soldier had gone on to Khabarovsk from Popperoffka, ill. The train was
so crowded that there was no room for me in any of the cars, and all I
could do was load my heavy bedding-roll and grip on between the cars,
and then stand outside with it.
The trip took all day, and till two the next morning. The weather was
too cold for comfort, despite my heavy sheepskin coat. But a provodnik
insisted that I share his compartment.
Except for a little Russian, our conversation was limited, but all
through the day and night we entertained each other, exchanging English
and Russian lessons. He claimed to be a Pole from Warsaw, spoke German,
Polish and Russian, and his eagerness to learn English was pathetic.
He asserted that his one ambition was to get to America, and said he
had almost enough rubles to pay his passage, although it developed that
he did not know the price of a ticket from Vladivostok to Japan, and
thence to San Francisco. He probably had more than enough money to pay
his passage, for the lowly provodnik absorbs much money and smuggles
many commodities, from sugar to opium. And many provodniks are German
or Bolshevist agents--they make an admirable system for “underground”
lines of communication.
The fact that I had to watch my baggage kept me from getting meals from
the stations along the line. But the provodnik filled his tea-kettle
with hot water, we brewed tea, and he came in with a monstrous loaf of
bread and big consignment of reddish salmon-roe. I never intended to
eat the latter stuff, for I had no gas-mask, but when my hospitable
provodnik plastered an inch of the stuff on a slice of bread and handed
it to me, I ate the eekrah to get the bread. I enjoyed it quite as much
as the baked sheep’s eyes once served me by an Arab in the desert.
We reached Khabarovsk at two in the morning, our passenger train
coming into the yards in such fashion that some six freight trains
were between us and the station, which is generally the case. As the
freights were being shifted about continuously, it was impossible to
attempt to go under them with my baggage, and when, after an hour’s
wait, I got a porter, it appeared that we would spend the remainder
of the night running round the tracks of the yard. For having gone a
quarter of a mile to get round a line of freight cars on one track,
another train on the next track would come rolling down between us and
the station. It was nearly daylight when we got out of that moving
labyrinth.
And the single drosky-driver at the station, knowing that he had a
monopoly on my business, for all the others had departed with incoming
passengers, demanded sixty rubles to take me to the American post.
Without argument, I piled my baggage in, clambered aboard, and then
paid him his proper twenty rubles at the end of the journey. He did
not demur--such methods proved to him that I was a personage not to be
trifled with. Had I given him thirty, he would have chased me all night
to get the other thirty, for to display weakness by over-payment puts
one down as a person who can be brow-beaten and robbed. Generosity in
Siberia stamps the stranger as a fool. And as a matter of fact, I paid
him double rate, for the Imperial rubles I gave him were worth about
twice the local paper money.
There was still a detachment beyond the Amur River, about twenty versts
away, which I had not visited. Colonel Styer gladly provided me with
a horse, and a mounted orderly to ride to this station, saving me
the two days necessary to make the trip by trains. And the Chaplain
of the Twenty-seventh, a hard-riding and hard-praying Southerner
representative of our best type of army chaplains, said that he would
go with me.
The trip was arranged while I was dining as the guest of Colonel Styer
and Chaplain W----.
Once more I was in quarters with Lieutenant-Colonel Morrow, the
regimental captain-adjutant, S----, and a second lieutenant, W----,
who had been commissioned from the ranks after several years in the
regular army. The building was large and roomy, having formerly been
the residence of a Russian officer and his family while a regiment of
Siberian Rifles had been stationed in Khabarovsk in the old days. We
used their silver and furniture, their rich table covers, candelabra
and samovars.
The walls of the house are four feet thick, with hollow spaces between
connected with the flues of the many great stoves, in such way that
the smoke and heat from the fires circulate between the walls before
escaping from the chimneys. Fifty and sixty degrees below zero are said
to be usual winter temperature there.
