years, which is the period when her armies just began their sanguinary march into this ancient corner of the world. What these people need is not military subjection, but education, enlightenment, and contact with civilization, and an administration based on the principles of humanity and the enlightenment born of learning and culture. But it is outside of my present purpose to suggest what ought to be or what might be; it is rather my restricted duty to give the picture of the scene as I found it unfolded before me—all these different villages of the many tribes of Caucasia, living in their backwardness and their idleness; knowing not the advantages of education, consequently craving it not; crude in their superstitions; quaint in their customs; bold and medieval in their attitude toward their fellow-men. On the south slopes of the Caucasus as well as here on the north slopes are these villages found; though instead of being Circassian, Kabardine, and Ossettes, they are Mingrelians, Kurds, Georgians, Gurians, Persians, Medo-Persians, Tartars, Armenians, and other tribes spilled out of Asia. The crying need universally throughout the region is for a wise administration, making for increased enlightenment and education, instead of which is maintained the brutal iron régime of militarism.

Upon our return to Vladikavkaz I donned my Cossack uniform, which was awaiting me, rejoined my friends the officers, and the second day thereafter we began our journey eastward to the oil city by the Caspian Sea. During the first days that f appeared on the streets in uniform I could not get over the sense of bewilderment and surprise occasioned by the salute I received from every soldier whom I met; for it is a rule of the Russian army that an officer shall be saluted at all times. Had any one of these soldiers stopped to speak to me, the hopelessness of my predicament would have overcome my wits, I am sure, for at that time I knew scarcely any Russian at all. I certainly could not have understood or answered a single sentence. I was saved the embarrassment of such a situation, however, through the fact that the discipline of the Russian army is such that no soldier would think of addressing an officer until he was spoken to. Secure in this knowledge, I did not hesitate to go among the men even when unaccompanied by one of my officer friends.

CHAPTER IV

UNDER MARTIAL LAW

I shared a compartment with a dashing young captain, the son of one of the most distinguished families in Caucasia. The father of my friend was at one time the viceroy of the region. In discussing with him his own personal sensations when combating the revolutionary activity, I was startled to have him tell me that “nowadays in shooting at a human being he felt precisely the same as he used to feel when, as a younger man, he used to shoot deer in the mountains.” “The people here,” he added, “are all deserving of what they get.” Thereupon he dilated upon the wicked ways of the Tartars and the Armenians, whose constant feuds were then spattering Baku and Tiflis, and much of the country which lies between, with crimson stains. This same officer who spoke with such carelessness of the taking of human life had all of the instincts and the fineness of a man of refined and poetic temperament. At night, for example, I found him sitting at the car window, hour after hour, entranced with the marvelous beauty of the night; the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, fast receding from us as we sped toward Daghestan; the glorious vault of blue studded with bright, but cold, metallic stars; and as I asked him why he did not sleep, he answered: “I am fond of sleeping but not in the night-time; this beauty attracts me more than my couch.”

The next morning I awoke before the sun. Our way lay close to the shores of the Caspian. My companion was up before me and insisted that I come to the window to watch the beauty of the scene about to be revealed. Presently the whole east was bathed in startling brightness; it was as though the sea tossed crimson waves out there where water met sky, and as the brilliant colors fell toward the dropping heavens, the atmosphere caught their gleams and held them. In another moment sky and sea were indistinguishable one from another, for over all was spread the increasing depth and height of color. Behind us still lay the ashen, somber light of dawn, reluctantly yielding to the brilliance of coming day. The degree of appreciation that I found in my friend of this perfect manifestation of Nature filled me with wonder and admiration. He was touched to the depth of his being by the glories of the beauty we beheld. Afterward I thought often of the man’s emotion at this time, when I came into contact with that other side of his character, which presented only adamant hardness when he turned to the restoration of order in that district which was then, as it had been for months past, in the throes of bitter conflict. “In my heart you see,” he remarked one day, “I am a soldier and I cannot look upon our political situation save from the standpoint of an officer.”

