Paul handed me a key, which he said unlocked a certain box in his room in St. Petersburg. If I did not hear from him by ten o’clock the next morning I was to go to his room, unlock the box and burn the papers. He then shook hands with Pasha and myself and went out behind an orderly who carried a large black portfolio supposedly containing official documents, but, as I knew, now filled with official proclamations of the revolution.
Pasha and I remained at headquarters till early afternoon, and then started forth upon our enterprise—she a plain mill-girl, and I a sailor boy.
A sailor led us to a small park near the barracks and left us sitting on a bench while he reconnoitered. In a few minutes he returned with the word that all was well. Only we must hurry. The barracks courtyard entrance was guarded by a soldier. Hurrying across the court we entered the barracks. It was a long, low building of brick. At one end was a room evidently used for storage purposes, though originally intended for sleeping-quarters. The windows were set high in the walls, and crossed by iron bars as in a prison. The darkness obscured my vision for the first minute, but I was aware that many men were already in the room—soldiers and sailors all. They made way for us as we were led to the far end of the hall. I noticed that there was no other door in the room than the one by which we had entered.
Within a quarter of an hour the room was crowded. Nearly one hundred men in uniform stood compactly within the four walls.
Some one near the front started the Marseillaise in a low key. In a minute the atmosphere of the room seemed charged with electricity. My blood tingled to my fingertips as that deep-throated chorus in subdued tones repeated the refrain of the most soul-stirring hymn ever written.
At the close the sailor who had been our guide to the place leaned over to Pasha and said:
“Shall we begin?”
Without formality of any kind Pasha mounted a box which had been brought in for the purpose, and gathered herself for her address. My eyes were accustomed to the dimness now, and as her shawl had fallen away from her head and was caught over her shoulders, I could see the delicate flush on her cheeks.
The hush that fell over the gathering was deep, like the emptiness of a nautilus.
At the beginning she spoke very quietly. She talked simply and directly. She appealed to the soldiers and sailors as men who had been peasants and working-men, who were to be again peasants and working-men. There was fervor in her voice. She spoke not for party, not for section, but for Russia—unhappy Russia! Bleeding from border to border; her people oppressed by rulers who should be guardians of her peace and happiness! Without the support of the army and navy the overthrow of the present régime is quite impossible. With the support of the army and navy it would be simple.