Chapter XI: Part 11

The problem of shaving had already occurred to me, and fortunately for my purpose, a very simple solution was available. I obtained some powder which, after being mixed with water and applied to the face, completely destroys the hair for the time being. This depilatory is in common use amongst the Bedouins, Arabs, and Turks for the removal of hair, whether from the body or face. My toilet being completed, I rose to my feet--looking to all appearance a typical Bedouin woman--and the pair of us mounted the camel and rode steadily on for fifteen hours to a place called Wad-el-Arish. Our rations during that long, weary journey consisted of onions, bread, and a few dates.

Upon arrival at Wad-el-Arish my good friend and I parted company, for he feared to accompany me farther lest he should run into danger, as there would be great risk for him in passing that way by reason of the troops journeying in the same direction. I used all my powers of persuasion to induce him to continue with me, assuring him optimistically that no harm would come to him, but despite all my efforts to allay his fears, he declined. Ere we parted, he bestowed on me such good things as he was able to spare for my comfort and sustenance during my travels, giving me a flask of water, dry bread, and dates. Then, after a hearty farewell, he retraced his steps, riding the camel, while I continued alone on foot, following the track left by the troops who were journeying across the desert.

VI--"I MEET A PACK OF HUNGRY JACKALS IN THE DESERT"

My first day in the desert was a hot and tiring one, but in spite of the discomfort I continued to walk on until the evening, never losing sight of the soldiers and camels far ahead. When darkness fell I settled down on the sand for the night with only a dirty blanket for my covering, the desert for my bed, and the heavens to shelter me.

With the coming of dawn I was on my way again. The second and third days, being uneventful, call for no description; but I recollect that, on the fourth day, I was accosted by several Turkish patrols, who endeavored to question me. A happy thought struck me, and I kept silent, simply motioning to them with my fingers, giving them the impression that I was deaf and dumb, and therefore an object of pity. I knew only too well the nature of these Mohammedans--fanatical in the extreme, pitying only the afflicted and maimed of their own caste. Had I been a _real_ woman, I should have been terribly afraid of some of these ruffianly fellows, but as it was I feared nothing but discovery, and my pretence of being deaf and dumb gave me excellent protection.

When one or two of them seemed inclined to interfere with me, their comrades, pitying me, shouted angrily: "Haram, haram! For the love of God, don't touch her." With that they left me, and very thankfully I went on my way.

By the fifth day my slender stock of provisions was running low, only a few dates and a little bread remaining, but my good luck seemed destined to continue, for I met with hospitality from some of the soldiers I encountered, who gave me bread, dates, and water. About two o'clock in the afternoon of the sixth day a terrible wind arose, and the sandstorm which followed nearly blinded and choked me. I could do nothing but crouch down and cover myself with my blanket as best I could, remaining in that position until ten o'clock at night, when the wind ceased. I continued my journey during the night so as to make up for lost time, and to my horror was met by a pack of prowling jackals. These beasts, when hungry, are dangerous to the solitary traveller, and my alarm can well be imagined; but curiously enough the fear was reciprocal, and the skulking brutes disappeared.

On the seventh day of my interminable journey I met an old Bedouin riding on a camel, and was not long in fraternizing with him. After paying him the customary compliments--not forgetting a little money, that magic key to the Bedouin heart--I travelled with him for five days, the pair of us riding together on his camel. This event, I think, appealed to my sense of humor more than any other incident of my escape. For five whole days and nights we were in each other's company--yet the simple old fellow never discovered or even suspected my secret. To him I was just simply a woman of his own race. He treated me with respect, and, in his Bedouin way, even showed me kindness. I laugh now when I think about it, and how startled he would have been to learn the truth. He left me at the end of the fifth day, at a point where our routes diverged, and once more I went on alone on foot.

On the twelfth day of my journey across the desert, what with the hardship and the poor food, I began to get exhausted. I felt feverish and deadly tired, but realized that I must not give way, and, remembering how fortune had favored me hitherto, I determined to press forward and reach the Canal as speedily as possible. I was plodding doggedly on, a few hours later, when I sighted a party of mounted gendarmes approaching, and the thought instantly flashed through my mind that I was being chased; they would take me prisoner again, and drag me back to be punished. The idea filled me with terror, but I managed to evade them by concealing myself behind a hillock of sand, where from sheer exhaustion and nerve-strain I fell fast asleep.

The thirteenth morning of my trip had dawned when I awoke, and I knew that the journey was nearing its end. This was well for me, for I was beginning to run short of food again, having only a little bread and a few dates left, so I ate sparingly lest my stock should become exhausted ere I reached my next resting-place.

Towards the close of my wanderings that day luck again befriended me, for I chanced to meet a party of Bedouins encamped in the desert, and they provided me with the now familiar fare of onions, salt, water, and bread. Like the Turks, they had not the slightest suspicion that I was other than I seemed.

From these people I learned definitely that my journey was nearing completion; only one and half day's travel was needed, and it would be ended. My anxiety seemed to increase during these last hours of my pilgrimage, and many a time I almost succumbed from weakness, but I forced myself to continue.

