Red Dusk And The Morrow
by
Sir Paul Dukes

Full text of "Red dusk and the morrow; adventures and investigations in red Russia"

RED DUSK AND 
THE MORROW 



RED DUSK AND 
THE MORROW 



Adventures and Investigations 
In Red Russia 



BY 

SIR PAUL DUKES, k. b. b. 

Formtr Ckuf tf th§ Brituk Stent IntsUiatnet Stnie$ m Soritl Ruttia 




ILLUBTBATED 

FROM 

PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR 



QABDEN CITT, NEW YORK, TORONTO 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1922 



X/>^i: H0>S^7o .2d 



t/" 



HAIWARD 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 

1x0 V \i 1953 



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xvTo Fouslov uoxovAon, iKCLunnro thz 8CAin>nrAVXA2r 

PiniTID ZV THE UNTUD BTAni 
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FOREWORD 

If ever there was a period when people blindly 
hitched their wagons to shibboleths and slogans instead 
of stars it is the present. In the helter-skelter of 
events which constantly outrun mankind, the essential 
meaning of commonly used words is becoming increas- 
ingly 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 succumbed 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 government, were after- 
ward discovered either to have no meaning whatso- 
ever, or else to be endowed with some arbitrary, vari- 
able, and quite unforeseen sense. Similarly, words 
such as "workers," "bourgeois," "proletariat," "im- 
perialist," "socialist," "cooperative," "soviet," are 
endowed by mob orators everywhere, with arbitrary 
significations, meaning one thing one day and another 
the next as occasion demands. 

vii 



viii 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 un- 
reasoning 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 in- 
complete information, of that oddest of anomalies, the 
'^parlour Bolshevik." Clearness of vision and under- 
standing will never be restored until precision in ter- 
minology is again reestablished, 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 propagandist 
purposes in foreign countries, for the Bolsheviks 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' government" 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 stimt- journalist, but simply 
that of the ordinary human individual, the '"man in the 
street." As an official of the intelligence 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 



FOREWORD ix 

references to me have not been felicitous and I may be 
pardoned for recalling one or 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 ex- 
planation the Soviet Govenmient had replied that Mr. 
Davison was shot as an accomplice of my "'provocative 
activities." The letter from the British Foreign Office 
was, however, my first intimation that such a person 
as Mr. Davison had ever existed. Again, on the occa- 
sion of the last advance of General Yudenich on Petro- 
grad 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 government, but the 
prospective ministers with one exception 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 in- 
stances of which these are examples. I recognize but 
few of the names with which the Bolshevist Grovemment 
has associated mine. The majority are of people I 
have never met or heard of. Even of the Englishmen 
and women, of whom the Bolsheviks arrested several 
as my ^'accompUces,'' holding them in prison in some 
cases for over a twelvemonth, I knew but few. With 
only one had I had any communication as intelligence 
officer. Some of the others, whom I met subsequently, 
gave me the interesting information that their arrest 



X FOREWORD 

and that of many innocent Russians was attributed by 
the Bolsheviks to a "diary" which I was supposed to 
have kept and in which I was said to have noted their 
names. This '"diary" has apparently also been ex- 
hibited 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 in- 
scribe any name or address except in a manner intelligi- 
ble 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 designed 
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 deab with my personal experiences is there- 
fore not complete, but is a selection of episodes concern- 
ing 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 






FOREWORD 



XI 



peasantry. In writing, I believe I have achieved what 
I was bound to regard as a fundamental condition, 
namely, the masking of the characters 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 "Modem Democ- 
racies/' "one must regard all honest efforts to improve 
this unsatisfactory world with a sympathy which rec- 
ognizes how many things need to be changed, and how 
many doctrines once held irrefragable need to be modi- 
fied in the light of supervenient facts." This is true no 
less of Conmiunist 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 revolu- 
tion will have results far other than those anticipated 
by its promoters, but in the errors and miscalculations 
of the Communists, in their fanatical efforts to better 
the lot of mankind, albeit by coercion and bloodshed, 
lessons are to be learned which will be of incalculable 
profit to humanity. But the greatest and most inspir- 
ing 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 philosophy which 
the Communists describe as ^^the opium of the people." 



** . . . Nothing is more vital to national prog- 
ress than the spontaneous development of individ- 
ual 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 intol- 
Atsance, possible even in a popular government ? *' 

— Bbtcb, Modem Democracies 



CONTENTS 
PART I 

L Qnb of thb Cbowd 1 

n. Five Days SI 

m. The Gbeen Shawl 82 

IV. Meshes 117 

V. Melnikoff 186 

VI. Stepanovna 158 

Vn. Finland 168 

Vm. A Village ^'Boubgeoib-Capitalibt" • • . 188 

IX. Metamobphosis 200 

PART n 

X. The Sphinx 219 

XI. The Red Army 225 

Xn. **The Party" AND THE People 262 

Xm. Escape 298 

XrV. Conclusion 807 




ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Portions of this book first appeared, in sli^tly 
different form, in Harper^ a Magazine, The Atlantic 
Monthly, and The Worlds Work. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Paul Dukes Frontispiece 

The author as he appeared on various occasions in 

Soviet Russia 50 

Passport with which author crossed the frontier. 51 

Topical view of a Russian village 66 

The author and peasant children 66 

Night photograph of the Fortress of Peter and 

Paul 67 

A review by Trotzky of Red troops .... 67 
'* Speculation" in the streets of the Russian 

capital ISO 

Cartoons published previous to the return of the 

Bolsheviks to Russia ISl 

A typical peasant ** bourgeois-capitalist" . 146 
Peasants hiding their grain from Bolshevist req- 

uisitioners 147 

Night quarters of the ** bourgeois" 210 

A daughter of tbe soil 211 

Bridge at Grodno destroyed by the Reds. . . 226 
The author and the Colonel of the Polish Women's 

Death Battalion 227 

The Tauride Palace, headquarters of Russian 

Duma, at Petrograd 290 

Travelling in Soviet Russia 291 

Save Russia's children ! 306 



PART I 



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 fau- 
bourgs of the beautiful city of Peter the Great rose a 
low» mu£9ed rumbling as of many voices. Angry, pas- 
sionate 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 re- 
sounded the intermittent crack of rifles. 

How still those corpses lay over there! Their teeth 
grinned ghastUly. 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 

1 



2 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

police disguised as soldiers, prostrate, firing at inter- 
vals. 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 toward evening, after the 
Tsarist police had been scattered in the Nevsky Pros- 
pect, there rose a mighty murmur, whispered in awe 
on a miUion lips: '' RevoluliorU " A new era was to 
open. The revolution, so thought I, would be the 
Declaration of Independence of Russia! In my im- 
agination 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 sud- 
denly 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 



ONE OF THE CROWD 3 

inter- within the palace, lately so stiU and dignified! Tired 

for it soldiers lay sleeping in heaps in every hall and corridor. 

eople^ The vaulted lobby, where Duma members had flitted 

!call.y» silently, was packed almost to the roof with all manner 

lysm, of truck, baggage, arms, and ammunition. AU night 

d for. long and the next I laboured with the revolutionists 

) (by to turn the Tauride Palace into a revolutionary ar- 
senal. 

fvolu- Thus began the revolution. And after? Everyone 

ckisg knows now how the hopes of freedom were blighted. 

river Truly had Russia's foe, Germany, who despatched the 

rison. proletarian dictator Lenin and his satellites to Russia, 

Qg at discovered the Achilles' heel of the Russian revolution ! 

. the Everyone now knows how the flowers of the revolution 

Pros- withered under the blast of the Class War, and how 

I iiwe Russia was replunged into starvation and serfdom. 

^ to I will not dwell on these things. My story relates to 

J the the time when they were already cruel realities. 

r im- ^y reminiscences of the first year of Bolshevist ad- 

jum, ministration are jumbled into a kaleidoscopic pano- 

^f a rama of impressions gained while journeying from 

sud- city to city, sometimes crouched in the comer of 

^? crowded box-cars, sometimes travelling in comfort, 

.om^ sometimes riding on the steps, and sometimes on the 

^7 roofs or buffers. I was nominally in the service of the 

j^^e, British Foreign Office, but the Anglo-Russian Com- 

^0 mission (of which I was a member) having quit Russia, 

l^ I attached myself to the American Y. M. C. A., doing 

^l relief work. A year after the revolution I found myself 

yer ^ ^^ eastern city of Samara, training a detachment of 

^e hoy scouts. As the snows of winter melted and the 

j^ spring sunshine shed joy and cheerfulness around, I held 

t ock ™y parades and together with my American colleagues 



RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 



organized outings and sports. The new proletarian 
lawgivers eyed our manoeuvres askance but were too 
preoccupied in dispossessing the "bourgeoisie" to devote 
serious attention to the "counter revolutionary" scouts, 
however pronounced the anti-Bolshevik sympathies of 
the latter. ''Be prepared!" the scouts would cry, 
greeting each other in the street. And the answer, 
''Always prepared!", had a deep significance, intensi- 
fied 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-rcvolutionary conspir- 
acies, 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 kilometers 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, 
moxmt 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 
Kings Cross a car was waiting, and knowing neither my 



ONE OF THE CROWD 5 

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 
car. The chauffeur had a face like a mask. We en- 
tered the building and the elevator whisked us to the 
top floor, above which additional superstructures had 
bc«n 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 comers, 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 Brit- 
ish colonel. The impassive chauffeur announced me 
and withdrew. 

''Good afternoon, Mr. Dukes,'' said the colonel, ris- 
ing and greeting me with a warm handshake. "I am 
glad to see you. You doubtless wonder that no ex- 
planation has been given you as to why you should re- 
turn to England. Well, I have to inform you, con- 
fidentially, 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?" 

"Certainly," he replied. "We have reason to be- 



99 
»9 



6 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

lieve 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. im- 
portant, and if I drop it " 

"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 riskordangeralarmsyou — 

I forget what I said but he did not continue. 

"Very well," he proceeded, "consider the matter and 
return at 4 :S0 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 mar- 
vellous 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," 



ONE OF THE CROWD 7 

he said. *'Then you may make any comments 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 of support enjoyed by 
the Bolshevist Government, the development and 
modification of its policy, what possibility there may 
be for an alteration of r^^e or for a counter-revolu. 
tion, and what part Germany is playing. As to the 
means whereby you gain access to the country, imder 
what cover you will live there, and how you will send 
out rei>orts, 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 con- 
tact with. "I will see if — er — the Chief is ready,'* 
he said finally, rising, *'I wiU 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 acci- 
dentally 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 Kriegs- 



8 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

ministerium, Berlin, had the German Imperial arms 
imprinted on it, and was covered with minute handwrit- 
ing in German. I had barely slipped it back into the 
box and replaced the volume on the shelf when the colo- 
nel returned. 

"A — ^the — er — Chief is not in/' he said, "But you 
may see him to-morrow. You are interested in 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 volimie men- 
tioned was immediately above Henry Esmond. I 
took it down warily, expecting something unconmion 
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" of this es- 
tablishment 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 de- 
ciding on nothing. My mind seemed to be a complete 
blank on the subject in hand and I was entirely ab- 
sorbed in the mysteries of the roof-labyrinth. 

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?" 



ONE OF THE CROWD 9 

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 nat- 
urally and I found in my hands nothing more than an 
edition de luxe printed on Indian paper and profusely 
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 
-^r- the Chief." 

Feeling very foolish I stuttered assent and fol- 
lowed. As we proceeded through the maze of stair- 
ways and unexpected passages which seemed to me 
like a miniature House of Usher, I caught glimpses of 
treetops, of the Embankment Gardens, the Thames, 
the Tower Bridge, and Westminster. From the sud- 
denness with which the angle of view changed I con- 
cluded 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 
onljy 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, 



10 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

painfully conscious that at that moment I could not 
have expressed a sane opmion 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- 
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 shoul- 
ders 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 



ONE OP THE CROWD 11 

deepest personal r^ard 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- 
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 tiie un- 
known* 

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 



12 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

600 miles to Petrograd and most of this distance would 
have to be done on foot through imknown moorland 
and forest. The roads were closely watched, and 
before my plans were ready autunm 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 
I am writing it was a sort of dumping-ground for every 
variety of conceivable and inconceivable rumour, slan- 
der, and scandal, repudiated elsewhere but swallowed 
by the gullible scandalmongers, especially German 
and ancien rSgime Russian, who found in this city a 
haven of rest. Helsingfors was one of the unhealth- 
iest 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 fron- 
tier, was a hornet's nest of Russian refugees, counter- 
revolutionary conspirators, German agents, and Bol- 
shevist spies, worse if anything than Helsingfors. 
Disguised now as a middle-class commercial traveller 
I journeyed on to Viborg, took a room at the same hotel 



ONE OF THE CROWD IS 

as 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 Attach6 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, 
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. Sud- 
denly a shot rang out and my father fell dead on the 
threshold 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." 



14 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Melniko£F had but one sole object left in life — ^to 
avenge his parent's blood. This was all he lived for. 
As far as Russia was concerned he was frankly a mon- 
archist, 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 fron- 
tier was guarded jealously by both sides. Melnikoff 
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 caf6 which still existed in a 
private fiat imknown 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 whiskey 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 password 
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, retiuning in 



ONE OF THE CROWD 15 

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. 

"Grood-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 ob- 
served 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 
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 would any one know! He would just 
vanish — one more good man gone to swell the toll of vic- 
tims 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,*! 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- 



" 1 



16 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

ness — to an adventure that was to cost him his life. 
I only saw him once more alter 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 
comer. 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, 
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 Melmkoff's came to 
see me and make sure I was ready. I knew him by 
the Christian name and patronymic of Ivan Sergeie- 



ONE OF THE CROWD 17 

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 Uving 
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 Bol- 
shevist 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 speculators 
who indulged in the private sale or purchase of food- 
stuffs or clothing. They suffered severely, but it was 
better to be a speculator than what I was. 

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." 



18 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 des- 
tination he cast one glance at me but we made no sign 
of recognition. I sat huddled up gloomily in my 
comer, obsessed with the inevitable feeling that 
everybody was watching me. The very walls and seats 
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 comer 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 
el haec olim meminisse juvabitf 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 amusin^-afterward. 

At last the train stopped at Rajajoki, the last 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 



ONE OF THE CROWD 19 

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 any one been over since?" I queried, 
affecting a tone of indifference. "Only Melnikoff." 
"Safely?" The Finn shrugged his shoulders. "We 
put him across all right — a dalshe ne znayu . . . 
what happened to him after that I don't know. 

The Finn was a lean, cadaverous looking fellow. 
He led me into a tmy eatmg-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 



» I 

I 

i 



20 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Tchtezvichaika (the 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 Conunissar 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 Conunissar's life. I listened pa- 
tiently, regarding the bulk of these stories as the product 



ONE OF THE CROWD 21 

of Finnish imagination. ''You wiU be held up fre- 
quently 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 10 o'clock. 
About 3 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 imlikely place for any one to cross, 
so the Redskins don't watch it. Besides, being open 
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 



22 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Red patrol lives in that cottage, but at S o'clock they 
will probably be asleep." 

There remained only the preparation of '^certificates 
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 Bolshevil^t 
police officials. We rose and passed into another of 
the three tiny rooms which the villa contained. 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 ca- 
daverous 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 pre^ 
fer *' 

"Give him an Ukrainian name," suggested one of 
the other Finns, "he talks rather like a Little Russian." 
Ukrainia, or Little Russia, is the southwest 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." 

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 



ONE OP THE CROWD 23 

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 BieWostroJ^ ''we 
bought from over the river for a bottle of vodka/' 
Bido'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 Bol- 
shevist authorities of official ''documents" with prom- 
inent 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 ob- 
stacles. The wording and even language of the docu- 
ment were of secondary importance. 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, assuring 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 servfee and in the 
course of time restrictions became very severe. But 
seals were as essential as ever. 

When the Finn had fiinished writing he pulled the 

paper out of the typewriter and handed it to me for 

perusal. In the top left-hand comer it had this head- 
ing: 

Extraordinary Commissar of the Central Executive Com- 
mittee of the Petrograd Soviet of Workers' and Bed Army- 
men's Deputies. 



24 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Then followed the text: 

CERTIFICATE 

Thb 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, tskea aback by the amazing audacity of the 
thing. 

^^Why not?" said the cadaverous man coolly, 
''what could be safer?" 

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! 
jS voUeami zhUj^ po voUchi vUj, as the Russians say. 
^'If you must live amongst wolves, then howl, too, as the 
wolves do!" 

Now for the signatures and seal," said the Finn. 

Tihonov and Friedmann used to sign these papers, 
though it don't matter much, it's only the seal that 
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 









ONE OF THE CROWD 25 

the paper to me. ''Write upright this time, like this. 
Here is the original. Triedmami' is the name.'* 
Glancing at the original I made an irregular scrawl, 
resembling in some way the signature of the Bolshevist 
official. 

''Haveyouaphotograph? " 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 theb head of the paper. The inner space of 
the seal consisted of the five-pointed Bolshevist star 
with a mallet and a plow in the centre. 

That ia 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 "docmnents" 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 
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 dejection 
that had overcome me in the train was gone. I saw 
the essential humour of my situation. The whole ad- 



186 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

venture was really one big exclamation mark! Forsan 
et hose oHm. 

The two hours of repose seemed interminable. I 
was. afraid of S o'clock and yet I wanted it to come 
quicker, to get it over. At last a shuffling noise ap- 
proached from the neighbouring room and the ca- 
daverous 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 bag- 
gage was a small parcel that went into my pocket, con- 
taining a pair of socks, one or two handkerchiefs, and 
some dry biscuits. In another pocket I had the medi- 
cine bottle of whiskey I had hidden from Melnikoff, 
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 trickling 
of the river stream. We soon arrived at a ram- 
shackle villa standing on the river surrounded by trees 
and thickets. Here we stood stock-still for a moment 
to listen for any unexpected sounds. The silence was 
absolute. But for the trickling there was not a rustle. 

We descended to the water under cover of the tumble- 
down villa and the bushes. The stream was about 



ONE OF THE CROWD «7 

twenty paces wide at this point. Along both banks 
there was an edging of ice. I looked acioss at the op- 
posite side. It was open meadow, but the trees loomed 
darkly a hundred paces away on either hand in the back- 
ground. 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 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 stem 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 whiskey, 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 amidstreams 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 
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. 



98 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 shout- 
ing, and then suddenly shots, but there was no reply 
from the Finnish side. Then the light began to move 
slowly back toward the cottage of the Red patrol, 
and finally all was silent again. 

I lay motionless for some time, then rose and pro- 
ceeded cautiously. Having missed the right direc- 
tion 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 whiskey, 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 sta- 
tion with other passengers. At the gate a soldier was 
examining passports. I was not a little 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 



ONE OF THE CROWD 29 

passed me tlurough 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 Ex- 
traordinary 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 ex- 
amination 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 fiood 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 in 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 com- 
mon 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. 
That was it — <me of the common crowd! I wanted not 



30 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

the theories of theorists, nor the doctrines of doc- 
trinaires, but to see what the greatest social experi- 
ment the world has ever witnessed did for the common 
crowd. And strangely buoyant, I stepped lightly out 
of the station into the familiar streets. 






