The Last Days of the Romanovs

prevent direct communication between their former occupants—the Russian guards—and the prisoners. One had to go into the yard and then enter the lower floor by a separate doorway. This was the route followed by Yurovsky and his victims. The motor-lorry that had come for the bodies waited outside the gate of this very court-yard, and in the dim light of the northern midnight the prisoners could probably see the vehicle and must have felt reassured, even if any suspicion of their imminent end had assailed their minds.

Still following Yurovsky, they traversed all the rooms of the lower floor, now tenanted only by “Letts,” and came at last to the small lobby adjoining the front entrance on the lane (pereulok) side. This lobby was lighted by a small window, heavily grated, looking into the garden. Outside stood a sentry with a machine-gun. He could see everything that went on inside, especially when the interior was lit up for the execution. This man’s account played an important part in assembling and corroborating the various depositions dealing with the murder. Opposite the window, a door leads into a small chamber (18 × 16 ft.) with a heavily grilled double window facing the lane. Here also stood sentries outside, able to see what was going on within. This chamber is partly basement. The guards had used it as a dormitory. A locked door led into a basement chamber situated immediately under the Tsar’s prison-room. This corner basement was a store-room where some of the Imperial belongings had been deposited—and pilfered. There was no escape in that direction. Besides, there were double barriers outside, intercepting sight and sound.

The family and their followers were ushered into the semi-basement chamber and told to wait. They were not suspicious. It did not occur to them that they were in a trap. As the room was bare of furniture, the Tsar asked to have some chairs brought. He wished the suffering Empress to rest and the sick boy to sit down. Three chairs were brought in. One was passed to Alexandra, who had been leaning against the wall facing the lobby. Nicholas seated Alexis where he had been standing, in the middle of the room, and sat down beside him. A pillow was placed behind Alexandra. Two other pillows remained in Demidova’s arms. The Tsar and the Tsarevich kept their caps on, as if expecting any moment to go out. They thought the vehicles that were to convey them away had not arrived, the lorry being there to take the luggage. On the Empress’s right stood three of her daughters, on her left the other daughter and Demidova.

Almost immediately, the door into the lobby was obstructed by Yurovsky, his friends and the “Letts.” There were Nikulin, Ermakov, Vaganov, Medvedev and seven “Letts”—the remaining three being on guard duty. There were twelve murderers. Each carried a revolver. The rifles of the “Lett” guard were stacked in the adjoining room (where they lived).

Yurovsky advanced into the death-chamber and addressed the Tsar. There are many versions of this utterance. According to the most trustworthy one he said: “Your relatives have tried to save you. But it could not be managed by them, and so we ourselves are compelled to shoot you.”

The twelve revolvers volleyed instantly, and all the prisoners fell to the ground. Death had been instantaneous in the case of the parents and three of the children, and of Dr. Botkin and two servants. Alexis remained alive in spite of his wounds, and moaned and struggled in his agony. Yurovsky finished him with his Colt. One of the girls—presumably the youngest grand duchess, Anastasia—rolled about and screamed, and, when one of the murderers approached, fought desperately with him till he killed her. It seems as if the murderers had not been able to aim straight at the boy and the girl. Even their callous hearts had wavered. The maidservant lived the longest. Perhaps the pillows were in the way. She was not touched by the first volley, and ran about screaming till some of the “Letts,” seizing their rifles, bayoneted her to death. She was covered with stabs. Poor Demidova died the victim of a misunderstanding; the Reds thought that she was a maid-of-honour and therefore a bourgeoise, whereas she was a simple peasant girl.

Within a few minutes of their entering the room, all was over. No time was to be lost in removing traces of the crime. The floors and walls had to be washed quickly and the bodies sent away. Daylight would soon appear. There was a long way to go through the city. Hardened and ruthless, secure in the impunity of murder under the Soviet system, Yurovsky and his associates were none the less hurrying desperately. They knew that the arrangements for “executing” the Romanovs could not be regarded as a trial, nor would the people approve the deed. And so like common murderers, they were desperately anxious to get rid of the corpses. Here Ermakov and Vaganov became invaluable.

The evidence of three eye-witnesses is given below, namely of Medvedev, one of the actual murderers, of Yakimov, who was present at the shooting, and of a Red Guard named Proskuriakov, who helped to remove traces of the murder. The necessary comments of the investigating magistrate accompany the depositions so that the reader is able to study them in their true perspective.

Medvedev told his wife all about it directly after the murder. He did not conceal the fact that he himself had fired his revolver at the Romanovs. He even emphasised his active complicity, boasting that he was the only Russian “workman” who had taken part in the shooting, and that all the others, besides Yurovsky and his assistants, were “not ours”—i.e., foreigners. Medvedev was caught at Perm while trying to blow up the bridge over the Kama to cover the retreat of the Red Army. He confirmed all the statements that he had made to his wife except in one particular: he denied having stated that he had himself done the shooting. It is a customary reservation in the case of all who take part in a joint and prearranged murder. The witness testifies to the fact of the murder and names the actual murderers, but persists in declaring that he himself did not do the killing, although he admitted to holding a revolver in his hand at the time of the shooting. To divert the evidence from himself he had to invent an alibi. Hear what he says in his signed deposition:—

“Yurovsky sent me out, saying, ‘Go into the street; see if there is anyone about and if the shots can be heard.’ I went out into the yard surrounded by the big fence” (he means the space between the outside wall and the hoardings), “and, before I had time to reach the street, heard the sound of the firing. I returned at once inside the house—only two or three minutes had passed—and, entering the room where the shooting had been carried out, I saw that all the members of the Tsar’s family—the Tsar, the Tsaritsa, the four daughters, and the Naslednik (heir), were already lying on the floor with numerous wounds on their bodies, and the blood was flowing in torrents. The doctor, maid, and two men-servants had also been killed. When I appeared the Naslednik was still alive, groaning. Yurovsky went up to him and fired two or three times point-blank into him. The Naslednik was still. The picture of the murder, the smell and sight of the blood, caused me to feel sick....”