At last, to my joy, I perceived signs of some sort of civilization in the distance--tents, soldiers, and all the miscellaneous equipment of a Turkish army and its innumerable camp-followers. I trudged on and on through this concourse, quite unchallenged--who would bother about a poor deaf-mute Bedouin woman?--and eventually arrived near the Canal. How excited I was at sight of it! How I longed to be on the other side! On the opposite shore I could see soldiers, but I was too far away to distinguish what troops they were.

VII--"TURKISH HORSEMEN FORCE ME BACK ACROSS THE DESERT"

On approaching nearer to the Canal I came to a place opposite El Kantara, where some English soldiers on the farther bank pointed their rifles at me and forced me to stop. Away behind me, at the top of a slope, were some Turkish patrols on horseback, and to my dismay I saw that they were watching me closely. I had hoped to get near enough to the British to open up communication with them, but this now seemed out of the question; directly I made a move in that direction the horsemen would swoop down upon me.

Evidently I should have to wait for a better chance, so with a sinking heart I walked towards the Turks, thinking that by adopting an indifferent attitude I could dispel any suspicions I might have aroused. I sat down as they approached me, and when questioned by them explained that I was a Bedouin woman going to Egypt. (I thought it advisable on this occasion not to keep up my pretence of being deaf and dumb.) They told me roughly that this was impossible; there was a war on, and Egypt was closed to strangers.

Then came the bombshell; they ordered me to return whence I came, and, to make my departure certain, conducted me away from the camps and told me not to let them see me wandering about again.

I do not like to dwell upon my feelings at that awful moment. Here had I risked my life to escape, and spent many weary, anxious days in crossing the desert, only to be turned back when actually in sight of my goal, and almost within hail of British soldiers! It was heart-breaking, maddening. I could hardly control myself as I went slowly back into the desert, and I dared not think of what lay in store for me. I might perish miserably in the sand-wastes, or I might stagger on till I fell once more into the hands of my late keepers, who would punish me savagely for my abortive escape.

There is a bright lining to the darkest cloud, however, and so I discovered. I had not proceeded very far on my return journey when I came across a party of Bedouins who, as luck would have it, were travelling in the same direction. I promptly made friends with them, and for a small sum of money they allowed me to ride on camel-back with their wives, the journey to Ber Sheba taking about six days. Never once did any of them suspect me. Undoubtedly my disguise was well-nigh perfect, but it must also be remembered that the Bedouins are a simple people, and the reverse of cultured, so that my task was tolerably easy.

Arrived at Ber Sheba once again, I bade good-bye to my new friends and sought out my old Bedouin acquaintance at the place where he lived. He was amazed to see me back so soon, and told me that the Turkish authorities had been greatly perturbed over my escape, and were still searching for me. It would be unsafe to remain, he told me, so I only stopped with him a very short time.

It was obvious to me that it would be of no use to try the desert route again, so I evolved a new plan. Leaving Ber Sheba, I made for a place called Gaza, some thirty miles away, proceeding immediately after to Jaffa, where I managed to exchange my Bedouin dress for that of a European lady. I should here explain that I have found it necessary at several points in my story not to go into details, and I must also suppress the names of the kind friends who provided me with the disguise. Sundry good people who helped me are still in Palestine, and it might go hard with them if I gave any clue to their identity.

VIII--THE RESCUE--ON AN ITALIAN STEAMER TO EGYPT

When I reached Jaffa the Italian steamer _Catania_ had just arrived at the port, and I promptly embarked upon her, despite the strict scrutiny of a German female Customs official. She looked over all the women who boarded the steamer, but she never dreamed for one moment that I was a disguised man, and I passed on to the boat without question.

On the voyage I made friends with a lady refugee, and, finding that she was to be trusted, confided my secret to her. This good woman helped me out of my last difficulty by lending me a suit belonging to her husband, to don directly I landed in Egypt. Oh! the delight of once more resuming a man's attire and a man's ways of life!

Arrived in Egypt, and once more in my own proper person, I visited the British military authorities at Alexandria, who referred me to No. 5 Indian General Hospital at St. Stephano. Here, being a medical student, I secured employment and remained for some time doing Red Cross work under Colonel Pridmore, the officer commanding that institution, to whom, and to Mrs. Pridmore, I am much indebted for many kindnesses. Later I went to No. 2 Australian General Hospital at Cairo. Subsequently I was transferred, at my own request, to London, where I enlisted in the Army Service Corps and became a British soldier. Since then I have had the pleasure of appearing before many thousands of my soldier comrades as a female impersonator, amusing them with my songs and the story of my adventures.

It is one thing to act the part of a woman for the sake of amusement; it is quite another to do it in an attempt to secure one's liberty, with death as the price of discovery.

