With much training behind me, and much hardship too, I set out from
Tibet to more training, and much more hardship. As I looked
back, before crossing the Himalayas, I saw the early rays of the sun,
peeping over the mountain ranges, touching the golden roofs of the Sacred
Buildings and turning them into visions of breath-taking delight. The
Valley of Lhasa seemed still asleep, and even the Prayer Flags nodded
drowsily at their masts. By the Pargo Kaling I could just discern a
yak-train, the traders, early risers like me, setting out for India while
I turned towards Chwigking.
Over the mountain ranges we went, taking the paths trodden by the
traders bringing tea into Tibet, bricks of tea from China, tea which with
tsampa was one of the staple foods eaten by Tibetans. 1927 it was
when we left Lhasa, and made our way to Chotang, a little town on the
river Bralirnaputra. On we went to Kanting, down into the
lowlands, through lush forests, through valleys steaming with dank
vegetation, on we went suffering with our breathing, because we, all of us,
were used to breathing air only at i~,ooo feet or higher. The lowlands
with their heavy atmosphere pressing upon us depressed our spirits,
compressing our lungs, making us feel that we were drowning in air. On we
went daY after day, until after a thousand miles or more we reached the
outskirts of the Chinese City of Chungking.
Encamped for the night, our last night together, for on the morrow my
companions would set off on the return journey to our beloved Lhasa,
encamped together, we talked mournfully. It distressed me considerably
that my comrades, my retainers, were already treating me as a person dead
to the world, as a person condemned to live in the lowland cities. And so
on the morrow I went to the University of Chungking, a University where
almost all the professors, almost all the staff worked hard to ensure the
success of the students, to help in any way possible, and only the very
minute minority were diflicult or un~operative, or suffered from
xenophobia.
In Chungking I studied to be a surgeon and a physician. I studied also
to be an air pilot, for my life was mapped out, foretold in minutest
detail, and I knew, as proved to be the case, that later I would do much
in the air and in medicine. But in Chungking there were still only the
mutterings of war to come and most of the people in this, an ancient and
modern city combined, lived day by day enjoying their ordinary happiness,
doing their ordinary tasks.
This was my first visit in the physical to one of the major cities, my
first visit, in fact, to any city outside Lhasa, although in the astral
form I had visited most of the great cities of the world, as anyone can if
they will practise, for there is nothing difficult, nothing magleal in the
astral, it isas easy as walking, easier than riding a bicycle because on a
bicycle one has to balance; in the astral one has merely to use the
abilities and faculties which our birthright gave. While I was still
studying at the University of Chungking I was summoned back to Lhasa
because the Thirteenth Dalai Lama was about to die. I arrived there and
took part in the ceremonies which followed His death, and then after
attending to various business in Lhasa I again returned to Chungking. At a
later interview with a Supreme Abbot, T'ai Shu, I was persuaded to accept
a commission in the Chinese air force, and to go to Shanghai, a place
which although I knew I had to visit had no attraction whatever for me. So
once again I was uprooted and made my way to another home. Here on July
7th, 1937, the Japanese staged an incident at the Marco Polo Bridge. This
was the actual starting point of the China-Japanese war, and it made
things very difficult indeed for us. I had to leave my quite lucrative
practice in Shanghai and place myself at the disposal of the Shanghai
Municipal Council for a time, but afterwards I devoted all my time to
mercy flying for the Chinese forces. I and others flew to places where
there was a great need of urgent surgery. We flew in old aircraft which
were actually condemned for any-thing else but which were considered good
enough for those who were not fighting but patching up bodies.
I was capured by the Japanese, after being shot down, and they treated
me quite roughly. I did not look like a Chinaman, they did not quite know
what I looked like, and so because of my uniform, because of my rank, they
were thoroughly unpleasant.
I managed to escape and made my way back to the Chinese forces in the
hope of continuing with my work. First I was sent to Chugking to have a
change of scene before returning to active duty. Chungking was then a
different place from the Chungking which I had known before. The buildings
were new, or rather some of the old buildings had new fronts because the
place had been bombed. The place was absolutely crowded and all types of
businesses from the major cities of China were now congregating in
Chungking in the hopes of escaping the devastation of the war which was'
raglng elsewhere.