A stove in Siberia is not a stove at all, to use a Hibernism, but a
sort of tile temple built into the wall, reaching from the floor to
the ceiling. The front of this structure merges with the surface of
the wall, and the tiles being of various colors and designs, they add
to the interior decorations. And it is startling to come in of a cool
evening and touch a wall hot enough to suggest frying eggs upon it. My
memories of that house are permeated by a kindly old Russian _moujik_,
with long reddish beard, long hair, wrinkled and blinking eyes.
Whenever one had occasion to pass him, he abased himself--he was a most
pathetic demonstration of the Russian style of turning service into
servitude. He seemed to spend all the day and night stuffing wood into
the fireboxes.
An old soldier who had been with Colonel Morrow had charge of the
servants; a soldier cook prepared the meals, and the house work was
done by the blond _moujik_, a Russian woman and her daughter. It was a
happy place--what the veteran regular calls “old army stuff,” meaning
that everybody begins by assuming that the other fellow is a gentleman,
knows his business, and attends to it without attempting to look, talk
or stand in imitation of von Hindenburg. These latter traits afflict
some persons new to the uniform of an officer, because many young men
gained commissioned ranks without going through the “shavetail” period
of their training. This term comes from the old style of shaving the
tail of a mule new to the army, which serves as sort of a warning
signal to such as may have dealings with him, that the mule has not
acquired proper discipline and a regard for the feelings of others.
And no matter how high a cadet may stand in his class at West Point,
when he comes to the army, he is a “shavetail officer,” for about a
year, and admits that he has a lot to learn about army ways. This is
one of the reasons why the old regular officers, and the officer fresh
from civil life, have not always gotten on well together in the new
army.
I do not always side with the regular. The regular army had a splendid
opportunity to send back to civil life several thousands of temporary
officers with friendly feelings for the regulars, and an appreciation
of the professional training of the regular. Instead, in too many
cases, the regular officers went out of their ways to point the fact
that the new officer was only an amateur at the game of soldiering. The
new officers, with a few exceptions, never pretended to be anything
else. They wanted to learn, but they resented being humiliated while
learning.
As it happened, the regular army of England was forced to enjoy a
monopoly of the fighting in the early days of the war, with the result
that the regular officers were almost entirely wiped out.
But one foolish amateur in an American expedition generally resulted in
all his fellows being judged by his inefficiency and his foolishness.
The regular army would not wish to be judged by its worst types. And
I refer to these things here to point the fact that if our regular
officers had shown the same spirit toward the strangers that Colonel
Styer and the officers of the Twenty-seventh United States Infantry
showed to the temporary officers of the Siberian Expedition, the
regular army would hold the respectful deference of those men who have
quit the officer’s uniform for civilian garb.
Before we could cross the Amur to visit the detachment near Khabarovsk,
it was necessary for me to have a pass for the big railroad bridge
over the river, issued by the headquarters of General Oi. S----, the
adjutant, arranged it for me through the Japanese liaison officer.
We rode down through Khabarovsk, and out on a road which would take us
to the bridge. A guide at headquarters said there was a passage over
the bridge for horses and foot-passengers, but he did not go with us.
When we came to the bridge, we found that the “passage for horses”
consisted of nothing more than loose planks laid lengthwise between the
rails. And outside the rails, between the steel girders, were great
openings big enough to let a horse go through, in case he shied from
between the rails. And if we met a train, we would have to turn our
horses and come back.
This bridge over the Amur is nearly a mile long, and consists of
twenty-two spans supported by great stone piers built up from the river
bed. It may be less than half a mile from the surface of the river,
but it appeared to be that far above the water as I looked it over in
contemplation of riding a horse across it. I had crossed it twice by
train, but late at night, when I had not appreciated its grandeur, so
to speak.
There is a story that the Bolshevists planned to blow it out, but that
one Bolshevist leader had objected, and threatened to shoot his comrade
with the explosives, if the bridge were destroyed, saying it belonged
to Russia, and so much wealth could not be destroyed with his assent.
