i; It seems to me you might as well leave us alone as
bungle things in the way you are doing. Meanwhile,
all sorts of people are conducting, or think they
are conducting, espionage underground in Russia,

66 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

or planning to overthrow the Reds. Are you
interested? "

" Very."

" Well, have you heard of General F. ? 5: Zorinsky
launched into an exposition of the internal counter-
revolutionary movement, of which he appeared to
know extensive details. There existed, he said, bel-
ligerent " groups," planning to seize army stores,
blow up bridges, or raid treasuries. " They will never
do anything," he said, derisively, " because they all
organize like idiots. The best are the S.R.'s
(Socialist-Revolutionaries) : they are fanatics, like
the Bolsheviks. None of the others could tell you
what they want."

The maid, neatly attired in a clean white apron,
brought in tea, served with biscuits, sugar, and
lemon. Zorinsky talked on, displaying a remarkable
knowledge of everybody's movements and actions.

66 Crombie was a fine fellow," he said, referring to
the British Naval Attache. " Pity he got killed;
Things went to pieces. The fellows who stayed after
him had a hard time. The French and Americans
have all gone now except (he mentioned a Frenchman
living on the Vasili Island) but he doesn't do much.
Marsh had hard luck, didn't he? "

" Marsh? " I put in. " So you know him, too? ':

" Of him," corrected Zorinsky. All at once he
seemed to become interested and leaned over the
arm of his chair toward me. " By the way," he said,
in a curious tone, " you don't happen to know where
Marsh is, do you? 5:

For a moment I hesitated. Perhaps this man, who
seemed to know so much, might be able to help Marsh.
But I checked myself. Intuitively I felt it wiser to
say nothing.

FIVE DAYS 67

" I have no idea," I said, decisively.

" Then how do you know about him? '

" I heard in Finland of his arrest."

Zorinsky leaned back again in his chair and his
eyes wandered out of the window.

" I should have thought," I observed, after a pause,
" that knowing all you do, you would have followed
his movements."

" Aha," he exclaimed, and in the shadow his smile
looked like a black streak obliterating one-half of his
face, " but there is one place I avoid, and that is
No. 2 Gordhovaya I When any one gets arrested I
leave him alone. I am wiser than to attempt to
probe the mysteries of that institution."

Zorinsky 's words reminded me abruptly of Melnikoff .

" But you spoke of the possibility of saving Melni-
koff," I said. "Is he not in the hands of No. 2
Gordhovaya ? '

He turned round and looked me full in the face.
" Yes," he said, seriously, " with Melnikoff it is
different. We must act at once and leave no stone
unturned. I know a man who will be able to inves-
tigate and I'll get him on the job to-night. Will you
not stay to dinner? My wife will be delighted to
meet you, and she understands discretion."

Seeing no special reason to refuse, I accepted the
invitation. Zorinsky went to the telephone and I
heard him ask some one to call about nine o'clock
" on an urgent matter."

His wife, Elena Ivanovna, a jolly little creature, but
very much of a spoilt child, appeared at dinner dressed
in a pink Japanese kimono. The table was daintily
set and decked with flowers. As at Vera Alexan-
drovna's cafe, I again felt myself out of place, and
apologized for my uncouth appearance.

68 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Oh ! don't excuse yourself," said Elena Ivanovna,
laughing. " Everyone is getting like that nowadays.
How dreadful it is to think of all that is happening !
Have the olden days gone for ever, do you think?
Will these horrid people never be overthrown? 5:

" You do not appear to have suffered much, Elena
Ivanovna," I remarked.

" No, of course, I must admit our troupe is treated
well," she replied. " Even flowers, as you see, though
you have no idea how horrible it is to have to take a
bouquet from a great hulking sailor who wipes his nose
with his fingers and spits on the floor. The theatre
is just full of them, every night."

" Your health, Pavel Ivanitch," said Zorinsky,
lifting a glass of vodka. " Ah ! " he exclaimed with
relish, smacking his lips, " there are places worse than
Bolshevia, I declare."

" You get plenty of vodka? " I asked.

" You get plenty of everything if you keep your
wits about you," said Zorinsky. " Even without join-
ing the Communist Party. I am not a Communist,"
he added (somehow I had not suspected it), " but
still I keep that door open. What I am afraid of is
that the Bolsheviks may begin to make their Com-
munists work. That will be the next step in the
revolution unless you Allies arrive and relieve them of
that painful necessity. Your health, Pavel Ivanitch."

The conversation turned on the Great War and
Zorinsky recounted a number of incidents in his
career. He also gave his views of the Russian people
and the revolution. " The Russian peasant," he said,
" is a brute. What he wants is a good hiding, and
unless I'm much mistaken the Communists are going
to give it to him. Otherwise the Communists go
under. In my regiment we used to smash a jaw now

FIVE DAYS 69

and again on principle. That's the only way to make
Russian peasants fight. Have you heard about the
Red army? Comrade Trotzky, you see, has already
abolished his Red officers, and is inviting — inviting, if
you please — us, the ' counter-revolutionary Tsarist
officer swine,5 to accept posts in his new army.
Would you ever believe it? By God, I've half a
mind to join ! Trotzky will order me to flog the
peasants to my heart's content. Under Trotzky,
mark my words, I would make a career in no
time."

The dinner was a sumptuous banquet for the
Petrograd of the period. There was nothing that
suggested want. Coffee was served in the drawing-
room, while Zorinsky kept up an unceasing flow of
strange and cynical but entertaining conversation.

I waited till nearly ten for the call from Zorinsky's
friend with regard to Melnikoff, and then, in view of
my uncertainty as to whether the Journalist's house
would still be open, I accepted Zorinsky's invitation
to stay overnight. " There is no reason," he said,
" why you should not come in here whenever you
like. We dine every day at six and you are
welcome."

Just as I was retiring Zorinsky was called to the
telephone and returned explaining that he would only
be able to begin the investigation of Melnikoff's case
next day. I was shown to the spare bedroom, where I
found everything provided for me. Zorinsky apolo-
gized that he could not offer me a hot bath. " That
rascal dvornik downstairs," he said, referring to the
yard-keeper whose duty it was to procure wood for the
occupants, " allowed an extra stock of fuel that I had
my eyes on to be requisitioned for somebody else, but
next week I think I shall be able to get a good supply

70 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

from the theatre. Good-night— and don't dream of
No. 2 Gordhovaya I "

The Extraordinary Commission, spoken of with
such abhorrence by Zorinsky, is the most notorious
of all Bolshevist institutions. It is an instrument of
terror and inquisition designed forcibly to uproot all
anti-Bolshevist sentiment throughout Lenin's do-
minions. Its full title is the Extraordinary Commission
for the Suppression of the Counter-Revolution and
Speculation, " speculation " being every form of
private commerce— the bugbear of Communism. The
Russian title of this institution is Tchrezvitchainaya
Kommissia, popularly spoken of as the Tchrezvitchaika,
or still shorter the Tche-Ka. The headquarters of
the Tche-Ka in Petrograd are situated at No. 2 of the
street named Gordhovaya, the seat of the Prefecture of
Police during the Tsar's regime, so that the popular
mode of appellation of the Prefecture by its address —
" No. 2 Gordhovaya "—has stuck to the Extraordinary
Commission and will go down as a by- word in Russian
history.

At the head of No. 2 Gordhovaya there sits a soviet,
or council, of some half-dozen revolutionary fanatics
of the most vehement type. With these lies the final
word as to the fate of prisoners. Recommendations
are submitted to this soviet by " Investigators " whose
duty it is to examine the accused, collect the evidence
and report upon it. It is thus in the hands of the
" Investigators " that power over prisoners' lives
actually lies, since they are in a position to turn the
evidence one way or the other, as they choose.

Investigators vary considerably. There are some
who are sincere and upright, though demoniacal
visionaries, cold as steel, cruel, unpolluted by thirst

FIVE DAYS 71

for filthy lucre, who see the dawn of proletarian
liberty only through mists of non-proletarian blood.
Such men (or women) are actuated by malignant
longing for revenge for every wrong, real or imaginary,
suffered in the past. Believing themselves to be
called to perform a sacred task in exterminating the
" counter-revolution," they can upon occasion be
civil and courteous, even chivalrous (though that is
rare), but never impartial. There are other inves-
tigators who are merely corrupt, ready to sacrifice
any proletarian interest for a price, regarding their
job purely as a means of amassing a fortune by the
taking of bribes.

Every responsible official of the Extraordinary Com-
mission must be a member of the Communist Party.
The lower staff, however, is composed of hirelings,
frequently of foreign origin, and many of them re-
engaged agents of the Tsarist police. The latter, who
lost their jobs as the result of the revolution which
overthrew the Tsarist autocracy, have been re-enlisted
as specialists by the Bolsheviks, and find congenial
occupation in spying, eavesdropping, and hounding
down rebellious or suspected workmen just as they did
when the government was the Tsar's instead of Lenin's.
It is this fact which renders it almost impossible for
the Russian workers to organize a revolt against their
new taskmasters. It is thus that arose the sobriquet
applied to the Red regime of " Tsarism inside out."
The faintest signs of sedition are immediately re-
ported to the Tche-Ka by its secret agents disguised as
workers, the ringleaders are then " eliminated " from
the factory under pretext of being conscripted else-
where, and they are frequently never heard of again.

The Extraordinary Commission overshadows all
else in Red Russia. No individual is free from its

72 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

all-perceiving eye. Even Communists stand in awe
of it, one of its duties being to unearth black sheep
within the Party ranks, and since it never errs on the
side of leniency there have been cases of execution of
true adherents of the Communist creed under sus-
picion of being black sheep. On the other hand, the
black sheep, being imbued with those very qualities of
guile, trickery, and unscrupulous deceit which make
the Extraordinary Commission so efficient a machine,
generally manage to get off.

One of the most diabolic of the methods copied from
Tsarist days and employed by the Extraordinary Com-
mission against non-Bolsheviks is that known in Russia
as provocation. Provocation consisted formerly in the
deliberate fomentation, by agents who were known as
agents-provocateurs, of revolutionary sedition and plots.
Such movements would attract to themselves ardent
revolutionaries, and when a conspiracy had matured
and was about to culminate in some act of terrorism
it would be betrayed at the last moment by the agent-
provocateur, who frequently succeeded in making him-
self the most trusted member of the revolutionary
group. Agents-provocateurs were recruited from all
classes, but chiefly from the intelligentsia. Imitating
Tsarism in this as in most of its essentials, the Bol-
sheviks employ similar agents to foment counter-
revolutionary conspiracies and they reward muni-
ficently a provocateur who yields to the insatiable Tche-
Ka a plentiful crop of " counter-revolutionary " heads.

As under the Tsar, every invention of exquisite
villainy is practised to extract from captives, thus or
otherwise seized, the secret of accomplices or sym-
pathizers. Not without reason was Marsh haunted
with fears that his wife, nerve-racked and doubtless
underfed, if fed at all, might be subjected to treatment

FIVE DAYS 73

that would test her self-control to the extreme. She
did not know where he was, but she knew all his
friends and acquaintances, an exhaustive list of whom
would be insistently demanded. She had already,
according to the Policeman, given confused replies,
which were bound to complicate her case. The
inquisition would become ever more relentless, until
at last-
On the day following my visit to Zorinsky I appeared
punctually at eleven o'clock at the empty flat with
" No. 5 " chalked on the back door. It was not far
from Zorinsky's, but I approached it by a circuitous
route, constantly looking round to assure myself I
was not being followed. The filthy yard was as foul
and noisome as ever, vying in stench with the gloomy
staircase, and I met no one. Maria, no longer sus-
picious, opened the door in answer to my three knocks.
" Peter Ivanitch is not here yet," she said, " but he
should be in any minute." So I sat down to read the
Soviet newspapers.

Marsh's three thumps at the back door were not
long in making themselves heard. Maria hurried
along the passage, I heard the lock creak, the door
stiffly tugged open, and then suddenly a little stifled
cry from Maria. I rose quickly. Marsh burst, or
rather tumbled, into the room with his head and face
bound up in a big black shawl. As he laboriously
unwound it I had a vision of Maria in the doorway,
her fist in her mouth, staring at him speechless and
terrified.

It was a strange Marsh that emerged from the folds
of the black shawl. The invincible smile struggled
to maintain itself, but his eyes were bleared and
wandered aimlessly, and he shook with agitation
despite his efforts to retain self-control.

74 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" My wife " he stammered, half coherently, drop-
ping into a chair and fumbling feverishly for his
handkerchief. " She was subjected yesterday— seven
hours' cross-examination — uninterruptedly — no food —
not even allowed to sit down — until finally she swooned.
She has said something— I don't know what. I am
afraid " He rose and strode up and down, mum-
bling so that I could scarcely understand, but I caught
the word " indiscretion " — and understood all he
wished to say.

After a few moments he calmed and sat down again.
" The Policeman came home at midnight," he said,
" and told me all about it. I questioned and ques-
tioned again and am sure he is not lying. The
Bolsheviks believe she was implicated in some con-
spiracy, so they made her write three autobiographies,
and " (he paused) " they— are all different. Now—
she is being compelled to explain discrepancies, but
she can't remember anything and her mind seems to
be giving. Meanwhile, the Bolsheviks are resolved to
eradicate, once and for all, all ' English machinations,'
as they call it, in Russia. They know I've shaved
and changed my appearance and a special detachment
of spies is on the hunt for me, with a big reward
offered to the finder."

He paused and swallowed at a gulp the glassful of
tea Maria had placed beside him.

" Look here, old man," he said, suddenly, laying his
hands out flat on the table in front of him, " I am
going to ask you to help me out. The ' Policeman '
says it's worse for her that I should be here than if I
go. So I'm going. Once they know I've fled, the
Policeman says, they will cease plaguing her, and it
may be easier to effect an escape. Tell me, will you
take the job over for me ? ':

FIVE DAYS 75

" My dear fellow," I said, " I had already resolved
that I would attempt nothing else until we had safely
got your wife out of prison. And the day she gets out
I will escort her over the frontier myself. I shall have
to go to Finland to report, anyway."

He was going to thank me but I shut him up.

" When will you go? " I asked.

" To-morrow. There are a number of things to be
done. Have you got much money? 5:

" Enough for myself, but no reserve."

" I will leave you all I have," he said, " and to-day
I'll go and see a business friend of mine who may be
able to get some more. He is a Jew, but is absolutely
trustworthy."

" By the way," I asked, when this matter was
decided, " ever heard of a Captain Zorinsky ? "

" Zorinsky ? Zorinsky ? No. Who is he ? "

" A fellow who seems to know a lot about you,"
I said. " Says he is a friend of Melnikoff s, though I
never heard Melnikoff mention him. Yesterday he
was particularly anxious to know your present
address."

" You didn't tell him? " queried Marsh, nervously.

" What do you take me for? J:

" You can tell him day after to-morrow," he laughed.

Marsh went off to his business friend, saying he
would warn him of my possible visit, and stayed
there all day. I remained at " No. 5 " and wrote up
in minute handwriting on tracing paper a preliminary
report on the general situation in Petrograd, which
I intended to ask Marsh to take with him. To be
prepared for all contingencies I gave the little scroll
to Maria when it was finished and she hid it at the
bottom of a pail of ashes.

Next morning Marsh turned up at " No. 5 " dressed

76 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

in a huge sheepskin coat with a fur collar half engulf-
ing his face. This was the disguise in which he was
going to escape across the frontier. As passport he
had procured the " certificate of identification " of his
coachman, who had come into Petrograd from the
expropriated farm to see Maria. With his face pur-
posely dirtied, and decorated with three days' growth
of reddish beard, a driver's cap that covered his ears
and a big sack on his back to add a peasant touch to
his get-up, Marsh looked — well, like nothing on earth
to use the colloquial expression ! It was a get-up
that defied description, yet in a crowd of peasants
would not attract particular attention.

Confident that he was doing the right thing by
quitting, Marsh had completely recovered his former
good spirits and joked boisterously as he put a finishing
touch here and there to his disguise. I gave him my
report and folding it flat into a packet about two*
inches square he removed one of his top boats and hid:
it inside the sole of his sock. " The population of hell!
will be increased by several new arrivals before the
Bolsheviks find that," he said, pulling on his boot
again and slipping a heavy revolver inside his trousers.

Poor Maria was terribly distressed at Marsh's
departure. So was the coachman, who could find
no terms wherein to express his disgust and indig-
nation at the conduct of the elder of the two stable- j
boys, who had joined the Bolsheviks, assisted in
sacking Marsh's country house and farm, and was^
now appointed Commissar in supreme control of the
establishment. The coachman exhausted a luxuriant!
fund of expletives in describing how the stable-boy
now sprawled in Marsh's easy-chairs, spitting on thej
floor, how all the photographs had been smashed to
pieces, and the drawing-room carpets littered withi

FIVE DAYS 77

dirt, cigarette-ends, and rubbish. At all of which
Marsh roared with laughter, much to the perplexity
of the coachman and Maria.

With trembling hands Maria placed a rough meal on
the table, while Marsh repeated to me final details of
the route he was taking and by which I should follow
with his wife. " Fita," he said, mentioning the name
of the Finnish guide on whom he was relying, " lives
a mile from Grusino station. When you get out of
the train walk in the other direction till everybody has
dispersed, then turn back and go by the forest path
straight to his cottage. He will tell you what to do."

At last it was time to start. Marsh and I shook
hands and wished each other good-luck, and I went
out first, so as not to witness the pathetic parting
from his humble friends. I heard him embrace them
both, heard Maria's convulsive sobs — and I hurried
down the stone stairway and out into the street. I
walked rapidly to the street-car terminal in the
Mihailovsky Square, and wandered round it till
Marsh appeared. We made no sign of recognition.
He jumped on one of the cars, and I scrambled on to
the next.

It was dark by the time we reached the distant
Okhta railway station, a straggling wooden structure
on the outskirts of the town. But standing on the
wooden boards of the rough platform I easily discerned
the massive figure, pushing and scrambling amid a
horde of peasants toward the already over-crowded
coaches. Might is right in Red Russia, as everywhere
else. The Soviet Government has not yet nation-
alized muscle. I watched a huge bulk of sheepskin,
with a dangling and bouncing grey sack, raise itself
by some mysterious process of elevation above the
heads and shoulders of the seething mass around and

78 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

transplant itself on to the buffers. Thence it rose to
the roof, and finally, assisted by one or two admiring
individuals already ensconced within the coach, it
lowered itself down the side and disappeared through
the black aperture of what had once been a window.
I hung around for half an hour or so, until a series of
prolonged and piercing whistles from the antedi-
luvian-looking locomotive announced that the driver
had that day condescended to set his engine in motion.
There was a jolt, a series of violent creaks, the loud
ejaculations of passengers, a scramble of belated
peasants to hook themselves on to protruding points
in the vicinity of steps, buffers, footboards, etc., and
the train with its load of harassed creatures slowly
rumbled forward out of the station.

I stood and watched it pass into the darkness and,
as it vanished, the cold, the gloom, the universal
dilapidation seemed to become intensified. I stood,
listening to the distant rumble of the train, until I
found myself alone upon the platform. Then I
turned, and as I slowly retraced my steps into town
an aching sense of emptiness pervaded everything, and
the future seemed nothing but impenetrable night.

CHAPTER III

THE GREEN SHAWL

I WILL pass briefly over the days that followed
Marsh's flight. They were concentrated upon efforts
to get news of Mrs. Marsh and Melnikoff. There
were frequent hold-ups in the street : at two points
along the Nevsky Prospect all passengers were stopped
to have their documents and any parcels they were
carrying examined, but a cursory glance at my pass-
port of the Extraordinary Commission sufficed to
satisfy the militiamen's curiosity.

I studied all the Soviet literature I had time to
devour, attended public meetings, and slept in turn at
the homes of my new acquaintances, making it a rule,
however, never to mention anywhere the secret of
other night-haunts.

The meetings I attended were all Communist meet-
ings, at each of which the same banal propagandist
phraseology was untiringly reeled off. The vulgar
violence of Bolshevist rhetoric and the triumphant
inaccuracy of statement due to the prohibition of criti-
cism soon became wearisome. In vain I sought
meetings for discussion, or where the people's point of
view would be expressed : freedom of speech granted
by the revolution had come to mean freedom for
Bolshevist speech only and prison for any other.
Some of the meetings, however, were interesting,
especially when a prominent leader such as Trotzky,
Zinoviev, or Lunacharsky spoke, for the unrivalled

70

80 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

powers of speech of a few of the leading Bolsheviks,
who possess in a marked degree " the fatal gift of
eloquence," had an almost irresistible attraction.

During these days also I cultivated the friendship
of the ex-Journalist, whom, despite his timidity, I
found to be a man of taste and culture. He had an
extensive library in several languages, and spent his
leisure hours writing (if I remember rightly) a treatise
on philosophy, which, for some reason or other, he was
convinced would be regarded as " counter-revolu-
tionary " and kept locked up and hidden under a lot
of books in a closet. I tried to persuade him of the
contrary and urged him even to take his manuscript to
the department of education, in the hope that someone
of the less virulent type there might be impressed with
the work and obtain for him concessions as regards
leisure and rations.

When I visited him the day after Marsh's flight I
found him, still wrapped in his green coat, running
feverishly from stove to stove poking and coaxing the
newly lit fires. He was chuckling with glee at the
return of forgotten warmth and, in truly Russian
style, had lit every stove in his flat and was wasting
fuel as fast as he possibly could.

" What the devil is the use of that? " I said in dis-
gust. " Where the deuce do you think you will get
your next lot of wood from ? It doesn't rain wood in
these regions, does it? "

But my sarcasm was lost on Dmitri Konstantino-
vitch, in whose system of economy, economy had no
place. To his intense indignation I opened all the
grates and, dragging out the half-burnt logs and glow-
ing cinders, concentrated them in one big blaze in the
dining-room stove, which also heated his bedroom.

" That's just like an Englishman," he said in

p. 80

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED

THE GREEN SHAWL 81

unspeakable disgust as he shuffled round watching me at
work. " You understand," I said, resolutely, " this
and the kitchen are the only stoves that are ever to
be heated."

Of course I found his larder empty and he had no
prospect of food except the scanty and unappetizing
dinner at four o'clock at the local communal eating-
house two doors away. So, the weather being fine,
I took him out to the little private dining-room where
I had eaten on the day of my arrival. Here I gave him
the biggest meal that miniature establishment could
provide, and intoxicated by the unaccustomed fumes
of gruel, carrots, and coffee he forgot— and forgave
me — the stoves.

A day or two later the Journalist was sufficiently
well to return to work, and taking the spare key of his
flat I let myself in whenever I liked. I took him
severely to task in his household affairs, and as the
result of our concerted labours we saved his untidy
home from degenerating completely into a pig-sty.
Here I met some of the people mentioned by Marsh.
The Journalist was very loth to invite them, but in a
week or so I had so firm a hold over him that by the
mere hint of not returning any more I could reduce him
to complete submission. If I disappeared for as much
as three days he was overcome with anxiety.

Some people I met embarrassed me not a little by
regarding me as a herald of the approaching Allies and
an earnest of the early triumph of the militarist counter-
revolution. Their attitude resembled at the other
extreme that recently adopted by the Bolshevist
Government toward impartial foreign labour delegates,
who were embarrassingly proclaimed to be forerunners
of the world revolution.

One evening the Journalist greeted me with looks of

82 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

deep cunning and mystification. I could see he had
something on his mind he was bursting to say. When
at last we were seated, as usual huddled over the
dining-room stove, he leaned over toward my chair,
tapped me on the knee to draw my very particular
attention, and began.

" Michael Mihailovitch," he said in an undertone,
as though the chairs and table might betray the
secret, " I have a won-der-ful idea ! " He struck one
side of his thin nose with his forefinger to indicate the
wondrousness of his idea. " To-day I and some col-
leagues of former days," he went on, his finger still
applied to the side of his nose, " determined to start a
newspaper. Yes, yes, a secret newspaper — to prepare
the way for the Allies ! "

"And who is going to print it?" I asked, fully
impressed with the wondrousness of his idea.

" The Bolshevist Izvestia" he said, " is printed on
the presses of the Novoye Vremya,1 but all the printer-
men being strongly against the Bolsheviks, we will ask
them to print a leaflet on the sly."

" And who will pay for it ?" I asked, amused by his
simplicity.

" Well, here you can help, Michael Mihailovitch,"
said the Journalist, rather as though he were conferring
an honour upon me. " You would not refuse, would
you ? Last summer the English "

" Well, apart from technique," I interrupted, " why
are you so certain of the Allies ? ?:

Dmitri Konstantinovitch stared at me.

" But you " he began, then stopped abruptly.

There followed one of those pauses that are more
eloquent than speech.

1 A prominent pre-revolutionary journal.

THE GREEN SHAWL 83

" I see," I said at last. " Listen, Dmitri Konstan-
tinovitch, I will tell you a story. In the north of your
vast country there is a town called Archangel. I was
there in the summer and I was there again recently.
When I was there in the summer the entire population
was crying passionately for the Allies to intervene and
save them from a Bolshevist hooligan clique, and when
at last the city was occupied the path of the British
general was strewn with flowers as he stepped ashore.
But when I returned some weeks after the occupation,
did I find jubilation and contentment, do you think?
I am sorry to say I did not. I found strife, intrigue,
and growing bitterness.

" A democratic government was nominally in power
with the venerable revolutionist Tchaikovsky, protege
of the Allies, at its head. Well, one night a group
of officers — Russian officers — summarily arrested this
government established by the Allies, while the allied
military leaders slyly shut one eye so as not to see what
was going on. The hapless democratic ministers were
dragged out of their beds, whisked away by automobile
to a waiting steam launch, and carried off to a re-
mote island in the White Sea, where they were uncere-
moniously deposited and left ! Sounds like an exploit
of Captain Kidd, doesn't it? Only two escaped,
because they happened that evening to be dining with
the American Ambassador, and he concealed them in
his bedroom.

" Next morning the city was startled by a sensa-
tional announcement posted on the walls. ' By order
of the Russian Command,' it ran, ' the incompetent
government has been deposed, and the supreme power
in North Russia is henceforth vested exclusively in
the hands of the military commander of the occupying
forces.'

84 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" There was a hell of a hubbub, I can tell you ! For
who was to untangle the knot? The allied military
had connived at the kidnapping by Russian plotters of
a Russian government established by order of the
Allies ! The diplomats and the military were already
at loggerheads and now they were like fighting- cocks !
Finally, after two days' wrangling, and when all the
factories went on strike, it was decided that the whole
proceeding had been most unseemly and undemocratic.
' Diplomacy ' triumphed, a cruiser was despatched to
pick up the wretched ministers shivering on the remote
White Sea island, and brought them back (scarcely
a triumphal procession !) to Archangel, where they were
restored to the tarnished dignity of their ministerial
pedestals, and went on trying to pretend to be a
government."

The Journalist gaped open-mouthed as I told him
this story. " And what is happening there now? " he
asked after a pause. " I am rather afraid to think of
what is happening now," I replied.

" And you mean," he said, slowly, " the Allies are
not ?"

" I do not know — they may come, and they may
not." I realized I was rudely tearing down a radiant
castle the poor Journalist had built in the air.

" By why— Michael Mihailovitch— are you ? ?:

" Why am I here ? " I said, completing his unfinished
question. " Simply because I wanted to be."

Dmitri Konstantinovitch gasped. " You — wanted
to be here?"

" Yes," I replied, smiling involuntarily at his in-
credulity. " I wanted to be here and took the first
chance that offered itself to come." If I had told him
that after mature consideration I had elected to spend
eternity in Gehenna rather than in the felicity of

THE GREEN SHAWL 85

celestial domains I should not have astonished the
incredulous Journalist more.

" By the way," I said rather cruelly, as a possibility
occurred to me, " don't go and blurt that Archangel
story everywhere, or you'll have to explain how you
heard it."

But he did not heed me. I had utterly demolished
his castle of hope. I felt very sorry as I watched
him. " Maybe they will learn," I added, wishing
to say something kind, " and not repeat mistakes
elsewhere."

Learn? As I looked into the Journalist's tear-
dimmed eyes, how heartily I wished they would !

While the journalist's home until my arrival was only
on the downward grade toward pig-stydom, that of
the Policeman had already long since arrived at the
thirty-third degree. His rooms were in an abominable
condition, and quite unnecessarily so. The sanitary
arrangements in many houses were in a sad state of
dilapidation, but people took urgent measures to main-
tain what cleanliness they could. Not so the Police-
man, who lived in conditions too loathsome for words
and took no steps to check the progressive accumula-
tion of dust, dirt, and filth.

He kept a Chinese servant, who appeared to be
permanently on strike, and whom he would alternately
caressingly wheedle and tempestuously upbraid, so
far as I could see with equal ineffect. In the nether
regions of the house he occupied there lived, or fre-
quently gathered, a bevy of Chinamen who loafed
about the hall or peeped through gratings up the cellar
stairways. There was also a mysterious lady, whom
I never saw, but whom I would hear occasionally
as I mounted the stairs, shrieking in an hysterical

86 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

caterwaul, and apparently menacing the little Police-
man with physical assault. Sometimes he would snarl
back, and one such scene d? amour was terminated by a
violent crash of crockery. But the affable female,
whom I somehow figured as big and muscular with wild,
floating hair, a sort of Medusa, had always vanished by
the time I reached the top of the stairs, and the loud
door-slam that coincided with her disappearance was
followed by death-like silence. The little Policeman,
whose bearing was always apologetic, would accost me
as though nothing were amiss, while the insubordinate
Chinese servant, if he condescended to open the front
door, would stand at the foot of the staircase with an
enigmatical sneering grin spread over his evil features.
It was altogether an uncanny abode.

Marsh had prepared the way, and the Policeman
received me with profuse demonstrations of regard. I
was fortunately not obliged to accept his proffered
hospitality often, but when I did, it was touching to
note how he would put himself out in the effort to make
me as comfortable as the revolting circumstances
would permit. Despite his despicable character, his
cringing deceitfulness, and mealy-mouthed flattery,
he still possessed human feelings, showed at times a
genuine desire to please not merely for the sake of
gain, and was sincerely and passionately fond of his
children, who lived in another house.

He was excessively vain and boastful. In the course
of his career he had accumulated a collection of signed
photographs of notables, and loved to demonstrate
them, reiterating for the fiftieth time how Count Witte
said this, Stolypin said that, and So-and-so said some-
thing else. I used to humour him, listening gravely,
and he interpreted my endurance as ability to venerate
the great ones of the earth, and an appreciation of his

THE GREEN SHAWL 87

illustrious connections, and was mightily pleased. He
was full of grandiose schemes for the downthrow of
the Red regime, and the least sign of so much as patience
with his suggestions excited his enthusiasm and
inspired his genius for self-praise and loquacity.

" Your predecessors, if you will allow me to say so,"
he launched forth on the occasion of my first visit,
" were pitifully incompetent. Even Mr. Marsh, de-
lightful man though he was, hardly knew his business.
Now you, Michael Ivanitch, I can see, are a man of
understanding — a man of quite different stamp. I
presented a scheme to Marsh, for instance," and he
bent over confidentially, " for dividing Petrograd into
ten sections, seizing each one in turn, and thus throwing
the Bolsheviks out. It was sure of success, and yet
Mr. Marsh would not hear of it."

" How were you going to do it ? 5:

He seized a sheet of paper and began hastily making
sketches to illustrate his wonderful scheme. The capi-
tal was all neatly divided up, the chiefs of each district
were appointed to their respective posts, he had the
whole police force at his beck and call and about half-
a-dozen regiments.

" Give but the signal," he cried, dramatically, " and
this city of Peter the Great is ours."

" And the supreme commander ? " I queried. " Who
will be governor of the liberated city? '

The sanguine little Policeman smiled a trifle con-
fusedly. " Oh, we will find a governor," he said,
rather sheepishly, hesitant to utter the inner-
most hopes of his heart. " Perhaps you, Michael
Ivanitch "

But this magnanimous offer was mere formal
courtesy. It was plain that I was expected to content
myself with the secondary role of king-maker.

88 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Well, if all is so far ready," I said, " why don't
you blow the trumpets and we will watch the walls of
Jericho fall ?"

The little man twirled his moustache, smirking
apologetically. " But, Michael Ivanitch," he said,
growing bold and bordering even on familiarity, " er
—funds, don't you know— after all, nowadays, you
know, you get nowhere without — er — money, do you?
Of course, you quite understand, Michael Ivanitch,
that I, personally "

" How much did you tell Marsh it would cost ? " I
interrupted, very curious to see what he would say.
He had not expected the question to be put in this way.
Like a clock ticking I could hear his mind calculating
the probability of Marsh's having told me the sum,
and whether he might safely double it in view of my
greater susceptibility.

" I think with 100,000 roubles we might pull it off,"
he replied, tentatively, eyeing me cautiously to see how
I took it. I nodded silently. " Of course, we might
do it for a little less," he added as if by afterthought,
" but then there would be subsequent expenses."

" Well, well," I replied, indulgently, " we will see.
We'll talk about it again some time."

" There is no time like the present, Michael
Ivanitch."

" But there are other things to think of. We will
speak of it again when "

"When ?"

" When you have got Mrs. Marsh out of
prison."

The little man appeared completely to shrivel up
when thus dragged brusquely back into the world of
crude reality. He flushed for a moment, it seemed to
me, with anger, but pulled himself together at once and

THE GREEN SHAWL 89

reassumed his original manner of demonstrative
servility.

" At present we have business on hand, Alexei Fom-
itch," I added, " and I wish to talk first about that.
How do matters stand ? 5:

The Policeman said his agents were busily at work,
studying the ground and the possibilities of Mrs.
Marsh's escape. The whole town, he stated, was
being searched for Marsh, and the inability to unearth
him had already given rise to the suspicion that he had
fled. In a day or two the news would be confirmed by
Bolshevist agents in Finland. He foresaw an allevia-
tion of Mrs. Marsh's lot owing to the probable cessa-
tion of cross-examinations. It only remained to see
whether she would be transferred to another cell or
prison, and then plans for escape might be laid.

" Fire ahead," I said in conclusion. " And when
Mrs. Marsh is free — we will perhaps discuss other
matters."

" There is no time like the present, Michael
Ivanitch," repeated the little Policeman, but his voice
sounded forlorn.

Meanwhile, what of Melnikoff ?

Zorinsky was all excitement when I called him up.

"How is your brother? " I said over the 'phone.
" Was the accident serious ? Is there any hope of
recovery ? ':

" Yes, yes," came the reply. " The doctor says he
fears he will be in hospital some time, but the chances
are he will get over it."

" Where has he been put ? "

" He is now in a private sanitarium in Gorohovaya
Street, but we hope he will be removed to some larger
and more comfortable hospital."

90 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" The conditions, I hope, are good ? "

" As good as we can arrange for under present-day
circumstances. For the time being he is in a separate
room and on limited diet. But can you not come
round this evening, Pavel Ivanitch ? 5:

"Thank you; I am afraid I have a meeting of
our house committee to attend, but I could come
to-morrow."

" Good. Come to-morrow. I have news of Leo,
who is coming to Petrograd."

" My regards to Elena Ivanovna."

" Thanks. Good-bye."

" Good-bye."

The telephone was an inestimable boon, but one
that had to be employed with extreme caution. From
time to time at moments of panic the Government
would completely stop the telephone service, causing
immense inconvenience and exasperating the popula-
tion whom they were trying to placate. But it was
not in Bolshevist interests to suppress it entirely, the
telephone being an effectual means of detecting
6 c counter-revolutionary ' ' machinations . The lines were
closely watched, a suspicious voice or phrase would
lead to a line being " tapped," the recorded conversa-
tions would be scrutinized for hints of persons or
addresses, and then the Assyrian came down like a
wolf on the fold to seize books, papers, and documents,
and augment the number of occupants of Gorohovayan
cells. So one either spoke in fluent metaphor or by
prearranged verbal signals camouflaged behind talk
of the weather or food. The " news of Leo," for
instance, I understood at once to mean news of
Trotzky, or information regarding the Red army.

Zorinsky was enthusiastic when I called next day
and stayed to dinner. " We'll have Melnikoff out in

THE GREEN SHAWL 91

no time," he exclaimed. " They are holding his case
over for further evidence. He will be taken either to
the Shpalernaya or Deriabinskaya prison, where we
shall be allowed to send him food. Then we'll com-
municate by hiding notes in the food and let him know
our plan of escape. Meanwhile, all's well with our-
selves, so come and have a glass of vodka."

I was overjoyed at this good news. The conditions
at either of the two prisons he mentioned were much
better than at No. 2 Gorohovaya, and though trans-
ference to them meant delay in decision and conse-
quent prolongation of imprisonment, the prison regime
was generally regarded as more lenient.

" By the way," said Zorinsky, " it is lucky you have
come to-day. A certain Colonel H. is coming in this
evening. He works on the General Staff and has
interesting news. Trotzky is planning to come up to
Petrograd."

Elena Ivanovna was in a bad mood because a lot of
sugar that had been promised to her and her colleagues
had failed to arrive and she had been unable to make
cakes for two days.

" You must excuse the bad dinner to-night, Pavel
Ivanitch," she said. " I had intended to have choco-
late pudding for you, but as it is there will be no
third course. Really, the way we are treated is
outrageous."

" Your health, Pavel Ivanitch," said Zorinsky,
undismayed by the prospect of no third course.
" Here we have something better even than chocolate
pudding, haven't we? "

He talked on volubly in his usual strain, harping
back again to pre-war days and the pleasures of regi-
mental life. I asked him if he thought most of the
officers were still monarchists.

92 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" I don't know," he said. " I expect you'll find
they are pretty evenly divided. Very few are
socialists, but a lot think themselves republicans.
Some, of course, are monarchists, and many are nothing
at all. As for me," he continued, " when I joined my
regiment I took the oath of allegiance to the Tsar."
(At the mention of the Tsar he stood upright and then
sat down again, a gesture which astonished me, for
it really seemed to be spontaneous and unfeigned.)
" But I consider myself absolved and free to serve
whom I will from the moment the Tsar signed the
deed of abdication. At present I serve nobody. I
will not serve Trotzky, but I will work with him if
he offers a career. That is, if the Allies do not come into
Petrograd. By the way," he added, checking himself
abruptly and obviously desirous of knowing, " do you
think the Allies really will come— the English, for
instance ? 5:

" I have no idea."

" Strange. Everyone here is sure of it. But that
means nothing, of course. Listen in the queues or
market places. Now Cronstadt has been taken, now
the Allies are in Finland, and so on. Personally, I
believe they will bungle everything. Nobody really
understands Russia, not even we ourselves. Except,
perhaps, Trotzky," he added as an afterthought,
" or the Germans."

" The Germans, you think? "

" Surely. Prussianism is what we want. You see
these fat-faced commissars in leathern jackets with
three or four revolvers in their belts ? or the sailors
with gold watch-chains and rings, with their pros-
titutes promenading the Nevsky? Those rascals, I
tell you, will be working inside of a year, working like
hell, because if the Whites get here every commissar

THE GREEN SHAWL 93

will be hanged, drawn and quartered. Somebody must
work to keep things going. Mark my words, first the
Bolsheviks will make their Communists work, they'll
give them all sorts of privileges and power, and then
they'll make the Communists make the others work.
Forward the whip and knout ! The good old times
again ! And if you don't like it, kindly step this
way to No. 2 Gorohovaya I Ugh ! ': he shuddered.
" No. 2 Gorohovaya ! Here's to you, Pavel Ivanitch ! ):

Zorinsky drank heavily, but the liquor produced no
visible effect on him.

" By the way," he asked, abruptly, " you haven't
heard anything of Marsh, have you? ':

" Oh, yes," I said, " he is in Finland."

" What ! " he cried, half rising from the table. He
was livid.

" In Finland," I repeated, regarding him with
astonishment. " He got away the day before
yesterday."

" He got away — ha ! ha ! ha ! 5: Zorinsky dropped
back into his seat. His momentary expression
changed as suddenly as it had appeared, and he burst
into uproarious laughter. " Do you really mean to
say so ? Ha ! ha ! My God, won't they be wild !
Damned clever ! Don't you know they've been
turning the place upside down to find him ? Ha, ha,
ha ! Now that really is good news, upon my soul ! 5:
4 Why should you be so glad about it ? " I inquired.
" You seemed at first to-

" I was astounded." He spoke rapidly and a little
excitedly. 4< Don't you know Marsh was regarded as
chief of allied organizations and a most dangerous
man ? But for some reason they were dead certain of
catching him— dead certain. Haven't they got his
wife, or his mother, or somebody, as hostage? "

94 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" His wife."

" It'll go badly with her," he laughed cruelly.

It was my turn to be startled. " What do you
mean? " I said, striving to appear indifferent.

" They will shoot her."

It was with difficulty that I maintained a tone of
mere casual interest. " Do you really think they will
shoot her? " I said, incredulously.

" Sure to," he replied, emphatically. " What else
do they take hostages for ? "

For the rest of the evening I thought of nothing else
but the possibility of Mrs. Marsh being shot. The
Policeman had said the direct opposite, basing his
statement on what he said was inside information. On
the other hand, why on earth should hostages be taken
if they were to be liberated when the culprits had fled ?
I could elicit nothing more from Zorinsky except that
in his opinion Mrs. Marsh might be kept in prison a
month or two, but in the long run would most
undoubtedly be shot.

I listened but idly to the colonel, a pompous gentle-
man with a bushy white beard, who came in after
dinner. Zorinsky told him he might speak freely in
my presence and, sitting bolt upright, he conversed
in a rather ponderous manner on the latest develop-
ments. He appeared to have a high opinion of
Zorinsky. He confirmed the latter's statements
regarding radical changes in the organization of the
army, and said Trotzky was planning to establish a
similar new regime in the Baltic Fleet. I was not
nearly so attentive as I ought to have been, and had
to ask the colonel to repeat it all to me at our next
meeting.

Maria was the only person I took into my confidence

THE GREEN SHAWL 95

as to all my movements. Every morning I banged
at the chalk-marked door. Maria let me in and I told
her how things were going with Mrs. Marsh. Of
course, I always gave her optimistic reports. Then I
would say, " To-night, Maria, I am staying at the
Journalist's — you know his address — to-morrow at
Stepanovna's, Friday night at Zorinsky's, and Satur-
day, here. So if anything happens you will know
where it probably occurred. If I disappear, wait a
couple of days, and then get someone over the frontier
— perhaps the coachman will go — and tell the British
Consul." Then I would give her my notes, written in
minute handwriting on tracing paper, and she would
hide them for me. Two more Englishmen left by
Marsh's route a few days after his departure and Maria
gave them another small packet to carry, saying it
was a letter from herself to Marsh. So it was, only
on the same sheet as she had scrawled a pencil note to
Marsh I wrote a long message in invisible ink. I
made the ink by — oh, it doesn't matter how.

Zorinsky's reports as to Melnikoff continued to be
favourable. He hinted at a certain investigator who
might have to be bought off, to which I gave eager
assent. He gave me further information on political
matters which proved to be quite accurate, and repel-
lent though his bearing and appearance were, I began
to feel less distrustful of him. It was about a week
later, when I called him up, that he told me " the
doctors had decided his brother was sufficiently well
to leave hospital." Tingling with excitement and
expectation I hurried round.

' The investigator is our man," explained Zorinsky,
" and guarantees to let Melnikoff out within a
month."

" How will he do it ? " I inquired.

96 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" That rather depends. He may twist the evidence,
but Melnikoff s is a bad case and there's not much
evidence that isn't damaging. If that's too hard,
he may swap Melnikoff' s dossier for somebody else's
and let the error be found out when it's too late. But
he'll manage it all right."

" And it must take a whole month ? "

" Melnikoff will be freed about the middle of
January. There's no doubt about it. And the
investigator wants 60,000 roubles."

" Sixty thousand roubles I " I gasped. I was appalled
at this unexpected figure. Where should I get the
money from ? The rouble was still worth about forty
to the pound, so that this was some £1,500.

