Chapter XXVIII: The United States in Asia 316 (2)

“Then how can you expect a man with money, which is capital, to come here and build a factory, if it is likely it would be burned?”

He pondered this. “We might only take it away from him,” he decided.

“But Americans do not go round building factories if they are going to be burned, or taken away by the workers.”

“Why not,” he asked. “All Americans are rich. They ought to build factories for the poor people, to give them work. You do it in America.”

“But a factory to keep running, must make a profit.”

“We do not believe in profits,” he said, his face lighting up at the happy thought that he had met my arguments.

“I do not believe you need worry much about them,” I retorted, and left him scratching his head.

As we proceeded north, stopping occasionally at vast wood-piles to replenish our engine, we crossed limitless plains.

I had a paper from home. It contained an editorial on the menace of famine in Siberia. I read it. Then I looked out of the window--and tears came to my eyes. Famine! There it was! From horizon to horizon, on either side of the train, stretched vast plains dotted with shocks of wheat--unthreshed wheat.

The sight of that wheat made me shudder. It reminded me of the fact that the people at home, bless their Christmas-tree souls, were conserving wheat, and sending some to the starving proletariat of Siberia to cure them of Bolshevism. What the various governments struggling with the problem did not realize was that the Siberians were also conserving wheat! For the shocks I saw were not a one-year crop. On those plains were stacked up the crops of two years!

Some wheat had been threshed. Now and then, near stations, I saw it piled up in sacks--acres of sacks, ten high. The top sacks, as a rule, were rotten, having been there for months. “_Nitchyvo!_ The Americanskys have come, and all will be well.” The drosky-drivers fed their horses freely from the piled grain. The field mice had established their winter homes in the piles, thus realizing some of the benefits of Bolshevism.

Why, you ask, was this wheat not moved? The station sidings were indeed full of freight cars. But refugees were living in those cars. In other cars Allied troops were quartered. Troops being moved required cars. Allied commissions travelling up and down for political or military reasons used any remaining engines. Naturally the wheat could not be moved!

Our train reached Khabarovsk about two o’clock in the morning, and we remained in the cars till mess. Then the troops were turned out in full kit, and carrying their bulky barrack-bags stuffed with all their belongings, we began the march to the Russian barracks some three miles distant.

It was a warm and sunny morning. The roofs of the city became visible as we tramped up toward the high ground, covered with the brick barracks built by the Russian army, and beyond the town shone the wide reaches of the Amur River. The city had been captured from Bolshevist forces but a month before, and the Twenty-seventh Infantry, under command of Lieutenant-Colonel Morrow had hastened to get into action with the Japanese, but arrived too late. The Bolshevist forces resisted up to a certain point, and then melted away. They became peasants working in the fields--and the Japanese asked these peasants where the Bolshevists were!

So although Khabarovsk was accustomed to a large Russian garrison in normal times, and had already become accustomed to the American doughboy, our column attracted considerable attention. And I was sorry that transportation had not been arranged for the men’s heavy bags, which they packed on their shoulders in addition to their regular marching kits, for six hundred men bent under baggage, struggling up the hilly roads, do not present an inspiring spectacle.

We Americans in foreign parts do not seem to care anything for the psychology of the land in which we are operating; we are intensely practical, and entirely too sure that the American way of doing things is the best way, and take no account of the effect we may create upon foreign peoples--overlooking the fact that first impressions are most vital.

Now Asia is a land in which the bearing of burdens marks one of the lowest caste. The Siberian is Asiatic in his viewpoint, being so closely in touch with China and Manchuria. And, as in China, to be seen carrying heavy burdens when there is no necessity for it, means that a man’s standing is ruined; no matter how smartly he may dress, or how decently he may comport himself, or what he may do to show his superiority after he has been seen at what is considered debasing toil, the Asiatic never forgets that this foreigner has been a bearer of burdens. He carries forever that impression in the back of his head, on occasion dares to be insolent, and judges by that standard all people of that race.

And to go into Siberia, with an army, claiming to be a democracy in which all men are free and equal, yet with men who are “conscripts” in the sense understood by Asia, and then display those “conscripts” doing the work of pack-animals, is most confusing to the Siberian, the Cossack, the Chinese, and Japanese. They cannot understand our assertion that all are equal, or that many men of the United States have willingly responded to a “draft,” and are willingly submitting themselves to the orders of their officers in order to maintain freedom and equality. We say one thing, and demonstrate another. I once tried to explain this phenomenon of all serving the common cause, some in the ranks and some as officers, to a keen Chinese servant who had been in Hong Kong and knew English well. When I had finished, he looked at me, and reaching for the skillet to fry some eggs, remarked, sagely: “You talk lie.”

If the regimental band had been at the station that morning in Khabarovsk, and the heavy baggage left to be hauled by wagons, and the men had marched to the barracks under arms with swinging strides and heads up, it would have been worth several million dollars to the United States in Asia--and worth much to the men themselves. It would have raised our troops in the estimation of Japanese and Russians. Instead, our column toiled along, resting every few hundred yards, and resuming the march with a series of painful grunts and muttered curses.