After recovering somewhat I was sent down to the coast under the
command of General Yo. I was appointed as medical officer in charge of the
hospital, but the "hospital" was merely a collection of paddy
fields which were thoroughly watedogged. The Japanese soon came along and
captured us and killed all those patients who were unable to rise and
walk. I was taken off again and treated remark-ably badly because the
Japanese recognized me as one who had escaped before, and they really did
not like people who escape.
After some time I was sent to be Prison Medical Officer in charge of a
prison camp for women of all nationalities. There due to my specialized
training in herbs, I was able to make the best use of the natural
resources of the camp to treat patients who otherwise would have been
denied all medicatios. The Japanese thought that I was doing too much for
the prisoners and not letting them die enough, and so they sent me to a
prison camp in Japan, a camp which they said was for terrorists. I was
herded across the Sea of Japan in a leaky ship and we were very badly
treated indeed. I was badly tortured by them, and their continual torture
gave me pneumonia. They did not want me to die and so in their way they
looked after me, and gave me treatment. When I was recovering -I did not
let the Japanese know how well I was recovering - the earth shook; I
thought it was an earthquake, and then I looked out of the window and
found that the Japanese were running in terror, and all the sky turned
red, it looked as if the sun was obscure. Although I did not know it, this
was the atom bombing of Hiroshima, the day of the first bomb on October
6th, 1945.
The Japanese had no time for me, they needed all their time to look
after themselves, I thought, and so I managed to pick up a uniform, a cap,
and a pair of heavy sandals. Then I tottered out into the open air through
the narrow unguarded doorway, and managed to make my way down to the shore
where I found a fishing boat. Apparently the owner had fled in terror as
the bomb dropped, for he was nowhere in sight The boat idly rocked at its
moorings. In the bottom there were a few pieces of stale fish already
starting to give off the odour of decay. There was a discarded can nearby
which had stale water in it, drinkable, but only just. I managed to hack
away the flimsy rope holding the boat to the shore, and cast off. The wind
filled out the ragged sail when I managed to hoist it hours later, and the
boat headed out into the unknown. The effort was too much for me. I just
toppled to the bottom in a dead faint.
A long time after, how long I cannot say, I can only judge the passage
of time by the state of decomposition of the fish, I awakened to the
dimness of a dawn. The boat was racing on, the little waves breaking over
the bows. I was too rn with pneumonia to bale, and so I just had to lie
with my shoulders and the bottom of my body in the salt water, in all the
refuse which swilled about. Later in the day the sun came out with
blinding power. I felt as if my brains were being boiled in my head, as if
my eyes were being burned out. I felt as if my tongue was growing to be
the size of my arm, dry, aching. My lips and my cheeks were cracked. The
pain was to much for me. I felt that my lungs were bursting again, and I
knew that once more pneumonia had attacked both lungs. The light of the
day faded from me, and I sank back into the bilge water, unconscious.
Time had no meaning, time was just a series of red blurs, punctuated by
darkness. Pain raged through me and I hovered at the border betweeen life
and death. Suddenly there was a violent jolt, and the screech of pebbles
beneath the keel. The mast swayed as if it would snap, and the tattered
rag of a sail fluttered madly in the stiff breeze. I slid forward in the
bottom of the boat, unconscious amid the stinking, swirling water.
"Gee, Hank, dere's a gook in de bottom of de boat, sure looks like
a stiff to me!" The nasal voice roused me to a flicker of
consciousness. I lay there, unable to move, unable to show that I was
still alive.
"Whats amadder wid ya? Scairt of a corpse? We want da boat, don't
we? Give me a hand and we toss him out."
Heavy footsteps rocked the boat, and threatened to crush my head.
"Man oh man!" said the first voice, "Dat poor guy he
sure took a beating from exposure. Mebbe he still breathes, Hank, what ya
think."
"Aw, stop bellyachin. He's good as dead. Toss him out. We got no
time to waste."