Anatoly Yakimov, the second witness, is the man who had become “converted” after remaining a few weeks with the Tsar. He had been a sergeant of the Russian Guard, and remained so after the Russians had been relegated to the outer posts. It was his business to place the sentries and see that they remained at their posts. As the Russian sentries could see into the room where the murdering was to be done, it had not been possible to keep them in ignorance to the end, as explained above. Yakimov “sympathised” with the prisoners, but he did not dare to give effect to these feelings. There is good reason to believe that he was present at the murder. Possibly Yurovsky had insisted upon his being inside the house at the time, in order to implicate him in the deed. His alibi bears a family likeness to Medvedev’s. Like him, he had a full, circumstantial knowledge of the killing that corroborates Medvedev in every essential point, and that could not have come to him unless he had been actually present. He explains that it was all told to him by the sentries—two men who stood outside the death-chamber window and two others who were in the courtyard when the bodies were removed.

He also unburdened himself to his family. According to his own account, he heard of the murder at four o’clock in the morning, after which he could not sleep, but “just sat and shivered,” as he says. At eight o’clock he went to his sister, a woman of some education, who was married to Agafonov, an official of the Commissariat of Justice. Here is what his sister deposes:—“He came in without saying a word, looking dreadfully upset and exhausted. I noticed it at once and asked him: ‘What is the matter with you?’ He requested me to close the door, sat down and kept silent, his face convulsed with terror and his body trembling violently. I again asked him: ‘What ails you?’ I thought that some great misfortune had overtaken him. He still maintained an obstinate silence, although it evidently caused him suffering. The thought occurred to me: ‘Maybe they have killed Nicholas.’ I asked him if it was so. My brother answered something like: ‘It is all over,’ and in reply to my further questions he said that all had been killed—i.e., the Tsar himself and all his family and all who had been with them excepting their little scullion. I do not recall my asking him if he had taken part in the murder, but I remember his saying that he had seen the spectacle of the murder with his own eyes. He related how this sight had so shaken him that he could not hold out, and every now and then had gone out of the house into the open air, adding that his comrades in the guard had upbraided him for it, suspecting him of feeling repentance or pity.... I then understood him to mean that he had been himself in the room or so near that he could see the actual murder with his own eyes.”

Here are two corroborative depositions of interest. When Yakimov had left his sister, she immediately ran out to her husband’s office. An investigating magistrate named Tomashevsky was in the next room, and saw her standing, weeping, and whispering to her husband. When she had gone, Agafonov came and told this same story in confidence to Tomashevsky. Agafonov saw Yakimov later in the day, and relates what transpired:—“Yakimov came to take leave. [He was going to the front.] I was struck by his appearance: the face pinched, the pupils distended, the lower lip quivering when he spoke. The mere sight of him convinced me that all that my wife had said was true. Clearly, Anatoly had passed through some terrible experience during the night.... I only asked him: ‘How are things?’ He replied, It is all over’” (vsi yóncheno).

Philip Proskuriakov—a youngster, the type of the good-natured peasant—deposed that he had entered the guard at Ipatiev’s house principally because he was curious to have a look at the Tsar; not because he felt hostile to him; indeed, if he disliked anybody it was the Jews. His narrative impressed the investigating magistrate by its evident sincerity. He did not see the actual murder, having spent the evening with some friends and taken copious draughts of “denaturat” (methylated spirits, which were in vogue since the prohibition of vodka) and as a result of these libations, Medvedev had placed him under arrest. He was locked up in the bath-house and sleeping off his “spree” when Medvedev came to wake him and order him to go into the house.

The bodies had been taken out just before he reached the death-chamber. Everything that happened in the house immediately afterwards came under his personal observation. He washed the blood off the floor and the walls. That he positively admits. He discussed the details of the murder with Andrei Strekotin, one of the guards, who enjoyed Medvedev’s friendship and had been selected by him to stand at the lower-floor machine-gun post during the “execution.” This same Strekotin also related his observations to one of his brother-guards named Letemin, arrested later and found to be in possession of a whole collection of valuables belonging to the family and Alexis’s spaniel Joy (afterwards brought to England). Letemin’s version agreed with Proskuriakov’s rendering of the Strekotin eye-witness account. What is still more important, Proskuriakov heard also Medvedev relate the story of the killing.

Medvedev told it to all the guards who with Proskuriakov were washing the floor:—“Pasaka (Pavel—i.e., Medvedev) himself related that he had loosed off two or three bullets at the Gosukar (the Lord—i.e., the Tsar) and at other persons.... I am telling the honest truth. He did not say anything at all about his not having fired himself on account of being sent outside to listen to the shots.... That is a lie!”