The Armenians in Baku, as indeed throughout this whole region, have small reason for loving Russia. Russia in her treatment of these people has builded herself a monument of ingratitude. Without the support of the Armenians, Russia never would have conquered, even nominally, the Caucasus. Not only did Armenians serve in the ranks, but some of the best generals Russia has ever had have been Armenians—notably General Loris-Melikoff, who was at one time the minister to Alexander the Second and who is popularly supposed to have drawn up the constitution which that monarch might have granted to his people at the time of his death. But having used Armenians to serve its own ends, Russia began, a few years ago, to alter its policy toward them. The changed policy began on the 25th day of June, 1903, when M. von Plehve issued a now historical decree, declaring that as the property of the Armenian church was badly managed and used for political purposes, the state of Russia must interfere and take control of that money. In view of the fact that this money belonged not to the Armenians alone but to the whole orthodox church of which the Armenian is a part, this was considered an affront to the entire church. This arbitrary, high-handed measure converted the whole Armenian population into Russian revolutionists at a single stroke. Prince Galitzin, the then viceroy of the Caucasus, maintained a régime of unprecedented severity toward the Armenians, arresting and punishing them by the hundreds and inaugurating an era of governmental terrorism which had never before threatened these people. From that day until now the Armenians have maintained a constant guerilla warfare against Russia and Russian soldiers. Added to this is the bitter race hatred encouraged by the Russian authorities between the Armenians and the Tartars, which has again and again been traced directly to the Russian administration, for where races are warring one against the other, a military régime finds the complete subjection of both peoples simpler.

Riot, destruction of property, bloodshed, murder, were all a part of each day’s work in Baku. The vast oil wells which are the mainstay of the city, were burned, the great tanks wrecked, and on every hand mountains of wreckage and debris were patrolled by Cossacks. Near to the station as we alighted from the train a murdered Armenian was lying in the gutter. Blood still oozed from his head. What immediately struck me was that no one gave him the slightest heed. Passers-by stepped over the corpse as if it were the carcass of a dog. My Armenian courier alone seemed troubled. He remarked: “The trouble, sir, here in the Caucasus, is all due to the Russian government. The Russian government first stirs up the fights and then it does not allow us to finish them as we would.” “How would you manage it?” I asked. “Manage it, sir?” he replied, “Give the Armenians guns, leave them alone and in ten days there would not be a Tartar left north of the Persian frontier.” Although naturally peaceful, the Armenians are good soldiers and strong fighters; they shoot well and are by no means cowards, although by nature they prefer the peaceful walks of life. In this respect they are different from the Georgians, their near neighbors, who are natural warriors, proud of their prowess and of the distinguished officers that from time to time their race has produced.

Not only was the Armenian church robbed of its treasure, but at the same time the Russian government deprived the Armenians of their national schools, thus treading upon the finest flowers of nationality, and forever engendering the hatred of the Armenian people. During the long and biased administration of Prince Galitzin the Armenians were constantly persecuted, while the Tartars were allowed greater liberties. The Tartars were not slow in appreciating this situation, and a depot for the importation of arms was established that they might prepare themselves for the uprising soon to take place. As nearly as can be gathered the plan upon which the Tartars were acting was to slaughter all of the Armenians in eastern Caucasia. The authorities unquestionably were aware of this plot, but did nothing whatever to prevent it during all of the preliminary stages. Indeed the authorities themselves frequently circulated reports that an Armenian-Tartar war would presently break out, and the Tartars were constantly spurred on to greater activity by the reports that were allowed free circulation—that the Armenians would one day attack them. That this plan did not culminate was due probably to the turn of events in the far East; for when Russia began its retreat, beaten at every point by the little yellow men of the Mikado, every nationality held in subjection by the Czar began to count anew upon the realization of the dreams of nationalism. The removal of Prince Galitzin from the Caucasus in July, 1904, doubtless saved the situation there, for Count Vorontzoff-Dashkoff, who followed as viceroy of the Caucasus, was a man without the strong prejudices of his predecessor, and did much to reconcile the Armenians, although it was under his régime that the frightful massacres of February, March, and May, 1905, occurred. The massacre of February 19, 1905, was only one of a whole series of massacres planned by the Russian administration. The details of this dastardly affair are still unforgotten, and inasmuch as no one knows when there may be another, the whole populace is kept in a state of almost perpetual panic.

