XII AN ARMY IMPRESARIO

For a week or two after my return to Vladivostok, I familiarized myself with the Intelligence organization at Headquarters. So far as I could see, we had no authority over anybody who happened to be suspected of enemy activity, or actually guilty of some act against the American or Russian laws.

When we found a man who had come in under a fraudulent passport, and had in our files data which proved him to be a Bolshevist agent, or sympathizer, we could take no action, other than hold his American passport. Then we notified the Czech commandant, and he was arrested after passing from our custody.

So we exercised no military or police authority over anybody but our own nationals, or such Russians or other foreigners as fraudulently claimed American citizenship and attempted to travel as such.

In order to watch the incoming ships, all the Allies sent passport officers aboard them, and each officer conducted the examination of his own nationals. There was a line of Russian steamers, running between Tsuruga, Japan, and Vladivostok, known as the Russian Volunteer Fleet; and a similar line owned by the Japanese. These little steamers served as ferry-boats, gathering in Japan all travelers bound for Vladivostok who arrived in ports of the Far East in liners—this was the funnel through which passed the stream of civilians who came first to Shanghai, Nagasaki, Yokohama and other ports.

And before these steamers docked, they were boarded by a Japanese, a Czech, a Russian, a British, an American and a French officer, and the polyglot lot examined before they were allowed to land. I attended some of these examinations, provided with a list of suspicious characters, and with the various interpreters in action, the smoking-room put to shame anything that must have been heard at the Tower of Babel.

But so far as we were concerned, it was all a silly farce. Technically, we had no right to examine anybody. I once asked an Allied officer the basis for his authority, whereupon he told me that the city was under martial law, and controlled by an Allied Council which delegated the powers of examination to all the Allies. But this was promptly denied by another Allied officer.

In fact, it appeared that we Americans, in an effort to avoid interference, claimed no rights of control over anybody on Russian soil, making it necessary for us in order to question suspected enemies, to resort to autocratic methods. That is, we disclaimed all intentions of interfering and asserted no authority, except this plan of going through the motions of authority, which was a taking of power which might have been granted had we asked for it.

For my part, I prefer an autocracy working in the open, to a power which denies it is autocratic and then proceeds to act autocratically without any warrant. Such methods puzzled the decent Russians, and they began to doubt the things which we wanted them to believe, and which it was essential that they believe if we were to have the confidence of the Russian people.

A few days after I had raised the question of the rights of the American officers in passport control, we relinquished by order the rights we had been exercising. When Russian or other officials held men or women as suspicious, who professed to be American citizens, they brought them to American headquarters, where the examination took place. And if the facts cited by them were refuted by our information, we could do nothing but advise the Czechs of the case, and let the latter act without any suggestions from us, thus, like, Pilate, washing our hands of the whole affair.

A Czech officer, upon being asked what he would do with a certain suspect, said casually, “I don’t know—maybe we shoot him.” And maybe they did. No doubt we had to “save our face,” and if the Czechs were willing to serve us as jailers or executioners, that took a disagreeable job off our hands.

I am not, mind, asserting that the Czechs dealt out injustice, or that we should have executed anybody or everybody arrested. I object to heads in our government who lack decision as to what should be done, and resort to chicane in attending to disagreeable tasks. I object to an expedition being sent into a country, the hands of the commander apparently tied, and yet demanding that certain results be attained in a left-handed manner so that the responsibility may be shifted to other shoulders. This country is altruistic and generous toward all other nations in trouble, and we should demand from our representatives who attend to our business, the kind of leadership we are entitled to, and the clear demonstration before such foreign peoples as we come into contact with officially, of our honest motives.

From toying with various parts of the Intelligence machine, I turned my attention to distributing fifty cases of books which had been sent to the troops by the American Library Association. Our men, living in the stone-floored Russian barracks, which were cold and damp and dirty, found these books most welcome. It was a most dreary environment for young and active men, most of them too far from the city to get any entertainment from it, and when its novelty was worn off, they found even Vladivostok dull and disheartening.

The Chief of Staff suggested that a vaudeville show be organized out of the forces, and I was put in charge of it. Some fifteen men who had vaudeville experience were detailed from various companies. And to provide something with “local color,” the Chief of Staff suggested that we might hire a trio of Cossack dancers appearing at a local cabaret known as the “Aquarium.” This show began at midnight. The Chief of Staff, Donald Thompson, the war-photographer, Mrs. Thompson and myself, attended a performance. We sat in a gallery box, and drank coffee from nickel coffee-machines to keep us awake. It was a cheap and tawdry show, and the floor below was filled with a throng of people sitting at little tables and drinking and eating. The Cossack trio—two brothers and a young woman—gave an interesting exhibition of Cossack dancing, interspersed with dialogue in Russian, which delighted the doughboys present.