CHAPTER n 

FIVB DATS 

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 stiU 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 to celebrate the anniversary of the Bolshevist 
coup d*6tat a few weeks earlier. 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 taskmaster 
stood still and did nothing. 

81 



32 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Crossing the Liteiny Bridge on my way into the city 
I stopped, as was my wont, to contemplate the marvel- 
lous 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 'Tetropavlovka/' as the for- 
tress 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 imtil 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 con- 
fronted 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 
perfectly well, but I could see from the man's man« 






FIVE DAYS 88 

ner 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?" 

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, fear- 
ful 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, 
t 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 Meln- 
ikoff. The hospital in question was at the extreme 






99 

99 



34 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

end of the Eamenostrovsky Prospect, in the part of 
the city known as The Islands because it fonns 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 them. People 
hung in bunches all round the steps and even on the 
buffers. So, tired as I was after the night's adven- 
ture, 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 not returned since. I began to think some^ 
thing untoward must have occurred, although doubt- 
less he had several other night-shelters besides this 
one. There was nothing to do but wait for the after- 
noon and go to the clandestine caf6 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 of music, books, and 
flowers, but Soviet licenses 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 



FIVE DAYS 85 

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 un- 
appetizing display of rotting vegetables or fruits and 
the remnants of biscuits and canned goods. But every- 
thing spoke bitterly of the progressive dearth of things 
and the increasing stagnation of normal life. 

I stopped to read the multifarious public notices 
and announcements on the walls. Some bore reference 
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 crackers that tasted several years old. I 
also bought all the newspapers and a number of pamph- 
lets 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 condiments 
exhibited on the counter, mostly bits of herring on 
microscopic pieces of black bread, were still less ap- 
petizing than my crackers, 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"^ class had already secured a monopoly of the 
press by closing down all journals expressing contrary 
opinions, 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 



*InMaidi, 1918, the Bolshevikfl changed their official title' from "Bol- 
shevist Party" to that of "CommuQist Party of Bolsheviks." Throughout 
this book, t^refore, the words Bolshevik and Communist are employed, as 
in Russia, as interchangeable terms. 



86 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 
caf6» 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 sus- 
picious eye through the chink. Seeing it was immedi- 
ately 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 Mehiikoff?" 

"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. 






FIVE DAYS 87 

They laughed loudly, talked in raucous voices, and 
seemed to have plenty of money to spend, for the 
delicacies were extremely expensive. This caf6, 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 
comer where I sat alone. '^I must apologize," she 
said, placing a cup on the table, '^for not giving you 
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 gen- 
eral 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 Alexandrovna, 

we all look shabby nowadays." (She herself, how- 
ever, 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 
oncers 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 caf£?" 

"Oh, it is becoming very difficult indeed," complained 
Vera Alexandrovna. "We have two servants whom we 
send twice a week into the villages to bring back flour 






88 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 at- 
tracting attention and I did not at all like the looks of 
some of the people present. 

"Ah, ma chSre Vera Alexandrovna ! " exclaimed a 
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!" 

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 introduce 
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 en- 
couragement to talk. Why had Melnikoff not told 
me I should meet this "friend of his"? Had this Zo- 
rinsky 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 



FIVE DAYS 39 

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 cai€ no longer. 
The atmosphere of the place filled me with indefinable 
apprehension. 

*'Iam so sorry you have missed Nicolas Nicolaevitch/' 
said Vera Alexandrovna as I took my leave. ''Will 
you come in to-morrow? " I said I would, fully deter- 
mined 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 Alex- 
androvna? Birth, education, and refinement were man- 
ifested in every gesture. But as for her caf6, I had 
an ominous presentiment, and nothing would have in- 
duced me to reSnter 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 
caf£. 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 



40 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

morning had made me very cautious, and I was care- 
ful 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 rmg. 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 Sergeievitch? ** 
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. 

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 



FIVE DAYS 41 

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 diflScult to 
get firewood nowadays." 

I sat down in the kitchen, feeling very tired. "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 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 






42 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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-pos- 
sessed 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, re- 
turning, said Stepanovna agreed — ^for one night. 

The soup was soon ready. It was cabbage soup, and 
very good. I ate two big platefuls of it, though 
conscience piqued 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 



FIVE DAYS 4S 

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 
Melnikojff, the secret caf£, and my meeting with my 
present humble friends. With disconcerting brusque- 
ness I also recoUected 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. 

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

"Three weeks," he replied. 

"WeU, and do you like it?" 

Dmitri pouted and shrugged his shoulders dispar- 
agingly. 

"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." 



44 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"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 oflGicers?" 

"We have a commissar." A commissar in the army 
is a Bolshevist official attached to a regiment to super- 
vise 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 typified the mass of the unthinking prole- 
tariat at this time, regarding the Bolshevist Govern- 
ment as an accidental, inexplicable, and merely tempo- 
rary phenomenon which was destined at an early date 
to decay and disappear. As for the thinking prole- 
tariat they were rapidly dividing into two camps, the 
minority siding with the Bolsheviks for privilege and 
power, the majority becoming increasingly discontented 
with the suppression of liberties won by the revolution. 

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






FIVE DAYS 45 

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 pa3ring for 
the food I had eaten and set out to look again for 
Melnikoff. 

The morning was raw and snow b^an to fall. 
People hurried along the streets huddling bundles 
and small parcels. Queues, mostly of working women, 
were waiting outside smaU stores with notices printed 
on canvas over the lintel "First Conununal Booth," 
"Second Commimal Booth," and so on, where bread 
was being distributed in small quantities against 
food 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 
Trotsky stand in a queue?" and so on. Then, re- 
ceiving their modicum of bread, they would carry 
it hastily away, either in their bare hands, or wrapped 



46 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

up in paper brought for the purpose, or shielded under 
the shawls which they muffled round their ears and 
neck. 

Again I tracked across the river and up the long 
Kamenostrovsky Prospect to MelnikofiTs 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 "conmxunal eating-house." With- 
out a ticket I could not go to a commimal 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. Every- 
thing was very simple, clearly a temporary arrange- 
ment but very clean. The room being empty, I 
entered. 

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

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 enquired. "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 commimal 



FIVE DAYS 47 

eating-houses. My father used to keep a big restau- 
rant in Sadovaya Street and when the Bolsheviks 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 wiU 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 contri- 
bution 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 
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 conmiittee, 
or committee of the poor, as it was also called, com- 
posed of people of their own station. 'Xommissars" 
and ^Xommunists" they frankly classed as svolotchf 
which is a Russian term of extreme abuse. 



48 RED DUSK AND THE MORBOW 

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 po- 
tatoes, 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 wall. 
I felt that I really passed with the crowd. Only now and 
again someone would glance curiously and perhaps en- 
viously at my black leather breeches. But the breeches 
themselves aroused no suspicions for the conunissars 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. 



FIVE DAYS 49 

How shabbily every one 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 Communes, 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 conver- 
sation 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 f oimd me an old pair of 
pyjamas. I nestled cozily into the blankets; the 
streets, Stepanovna, and the room 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 belly 
and sprang up, all alert. It was quarter to eight. 



50 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Stepanovna 
was a relative, I would complain rudely of being dis- 
turbed, I would bluster, I would flaunt my passport 
of the Extraordinary Commission. Or perhaps Stepa- 
novna 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. Con- 
vinced 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 dumf ounded 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 roimd while I still fumbled my pass- 
port. "I was about to defy you with that!" I laughed, 

showing them the paper. "Tell me, how the , I 

thought you were in prison!" 



The author as lie appeared on various occasions in Soviet 
Russia. The top right Imnd photo was taken when in the Red 
army 





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FIVE DAYS 51 



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Not quite!" Marsh exclaimed, dropping into 
English at once. *^ I had a larky get-away! 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 danmed spies under 
a lamp-post. I screwed my face into a freak 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 possibly 
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 15 th' 
conmiunal eating-house in the Nevsky. You don't 
need a ticket to enter. I'll tell you everything 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 
you can go to regularly. But rely mainly on Mel- 
nikoff, he's the cleverest card I ever saw." 



62 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 mentioned 
the names of a number of persons whose aid might be 
reSnlisted. One or two occupied high positions in 
the ministry of war and the admiralty. 

But there was a more pressing task on hand than in- 
telligence. The Bolsheviks suspected Marsh of com- 
plicity, together with other Englishmen, 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 hair- 
breadth escape. But his wife had been seized in his 
stead as hostage, and this calamity filled him with con- 
cern. 

Mrs. Marsh was imprisoned at the notorious No. 2 
OorShovaya 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 okrana (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," (Mar^ 
paused and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together 
to indicate that finance entered into the transaction), 



FIVE DAYS 58 



''if you outbid the Bolsheviks, this fellow can do 
things, understand?" 

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 get-away. Now I'll be oflf. 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 reKchoing down 
the stone staircase. 

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

"Oh, but Ivan Pavlovitch," exclaimed the good 



54 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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." 

"WeD, 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 coUar turned up, diving into side streets 
and avoiding the main thoroughfares. I followed at a 
distance. Eventually we came out to the Siennaya 
market, crossed it, and plunged into the maze of streets 
to the south. Marsh disappeared under an arch and, 
foUowing 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 to- 
gether." 

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 ex- 
clamations of welcome and relief. 

"Aha, Maria,"* he shouted boisterously, "here we 
are, you see — ^not got me yet. And wonH 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 howled with laughter. "All 
right, Maria," he cried, "let him in. He's only my 



FIVE DAYS 65 

comrade — comrades in distress, and ha! ha! ha! 
^comrades' in looks, eh, Maria?" 

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

'"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. SiUy 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. 






56 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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. 

U only it were an ordmary prison/' he would say» 

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 '^PoUceman'' was the nickname by which we 
referred to the Tsarist ojQScial 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 Po- 
liceman. 

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 



FIVE DAYS 57 

of slippers, an inner door opened, and a voice said, 
"Who's there?" 

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

"Who? T ?" persisted the voice. 

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

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?" grum- 
bled Marsh. "You knew I was coming. 'Who's 
there', indeed! Do you want me to bawl 'Marsh' 
at the top of my voice outside your door?" At this 
the nervous man looked terrified. "Well, then why 
don't you open? Tvan Petrovitch* or Teter Ser- 
geievitch' — can't any one be Ivan Petrovitch? Isn't 
that just why I am Tvan Petrovitch'?" 

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

"Well, then, open and look, or next time I wUl 
shout 'Marsh.'" The nervous man looked more terri- 
fied 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. 



58 RED DUSK AND THE MOBJROW 

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?" 
asked Marsh. 

"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 oven. "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 donH 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 



FIVE DAYS 59 

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!" 

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 suflScient, 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 



60 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

bell. Marsh hurried to the door, admitted his visitor, 
and led him into the journalist's cabinet. 

"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 
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 S8 other women of various station, including 
titled personages, servant girls, and prostitutes. The 
chamber is not a large one and I fear the conditions 
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 in- 
coherent replies, even though accidental, lead to further 
and stijl more exacting interpellation." 



FIVE DAYS 61 

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 Mon- 
sieur Marsh." 

Marsh's face twinged. "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 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 Policeman, 
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." 



62 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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." 

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 Petrograd, 
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 fatix pa8. The little 
man turned very red. " I beg your pardon," I hastened 



«V x L 1 Jj.x X* J..- — >» 

€€^%r x^J ZxV. x1 1* ^— -«-.i.3>» 



FIVE DAYS 63 

to add» ^'I understood you were an official of the 

This apparently was still worse. The little Po- 
liceman 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?" 

"A lodging for to-night? I shall be honoured, Mon- 
sieur 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. StiU, 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 



64 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 danmed old coward, but buy him 
some grub or, stiU 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 
implored, "Oh, for God's sake, leave me aJone!" — 
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 
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 
imless 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 conununal 
eating-house. So I left Marsh arranging to meet him 
at the empty flat "No. 5" next morning. Musing on 



FIVE DAYS 66 

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 running across the frontier. What would Mel- 
nikoff now have to tell me, I wondered? 

As I rounded the comer 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 being filed 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 caf6 of Vera 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 






« 






66 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 
we will talk it over. I live quite near." 

Anxious to learn of any possibility of saving Mel- 
nikoff, 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 
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 immime 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 



(Above) Typical view of a Russian village (province 

of Smolensk) 

(Below) Tlie aiitlior and peasant children of the province 

of Tula 



(Abovp) Night photograph of the Fortress of I'eter ami Paul 

in tlie river Neva. Petrograd 

(Below) A review by Trotzky of Red troops in the Red 

Square at KIoscow. On the right is the Kremlin, Lenin's 

headquarters 



FIVE DAYS 67 

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 r^me. 
My hobby," he added, idly, **is contfe-espionage.** 

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

** Contre-espionage^*' he repeated, smiling. When he 
smiled one end of his crooked mouth remained station- 
ary, while the other seemed to jut rijght up into his 
cheek. *^Why should you be surprised? Tout le 
monde est conire^evolutUmnaite: 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 completely 
absorbed in the document. It was a report, dated 
two days previously, of confidential negotiations 
between the Bolshevist Government and the leaders 
of non-Bolshevist parties with regard to the possible 
formation of a coalition Government. Nothing 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 Menshevist parties 
toward the military coimter-revolution. 
Is it authentic?" I inquired, dubiously. 
That report," replied Zorinsky, ''is at this moment 
being considered by the central committee of the 






68 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Menshevist party in this city. It wa3 drawn up by 
a member of the Menshevist delegation and despatched 
secretly to Petrograd, for the Bolsheviks do not permit 
their opponents to commmiicate 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 — txmbte-espionage. 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. "It 
seems to me you might as well leave us alone as bungle 
about in the way you are doing. Meanwhile, all sorts 
of people are conducting, or think they are conducting, 
espionage undergroimd in Russia, or planning to over- 
throw the Reds. Are you interested?" 

"Very." 

"Well, have you heard of General F.?" Zorinsky 
launched into an exposition of the internal counter- 
revolutionary movement, of which he appeared to 
know extensive details. There existed, he said, bel- 



FIVE DAYS 69 

ligerent "groups/* planning to seize army stores, blow 
up bridges, or raid treasuries. "They will never do 
anything," he said, derisively, "because they all or- 
ganize 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. 

"Crombie was a fine fellow," he said, referring to the 
British. **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?" . 

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. 

"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. 



70 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"" 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. S GorShovayat 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 Melni- 
koflP. 

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

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 investigate 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 someone to call about nine o'clock 
"on an urgent matter." 

His wife, Elena Ivanovna, a joUy 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 Alexandrovna's 
caf6, I again felt myself out of place, and apologized 
for my uncouth appearance. 

"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! 



FIVE DAYS 71 

Have the olden days gone for ever, do you think? 
Will these horrid people never be overthrown? '* 

'"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 tvork. That will be the next step in the revo- 
lution 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 and again on 
principle. That's the only way to make Russian 



*' I 



79 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

peasants fight. Have you heard about the Red Army? 
Comrade Trotzky, you see, has ah-eady abolished his 
Red officers, and is inviting — ^inviting, if you please — 
tis, the 'counter-revolutionary Tsarist officer swine/ 
to accept posts in his new army. Would you ever be- 
lieve it? By God, IVe 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 Pet- 
rograd 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 ther call from Zorinsky's 
friend with regard to Melnikoff, and then, in view of 
my imcertainty 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 wel- 



come." 



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 th^t he could not offer me a hot bath. **That 
rascal dvomik 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 



FIVE DAYS 73 

from the theatre. Good-night — ^and don't dream of 
No. 2 Gordhovayar* 



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 through Lenin's dominions. 
Its full title is the Extraordinary Commission for the 
Suppression of the Counter-Revolution and Specula^ 
Ocn^ "speculation" being every form of private com- 
merce — the bugbear of Communism. The Russian 
title of this institution is Tchrezvitchainaya Kommis- 
sia, popularly spoken of as the Tckrezvitchaika, or 
still shorter the Tche-Ka. The headquarters of the 
Tche-Ka in Petrograd are situated at No. 2 of the street 
named GordhovayOy the seat of the Prefecture of Po- 
lice during the Tsar's regime, so that the popular 
mode of appellation of the Prefecture by its address — 
**No. 2 GorShovaya'* — ^has stuck to the Extraordinary 
Commission and will go down as a by-word in Russian 
history. 

At the head of No. 2 GorShovaya 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 act- 
ually lies, since they are in a position to turn the evi- 
dence one way or the other, as they choose. 



74 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Investigators vary considerably. There are some 
who are sincere and upright, though demoniacal vision- 
aries, cold as steel, cruel, unpolluted by thirst for 
filthy lucre, who see the dawn of proletarian liberty 
only tht^ough 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 per- 
form a sacred task in exterminating the ^'counter- 
revolution," they can upon occasion be civil and cour- 
teous, even chivalrous (though that is rare), but never 
impartial. There are other investigators 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&listed 
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 



FIVE DAYS 75 

factory under pretext of being conscripted elsewhere, 
and they are frequently never heard of afterward. 

The Extraordinary Commission overshadows all 
else in Red Russia. No individual is free from its 
all-perceiving eye. Even Commimists 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 imder suspi- 
cion 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 
ageniS'provocateurSf 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 agerUr- 
provocateur, who frequently succeeded in making himself 
the most trusted member of the revolutionary group. 
Agenta-provocateura were recruited from all classes, but 
chiefly from the intelligentsia. Imitating Tsarism in 
this as in most of its essentials, the Bolsheviks em- 
ploy similar agents to foment counter-revolutionary 
conspiracies and they reward munificently a pro- 
vocateur who yields to the insatiable Tche-Ka a plenti- 
ful crop of "counter-revolutionary" heads. 



76 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

As under the Tsar, every invention of exquisite vil- 
lainy 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 
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 be- 
ing 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 suspicious, opened the 
door in answer to my three knocks. " Peter Ivanitch is 
not here yet," she said, "but he should be in any min- 
ute." 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 tiunbled, 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. 



FIVE DAYS 77 

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 wan- 
dered aimlessly, and he shook with agitation despite his 
efforts to retain self-control. 

"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 questioned 
again and am sure he is not lying. The Bolsheviks 
believe she was implicated in some conspiracy, 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 any- 
thing 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 






78 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

to ask you to help me out. The Toliceman' 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 e£Fect an escape. Tell me, will you take the job 
over for me?" 

"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?" 

"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?" 

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

Marsh went off to his business friend, saying he would 
premonish him of my possible visit, and stayed there 
all day. I remained at "No. 5" and wrote up in 



FIVE DAYS 79 

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 pre- 
pared for all contingencies I gave the little scroll to 
Maria when it was finished and she hid it at the hot** 
torn of a pail of ashes. 

