their fear and dread of democracy as understood in England, and have declared they would prefer a return to the old regime rather than have a Constitution like that of England or America forced upon them.  Hence there is no real difference of principle between the Bolshevik and the supporters of the old regime, only a difference as to who should wield the power.  For the moment they let this minor point slip into the background, and combined for the destruction of the man who was the enemy of both.

About midnight, December 23, Russian Headquarters gave me the alarm.  Shots were being fired in all directions, and a spent bullet struck my carriage while I was getting into my clothes.  Horsemen in little groups were surrounding the Staffka without much sign of order.  Having inspected my battalion at their emergency quarters, I called for a personal guard to escort me to Headquarters.  I regret there was no impressionist artist with us to record the weird procession my guard made.  When sheepskin coats were provided for my men for use in a cold, snowbound country, it is a real English touch that they should have been black in colour, making my men a perfect target both night and day.  Their fur caps were a dark brown of the well-known Nansen type, the half-moon peak making the head of the wearer a good mark at midnight up to 300 yards.  The cap is pointed, and has much the appearance at night of a small mitre.  What with huge fur boots, black pointed caps, and long black coats, there was nothing to indicate the British Tommy in the line of black monks that moved silently forward over the frozen snow.  The temperature was such that as the slight wind brought the water to one’s eyes the drops froze to hard white spots of ice at the corners.  Breath from the nostrils froze before it could leave the nose, and from each nostril hung icicles, in some cases 2 inches long, which again froze to the moustache.  The eyebrows and eyelashes and the protruding fur edge which enclosed the faces of the men carried a wonderful display of hoar frost, and gave the appearance of white lace frills, such as are seen on “granny’s” caps.

As we entered the Russian Headquarters, which were crowded with more or less excited officers and men, my guard lined up on each side of the vestibule, and without a word proceeded to unsling rifles and fix bayonets.  The Russians, who were even now debating on which side they were going to slide down, looked at my soldier monks, and at once themselves fell into line.  There was no longer any hesitation.  “Anglisky soldats” were in possession of Russian Headquarters, and the reputation of English soldiers in emergencies like this is known all over the world.  I interviewed the Chief-of-Staff, General Lebediff, as to his orders for suppressing the revolters and went downstairs to find the vestibule empty except for my “monks.”  No one who was not there could believe the absolute transformation that the mere presence of a few English soldiers had