That Bolshevist must have been something of a patriot, for he saved the
bridge.
The Japanese guards examined my pass. I consulted with W----. The
horses seemed steady enough, and I decided to attempt the crossing.
So starting off at a slow trot, I led the way. My horse shuddered and
snorted at first, but I did not allow him to stop and think it over.
By the time we had crossed the first span, the others were trailing
behind. And everything went well, till I came to planks which were
underlaid with sheets of corrugated iron. These made a tremendous
racket under the impact of the blows of the horse’s feet on the loose
planks, and he began to prance and refused to go on. I dismounted,
and without looking back at him, led him across the bad stretch. He
followed meekly, and once we were clear of the sheets, I mounted again,
and went on at the slow trot. So we went over and back again without
mishap, and found it not to be so foolhardy a crossing as it had
appeared to be at first glance.
My orderly was now out of hospital, and I arranged to leave for
Vladivostok. The train would leave at one o’clock in the afternoon. At
ten, I sent the orderly-interpreter to the station, to get two tickets
and book accommodations for us. At eleven we were at the station, in
order to assure ourselves of a seat, for the train came in a couple
of hours before it departed, and seats belong to those who get them,
regardless of seat-tickets or anything else, under that system of
“equality” which the Siberian has acquired.
All my effects were dumped from an army wagon, in a blinding snow
storm. The Cossack commandant assured us that our seats would be
preserved for us. The train came in, and unloaded its passengers, and
immediately there was a wild scramble on the part of peasants and
Chinese, fighting their way into the cars. The commandant was with
my interpreter, finding our places, so I waited an hour, having an
abiding faith at that time in the polite assurances of Cossack officers.
The interpreter came back looking disconsolate. He said the Cossack had
given up in disgust--there was no room in the train for us. And the
engine tooting for an early start, with my baggage rapidly becoming a
snow drift!
I went to the station and found the Cossack officer. I displayed my
tickets, and cited the fact that I had taken every precaution for
transportation, and had taken him at his word that he would be glad to
reserve seats for us. I demanded that he make good his promises.
He displayed a most laudable energy, and going aboard a car, opened the
door of a compartment despite the protests of four Russian men inside.
He waxed eloquent over the fact that an American officer and soldier
must travel on that train. They displayed pistols, but finally gave
way, and the six of us sat down in the compartment. My baggage was
checked, and away we rolled.
It developed later that the reluctance of the four men inside to admit
anybody was due to the fact that they were carrying large sums of
railroad money to Vladivostok. And they explained to the interpreter
that they had showed the pistols for the benefit of the crowds in the
passageway of the car, and were willing enough that we should share the
compartment with them, for if we had not, they might have had trouble
with the exasperated travelers outside, who were compelled to stand
up all that day and most of the night, to get to Vladivostok. As it
turned out, we lived in that compartment as if in a besieged fortress.
At every station, new passengers demanded admittance, and fought for
some time to be admitted, claiming that there was room to sit on the
two upper berths.
But the Russians drove them away with pistols, and by asserting that
the compartment belonged to “the Americanskys.” And Russian women with
children, scowled at me through the narrow aperture of the chained door
which ventilated the compartment, losing no opportunity by looks or
remarks, to express their opinions of people who came to Siberia and
prevented honest people from riding in comfort in their own trains.
We got into Vladivostok about four o’clock the next morning, and hiring
three Chinese carriers, I got my baggage to headquarters, and set up my
cot in the Intelligence Office.
During my absence, there had been a merry rumpus.
XI
THE MACHINE THAT SQUEAKED
I found Headquarters in Vladivostok seething with secret turmoil.
It seems that the Staff resented the fact that fifteen Intelligence
officers had been sent by the War Department for duty in Siberia. At
least the Intelligence officers got that impression, and they claimed
that everything was being done to discredit them, and upset the general
plan of studying the Siberian situation in detail if for no other
purpose than to watch the Intelligence machine work.