Next morning Marsh turned up at '*No. 5" dressed 
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 boots and hid 
it inside the sole of his sock. *^The population of hell 
will be increased by several new arrivals before the Bol- 
sheviks 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- 



80 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

nation at the conduct of the elder of the two stable- 
boySy who had joined the Bolsheviks, assisted in sack- 
ing Marsh's country house and farm, and was now 
appointed Commissar in supreme control of the estab- 
lishment. The coachman exhausted a luxuriant fund 
of expletives in describing how the stable boy now 
sprawled in Marsh's easy-chairs, spitting on the floor, 
how all the photographs had been smashed to pieces, 
and the drawing-room carpets littered with 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 hmnble 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 Mi- 
hailovsky 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 



FIVE DAYS 81 

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 gray sack, raise itself 
by some mysterious process of elevation above the heads 
and shoulders of the seething mass around and trans- 
plant 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 antediluvian- 
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 ejacula- 
tions 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 animality 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 imiversal dilapi- 
dation seemed to become intensified. I still 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 all around, and the future 
seemed nothing but impenetrable night. 



CHAPTER m 

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 Mehiikoff. 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 de- 
VOIU-, 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 



THE GREEN SHAWL 8S 

Lunacharsky spoke, for the unrivalled 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-joumaUsty 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-revolutionary" 
and kept it locked up and hidden imder 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 de- 
partment of education, in the hope that some one 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, stiQ 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 re- 
turn 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 wiU 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- 



g4 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 un- 
speakable 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 commimal eating- 
house two doors away. So, the weather being fine, 
I took him out to the Uttle private dining room I had 
eaten at on the day of my arrival. Here I gave him 
the biggest meal that miniature establishment could 
provide, and intoxicated by the imaccustomed fumes of 
gruel, carrots, and coflFee 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 a£Pairs, and as the 
result of our concerted labours we saved his untidy 
home from degenerating completely into a pigsty. 
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 



THE GREEN SHAWL 85 

extreme that recently adopted by the Bolshevist 
Government toward impartial foreign labour.del^ates, 
who were embarrassingly proclaimed to be forerunners 
of the world-revolution. 

One evening the journalist greeted me with looks of 
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 stiU 
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 Nonoye Vremya^* 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 " 

*A promineiit pre-revolutionary journal 



86 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 



"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. 

"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 crjong 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, prot£g6 
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 automo- 
bile 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 Sddd, doesn't it? Only two escaped, because 
they happened that evemng to be dinmg with the Ameri- 
can Ambassador, and he concealed them in his bedroom. 



THE GREEN SBAWL 87 



<( 



^Next morning the city was startled by a sensational 
announcement posted on the walls. 'By order of the 
Russian Command/ it ran, Ue incompetent govern- 
ment has been deposed, and the supreme power in North 
Russia is henceforth vested exclusively in the hands 
of the military Conunander of the occupying forces/ 

"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 logger- 
heads 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. 'Diplo- 
macy' 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 faying 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 joiunalist had built in the air. 

"But why — ^Michael Mihailovitch — are you ?" 

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



88 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Dmitri Konstantinovitch gasped. " You — ^wanted to 
heherer' 

"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 
celestial domains I should not have astonished the in- 
credulous 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 else* 
where." 

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



While the journalist's home until my arrival was only 
on the downward grade toward pigstydom, 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 Policeman, 
who lived in conditions too loathsome for words and 
took no steps to check the progressive accumulation of 
dust, dirt, and filth. 



THE GREEN SHAWL 89 

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 stair- 
ways. There was also a mysterious lady, whom I 
never saw, but whom I would hear occasionally as I 
mounted the stairs, shrieking in a hysterical catter- 
waul, and apparently menacing the little Policeman 
with physical assault. Sometimes he would snarl back, 
and one such schie 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 sflence. 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 enigmati- 
cal 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 



90 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

still possessed human feelings, showed at times a gen- 
uine desire to please not merely for the sake of gain, 
and was sincerely and passionately fond of his children, 
who Uv^ 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 
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 yoUf 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?" 

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 



THE GKEEN SHAWL 91 

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 innermost hopes 
of his heart. "Perhaps you, Michael Ivanitch " 

But this magnanimous offer was mere formal cour- 
tesy. It was plain that I was expected to content 
myself with the secondary r61e of kingmaker. 

"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 



92 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 sometime." 

"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 pidled himself together at once and 
reassumed his original manner of demonstrative ser- 
vility. 

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

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," 



THE GREEN SHAWL 93 

repeated tlie 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 re- 
covery?" 

"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 6or6hovaya 
Street, but we hope he will be removed to some larger 
and more comfortable hospital." 

"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?" 

"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 



04 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 ''coimter- 
volutionary'' machinations. The lines were closely 
watched, a suspicious voice or phrase would lead to a 
line being ^'tapped/' the recorded conversations 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 OorShovayan 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 Trotzl^, or information re- 
garding the Red army. 

Zorinsky was enthusiastic when I called next day and 
stayed to dinner. "We'll have Melnikoff out in no 
time," he exclaimed. "They are holding his case over 
for further evidence. He will be taken either to the 
Shpalemaya or Deriabinskaya prison, where we shall 
be allowed to send him food. Then we'll communicate 
by hiding notes in the food and let him know our plan 
of escape. Meanwhile, all's well with ourselves, 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 OorShovaya^ 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 



THE GREEN SHAWL 95 

evening. He works in 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 out« 
rageous.'* 

"Yoiu' health, Pavel Ivanitch/' said Zorinsky, un- 
dismayed 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. 

"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 



96 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

career. That is, if the Allies do not come into Petro- 
grad. By the way," he added, checking himself 
abruptly and obviously desirous of knowing, "do you 
think the Allies really will come — ^the English, for in- 
stance? " 

"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 toorking inside of a year, working like 
heU, because if the Whites get here every commissar 
will be hanged, drawn and quartered. Somebody must 
work to keep things going. Mark my words, first the 
Bolsheviks will make their Commimists 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 OorShovaya! Ugh!" he shuddered. "iVo. 
S GorShovayal Here's to you, Pavel Ivanitch ! " 

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



THE GREEN SHAWL »7 



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

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

**Whatl" he cried, half-rising from the table. He 
was livid. 

"In Finland," I repeated, regarding him with aston- 
ishment. "He got away the day before yesterday •" 

"He got away — ^ha! ha! ha!" Zorinsky dropped 
back into his seat. His momentary expression changed 
as suddenly as it had appeared, and he burst into up- 
roarious 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!" 

"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. "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? " 

"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? " 



98 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 shotild 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 un- 
doubtedly 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 developments. 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 
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 



THE GREEN SHAWL 99 

it probably occurred. If I disappear, wait a couple 
of days, and then get someone over the frontier — ^per- 
haps the coachman will go — ^and tell the British Con- 
sul/* 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 expecta- 
tion I hurried round. 

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

**How will he do it ?" I inquired. 

"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'U manage it all right." 

"And it must take a whole month?" 



100 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

''Melnikoff will be freed about the middle of Janu* 
ary. There's no doubt about it. And the investiga- 
tor wants 60,000 roubles/' 

** Sixty thousand rovhles r* I gasped. I was appalled 
at this unexpected figure. Where should I get the 
money from? The rouble was still worth about 40 
to the pound, so that this was some £1,500 or $6,000. 

^'Melnikoff's case is a hopeless one,'' said Zorinsky, 
drily. '*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 sc€uxjely 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, un- 
pleasant business over, let's go and have a glass of 
vodka. Your health, Pavel Ivanitch." 

Rejoicing at the prospect of securing Melnikoff's 
release, and burdened at the same time with the prob- 
lem of procuring this large sum of money, I rang up next 



THE GREEN SHAWL 101 

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 in- 
dustry. He was very sarcastic over the manner in 
which, he said, the "government of homy 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 diflFerent. They have even 
ceased 'comrading': it is no longer '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 'po- 
gentlemensky,' " he added, using a Russianized expres- 
sion whose meaning is obvious. 

Did you accept the post? " I asked. 

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






102 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Zo- 
rinsky, 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 
burning their fingers. Furthermore, the Finns some- 



THE GREEN SHAWL 103 

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 
Oordhovayay* 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 comers of the houses. 



104 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

snatching up the sandy snow, and flinging it viciously 
in the half-hidden faces of hurrying, harassed pedes- 
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 comer of the Kuznetchny Pereulok and the 
Vladimirovsky Prospect has been a busy place for 
"speculators" ever since private trading was prohib- 
ited. Even on this bitter winter day there were the 
usual lines of wretched people standing patiently, dis- 
posing of personal belongings or of food got by for- 
aging 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 "flpecu- 



THE GREEN SHAWL 105 

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

*^Je vousy 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 Ditch?" 

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 Extraor- 
dinary Commission, with its bare stairs and passages, 
is an eerie place at aU 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. S Oor6hovaya a group of 
women, from thirty to forty in number. Their faces 
were undistinguishable in the growing darkness, sit- 
ting 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. 



106 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

dark or light. A few chatted m undertonies, 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 
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 
sat 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 convidsively, insane, clutching the rough 
woodwork with bleeding nails. 



THE GREEN SHAWL 107 

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 reigns the only true Com- 
munism — 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 Com- 
munist dimgeons, is true Communism at last estab- 
lished ! 

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 Marahl" 

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 interpellation?" "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, d 
bieniSV 

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. 



108 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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

Lying in the comer 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, ad- 
justed the shabby hat, and wrapping the shawl well 
roimd 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 
comer. 

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 can- 
dles, and though I was concealed in the niche of a 
pillar, I knelt and stood alternately, partly from im- 
patience, 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. Quarter to five! 

Then the green shawl appeared. It looked almost 
black in the dim darkness. It slipped through the 



THE GREEN SHAWL 109 

doorway quickly, stood still a moment, and moved irres- 
olutely 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 Comers. 
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. 

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 



110 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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!'' 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. 

^^Ne zievai / " I cried. " Sadyist iVa, beri mieshotchek I 
Don't yawn! Get in! Here, take the bag!" and 
while I clambered up, I handed her the packet of sand- 
wiches made by Maria for the journey. "If any- 
thing 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 encased conversation ceased 
completely; scarcely any one spoke, and if they did it 



THE GREEN SHAWL 111 

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. Animality surged from 
the train and dispersed rapidly into the woods in all 
directions. I took my companion, as Marsh had di- 
rected, along a secluded path in the wrong direction. 
A few minutes later we turned, and crossing 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. EventuaUy 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 cour- 
ageous 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. 



112 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"Which route are we gomg by/* I asked, **north 
or west?" 

"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?" 

"Yes, and the best horse." 

"These other people, who are they?" 

"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 15 and 17 years of age. The 
girls were dressed rather d la turcque, in brown woollen 
jerkins and trousers of the same material. They 
showed no trace of nervousness, and both looked as 
though they were thoroughly enjoying a jolly ad- 
venture. 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 Furnish 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 GREEN SHAWL US 

the air was still. The fifteen-mile sleigh-drive from 
Fita's cottage to the peasant's hut, over hill and 
dale, by sideways 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 clearance of the forest stood three or 
four rude huts, with tumbledown outhouses, black, 
silent, and fairy-picturesque, 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-roadway almost immediately, 
we launched into the deep snow across the open ground, 
making directly for the forest. Progress was re- 
tarded 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 



114 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 fiUed with 
snowdrift. 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 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 by sprawl- 
ing on my stomach the snowdrift might not collapse. 
So, planting my feet as deeply as I could, I threw my- 
self across, digging with 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 clearance 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 






THE GREEN SHAWL 115 

figure emerged from the trees a hundred yards behind 
us. We stodd 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 
only to be a peasant acquaintance of his from another 
village, who told us there was a bridge at the other 
end of the clearance. 

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, 
and stood in a little group on the farther side. 

This is Finland," observed our guide, laconically, 

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 
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 
Ue down as often as we pleased without fear of dis- 



116 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

covery 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 
everyone had some joke to tell that made everybody 
else laugh. At one of our halts Mrs. Marsh whis- 
pered 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 dau^ters by 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 re- 
minded 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 un- 
marked grave. 

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

BIBSHE2S 

"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, just like 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 suppos^ 
to be the headquarters of the Russian counter-revo- 
lution, 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 set some limits), 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, where the 
appearance of a stranger in a caf 6 or restaurant in 

217 



118 RED DUSK AND THE MOBROW 

almost anybody's company was sufficient 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 ex- 
penses and could return to my friends Maria, Stepa- 
novna, 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 gray-blue in the starlight. Fin- 
nish 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 Csesar's ghost." 
Maria was fascinated. "And did nobody see you?" 
"Nobody, Maria. To make a good story I should 
havcf knocked at the door of the Red patrol and an- 
nounced 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 increasing 
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 ad- 
ministrative, social, and militarist. 



MESHES 119 

Politically^ the Communist Party was being driven 
in view of popular discontent to tighten its control 
by every means on all branches of administrative 
function in the country. Thus the people's co5per- 
ative 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" 
(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 
''speciaUsts" 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 overtiures were made par- 
ticularly to members of the liberal professions, doctors, 
nurses, matrons, teachers, actors, and artists, but 
also to industrial and conmiercial experts, and even 
landlords who were trained agriculturalists. 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 



120 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

official report to the remarkable fact of the large 
number of educated Russians who had heroically 
stuck to their posts and were struggling in the face 
of adversity to save at least something from the gen- 
eral 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 humane 
service, 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 bitt^ 
lot of the Russian people was a minor detail compared 
with the task of restoring themselves to the seat of 
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 accentu- 
ated 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 



MESHES 121 

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 
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 mo- 
bilization. The Tsarist police agents, of course, and 
Chinese and other foreign hirelings, who eavesdropped 
and spied in the factories and public places, were in- 
dispensable, but the staff of clerical employees, one 
of whom I purported to be, might be cut down. So 
I had somehow to get a docmnent 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 Mel- 
nikoff. Jle 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 comestibles, though Elena 
Ivanovna of course complained. 

*'Your health, Pavel Ivanitch,'* exclaimed Zo- 
rinsky as usual, *'glad to see you back. How are 
things over there?" 

"Over where?" I queried* 



122 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"Why, in Finland, of course/* 

So lie knew already! It was a good thing for me 
that I had devoted a deal of thought to the enigmati- 
cal 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 Melnikoff's 
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 delibera- 
tions was that I resolved to cultivate Zorinsky's ac- 
quaintance 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 
saw such a mess-up of factions and feuds in my life." 

"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 Ust 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 



MESHES 123 

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/bothofus'?" 

"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. 

"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 Gor61umLya^^* 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 Ger- 
man 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." 



124 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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

"Any connection between Mrs. Marsh and this — er — 
Grerman 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. 

"It is impertinent of me to ask questions," he said, 
courteously, "but I cannot help being abstractly in- 
terested 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 relapsed, 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 in- 
troduced 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 









MESHES 125 

place, Vera Alezandrovna's caf£ 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. 

Sony? 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. 

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 caf6 
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 comer the words Fortress of Cron- 
stadly Distribviion of Mines^ did I realize what the 
map really was. 

"Plan of the minefields around Cronstadt and in 
the Fianish Gulf," explained Zorinsky. The mines 
lay in inner and outer fields and the course was shown 



126 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Ad- 
miralty not later than half -past nine to-morrow mom- 
mg. 

A few days later I seciured through my regular 
admiralty connections whom I met at the Jour- 
nalist's 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. " The 



«, 



MESHES 127 

doctor is a good friend of mine. I needed one for my- 
self, so I thought I might as well get one for you, too. 
At the end of the day the doctor told the commissar's 
assistant he had promised to examine two individuals 
delayed by business half an hour later. There was no 
need for the ofiSdal 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 com- 
missar's assistant signed the papers and departed. 
Shortly after, the doctor's assistant did the same. The 
doctor waited three quarters of an hour for his two cases. 
They did not arrive, and here are the exemption cer- 
tificates. Will you fill in your name at once?" 

What? My namet 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 sur- 
name or show the passport in my possession. 

The situation was one of great delicacy, however. 
Could I decently refuse to inscribe my name in Zo- 
rinsky 's presence after the various favours he had shown 
me and the assistance he was lending me — especially 
by procuring me the very exemption certificate I so 
badly needed? Clearly it would be an offence. On 
the other hand, I could not invent another name and 



128 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 mysterious 
Zorinsky, for whom I suddenly conceived, as I cast 
a sidelong glance at him, a most intense and over- 
powering repugnance. 

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

'Xertainly," I said, ''I wiU 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 es- 
sentials 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. 



MESHES 129 

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

Occupation I 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 busi- 
ness or occupation. The word zaniatia (occupation) 
was not printed in full, but abbreviated — zan., while 
these three letters were concealed by the scrawling 
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 occu- 
pation." 

"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." 

Cornered! I had put my foot in it nicely. Zo- 
rinsky 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 signatiu'es. "It will be a long 



ISO RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

time before you land in the cells of No. S Gofdhovaya 
if you continue like this." 

He turned the paper over. Fortunately the regu- 
lation 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 certifi- 
cate and put it with my passport in my pocket. 

"WeU, what is the news of MelnikoflF?" 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 c^ter 
MelnikoflE's release." 

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



>- s 

J c 



i s 



S. o. ■ I o-a 

■|| S »-c^ 
11=1 El ^-1 



MESHES IS] 

^'And meanwhile what guarantee have I — ^have 
we — ^that the investigator will fulfill his pledge? '' 

Zorinsky looked indifferently over the top of his 
newspaper. 

Guarantee? None/' he replied, in his usual la- 



«, 



conic manner. 



Then why the devil should I throw away another 
80,000 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 Melnikoff 
let out. What is the good of losing your first 80,000 
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 
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 



132 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Ivan- 
itch, 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 
about to copy the map of the minefields and then re- 
tired 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 recaUed poignantly how I had 
been cornered that evening and forced to show him 
my passport. 



MESHES 183 

With this train of thought I took my newly pro- 
cured exemption certificate from my pocket and ex- 
amined 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 r^^ter 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 certificate 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 
forward. Finally, the creases looking no longer new, 
I b^an 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 



1S4 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 be- 
come 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 dis- 
covery! 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 Coimt 
of Monte Cristo unearthing his treasure — ^until, 
sobering down a little, I recoUected 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 shim like 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 regimental days, 
which was revolting. But in the abnormal circum- 
stances 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 afterward, or heard of me 
through any of his numerous connections? Pursuing 
his **hobby" of contre-espionage hq would surely not 
fail to follow the movements of a star of the first 
magnitude like myself. There was no course open 



MESHES 185 

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 discovered 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 MelnikofiTs 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 consternation in 
the Communist camp, for they had been relied upon 
to pull off a Red revolution in Germany and thus accele- 
rate 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 Commimist 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 revolutionists 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 unworldliness, individual goodness, 

186 



MELNIKOFF 187 

and spiritual sanctity, the Bolsheviks revere their saints 
for the vehemence with which they promoted the class 
war» fomented discontent, 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 revolution- 
ary 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 mortification of the ruling party, 
and was therefore interested in the great public demon- 
stration 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 intelligence 
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 meet- 
ings 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- 



188 KED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

tion from the outset, but the Doctor had not quarrelled 
with them, realizing one cardinal truth the Bolsheviks 
appear to fail to grasp, namely, that the criterion where- 
by 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- 
ko£F'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 philosophiz- 
ing 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. 