" Melnikoff 's case is a hopeless one," said Zorinsky,
dryly. " No one can let him off and go scot-free. The
investigator wants to be guaranteed, for he will have
to get over the frontier the same night, too. But I
advise you to pay only half now, and the rest the day
Melnikoff gets out. There will also be a few odd bribes
to accomplices. Better allow 75,000 or 80,000 roubles
all told."

" I have very little money with me just now," I
said, " but I will try to get you the first 30,000 in two
or three days."

" And by the way," he added, " I forgot to tell you
last time you were here that I have seen Melnikoff s
sister, who is in the direst straits. Elena Ivanovna
and I have sent her a little food, but she also needs
money. We have no money, for we scarcely use it
nowadays, but perhaps you could spare a thousand or
so now and again."

" I will give you some for her when I bring the
other."

" Thank you. She will be grateful. And now,

THE GREEN SHAWL 97

unpleasant business over, let's go and have a glass of
vodka. Your health, Pavel Ivanitch."

Rejoicing at the prospect of securing Melnikoffs
release, and burdened at the same time with the
problem of procuring this large sum of money, I rang
up next day the business friend of whom Marsh had
spoken, using a pre-arranged password. Marsh called
this gentleman the " Banker," though that was not
his profession, because he had left his finances in his
charge. When I visited him I found him to be a man
of agreeable though nervous deportment, very devoted
to Marsh. He was unable to supply me with all the
money I required, and I decided I must somehow get
the rest from Finland, perhaps when I took Mrs.
Marsh away.

The " Banker " had just returned from Moscow,
whither he had been called with an invitation to accept
a post in a new department created to check the ruin
of industry. He was very sarcastic over the manner
in which, he said, the " government of horny hands "
(as the Bolsheviks frequently designate themselves)
was beginning " to grovel before people who can read
and write." " In public speeches," said the Banker,
" they still have to call us ' bourzhu (bourgeois) swine '
for the sake of appearances, but in private, when the
doors are closed, it is very different. They have even
ceased ' comrading ' : it is no longer c Comrade A.' or
' Comrade B.' when they address us— that honour they
reserve for themselves — but ' Excuse me, Alexander
Vladimirovitch,' or ' May I trouble you, Boris Kon-
stantinovitch ? ' He laughed ironically. "Quite
' pogentlemensky,' : ' he added, using a Russianized
expression whose meaning is obvious.

" Did you accept the post ? " I asked.

" I ? No, sir ! " he replied with emphasis. " Do I

98 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

want a dirty workman holding a revolver over me all
day ? That is the sort of ' control ' they intend to
exercise." (He did accept it, however, just a month
later, when the offer was renewed with the promise of
a tidy salary if he took it, and prison if he didn't.)

On the following day I brought the money to
Zorinsky, and he said he would have it transferred to
the investigator at once.

" By the way," I said, " I may be going to Finland
for a few days. Do not be surprised if you do not
hear from me for a week or so."

" To Finland ? " Zorinsky was very interested.
" Then perhaps you will not return ? "

" I am certain to return," I said, " even if only on
account of Melnikoff."

" And of course you have other business here," he
said. " By the way, how are you going? "

" I don't know yet; they say it is easy enough to
walk over the frontier."

" Not quite so easy," he replied. " Why not just
walk across the bridge? ':

" What bridge ? "

" The frontier bridge at Bielo'ostrof."

I thought he was mad. " What on earth do you
mean? " I asked.

" It can be fixed up all right — with a little care,"
he went on. " Five or six thousand roubles to the
station commissar and he'll shut his eyes, another
thousand or so to the bridge sentry and he'll look the
other way, and over you go. Evening is the best
time, when it's dark."

I remembered I had heard speak of this method in
Finland. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.
It was the simplest thing in the world, but it wasn't
sure. Commissars were erratic and not unfearful of

THE GREEN SHAWL 99

burning their fingers. Furthermore, the Finns some-
times turned people back. Besides, Mrs. Marsh
would be with me— I hoped— and of that Zorinsky
must know nothing.

" That is a splendid notion," I exclaimed. " I had
never thought of that. I'll let you know before I
start."

Next day I told him I had decided not to go to
Finland because I was thinking of going to Moscow.
• ••••••

" Madame Marsh has not been moved from No. 2
Gorohovaya" declared the little Policeman as I sat
opposite him in his fetid den. " Her case is in abey-
ance, and will doubtless remain so for some time.
Since they learned of Marsh's flight they have left her
alone. They may perhaps forget all about her. Now,
I think, is the time to act."

" What will they do to her if her case comes on
again ? "

" It is too early yet to conjecture."

It was shortly before Christmas that the Policeman
began to grow nervous and excited, and I could see
that his emotion was real. His plan for Mrs. Marsh's
escape was developing, occupying his whole mind and
causing him no small concern. Every day I brought
him some little present, such as cigarettes, sugar, or
butter, procured from Maria, so that he should have
fewer household cares to worry over. At last I became
almost as wrought up as he was himself, while Maria,
whom I kept informed, was in a constant state of
tremor resulting from her fever of anxiety.

December 18th dawned bleak and raw. The wind
tore in angry gushes round the corners of the houses,
snatching up the sandy snow, and flinging it viciously
in the half-hidden faces of hurrying, harassed pedes-

100 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

trians. Toward noon the storm abated, and Maria
and I set out together for a neighbouring market-place.
We were going to buy a woman's cloak, for that night
I was to take Mrs. Marsh across the frontier.

The corner of the Kuznetchny Pereulok and the
Vladimirovsky Prospect has been a busy place for
" speculators " ever since private trading was pro-
hibited. Even on this bitter winter day there were
the usual lines of wretched people standing patiently,
disposing of personal belongings or of food got by
foraging in the country. Many of them were women
of the educated class, selling off their last possessions
in the effort to scrape together sufficient to buy meagre
provisions for themselves or their families. Either
they were unable to find occupation or were here in
the intervals of work. Old clothing, odds and ends
of every description, crockery, toys, nick-nacks, clocks,
books, pictures, paper, pots, pans, pails, pipes, post-
cards— the entire paraphernalia of antiquarian and
second-hand dealers' shops— could here be found
turned out on to the pavements.

Maria and I passed the people selling sugar by the
lump, their little stock of four or five lumps exposed
on outstretched palms. We also passed the herrings,
and the " bread patties " of greenish colour. Passers-
by would pick up a patty, smell it, and if they did
not like it, would put it back and try the next. Maria
was making for the old clothing, and as we pushed
through the crowd we kept eyes and ears open for
warning of a possible raid, for from time to time bands
of guards would make a sudden dash at the " specu-
lators," arrest a few unlucky ones, and disperse the
rest.

Maria soon found what she wanted — a warm cloak
which had evidently seen better days. The tired eyes

THE GREEN SHAWL 101

of the tall, refined lady from whom we bought it
opened wide as I immediately paid the first price
she asked.

" Je vous remercie, Madame," I said, and as Maria
donned the cloak and we moved away the look of scorn
on the lady's face passed into one of astonishment.

" Don't fail to have tea ready at five, Maria," I
said as we returned.

" Am I likely to fail, Ivan Hitch? ':

We sat and waited. The minutes were hours, the
hours days. At three I said : " I am going now,
Maria." Biting her fingers, Maria stood trembling
as I left her and set out to walk across the town.

The dingy interior of the headquarters of the Extra-
ordinary Commission, with its bare stairs and passages,
is an eerie place at all times of the year, but never is
its sombre, sorrow-laden gloom so intense as on a
December afternoon when dusk is sinking into dark-
ness. While Maria and I, unable to conceal our
agitation, made our preparations, there sat in one of
the inner chambers at No. 2 Gorohovaya a group of
women, from thirty to forty in number. Their faces
were undistinguishable in the growing darkness as they
sat in groups on the wooden planks which took the
place of bedsteads. The room was over-heated and
nauseatingly stuffy, but the patient figures paid no
heed, nor appeared to care whether it be hot or cold,
dark or light. A few chatted in undertones, but most
of them sat motionless and silent, waiting, waiting,
endlessly waiting.

The terror-hour had not yet come— it came only
at seven each evening. The terror-hour was more
terrible in the men's chambers, where the toll was
greater, but it visited the women, too. Then, every

102 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

victim knew that if the heavy door was opened and
his name called, he passed out into eternity. For
executions were carried out in the evening and the
bodies removed at night.

At seven o'clock, all talk, all action ceased. Faces
set, white and still, fixed on the heavy folding-door.
When it creaked every figure became a statue, a
death-statue, stone-livid, breathless, dead in life. A
moment of ghastly, intolerable suspense, a silence
that could be felt, and in the silence — a name. And
when the name was spoken, every figure — but one —
would imperceptibly relapse. Here and there a lip
would twitch, here and there a smile would flicker.
But no one would break the dead silence. One of
their number was doomed.

The figure that bore the spoken name would rise,
and move, move slowly with a wooden, unnatural gait,
tottering along the narrow aisle between the plank
couches. Some would look up and some would look
down ; some, fascinated, would watch the dead figure
pass; and some would pray, or mutter, " To-morrow,
maybe, I." Or there would be a frantic shriek, a
brutal struggle, and worse than Death would fill the
chamber, till where two were, one only would be
left, heaving convulsively, insane, clutching the rough
woodwork with bleeding nails.

But the silence was the silence of supreme compas-
sion, the eyes that followed or the eyes that fell were
alike those of brothers or sisters, for in death's hour
vanish all differences and there reigns the only true
Communism— the Communism of Sympathy. Not
there, in the Kremlin, nor there in the lying Soviets —
but here in the terrible house of inquisition, in the
Communist dungeons, is ^ true ^Communism at last
established !

THE GREEN SHAWL 103

But on this December afternoon the terror-hour
was not yet. There were still three hours' respite,
and the figures spoke low in groups or sat silently
waiting, waiting, endlessly waiting.

Then suddenly a name was called. " Lydia Marsh ! "

The hinges creaked, the guard appeared in the
doorway, and the name was spoken loud and clearly.
" It is not the terror-hour yet," thought every woman,
glancing at the twilight through the high, dirt-stained
windows.

A figure rose from a distant couch. " What can it
be? " "Another interrogation? ?: "An unusual
hour ! ': Low voices sounded from the group.
" They've left me alone three days," said the rising
figure, wearily. " I suppose now it begins all over
again. Well, a bientot."

The figure disappeared in the doorway, and the
women went on waiting— waiting for seven o'clock.

" Follow me," said the guard. He moved along
the corridor and turned down a side-passage. They
passed others in the corridor, but no one heeded. The
guard stopped. Looking up, the woman saw she was
outside the women's lavatory. She waited. The
guard pointed with his bayonet.

"In here?" queried the figure in surprise. The
guard was silent. The woman pushed the door open
and entered.

Lying in the corner were a dark green shawl and a
shabby hat, with two slips of paper attached. One
of them was a pass in an unknown name, stating that
the holder had entered the building at four o'clock
and must leave before seven. The other had scrawled
on it the words : " Walk straight into St. Izaac's
Cathedral."

Mechanically she destroyed the second slip, adjusted

104 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

the shabby hat, and wrapping the shawl well round her
neck and face passed out into the passage. She
elbowed others in the corridor, but no one heeded
her. At the foot of the main staircase she was asked
for her pass. She showed it and was motioned on.
At the main entrance she was again asked for her pass.
She showed it and was passed out into the street. She
looked up and down. The street was empty, and
crossing the road hurriedly she disappeared round the
corner.

Like dancing constellations the candles flickered
and flared in front of the ikons at the foot of the huge
pillars of the vast cathedral. Halfway up the columns
vanished in gloom. I had already burned two candles,
and though I was concealed in the niche of a pillar,
I knelt and stood alternately, partly from impatience,
partly that my piety should be patent to any chance
observer. But my eyes were fixed on the little wooden
side-entrance. How interminable the minutes seemed.

A quarter to five ! Then the green shawl appeared.
It looked almost black in the dim darkness. It
slipped through the doorway quickly, stood still a
moment, and moved irresolutely forward. I walked
up to the shrouded figure.

" Mrs. Marsh ? " I said quietly in English.

" Yes."

" I am the person you are to meet. I hope you will
soon see your husband."

" Where is he? " she asked, anxiously.

" In Finland. You go there with me to-night."

We left the cathedral and crossing the square took
a cab and drove to the place called Five Corners.
Here we walked a little and finding another cab drove
near to " No. 5," again walking the last hundred
yards. I banged at the door three times.

THE GREEN SHAWL 105

How shall I describe the meeting with Maria ! I
left them weeping together and went into another
room. Neither will I attempt to describe the parting,
when an hour later Mrs. Marsh stood ready for her
journey, clad in the cloak we had purchased in the
morning, and with a black shawl in place of the green
one.

" There is no time to lose," I said. " We must
be at the station at seven, and it is a long
drive."

The adieus were over at last, and Maria stood
weeping at the door as we made our way down the
dark stone stairs.

" I will call you Varvara," I cautioned my com-
panion. " You call me Vania, and if by chance we
are stopped, I am taking you to hospital."

We drove slowly to the distant straggling Okhta
station, where lately I had watched the huge figure of
Marsh clamber on to the roof and disappear through
the window. The little Policeman was on the plat-
form, sincerely overjoyed at this happy ending to
his design. I forgot his ways, his dirtiness, his messy
quarters, and thanked him heartily, and as I thrust
the packet of money Marsh had left for him into
his hand, I felt that at this moment, at least, that
was not what was uppermost in his thoughts.

" Come on, Varvara ! " I shouted in Russian, rudely
tugging Mrs. Marsh by the sleeve and dragging her
along the platform. " We shan't get places if you
stand gaping like that ! Come on, stupid ! 5: I hauled
her toward the train, and seeing an extra box-car
being hitched on in front, rushed in its direction.

" Gently, gently, Vania ! " cried my companion in
genuine distress as I lifted her bodily and landed her
on the dirty floor.

106 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" Ne zievai ! " I cried. " Sadyis ! Na, beri mie-
shotchek ! Don't yawn ! Get in ! Here, take the
bag ! " and while I clambered up, I handed her the
packet of sandwiches made by Maria for the journey.
" If anything happens," I whispered in English when
we were safely ensconced, " we are ' speculators '—
looking for milk; that's what nearly everybody here
is doing."

The compact, seething mass of beings struggling
to squirm into the car resembled a swarm of hiving
bees, and in a few moments the place was packed
like a sardine-box. In vain late arrivals endeavoured,
headforemost, to burrow a path inward. In vain
some dozens of individuals pleaded to the inmates to
squeeze " just a little tighter " and make room " for
just one more." Somehow the doors were slid to,
and we sat in the pitch darkness and waited.

Though the car must have held nearly a hundred
people, once we were shut in conversation ceased
completely ; scarcely any one spoke, and if they did it
was in undertones. Until the train started, the silence,
but for audible breathing, was uncanny. Only a
boy, sitting next to my companion, coughed during
the whole journey— coughed rackingly and incessantly,
nearly driving me mad. After a while a candle was
produced, and round the flickering light at one end
of the car some Finns began singing folk-songs. A
few people tumbled out at wayside stations, and four
hours later, when we arrived at Grusino, the car was
only three-quarters full.

It was nearly midnight. A mass of humanity
surged from the train and dispersed rapidly into the
woods in all directions. I took my companion, as
Marsh had directed, along a secluded path in the wrong
direction. A few minutes later we turned, and crossing

p. 106

RAILWAY TRAVELLING IN SOVIET RUSSIA

,:, i ; -• «*S «****

-:.-.;';V '

THE GREEN SHAWL 107

the rails a little above the platform, took the forest
track that led to Fita's house.

Fita was a Finn, the son of a peasant who had been
shot by the Bolsheviks for " speculation." While Fita
was always rewarded for his services as guide, his
father's death was a potent incentive to him to do
whatever lay in his power to help those who were
fleeing from his parent's murderers. Eventually he
was discovered in this occupation, and suffered the
same fate as his father, being shot " for conspiring
against the proletarian dictatorship." He was only
sixteen years of age, very simple and shy, but
courageous and enterprising.

We had an hour to wait at Fita's cottage, and while
Mrs. Marsh lay down to rest I took the boy aside to
speak about the journey and question him as to four
other people, obviously fugitives like ourselves, whom
we found in his house.

" Which route are we going by," I asked, " north
or west?"

44 North," he answered. " It is much longer, but
when the weather is good it is not difficult walking
and is the safest."

" You have the best sledge for me ? ?:

4 Yes, and the best horse."

46 These other people, who are they? "

44 I don't know. The man is an officer. He came
inquiring in these parts three days ago and the
peasants directed him to me. I promised to help
him."

Besides the Russian officer, clad in rough working
clothes, there was a lady who spoke French, and two
pretty girls of about fifteen and seventeen years of age.
The girls were dressed rather a la turcque, in brown
woollen jerkins and trousers of the same material.

108 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

They showed no trace of nervousness, and both looked
as though they were thoroughly enjoying a jolly
adventure. They spoke to the officer in Russian and
to the lady in French, and I took it that she was a
governess and he an escort.

We drove out from Fita's cottage at one o'clock.
The land through which the Russian frontier passes
west of Lake Ladoga is forest and morass, with few
habitations. In winter the morass freezes and is
covered with deep snow. The next stage of our
journey ended at a remote hut five miles from the
frontier on the Russian side, the occupant of which,
likewise a Finnish peasant, was to conduct us on
foot through the woods to the first Finnish village,
ten miles beyond. The night was a glorious one.
The day's storm had completely abated. Huge white
clouds floated slowly across the full moon, and
the air was still. The fifteen-mile sleigh- drive from
Fita's cottage to the peasant's hut, over hill and
dale, by bye- ways and occasionally straight across the
marshes when outposts had to be avoided, was one
of the most beautiful I have ever experienced— even
in Russia.

In a large open clearing of the forest stood three or
four rude huts, with tumbledown outhouses, black,
silent, and, like a picture to a fairy tale, throwing blue
shadows on the dazzling snow. The driver knocked
at one of the doors. After much waiting it was
opened, and we were admitted by an old peasant and
his wife, obviously torn from their slumbers.

We were joined a quarter of an hour later by the
other party, exchanging, however, no civilities or
signs of recognition. When the peasant had dressed
we set out.

Deserting the track almost immediately, we launched

THE GREEN SHAWL 109

into the deep snow across the open ground, making
directly for the forest. Progress was retarded by the
soft snowdrifts into which our feet sank as high as
the knees, and for the sake of the ladies we had to make
frequent halts. Winding in and out of the forest,
avoiding tracks and skirting open spaces, it seemed an
interminable time before we arrived anywhere near
the actual frontier line.

Mrs. Marsh and the French lady patched up a
chatting acquaintance, and during one of our halts,
while the girls were lying outstretched on the snow,
I asked her if the French lady had told her who our
companions were. But the French lady, it appeared,
would not say, until we had actually crossed the
frontier.

I was astonished at the manner in which Mrs. Marsh
stood the strain of our night adventure. She had
been in prison nearly a month, living on the scanty and
atrocious prison food, subjected to long, nerve-racking
and searching cross-examinations, yet she bore up
better than any of the other females in our party, and
after rest-halts was always the first to be ready to
restart. There were ditches to cross and narrow,
rickety bridges to be traversed. Once our guide,
laden with parcels, suddenly vanished, sinking com-
pletely into an invisible dyke which had filled with
drifted snow. He scrambled up the other side all
wet from the water into which he had plunged through
the thin ice. The snow was so soft that we could
find no foothold from which to jump, and it looked as
if there were no means of crossing except as our poor
guide had done, until the idea occurred to me that if
I sprawled on my stomach the snowdrift might not
collapse under my weight. So, planting my feet as
deeply as I could, I threw myself across, digging with

110 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

my hands into the other side till I got a grip, and thus
forming a bridge. Mrs. Marsh walked tentatively
across my back, the drift still held, the others followed.
I wriggled over on my stomach, and we all got over
dry.

At last we arrived at a dyke about eight or ten
feet broad, filled with water and only partially frozen
over. A square white-and-black post on its bank
showed that we were at the frontier. " The outposts
are a mile away on either hand," whispered our
peasant-guide. " We must get across as quickly as
possible."

The dyke lay across a clearing in the forest. We
walked along it, looking wistfully at the other bank
ten feet away, and searching for the bridge our guide
said should be somewhere here. All at once a black
figure emerged from the trees a hundred yards behind
us. We stood stock-still, expecting others to appear,
and ready, if attacked, to jump into the dyke and reach
the other bank at all costs. Our guide was the most
terrified of the party, but the black figure turned out
to be only a peasant acquaintance of his from another
village, who told us there was a bridge at the other
end of the clearing.

The " bridge " we found to be a rickety plank, ice-
covered and slippery, that threatened to give way as
each one of us stepped on to it. One by one we
crossed it, expecting it every moment to collapse,
till at last we stood in a little group on the farther side.

" This is Finland," observed our guide, laconically,
66 that is the last you will see of Sovdepia" He used
an ironical popular term for Soviet Russia constructed
from the first syllables of the words Soviets of Deputies.

The moment they set foot on Finnish soil the two
girls crossed themselves devoutly and fell on their

THE GREEN SHAWL 111

knees. Then we moved up to a fallen tree-trunk some
distance away and sat down to eat sandwiches.

" It's all right for you," the peasant went on, sud-
denly beginning to talk. " You're out of it, but
I've got to go back." He had scarcely said a word
the whole time, but once out of Russia, even though
" Sovdepia " was but a few yards distant, he felt he
could say what he liked. And he did. But most of
the party paid but little attention to his complaints
against the hated " Kommuna" That was now all
behind.

It was easy work from thence onward. There
was another long walk through deep snow, but we
could lie down as often as we pleased without fear of
discovery by Red patrols. We should only have to
report to the nearest Finnish authorities and ask
for an escort until we were identified. We all talked
freely now — no longer in nervous whispers — and every-
one had some joke to tell that made everybody else
laugh. At one of our halts Mrs. Marsh whispered in
my ear, " They are the daughters of the Grand Duke
Paul Alexandrovitch, the Tsar's uncle, who was
imprisoned the other day."

The girls were his daughters by a morganatic mar-
riage. I thought little of them at the time, except
that they were both very pretty and very tastefully
dressed in their sporting costumes. But I was
reminded of them a few weeks later when I was back in
Petrograd. Without trial, their father was shot one
night in the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul, and
his body, together with other near relatives of the
murdered Tsar, was thrown into a common and
unmarked grave.

The incident did not impress me as it did some, for
in the revolutionary tornado those of high estate pass

112 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

like chaff before the wind. I could not but feel more
for the hundreds less known and less fortunate who
were unable to flee and escape the cruel scythe of
revolution. Still, I was glad the young girls I had
travelled with were no longer in the place called
Sovdepia. How, I wondered, would they learn of the
grim tragedy of the gloomy fortress ? Who would
tell them ? To whom would fall the bitter lot to say :
" Your father was shot for bearing the name he bore —
shot, not in fair fight, but like a dog, by a gang of
Letts and Chinese hirelings, and his body lies none
knows where " ? And I was glad it was not I.

CHAPTER IV

MESHES

" WHY, yes, Maria ! " I exclaimed, " the way Mrs.
Marsh bore up was just wonderful to see ! Twelve
miles in deep snow, heavy marching through thickets
and scrub, over ditches and dykes, stumps and pit-
falls, with never a word of complaint, as though it
were a picnic ! You'd never have dreamt she was
just out of prison."

" Yes, of course," said Maria, proudly, " that would
be just like her. And where is she now, Ivan Hitch ? ':

" On the way to England, I guess."

I was back again in Red Petrograd after a brief
stay in Finland. That little country was supposed
to be the headquarters of the Russian counter-
revolution, which meant that everyone who had a plan
to overthrow the Bolsheviks (and there were almost
as many plans as there were patriots) conspired with
as much noise as possible to push it through to the
detriment of everybody else's. So tongues wagged
fast and viciously, and any old cock-and-bull story
about anybody else was readily believed, circulated,
and shouted abroad. You got it published if you
could, and if you couldn't (the papers, after all, had
to draw the line somewhere), then you printed it
yourself in the form of a libellous pamphlet. I felt
a good deal safer in Petrograd, where I was thrown
entirely on my own resources, than in Helsingfors,

I 113

114 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

where the appearance of a stranger in a cafe or
restaurant in almost anybody's company was suffi-
cient to set the puppets of a rival faction in commotion,
like an ant-nest when a stone is dropped on it.

So I hid, stayed at a room in a private house, bought
my own food or frequented insignificant restaurants,
and was glad when I was given some money for
expenses and could return to my friends Maria,
Stepanovna, the Journalist, and others in Petrograd.

" How did you get back here, Ivan Hitch? "

" Same old way, Maria. Black night. Frozen
river. Deep snow. Everything around— bushes,
trees, meadows— still and grey-blue in the starlight.
Finnish patrols kept guard as before — lent me a white
sheet, too, to wrap myself up in. Sort of cloak of
invisibility, like in the fairy tales. So while the
Finns watched through the bushes, I shuffled across
the river, looking like Caesar's ghost."

Maria was fascinated. " And did nobody see
you?"

" Nobody, Maria. To make a good story I should
have knocked at the door of the Red patrol and
announced myself as the spirit of His Late Imperial
Majesty, returned to wreak vengeance, shouldn't I?
But I didn't. Instead of that I threw away the
sheet and took a ticket to Petrograd. Very prosaic,
wasn't it ? I'll have some more tea, please."

I found a new atmosphere developing in the city
which is proudly entitled the " Metropolis of the
World Revolution." Simultaneously with the increas-
ing shortage of food and fuel and the growing embitter-
ment of the masses, new tendencies were observable
on the part of the ruling Communist Party. Roughly,
these tendencies might be classed as political or
administrative, social, and militarist.

MESHES 115

Politically, the Communist Party was being driven
in view of popular discontent to tighten its control
by every means on all branches of administrative
activity in the country. Thus the people's co-opera-
tive societies and trade unions were gradually being
deprived of their liberties and independence, and the
" boss " system under Communist bosses was being
introduced. At the same time elections had to be
strictly " controlled," that is, manipulated in such a
way that only Communists got elected.

As an off-set to this, it was evident the Communists
were beginning to realize that political " soundness 5:
(that is, public confession of the Communist creed)
was a bad substitute for administrative ability. The
premium on ignorance was being replaced by a pre-
mium on intelligence and training, and bourgeois
" specialists " of every calling, subject to rigid Com-
munist control, were being encouraged to resume
their avocations or accept posts with remunerative
pay under the Soviet Government. Only two con-
ditions were required, namely, that the individual
renounce all claim to former property and all partici-
pation in politics. These overtures were made par-
ticularly to members of the liberal professions, doctors,
nurses, matrons, teachers, actors, and artists, but
also to industrial and commercial experts, and even
landlords who were trained agriculturists. Thus
was established a compromise with the bourgeoisie.

No people in the world are so capable of heroic and
self-sacrificing labour for purely altruistic motives
as a certain type of Russian. I remember in the
summer of 1918, when the persecution of the intel-
ligentsia was at its height, drawing attention in an
official report to the remarkable fact of the large
number of educated Russians who had heroically

116 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

stuck to their posts and were struggling in the face
of adversity to save at least something from the general
wreck. Such individuals might be found at times
even within the ranks of " the party," but they
cared little for the silly politics of Bolshevism and
nothing whatever for the world revolution. Credit
is due to the Communists at least to this extent, that
they realized ultimately the value of such service
to humanity, and, when they discovered it, encouraged
it, especially if the credit for it accrued to themselves.
The work done by heroic individuals of this type
served largely to counterbalance the psychological
effect of ever-increasing political and industrial slavery,
and it has therefore been denounced as " treacherous "
by some counter-revolutionary emigres, and especially
by those in whose eyes the alleviation of the bitter
lot of the Russian people was a minor detail compared
with the restoration of themselves to power.

The third growing tendency, the militarist, was the
most interesting, and, incidentally, to me the most
embarrassing. The stimulus to build a mighty Red
army for world-revolutionary purposes was accen-
tuated by the pressing need of mobilizing forces to
beat off the counter-revolutionary, or " White," armies
gathering on the outskirts of Russia, particularly in
the south and east. The call for volunteers was
a complete failure from the start, except in so far as
people joined the Red army with the object of getting
bigger rations until being sent to the front, and then
deserting at the first opportunity. So 'mobilization
orders increased in frequency and stringency and
until I got some settled occupation I had to invent
expedients to keep my passport papers up to date.

My friends, the Finnish patrols, had furnished me
with a renewed document better worded than the

MESHES 117

last and with a later date, so I left the old one in Fin-
land and now keep it as a treasured relic. As a pre-
cautionary measure I changed my name to Joseph
Krylenko. But the time was coming when even
those employees of the Extraordinary Commission
who were not indispensable might be subject to
mobilization. The Tsarist police agents, of course,
and Chinese and other foreign hirelings, who eaves-
dropped and spied in the factories and public places,
were indispensable, but the staff of clerical employees,
one of whom I purported to be, might be cut down.
So I had somehow to get a document showing I was
exempt from military service.

It was Zorinsky who helped me out. I called him
up the day after my return, eager to have news of
Melnikoff. He asked me to come round to dinner
and I deliberated with myself whether, having told
him I expected to go to Moscow, I should let him
know I had been to Finland. I decided to avoid the
subject and say nothing at all.

Zorinsky greeted me warmly. So did his wife.
As we seated ourselves at the dinner-table I noticed
there was still no lack of good food, though Elena
Ivanovna, of course, complained.

" Your health, Pavel Ivanitch," exclaimed Zorinsky
as usual ; " glad to see you back. How are things
over there ? "

" Over where? " I queried.

" Why, in Finland, of course."

So he knew already ! It was a good thing for me
that I had devoted a deal of thought to the enigmatical
personality of my companion. I could not make
him out. Personally, I disliked him intensely, yet
he had already been of considerable service and in
any case I needed his assistance to effect Melnikoffs

118 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

release. On one occasion he had mentioned, in passing,
that he knew Melnikoff's friend Ivan Sergeievitch,
so it had been my intention to question the latter on
the subject while in Finland, but he was away and I
had seen no one else to ask. The upshot of my deliber-
ations was that I resolved to cultivate Zorinsky's
acquaintance for my own ends, but until I knew him
better never to betray any true feelings of surprise,
fear, or satisfaction.

Disconcerted, therefore, as I was by his knowledge
of my movements, I managed to divert my undeniable
confusion into an expression of disgust.

" Rotten," I replied with a good deal of emphasis,
and, incidentally, of truth. " Absolutely rotten. If
people here think Finland is going to do anything
against the Bolsheviks they are mistaken. I never
in my life saw such a mess-up of factions and feuds."

" But is there plenty to eat there? " put in Elena
Ivanovna, this being the sole subject that interested her.

" Oh, yes, there is plenty to eat," and to her delight
and envy I detailed a comprehensive list of delicacies
unobtainable in Russia, even by the theatrical world.

" It is a pity you did not let me put you across the
bridge at Bielo'ostrof," observed Zorinsky, referring
to his offer to assist me in getting across the frontier.

" Oh, it was all right," I said. " I had to leave at a
moment's notice. It was a long and difficult walk,
but not unpleasant."

" I could have put you across quite simply," he said,
" —both of you."

" Who, 6 both of us ' ? "

" Why, you and Mrs. Marsh, of course."

Phew ! So he knew that, too !

" You seem to know a lot of things," I remarked,
as casually as I could.

MESHES 119

"It is my hobby," he replied, with his crooked,
cynical smile. " You are to be congratulated, I must
say, on Mrs. Marsh's escape. It was, I believe, very
neatly executed. You didn't do it yourself, I
suppose ? ':

" No," I said, " and, to tell the truth, I have no idea
how it was done." I was prepared to swear by all
the gods that I knew nothing of the affair.

" Nor have they any idea at No. 2 Gordhovaya" he
said. " At least, so I am told." He appeared not to
attach importance to the matter. " By the way," he
continued a moment later, " I want to warn you
against a fellow I have heard Marsh was in touch with.
Alexei — Alexei — what's his name ? — Alexei Fomitch
something-or-other — I've forgotten the surname."

The Policeman !

" Ever met him ? "

" Never heard of him," I said, indifferently.

" Look out if you do," said Zorinsky, "he is a
German spy."

" Any idea where he lives ? " I inquired, in the same
tone.

" No ; he is registered under a pseudonym, of course.
But he doesn't interest me. I chanced to hear of him
the other day and thought I would caution you."

Was it mere coincidence that Zorinsky mentioned
the Policeman ? I resolved to venture a query.

" Any connection between Mrs. Marsh and this-—
er— German spy? " I asked, casually.

" Not that I know of." For a moment a transitory
flash appeared in his eyes. " You really think Mrs.
Marsh was ignorant of how she escaped ? " he added.

" I am positive. She hadn't the faintest notion."

Zorinsky was thoughtful. We changed the subject,
but after a while he approached it again.

120 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

" It is impertinent of me to ask questions," he said,
courteously, " but I cannot help being abstractly
interested in your chivalrous rescue of Mrs. Marsh. I
scarcely expect you to answer, but I should, indeed,
be interested to know how you learned she was free."

" Why, very simply," I replied. " I met her quite
by chance at a friend's house and offered to escort her
across the frontier."

Zorinsky collapsed and the subject was not men-
tioned again. Though it was clear he had somehow
established a connection in his mind between the
Policeman's name and that of Mrs. Marsh, my relief
was intense to find him now on the wrong tack and
apparently indifferent to the subject.

As on the occasion of my first visit to this interesting
personage, I became so engrossed in subjects he intro-
duced that I completely forgot Melnikoff, although
the latter had been uppermost in my thoughts since I
successfully landed Mrs. Marsh in Finland. Nor did
the subject recur to mind until Zorinsky himself
broached it.

" Well, I have lots of news for you," he said as we
moved into the drawing-room for coffee. " In the first
place, Vera Alexandrovna's cafe is rounded up and she's
under lock and key."

He imparted this information in an indifferent tone

" Are you not sorry for Vera Alexandrovna ? " I
said.

" Sorry ? Why should one be ? She was a nice
girl, but foolish to keep a place like that, with all those
stupid old fogeys babbling aloud like chatterboxes.
It was bound to be found out."

I recalled that this was exactly what I had thought
about the place myself.

" What induced you to frequent it ? " I asked.

MESHES 121

" Oh, just for company," he replied. " Sometimes
one found someone to talk to. Lucky I was not
there. The Bolsheviks got quite a haul, I am told,
something like twenty people. I just happened to
miss, and should have walked right into the trap
next day had I not chanced to find out just in time."

My misgivings, then, regarding Vera's secret cafe
had been correct, and I was thankful I had fought shy
of the place after my one visit. But I felt very sorry
for poor Vera Alexandrovna. I was still thinking
of her when Zorinsky thrust a big blue sheet of oil
paper into my hands.

" What do you think of that ? " he asked.

The paper was a pen-sketch of the Finnish Gulf, but
for some time I could make neither head nor tail
of the geometrical designs which covered it. Only
when I read in the corner the words Fortress of Cron-
stadt, Distribution of Mines, did I realize what the
map really was.

" Plan of the minefields around Cronstadt and in
the Finnish Gulf," explained Zorinsky. The mines
lay in inner and outer fields and the course was shown
which a vessel would have to take to pass through
safely. The plan proved subsequently to be quite
correct.

" How did you get hold of it ? " I asked, interested
and amused.

" Does it matter ? " he said. " There is generally a
way to do these things. That is the original. If you
would like to make a copy of it, you must do so to-
night. It must be returned to its locked drawer in the
Admiralty not later than half-past nine to-morrow
morning."

A few days later I secured through my regular
Admiralty connections, whom I met at the Journalist's,

122 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

confirmation of this distribution of mines. They
could not procure me the map, but they gave a list
of the latitudes and longitudes, which tallied precisely
with those shown on Zorinsky's plan.

While I was still examining the scheme of minefields
my companion produced two further papers and asked
me to glance at them. I found them to be official
certificates of exemption from military service on the
ground of heart trouble, filled up with details, date
of examination (two days previously), signatures of
the officiating doctor, who was known to me by name,
the doctor's assistant, and the proxy of the controlling
commissar. One was filled out in the name of Zorin-
sky. The other was complete — except for the name
of the holder ! A close examination and comparison
of the signatures convinced me they were genuine.
This was exactly the certificate I so much needed to
avoid mobilization and I began to think Zorinsky a
genius — an evil genius, perhaps, but still a genius !

" One for each of us," he observed, laconically.
66 The doctor is a good friend of mine. I needed one
for myself, so I thought I might as well get one for you,
too. At the end of the day the doctor told the com-
missar's assistant he had promised to examine two
individuals delayed by business half an hour later.
There was no need for the official to wait, he said ; if
he did not mind putting his signature to the empty
paper, he assured him it would be all right. He knew
exactly what was the trouble with the two fellows;
they were genuine cases, but their names had slipped
his memory. Of course, the commissar's assistant
might wait if he chose, but he assured him it was
unnecessary. So the commissar's assistant signed the
papers and departed. Shortly after, the doctor's
assistant did the same. The doctor waited three-

MESHES 123

quarters of an hour for his two cases. They did not
arrive, and here are the exemption certificates. Will
you fill in your name at once ? "

What ? My name ! I suddenly recollected that I
had never told Zorinsky what surname I was living
under, nor shown him my papers, nor initiated him
into any kind of personal confidence whatsoever. Nor
had my reticence been accidental. At every house I
frequented I was known by a different Christian name
and patronymic (the Russian mode of address), and
I felt intensely reluctant to disclose my assumed
surname or show the passport in my possession.

The situation was one of great delicacy, however.
Could I decently refuse to inscribe my name in
Zorinsky's presence after the various favours he had
shown me and the assistance he was lending me—
especially by procuring me the very exemption cer-
tificate I so badly needed? Clearly it would be an
offence. On the other hand, I could not invent another
name and thus lose the document, since it would always
have to be shown together with a regular passport.
To gain time for reflection I picked up the certificate
to examine it again.

The longer I thought the clearer I realized that,
genuine though the certificate undoubtedly was, the
plot had been laid deliberately to make me disclose
the name under which I was living ! Had it been the
Journalist, or even the Policeman, I should not have
hesitated, certainly not have winced as I did now.
But it was Zorinsky, the clever, cynical, and mys-
terious Zorinsky, for whom I suddenly conceived,
as I cast a sidelong glance at him, a most intense and
overpowering repugnance.

Zorinsky caught my sidelong glance. He was lolling
in a rocking-chair, with a bland expression on his mis-

124 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

formed face as he swung forward and backward, intent
on his nails. He looked up, and as our eyes met for
the merest instant I saw he had not failed to note my
hesitation.

I dropped into the desk-chair and seized a pen.

" Certainly," I said, " I will inscribe my name at
once. This is, indeed, a godsend."

Zorinsky rose and stood at my side. " You must
imitate the writing," he said. " I am sorry I am not
a draftsman to assist you."

I substituted a pencil for the pen and began to draw
my name in outline, copying letters from the hand-
writing on the certificate. I rapidly detected the
essentials of the handwriting, and Zorinsky applauded
admiringly as I traced the words— Joseph Krylenko.
When they were done I finished them off in ink and
laid down the pen, very satisfied.

" Occupation? " queried my companion, as quietly
as if he were asking the hour.

Occupation ! A revolver- shot at my ear could not
have startled me more than this simple but completely
unexpected query ! The two blank lines I took to be
left for the name only, but, looking closer, I saw that
the second was, indeed, intended for the holder's
business or occupation. The word zaniatia (occupa-
tion) was not printed in full, but abbreviated — zan.,
while these three letters were concealed by the scrawl-
ing handwriting of the line below, denoting the age
" thirty," written out in full.

I managed somehow not to jump out of my seat.
" Is it essential? " I asked. " I have no occupation."

" Then you must invent one," he replied. " You
must have some sort of passport with you. What
do you show the guards in the street? Copy what-
ever you have from that."

MESHES 125

Cornered ! I had put my foot in it nicely.
Zorinsky was inquisitive for some reason or other to
learn how I was living and under what name, and had
succeeded effectually in discovering part at least of
what he wanted to know. There was nothing for it.
I reluctantly drew my passport of the Extraordinary
Commission from my pocket in order that I might
copy the exact wording.

" May I see ? " asked my companion, picking up the
paper. I scrutinized his face as he slowly perused it.
An amused smile flickered round his crooked mouth,
one end of which jutted up into his cheek. " A very
nice passport indeed," he said, finally, looking with
peculiar care at the signatures. " It will be a long
time before you land in the cells of No. 2 Gorohovaya
if you continue like this."

He turned the paper over. Fortunately the regula-
tion had not yet been published rendering all " docu-
ments of identification " invalid unless stamped by
one's house committee, showing the full address.
So there was nothing on the back.

" You are a pupil of Melnikoff, that is clear," he
said, laying the paper down on the desk. " By the
way, I have something to tell you about Melnikoff.
But finish your writing first."

I soon inscribed my occupation of clerk in an office
of the Extraordinary Commission, adding also " six "
to the age to conform with my other papers. As I
traced the letters I tried to sum up the situation.
Melnikoff, I hoped, would now soon be free, but mis-
givings began to arise regarding my own position,
which I had a disquieting suspicion had in some way
become jeopardized as a result of the disclosures I
had had to make that evening to Zorinsky.

When I had finished I folded the exemption

126 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

certificate and put it with my passport in my
pocket.

" Well, what is the news of Melnikoff ? " I said.

Zorinsky was engrossed in Pravda, the official Press
organ of the Communist Party. " I beg your pardon ?
Oh, yes— Melnikoff. I have no doubt he will be
released, but the investigator wants the whole 60,000
roubles first."

" That is strange," I observed, surprised. " You
told me he would only want the second half after
Melnikoff 's release."

" True. But I suppose now he fears he won't have
time to get it, since he also will have to quit."

" And meanwhile what guarantee have I — have
we— that the investigator will fulfil his pledge? ':

Zorinsky looked indifferently over the top of his
newspaper.

"Guarantee? None," he replied, in his usual
laconic manner.

" Then why the devil should I throw away another
30,000 roubles on the off-chance ? "

" You needn't if you don't want to," he put in,
in the same tone.

"Are you not interested in the subject? " I said,
secretly indignant at his manner.

" Of course I am. But what is the use of getting
on one's hind-legs about it ? The investigator wants
his money in advance. Without it, he will certainly
risk nothing. With it, he may, and there's an end of
it. If I were you I would pay up, if you want Mel-
nikoff let out. What is the good of losing your first
30,000 for nothing? You won't get that back,
anyway."

I thought for a moment. It seemed to me highly
improbable that a rascal investigator, having got

MESHES 127

his money, would deliberately elect to put his neck
in a noose to save someone he didn't care two pins
about. Was there no other means of effecting the
escape? I thought of the Policeman. But with
inquiries being made along one line, inquiries along
a second would doubtless be detected by the first,
with all sorts of undesirable complications and
discoveries. An idea occurred to me.

" Can we not threaten the life of the investigator
if he plays false? " I suggested.

Zorinsky considered. " You mean hire someone
to shoot him ? That would cost a lot of money and
we should be in the hands of our hired assassin as
much as we are now in those of our investigator,
while if he were shot we should lose the last chance of
saving Melnikoff. Besides, the day after we threaten
the investigator's life he will decamp with the first
thirty thousand in his pocket. Pay up, Pavel
Ivanitch, pay up and take the chance — that's my
advice."

Zorinsky picked up his paper and went on
reading.

What should I do? Faint though the chance
seemed, I resolved to take it, as it was the only one.
I told Zorinsky I would bring him the money on the
morrow.

" All right," he said, adding thoughtfully, as he
laid aside the newspaper. " By the way, I think you
were perhaps right about threatening the investigator's
life. Yes. It is not a bad idea. He need not know
we know we are really powerless. We will tell him
he is being tracked and cannot escape us. I will
see what can be done about it. You are right, after
all, Pavel Ivanitch."

Satisfied at having made this suggestion, I set

128 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

about to copy the map of the minefields and then
retired for the night.