One pathetic incident escaped the notice of all these witnesses. The Grand Duchess Anastasia took with her a King Charles spaniel, carrying it in her arms into the death room. The corpse of little Jemmy was found above a heap of cinders—all that remained of the family that had loved her and shared with her their meagre fare. The murderers had knocked the faithful friend on the head and thrown the body down the iron-pit without troubling to burn it. Even in her death the little dog watched over them, and her mangled remains, still recognizable, brought final unmistakable proof of the end of the family.

CHAPTER X

“WITHOUT TRACE”

The murder accomplished, all the bodies were carried into the courtyard and placed on the waiting lorry. The corpses were not subjected to a thorough search—as we shall see—because Yurovsky was anxious to get away from the city before daybreak. They were rolled up in old coats and covered with mats to conceal the “cargo” from prying eyes. Yankel Yurovsky, Ermakov, and Vaganov went with them.

As soon as they had gone, Medvedev summoned the Russians to “wash up.” They had not been trusted to do the other work, and Yankel had even deprived them of their revolvers—the “Letts” had their own—perhaps because he did not feel quite sure how they might behave during the murder. Even now, Medvedev, his henchman, called up the Syssert workmen—his own particular friends—to remove the tell-tale traces of the crime. They washed and swabbed the floor and the walls in the death-chamber and in the other rooms through which the bodies had been borne. (So much blood had flowed that the marks of the red-stained swab were distinctly visible a year later when I visited Ipatiev’s house, and experts found unmistakable evidence of its being human blood.) The stones in the courtyard were also scoured.

Meanwhile the lorry, with its tragic burden, was making its way to the appointed place in the woods, a remote corner of some disused iron mines, once the property of Countess Nadezhda Alexeievna Stenbok-Fermor and now of the Verkh-Isetsky Works. This place is situated northeast of the Perm and Ural railway lines, about 11 miles out of the city, near the forest road leading to the village of Koptiaki.

Ermakov (military komisar for the district) placed a cordon of Red Guards all round the wood. During that and the two following days and nights all passage through it was stopped. As will be seen later, this “precaution” defeated its purpose.

Let us return for a few days to Ekaterinburg. Yankel Yurovsky had reappeared in the death-house in the morning of July 17th. None of the Russian guards knew where he had been. Medvedev had heard vaguely that he had “gone to the woods.” At the same time there appeared the reprieved thief Beloborodov and his master, Isai Goloshchekin.

The movables belonging to the murdered family went to satisfy their rapacious instincts. Some of the witnesses describe tables laden with precious stones, jewellry, and all sorts of other articles scattered about the Commandant’s room. Everything had been ransacked, and what was not found to be worth keeping was thrown away or destroyed in the fireplaces, which were blazing despite the summer heat.

Yurovsky and Goloshchekin travelled by motor-car to the woods on the 17th, 18th, and 19th, remaining for many hours—in fact whole days—at the iron pits. But all this time the sentries were on duty outside the death-house as if nothing had

happened, so that the people should suspect nothing. They were removed only on the fourth day, when the cordon around the wood was also raised.

Only then (on July 20th) was the announcement made at Red meetings and in official proclamations that “Nicholas the Sanguinary” had been executed. The news was simultaneously transmitted by the wireless stations of the Bolshevist Government, and appeared in The London Times of July 22, 1918, in the following form:—

Every word of this official statement is important, for every phrase contains a lie, and every lie shows up in more glaring colours the diabolical nature of the plot hatched and carried out by Yankel Sverdlov and his tools and accomplices. I take the falsehoods seriatim:—(1) The message made public at the Tsik as coming from the Ural sovdep was in reality concocted by Sverdlov; (2) the Czechs entered Ekaterinburg on the 25th, nine days after the “execution,” and there was no armed plot; (3) the Presidium of the Ural sovdep did not “decide” to shoot the ex-Tsar, for that “decision” was dictated from Moscow; (4) the “wife and son” were not sent to a “place of security,” but were basely murdered; (5) no “later occurrences” supervened that could by any stress of the imagination be construed into a justification for not bringing the ex-Tsar before a tribunal, even supposing there had ever been any real intention to do so (as a matter of fact, this story of a “tribunal” was invented); (6) the Imperial correspondence taken with other “loot” from the murdered Family has not been published to this day.[9]

Here is a translation of the official announcement as it was made to the people of Ekaterinburg:—

“In view of the fact that Czecho-Slovak bands are threatening the Red capital of the Urals, Ekaterinburg; in view also of the fact that the crowned hangman (palách) may escape the people’s assizes (a Whiteguard plot to capture the whole Romanov family has been discovered), the Presidium of the Regional Soviet in fulfilment of the will of the revolution has decided (postanovil) that the former Tsar Nicholas Romanov, guilty before the people of innumerable sanguinary crimes, shall be shot.

“On the night of the 16th to the 17th of July, the decision (postanovlenie) of the Regional Soviet was carried into execution.

“The family of Romanov has been transferred from Ekaterinburg to another and safer place.

“The Presidium of the Reg. Soviet of W., P., and R. Dep. of the Ural.