'Xommunist speeches," he used to say, ''often sound 
like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signi- 
fying nothing. But behind the interminable jargon 
there lie both an impulse and an ideal. The ideal is a 
proletarian millenium, but the impulse is not love of 
the worker, but hatred of the bourgeois. The Bolshevik 
believes 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 government. 
But by persecuting liberals and denying freedom of 
thought the Bolsheviks are driving independent think- 
ers into the camp of that veiy section of society whose 
provocative conduct caused Bolshevism! That is why 
I wiU iSght to oust the Bolsheviks," said Shura, ** they 
are impedimenta in the path of the revolution." 

It had been a strange interview when I first caUed on 
the Doctor and announced myself as a friend of Melni- 
koff's. He sat bolt upright, smiling affably, and ob- 
viously ready for every conceivable contingency. The 



MELNIKOFF 1S9 

last thing in the world he was prepared to do was to be- 
lieve 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 English- 
man, as I said, but he had never heard his nephew men- 
tion 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 ex- 
asperated. 

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 melo- 
dramatically, it must have seemed — "why the devil 
can't you see I am an Englishman and not a provocaieurf 
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. 



140 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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

"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 
reSntering the cabinet. He walked over to where I 
stood and looked me straight in the face. 

"Why on earth didn't you come before?" he ex- 
claimed, 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 circimistances; but he was none 
the less overjoyed to hear of the prospects of his re- 
lease. 

After every visit to Zorinsky I called on the Doctor 
to tell him the latest news. On this particular morning 
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 MehiikofiTs case. 

"There is another thing, too, that disquiets me. Doc- 



MELNIKOFF 141 

tor/' 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, and examina- 
tion of papers being so frequent, I wish I could get an- 
other 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 exemp- 
tion 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 niay 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 con- 
nected 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 Melnikoff 's sister, and " 

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

Voi tibie ndl 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 Melnikoff's 
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?" 



142 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

I hurried to leave. "'I will let you know how things 
go/' I said. '"I wiU 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 clus- 
tered a mere handful of people and two rows of soldiers, 
stamping to keep their feet warm. The crowd con- 
sisted of the sturdy Communist veterans who organized 
the demonstration, and on-lookers 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 9X)up 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 



. MELNIKOFF 148 

cheers and to the accompaniment of bugles, Zinoviev, 
president of the Petrograd Soviet, alif^ted and momited 
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 Conunun- 
ist party, and now occupies the proud position of presi- 
dent of the Third International, the institution that is to 
effect the world revolution. 

It is to his oratorical skill rather than any administra- 
tive 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 wonder- 
ment at his uncommon command of language, ready 
though cheap witticisms, and inexhaustible 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 be- 
low 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, bru- 



144 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

taUy, and in cold blood by blackguard capitalist agents. 
The German Government, consisting of the social- 
traitor Scheidemann and other supposed Socialists, the 
scum and dregs of humanity, have sold themselves like 
Judas Iscariot for thirty shekels of silver to the German 
bourgeoisie, and at the conmiand of the capitalists or- 
dered 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 meet- 
ing in the sunmierof 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 held incendiary meetings in 
out-of-the-way places. He was thin and slim and 
looked the typical Jewish student of any Russian uni- 
versity. But after a year's fattening on the Russian 
proletariat he had swelled not only politically but physi- 
cally, 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 Oenossen appeared to be above criticism and 
were always a mystery. Herr Otto Pertz was tall, 
clean shaven, Germanly tidy, and could not speak 
Russian. 

'*Oeno8sen ! heute feiem wit " he began, and pro- 



MELNIKOFP 145 

ceeded 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. 
Kajnialismtis, ImperiaUsmus, in fact every thingbut Kom-- 
munUm/uay would be demolished. He had information 
that within a week or two Spartacus (the German 
Bolshevist group), with all Germany behind it, would 
successf uUy seize power in Berlin and join in a triumph- 
ant 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 gvif Sagen Sie dock, sprichi er nichi gtdf** 

To which I of course replied, ^*Sehr gvt,** and she 
relapsed bashfully into admiration of Otto, murmuring 
now and again, **AchI es ist dock wahr, nichi f** 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 trans- 
lated. 

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 was produced, the special attraction of the day. 
The effigy, made of pasteboard, represented a ferocious- 
looking German with Kaiserlike moustachios, clothed 



146 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

in evening dress, and bearing across its chest in large 
letters on cardboard the name of the German Socialist, 

BCHEIDEMANN. 

At the same time an improvised gallows was thrust 
over the balustrade of the tribune. Amid curses, jeers, 
and execrations, the moustachioed effigy was raised 
aloft. Eager hands attached the dangling loop and 
there it hung, most abjectly, most melancholy, en- 
cased in evening dress and l;^lack 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 bu- 
gles blew. The people, roused with delight, cheered 
lustily. Only the wretched Scheidemann was indiffer- 
ent to the interest he was arousing, as with 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; followed 
again by a third who said something totally at variance 



A typical peasant "bourgeois-capitalist" 



I 

I 



MELNIKOFP 147 

with the first two, and how the enthusiasm would in- 
crease proportionately to the bewilderment as to who 
was actually right. The crowds were just like little 
children. TotaUy unaccustomed to free speech, they 
appeared to imagine that anybody who spoke must 
ipso facto be right. But just when the people, alter the 
Bolshevist coup d^Hat, were beginning to demand reason 
in public utterance and deeds for promises, down came 
a super-Tsarist Bolshevist censorship like a huge candle- 
snuffer and clapping itself on the flame of public criti- 
cism, snuffed it out altogether. 

Public demonstrations, however, were made an im- 
portant item in the curriculum of the Bolshevist ad- 
ministration, and soon became as compulsory as military 
service. I record the above one not because of its in- 
trinsic 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 demonstration 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 puUed out of the spacious pocket 
of his tunic a parcel wrapped up in newspaper, and un- 
wrapping 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. 



148 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"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. Per- 
haps he is not one like the rest." 

"By the way, Dmitri," I said, "do you happen to 
know who those people were for whom we demonstrated 
to-day?" 

From the depths of his crumb-fiUed pocket Dmitri 
extracted a crumpled and soiled pamphlet. Holding 
it to the light he slowly read out the title: "Who were 
Karl Liehknecht and Rosa Luxembourg?^* 

"We were each given one yesterday," he explained, 
"after an agitator had made a long speech to us. No- 
body listened to the agitator — ^some Jew or other — ^but 
the commissar gave me this. I read little nowadays, 
but I think I will read it when I have time." 

"And the speakers and the guy?" I queried. 

"I 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 cracked your sides laughing. Who was it sup- 
posed to represent, by the way?" 

I explained how the revolution in Germany had re- 
sulted in the downfall of the Kaiser and the formation 
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 
** Who were Karl lAebknecht and Rosa Luxembourg .^" 

"But if the Kaiser is out, why do our Bolsheviks bum 
—what's his name ?" 



MELNIKOFF 149 

''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 November, 
1917, and they will set up a soviet government like 
Lenin's." 

As our conversation proceeded, Stepanovna and 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 Fertz'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 ap- 
parently in utter bewilderment, " that the Germans — 
are — such — ^fools? " 



"Evasive, Doctor, very evasive," I said, as we sat 
over tea and a few dry crust-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 Melnikoff is 
mentioned then it is, '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 



160 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

ordinary certificate of identification, in the name of 
Alexander Vasilievitch Markovitch, aged S3, 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 drop- 
ping out of general use. 

**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 '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 cer- 
tificate and exhibited it to the Doctor. 



MELNIKOFF 151 



''What are you, a prestidigitator?'' he asked admir- 
ingly. '^ Or is this another gift from your friend Z. P " 

'*The certificates were bom 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 docu- 
ments, one in the name of Krylenko for the benefit of 
Zorinsky, the other in that of Markovitch for presenta- 
tion in the streets and possible registration. 

Considering once more the question of uniform I re- 
caUed that at my own rooms where I had lived for 
years I had left a variety of clothing when last in Petro- 
grad six or eight months previously. The question 
was: how could I gain admittance to my rooms, dis- 
guised as I was and with an assumed name? Further- 
more, 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 cau- 
tionings that not even Stepanovna should be told, 
I could see that the girl was impressed with my confi- 
dence 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 



152 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 
strictest injunctions from him to admit nobody to the 
flat. 

Pursuing my instructions, Varia informed the house- 
keeper that my friend, Mr. Markovitch, had just ar- 
rived from Moscow. He was busy to-day, she said, and 
had sent her round to enquire 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 head- 
gear. It is surprising how headdress can impart charac- 
ter (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 per- 
sistent 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 



MELNIKOFP 15S 

so ridiculous to be standing on one's own back stairs, 
pretending to be some one else, and b^ging 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 to Russia 
under present conditions. I had recently received a 
letter from him, I declared, brought somehow 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 anyone 
to the fliat, she ultimately agreed to do so if I could show 



164 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 afternoon, 
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 Fetrograd, please go to my flat and see 

Martha Timofeievna etc.," and I gave instructions 

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 amia- 
bly 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 compliments to the 



MELNIKOFF 156 

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 junky consisting of books, papers, pictures, 
furniture, and torn clothing. In broken Russian Mar- 
tha 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 everything 
with their bayonets. Then a family of working people 
had taken possession, fortunately, however, not expell- 
ing her from her room. But the flat had not been to 
their liking and, deserting it soon after, they took a good 
many things with them and left everything else upside 
down. 

Between them, the Reds and the iminvited occupants 
had left very little that could be of use to me. I found 
no boots or overclothing, but among the litter I dis- 
covered 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. 



156 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

** 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 o£Bcial." 
I adopted this costume for daytime purposes, but before 
every visit to Zorinsky I went to "No. 6," where I kept 
what few belongings I possessed, 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 poUtical 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 MelnikofTs 
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 ^t^*^, I imparted to him the data re- 



MELNIKOFF 157 

garding the latter's arrest, and what I had learned 
''through accidental channels'' as to his imprisonment. 
I did not let him know my concern, lest he should be 
inclined purposely to give a favourable report, but 
charged him to be strict and accurate in his investiga- 
tion, 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 mat- 
ters." 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 

STBPANOVNA 

MiSANWHiLE^astimeprogressed, I made new acquaint- 
ances 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 re- 
flected with satisfaction that my mode of living resem- 
bled 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-Revolutionary dodged and evaded the police- 
agents of the Extraordinary Commission, endeavouring 
either to flee from the country or to settle down unob- 
served under new names in new positions. 

One of my incidental hosts whom I particularly re- 
member, a friend of the Journalist and a school in- 
spector by profession, was full of enterprise and enthu- 
siasm for a scheme he propounded for including garden- 
ing and such things in the regular school curriculum 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 innova- 
tions» which I believe he eventually did successfully. 

158 



STEPANOVNA 169 

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 offi- 
cial papers passed through his hands. At his own initia- 
tive 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 indiffer- 
ent, 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 whatever 
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 Eng- 
lishman ! " 

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 tidiness 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 



160 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

had made me tasting unusually acrid, I went into the 
kitchen to investigate the tea-pot. On removing the 
lid I foimd 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 r^- 
mental commissar who had succeeded in making him- 
self popular — a somewhat rare achievement amongst 
commissars. Even Stepanovna admitted this unusual 
circumstance, allowing that the commissar was a 
poriadotchny tcheUmek^ 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 witnessed 
the extraordinary spectacle of an armed raid by the 
Bolshevist authorities on a public market. Running 
across her in the busy Sienaya 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 com- 
ing. 

Free-trading being clearly opposed to the principles 
of Communism, it was oflBicially forbidden and de- 
nounced as "speculation." But no amount of restric- 



STEPANOVNA 161 

tion could suppress it, and the peasants brought food 
in to the hungry townspeople despite all obstacles 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 comer. Thousands came to see the ikon 
that had been ''miraculously'' preserved, but it was 
hastily taken away by the authorities. 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 real- 
ize, if there is a raid they will arrest everybody?" 

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 be- 
gan running out of the shed. Round the comer, from 
the side of the Ekaterina Canal, appeared a band of 
soldiers in sheepskin caps and brown-gray 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. 



162 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

and looking bad^ as they ran to see if they were pur- 
sued. 

Stepanovna and I stood on a doorstep at the comer 
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 dis- 
tance, 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, hooing, 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 specu- 



STEPANOVNA 163 

lators!' That is what they say. '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 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 com- 
mittee 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 com- 
mimity. Superfluous furniture was to be confiscated in 
favour of the working man, but generally went to decor- 
ate the rooms of members of the conmtiittee 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 Conmiunist 
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 



164 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 distribut- 
ing property in the interests of equality and fraternity. 

But the wily and clever would exclaim; **My dear 
comrades, I am delighted! Your comrade is a 'party 
man'? That is most interesting, for I am intending to 
sign on myself. Only yesterday I put some furniture 
by for you. As for this couch you ask for, it is really in- 
dispensable, 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" 
G>mmunist, 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 
inclined to molest a promising candidate for comrade- 
ship. 

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 inteUi- 
gently and with enthusiasm the merits and demerits of 
respective singers. 



STEPANOVNA 166 

''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 
Shaliapin'sy except in the lowest notes, but of course 
Shaliapin's acting is much more powerful." 

'^ Stepanovna," I once said, '"used you to go to the 
opera before the revolution?" 

"Why yes," she replied, "we used to go to the 
Narodny Dom** The Narodny Dam was a big theatre 
built for the people by the Tsar. 

"But to the state theatres, the Marinsky opera or 
baUet?" 

"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 Im- 
perial 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 children 
ought to be doing home-lessons and our 'comrades' 
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 ifire wood ! 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 suffragist. 

It was at the beginning of February that I saw Stepa- 



166 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

novna for the last time. My acquaintance with her 
ceased abruptly^ as with other people under similar cir- 
cumstances. Varia, it transpired, got into trouble through 
trying to conununicate with Ivan Sergeievitch in Finland. 

Before going to Stepanovna's flat I always 'phoned 
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 inde- 
cision 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 comer of the street a little 
before eleven, and watched from a distance the en- 
trance 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 comer 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 



STEPANOVNA 167 

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 o£Fence." 

"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 after sud- 
denly placed in a novel and unexpected situation, of 
which and its results, if the reader have patience 
to read a little further, he will leam. 



CHAPTER Vn 



FINLAND 



StAraya Derevnta, which means ''the Old Village/' 
is a remote suburb of Petrograd, situated at the mouth 
of the most northerly branch of the River Neva, over- 
looking the Gulf of Finland. It is a poor and shabby 
locality, consisting of second-rate sunmier 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 
blizzard-like clouds across the dreary desert of ice. 
You cannot tell then where land ends and sea begins, 
for the flats, the shores, the marshes, and the sea lie 
hidden under a conmion 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 St&raya Der6vnya. 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. 
Oncet 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 

168 



FINLAND 169 

the cottage, where it would be less audible from the 
road. Having recently smuggled a sleigh-load of 
batter into the city, he was now returning to Finland — 
with nle. 

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 droimyy 
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 some one 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 clear 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. 



170 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

To avoid danger from the searchlights, the Fam 
drove within a mile of the mainland, the nmners 
hissing and singing like saws. As we entered the 
narrows a dazzling beam of light swept the horiason 
from the fortress, catching us momentarily in its 
track; but we were sufiSciently 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 get 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 Ussy 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 — amoving? 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. 

"Danm it, man! Drive like hell — we're being 
pursued!" 



FINLAND 171 

Riding out from Lissy Nos were 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 b^an in earnest. 

'"Ten thousand marks if we escape!" I yelled in 
the Finn's ear. 

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 fiash 
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 roimd. 
The driver had clearly had difficulty with his reins, 
which appeared to get 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. 



172 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

wrapped in dark brown paper, containing maps and 
documents which were sufficient, if discovered, to 
assiu*e 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 they 
would renew the pursuit, and running over the ice I 
should be spotted at once. 

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 mi^t 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 



FINLAND 17S 

watch I detected that it was only half past one. Pro- 
saic 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 
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 li^t, 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 dam- 
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 



174 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 Fin- 
nish patrols, who promptly arrested me and marched 
me off to the nearest coastguard station. No amoimt 
of protestation availed to convince them I was not a 
Bolshevist spy. The assertion that I was an English- 
man only seemed to intensify their suspicions, 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 day to the office 
of the Commandant at Terijoki, some miles distant. 

The Conmiandant, 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 Charg6 d' Affaires secured 
my release, with profuse apologies from the Finnish 
authorities for the not unnatural misunderstanding. 

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 whatso- 
ever imagination I possess, I might be tempted at 



FINLAND 175 

this point to draw my story to a startling climax 
by revealing Zorinsky in the light of a grossly mis- 
miderstood 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 
(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 GorShovaya. This information, 
though unconfirmed and in itself proving nothing (was 
not the Policeman also in dose touch with people 
in the employ of No. 2 Gordhovayaf)^ 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 Rus- 



176 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

sian officer whose known counter-revolutionary pro- 
clivities 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 po- 
sition, in spite of friends, becoming not more secure 
but rapidly less so. What might suddenly arise out 
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 anyone 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 
Fetrograd leading to Varia's arrest. She was morti- 



FINLAND 177 

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 the 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 Bolshe- 
viks with being a rabid monarchist, and, on the other, 
by reactionaries with being a '^subtle" Bolshevik. 
However, my aversion to Zorinsky had become so in- 
tense that I resolved that under no pretext or con- 
dition would I have anything more to do with him. 

My time in Helsingfors was occupied mostly with 
endeavours to obtain official assurances that any cour- 
iers I dispatched 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 cooperate, but appeared to 
have but Kttle 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 



178 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 arrang- 
ing a courier-service had drawn me into imfortunate 
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, and 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 



FINLAND 179 

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 arriving 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 
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, niunbering some fifteen 
or twenty men. At this I whipped out my Finnish 
Government permit without further ado and appealed 



180 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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-rSgime 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 large 
measure their would-be foreign counsellors and con- 
trollers and build up a model constitution. The elder 
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 crude 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. 



FINLAND 181 

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 dad, but I retained 
my overcoat, which I should need badly later, while 
round my waist I tied a Kttle parcel containing a pair 
of shoes I had bought for Maria in Helsingfors. 

By the roundabout way we were going it would be 
some twenty-five miles to the village that was our 
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 zig-zag 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 
steps to the narrow seven-foot ski and managed to keep 
the guide's moderate pace. We stopped frequently to 



182 RED DUSK AND THE MORKOW 

listen for suspicious sounds, but all that greeted our 
ears was the mystic and beautiful winter silence of 
a snow-laden northern forest. The temperature was 
twenty degrees below zero, with not a breath of 
wind, and the pines and firs bearing their luxuriant 
white burdens 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 oiu* 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 hoiu* the Finn suddenly 
halted, raising his hand. For some minutes we stood 
motionless. Then, leaving his skis, he walked cau- 
tiously 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 
their cover until we were within a few yards of the 
spot indicated. I then saw that before us there lay, 
crosswise through the forest, a narrow clearance some 
ten yards wide, resembling a long avenue. This was 
the Russian borderline, 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 



FINLAND 18S 

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 
noWy 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 were 
something, agitating, toying, to taunt you with de- 
ceits! 

