During these proceedings I noticed my liaison officer in angry dispute with two Japanese officers against a truck carrying the Union Jack as an indication of the nationality of the train.  They were pointing to the flag in such a manner that I saw at once the dispute was about this offending emblem.  When the Japanese officers had moved away I called Colonel Frank to me and inquired the cause of dispute.  He said:  “I can understand the contempt of the Japanese for our Russia; she is down and is sick, but why they should wish to insult their Ally, England, I cannot understand.  The Japanese officers who have just left me inquired where the English commander got his authority to carry an English flag on his train.  I answered it was an English train carrying an English battalion to Omsk, and no authority was necessary.  The Japanese officers replied that they considered the flying of any other flag than theirs in Manchuria or Siberia an insult to Japan.  I told them they were fools, that if the English commander had heard their conversation (they both spoke in Russian) he would demand an apology.  At which they grinned and departed.”  We tried every means to find the two officers, but were unable to do so.  This was the atmosphere in which we discussed the smaller subject, and may explain the obstinacy of both sides; at any rate, it had something to do with my determination.

We arrived at Chita without further incident of importance.  Bread and horse exercise delayed us one whole day, and inability to secure engines part of another, until in desperation I went with a squad of men to the sheds and forced an engine-driver to take out his engine, I myself riding on the tender, where I nearly lost my sight with hot debris from the funnel, while Major Browne, who stood sentinel beside the driver, had holes scorched in his uniform.  This act of violence secured not only an engine for my train, but for the others also.

I had broken my glasses, and it was necessary to secure others.  I walked to the town and called at the shop of a jeweller and optician, with whom we conversed.  Other customers joined in the talk, and we were here informed of the murder of the present owner’s mother during the Bolshevik occupation of the town.  The Soviet Commisar, with Red soldiers, visited the shop one day to loot the stock.  The mother, an old lady over sixty years of age who was then looking after the business, protested against the robbery of her property.  The commisar ordered one of the Red Guard to bayonet her, which he did.  They then proceeded to remove everything of value, locked up the premises with the dead woman still lying on the shop floor, and for several days refused permission to her neighbours to give her decent burial on the plea that she was a counter-revolutionist.  It was evident from the appearance of the place that the Red soldiers were pretty expert at this sort of business; but stories like this are so numerous that it is nauseating to repeat them.