Strong, harsh hands grabbed me by the feet and head I was swung once,
twice, and then let go and I sailed over the side of the boat to fall with
a bone-rattling crash on to a pebble-and-sand beach. Without a backward
glance, the two men heaved and strained at the stranded boat. Grunting and
cursing they laboured, throwing aside small rocks and stones. At last the
boat broke free and with a grating scrunch floated slowly backwards into
the water. In a panic, for some reason unknown to me, the two men
scrambled frenziedly aboard and went off in a series of clumsy tacks.
The sun blazed on. Small creatures in the sand bit me, and I suffered
the tortures of the damned. Gradually the day wore out, until at last the
sun set, blood-red and threatening. Water lapped at my feet, crept up to
my knees. Higher. With stupendous effort I crawled a few feet, digging my
elbows into the sand, wriggling, struggling. Then oblivion.
Hours later, or it may have been days, I awakened to find the sunlight
streaming in upon me. Shakily I turned my head and looked about. The
surroundings were wholly unfamiliar. I was in a small one-roomed cottage,
with sea sparkling and glistening in the distance. As I turned my head I
saw an old Buddhist priest watching me. He smiled and came towards me,
sitting on the floor by my side. Haltingly, and with some considerable
difficulty, we con-versed. Our languages were similar but not identical,
and with much effort, substituting and repeating words, we discussed the
position.
"For some time," the priest said, "I have known that I
would have a visitor of some eminence, one who had a great task in life.
Although old, I have lingered on until my task was completed."
The room was very poor, very clean, and the old priest was obviously on
the verge of starvation. He was emaciated and his hands shook with
weakness and age. His faded, ancient robe was patterned with neat stitches
where he had repaired the ravages of age and accidents.
"We saw you thrown from the boat," he said. "For long we
thought you were dead and we could not get to the beach to make sure
because of marauding bandits. At nightfall two men of the village went out
and brought you here to me. But that was five days ago; you have been very
ill indeed. We know that you will live to journey afar and life will be
hard"
Hard! Why did everyone tell me so often that life would be hard?
Did they think I liked it? Definitely it was hard, always had been, and I
hated hardship as much as anyone.
"This is Najin," the priest continued. "We are on the
outskirts. As soon as you are able, you will have to leave for my own
death is near."
For two days I moved carefully around, trying to regain my strengh,
trying to pick up the threads of life again. I was weak, starved, and
almost beyond caring whether I lived or died. A few old friends of the
priest came to see me and suggested what I should do, and how I should
travel. On the third morning as I awakened, I saw the old priest lying
stiff and cold beside me. During the darkness he had relinquished his hold
upon life, and had departed. With the help of an old friend of his, we dug
a grave and buried him. I wrapped what little food was left in a cloth,
and with a stout stick to help me, I departed.
A mile or so and I was exhausted. My legs shook and my head seemed to
spin, making my vision blurry. For a time I lay by the side of the coast
road, keeping out of sight of passers-by, for I had been warned that this
was a dangerous district indeed for strangers. Here, I was told, a man
could lose his life if his expression did not please the armed thugs who
roamed at large terrorizing the district.
Eventually I resumed my journey and made my way to Unggi. My informants
had given me very clear instructions on how to cross the border into
Russian territory.
My condition was bad, frequent rests were necessary, and on one such
occasion I was sitting by the side of the road idly watching the heavy
traffic. My eyes wandered from group to group until I was attracted to
five Russian soldiers, heavily armed and with three huge mastiffs. For
some reason, at the same time, one of the soldiers chanced to look at me.
With a word to his companions he unleashed the three dogs which came
towards me in a blue of speed, their snarling fangs slavering with fierce
excitement. The soldiers started towards me, fingering their
sub-machine-guns. As the dogs came, I sent friendly thoughts to them,
animals had no fear or dislike of me. Suddenly they were upon me, tails
wagging, licking and slobbering over me and nearly killing me with
friendship, for I was very weak. A sharp command, and the dogs cowered at
the feet of the soldiers, now standing over me. "Ah!" said the
corporal in charge, "You must be a good Russian and a native here,
otherwise the dogs would have torn you to pieces. They are trained for
just that. Watch awhile and you will see."