Not to sleep, however. For hours I paced up and
down the soft carpet, recalling every word of the
evening's conversation, and trying to invent a means
of making myself again independent of Zorinsky.

Would Melnikoff be released? The prospects
seemed suddenly to have diminished. Meanwhile,
Zorinsky knew my name, and might, for all I knew,
out of sheer curiosity, be designing to discover my
haunts and acquaintances. I recalled poignantly
how I had been cornered that evening and forced to
show him my passport.

With this train of thought I took my newly pro-
cured exemption certificate from my pocket and
examined it again. Yes, it certainly was a treasure.
" Incurable heart trouble " — that meant permanent
exemption. With this and my passport, I considered,
I might with comparative safety even register myself
and take regular rooms somewhere on the outskirts
of the town. However, I resolved I would not do that
as long as I could conveniently live in the centre of
the city, moving about from house to house.

The only thing I did not like about my new " docu-
ment " was its patent newness. I have never yet
seen anybody keep tidy " documents " in Russia, the
normal condition of a passport being the verge of
dissolution. There was no need to reduce my certifi-
cate to that state at once, since it was only two days
old, but I decided that I would at least fold and crumple
it as much as my passport, which was only five days
old. I took the paper and, folding it tightly in four,
pressed the creases firmly between finger and thumb.
Then, laying it on the table, I squeezed the folds under
my thumb-nail, drawing the paper backward and

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED

MESHES 129

forward. Finally, the creases looking no longer new,
I began to ruffle the edges.

And then a miracle occurred !

You know, of course, the conundrum : " Why
is paper money preferable to coin?" — the answer
being, " Because when you put it in your pocket you
double it, and when you take it out you find it in
creases." Well, that is what literally did occur with
my exemption certificate ! While holding it in my
hands and ruffling the edges, the paper all at once
appeared to move of itself, and, rather like protozoa
propagating its species, most suddenly and unexpec-
tedly divided, revealing to my astonished eyes not
one exemption certificate — but two !

Two of the printed sheets had by some means
become so closely stuck together that it was only
when the edges were ruffled that they fell apart, and
neither the doctor nor Zorinsky had noted it. Here
was the means of eluding Zorinsky by filling in another
paper ! How shall I describe my joy at the unlooked-
for discovery ! The nervous reaction was so intense
that, much to my own amusement, I found tears
streaming down my cheeks. I laughed and felt like
the Count of Monte Cristo unearthing his treasure —
until, sobering down a little, I recollected that the
blank form was quite useless until I had another
passport to back it up.

That night I thrashed out my position thoroughly
and determined on a line of action. Zorinsky,
I reflected, was a creature whom in ordinary life I
should have been inclined to shun like the pest. I
record here only those incidents and conversations
which bear on my story, but when not discussing
" business " he lavished a good deal of gratuitous
information about his private life, particularly of

130 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

regimental days, which was revolting. But in the
abnormal circumstances in which I lived, to " cut "
with anybody with whom I had once formed a close
association was very difficult, and in Zorinsky's case
doubly so. Suppose he saw me in the street after-
ward, or heard of me through any of his numerous
connections ? Pursuing his " hobby ': of contre-
espionnage he would surely not fail to follow the move-
ments of a star of the first magnitude like myself.
There was no course open but to remain on good terms
and profit to the full by the information I obtained
from him and the people I occasionally met at his
house — information which proved to be invariably
correct. But he must learn nothing of my other
movements, and in this respect I felt the newly dis-
covered blank exemption form would surely be of
service. I had only to procure another passport
from somewhere or other.

What was Zorinsky's real attitude toward Melnikoff,
I wondered ? How well had they known each other ?
If only I had some means of checking— but I knew none
of Melnikoff' s connections in Russia. He had lived at
a hospital. He had spoken of a doctor friend. I had
already twice seen the woman at the lodge to which
he had directed me. I thought hard for a moment.

Yes, good idea ! On the morrow I would resort once
more to Melnikoff' s hospital on The Islands, question
the woman again, and, if possible, seek an interview
with the doctor. Perhaps he could shed light on the
matter. Thus deciding, I threw myself dressed on the
bed and fell asleep.

CHAPTER V

MELNIKOFF

SOME three weeks later, on a cold Sunday morning
in January, I sat in the Doctor's study at his small flat
in one of the big houses at the end of the Kamenostrov-
sky Prospect. The news had just arrived that the
German Communist leaders, Karl Liebknecht and
Rosa Luxembourg, had been killed in Berlin, the
former in attempted flight, the latter mobbed by an
incensed crowd. Nobody in Russia had any idea who
these two people were, but their deaths caused con-
sternation in the Communist camp, for they had been
relied upon to pull off a Red revolution in Germany and
thus accelerate the wave of Bolshevism westward
across Europe.

Little known as Liebknecht and Luxembourg had
been outside Germany until the time of their death, in
the hierarchy of Bolshevist saints they were placed
second only to Karl Marx and Engels, the Moses and
Aaron of the Communist Party. Russians are noted
for their veneration of ikons, representing to them the
memory of saintly lives, but their religious devotion
is equalled by that of the Bolsheviks. Though he does
not cross himself, the true Bolshevik bows down in
spirit to the images of Marx and kindred revolution-
aries with an obsequiousness unexcelled by devotees
of the church. The difference in the two creeds lies
in this : that whereas the orthodox Christian venerates
saintly lives according to their degree of unworldli-
ness, individual goodness, and spiritual sanctity, the

131

132 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Bolsheviks revere their saints for the vehemence with
which they promoted the class war, fomented discon-
tent, and preached world-wide revolution.

To what extent humanity suffered as the result of
the decease of the two German Communists, I am
unable to judge, but their loss was regarded by the
revolutionary leaders as a catastrophe of the first
magnitude. The official Press had heavy headlines
about it, and those who read the papers asked one
another who the two individuals could have been.
Having studied the revolutionary movement to some
extent, I was better able to appreciate the mortifica-
tion of the ruling party, and was therefore interested
in the great public demonstration announced for that
day in honour of the dead.

My new friend, the Doctor, was both puzzled and
amused by my attitude.

" I can understand your being here as an intelli-
gence officer," he said. " After all, your Government
has to have someone to keep them informed, though
it must be unpleasant for you. But why you should
take it into your head to go rushing round to all the
silly meetings and demonstrations the way you do is
beyond me. And the stuff you read ! You have only
been here three or four times, but you have left a
train of papers and pamphlets enough to open a
propaganda department."

The Doctor, who I learned from the woman at the
lodge was Melnikoff's uncle, was a splendid fellow. As
a matter of fact, he had sided wholeheartedly with the
revolution in March, 1917, and held very radical views,
but he thought more than spoke about them. His
nephew, Melnikoff, on the contrary, together with a
considerable group of officers, had opposed the revolu-
tion from the outset, but the Doctor had not quarrelled

MELNIKOFF 133

with them, realizing one cardinal truth the Bolsheviks
appear to fail to grasp, namely, that the criterion
whereby men must ultimately be judged is not politics,
but character.

The Doctor had a young and very intelligent friend
named Shura, who had been a bosom friend of Melni-
koff's. Shura was a law student. He resembled the
Doctor in his radical sympathies but differed from
both him and Melnikoff in that he was given to
philosophizing and probing deeply beneath the
surface of things. Many were the discussions we had
together, when, some weeks later, I came to know
Shura well.

" Communist speeches," he used to say, " often
sound like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and
fury signifying nothing. But behind the interminable
jargon there lie both an impulse and an ideal. The
ideal is a proletarian millennium, but the impulse is not
love of the worker, but hatred of the bourgeois. The
Bolshevik believes that if a perfect proletarian state be
forcibly established by destroying the bourgeoisie, the
perfect proletarian citizen will automatically result !
There will be no crime, no prisons, no need of govern-
ment. But by persecuting liberals and denying
freedom of thought the Bolsheviks are driving inde-
pendent thinkers into the camp of that very section
of society whose provocative conduct caused Bol-
shevism ! That is why I will fight to oust the Bol-
sheviks," said Shura, " they are impediments in the
path of the revolution."

It had been a strange interview when I first called
on the Doctor and announced myself as a friend of
Melnikoff' s. He sat bolt upright, smiling affably, and
obviously ready for every conceivable contingency.
The last thing in the world he was prepared to do was

134 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

to believe me. I told him all I could about his nephew
and he evidently thought I was very clever to know so
much. He was polite but categorical. No, sir, he
knew nothing whatsoever of his nephew's movements,
it was good of me to interest myself in his welfare, but
he himself had ceased to be interested. I might
possibly be an Englishman, as I said, but he had never
heard his nephew mention an Englishman. He had
no knowledge nor any desire for information as to his
nephew's past, present, or future, and if his nephew
had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities it was
his own fault. I could not but admire the placidity
and suavity with which he said all this, and cursed the
disguise which made me look so unlike what I wanted
the Doctor to see.

"Do you speak English? " I said at last, getting
exasperated.

I detected a twinge — ever so slight. " A little," he
replied.

" Then, damn it all, man," I exclaimed in English,
rising and striking my chest with my fist— rather
melodramatically, it must have seemed — " why the
devil can't you see I am an Englishman and not a
provocateur ? Melnikoff must have told you something
about me. Except for me he wouldn't have come
back here. Didn't he tell you how we stayed together
at Viborg, how he helped dress me, how he drank all
my whisky, how ?"

The Doctor all at once half rose from his seat. The
urbane, fixed smile that had not left his lips since the
beginning of the interview suddenly burst into a
half-laugh.

" Was it you who gave him the whisky ? " he broke
in, in Russian.

" Of course it was," I replied. " I "

MELNIKOFF 135

" That settles it," he said, excitedly. "Sit down;
I'll be back in a moment."

He left the room and walked quickly to the front
door. Half suspecting treachery, I peered out into
the hall and feeling for the small revolver I carried,
looked round to see if there were any way of escape
in an emergency. The Doctor opened the front door,
stepped on to the landing, looked carefully up and
down the stairs, and, returning, closed all the other
doors in the hall before re-entering the study. He
walked over to where I stood and looked me straight
in the face.

'Why on earth didn't you come before?' he
exclaimed, speaking in a low voice.

We rapidly became friends. Melnikoff s disappear-
ance had been a complete mystery to him, a mystery
which he had no means of solving. He had never
heard of Zorinsky, but names meant nothing. He
thought it strange that so high a price should be
demanded for Melnikoff, and thought I had been
unwise to give it all in advance under any circum-
stances; but he was none the less overjoyed to hear
of the prospects of his release.

After every visit to Zorinsky I called on the Doctor
to tell him the latest news. On this particular morn-
ing I had told him how the evening before, in a manner
which I disliked intensely, Zorinsky had shelved the
subject, giving evasive answers. We had passed the
middle of January already, yet apparently there was
no information whatever as to Melnikoff' s case.

" There is another thing, too, that disquiets me,
Doctor," I added. " Zorinsky shows undue curiosity
as to where I go when I am not at his house. He
happens to know the^passport on which I am living,

136 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

and examination of papers being so frequent, I wish
I could get another one. Have you any idea what
Melnikoff would do in such circumstances ? ':

The Doctor paced up and down the room.

"Would you mind telling me the name?" he
asked.

I showed him all my documents, including the
exemption certificate, explaining how I had received
them.

" Well, well, your Mr. Zorinsky certainly is a useful
friend to have, I must say," he observed, looking at
the certificate, and wagging his head knowingly. " By
the way, does he cost you much, if one may ask? ':

" He himself? Nothing at all, or very little. Be-
sides the sixty thousand for Melnikoff," I calculated,
" I have given him a few thousand for odd expenses
connected with the case ; I insist on paying for meals ;
I gave his wife an expensive bouquet at New Year
with which she was very pleased; then I have given
him money for the relief of Melnikoffs sister,
and-

"For Melnikoffs sister?" ejaculated the Doctor.
" But he hasn't got one ! "

Vot tibie nd ! No sister— then where did the money
go? I suddenly remembered Zorinsky had once
asked if I could give him English money. I told the
Doctor.

" Look out, my friend, look out," he said. " Your
friend is certainly a clever and a useful man. But I'm
afraid you will have to go on paying for Melnikoffs
non-existent sister. It would not do for him to know
you had found out. As for your passport, I will ask
Shura. By the way," he added, "it is twelve
o'clock. Will you not be late for your precious
demonstration? "

MELNIKOFF 137

I hurried to leave. " I will let you know how things
go," I said. " I will be back in two or three days."

The morning was a frosty one with a bitter wind.
No street- cars ran on Sundays and I walked into town
to the Palace Square, the great space in front of the
Winter Palace, famous for another January Sunday—
" Bloody Sunday !: —thirteen years before. Much had
been made in the Press of the present occasion, and it
appeared to be taken for granted that the proletariat
would surge to bear testimony to their grief for the
fallen German Communists. But round the base of a
red-bedizened tribune in the centre of the square there
clustered a mere handful of people and two rows of
soldiers, stamping to keep their feet warm. The
crowd consisted of the sturdy Communist veterans
who organized the demonstration and onlookers who
always join any throng to see whatever is going on.

As usual the proceedings started late, and the small
but patient crowd was beginning to dwindle before the
chief speakers arrived. A group of commonplace-look-
ing individuals, standing on the tribune, lounged and
smoked cigarettes, apparently not knowing exactly
what to do with themselves. I pushed myself forward
to be as near the speakers as possible.

To my surprise I noticed Dmitri, Stepanovna's
nephew, among the soldiers who stood blowing on
their hands and looking miserable. I moved a few
steps away, so that he might not see me. I was
afraid he would make some sign of recognition which
might lead to questions by his comrades, and I had
no idea who they might be. But I was greatly
amused at seeing him at a demonstration of this sort.

At length an automobile dashed up, and amid faint
cheers and to the accompaniment of bugles, Zinoviev,
president of the Petrograd Soviet, alighted and

138 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

mounted the tribune. Zinoviev, whose real name is
Apfelbaum, is a very important person in Bolshevist
Russia. He is considered one of the greatest orators
of the Communist Party, and now occupies the proud
position of president of the Third International, the
institution that is to effect the world revolution.

It is to his oratorical skill rather than any adminis-
trative ability that Zinoviev owes his prominence.
His rhetoric is of a peculiar order. He is unrivalled
in his appeal to the ignorant mob, but, judging by his
speeches, logic is unknown to him, and on no thinking
audience could he produce any impression beyond that
of wonderment at his uncommon command of lan-
guage, ready though cheap witticisms, and inexhaust-
ible fund of florid and vulgar invective. Zinoviev is,
in fact, the consummate gutter- demagogue. He is a
coward, shirked office in November, 1917, fearing the
instability of the Bolshevist coup, has since been chief
advocate of all the insaner aspects of Bolshevism,
and is always the first to lose his head and fly into a
panic when danger-clouds appear on any horizon.

Removing his hat, Zinoviev approached the rail, and
stood there in his rich fur coat until someone down
below gave a signal to cheer. Then he began to speak
in the following strain :

" Comrades ! Wherefore are we gathered here
to-day? What mean this tribune and this concourse
of people? Is it to celebrate a triumph of world
revolution, to hail another conquest over the vicious
ogre of Capitalism ? Alas, no ! To-day we mourn the
two greatest heroes of our age, murdered deliberately,
brutally, and in cold blood by blackguard capitalist
agents. The German Government, consisting of the
social-traitor Scheidemann and other supposed Social-
ists, the scum and dregs of humanity, have sold

MELNIKOFF 139

themselves like Judas Iscariot for thirty shekels of
silver to the German bourgeoisie, and at the command
of the capitalists ordered their paid hirelings foully to
murder the two chosen representatives of the German
workers and peasants ..." and so on.

I never listened to Zinoviev without recalling a
meeting in the summer of 1917 when he was the chief
speaker. He had just returned to Russia with a group
of other Bolshevist leaders (very few of whom were
present during the revolution) and was holding incen-
diary meetings in out-of-the-way places. He was thin
and slim and looked the typical Jewish student of any
Russian university. But after a year's fattening on
the Russian proletariat he had swelled not only
politically but physically, and his full, handsome
features and flowing bushy hair spoke of anything but
privation.

Contrary to custom, Zinoviev's speech was short.
It must have been cold, speaking in the chilly wind,
and in any case there were not many people to talk to.

The next speaker was more novel — Herr Otto Pertz,
president of the German Soviet of Petrograd. Why a
German Soviet continued to live and move and have its
being in Petrograd, or what its functions were, nobody
seemed to know. The comings and goings of unsere
deutsche Genossen appeared to be above criticism and
were always a mystery. Herr Otto Pertz was tall,
clean shaven, Germanly tidy, and could not speak
Russian.

" Genossen ! heute feiern wir " he began, and

proceeded to laud the memory of the fallen heroes and
to foretell the coming social revolution in Germany.
The dastardly tyrants of Berlin, insolently styling
themselves Socialists, would shortly be overthrown.
Kapitalismus, Imperialisms, in fact everything but

140 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Kommunismus, would be demolished. He had infor-
mation that within a week or two Spartacus (the
German Bolshevist group), with all Germany behind
it, would successfully seize power in Berlin and join
in a triumphant and indissoluble alliance with the
Russian Socialist Federative Soviet Republic.

As Otto Pertz commenced his oration a neatly
dressed little lady of about fifty, who stood at my side
near the foot of the tribune, looked up eagerly at the
speaker. Her eyes shone brightly and her breath
came quickly. Seeing I had noticed her she said
timidly, " Spricht er nicht gut ? Sagen Sie dock,
spricht er nicht gut ? "

To which I of course replied, " Sehr gut," and she
relapsed bashfully into admiration of Otto, murmuring
now and again, " Ach I es ist dock wahr, nicht ? " with
which sentiment also I would agree.

The crowd listened patiently, as the Russian crowd
always listens, whoever speaks, and on whatever sub-
ject. The soldiers shivered and wondered what the
speaker was talking about. His speech was not
translated.

But when Otto Pertz ceased there was a commotion
in the throng. For some moments I was at a loss
as to what was in progress, until at last a passage was
made and, borne on valiant Communist shoulders, a
guy, the special attraction of the day, was produced.
The effigy, made of pasteboard, represented a ferocious-
looking German with Kaiser-like moustachios, clothed
in evening dress, and bearing across its chest in large
letters on cardboard the name of the German Socialist,

SCHEIDEMANN.

At the same time an improvised gallows was thrust
over the balustrade of the tribune. Amid curses,

MELNIKOFF 141

jeers, and execrations, the moustachioed effigy was
raised aloft. Eager hands attached the dangling loop
and there it hung, most abject, most melancholy,
encased in evening dress, and black trousers with
hollow extremities flapping in the breeze.

The crowd awoke and tittered and even the soldiers
smiled. Dmitri, I could see, was laughing outright.
This was after all worth coming to see. Kerosene was
poured on the dangling Scheidemann and he was set
alight. There were laughter, howls, and fanfares.
Zinoviev, in tragic pose, with uplifted arm and pointed
finger, cried hoarsely, " Thus perish traitors ! ': The
bugles blew. The people, roused with delight, cheered
lustily. Only the wretched Scheidemann was indiffer-
ent to the interest he was arousing, as with a stony
glare on his cardboard face he soared aloft amid sparks
and ashes into eternity.

Crowd psychology, I mused as I walked away, has
been an important factor on all public occasions since
the revolution, but appreciated to the full only by the
Bolsheviks. Everyone who was in Russia in 1917 and
who attended political meetings when free speech be-
came a possibility remembers how a speaker would get
up and speak, loudly applauded by the whole audience ;
then another would rise and say the precise opposite,
rewarded with equally vociferous approbation; fol-
lowed again by a third who said something totally at
variance with the first two, and how the enthusiasm
would increase in proportion to the uncertainty as to
who was actually right. The crowds were just like
little children. Totally unaccustomed to free speech,
they appeared to imagine that anybody who spoke
must ipso facto be right. But just when the people,
after the Bolshevist coup d'etat, were beginning to
demand reason in public utterance and deeds instead

142 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of promises, down came a super-Tsarist Bolshevist
censorship like a huge candle-snuffer and clapping
itself on the flame of public criticism, snuffed it out
altogether.

Public demonstrations, however, were made an
important item in the curriculum of the Bolshevist
administration, and soon became as compulsory as
military service. I record the above one not because
of its intrinsic interest (it really had very little), but
because it was, I believe, one of the last occasions on
which it was left to the public to make the demonstra-
tion a success or not, and regiments were merely
" invited."

I made my way to Stepanovna's in the hope of
meeting Dmitri. He came in toward the close of the
afternoon, and I asked him if he had enjoyed the
demonstration.

" Too cold," he replied ; " they ought to have had it
on a warmer day."

" Did you come voluntarily ? "

" Why, yes." He pulled out of the spacious pocket
of his tunic a parcel wrapped up in newspaper, and
unwrapping it, disclosed a pound of bread. " We
were told we should get this if we came. It has just
been doled out."

Stepanovna's eyes opened wide. Deeply interested,
she asked when the next demonstration was going
to be.

" Why didn't more soldiers come, then? " I asked.

" Not enough bread, I suppose," said Dmitri. " We
have been getting it irregularly of late. But we have
a new commissar who is a good fellow. They say in
the regiment he gets everything for us first. He talks
to us decently, too. I am beginning to like him.
Perhaps he is not one like the rest."

MELNIKOFF 143

46 By the way, Dmitri," I said, " do you happen to
know who those people were for whom we demon-
strated to-day? "

From the depths of his crumb-filled pocket Dmitri
extracted a crumpled and soiled pamphlet. Holding
it to the light he slowly read out the title : " Who were
Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxembourg ? "

44 We were each given one yesterday," he explained,
44 after an agitator had made a long speech to us.
Nobody listened to the agitator — some Jew or other —
but the commissar gave me this. I read little now-
adays, but I think I will read it when I have time."

44 And the speakers and the guy? " I queried.

44 1 didn't notice the speakers. One of them spoke
not in our way — German, someone said. But the guy !
That was funny ! My, Stepanovna, you ought to have
seen it ! How it floated up into the air ! You would
have split your sides laughing. Who was it sup-
posed to represent, by the way? '

I explained how the revolution in Germany had
resulted in the downfall of the Kaiser and the forma-
tion of a radical Cabinet with a Socialist— Scheidemann
— at its head. Scheidemann was the guy to-day, I
said, for reasons which I presumed he would find
stated in 44 Who were Karl Liebknecht and Rosa
Luxembourg ? "

44 But if the Kaiser is out, why do our Bolsheviks
burn— what's his name ? "

44 Ah, but, Dmitri," I put in, " if you had understood
the German speaker to-day, you would have heard
him tell how there is shortly to be another revolution
in Germany like that which happened here in Novem-
ber, 1917, and they will set up a Soviet Government
like Lenin's."

As our conversation proceeded, Stepanovna and

144 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Varia stopped their work to listen, their interest grew
apace, and at last they hung on to every word as if
it were of profound significance. When I repeated
the substance of Otto Pertz's predictions, all three of
my companions were listening spellbound and with
mouths agape. There was a long pause, which at
length Stepanovna broke.

"Is it really possible," she exclaimed, slowly, and
apparently in utter bewilderment, " that the Germans
— are — such — fools ? "

" Evasive, Doctor, very evasive," I said, as we sat
over tea and a few dry biscuits the Doctor had
procured from somewhere. " Yesterday evening he
gave me some interesting information about industrial
developments, alteration of railway administration,
and changes in the Red fleet ; but the moment Melni-
koff is mentioned then it is, c Oh, Melnikoff ? in a day
or two I think we may know definitely,' or ' My
informant is out of town,' and so on."

" Perhaps there is a hitch somewhere," suggested
the Doctor. " I suppose there is nothing to do but
wait. By the way, you wanted a passport, didn't
you? How will that suit you? "

I have forgotten the precise wording of the paper he
handed me, for I had to destroy it later, but it was an
ordinary certificate of identification, in the name of
Alexander Vasilievitch Markovitch, aged 33, clerical
assistant at the head Postal-Telegraph Office. There
was no photograph attached, but in view of the strict
requirements regarding passports, which included their
frequent renewal (except in certain cases no passports
might be made out for more than two months), and the
difficulty of getting photographs, the latter were
dropping out of general use.

MELNIKOFF 145

" Shura procured it," the Doctor explained. " A
friend of his, by name Markov, arrived recently from
Moscow to work at the Telegraph Office. A week later
he heard his wife was seriously ill and got special
permission to return. A week in Petrograd was
enough for him anyway, for living is much better in
Moscow, so he doesn't intend to come back. Shura
asked him for his passport and after Markov had got
his railroad pass and paper showing he was authorized
to return to Moscow, he gave it him. If they ask for
it in Moscow, he will say he has lost it. He would have
to have a new one anyway, since a Petrograd one is
useless there. My typewriter at the hospital has the
same type as this, so we altered the date a little, added
6 itch ' to the name— and there you are, if you wish, a
ready-made postal official."

"What about clothing?" I said. " I don't look
much like a postal official."

" There is something more important than that.
What about military service ? ?:

From my pocket I produced a new pamphlet on the
soviet system. Opening a pocket of the uncut leaves
at a certain page, I drew forth my blank exemption
certificate and exhibited it to the Doctor.

" What are you, a magician ? " he asked admir-
ingly. " Or is this another gift from your friend Z. ? "

" The certificates were born twins," I said. " Zorin-
sky was accoucheur to the first, I to the second."

In an hour I had filled in the blank exemption form
with all particulars relating to Alexander Vasilievitch
Markovitch. Tracing the signatures carefully, and
inserting a recent date, I managed to produce a docu-
ment indistinguishable as regards authenticity from
the original, and thus was possessed of two sets of
documents, one in the name of Krylenko for the benefit

146 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of Zorinsky, the other in that of Markovitch for
presentation in the streets and possible registration.

Considering once more the question of uniform I
recalled that at my own rooms where I had lived
for years I had left a variety of clothing when last
in Petrograd six or eight months previously. The
question was : How could I gain admittance to my
rooms, disguised as I was and with an assumed name ?
Furthermore, a telephone call having elicited no
response, I had no idea whether the housekeeper whom
I had left was still there, nor whether the apartment
had been raided, locked up, or occupied by workmen.
All these things I was curious to know, quite apart
from obtaining clothing.

I enlisted the services of Varia as scout. Varia was
the first person to whom I confided my English name,
and doing it with due solemnity, and with severe
cautionings that not even Stepanovna should be told,
I could see that the girl was impressed with my con-
fidence in her. Armed with a brief note to my house-
keeper purporting to be written by a fictitious friend
of mine, and warned to turn back unless everything
were precisely as I described, Varia set out on a voyage
of discovery.

She returned to impart the information that the front
door of the house being locked she had entered by the
yard, had encountered nobody on the backstairs, and
that in answer to persistent ringing a woman, whom I
recognized by the description as my housekeeper, had
opened the kitchen door on a short chain, and, peering
suspiciously through the chink, had at first vehemently
denied any acquaintance with any English people at
all. On perusing the note from my non-existent
friend, however, she admitted that an Englishman of
my name had formerly lived there, but she had the

MELNIKOFF 147

strictest injunctions from him to admit nobody to the
flat.

Pursuing my instructions, Varia informed the
housekeeper that my friend, Mr. Markovitch, had just
arrived from Moscow. He was busy to-day, she said,
and had sent her round to inquire after my affairs,
but would call himself at an early opportunity.

The one article of clothing which I frequently
changed and of which I had a diverse stock was
headgear. It is surprising how headdress can impart
character (or the lack of it) to one's appearance.
Donning my most bourgeois fur cap, polishing my
leather breeches and brushing my jacket, I proceeded
on the following day to my former home, entering by
the yard as Varia had done and ringing at the back
door. The house appeared deserted, for I saw no one
in the yard, nor heard any sounds of life. When, in
reply to persistent ringing, the door was opened on
the chain, I saw my housekeeper peering through the
chink just as Varia had described. My first impulse
was to laugh, it seemed so ridiculous to be standing on
one's own backstairs, pretending to be someone else,
and begging admittance to one's own rooms by the
back door.

I hadn't time to laugh, however. The moment my
housekeeper saw the apparition on the stairway she
closed the door again promptly and rebolted it, and it
was only after a great deal of additional knocking and
ringing that at last the door was once again timidly
opened just a tiny bit.

Greeting the woman courteously, I announced my-
self as Mr. Markovitch, close personal friend and school
companion of the Englishman who formerly had
occupied these rooms. My friend, I said, was now in
England and regretted the impossibility of returning

148 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

to Russia under present conditions. I had recently
received a letter from him, I declared, brought some-
how across the frontier, in which, sending his greetings
to Martha Timofeievna (the housekeeper), he had
requested me at the earliest opportunity to visit his
home and report on its condition. To reduce Martha
Timofeievna's suspicions, I assured her that before the
war I had been a frequent visitor to this flat, and gave
numerous data which left no doubt whatsoever in
her mind that I was at least well acquainted with the
arrangement of the rooms, and with the furniture and
pictures that had formerly been in them. I added, of
course, that on the last occasion when I had seen my
friend, he had spoken of his new housekeeper in terms
of the highest praise, and assured me again in his
letter that I should find her good-mannered, hospitable,
and obliging.

The upshot was that, though Martha Timofeievna
was at first categorical in her refusal to admit any one
to the flat, she ultimately agreed to do so if I could
show her the actual letter written by " Monsieur
Dukes," requesting permission for his friend to be
admitted.

I told her I would bring it to her that very after-
noon, and, highly satisfied with the result of the
interview, I retired at once to the nearest convenient
place, which happened to be the Journalist's, to
write it.

" Dear Sasha," I wrote in Russian, using the familiar
name for Alexander (my Christian name according to
my new papers), " I can scarcely hope you will ever

receive this, yet on the chance that you may etc.,"

— and I proceeded to give a good deal of imaginary
family news. Toward the end I said, " By the way,
when you are in Petrograd, please go to my flat and

MELNIKOFF 149

see Martha Timofeievna etc.," and I gave instruc-
tions as to what " Sasha " was to do, and permission
to take anything he needed. " I write in Russian," I
concluded, " so that in case of necessity you may show
this letter to M. T. She is a good woman and will do
everything for you. Give her my hearty greetings and
tell her I hope to return at the first opportunity. Write
if ever you can. Good-bye. Yours ever, Pavlusha."

I put the letter in an envelope, addressed it to
" Sasha Markovitch," sealed it up, tore it open again,
crumpled it, and put it in my pocket.

The same afternoon I presented myself once more
at my back door.

Martha Timofeievna's suspicions had evidently
already been considerably allayed, for she smiled
amiably even before perusing the letter I put into her
hand, and at once admitted me as far as the kitchen.
Here she laboriously read the letter through (being
from the Baltic provinces she spoke Russian badly and
read with difficulty), and, paying numerous compli-
ments to the author, who she hoped would soon return
because she didn't know what she was going to do
about the flat or how long she would be able to keep
on living there, she led me into the familiar rooms.

Everything was in a state of confusion. Many of
the pictures were torn down, furniture was smashed,
and in the middle of the floor of the dining-room lay
a heap of junk, consisting of books, papers, pictures,
furniture, and torn clothing. In broken Russian
Martha Timofeievna told me how first there had been
a search, and when she had said that an Englishman
had lived there the Reds had prodded and torn every-
thing with their bayonets. Then a family of working
people had taken possession, fortunately, however,
not expelling her from her room. But the flat had not

150 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

been to their liking, and, deserting it soon after, they
took a good many things with them and left every-
thing else upside down.

Between them, the Reds and the uninvited occu-
pants had left very little that could be of use to me.
I found no boots or overclothing, but among the litter I
discovered some underclothing of which I was glad.
I also found an old student hat, which was exactly
what I wanted for my postal uniform. I put it in
my pocket and, tying the other things in a parcel,
said I would send Varia for them next day.

While I was disentangling with my housekeeper's
aid the heap of stuff on the floor I came upon my own
photograph taken two or three years before. For the
first time I fully and clearly realized how complete was
my present disguise, how absolutely different I now
appeared in a beard, long hair, and glasses. I passed
the photo to Martha Timofeievna.

" That is a good likeness," I said. " He hasn't
altered one bit."

" Yes," she replied. " Was he not a nice man ? It
is dreadful that he had to go away. I wonder where
he is now and what he is doing? "

" I wonder," I repeated, diving again into the muck
on the floor. To save my life I could not have looked
at Martha Timofeievna at that moment and kept a
straight face.

Failing to obtain an overcoat from the remnant of
my belongings, I searched the markets and from a
destitute gentleman of aristocratic mien procured a
shabby black coat with a worn velvet collar. In this
and my student hat I was the " complete postal
official." I adopted this costume for daytime pur-
poses, but before every visit to Zorinsky I went to
46 No 5," where I kept what few belongings I possessed,

MELNIKOFF 151

and changed, visiting Zorinsky only in the attire in
which he was accustomed to see me.

As the end of January approached my suspicion that
Zorinsky would not secure Melnikoff s release grew.
Once or twice he had not even mentioned the subject,
talking energetically in his usual vivacious manner
about other things. He was as entertaining as ever, and
invariably imparted interesting political news, but if I
broached the subject of Melnikoff he shelved it at once.

So I resolved, in spite of risks, to see if I could obtain
through the Policeman information as to Melnikoff' s
case. I had not seen the Policeman since I had
returned from Finland, so I told him I had been
delayed in that country and had only just come back.
Without telling him who Melnikoff was, I imparted
to him the data regarding the latter 's arrest, and what
I had learned " through accidental channels " as to
his imprisonment. I did not let him know my con-
cern, lest he should be inclined purposely to give a
favourable report, but charged him to be strict and
accurate in his investigation, and, in the event of
failing to learn anything, not to fear to admit it.

About a week later, when I 'phoned to him, he said
" he had received an interesting letter on family
matters." It was with trepidation that I hurried to
his house, struggling to conceal my eager anticipation
as I mounted the stairs, followed by the gaze of the
leering Chinaman.

The little Policeman held a thin strip of paper in his
hand.

" Dmitri Dmitrievitch Melnikoff," he read. " Real
name Nicholas Nicholaievitch N ? '

" Yes," I said.

" He was shot between the 15th and 20th of
January," said the Policeman.

CHAPTER VI

STEPANOVNA

MEANWHILE, as time progressed, I made new
acquaintances at whose houses I occasionally put
up for a night. Over most of them I pass in silence.
I accepted their hospitality as a Russian emigrant
who was being searched for by the Bolsheviks, a
circumstance which in itself was a recommendation.
But if I felt I could trust people I did not hesitate
to reveal my nationality, my reception then being
more cordial still. I often reflected with satisfaction
that my mode of living resembled that of many
revolutionists, not only during the reign of Tsarism,
but also under the present regime. People of every
shade of opinion from Monarchist to Socialist-Revolu-
tionary dodged and evaded the police agents of the
Extraordinary Commission, endeavouring either to flee
from the country or to settle down unobserved under
new names in new positions.

One of my incidental hosts whom I particularly
remember, a friend of the Journalist and a school
inspector by profession, was full of enterprise and
enthusiasm for a scheme he propounded for including
gardening and such things in the regular school curri-
culum of his circuit. His plans were still regarded
with some mistrust by those in power, for his political
prejudices were known, but he none the less had hope
that the Communists would allow him to introduce
his innovations, which I believe he eventually did
successfully.

152

STEPANOVNA 153

The Journalist was promoted to the position of
dieloproizvoditel of his department, a post giving him a
negligible rise of salary, but in which practically all
official papers passed through his hands. At his own
initiative he used to abstract papers he thought would
be of interest to me, restoring them before their absence
could be discovered. Some of the things he showed
me were illuminating, others useless. But good,
bad, or indifferent, he always produced them with a sly
look and with his finger at the side of his nose, as if
the information they contained must be of the utmost
consequence.

I persuaded him to sell off some of his books as a
subsidiary means of subsistence, and we called a Jew
in, who haggled long and hard. The Journalist was
loth to do this, but I refused ever to give him more than
the cost of his fuel, over which also I exerted a control
of Bolshevist severity. He had no conception what-
ever of relative values, and attached though he was
to me I thought I sometimes detected in his eye a
look which said with unspeakable contempt : " You
miserly Englishman ! >:

I was unfortunate in losing Maria as a regular com-
panion and friend. She returned to Marsh's country
farm in the hope of saving at least something from
destruction, and visited town but rarely. In her
place there came to live at the empty flat " No. 5 ':
the younger of the two stable-boys, a dull but decent
youth who had not joined the looters. This boy did
his best no doubt to keep things in order, but tidi-
ness and cleanliness were not his peculiar weaknesses.
He could not understand why glasses or spoons
should be washed, or why even in an untenanted
flat tables and chairs should occasionally be dusted.
Once, the tea he had made me tasting unusually acrid,

154 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

I went into the kitchen to investigate the tea-pot. On
removing the lid I found it to be half full of dead
beetles.

Stepanovna continued to be a good friend. Dmitri's
regiment was removed to a town in the interior, and
Dmitri, reluctant though he was to leave the capital,
docilely followed, influenced largely by the new
regimental commissar who had succeeded in mak-
ing himself popular— a somewhat rare achievement
amongst commissars. Even Stepanovna admitted
this unusual circumstance, allowing that the com-
missar was a poriadotchny tcheloviek, i. e. a decent
person, " although he was a Communist," and she
thus acquiesced in Dmitri's departure.

It was in Stepanovna's company that I first wit-
nessed the extraordinary spectacle of an armed raid
by the Bolshevist authorities on a public market.
Running across her in the busy Siennaya Square one
morning I found she had been purchasing meat,
which was a rare luxury. She had an old black shawl
over her head and carried a bast basket on her arm.

"Where did you get the meat?" I asked. "I
will buy some too."

" Don't," she said, urgently. " In the crowd they
are whispering that there is going to be a raid."

" What sort of a raid ? "

" On the meat, I suppose. Yesterday and to-day
the peasants have been bringing it in and I have got
a little. I don't want to lose it. They say the Reds
are coming."

Free-trading being clearly opposed to the principles
of Communism, it was officially forbidden and
denounced as " speculation." But no amount of
restriction could suppress it, and the peasants brought
food in to the hungry townspeople despite all obstacles

STEPANOVNA 155

and sold it at their own prices. The only remedy
the authorities had for this " capitalist evil " was
armed force, and even that was ineffective.

The meat was being sold by the peasants in a big
glass-covered shed. One of these sheds was burnt
down in 1919, and the only object that remained
intact was an ikon in the corner. Thousands came
to see the ikon that had been " miraculously " pre-
served, but it was hastily taken away by the authori-
ties. The ikon had apparently been overlooked,
for it was the practice of the Bolsheviks to remove
all religious symbols from public places.

I moved toward the building to make my purchase,
but Stepanovna tugged me by the arm.

" Don't be mad," she exclaimed. " Don't you
realize, if there is a raid, they will arrest every-
body?"

She pulled me down to speak in my ear.

" And what about your . . ? I am sure . . . your
papers . . . are . . ."

" Of course they are," I laughed. " But you don't
expect a clown of a Red guard to see the difference,
do you? "

I made up my mind to get rid of Stepanovna and
come back later for some meat, but all at once a com-
motion arose in the crowd over the way and people
began running out of the shed. Round the corner,
from the side of the Ekaterina Canal, appeared a band
of soldiers in sheepskin caps and brown-grey tunics,
with fixed bayonets. The exits from the building were
quickly blocked. Fugitives fled in all directions, the
women shrieking and hugging their baskets and
bundles, and looking back as they ran to see if they
were pursued.

Stepanovna and I stood on a doorstep at the corner

156 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of the Zabalkansky Prospect, where we could see well,
and whence, if need be, we could also make good our
escape.

The market place was transformed in the twinkling
of an eye. A moment before it had been bristling with
life and the crowded street-cars had stopped to let
their passengers scramble laboriously out. But now
the whole square was suddenly as still as death, and,
but for a few onlookers who watched the scene from
a distance, the roadway was deserted.

From fifty to sixty soldiers filed slowly into the shed
and a few others, with rifles ready, hurried now and
again round the outside of the building. A fiendish
din arose with the entry of the soldiers. The shrieking,
howling, booing, cursing, and moaning sounded as if
hell itself had been let loose ! It was an uncanny con-
trast— the silent square, and the ghastly noise within
the shed !

Stepanovna muttered something, but the only word
I caught was " devils." Sacks and bundles were being
dragged out by the guards and hoisted on to trucks and
lorries. At one door people were let out one by one
after examination of their clothes and papers. The
women were set at liberty, but the men, except the old
and quite young boys, were marched off to the nearest
Commissariat.

" What does it all mean ? " I exclaimed, as we moved
off along the Zabalkansky Prospect.

" Mean, Ivan Pavlovitch ? Don't you see ? ' Let's
grab ! ' ' Down with free- trading ! ' ' Away with
speculators ! ' That is what they say. 6 Speculation '
they call it. I am a ' speculator,' too," she chuckled.
" Do you think I ever got any work from the labour
bureau, where I have been registered these three
months? Or Varia, either, though we both want

STEPANOVNA 157

jobs. The money Ivan Sergeievitch left us is running
out, but we must live somehow, mustn't we ? '

Stepanovna lowered her voice.

"So we have sold a sideboard. . . . Yes," she
chuckled, " we sold it to some people downstairs.
' Speculators,' too, I expect. They came up early
in the morning and took it away quietly, and our house
committee never heard anything about it ! ':

Stepanovna laughed outright. She thought it a
huge joke.

For all your furniture, you see, was supposed to be
registered and belonged not to yourself but to the
community. Superfluous furniture was to be con-
fiscated in favour of the working-man, but generally
went to decorate the rooms of members of the com-
mittee or groups of Communists in whose charge the
houses were placed. Sailor Communists seemed to
make the largest demands. " Good-morning," they
would say on entering your home. " Allow us, please,
to look around and see how much furniture you have."
Some things, they would tell you, were required by the
house committee. Or a new " worker " had taken
rooms downstairs. He was a " party man," that is,
he belonged to the Communist Party and was therefore
entitled to preference, and he required a bed, a couch,
and some easy-chairs.

It was useless to argue, as some people did and got
themselves into trouble by telling the " comrades "
what they thought of them. The wise and thoughtful
submitted, remembering that while many of these men
were out just to pocket as much as they could, there
were others who really believed they were thus dis-
tributing property in the interests of equality and
fraternity.

But the wily and clever would exclaim : " My dear

158 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

comrades, I am delighted ! Your comrade is a c party
man ' ? That is most interesting, for I am intending
to sign on myself. Only yesterday I put some fur-
niture by for you. As for this couch you ask for, it is
really indispensable, but in another room there is a
settee you can have. And that picture, of course,
I would willingly give you, only I assure you it is an
heirloom. Besides, it is a very bad painting, an artist
told me so last week. Would you not rather have this
one, which he said was really good? ?:

And you showed them any rotten old thing, prefer-
ably something big. Then you would offer them tea
and apologize for giving them nothing but crusts with
it. You explained you wished to be an " idealist "
Communist, and your scruples would not permit you
to purchase delicacies from " speculators."

Your visitors were not likely to linger long over your
crusts, but if you succeeded in impressing them with
your devotion to the Soviet regime they would be less in-
clined to molest a promising candidate for comradeship.

But Stepanovna possessed no such subtlety. She
was, on the contrary, unreasonably outspoken and I
wondered that she did not get into difficulties.

Stepanovna and Varia often used to go to the opera,
and when they came home they would discuss intelli-
gently and with enthusiasm the merits and demerits
of respective singers.

" I did not like the man who sang Lensky to-night,"
one of them would say. " He baa-ed like a sheep and
his acting was poor."

Or, " So-and-so's voice is really almost as good as
Chaliapin's, except in the lowest notes, but of course
Chaliapin's acting is much more powerful."

" Stepanovna," I once said, " used you to go to the
opera before the revolution ? "

STEPANOVNA 159

" Why, yes," she replied, " we used to go to the
Narodny Dom." The Narodny Dom was a big theatre
built for the people by the Tsar.

" But to the state theatres, the Marinsky opera or
ballet?"

" No, that was difficult."

