Siberia To-Day

by Frederick Ferdinand Moore

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.