The discrepancies between the Moscow and the Ekaterinburg announcements are interesting and significant, but they need not be discussed at this stage. I would call attention only to the date of the Tsik’s “decision” and to the fact that it was kept secret for two days after its ostensible issue. As a matter of fact the whole murder had been directed from Moscow, and even the text of the “announcement” had been previously approved by Sverdlov, so it is not surprising that Beloborodov disregarded dates. But the real reason was that the Red chieftains feared the people and, above all, sought to obscure the facts.

I now return to the woods. On the 17th, 18th, and 19th large quantities of petrol and sulphuric acid were taken from the city to the iron pits; at least 150 gallons of the former and eleven pouds (400 lb.) of the latter. Ekaterinburg being the centre of the platinum industry required large stocks of sulphuric acid to generate the intense heat necessary for melting this hardest of metals. The Komisar of Supplies was Voikov, ex-passenger in Lenin’s German train. He it was who furnished the acid to Yurovsky as his friend Sverdlov’s agent. (I remember I wanted to order a platinum ring at a local jeweller’s during my stay in the city. He could not carry out the order because there was no sulphuric acid “since the previous year.”)

There is not the shadow of a doubt as to what happened around the iron pit, as the reader will convince himself after reading the next chapter. Yurovsky’s acolytes cut up the bodies, steeped them in petrol, and burned them. The sulphuric acid was used to dissolve the larger bones.

I have spoken of the mock funeral invented by the murderers to deceive public opinion in Russia and abroad. Here is the telegram that appeared in The London Times of September 23, 1918:—

“Amsterdam, Sept. 22.—According to a telegram from Moscow, the Izvestua gives the following description of the obsequies of the ex-Tsar, which, according to newspaper reports, were solemnly carried out by troops of the People’s Army (sic) at Ekaterinburg.

“‘The body of the ex-Tsar, which had been buried in a wood at the place of execution, was exhumed, the grave having been found through information supplied by persons who were acquainted with the circumstances of the execution. The exhumation, says the Soviet journal, took place in the presence of many representatives of the supreme ecclesiastical authorities in Western Siberia, the local clergy, and delegates from the People’s Army, Cossacks, and Czecho-Slovaks. The body was placed in a zinc coffin, encased in a costly covering of Siberian cedar and the coffin was exposed in the Cathedral at Ekaterinburg under a guard of honour composed of the chief commanders of the People’s Army. The body will be temporarily buried in a special sarcophagus at Omsk.’”

Comment is superfluous. The fourth and last of the “precautions” against conviction followed a year later, perhaps under stress of circumstances, but certainly without any regard for the Soviet’s own previous announcements:—

Here it is:—

“On September 17, 1919, in the House of the Executive Committee of the Soviet at Perm, the Bolshevists brought to trial twenty-eight persons arrested on the accusation of having murdered the Tsar and his family. The following report of the proceedings is taken from the Bolshevist paper Pravda:—

“‘The Revolutionary Tribunal has considered the case of the murder of the late Tsar Nicholas Romanov, his wife, the Princess of Hesse, their daughters Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia, and their suite. In all eleven persons were assassinated. Of the twenty-eight persons accused three were members of the Ekaterinburg Soviet—Grusinov, Yakhontov, and Malutin; among the accused were also two women, Maria Apraksina and Elizaveta Mironova. The account of the murder as gathered from the material under the consideration of the Revolutionary Tribunal is as follows:—

“‘The Tsar and all the members of his entourage were shot—no mockery and no cruelties took place. Yakhontov admitted that he had organised the murder in order to throw the discredit of the crime on the Soviet authorities, whose adversary he became after having joined the Socialist revolutionaries of the Left Wing. The plan of murdering the Tsar was conceived during the latter’s stay at Tobolsk, but the Tsar was too strictly watched. In Ekaterinburg, when the Czecho-Slovak troops were approaching the town, the Soviet authorities were panic-stricken to such a degree that it was easy for him to avail himself of his position as chairman of the Extraordinary Commission (for combating counter-revolution) and to give the order to murder the Tsar and his family. Yakhontov admitted that he personally participated in the murder, and that he took upon himself the responsibility for it. He, however, said that he was not responsible for the robbery of the belongings of the Tsar’s family. According to his deposition, Tsar Nicholas said before he died, “For the murder of the Tsar Russia will curse the Bolshevists.” Grusinov and Malutin stated that they did not know anything about Yakhontov’s plans, and only carried out his orders. Yakhontov was found guilty of the murder and sentenced to death. Grusinov, Malutin, Apraksina, and Mironova were found guilty of robbery committed on the murdered members of the Tsar’s family. They were sentenced to death too. The death sentence was carried out the following day.