They waked away, dragging the reluctant dogs, who wanted to stay with
me. A few minutes later the dogs leaped urgently to their feet and dashed
off to the under-growth at the side of the road. There were horrible
screams suddenly choked off by frothy bubbling. A rustling behind me, and
as I turned, a bloody hand, bitten off at the wrist, was dropped at my
feet while the dog stood there wagging his tail!
"Comrade," said the corporal, strolling over, "you must
be loyal indeed for Serge to do that. We are going to our base at
Kraskino. You are on the move, do you want a ride that far with five dead
bodies?"
"Yes, Comrade corporal, I should be much obliged," I replied.
Leading the way, with the dogs walking beside me waggling their tails,
he took me to a half-track vehicie with a trailer attached. From one
corner of the trailer a thin stream of blood ran to splash messily on the
ground. Casually glancing in at the bodies piled there, he looked more
intently at the feeble struggle of a dying man. Pulling out his revolver
he shot him in the head, then reholstered his gun and walked off to the
half-track without a backward glance.
I was glven a seat on the back of the half-track. The soldiers were in
a good mood, boasting that no foreigner ever crossed the Border
when they were on duty, telling me that their platoon held the Red Star
award for competency. I told them that I was making my way to Vladivostok
to see the great city for the first time, and hoping I 'would have no
difficulty with the language. "Aw!" guffawed the corporal.
"We have a supply truck going there tomorrow, taking these dogs for a
rest, because with too much human blood they get too savage so that even
we cannot handle them. You have a way with them. Look after them for us
and we will take you to Viadi tomorrow. You understand us, you will be
understood everywhere in this district - this is not Moscow!"
So I, a confirmed hater of Communism, spent that night as a guest of
the soldiers of the Russian Frontier Patrol. Wine, women and song were
offered me, but I pleaded age and ill-health. With a good plain meal
inside me, the best for a long, long time, I went to bed on the floor, and
slept with an untroubled conscience.
In the morning we set out for Vladivostok, the corporal, one other
rank, three dogs and me. And so, through the friendship of fierce animals,
I got to Vladivostok without trouble, without walking, and with good food
inside me.
The road was dusty and full of holes. As we drove along we passed gangs
of women in the charge of an armed overseer, filling up the deepest of the
holes with stones and with anything at hand. As we passed, the soldiers
with me yelled ribald remarks and made suggestive gestures.
We passed through a populated district and on, on until we came to grim
buildings, which must have been a prison. The half-track swept on and into
a cobbled courtyard. No one was in sight. The men looked about in
consternation. Then, as the driver switched off the engine we became
immediately aware of a tremendous clamour, the shouting of men and the
fierce barking of dogs. We hurried towards the source of the sound, I with
the soldiers. Passing through an open door set in a high stone wall we saw
a strong fenced enclosure, which seemed to contain about fifty huge
mastiffs.
Quickly a man on the edge of the crowd of soldiers outside the
enclosure gabbled out his story. The dogs, with human bloodlust upon them
had got out of hand and had killed and devoured two of their keepers. A
sudden commotion, and as the crowd shifted and swayed, I saw a third man,
clinging high up on the wire fence, lose his grip on the wire and fall
among the dogs. There was a horrid scream, a reali~ blood-chilling sound,
and then nothing but a snarling mass of dogs.
The corporal turned to me, "Hey, you! You
can control
dogs." Then, turning to a soldier beside him, "Ask the Comrade
Captain to come this way, say we have a man here who can control
dogs."
As the soldier hurried off I nearly fainted with fright on the spot.
Me?
Why always me for the difficulties and dangers ? Then as I looked at
the dogs I thought, "Why not? These animals are not so fierce as
Tibetan mastiffs, and these soldiers smell of fear to the dogs and so the
dogs attack."