Prince Nakashidze, a Georgian nobleman, one of the lieutenants of Prince Galitzin who had assisted in the confiscation of the Armenian church property, was at this time governor of Baku.

A group of Armenian Journalists waited upon the governor and heard from his excellency’s own lips a strange theory of a hypothetical feud between the Armenians and the Tartars which might result in a pogrom, or massacre. The dangers of such an outbreak, he declared, lay in the fact that he did not have troops enough at his command to suppress any such trouble, and that the police could not be relied upon, owing to the fact that so many of them were themselves Tartars. It was afterward pointed out that the report of the governor, of the outbreak which actually took place, corresponded almost word for word with the supposition advanced by Prince Nakashidze to the journalists previous to the massacre. The massacre actually occurred as a result

of a trifling incident. The body of a murdered Armenian, named Babaieff, was being carried in funeral procession past the Tartar quarter of the city. The sight of this procession aroused the Tartars; and the incident which had led to the death of this man—a purely personal vendetta affair—was taken as an excuse for an attempt to massacre all the Armenians in the city. The Armenians defended themselves for a time, but owing to the fact that the Tartars were in superior numbers and much better armed, the casualties among the Armenians were very heavy. During this attack of the Tartars upon the Armenians, the authorities refused absolutely to bestir themselves or make the slightest effort to end the fight. Prince Nakashidze practically turned a deaf ear upon the delegation of Armenians who appealed to him for help, declaring he had no troops at his command, although there were two thousand men stationed near by, which could easily have been employed to quell the disturbance in its early stages.

According to the stories gathered at the time and which have never been contradicted, it appears that the governor himself took pains to openly encourage the Tartars and to stimulate them to greater activity in the fight. The massacre went on for four days, until both sides were ready to quit through sheer exhaustion. In the meantime some three hundred and fifty men and women had been killed and very many wounded. Although it was recognized everywhere that the government was directly responsible for this massacre, the amount of race hatred which was occasioned by this attack has not to this day subsided, and probably will not disappear for years to come. Periodic outbreaks occurred from that time on, and at the time that our party passed through Baku and around the easterly spur of the Caucasus, and turned our faces toward the Nucha district and on to Tiflis, we passed through regions devastated and bare, now placed under military guard; heavy Cossack patrols guarding the piles of debris—for actually more attention was given to guarding the wreckage than had previously been given to guarding the lives of the people.

There was nothing to detain us in Baku. A condition of utter lawlessness prevailed so far as the people were concerned, and even more outrageous lawlessness on the part of the military. It is always so under martial law. A diary of daily events in the Caucasus for the five weeks I was there would fill a large book. I can only speak of significant events, and incidents, which throw light on the whole confused situation. Among ourselves—the officers of my party—there was ceaseless merriment and good fellowship. We lived comfortably, we dined well, we wined much, we were as happy and care-free as though we were on a holiday. About us were the most horrible conditions: dire poverty, distress, a veritable carnival of all the elements of wickedness and suffering of which this world knows.

For the hopeless people of Baku I envied the nomads of the Daghestan hills who tended their cattle and sheep along the steep hillsides, knowing nothing of, and caring nothing for, anything in the world save their own daily bread. At least they were not a part of the perpetual brawl of the town; at least they were not yet belabored by Russian police or military oppressors. Sometimes we saw long camel trains creeping across the sands of Nucha from Persia (lying just below the southern horizon). The dreamy leisureliness of the plodding camels, the calm indifference of the merchants, afforded an illusion of relief from the hostile atmosphere through which

we moved. From a hilltop out of Baku we looked strainingly through the haze to the snow mountains of the south Caucasus, one peak of which is called Ararat. No longer does the dove fly forth from this ancient mountain, to return with a sprig of olive. The waters of the earth no longer threaten this region, but the terrible tides of men—waves of oppression, oceans of misery, seas of shame—ever and always menace all who here pitch their tents. It is the oldest region of the world, if the Scriptures be true, yet in reality to-day it is the least civilized. Here Christianity first took root, yet to-day the entire region is given over to cruel and diabolical practices worthy of pagans and barbarians.