As we climbed the last hill, a flock of geese swung in ahead of us, and marching in splendid style, led us to the entrance to the post. There the column remained in the road for an hour, while the regimental band came and played in honor of a party of Japanese statesmen who happened at that time to be calling on the commandant, Colonel Styer, and making an inspection of the city. This, of course, was a necessary and proper honor to pay the guests, and accounted in part for the fact that we had to arrive without music; but as the visitors were not long in the post, our departure from the station might have been deferred till the music was available. After eight days in crowded box-cars, that band was most inspiring when we did hear it, and the weary doughboys were soon chaffing merrily, glad to have found their new home.

In discussing these matters, I wish it understood that I am not criticizing any individual, but the people of the United States so eager to make a good showing abroad and to convince foreign peoples of our good motives and our army so careful not to offend, seem to need something in the way of a code to follow so as to learn to put the best foot forward when away from home.

The British, having had so much more experience with Asiatics, have learned the value of good impressions, and by observing what we may consider trifles, have held and administered the affairs of many lands in the East more by these trifles than by actual force of arms.

I know that our attitude has been in the Philippines, Cuba and elsewhere, “In time these people will learn that we mean all right.” In time they do. But we send an army into foreign countries in much the same manner as a man might attend a first formal dinner in boots, a fishing coat, and a woolen shirt, and on entering the dining-room, trip over a rug when preparing to bow to the hostess. In time, he might establish the fact that he was a man of some breeding. Most people, both for their own comfort, and the comfort of hosts, would prefer to display their breeding first, for some of the guests might leave before the uncouth one had a chance to prove that he was not a boor.

Once the details of turning over the reinforcements were accomplished, with the major who had commanded the train, I took a drosky, and sought the best bath-house in the city. How that vehicle ever held together was a mystery to both of us. The roads were both rutty and full of yielding mud, and as we galloped toward town, first one of us and then the other was in danger of being hurled out to the black pigs along the streets.

The cost of a “bolshoi” or grand bath, was two rubles each, and being provided with soap and towels, we were escorted to a room containing an old sofa and a dressing table weak in the legs. The attendant brought us a small tub of water, for what purpose I have not the slightest idea, as the room adjoining contained a bath-tub of Russian dimensions, a shower big enough for an elephant, and all the pipes full of blazing hot water. The Siberian does not bathe himself--he parboils himself.

The temperature of both rooms was exceedingly hot and humid, so that in a few minutes all our clothing was moist and clammy; and to make matters worse, the ambitious attendant came in and hurled buckets of water over the big marble slab, which was heated by pipes, filling both rooms with a stifling steam. I opened the windows promptly, to his great horror, and drove him away as gently as possible with the one Russian word I had to fit the occasion--“Scurrai,” and he scurried.

When I had laid my clothing out on the ancient sofa, I realized that the place had not been swept or dusted for a decade. I made a mental picture of the limitless number of people who had divested themselves of their garments in that very spot. It was not such as had gone on their way, clean and rosy, which worried me, but what they had left behind, to inhabit temporarily the crevices of the sofa. So I hastened my bathing under the shower, and dressed as rapidly as possible, after discreet shakings of all my wearing apparel.

The clerk below regarded me with surprise when I went down. He thought I had not bathed at all, but had come back to make some complaint. He did not realize that I had hurried to avoid complaints in the future, when he might not be present to get the benefit of my vocabulary. I am sure he thought me most tentative about my bath, and not a particularly clean man.

It takes the ordinary Siberian about an hour to get himself properly tender. For some strange reason, known only to the inscrutable American mind, I had failed to cook myself a full two rubles worth, and had surrendered my room to a Chinese who did not appear to be a regular client, judging from his lack of grooming.

The major had been as precipitate as myself, having been duly influenced by my active imagination. Once more we risked our lives in the drosky.

VI

HETMAN OF THE USSURI

Khabarovsk is a city of probably sixty thousand population, and picturesquely situated in a sweeping bend of the Amur River, its streets being laid on a bench of land overlooking the river. The barracks occupied by the American and Japanese forces are on still higher ground arranged on a plateau, with the dull reds and browns of the city roofs shining below.

It is a provincial capital, the most important north of Vladivostok, and the chief center of the Ussuri Cossacks. The first thing to catch the eye on the morning we marched up to the post, was a yellow flag flying from a pole across a gully from the American headquarters, with a black and fanciful lower-case y upon its field. Y in Russian has the sound of our double o, and so was the initial letter in Russian for Ussuri, thus the flag marked a Cossack garrison quartered inside the stockade beyond.

Yellow is a favorite color with the Cossacks. Their officers wear Prussian blue riding breeches, with wide yellow stripes, similar to the breeches worn by our own cavalry officers before the khaki days. Their tunics were well-cut, but almost any color seemed to serve, as long as heavy gold cloth shoulder straps with elaborate embroidery on them, could be procured.