An arrogant-looking captain strode through the crowd, which parted
respectfully before him. Stopping a few feet from me he looked me up and
down, and a disdainful sneer passed over his face. "Faugh,
corporal," he said haughtily, "What have we here? An ignorant
native priest?"
"Comrade Captain," said the corporal, "This man was not
attacked by our dogs, Serge bit off the hand of a frontier-crosser and
gave it to him. Send him into the enclosure, Comrade Captain."
The captain frowned, shuffled his feet in the dust, and industriously
bit his nails. At last he looked up. "Yes, I will do it," he
said. "Moscow said that I must not shoot any more dogs, but they did
not tell me what to do when the dogs had the blood-lust. This man, if he
is killed, well, it was an accident. If he should live, though very
unlikely, we will reward him" He turned and paced about, then stood
looking at the dogs gnawing at the bones of the three keepers whom they
had killed and eate. Turning to the corporal, he said, "See to it,
corporal, and if he succeeds, you are a sergeant.' With that he hastened
away.
For a time the corporal stood wide-eyed. "Me, a sergeant? Man'
he
said, turning to me, "You tame the dogs and every man of the Frontier
Patrol will be your friend. Get in."
"Comrade corporal," I replied, "I should like the other
three dogs to go in with me, they know me and they know these dogs."
"So it shall be," he answered, "Come with me and we will
get them."
We turned and went out to the trailer of the half-track. I fondled the
three dogs, letting them lick me, letting them put their smell on me.
Then, with the three dogs jostling and bounding around me, I went to the
barred entrance of the enclosure. Armed guards stood by in case any dog
escaped. Quickly the gate was opened a trifle, and I was roughly thrust
inside.
Dogs rushed at me from everywhere. The snapping jaws of "my"
three discouraged most from coming too close to me, but one huge,
ferocious beast, obviously the leader, sprang murderously at my throat.
For that I was well prepared, and as I stepped aside I gave him a quick
thrust in the throat, a judo (or karate as people now term it) thrust
which killed him before he touched the ground. The body was covered with a
seething, struggling mass of dogs - allmost before I could jump out of the
way. The snarling and snapping noises were hideous.
For a few moments I waited, unarmed, defenceless, thinking only kind
and friendly thoughts towards the dogs, telling them by thought that I was
not afraid of them, that I was their master. Then they turned, and I had a
moment of revulsion as I saw the bare skeleton of what had moments ago
been the leader. The dogs turned towards me. I sat upon the ground and willed
them to do the same. They crouched before me, in a half-circle, paws
outstretched, grinting, tongues lolling lazily, and tails sweeping from
side to side.
I stood up, and called Serge to my side. Putting my hand on his head, I
said loudly, "From now on, you, Serge, will be leader of all these
dogs, and you will obey me and will see that they obey me."
From outside the enclosure came a spontaneous roar of applause. I had
forgotten all about the soldiers! As I turned I saw that they were waving
their hands in friendship. The captain, his face suffused with excitement,
came close to the wire and yelled, "Bring out the bodies of the
keepers or their skeletons." Grimly I walked to the first body, a
shredded, bloody mass, with the chest bones bare of flesh. I took it by an
arm and pulled, but the arm came off at the shoulder. Then I pulled the
man by the head, with his entrails dragging along behind. There was a gasp
of horror, and I saw that Serge was walking beside me, carrying the man's
arm. Laboriously I removed all three bodies, or what was left of them.
Then, really exhausted with the strain, I stepped to the gate and was let
out.
The captain stood before me. "You stink!" he said. "Get
cleaned of the filth of those bodies. You shall remain here for a month
looking after the dogs. After a month they return to their patrols and you
can go. You shall have the pay of a corporal." He turned to the
corporal and said, "As promised, you are now a sergeant as from this
moment." He turned and walked away, obviously quite delighted with
the whole affair.,
The sergeant beamed upon me. "You are a magic-maker! Never will. I
forget how you killed that dog. Never will I forget the sight of the
captain hopping from foot to foot filming the whole affair. You have done
a big thing for yourself. Last time we had a dog riot we lost six men and
forty dogs. Moscow came down heavy on the captain's neck. Told him what
would happen if he lost any more dogs. He will treat you good. You mess-in
with us now. We don't ask questions. But come, you stink, as the captain
said. Wash off all that filth. I always told Andrei he ate too much and
smelled bad, now I have seen him in pieces I know I was right." I was
so tired, so exhausted, that even such macabre humour as this did not
shock me.