Tiflis lay torn and battered on both banks of the river Kur, revealed by the lifting of the early morning mists, as our train crept slowly down from the heights to the center of the town. Tiflis, the ancient capital of Georgia, has been the battle-ground of many a fight and conflict ever since it was first established by Vakhtang Goroslan, King of Georgia, in the fifth century. Occupying as it does a point of considerable strategic importance, commercially as well as geographically, it is one of the cities of the world which must ever remain a natural capital, whether vested with the rights of empire or not. It commands the highway from the Black Sea to the Caspian, the main route to Persia, and the only road which leads over the Caucasus to Europe.

The Tartar and Persian quarters of Tiflis were in a frightful mess. The Tartars, as Ivan, my indomitable Armenian courier, explained to me, had taken possession of a slight elevation near their section of the city, and begun firing upon the Armenians, whose quarter was a little way removed. Between the Armenian quarter and the hill occupied by the Tartars, was the Persian quarter. The innocent Persians, unhappily, received many of the bullets from both sides, with the result that most of the Persian merchants had fled in panic. The fighting continued for several days until the Russian troops came up and fired indiscriminately upon the three sections, using light artillery. I photographed some of the demolished houses, securing one or two interesting pictures of the walls of houses which had been burst through by solid shells.

All the time I remained in Tiflis Ivan was suspicious of my associates, the officers. “Bloody Russians,” he called them, and he had no use for them whatever. Being one of the race who had been victimized by Russian treachery so often since the confiscation of the church property, and the abolition of the schools in 1903, he could no more put faith in any man representing the government of the Czar. He was most thoughtful of me, however, and after we had got to know each other better, he proved himself measurably loyal. Early in our acquaintance, he had taught me how to use my dagger. For he insisted that since I carried a dagger, I should know how to handle it when occasion demanded. He told me how to grasp the handle with my hands and to thrust it into the bowels of my opponent, giving it the right twist so as to make short work of my enemy, after the manner of his own countrymen. “But, sir,” he added, “you are to use it this way only when you are forced to meet your man face to face. It is better for you to get behind your enemy and to plant your dagger between his shoulders when he is not looking.” Ivan’s fighting ethics were built upon a wholly practical basis. He knew no other standard. In this, he was like all the peoples of Caucasia.

Besides the demolished foreign quarters of Tiflis, there were evidences a-plenty of riot and revolt in all sections of the town; whole blocks of houses sometimes with windows broken, as a result of a recent bomb; telegraph lines down; traffic interrupted; streets torn up and day by day reports came in of clashes between the peoples, and sometimes between the populace and the authorities, and never a day without murder or assassination.

The streets of the town were never safe. A bomb was liable to drop in the vicinity of any official at any time, and robbery was a commonplace of the night. In Tiflis I found a state of actual and continuous guerilla war. Nothing spectacular or dramatic happened, but every day some one was killed, a building wrecked, a consignment of government money stolen. Political arrests were hourly scenes. Workmen were taken from their work; private citizens were snatched from their homes; newspapers that appeared one day were suppressed the next; officials who had to move from place to place were accompanied by heavy escorts. The atmosphere was electric with unrest. Tiflis quivers and cowers through miserable days and hideous nights—all because Russia’s civil policy is as it is, often in open violation of the usual customs of nations and of humanity. Tiflis, olden capital of ancient Georgia, Tiflis the lovely, the beautiful, the fair—I found a city of inquisition, of fire and blood, of despair. Yet through it all we—my officers and I—were established in the comfortable Hotel de Londres. At night we were merry, and oblivious to everything about us. Sometimes we went to a café chantant called the Bellvue, where lovely Georgian girls sang brisk American songs (done into Russian) and painted Armenian maidens danced languorous, lascivious dances....