TALES OF GERMAN AIR RAIDERS OVER LONDON AND PARIS

"_How We Drop Bombs on the Enemies' Cities_"

_Told by the Air Raiders Themselves_

The first stirring sensations of the Great War, which aroused the
imaginations of the people, were the sailing of the fleets of ships
in the air and under the seas. The world was indeed startled when
the squadrons of Zeppelins rose from Germany, crossed the seas,
and hovered over England, dropping bombs on ports and cities, and
hurling death from the clouds. Here are two stories of German raiders
in which they tell how it feels to drop bombs from the skies on
European capitals. The German authorities permitted the publication
in a Hamburg newspaper of a very exciting and detailed account of a
Zeppelin raid upon London by one of the crew of the airship. This
account was designed to arouse the enthusiasm of the German nation
for the daring and difficult work done by the Zeppelins, and to
make them realize the havoc and terror they created in England. A
translation of the narrative follows:

I--"HOW WE ZEPPELINED THE HEART OF LONDON"

_Told by Commander of a German Air Fleet_

Our Zeppelin received orders at 6 o'clock in the evening to fly from our hangar in Belgium for an attack on London.

The giant airship slipped easily out of the long shed with noiseless motors, and after rising to 8,000 feet, the altitude most suited for steady flying, our captain steered by compass straight for London.

Our true German hearts beat high this night with the hope of doing some great and irreparable damage to London....

Perhaps we should destroy their House of Parliament ... or their War Office ... or the Foreign Office ... or the official dwellings of the Prime Minister and the Chancellor of the Exchequer.... Well did I know the location of all these places from my long residence in London.

Our commander said that a bomb dropped in a certain space of half a square mile in London could hardly fail to destroy some person of great importance in the official or wealthy classes of England.

Perhaps we might strike a school or a hospital or a party of women. We should regret such accidents, but it is impossible to modify our splendid and effective aerial warfare simply because innocent combatants place themselves in the way of legitimate objects of attack.... We know that London is a fortified city, and non-combatants who remain there do so at their own peril.

The way had for months been prepared by previous aerial attacks and reconnoissances for a more accurate and effective blow at the heart of London. All lights, both street lamps and those in dwellings, have been lowered by order of the English Government to a point that causes the busiest thoroughfare at night to present only a dull glow a few hundred yards away.

On the other hand, powerful searchlights operated in connection with anti-aircraft guns, and other military works are kept constantly playing on the sky in the search for our airships. If we can discover the topographical position of these searchlights and batteries we can establish the other principal centres of the city from them and throw our bombs with some approach to accuracy--that is to say, we can at least drop them on a quarter where we know that there are public buildings or where important officials reside.

To establish the location of these points has been the work of our earlier air reconnoissances, and as a result of this system our work must become more and more deadly every day. We have, for instance, found that powerful searchlights and batteries are operated at Woolwich on the extreme eastern outskirts of London, at St. James's Park, which is in the centre of the metropolis, at Hampstead Heath on the north, and at the Crystal Palace, south of the Thames. The English are not likely to move all these defensive points, and if one is moved and not the others, the captain of the Zeppelin can discover the change by reference to the other points.

As our Zeppelin can travel seventy miles an hour at its maximum, the journey of a little more than two hundred miles from Belgium could be performed in a few hours. Darkness was falling as we passed over the stormy North Sea for we did not wish to be seen and reported by patrol ships.

The cold was intense and could be felt through the fleece-lined clothes and heavy felt shoes with which we were provided. Our Zeppelin carried four tons of the most destructive explosives ever created by science--sufficient to annihilate the heart of London, the greatest city in the world. The amount was divided into forty bombs of 100 pounds each, and eighty of fifty pounds each. The larger bombs are designed to destroy fortifications and heavy buildings. The smaller ones are for the purpose of setting fire to houses, and contain an explosive that develops a temperature of 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

We made out the mouth of the Thames from certain lightships and shore lights that have been maintained. At about 10 o'clock we found a powerful searchlight playing on us. This we knew from our information to be Woolwich, the important English arsenal. As we no longer desired to conceal our presence, we discharged ten of the larger bombs in the vicinity of the searchlight.

The bombs are discharged from tubes pointing downward from a steel plate in the floor of the airship. The bomb is furnished with a steel handle, and by means of this it is lowered into the tube. A bolt fitting into a hole in the bomb holds it in the tube. The marksman presses his foot on an electric button in the plate in the floor of the car and this withdraws the bolt, releasing the bombs. He can drop two bombs at once if he wishes, and the third two seconds later.

The height at which the airship flies, its speed and the effects of wind at present render impossible scientific aim in the sense that an artillerist would use the term. Nevertheless a considerable degree of effectiveness is attained by Zeppelin marksmen, while a poor marksman may entirely waste his ammunition. To hit a mark half an acre in extent is good marksmanship from a Zeppelin. In practice a regiment of wooden dummies was set up in a field and one of our aerial marksmen succeeded in wiping out the whole regiment.

If Zeppelin marksmanship is still rudimentary, the destructive power of our bombs, on the other hand, is terrible beyond anything dreamed of before this war. One of our 100-pound bombs striking fairly will destroy any existing building not constructed purely as a fortification. Even if it strikes in a street, it will dig a hole a hundred feet deep, destroying gas pipes, electric wire conduits, subways and any subterranean constructions that may be beneath the surface. Thus the destruction and paralyzing of all life in a city can be practically assured if we use sufficient bombs. Our bombardment of Woolwich was followed by the extinction of the searchlight, and we had reason to believe that we had inflicted serious damage at this important centre.