" Well, then, why do you abuse the Bolsheviks who
make it easy for you to go to what used to be the
Imperial theatres and see the very best plays and
actors ? "

Stepanovna was stooping over the samovar. She
raised herself and looked at me, considering my
question.

" H'm, yes," she admitted, " I enjoy it, it is true.
But who is the theatre full of? Only school-children
and our ' comrades ' Communists. The school-chil-
dren ought to be doing home-lessons and our ' com-
rades ' ought to be hanging on the gallows. Varia
and I can enjoy the theatre because we just have
enough money to buy food in the markets. But go
and ask those who stand in queues all day and all
night for half a pound of bread or a dozen logs of
firewood ! How much do they enjoy the cheap
theatres ? I wonder, ah ! "

So I said no more. Stepanovna had very decided
notions of things. If she had been an Englishwoman
before the war she would have been a militant
suffragette.

It was at the beginning of February that I saw Stepa-
novna for the last time. My acquaintance with her
ceased abruptly, as with other people under similar
circumstances. Varia, it transpired, got into trouble
through trying to communicate with Ivan Sergeievitch
in Finland.

Before going to Stepanovna's flat I always 'phoned

160 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

and asked, "Is your father any better? "—which
meant, May I come and stay the night? To which
she or Varia would reply, " Quite well, thank you,
and he would like you to go and see him when you
have time."

On the last occasion when I called up, Stepanovna
did not at once answer. Then in a voice full of
indecision she stammered, " I don't know— I think—
I will ask — please wait a moment." I waited and
could hear she had not left the telephone. At last
she continued tremblingly, " No, he is no better, he
is very bad indeed — dying." There was a pause. " I
am going to see him," she went on, stammering all the
time, " at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, do —
do you understand? ':

" Yes," I said; " I will go too and wait for you."

Wondering if we had understood each other, I
stationed myself at the corner of the street a little
before eleven, and watched from a distance the
entrance to Stepanovna's house. One glance, when
she came out, satisfied her I was there. Walking
off in the other direction, she followed Kazanskaya
Street, only once looking round to make sure I was
behind, and, reaching the Kazan Cathedral, entered
it. I found her in a dark corner to the right.

" Varia is arrested," she said, in great distress.
" You must come to our flat no more, Ivan Pavlovitch.
A messenger came from Viborg the day before yester-
day and asked Varia, if she could, to get out to Finland.
They went together to the Finland Station and got
on the train. There they met another man who was
to help them get over the frontier. He was arrested
on the train and the other two with him."

" Is there any serious charge? " I asked. " Simply
running away is no grave offence."

STEPANOVNA 161

" They say the two men will be shot," she replied.
" But Varia only had some things she was taking to
Ivan Sergeievitch's wife."

I tried to reassure her, saying I would endeavour
to discover how Varia's case stood, and would find
some means of communication.

" I am expecting a search," she went on, " but of
course I have made preparations. Maybe we shall
meet again some day, Ivan Pavlovitch. I hope so."

I felt very sorry for poor Stepanovna in her trouble.
She was a fine type of woman in her way, though
her views on things were often crude. But it must
be remembered that she was only a peasant. As I was
crossing the threshold of the cathedral, something
moved me to turn back for a moment, and I saw
Stepanovna shuffle up to the altar and fall on her
knees. Then I came away.

I was resolved to get the Policeman on the job at
once to find out the circumstances of Varia's case,
which I felt sure could not be serious. But I was
not destined to make this investigation. I never
saw either Varia or Stepanovna again, nor was it
possible for me to discover what ultimately became
of them. Tossed hither and thither by the caprice
of circumstance, I found myself shortly afterwards
suddenly placed in a novel and unexpected situation,
of which and its results, if the reader have patience
to read a little further, he will learn.

CHAPTER VII

FINLAND

STARAYA DEREVNYA, which means " the Old
Village," is a remote suburb of Petrograd, situated
at the mouth of the most northerly branch of the River
Neva, overlooking the Gulf of Finland. It is a poor
and shabby locality, consisting of second-rate summer
villas and a few small timber-yards and logmen's
huts. In winter when the gulf is frozen it is the
bleakest of bleak places, swept by winds carrying
the snow in the blizzard-like clouds across the dreary
desert of ice. You cannot tell then where land ends
and seas begins, for the flats, the shores, the marshes,
and the sea lie hidden under a common blanket of
soft and sand-like snowdrifts. In olden times I loved
to don my skis and glide gently from the world into
that vast expanse of frozen water, and there, miles
out, lie down and listen to the silence.

A few days after I had parted from Stepanovna in
the Kazan Cathedral, I sat in one of the smallest and
remotest huts of Staraya Derevnya. It was eleven
o'clock of a dark and windless night. Except for the
champing of a horse outside, the silence was broken
only by the grunting and snoring of a Finnish con-
trabandist lying at full length on the dirty couch.
Once, when the horse neighed, the Finn rose hurriedly
with a curse. Lifting the latch cautiously, he stole
out and led the animal round to the seaward side of
the cottage, where it would be less audible from the
road. Having recently smuggled a sleigh-load of

162

FINLAND 163

butter into the city, he was now returning to Finland
—with me.

It was after midnight when we drove out, and, con-
ditions being good, the drive over the sea to a point
well along the Finnish coast, a distance of some forty-
odd miles, was to take us between four and five hours.
The sledge was of the type known as drovny, a wooden
one, broad and low, filled with hay. The drovny,
used mostly for farm haulage, is my favourite kind
of sledge, and nestling comfortably at full length under
the hay I thought of long night-drives in the interior
in days gone by, when someone used to ride ahead
on horseback with a torch to keep away the wolves.

In a moment we were out, flying at breakneck speed
across the ice, windswept after recent storms. The
half-inch of frozen snow just gave grip to the horse's
hoofs. Twice, suddenly bumping into snow ridges,
we capsized completely. When we got going again
the runners sang just like a saw-mill. The driver
noticed this too, and was alive to the danger of being
heard from shore a couple of miles away; but his
sturdy pony, exhilarated by the keen frosty air, was
hard to restrain.

Some miles out of Petrograd there lies on an island
in the Finnish Gulf the famous fortress of Cronstadt,
one of the most impregnable in the world. Search-
lights from the fortress played from time to time
across the belt of ice, separating the fortress from
the northern shore. The passage through this narrow
belt was the crucial point in our journey. Once past
Cronstadt we should be in Finnish waters and safe.

To avoid danger from the searchlights, the Finn
drove within a mile of the mainland, the runners
hissing and singing like saws. As we entered the
narrows a dazzling beam of light swept the horizon

164 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

from the fortress, catching us momentarily in its
track; but we were sufficiently near the shore not to
appear as a black speck adrift on the ice.

Too near, perhaps ? The dark line of the woods
seemed but a stone's throw away ! You could almost
see the individual trees. Hell ! what a noise our
sledge-runners made !

" Can't you keep the horse back a bit, man? "

" Yes, but this is the spot we've got to drive past
quickly ! "

We were crossing the line of Lissy Nos, a jutting
point on the coast marking the narrowest part of the
strait. Again a beam of light shot out from the
fortress, and the wooden pier and huts of Lissy Nos
were lit as by a flash of lightning. But we had passed
the point already. It was rapidly receding into the
darkness as we regained the open sea.

Sitting upright on the heap of hay, I kept my eyes
riveted on the receding promontory. We were nearly
a mile away now, and you could no longer distinguish
objects clearly. But my eyes were still riveted on
the rocky promontory.

Were those rocks— moving ? I tried to pierce the
darkness, my eyes rooted to the black point !

Rocks ? Trees ? Or— or

I sprang to my feet and shook the Finn by the
shoulders with all my force.

" Damn it, man ! Drive like hell— we're being
pursued ! "

Riding out from Lissy Nos was a group of horse-
men, five or six in number. My driver gave a moan,
lashed his horse, the sleigh leapt forward, and the
chase began in earnest.

" Ten thousand marks if we escape ! " I yelled in
the Finn's ear.

FINLAND 165

For a time we kept a good lead, but in the darkness
it was impossible to see whether we were gaining or
losing. My driver was making low moaning cries, he
appeared to be pulling hard on the reins, and the sleigh
jerked so that I could scarcely stand.

Then I saw that the pursuers were gaining — and
gaining rapidly ! The moving dots grew into figures
galloping at full speed. Suddenly there was a flash
and a crack, then another, and another. They were
firing with carbines, against which a pistol was useless.
I threatened the driver with my revolver if he did
not pull ahead, but dropped like a stone into the hay
as a bullet whizzed close to my ear.

At that moment the sledge suddenly swung round.
The driver had clearly had difficulty with his reins,
which appeared to have got caught in the shaft, and
before I realized what was happening the horse fell,
the sledge whirled round and came to a sudden stop.

At such moments one has to think rapidly. What
would the pursuing Red guards go for first, a fugitive ?
Not if there was possible loot. And what more likely
than that the sledge contained loot ?

Eel-like, I slithered over the side and made in the
direction of the shore. Progress was difficult, for
there were big patches of ice, coal-black in colour, which
were completely windswept and as slippery as glass.
Stumbling along, I drew from my pocket a packet,
wrapped in dark brown paper, containing maps and
documents which were sufficient, if discovered, to
assure my being shot without further ado, and held
it ready to hurl away across the ice.

If seized, I would plead smuggling. It seemed
impossible that I should escape ! Looking backward
I saw the group round the sledge. The Reds, dis-
mounted, were examining the driver; in a moment

166 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

they would renew the pursuit, and I should be spotted
at once, running over the ice.

Then an idea occurred.

The ice, where completely windswept, formed great
patches as black as ink. My clothes were dark. I
ran into the middle of a big black patch and looked at
my boots. I could not see them !

To get to the shore was impossible, anyway, so this
was the only chance. Jerking the packet a few yards
from me where I might easily find it, I dropped flat
on the black ice and lay motionless, praying that I
should be invisible.

It was not long before I heard the sound of hoofs
and voices approaching. The search for me had begun.
But the riders avoided the slippery windswept places
as studiously as I had done in running, and, thank
heaven ! just there much of the ice was windswept.
As they rode round and about, I felt that someone
was bound to ride just over me ! Yet they didn't,
after all.

It seemed hours and days of night and darkness
before the riders retreated to the sledge and rode off
with it, returning whence they had come. But time
is measured not by degrees of hope or despair, but by
fleeting seconds and minutes, and by my luminous
watch I detected that it was only half-past one.
Prosaic half-past one !

Was the sombre expanse of frozen sea really
deserted? Cronstadt loomed dimly on the horizon,
the dark line of woods lay behind me, and all was still
as death — except for the sea below, groaning and
gurgling as if the great ice-burden were too heavy
to bear.

Slowly and imperceptibly I rose, first on all fours,
then kneeling, and finally standing upright. The

FINLAND 167

riders and the sledge were gone, and I was alone.
Only the stars twinkled, as much as to say : "It's all
over ! 'Twas a narrow squeak, wasn't it ? but a miss
is as good as a mile ! "

It must have been a weird, bedraggled figure that
stumbled, seven or eight hours later, up the steep
bank of the Finnish shore. That long walk across
the ice was one of the hardest I ever had to make,
slipping and falling at almost every step until I got
used to the surface. On reaching light, snow-covered
regions, however, I walked rapidly and made good
progress. Once while I was resting I heard footsteps
approaching straight in my direction. Crawling into
the middle of another black patch, I repeated the
manoeuvre of an hour or two earlier, and lay still.
A man, walking hurriedly toward Cronstadt from the
direction of Finland, passed within half-a-dozen paces
without seeing me.

Shortly after daylight, utterly exhausted, I clam-
bered up the steep shore into the woods. Until I
saw a Finnish sign-board I was still uncertain as
to whether I had passed the frontier in the night or
not. But, convincing myself that I had, though
doubtful of my precise whereabouts, I sought a quiet
spot behind a shed, threw myself on to the soft snow,
and fell into a doze.

It was here that I was discovered by a couple of
Finnish patrols, who promptly arrested me and
marched me off to the nearest coastguard station.
No amount of protestation availed to convince them
I was not a Bolshevist spy. The assertion that I was
an Englishman only seemed to intensify their sus-
picions, for my appearance completely belied the
statement. Seizing all my money and papers, they
locked me up in a cell, but removed me during the

168 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

day to the office of the Commandant at Terijoki,
some miles distant.

The Commandant, whom I had seen on the occasion
of my last visit to Finland, would, I expected, release
me at once. But I found a condition of things totally
different from that obtaining six weeks earlier. A
new commandant had been appointed, who was
unpersuaded even by a telephone conversation con-
ducted in his presence with the British representatives
at the Finnish capital. The most he would do was to
give me a temporary pass saying I was a Russian
travelling to Helsingfors : with the result that I was
re-arrested on the train and again held in detention
at the head police office in the capital until energetic
representations by the British Charge d'Affaires
secured my release, with profuse apologies from the
Finnish authorities for the not unnatural misunder-
standing.

The reader will, I hope, have become sufficiently
interested in my story to inquire what were the cir-
cumstances which led to my taking this sudden
journey to Finland. They were various. Were I
writing a tale of fiction, and could allow free rein to
whatsoever imagination I possess, I might be tempted
at this point to draw my story to a startling climax
by revealing Zorinsky in the light of a grossly mis-
understood and unappreciated friend and saviour,
while Stepanovna, the Journalist, or the Doctor would
unexpectedly turn out to be treacherous wolves in
sheep's clothing, plotting diabolically to ensnare me
in the toils of the Extraordinary Commission. As
it is, however, fettered by the necessity of recording
dull and often obvious events as they occurred, it
will be no surprise to the reader to learn that the
wolf, in a pretty bad imitation of sheep's clothing

FINLAND 169

(good enough, however, to deceive me), turned out
actually to be Zorinsky.

It was the day after I had parted from Stepanovna
that the Doctor told me that Melnikoff's friend Shura,
through sources at his disposal, had been investigating
the personality of this interesting character, and had
established it as an indisputable fact that Zorinsky
was in close touch with people known to be in the
employ of No. 2 Gorohovaya. This information,
though unconfirmed and in itself proving nothing (was
not the Policeman also in close touch with people
in the employ of No. 2 Gorohovaya?), yet following
on the news of Melnikoff's death and Zorinsky's
general duplicity, resolved me to seek the first oppor-
tunity to revisit Finland and consult Ivan Sergeievitch.

There were other motives, also. I had communi-
cated across the frontier by means of couriers, one of
whom was found me by the Doctor, and another by
one of the persons who play no part in my story, but
whom I met at the Journalist's. One of these couriers
was an N.C.O. of the old army, a student of law,
and a personal friend of the Doctor : the other a
Russian officer whose known counter-revolutionary
proclivities precluded the possibility of his obtaining
any post in Soviet Russia at this time. Both crossed
the frontier secretly and without mishap, but only one
returned, bearing a cipher message which was all
but indecipherable. Sending him off again, but
getting no reply, I was in ignorance as to whether he
had arrived or not, and, left without news, it was
becoming imperative that I repeat my visit to the
Finnish capital.

Furthermore, with passage of time I felt my posi-
tion, in spite of friends, becoming not more secure,
but rapidly less so. What might suddenly arise out

170 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of my connections with Zorinsky, for instance, no
one could foresee, and I determined that the best
thing would be to disappear completely for a short
period and, returning, to start all over afresh.

I learned of the ice-route to Finland from my courier,
who came back that way, and who returned to Finland
the following night on the same sledge. Discreet
inquiries at the logman's hut produced the information
that the courier's smuggler, granted that he had safely
reached Finland, was not due back for some time, but
another one had arrived and would take any one who
was willing to pay. The sum demanded, two thousand
marks, when converted into foreign exchange, was
about twenty pounds. But the Finn thinks of a
mark as a shilling.

As ill-luck would have it, I found on arrival in
Finland that Ivan Sergeievitch was in the Baltic
States and no one knew when he would return. But
I saw his wife, who had sent the indiscreet message to
Petrograd leading to Varia's arrest. She was morti-
fied when I broke this news to her, but was unable
to throw any light on Zorinsky. I also met several
other Russian officers, none, however, who had known
Melnikoff, and I thus got no further information.

The Doctor, of course, had denounced Zorinsky as
a provocateur, but there was as yet little evidence
for that charge. Zorinsky might be an extortionist
without being a provocateur. Wild charges are
brought against anybody and everybody connected
with Sovdepia on the slightest suspicion, and I myself
have been charged, on the one hand, by the Bolsheviks
with being a rabid monarchist, and, on the other,
by reactionaries with being a " subtle " Bolshevik.
However, my aversion to Zorinsky had become so
intense that I resolved that under no pretext or

FINLAND 171

condition would I have anything more to do with
him.

My time in Helsingfors was occupied mostly with
endeavours to obtain official assurances that any
couriers I despatched from Russia would not be seized
or shot by the Finns, and that reasonable assistance
should be given them in crossing the frontier in either
direction. The Finnish Foreign and War Offices
were willing enough to co-operate, but appeared to
have but little sway over their own frontier authori-
ties. The last word belonged to the new Commandant
at Terijoki, a man of German origin, who defied the
Government whenever instructions ran counter to
his open German sympathies. Being in league with
German Intelligence organizations in Russia, he was
naturally disinclined to do anything that would assist
the Allies, and it was only when his insubordination
passed all limits and he was at last dismissed by the
Finnish Government that facilities could be granted
which made the operation of a secret courier service
across the frontier in any degree feasible.

The story of intrigue and counter-intrigue amongst
Finns, Germans, Russians, Bolsheviks, and the Allies
at this time, both in the Finnish capital and along the
Russian frontier, would be a fascinating one in itself,
but that is not my province. On the occasion of my
brief visits to Finland my prime object was not to
become involved, and this was the main reason why,
depressing though the prospect of returning to Petro-
grad was under existing circumstances, I nevertheless
cut short my stay in Finland and prepared to return
the moment I learned positively that the German
frontier commandant was to be removed.

Earnestly as I had striven to remain incognito,
my unavoidable participation in the negotiations for

172 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

arranging a courier-service had drawn me into unfor-
tunate prominence. The German Commandant, still
at his post, appeared to regard me as his very particular
foe, and learning of my intention to return to Russia
by sea he issued orders that the strictest watch should
be kept on the coast and any sledge or persons issuing
on to the ice be fired upon. Thus, although I had a
Government permit to cross the frontier, the smuggler
who was to carry me positively refused to venture on
the journey, while all patrols had orders to afford
me no facilities whatsoever.

But I evaded the Commandant very simply. At
the other extremity of the Russo-Finnish frontier,
close to Lake Ladoga, there is a small village named
Rautta, lying four or five miles from the frontier
line. This place had formerly also been a rallying
point for smugglers and refugees, but in view of its
remoteness and the difficulties of forest travel it was
very inaccessible in mid-winter from the Russian
side. At the Commandant's headquarters it was
never suspected that I would attempt to start from
this remote spot. But protesting, much to the Com-
mandant's delight, that I would return and compel
him to submit to Government orders, I travelled by a
very circuitous route to the village of Rautta, where
I was completely unknown, and where I relied on
finding some peasant or other who would conduct me
to the border. Once arrived at the frontier I was
content to be left to my own resources.

Luck was with me. It was in the later stages of
the tedious journey that I was accosted in the train
by a young Finnish lieutenant bound for the same
place. Russians being in ill-favour in Finland, I
always travelled as an Englishman in that country,
whatever I may have looked like. At this time I did

FINLAND 173

not look so bad, attired in an old green overcoat I
had bought at Helsingfors. Noticing that I was
reading an English paper, the lieutenant addressed me
in English with some trifling request, and we fell into
conversation. I was able to do him a slight service
through a note I gave him to an acquaintance in
Helsingfors, and when I further presented him with
all my newspapers and a couple of English books
for which I had no further use, he was more than
delighted. Finding him so well-disposed I asked him
what he was going to do at Rautta, to which he
replied that he was about to take up his duties as chief
of the garrison of the village, numbering some fifteen
or twenty men. At this I whipped out my Finnish
Government permit without further ado and appealed
to the lieutenant to afford me, as the document said,
" every assistance in crossing the Russian frontier."

He was not a little nonplussed at this unexpected
request. But realizing that a pass such as mine could
only have been issued by the Finnish Ministry of War
on business of first-class importance he agreed to do
what he could. I soon saw that he was much con-
cerned to do his utmost. Within a couple of hours
after our arrival at Rautta I was assured not only
of a safe conduct by night to the frontier, but also
of a guide, who was instructed to take me to a certain
Russian village about twenty miles beyond.

Nothing could be more truly proletarian than
Finnish administration in regions where neither
German nor ancien-regime Russian influence has
penetrated. It is the fundamentally democratic char-
acter of the Finnish people that has enabled them
since the time of which I speak to master in a large
measure their foreign would-be counsellors and con-
trollers and build up a model constitution. The elder

174 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of the village of Rautta, who was directed by my
friend the lieutenant to show me hospitality and
procure me a guide, was a rough peasant, literate and
intelligent, living with his wife in a single large room
in which I was entertained. His assistants were men
of the same type, while the guide was a young fellow
of about twenty, a native of the village, who had
had a good elementary education at Viborg. In the
hands of people of this sort I always felt myself secure.
Their shrewd common sense — the strongest defence
against nonsensical Red propaganda — made them as
a class trustier friends than a spoilt intelligentsia or
the scheming intrigants of the militarist caste.

My guide produced half-a-dozen pairs of skis, all
of which were too short, as I require a nine- or ten-foot
ski, but I took the longest pair. About eleven o'clock
our skis were strapped to a drovny sledge, and with a
kindly send-off by the elder and his wife, we drove
rapidly to a lonely hut, the last habitation on the
Finnish side of the frontier. The proprietor was roused
and regaled us with tea, while a scout, who chanced
to come in a few moments after our arrival, advised
my guide as to the latest known movements of Red
patrols. Our peasant host possessed no candles or
oil in this solitary abode, and we sat in the flickering
light of long burning twigs, specially cut to preserve
their shaky flare as long as possible.

About midnight we mounted the skis and set out
on our journey, striking off the track straight into the
forest. My companion was lightly clad, but I retained
my overcoat, which I should need badly later, while
round my waist I tied a little parcel containing a pair
of shoes I had bought in Helsingfors for Maria.

By the roundabout way we were going it would be
some twenty-five miles to the village that was our

FINLAND 175

destination. For four years I had not run on skis,
and though ski-running is like swimming in that once
you learn you never forget, yet you can get out of
practice. Moreover, the skis I had were too short,
and any ski-runner will tell you it is no joke to run
on short skis a zigzag route across uneven forest
ground — and in the dark !

We started in an easterly direction, moving parallel
to the border-line. I soon more or less adapted my
stride to the narrow seven-foot ski and managed to
keep the guide's moderate pace. We stopped fre-
quently to listen for suspicious sounds, but all that
greeted our ears was the mystic and beautiful winter
silence of a snow-laden northern forest. The tem-
perature was twenty degrees below zero, with not a
breath of wind, and the pines and firs bearing their
luxuriant white burden looked as if a magic fairy
wand had lulled them into perpetual sleep. Some
people might have " seen things " in this dark forest
domain, but peering into the dim recesses of the woods
I felt all sound and motion discordant, and loved
our halts just to listen, listen, listen. My guide was
taciturn, if we spoke it was in whispers, we moved
noiselessly but for the gentle swish of our skis, which
scarcely broke the stillness, and the stars that danced
above the tree-tops smiled down upon us approvingly.

After travelling a little over an hour the Finn
suddenly halted, raising his hand. For some minutes
we stood motionless. Then, leaving his skis, he walked
cautiously back to me and pointing at a group of low
bushes a hundred yards away, visible through a
narrow aisle in the forest, he whispered : " You see
those farthest shrubs ? They are in Russia. We are
about to cross the line, so follow me closely."

Moving into the thickets, we advanced slowly under

176 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

their cover until we were within a few yards of the
spot indicated. I then saw that before us there lay,
cutting through the forest, a narrow clearance some
ten yards wide, resembling a long avenue. This was
the Russian border-line, and we stood at the extreme
edge of the Finnish forest. My guide motioned to
me to sidle up alongside him.

" It is to those bushes we must cross," he whispered
so low as to be scarcely audible. " The undergrowth
everywhere else is impassable. We will watch the
shrubbery a moment. The question is : Is there any
one behind it? Look hard."

Weird phenomenon ! — but a moment ago it seemed
that motion in the forest was inconceivable. Yet
now, with nerves tense from anticipation, all the
trees and all the bushes seemed to stir and glide.
But oh ! so slyly, so noiselessly, so imperceptibly !
Every shrub knew just when you were looking at it,
and as long as you stared straight, it kept still; but
the instant you shifted your gaze, a bough swung —
ever so little !— a trunk swayed, a bush shrank, a
thicket shivered, it was as if behind everything there
were something, agitating it, playing with it, in order
to taunt you with deceits !

But it was not really so. The forest was still with
a death-like stillness. The dark trees like sentinels
stood marshalled in sombre array on either side of
the avenue. Around us, above, and below, all was
silence— the mystic, beautiful winter silence of the
sleeping northern forest.

Like a fish, my companion darted suddenly from
our hiding-place, bending low, and in two strides had
crossed the open space and vanished in the shrubbery.
I followed, stealing one rapid glance up and down as
I crossed the line, to see nothing but two dark walls

p. 176

FINLAND 177

of trees on either hand, separated by the grey carpet
of snow. Another stride, and I, too, was in Russia,
buried in the thick shrubbery.

I found my guide sitting in the snow, adjusting
his ski-straps.

" If we come upon nobody in the next quarter-mile,"
he whispered, " we are all right till daybreak."

" But our ski-tracks ? " I queried; " may they not
be followed ? "

" Nobody will follow the way we are going."

The next quarter-mile lay along a rough track skirt-
ing the Russian side of the frontier. Progress was
difficult because the undergrowth was thick and we
had to stoop beneath overhanging branches. Every
twenty paces or so we stopped to listen— but only to
the silence.

At last we came out on the borders of what seemed
like a great lake. My companion explained that it
was a morass and that we should ski straight across
it, due south, making the best speed we might.
Travelling now was like finding a level path after hard
rocky climbing. My guide sailed away at so round
a pace that although I used his tracks I could not keep
up. By the time I had crossed the open morass he
had already long disappeared in the woods. I
noticed that although he had said no one would follow
us, he did not like the open places.

Again we plunged into the forest. The ground
here began to undulate and progress in and out
amongst the short firs was wearisome. I began to get
so tired that I longed to stretch myself out at full
length on the snow. But we had to make our village
by daybreak and my guide would not rest.

It was after we had crossed another great morass
and had been picking our way through pathless forest

178 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

for about four hours, that I saw by the frequency with
which my companion halted to consider the direction,
and the hesitation with which he chose our path, that
he had lost his way. When I asked him he frankly
admitted it, making no effort to conceal his anxiety.
There was nothing to do, however, but to keep
straight ahead, due south by the pole star.

The first streaks of dawn stole gently over the sky.
Coming out on to an open track, my guide thought he
recognized it, and we followed it in spite of the danger
of running into an early patrol. In a few moments
we struck off along a side track in an easterly direction.
We should soon reach our destination now, said the
Finn— about a mile more.

I moved so slowly that my companion repeatedly
got long distances ahead. We travelled a mile, but
still no sign of village or open country. At length
the Finn disappeared completely, and I struggled
forward along his tracks.

The grey dawn spread and brightened, and it was
quite light, though the sun had not yet risen, when
at last I drew near the outskirts of the forest. Sitting
on the bank of a small running stream sat my guide,
reproaching me for my tardiness when I joined him.
Across a large meadow outside the forest he pointed
to a group of cottages on the side of a hill to the
right.

" The Reds live there," he said. " They will be out
about eight o'clock. We have come over a mile too
far inland from Lake Ladoga : but follow my tracks
and we shall soon be there."

He rose and mounted his skis. I wondered how
he proposed to cross the stream. Taking a short
run, he prodded his sticks deftly into the near bank
as he quitted it, and lifting himself with all his force

FINLAND 179

over the brook, glided easily on to the snow on the far
side. Moving rapidly across the meadow, he dis-
appeared in the distant bushes.

But in springing he dislodged a considerable portion
of the bank of snow, thus widening the intervening
space. I was bigger and weightier than he, and more
heavily clad, and my endeavour to imitate his per-
formance on short skis met with a disastrous result.
Failing to clear the brook, my skis, instead of sliding
on to the opposite snow, plunged into the bank, and I
found myself sprawling in the water ! It was a marvel
that neither ski broke. I picked them up and throwing
them on to the level, prepared to scramble out of the
stream.

The ten minutes that ensued were amongst the
silliest in sensation and most helpless I ever experi-
enced. Nothing would seem easier than to clamber
up a bank not so high as one's shoulder. But every
grab did nothing but bring down an avalanche of snow
on top of me I There was no foothold, and it was only
when I had torn the deep snow right away that I
was able to drag myself out with the aid of neighbouring
bushes.

Safely on shore I looked myself over despondently.
From the waist downward I was one solid mass of ice.
The flags of ice on my old green overcoat flapped
heavily against the ice-pillars encasing my top-boots.
With considerable labour and difficulty I scraped soles
and skis sufficiently to make it possible to stand on
them, and once again crawled slowly forward.

I do not know how I managed to traverse the
remaining three miles to the village whither my guide
had preceded me. It should have been the hardest
bit of all, for I was in the last stages of fatigue. Yet
it does not seem to have been so now. I think, to

180 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

tell the truth, I completely gave up the game, con-
vinced my black figure creeping up the white hillside
must inevitably attract attention, and I mechanically
trudged forward till I should hear a shot or a cry to
halt. Or, perhaps, even in this plight, and careless of
what befell me, I was fascinated by the glory of a
wondrous winter sunrise ! I remember how the sun
peeped venturously over the horizon, throwing a magic
rose-coloured mantle upon the hills. First the sum-
mits were touched, the pink flush crept gently down
the slopes, turning the shadows palest blue, and when
at last the sun climbed triumphant into the heaven,
the whole world laughed. And with it, I !

The cottages of the Reds were left far behind. I
had crossed more than one hill and valley, and passed
more than one peasant who eyed me oddly, before I
found myself at the bottom of the hill on whose crest
was perched the village I was seeking. I knew my
journey was over at last, because my guide's tracks
ceased at the top. He had dismounted to walk along
the rough roadway. But which cottage had he
entered ?

I resolved to beg admission to one of the huts on
the outskirts of the village. They were all alike, low
wooden and mud buildings with protruding porch,
two tiny square windows in the half where the family
lived, but none in the other half, which formed the
barn or cattle-shed. The peasants are kindly folk,
I mused, or used to be, and there are few Bolsheviks
amongst them. So I approached the nearest cottage,
propped up my skis against the wall, timidly knocked
at the door, and entered.

p. 180

A RUSSIAN PEASANT ' CAPITALIST

CHAPTER VIII

A VILLAGE " BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST "

THE room in which I found myself was a spacious
one. On the right stood a big white stove, always the
most prominent object in a Russian peasant dwelling,
occupying nearly a quarter of the room. Beyond the
stove in the far corner was a bedstead on which an
old woman lay. The floor was strewn with several
rough straw mattresses. Two strapping boys, a
little lass of ten, and two girls of eighteen or nineteen
had just dressed, and one of the latter was doing her
hair in front of a piece of broken mirror.

In the other far corner stood a rectangular wooden
table, with an oil lamp hanging over it. The little
glass closet of ikons behind the table, in what is called
" beautiful corner " because it shelters the holy
pictures, showed the inmates to be Russians, though
the district is inhabited largely by men of Finnish race.
To the left of the door stood an empty wooden bed-
stead, with heaped-up bed-covers and sheepskin coats,
as if someone had lately risen from it. All these things,
picturesque, though customary, I took in at a glance.
But I was interested to notice an old harmonium,
an unusual decoration in a village hut, the musical
accomplishments of the peasant generally being
limited to the concertina, the guitar, the balalaika,
and the voice, in all of which, however, he is adept.

" Good-morning," I said, apologetically. I turned
to the ikons and, bowing, made the sign of the Cross.

181

182 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

"May I sit down just for a little moment? I am
very tired."

Everyone was silent, doubtless very suspicious.
The little girl stared at me with wide-open eyes. I
seated myself opposite the big white stove, wondering
what I should do next.

In a few minutes there entered a rough peasant of
about fifty-five, with long hair streaked with grey,
and haggard, glistening eyes. There was a look of
austerity in his wrinkled face, though at the same
time it was not unkind, but he rarely smiled. He
nodded a curt good-morning and set about his ablu-
tions, paying no further heed to me. The old woman
mentioned that I had come in to rest.

I explained. " I set out from the nearest station
early this morning with a companion," I said, " to ski
here. We are looking for milk. But we lost our way
in the woods. I tumbled into a stream. My com-
panion is somewhere in the village and I will go and
look for him later. But I would like to rest a little
first, for I am very tired."

The old peasant listened, but did not seem in-
terested. He filled his mouth with water from a
jug, bent over an empty bucket, and letting the water
trickle out of his mouth into the cup of his hands,
scrubbed his face and neck. I suppose it was warmer
this way. When he had finished I asked if I might
have some milk to drink, and at a sign from the old
man one of the boys fetched me some in a big tin
mug.

" It is hard to get milk nowadays," grunted the old
peasant, surlily, and went on with his work.

The boys slipped on their sheepskin coats and left
the cottage, while the girls removed the mattresses
and set the samovar. I rejoiced when I saw the old

A VILLAGE ' BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST ' 183

woman preparing to light the stove. My legs gradually
thawed, forming pools of water on the floor, and one
of the boys, when he came in, helped me pull my
boots off. But this was a painful process, for both
my feet were partially frozen.

At last the samovar was boiling and I was invited
to table to have a mug of tea. It was not real tea
and tasted nothing like it, though the packet was
labelled " Tea." Black bread and salt herrings made
up the meal. I did not touch the herrings.

66 We have not much bread," said the old man,
significantly, as he put a small piece in front of me.

While we were at table my companion of the
night adventure came in, after having searched for
me all through the village. I wished to warn him to
be prudent in speech and repeat the same tale as I
had told, but he merely motioned reassuringly with
his hand. " You need fear nothing here," he said,
smiling.

It appeared that he knew my old muzhik well.
Taking him aside, he whispered something in his ear.
What was he saying ? The old man turned and looked
at me intensely with an interest he had not shown
before. His eyes glistened brightly, as if with un-
expected satisfaction. He returned to where I sat.

"Would you like some more milk?" he asked,
kindly, and fetched it for me himself.

I asked who played the harmonium. With amusing
modesty the old man let his eyes fall and said nothing.
But the little girl, pointing her finger at the peasant,
put in quickly that " Diedushka [grandpa] did."

" I like music," I said. " Will you please play
something afterwards? "

Ah ! Why was everything different all at once —
suspicions evaporated, fears dissipated? I felt the

184 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

change intuitively. The Finn had somehow aroused
the crude old man's interest in me (had he told him
who I was ?), but by my passing question I had
touched his tenderest spot — music !

So Uncle Egor (as I called him), producing an old
and much be-fingered volume of German hymn tunes
which he had picked up in a market at Petrograd,
seated himself nervously and with touching modesty
at the old harmonium. His thick, horny fingers,
with black finger-nails, stumbled clumsily over the
keys, playing only the top notes coupled in octaves
with one finger of his left hand. He blew the pedals
as if he were beating time, and while he played his
face twitched and his breath caught. You could see
that in music he forgot everything else. The rotten
old harmonium was the possession he prized above all
else in the world — in fact, for him it was not of this
world. Crude old peasant as he was, he was a true
Russian.

" Would you like me to play you something? " I
asked when he had finished.

Uncle Egor rose awkwardly from the harmonium,
smiling confusedly when I complimented him on his
achievement. I sat down and played him some of
his hymns and a few other simple tunes. When I
variegated the harmonies, he followed, fascinated.
He leant over the instrument, his eyes rooted on mine.
All the rough harshness had gone from his face, and
the shadow of a faint smile flickered round his lips.
I saw in his eyes a great depth of blue.

" Sit down again, my little son," he said to me
several times later, " and play me more."

At mid-day I lay down on Uncle Egor's bed and
fell fast asleep. At three o'clock they roused me for
dinner, consisting of a large bowl of sour cabbage

A VILLAGE 6 BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST ' 185

soup, which we all ate with brown polished wooden
spoons, dipping in turn into the bowl. Uncle Egor
went to a corner of the room, produced from a sack a
huge loaf, and cutting off a big square chunk, placed
it before me.

" Eat as much bread as you like, my son," he said.

He told me all his woes— how he was branded as a
village " grabber, bourgeois, and capitalist," because
he had possessed three horses and five cows; how
four cows and two horses had been " requisitioned ";
and how half his land had been taken by the Committee
of the Village Poor to start a Commune on.

Committees of the Village Poor were bodies from
which were excluded all such as, by enterprise, in-
dustry, and thrift, had raised themselves to positions
of independence. Composed of the lowest elements
of stupid, illiterate, and idle peasants, beggars and
tramps, these committees, endowed with supreme
power, were authorized to seize the property of the
prosperous and divide it amongst themselves, a portion
going to the Government.

The class of " middle " peasants, that is, those who
were half-way to prosperity, incited by agitators,
sided at first with the poor in despoiling the rich,
until it was their turn to be despoiled, when they
not unnaturally became enemies of the Bolshevist
system. The imposition of a war tax, however,
finally alienated the sympathies of the entire peasantry,
for the enriched " poor " would not pay because they
were technically poor, while the impoverished " rich "
could not pay because they had nothing left. This
was the end of Communism throughout nine-tenths
of the Russian provinces, and it occurred when the
Bolsheviks had ruled for only a year.

" Uncle Egor," I said, " you say your district still

186 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

has a Committee of the Poor. I thought the com-
mittees were abolished. There was a decree about
it last December."

" What matters it what they write ? " he exclaimed,
bitterly. " Our c comrades '—whatever they want to
do, they do. They held a Soviet election not long
ago and the voters were ordered to put in the Soviet
all the men from the Poor Committee. Now they
say the village must start what they call a ' Com-
mune,' where the lazy will profit by the labour of the
industrious. They say they will take my last cow
for the Commune. But they will not let me join, even
if I wanted to, because I am a ' grabber.' Ugh ! r

" When they held the election," I asked, " did you
vote?"

Uncle Egor laughed. "I? How should they let
me vote ? I have worked all my life to make myself
independent. I once had nothing, but I worked
till I had this little farm, which I thought would be
my own. Vasia here is my helper. But the Soviet
says I am a c grabber ' and so I have no vote ! "

" Who works in the Commune? " I asked.

" Who knows? " he replied. " They are not from
these parts. They thought the poor peasants would
join them, because the poor peasants were promised
our grain. But the Committee kept the grain for
themselves, so the poor peasants got nothing and are
very angry. Ah, my little son," he cried, bitterly,
" do you know what Russia wants ? Russia, my son,
wants a Master — a Master who will restore order,
and not that things should be as they are now, with
every scoundrel pretending to be master. That is
what Russia wants ! "

A " master " — now one of the most dangerous words
to use in Russia, because it is the most natural !

A VILLAGE c BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST ' 187

" Do you mean— a c Tsar ' ? " I queried, hesitatingly.
But Uncle Egor merely shrugged his shoulders. He
had said his say.

That night I slept on the rickety wooden bedstead
side by side with Uncle Egor and covered with the
same coverlets and quilts. There were long whisper-
ings between him and my Finnish guide before we
retired, for early in the morning we were going on to
Petrograd, and arrangements had to be made to drive
to the nearest station by devious routes so as not
to be stopped on the way. I was nearly asleep when
Uncle Egor clambered in by my side.

It was long before dawn when we rose and prepared
to set out. Uncle Egor, one of his daughters, the
Finn, and I made up the party. To evade patrols
we drove by bye- ways and across fields. Uncle Egor
was taking his daughter to try to smuggle a can of
milk into the city. What he himself was going to do
I don't know. He wouldn't tell me.

We arrived at the station at four in the morning,
and here I parted from my Finnish guide, who was
returning with the sledge. He positively refused to
take any reward for the service he had rendered me.

Our train, the only train of the day, was due to
start at six, and the station and platform were as
busy as a hive. While the young woman got tickets
we tried to find places. Every coach appeared to be
packed, and the platform was teeming with peasants
with sacks on their backs and milk-cans concealed
in bundles in their hands. Failing to get into a box-
car or third-class coach, where with the crush it would
have been warmer, we tried the only second-class
car on the train, which we found was not yet full
up. Eventually there were fourteen people in the
compartment intended for six.

188 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

At length the train rumbled off. Wedged in tight
between Uncle Egor and his daughter, I sat and
shivered. The train was searched by Red guards on
the journey, and it was found that quite half the
supposed cans of " milk " carried by the peasants
were packed to the brim with matches ! There was
no end of a tumult as the guards came round. Some
people jumped out of the windows and fled. Others
hid under the train till the compartment had been
searched and were then hauled in again through the
windows by willing hands from inside.

The Bolshevist Government, you see, had laid a
special embargo on matches, as on many things of
public use, with the result that they were almost
unobtainable. So that when you did get them from
" sackmen," as the people were called who smuggled
provisions into the city in bags and sacks, instead of
paying one copeck per box, which was what they used
to cost, you paid just one thousand times as much —
ten roubles, and felt glad at that. The design, of
course, was to share such necessities equally amongst
the populace, but the Soviet departments were so
incompetent and corrupt, and so strangled by
bureaucratic administration, that nothing, or very
little, ever got distributed, and the persecuted " sack-
men " were hailed as benefactors.

At one moment during the journey one of the other
peasants bent over to Uncle Egor, and, glancing at me,
asked him in an undertone " if his companion had
come from c over there ' " — which meant over the
frontier; in reply to which Uncle Egor gave him a
tremendous kick, which explained everything, and
no more was said.

I had one nasty moment when the train was
searched. Despite mishaps I still clung to the little

A VILLAGE ' BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST ' 189

parcel of shoes for Maria. As they were tied round
my waist I did not lose them even when I tumbled
into the stream. Some people got up when the
searchers came, but having no milk-can or sack I
moved into the corner and sat on the parcel. When
the soldier told me to shift along to let him see what
was in the corner I sat the shoes along with me, so
that both places looked empty. It was lucky he
did not make me get up, for new shoes could only
have come from " over there."

At nine we reached the straggling buildings of the
Okhta Station, the scene of my flight with Mrs. Marsh
in December, and there I saw a most extraordinary
spectacle — the attempted prevention of sackmen from
entering the city.

As we stood pushing in the corridor waiting for the
crowd in front of us to get out, I heard Uncle Egor and
his daughter conversing rapidly in low tones.

" I'll make a dash for it," whispered his daughter.

" Good," he replied in the same tone. " We'll meet
at Nadya's."

The moment we stepped on to the platform Uncle
Egor's daughter vanished under the railroad coach, and
that was the last I ever saw of her. At each end of the
platform stood a string of armed guards, waiting for
the onslaught of passengers, who flew in all directions
as they surged from the train. How shall I describe
the scene of unutterable pandemonium that ensued !
The soldiers dashed at the fleeing crowds, brutally
seized single individuals, generally women, who were
least able to defend themselves, and tore the sacks
off their backs and out of their arms. Shrill cries,
shrieks, and howls rent the air. Between the coaches
and on the outskirts of the station you could see
lucky ones who had escaped gesticulating frantically

190 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

to unlucky ones who were still dodging guards.
uThis way! This way!" they yelled, wildly;
" Sophia ! Marusia ! Akulina ! Varvara ! Quick !
Haste ! "

In futile efforts to subdue the mob the soldiers
discharged their rifles into the air, only increasing
the panic and intensifying the tumult. Curses and
execrations were hurled at them by the seething mass
of fugitives. One woman I saw, frothing at the
mouth, with blood streaming down her cheek, her
frenzied eyes protruding from their sockets, clutching
ferociously with her nails at the face of a huge sailor
who held her pinned down on the platform, while his
comrades detached her sack.