Although we did not know it, there had been some minor troubles before
we arrived. By the time the _Sheridan_ brought us, there had been one
reorganization of the Siberian military policy, which was brought
about by the arrival of General Graves, who put into play methods of
procedure reflecting the administration policy of “non-interference.”
This meant putting a stop to everything which called for any activity
with the forces in Siberia, crushed any ambition held by officers
of the Twenty-seventh and Thirty-first regiments of infantry for a
campaign, and resolved the whole situation into a matter of marking
time in quarters.
This is not a criticism of General Graves. What he might prefer to do,
compared with what his orders were, is the difference between a good
soldier obeying his orders and a commander carrying out the orders of
his superiors. I believe that all concerned obeyed their orders, and no
higher compliment can be paid to soldiers. If their orders are not in
accordance with their personal desires, all the more credit to them for
obeying. So in discussing the situation as I found it in Vladivostok, I
wish to make it plain that I realized the difficulties under which the
Headquarters Staff labored. Its prime business was to obey orders, not
to be popular with anybody, in or out of the expedition.
When the two regiments of infantry, tucked away in the Philippines and
apparently marooned from the war, got orders to leave for Siberia,
there was great joy. For the regular officers it meant activity and
service stripes, and probably medals, and a campaign in their records,
and experience and a chance for distinction. And many of these
officers, due to age, or the lottery of the service which sends some
officers to the front and immures others to a tropical cloister, had
given up all hopes of having a hand in the war. Suddenly a new front
was devised for them, and they were rushed off to make history.
Colonel Styer was in command at Vladivostok, and at that time there
was every reason to believe that there would be lively times. The two
regiments prepared themselves accordingly, and were ready for swift
and decisive action when they landed. With the quiet efficiency of the
regular, they overlooked nothing in order to be ready for whatever
developed.
This little machine was running on a high gear, when General Graves
arrived. He drew the fires and stopped the engine. Presently two more
transports arrived, with reinforcing troops, and our Intelligence
party, direct from Washington. Our officers had presumably been
selected for Siberian service because they were experts in their
various lines, and necessarily being enthusiasts for their own line of
endeavor, showed great interest in the situation.
They laid down a barrage of questions on the staff, ranging from
where they were to sleep, to data on the available coal supply from
the Golden Horn to the Urals. They had been cooped in a hotel and a
transport for some two months since leaving Washington, some of them
had never been away from the United States, and they brought an element
of romping boyishness to the sedate, quiet and somewhat bored staff.
Some of them, though captains, had never been near an army, and their
civilian enthusiasms jarred headquarters.
Having quelled one epidemic of enthusiasm, the staff rather crossly
and tactlessly set about stamping out this fresh access of desire for
picturesque action. The staff, it was said, assumed the attitude that
it was competent to run the Siberian expedition without the aid of a
“lot of theorists and amateurs from civil life.”
The younger officers on duty, fresh from West Point and feeling much
exalted at finding themselves wearing insignia of rank which in the
old army sometimes took twenty years to attain, reflected the attitude
of the elders, and two hostile camps developed in a single building.
And this was the war I walked into, all unknowingly, when I came back
from Khabarovsk.
I found myself “one of that Intelligence bunch,” and no matter how
politely I asked for some action of a routine nature in order to carry
out my own orders, I found that the wheels did not turn for me. Of
course, there was not a flat refusal, but there was what might be
called “mental sabotage”--my requests were forgotten till I had to
resort to plain language to get what I needed.
