required a guard, hence I was ordered to proceed with the remainder of my battalion.  We remained in Krasnoyarsk for two days, and marched through the town and saluted the British Consulate.  On the last evening the usual banquet was held in our honour, and is worth a few words because of an incident which created great interest at the time.  The guests were made up of many officers and others in uniform, and also civilian representatives of the Town Council, the district Zemstvo, and other public organisations.  The usual fraternal speeches and toasts were given, and not more than the usual six speakers attempted to deliver an address at one time.  A number of dark-featured, glowering civilians sat at a table almost opposite to myself, men who by their attire and sombre looks appeared to be unsuited to the banquet atmosphere, and out of place amongst the gorgeous uniforms of Cossack Atamans and Russian generals.  They seemed to take not the slightest interest in the proceedings except for a few moments when certain of my words were being translated.  All seemed bent on the business of the evening and a good dinner, indicating a return to normal conditions.  A Social Revolutionary representative of the town delivered a furious tirade, which I could get my officer to translate only in part, but even that part showed me the world-wide division of opinion amongst my Russian hosts.

The orchestra, composed of German and Austrian prisoners, discoursed sweet music during the evening, alternately listening to the fiery eloquence of Cossack and Tartar.  A Cossack officer, who had drunk a little vodka, rose and gave an order to the band, but the prisoners only got out about three notes.  What was in those notes, Heaven only knows!  Instantly the whole banqueting hall was a scene of indescribable confusion.  Tartar and Cossack shouted with glee; older Russian officers ordered the band to stop, and vainly tried to silence the disorder.  The dark-visaged and apparently unemotional civilians threw off their armour of unconcern, and hurled epithets and shook clenched fists and defiance at their military fellow-countrymen.  Then they all rushed out of the building in a body, hissing and spluttering like a badly constructed fuse in a powder trail.  It was like the explosion of a small magazine.  I had no idea what had happened, but took in the full significance of the scene I had witnessed when told that the notes which had acted like a bomb formed the first bar of “God Save the Tsar.”  A few miles farther on the Autocrat of All the Russias had already met an ignominious death by being thrown down a disused pit near the line dividing Asia and Europe.  In death, as in life, he remained the divider of his people.

The trains started off during the night, and on the evening of the next day we arrived at Hachinsk, where a Russian guard did the usual military honours, and a sad-faced, deep-eyed priest presented me with bread and salt, as becomes a Tartar who welcomes a friend.  It was lucky for me that I had some little training in public speaking, and that “Polkovnika Franka” could make such excellent translations, or we might not have made such a good impression as I flatter myself we did on some occasions.