Boots and spurs, and the characteristic high busby of white or black lamb-skin with the wool on, completed the costume. These bonnets are not always circular, but are flattened out, and then worn with the flat sides front and back, and tilted to the rear, giving a rakish effect. The cloth tops set into the wool are frequently of gorgeous colors, some being bright purple, some gold, some red, so viewed from behind, the Cossack is a colorful personage. Viewed from the front, on a charging horse, and with lance or saber point first, they generally get the road to themselves.

The men of the ranks looked to me more Mongol than Slav, and resemble somewhat the American Indian, having high cheek bones, black straight hair worn rather long, broad but low brows, but their faces lack the acquilinity of our aborigines. Most of them struck me as being stolid, stoical persons, rather sure of their positions as belonging to the warrior class, and while according to our standards, inclined to swagger a trifle when among the lower classes, quiet enough unless interfered with. Among the Siberian peasants they had the bearing and demeanor of masters of the situation, and contrasted with the peasant, I would prefer that the latter have more self-assertion in a dignified way, rather than the inevitable skulking manner which they take on when they come in contact with persons whom they recognize as superiors.

Khabarovsk was filled with the men of the local Cossack hetman, Kalmikoff, known to our forces as Ataman Kalmikoff, a title which appears to be derived from the Turkish, just as the name “Cossack” is the Turkish _kazak_, or robber. The accent falls upon the last syllable, and the Russian spelling follows the Turkish, so that “y k” worn on the sleeve of a soldier marked him as an Ussuri Cossack.

I was living in the quarters of Lieutenant-Colonel Morrow, as his guest, with the regimental adjutant of the Twenty-seventh Infantry, and a young regimental supply officer. Colonel Morrow had commanded the column which hastened to reinforce the Japanese division in the action south of Khabarovsk, but the Bolshevists dissolved after a desultory fight, and the infantry, fresh from the Philippines, did not get into the battle. At that time Colonel Styer, commander of the Twenty-seventh, was in Vladivostok in command of the expedition, General Graves and his staff not having arrived.

Colonel Styer was now in command of the American forces at Khabarovsk, and I found him all that is meant by the term “an officer and a gentleman.” I can say the same of all the officers of the Twenty-seventh that I had the pleasure of meeting. And Colonel Morrow, in whose house and company I spent my pleasantest days in Siberia, I found to be a hard-fisted soldier of the old school, who knows his business and expects everybody in his command to know it likewise, or give the reason why. He knows the American soldier down to the ground, and is the type of officer the enlisted man delights in--an officer who realizes their difficulties on campaign, talks to them as a father, and never allows any doubt to arise as to who is boss.

On Sunday morning, October 6, 1918, Colonel Styer kindly sent word to me that Ataman Kalmikoff was to conduct a ceremony incident to the organization of a new regiment of Cossacks, and inviting me to attend with the staff.

An orderly brought a horse for me at the appointed time for departure, and as I mounted, I felt the thrill that can only come to a man who, after a lapse of thirteen years, again finds himself in an American army saddle and an American army horse between his knees.

We rode down through the gullys and over the decrepit bridges, into the town, and dismounted in front of the big Russian church on a cliff over the Amur. Here we found a long line of Cossacks on their horses, drawn up in single rank across the street from the church, facing the little square. There was a great throng of Siberians, keeping at a respectful distance from the raised lances shining above the heads of the shaggy ponies.

Here we were introduced to many Russian officers in the service of Kalmikoff, nearly all of them wearing orders of the Czar’s régime, and some of them wearing orders gained on the Manchurian plains not so long ago, in action against the army of Kuroki.

General Oi, the local Japanese commander, and his staff arrived, and he and his officers were all introduced to us. Among those there that day was a lone British officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Roberts. I am not sure that this dignified and canny British observer did not see more, and understand more, of what was going on, than all the rest of us Anglo-Saxons. This statement is not made in derogation of the abilities of American officers as observers, nor as a compliment intimating a superior craft in international affairs on the part of the British officer, but occurs to me as due to the lack of anything approaching a “policy” regarding Siberian affairs on the part of our administration.

Not knowing what we were expected to do beyond avoiding as far as possible any action which might be interpreted as “interference,” our interests did not extend beyond the dramatic effect of what we were there to witness. To us, it was merely a show, possibly with something of an historical interest, as it had been said that by presenting the colors to this regiment of Cossacks, Kalmikoff was acting as a sort of godfather at the “birth of the new Siberian army.”

But the British, with India so close to Russia, and an age-old suspicion of “the man who walks like a bear” in the backs of their heads, watch Russian affairs with deadly earnestness, for to lose India might be the first break in the chain of the British Empire. So to Colonel Roberts, a gaunt and elderly officer typical of the men who have built the best traditions of Britain in far-flung empires, this was more than a mere entertainment of a day. At least I got that impression, as I observed him--politely punctilious, yet with roving eyes which saw, and weighed, every trifling incident.

I felt that our attitude was the vaudevillian one of “I don’t care.” No doubt, if one of us had written a detailed report of what happened that day, and had dared to draw conclusions, and had sent this report to, say, our own General Staff, it might have been filed. But if we are going to deal with international problems, we must begin to regard foreign affairs seriously, and leave to the cartoonist his humorous conceptions of foreign peoples. We are somewhat inclined to regard humorously the deadly earnestness of the British in dealing with queer peoples, but the British know that queer peoples are sometimes the most dangerous. We persist in using them for comic opera material, and then wonder why we cannot analyze promptly, and take proper and decisive action to meet a crisis.