How I got out of the fray I do not know, but I
found myself carried along with the running stream
of sackmen over the Okhta Bridge and toward the
Suvorov Prospect. Only there, a mile from the
station, did they settle into a hurried walk, gradually
dispersing down side streets to dispose of their precious
goods to 6ager clients.

Completely bewildered, I limped along, my frost-
bitten feet giving me considerable pain. I wondered
in my mind if people at home had any idea at what
a cost the population of Petrograd secured the first
necessities of life in the teeth of the " Communist "
rulers. Still musing, I came out on the Znamenskaya
Square in front of the Nicholas Station, the scene of
many wild occurrences in the days of the Great
Revolution.

You could still see the hole in the station roof whence
in those days a machine-gun manned by Protopopoff s
police had fired down on the crowds below. I had
watched the scene from that little alcove just over there
near the corner of the Nevsky. While I was watching,

A VILLAGE c BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST ' 191

the people had discovered another policeman on the
roof of the house just opposite. They threw him over
the parapet. He fell on the pavement with a heavy
thud, and lay there motionless. Everything, I re-
membered, had suddenly seemed very quiet as I
looked across the road at his dead body, though the
monotonous song of the machine-gun still sounded
from the station roof.

But next day a new song was sung in the hearts of
the people, a song of Hope and a song of Freedom.
Justice shall now reign, said the people ! For it was
said, " The Tsarist ways and the Tsarist police are no
more ! 5:

To-day, two years later, it was just such a glorious
winter morning as in those days of March, 1917. The
sun laughed to scorn the silly ways of men. But the
song of Hope was dead, and the people's faces bore the
imprint of starvation, distress, and terror— terror of
those very same Tsarist police ! For these others, who
did not make the Revolution, but who were en-
couraged by Russia's enemies to return to Russia to
poison it — these others copied the Tsarist ways, and,
restoring the Tsarist police, made them their own.
The men and women who made the Revolution, they
said, were the enemies of the Revolution ! So they
put them back in prison, and hung up other flags.
Here, stretched across the Nevsky Prospect, on this
winter morning there still fluttered in the breeze the
tattered shreds of their washed-out red flags, besmirched
with the catch-words with which the Russian workers
and the Russian peasants had been duped. There
still stood unremoved in the middle of the square the
shabby, dilapidated, four-months-old remains of the
tribunes and stages which had been erected to celebrate
the anniversary of the Bolshevist revolution. The

192 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

inscriptions everywhere spoke not of the " bourgeois
prejudices " of Liberty and Justice, but of the
Dictatorship of the Proletariat (sometimes hypo-
critically called the " brotherhood of workers "), of
class war, of the sword, of blood, hatred, and world-
wide revolution.

Looking up from my bitter reverie I saw Uncle Egor,
from whom I had got separated in the scramble at the
railway station. I wanted to thank and recompense
him for the food and shelter he had given me.

" Uncle Egor," I asked him, " how much do I owe
you?"

But Uncle Egor shook his head. He would take no
recompense.

" Nothing, my little son," he replied, " nothing.
And come back again when you like." He looked
round, and lowering his voice, added cautiously,
" And if ever you need ... to run away ... or hide
... or anything like that . . . you know, little son,
who will help you."

p. 192

A DAUGHTER OF THE SOIL

CHAPTER IX

METAMORPHOSIS

I NEVER saw Uncle Egor again. I sometimes
wonder what has become of him. I suppose he is still
there, and he is the winner ! The Russian peasant is
the ultimate master of the Russian Revolution, as the
Bolsheviks are learning to their pain. Once I did set
out, several months later, to invoke his help in escap-
ing pursuit, but had to turn back. Uncle Egor lived
in a very inaccessible spot, the railway line that had
to be traversed was later included in the war zone,
travelling became difficult, and sometimes the trains
were stopped altogether.

There was a cogent reason, however, why I hesi-
tated to return to Uncle Egor except hi an emergency.
He might not have recognized me— and that brings
me back to my story.

Traversing the city on this cold February morning,
I sensed an atmosphere of peculiar unrest and subdued
alarm. Small groups of guards — Lettish and Chinese,
for the most part— hurrying hither and thither, were
evidence of special activity on the part of the Extra-
ordinary Commission. I procured the Soviet news-
papers, but they, of course, gave no indication that
anything was amiss. It was only later that I learned
that during the last few days numerous arrests of
supposed counter-revolutionists had been made, and
that simultaneously measures were being taken to
prevent an anticipated outbreak of workers' strikes,

0 193

194 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

By the usual devious routes I arrived in the locality
of my empty flat " No. 5." This, I was confident,
was the safest place for me to return to first. From
there I would telephone to the Journalist, the Doctor,
and one or two other people, and find out if all was
fair and square in their houses. If no one had " been
taken ill," or " gone to hospital," or been inflicted with
" unexpected visits from country relatives," I would
look them up and find out how the land lay and if
anything particular had happened during my absence.

The prevailing atmosphere of disquietude made me
approach the flat with especial caution. The street
was all but deserted, the yard was as foul and noisome
as ever, and the only individual I encountered as I
crossed it, holding my breath, was a hideous wretch,
shaking with disease, digging presumably for food
in the stinking heaps of rubbish piled in the corner.
His jaws munched mechanically, and he looked up
with a guilty look, like a dog discovered in some overt
misdeed. From the window as I mounted the stairs
I threw him some money without waiting to see how
he took it.

Arriving at No. 5, I listened intently at the back
door. There was no sound within. I was about to
knock, when I recalled the poor devil I had seen
in the yard. An idea occurred — I would give him
another forty roubles and tell him to come up and
knock. Meanwhile, I would listen at the bottom of
the stairs, and if I heard unfamiliar voices at the door
I 'would have time to make off. They would never
arrest that miserable outcast, anyway. But the fellow
was no longer in the yard, and I repented of having
thrown him money and interrupted his repast. Mis-
placed generosity ! I remounted the stairs and applied
my ear to the door.

METAMORPHOSIS 195

Thump— thump— thump ! Nothing being audible,
I knocked boldly, hastily re-applying my ear to the
keyhole to await the result.

For a moment there was silence. Impatient, I
thumped the door a second time, louder. Then I heard
shuffling footsteps moving along the passage. Without
waiting, I darted down the steps to the landing below.
Whoever came to the door, I hurriedly considered,
would be certain, when they found no one outside, to
look out over the iron banisters. If it were a stranger,
I would say I had mistaken the door, and bolt.

The key squeaked in the rusty lock and the door
was stiffly pushed open. Shoeless feet approached the
banisters, and a face peered over. Through the bars
from the bottom I saw it was the dull and unintelligent
face of the boy, Grisha, who had replaced Maria.

" Grisha," I called, as I mounted the stairs, to
prepare him for my return, " is that you? "

Grisha's expressionless features barely broke into a
smile. "Are you alone at home? " I asked when I
reached him.

" Alone."

Grisha followed me into the flat, locking the back
door behind him. The air was musty with three
weeks' unimpeded accumulation of dust.

" Where is Maria ? See ! I have brought her a
lovely pair of brand-new shoes. And for you a slab
of chocolate. There ! "

Grisha took the chocolate, muttering thanks, and
breaking off a morsel slowly conveyed it to his mouth.

" Well ? Nothing new, Grisha ? Is the world still
going round ? '

Grisha stared, and, preparatory to speech, labori-
ously transferred the contents of his mouth into his
cheek. At last he got it there, and, gulping, gave vent

196 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

somewhat inarticulately to the following unexpected
query :

" Are you Kr-KY-Kry-len-ko ? "

Krylenko ! How the deuce should this youngster
know my name of Krylenko — or Afirenko, or Marko-
vitch, or any other? He knew me only as "Ivan
Hitch," a former friend of his master.

But Grisha appeared to take it for granted. With-
out waiting he proceeded:

" They came again for you this morning."

uWho?"

" A man with two soldiers."

"Asking for 'Krylenko'?"

" Yes."

" And what did you say? "

" What you told me, Ivan Hitch. That you will
be away a long time and perhaps not come back at
all."

" By what wonderful means, I should like to know,
have you discovered a connection between me and
any one called Krylenko ? "

" They described you."

" What did they say? Tell me precisely."

Grisha shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. His
sluggish brain exerted itself to remember.

" Tall— sort of, they said, black beard . . . long
hair . . . one front tooth missing . . . speaks not
quite our way . . . walks quickly."

Was Grisha making this up ? Surely he had not
sufficient ingenuity ! I questioned him minutely as to
when the unwelcome visitors had first come, and made
him repeat every word they had said and his replies.
I saw, then, that it was true. I was known, and they
were awaiting my return.

" To-day was the second time," said Grisha. " First

METAMORPHOSIS 197

they came a few days ago. They looked round and
opened the cupboards, but when they found them all
empty they went away. ' Uyehal— departed,' said
one to the others. * There's nothing here, so it's use-
less to leave any one. When will he return ? ' he asks
me. c There's no knowing,' I tell him. * Maybe
you'll never come back,' I said. Early this morning
when they came I told them the same."

A moment's consideration convinced me that there
was only one line of action. I must quit the flat like
lightning. The next step must be decided in the
street.

" Grisha," I said, " you have acquitted yourself
well. If ever any one asks for me again, tell them I
have left the city for good, and shall never return.
Does Maria know ? "

" Maria is still at the farm. I have not seen her
for two weeks."

" Well, tell her the same— because it's true. Good-
bye."

Arriving in the street, I began to think. Had I not
better have told Grisha simply to say nobody had
come back at all ? But Grisha was sure to bungle the
moment he was cross-questioned and then they would
think him an accomplice. It was too late, anyway. I
must now think of how to change my appearance
completely and with the minimum of delay. The
nearest place to go to was the Journalist's. If he
could not help me I would lie low there till nightfall,
and then go to the Doctor's.

Limping along painfully, half covering my face with
my scarf as if I had a toothache, I approached the
Journalist's home. He lived on the first floor, thank
heaven, so there would be only one flight of stairs to
ascend.

198 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

From the opposite side of the street I scrutinized
the exterior of the house. Through the glass door I
could see nobody in the hall and there was nothing to
indicate that anything was amiss. So I crossed the
road and entered.

The floor-tiling in the hall was loose and had long
needed repair, but I tiptoed over it gently and without
noise. Then, with one foot on the bottom stair, I
stopped dead. What was that disturbance on the first
landing just over my head ? I listened intently.

Whispering.

There must be two or three people on the first land-
ing, conferring in low tones, and from the direction of
the voices it was clear they were just outside the
Journalist's door. I caught the word " pick-lock,"
and somebody passed some keys, one of which seemed
to be inserted in the lock.

Thieves, possibly. But robbery was becoming rare
in these days when the bourgeoisie had scarcely any-
thing more to be relieved of, and anyway why should
the Journalist's flat particularly be selected and the
theft perpetrated in broad daylight ? It was far more
likely that the dwelling was to be subjected to a sudden
search, and that the raiders wished to surprise the
occupant or occupants without giving them time to
secrete anything. In any case, thieves or searchers,
this was no place for me. I turned and tiptoed
hurriedly out of the hall.

And very foolish it was of me to hurry, too ! for I
should have remembered the flooring was out of repair.
The loose tiles rattled beneath my feet like pebbles,
the noise was heard above, and down the stairs there
charged a heavy pair of boots. Outside was better
than in, anyway, so I did not stop, but just as I was
slipping into the street I was held up from behind by

METAMORPHOSIS 199

a big burly workman, dressed in a leathern jacket
covered with belts of cartridges, who held a revolver
at my head.

It is a debatable point, which tactics is more
effective in a tight corner— to laugh defiantly with
brazen audacity, or to assume a crazy look of utter
imbecility. Practised to an extreme, either will pull
you through almost any scrape, provided your adver-
sary displays a particle of doubt or hesitancy. From
my present bedraggled and exhausted appearance to
one of vacant stupidity was but a step, so when the
cartridge-bedecked individual challenged me with his
revolver and demanded to know my business, I met
his gaze with terrified, blinking eyes, shaking limbs,
slobbering lips, and halting speech.

" Stand ! " he bawled; " what do you want here ? "
His voice was raucous and threatening.

I looked up innocently over his head at the lintel
of the door.

" Is— is this No. 29?': I stammered, with my
features contorted into an insane grin. " It is — I— I
mistook it for No. 39, wh-which I want. Thank you."

Mumbling and leering idiotically, I limped off like a
cripple. Every second I expected to hear him shout
an order to halt. But he merely glared, and I remem-
bered I had seen just such a glare before, on the face of
that other man whom I encountered in Marsh's house on
the day of my first arrival in Petrograd. As I stumbled
along, looking up with blinking eyes at all the shop-
and door-lintels as I passed them, I saw out of the
corner of my eye that the cartridge- covered individual
had lowered his revolver to his side. Then he turned
and re-entered the house.

" The blades are pretty blunt, I am afraid," observed

200 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

the Doctor, as he produced his Gillette razor and
placed it on the table before me. " They still mow
me all right, but I've got a soft chin. The man who
smuggles a box-full of razor-blades into this country
will make his fortune. Here's the brush, and soap —
my last piece."

It was late in the afternoon of the same day. I sat
in the Doctor's study before a mirror, getting ready to
perform an excruciating surgical operation, namely,
the removal with a blunt safety-razor of the shaggy
hirsute appendage that for nearly six months had
decorated my cheeks, chin, and nether lip.

The Doctor, as you see, was still at liberty. It was
with some trepidation that I had approached his house
on this day when everything seemed to be going wrong.
But we had agreed upon a sign by which I might know,
every time I called, whether it were safe to enter. A
large box was placed in the window in such a position as
to be visible from the street. Its absence would be a
danger-signal. The Doctor had suggested this device
as much for his own sake as mine : he had no desire
that I should come stumbling in if he were engaged
in an altercation with a delegation from No. 2 Goro-
hovaya, and there was no house in the city that was
immune from these unwelcome visitors. But the box
was in the window, so I was in the flat.

Before operating with the razor I reduced my beard
as far as possible with the scissors. Even this altered
my appearance to a remarkable degree. Then I
brought soap-brush and blade into play — but the less
said of the ensuing painful hour the better ! The
Doctor then assumed the role of hair-dresser. He
cut off my flowing locks, and, though it was hardly
necessary, dyed my hair coal-black with some
German dyestuff he had got.

METAMORPHOSIS 201

Except for one detail, my transformation was now
complete. Cutting open the lapel of the jacket I was
discarding, I extracted a tiny paper packet, and, un-
wrapping it, took out the contents— my missing tooth,
carefully preserved for this very emergency. A little
wadding served effectually as a plug. I inserted it in
the gaping aperture in my top row of teeth, and what
had so recently been a diabolic leer became a smile as
seemly (I hope) as that of any other normal individual.

The clean-shaven, short-haired, tidy but indigent-
looking person in eye-glasses, who made his way down
the Doctor's staircase next morning attired in the
Doctor's old clothes, resembled the shaggy-haired,
limping maniac of the previous day about as nearly as
he did the cook who preceded him down the stairs.
The cook was going to engage the house-porter's atten-
tion if the latter presented himself, in order that he
might not notice the exit of a person who had never
entered. So when the cook disappeared into the
porter's cave-like abode just inside the front door,
covering with her back the little glass window through
which he or his wife always peered, and began greeting
the pair with enthusiastic heartiness, I slipped un-
noticed into the street.

In the dilapidated but capacious boots the Doctor
found for me I was able to walk slowly without limp-
ing. But I used a walking-stick, and this added
curiously to my new appearance, which I think may be
described as that of an ailing, underfed " intellectual "
of the student type. It is a fact that during these
days, when in view of my lameness I could not move
rapidly, I passed unmolested and untouched out of
more than one scuffle when raiders rounded up
" speculators," and crossed the bridges without so
much as being asked for my papers.

202 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

It took me several days to get thoroughly accus-
tomed to my new exterior. I found myself constantly
glancing into mirrors and shop-windows in the street,
smiling with amusement at my own reflection. In
the course of ensuing weeks and months, I encoun-
tered several people with whom I had formerly had
connections, and though some of them looked me in
the face I was never recognized.

It was about a week later, when walking along the
river-quay, that I espied to my surprise on the other
side of the road Melnikoff s friend of Viborg days whom
I had hoped to find in Finland— Ivan Sergeievitch. He
was well disguised as a soldier, with worn-out boots and
shabby cap. I followed him in uncertainty, passing
and repassing him two or three times to make sure.
But a scar on his cheek left no further doubt. So,
waiting until he was close to the gate of the garden on
the west side of the Winter Palace, the wall of which
with the imperial monograms was being removed, I
stepped up behind him.

" Ivan Sergeievitch," I said in a low voice.

He stopped dead, not looking round.

" It is all right," I continued ; " step into the garden ;
you will recognize me in a minute."

He followed me cautiously at some paces distance
and we sat down on a bench amongst the bushes. In
this little garden former emperors and empresses had
promenaded when occupying the Winter Palace. In
the olden days before the revolution I often used to
wonder what was hidden behind the massive walls and
railings with imperial monograms that surrounded it.
But it was only a plain little enclosure with winding
paths, bushes, and a small fountain.

" My God ! " exclaimed Ivan Sergeievitch, in
astonishment, when I had convinced him of my

METAMORPHOSIS 203

identity. "Is it possible ? No one would recognize
you ! It is you I have been looking for."

"Me?"

" Yes. Do you not know that Zorinsky is in
Finland?"

Zorinsky again ! Though it was only a week, it
seemed ages since I had last crossed the frontier, and
the Zorinsky episode already belonged to the distant
past — when I was somebody and something else. I
was surprised how little interest the mention of his
name excited in me. I was already entirely engrossed
in a new political situation that had arisen.

" Is he? " I replied. " I went to Finland myself
recently, partly to see you about that very fellow. I
saw your wife. But nobody seems to know anything
about him, and I have ceased to care."

" You have no notion what a close shave you have
had, Pavel Pavlovitch. I will tell you what I know.
When I heard from my wife that Varia was arrested
and that you were in touch with Zorinsky, I returned
to Finland and, although I am condemned by the
Bolsheviks to be shot, set out at once for Petrograd.
You see, Zorinsky "

And Ivan Sergeievitch unfolded to me a tale that was
strange indeed. I have forgotten some details of it,
but it was roughly as follows :

Zorinsky, under another name, had been an officer
in the old army. He distinguished himself for reckless
bravery at the front and drunkenness in the rear.
During the war he had had some financial losses,
became implicated in attempted embezzlement, and
later was caught cheating at cards. He was invited
to resign from his regiment, but was reinstated after an
interval in view of his military services. He again
distinguished himself in battle, but was finally excluded

204 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

from the regiment shortly before the revolution, this
time on the ground of misconduct. During 1917 he
was known to have failed in some grandiose deals of a
speculative and doubtful character. He then disap-
peared for a time, but in the summer of 1918 was found
living in Petrograd under various names, ostensibly
hiding from the Bolsheviks. Although his business
deals were usually unsuccessful, he appeared always
to be in affluent circumstances. It was this fact,
and a certain strangeness of manner, that led Ivan
Sergeievitch to regard him with strong suspicion. He
had him watched, and established beyond all doubt
that he was endeavouring to gain admission to various
counter-revolutionary organizations on behalf of the
Bolsheviks.

Shortly afterward, Ivan Sergeievitch was arrested
under circumstances that showed that only Zorinsky
could have betrayed him. But he escaped on the very
night that he was to be shot by breaking from his
guards and throwing himself over the parapet of the
Neva into the river. In Finland, whither he fled, he
met and formed a close friendship with Melnikoff,
who, after the Yaroslavl affair and his own escape,
had assisted in the establishment of a system of com-
munication with Petrograd, occasionally revisiting the
city himself.

" Of course I told Melnikoff of Zorinsky," said Ivan
Sergeievitch, " though I could not know that Zorinsky
would track him. But he got the better of us both."

" Then why," I asked, " did Melnikoff associate with
him?"

" He never saw him, so far as I know."

" What ! " I exclaimed. " But Zorinsky said he
knew him well and always called him ' an old friend ' ! "

" Zorinsky may have seen Melnikoff, but he never

METAMORPHOSIS 205

spoke to him, that I know of. Melnikoff was a friend
of a certain Vera Alexandrovna X., who kept a secret
cafe— you knew it ? Ah, if I had known Melnikoff had
told you of it I should have warned you. From other
people who escaped from Petrograd I learned that
Zorinsky frequented the cafe too. He was merely
lying in wait for Melnikoff."

" You mean he deliberately betrayed him? "
" It is evident. Put two and two together. Melni-
koff was a known and much-feared counter-revolu-
tionary. Zorinsky was in the service of the Extra-
ordinary Commission and was well paid, no doubt.
He also betrayed Vera Alexandrovna and her cafe,
probably receiving so much per head. I heard of that
from other people."

" Then why did he not betray me too? " I asked,
incredulously.

" You gave him money, I suppose ? "
I told Ivan Sergeievitch the whole story ; how I had
met Zorinsky, his offer to release Melnikoff, the sixty
thousand roubles and other payments " for odd ex-
penses " amounting to about a hundred thousand in
all. I also told him of the valuable and accurate
information Zorinsky had provided me with.

" That is just what he would do," said Ivan
Sergeievitch. " He worked for both sides. A hundred
thousand, I suppose, is all he thought he could get out
of you, so now he has gone to Finland. Something
must have happened to you here, for he wanted to
prevent your returning to Russia and pose as your
saviour. Is it not true that something has happened ? "
I told him of the discovery of the Journalist's flat
and " No. 5," but, unless I had been tracked un-
noticed, there was no especial reason to believe
Zorinsky could have discovered either of these. The

206 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

betrayal of the name " Krylenko " was of course
easily traceable to him, but whence had he known the
addresses ?

And then I remembered that I had never telephoned
to Zorinsky from anywhere except from " No. 5 " and
the Journalist's, for those were the only places where I
could speak without being overheard. I suggested the
coincidence to Ivan Sergeievitch.

" Aha ! " he cried, obviously regarding the evidence
as conclusive. " Of course he inquired for your tele-
phone numbers directly you had spoken ! But he
would not betray you as long as you continued to
pay him. Besides, he doubtless hoped eventually to
unearth a big organization. As for your betrayal, any
time would do, and the reward was always certain.
It might be another hundred thousand for your haunts.
And then, you see, in Finland he would warn you
against returning and get some more out of you for
this further great service. He was furious to find you
had just left."

From the windows of the Winter Palace prying eyes
were looking down into the garden. Two figures sit-
ting so long on a cold day in the bushes would begin
to rouse suspicion. We rose and walked out on to the
quay.

Seating ourselves on one of the stone benches set in
the parapet of the river, Ivan Sergeievitch told me
many things that were of the greatest value. An
entirely new set of associations grew out of this
conversation. He also said that Varia had just been
released from prison and that he was going to take
her with him across the frontier that night. He had
been unable to find Stepanovna, but supposed she was
staying with friends. I agreed if ever I heard of her
to let him know.

METAMORPHOSIS 207

" Will Zorinsky come back to Russia, do you think ? "
I asked.

" I have no idea," was the reply; and he added,
again staring at my transformed physiognomy and
laughing, " But you certainly have no cause to fear his
recognizing you now ! "

Such was the strange story of Zorinsky as I learnt it
from Ivan Sergeievitch. I never heard it corroborated
except by the Doctor, who didn't know Zorinsky, but
I had no reason to doubt it. It certainly tallied with
my own experiences. And he was only one of several.
As Ivan Sergeievitch observed : " There are not a few
Zorinskys, I fear, and they are the ruin and shame of
our class."

Twice, later, I was reminded acutely of this singular
personage, who, as it transpired, did return to Russia.
The first time was when I learned through acquaint-
ances of Ivan Sergeievitch that Zorinsky believed me
to be back in Petrograd, and had related to somebody
in tones of admiration that he himself had seen me
driving down the Nevsky Prospect in a carriage and
pair in the company of one of the chief Bolshevist
Commissars !

The second time was months later, when I espied
him standing in a doorway, smartly dressed in a blue
" French " and knee-breeches, about to mount a
motor-cycle. I was on the point of descending from
a street-car when our eyes met. I stopped and pushed
my way back into the crowd of passengers. Being in
the uniform of a Red soldier I feared his recognition
of me not by my exterior, but by another peculiar
circumstance. Under the influence of sudden emotion
a sort of telepathic communication sometimes takes
place without the medium of words and even regard-
less of distance. It has several times happened to

208 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

me. Rightly or wrongly I suspected it now. I pushed
my way through the car to the front platform and,
looking back over the heads of the passengers,
imagined (maybe it was mere imagination) I saw
Zorinsky's eyes also peering over the passengers' heads
toward me.

I did not wait to make sure. The incident occurred in
the Zagorodny Prospect. Passing the Tsarskoeselsky
station I jumped off the car while it was still in motion,
stooped beneath its side till it passed, and boarded
another going in the opposite direction. At the station
I jumped off, entered the building and sat amongst the
massed herds of peasants and " speculators " till dusk.

Eventually I heard that Zorinsky had been shot by
the Bolskeviks. If so, it was an ironic and fitting
close to his career. Perhaps they discovered him
again serving two or more masters. But the news
impressed me but little, for I had ceased to care
whether Zorinsky was shot or not.

p. 208

THE AUTHOR, DISGUISED

CHAPTER X

THE SPHINX

A DETAILED narrative of my experiences during the
following six months would surpass the dimensions to
which I must limit this book. Some of them I hope
to make the subject of a future story. For I met
other " Stepanovnas," " Marias " and " Journalists,"
in whom I came to trust as implicitly as in the old
and who were a very present help in time of trouble.
I also inevitably met with scoundrels, but though
No. 2 Gorohovaya again got close upon my track-
even closer than through Zorinsky— and one or two
squeaks were very narrow indeed, still I have survived
to tell the tale.

This is partly because the precautions I took to
avoid detection became habitual. Only on one occa-
sion was I obliged to destroy documents of value,
while of the couriers who, at grave risk, carried
communications back and forth from Finland, only
two failed to arrive and, I presume, were caught and
shot. But the messages they bore (as indeed any
notes I ever made) were composed in such a manner
that they could not possibly be traced to any indi-
vidual or address.

I wrote mostly at night, in minute handwriting on
tracing-paper, with a small india-rubber bag about
four inches in length, weighted with lead, ready at
my side. In case of alarm all my papers could be
slipped into this bag and within thirty seconds be

p 209

210 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

transferred to the bottom of a tub of washing or the
cistern of the water-closet. In efforts to discover
arms or incriminating documents, I have seen pic-
tures, carpets, and bookshelves removed and every-
thing turned topsy-turvy by diligent searchers, but it
never occurred to anybody to search through a pail of
washing or thrust his hand into the water-closet
cistern.

Through the agency of friends I secured a post as
draftsman at a small factory on the outskirts of the
city. A relative of one of the officials of this place,
whose signature was attached to my papers and who
is well known to the Bolsheviks, called on me recently
in New York. I showed him some notes I had made
on the subject, but he protested that, camouflaged
though my references were, they might still be traced
to individuals concerned, most of whom, with their
families, are still in Russia. I therefore suppressed
them. For similar reasons I am still reticent in
details concerning the regiment of the Red army to
which I was finally attached.

Learning through military channels at my disposal
that men of my age and industrial status were shortly
to be mobilized and despatched to the eastern front,
where the advance of Kolchak was growing to be a
serious menace, I forestalled the mobilization order by
about a week and applied for admission as a volunteer
in the regiment of an officer acquaintance, stationed a
short distance outside Petrograd. There was some
not unnatural hesitation before I received an answer,
due to the necessity of considering the personality of
the regimental commissar— a strong Communist who
wished to have the regiment despatched to perform its
revolutionary duty against Kolchak's armies. But at
the critical moment this individual was promoted to a

THE SPHINX 211

higher divisional post, and the commander succeeded
in getting nominated to his regiment a commissar of
shaky communistic principles, who ultimately deve-
loped anti-Bolshevist sympathies almost as strong as
his own. How my commander, a Tsarist officer, who
detested and feared the Communists, was forced to
serve in the Red army I will explain later.

Despite his ill-concealed sympathies, however, this
gentleman won Trotzky's favour in an unexpected and
remarkable manner. Being instructed to impede an
advance of the forces of the " White " general, Yuden-
itch, by the destruction of strategic bridges, he resolved
to blow up the wrong bridge, and, if possible, cut off
the Red retreat and assist the White advance. By
sheer mistake, however, the company he despatched
to perform the task blew up the right bridge, thus
covering a precipitate Red retreat and effectually
checking the White advance.

For days my commander secretly tore his hair
and wept, his mortification rendered the more acute
by the commendations he was obliged for the sake
of appearances to shower upon his men, whose judg-
ment had apparently been so superior to his own.
His chagrin reached its height when he received
an official communication from army headquarters
applauding the timely exploit, while through the
Communist organization he was formally invited to
join the privileged ranks of the Communist Party !
In the view of my commander no affront could have
been more offensive than this unsought Bolshevist
honour. He was utterly at a loss to grasp my point
of view when I told him what to me was obvious,
namely, that no offer could have been more provi-
dential and that he ought to jump at it. Though
inside Russia the approaching White armies were often

212 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

imagined to be a band of noble and chivalrous cru-
saders, certain information I had received as to the
disorganization prevailing amongst them aroused my
misgivings, and I was very doubtful whether my
commander's error had materially altered the course
of events. The commissar, who did not care one way
or the other, saw the humour of the situation. He,
too, urged the commander to smother his feelings and
see the joke, with the result that the would-be traitor
to the pseudo-proletarian cause became a Com-
munist, and combining his persuasions with those of
the commissar, succeeded in keeping the regiment out
of further action for several weeks. The confidence
they had won made it easy to convince army head-
quarters that the regiment was urgently required to
suppress uprisings which were feared in the capital.
When disturbances did break out, however, the
quelling of them was entrusted to troops drafted from
the far south or east, for it was well known that no
troops indigenous to Petrograd or Moscow could be
relied upon to fire on their fellow-townspeople.

I had hitherto evaded military service as long as
possible, fearing that it might impede the conduct of
my intelligence work. The contrary proved to be
the case, and for many reasons I regretted I had not
enlisted earlier. Apart from greater freedom of
movement and preference over civilians when apply-
ing for lodging, amusement, or travelling tickets, the
Red soldier received rations greatly superior both in
quantity and quality to those of the civilian popu-
lation. Previous to this time I had received only half
a pound of bread daily and had had to take my scanty
dinner at a filthy communal eating-house, but as a
Red soldier I received, besides a dinner and other odds
and ends not worth mentioning, a pound and some-

THE SPHINX 213

times a pound and a half of tolerably good black
bread, which alone was sufficient, accustomed as I am
to a scanty diet, to subsist on with relative comfort.

The commander was a good fellow, nervous and
sadly out of place in " the party," but he soon got
used to it and enjoyed its many privileges. He stood
me in good stead. Repeatedly detailing me off to any
place I wished to go to, on missions he knew were
lengthy (such as the purchase of automobile tyres,
which were unobtainable, or literature of various
kinds), I was able to devote my main attention as
before to the political and economic situation.

As a Red soldier, I was sent to Moscow and there
consulted with the. National Centre, the most promis-
ing of the political organizations whose object was to
work out a programme acceptable to the Russian
people as a whole. On account of its democratic
character this organization was pursued by the Bol-
shevist Government with peculiar zeal, and was
finally unearthed, and its members, of whom many
were Socialists, shot.1 From Moscow also I received
regularly copies of the summaries on the general
situation that were submitted to the Soviet of People's
Commissars. The questions I was instructed in mes-
sages from abroad to investigate covered the entire
field of soviet administration, but I do not propose
to deal with that huge subject here. It is the present
and the inscrutable future that fascinate me rather
than the past. I will speak only of the peasantry,
the army, and " the party." For it is on the ability

1 The Bolsheviks assert that I lent the National Centre financial
assistance. This is unfortunately untrue, for the British Govern-
ment had furnished me with no funds for such a purpose. I
drew the Government's attention to the existence of the National
Centre, but the latter was suppressed by the Reds too early for
any action to be taken.

214 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

or inability of the Communists to control the army
that the stability of the Bolshevist regime in a con-
siderable measure depends, while the future lies in
the lap of that vast inarticulate mass of simple peasant
toilers, so justly termed the Russian Sphinx.

CHAPTER XI

THE RED ARMY

THE day I joined my regiment I donned my Red
army uniform, consisting of a khaki shirt, yellow
breeches, putties, a pair of good boots which I
bought from another soldier (the army at that time
was not issuing boots), and a grey army overcoat.
On my cap I wore the Red army badge— a red star
with a mallet and plough imprinted on it.

This could not be said to be the regular Red army
uniform, though it was as regular as any. Except
for picked troops, smartly apparelled in the best the
army stores could provide, the rank and file of recruits
wore just anything, and often had only bast slippers
in place of boots. There is bitter irony and a world
of significance in the fact that in 1920, when I
observed the Red army again from the Polish front,
I found many of the thousands who deserted to
the Poles wearing British uniforms which had been
supplied, together with so much war material, to
Denikin.

" Tovarishtch Kommandir" I would say on pre-
senting myself before my commander, " pozvoltye
dolozhitj. . . . Comrade Commander, allow me to
report that the allotted task is executed."

" Good, Comrade So-and-so," would be the reply,
" I will hear your report immediately," or : " Hold

215

216 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

yourself in readiness at such and such an hour
to-morrow."

The terminology of the former army, like the
nomenclature of many streets in the capitals, has
been altered and the word " commander " substituted
for " officer." When we were alone I did not say
" Comrade Commander " (unless facetiously) but
called him " Vasili Petrovitch," and he addressed me
also by Christian name and patronymic.

" Vasili Petrovitch," I said one day, " what made
you join the Red army ? "

" You think we have any option ? " he retorted.
" If an officer doesn't want to be shot he either obeys
the mobilization order or flees from the country.
And only those can afford to take flight who have no
family to leave behind." He drew a bulky pocket-
book from his pocket, and fumbling among the mass
of dirty and ragged documents, unfolded a paper and
placed it before me. " That is a copy of a paper
I was made to fill in and sign before being given a
Red commission. We all have to sign it, and if you
were discovered here I should have signed away my
wife's life as well as my own."

The paper was a typewritten blank, on which first
the name> rank in the old army, present rank, regi-
ment, abode, etc., had to be filled in in detail. Then
followed a space in which the newly mobilized officer
gave an exhaustive list of his relatives, with their
ages, addresses, and occupations ; while at the bottom,
followed by a space for signature, were the following
words :

/ hereby declare that I am aware that in the event
of my disloyalty to the Soviet Government, my
relatives will be arrested and deported.

p. 216

A REVIEW OF 'RED' TROOPS

THE RED ARMY 217

Vasili Petrovitch spread out his hands, shrugging
his shoulders.

" I should prefer to see my wife and my little
daughters shot," he said, bitterly, " rather than that
they be sent to a Red concentration camp. I am
supposed to make my subordinates sign these declara-
tions, too. Pleasant, isn't it? You know, I sup-
pose," he added, " that appointment to a post of any
responsibility is now made conditional upon having
relatives near at hand who may be arrested ? ': (This
order had been published in the Press. ) " The happiest
thing nowadays is to be friendless and destitute, then
you cannot get your people shot. Or else act on the
Bolshevist principle that conscience, like liberty, is a
' bourgeois prejudice.' Then you can work for No. 2
Gorohovaya and make a fortune."

Not only my commander but most of the men in
my unit talked like this amongst themselves, only
quietly, for fear of Bolshevist spies. One little fellow
who was drafted into the regiment was uncommonly
outspoken. He was a mechanic from a factory on the
Viborg side of the city. His candour was such that I
suspected him at first of being a provocateur, paid by
the Bolsheviks to speak ill of them and thus unmask
sympathizers. But he was not that sort. One day I
overheard him telling the story of how he and his
fellows had been mobilized.

" As soon as we were mobilized," he said, " we were
chased to all sorts of meetings. Last Saturday at the
Narodny Dom [the biggest hall in Petrograd] Zinoviev
spoke to us for an hour and assured us we were to
fight for workmen and peasants against capitalists,
imperialists, bankers, generals, landlords, priests, and
other bloodsucking riff-raff. Then he read a resolu-
tion that every Red soldier swears to defend Red

218 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Petrograd to the last drop of blood, but nobody put
up his hand except a few in the front rows who had,
of course, been put there to vote ' for.' Near me I
heard several men growl and say, ' Enough ! we aren't
sheep, and we know for what sort of freedom you
want to use us as cannon fodder.' Son of a gun, that
Zinoviev ! " exclaimed the little man, spitting dis-
gustedly; "next day — what do you think? — we read
in the paper that ten thousand newly mobilized soldiers
had passed a resolution unanimously to defend what
Zinoviev and Lenin call the c Workers' and Peasants'
Government ' ! "

Few people ventured to be so outspoken as this,
for everybody feared the four or five Communists
who were attached to the regiment to eavesdrop and
report any remarks detrimental to the Bolsheviks.
One of these Communists was a Jew, a rare occurrence
in the rank and file of the army. He disappeared when
the regiment was moved to the front, doubtless having
received another job of a similar nature in a safe spot
in the rear. The only posts in the Red army held by
Jews in any number are the political posts of com-
missars. One reason why there appear to be so many
Jews in the Bolshevist administration is that they
are nearly all employed in the rear, particularly in
those departments (such as of food, propaganda,
public economy) which are not concerned in fighting.
It is largely to the ease with which Jewish Bolsheviks
evade military service, and the arrogance some of
them show toward the Russians, whom they openly
despise, that the intense hatred of the Jew and the
popular belief in Russia that Bolshevism is a Jewish
" put-up job " are due. There are, of course, just as
many Jews who oppose the Bolsheviks, and many of
these are lying in prison. But this is not widely

THE RED ARMY 219

known, for like Russian anti-Bolsheviks they have no
means of expressing their opinions.

Leo Bronstein, the genius of the Red army, now
universally known by his more Russian-sounding
pseudonym of Trotzky, is the second of the triumvi-
rate of " Lenin, Trotzky, and Zinoviev," who guide
the destinies of the Russian and the world revolution.
That the accepted order of precedence is not " Trotzky,
Lenin, and Zinoviev " must be gall and wormwood to
Trotzky's soul. His first outstanding characteristic
is overweening ambition; his second— egoism ; his
third — cruelty; and all three are sharpened by intel-
ligence and wit of unusual brilliancy. According to
his intimate associates of former days, his nature is
by no means devoid of cordiality, but his affections
are completely subordinated to the promotion of his
ambitious personal designs, and he casts off friends
and relatives alike, as he would clothing, the moment
they have served his purpose.

A schoolmate, prison-companion, and political col-
league of Trotzky, Dr. Ziv, who for years shared his
labours both openly and secretly, travelled with him
to exile, and was associated with him also in New
York, thus sums up his character :

" In Trotzky's psychology there are no elements
corresponding to the ordinary conceptions of brutality
or humanity. In place of these there is a blank. . . .
Men, for him, are mere units— hundreds, thousands,
and hundreds of thousands of units — by means of
which he may satisfy his Wille zur Macht. Whether
this end is to be achieved by securing for those
multitudes conditions of supreme happiness or by
mercilessly crushing or exterminating them, is for
Trotzky an unessential detail, to be determined not

220 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

by sympathies or antipathies but by the accidental
circumstances of the moment." 1

The same writer throws some interesting light on
how Bronstein chose his pseudonym. His present
assumed name of " Trotzky " was that of the senior
jailer of the Tsarist prison-house at Odessa, where
Bronstein and Dr. Ziv were incarcerated. The latter
describes this jailer as "a majestic figure, leaning
on his long sabre and with the eagle eye of a field-
marshal surveying his domain and feeling himself a
little tsar." 2 The motive impelling Trotzky to use
a pseudonym is peculiar. " To call himself Bronstein
would be once and for all to attach to himself the
hated label designating his Jewish origin, and this
was the very thing that he desired everyone to forget
as quickly and thoroughly as possible." This estima-
tion is the more valuable in that the writer, Dr. Ziv,
is himself a Jew.

The creation and control of a huge militarist machine
have hitherto afforded full and ample scope for the
exercise of Trotzky's superhuman energy and in-
domitable will. Regarding the Russian peasants and
workers as cattle and treating them as such, he
naturally strove at an early date, by coercion or by
flattering and alluring offers, to persuade the trained
Tsarist officer staff, with whose technical knowledge
he could not dispense, to serve the Red flag. The
ideas of a " democratic army " and " the arming of
the entire proletariat," the demand for which, together
with that for the constituent assembly, had served to
bring Trotzky and his associates to power, were
discarded the moment they had served their purpose.

The same measures as were employed by the Tsarist

1 Trotzky, by Dr. G. A. Ziv, New York, Narodopravsto, 1921,
p. 93. 2 Ibid., p. 26.

THE RED ARMY 221

army were introduced to combat wholesale robbery
and pillage— an inevitable phenomenon resulting from
Bolshevist agitation— and with even greater severity.
Soldiers' committees were soon suppressed. The
" revolutionary " commanders of 1918, untrained and
unqualified for leadership, were dismissed and sup-
planted by " specialists " — that is, officers of the
Tsarist army, closely watched, however, by carefully
selected Communists.

The strength of the Red army now undoubtedly
lies in its staff of officers. As the indispensability of
expert military knowledge became more and more
apparent, the official attitude toward Tsarist officers,
which was one of contempt and hostility as bourgeois,
became tempered with an obvious desire to conciliate.
The curious phenomenon was observable of a ribald
Red Press, still pandering to mob-instincts, denouncing
all Tsarist officers as " counter-revolutionary swine,"
while at the same time Trotzky, in secret, was tenta-
tively extending the olive branch to these same
" swine," and addressing them in tones of conciliation
and even respect. Officers were told that it was fully
understood that, belonging to " the old school," they
could not readily acquiesce in all the innovations of
the " proletarian " regime, that it was hoped in course
of time they would come to adapt themselves to it,
and that if in the meantime they would " give their
knowledge to the revolution " their services would be
duly recognized.

" We found it difficult to believe it was Trotzky
talking to us," an officer said to me after the extra-
ordinary meeting of commissars and naval specialists
of the Baltic fleet, at which Trotzky abolished the
committee system and restored the officers' authority.
My friend participated at the meeting, being a high

222 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

official in the Admiralty. " We all sat round the
table in expectation, officers at one end and the Com-
munist commissars at the other. The officers were
silent, for we did not know why we had been called,
but the commissars, all dressed in leathern jerkins,
sprawled in the best chairs, smoking and spitting,
and laughing loudly. Suddenly the door opened and
Trotzky entered . I had never seen him before and
was quite taken aback. He was dressed in the full
uniform of a Russian officer with the sole exception
of epaulettes. The dress did not suit him, but he
held himself erect and leader-like, and when we all
stood to receive him the contrast between him and
the commissars, whom he himself had appointed, was
striking. When he spoke we were thunderstruck—
and so were the commissars— for turning to our end
of the table he addressed us not as c Comrades ' but
as ' Gentlemen,' thanked us for our services, and
assured us he understood the difficulties, both moral
and physical, of our situation. Then he suddenly
turned on the commissars and to our amazement
poured forth a torrent of abuse just such as nowadays
we are accustomed to hear directed against ourselves.
He called them skulking slackers, demanded to know
why they dared sit in his presence with their jerkins
all unbuttoned, and made them all cringe like dogs.
He told us that the ship committees were abolished;
that thenceforward the commissars were to have
powers only of political control, but none in purely
naval matters. We were so dumbfounded that I
believe, if Trotzky were not a Jew, the officers would
follow him to a man ! "

The position of officers was grievous indeed, espe-
cially of those who had wives and families. Flight
with their families was difficult, while flight without

THE RED ARMY 223

their families led to the arrest of the latter the moment
the officer's absence was noted. Remaining in the
country their position was no better. Evasion of
mobilization or a default in service alike led to reprisals
against their kith and kin. Trotzky's approaches were
not an effort to make them serve — that was unavoid-
able—but to induce them to serve well. Alone his
persuasions might have availed little. But with the
passage of time the bitter disappointment at continued
White failures, and growing disgust at the effect of
Allied intervention, coming on the top of constant
terror, drove many to desperate and some to genuine
service in the Red ranks, believing that only with
the conclusion of war (irrespective of defeat or victory)
could the existing regime be altered. I believe that
the number of those who are genuinely serving, under
a conviction that the present order of things is a mere
passing phase, is considerably larger than is generally
supposed outside Russia.