“‘Several objects belonging to the household of the Tsar were discovered with a thief named Kiritshevsky, who stated that these things had been given to him by a man named Sorin, who was the chairman of the Local Extraordinary Commission. At the time of the murder Sorin was the commander of a revolutionary battalion. Sorin was a personal friend of Beloborodov, who also participated in the assassination of the Emperor.’—Rossia (Paris), No. 1, December 17, 1919.”[10]

I have carefully compared the names given above with the list of 164 persons mentioned in the dossier as being implicated or even suspected of having acted any part whatsoever in the tragedy; I have perused the cognomens of the twenty-four members of the Ekaterinburg Sovdep presidium. There is not one name in the mock trial that even resembles any of them (one cannot possibly identify Yakhontov with Yurovsky); the very charge is farcical if one compares this report with the text of the official announcement of the “execution.” Alone Beloborodov’s name is familiar. He was nominally president of the Ural sovdep at the time of the murders. I explained his real position—that of a mere helot, a thieving workman, kept in office to serve as a screen for the rulers of Sovietdom. After the murders he was “promoted” to the Tsik, the highest honour of Sovdepia. But they do not stand on ceremony with Russian komisars in the land where Yankel Sverdlov rules, and we read of him in the Pravda as being stigmatised as (1) a thief, and (2) a party to the very murder for which he was promoted—the very same appalling crime that Sverdlov had ordained—the stain whereof haunts the chieftains of the Soviet like a Nemesis, so that they utter things without sense.

Besides, the Soviet of Moscow received a lion’s share of the loot! Between July 20th and 22nd it was taken from Ipatiev’s house and removed to the Red Metropolis. The Bolshevists were fleeing before the advance of the Siberian troops. Yankel Yurovsky, evidently in a hurry to leave Ekaterinburg, took farewell of the death-house on the night of the 19th. His driver thus describes the exodus. That night he had by Yurovsky’s orders called at the chrezvychaika, and thence conveyed two young men, one of them a Jew, to Ipatiev’s house, where Yankel was waiting. These youths went into the house and brought out seven pieces of baggage, among them being a black leather trunk covered with seals. When he had taken his seat in the vehicle, Yurovsky gave his orders to the young men:—“Set everything to rights. Leave twelve men on sentry duty and send the remainder to the station.”

The guard at Ipatiev’s house remained till the 23rd, but even after that, on the 24th and 25th, some of the Russian ex-warders still visited the house. The Whites entered Ekaterinburg on the 25th, and occupied the house on the following day.

CHAPTER XI

DAMNING EVIDENCE

Somewhere within the purview of the disused iron mine “proof” was obtainable—on that point there seemed to be no doubt. We took up our residence in the wood—Sokolov, Diterichs, myself, and others—and remained there throughout the late spring and early summer of 1919. We descended the mine, found water and ice and a floor. We searched the ground and scoured the woods, living from day to day in alternate hope or despair of settling the gruesome mystery. Sometimes I felt as if we were seeking the proverbial needle. The woods were full of disused workings, each easily capable of concealing what we sought.

Day by day we discovered fresh relics around the pit where the bodies had, we knew, been destroyed. Sokolov tirelessly passed through his searching examination every likely witness; not a peasant, or dachnik (summer resident), or railway servant that had been anywhere near the place escaped him.

Slowly, but surely, the scope of possible error lessened. We had got well away from the versions carefully sown by agents of Yurovsky, who remained in the city, that the bodies had been buried in one place, then re-buried in another.

One of the witnesses cited in the preliminary inquiry (before Sokolov took charge) had described overhearing a conversation between several Bolshevists about the bodies. The speakers were said to be: Ermakov (whom we know), Mlyshkin, Kostuzov, Partin, Krivtsov, and Levatnykh. They spoke cynically of feeling the corpses while they were still warm. Levatnykh boasted that he had felt the Tsaritsa and that he “could now die in peace.” They also spoke of the “valuables sown in their clothes.”

The presumable genuineness of these confidences misled the earlier investigator into believing their other statements or perhaps the additions made to them by the spy who may have been a Red agent—to wit, that the bodies had been buried in various places round the city. This was a “red” herring that unfortunately drew the investigator off a hot trail. He did not even go near the wood. Had he done so, he could not have helped discovering easily then what we had such difficulty in finding a year later. His excuse had been that the wood was “dangerous” on account of Red bands; but even if this were so, he could have deputed a less timorous person. A number of self-appointed “investigators” took this opportunity of “gleaning” relics—perhaps invaluable clues.

Extreme measures had to be taken, nothing less than the complete sifting of the ground within the area of destruction and emptying of the shafts down which any remains could have been thrown. This was a task outside the province of an investigating magistrate. Here we wanted miners with pumping machinery, woodsmen, and surveyors; above all we wanted money.

Thanks to Admiral Kolchak the wherewithal was forthcoming. Indeed, I render him bare justice in saying that without his stanch personal support the investigation would have been overwhelmed long ago by the constant intrigues of the Omsk Government. He gave the money out of his own funds because the grant legally authorised by him was “held up” by his Ministers.

Under the orders and supervision of General Diterichs, a command of White Guards was formed to carry out the necessary operations. The men were all from the Urals—i.e., miners and peasants versed in woodcraft. Several hundreds of them camped around the Ganina Yama (ditch), situated near a bend in the road to Koptiaki, not a hundred paces from the mine. These men knew what they were working for and put their shoulder to the wheel in all earnestness.

But we had to leave before complete success had crowned their efforts. Diterichs received the summons to save the armies. I went with him. General Domontovich, a very gallant soldier, took command in his place. (He died of typhus during the retreat and was buried in Chita early this year. “Tsárstvie nebésnoie.”)

Success came before we had to evacuate Ekaterinburg. The contents of the shaft, extracted with infinite trouble, set at rest for ever any lingering doubt as to the destruction of the bodies. Sokolov had his “proof.”