In a couple of days we put on a show of our own at the Aquarium, which General Graves, and many officers from all the Allied commands, attended as his guests. We had gymnasts, black-face comedians, vocal and stringed quartettes, and a regular vaudeville program of some dozen acts, including the Cossacks, with the regimental band of the Thirty-first Infantry.

It was a “hit,” probably due to the fact that I interfered not at all, but told the performers to “go ahead and get your acts ready, tell me what you will have, and we’ll write a program.” When you want the American doughboy to do something outside his regular line of duty, let him alone and he’ll come home—he needs no Bo Peep.

The Cossacks were to provide two acts, one that they supposed to be a refined American cake-walk, done in conventional evening-dress, and the other their dance, in native costume. Of course, they took more pride in their American act than in the dance, which we wished to place in the program so that it would be the “star” attraction.

It was suggested to them that they be third on the bill with the cake-walk, to give them time to rest and get into costume for the more strenuous effort next to the finale. They agreed, perfectly satisfied, and so they were billed.

I remained back stage. To my horror, when the act preceding the cake-walk was in progress, and the Cossacks were called from the dressing-room somewhere in the cellar, they appeared in their outlandish Cossack costume and makeup. For this act they required stage-sets and improvised lighting, which of course were not ready at that time.

I told my interpreter to ask them to change as quickly as possible, as they must have misunderstood the agreement about how their acts were placed on the program. But they averred that they had simply changed their minds, and intended to do the Cossack dance first, because the regular Aquarium show followed ours, and they would have to do their exhausting dance twice almost in succession if they appeared on our bill last.

I was willing enough to announce the change, and let it go at that, but although I surrendered to their wishes, they persisted in continuing a loud and long Russian conversation behind the curtain in competition with the monologuist who was amusing the audience. Then, when it was all settled that they would appear immediately in the dance, they changed their minds again, and went below to change costumes at the moment they should have gone on.

Luckily the monologuist got several encores, and being known to many of the soldiers out front, they demanded certain of his stories, and he pieced his act out long enough to conceal the wait for the Cossacks.

This example of mental instability I found to be typical of most Siberians—they will spend hours settling a problem, and having threshed out all the details, and arrived at a logical conclusion, somebody remarks: “Maybe we are wrong after all,” and away they go again on the argument, from the beginning, getting themselves more enmeshed in doubts than ever, and finally have to quit in exhaustion without reaching any decision.

Before we could start touring with our show, the Cossacks had to go to Nikolsk-Ussuri to fill an engagement at that place. And our troupe had to get costumes and rehearse, cars must be provided for winter travel, and we had to work out songs with the members of the band.

When the Chief of Staff engaged the Cossack trio, it was at the rate of four thousand rubles a month and all expenses, food and quarters. At that time, with the current rate of rubles, which was ten rubles for the dollar, the salary stood us four hundred dollars. But having in mind the dollar basis, the deal was made in rubles. When I went to Nikolsk to advise the Cossacks that we were ready for them, rubles had gone to six for a dollar, so were more valuable—and of course, the Cossacks wanted their pay in rubles.

They reached Vladivostok late at night, and with the city over-crowded, they had difficulty in getting quarters. They were temporarily sent to a Russian house across the bay, and then a fourth-class car was arranged for them on the siding at the Base. The weather was getting very cold, the car was unsatisfactory to them, they objected to being halted by our sentries when they came to the car late at night, and despite two stoves kept going by a German war prisoner, they said they nearly froze to death.

I began to understand some of the troubles of impresarios with foreign “artists.” They objected to rehearsing with our band at nine o’clock in the morning, the only time the band had available time, because they were accustomed to getting their breakfasts at eleven—they talked the most violent Russian at me at all times possible, regardless of whether my interpreter was present or not. I was sorry for them.

At this stage of affairs, I got sudden orders to proceed to Chita, two thousand versts away, and take station as the American officer on Intelligence duty. There were no American troops there, and it was reported that the American officer of Philippine Scouts whom I was to relieve, had been threatened with assassination. My “circus” was turned over to another officer, and with my interpreter, First Class Private Werkstein, I went aboard a Red Cross train bound for the front, to take station at Chita, Trans-Baikal, where Ataman Semenoff had his headquarters with his Cossack and Mongol army.