As we stood there in the morning sun, with the wide river below, there was a sudden stir, and the lances of the Cossacks became more rigid as the troops came to attention.

From round the corner, we heard the clatter of galloping hoofs, and suddenly, Kalmikoff swooped into view, mounted on a superb black horse.

Rising in his stirrups, with saber upraised, he cried in Russian, as he passed at full gallop, a hail which was interpreted to me as: “Ussuri Cossacks! Your commander comes!”

And from the line of horsemen, came the reply, yelled in unison, “We are glad to greet you,” and the lances, with their pennons, shot upward.

Kalmikoff whirled back, dismounted, and strode into the church. A band blared the new Russian anthem. From the church now came a column of acolytes in white robes, some bearing crucifixes before them, some swinging censors, all led by mitered priests, who were intoning chants.

The band became silent, an altar was set up in the square before the assembled troops, and a Russian mass was said. Kalmikoff and his staff stood at one side with bared and bowed heads, and on the opposite side, General Oi, and his staff at attention. In line with the Japanese, were Colonel Styer and his staff. But General Oi, as fitting for the ranking officer, stood a trifle to the front, in such position that he was almost directly in front of me, and as he bared his head, I was conscious of his shaven poll gleaming between me and the altar. He is a short, stocky, sturdy-looking man, with round, shaven face, of most martial bearing, and bears himself with quiet dignity.

Thrust up behind the altar was the gorgeously colored and embroidered standard of the new regiment. The priest, in chanting the mass, at times removed his mitre, and his long black hair fell over his shoulders, equalled only in length by his heavy beard. The choir nearby sang the responses, and their voices were most sweet.

I watched Kalmikoff. A young man, said to have been born in 1884, he is scarcely more than five feet tall, slight of build, with bluish eyes, and a small mustache. He wore a saber, and a small pistol slipped into the loop of a strap hanging from his belt, rather than a holster--a pistol so small as to suggest a derringer. His aspect was proud and military, but he did not make the figure one would expect to see head of several provinces of Cossacks. However, he is reputed to be very brave, a good commander, and a dashing leader of irregular horse, such as the Cossacks are. I heard that in the charge, if any of his men attempted to ride ahead of him, he promptly cut them down with his saber.

He had made himself a Major General, it was said, and we understood that he was civil and military governor of the Ussuri district. His claim to the title of Ataman I never understood fully; some said he was hereditary chief of all the Cossacks of that section, and some said he had been elected to that position by the Cossacks, while others maintained that he had set himself up as the local prince, with no more to back his authority than a small band of partizans who were organized into a military staff, chiefly engaged at that time in executing everybody who opposed his rule.

Already, reports were coming down to our headquarters that protests were being made by the civilians of Khabarovsk, that many people were being executed by Kalmikoff’s orders without trial, and that the victims were merely such personal enemies, or such persons as might question Kalmikoff’s authority.

But our position of “non-interference” with Russian affairs, made it difficult for our staff to either advise Colonel Styer, or for Colonel Styer to take any action other than to make official inquiry of Kalmikoff as to the executions. Not that I infer Colonel Styer or our staff found it difficult to obey orders, but Kalmikoff happened to be one of the “Russian people,” and how could an American officer interfere with Kalmikoff’s executions without interfering with a Russian?

And at that time, Kalmikoff’s exploits in fighting the Bolshevist forces were uppermost in the minds of some of our officers, and it appeared that what Kalmikoff did at that time was considered by some subordinate officers to be indicative of his abilities as a ruler. I heard one young officer say while I was in Khabarovsk the first time: “The Ataman is a smart fellow. He sits at his desk in headquarters, and when a couple of prisoners are brought in, he looks at them with those snapping little eyes of his, and waving his hand, says: ‘take ’em out and shoot ’em.’”

That, to some minds, may be proof that a general or a ruler is great; but I could not see that government by firing squads by Kalmikoff is any better than government by firing squads under the Czar. It all depends pretty much upon who is going to be shot, and what the person is to be shot for.

If it happened to be a man of the city who privately expressed an opinion that Kalmikoff had no business executing peaceful citizens, who was to be shot for expressing that opinion, the procedure as I see it, is in line with Villa and similar bandits who keep in the public eye by having the power and machinery for wholesale human butchery.

The fact that a man may be brave, dashing, and wear a picturesque hat, has nothing to do with a judgment of his abilities or his morality. Government by machine-gun may be necessary in certain cases, but it means that the ruler who has to resort to such tactics has oppressed the people, or has not made proper use of the printing-press--in other words, has not educated the people over whom he rules, in the proper ideas.