We knew that in a few minutes we should be over the heart of London. Our daring commander decided to sail very low, following the course of the Thames which he knew would take him near all the objects he wished to reach.

Suddenly the huge outline of a building loomed under our noses. Seen against the dull, cloudy sky, it appeared colossal. We almost struck it. It was a church! It was St. Paul's Cathedral! An instantaneous turn of the elevating rudder saved us from a collision with the monstrous dome. A few seconds more straight to the westward and we knew that we were over the centre of official and fashionable London.

Our commander ordered the bombs discharged as fast as we could throw them. The ship circled slowly round and round, peppering death on the solar plexus of the British Empire.

Beneath us was the Strand, with its theatres and hotels, the House of Parliament, the Government offices in Whitehall and Parliament street, the residences of the aristocracy in Mayfair, the fashionable clubs in Pall Mall, Buckingham Palace, the War Office, the Admiralty and Westminster Abbey.

It was a night of terror for London! The searchlights and the guns played upon us constantly. At night the anti-aircraft fighters use shells that spread a long trail of luminous red smoke through the darkness in order to mark the position of the airship for the other gunners firing shrapnel. It was a grand and inconceivably weird spectacle to watch the electric beams and the long red trails playing about in the air, while shrapnel burst about us and our great bombs exploded on the earth below with a glow that we could faintly discern.

It is exceedingly difficult for a gunner to hit an airship at a height of 8,000 feet, or even lower. We enjoyed a feeling of tremendous power and security. Our daring commander ordered our craft to circle lower and lower in his determination to inflict the greatest possible injury on the enemy.

At last we could see the outlines of buildings on the ground. Below us was a great open square and in the centre a very high slender column. It was the ... British monument to their noted Admiral Nelson standing in the centre of Trafalgar Square.

"Give old Nelson a bomb!" roared our brave commander.

Down went a bomb aimed straight at the head of the one-eyed admiral. The fervent wishes of every man in our crew went with it. Whether it struck the mark time alone will show.

We had ventured too near the earth, and an unusually well-aimed shot struck the forward part of our vessel. One of our mechanical experts, in his anxiety to ascertain the nature of the damage, climbed out on a stay, fell and was, of course, lost. That was our only casualty. We found later that the shot had only penetrated one "ballonnet" and had not interfered with our stability in any important degree.

Our commander threw the elevating rudders to their extreme upward angle, and in a few minutes we were practically out of danger once more. We threw all our supply of bombs upon London and then turned for home again. Steering by compass and the stars for Belgium, we made the return journey without mishap. The dawn was just breaking when we came in sight of certain landmarks which guided us to our hangar.

There are certain details of the raid which I should not wish to reveal, and could not reveal without making myself liable to the death penalty. An attack by a Zeppelin is always accompanied by other air craft, both dirigibles and aeroplanes, in order to give protection to our capital airships and create confusion among the enemy. The English never know whether they are firing at a Zeppelin or a semi-rigid dirigible of similar shape, but comparatively small importance. These are the scouting cruisers of the air. Moreover our raiding forces split up in the darkness according to prearranged plans, thus causing hopeless confusion among our terrestrial opponents, even if the approaching attack has been reported to them in advance.

II--HOW IT FEELS TO DROP BOMBS ON PARIS

_Told by a Young German Aeronaut in a Letter to His Mother_

Dear Mother:

Thank God! After a veritable Odyssey, to-day at noon I again reached my division. With much joy I was greeted on all sides, for, after a four days' absence I was given up for lost. Dear little mother, I shall tell you the story from the beginning. During the forenoon I went up at D---- for the purpose of ascertaining the enemy's position at L---- and F----, and to take notes on their movements. Ober-Lieutenant K---- went along as observer, and my biplane soon carried us to a height of about 800 metres above the enemy's position, which was sketched and photographed time and again. As expected, we were soon the object of a lively firing, and several times I felt a well-known trembling in the machine--a sign that a shot had hit one of the wings. After a three-hour flight we were able to give our reports to General Herringen at headquarters. He praised us warmly and ordered that we be served a roast chicken and he gave us some fine Havana cigars.

As I was again preparing my aeroplane in the afternoon, with the help of several chauffeurs, who filled the benzine tank, and as I was patching the four bullet holes with linen, a Bavarian officer told me that he would like to observe the retreat of the English from the large pike toward M----. I prepared my machine immediately, and around 4 o'clock, with Major G----, I went up. By following the streets it was soon evident that the English retreat was without plan or order, but to all appearances the troops wanted to reach fortified positions as fast as they could. Perhaps they would flee all the way to Paris.

Paris! The Bavarian officer shrieking something to me. Though the motor almost drowned, I understood what he meant. I glanced at the benzine indicator. I possessed sufficient oil. Paris it would be!

Steering toward the south, we journeyed for half an hour, and then out of the distance, far, far below, the gray stone housetops of the French capital took shape. Something impelled me to increase our speed, and we raced toward the city at seventy miles an hour. Incredibly fast Paris becomes clearer and more distinct.