Here is the narrative of the investigation. It is a good commentary on the homely saying, “Murder will out.”

It will be remembered that Ermakov went with the bodies from the death-house. Now Ermakov lived at the Verkh-Issetsk ironworks, adjoining the city and situated along the route to Koptiaki—i.e., north-east of Ekaterinburg. The Stenbok-Fermer Wood lies a few miles beyond. At the works Ermakov found a detachment of his Red Guards (he was military komisar) and a number of conveyances ready harnessed. The whole procession moved off along the Koptiaki road. There is, indeed, no other road in the vicinity practicable for a motor-lorry. Vaganov, the other regicide, mounted his horse and acted as armed escort for the lorry.

Shortly after three o’clock in the morning (solar time) they reached that place where several paths, long disused and grass-grown, turn off to the left towards Ganina Yama. Here they forced a way through the undergrowth, and at one place nearly upset the lorry into a ditch. The mark of the wheels was still visible a year later, and alongside lay the beam which had been brought from the disused mine to jack up the canted lorry.

Around the shafts in this particular place the grass then showed no trace of human passage. Koptiaki villagers did not come that way as a rule. The place had been well selected. But the murderers forgot the habits of the peasant, especially the haymakers and fisherfolk.

Nastasia Z. left the village at dawn with her son and daughter-in-law. They approached the gruesome procession just as it was turning off the road. Two horsemen rode up to them. One wore a sailor’s uniform. Nastasia knew him—he was a Verkh-Issetsk resident—Vaganov. The latter yelled out: “Turn back!” and coming abreast of the peasant cart brandished a revolver at Nastasia’s head. Frightened, the peasant woman pulled her horse round so sharply that the cart almost upset. Vaganov rode alongside, still pointing his weapon and shouting “Don’t look around or I shoot....” After chasing them about a mile towards the village, Vaganov rode back.

The peasant had not been able in the faint light to make out clearly what was behind Vaganov. “Something long and grey, like a heap,” was all that they could distinguish. The baba (peasant woman) concluded that it was the Red Guard army marching to Koptiaki. Urging her horse onward, she immediately roused the whole village, informing the muzhiks that the “army” was coming “with transport and artillery.” They listened in consternation, alarmed chiefly for their hay crop. An army coming meant fighting in the neighbourhood, and here it was just the time for mowing. The hay might all be lost.

They discussed the matter long and passionately, then some of the boldest among them, headed by an old soldier, set out to investigate.

On the road they encountered some Austrian war prisoners who were hay-making, and asked if they had seen the army. They replied that quite early, while they were working on the road, some Russian Cossacks had ridden up and driven them away. The villagers became all the more curious to know what it all meant.

Presently, as they came abreast of the mine, they heard horses neighing. Coming to one of the turnings, they saw that the grass had all been crushed and the saplings bent. They were on the point of following this strange trail, when out of the wood appeared a horseman armed with sword, revolver, rifle and hand-grenades and asked them what they were doing. The muzhiks put on a bold face, although badly frightened, and asked if the tovarishch (comrade) would kindly reassure them, because the whole village was in a state of excitement.

They were graciously informed that there was no cause for alarm. “Our front has been entered at several points. We are merely scouting and practising. Do not be afraid if you hear firing!” They had a friendly smoke together and then the muzhiks departed. They had scarcely gone when a report like the explosion of a hand grenade was heard, and then a short while afterwards another explosion. Soon after their return to the village the same horseman appeared “to tranquillise them all,” as he explained.

They were reassured about the hay-making, but now arose another matter. Many of the villagers fished in the large Issetsk lake which spreads its lovely waters in front of Koptiaki. They had obtained a good haul that night and must take it into the city—it was market day (Wednesday) and in the hot weather fish does not keep. But the “Russian Cossacks” were inexorable.

On the city side there was a crowd at the level crossing over the Ural line striving to get to Koptiaki, which being a pretty place attracted many summer residents. These unfortunates, thus “stranded,” waited for hours and hours in vain. Some of the railway servants were accommodated with “benzine” from the casks of petrol waiting in reserve. The stream of fisher folk and the procession of dachniks coming and going enabled the investigation to define very precisely the exact limits of the cordon placed round the wood. It pointed in one direction—Ganina Yama. That was the locality that had to be kept from prying eyes.

The peasants were also the first to discover the place where the bodies were destroyed. Their evidence afforded immense, invaluable service to the investigation; in fact, without them the truth might never have been established owing to the earlier mistakes of the inquiry.

As soon as the cordon was raised, some of the Koptiaki men hastened to the spot where the horses had neighed and the detonations had been heard. They had thought that the Red guards were burying arms. The ashes around the pit suggested something else. They started to scrape; soon they found a cross belonging to the Empress and the brass buckle of the Tsarevich’s belt. Some instinct prompted them to jump to the conclusion that it was “the Tsar’s,” although they knew nothing of the murder.

There were eight of the muzhiks standing round the pit examining with awe the finds that they had made:—“Boys,” said one, and he voiced the secret thought of all, “it is just this, they have been burning Nicholas here. That cross can belong only to him. And that buckle, I tell you, is the Tsarevich’s.” They crossed themselves in prayer and silently came away. Needless to say, these honest souls promptly handed over the relics to the White authorities.