I consider Kalmikoff a young upstart, not at all concerned with what happened to Russia, but attempting to take power to himself in a crisis, and then aping the worst elements of the old régime. And I believe that his interests were largely material, and in such form that the gains financially might easily be taken out of the country. Because he had fought the Bolshevists, in no sense assured me that he was at all what he posed as being--a Russian patriot, working for the rehabilitation of a great and united Russia. I may not have been alone in this measure of the man, among the American officers, and in speaking only for myself, I do not wish to imply that I was the only one to so gauge his character.

To return to the ceremonies, when the mass in the square was over, the priest blessed the colors of the new regiment, and threw upon them holy water. Then he presented them to Kalmikoff, who half knelt to receive them, with a blessing. Standing, and thrusting up the flag, he made a speech to his troops, in which he said, among other things, that they were always to guard it with their lives, as true Russians.

The color-bearer rode forward and took it from the Ataman’s hands, and then the lances were hoisted, and the Cossacks cheered both flag and Ataman.

After receiving the congratulations of the officers assembled, Kalmikoff invited us to review his men with him, and we mounted and rode down the street to the position from which we were to review the force.

As we rode along, we observed three Russians on the sidewalk with their hands bound behind their backs, being hustled along by Cossacks, and we heard whispers that they were to be shot. But we discreetly pretended not to see these prisoners, and wheeled in our horses to let the new regiment pass.

The Cossacks approached in column of fours, their new flag in the lead, and Kalmikoff took the salutes of the commanders. The men of the First Ussuri Regiment, as it was called, were a motley lot but undoubtedly were good cavalry of the irregular type. Their uniforms were a queer mixture of stuffs, and at times, it was hard to realize as some squads passed, that this was really an army. It looked more like a gathering of the clans from the hills and plains, and most of them needed a haircut, as well as a shave. But they looked proud and determined, and able to over-awe any mob of civilians that might gather to riot, or to do good work charging or raiding an enemy of neater and more soldierly appearance. Their arms showed good care, but their long-haired Siberian ponies probably never had felt a brush. Altogether, it looked like an army that had been sleeping in its clothes for weeks, instead of a regiment turned out in a capital city to get official baptism.

In passing, I wish to state that a few months later, these very troops mutinied against the severity of Kalmikoff, and seeking protection from Colonel Styer, were disarmed. I heard that the Japanese commander demanded the arms, claiming them as property of the Imperial Japanese Government. So the lack of discipline so apparent on the day of the “new Russian army’s” birth, rebounded upon the commander, and indicates that on that day he held his power by a very thin thread.

After the review we went to what was apparently a hotel, judging from the sign, but which was reputed to be Kalmikoff’s private residence. He had probably borrowed it, after the style of Cossack chiefs usurping power. We lunched there, while the band played in an adjoining room. At the head of the table sat Lieutenant General Oi, at his right, Colonel Styer. Kalmikoff’s officers, in the seating of the guests, happened to put me beside Kalmikoff’s chair, half way down the table from General Oi, the seats between General Oi and Kalmikoff being occupied by a Japanese colonel, and a Japanese staff captain.

As it turned out, the lunch was in the nature of a compliment to General Oi, and in due time Kalmikoff made a speech in Russian, in which he thanked General Oi for the aid the Japanese forces had rendered him, making it possible to establish this regiment just formed. Kalmikoff spoke no English. After each sentence, an interpreter gave the translation in Japanese, another interpreter gave us the English of it.

General Oi responded likewise through an interpreter, and as he spoke, gazed steadily at the opposite wall, waiting patiently for his staff officers to render his remarks into Russian and English. We understood that he wished the new Russian army success, and pledged the help of his forces in making it a success.

There were considerable international politics being let loose in that room. In effect, the Japanese were backing Kalmikoff, and when we came to protest against Kalmikoff’s actions, we were really protesting what appeared to be actions advised by the Japanese; at least, it is safe to draw the conclusion that, owing General Oi what he asserted he did, Kalmikoff was not running counter to General Oi’s wishes. And I have heard it said that whenever Colonel Styer asked Kalmikoff to explain the reasons for executions, Kalmikoff went directly to General Oi’s headquarters before making his reply to Colonel Styer.

I do not bring these matters in as a criticism of the Japanese. I cite heresay and such facts as I know, to show that the Japanese were stronger politically in their situation in that part of Siberia, than we were. It may be safely assumed that General Oi was acting according to instructions, and from that I deduce that the Japanese government had a policy of upholding all forces avowedly and surely anti-Bolshevists. It may have been the correct policy. At least, Kalmikoff knew that he could depend upon the Japanese to back him up in putting down the Bolshevists. He had no such assurance from our government.

It is human nature to lean to the side which declares itself, and the Japanese made no secret of the fact that they were backing Kalmikoff with arms and money, and standing in the background while he consolidated his power. This means that the Japanese were really in control of things in the Ussuri, and for wanting to hold that control, I do not blame them, considering that they had large military forces in the country, and were there as enemies to the Bolshevists.

The Japanese took sides. This meant that at least one side knew them as friends. In our case, the anti-Bolshevist forces of the Russians, then chiefly the Cossack forces, were confused by our attitude of grouping all Russian factions and classes together, with what appeared to be a distinct leaning to the Bolshevist side. The result was that real anti-Bolshevists suspected our motives and were most cautious in taking us into their confidence. But the Japanese had the full confidence of the anti-Bolshevist leaders, and to have the confidence of either side in such times, gives a decided advantage in getting a grasp of the situation.