A group of men, corporals, in the mess hall, guffawed loudly and said
something to the sergeant. He roared, and hastened over to me. "Haw!
Haw! Comrade priest," he bellowed, eyes streaming with. "They
say that you have so much of Andrei's inside on your outside that you
should have all his possessions now he is dead. He has no relatives. We
are going to call you Comrade Corporal Andrei for as long as you are here.
All that was his is now yours. And you won me many roubles when I bet on
you in the enclosure. You are my friend."
Sergeant Boris was quite a good fellow at heart. Uncouth, rude in
manner, and without any pretence of education, he still showed much
friendship to me for securing his promotion-"would have been a
corporal' all my life else," he said - and for the large number of
roubles he had won on me. A number of men had been saying that I had not a
chance in the dog enclosure. Boris had heard, and said, "My man is
good. You should have seen him when we set the dogs on him. Didn't move.
Sat like a statue. The dogs thought he was one of them. He will get that
crowd straightened out. You'll see!"
"Bet on it, Boris?" cried one man.
"Take you three months to pay," said Boris. As a direct
outcome, he had won about three and a half years' pay and was grateful.
That night, after a very ample supper, for the Border Patrol men lived
well, I slept in a warm hut by the side of the dog enclosure. The mattress
was well stuffed with dried esparto grass, and the men had obtained new
blankets for me. I had every reason to be grateful for the training, which
gave me such an understanding of animals' nature.
At first light I was dressed and went to see the dogs. I had been shown
where their food was kept, and now I saw that they had a very good feed
indeed. They clustered around me, tails awag, and every so often one would
rear up and put his paws on my shoulders. At one such time I happened to
look around, and there was the captain, outside of the wire of course,
looking on. "Ah! Priest," he said, "I merely came to see
why the dogs were so quiet. Feeding time was a time of madness and fights,
with the keeper standing outside and throwing food in, with the dogs
tearing at each other to get their share. I will ask you no questions,
Priest. Give me your word to remain here for four to five weeks until the
dogs all move out and you can have the run of the place and go to the city
when you want to."
"Comrade Captain," I replied, "I will gladly give you my
word to remain here until all these dogs leave. Then I will be on my
way."
"Another matter, Priest," said the captain. "At the next
feeding time I will bring my cine camera and take a film so that the
Superiors can see how we keep our dogs in order. Go to the Quartermaster
and draw a new corporal's uniform, and if you can find anyone to help you
in the enclosure, get them to clean it thoroughly. If they are afraid, do
it yourself."
"I will do it myself, Comrade Captain," I replied, "then
the dogs will not be upset."
The captain nodded curtly, and marched off, obviously a very happy man
that he could now show how he managed the blood-lusting dogs!
For three days I did not move more than a hundred yards from the dog
enclosure. These men were "trigger happy" and thought nothing of
shooting into the bushes "in case there should be spies hiding"
as they put it.
For three days I rested, regaining my strength, and mixing with the
men. Getting to know them, getting to know their habits. Andrei had been
much the same size as me, so his clothes fitted reasonably well.
Everything of his had to be washed and washed again, though, because he
had not been noted for cleanliness. Many times the captain approached me,
trying to engage me in conversation, but while he seemed genuinely
interested and friendly enough, I had to remember my role of a simple
priest who merely understood the Buddhist Scriptures-and dogs! He would
sneer at religion, saying that there was no afterlife, no God, nothing but
Father Stalin. I would quote Scriptures, never exceeding the knowledge
that a poor village priest could be-expected to have.
At one such discussion, Boris was present, leaning up against the dog
compound idly chewing a sliver of grass. "Sergeant," exclaimed
the captain in exasperation, "the Priest has never been out of his
little village. Take him around and show him the City. Take him on patrol
to Artem and to Razdol'noye. Show him life. He only knows about death,
thinking that that is life." He spat on the ground, lit a contraband
cigarette, and stalked away.