But it was not really so. The forest was still with 
a deathlike 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 
of trees on either hand separated by the gray 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.'* 



184 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"But our ski-tracks?" I queried; "may they not be 
foUowed?'* 

"Nobody wiD 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. Travel- 
ling 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 day- 
break and my guide would not rest. 

It was after we had crossed another great morass 
and had been picking our way through pathless forest 
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 also to conceal his anx- 



FINLAND 185 

iety. 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 gray 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. Sit^ 
ting on the bank of a small running stream sat my 
guide, reproaching me when I joined him for my tardi- 
ness. 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 
over the brook, glided easily on to the snow on the far 
side. Moving rapidly across the meadow, he disap- 
peared in the distant bushes. 



186 RED DUSK AND THE MOBBOW 

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 end. 
Failing to dear 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 experienced. 
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! 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 heav- 
ily against the ice-pillars encasing my top-boots. 
With considerable labour and diflSculty 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 re- 
maining 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 
tell the truth, I completely gave up the game, con- 
vinced my black figure creeping up the white hillside 



FINLAND 187 

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 summits 
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 seekingi 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 en- 
tered? 

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 
bam 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. 



CHAPTER Vm 

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 comer 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 comer stood a rectangular wooden 
table, with an oil kmp hanging over it. The litUe 
glass closet of ikons behind the table, in what is called 
"beautiful comer" because it shelters the holy pic- 
tures, 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 bedcovers 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 ac- 
complishments 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 

188 



A VnJAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST" 189 

to the ikons and bowing, made the sign of the Cross. 
"'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, wonder- 
ing what I should do next. 

In a few minutes there entered a rough peasant of 
about fifty-five, with long hair streaked with gray, 
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. Tlie 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, 'Ho ski 
here. We are looking for milk. But we lost our way in 
the woods. I tumbled into a stream. My companion 
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 interested. 
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, stu-lily, and went on with his work. 

The boys slipped on their sheepskin coats and left 



190 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

the cottage, while the girls removed the mattresses 
and set the samovar. I rejoiced when I saw the old 
woman preparing to light the stove. My legs grad- 
ually thawed, forming pools of water on the floor, and 
one of the boys, when he came in, helped me puU 
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. 

"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 ni^t 
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, smil- 
ing. 

It appeared that he knew my old muzhik well. Tak- 
ing 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 **Diedu8hka [grandpa] did." 



A VILLAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST" 191 



"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 
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 harmoniiun. His thick, homy fingers, 
with black fingernails, 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. 

Unde 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. 



192 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 



''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 
soup, which we all ate with brown polished wooden 
spoons, dipping in turn into the bowl. Uncle Egor 
went to a comer 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 "fist, boiu-geois, 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 Conmiittee 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. Staffed by 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 '^ddle" 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 peas- 



A VILLAGE "B0URGE0I&-CAP1TALIST" 198 

antry, 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. 

"Unde Egor," I said, "you say your district still 
has a Committee of the Poor. I thou^t the com- 
mittees were abolished. There was a decree about 
it last December." 

"What matters it what they write?" he exclaimed 
bitterly. "Our '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 'Commune,' 
where the lazy will profit by the labour of the indus- 
trious. 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 'fist.' • Ugh ! " 

"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 'fist' 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 



194 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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! 

"Do you mean — ^a *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 such devious routes as not 
to be stopped on the way. I was nearly asleep when 
Unde 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 side 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 



A VILLAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST" 195 

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 foimd was not yet full 
up. Eventually there were fourteen people in the 
compartment intended for six^ 

At length the train rumbled off. Wedged in tight 
between Unde 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 tmnult 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 spe- 
cial 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. 



196 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

and so strangled by bureaucratic administration, that 
nothing, or very little, ever got distributed, and the 
persecuted *'sackmen" 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 *over there'** — ^which meant over the frontier; in 
reply to which Unde 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 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 comer and sat on the 
parcel. When the soldier told me to shift along to let 
him see what was in the comer 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 spec- 
tacle — ^the attempted prevention of sackmen from en- 
tering 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 



A VILLAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST" 197 

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 to unlucky ones who were still 
dodging guards. **This way! This way!'' they yelled 
wildly, '^Sophia! Marusia! Akulina! Varvara! Quick! 
Haste!" 

In futile efforts to subdue the mob the soldiers dis- 
charged their rifles into the air, only increasing the 
panic and intensifying the tumult. Curses and execra- 
tions were hurled at them by the seething mass of fugi- 
tives. One woman I saw, frothing at the mouth, with 
blood streaming down her cheek, her frenzied eyes pro- 
truding 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 sack- 
men over the Okhta Bridge and toward the Suvorov 
Prospect. Only here, a mile from the station, did they 
settle into a hurried walk, gradually dispersing down 
side streets to dispose of their precious goods to eager 
clients. 

Completely bewildered, I limped along, my frost- 



198 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 occur- 
rences 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 comer of the Nevsky. While I was watching, 
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 remem- 
bered, had suddenly seemed very quiet as I looked 
across the road at his dead body, though the monoto- 
nous 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!" 

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 encouraged 
by Russia's enemies to return to Russia to poison it — 
these others copied the Tsarist ways, and, restoring the 



A VILLAGE "BOURGEOIS-CAPITALIST" 199 

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 other flags up. 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 inscriptions every- 
where spoke not of the "'bourgeois prejudices" of 
Liberty and Justice, but of the Dictatorship of the Pro- 
letariat (sometimes hypocritically called the *' brother- 
hood 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 wfll help you." 



CHAPTER IX 

METAMORPHOSIB 

I NEVER saw Uncle Egor again. I sometimes wonder 
what has become of him. I suppose he is stiU there, 
and he is the winner! The Russian peasant is the ulti- 
mate 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 escaping pursuit, but 
had to turn back. Uncle Egor lived in a very inacces- 
sible spot, the railway line that had to be traversed was 
later included in the war zone, travelling became diffi- 
cult, and sometimes the trains were stopped altogether. 

There was a cogent reason, however, why I hesitated 
to return to Uncle Egor except in 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 Extraordi- 
nary Commission. I procured the soviet newspapers, 
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. 

^ 800 



METAMORPHOSIS 201 

By 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 here 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 ''unex- 
pected visits from country relatives," I would look them 
up and find out how the land lay and if anything par- 
ticular had happened during my absence. 

The prevailing atmosphere of disquietude made me 
approach the fiat 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 comer. 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, 1 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. Mean- 
while, 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 that I had thrown him money and 
interrupted his repast. Misplaced generosity! I re- 
mounted the stairs and applied my ear to the door. 



£02 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 hiuriedly 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 ban- 
isters, 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' un- 
impeded accumulation of dust. 

" Where is Maria? See ! I have brought her a lovely 
pair of brand-new shoes. And for you a slab of choco- 
late. 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, laboriously 



METAMORPHOSIS 203 

transferred the contents of his mouth into his cheek* 
At last he got it there, and, gulping, gave vent some- 
what inarticulately to the following imexpected query: 

"Are you Ki-Ki-Kry4en'Jeo ?" 

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. Without 
waiting he proceeded: 

"They came again for you this morning." 

"Who?" 

"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 
aU." 

"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 
su£5cient 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. 



204 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

X saw then, that it was true. I was known, and they 
were awaiting my return. 

"To-day was the second time,** said Grisha. "First 
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 useless to 
leave anyone. "When will he return?* he asks me. 
* 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 light- 
ning. The next step must be decided in the street. 

"Grisha,** I said, "you have acquitted yourself well. 
If ever anyone 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 b^;an 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 WBfi 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*8. 

Limping along painfully, half covering my face with 
my scarf as if I had a toothache, I approached the 



METAMORPHOSIS 205 

Journalist's home. He lived on the first floor, thank 
heaven, so there would be only one flight of stairs to 
ascend. 

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 landing, 
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 hur- 
riedly 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. 



206 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 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 ti^t comer — 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, granted your adversary displays a 
particle of doubt or hesitancy. From my present be- 
draggled and exhausted appearance to one of vacant 
stupidity was but a step, so when the cartridge-bedecked 
individual challenged me with his revolver and de- 
manded to know my business, I met his gaze with terri- 
fied 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 fea- 
tures contorted into an insane grin. "It is — ^I — ^I mis- 
took it for No. 89, 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 
the day of my first arrival in Petrograd. As I stumbled 
along, looking up with blinking eyes at all the shop- and 



METAMORPHOSIS 207 

door-lintels as I passed them, I saw out of the comer of 
my eye that the cartridge-covered individual had low- 
ered his revolver to his side. Then he turned and re- 
entered the house. 



''The blades are pretty blunt, I am afraid,'' observed 
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 
fortime. 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, preparing to per- 
form an excruciating surgical operation, namely, the 
removal with a blimt 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 OorShovaya, and 
there was no house in the city that was immune from 
these unwelcome visitors. But the box was m the 
window, so I was in the flat. 

Before operating with the razor I reduced my beard 



208 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 r6le of hair-dresser. He cut off my 
flowing locks, and, though it was hardly necessary, dyed 
my hair coal-black with some German dye-stuff he had 
got. 

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, limp- 
ing 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 attention 
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 throng which he or his wife 
always peered, and began greeting the pair with enthu- 
siastic heartiness, I slipped unnoticed into the street. 

In the dilapidated but capacious boots the Doctor 
found for me I was able to wUk slowly without limping. 



METAMORPHOSIS 209 

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 student 
type. It is a fact that during these days, when in view 
of my lameness I could not move rapidly, I passed un- 
molested 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. 

It took me several days to get thoroughly accustomed 
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 encoimtered 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 MelnikofiF'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 uncertainly, 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." 



210 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 occupjring the Winter Palace. In 
the olden days before the revolution I often used to 
wonder what was hidden behind the massive wall 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 astonish- 
ment, when I had convinced him of my bonafideidentity. 
"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 sur- 
prised how little interest the mention of his name excited 
inme. I was akeady entirely engrossed in a new politi- 
cal situation that had arisen. 

"Is he?" I replied. "I went to Finland myself re- 
cently, 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 Bolshe- 
viks to be shot,! set out at once for Petrograd. You sm, 
Zorinsky '* 



Night quarters of the "bourgeois" 



A Daughter of the Soil 



METAMORPHOSIS 211 

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 from the regi- 
ment 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 disappecured 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 usu- 
ally unsuccessful, he appeared always to be in affluent 
circumstances. It was this fact, and a certain strange- 
ness of manner, that led Ivan Sergeievitch to regard him 
with strong suspicion. He had him watched, and estab- 
lished beyond all doubt that he was endeavouring to 
gain admission to various counter-revolutionary organ- 
izations 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 dose friendship with Melnikoff , who, after the 



212 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Yaroslavl affair and his own escape, had assisted in the 
establishment of a system of communication with 
Petrogrady 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 
spoke to him, that I know of. Melnikoff was a friend of 
a certain Vera Alestandrovna X., who kept a secret caf£ 
— 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 caf6 too. He was merely lying in wait 
for Mehiikoff." 

"You mean he deliberately betrayed him?" 

"It is evident. Put two and two together. Melni- 
koff was a known and much-feared counter-revolution- 
ary. Zorinsky was in the service of the Extraordinary 
Conunission and was well paid, no doubt. He also 
betrayed Vera Alexandrovna and her caf£, probably 
receiving so much per head. I heard of that from other 
people." 

"Then why did he not betray me too?" I asked in- 
credulously. 

"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« 



METAMORPHOSIS 21S 

penses" amounting to about a hundred thousand in all. 
I also told him of the valuable and aceorate information 
Zorinsky had provided me with. 

''That is just what he would do/' said Ivan Sergeie- 
vitch. ''He worked for both sides. A hundred thous- 
and, I suppose, is all he thought be 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 unnoticed, there 
was no especial reason to believe Zorinsky could have 
discovered either of these. The 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. 6" 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 enquired for your tele- 
phone nimibers 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 



214 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

were looking down into the garden. Two figures sit- 
ting so long on a cold day in the bushes would begin 
to be suspicious. 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 imable to find 
Stepanovna, but supposed she was staying with friends. 
I agreed if ever I heard of her to let him know. 

''Will Zorinsky conie 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 leamt 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 acquaintances 
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 



METAMORPHOSIS 215 

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 uni- 
form 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 tele- 
pathic communication sometimes takes place without 
the medium of words and even regardless of distance. It 
has several times happened to 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 imagin- 
ation) 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 Tsarskoselsky 
station I jumped off the car while it was still in motion, 
stooped beneath its side till it passed, and boarded 
another 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 
Bolsheviks. 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. 



PARTH 



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 
Oordhcfoaya 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 occasion 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 mes- 
sages they bore (as indeed any notes I ever made) were 
composed in such a manner that they could not possibly 
be traced to any individual or address. 

I wrote mostly at night, in minute handwriting on 
tracing-paper, with a small caoutchouc 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 transferred to the 
bottom of a tub of washing or the cistern of the water* 

819 



220 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

closet. In efforts to discover arms or incriminating 
documents, I have seen pictures, carpets, and book 
shelves removed and everything 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 dstem. 

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 individ- 
uals 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 221 



i->^;•^•(^'l 



higher divisioiial post, and the commander 
in getting nominated to his regiment a commissar of 
shalcy communistic principles, who ultimately devel- 
oped anti-Bolshevist sympathies almost as strong as his 
own. How my commander, a Tsarist officer, who de- 
tested 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 per- 
form the task blew up the right bridge, thus covering a 
precipitate Red retreat and effectually checking the 
White advance. 

For days my conunander secretly tore his hair 
and wept, his mortification rendered the more acute 
by the commendation 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 conmiunication from army headquarters ap- 
plauding the timely exploit, while through the Com- 
munist 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 providential and 



«22 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

that he ought to jump at it. Though inside Russia 
the approaching White armies were often imagined 
to be a band of noble and chivabous crusaders, certain 
information I had received as to the disorganization 
prevailing amongst them aroused my misgivings, and 
I was very doubtful whether my conunander'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 Communist, and 
combining his persuasions with those of the commis- 
sar, succeeded in keeping the regiment out of further 
action for several weeks. The confidence they had 
won made it easy to convince army headquarters 
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 own population. 

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 move- 
ment and preference over civilians in application for 
lodging, amusement, or travelling tickets, the Red soldier 
received rations greatly superior both in quantity and 
quality to those of the civilian population. Previous 
to this time I had received only half a pound of bread 



THE SPHINX 223 

dafly 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 sometimes a pound and a 
half of tolerably good black bread, which alone was 
sufficient, accustomed as I am to a crude diet, to sub- 
sist on with relative comfort. 

The conmiander 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 tires 
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 Bolshevist 
Government with peculiar zeal, and was finally un- 
earthed, and its members, of whom many were So- 
cialists, shot.* From Moscow also I received regularly 
copies of the summaries on the general situation 
that were submitted to the Soviet of People's Com- 
missars. The questions I was instructed in messages 
from abroad to investigate covered the entire field 

^The Bolsheviks assert that I lent the National Centre financial assis- 
tance. This is unfortunately untrue, for the British Government had fur- 
nished 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 sup- 
pcessed by the Reds too early for any action to be taken. 



224 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

of soviet administration, but I do not plan 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 or inability 
of the Communists to control the army that the 
stability of the Bolshevist regime in considerable 
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 BED ABMT 

The day I joined my regiment I donned my Red 
army imiform, consisting of a khaki shirt, yellow 
breeches, putties, and a pair of good boots which I 
bought from another soldier (the army at that time 
was not issuing boots), and a gray 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 ob- 
served 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 sup- 
plied, together with so much war material, to Denikin. 

" Tovarishtch Kommandir,** I would say on presenting 
myself before my commander, ^^pozvoUye 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 
yourself in readiness at such and such an hour to- 
morrow/* 



226 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

The terminology of the former army, like the nomen- 
clature 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 Com- 
mander" (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 fam- 
ily 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: 
I hereby declare that I am aware that in the event of 
my disloyalty to the Soviet GovemmenU my rdatioes 
shall he arrested and deported. 

Vasili Petrovitch spread out his hands, shrugging 
his shoulders. 



■c e 



I" 



The atitlior and tlie Colonel of the Polish AVonien's Death 
Battalion on the Polish front. AuK'iist. 1920. One week 
later she ami her entire slaff were killed by the Reds. The 
battalion iimiibered 250 women 



THE BED ABMY «27 

'^I should prefer to see my wife and my littie 
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 suppose," 
he added, " that appointment to a post of any responsi- 
bility 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. IB 
Gordhovaya and make a fortune." 

Not only my conmiander 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 iiTunijak 
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] Zin- 
oviev 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 resolution 
that every Red soldier swears to defend Red Petrograd 



228 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 
what sort of freedom you want to use us as cannon 
fodder for/ Son of a gun, that Zinoviev!'' ex- 
claimed the little man, spitting disgustedly; ''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 '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 in 
any number by Jews 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" are due. There are, of course, just as many 
Jews who oppose the Bolsheviks, and many of these 



THE RED ARMY 229 

are lying in prison. But this is not widely 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: 

"Li Trotzky's psychology there are no elements 
corresponding to the ordinary conceptions of brutal- 
ity or humanity. In place of these there is a blank • 
. • Men, for him, are mere units — ^hundreds, thous- 
ands, and hundreds of thousands of units — ^by means 
of which he may satisfy his WtUe zur Machi. Whether 



230 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

this end is to be achieved by securing for those multi* 
tudes conditions of supreme happiness or by merci- 
lessly crushing or exterminating them, is for Trotzky 
an unessential detail, to be determined not by sym- 
pathies or antipathies but by the accidental circum- 
stances of the moment,"* 

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."t The motive impelling Trotzky to use 
a pseudonym is peculiar. ''To call himself Bron- 
stein 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 esti- 
mation is the more valuable in that the writer. Dr. Ziv, 
is himself a Jew. 

The creation and control of a huge militarist machine 
has hitherto afforded full and ample scope for the exercise 
of Trotzky's superhuman energy and indomitable 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 
inducements, to persuade the trained Tsarist officer 
staff, with whose technical knowledge he could not 
dispense, to serve the Red flag. The ideas of a ^'derno- 

nVobiky, by Dr. 6. A. Ziv, New Yoik "Narodopravstob" 1921. p. 88. 
Ulnd, p. 26. 



THE BED ARMY 831 

cratic 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. 

T^e same measures were introduced to combat 
wholesale robbery and pillage — ^an inevitable phenome- 
non resulting from Bolshevist agitation — as were 
employed by the Tsarist army, and with even greater 
severity. Soldiers* committees were soon suppressed. 
The "revolutionary" commanders of 1918, imtrained 
and unqualified for leadership, were dismissed and 
supplanted by '^specialists" — ^that is, oflBcers of the 
Tsarist army, closely watched, however, by carefully 
selected Communists. 