One of the most pitiable sights I have ever witnessed
was the arrest of women as hostages because their
menfolk were suspected of anti-Bolshevist activities.
One party of such prisoners I remember particularly
because I knew one or two of the people in it. They
were all ladies, with the stamp of education and refine-
ment— and untold suffering — on their faces, accom-
panied by three or four children, who I presume had
refused to be torn away. In the hot summer sun they
trudged through the streets, attired in the remnants
of good clothing, with shoes out at heel, carrying bags
or parcels of such belongings as they were permitted
to take with them to prison. Suddenly one of the
women swooned and fell. The little party halted.
The invalid was helped to a seat by her companions,
while the escort stood and looked on as if bored with

224 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

the whole business. The guards did not look vicious,
and were only obeying orders. When the party moved
forward one of them carried the lady's bag. Standing
beneath the trees of the Alexander Garden I watched
the pitiful procession, despair imprinted on every face,
trudge slowly across the road and disappear into the
dark aperture of No. 2 Gorohovaya.

Meanwhile their husbands and sons were informed
that a single conspicuous deed on their part against
the White or counter-revolutionary armies would be
sufficient to secure the release of their womenfolk,
while continued good service would guarantee them
not only personal freedom, but increased rations and
freedom from molestation in their homes. This last
means a great deal when workmen or soldiers may be
thrust upon you without notice at any time, occupying
your best rooms, while you and your family are com-
pelled to retire to a single chamber, perhaps only the
kitchen.

Such duress against officers showed an astute under-
standing of the psychology of the White armies. A
single conspicuous deed for the Bolsheviks by an officer
of the old army was sufficient to damn that officer for
ever in the eyes of the Whites, who appeared to have
no consideration for the painful and often hopeless
position in which those officers were placed. It was
this that troubled my commander after his accidental
destruction of the right bridge. I am told that
General Brusilov's son was shot by Denikin's army
solely because he was found in the service of the
Reds. The stupidity of such conduct on the part of
the Whites would be inconceivable were it not a fact.

The complete absence of an acceptable programme
alternative to Bolshevism, the audibly whispered
threats of landlords that in the event of a White

p. 224

THE RED ARMY 225

victory the land seized by the peasants would be
restored to its former owners, and the lamentable
failure to understand that in the anti-Bolshevist war
politics and not military strategy must play the
dominant role, were the chief causes of the White
defeats. This theory is borne out by all the various
White adventures, whether of Kolchak, Denikin, or
Wrangel, the course of each being, broadly speaking,
the same. First the Whites advanced triumphantly,
and until the character of their regime was realized
they were hailed as deliverers from the Red yoke.
The Red soldiers deserted to them in hordes and
the Red command was thrown into consternation.
There was very little fighting considering the vast
extent of front. Then came a halt, due to incipient
disaffection amongst the civil population in the rear.
Requisitioning, mobilization, internecine strife, and
corruption amongst officials, differing but little from
the regime of the Reds, rapidly alienated the sympa-
thies of the peasantry, who revolted against the Whites
as they had against the Reds, and the position of the
White armies was made untenable. The first sign of
yielding at the front was the signal for a complete
reversal of fortune. In some cases this process was
repeated more than once, the final result being a
determination on the part of the peasantry to hold
their own against Red and White alike.

Most Russian emigres now admit not only that war-
ring against the so-called Soviet Republic has served
above all else to consolidate the position of the
Bolshevist leaders, but also that the failure of the anti-
Bolsheviks was due largely to their own deficient
administration. But there are many who continue to
lay the blame on any one's shoulders rather than their
own, and primarily upon England — a reproach which
Q

226 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

is not entirely unjustified, though not for quite the
reasons that these critics suppose. For while the
Allies and America all participated in military inter-
vention, it was England who for the longest time, anc
at greatest cost to herself, furnished the counter-
revolution with funds and material. Her error and
that of her associates lay in making no effort to control
the political, i. e. the most important, aspect of the
counter-revolution. England appeared to assume
that the moral integrity of Kolchak, Denikin, and
Wrangel, which has never been called in question by
any serious people, was the gauge of the political
maturity of these leaders and of the Governments they
brought into being. Herein lay the fundamental
mis judgment of the situation. The gulf that yawns
between the White leaders and the peasantry is as
wide as that between the Communist Party and the
Russian people. Not in Moscow, but in the camps of
the White leaders themselves were sown the seeds of
the disasters that befell them, and this was apparent
neither to England nor to any other foreign Power.

By the end of 1919 the higher military posts in the
Red army, such as those of divisional-, artillery-, and
brigade-commanders, were occupied almost exclu-
sively by former Tsarist generals and colonels. The
Bolsheviks are extremely proud of this fact, and fre-
quently boast of it to their visitors. These officers
are treated with deference, though as known anti-
Bolsheviks they are closely watched, and their families
are granted considerable privileges.

In lower ranks there is a predominance of " Red "
officers, turned out from the Red cadet schools where
they are instructed by Tsarist officers. Few of the Red
cadets are men of education. They are, however, on
the whole, strong supporters of the soviet regime. But

THE RED ARMY 227

civilians and even private soldiers also find their way
by good service to positions of high responsibility, for
the Red army offers a field for advancement not, as
in the White armies, according to rank, " blood," or
social standing, but primarily for talent and service.
Merit is the only accepted standard for promotion.
Common soldiers have become expert regimental
commanders, artillery officers, and cavalry leaders.
In many cases opportunities which were formerly
unknown, but are now offered, make of such people, of
whose courage and determination there can be no
doubt, convinced supporters of the present regime.
Provided he signs on as a member of the Communist
Party any clever adventurer who devotes his talent
to the Red army can rise to great heights and make for
himself a brilliant career. Had the Russian people
really been fired by revolutionary enthusiasm or
devotion to their present rulers, the Red army would,
under the system introduced by Trotzky, have rapidly
become not merely a formidable but an absolutely
irresistible military force.

But the Russian people are not and never will be
fired by enthusiasm for the Communist revolution.
As long as the White armies were permeated by the
landlord spirit there was indeed an incentive to defend
the land, an incentive exploited to the full by the
Bolsheviks in their own favour. I witnessed a striking
instance of this on the north-west front. One of the
generals of the White army operating against Petrograd
issued an order to the peasant population to the effect
that " this year the produce of the land might be
reaped and sold by those who had sown and tilled
it [that is, by the peasants who had seized it], but next
year the land must be restored to its rightful owners

228 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

[that is, the former landlords]." Needless to say, the
effect was fatal, although this same general had been
welcomed upon his advance three weeks before with
unprecedented rejoicings. Moreover, this particular
order was republished by the Bolsheviks in every
paper in Soviet Russia and served as powerful propa-
ganda amongst the peasant soldiers on every front.

In November, 1920, I talked to soldiers fresh from
the Red ranks in the northern Ukraine. I found that
peasants, who were willing enough to join insurgents,
feared to desert to Wrangel's army. Asked why they
had not deserted on the southern front, they replied
with decision and in surprising unison : " Rangelya
baimsya " ; which was their way of saying : " We are
afraid of Wrangel." And this in spite of Wrangel's
much-vaunted land law, which promised the land to
the peasants. But behind Wrangel they knew there
stood the landlords.

But the first campaign of the Red army against a
non-Russian foe, Poland, which did not threaten the
peasants' possession of the land, resulted in complete
collapse at the very height of Red power. And this is
the more significant in that quite an appreciable degree
of anti-Polish national feeling was aroused in Russia,
especially amongst educated people, and was exploited
by the Bolsheviks to strengthen their own position.
But there was one striking difference between the Red
and the Polish armies, which largely accounted for the
outcome of the war. Badly officered as the Poles
were by incompetent, selfish, or corrupt officers, the
rank and file of the Polish army was fired even in
adversity by a spirit of national patriotism unseen
in Europe since the first days of the Great War. It
only required the drafting in of a few French officers,
and the merciless weeding out of traitors from the

THE RED ARMY 229

Polish staff, to make of the Polish army the formidable
weapon that swept the Red hordes like chaff before it.
In the Red army, on the other hand, the situation
was precisely the reverse. The Reds were officered
by commanders who were either inspired by anti-
Polish sentiment, or believed, as the Communist
leaders assured them, that the revolutionary armies
were to sweep right across Europe. But the rank and
lie were devoid of all interest in the war. Thus they
only advanced as long as the wretchedly led Poles
etreated too rapidly to be caught up, and the moment
:hey met organized resistance the Russian peasants
either fled, deserted, or mutinied in their own ranks.

The Polish victory effectually dispelled the myths
of peasant support of the revolution and the invinci-
bility of the Red army, but beyond that it has served
no useful purpose as far as Russia is concerned. Rather
the contrary, for by temporarily aligning Russian
intellectuals on the side of the Communists it served
even more than the civil wars to consolidate the position
of the Soviet Government.

The terror that prevails in the Red army, and is,
when all is said and done, the measure most relied upon
by the Soviet Government to ensure discipline, leads
at times to extraordinary and apparently inexplicable
episodes. In September, 1920, 1 witnessed the retaking
of the fortress of Grodno by the Poles. As I watched
the shells falling over the trenches on the outskirts
of the town I thought of the wretches lying in them,
hating the war, hating their leaders, and merely waiting
till nightfall to creep out of the city. Though it was
said that Grodno was defended by some of the best Red
regiments, the retreat was precipitate. But a day or
two later near Lida they unexpectedly turned and
gave battle. Trotzky was, or had recently been in

230 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

that sector, and had ordered that ruthless measures
should be taken to stay the flight. One Polish division
was suddenly attacked by five Red divisions. Four
of the latter were beaten, but the last, the 21st,
continued to fight with savage fury. Three times
they bore down in massed formation. It came to a
hand-to-hand fight in which the Poles were hard
pressed. But after the third attack, which fortunately
for the Poles was weaker, an entirely unforeseen and
incomprehensible event occurred. The soldiers of
the 21st Soviet division killed every one of their
commissars and Communists and came over to the
Poles in a body with their guns !

It would seem that conscious human intelligence
was completely benumbed at such times. Impelled
by despair, people act like automatons, regardless
of danger, knowing that worse things await them
(and especially their kith and kin) if they are detected
in attempted disloyalty. People may, by terror, be
made to fight desperately for a thing they do not
believe in, but there comes after all a breaking-point.

The means of producing terror in the army are
Special Departments of the Extraordinary Commis-
sion, and Revolutionary Tribunals. The methods of
the Extraordinary Commission have been described.
In the army to which my regiment belonged the order
for the formation of Revolutionary Tribunals stated
that they " are to be established in each brigade area,
to consist of three members, and to carry out on the
spot investigations of insubordination, refusal to fight,
flight or desertion by complete units, such as sections,
platoons, companies, etc." Sentences (including that
of death) were to be executed immediately. Sentences
might also be conditional, that is, guilty units might

THE RED ARMY 231

be granted an opportunity to restore confidence by
heroic conduct and thus secure a reversal of the verdict.
At the same time, " separate specially reliable units are
to be formed of individuals selected from steady units,
whose duty will be to suppress all insubordination.
These selected units will also execute the sentences of
death."

Desertion from the Red army is not difficult, but if
one lives in or near a town one's relatives pay. Deser-
tion, being what the Bolsheviks call a " mass-
phenomenon," is combated by special Commissions
for Combating Desertion, established in every town
and large village and at frontier points. The number
of these commissions is indicative of the prevalence of
desertion. Their agents hang about the outskirts
of towns, at cross-roads, frontier stations, etc.,
prodding truckloads of hay or looking under railroad
cars. If a man is known to be a deserter but cannot
be ferreted out, the property of his relatives is con-
fiscated and they are liable to be arrested unless they
inform against him or he returns voluntarily.

The peasantry sometimes try to organize desertion.
Pickets are posted to give warning of the approach of
punitive detachments. In Ukrainia, where the peas-
ants show more vigour and capacity for self-defence
against the Communists than in the north, villagers
organize themselves into armed bands led by non-
commissioned officers of the old army and effectively
hold the punitive detachments at bay for considerable
periods.

The calling up of peasants is at times so difficult a
business that when a regiment has been mobilized it
is often sent down to the front in sealed cars. Arms
are rarely distributed until the moment of entering
the fray, when a machine-gun is placed behind the

232 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

raw troops, and they are warned that they have the
option either of advancing or being fired on from
the rear. Provincial districts are cautioned that
every village in which a single deserter is discovered
will be burned to the ground. But though several
such orders have been published, I do not know of a
case in which the threat has been put into execution.

Mobilization of town-workers is naturally easier,
but here also subterfuge has sometimes to be resorted
to. In Petrograd I witnessed what was announced
to be a "trial" mobilization; that is, the workers
were assured that they were not going to the front
and that the trial was only to practise for an emer-
gency. The result was that the prospective recruits,
glad of an extra holiday plus the additional bread
ration issued on such occasions, turned up in force
(all, of course, in civilian clothes) and the trial
mobilization was a great success. A portion of the
recruits were taken to the Nicholas Station and told
they were going out of town to manoeuvre. Imagine
their feelings when they discovered that they were
locked into the cars, promptly despatched to the
front, and (still in civilian clothes) thrust straight
into the firing line !

Every man of the Red army is supposed to have
taken the following oath :

" I, a member of a labouring people and citizen of
the Soviet Republic, assume the name of warrior of
the Workers' and Peasants' Army. Before the
labouring classes of Russia and of the whole world I
pledge myself to bear this title with honour, con-
scientiously to study the science of war, and as the
apple of my eye to defend civil and military property
from spoliation and pillage. I pledge myself strictly
and unswervingly to observe revolutionary discipline

THE RED ARMY 233

and perform unhesitatingly all orders of the com-
manders appointed by the Workers' and Peasants'
Government. I pledge myself to refrain and to
restrain my comrades from any action that may
stain and lower the dignity of a citizen of the Soviet
Republic, and to direct my best efforts to its sole
object, the emancipation of all workers. I pledge
myself at the first call of the Workers' and Peasants'
Government to defend the Soviet Republic from all
dangers and assault on the part of her foes, and to
spare neither my energies nor life in the struggle for
the Russian Soviet Republic, for the cause of Socialism
and the fraternity of peoples. If with evil intent I
infringe this my solemn oath may my lot be universal
contempt and may I fall a victim to the ruthless arm
of revolutionary law."

Very few Red army men have any recollection of
having taken this oath, which is reserved for officers
or for propagandist purposes. If it is taken by the
common soldiers at all it is read out to whole battalions
at a time and they are told when to raise their hands.

The method of administering justice followed by the
Revolutionary Tribunals is primitive. The judges are
guided by no rules, instructions, or laws, but solely by
what is known as " revolutionary conscience." The
fact that the judges are often illiterate does not affect
the performance of their functions, for since none but
ardent Communists are admitted to these posts, their
revolutionary consciences must ipso facto always be
clear.

The malpractices of these courts reached such a
pitch that late in 1920 the Bolsheviks, after abolishing
all jurisprudence at the universities, were actually
combing out from the ranks of the army all who had
technical knowledge of Tsarist law, offering them

234 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

posts as legal " specialists," as had already been done
with military, industrial, and agricultural experts.

The Bolsheviks discriminate minutely between regi-
ments, which are classed as reliable, semi-reliable,
and doubtful. The backbone of the army is composed
of regiments which consist purely of convinced Com-
munists. These units, called by such names as the
" Iron Regiment," the " Death Regiment," the
" Trotzky Regiment," etc., have acted up to their
names and fight with desperate ferocity. Reliance is
also placed in non-Russian regiments, Lettish, Bashkir,
Chinese troops, etc., though their numbers are not
large. The total number of Communists being ex-
ceedingly small, they are divided up and distributed
amongst the remaining regiments in little groups
called " cells." The size of a " cell " averages about
ten per cent, of the regimental strength. It is this
political organization of the Red army for purposes
of propaganda and political control which is its most
interesting feature, distinguishing it from all other
armies. Isolated as the soldiers are from their
homes, unhabituated in many cases by nearly seven
years of war from normal occupations, and visibly
better provisioned than civilians, it is felt that the
peasant will be most susceptible to Communist
propaganda under military conditions.

The system of political control is as follows. Side
by side with the hierarchy of military officers there
exists a corresponding hierarchy of members of the
Communist Party, small numerically, but endowed
with far-reaching powers of supervision. These
branches of the Communist Party extend their ten-
tacles to the smallest unit of the army, and not a
single soldier is exempt from the omnipresent Com-
munist eye. The responsible Communist official in a

THE RED ARMY 235

regiment is called the Commissar, the others are
called " political workers," and constitute the " cell."
In my own unit, numbering nearly 200 men, there
were never more than half-a-dozen Communists
or " political workers," and they were regarded with
hatred and disgust by the others. Their chief duty
obviously was to eavesdrop and report suspicious
remarks, but their efforts were crowned with no great
success because the commissar, to whom the Com-
munists reported, was himself a sham Communist
and a personal friend of my commander.

In other regiments in Petrograd with which I was in
touch it was different. I particularly remember one
commissar, formerly a locksmith by trade. He had
had an elementary education and was distinguished by
a strange combination of three marked traits : he was
an ardent Communist, he was conspicuously honest,
and he was an inveterate toper. I will refer to him as
Comrade Morozov. Knowing that drunkenness was
scheduled as a " crime unworthy of a Communist,"
Morozov tried to cure himself of it, a feat which should
not have been difficult considering that vodka had
been almost unobtainable ever since the Tsar pro-
hibited its production and sale at the beginning of the
Great War. But Morozov nevertheless fell to vodka
every time there was a chance. On the occasion of
the wedding of a friend of his who was a speculator
(and a genuine speculator) in foodstuffs, he invited
two or three regimental companions, one of whom I
knew well, to the feast. Although Petrograd was
starving, there was such an abundance of good things
at this repast and such a variety of wines and spirits,
extracted from cellars known only to superior
" speculators " who supplied important people like
commissars, that it lasted not only one night, but

236 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

was continued on the morrow. Morozov disappeared
from his regiment for three whole days and would
undoubtedly have lost his post and, in the event of
the full truth leaking out, have been shot, had not his
friends sworn he had had an accident.

Yet Morozov could not have been bribed by money,
and would have conscientiously exposed any " specu-
lator " he found in his regiment. He was thoroughly
contrite after the episode of the marriage feast. But
it was not the wanton waste of foodstuffs that stirred
his conscience, nor his connivance and participation in
the revels of a " speculator," but the fact that he had
failed in his duty to his regiment and had only saved
his skin by dissembling. His sense of fairness was
remarkable for a Communist. At the elections to the
Petrograd Soviet for which he was candidate for his
regiment, he not only permitted but positively insisted
that the voting should be by secret ballot— the only
case of secret voting that I heard of. The result was
that he was genuinely elected by a large majority, for
apart from this quite unusual fairness he was fond of
his soldiers and consequently popular. His intelli-
gence was rudimentary and may be described as
crudely locksmithian. An eddy of fortune had swept
him to his present pinnacle of power, and judging
others by himself he imagined the soviet regime was
doing for everyone what it had done for him. Pos-
sessing plenty of heart but a weak head, he found
considerable difficulty in reconciling the ruthless
attitude of the Communists toward the people with
his own more warm-hearted inclinations, but the
usual argument served to stifle any inner questionings
—namely, that since the Communists alone were right,
all dissentients must be " enemies of the State " and
he was in duty bound to treat them as such.

THE RED ARMY 237

During the six or eight weeks that I had the
opportunity to study Morozov after his appointment
as regimental commissar, a perceptible change came
over him. He grew suspicious and less frank and
outspoken. Though he would scarcely have been
able to formulate his thoughts in words, it was clear
that the severity with which any criticism, even by
Communists, of political commands from above was
suppressed, and the rigid enforcement of iron discipline,
within and without the party, differed greatly from
the prospect of proletarian brotherhood which he had
pictured to himself. At the same time he could only
escape from these shackles by becoming an " enemy
of the State," and finally he, like all Communists,
attributed the non-realization of his dreams to the
insidious machinations of the scapegoats designated
by his superiors, the non-Bolshevist Socialists, the
Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries, who must
be exterminated wholesale.

Morozov's responsibilities, like those of all com-
missars, were heavy. Though in purely military
affairs he was subordinate to the regimental com-
mander, he was responsible for the latter's loyalty
and equally answerable with him for discipline in
the ranks; besides which the responsibility for all
political propaganda (regarded by the Government as
of paramount importance) and even for the accuracy
of army service rested upon him. A regimental
commissar's responsibilities are, in fact, so great that
he can rarely secure his own safety without having
recourse to spying provocation, and " experimental
denunciation."

Even Morozov had to resort to questionable strategy
of this nature to forestall possible treachery in others
for which he would have been held responsible. Having

238 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

been informed by a member of his " cell " that the
conduct of a junior officer gave rise to misgivings, he
had a purely fictitious charge made against him merely
to see how the officer would be affected by it. It was
found, as was not unusual, that the original complaint
of the " political worker " was due to sheer spite, and
that nothing had been further from the mind of
the young officer, who was of a mild disposition,
than to conspire against the all-powerful commissar.
Anonymous written denunciations of individuals,
charging them with counter-revolutionary activities,
are of frequent occurrence, and commissars, terrified
for their own safety, will rather err at the cost of the
accused than risk their own positions through leniency
or over-scrupulous attention to justice.

There is an intermediate grade between a " cell ''
leader and a commissar, known as a political guide.
The latter has not the authority of a commissar but
represents a stepping-stone to that dignity. Political
guides have duties of investigation and control, but
their chief task is to rope in the largest possible
number of neophytes to the Communist Party. The
whole power of the Bolshevist Government is founded
on the diligence, zeal, and — it must be added — un-
scrupulousness of these various Communist officials.
All sorts of instructions and propaganda pamphlets
and leaflets are received by the " cells " in enormous
quantities, and they have to see that such literature
is distributed in the ranks and amongst the local
population. It is read but little, for the soldiers and
peasants are sick of the constant repetition of worn-
out propagandist phrases. It was hoped originally
that by the never-ending repetition of the words
"vampires," "bourgeois," "class-struggle," "blood-
sucking capitalists and imperialists," and so forth,

THE RED ARMY 239

some at least of the ideas presented would sink into
the listeners' minds and be taken for good coinage.
But the results are almost negligible. It says much
for the latent intelligence of the Russian peasant and
worker that in spite of it all the members of " the
party " number no more than some half-million,
half of whom would be anything but Communists if
they could. Propagandist leaflets are used principally
for wrapping up herrings and making cigarettes, for
mahorka (the pepper-like tobacco beloved of the
Russian soldier) is still issued in small quantities.

The only positive result which has been obtained
by the above propaganda is the rousing of hatred and
revenge against everything " bourgeois." The word
bourgeois is as foreign to the Russian language as it
is to the English, and the average Russian soldier's
conception of " bourgeois " is simply everything that
is above his understanding. But by cleverly associat-
ing the idea of " bourgeois " with that of opulence and
landed possessions, Bolshevist agitators have made
great play with it.

Yet even this has cut less deep than might have been
expected, considering the effort expended. Propa-
ganda on a wide scale is possible only in the towns and
the army, and the army is after all but a very small
percentage of the whole peasantry. The vast majority
of the peasants are at home in their villages, and
Bolshevist propaganda and administration reach no
farther than a limited area on either side of Russia's
sparse network of railways.

Every Communist organization throughout Russia
has to present periodical reports to headquarters on the
progress of its labours. It goes without saying that,
from fear of censure, such reports are invariably drawn
up in the most favourable light possible. Particu-

240 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

larly is this the case in the army. If the membership
of a " cell " does not increase, the supervising com-
missar or political guide will be asked the reason why.
He will be publicly hauled over the coals for lack of
energy, and unless his labours fructify he is liable to be
lowered to an inferior post. Thus it is in the interest
of Communist officials to coax, cajole, or even compel
soldiers to enter the ranks of the party. The statistics
supplied are collected at headquarters and summaries
are published. It is according to these statistics that
the membership of the Communist Party is a little
more than half a million, out of the 120 or 130 million
inhabitants of Soviet Russia.

• ••••••

Another feature of the Red army which is worthy of
note is the group of organizations known as " Cultural-
Enlightenment Committees," which are entrusted with
the work of entertaining and " enlightening " the
soldiers. Being partly of an educational character the
collaboration of non-Communists on these committees
is indispensable, though rigid Communist control
renders free participation by intellectuals impossible.
There is also a lack of books. A department at head-
quarters, in which Maxim Gorky is interested, deals
with the publication of scientific and literary works,
but compared with the deluge of propagandist litera-
ture the work of his department is nil. The cultural-
enlightenment committees arrange lectures on scien-
tific subjects, dramatic performances, concerts, and
cinema shows. The entertainments consist chiefly
of the staging of " proletarian " plays, written to the
order of the department of propaganda. From the
artistic standpoint these plays are exceedingly bad —
unmitigated Bolshevist atrocities — but their strong
point is that they represent the class-struggle in a

THE RED ARMY 241

vivid and lurid light. As no one would go to see them
alone, other plays, usually farces, or musical items
are thrown in by way of attraction. Propagandist
speeches by Lenin, Trotzky, Zinoviev and others,
reproduced on gramophones, are sometimes reeled off
in the intervals. Schools of reading and writing are
attached to some cultural-enlightenment committees.

In my regiment we had no cultural-enlightenment
committee. Being unnecessary for purposes of control
they were not so universal as the " cells," but depended
to some extent for their establishment upon the enter-
prise of the commissar. Living, however, mostly in
Petrograd, I came in touch through friends with other
regiments than my own, and attended entertainments
got up by cultural-enlightenment committees until I
knew the propagandist speeches, which were always
the same, almost by heart. Let me describe one such
meeting. It was in the regiment of which Morozov was
commissar. At this particular meeting I was to have
functioned as amateur accompanist and should have
done so if one of the singers, from a Petrograd theatre,
had not unexpectedly brought a professional with her.1

1 In such company I was regarded as an invalid, suffering in
body and mind from the ill-treatment received at the hands of
a capitalistic Government. The story ran that I was born in one
of the Russian border provinces, but that my father, a musician,
had been expelled from Russia for political reasons when I was
still young. My family had led a nomadic existence in England,
Australia, and America. The outbreak of the war found me in
England, where I was imprisoned and suffered cruel treatment
for refusal to fight. Bad food, brutality, and hunger-striking
had reduced me physically and mentally, and after the Revolution
I was deported as an undesirable alien to my native land. The
story was a plausible one and went down very well. It accounted
for mannerisms and any deficiency in speech. It also relieved
me of the necessity of participation in discussions, but I took
care that it should be known that there burned within me an
undying hatred of the malicious Government at whose hands I
had suffered wrong.

242 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

The organizer of this entertainment, though he
played but little part in the performance, deserves a
word of mention. As a sailor, of about twenty years
of age, he differed greatly from his fellows. He was not
ill-favoured in looks, unintelligent but upright, and
occupied the post of chairman of the Poor Committee
of a house where I was an habitual visitor. I will refer
to him as Comrade Rykov. Like Morozov, Rykov
had had only an elementary education and knew
nothing of history, geography, or literature. History
for him dated from Karl Marx, whom he was taught
to regard rather as the Israelites did Moses ; while his
conception of geography was confined to a division
of the world's surface into Red and un-Red. Soviet
Russia was Red, capitalistic countries (of which he
believed there were very few) were White; and
" white " was an adjective no less odious than
" bourgeois." But Rykov's instincts were none the
less good and it was with a genuine desire to better
the lot of the proletariat that he had drifted into " the
party." Under the Tsarist regime he had suffered
maltreatment. He had seen his comrades bullied and
oppressed. The first months of the revolution had
been too tempestuous, especially for the sailors, and
the forces at issue too complex, for a man of Rykov's
stamp to comprehend the causes underlying the failure
of the Provisional Government. To him the Soviet
Government personified the Revolution itself. A few
catch-phrases, such as " dictatorship of the prole-
tariat," " tyranny of the bourgeoisie," " robber-
capitalism," " Soviet emancipation " completely
dominated his mind and it seemed to him indisputably
just that the definition of these terms should be left
absolutely to the great ones who had conceived them.
Thus Rykov, like most Communists, was utterly blind

THE RED ARMY 243

to inconsistencies. The discussion of policy, especially
of foreign policy, of which the rest of the world hears
so much, was not attempted by him. Rykov accepted
his directions unhesitatingly from " those who knew."
He never asked himself why the party was so small,
and popular discontent he attributed, as he was told to
do, to the pernicious agitation of Mensheviks and
Socialist-Revolutionaries, who were but Monarchists in
disguise. Rykov was the type of man the Bolsheviks
were striving their utmost to entice into the Communist
Party. He had three supreme recommendations : he
was a untiring worker, his genuinely good motives
would serve to popularize the party, and he never
thought. It is independent thinkers the Bolshevisk
cannot tolerate. Rykov, like a good Communist,
accepted the dogma propounded from above and that
was the alpha and omega of his creed. But when it
came to doing something to improve the lot of his
fellows, and, incidentally, to lead them into the true
Communist path, Rykov was all there. In other
realms he would have made an ideal Y.M.C.A. or
Salvation Army worker, and it was not surprising that
he was in great demand whenever it was a question
of amusing or entertaining the soldiers.

The hall was decorated with red flags. Portraits of
Lenin, Trotzky, Zinoviev, and of course of Karl Marx,
wreathed in red bunting and laurels, decorated the
walls. Over the stage hung a crude inscription painted
on cardboard : " Long live the Soviet Power," while
similar inscriptions, " Proletarians of all countries,
unite," and " Long live the World Revolution," were
hung around. The audience, consisting of the regi-
ment and numerous guests, sat on wooden forms and
disregarded the injunction not to smoke.

The entertainment began with the singing of the

244 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

;c Internationale," the hymn of the World Revolution.
The music of this song is as un-Russian, unmelo-
dious, banal, and uninspiring as any music could
possibly be. To listen to its never-ending repetition
on every possible and impossible occasion is not the
least of the inflictions which the Russian people are
compelled to suffer under the present dispensation.
When one compares it with the noble strains of the
former national anthem, or with the revolutionary
requiem which the Bolsheviks have happily not
supplanted by any atrocity such as the " Inter-
nationale " but have inherited from their predecessors,
or with national songs such as Yeh-Uhnem, or for
that matter with any Russian folk-music, then the
" Internationale " calls up a picture of some abomin-
able weed protruding from the midst of a garden of
beautiful and fragrant flowers.

The " Internationale " was sung with energy by
those in the audience who knew the words, and the
accompanist made up with bombastic pianistic
flourishes for the silence of those who did not.

Nothing could have afforded a more remarkable
contrast than the item that followed. It was an
unaccompanied quartette by four soldiers who sang a
number of Russian folk-songs and one or two com-
posed by the leader of the four. If you have not
listened to the Russian peasants of a summer evening
singing to accompany their dances on the village green,
you cannot know exactly what it meant to these
peasant soldiers, cooped in their city barracks, to
hear their songs re-sung. The singers had rehearsed
carefully, the execution was excellent, the enthusiasm
they aroused was unbounded, and they were recalled
again and again. They would probably have gone
on endlessly had not the Jewish agitator, who was

THE RED ARMY 245

acting as master of ceremonies and who had to make
a speech later, announced that they must get along
with the programme. The contrast between Bol-
shevism and Russianism could never have been more
strikingly illustrated than by this accident of the
" Internationale " being followed by Russian folk-
songs. The former was an interpretation in sound
of all the drab, monotonous unloveliness of the
supposedly proletarian regime, the latter an inter-
pretation in music of the unuttered yearnings of the
Russian soul, aspiring after things unearthly, things
beautiful, things spiritual.

There followed a selection of songs and romances by
a lady singer from one of the musical-comedy theatres,
and then the agitator rose. The job of a professional
agitator is a coveted one in Red Russia. A good
agitator is regarded as a very important functionary,
and receives high pay. Coached in his arguments and
phraseology in the propagandist schools of the capitals,
he has nothing whatever to do but talk as loudly and as
frequently as possible, merely embellishing his speeches
in such a way as to make them forceful and, if possible,
attractive. He requires no logic, and consequently no
brains, for he is guaranteed against heckling by the
Bolshevist system of denouncing political opponents as
" enemies of the State " and imprisoning them. Thus
the entire stock-in-trade of a professional agitator con-
sists of " words, words, words," and the more he has of
them the better for him.

The youth who mounted the stage and prepared to
harangue the audience was nineteen years of age, of
criminal past (at that very time he was charged by the
Bolsheviks themselves with theft), and possessed of
pronounced Hebrew features. His complexion was
lustrous, his nose was aquiline and crooked, his mouth

246 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

was small, and his eyes resembled those of a mouse.
His discourse consisted of the usual exhortations to
fight the landlord Whites. He was violent in his
denunciation of the Allies, and of all non-Bolshevist
Socialists. His speech closed somewhat as follows :

" So, comrades, you see that if we give in to the
Whites all your land will go back to the landowners,
all the factories to the money-makers, and you will be
crushed again under the yoke of the murderous
bankers, priests, generals, landlords, police, and other
hirelings of bourgeois tyranny. They will whip you
into slavery, and they will ride to wealth on the
bleeding backs of you, your wives, and your children.
Only we Communists can save you from the bloody
rage of the White demons. Let us defend Red
Petrograd to the last drop of our blood ! Down with
the English and French imperialist bloodsuckers !
Long live the proletarian World Revolution ! "

Having ended his speech, he signalled to the
accompanist to strike up the " Internationale." Then
followed another strange contrast, one of those peculiar
phenomena often met with in Russia, even in the
Communist Party. A modest, nervous, and gentle-
looking individual whom I did not know, as different
from the previous speaker as water from fire, made a
strangely earnest speech, urging the necessity of self-
education as the only means of restoring Russia's
fallen fortunes. At the admission of fallen fortunes
the Jew looked up with displeasure. He had sung
the glories of the Red administration and the exploits
of the Red army. It was not enough, said the speaker,
that Russia had won the treasured Soviet Power —
that, of course, was an inestimable boon— but until
the people dragged themselves out of the morass of
ignorance they could not profit by its benefits. The

THE RED ARMY 247

masses of Russia, he urged, should set strenuously to
work to raise themselves culturally and spiritually,
in order to fit themselves for the great task they
were called upon to perform, namely, to effect the
emancipation of the workers of all the world.

The " Internationale " was not sung when he con-
cluded. There was too much sincerity in his speech,
and the bombastic strains of that tune would have
been sadly out of place. The rest of the programme
consisted of two stage performances, enacted by
amateurs, the first one a light comedy, and the second
a series of propagandist tableaux, depicting the
sudden emancipation of the worker by the Soviet
Power, heralded by an angel dressed all in red. In
one of these Comrade Rykov proudly participated.
In the concluding tableau the Red angel was seen
guarding a smiling workman and his family on one
side, and a smiling peasant and family on the other,
while the audience was invited to rise and sing the
" Internationale."

Of conscious political intelligence in the cultural-
enlightenment committees there is none, nor under
" iron party discipline " can there possibly be any.
All Communist agitators repeat, parrot-like, the
epithets and catch-phrases dictated from above.
None the less, despite their crudity and one-sidedness,
these committees serve a positive purpose in the
Red army. By the provision of entertainment the
savagery of the soldiery has been curbed and literacy
promoted. If they were non-political and run by
intelligent people with the sole object of improving
the minds of the masses they might be made a real
instrument for the furtherance of education and
culture. At present they are often grotesque. But
representing an " upward " trend, the cultural-

248 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

enlightenment committees form a welcome contrast
to the majority of Bolshevist institutions.

Our survey of the essential features of the Red
army is now complete and may be summed up as
follows :

1. A military machine, with all the attributes
of other armies but differing in terminology. Its
strength at the close of 1920 was said to be about two
million, but this is probably exaggerated.

2. A concomitant organization, about one-tenth
in size, of the Communist Party, permeating the
entire army, subjected to military experts in purely
military decisions, but with absolute powers of political
and administrative control, supplemented by Special
Departments of the Extraordinary Commission,
Revolutionary Tribunals, and Special Commissions
for Combating Desertion.

3. A network of Communist- con trolled propa-
gandist organizations called Cultural-Enlightenment
Committees, whose object is the entertainment and
education of the soldiers.

Tractable, docile, and leaderless though the Russian
people are, the machine which has been built up in
the Red army is still a monument to the inflexible will
and merciless determination of its leader, Trotzky.
Its development has been rapid and is perhaps not
yet complete. Trotzky would make of it an absolutely
soulless, will-less, obedient instrument which he can
apply to whatsoever end he thinks fit. Unless a
popular leader appears, the army is Trotzky 's as long
as he can feed it.

There are those who have long believed an internal
military coup to be imminent, organized by old-time
generals such as Brusilov, Baluev, Rattel, Gutov,

THE RED ARMY 249

Parsky, Klembovsky and others, whose names are
associated with the highest military posts in Soviet
Russia. Three things militate against the early
success of such a coup. First, the experience of
internal conspiracies shows it to be next to impossible
to conspire against the Extraordinary Commission.
Secondly, the memory of White administrations is
still too fresh in the minds of the common soldier.
Thirdly, these generals suffer from the same defect as
Wrangel, Denikin, and Kolchak, in that they are not
politicians and have no concrete programme to offer
the Russian people.

The local popularity of peasant leaders such as
the " little fathers," Balahovitch in Bielorusia and
Makhno in Ukrainia, who denounce Bolsheviks, Tsars,
and landlords alike, shows that could a bigger man
than these be found to fire the imagination of the
peasantry on a nation-wide scale the hoped-for
national peasant uprising might become a reality.
Until such a figure arises it is not to outside pressure
or internal militarist conspiracies that we must look
for the decay of Bolshevism, but must seek the
signs of it in the very heart and core of the
Communist Party. Such signs are already coming
to light, and indicate sooner or later cataclysmic
developments— unless the decay is forestalled by
what Pilsudski, the Socialist president of the Polish
Republic, foresees as a possibility. Pilsudski spent
many years in exile in Siberia for revolutionary
agitation against the Tsar and knows Russia through
and through. He foresees the possibility that the
entire Russian population, maddened with hunger,
disease, and despair, may eventually rise and sweep
down on western Europe in a frantic quest for food
and warmth.

250 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Such a point will not be reached as long as the
peasant, successfully defying Bolshevist administra-
tion, continues to produce sufficient for his own
requirements. It needs, however, but some severe
stress of nature, such as the droughts which periodi-
cally visit the country, to reduce the people to that
condition. Will anything be able to stop such an
avalanche ? Should it ever begin, the once so ardently
looked-for Russian steam roller will at last have
become an awful, devastating reality.

CHAPTER XII

" THE PARTY " AND THE PEOPLE

IF I were asked what feature of the Communist
regime I regarded as, above all, the most conspicuous,
the most impressive, and the most significant, I
should say without hesitation the vast spiritual
gulf separating the Communist Party from the
Russian people. I use the word " spiritual " not
in the sense of " religious." The Russian equivalent,
duhovny, is more comprehensive, including the psycho-
logical, and everything relating to inner, contemplative
life, and ideals.

History scarcely knows a more flagrant misnomer
than that of " government of workers and peasants."
In the first place, the Bolshevist Government consists
not of workers and peasants, but of typical intellectual
bourgeois. In the second, its policy is categorically
repudiated by practically the entire Russian nation,
and it keeps in the saddle only by bullying the workers
and peasants by whom it purports to have been elected.
The incongruity between Russian national ideals and
the alien character of the Communists will naturally
not be apparent to outsiders who visit the country to
study the Bolshevist system from the very view-point
which least of all appeals to the Russian, namely, the
possibility of its success as a Socialist experiment.
But those foreign Socialist enthusiasts who adhere
to Bolshevist doctrines are presumably indifferent
to the sentiments of the Russian people, for their
adherence appears to be based on the most un-Russian

251

252 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of all aspects of those doctrines, namely, their
internationalism. And this un-Russian inter-
national aspect of Bolshevism is admittedly its prime
characteristic.

There is a sense of course in which the psychology
of all peoples is becoming increasingly international,
to the great benefit of mankind. No one will deny
that half our European troubles are caused by the
chauvinistic brandishing of national flags and quarrels
about the drawing of impossible frontier lines. But
these are the antics of a noisy few — " Bolsheviks of
the right " — and do not reflect the true desire of the
peoples, which is for peace, harmony, and neighbourli-
ness. Hitherto the immediate aspirations of the
Bolsheviks have been anything but this. Their first
principle is world-wide civil war between classes,
and their brandishing of the red flag surpasses that
of the most rabid Western chauvinists. Theirs is
not true internationalism. Like their claim to repre-
sent the Russian people, it is bogus.

The gulf between " the party " and the people yawns
at every step, but I will only mention one or two
prominent instances. The most important institution
established by the Bolsheviks is that known as the
" Third International Workers' Association," or,
briefly, the " Third International." The aim of this
institution is to reproduce the Communist experiment
in all countries. The First International was founded
in 1864 by Karl Marx. It was a workers' association
not world-revolutionary in character. Its sympathy,
however, with the Paris Commune discredited it, and
it was followed by the Second, which confined itself
to international labour interests. The Third Inter-
national was founded in Moscow in the first week of
March, 1919, amid circumstances of great secrecy

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 253

by a chance gathering of extreme Socialists from about
half-a-dozen of the thirty European States, leavened
with a similar number of Asiatics. Subsequently a
great meeting was held, at which the Second, called
the " yellow " International because it is composed
of moderates, was declared defunct and superseded
by the " real," that is, the Communist, International.

The next day this group of unknown but precocious
individuals came to their headquarters at Petrograd,
" the Metropolis of the World Revolution." I went
to meet them at the Nicholas railway station. The
mystery that enshrouded the birth of the Third
International rendered it impossible to be duly
impressed with the solemnity of the occasion, and
although I had not come either to cheer or to jeer,
but simply to look on, I could not but be struck by
the comicality of the scene. The day was frosty,
and for nearly two hours the members of the Third
International, standing bareheaded on a specially
constructed tribune, wasted time saying exactly the
same things over and over again, their speeches being
punctuated by the cacophony of three badly-directed
bands. In spite of their luxurious fur coats the
delegates shivered and their faces turned blue. They
did not at all look the desperadoes I had half antici-
pated. Some of them were even effeminate in appear-
ance. Only Zinoviev, the president, with his bushy,
dishevelled hair, looked like an unrepentant schoolboy
amid a group of delinquents caught red-handed
in some unauthorized prank.

The orators, with chattering teeth, sang in divers
tongues the praises of the Red regime. They lauded
the exemplary order prevailing in Russia and rejoiced
at the happiness, contentment, and devotion to the
Soviet Government which they encountered at every

254 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

step. They predicted the immediate advent of the
world revolution and the early establishment of Bol-
shevism in every country. They all closed their
lengthy orations with the same exclamations : " Long
live the Third International ! " " Down with the
bourgeoisie ! ?: " Long live Socialism ! "' (by which
they meant Bolshevism), etc., and no matter how
many times these same slogans had been shouted
already, on each occasion they were retranslated at
length, with embellishments, and to the musical
accompaniments of the inevitable " Internationale."