I have no means of knowing the motives of the Japanese in giving financial and military assistance to the various Cossack chiefs. I have no particular reason for assuming that their motives were anything but what they claimed them to be--to put down Bolshevism. I do doubt that the Japanese motives were wholly to assist Russia in rehabilitating itself as a great and powerful empire; I do doubt that the Japanese Imperial government, sought or seeks to see Russia a united and powerful republic. Russia has been a source of worry to Japan for many years, and the many barracks built in Siberia since the Russo-Japanese war, have not had a tendency to remove that worry. For if the war had not broken in 1914, or if it had ended without smashing the régime of the Czar, Japan would have felt the weight once more of the Bear’s paw.

The bigger cities of Siberia are cities which have grown up round new brick barracks. There are literally miles of these barracks all through Siberia along the railroad. These quarters could not have been necessary for an army of the size contemplated by this construction, merely to keep order in Siberia.

It is plain enough that Russia contemplated revenge for the Manchurian fiasco. The Czar undoubtedly intended to throw a vast army into Siberia, move it against Japan, throw another army into Siberia behind in reserve, and keep hammering Japan till the island Empire was destroyed or rendered harmless in a military and naval way. He was waiting for a new fleet capable of coping with Nippon’s navy. And Japan knew it. I have doubts that she wishes to see that menace once more in her back yard, and under the present system of competition between nations for territory, I do not blame her for wishing to protect herself. Her methods are another matter.

VII

FROM KHABAROVSK TO USHUMUN

A glance at the map shows that a wedge of Manchuria runs up into Siberia. Khabarovsk is at the northern point. The Amur, flowing in a general westerly direction, bending southerly along the northern boundary of the Manchurian province of Tsitsihar, and then turning to the north sharply as it comes in contact with the province of Kirin, runs up the westerly side of the wedge, and from Khabarovsk flows almost due north, where it empties into Amur Gulf, near the Siberian port of Nikolaievsk, opposite the northern end of Saghalien Island.

The Amur branch of the trans-Siberian railroad crosses the Amur River a little to the north of Khabarovsk, and almost parallels the river, but at a considerable distance to the north of it, crossing many tributaries of the Amur flowing from the north. The red line marking the railroad, superimposed on a standard wall map, shows no railroad stations till Kerak, some fifteen hundred versts west of Khabarovsk. And the sectional Intelligence map which I had, was little better, for the spelling of the towns was so radically different, that except for the larger places of simple spelling, I gave up using it except to orient myself by identifying the various small rivers.

Where the name of the town was transformed into English by our Russian map-makers, and then the station-sign in Russian betrayed no special affinity for the Anglicized version, I found many towns which were apparently astray. Like the navigator who having made a landfall was told that the port he was approaching was Karaka, said: “Impossible! Karaka is two hundred miles to the south of here on my chart!” when my interpreter told me that we were arriving in Poperoffka, I looked at my map and said: “Impossible! Unless the Bolshevists have brought Poperoffka here and tied it till they want it.”

There was a company of the Twenty-seventh at Ushumun, our farthest north. I had a limited time in which to reach this company, and with one train a day running, on uncertain schedule, I must needs leave Khabarovsk to complete my itinerary in time.

But there was talk at Khabarovsk that this company would draw down the line, though the time of its departure was uncertain, and its destination unknown. At headquarters of the Twenty-seventh I could get no definite information, a fact which puzzled me, until I learned that the movement was to be directed by the Japanese commander, General Otani, and that Colonel Styer, in command of the regiment, was waiting for orders as to the movement.

I decided to proceed in accordance with my orders, and from detachments of our troops seek news of the force supposed to be at Ushumun, and either catch it, or go to where it was.

So with my interpreter, I embarked on a passenger train, late at night. We got a “coupé” or compartment, fitted with berths for four persons. It was a so-called “sanitary car” of the second class, and clean and comfortable. The car appeared to be empty except for us, till morning, when we found a Japanese captain and his orderly in the next compartment.

At Nikolsk, on the way to Khabarovsk, and at Vladivostok, there were American officers in the stations, members of the so-called Russian Railway Service, known at home as the Stevens Commission. All were expert railroad men, and telegraph operators, and their presence in stations made travel simple enough. But after leaving Khabarovsk, I found the stations in charge of the regular Russian staffs, and a Japanese staff, the latter with their own telegraphic service. I had been under the impression that every station had officers of our corps, and as I found them missing over the Amur branch, I was puzzled, in addition to being hampered for news and a means of keeping in touch with my own headquarters. At that time this corps was serving only on the Chinese Eastern line, but I did not know it.

An instance of my helplessness may be shown by the fact that the conductor of the train told my interpreter that our car was going through to Ushumun, and that we did not need to make any change at Botchkereva, the junction point for the branch running south to Blagoveschensk. We arrived at Botchkereva about daylight, and I hustled out to the station, leaving my bedding and baggage in the car, as we had been informed that we would have a stop of an hour to wait for a train coming from the south.