The chain of the forts St. Denis! Montmartre stands out through the mist! The iron pillars of the Eifel Tower!... We are directly above Paris. The major points below with his finger; then he slowly turns to me, raises himself from his seat and shouts, "Hurrah!"

And I? From sheer joy, mother, I nearly went out of my mind. I began to make the wildest circles in the air. I felt I could do anything. There the white Sacred Heart Church, here the Gare du Nord, there Notre Dame, there the old "Boul Mich," where as a student I had so often caroused and which now, as conqueror, I soared above.

The heart of the enemy seemed defenseless; the proud, gleaming Seine lay below me. Everything horrible which I always thought of Paris as possessing vanished--only an impression of the wonderful and the great remained; and I loved Paris more as a conqueror.

Over the housetops I swung in great circles. Little dots in the streets showed me that crowds were gathering. They could not understand how a German could handle the French invention more skilfully and advantageously than the French themselves. They began to shoot at us. It was fine. They were very bad shots. I felt like dropping a bomb--not to kill them, but simply to see something blown up. Then from the direction of Juvisy came a French monoplane. As it was more swift than my biplane, I had to turn and try to escape. My Bavarian comrade prepared my rifle and seized his pistol. The Frenchman approached closer and closer. I attempted to reach the protecting clouds at 6,000 feet, but my pursuer flew swifter than we, ever nearer and nearer. Suddenly I became aware of a second monoplane only 500 yards away. It attempted to block my path. We had to act. I shot at the airman ahead of us. Then a turn and the Major took aim. He shot once, twice, three times. The enemy's machine, which was now next to us only 100 yards away, toppled, tilted upward, and then fell to the ground like a stone. But our other pursuer was almost on top of us and shot at us with pistols. Close to the gas lever a bullet hit the fuselage. Then impenetrable fog concealed us from the enemy. I could hear the buzz of his motor grow fainter and fainter.

When we again emerged from this gray ocean of clouds it was twilight. But suddenly, before, behind and on the sides, white smoke clouds appeared bursting shrapnel. Still flying above the enemy's position, we were directly exposed to their artillery fire. Devil with it! The fire grew worse. I knew from the little trembles that the machine was getting blow upon blow, but it never entered my mind that those shrapnel balls meant death to me. Something in man remains unmoved by logic and knowledge--especially when you're in the air. There, of a sudden, a white-yellow fire in front of me. The machine reared up. The major seemed to reel to his feet. Blood was pouring from his shoulder. The covering of the wings was tattered. The motor buzzed and roared as before, but the screw was missing. A grenat shattered our propellor, but, thank heaven, did no worse. My machine began sinking to earth. I succeeded in gliding and threw the biplane down into the woods. The branches and tree tops crashed to splinters. I struck the steering gear and then was no longer aware of what went on around me. When I again became conscious I was lying next to Major G. on the forest ground surrounded by a group of German reservists. Recognizing the machine, they had forced themselves into the forest in small numbers to save us. Major G. had to be removed to the nearest hospital. I only received a crushed leg.

YOUR AFFECTIONATE SON.

(The two foregoing stories are here retold by permission of the _New York American_, to whom they were sent from Germany.)

TALES FROM SIBERIA--WHEN THE PRISON DOORS OPENED

_Journey Home of a Hundred Thousand Exiles_

_Told by (name withheld), an Eye-Witness_

I--"RUSSIA IS A REPUBLIC--YOU ARE FREE"

The exiles in the Irkutsk prisons were watching eight fellow prisoners who were being flogged. Suddenly, in the doorway, an official appeared. It was the Provincial State Attorney. There was a look of great tidings in his face.

"Russia is a republic," he cried. "You are free."

The news of the revolution had reached across the vast stretches of Siberia. It was a moment of tense excitement. Bewilderment and then jubilation beset the exiles. An hour later began one of the strangest spectacles in modern history--the exodus from Siberia. It is estimated that a hundred thousand political exiles began their race back to Russia.

Traveling from the most inaccessible mines and settlements, they journeyed by sledge or trudged on foot to the nearest point on the Trans-Siberian railway. It was a race against time. The Spring thaw was approaching. If the exiles did not reach the railroad within two weeks the roads would be impassable. The wilderness would become a sea of mud. Far in the north, in the coldest settlements of the lower Lena, it would be impossible to move forward until the ice breaks on the river two months later.

The first large party consisted of one hundred and fifty political convicts and administrative exiles, including twenty members of the Jewish revolutionary band. The exiles were traveling in special cars and had been on the road continuously from March 24, five days after they first heard of the revolution.

The cars were met by a vast crowd at the railroad-station, which cheered them tumultuously. The returning exiles returned the cheers, but they were in a deplorable physical condition--shaggy, uncouth, unwashed, and extremely emaciated.

Many were crippled with rheumatism, two had lost hands and feet from frostbites, and one, who attempted flight a week before the revolution, had been shot in the leg when he was recaptured. He was lying in a prison-hospital when he learned that he was a free man.

Five days after the triumph of the revolution 6,000 exiles entered Irkutsk, but the vast majority were unable to proceed west, owing to the lack of rolling-stock. These encamped about the town and along the railroad, and at least a month will be needed before they can be sent home.