The strength of the Red army now undoubtedly 
lies in its officer stafiF. 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, denounc- 
ing 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 * 'pro- 
letarian" regime, that it was hoped in coiu-se of time 
they would come to adapt themselves to it, and that 
if in the meantime they would "give their knowledge 



282 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

to the revolution" their services would be duly recog- 
nized. 

"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 special- 
ists of the Baltic fleet, at which Trotzky abolished 
the committee system and restored the officers' author- 
ity. My friend participated at the meeting, being a 
high 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 leaderlike, and when we aU 
stood to receive him the contrast between him and 
the commissars, whom he himself had appointed, 
was striking. When he spoke we were thunder- 
struck — and so were the commissars — ^for turning 
to oiu* end of the table he addressed us not as 'Com- 
rades' 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 we are 
accustomed nowadays to hear directed against our- 
selves. He called them skulking slackers, demanded 
to know why they dared sit in his presence with their 



THE BED ARMY 233 

jerkins all unbuttoned, and made them all cringe like 
dogs. He told us that the ship committees were 
abolished; that thenceforward the conunissars 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, especially 
of such as had wives and famiUes. flight with their 
families was difficult, while ffight without 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 imavoidable — ^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 fail- 
ures, and growing disgust at the effect of Allied inter- 
vention, coming on 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 re- 
gime 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 con- 
siderably 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 men- 
folk were suspected of anti-Bolshevist activities. One 
party of such prisoners I remember particularly because 



234 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

I knew one or two of the people in it. They were all 
ladies, with the stamp of education and refinement — 
and untold suffering — on their faces, accompanied by 
three or four children, who I presume had refused to be 
torn away. In the hot smnmer sun they tracked 
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 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 im- 
printed on every face, trudge slowly across the road and 
disappear into the dark aperture of No. 2 OorShovaya. 

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 non-moles- 
tation in their domiciles. 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 compelled 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 danm that officer for 



THE RED ARMY 236 

ever in the eyes of the Whites, who appeared to have no 
consideration for the sore and often hopeless position in 
which those officers were placed. It was this that 
troubled my commander after his accidental destruc- 
tion of the right bridge. I am told that General Brusi- 
lov's son was shot by Denikin's army solely because he 
was foimd in the service of the Reds. The stupidity of 
such conduct on the part of the Whites would be in- 
conceivable 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 victory the 
land seized by the peasants should 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 r61e, were the chief 
causes of the White defeats. This theory is borne out 
by all the various White adventures, whether of Kol- 
chak, Denikin, or Wrangel, the course of each being, 
broadly speaking, the same. First the Whites advanced 
triumphantly, and until the character of their r6gime 
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 
disafiPection amongst. the civU population in the rear. 
Requisitioning, mobilization, internecine strife, and 
corruption amongst officials, differing but little from the 
regime of the Reds, rapidly alienated the sympathies 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 



286 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 



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 6migrh now admit not only that war- 
ring against the so-called Soviet Republic has served 
above all else to consolidate the position of the Bolshe- 
vist leaders, but also that the failure of the anti- 
Bolsheviks was due largely to their own deficient ad- 
ministration. But there are many who continue to lay 
the blame on anyone's shoulders rather than their own, 
and primarily upon England — ^a reproach which is not 
entirely unjustified, though not for quite the same 
reason as these critics suppose. For while the Allies and 
America all participated in military intervention, it 
was England who for the longest time, and at greatest 
cost to herself, furnished the counter-revolution with 
funds and material. Her error and that of her associates 
lay in Tnnlring no e£Fort 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 a gauge 
of the political maturity of these leaders and of the gov- 
ernments they brought into being. Herein lay the 
fundamental misjudgment of the situation. The gulf 
that yawns between the White leaders and the peasan- 
try is as wide as that between the Communist party 
and the Russian people. Not in Moscow, but in the 
camps of the White leaders were sown the seeds of the 
disasters that befell them, and this was apparent neither 
to England nor to any other foreign power. 



THE RED ARMY 237 

By the end of 1919 the higher military posts in the 
Red army, such as those of divisional-, artillery-, and 
brigade-commanders, were held almost exclusively by 
former Tsarist generals and colonels. The Bolsheviks 
are extremely proud of this fact, and frequently 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 consider- 
able 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 
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. Conunon 
soldiers have become expert regimental commanders, 
artillery officers, and cavalry leaders. In many cases 
the formerly unknown opportunities which are now 
offered them make of such people convinced supporters 
of the present regime, of whose courage and determina- 
tion there can be no doubt. Granted that the individ- 
ual, whatever his real political convictions, 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, 



238 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 northwest 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 peas- 
ants who had seized it], but next year the land must be 
restored to its rightful owners [that is, the former 
landlords].'* Needless to say, the effect was suicidal, 
although this same general had been welcomed upon his 
advance three weeks before with unprecedented rejoic- 
ings. Moreover, this particular order was republished 
by the Bolsheviks in every paper in Soviet Russia and 
served as powerful propaganda amongst the peasant 
soldiers on every front. 

In November, 1920, 1 talked to soldiers fresh from the 
Red ranks in the northern Ukraine. I found 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 deci- 
sion and in surprising unison: '^Rangelya baimsya**; 
which was their way of saying: "We are afraid of Wran- 
gel.** And this in spite of WrangeFs much-vaimted 
land law, which promised the land to the peasants. 



THE RED ARMY 2S9 

But behind Wrangel they knew there stood the land- 
lords. 

But the first campaign of the Red army against a non- 
Russian foe, Poland, which did not threaten the peas- 
ants' 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 in- 
competent, 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 draft- 
ing in of a few French officers, and the merciless weeding 
out of traitors from the 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 conunanders who were either 
inspired by anti-Polish sentiment, or believed, as the 
Communist leaders assured them, that the revolution- 
ary armies were to sweep right across Europe. But the 
rank and file were devoid of all interest in the war. 
Thus they only advanced as long as the wretchedly led 
Poles retreated too rapidly to be caught up, and the 
moment they met organized resistance the Russian 
peasants either fied, deserted, or mutinied in their own 
ranks. 

The Polish victory effectually dispelled the myths of 



240 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

peasant support of the revolution and the invincibility 
of the Red army, but beyond that it served no useful 
purpose as far as Russia is concerned. Rather the con- 
trary, 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 which 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 that sector, and 
had ordered that ruthless measures 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 for- 
tunately for the Poles was weaker, an entirely unfore- 
seen and incomprehensible event occurred. The sol- 
diers of the 21st Soviet division killed every one of their 
commissars and Commimists and came over to the 
Poles in a body with their guns! 



THE RED ABMY 241 

It would seem at such times as if conscious human 
intelligence were completely numbed. Impelled by 
despair, people act like automatons, regardless of dan- 
ger, knowing that worse things await them (and espe- 
cially their kith and kin) if they are detected in at- 
tempted 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 organs of terror in the army are Special Depart- 
ments of the Extraordinary Commission, and Revolu- 
tionary Tribunals. The methods of the Extraordinary 
Commission have been described. In the army to 
which my regiment belonged the order for the for- 
mation 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 verdicts of 
insubordination, refusal to fight, flight or desertion by 
complete units, such as sections, platoons, companies, 
etc." Sentences (to death inclusively) were to be 
executed immediately. Verdicts might also be condi- 
tional, that is, guilty units might be granted an oppor- 
tunity to restore confidence in themselves 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« as what the Bolsheviks call a *' mass-phenomenon," 



242 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

is combated by special Commissions for Combating 
Desertion, established in every town and large village 
and at frontier points. The mere abundance 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 6ars. If the identity of 
a deserter is established but he cannot be ferreted out, 
the property of his relatives is confiscated and they are 
liable to be arrested unless they expose him or until 
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 peasants 
show more vigour and capacity for self-defence against 
the Communists than in the north, villagers organize 
themselves into armed bands led by sub-ofiicers of the 
old army and effectively hold the punitive detachments 
at bay for considerable periods. 

The mobilization of peasants is at times so difficult a 
procediu*e that when a regiment has been gathered it is 
often sent down to the front in sealed cars. Arms are 
rarely distributed until the moment to enter the fray, 
when a machine gun is placed behind the raw troops, 
and they are warned that they have the option either of 
advancing or being fired on from the rear. At the same 
time provincial districts are cautioned that every village 
in which a single deserter is discovered will be burned 
to the ground. However, 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. 



THE RED ARMY 24S 

In Petrograd I witnessed what was announced to be a 
"triar' mobilization; that is, the workers were assured 
that they were not going to the front and that the trial 
was only to be practice for an emergency. 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 por- 
tion of the recruits were taken to the Nicholas Station 
and told they were going out of town to manoeuvre. Im- 
agine 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 Red army man 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 my- 
self to bear this title with honour, conscientiously to 
study the science of war, and as the apple of my eye 
defend civil and military property from spoliation and 
pillage. I pledge myself strictly and unswervingly to 
observe revolutionary discipline and perform unhesi- 
tatingly all orders of the conmianders 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 the sole object of the emancipation of all 
workers. I pledge myself at the first call of the 
Workers' and Peasant^' Government to defend the 



244 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Soviet Republic from all dangers and assault on th^ 
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 hav- 
ing taken this oath, which is reserved for officers or for 
propagandist purposes. If it is taken by the conunon 
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 Commimists are admitted to these posts, their 
revolutionary consciences are ipso facto bound always 
to 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 such as had technical 
knowledge of Tsarist law, offering them posts as legal 
"specialists," as had already been done with military, 
industrial, and agricultural experts. 

The Bolsheviks discriminate minutely between their 
regiments, 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 



THE RED ARMY 245 

"Iron Regiment," the "Death Regiment/' the "Trot- 
zky 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 Conmiunists being exceedingly small, 
they are divided up and distributed amongst the re- 
maining regiments in little groups called "cells." The 
size of a cell averages about 10 per cent, of the regiment. 
It is this political organization of the Red army for pur- 
poses 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 provisioned visibly 
better than civilians, it is felt that under military condi- 
tions the peasant will be most susceptible to Communist 
propaganda. 

The system of political control is as follows. Side 
by side with the hierarchy of military commanders 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 tentacularly to the small- 
est unit of the army, and not a single soldier is exempt 
from the omnipresent Communist eye. The responsible 
Communist official in a regiment is called the Commis- 
sar, the others are called "political workers," and con- 
stitute the "cell." In my own unit, numbering nearly 
200 men, there were never more than half a dozen Com- 
munists or "political workers," and they were regarded 
with hatred and disgust by the others. Their chief duty 
obviously was to eavesdrop and report suspicious re- 



246 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

marks, but their efforts were crowned with no great 
success because the commissar, to whom the Commun- 
ists reported, was a sham Communist himself 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 
conunissar, 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 has been 
almost unobtainable ever since the Tsar prohibited 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 specu- 
lator) 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 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 f uU 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. 



THE RED ARMY 247 

and would have conscientiously exposed any *' specula- 
tor" 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 to which he was a candidate for his regiment, he 
not only permitted but positively insisted that the vot- 
ing 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 conse- 
quently popular. His intelligence 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. Possessing no little heart but very Uttle 
mind, he found considerable difficulty in reconciling the 
ruthless attitude of the Communists toward the people 
with his own more warm-hearted mclinations, but the 
usual Jesuitical argument served to still any inner ques- 
tionings — ^namely, that since the Communists alone were 
right, all dissentients must be ^'enemies of the State" 
and he was in duty boimd to treat them as such. 

During the six or eight weeks that I had the oppor- 
timity to study the figure of Morozov after his appoint- 
ment as regimental commissar, a perceptible change 
came over him. He grew suspicious and less frank and 
outspoken. Though he would scarcely have been able 



248 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

to formulate his thoughts in words, it was clear that the 
severity with which any criticism, even by Conmiunists, 
of political commands from above was deprecated, and 
the rigid enforcement within and without the party of 
iron discipline, differed greatly from the prospect of 
proletarian brotherhood which he had pictured to him- 
self. At the same time he could not escape from these 
shackles except by becoming an *^ enemy of the State," 
and, like all Communists, he finally attributed the non- 
realization of his dreams to the insidious machinations 
of the scapegoats designated by his superiors, namely, 
to the non-Bolshevist Socialists, the Mensheviks and 
Socialist-Revolutionaries, who must be exterminated 
wholesale. 

Morozov's responsibilities, like those of all commis- 
sars, were heavy. Though in purely military affairs 
he was subordinate to the regimental commander, he 
none the less was made responsible for the latter's 
loyalty and answered equally 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 accuracy of army 
service rested upon him. A regimental commissar's 
responsibilities are, in fact, so great that he can rarely 
guarantee his own seciurity 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 
been informed by a member of his "cell" that the con- 
duct of a junior officer gave rise to misgivings, he had a 
purely fictitious concrete charge drawn up for no other 
reason than to see how the officer would react when it 



THE RED ARMY 249 

was brought against him. It was found, as was not 
unnatural, that the original complaint of the 'Apolitical 
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 denuncia- 
tions of individuals, charging them with counter- 
revolutionary activities, are of frequent occurrence, 
and coDunissars, terrified for their own safety, prefer 
to err at the cost of the wrongly accused rather 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 conmiissar but re- 
presents 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 dili- 
gence, zeal, and — ^it must be added — ^unscrupulousness 
of these various Conununist officials. All sorts of in- 
structions 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 phra- 
seology. It was hoped originally that by the never- 
ending repetition of the words " vampires," "bourgeois," 
"class-struggle," "blood-sucking capitalists and im- 
perialists," and so forth, some at least of the ideas pre- 
sented would sink into the listeners' minds and be taken 



250 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 member- 
ship of ''the party" is no more than some half million, 
half of whom would be anything but Communists if 
they could. Propagandist leaflets are used principally 
for wrapping herrings up in and making cigarettes of, 
for mahorka (the pepper-like tobacco beloved of the 
Russian soldier) is still issued in small quantities. 

The only aspect of the above propaganda in which 
positive results have been obtained is the rousing of 
hatred and revenge for 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 associating 
the idea of "bouigeois" 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. Propaganda 
on a wide scale is possible only in the towns and the 
army, and the army is after all but a very small percent- 
age of the whole peasantry. The vast majority of the 
peasants are home in their villages, and Bolshevist 
propaganda and administration reach no farther than 
a limited area bordering 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, 
fearful of strict censure, such reports are invariably 
drawn up in the most favourable light possible. Par- 



THE RED ARMY «51 

ticularly is this the case in the army. If the member- 
ship of a "cell** does not increase, the supervising com- 
missar or political guide will be asked the reason why. 
He will be pubUcly 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 sol- 
diers to enter the ranks of the party. The statistics 
supplied are compiled 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 ^Xultural- 
Enlightenment Committees," which are entrusted with 
the work of entertaining and *^ enlightening" the sol- 
diers. Being partly of an educational character the 
collaboration of non-Communists on these conunittees 
is indispensable, though rigid Communist control ren- 
ders 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 literature the 
work of his department is nil. The cultural-enlighten- 
ment conunittees arrange lectures on scientific subjects, 
dramatic performances, concerts, and cinema shows. 
The entertainments consist chiefly in the staging of 
"proletarian" plays, written to the order of the depart- 
ment of propaganda. From the artistic standpoint 



252 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

these plays axe exceedingly bad — unmitigated Bolshe- 
vist atrocities — ^but their strong point is that they 
represent the class-struggle in a 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- 
enhghtenment committees. 

In my regiment we had no cultural-enlightenment 
committee. Not existing for purposes of control they 
were not so universal as the "cells," but depended to 
some extent for their establishment upon the enterprise 
of the commissar. Living, however, mostly in Petro- 
grad, I came in touch through friends with other regi^ 
ments than my own, and attended several entertain- 
ments got up by cultural-enlightenment committees, 
until I knew the propagandist speeches, which were 
always the same, almost by heart. Let me describe 
just one such meeting. It was in the regiment of which 
Morozov was commissar. At this particular meeting 
I was to have fimctioned as amateur accompanist and 
should have done so if one of the singers, from a Petro- 
grad theatre, had not imexpectedly brought a profes- 
sional with her.* 

The organizer of this entertainment, though he played 

*In such company I was regarded as an invalid, suffering in body and 
mind from the ill-treatment received at the hands of a ci^italistic goveni« 
ment. The story ran that I was bom 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 



THE RED ARMY 25S 

but little part in the performance, deserves a word of 
mention. As a sailor, of about 20 years of age, he dif- 
fered greatly f^m 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 
aggrieved. 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 underlyiDg the failure of the 
Provisional Government. To him the Soviet Govern- 
ment personified the Revolution itself. A few catch- 
phrases, such as "dictatorship of the proletariat," 

fight. Bad food» brutality, and hungerstriking 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. 



264 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

"tyranny of the bourgeoisie/* "robber-capitalism," 
"Soviet emancipation" completely dominated his mind 
and it seemed to him indisputably just that the defini- 
tion of these terms should be left absolutely to the 
great ones who had conceived them. Thus Rykov, like 
most Communists, was utterly blind to inconsistencies. 
The discussion by the highest powers of policy, espe- 
cially foreign, of which the rest of the world hears so 
much, passed over them completely. Rykov accepted 
his directions imhesitatingly 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 an untiring worker, his genuinely good motives 
would serve to popularize the party, and he never 
thought. It is independent thinkers the Bolsheviks 
cannot tolerate. Rykov, like a good Conununist, ac- 
cepted the dogma laid down 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 whenever it was a 
question of amusing or entertaining the soldiers that he 
was in great demand. 

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 



THE RED AKMY 266 

walls. Over the stage hung a crude inscription painted 
on cajrdboard: "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 regiment 
and numerous guests, sat on wooden forms and disre- 
garded the exhibited injunction not to smoke. 

The entertainment commenced with the singing of 
the "Internationale," the hymn of the World Revolu- 
tion. The music of this song is as un-Russian, immelo- 
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 com- 
pelled 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 "Litemationale" but have 
inherited from their predecessors, or with national songs 
such as Yeh-Uhnenif or for that matter with any Russian 
folk-music, then the "Internationale" calls up a pictm-e 
of some abominable 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 accom- 
panist made up with bombastic pianistic flourishes for 
the silence of those who did not. 

Nothing could have afforded a more remarkable con- 
trast than the item that followed. It was an unaccom- 
panied quartette by f om- soldiers who sang a number of 
Russian folk-songs and one or two composed by the 
leader of the four. If you have not listened to the 



256 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Russian peasants of a summer evening singing to accom- 
pany 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 studiously rehearsed, 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 acting as master of ceremonies and 
who had to make a speech later, announced that they 
must get along with the progranmie. The contrast 
between Bolshevism and Russianism could never have 
been more strikingly illustrated than by this accidental 
sequence of the "Internationale" followed by Russian 
folk-songs. The former was an interpretation in sound 
of all the drab, monotonous imloveliness of the suppos- 
edly proletarian regime, the latter an interpretation 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 rose the agitator. The job of a professional 
agitator is a coveted one in Red Russia. A good agi- 
tator is regarded a^ a veiy important functionaiy, 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 f orcefid 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 



THE RED ARMY 267 

'* 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 this very time he was charged by the 
Bolsheviks themselves with theft), and possessed of 
pronoimced Hebrew features. His complexion was 
lustrous, his nose was aquiline and crooked, his mouth 
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 de- 
nunciation 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 on the bleeding backs of you, your wives, and your 
children they will ride themselves to wealth. We 
Communists only 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 prole- 
tarian World Revolution!" 