I had so far received no information concerning the expected movement of the force at Ushumun. I now resolved to telegraph in Russian to Major Miller, the commander, to learn of his plans. We translated into Russian this message: “Please advise if you will be at Ushumun to-morrow, as I am on my way to see you.”

My interpreter and the Russian telegraph operator now engaged in a long debate, and as I was about to inquire into the reasons for it, the interpreter turned to me in consternation and told me that we must get our baggage out of the car as promptly as possible.

We fled down the tracks, and while the car was already moving out, dumped through the window without waiting to roll it, my bedding, grips, and supplies of sugar and tea and other groceries, along with the interpreter’s blankets and kit.

While we were thus distributing our property along the railroad, the interpreter told me that the car was going on the train to Blagoveschensk. He also said that he had learned of this sudden shift of the car by overhearing the Japanese commandant’s interpreter at the station order the Russian station-master to so switch the car, because the Japanese captain in it desired to go to Blagoveschensk. If that order had not been overheard, our kits, so vitally necessary to us, would have been whisked away, locked in the compartment. And our conductor had assured us, by all the saints in the Russian calendar, that the car was bound for Ushumun!

While we jettisoned our property from the car-window, the Japanese captain and his orderly looked on in mild surprise, probably sure that we were wholly mad. In a sense we were. I refrain from including our comprehensive and utterly complete remarks on all things pertaining to the Russians, from the time of the first Michael Romanoff up to the present and into the future.

Having rolled up a fine supply of particularly sharp cinders into my bedding-roll, and placed it on the station platform, a Chinese took a liking to it, and I discovered him making off with it. I doubt if he understood English, but he did get the drift of my remarks, for he dropped the roll.

Once more my interpreter resumed the debate with the Russian operator, and the latter decided to send my message. We had a wait of ten hours for the next train, and I expected to hear from Major Miller in time to know whether to proceed aboard that train for Ushumun.

The station waiting-room, crowded with poor people either waiting for trains, or simply killing time and talking politics, was a most filthy place. According to our standards, they were in dire poverty, but men, women and children were most contented and good-natured, and carried on their primitive housekeeping on the floor, and the mothers performed most intimate services for their children in full view of the assemblage with a carelessness for the senses of their neighbors which appalled me.

Yet no one seemed to mind. Barbaric-looking Mongols, in fur boots and garments smelling of fish and raw fur, came and sprawled at the long table, and demanded tea and cabbage soup, which they disposed of like wild animals come to the kill; great hulking Russian peasants, their heads and faces half-hidden in jungles of long, matted hair, sat crouched on primitive stools, and ate the kernels of sunflower seeds by the hour, throwing a handful of the seeds into their mouths, chewing meditatively, and then ejecting the seeds in a wide semi-circle before them on the floor.

From the window I could see the rude troikas of the farmers drive up, with three horses abreast. They sat in their seats, while their women disembarked from the rude carts, crawling out of the loose straw upon which they had ridden, to unload bottles of milk, cabbage, and potatoes.

While their lords stomped about the station, drinking vodka in secret places, from which they emerged wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands, the women set up the farm products on boxes near the station, and the market was open.

The mothers in the station crowds sought the milk eagerly. Such milk, and in such bottles! The latter had evidently never seen water, but were grimy with old and sticky milk down their sides. The wads of paper and rudely whittled stoppers used as corks were loose, and milk oozed up through them, to become a feeding place for millions of flies.

In some cases the milk appeared to be sold by the drink, a few kopecks giving a man or woman the privilege of drinking from the bottle, while the seller of the milk carefully watched the throat of the buyer and counted the swallows. And I observed that the last swallow taken, consisted of all the cheeks of the buyer would hold.

I saw a bottle snatched from a man, who was attempting to get more than his money’s worth. Everybody laughed, including the bottle-snatcher, and just to show that he was honest, and willing to pay for his little joke, the man threw a few extra postage-stamp kopecks to the woman, and went on his way, his shoulders heaving with mirth over his fun.

Those long hours of waiting at Botchkereva will always stick in my memory as a period in my life when I was reduced to peasantry in Siberia. It was cold and drear enough to make the sugarless tea from the steaming samovar taste like nectar; I acquired a taste for greasy cabbage soup which revealed formless chunks of meat concealed in its foliage.

I shared with a giant Tartar my packet of Moscow biscuits, and marvelled at the amount of nourishment he could still pick from his teeth after he had finished his meal.

Lest I should build up the idea that travel de luxe is all that I know, I wish to establish the fact that I know the forecastles of fishing boats, have lived below in cattle ships, and know intimately the foremast life of tramp steamers. I have lived among savages under most primitive conditions, and know something of the hardships of campaign. I spent eighty days ’tween-decks in a transport from New York to the Philippines by way of Suez in the days when a soldier was a hard-bitted being and knew nothing of Y. M. C. A. or Salvation Army aid. Three times I have made the circuit of the globe, bent on seeing and admiring and fighting, and have always felt more or less at home wherever my campaign hat happened to hang.

