We stopped at a station near a mining village largely peopled with emigrant Chinese workmen.  We removed the Bolshevik flag from the flag-post, and insisted upon the Russian flag being run up in its stead.  A Russian woman told us to go back, and when we asked her why, she said, “Well, it does not matter; our men will soon find enough earth to bury you.”  But another Russian woman thanked us for coming, and hoped we were not too late to save a country that was sick unto death.

That night we ran into Zema station, where we came to a sudden stop.  I sent my liaison officer to find the cause, and he informed me that a body of men were beside the engine and threatening to shoot the driver if he moved another foot.  I ordered the “Alarm” to be sounded, and instantly 400 British soldiers tumbled out of the trucks.  Taking their prearranged positions, they fixed bayonets and awaited orders.  My carriage was the last vehicle of the train.  I walked forward to find the cause of our enforced stoppage, and was just in time to see in the darkness a squad of armed men leaving the station.  I took possession of the station and telegraphs, and then heard from the officials that Bolshevik agents had come to the town and had persuaded the workmen to leave work, to take arms and cut the line to prevent the Allies moving forward, and await the arrival of the Bolshevik force which had retired from Baikal.  This force had worked its way along the Mongolian frontier, and was now feeling its way towards the line to destroy the bridge which carries the railway over the River Ocka at a point about three versts from Zema.  I placed guards around and in the railway works, engine sheds, and approaches, and discovering telegrams still passing between the Bolsheviks and the inhabitants, I occupied by force the post and telegraph office in the town.  Orders were issued that all men must pledge themselves not to interfere with the trains, and return to work by 6 A.M., or they would be dealt with under martial law.  Two hours elapsed, during which time my other trains arrived, with machine-gun section complete, and the whole force were disposed to receive attack.

The troops surrounded the house of the leader of the movement, but the bird had flown.  I found some Bolshevik literature advocating the wholesale destruction of the bourgeoisie and intelligenzia (I forget which they put first), also 3,600 roubles, which I gave back to the wife, saying, “That is a gift from me to you.”  This act disgusted the local chief of the gendarmerie, who assured me that it was German money and ought to be confiscated.  I had no doubt it was, but then I was English, and a Hampshire man at that.  Then the usual teacher arrived and asked if he would be allowed to speak to the “Anglisky Polkovnika.”  Receiving an affirmative, he entered and began the conversation.  He naively confessed that if he had known it was an “Anglisky” train he would have allowed it to pass.  They had read my order as to their