The crowds at Tyumen cheered the famous terrorist, Nicolai Anuikhin, who shot and killed the chief of the Petrograd-Warsaw Railway in 1906. His victim, General Fuchloff, was about to kidnap 400 railroad strikers and send them to Siberia.

Anuikhin, who introduced himself as "a released jailbird," is a gigantic, broad-shouldered, elderly man, with a gray imperial and an excited manner of speech. He said:

"After one year in European convict prisons I spent ten years in the Alexandrovsk prison, fifty miles from Irkutsk. This is the biggest convict jail in Russia and contained 12,000 ordinary criminals and about 500 political prisoners, mostly sentenced to life _katroga_, the severest form of Russian punishment short of death.

"I spent the first five years in the so-called probation class, with hands and feet manacled and chained to a wheelbarrow which I had to take everywhere. In addition I was repeatedly flogged by order of the Governor. The Assistant Governor, during the absence of his chief, ordered daily floggings for his own satisfaction.

"The occupants of the different dormitories communicated by means of tappings and other systems of signaling. Although we also had means of communication with the outside world, we knew nothing of the revolution until the morning of our release.

"After our release we learned that the Assistant Governor, on getting the news of the revolution, declared that he would give a farewell flogging, 'in order to prepare my jailbirds for sweet liberty.'"

Among the political prisoners from Tobolsk was Alexander Popoff. He was sentenced to death for an alleged plot against the Emperor, a charge which he declares was a fabrication by the police. Popoff, who is a highly intelligent artizan, was chained by the wrists and ankles for four years. In describing his release, he says:

"A most remarkable feature of amnesty day in Tobolsk was the sudden demand for blacksmiths. The prison blacksmith, fearing the vengeance of the convicts, fled, and private blacksmiths, in the general orgy of revolutionary triumph, could not be found.

"In the meantime sixty chained men waited for their liberation. The newly formed committee of public safety, unable to find blacksmiths, drove the still chained convicts to the dismissed Governor's palace, where a banquet had been prepared, and we had our first free meal. Above the din of speeches and cheers for the Russian Republic could be heard the jangling of our shackles."

The news of the revolution reached the prisoners in Siberia by various channels, but in all cases the announcement was unexpected and dramatic. In several places the police were wise enough to tell the news themselves in order to escape the danger of suddenly finding themselves in the power of men they had abused with impunity for years. The exiles rarely rose against their jailers. Basil Muravin, once a social revolutionist, tells this story:

"When the revolution occurred I was in the small Udinsk transport-prison awaiting the arrival of other convicts for dispatch together to the east. I had long lost hope of pardon when I learned that I was free. The discovery came in a most dramatic way. I was at the time in chains as a newcomer of unknown character. I heard a sudden shouting and afterward a terrific rifle-firing. It sounded as if a million cartridges had exploded in quick succession.

"Next bullets began to fly over the prison-yard. Finally a bullet cut the halyard of the Russian flag which waved over the prison-building. The flag dropped on the roof and shortly afterward a crowd stormed the prison and hoisted there a revolutionary ensign. My last experience of the old régime was a visit by the former Governor of the jail, who, fearing retaliation, begged me to sign a statement acquitting him of ill-treatment. Though his treatment of the convicts had been bad, I agreed, not desiring to mar Russia's new freedom by acts of petty vengeance."

In another case the priests announced the revolution in the churches.

Fifty exiles, who were in the congregation, rushed out, determined on vengeance on the local police-captain, who was a wanton tyrant. They were met by the policeman's ten-year-old daughter, who stood before her father and exclaimed, "Kill me first!" The child's action saved the captain's life.

II--STORY OF THE HUSSAR WHO ESCAPED FROM SIBERIA

This is the tale of a Hussar who had escaped twice from Russian prisons, faced murder, come half-round the world, and ran the British blockade. He was a reserve officer in the Austrian Army, a Hungarian captain in a famous regiment of Hussars. He was stationed in the fortress at Peremysl when the Russians advanced into the Karpathians and took the city. Taken prisoner, he was marched off to a detention camp near the front where the officers were separated from the soldiers. The men disappeared, but the officers were taken to a military prison near Odessa.

The prison fare was not particularly bad, but the monotony of the place was dreadful. Shut up as they were without anything to think of, they began to have all kinds of imaginary grievances--principally against one another. "If half the challenges to deadly combat are carried out there will be a duel a minute after the war," he says. It got to be positively ludicrous. Pompous and sensitive enough in all conscience in ordinary circumstances, the German and Austrian officers, under the nervous conditions of prison life, lived under a hair-trigger. If you accidentally bumped into a man on your morning walk, or if you forgot to bow in the usual manner, you promptly had a challenge to a duel--to be fought after the war, as there was nothing to fight with in prison.

Having been brought up along the Galician borders, this Hungarian spoke Russian like a native. This fact encouraged him to make an attempt to escape.

For some remarkable reason the Russians had allowed the captured officers to retain all their money. He himself had several thousand dollars in his pockets. When it became whispered around that he intended to make a getaway, other officers asked him to carry money back to their families. The result was that when he slipped away he had nearly $30,000 in cash on his person.