But in the Maritime Provinces of Siberia I got the impression of being on a new planet. This place seemed to me farther from civilization than any place I had ever been, despite the fact that a railroad passed the door of the station. The peasant of Siberia can create and endure the vilest conditions of life I have ever witnessed.

It is said that there are queer tribes to the north, on the Siberian littoral, who are more hidden from the world than the natives of Central Africa or the Eskimos of the Arctic--the blacks of Africa and the denizens of the regions near the poles have seen explorers and traders, but civilization has never penetrated portions of the mainland in behind Kamchatka. This territory would no doubt prove to be a rich field to the ethnologist.

I knew that the green minarets of a church not far from the station marked the position of the town, and I induced my orderly to take a walk. We scouted for a bath-house, and found one. It was a primitive structure of logs, floored with rotten adze-hewn planks which were full of splinters, mouldy and dangerously slippery. A girl of about twelve, clad in dirty rags, conducted us into the place. It looked as if it had been deserted for years.

A rude fireplace, built of rocks, held the stubs of charred logs. Above, was a sort of stone oven also made of rocks, but not mortared, so that there were interstices through which a hand could be thrust. It was into this oven-like place that water was thrown, once the rocks were glowing from the fire, and thus the steam was generated for the typical bath.

Merely out of curiosity to see what would happen, I gave the girl a ruble and asked her to prepare the fire and bring water. Kissing the dirty slip of paper money, she went out. In half an hour she had provided one bucket of water and one stick of wood. In time she had a sickly fire going. I judged that in about six hours she would have the rocks of the oven warm enough to turn water into steam.

We went wandering about the town, which consisted of probably a couple of hundred crude buildings, not counting the inevitable yellow buildings near the station, provided for railroad employees. The place seemed almost deserted, except for shivering Chinese at their open-air counters in little kiosks at some of the street-corners. They were huddled in these little huts, and were not at all eager to sell their cigarettes and other goods--they most reluctantly took their hands out of their ample sleeves, which they used as muffs. I believe they were engaged chiefly in selling vodka.

But for all the deserted-village aspect, the place must have been well inhabited. Under the ornately carved eaves of the buildings (which indicate long and boresome evenings spent in whittling) there were hanging long and deep fringes of brown salmon, which had been split and hung up to dry. These drying fish fill the village landscapes of Siberia in the Fall months.

The human being who craves beauty in his surroundings, even in the midst of desolation, is to be commended. Yet when the barbarian carves the house where he keeps his idol, or draws intricate designs on his canoe, or tattoos his body, we say that by these things he betrays his barbarism.

The Siberian can build a squat log house, and with strips of wood cut into the most delicate filigree work, make the ungainly structure dazzle your eyes in a manner only to be rivalled by a silicate Christmas card.

At home we still have houses which appear to be the products of the jig-saw, and look more like wedding cakes than places of residence. And all the time in Siberian villages I was being reminded of Yonkers and other suburban cities.

So I refrain from saying that the ornate eaves and window-trimming of Siberian homes prove the Siberians to be barbarians. It might be better to say that they outdo some of our own inhabitants when it comes to being decoratively-minded.

Barbarism? We are all barbaric still, but we use different methods of revealing it, and such things as are familiar to us, we assert go to prove our civilization. It is always the other fellow who is barbaric when the psychologist goes hunting for stigmata. If, for instance, I had found no decorations on Siberian homes, I might have berated Siberians for neglecting to beautify their surroundings. Those fretted eaves are symbolical of the fact that the Siberian peasant will aspire against all odds to better things, though he may be crushed to earth generation after generation.

Yet if the time and energy represented by these exterior decorations could have been expended on their brains, the Siberians might have saved themselves from many of their past, present and future woes. Or if instead of satisfying the visual yearning for beauty, the people protected their other senses from the terrible and menacing smells which go with their lack of sanitation, they might well do without filigree work on their buildings. For if cleanliness be next to godliness, the Siberian has a long and hard road to travel before he approaches the divinity.

Late in the afternoon we heard a train puffing laboriously up the line, and hastened back to the station. There was no reply to my telegram to Major Miller. One of two things must be done--go on, or give up. The telegraph operator informed me that there was no answer from Ushumun. The Japanese captain in charge of the station came to tell me that if I were seeking Major Miller, that officer was still at Ushumun, as his Japanese operators had so informed him not an hour before.

The train arrived, and unloaded another throng of unkempt natives. Those in the station clambered aboard, fighting for places in the fourth-class cars, already over-crowded in spite of the human freight which had disembarked.

The usual scramble for hot water for tea-kettles took place; men bought double handfuls of red salmon-eggs, big as peas, and giving off an odour similar to a glue factory. Caviare? No, they have never heard of caviare. Eekrah, they call this vile mess.

The milk market did a lively business, while the engine loaded wood, in the leisurely manner with which all such work is done. The train crew abandoned the train, and made an onslaught on the cabbage soup and tea--and talk! such a flood of talk they produced with the Russian staff of the station!