The position of the Third International in Russia
and its relation to the Soviet Government are not
always easy to grasp. The executives both of the
International and of the Government are drawn
from the Communist Party, while every member of the
Government must also be a member of the Third
International. Thus, though technically not inter-
changeable, the terms Soviet Government, Third
International, and Communist Party merely repre-
sent different aspects of one and the same thing.
It is in their provinces of action that they differ.
The province of the Third International is the whole
world, including Russia : that of the present Soviet
Government is Russia alone. It would seen as if
the Third International, with its superior powers
and scope and with firebrands like Zinoviev and
Trotzky at its helm, must override the Moscow
government. In practice, however, this is not so.
For the hard logic of facts has now proved to the Mos-
cow government that the theories which the Third
International was created to propagate are largely
wrong and unpracticable, and they are being repudi-
ated by the master mind of Lenin, the head of the
home government. Thus two factions have grown

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 255

up within the Communist Party : that of Lenin,
whose interests for the time are centred in Russia,
and who would sacrifice world-revolutionary dreams
to preserve Bolshevist power in one country ; and that
of the Third International, which throws discretion
to the winds, and stands for world revolution for ever,
and no truck with the bourgeoisie of capitalistic
States. Hitherto the majority in the party has been
on the side of Lenin, as is not unnatural, for very
few rank-and-file Communists really care about the
world revolution, having no conception of what it
implies. If they had, they would probably support
him more heartily still.

At the very moment when the Third International
was haranguing for its own satisfaction outside the
Nicholas Station, very different things were happening
in the industrial quarters of the city. There, the
workers, incensed by the suppression of free speech,
of freedom of movement, of workers' co-operation, of
free trading between the city and the villages, and by
the ruthless seizure and imprisonment of their spokes-
men, had risen to demand the restoration of their
rights. They were led by the men of the Putilov
iron foundry, the largest works in Petrograd, at one
time employing over forty thousand hands. The
Putilov workers were ever to the fore in the revolution-
ary movement. They led the strikes which resulted
in the revolution of March, 1917. Their independent
bearing, their superior intelligence and organization,
and their efforts to protest against Bolshevist despot-
ism, aroused the fears and hatred of the Communists,
who quite rightly attributed this independent attitude
to the preference of the workers for the non-Bolshevist
political parties.

The dispute centred round the Bolshevist food

256 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

system, which was rapidly reducing the city to a state
of starvation. Hoping the storm would blow over,
the Bolshevist authorities allowed it to run its course
for a time, endeavouring to appease the workers by
an issue of rations increased at the expense of the rest
of the population. This measure, however, only
intensified the workers' indignation, while the hesita-
tion of the Bolsheviks to employ force encouraged
them in their protests. Unauthorized meetings and
processions increased in frequency, the strikes spread
to every factory in the city, speakers became more
violent, and all sorts of jokes were made publicly at
the expense of the Bolsheviks. Strolling in the
industrial quarters I saw a party of men emerge from
a plant singing the Marseillaise and cheering. At the
same time they carried a banner on which was rudely
imprinted the following couplet :

Doloi Lenina s koninoi,
Daitje tsarya s svininoi,

which being interpreted means : " Down with Lenin
and horseflesh, give us a tsar and pork ! ?:

As the disturbances developed, typewritten leaf-
lets began to be distributed containing resolutions
passed at the various meetings. One of these leaflets
was the resolution passed unanimously by 12,000
workers (at that time the entire staff) of the Putilov
works, demanding that the task of provisioning be
restored to the former co-operative societies. The
language of the resolution was violent, the Bolshevist
leaders were referred to as bloody and hypocritical
tyrants, and demands were also put forward for the
cessation of the practice of torture by the Extra-
ordinary Commission and for the immediate release
of numerous workers' representatives.

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 257

I knew of this resolution on the day of the meeting,
because some friends of mine were present at it. The
proceedings were enthusiastic in the extreme. The
Bolsheviks, however, did not mind that much, because
they were careful that nothing about it should get into
the Press. But when the typed resolutions spread
surreptitiously with alarming rapidity, in exactly
the same way as, in December, 1916, the famous
speech by Miliukoff in the Duma against Rasputin
was secretly distributed from hand to hand, then
the Bolsheviks saw things were going too far and took
drastic measures to suppress the unrest without any
further delay.

One Sunday between thirty and forty street-cars
full of sailors and guards, the latter of whom spoke
a language that workers who encountered them
declared was not Russian, arrived in the vicinity of the
Putilov works and occupied all the entrances. During
the next three days between three and four hundred
men were arrested, while in those cases where the
workers were not to be found their wives were taken
in their stead. These arrests are always easily carried
out, for the workers are not allowed to possess arms.
It is significant that among those arrested at one of
the shipping yards were two men who had declared
at a meeting that even the English Parliament was
superior to the Soviets as the Bolsheviks ran them.
These two were among those who were subsequently
shot. When after returning to England I recounted
this incident to the Committee on International
Affairs of the British Labour Party, the gentleman on
my right (I do not know his name) found nothing
better to exclaim than, " Serve 'em right."

The uproar over the arrest of the workers, and

especially of their wives, was terrific. The resolutions

s

258 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

having spread all over the city, you could almost hear
people whispering to each other with furtive joy that
there was shortly to be a general insurrection, that
Zinoviev and others were preparing to take flight,
and so on. In the course of three weeks things became
so bad that it was deemed advisable to call Lenin
from Moscow in the hope that his presence would
overawe the workers, and a great Communist counter-
demonstration was organized at the Narodny Dom.

The Narodny Dom (House of the People) is a huge
palace built for the people by the late Tsar. Before
the war it used to be very difficult, owing to the system
of abonnements, to obtain tickets to the State theatres,
of which the Marinsky Opera and the Alexandrinsky
Theatre were the chief; so the Tsar, at his own expense,
built this palace and presented it to the people.
Besides numerous side shows, it contained a large
theatre where the same dramatic works were produced
as in the State theatres, and the biggest opera house
in Russia, where the Russian peasant Chaliapin, the
greatest operatic singer and actor the world has yet
seen, sang regularly to huge audiences of six or eight
thousand lower middle class and working people.
In the days when I was a student of the Conservatoire
of Petrograd, eking out a living by teaching English,
I used often to frequent the Narodny Dom opera.
There was free admission to a portion of the hall, while
the most expensive seats were at cinematograph
prices. The inevitable deficit was made up out of
the State exchequer. Over the porch of the building
was an inscription : From the Tsar to His People. When
the Bolsheviks came into power they removed this
inscription, and also abolished the name of " House
of the People," changing it to " House of Rosa
Luxembourg and Karl Liebknecht." This building,

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 259

containing the largest auditorium in Russia, is now
frequently used for special celebrations. As a rule, on
such occasions only the Communist elite and special
delegates are admitted. The common people to whom
the Tsar presented the palace are refused admission.

On the evening of the great Communist counter-
demonstration against the Petrograd strikers, machine-
guns barred the entrance to what was once the House
of the People, and the approaches bristled with
bayonets. The former Tsar, when last he visited it,
drove up in an open carriage. Not so the new " Tsar,"
the president of the workers' republic. The moment
of his arrival was a secret, and he arrived literally
hedged round with a special bodyguard of Red cadets.

The audience was a picked one, consisting of the
principal Communist bodies of the city and delegates
from organizations such as trade unions, teachers, and
pupils, selected by the Communists. I got in with
a ticket procured by my manager. When Lenin
emerged on to the stage, the audience rose as one man
and greeted him with an outburst of vociferous
applause lasting several minutes. The little man, who
has such a hold on a section of his followers, advanced
casually to the footlights. His oriental features
betrayed no emotion. He neither smiled nor looked
austere. Dressed in a plain drab lounge suit, he
stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently
till the cheering should subside. Was he indifferent
to the welcome, or was he secretly pleased ? He
showed no sign and at length held up his hand to
indicate that there had been enough of it.

The orators of the revolution— and they are indeed
great orators — all have their distinctive styles. That
of Trotzky, with poised, well-finished, well-reasoned
phrases, is volcanic, fierily hypnotic : that of Zinoviev,

260 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

torrential, scintillating with cheap witticisms, devoid
of original ideas, but brilliant in form and expression ;
that of Lunacharsky, violent, yet nobly and pathetic-
ally impressive, breathing an almost religious fervour.
Lenin differs from all of these. He knows and cares
for no rhetorical cunning. His manner is absolutely
devoid of all semblance of affectation. He talks fast
and loudly, even shouts, and his gesticulations remind
one of the tub-thumping demagogue. But he pos-
sesses something the others do not possess. Cold and
calculating, he is not actuated to the extent Zinoviev
and Trotzky are by venom against political opponents
and the bourgeoisie. On the contrary, despite his
speeches, which are often nothing more than necessary
pandering to the cruder instincts of his colleagues,
Lenin (himself an ex-landlord) has never ceased to
believe not only that the Russian bourgeoisie as a
class is necessary to the State, but that the entire
Russian peasantry is and always will be a class of
small property-owning farmers with the psychology
of the petit bourgeois. True, in 1918 the attempt
was made, chiefly through the medium of committees
of the village poor, to thrust Communism upon the
peasantry by force. But it was soon relinquished
and Lenin headed the retreat. Astonishingly ignorant
of world events and completely out of harmony with
Western workers, Lenin has maintained his position
in Russia simply by his understanding of this single
trait of the Russian peasant character and by
repeatedly giving way to it— even to the complete
temporary repudiation of communistic principles.

In all other respects Lenin is a dogmatic disciple
of Karl Marx, and his devotion to the cause of the
world revolution is tempered only by the slowly
dawning realization that things in the Western world

THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 261

are not exactly as enthusiastic Communists describe.
But Lenin's better understanding of the mind of the
Russian peasant gives him an advantage over his
fellows in presenting his case to his followers, bringing
him a little nearer to actualities ; so that his speech,
while laboured, abstruse, and free from rhetorical
flourish, is straightforward and carries, to his little-
thinking Communist audiences, the conviction that
he must be right. But the " right " refers not to
ethics, which does not enter into Bolshevist philosophy,
but only to tactics.

And on the occasion I am describing Lenin spoke
mainly of tactics. The vicious Mensheviks and
Socialist-Revolutionaries had agitated in the factories,
and persuaded the workers to down tools and make
preposterous demands which were incompatible with
the principles of the workers' and peasants' govern-
ment. The chief ground of complaint was the Bol-
shevist food commissariat. The workers were hungry.
Therefore the workers must be fed and the revolt
would subside. A heroic effort must be made to
obtain food for the factories. So the government
had decided to stop the passenger traffic on every
railroad in Russia for the space of three weeks, in
order that all available locomotives and every available
car and truck might be devoted to the sole purpose
of transporting to the northern capital supplies of
forcibly seized food.

Of the results of these so-called " freight weeks "
little need be said beyond the fact that the experiment
was never repeated because of its complete failure
to solve the problem. It is true that the government
supplies did increase very slightly, but the population
was in the end much hungrier than before, for the very
simple reason that the stoppage of the passenger traffic

262 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

materially interfered with the coinings and goings of
" sackmen," upon whose illicit and risky operations
the public relied for at least half, and the better
half, of their food supplies !

The workers' revolt subsided, not through the better
feeding of the men, but because they were effectually
reduced to a state of abject despair by the ruthless
seizure of their leaders and the cruel reprisals against
their wives and families, and because this moment
was chosen by the authorities to reduce their numbers
by removing a large draft of workers to other industrial
centres in the interior. Still, on the occasion of Lenin's
visit, the workers did make a final attempt to assert
themselves. A delegation from the largest factories
was sent to present their demands, as set forth in
resolutions, to the president in person at the Narodny
Dom. But the delegation was refused admission.
They returned, foiled, to their factories and observed
to their comrades that " it was easier to approach
the Tsar Nicholas than it was to gain access to the
president of the ' Soviet Republic.' : What, I won-
dered, would the Third International have thought
of such words?

After the experiment of the " freight weeks," the
next expedient resorted to when the self-same demands
were again presented was a strangely inconsistent
but an inevitable one. It was a partial concession
of freedom to " sackmen." After long and loud
clamouring, a certain percentage of workers were
granted the right to journey freely to the provinces
and bring back two poods (72 Ib.) of bread each.
Thus they got the nickname of two-pooders and the
practice was called " two-pooding." As everyone
strove to avail himself of the right the railroads

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 263

naturally became terribly congested, but the measure
nevertheless had the desired effect. Not only was
there almost immediately more bread, but the price
fell rapidly. The workers travelled to the grain-
growing districts, came to terms with the villagers,
who willingly gave up to them what they hid
from Bolshevist requisitioners, and journeyed back,
jealously clutching their sacks of bread. I happened
to be travelling to Moscow at this time, and the sight
of swarms of wretched " two-pooders," filling all the
cars and clambering on to the roofs and buffers, was a
pitiful one indeed. But just at the moment when
it seemed that a genuine solution of the food problem
in the capitals had been found, " two-pooding " was
summarily cut short by government edict on the
ground that the congestion of the railways rendered
impossible the transport of the government's supplies.

For over a year more the Bolsheviks strove their
utmost to stave off the inevitable day when it would
no longer be possible to forbid the right of free trading.
As the feud between themselves and the peasants
deepened, and the difficulty of provisioning increased,
the government sought by one palliative after another
to counteract the effects of their own food policy.
But recently, in the spring of 1921, the fateful step
was taken. In spite of considerable opposition from
his followers Lenin publicly repudiated the commu-
nistic system of forced requisitions and restored, with
certain restrictions, the principle of freedom in the
buying and selling of food.

This was adopting a policy of desperation, but it is
the most important event since the Bolshevist coup
d'etat in November, 1917. For it is a repudiation of
the fundamental plank of the Communist platform,
the first principle of which is the complete suppression

264 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of all free trading, private business initiative, and
individual enterprise. There is no limit to the possi-
bilities opened up by this tragic necessity — as it
must seem to the Communists. But having taken it,
however reluctantly, why do they not release their
opponents from prison and invite their co-operation—
those opponents whose chief protest was against the
stupidity of the Bolshevist food system ?

The explanation is that with the Bolshevist leaders
the welfare of the workers and peasants, and of
humanity in general, is completely subordinate to the
interest of the Communist Party. And this attitude is
inspired not so much by selfish motives as by an
amazingly bigoted conviction that the Bolshevist
interpretation of Marxian dogma is the only formula
that will ultimately lead to what they regard as the
" emancipation of all workers." Astonishing as it
may seem in these days, when the better elements
of mankind are struggling to temper prejudice with
reason, theory is all in all to the Bolsheviks, while
facts are only to be recognized when they threaten
the dictatorship of the party. Thus the concession
of freedom of trade to the peasantry does not imply
any yielding of principle, but merely adaptation to
adverse conditions, a step " backward," which must
be " rectified " the moment circumstances permit.
That is why, since Lenin's announcement, Bolshevist
sophists have been talking themselves blue in the
endeavour to prove to home and foreign followers
that the chameleon does not and never will change its
colour. " Free trading," they say, " is only a tem-
porary unavoidable evil." Temporary? But can
any one who believes in human nature conceive of a
possible return to the system Lenin has discarded ?

'THE PARTY3 AND THE PEOPLE 265

One day there occurred in Petrograd a startling
event that would have made foreign protagonists
of proletarian dictatorship, had they been present, sit
bolt upright and diligently scratch their heads.

A re-registration of the party took place, the object
being to purge its ranks of what were referred to as
" undesirable elements " and " radishes," the latter
being a happy epithet invented by Trotzky to desig-
nate those who were red only on the outside. A
stringent condition of re-entry was that every member
should be guaranteed by two others for his political
reliability, not only upon admission but in perpetuity.
Such were the fear and suspicion prevailing even within
the ranks of the party. The result was that, besides
those who were expelled for misdemeanours, many
Communists, disquieted by the introduction of so
stringent a disciplinary measure, profited by the re-
registration to retire, and the membership was reduced
by more than 50 per cent. A total of less than 4,000
was left out of a population of 800,000.

Immediately after the purge there were districts
of the " metropolis of the world revolution " where
scarcely a Communist was left. The central com-
mittee had been prepared to purge the party of a cer-
tain number of undesirables, but the sudden reduction
by over one half was a totally unexpected blow. Its
bitterness was enhanced by the fact that only three
weeks earlier, by means of threats, bribes, trickery, and
violence, the Communists had secured over 1,100 out
of 1,390 seats at the elections to the Petrograd Soviet,
which result they were holding up to the outside world
as indicative of the spreading influence of Bolshevism.

The problem of how to increase the party member-
ship became vitally urgent. With this end in view
a novel and ingenious idea was suddenly conceived.

266 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

It was resolved to make an appeal for party recruits
among the workers I Amazing though it may seem, the
Communist leaders, according to their own accounts,
thought of this course only as a last resort. To the
outsider this is almost incredible. Even in Russia
it seemed so at first, but on second thoughts it
appeared less strange. For ever since the murder
in 1918 of the Jewish commissars Volodarsky and
Uritzky, the former by unknown workmen and the
latter by a Socialist-Revolutionary Jew, the Com-
munists had come to regard the workers in general
as an unreliable element, strongly under Menshevist
and Socialist-Revolutionary influence. The small
section that joined the Bolsheviks were elevated to
posts of responsibility, and thus became detached from
the masses. But a larger section, openly adhering to
anti-Bolshevist parties, was left, whose spokesmen
were constantly subjected to persecution which only
enhanced their prestige in the workers' eyes.

Of whom, then, had the Communist Party con-
sisted for the first two years of the Red regime ? The
question is not easy to answer, for the systems of
admission have varied as much as the composition of
the party itself. The backbone of the rank and file
was originally formed by the sailors, whom I heard
Trotzky describe during the riots of July, 1917, as
" the pride and glory of the revolution." But a year
or so later there was a good sprinkling of that type
of workman who, when he is not a Communist, is
described by the Communists as " workman bour-
geois." Though these latter were often self-seekers
and were regarded by the workers in general as snobs,
they were a better element than the sailors, who
with few exceptions were ruffians. Further recruits
were drawn from amongst people of most varied

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 267

and indefinite types— yard-keepers, servant girls, ex-
policemen, prison warders, tradesmen, and the petty
bourgeoisie. In rare instances one might find students
and teachers, generally women of the soft, dreamy,
mentally weak type, but perfectly sincere and dis-
interested. Most women Communists of the lower
ranks resembled ogresses.

In the early days membership of the party, which
rapidly came to resemble a political aristocracy, was
regarded as an inestimable privilege worth great
trouble and cost to obtain. The magic word Com-
munist inspired fear and secured admission and pre-
ference everywhere. Before it every barrier fell.
Of course endless abuses arose, one of which was the
sale of the recommendations required for membership.
As workers showed no inclination to join, it was self-
seekers for the most part who got in, purchasing their
recommendations by bribes or for a fixed sum, and
selling them in their turn after admission. These
were the " undesirables " of whom the leaders were
so anxious to purge the party.

Various expedients were then devised to filter
applicants. Party training schools were established
for neophytes, where devotion to " our " system was
fanned into ecstasy, while burning hatred was excited
toward every other social theory whatsoever. The
training schools were never a brilliant success, for a
variety of reasons. The instruction was only theoreti-
cal and the lecturers were rarely able to clothe their
thoughts in simple language or adapt the abstruse
aspects of sociological subjects to the mentality of
their audiences, which consisted of very youthful
workers or office employees lured into attendance by an
extra half-pound of bread issued after each lecture.
To attend the whole course was irksome, involving

268 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

sacrifice of leisure hours, and the number of ideiny
(" idealistic ") applicants was too small to permit
rigorous discipline. The training schools were
gradually superseded by Communist clubs, which
devoted their attention to concerts and lectures, thus
resembling the cultural-enlightenment committees in
the army.

Another deterrent to " radishes " was devised by
establishing three degrees for professing converts :

1. Sympathizers.

2. Candidates.

3. Fully qualified Communists.

Before being crowned with the coveted title of " mem-
ber of the Communist Party," neophytes had to pass
through the first two probationary stages, involving
tests of loyalty and submission to party discipline.
It was the prerogative only of the third category
to bear arms. It was to them that preference was
given in all appointments to posts of responsibility.

There is one source upon which the Bolsheviks
can rely with some confidence for new drafts. I
refer to the Union of Communist Youth. Realizing
their failure to convert the present generation, the
Communists have turned their attention to the next,
and established this Union which all school children
are encouraged to join. Even infants, when their
parents can be induced or compelled to part with
them, are prepared for initiation to the Union by
concentration in colonies and homes, where they are
fed on preferential rations, at the expense of the rest
of the population, and clothed with clothing seized
from children whose parents refuse to be separated
from them. It is the object of these colonies to protect
the young minds from pernicious non-Communist

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 269

influence and so to instil Bolshevist ideals that by the
time they reach adolescence they will be incapable
of imbibing any others. According to Bolshevist
admissions many of these homes are in an appalling
state of insanitation, but a few are kept up by special
efforts and exhibited to foreign visitors as model
nurseries. It is still too early to estimate the success
of this system. Personally I am inclined to think that,
when not defeated by the misery of insanitation and
neglect, the propagandist aims will be largely counter-
acted by the silent but benevolent influence of the self-
sacrificing intellectuals (doctors, matrons, and nurses)
whose services in the running of them cannot be
dispensed with. The tragedy of the children of
Soviet Russia is in the numbers that are thrown into
the streets. But the Union of Communist Youth,
consisting of adolescents, with considerable license
permitted them, with endless concerts, balls, theatre
parties and excursions, supplementary rations and
issues of sweetmeats, processioning, flag-waving, and
speech-making at public ceremonies, is still the most
reliable source of recruits to the Communist Party.

It will be readily realized that the party consisted
of a medley of widely differing characters, in which
genuine toilers were a minority. When the novel
suggestion was made of inviting workers to join,
this fact was admitted with laudable candour. The
Bolshevist spokesmen frankly avowed they had com-
pletely forgotten the workers, and a great campaign
was opened to draw them into the party. " The
watchword ' Open the party doors to the workers,5 :
said Pravda on July 25, 1919, " has been forgotten.
Workers get ' pickled ' as soon as they join " — which
meant they become Communists and entirely lose
their individuality as workers. Zinoviev wrote a

270 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

long proclamation to toilers explaining who the
Communists were and their objects.

" The Bolshevist Party," said he, " was not born
only a year or two ago. Our party has behind it more
than one decade of glorious activity. The best workers
of the world called themselves Communists with
pride. . . . The party is not a peculiar sect, it is
not an aristocracy of labour. It also consists of
workers and peasants — only more organized, more
developed, knowing what they want and with a fixed
programme. The Communists are not the masters, in
the bad sense of that word, of the workers and peasants,
but only their elder comrades, able to point out the
right path. . . . Recently we have purged our
ranks. We have ejected those who in our opinion
did not merit the great honour of being called Com-
munists. They were mostly not workers but people
more or less of the privileged classes who tried to
' paste ' themselves on to us because we are in
power. . . . Having done this we open wide the door
of the party to the ranks of labour. . . . All honest
labourers may enter it. If the party has defects let
us correct them together. . . . We warn everyone
that in our party there is iron discipline. You must
harden yourself and at the call of the party take up
very hard work. Our call is addressed to all who are
willing to sacrifice themselves for the working class.
Strengthen and help the only party in the world that
leads the workers to liberty ! "

With all formalities, such as probationary stages,
removed, and diffident candidates magnanimously
assured that if only they would join they could learn
later what it was all about, the membership of the
party in the northern capital rose in three months
to 23,000. This was slightly less than could have

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 271

been mustered, prior to the purging, by combining
members, sympathizers, candidates, and the Union
of Communist Youth. The figures in Moscow were
approximately the same.

The above remarks apply to the rank and file.
Intellectuality in the party has always been represented
largely, though by no means exclusively, by Jews, who
dominate the Third International, edit the Soviet
journals, and direct propaganda. It must never be
forgotten, however, that there are just as many Jews
who are opposed to Bolshevism, only they cannot make
their voices heard. I find that those who utter
warnings of a coming pogrom of Jews as a result of
the evils of Bolshevism are liable to meet with the
reception of a Cassandra. But I fear such an occur-
rence to be inevitable if no modifying foreign influence
is at hand, and it will be promoted by old-regimists
the world over. It will be a disaster, because Jews
who have become assimilated into the Russian nation
may play a valuable part in the reconstruction of the
country. There are many who have already played
leading roles in Russia's democratic institutions, such
as the co-operative societies and land and town unions,
which the Bolsheviks have suppressed.

The higher orders of the party, whether Jew or
Russian, consist of the same little band of devotees,
a few hundred strong, who before the Revolution were,
still are, and presumably ever will be the Bolshevist
party proper. They in their turn are subjected to
the rigid dictatorship of the central party committee,
which rules Russia absolutely through the medium of
the Council of People's Commissars.

As it became increasingly evident that the only
people who would join the party of their own free will
and in considerable numbers were " undesirables,"

272 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

while a large proportion of the workers who had been
coaxed into it were but indifferent Communists, the
tendency grew to make of the party a closed corpora-
tion subject to merciless discipline. Members, though
enjoying material privileges, should have no will of
their own; undesirables should be deterred from join-
ing by imposing arduous duties upon all members.
Such is the position in the capitals at the present time.
The " iron party discipline " is needed for another
reason besides that of barring out black sheep. With
demoralization, famine, and misery on the increase,
insubordinate whisperings and questions are arising,
even within the party, especially since the factor of
war has disappeared. These questionings are growing
in force and affect the highest personages in the State.
Trotzky, for instance, no longer able to satisfy his
insatiable ambition, is showing an inclination to branch
out on a line of his own in opposition to the moderate
and compromising tendencies of Lenin. The tension
between them has been relieved temporarily by
assigning to Trotzky a dominant role in the promotion
of the world revolution, while Lenin controls domestic
affairs. But the arrangement is necessarily temporary.
The characters of the two men, except under stress
of war, are as incompatible as their respective policies
of violence and moderation.

The number of Communists being relatively so in-
finitesimal, how is it that to-day on every public and
supposedly representative body there sits an over-
whelming and triumphant Communist majority? I
will very briefly describe the method of election and
a single meeting of the Soviet of Petrograd, whose
sittings I attended.

Some people still ask : What exactly is a " soviet " ?

p. 272

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 273

—and the question is not unnatural considering that
the Bolsheviks have been at pains to persuade the
world that there is an indissoluble connection between
Soviet and Bolshevism. There is, however, absolutely
no essential association whatsoever between the two
ideas, and the connection that exists in the popular
mind in this and other countries is a totally fallacious
one. The Russian word soviet has two meanings :
" counsel " and " council." When you ask advice you
say, " Please give me soviet" or " Can you soviet me
what to do?" Dentists have on their notices:
" Painless extractions. Soviet gratis." There was
a State Soviet (in the sense of " council ") in the
constitution of the Tsar. It was the upper house,
corresponding to the Senate or the House of Lords.
It was a reactionary institution and resembled the
Bolshevist Soviets in that only certain sections of the
community had a voice in elections to it.

According to the original idea, even as propounded
at one time by the Bolsheviks, the political soviet or
council should be a representative body for which
all sections of the working community (whether of
hand or brain) should have an equal right to vote.
These Soviets should elect superior ones (borough,
county, provincial, etc.), until a central soviet is con-
structed, electing in its turn a cabinet of People's
Commissars, responsible to a periodically convened
Congress. This system exists on paper to this day,
but its working is completely nullified by the simple
process of preventing any but Communists from
entering the lowest soviet — the only one that is in
direct contact with the people. This restraint is
often effected by force, but the franchise in any case
is limited and has the effect of disenfranchising four
out of every five peasants. Nevertheless, a few non-

274 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Bolsheviks generally manage to get elected, although
at risk of gross molestation; but they are regarded
by the Communists as intruders and can exert no
influence in politics.

One might ask why the Bolsheviks, while sup-
pressing all free Soviets, still maintain the farce of
elections, since they cause a lot of bother. " Soviets,"
however, in some form or other, are indispensable in
order that the government may continue to call itself
for propagandist purposes the " Soviet " Government.
If the soviet or freely elected council system did work
unshackled in Russia to-day, Bolshevism would long
ago have been abolished. In fact one of the demands
frequently put forward during strikes is for a restora-
tion, side by side with the free co-operative societies,
of the soviet system which is now virtually suppressed.
Paradoxical though it be, Bolshevism is in reality
the complete negation of the soviet system. It is by
no means impossible that the downfall of the Commu-
nists may result in a healthy effort being made to set
the Soviets to work in some form for the first time.
If this book serves no other purpose than to impress
this vitally important fact upon the reader, I shall feel
I have not written in vain.

Whenever it is possible, that is, whenever no serious
opposition to a Communist candidate is expected,
the Bolsheviks allow an election to take its normal
course, except that the secret ballot has been almost
universally abolished. Before they rose to power the
secret ballot was a cardinal principle of the Bolshevist
programme. The argument, so typical of Bolshevist
reasoning, now put forward in justification of its
abolition is that secret voting would be inconsistent
in a proletarian republic that has become " free."

The number of Communists who are elected without

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 275

opposition is very considerable, and, strangely enough,
it is upon the bourgeoisie, engaged in the multifarious
clerical tasks of the bureaucratic administration, that
the authorities are able to rely for the least opposition.
Employees of the government offices mostly miss the
elections if they can, and if they cannot, acquiesce
passively in the appointment of Communists, knowing
that the proposal of opponents will lead, at the least,
to extreme unpleasantness. A partial explanation of
this docility and the general inability of the Russian
people to assert themselves is to be found in sheer
political inexperience. The halcyon days of March,
1917, before the Bolsheviks returned, was the only
period in which they have known liberty, and at the
elections of that time there was little or no controversy.
In any case, political experience is not to be acquired
in the short space of a few weeks.

I will cite but one instance of an election in a
thoroughly bourgeois institution. The return by the
Marinsky Opera of a Communist delegate to the
Petrograd Soviet was given prominence in the Bol-
shevist Press, and as I had at one time been connected
with this theatre I was interested to elucidate the cir-
cumstances. On the election day, of all the singers,
orchestra, chorus, and the large staff of scene-shifters,
mechanics, attendants, caretakers, etc., numbering
several hundred people, not half-a-dozen appeared.
So the election was postponed until another day,
when the Communist " cell," appointed to control
the election, brought in a complete outsider, whom
they " elected " as delegate from the theatre. The
staff were completely indifferent and unaware, until
afterwards, that any election had taken place !

Not to the passive bourgeoisie, but to the active
workers, do the Bolsheviks look for opposition in the

276 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

cities. It is to counteract and forcibly prevent non-
Bolshevist propaganda in the workshops that their
chief energies are devoted. The elections I am de-
scribing were noteworthy because they followed im-
mediately upon an outburst of strikes, particularly
affecting the railwaymen and street-car workers. At
one of the tramway parks bombs had been thrown,
killing one worker and wounding three Communists.

Only one meeting was permitted at each factory or
other institution and the printed instructions stated
that it must be controlled by Communists, who were
to put forward their candidates first. Everywhere
where there had been disturbances guards were intro-
duced to maintain order during the meeting, and spies
of the Extraordinary Commission were sent to note
who, if any one, raised his hand against the Communist
candidates. At the Obuhov works the workers were
told straight out that any one who voted against the
Communists would be dismissed without the right of
employment elsewhere. At the Putilov works the
election meeting was held without notice being given,
so that scarcely any one was present. Next day the
Putilov men heard to their amazement that they
had unanimously elected to the soviet some twenty
Communists !

In the district where I was living the Jewish
agitator, of whom I have previously spoken, was
entrusted with the conduct of a much-advertised
house-to-house campaign to impress the workers and
especially their wives with the virtues of the Com-
munists. The reception he received was by no means
universally cordial and the ultimate triumph of the
Communists was to him a matter of considerable
relief. It goes without saying this was the only kind
of canvassing. All non-Communist parties being

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 277

denounced as counter-revolutionary, the entire populace,
except for a few intrepid individuals who courageously
proclaimed their adherence to non-Bolshevist Socialist
parties, sheltered itself behind the title of " non-
partisan," and having no programme but an anti-
Communist one, put forward none at all. To put one
forward was impossible anyway, for the use of the
printing press, the right of free speech, and the right
to use firearms (which played a great part) were
confined exclusively to Communists.

At this particular election the Bolsheviks forgot the
women workers, who turned out to be unexpectedly
obstreperous. In one factory on the Vasili Island,
where mostly women were employed, the Communists
were swept off the platform and the women held their
own meeting, electing eight non-partisan members.
In several smaller workshops the Communists suffered
unexpected defeat, perhaps because all the available
arms were concentrated in the larger factories, and
the ultimate outcome of the elections, though the
Communists of course were in the majority, was a
reduction of their majority from ninety to eighty-two
per cent.

On the opening day of the soviet, armed with the
order of a guest from my regiment, I made my way
to the famous Tauride Palace, now called " Palace of
Uritzky," the seat of the former Duma. I pictured
to myself, as I entered the building, the memorable
days and nights of March, 1917. There was no such
enthusiasm now as there had been then. No, now
there was war, war between a Party and the People.
Machine-guns fixed on motor-cycles were posted
threateningly outside the porch and a company of
Reds defended the entrance.

The meeting was scheduled for 5 o'clock, so

278 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

knowing soviet practices I strolled in about quarter to
six, counting on still having time on my hands before
there would be anything doing. Speaking of un-
punctuality, I remember an occasion in 1918 when I
had to make a statement to the Samara soviet on
some work I was engaged in. I wished to secure a
hall for a public lecture on science by an American
professor and received an official invitation to appear
at the soviet at 5 P.M. to explain my object in detail.
I attended punctually. At 5.30 the first deputy
strolled in and, seeing no one there, asked me when
the sitting would begin.

" I was invited for 5 o'clock," I replied.

" Yes," he said, " 5 o'clock— that's right," and
strolled out again. At 6 three or four workmen were
lounging about, chatting or doing nothing to pass the
time.

" Do you always start so unpunctually ? " I asked
one of them.

" If you have lived so long in Russia," was the
good-natured retort, " you ought to know us by now."
At 7 everybody was in evidence except the chairman.
That dignitary appeared at 7.15 with the apology
that he had " stopped to chat with a comrade in the
street."

The soviet meeting at Petrograd, scheduled for 5,
began at 9, but there were extenuating circumstances.
The still-discontented workmen had been invited
during the day to listen to Zinoviev, who strove to
pacify them by granting them holidays which had
been cancelled on account of the war. The soviet
deputies wandered up and down the lobbies and
corridors, while the workmen streamed out talking
heatedly or with looks of gloom on their faces.

The hall within the palace had been altered and

4 THE PARTY5 AND THE PEOPLE 279

improved. The wall behind the tribune where the
portrait of the Tsar used to hang had been removed
and a deep alcove made, seating over 100 people,
where the executive committee and special guests sat.
The executive committee numbered forty people and
constituted a sort of cabinet, doing all the legislation.
Its members were always Communists. The soviet
proper never took part in legislation. By its charac-
ter, and especially by the manner in which its sittings
were held, it was impossible that it should. The
number of deputies was over 1,300, an unwieldy body
in which discussion was difficult in any case, but to
make it completely impossible numerous guests were
invited from other organizations of a Communist
character. By this means the audience was doubled.
And one must still add the chauffeurs, street-car con-
ductors, and general servants of the building who
also found their way in. Everybody took part in
the voting, no discrimination being made between
members and bidden or unbidden guests.

At 9 all was ready for the soviet to open. By
sitting three at a desk there were seats for about 2,000
people. The others stood at the back or swarmed
into the balcony. Sailors were very conspicuous.
The day was warm and the air was stifling. Around
the walls hung notices : " You are requested not to
smoke." In spite of this, half-way through the meet-
ing the room was full of smoke. Following the
example of others, I doffed my coat and, removing
my belt, pulled up my shirt and flapped it up and
down by way of ventilation. Performed en gros this
operation was hardly conducive to the purification of
the atmosphere.

I secured a seat at the back whence I could see
everything. My neighbour was a woman, a dis-

280 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

bevelled little creature who seemed much embarrassed
by her surroundings. Every time any one rose to
speak she asked me who it was. While we waited for
the proceedings to begin she confided to me in answer
to my question that she was a guest, like myself.
" I signed on recently as a ' sympathizer,' '' she said.

Su denly there was a burst of applause. A well-
know.- i figure with bushy hair and Jewish features
entered and strolled nonchalantly up to the tribune.
" That is Zinoviev," I said tg my neighbour, but she
knew Zinoviev.

A bell rang and silence ensued.

" I pronounce the Fourth Petrograd Soviet open,"
said a tall man in clothes of military cut who stood
at the right of the president's chair. " That is
Evdokimov, the secretary," I said to my companion,
to which she replied profoundly, " Ah ! "

An orchestra stationed in one corner of the hall
struck up the " Internationale." Everyone rose.
Another orchestra up in the balcony also struck up
the " Internationale," but two beats later and failed
to catch up. You listened to and sang with the one
you were nearest to.

" At the instance of the Communist Party," pro-
ceeded Evdokimov in a clear voice, " I propose the
following members for election to the executive com-
mittee." He read out forty names, all Communists.
" Those in favour raise their hands." A sea of hands
rose. "Who is against?'1 To the general excite-
ment a number of hands were raised — an event
unheard of for many a month. " Accepted by a
large majority," exclaimed the secretary.

" The Communist Party," he continued, " proposes
the following for election to the presidium." He
read the names of seven Communists, including his

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 281

own. About half-a-dozen hands were raised agairst
this proposal, to the general amusement.

" The Communist Party proposes Comrade Zinoviev
as president of the soviet," proceeded the secretary in
heightened tones. There was a storm of applaase.
One single hand was raised in opposition and was
greeted with hilarious laughter. Zinoviev advanced
to the presidential chair and the orchestras struct up
the " Internationale." The election of the executive
committee, the presidium, A and the president had
occupied less than five minutes.

Opening his speech with a reference to the recent
elections, Zinoviev exulted in the fact that of the 1,390
members a thousand were fully qualified members of
the Communist Party, whilst many others were candi-
dates. " We were convinced," he exclaimed, " that
the working class of Red Petrograd would remain
true to itself and return to the soviet only the best
representatives, and we were not mistaken." After
defining the tasks of the new soviet as the defence
and provisioning of the city, he spoke of the strikes,
which he attributed to agents of the Allies and to
the Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries. It was
perhaps not such a bad thing, he said in effect, that
some rascally Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolution-
aries had got into the soviet, for it would be the easier
to catch them if they were on the side of the counter-
revolutionaries. Continuing, he praised the Red army
and the Baltic fleet and concluded, as usual, with a
prediction of early revolution in western Europe.
" Comrades," he cried, " the tyrannous Governments
of the West are on the eve of their fall. The bour-
geois despots are doomed. The workers are rising
in their millions to sweep them away. They are
looking to us, to the Red proletariat, to lead them

282 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

to victory. Long live the Communist Interna-
tional ! "

He ended amidst tremendous cheering. During his
speech the " Internationale " was played three times
and at its conclusion twice more.

Then Zinoviev took a novel step. He invited dis-
cussion. In view of the increase of the non-partisan
element in the soviet there was a distinct tendency to
invite the latter 's co-operation — under strict control,
of course, of the Communists. The permission of
discussion, however, was easy to understand when
the next speaker announced by the president declared
himself to be an ex-Menshevik now converted to
Communism. His harangue was short and ended
with a panegyric of the Bolshevist leaders. He was
followed by an anarchist, who was inarticulate, but
who roundly denounced the " thieves of the food
department." His speech was punctuated by furious
howls and whistling, particularly on the part of the
sailors. None the less he introduced an anti-Com-
munist resolution which was scarcely audible and for
which a few hands were raised. Zinoviev repeatedly
called for order but looked pleased enough at the
disturbance. The anarchist sat down amidst a storm
of laughter and booing. Zinoviev then closed the
discussion.

There then approached the tribune a businesslike-
looking little man, rather stout, round-shouldered,
and with a black moustache. " This is Badaev, com-
missar of food," I said to my neighbour. Sitting in
front of us were two young soldiers who seemed to
treat the proceedings with undue levity. When the
plump Badaev mounted the tribune they nudged each
other and one of them said, referring to the graded
categories into which the populace is divided for

'THE PARTY' AND THE PEOPLE 283

purposes of provisioning : " Look ! what a tub ! Ask
him what food category he belongs to " — at which
little pleasantry they both giggled convulsively for
several minutes.

Badaev spoke well but with no oratorical cunning.
He said the food situation was deplorable, that
speculation was rife, and mentioned decrees which
should rectify defects. Badaev could hardly be called
a logician. He said in effect that, though the soup
was bad, the Communist provisioning apparatus would
be the most perfect in the world. He admitted abuses
in the communal kitchens. Communists, he acknow-
ledged regretfully, were as bad as the others. " You
must elect controllers for the eating-houses," he said,
" but you must never let them stay long in one job.
They have a knack of chumming up with the cook,
so you must always keep them moving."

There were several other speakers who all sang the
praises of the Communist Party and the good judgment
of the electorate. At first attentive, the audience
became languid after midnight. Periodically the
" Internationale " was played. Toward the end many
people lolled over the desks with their heads on their
arms. Like school-children, they were not allowed
to leave before the end except upon some good
pretext.

At last the " Internationale " was played for the
very last time, the men did up their loosened belts
and donned their coats and the audience streamed
out into the cool summer air. My head ached
violently. I walked along to the quay of the Neva.
The river was superb. The sky-line of the summer
night was tinged with delicate pink, blue, and green.
I looked at the water and leaning over the parapet
laid my throbbing temples against the cold stone.

284 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

A militiaman touched my arm. " Who are you ? v
he demanded.

" I come from the soviet."

" Your order? "

I showed it. "I am going home," I added.

He was not a rough-looking fellow. I had a strange
impulse to exclaim bitterly : " Comrade, tell me, how
long will this revolution last? " But what was the
good? Though everybody asks it, this is the one
question nobody can answer.

My path lay along the beautiful river. The stream
flowed fast — faster than I walked. It seemed to me
to be getting ever faster. It was like the Revolution —
this river— flowing with an inexorable, ever-swifter,
endless tide. To my fevered fancy it became a roaring
torrent tearing all before it, like the rapids of Niagara ;
not, however, snowy white, but Red, Red, Red.

CHAPTER XIII

ESCAPE

FLIGHT from the prison of " Soviet " Russia was as
difficult a matter for me as for any Russian anxious
to elude pursuit and escape unobserved. Several
designs failed before I met with success. According
to one of these I was to be put across the Finnish
frontier secretly, but officially, by the Bolshevist
authorities as a foreign propagandist, for which I was
fitted by my knowledge of foreign languages. I was
already in possession of several bushels of literature
in half-a-dozen tongues which were to be delivered at
a secret address in Finland when fighting unex-
pectedly broke out on the Finnish frontier, the regi-
ment through which the arrangements were being
made moved, and the plan was held up indefinitely.
Before it could be renewed I had left Petrograd.

Another scheme was devised by a friend of mine,
occupying a prominent position at the Admiralty, at
the time when the British fleet was operating in the
Gulf of Finland. On a certain day a tug was to be
placed at the disposal of this officer for certain work
near Cronstadt. The plan he invented was to tell
the captain of the tug that he had been instructed to
convey to the shores of Finland a British admiral
who had secretly visited Petrograd to confer with the
Bolsheviks. At midnight the tug would be alongside
the quay. My friend was to fit me out in sailor's
uniform and I was to pose as the disguised British

285

286 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

admiral. Then, instead of stopping at Cronstadt, we
should steam past the fort and escape, under the
soviet flag and using soviet signals, to Finland. If
the captain smelt a rat a revolver would doubtless
quiet his olfactory nerve. But two days before the
event, the famous British naval raid on Cronstadt was
made and several Russian ships were sunk. My friend
was ordered there at once to assist in reorganization,
and I — well, I failed to become an admiral.

The most exciting of these unsuccessful efforts
ended with shipwreck in a fishing boat in the gulf.
At a house where I was staying there had been a
search, the object of which was to discover the source
of Allied intelligence, and I escaped by throwing a fit
(previously rehearsed in anticipation of an emergency)
which so terrified the searchers that they left me
alone. But I was forced subsequently to fly out of
the city and hide for some nights in a cemetery.
Having got wind of my difficulties, the British
Government sought to effect my rescue by sending
U-boat chasers nearly up to the mouth of the Neva
to fetch me away. These boats were able to run the
gauntlet of the Cronstadt forts at a speed of over
fifty knots. A message informed me of four nights on
which a chaser would come, and I was to arrange to
meet it at a certain point in the sea at a stipulated
hour. The difficulties were almost insurmountable,
but on the fourth night I and a Russian midshipman
succeeded in procuring a fishing boat and setting out
secretly from a secluded spot on the northern shore.
But the weather had been bad, a squall arose, our
boat was unwieldy and rode the waves badly. My
companion behaved heroically and it was due to his
excellent seamanship that the boat remained afloat as
long as it did. It was finally completely overwhelmed,

ESCAPE 287

sinking beneath us, and we had to swim ashore. The
rest of the night we spent in the woods, where we
were fired on by a patrol but eluded their vigilance
by scrambling into a scrubby bog and lying still till
daylight.