And the Intelligence party, I was informed, had been summoned and told
to “keep quiet, to betray no initiative, not to criticise, and to
keep busy doing nothing.” And in order to nullify as far as possible
all attempts of the individuals of the party to accomplish anything
in their own lines of endeavor, the “chart” of the organization was
dismantled, and each officer put at some duty with which he was
unfamiliar. For instance an expert on ciphers was sent far into
the interior, and an expert on maps was put in charge of several
translators, though he had a most limited knowledge of Russian. And
the Chief of Intelligence found himself with some fifteen officers
who had been shipped half way round the world at government expense,
and drawing an average of two hundred dollars a month in pay, buzzing
indignantly about his ears, and doing little but making his life a
burden.
Most of these officers were quartered in a warehouse some five miles
from headquarters, and an irregular launch taking them back and forth
across the bay for meals, with the consequence that most of the time
was spent traveling or waiting on the pier for the launch.
And when the launch was taken off the run, an automobile was provided,
which held five persons, to transport a dozen officers and as many
field clerks, in a single trip, from and to quarters. About the time
the Intelligence detachment took ship for home, a truck was provided.
But in order to avoid the loss of time in going back and forth, many
of the officers had hired at their own expense, rooms in crowded
Vladivostok.
There is something on the other side of the shield. This obvious
attempt to humiliate the Intelligence detachment, probably grew out of
the reports which reached headquarters with us. The officer who had
been bedeviled by Smith in San Francisco, came in the transport _Logan_.
He had apparently judged the whole party by Smith, and had given us
a bad repute. However that may be, the Professor engaged by Smith as
“advisor,” as told in a previous chapter, got anything but a pleasant
reception when he came to report his status.
As related to me, General Graves was most indignant when he learned how
and why the Professor had been thrust upon the expedition. He was told
that his services were not required, and he was paid off at the rate
allowed a field clerk. He refused to acknowledge the money received
as payment in full, and charged poor Smith with having misrepresented
his authority, asserted that he had been damaged by quitting his
positions in San Francisco as undoubtedly he had been, and took the
return transport threatening suit against Smith and a claim against the
government.
There is every reason to believe that this incident established the
“Intelligence bunch” as a group of high-handed incompetents. The Staff
to my mind, had every reason for withholding from the members of the
party that measure of confidence and respect which an Intelligence
Department must have before it can operate with any efficiency.
A Commanding General and his staff in a situation such as confronted
them in Siberia, has something else to do beside test individually a
lot of officers who from previous acts by one or two of them appeared
to give every evidence of having no judgment. It is safer to assume
that they are all Smiths, and put them at such simple tasks as insure
that they will not do something disastrous. It is also cheaper to pay
them to do nothing.
In time, most of the officers were sent away to inland cities, where
they remained as observers, till they signified their desire for
discharge after the armistice in accordance with the terms of their
commissions. And in justice to the majority of these officers, I wish
to assert that they were highly efficient in their various vocations,
and that most of them had distinguished themselves in civil life. One
had been minister for the United States to foreign countries and was
schooled as a diplomat; others were professors of history and could
tell the various life-careers of big and small nations; some were
ethnologists, and could give the pedigree of any nondescript person
found in the motley throngs all over Siberia; many had previously been
in Russia several years, spoke the language well, and found themselves
in familiar surroundings. With a few exceptions, they did the duties
of glorified office boys, while attached to an expedition which
needed above all things, an alert and efficient system of Military
Intelligence. They did their best under disheartening conditions.
XII
AN ARMY IMPRESARIO
For a week or two after my return to Vladivostok, I familiarized myself
with the Intelligence organization at Headquarters. So far as I could
see, we had no authority over anybody who happened to be suspected of
enemy activity, or actually guilty of some act against the American or
Russian laws.
When we found a man who had come in under a fraudulent passport, and
had in our files data which proved him to be a Bolshevist agent, or
sympathizer, we could take no action, other than hold his American
passport. Then we notified the Czech commandant, and he was arrested
after passing from our custody.
So we exercised no military or police authority over anybody but our
own nationals, or such Russians or other foreigners as fraudulently
claimed American citizenship and attempted to travel as such.