"Yes, come on, Priest, you have stayed with the dogs so long you
are beginning to look like them. Though I must admit that you have them
well-behaved now. And you did win for me a pile of money. I float on air
with it, Priest, and must spend' it before I die."
He led the way to a car, got in, and motioned for me to do the same. He
started the engine, moved the gear lever, and let in the clutch. Off we
went, bouncing on the rutted roads, roaring into the narrow streets of
Vladivostok. Down by the harbour there were many ships, allmost more ships
than I had known existed in the world. "Look, Priest," said
Boris, "those ships have captured goods. Goods which were going to be
"lend lease" from the Americns to some other country. They think
the Japanese captured them, but we ship the cargoes over The Railway (the
Trans-Siberian Railway) back to Moscow where the Party Bosses have what
they think is first pick. We have first pick because we have an
arrangement with the docks. We turn a blind eye on their doings while they
turn a blind eye on ours. Have you ever had a watch, Priest?"
"No;' I replied, "I have owned very little in my life. I know
the time by the position of the sun and the shadows."
"You must have a watch, Priest!" Boris speeded up the car and
shortly we drew alongside a freighter moored to the dock side. The ship
was streaked with red rust and sparkling with dried salt spray. The
journey round the Golden Horn had been a hard and rough one. Cranes were
swiging their long jibs, unloading the produce from different parts of the
world. Men were shouting, gesticulating, manipulating cargo nets, and
pulling on hawsers. Boris jumped out, dragging me with him, and rushed
madly up the gangplank, still with me in tow.
"We want watches, Cap'n," he bawled at the first man in
uniform. "Watches, for the arm."
A man with a more ornate uniform than the others appeared and motioned
us to his cabin. "Watches, Cap'n," bawled &ris "One for
him and two for me. You want to come ashore, Cap'n? Good time ashore. Do
what you like. Girls, get drunk, we not interfere. We want
watches."
The captain smiled, and poured drinks. Boris drank his noisily, and I
passed mine to him. "He no drink, Cap'n, he a Priest turned dog
watcher, good dog watcher, too, good fellow," said Boris.
The captain went to a space beneath his bunk and drew out a box.
Opening it, he displayed perhaps a dozen wrist watches. Almost quicker
than the eye could see, Boris picked two gold ones, and without bothering
to wind them, slipped one on each arm
"Take a watch, Priest," commanded Boris.
I reached out and took a chromium one. "This is a better one,
Priest," said the Captain. "This is a stainless steel,
waterproof Omega, a far better watch"
"Thank you, Captain," I replied, "If you have no
objection, I will have the one of your choice."
"Now I know you are crazed, Priest," said Boris, "a
steel watch when you can have gold?"
I laughed and replied, "Steel is good enough for me, you are a
sergeant, but I am only a very temporary corporal."
From the ship we went to the Trans-Siberian Railroad sidings. Work
gangs were busily loading the trucks with the choicest goods from the
ships. From here the trucks would leave for Moscow, some six thousand
miles away. As we stood there, one train moved out. Two engines pulling a
vast array of railroad cars, each engine with five wheels on each side.
Giant things which were well kept and which were regarded almost as living
creatures by the train crew.
Boris drove along beside the tracks. Guards were everywhere, from pits
in the ground armed men scanned the undersides of the passing trains,
looking for stowaways.
"You seem to be very afraid of anyone illegally riding the
trains," I said, "this is a thing which I do not understand.
What harm could it do to allow people to take a ride?"
"Priest," sadly replied Boris, "you have no knowledge of
Life, just as the captain said. Enemies of the Party, saboteurs, and
capitalist spies would try to steal into our cities. No honest Russian
would want to travel unless so directed by his Commissar."
"But are there many trying to take rides? What do you do with them
when you see them?"