For a time I was fascinated by this paradoxical life. How human beings could drink champagne through long nights when horrible starvation besieged every window and door; how the officers of the busiest army in the world could squander hours and days and weeks, when mutiny and sedition were daily eating into the ranks; how men of such excellent camaraderie spirit could look upon suffering with a cool shrug—all this was new to me, and made me wonder greatly. But after a time the reports coming in from Kutais, to the west of Tiflis, were so startling that I grew more and more impatient to witness what an army of “pacification” reveals. There in Kutais, the dreaded and hated General Alikhanoff was pushing forward the grim work of repression.

My good friend Prince Andronnikov secured for me the necessary permission, and one memorable Monday evening I ordered Ivan to be ready to start for Kutais that evening.

Kutais lies to the west of Tiflis, about eight hours’ journey on the railroad. The train I planned to take left Tiflis a little before midnight. Ivan insisted that we leave the hotel more than an hour before train-time. I thought this an unreasonable margin of time, but before we reached the station I realized that it is always safe to allow ample time for the unexpected in Caucasia. We had crossed the bridge spanning the Kur and had turned into a dark unlighted street, running toward the station, when suddenly the cries of “Stoi! Stoi!” (Halt! Halt!) rang out in the darkness. Five soldiers sprang out of the shadow and stopped our carriage, while a sixth leveled a bayonet at my breast, so close that when I threw open my bourka (a long hairy cape extending from the shoulders to the ground), and reached for my passport and credentials, it brushed against the steel point. My uniform was only distinguishable under the bourka. The officer in charge of the search-party spoke

French and, upon examining my credentials, promptly permitted us to continue on our way. We had not proceeded two blocks, however, when once more the imperative shout of “Stoi! Stoi!” stopped us. This time a larger party of soldiers surrounded us. Two infantrymen sprang to the heads of the horses, bringing them to an immediate standstill. The officer in command of the second party proved an ignorant fellow and we found it somewhat difficult to satisfy him as to our legality, for a man wearing the uniform of a Cossack officer provided with an American passport was an unusual phenomenon, even in Tiflis, the very center of strange and mysterious men and circumstances. At last, however, he appeared satisfied that we were known to the authorities and that our credentials were genuine, and once more we started for the still distant station. We were nicely settled and on our way when once again the cry of “Stoi! Stoi!” startled us. This time, however, it came from behind. Impatient at these repeated delays and fearful lest after all we miss the train, Ivan, giving one quick glance behind, foolishly thought to take a long chance at escape. The soldiers were twenty yards or more to the rear, so Ivan called to the driver to go on quickly. The driver cracked his whip and the horses strained forward to a gallop. A perfect volley of “stois” followed us. I looked back to see how the soldiers would take this,—just in time to see the men raising their guns to their shoulders to fire. Springing to my feet I shouted in Russian, “All right; all right!” my arms raised to signify that we were in their hands. The sound of my voice warned the driver to stop the horses. The soldiers rushed upon us and at first were inclined to be rough, for they naturally thought we had tried to elude them. The officer was exasperatingly deliberate in examining our papers and he was so persistent in his questions that had he delayed us two minutes longer than he actually did we would have lost our train, in spite of the hour to spare that Ivan had insisted upon.

On the train we found many passengers relating their experience with the search-parties. Nearly all had been stopped at least once, and many twice, so we knew that the city was being searched with extraordinary thoroughness that night for weapons, bombs, and contraband of war that continuously and mysteriously find their way into Tiflis to enable the people to maintain their perpetual fight against their oppressors.

CHAPTER V

WITH THE ARMY OF “PACIFICATION”

The town was a veritable siege city. Walls of grim ruins faced rows of battered houses. There is a clause in the terms of agreement between nations concerning the conduct of international wars which reads: “The attack or bombardment of towns, villages, habitations, or buildings which are not defended is prohibited.”[3] Kutais town was undefended. It was defenseless. But Russian troops had attacked it with rifle fire and light artillery. On the short ride from the station to the hotel I saw many instances of shell fire and infantry volleys. At the hotel entrance a Cossack stood guard.