Having ended his speech he signalled to the accom- 
panist to strike up the "' Internationale." Then fol- 
lowed another strange contrast, one of those peculiar 
phenomena often met with in Russia, even in the Com- 
munist party* A modest, nervous, and gentle-looking 



258 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 ad- 
ministration 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 inesti- 
mable boon — ^but until the people dragged themselves 
out of the morass of ignorance they could not profit 
by its benefits. The 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 ditty would have been 
sadly out of place. The rest of the programme con- 
sisted of two stage performances, enacted by amateurs, 
the first one a light comedy, and the second a series of 
propagandist tableaux, depicting the sudden emancipa- 
tion of the worker by the Soviet Power, heralded by 
an angel dressed all in red. In one of these conu*ade 
Rykov proudly participated. In the concluding tab- 
leau 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 conunittees there is none, nor under 
"iron party discipline" ran there possibly be any. All 



f ULlL ^ 



RED ARMY 259 

Communist agitators repeat, parrot-like, the epithets 
and catch-phrases dictated from above. None the less, 
despite their crudity and one-sidedness, these com- 
mittees serve a positive purpose in the Red army. By 
the provision of entertainment the savagery of the sol- 
diery has been curbed and literacy promoted. If they 
were non-political and run by mteUigent people with 
the sole object of improving the minds of the masses 
they might be made a real instrument for the further- 
ance of education and culture. At present they are 
often grotesque. But representing an *' upward" 
trend, the cultural-enlightenment committees form 
a welcome contrast to the majority of Bolshevist insti- 
tutions. 



Our survey of the essential features of the Red 
army is now complete and may be summed up as 
f oUo ws : 

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 po- 
litical and administrative control, supplemented by 
' Special Departments of the Extraordinary Commission, 
Revolutionary Tribunals, and Special Commissions 
for Combating Desertion. 

3. — ^A network of Communist-controlled propagan- 
dist organizations called Cultural-Enlightenment Com- 



260 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

mitteeSy whose object is the entertaininent and edu- 
cation 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, Ttotzky. 
Its development has been rapid and is perhaps not 
yet complete. Trotzky would make of it an abso- 
lutely soul-less, will-less, obedient instrument which 
he may 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, 
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 con- 
spire against the Extraordinary Commission. Sec- 
ondly, 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. 

Hie 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 



THE RED ARMY 261 

uprising mi^t become a reality. Until such a figure 
arises it is not from outside pressure or internal mili- 
tarist conspiracies, but in the very heart and core 
of the Communist Party that we must look for the 
signs of decay of Bolshevism. Such signs are already 
coming to light, and must sooner or later lead to cata- 
clysmic developments — unless they are forestalled by 
what Pilsudski, the socialist president of the Polish 
Republic, foresees as a possibility. Pilsudski spent 
many years in exile in Siberia under the Tsar for 
revolutionary agitation 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. 
Such a point will not be reached as long as the 
peasant, successfully defying Bolshevist administra- 
tion, continues to produce sufficient for his own re- 
quirements. 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 Xn 

*'thb party" and thb 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 spirit- 
ual gulf separating the Communist party from 
the Russian people. I use the word ''spiritual" not 
in the sense of ''religious." The Russian equivalent, 
duhovnyy is more comprehensive, including the 
psychological, 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 rides 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 naturally will 
not be apparent to outsiders who visit the country 
to study the Bolshevist system from the very viewpoint 
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 



ccr 



THE PARTY'* AND THE PEOPLE 263 

to the sentiments of the Russian people, for their 
adherence appears to be based on the most un-Russian 
of all aspects of those doctrines, namely, their in- 
ternationalism. And this un-Russian, international 
aspect of Bolshevism is admittedly its prime charac- 
teristic. 

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 peoples, 
which is for peace, harmony, and neighbourliness. Not 
80 the immediate aspirations until the present time 
of the Bolsheviks, whose first principle is world-wide 
civil war between classes, and whose brandishing of 
the red flag siupasses that of the most rabid western 
chauvinists. Theirs is not true internationalism. 
Like their claim to represent 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 Inter- 
national 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 
is Commune discredited it, and it was followed by 



264 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

the Second, which confined itself to international labour 
interests. The Third International was founded in 
Moscow in the first week of March, 1919, amid cir- 
cumstances of great secrecy 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 Fetrograd, 
" 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 cacoph- 
ony 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 anticipated. Some of them 
were even effeminate in appearance. Only Zinoviev, 
the president, with his bushy dishevelled hair, looked 
like an unrepentant schoolboy amid a group of delin- 
quents caught red-handed in some unauthorized prank. 



•THE PARTY*' AND THE PEOPLE 265 

The orators, with chattering teeth, sang in divers 
tongues the praises of the Red r^me. 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 
step. They predicted the immediate advent of the 
world revolution and the early establishment of Bol- 
shevism in every country. They all perorated 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 
accompaniment of the inevitable ''Litemationale." 

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 pres- 
ent Soviet Grovemment is Russia alone. It would 
seem as if the Third International, with its su- 
perior powers and scope and with firebrands like 
Zinoviev and Trotzky at its helm, must override the 



266 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Moscow government. In practice, however, this is 
not so. For the hard logic of facts has now proved 
to the Moscow government that the theories which 
the Third International was created to propagate are 
largely wrong and unpracticable, and they are being 
repudiated by the master mind of Lenin, the head of 
the home government. Thus two factions have 
grown 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, standing for world-revolution for ever 
and no truck with the bourgeoisie of capitalistic 
states. Hitherto the majority in the party have 
swung to the side of Lenin, as is not unnatural, for 
very few rank-and-file Conmiunists really care about 
the world revolution, having no conception of what it 
implies. And 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* cooperation, 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- 



« 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 267 



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 despotism, 
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 
system which was rapidly reducing the city to a state 
of starvation. Hoping the storm would blow over, 
the Bolshevist authorities allowed it for a time to run 
its course, endeavouring to appease the workers by 
an issue of rations increased at the expense of the rest 
of the population. The latter measure only intensified 
the workers' indignation, while the hesitation of the 
Bolsheviks to employ force encouraged them in their 
protests. Unauthorized meetings and processions in- 
creased in frequency, the strikes spread to every fac- 
tory in the city, speakers became more violent, and 
all sorts of jokes were made publicly at the expense of 
the Bolsheviks. Ambling 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: 

Dolai Lenina s koninoi, 
Daitje tsarya 8 svininoi, 

which being interpreted means: "Down with Lenin 
and horseflesh, give us a tsar and pork!*' 
As the distiu'bances developed, typewritten leaf- 



268 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 cooperative 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 inmiediate release 
of numerous workers' representatives. 

I knew of this resolution the day of the meeting, 
because some friends of mine were present at it. The 
proceedings were enthusiastic in the extreme. The 
Bolsheviks did not mind that much, however, 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 of Miliukoff against Rasputin in the Duma 
was secretly distributed from hand to hand, then 
the Bolsheviks saw things were going too far and took 
urgent 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 de- 
clared 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 



ttfTTTD 



THE PAKTY" AND THE PEOPLE 269 

in their stead. This process is always simple enough 
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 A£Fairs 
of the British Laboiur 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 es- 
pecially of their wives, was terrific. The resolutions 
having spread all over the city, you could already 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. Be- 
sides numerous varieties, it contained a large theatre 
where the same dramatic works were produced as in 
the state theatres, and the biggest opera house in 



«70 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Russia, where the Russian peasant Shaliapin» 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 often used 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: Ffwn 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 Lux- 
embourg and Karl Liebknecht." Containing the larg- 
est auditorium in Russia, this building is now fre- 
quently used for special celebrations. As a rule, on such 
occasions only the Communist Slite and special dele- 
gates 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 bayo^ 
nets. The former Tsar, when last he visited it, drove 
up in an open carrioge. Not so the new ^^Tsar," the 
president of the workers' republic, whose moment of 
arrival was a secret and who arrived literally hedged 
round with a special bodyguard of Red cadets. 

The audience was a picked one, consisting of the 
principal Commimist organs of the city and delegates 
of organizations such as trade unions, teachers, and 



<«»Trrri3i 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 271 

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 ap- 
plause 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 be- 
trayed 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 indi£Ferent ! 
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 style. That 
of Trotzky, . with poised, well-finished, well-reasoned 
phrases, is volcanic, fierily hypnotic : that of Zinoviev, 
torrential, scintillating with cheap witticisms, devoid 
of original ideas, but brilliant in form and expression; 
that of Lunacharsky, violent, yet nobly and patheti- 
cally 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 posses- 
ses something the others do not possess. Cold and ! 
calculating, he is not actuated to the extent Zinoviev i 
and Trotzky are by venom against political opponents ] 
and the bourgeoisie. On the contrary, despite his j 
speeches, which are often nothing more than necessary j 
pandering to the cruder instincts of his colleagues. 



272 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

Lenin (himself an ex-Iandlord) has never ceased to 
believe not only that the Russian bourgeoisie as a 
class are 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 conunittees 
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 
conceding 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 
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 laboiu^, abstruse, and free from rhetorical 
flourish, is straightforward and, to his little-thinking 
Communist audiences, carries persuasion that he must 
be right. But the ** right" refers not to ethics, which 
does not enter into Bolshevist philosophy, but only to 
tactics. 

On the occasion I am describing also Lenin spoke 
mainly of tactics. The vicious Mensheviks and So- 



«< 



THE PARTY" AND TECE PEOPLE 27S 



dalist-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 piupose 
of transporting forced supplies of food to the northern 
capital. 

Of the results of these so-called "freight weeks" 
little need be said beyond the fact that the experiment 
was never repeated on account of its complete failure 
to solve the problem. For though the government 
supplies did indeed very slightly increase, the popu- 
lation in the end was much hungrier than before for 
the very simple reason that the stoppage of the pas- 
senger traffic materially interfered with the ebb and 
flow of "sackmen," upon whose illicit and risky oper- 
ations 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 remove a large draft 
of workers to other industrial centres in the interior^ 



274 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

tliiis reducing their numbers. 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 admis- 
sion. They returned, foiled, to their factories and ob- 
served to their comrades that *Mt was easier to approach 
the Tsar Nicholas than it was to gain access to the 
president of the *Soviet Republic'.'* What, I wondered, 
would the Third International have thought of such 
words? 



After the experiment of the "freight weeks," the 
next expedient resorted to, when the selfsame 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 lbs.) of bread per head. 
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 not 
unnaturally 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 jomneyed back, jealously 
clutching their sacks of bread. I happened to be 



"THE PARTY*' AND THE PEOPLE 276 

travelling to Moscow at this time and the sight of 
swanns of wretched *Hwo-pooders» " filling all the 
cars and clambering on the roofs and buffers, was a 
pitiftd one indeed. But just at the moment when 
it seemed as if a genuine solution of the food problem 
in the capitals had been found» ""two-pooding" was 
smnmarily cut short by government edict on the 
ground that the congestion of the railways rendered 
impossible the transport of the government's sup- 
plies. 

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 this year, the fateful 
step was taken. Against considerable opposition from 
his followers Lenin publicly repudiated the communis- 
tic system of forced requisitions and with certain 
restrictions restored the principle of freedom in the 
buying and selling of food. 

This step was a policy of desperation but it is the 
most important event since the Bolshevist coup ffHai 
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 
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 



276 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

opponents from prison and invite their cooperation — 
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 hu- 
manity in general, is completely subservient 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 sole 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 to the Bolsheviks is aU in all, 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 Bolshevist sophists have been talking 
themselves blue since Lenin's announcement in the 
endeavour to prove to home and foreign followers that 
the chameleon has not and never will change its colour. 
"Free trading," they say, "is only a temporary un- 
avoidable evil." Temporary? But can any one who 
believes in human nature conceive of a possible return 
to the system Lenin has discarded? 



One day there occurred in Petrograd a startling 
event that would have made foreign protagonists 



« 



THE PARTY*' AND THE PEOPLE 277 



of proletarian dictatorship, had they been present, sit 
bolt upright and diligently scratch their heads. 

A re-registration of the party had taken 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 reSntry was that every member 
should be sponsored for his political reliability, not 
only upon admission but in perpetuity, by two others. 
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 
Conununists, 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. 

Inmiediately 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 half was a totally unexpected blow. Its bitter- 
ness was enhanced by the fact that only three weeks 
earlier, by means of threats, bribes, trickery, and vio- 
lence, 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 vitally urgent problem arose of how to increase 
the party membership. With this end in view a 
novel and ingenious idea was suddenly conceived. 



278 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

It was resolved to make ai¥ appeal for party recruits 
among the workers! Amazing though it may seem, 
according to their own utterances the Conununist 
leaders thought of this course only as a last resort. 
To the outsider this must seem 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 Volo- 
darsky and Uritzky, the former by unknown workmen 
and the latter by a Socialist-Revolutionary Jew, the 
Communists had come to regard the workers on the 
whole as an unreliable element, strongly under Men- 
shevist 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, were left, and the persecution 
to which their spokesmen were constantly subjected 
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 Conmiunist, is 
described by the Communists as *' workman bour- 
geois." Though the latter were often self-seekers 
and were regarded by the workers in general as snobs, 
they were a better element than the saOors, who 



« 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 279 



with few exceptions were ruffians. Further recruits 
were drawn from amongst people of most varied 
and indefinite type — ^yardkeepers, 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 Conmiunists of the lower 
ranks resembled ogresses. 

In 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 Co9?i- 
munist inspired fear and secured admission and pref- 
erence everywhere. Before it every barrier fell. 
Of course endless abuses arose, one of which was the 
sale of the reconmiendations required for membership. 
As workers showed no inclination to join, it was self- 
seekers for the most part who got in, purchasing their 
reconmiendations 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 ap- 
plicants. 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 theoret- 
ical 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 



280 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

their audiences, consisting of very youthful workers 
or office employees lured into attendance by an extra 
half pound of bread issued after each lecture. The 
course was irksome, involving sacrifice of leisure 
horn's, and the number of ideiny ("idealistic") ap- 
plicants was too smaU to permit rigorous discipline. 
The training schools were gradually superseded by 
Communist dubs, devoting their attention to concerts 
and lectures, 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. 

S 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, in- 
volving tests of loyalty and submission to party dis- 
cipline. It was the prerogative only of the third 
category to bear arms. It was to them that pref- 
erence was given in all appointments to posts of res- 
ponsibility. 

One source there is, upon which the Bolsheviks 
can rely for new drafts with some confidence. 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 



••THE PARTY** AND THE PEOPLE 981 

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. 
It is the object of these colonies to protect the young 
minds from pernicious non-Conmiunist influence and 
so to instil Bolshevist ideology that by the time they 
reach adolescence they will be incapable of imbibing 
any other. 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. Per- 
sonally I am inclined to think that, when not defeated 
by the misery of insanitation and neglect, the propa- 
gandist aims will be largely coimteracted by the silent 
but inevitably benevolent influence of the self-sacri- 
ficing intellectuals (doctors, matrons, and nurses) 
whose services cannot be dispensed with in the running 
of them. 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 excur- 
sions, supplementary rations and issues of sweetmeats, 
processioning, flag-waving, and speechmaking at pub- 
lic ceremonies, is stfll the most reliable source of 
recruits to the Communist party. 

It will be readily realized that the party consisted of 
a heterogeneous 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 



282 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

completely forgotten the workers, and a great cam- 
paign was opened to draw them into the party. ''The 
watchword *Open the party doors to the workers*/* 
wrote Pravda on July 25, 1019, ''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 
long proclamation to toilers explaining who the Com- 
munists were, and their objects. 

"The Bolshevist party,** said he, "was not bom 
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 consists also 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 pui^^ our 
ranks. We have ejected those who in our opinion 
did not merit the grand 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 people 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. We call all who are willing to sacrifice 



ccfirrrci 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 283 

themselves for the working-class. Strengthen and 
hdp the only party in the world that leads the workers 
to liberty!'' 

With all formalities such as probationary stages 
removed, and difiSdent candidates magnanimously 
assured that if only they joined 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 
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 voice heard. I find that those who warn against 
a coming pogrom of Jews as a result of the evils of 
Bolshevism are liable often to meet with the reception 
of a Cassandra. Unfortunately, I fear such an occur- 
rence to be inevitable if no modifying foreign influence 
is at hand in the country, and it will be fanned by old- 
r6gimists the world over. It wiU 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 r61es in Russia's democratic institutions, 
such as the cooperative societies and land and town 
unions, which the Bolsheviks have suppressed. 



I 284 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 



The higher orders of the party, whether Jew or 
Russian, consist of the same Ifttle 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 
elements who of their own free will and in considerable 
numbers would willingly join the party were "un- 
desirables," while a large proportion even of those 
workers who were coaxed into it were but indi£Ferent 
Communists, the tendency grew to make of the party 
a closed corporation subject to merciless discipline, 
the members of which though enjoying material 
privileges should have no will of their own, while 
undesirables should be deterred by the imposition 
upon aU members of arduous duties. Such is the 
position in the capitals at the present time. The 
"iron party discipline" is needed also for another 
reason besides that of barring black sheep. With 
demoralization, famine, and misery on the increase, 
insubordinate whisperings and questions are arising, 
even within the party, especially since the exacerbating 
factor of war has disappeared. These questionings 
are growing in force and a£Fect 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 all his own in opposition to the 
moderate and compromising tendencies of Lenin. The 
feud between them has been relieved temporarily by 
assigning to Trotzky a dominant rdle in the promotion 



"THE PARTY'* AND THE PEOPLE 285 

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 Commimists 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? Let 
me very briefly describe the election and a single 
meeting of the Soviet of Petrograd whose sittings I 
attended. 

There are people who still ask: What exactly is a 
"soviet"? — 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: "coimsel" 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. 



286 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

According to the original idea, even as propounded 
at one time by the Bolsheviks, the political soviet or 
council should be a representative body to 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, 
coimty, provincial, etc.)» until a central soviet is con- 
structed, electing in its turn a cabinet of People's 
Conmiissars, responsible to a periodically convened 
Congress. This system exists on paper at this day, 
but its validity in 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 law in any 
case is limited and has the effect of disenfranchising 
four out of every five peasants. A few non-Bolsheviks 
none the less 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, suppressing 
all free Soviets, maintain the farce of elections at all, 
since they cause a lot of bother. "Soviets," how- 
ever, in some form or other, even fictitious, are in- 
dispensable in order that the government may con- 
tinue 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 restoration, side by side with the 
free cooperative societies, of the soviet system which 



€<r 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 287 

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 Communists may residt in 
a healthy effort to set the Soviets in some form at 
work for the first time. If this book served no other 
purpose than to impress this vitally important fact 
upon the reader, I should feel I had 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 carding principle of the Bol- 
shevist programme. The argument, so typical of Bol- 
shevist reasoning, now put forward in justification 
of its abolition, is that secret voting would be dis- 
crepant in a proletarian republic that has become 
"free." 

