They were willing to give guarantees that the Soviet Government would not engage in revolutionary propaganda abroad. They told me that they had repeatedly assured foreign journalists and agents that their governments could take any measures they saw fit to protect themselves against Russian propaganda.
Of propaganda in Russia itself there is plenty. I have already described the propaganda among prisoners of war, and of its effect upon the English prisoners in Moscow. I have no doubt the same “torture” was administered to Americans in Siberia. I saw, in an American magazine, a statement of a Canadian soldier that he and many of his comrades had been entirely converted to the doctrines of Bolshevism, but he attributed his conversion to actual experiences and to the things he saw rather than to anything he had read or been told. It occurs to an unprejudiced observer who has been in Soviet Russia that the nations that feared the contagion of Bolshevist propaganda took the worst possible way of avoiding it when they sent their young soldiers into a land full of propaganda explaining and upholding the new order established there.
CHAPTER XII
COMING OUT OF SOVIET RUSSIA
I was checked and guarded out of Red Russia in the same manner in which I had been checked and guarded into it. When I was ready to leave Petrograd, early in October, Zinovieff delegated as my guard and guide a short, stocky Esthonian, Isaac Mikkal. As Grafman had reminded me of Larkin, so Mikkal reminded me of Tom Hickey, the famous Texas socialist. He appeared rather pleased at my calling him “Hickey” which I did, throughout the journey.
We left Petrograd at eleven o’clock at night, and arrived at Pskov the next morning at eight, where we had to remain until five in the evening before we could get a train for Rejistza, which we reached at six the following day. Here the division commandant stamped our papers and sent us on to Velikie Luki to the headquarters of the army command.
“Hickey” had turned out to be a less aggressive and efficient guide than Larkin, and as he could give me little information about either the country we were passing through or the events that were taking place, I longed often for my old friend whom I had left at Moscow weeks before. With our papers stamped at Velikie Luki, we were allowed to go on to the front without going through Smolensk, and I asked the commandant to give me a guide who understood that part of the Western Front, so that I could proceed more swiftly. He granted this request, but said that “Hickey” must also be of the party, since he had been charged at Petrograd with my safe delivery and must make his report on his return to that city. After a brief telephone conversation, in Russian, the commandant informed me that another guide would appear in less than a half hour. We had dinner and waited calmly. At the end of the stipulated time my guide entered, and to my surprise and pleasure it was “Larkin.”
He stopped short, looked at me a moment, raised his hands to his head and brushed off his cap which fell to the floor. “God love a duck, is it you? They told me there was a journalist here who wanted to go to the front but if I had known it was you I would have said I was laid up with cholera.”
I introduced my two guides and we went to the station, only to find that the train we had expected to take at eleven that night would not go before five the next morning. There was nothing to do but climb in one of the coaches, but since the train was already full of soldiers, talking, singing, and smoking, there was but little sleep for me that night.
At five in the morning we started—on time at last. The conductor informed me that we would reach Rejistza at five in the afternoon, but we did not arrive until four in the morning. I endeavored to learn from both “Larkin” and “Hickey” the real reason for the delay, but they told me to “forget it. A few hours’ delay makes no difference to you, one way or the other.” At last “Larkin” must have grown very weary of my importunities. At any rate he said, “Please remember you are in Russia and that we are at war. All trains are soldier trains. They must stop to take on soldiers and to let soldiers off. They must stop to make repairs. They must stop for many reasons. Don’t imagine you are in America, on an express train. Some time when the war is over trains will run on time, but now,—well stop kicking.” I stopped.