Ivan presently brought to my room an employee of the hotel, whom he introduced as a friend of his of twelve years’ standing. “Good,” I replied, thinking the man might prove a source of information. “Get him to tell us what is going on here.” After a moment’s hesitation the man answered: “Ivan, I have known you long and would tell you everything if I dared, but whoever speaks in Kutais, even to a friend, is put in prison and his house burned. I dare not tell you anything.” “That is nonsense,” I replied. “There is no one in this room but ourselves. He can speak with utter frankness,” but the man only shook his head and replied: “Even the walls of Kutais have ears.” Ivan himself yielded to the suspicious atmosphere and added, as if to quiet me, “That is true, sir! One dare not speak in his own room.” No amount of persuasion, not even the persuasion of money, which the man doubtless needed, would induce him to say more.

After breakfast I ventured out for a survey of the town—much to Ivan’s disgust. Ivan was a brave fellow in the mountains, but he had seen the Cossacks of this same General Alikhanoff, who now commanded Kutais, hack off the fingers of fine ladies for the rings they wore, in Tiflis only a few months before.

During the first hour we were out I must have seen

twenty political arrests. Demolished houses were in every block. Occasionally an entire block had been swept away by fire. That afternoon when I talked with General Alikhanoff he explained to me that when “his soldiers were ordered to burn down a certain house they do not always have time to see that other houses do not burn also!”

Toward noon we came upon a group of Cossack barracks, and I proposed to Ivan that we run through them.

“Not for a thousand rubles,” replied the redoubtable Ivan. But I finally persuaded him.

No soldier above the rank of what we would call corporal was anywhere in evidence. Near a thousand lawless, undisciplined, unrestrained men lounged about the barn-like halls, singing boisterous songs, smoking, and relating stories. Months of service had hardened them and apparently developed traits that lie dormant when they are at home in their own villages. At all events these fellows seemed much more brutalized than any I saw on my expedition from Vladikavkaz. In one room I found a pile of new blankets more than ten feet high, blankets of a quality and texture never before supplied to an army. In this same room twelve or fourteen men were amusing themselves with as many brand new American sewing-machines.

“Where did you get these?” I asked in amazement.

“We bought them,” replied a hulking fellow of at least six feet three, and pointing to a large shop up the street added: “Go up there and learn about it.”

When first I entered these barracks I refrained from much conversation, but as the mood of the men was jovial and amiable I told Ivan to explain to them that I was in Circassian dress only by courtesy, and that in reality I was an American correspondent. At the beginning I entertained some doubt as to the wisdom of this frankness, but as soon as my position was made clear to them they were friendlier than ever, and took it as a great compliment, and honor, that I should wear their costume. They took me all over the barracks, allowed me to photograph them, and even invited me to lunch with them. I was anxious, however, to learn more about the fine blankets and the American sewing-machines.

The shop pointed out to me from the barracks windows proved to have been a small department store. I found it decidedly a “had been.” The floor space was a vast heap of merchandise that might have been tossed up by a cyclone. The shelves were stripped. The fittings of the store were twisted and broken. The proprietor, a sorrowful bankrupt Armenian, was perched on an upset counter contemplating his ruin. His nationality was an advantage to me for Ivan was able easily to satisfy him as to my status, and he opened up readily. The previous evening, just after he had closed his place for the night, a crowd of Cossacks—the same whom I had visited in their barracks—had come along with push-carts. They had smashed in his doors and windows, ransacked the whole shop, taken what they wanted of trinkets, blankets, and sewing-machines, and carried off their loot in the hand-carts, leaving behind them the pile of wreckage I saw.

Article 48 of the above mentioned proceedings of The Hague Conference reads: “Pillage is absolutely prohibited.” But under Russian military rule each commander is a law unto himself, and under commanders like General Alikhanoff each soldier is a law unto himself. The laws laid down and accepted by nations for the conduct of international wars do not, strictly and technically, apply to wars between a government and its people, but the laws of nations are merely civilized standards, and Russia, in its war against its own people, falls leagues short of these.