He didn't tell me exactly how he managed to get away, but I inferred that it was through the bribery of some of the prison guards. At any rate he slipped out of the prison one night and turned eastward. His general plan was to make his way down through the passes of the Caucasus Mountains through Armenia, and thence to Turkey, where he would be safe.

Hiding by day and walking by night, he managed to get to a half-civilized little hamlet on the edge of the great mountains.

The wilderness of the journey before him left him rather appalled. He had intended to buy a horse and try to make his own way through, but he saw that this would be impossible. It inevitably meant losing his way and starving--if he were not killed by wandering bandits!

The town was full of wild-looking Kurdish mountaineers armed to the teeth. He decided to open negotiations with one of these to act as his guide. The first one approached readily agreed to act as his guard, guide, and escort on the long journey through the mountains. He said the fellow was as dirty as a pig and looked as tough as a Malay pirate, but his belt was filled like an arsenal.

Under his advice, the Hungarian officer bought a horse for about three times what it was worth. The arrangements were all made and they were to start the next morning when the wife of the Kurdish peasant at whose hut the Hungarian had taken lodging whispered him a word of warning.

"Don't go with him," she said. "As soon as you are one day out, he will kill you."

"Why should he kill me?" asked the Hussar.

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it is a long journey," she said, "why should he take all that trouble when he could get your money in some other way?"

Her logic was at least convincing if not reassuring. The Hungarian took a little walk through the one street of the town. In the light of her warning, he saw that all the men there would kill a baby to get a drink of milk. They looked vicious enough to commit any crime.

The Hussar sat down to think it over. If he tried to go on through the mountains alone he would probably be followed and killed, or assassinated for his rifle by the wandering Kurdish tribes in the mountains. If his luck was good enough to keep him from being shot, he would lose his way and starve. If he went out with his guide, it was simply a question of how long the man allowed him to live. There was only one thing left to do--he must get back to the prison from which he had escaped, where he would find food, shelter, and safety.

He got up in the middle of the night, slipped out of the hut, and took the trail again. Without a great deal of difficulty he found his way back to the prison. A day or two later the sentinel at the officers' prison was amazed to see a Hungarian Hussar come nonchalantly up the road and ask to be let into prison.

They led him before the Russian governor of the prison who was furious.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Why," said the Hussar blindly, "I have always wanted to see these wonderful mountains, so I just went out for a day or two to see the scenery."

"What do you think this is, a summer resort?" roared the Russian colonel.

The Hussar was ordered for a time into solitary confinement. But the Russian commandant was a pretty good fellow. Besides, with his education and his knowledge of Russian, the Hungarian was very useful about the prison. So they restored him to favor very soon.

Meanwhile his uniform had worn out. They had to give him some kind of clothing, so they fitted him out with the clothes of a Russian peasant.

The loose, easy-going discipline of the prison, his pockets full of money, and these Russian clothes made escape the second time ridiculously easy.

He said it could scarcely be called escaping. He literally put on his hat and walked. He figured it out this time that the way to avoid detection was not to hide around dark corners; but to disarm suspicion by openly mixing with the crowds.

Wherefore he went openly down the streets to the railroad-depot, bought a ticket to Moscow in the ordinary way, and traveled just like any other passenger.

At Moscow he stopped for several weeks. His story became decidedly vague at this point.

He told me that he fell in with a woman who had the _entrée_ to army circles in Russia and that she got him a card to a Russian officers' club where he hung around for two weeks, mingling with the officers without his nationality being suspected. The woman had in the meantime dressed him up in good clothes and had changed his Austrian money into Russian coinage.

The Hussar tried to give me the impression that the woman had fallen a victim to his manly charms and had thereby been induced to turn traitor to her country. I couldn't quite believe this, he didn't look the part.

From what we have since learned of Russian conditions, it seems very probable that, when the Hussar got to Moscow, he hunted up the circle of German spies who were operating there, reported for duty, and was taken care of.

* * * * *

"Well, what am I going to do--stay here for the rest of my life?" demanded the Hussar testily.

"Patience, my son," said the old man. "To-night there is another train--a scrubby little local train that runs back and forth across the border carrying the peasants and traders. No one pays any attention to that train. You will be on it when it goes out to-night."

When the local train left that night the Hussar was one of the passengers. The others were dirty, badly smelling Manchurian farmers.

But it carried him safely across the border and into China. Without further difficulty he made his way to America.

He was on his way to the Eastern coast and expected to take ship for Austria within a month. When his companion hinted that he would find it harder to get through the British blockade than to hoodwink the Russian officials, he winked. And sure enough, within three months the Westerner had received a card from him. He was back at his old table in the café of Peremysl, drinking cool concoctions from tall glasses.

(The foregoing stories are: (I) told in the _New York Evening World_; (II) told in the _Los Angeles Times_, and reprinted in the _Literary Digest_.)