For this reason, the number of Communists who 
are elected without opposition is very considerable, 
and, strangely enough, it is upon the boiurgeoisie, 
engaged in the multifarious clerical tasks of the over- 
burdened bureaucratic administration, that the author- 
ities are able to rely for 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, for the halcyon days of March, 



288 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

1917, before the Bolsheviks returned, were the only 
time they have known liberty. But at the elections 
of that period there was little or no controversy, and 
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 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 Bolshevist press, 
and having at one time been connected with this 
theatre I was interested to elucidate the circum- 
stances. 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 till 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 after- 
wards that any election had taken place! 

Not to the passive bourgeoisie but to the active 
workers do the Bolsheviks look for opposition in the 
cities. It is to coimteract 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 a fresh 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 at each factory or other in- 
stitution was permitted and the printed instructions 



«<r 



THE PARTY** AND THE PEOPLE 289 

stated it must be controlled by CommunistSy who 
were to put forward their candidates first. Every- 
where where there had been disturbances guards were 
introduced to maintain order during the meeting, and 
spies of the Extraordinary Commission were sent to 
note who, if anyone, raised their hand against the 
Communist candidates. At the Obuhov works the 
workers were told straight that any who voted against 
the Communists would be dismissed without the 
right of employment elsewhere. At the Putilov 
works the election meeting was held without being 
announced^ so that scarcely any one was present. 
Next day the Putilov men heard to their amazement 
that they had unanimously elected some twenty 
Communists to the soviet! 

In the district where I was living the Jewish agi- 
tator of whom I have 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 Commimists. The recep- 
tion 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 denounced as counter- 
revolutionary, the entire populace, except for a few 
intrepid individuals, who courageously proclaimed 
their adherence to non-Bolshevist socialist parties, 
sheltered behind the title of ^' non-partisan," and hav- 
ing no programme to put forward but anti-Conmiunist, 
put none forward at all. To put one forward was 
impossible anyway, for the printing press, the right 
of free speech, and the right to use firearms (which 



«90 BED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

played a great part) were confined exclusively to Com- 
munists. 

But 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 00 to 82 per cent. 

On the opening day of the Soviet, armed with the 
mandate 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, 1017. There was no 
such enthusiasm now as there had been then. No, 
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 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 unpunctuality, 
I remember an occasion in 1018 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 pub- 
lic lecture on science by ai) American professor. I 



as 
i.s 



e >>§> 
ill 

.SB'S 



SE-IS 

•= e s -■ 

£2 a it 






"THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 291 

received an official invitation to appear at the soviet 
at 5 p. M. to explain my object in detail. I attended 
punctually. At 5 :S0 the first deputy strolled in and, 
seeing no one there, asked me when the sitting would 
b^in. 

I was invited for 6 o'clock," I replied. 
Yes," he said, "five 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 conu*ade in the 
street." 

To-day's soviet meeting at Petrograd, scheduled 
for 5, began at 9, but there were extenuating circum- 
stances. The still-discontented workmen had been 
invited during the day to listen to Zinoviev who 
strove to pacify them by conceding their fiu'lough, 
which on account of the war had been cancelled. 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 has been altered with 
improvements. The wall behind the tribune where 
the portrait of the Tsar used to hang has been re- 
moved and a deep alcove made seating over 100 
people, where the executive committee and special 
guests sit. The executive conunittee numbers 40 



292 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

people and constitutes a sort of cabinet, doing all 
the legislation. Its members are always Communists. 
The soviet proper never takes part in legislation. By 
its character, and especially by the manner in which 
its sittings are held, it is impossible that it should. 
The number of deputies is over 1,S00, an unwieldy 
body in which discussion is difficult in any case, but 
to make it completely impossible niunerous guests 
are invited from other organizations of a Communist 
character. By this means the audience is doubled. 
And one must still add the chauffeurs, street-car con- 
ductors, and general servants of the bmlding who 
also find their way in. Everybody takes part in the 
voting, no discrimination being made between members 
and bidden or imbidden guests. 

At nine 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 meeting the 
room was full of smoke. Together with others I 
doffed my coat and, removing my belt, pulled up 
my shirt and flapped it up and down by way of venti* 
lation. 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 dishevelled 
little creature who seemed much embarrassed at h» 
surroundings. Every time any one rose to speak 
she asked me who it was. While we waited for pro- 
ceedings to b^gin she confided, in answer to my ques- 



(( 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 293 



tion, that she was a guest, like myself. ''I signed 
on recently as a 'sympathizer'," she said. 

Suddenly there was a burst of applause. A well- 
known figure with bushy hair and Jewish features 
entered and strolled nonchalantly up to the tribune. 
"That is Zinoviev," I said to 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 Evdoki- 
mov, the secretary," I said to my companion, to which 
she replied profoundly, "Ah!" 

An orchestra stationed in one comer of the hall struck 
up the " Internationale." Everyone rose. Another or- 
chestra up in the balcony also struck up the "Inter- 
nationale," but two beats later and failed to catch up. 
You listened 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 to be elected to the executive 
committee." He read out forty names, all Commun- 
ists. "Those in favour raise hands." A sea of hands 
rose. "Who is against?" To the general excitement 
a number of hands were raised — ^an unheard-of event 
for many a month. "Accepted by large majority," 
exclaimed the secretary. 

"The Communist party," he continued, "proposes 
the following to be elected to the presidium." He 
read the names of seven Conununists, including his 
own. About half a dozen hands were raised against 
this proposal, to the general amusement. 

"The Communist party proposes comrade Zinoviev 



294 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

to be president of the soviet,*' proceeded the secretary 
in heightened tones. There was a storm of applause. 
One single hand was raised in opposition and was 
greeted with hilarious laughter. Zinoviev advanced 
to the presidential chair and the orchestras struck 
up the "Internationale." The election of the ex- 
ecutive oommittee, the presidium, 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 1,890 
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 Fetrograd would remain 
true to itself and return only the best representatives 
to the soviet, 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 rascal Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries 
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 bourgeois 
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 to victory* 
Long live the Communist International!" 



"THE PARTY'* AND THE PEOPLE 295 

He ended amidst tremendous cheering. During 
his speech the '^Internationale" was played three 
times and at its conclusion twice more. 

Then Zinoviev proposed a novel motion. He in- 
vited discussion. There was a distinct tendency 
in view of the increase of the non-partisan element 
in the soviet to invite the latter's cooperation — ^under 
strict control, of course, of the Communists. The 
permission of discussion, however, was easy to under- 
stand 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 business-like 
looking Uttle 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 general proceedings with undue levity. 
When the plump Badaev mounted the tribime they 
nudged each other and one of them said, referring to 
the graded categories into which the populace is 



296 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

divided for purposes of provisioning: ''Look! what 
a tub! Ask him what food category he belongs to" — 
at which little pleasantry they both giggled convul- 
sively 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. Though the soup was bad, he said in 
effect, the Communist provisioning apparatus would 
be the most perfect in the world. He admitted abuses 
in the commimal kitchens. Communists, he ac- 
knowledged 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, after midnight 
the audience became languid. Periodically the "Inter- 
nationale" was played. ' Toward the end many 
people lolled over the desks with their heads on their 
arms. Like schoolchildren, they were not allowed 
to leave before the end except upon some valid pre- 
text. 

At last the "Internationale" was played for the 
very last time while the men did up their loosened 
belts and donned their coats. The audience streamed 
out into the cool summer air. My head ached vio- 
lently. 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 greeou 



€€ 



THE PARTY" AND THE PEOPLE 297 



I looked at the water and leaning over the parapet 
laid my throbbing temples against the cold stone. 

A militiaman touched my arm. ''Who are you?" 
he demanded. 

"I come from the soviet." 

"Your mandate?" 

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, like those, snowy white, but Red, Red, 
Red. 



CHAPTER Xm 

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 fron- 
tier secretly, but officially, by the Bolshevist author- 
ities 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. Fighting, however, unexpectedly 
broke out on the Finnish frontier, the regiment 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 
th6 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 




ESCAPE C 299 



uniform and I was to pose as the disguised British 
admiral. Then, instead of stopping at Cronstadt, 
we diould steam past the fort and escape, imder the 
soviet flag and using soviet signals, to Finland. If 
the captain smelt a rat a revolver would doubtless 
quiet his plfactory 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 reorgani- 
zation, 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 flee out of 
the city and hide for some nights in a cemetery. Hav- 
ing got wind of my difficulties, the British Govern- 
ment 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 50 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 difficidties were almost insurmountable, but 
on the fourth night I succeeded, with a Russian mid- 
shipman, in procuring a fishing boat and setting out 
secretly from a secluded spot on the northern shore. 
But the weather had been bad, a squaU arose, our 
boat was unwieldy and rode the waves badly. My 



SOO RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

companion behaved heroically and it was due to his 
superior seamanship that the boat remained afloat as 
long as it did. It was finally completely overwhelmed, 
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 day- 
Ught. 

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 de- 
tachments, 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 *kiUed\" 

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 arUllery 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 mig^t 
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 



ESCAPE SOI 

boxer, expert marksman, a Hercules and sportsman in 
every sense and a boon 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. 

The first night we travelled for eleven hours in 
the lobby of a passenger car. The train was already 
packed when we got on, 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 me 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 reconnoitred, 
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. 



802 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

we had been encountered by 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 sus- 
picion became intensified with all three of us to the 
force of a terrible conviction when, alter a second 
reconnoitre, we learned that our car was the particu- 
larly suspected one. We occupied with two other 
men a half compartment 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 incriminating nature. They were concealed 
in a bag of salt, through the sides of which the packets 
slightly protruded. The bag of salt would most cer- 
tainly be opened to see what was in it. Otu* 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 coiu'se 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?" 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 



ESCAPE 808 

that followed. Calmly though my two friends resigned 
themselves to what appeared to be an inevitable fate, 
I was quite unable to follow their example. I, per- 
sonally, might not be shot — ^not at once at any rate — 
but diould 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 from the 
outset of the risk, when the fatal moment came and 
I knew there was 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 ex- 
amination of their belongings, and the scrutiny of 
seats, racks, and cushions, gradually approached our 
end of the coach. From the other half of our com- 
partment 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 



S04 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 slidden under the 
seat. As if in a dream, we pushed out with the last 
of the crowd, moved hastily along the platform, and 
dived into the hustling mass of soldiers and peasant 
men and women filling the waiting room. Here only 
we spoke to each other. The same words came — 
mechanically and drily, as if unreal: **They overlooked 
usr 

Then we lauded. 

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 our- 
selves 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 



ESCAPE 805 



i€ 



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 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, 
supported, 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 Communists and Jews" to "own up." They 
were shown up readily enough by the other Red soldiers 
and shot 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 — "which- 
ever 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 



S06 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

the knees and sometimes nearly wust-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 bailed 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 
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 bailed. 
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 wiU 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 ajBSiction of 
Russia with one of her periodical famine scourges, 
an event which cannot fail to affect the country po- 
litically 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 dependent 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,"^ "'the gulf between the governors 

^PttUiabed in the New Yofk Times, August M. 1021. 

807 



808 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

and the governed," is growing ever wider. Many 
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 Com- 
munists 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 subsequent casuistic 
tortuosities, has demonstrated the ability, so rarely 
possessed by modem politicians, honestly and frankly 
to confess that the policy he had inaugurated was to- 
tally wrong. The creation of the Third International 
was perhaps inevitable, embodying as it does the 
essentials of the Bolshevist creed, but it was a fatal 
step. If the present administration lays any claim 
to be a Russian government, then the Third Inter- 
national is its enemy. Even in June, 1921, at the 
very time when the Soviet Government was con- 
sidering its appeal to western philanthropy, 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 dedared to be inevitable between 
Great Britain and France, and Great Britain and the 



CONCLUSION 309 

United States! But there are Communists who are will- 
ing to put Russia firsts overshadowed though they often 
be by the International; and the extent to which the 
existing organized administration may be utilized to 
assist in the alleviation of suffering and a bloodless 
transition to sane government 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, Bol- 
shevist invitations to non-Bolshevist experts to function 
on administrative bodies, especially in the capitals, 
began as I have already pointed out at an early date. 
For one reason or other, sometimes under compulsion, 
sometimes voluntarily, many of these invitations have 
been accepted. Jealously supervised by the Com- 
mimist party, experts who are anything but Com- 
munists hold important posts in government de- 
partments. They will obviously be better versed 
in the exigencies of the internal situation than out- 
siders. 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 
oiganizations — the entire paraphernalia of the Third 



810 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

International and its department of propaganda, far 
instance, and, of course, the Extraordinary Com- 
mission — ^that must be consigned bag and baggage 
to the rubbish heap. 

I have always emphasized the part silently and 
self-sacrificingly played by a considerable section of 
the intellectual class who have never fled from Russia 
to harbours of safety, but 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 opportimity 
to alleviate distress. Their unselfish labours have 
restored even some of the soviet departments, par- 
ticularly such as are completely non-political in char- 
acter, to a state of considerable efficiency. 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 Pro- 
tection of Children, which combined a number of 
philanthropic institutions and waged war on juvenile 



CONCLUSION 811 

criminality. As a private non-State and bourgeois in- 
stitution its activities were suppressed by the Bolshe- 
viksy 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 main- 
tained by special effort in a condition of relative cleanli- 
ness, but the majority, according to the published state- 
ments of the Bolsheviks, 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 Chil- 
dren 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 recommen- 
dations suggested were accepted by the rulers, but the 
significance lies in the fact that, notwithstanding per- 
secution, 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 reestablished, to recommence 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, unorganized, 
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 



812 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

influence from outside, in tlie 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 
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 when- 
ever he is drawn into the hated region of party poli- 
tics. So great indeed is the aversion of the bourgeois 
intellectual 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 which other 
occupants of the house in the interests of self -protection 
tightly closed and barred lest infection leak out. But 
infection has constanty leaked out, and if it has been 
virulent it is only because the longer and tighter the 



CONCLUSION 813 

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 
outgrown the world's ability to solve it, Russia must 
for years to come be primarily a humanitarian prob- 
lem, to be approached from the humanitarian stand- 
point. 

There are many who fear that even now the faction 
of the Third International will surely seek to ex- 
ploit 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 
philanthropy shall conceal a dagger such as was 
secreted behind the olive branch to western cap- 
italism. Has not the Third International to this 
day persistently proclaimed its intention to conspire 
against the very governments with which the Bol- 
sheviks 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 under- 
standing of the psychology of western workers is 
amazing, and its appeals are astonishingly illogical. 
To kill it, let it talk. 



314 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 volun- 
tarily 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 
the more non-political, disinterested, and all-embracing 
that kindness, the geater will be its effect. With 
the supplanting of the spirit of political bigotry by 
that of human sympathy many rank and file Com- 
mimistSy attracted to the party in their ignor- 
ance by its deceptive catch-phraseology and the 
energy, resolution, and hypnotic influence of its 
leaders, will realize with the rest of Russia and with 
the whole world that Bolshevism is politically a des- 
potism, 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 Uberally 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 as abused a word as ''bourgeois,'' ^'proletariat," or 
"soviet." If it means stepping backward, a certain 



CONCLUSION 815 

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 
be, and the maximum of possible reaction must still 
leave the country transformed beyond recognition. 
This would stiU 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 Bol- 
shevik alike, on a basis of private ownership. By 
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 folksongs 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 Revo- 
lution, 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 



S16 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

and inconsistent Bolshevist protestations. When this 
veiled threat is eliminated and the peasant comes 
fully into his own I am convinced that he will be f omid 
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 
things: first, on Jewish brains; secondly, on Lettish 
and Chinese bayonets; and thirdly, on the crass 
stupidity of the Russian people." 

This incident eminently betrays the true sentiments 
of the Bolshevist leaders toward the Russians. They 
despise the people over whom they rule. They regard 
themselves 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 sjrmpathies. The kernel 
of the Russian tragedy lies not in the brutality of 
the Extraordinary Commission, nor even in the sup- 
pression of every form of freedom, but in the fact 
that the Revolution, which dawned so auspiciously and 
promised so much, has actuaUy given Russia a govern- 



CONCLUSION 317 

ment 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 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 preferably to the White is based upon the 
conviction, imiversal throughout Russia, that the 
Red is a merely passing phenomenon. Human nature 
decrees this, but there was no such guarantee against 
the Yl/hites 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 soul, but you cannot on this account call 
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 senses 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 can- 
not call a people stupid who in a single century have 



818 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

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 
Scriabine 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 in- 
spiration if not from the conunon 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 unpracticahiess, 
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 corruption at Court 
and treachery in highest military circles were leading 
Russia to perdition, the provisioning 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 Co6perative Societies. The almost in- 
credible success of the Russian cooperative move- 
ment 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 



CONCLUSION 819 

mushroom growth, as did the Russian coSperatives, 
defects are bound to arise. The fact remains that 
by the time the Revolution came, the Russian cooper- 
ative societies were not only supplying the army but 
also providing for the needs of almost the entire nation 
with an eflSiciency unsurpassed in any other country. 

The Bolsheviks waged a ruthless and desperate 
war against public cooperation. The Cooperative 
Unions represented an organ independent of the 
State and could therefore not be tolerated imder a 
Commimist regime. But, like religion, cooperation 
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 cooperative so- 
cieties to help them out, especially in direct dealings 
with the peasantry. So that, although free coopera- 
tion 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 cooperative leaders are released from prison. 
There are many ways of reducing the Russian problem 
to simple terms, and not the least apt is a struggle 
between Cooperation and Coercion. 

A deeper significance is attached in Russia to the 
word ^^Cooperation" than is usual in western coimtries. 
The Russian Cooperative Unions up to the time 
when the Bolsheviks seized power by no means limited 
their activities to the mere acquisition and distri- 
bution of the first necessities of life. They had also 
their own press organs, independent and well-informed, 
they were opening scholastic establishments, public 
libraries and reading rooms, and they were organizing 



820 RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

departments of Public Health and Welfare. Russian 
Co5peration 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 ex- 
hortation to do unto others as you would that they 
should do to you. This comprehensive and idealistic 
movement was the nearest expression yet manifested 
of the Russian social ideal, and I believe that» what- 
ever the outward form of the future constitution of 
Russia may be, in essence it will resolve itself into a 
Cooperative 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 emotion- 
alism. Emotionalism is the strongest trait of the 
Russian character and it manifests itself most often, 
especially in the peasantry, in religion. The cal- 
culated 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 privil^ed 
ranks for ^'tarnishing the reputation of the party." 
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 me bourgeoisie, who 
it was thought were growing indifferent to religion. 
This is not the first time that under national affliction 



CONCLUSION 821 

the Russian people have sought solace m 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 re- 
currence 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 
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 



Sii RED DUSK AND THE MORROW 

during these dark years of affliction the Russian peas- 
ant 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 still see dawn ahead, 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-<ieprecation, 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 philosophers 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 ponicdj; 
Arahinom obshchym nie izmieriij; 
U niei osobiennaya sUUj — 
V Rossiu mozhno iolko 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