The same grim sights met my eyes on every hand. The same tear-bringing tales were poured into my ears, wherever Ivan was successful in convincing the people that I was trustworthy. General Alikhanoff—“Bloody Alikhanoff” the people called him—was ever and always held responsible for the misery and sufferings, the cruelties, the tortures, the inhumanities. During that one day I heard more deeds of monstrous wrong laid at this man’s door than I had ever heard of any living mortal. I determined to see him, to tell him fairly and squarely of the things the people of Kutais were saying about him, and give him an opportunity to deny them if he cared to do so, before I repeated them to a wider world outside of Russia. Or, if they were true, I would have his justification of them.

Ivan described General Alikhanoff as a “Persian Turk,” which was by no means an inappropriate description. He was a Moslem, born within the region of olden Russian domination. Originally his name was Ali Khan, which name he Russianized by putting the two words together and adding “off.” Alikhanoff has a unique record in the Russian army. Some years ago he was sent to Turkestan, where his ruthless pacification methods won for him the title of “Bloody Alikhanoff.” Three times he has been reduced to the ranks for his excesses, and on one of these occasions because of his corruption. Drastic punishment of this character is rarely applied in Russia, and indicates the monstrous misuse of power of which this man had been guilty. In the spring of 1905, General Alikhanoff was sent to Nakhitchevan, where he remained until Prince Napoleon was appointed governor-general of Erivan, when he was recalled. The pacification of Georgia was placed entirely in the hands of Alikhanoff, who, as governor-general of the district, was in supreme command, responsible only to the Czar. Kutais, where I found him, is the central and most important province of Georgia.

Kutais is on the southern slope of the central Caucasus, and a little more than midway between Tiflis and the Black Sea. The population of the city of Kutais is made up of Georgians, Mingrelians, Armenians, Kurds, and Jews. A polyglot population with diverse traditions, with but one thing in common—a wholesome and heartfelt dislike for Russia. The hillsides of the province are spattered with miserable hamlets; valleys that should have been beautiful are unlovely, marred by desolation, where excessive taxation and endless government impositions have produced a condition of ugliest poverty. The taxes levied upon these people were so far in excess of the prosperity in the region[4] that in the autumn of 1905 and the spring of 1906 the people ceased to pay any taxes at all, mostly because they could not, and so General Alikhanoff was sent with a force of about 18,000 troops into the district to collect the taxes and to “restore” order. At five o’clock Ivan and I drove to the official residence of the military governor-general. As I stepped out of the carriage at the door, Ivan naïvely remarked that he

would await me in the carriage. It took considerable persistence to persuade him to follow me. The general was asleep, we were told, but we might wait for him if we chose. “Come to-morrow,” pleaded Ivan, but I knew it would not be safe for me to retreat, having once got successfully over the threshold of the official residence with him, for I already realized that the sense of insecurity and fear which possessed the entire population was taking fast hold on my interpreter, and as his services were essential to the success of my interview I dared not risk losing him. We took seats in the outer hall to abide the time when the general should awake and be ready to receive us. Several times the outer door was opened to officers of the household. As each drew off his overcoat, he took from his right hand pocket a revolver, and usually, with the revolver in his hand, disappeared through one of the three doors leading from the main hall, or up-stairs.

The general’s nap proved a long one, for it was after seven when an orderly appeared to announce the general as ready to attend to business. I sent up my card. An aide-de-camp of the rank of colonel presently came down to inquire the purport of my business. To him I explained carefully my relations with the officers of the regiment with whom I had been traveling and presented my letters and credentials. The colonel reported to the general and returned to me with the message that four days from then at three o’clock in the afternoon General Alikhanoff would receive me for two hours. “I do not desire two hours of his time, but two minutes,” I replied, “but it is most important that I have those two minutes with him to-day.” It was only after considerable insistence that the colonel consented to again intrude upon the general, but when he did word was immediately brought back that I would be received at once. During the second disappearance of the colonel a farcical scene was enacted between Ivan and myself. The aide-de-camp had scarcely disappeared up-stairs when Ivan, apparently overcome by the fear of seeing General Alikhanoff face to face, started toward the door.