SURVIVORS' STORIES OF SINKING OF THE _LUSITANIA_

"_How We Saw Our Ship Go Down--Torpedoed by a German Submarine_"

_Told by Passengers of the Ill-Fated "Lusitania"_

These tragic stories are like voices from the grave--the ocean
giving up its dead. They are told by those who were saved from
the tragedy ship on that fearful day, May 7, 1915 (at 2:08 P.M.
Greenwich time) when the _Lusitania_, fifteen miles off "Old Head of
Winsale" on the Irish coast, was torpedoed by a German submarine.
The _Lusitania_ sailed from New York at noon, May 1, 1915, carrying
1,959 persons--passengers and crew. It had been warned by official
notices from the German embassy that it would be attacked by German
submarines, which only aggravates the crime by making plain its
deliberate intention. The voyage was uneventful until the seventh,
when the ship, running at 17 knots, was nearing its destination. It
was shortly after luncheon, the sea was calm, when two torpedoes
struck the _Lusitania_. The scenes of terror which followed are
described by the survivors--a few of their stories, typical of their
fearful experiences, are told here. The ship sank in less than twenty
minutes, and 1,198 men, women, and children went down into an ocean
grave.

I--STORY OF CAPTAIN W. T. TURNER, COMMANDER OF THE "LUSITANIA"

I was on the bridge of the _Lusitania_ (at 2:08 Friday afternoon, May 7, 1915, off Old Head of Kinsdale on Irish Coast) when I saw a torpedo speeding toward us, and immediately I tried to change our course, but was unable to manoeuvre out of its way. There was a terrible impact as the torpedo struck the starboard side of the vessel, and a second torpedo followed almost immediately. This one struck squarely over the boilers. I tried to turn the _Lusitania_ shoreward, hoping to beach her, but her engines were crippled and it was impossible. Until the _Lusitania_ came to a standstill it was absolutely out of the question to launch the boats--they would have been swamped. It has been suggested that it was impact with ammunition in the cargo that made the work of the torpedoes so deadly, but if there had been ammunition in the cargo the _Lusitania_ would have been blown to pieces. I saw the torpedoes with my own eyes as did many others. It was cold-blooded murder.

I was in the water four hours after the _Lusitania_ sank. I am a strong swimmer, and so was able to keep afloat until I was rescued. When I was swimming about, suddenly a German submarine rose to the surface amid the wreckage, then submerged again. Some persons in lifeboats nearby saw the submarine even better than I did.

(As Captain Turner went about the streets of Queenstown he tried bravely to cheer the survivors, but he seemed stunned. For the most part he walked with bowed head, and many of those he met did not recognize him. When told of the recovery of Charles Frohman's body, and of the finding of many other Americans among the dead, tears came to his eyes.)

II--STORY TOLD BY W. B. PHILLIPS, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

It was seven or eight minutes after 2 o'clock when the torpedo struck us, and my watch stopped at 2:33, when I went into the water a half minute before the _Lusitania_ disappeared. Captain Turner was on the bridge when the ship went down, and the last order I heard him give was "Hard aport," just before the torpedo struck. It seems as though he was trying to turn the ship to escape the torpedo. I rushed on deck, but met two women in the companionway who shouted "torpedo"! I rushed back to my stateroom for some belongings, but as the water was coming through the promenade deck I didn't wait, but rushed back to the deck again. Most everybody went to the cabins for life preservers. There was no panic, though lots of excitement. Not even a panic when the ship went down.

The worst thing was the inefficiency with the lifeboats. On the port side many of the davits wouldn't work and the boats would not go over. The tackle broke on one of four or five boats I saw lowered, while one dropped from the davits and split in two. A few of the collapsible boats floated away upside down, while one raft, which some one cut away with an axe, crushed some men who were trying to climb into a boat.

There was a great whirlpool when the _Lusitania_ finally settled into the sea, but no suction. I was drawn into the whirlpool, but had no trouble in swimming out. She went down very fast at one end. Our boat, which was the most crowded of all, with eighty-four in it, was almost swamped by the wireless antennæ, which swept across us as the _Lusitania_ keeled over for the last time before she righted and sank.

The daughter of Lady Allan told me she saw the submarine, but I know of no one else who did. Shots were fired while we were in the small boats, about twenty minutes after the _Lusitania_ sank, but I don't know if they were from the submarine. They might have been signals from land. The only boat in sight was a fishing smack, or pilot boat, three or four miles away. There was smoke on the horizon, and one vessel seemed to be coming up, but she sheered off.

The wireless operator told me he got in four wireless signals and got an answer to the last one. The boats rowed toward the smack, which took part of the people on board and towed two other boatloads. It was 5 o'clock when we were picked up, and at that time no boat was anywhere near the scene of the wreck. One trawler got to the wreck about 5:30. It was followed by two torpedo boats and eight or nine other boats. Captain Turner had ordered some lifeboats swung over the side on Wednesday and all swung over on Thursday morning, but the rafts and collapsible boats were not touched, but remained securely fastened. There was plenty of boat accommodation if there had been time to get them over.

The men all waited until no women were in sight before they went into the boats. I never believed it true before, but there seemed to be a regular chorus all the time on the _Lusitania_: "Women first! Women first!"

III--STORY OF OLIVER P. BERNARD, AN ENGLISH PASSENGER