Then one day my commander informed me that
he had orders to move our regiment to the front.
After a moment's consideration I asked if he would
be able to send some of his soldiers down in small
detachments, say, of two or three, to which he replied,
" Possibly." This intelligence set me thinking very
hard. In a minute I leaned over to him and in a low
tone said something which set him, too, thinking very
hard. A smile gradually began to flicker round his
lips and he very slowly closed one eye and reopened it.

" All right," he said, " I will see to it that you are
duly ' killed.' "

Thus it came to pass that on a Sunday evening
two or three days before the regiment left Petrograd
I set out with two companions, detailed off to join
an artillery brigade at a distant point of the Latvian
front near Dvinsk. The Baltic State of Latvia was
still at war with Soviet Russia. My companions
belonged to another regiment but were temporarily
transferred. They were both fellows of sterling worth
who had stood by me in many a scrape, and both
wished to desert and serve the Allies, but feared they
might be shot as Communists by the Whites. So I
had promised to take them with me when I went.
One was a giant over six feet high, a law student,
prize boxer, expert marksman, a Hercules and sports-
man in every sense and a picked companion on an
adventure such as ours. The other was a youth,
cultured, gentle, but intrepid, who luckily knew the
strip of country to which we were being sent.

288 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

The first night we travelled for eleven hours in
the lobby of a passenger car. The train was already
packed when we got in, people were sitting on the
buffers and roofs, but having some muscle between
us we took the steps by storm and held on tight.

I was the fortunate one on top. The lobby might
have contained four comfortably, but there were
already nine people in it, all with sacks and baggage.
About half an hour after the train started I succeeded
in forcing the door open sufficiently to squeeze half
in. My companions smashed the window and, to the
horror of those within, clambered through it and
wedged themselves downwards. Treating the thing,
in Russian style, as a huge joke, they soon overcame
the profanity of the opposition. Eventually I got
the other half of myself through the door, it shut
with a slam, and we breathed again.

Next day we slept out on the grass at a junction
station. The second night's journey was to take us
to the destination mentioned on our order papers, and
in the course of it we had a curious experience. About
three in the morning we noticed that the train had been
shunted on to a siding, while muffled cries in the
stillness of the night showed that something unusual
was happening. One of my companions, who recon-
noitred, brought the most unwelcome intelligence that
the train was surrounded and was going to be searched.
On the previous day, while resting at the junction
station, we had encountered a shady individual clearly
belonging to the local Committee for Combating
Desertion, who questioned us repeatedly regarding
our duties and destination. The recollection of this
incident gave rise in our minds to a fear that we
might be the objects of the search, and this suspicion
became intensified to the force of a terrible conviction

p. 288

RAILWAY TRAVELLING IN SOVIET RUSSIA

ESCAPE 289

with all three of us when, after a second reconnoitre,
we learned that our car was the particularly suspected
one. We occupied with two other men a half-com-
partment at the end of a long second-class coach, but
conversation with our fellow-travellers failed to give
us any clue as to their business. The problem which
faced us was, how to dispose of three small packets
we were carrying, containing maps, documents, and
personal papers of my own, all of the most incriminat-
ing nature. They were concealed in a bag of salt,
through the sides of which the packets slightly pro-
truded. The bag of salt would most certainly be
opened to see what was in it. Our first idea was to
throw it out of the window, but this could not be
done unobserved because our two unknown travelling
companions occupied the seats nearest the window.
So in the pitch darkness we thrust them, loose, under
the seat, where they would of course be discovered
but we would say desperately that they were not
ours. This was just done when the door opened and
a man with a candle put his head in and asked :
" Where are you all going? " It turned out that we
were all leaving the train at Rezhitsa. " Rezhitsa? 5!
said the man with the candle, " Good. Then at
Rezhitsa we will put prisoners in here."

I will not attempt to describe the hour of suspense
that followed. Though my two friends resigned them-
selves calmly to what appeared to be an inevitable
fate, I was quite unable to follow their example. I,
personally, might not be shot — not at once at any
rate— but should more likely be held as a valuable
hostage, whom the Soviet Government would use to
secure concessions from the British. But my two
faithful companions would be shot like dogs against
the first wall, and though each of us was cognizant of
u

290 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

the risk from the outset, when the fatal moment
came and I knew absolutely nothing could save them,
the bitterness of the realization was past belief.

Compartment by compartment the train was
searched. The subdued hubbub and commotion ac-
companying the turning out of passengers, the exami-
nation of their belongings, and the scrutiny of seats,
racks, and cushions, gradually approached our end of
the coach. From the other half of our compartment
somebody was ejected and someone else put in in his
stead. A light gleamed through the chink in the
partition. We strained our ears to catch the snatches
of conversation. Though our unknown travelling
companions were invisible in the darkness, I felt that
they too were listening intently. But nothing but
muffled undertones came through the partition. The
train moved forward, the shuffling in the corridors
continuing. Then suddenly our door was rudely slid
open. Our hearts stood still. We prepared to rise
to receive the searchers. The same man with the
candle stood in the doorway. But all he said on
seeing us again was, " Ach— yes ! " in a peevish voice,
and pushed the door to. We waited in protracted
suspense. Why did nobody come ? The whole train
had been searched except for our half-compartment.
There was silence now in the corridor and only
mutterings came through the partition. The pallid
dawn began to spread. We saw each other in dim
outline, five men in a row, sitting motionless in silent,
racking expectation. It was light when we reached
Rezhitsa. Impatiently we remained seated while our
two unknown companions moved out with their things.
We had to let them go first, before we could recover
the three packages hidden under the seat. As in a
dream, we pushed out with the last of the crowd,

ESCAPE 291

moved hastily along the platform, and dived into the
hustling mass of soldiers and peasant men and women
filling the waiting-room. Here only did we speak to
each other. The same words came— mechanically and
dryly, as if unreal : " They overlooked us ! '

Then we laughed.

An hour later we were ensconced in a freight train
which was to take us the last ten miles to the location
of our artillery brigade. The train was almost empty
and the three of us had a box-car to ourselves. A
couple of miles before we reached our destination we
jumped off the moving train, and, dashing into the
woods, ran hard till we were sure there was no pursuit.
The younger of my companions knew the district and
conducted us to a cottage where we gave ourselves
out to be " Greens " — neither Reds nor Whites. The
nickname of " green guards " was applied to wide-
spread and irregular bands of deserters both from the
Red and White armies, and the epithet arose from
the fact that they bolted for the woods and hid in
great numbers in the fields and forests. The first
" Greens " were anti-Red, but a dose of White regime
served to make them equally anti- White, so that at
various times they might be found on either side or
on none. It was easy for them to maintain a separate
roving existence, for the peasantry, seeing in them
the truest protagonists of peasant interests, fed, sup-
ported, and aided them in every way. Under leaders
who maintained with them terms of camaraderie it
was not difficult to make disciplined forces out of the
unorganized Greens. Not far from the point where
we were, a band of Greens had turned out a trainload
of Reds at a wayside station and ordered " all Com-
munists and Jews " to " own up." They were shown
up readily enough by the other Red soldiers and shot

292 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

on the spot. The remainder were disarmed, taken
into the station, given a good feed, and then told
they might do as they liked— return to the Reds, join
the Whites, or stay with the Greens—" whichever
they preferred."

Our humble host fed us and lent us a cart in which
we drove toward evening to a point about two miles
east of Lake Luban, which then lay in the line of the
Latvian front. Here in the woods we climbed out of
the cart and the peasant drove home. The ground
round Lake Luban is very marshy, so there were but
few outposts. On the map it is marked as impassable
bog. When we got near the shore of the lake we
lay low till after dark and then started to walk round
it. It was a long way, for the lake is about sixteen
miles long and eight or ten across. To walk in the
woods was impossible, for they were full of trenches
and barbed wire and it was pitch dark. So we waded
through the bog, at every step sinking half-way up to
the knees and sometimes nearly waist-deep. It was
indeed a veritable slough of despond. After about
three hours, when I could scarcely drag one leg after
the other any farther through the mire, and drowning
began to seem a happy issue out of present tribulation,
we came upon a castaway fishing boat providentially
stranded amongst the rushes. It was a rickety old
thing, and it leaked dreadfully, but we found it would
hold us if one man baled all the time. There were
no oars, so we cut boughs to use in their stead, and,
with nothing to guide us but the ever-kindly stars,
pushed out over the dark and silent rush-grown waters
and rowed ourselves across to Latvia.

The romantic beauty of September dawn smiled
on a world made ugly only by wars and rumours of
wars. When the sun rose our frail bark was far out

ESCAPE 293

in the middle of a fairy lake. The ripples, laughing
as they lapped, whispered secrets of a universe where
rancour, jealousies, and strife were never known.
Only away to the north the guns began ominously
booming. My companions were happy, and they
laughed and sang merrily as they punted and baled.
But my heart was in the land I had left, a land of
sorrow, suffering, and despair ; yet a land of contrasts,
of hidden genius, and of untold possibilities; where
barbarism and saintliness live side by side, and where
the only treasured law, now trampled underfoot, is
the unwritten one of human kindness. " Some day,"
I meditated as I sat at the end of the boat and worked
my branch, " this people will come into their own."
And I, too, laughed as I listened to the story of the
rippling waters.

CHAPTER XIV

CONCLUSION

As I put pen to paper to write the concluding
chapter of this book the news is arriving of the
affliction of Russia with one of her periodical famine
scourges, an event which cannot fail to affect the
country politically as well as economically. Soviet
organizations are incompetent to cope with such a
situation. For the most pronounced effect both on
the workers and on the peasantry of the communistic
experiment has been to eliminate the stimulus to
produce, and the restoration of liberty of trading
came too late to be effective. A situation has arisen
in which Russia must make herself completely de-
pendent for rescue upon the countries against which
her governors have declared a ruthless political war.

The Communists are between the devil and the
deep sea. To say " Russia first " is equivalent to
abandoning hope of the world revolution, for Russia
can only be restored by capitalistic and bourgeois
enterprise. But neither does the prospect of refusing
all truck with capitalists, preserving Russia in the
position of world-revolutionary citadel, offer any but
feeble hopes of world-revolutionary success. For the
gulf between " the party " and the Russian people,
or as Lenin has recently expressed it in a letter to
a friend in France,1 " the gulf between the governors
and the governed," is growing ever wider. Many

1 Published in the New York Times, August 24, 1921.

294

CONCLUSION 295

Communists show signs of weakening faith. Bour-
geois tendencies, as Lenin observes, " are gnawing
more and more at the heart of the party." Lastly
and most terrible, the proletarians of the West, upon
whom the Bolsheviks from their earliest moments
based all their hopes, show no sign whatever of ful-
filling the constantly reiterated Bolshevist prediction
that they would rise in their millions and save the
only true proletarian government from destruction.

Alas ! there is but one way to bridge the gulf
dividing the party from the people. It is for Russian
Communists to cease to be first Communists and
then Russians, and to become Russians and nothing
else. To expect this of the Third International,
however, is hopeless. Its adherents possess none of
the greatness of their master, who, despite subse-
quent casuistic tortuosities, has demonstrated the
ability, so rarely possessed by modern politicians,
honestly and frankly to confess that the policy he
had inaugurated was totally wrong. The creation of
the Third International was perhaps inevitable, em-
bodying as it does the essentials of the Bolshevist
creed, but it was a fatal step. If the present adminis-
tration lays any claim to be a Russian government,
then the Third International is its enemy. Even in
June, 1921, at the very time when the Soviet Govern-
ment was considering its appeal to Western philan-
thropy, the Third International was proclaiming its
insistence on an immediate world revolution and
discussing the most effective methods of promoting
and exploiting the war which Trotzky declared to be
inevitable between Great Britain and France, and
Great Britain and the United States ! But there are
Communists who are willing to put Russia first, over-
shadowed though they often are by the International ;

296 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

and the extent to which the existing organized ad-
ministration may be utilized to assist in the alleviation
of suffering and a bloodless transition to sane govern-
ment depends upon the degree in which Communist
leaders unequivocally repudiate Bolshevist theories
and become the nearest things possible to patriots.

There are many reasons why, in the event of a
modification of regime, the retention of some organized
machine, even that established by the Communists,
is desirable. In the first place there is no alternative
ready to supplant it. Secondly, the soviet system
has existed hitherto only in name, the Bolsheviks
have never permitted it to function, and there is no
evidence to prove that such a system of popular
councils properly elected would be a bad basis for at
least a temporary system of administration. Thirdly,
Bolshevist invitations to non-Bolshevist experts to
function on administrative bodies, especially in the
capitals, began at an early date as I have already
pointed out. For one reason or other, sometimes
under compulsion, sometimes voluntarily, many of
these invitations have been accepted. Jealously
supervised by the Communist Party, experts who are
anything but Communists hold important posts in
government departments. They will obviously be
better versed in the exigencies of the internal situation
than outsiders. To sweep away the entire apparatus
means to sweep away such men and women with it,
which would be disastrous. It is only the purely
political organizations— the entire paraphernalia of
the Third International and its department of propa-
ganda, for instance, and, of course, the Extraordinary
Commission — that must be consigned bag and baggage
to the rubbish heap.

I have always emphasized the part silently and

p. 296

CONCLUSION 297

self-sacrificingly played by a considerable section of
the intellectual class who have never fled from Russia
to harbours of safety, but have remained to bear on
their backs, together with the mass of the people, the
brunt of adversity and affliction. These are the
great heroes of the revolution, though their names
may never be known. They will be found among
teachers, doctors, nurses, matrons, leaders of the
former co-operative societies, and so forth, whose one
aim has been to save whatever they could from
wreckage or political vitiation. Subjected at first to
varying degrees of molestation and insult, they stuck
it through despite all, and have never let pass an
opportunity to alleviate distress. Their unselfish
labours have even restored to a state of considerable
efficiency some of the soviet departments, particularly
such as are completely non-political in character.
This is no indication of devotion to Bolshevism, but
rather of devotion to the people despite Bolshevism.
I believe the number of such disinterested individuals
to be much larger than is generally supposed and it
is to them that we must turn to learn the innermost
desires and needs of the masses.

I will cite in this connection a single instance.
There was formed just previous to the Great War an
organization known as the League for the Protection
of Children, which combined a number of philanthropic
institutions and waged war on juvenile criminality.
As a private non-State and bourgeois institution its
activities were suppressed by the Bolsheviks, who
sought to concentrate all children's welfare work in
Bolshevist establishments, the atmosphere of which
was political and the objects propagandist. The state
of these establishments varies, some being maintained
by special effort in a condition of relative cleanliness,

298 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

but the majority, according to the published state-
ments of the Bolsheviks, are falling into a condition
of desperate insanitation and neglect. In any case,
toward the close of 1920, the Bolsheviks were con-
strained, in view of ever-increasing juvenile depravity
and demoralization, to appeal to the remnants of
the despised bourgeois League for the Protection of
Children to investigate the condition of the children
of the capitals and suggest means for their reclamation.
The report submitted by the League was appalling in
the extreme. I am unable to say whether the recom-
mendations suggested were accepted by the rulers, but
the significance lies in the fact that, notwithstanding
persecution, the League has contrived to maintain
some form of underground existence through the worst
years of oppression, and its leaders are at hand, the
moment political freedom is re-established, to recom-
mence the work of rescuing the children or to advise
those who enter the country from abroad with that
benevolent object.

The fact that the Russian people, unled, un-
organized, and coerced, are growing indifferent to
politics, but that the better and educated elements
amongst them are throwing themselves into any and
every work, economic or humanitarian, that may
stave off complete disaster, leads to the supposition
that if any healthy influence from outside, in the
form of economic or philanthropic aid, is introduced
into Russia, it will rally round it corresponding forces
within the country and strengthen them. This indeed
has always been the most forceful argument in favour
of entering into relations with Bolshevist Russia.
The fact that warring against the Red regime has
greatly fortified its power is now a universally recog-
nized fact ; and this has resulted not because the Red

CONCLUSION 299

armies, as such, were invincible, but because the
politics of the Reds' opponents were selfish and con-
fused, their minds seemed askew, and their failure to
propose a workable alternative to Bolshevism served
to intensify the nausea which overcomes the Russian
intellectual in Petrograd and Moscow whenever he is
drawn into the hated region of party politics. So
great indeed is the aversion of the bourgeois intel-
lectual for politics that he may have to be pushed
back into it, but he must first be strengthened
physically and the country aided economically.

Whether the intervention should be of an economic
or philanthropic character was a year ago a secondary
question. The Bolshevist regime being based almost
entirely on abnormalities, it needed but the establish-
ment of any organization on normal lines for the latter
ultimately to supersede the former. Now, however,
the intervention must needs be humanitarian. Soviet
Russia has resembled a closed room in which some
foul disease was developing, and other occupants of
the house in the interests of self-protection tightly
closed and barred lest infection leak out. But infec-
tion has constantly leaked out, and if it has been
virulent it is only because the longer and tighter the
room was barred, the fouler became the air within !
This was not the way to purify the chamber, whose
use everyone recognized as indispensable. We must
unbolt the doors, unbar the windows, and force in
the light and air we believe in. Then, the occupants
being tended and the chamber thoroughly cleansed, it
will once again become habitable.

Is it too late to accomplish this vast humanitarian
task? Is the disaster so great that the maximum of
the world's effort will be merely a palliative? Time
will show. But if the Russian dilemma has not out-

300 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

grown the world's ability to solve it, Russia must for
years to come be primarily a humanitarian problem,
to be approached from the humanitarian standpoint.

There are many who fear that even now the faction
of the Third International will surely seek to exploit
the magnanimity of other countries to its own political
advantage. Of course it will ! The ideals of that
institution dictate that the appeal to Western philan-
thropy shall conceal such a dagger as was secreted
behind the olive branch to Western capitalism. Has
not the Third International to this day persistently
proclaimed its intention to conspire against the very
Governments with which the Bolsheviks have made,
or are hoping to make, commercial contracts, and
from which they now beg philanthropic aid? But
the Third International, I believe, has a bark which
is much worse than its bite. Our fear of it is largely
of our own creation. Its lack of understanding of
the psychology of Western workers is amazing, and
its appeals are astonishingly illogical. To kill it, let
it talk.

The essential impotence of the Third International
is fully recognized by those little nations that were
once part of Russia. Having thrown off the yoke of
revolution, they have long sought to open economic
intercourse with their unlovable eastern neighbour.
True, their attitude is inspired in part by apprehension
of those who would compel them forcibly to renew
the severed tie rather than allow them to re-unite
voluntarily with Russia when the time shall mature;
but their desire for normal intercourse is based
primarily on the conviction that the communistic
experiment would rapidly succumb under any normal
conditions introduced from outside. Nothing will
undermine Bolshevism so effectually as kindness, and

CONCLUSION 301

the more non-political, disinterested, and all-embracing
that kindness, the greater will be its effect. With
the supplanting of the spirit of political bigotry by
that of human sympathy many rank and file Com-
munists, attracted to the party in their ignorance by
its deceptive catch-phraseology and the energy, resolu-
tion, and hypnotic influence of its leaders, will realize
with the rest of Russia and with the whole world that
Bolshevism is politically a despotism, economically a
folly, and as a democracy a stupendous delusion,
which will never guide the proletarian ship to the
harbour of communistic felicity.

Misgivings are often expressed in liberally minded
circles that reaction might undo all that has been
achieved since that historic moment when Nicholas II
signed the deed of abdication from the Russian throne.
" Reaction," in these days of loose terminology, is a
word as much abused as " bourgeois," " proletariat,"
or " soviet." If it means stepping backward, a certain
amount of healthy reaction in Russia is both desirable
and inevitable. Are not retrogression and progress
at times identical ? No man, having taken the wrong
turning, can advance upon his pilgrimage until he
returns to the cross-roads. But the Russian nation
has undergone a psychological revolution more pro-
found than any visible changes, great though these
are, and the maximum of possible reaction must still
leave the country transformed beyond recognition.
This would still be the case even if the sum-total
of revolutionary achievements were confined to the
decrees promulgated during the first month after the
overthrow of the Tsar. We need not fear healthy
reaction.

No power on earth can deprive the peasant of the
land now acquired, in the teeth of landlord and

302 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

Bolshevik alike, on a basis of private ownership. By
a strange irony of fate, the Communist regime has
made the Russian peasant still less communistic than
he was under the Tsar. And with the assurance of
personal possession, there must rapidly develop that
sense of responsibility, dignity, and pride which well-
tended property always engenders. For the Russian
loves the soil with all his heart, with all his soul, and
with all his mind. His folk-songs are full of affec-
tionate descriptions of it. His plough and his harrow
are to him more than mere wood and iron. He loves
to think of them as living things, as personal friends.
Barbaric instincts have been aroused by the Revolu-
tion, and this simple but exalted mentality will remain
in abeyance as long as those continue to rule who
despise the peasant's primitive aspirations and whose
world-revolutionary aims are incomprehensible to him.
A veiled threat still lies behind ambiguous and incon-
sistent Bolshevist protestations. When this veiled
threat is eliminated and the peasant comes fully into
his own I am convinced that he will be found to
have developed independent ideas and an unlooked-
for capacity for judgment and reflection which will
astonish the world, and which with but little practice
will thoroughly fit him for all the duties of citizenship.
Shortly after the Baltic republic of Lithuania had
come to terms with Soviet Russia, one of the members
of the Lithuanian delegation who had just returned
from Moscow told me the following incident. In
discussing with the Bolsheviks, out of official hours,
the internal Russian situation, the Lithuanians asked
how, in view of the universal misery and lack of
liberty, the Communists continued to maintain their
dominance. To which a prominent Bolshevist leader
laconically replied : " Our power is based on three

CONCLUSION 803

things : first, on Jewish brains ; secondly, on Lettish
and Chinese bayonets; and thirdly, on the crass
stupidity of the Russian people."

This incident betrays the true sentiments of the
Bolshevist leaders toward the Russians. They despise
the people over whom they rule. They regard them-
selves as of superior type, a sort of cream of humanity,
the " vanguard of the revolutionary proletariat," as
they often call themselves. The Tsarist Government,
except in its final degenerate days, was at least Russian
in its sympathies. The kernel of the Russian tragedy
lies not in the brutality of the Extraordinary Com-
mission, nor even in the suppression of every form of
freedom, but in the fact that the Revolution, which
dawned so auspiciously and promised so much, has
actually given Russia a government utterly alienated
from the sympathies, aspirations, and ideals of the
nation.

The Bolshevist leader would find but few disputants
of his admission that Bolshevist power rests to a large
extent on Jewish brains and Chinese bayonets. But
his gratitude for the stupidity of the Russian people
is misplaced. The Russian people have shown not
stupidity but eminent wisdom in repudiating both
Communism and the alternative to it presented by
the landlords and the generals. Their tolerance of
the Red in preference to the White is based upon the
conviction, universal throughout Russia, that the
Red is a merely passing phenomenon. Human nature
decrees this, but there was no such guarantee against
the Whites with the support of the Allies behind
them. A people culturally and politically immature
like the Russians may not easily be able to embody
in a formula the longings that stir the hidden depths
of their souls, but you cannot on this account call

304 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

them stupid. The Bolsheviks are all formula — empty
formula — and no soul. The Russians are all soul with
no formula. They possess no developed system of
self-expression outside the arts. To the Bolshevik the
letter is all in all. He is the slave of his shibboleths.
To the Russian the letter is nothing; it is only the
spirit that matters. More keenly than is common in
the Western world he feels that the kingdom of
heaven is to be found not in politics or creeds of any
sort or kind, but simply within each one of us as
individuals.

The man who says : " The Russians are a nation
of fools," assumes a prodigious responsibility. You
cannot call a people stupid who in a single century
have raised themselves from obscurity to a position
of pre-eminence in the arts, literature, and philosophy.
And whence did this galaxy of geniuses from Glinka
to Scriabin and Stravinsky, or such as Dostoievsky,
Turgeniev, Tolstoy, and the host of others whose
works have so profoundly affected the thought of
the last half -century — whence did they derive their
inspiration if not from the common people around
them? The Russian nation, indeed, is not one of
fools, but of potential geniuses. But the trend of
their genius is not that of Western races. It lies in
the arts and philosophy and rarely descends to the
more sordid realms of politics and commerce.

Yet, in spite of a reputation for unpracticalness,
the Russians have shown the world at least one
supreme example of economic organization. It is
forgotten nowadays that Russia deserves an equal
share in the honours of the Great War. She bore the
brunt of the first two years of it and made possible
the long defence of the Western front. And it is
forgotten (if ever it was fully recognized) that while

CONCLUSION 305

corruption at Court and treachery in highest military
circles were leading Russia to perdition, the pro-
visioning of the army and of the cities was upheld
heroically, with chivalrous self-sacrifice, and with
astonishing proficiency, by the one great democratic
and popularly controlled organization Russia has ever
possessed, to wit, the Union of Co-operative Societies.
The almost incredible success of the Russian co-opera-
tive movement was due, I believe, more than anything
else to the spirit of devotion that actuated its leaders.
It is futile to point, as some do, to exceptional cases
of malpractices. When an organization springs up
with mushroom growth, as did the Russian co-opera-
tives, defects are bound to arise. The fact remains
that by the time the Revolution came, the Russian
co-operative societies were not only supplying the
army but also providing for the needs of almost the
entire nation with an efficiency unsurpassed in any
other country.

The Bolsheviks waged a ruthless and desperate
war against public co-operation. The Co-operative
Unions represented an organization independent of
the State and could therefore not be tolerated under
a Communist regime. But, like religion, co-operation
could never be completely uprooted. On the con-
trary, their own administration being so incompetent,
the Bolsheviks have on many occasions been compelled
to appeal to what was left of the co-operative societies
to help them out, especially in direct dealings with
the peasantry. So that, although free co-operation
is entirely suppressed, the shell of the former great
organization exists in a mutilated form, and offers
hope for its resuscitation in the future when all
co-operative leaders are released from prison. There
are many ways of reducing the Russian problem to

306 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

simple terms, and not the least apt is a struggle
between Co-operation and Coercion.

A deeper significance is attached in Russia to the
word " Co-operation " than is usual in western
countries. The Russian Co-operative Unions up to
the time when the Bolsheviks seized power by no
means limited their activities to the mere acquisition
and distribution of the first necessities of life. They
had also their own press organs, independent and
well-informed, they were opening scholastic establish-
ments, public libraries and reading-rooms, and they
were organizing departments of Public Health and
Welfare. Russian Co-operation must be understood
in the widest possible sense of mutual aid and the
dissemination of mental and moral as well as of
physical sustenance. It is a literal application on a
wide social scale of the exhortation to do unto others
as you would that they should do to you. This com-
prehensive and idealistic movement was the nearest
expression yet manifested of the Russian social ideal,
and I believe that, whatever the outward form of the
future constitution of Russia may be, in essence it
will resolve itself into a Co-operative Commonwealth.

There is one factor in the Russian problem which
is bound to play a large part in its solution, although
it is the most indefinite. I mean the power of
emotionalism. Emotionalism is the strongest trait of
the Russian character and it manifests itself most
often, especially in the peasantry, in religion. The
calculated efforts of the Bolsheviks to suppress religion
were shattered on the rocks of popular belief. Their
categorical prohibition to participate in or attend any
religious rites was ultimately confined solely to Com-
munists, who when convicted of attending divine
services are liable to expulsion from the privileged
ranks for " tarnishing the reputation of the party.

55

CONCLUSION 307

As regards the general populace, to proclaim that

Christianity is " the opium of the people " is as far

as the Communists now dare go in their dissuasions.

But the people flock to church more than ever they

did before, and this applies not only to the peasants

and factory hands but also to the bourgeoisie, who

it was thought were growing indifferent to religion.

This is not the first time that under national affliction

the Russian people have sought solace in higher things.

Under the Tartar yoke they did the same, forgetting

their material woes in the creation of many of those

architectural monuments, often quaint and fantastic

but always impressive, in which they now worship.

I will not venture to predict what precisely may be

the outcome of the religious revival which undoubtedly

is slowly developing, but will content myself with

quoting the words of a Moscow workman, just arrived

from the Red capital, whom I met in the northern

Ukraine in November, 1920. " There is only one man

in the whole of Russia," said this workman, " whom

the Bolsheviks fear from the bottom of their hearts, and

that is Tihon, the Patriarch of the Russian Church."

A story runs of a Russian peasant, who dreamt
that he was presented with a huge bowl of delicious
gruel. But, alas, he was given no spoon to eat it
with. And he awoke. And his mortification at
having been unable to enjoy the gruel was so great
that on the following night, in anticipation of a
recurrence of the same dream, he was careful to take
with him to bed a large wooden spoon to eat the
gruel with when next it should appear.

The untouched plate of gruel is like the priceless
gift of liberty presented to the Russian people by the
Revolution. Was it, after all, to be expected that
after centuries of despotism, and amid circumstances

308 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW

of world cataclysm, the Russian nation would all at
once be inspired with knowledge of how to use the
new-found treasure, and of the duties and responsi-
bilities that accompany it? But I am convinced
that during these dark years of affliction the Russian
peasant is, so to speak, fashioning for himself a spoon,
and when again the dream occurs, he will possess the
wherewithal to eat his gruel. Much faith is needed
to look ahead through the black night of the present
and see the dawn, but eleven years of life amongst all
classes from peasant to courtier have perhaps infected
me with a spark of that patriotic love which, despite
an affectation of pessimism and self-deprecation, does
almost invariably glow deep down in the heart of
every Russian. I make no excuse for concluding this
book with the oft-quoted lines of " the people's poet,"
Tiutchev, who said more about his country in four
simple lines than all other poets, writers, and philo-
sophers together. In their simplicity and beauty the
lines are quite untranslatable, and my free adaptation
to the English, which must needs be inadequate, I
append with apologies to all Russians :

Umom Rossii nie poniatj ;
Arshinom obshchym nie izmieritj ;
U niei osobiennaya statj —
V Rossiu mozhno tolko vieritj.

Seek not by Reason to discern

The soul of Russia : or to learn

Her thoughts by measurements designed

For other lands. Her heart, her mind,

Her ways in suffering, woe, and need,

Her aspirations and her creed,

Are all her own —

Depths undefined,
To be discovered, fathomed, known

By Faith alone.

THE END

INDEX

Agents-provocateurs, 72, 217

Agitator, professional, 245 f.

Alexandrinsky Theatre, 258

Allies : economic intervention, 299 ;
military intervention, 46, 65, 81 f.,
92, 226 ; political control by, 225 f .

Anglo -Russian Commission, 3

Apfelbaum. See Zinoviev.

Archangel, 4, 11, 83

Arms, right to carry, 268, 277

Army, Red, 34, 42, 69, 116, 207,
210, 215 ff. ; classification of regi-
ments, 234; Communist "Cells,"
234; discipline, 237; essential
features, 248; mobilisation, 231;
mutiny, 229; oath, 232; political
organisation, 234; promotion, 227 ;
revolutionary tribunals, 230, 233 ;
terror in, 229; uniform, 215.
See also Desertion, officers.

Arrest, avoidance of, 199, 209, 286;
in Finland, 167 ; of workers, 257

Badaev, 281

Balahovitch, 249

Ballot, secret, 236, 274

Baluev, 248

Bielo'ostrof, 22, 98, 118

Bielorusia, 249

Bolshevik, demonstrations, 136 f.,
142; employment of bourgeois,
97, 115, 229, 269; government,
251 ff. ; and the people, 43, 251 ff.,
263; and Third International,
254; leaders helped by war, 225,
298; love of theory, 264, 304;
negotiations with non-Bolsheviks,
64; party, 34, 251, 271; purge,
265 f. ; power, basis of, 303 ;
saints, 131

Bolshevism, and Soviet, 273 f., 296;
despotism, 201 ; international
aspect of, 252; a social experi-
ment, 251

Bourgeois, employed by Bolsheviks,
97, 115, 229, 269; enterprise, need
of, 294 ; Lenin's attitude to, 260

Boy scouts, 3

Bribery, of commissars, 98; investi-
gators, 126; prison warders, 59, 96
Bronstein. See Trotzky.
Brusilov's son shot, 224, 248

Cadet schools, 226

Certificates, of identification, 21 ff. ;
exemption from military service,
122 ff.

Chaliapin, 158, 258

Children, league for protection of, 297

Clubs, Communist, 268

Commerce. See Trading.

Commissars, bribery of, 98 ; Com-
munist, 222; regimental, 210, 230,
235; Soviet of, 213, 271 f.

Committee of the poor, 43, 46, 242;
of village poor, 185, 260

Communal booths, 43 ; eating-houses,
44, 62

Commune, village, 185

Communist, a typical, 243; women,
267; Youth, Union of, 268, 271

Communist " cells," 234, 275; clubs,
268 ; franchise, 273

Communist Party, 68, 71, 79, 114,
131, 211, 248, 251 ff.; apart from
people, 251, 264; in army, 218,
227 ff. ; change of name, 34 ;
discipline, 270; Jews in, 271;
membership, 266 f., 270; meeting,
79; and Soviet Government, 254;
and Third International, 254, 271;
training school, 267

Contre-espionnage, 64 f .

Co-operative Societies, 115, 255, 271,
305 f.

Counter-revolution, 66, 193, 204.
See also Extraordinary Commis-
sion.

Couriers, service of, 169, 171, 209

Crombie, Captain, 12, 65 f.

Cronstadt, 92, 121, 163, 285

Cross-examination, 58, 73 f.

Cultural-Enlightenment Committees,
240 f., 248

Denikin, 215, 224 f., 249

309

310

INDEX

Denunciations, 238

Deriabinskya Prison, 91

Desertion from Red army, 116, 225 f.,

229 f.
Commission for Combating, 231,

288

Disenfranchising peasants, 273
Disguise, change of, 150, 197 f., 285 f.
Disturbances, suppression of, 212
" Doctor," the, 131 ff., 169, 194, 207
Dostoievsky, 304
Duma, 2, 257, 277
Dvinsk, 287

Eating-houses, Communal, 44, 283 ;
private, 44, 81, 120

Ekaterina Canal, 155

Elections, 186, 265 ff.

Electric light scarcity, 53

Engels, 131

Evdokimov, 280

Extraordinary Commission for the
suppression of the counter-revo-
lution, 19 f., 23, 50, 67, 70 ff., 91,
99, 101, 119, 125, 152, 193, 200,
205, 209, 230, 249, 276, 296

Finland, 12, 34, 92, 98, 110, 113f.,

117, 164 ff., 284

Railway station, 28

First International, 252

Fleet, British, 285 f.

Food, cards, 43; rations, 41, 46, 56,

64, 114, 212, 261, 282; sale of,

34, 40, 43 f., 100, 154, 235, 255 f.,

262 f.; smuggling, 188 f., 261
Formulas, Bolshevik love of, 264, 304
Franchise, 273
Freedom of speech, 79, 133, 141, 255,

277

of trade, 154, 255, 263 f.

suppression of, 303

" Freight weeks," 261

Friedmann, 23

Frontier, Finnish, 13, 20, 98, 108 ff.,

114, 166 f., 171 f., 285

Latvian, 292

Patrols, 18, 20, 114, 165, 167,

178

Fuel, 56, 69, 80, 114
Furniture confiscated, 149, 157

German Soviet of Petrograd, 139
Germans understand Russians, 92
Glinka, 304
Gorohovaya Street, No. 2. See

Extraordinary Commission.
Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovitch,

111

Green Guards, 291 f.
Grodno, 229
Grusino station, 77, 106
Gutov, 248

Helsingfors, 11 f., 113, 168 f.
Hiding documents, 75 f., 95, 209, 289
Hold-ups in street, 79
Home, molestation in, 149, 157, 224
Hostages, 58, 93, 94, 216, 223 f.,

231, 257 f., 289
House committee. See Committee of

the poor.

Ice-route to Finland, 163 ff.
Instructions, 6 f .
Intervention. See Allies.
Intrigues in Finland, 171
Investigators of the Extraordinary

Commission, 70, 95, 126
Ivan Sergeievitch, 16 f., 38 f., 118,

159, 169, 202 ff.

Jews, in army, 218; Communist

Party, 271
"Journalist," the, 55, 80, 123, 148,

153, 194

Kamenostrovsky Prospect, 32, 44, 131
Kazan Cathedral, 38, 51, 160, 162
Kazanskaya Street, 38, 160
Klembovsky, 249
Kolchak, 210, 225 f., 249
Kresty Prison, 2
Kuznetchny Pereulok, 100

Labour Party, British, 257

Ladoga, Lake, 108, 172, 178

Latvia, 287 ff.

Lawyers, Tsarist, employed, 233

Legislation, Soviet, 279

Lenin, 3, 34, 218, 241, 254, 257 ff. ;
bodyguard, 259; and bourgeoisie,
260, 294 ; and peasants, 260 ; and
Trotzky, 272

Licences to trade, 33

Lida, 229

Liebknecht, Karl, 131 f., 258

Lissy Nos, 164

Liteiny Bridge, 30

Prospect, 62

Lithuania, 303

Luban, Lake, 292

Lunacharsky, 79, 260

Luxembourg, Rosa, 131 f., 258

Makhno, 249

Maria, 52, 73, 94, 99 ff., 113, 153,
195

INDEX

311

Marinsky Opera, 159, 258, 275

Market of speculators, 100: raid on,
154

Marsh, Mr., 31 f., 48 ff., 66, 73, 199;
escape of, 77 ff.

Marsh, Mrs., arrest of, 50, 73, 74;
danger of, 94 ; escape of, 97 ff.

Marx, Karl, 131, 242, 252, 260

Matches, smuggling, 188

Melnikoff, 12 ff., 18 f., 48 f., 67, 89 f.,
117 f., 125, 131 ff., 205

Menshevist Party, 65, 237, 243, 261,
266, 281

Mihailovsky Square, 77

Military service. See Army. Ex-
emption from, 117, 122

Miliukoff, 257

Mines in Gulf of Finland, 121

Mirbach, Count, 4

Mobilisation. See Army.

Moscow, 4, 97, 263

Music, love of, 183 f., 244, 258

Mutiny in Red army, 229 f.

Names used by author, 21, 40, 53, 55,

57, 63, 105, 117, 144, 196
Narodny Dom, 159, 217, 258, 262
National Centre, Moscow, 213
Nevsky Prospect, 34, 62, 79, 190, 207
Nicholas station, 190, 232, 253, 255

Obuhov works, 276

Odessa, 220

Officers, Tsarist, in Red army, 91,

211, 216 ff., 220, 223 f., 226
Okhta Bridge, 190

station, 77, 105, 189

Opera, 158, 258, 275

Parliament, British, 257

Parsky, 249

Passports, 16, 21, 76, 116, 135, 144

Peasant " capitalist," 181 f.

Peasantry, against both "Red" and
"White," 225, 227 f., 250; feud
with Bolsheviks, 263, 301 f. ;
Finnish, 174; leaders of, 249;
Lenin understands, 260 f. ; power
of, 193; propaganda among, 47,
228; treatment of, 68, 185 ff.

Pertz, Otto, 139

Petrograd, return to, 30, 111, 113,
194 f.

Soviet, 236, 265 ff.

Petropavlovka, 31

Pilsudski, 249

Poland, 228, 249

Police, Tsarist, re-engaged, 50, 71,
117, 191

" Policeman," the, 54, 57 f., 73,
85 f., 99, 105, 119, 123, 151, 169

Political guides, 238

Political organisation in army, 232 f.

Press, monopoly of, 34, 277

Professional classes. See Bourgeoisie.

Propaganda, in army, 143, 239 f. ;
author to undertake, 285; Com-
munist, 271, 276; by gramo-
phone, 241 ; among peasants, 47

Protopopoff, 190

Provisional Government, 242

Provocation by police, 72

Public Works, Department of, 54

Punctuality, lack of, 278

Putilov works, 255 f., 276

" Radishes," 265

Raid, on eating-house, 62 ; on market,

154; on train, 188, 288 f.
Railway travelling, 77 f., 106, 187 f.,

261 f., 288 f.
Rajajoki, 17
Rasputin, 257
Rations. See Food.
Rattel, 248
Rautta, 172
Red army. See Army.
Regiments, classification of, 234
Relatives as hostages, 216, 223 f.
Religion, failure to suppress, 305 ff.
Revolt against Bolsheviks, 71, 248,

257
Revolution of March, 1917, 1, 132,

190, 255, 275, 277
Revolutionary Tribunals, 230, 233
Rezhitsa, 289

" Sackmen," 188 ff., 261

Sadovaya Street, 45

St. Izaac's Cathedral, 103

St. Peter and St. Paul Fortress, 31,
111

Samara, 3, 278

Scheidemann, 140 ff.

Schools, Communist training, 267

Scriabine, 304

Seals, importance of, 22

Ship committee, 222

Shpalernaya Prison, 91

Siennaya market, 52, 154

Smuggling, 162, 187, 188, 200

Socialist-Revolutionary Party, 65 f.,
237, 243, 261, 266, 281

Soldiers' committees, 221

Soviet, connection with Bolshevism,
273, 296 ; election, 186, 265, 272 ff. ;
Executive Committee, 279; legis-
lation, 279; meeting of a, 278 ff.;

312

INDEX

of people's commissars, 213, 271 ;

Republic's president, 262; what

is a, 272 ff.

Speculation, 70, 106, 154 f., 201, 235
Speech, freedom of, 79, 133, 141,

255, 277

Speeches, Communist, 133
Spies in Red army, 217
Stage, privileges of the, 64
Staraya Derevnya, 162
Stepanovna, 39 f., 137 ff., 146, 152 f.
Stravinsky, 304

Street-sweepers, ladies as, 30, 33
Strikes, 84, 193, 256, 259, 274, 276
Suvorov Prospect, 190

Tauride Palace, 2, 277

Tchaikovsky, 83

Tche-Ka. Tchrezvitchaika. See Ex-
traordinary Commission.

Telephone, 90, 206

Terijoki, 168, 171

Theatre, Alexandrinsky, 258. Sec
also Opera stage.

Third International Workers' Asso-
ciation, 138, 252 ff., 262, 295 ff. ;
headquarters, 253; relation to
Soviet Government, 254, 271

Thought, freedom of, 133

Tihon, the patriarch, 307

Tihonov, 23

Tiutchev, 308

Tolstoy, 304

Trade unions, 115

Trading, private, 70; licences, 33

Travelling. See Railway.

Troitzkaya Street, 63

Trotzky, 44, 69, 79, 90 f., 211, 219 ff.,

227, 229, 241, 248, 259 ff., 272
Tsarskoeselsky station, 208
Turgeniev, 304
" Two-pooding," 262

Ukraine, 228, 231, 249

Uniform of Red army, 215; use of

British, 215
Uritzky, 20, 266
Palace, 277

Vasili Island, 66
Viborg, 12, 134, 174, 202
Vladimirovsky Prospect, 100
Volodarsky, 266

White army, 211, 223, 225, 227, 303

Winter Palace, 137, 202

Women Communists, 267; electors,

277
Workers invited to join Communists,

266 f.
Wrangel, 225, 228, 249

Yaroslavl, 13, 205
Y.M.C.A., 3, 243
Yudenitch, 211

Zabalkansky Prospect, 156

Zagorodny Prospect, 208

Zinoviev, 20, 34, 79, 137 ff., 216 f.,

241, 253, 257 ff., 278 ff.
Ziv, Dr., 219

Znamenskaya Square, 190
Zorinsky, 37, 62, 117 ff., 135 if.,

168 f., 202 f.

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