“Now that it is arranged, sir,” he said, “I will return to the hotel, sir, and wait for you.”

“No, no, Ivan,” I said, “you must come with me, for if General Alikhanoff speaks nothing but Russian and Tartar, I shall be in a hopeless predicament with him.”

“You want me to go into the room with Alikhanoff, sir—‘Bloody Alikhanoff!’ No, sir!”

“Yes, you must. I need you,” I replied.

He glowered at me in a fright palpably real and started doggedly toward the door. I stepped in front of him so as to prevent his escape.

“No, sir!” he argued. “Not to Alikhanoff. I took Baron de Hirsch to the top of Kazbek, sir, and I have hunted with the Duc d’Orléans for a month in the high mountains, sir, and I was with the correspondent of the London Times in the bad days,—but I never had to do anything like this, sir. I shall go back to Tiflis to-night.”

There was determination in his voice and for the first time I became seriously alarmed, for as I had no way of knowing whether the general spoke French, I could not risk going alone into his presence. But Ivan pushed steadily to the door. At the threshold I felt that I must act instantly or lose him, for he was forcing his way past me in spite of all I could do. So, drawing my revolver, I said very quietly:

“Ivan, the officers coming back from Manchuria tell of how the Japanese placed machine guns behind their regiments when they were sent into battle and at the first indication of retreat these guns opened fire. Now, you know that General Alikhanoff probably will not harm you.”

“No, not now, sir,” he interrupted, “but after you are away, sir, he will send his soldiers to Tiflis for me.”

“Nonsense,” I answered. “I am responsible here and I will tell him that I made you come with me.” He shook his head and once more started past me.

“Ivan,” I said, determinately, “you may get by Alikhanoff, but you cannot get by me,” and I shook the revolver menacingly before him. The poor man was almost beside himself and I suffered for him. But it was the only thing I could do. He looked at the revolver in my hand, then scrutinized my face, and, shaking his head despairingly, he slowly returned to near the front of the stairs and folded his arms in dumb resignation.

Two guards were standing in the hall and witnessed this little scene, but they evinced no other sign than of amused interest. The fact that they did not understand our conversation did not arouse their suspicions or their fears.

When the Colonel returned with the word that I was to be presented to the general at once, Ivan and I were conducted up-stairs. At the door of the ante-room a guard stepped up and a second aide-de-camp apologetically asked me to leave my arms outside. I drew my saber and dagger from their sheaths, my revolver from its holster, and handed them to an orderly. Ivan here saw another opportunity to avoid meeting “Bloody Alikhanoff.” “I will stand by them,” he exclaimed eagerly.

“No, thank you, Ivan,” I replied. “You must come with me.” But now that I had been stripped of my arms, I had not the same means of impressing him as before, and in spite of me he started to slink away. Fearful lest I lose him after all, I clutched at him firmly by the coat-sleeve. He realized that there was no escape, and so, with the expression of a man who accepts the worst, when it is the inevitable, he yielded.

A sentry stood upon the threshold of the chamber. We passed by him and entered a large salon with highly polished hardwood floor. A small room led off from the farther end, into which the general was just stepping. He was a tall man and heavily built. Though his back was toward us, I could see that he wore the undressed jacket of a Russian officer, highly polished riding-boots, and spurs which clanked as he walked. His head was inclined slightly forward, but I noted that he pulled impatiently at his long, heavy mustache, now partly gray. We paused for a second, long enough for him to disappear into the smaller room, and then, at a signal from the colonel, followed him. There were others in the smaller room, but at the moment I did not notice them particularly, for General Alikhanoff received me at once with cold courtesy. I was pleasantly surprised when he greeted me in French and I briefly explained to him who I was and why I had come to see him. After a brief introduction, I asked his indulgence that I might address him through my interpreter.

“But, why?” he asked. “You speak French.”

“Very badly,” I answered, “and it is most important that I understand you precisely.” I did this chiefly because I wanted the opportunity of studying his features and expression, as I could better do when he was addressing the interpreter than when he was speaking directly to me. He acquiesced and motioned me to a chair before his desk.

At this point, an officer took his stand by my right