On my first visit to the burning-mound, I was attracted by an inscription carved on the giant birch that overhangs one pyre. It read:—“T. A. Fesenko” and the date “July 11, 1918,” i.e., six days before the murder. A young man sat beside the tree. He was a stranger to me. I took him to be one of Sokolov’s agents, especially as outsiders were not encouraged to hover round the iron-pits. I was looking closely at the ground to note where the bodies had been burned and pick up any remaining clues.

The stranger exclaimed:—“You will have to look very hard!” I thought this was a strange remark; the singed and scorched appearance of the ground was, indeed, very noticeable still, although nearly a year had passed. But I encouraged the conversation, suspecting a surprise. The stranger proceeded to give in rather excited tones his conviction that the story of the bonfires and the burning of the bodies was all a myth. “See for yourself! How could they have destroyed all those bodies and left so few cinders!” he insisted.

Of course I did not enlighten him as to the petrol and sulphuric-acid—which so powerfully aided the work of cremation—or the probable scattering of the ashes around and down the pit. I went straight to Sokolov, who was not far away and told him what the young man had said. “That must be Fesenko,” was his remark. We walked up to the place. The stranger had resumed his seat beside the birch and appeared to be suffering. Sokolov continued: “Yes, that’s the man. He brought Yurovsky to this place. He is just a young fool of a Bolshevist. Yurovsky took him because he was in charge of this wood, and he was so proud of escorting a komisar that he recorded the visit by carving his name and date on the tree.

“Why then is he at large?” I queried. “Well, the fact is we hope he may give himself or some of the murderers away. We arrested him and let him go. He haunts this place, and is ever trying to prove that nothing could have happened here!” I felt rather sorry for the poor wretch. Perhaps he had not suspected Yurovsky’s purpose; Yurovsky did not confide such secrets. At all events I gave him the benefit of the doubt, feeling sure that there would be no peace for his tortured mind in this life.

But Sokolov dispelled my sympathy: “The fact is, he touches a sore point. Where are the cinders? That is the question. We have found too few. They must be hidden somewhere. Now Fesenko could not possibly have discovered this weak point in our armour himself. He has probably been put up to it by the murderers or their spies. That is why we let him wander about.” However, Fesenko did not give away himself or his associates.

Not a hundred paces away from the pyres I noticed a little clearing with a comfortable tree-stump. Here one could sit quietly, unseen by the people at the pit’s mouth. A pleasant birch and pine grove stretched its fragrant, sonorous maze between this natural arbour and the scene of grisly horror. Here on this stump Yurovsky had sat while his henchmen performed the last act in the tragedy. Beside this seat we found (a year later) egg-shells—the remains of the fifty eggs ordered by Yurovsky from the nuns, ostensibly for the Romanovs. But this fare had not sufficed for the dainty komisar. There were also chicken-bones. There were also torn pages from a treatise on anatomy in German (Yurovsky was only a feldsher; he knew little about anatomy). And in order that there be no doubt as to the origin of these various clues, it so happened that Yurovsky left behind a newspaper published in German at the very period under discussion full of abuse of the Czechs, accusing them of servile subserviency to the Entente High Command, and treating the war as a slaughter arranged in the interest of capital.

Reference has been made in preceding chapters to the manner in which the Grand Duchesses had concealed their jewels. Two of their confidential servitors, Mlles. Tutelberg and Ersberg, came to our camp in the woods to identify the relics. They had sewn up the bodices, buttons, hats, and other receptacles and knew precisely what jewels were on the persons of the victims when the murder took place, it being obvious that during their residence in Ipatiev’s house none of the prisoners would venture to undo or change these receptacles, as they were under constant observation. The Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia each wore double-quilted bodices stuffed with jewels weighing several pounds. Olga carried a satchel round her neck with some special gems and wore several ropes of pearls concealed across her shoulders. The manner in which the concealment had been effected misled the first superficial search of the bodies in the house.

We now trace the gruesome picture of the cutting up and destruction of the bodies. First of all the clothes were partly removed. The bodices at once aroused attention owing to their weight. The “ghouls” began to tear them apart. Their contents were spilled on to the ground, and some of the things rolled into the grass or were trodden into the soil of the mound.

But they did not trouble to denude the corpses completely, and began hacking them in pieces on the clay mound that surrounded the pit’s mouth, smiting and severing at the same time some of the valuables that still remained. The large diamonds, which had been camouflaged as buttons, have disappeared with the exception of one. They may have been burned with the clothes of the Grand Duchesses or have been looted. One was found trampled into the clay beside the pyre. Here also was found the Empress’s emerald pectoral cross. Some of the bullets dropped out of the bodies during the chopping, others while the limbs were in the flames.

Two pyres were used—one near the shaft, the other near the birch tree. After the cremation had been completed the cinders of both pyres were collected and thrown down the shaft of the mine, which had been previously prepared. Ice remains throughout the summer in deep workings like this one. It had been tested by means of hand grenades, and had then been smashed in order that the cinders, etc., should sink to the bottom of the water. Over them a flooring had been adjusted and anchored.

Innumerable witnesses saw the coming and the going of the lorries. The “ghouls” remained in the wood till their task was done. Their shelters and camps were discovered. They were seen leaving—rolling about in the lorry, like men tired to death.

