To combine these hostile and divergent elements into a united party for the resurrection of Russia seemed impossible to me, as it did to one other Britisher, Mr. David Frazer, the Times Pekin correspondent; but the “politicals” thought otherwise.  That they were guided by the highest motives and that they gave of their very best in the interest of the Russian people no one who has the slightest knowledge of the high personal character of our representatives could doubt for a moment, but they tried to accomplish the unattainable.  The most that could be said of their policy is that it was worth attempting.  Try they did, and under the influence of the Bolshevik guns booming along the Urals and of Royalist conspiracies at Chita a piece of paper was produced with a number of names upon it which seemed to bear the resemblance of a working arrangement between these two opposites.

I am writing this within three weeks of the occurrence, and may modify my views later, but for the life of me I cannot understand the satisfaction of our “politicals” with their work.  They “downed tools” at once and disappeared from the scene of their triumph as though the few names on a piece of paper had solved the whole problem of the future of Russia.  It would be mighty interesting to know the nature of their communications to their respective Governments.  One thing, however, had been done which was fated to have important after-effects.  Vice-Admiral Koltchak had been brought into the new Council of Ministers with the title of Minister for War.  I had never met the officer, and knew nothing about him or his reputation, and merely lumped him in with the rest as an additional unit in an overcrowded menagerie.  Frazer and I had many talks about these events, but we could fasten on to nothing real in the situation except danger.

On November 6, 1918, we were all invited to a banquet in honour of this new All-Russian Government.  It was to be the climax of all our efforts and a tangible evidence of the successful accomplishment of a great diplomatic task.  I was rather late, and the ante-rooms were already filled with soldiers and diplomats in grand uniforms with glittering swords and decorations.

I watched this peculiar and intensely highly-strung crowd with the greatest interest, and except for one figure—­a sort of cross between a Methodist parson and a Plymouth Brother—­was struck by the complete absence of personality amongst the people present.  The parsonified person referred to turned out to be the Social Revolutionary, Volagodsky, President of the Siberian Council, who had now transferred his love from Siberia to the whole of Russia.  But as my liaison officer was repeating the names of those present a smart little energetic figure entered the room.  With eagle eyes he took in the whole scene at a glance.  The other officers had bowed gracefully to all their friends and gallantly kissed the ladies’ hands, while around them buzzed the conversation.  For an instant the buzz ceased, during which the brown figure with the dark, clear-cut face shook hands with an officer friend and departed.  The impression on my mind was that I had seen a small, vagrant, lonely, troubled soul without a friend enter unbidden to a feast.