The flooring had deceived all search in the mine. Only when the operations that I have described above had brought all the core of the shaft to the surface everything was explained. The corpse of little Jemmy lay just under the false floor. It had been preserved by the ice. When good Domontovich made this discovery he immediately telegraphed to us. We all realized that the mystery of the bodies had been solved....

There were literally hundreds of clues now available. Sokolov busied himself classifying and identifying them. It would be quite impossible to enumerate them all. Several volumes of the dossier are devoted to it. There are the procès-verbaux of each “find” and each identification. I give here a brief but accurate summary of the clues:—

(1) A large diamond of the finest water, identified as forming a pendant to a necklace belonging to the Empress, valued at 20,000 gold roubles; slightly touched by fire.

(2) An emerald cross belonging to Alexandra, identified as a present from the Empress Marie, found by experts to be of high workmanship, valued at 2,000 gold roubles; broken and singed.

(3) A pearl earring untouched, having been thrown with some earth down the shaft, recognized as one of a pair always worn by the Empress, declared to be of extremely fine workmanship, valued at 3,000 gold roubles.

(4) Four fragments of a large pearl and settings, declared to be a pair to (3).

(5) Two fragments of emerald declared by experts to have formed part of a large and very fine stone, severed by some hard and heavy object and trampled.

(6) Eleven fragments of emerald.

(7) Thirteen round pearls as of high quality, all belonging to one rope.

(8) Five fragments of pearl, belonging to one large gem of finest orient, severed by a heavy weight or trampling.

(9) Another broken pearl of high quality.

(10) Two fine brilliants declared to have formed part of an ornament of large size.

(11) Portion of a large diamond silver-mounted ornament bearing traces of heavy blows.

(12 to 21) Precious stones—diamonds, sapphires, rubies, almandine, and topazes—and settings, all bearing marks, as experts show, of having been crushed or severed by heavy or cutting objects.

(22 to 28) Articles and appurtenances of apparel, including pieces of cloth identified as parts of the Empress’s skirt, the Tsarevich’s military overcoat and Botkin’s overcoat; six sets of corset steels—the Empress would not permit her daughters or the servants to go without corsets, neither would she herself; (Demidova wore them also—that would make exactly six); metallic parts of corset suspenders and fragments of silk and elastic; the Tsarevich’s belt buckle; the Tsar’s belt buckle, both identified; three paste shoe buckles of first-class workmanship, one identified as the Empress’s, two as belonging to the grand duchesses; a large number of buttons, hooks and eyes, etc., some identified as belonging to the Empress’s dress, also military buttons corresponding with the uniforms and caps of the Tsar and Tsarevich, as made for them by the court tailor in Petrograd. The appurtenances of female costume were such as the court dressmaker used for the family. There were also parts of apparel such as were used by the tailor who dressed the court servants. The footgear remnants showed strong action by fire. Experts were able, however, to note that they included cork and fine brass screws, both evidences of high-class articles. In their opinion the remnants might well represent seven pairs of boots.

(29 to 41) Exhibits of equal if not greater interest. Among them may be cited:—A pocket case in which the Tsar always carried his wife’s portrait; three small ikons worn by the grand duchesses, having in each case the face of the saint destroyed as if blows had been aimed at them; the Empress’s jubilee badge of her Lancer regiment; the gold frame of Botkin’s eye-glasses; a large spectacle glass such as the Empress wore at Tobolsk; remnants of the Tsarevich’s haversack, in which he was accustomed to keep his treasures; several bottles as used for smelling salts, always carried by the grand duchesses, and finally a varied assortment of nails, tinfoil, copper coins, etc., which vastly puzzled Sokolov till somebody, I think Mr. Gibbes, reminded him that Alexis was fond of collecting odds and ends, being of a very saving disposition, like his father.

Then came a number of specially important relics. First, a series of Nagan bullets, some entire but bearing the marks of the rifling, some without the lead core, some in the shape of blobs of moulten lead, still unmistakable. Secondly, in the shaft itself, a human finger, two pieces of human skin, and in the clay of the mound many fragments of chopped and sawed human bones, which could still be certified although they had been subjected to the action of fire and perhaps of acid. Experts found that the skin was from a human hand. The finger is described as belonging to a woman of middle age. It is long, slender and well-shaped, like the Empress’s hand.

Near the shaft was found a set of artificial teeth (upper jaw with plate), identified as Dr. Botkin’s. The front teeth were deeply encrusted with mire, as if the body had been dragged face downwards and thereby the teeth, catching in the hard clay soil, had dragged the plate out of the dead man’s mouth.

When the first inspection of the death house was made—ten days after the murder—it bore all the traces of having been plundered by people who had first slaughtered the owners. The reader will be able to picture it, but his imagination will not come up to the reality. Amidst this scene of pillage and confusion one felt that a careful hand had destroyed everything that could help the investigation; nevertheless highly important clues came to light, among them a full list of the Red guards who had acted as gaolers, the Tsar’s private cypher which he had hidden away—as if expecting to be able to reclaim it some day.

In the death chamber there was a curious inscription in German, written by a man of some culture—not Yurovsky, therefore, but perhaps one of the two men from the Chrezvychaika whom he had left in charge of the house on his departure. It was an adaptation of Heine’s lines on the fate of Belshazzar:—