"Do with them. Why, shoot them, of course! Not many stowaways just
here, but tomorrow I am going to Artem and I will take you. There you will
see how we deal with such subversive elements. The train crews, when they
catch one, tie his hands, slip a rope round his neck, and throw him off.
Makes a mess of the track, though, and encourages the wolves. "Boris
slumped in the driving seat, his eyes scanning the packed railroad cars
trundling along. As if electrified, he sat bolt upright and jabbed the
accelerator right down. The car leaped ahead and raced past the head of
the train. Slamming on the brakes, Boris jumped out, grabbed his
sub-machine-gun, and hid by the side of the car. Slowly the train rumbled
by. I caught a glimpse of someone riding between two railroad coaches, and
then there was the stuttering stammer of the sub-machine-gun. The body
tumbled to the ground between the tracks. "Got him!" said Boris
triumphantly, as he carefully cut another nick in the stock of his gun.
"That makes fifty-three, Priest, fifty-three enemies of the State
accounted for."
I turned away, sick at heart, and afraid to show it, for Boris would
have shot me as easily as he had shot that man if he had known that I was
not the village priest.
The train passed on, and Boris walked to the riddled, bleeding body.
Turning it over with his foot he looked at the face, and said, "I
recognize this as a railroad worker. He should not have been riding.
Perhaps I should blow off his face so there will be no difficult
questions." So saying, he put the muzzle of the gun near the face of
the dead man and pulled the trigger. Leaving the now headless corpse, he
returned to the car and we drove away.
"I have never been on a train, Boris," I said.
"Well," he replied, "tomorrow we will go to Artem by
goods train and you can look around. I have some good friends there I want
to meet now that I am a sergeant."
For long I had cherished the idea of stowing away aboard some ship and
steaming off to America. I mentioned ship-stowaways to Boris.
"Boris," I said, "you spend all your time stopping
people at the frontier and making sure there are no stowaways on the
trains. Yet all these ships, anyone could walk aboard and
stay."
Boris leaned back and roared with laughter. "Priest," he
guffawed, "you must be a simpleton! The Water Guards board the ships
a mile from the shore and they check all members of the crew. Then they
seal all hatches and ventilators, and pour cyanide gas into the holds and
other spaces, not forgetting the life-boats. They get a good bag of stiffs
from reactionaries who do not know about this."
I felt very sick at the callous manner in which these men treated the
whole affair as sport, and I hastily changed my mind about stowing aboard
ship!
Here I was in Vladivostok, but I had my allotted task in life, and as
the Prophecy had stated, I had to go first to America, then to England,
and back to the North American continent. The problem was - how to get out
of this part of the world. I determined to find out as much as possible
about the Trans-Siberian Railway, where the checks and searches ended, and
what happened at the Moscow end.
The next day I exercised and fed the dogs early, and with them well
settled, I set out with Boris and three other Guards. We travelled some
fifty miles to an outpost where the three Guards were to replace three
others. All the way the men were chatting about how many
"escapees" they had shot, and I picked up some useful
information. I learned the point at which there were no more checks, I
learned that if one was careful one could travel to the outskirts of
Moscow without being caught.
Money was going to be the problem, that I could see. I made money by
stariding duty for other men, by treating their ills, and through the good
offices of some of them, treating wealthy Party members in the city
itself. Like others, I arranged to visit ships, and took my share of the
spoils of new train loads. All my 'bounty" was turned into roubles. I
was preparing to cross Russia.
Nearly five weeks later the captain told me that the dogs were now
going back to their patrol stations. A new Commissar was coming, and I
must leave before he arrived. Where was I going? he asked. Knowing my man
by now, I replied, "I will remain in Vladivostok, Comrade Captain. I
like it here."
His face grew apprehensive. "You must leave, get right out of the
district. Tomorrow."
"But Comrade Captain, I have nowhere to go, and no money," I
answered.
"You shall be given roubles, food, clothing, and taken out of this
district."
"Comrade Captain," I reiterated, "I have nowhere to go.
I have worked hard here, and I want to stay in Vladivostok."
The captain was adamant "Tomorrow we send men to the very limit of
our area, to the boundary of Voroshilov. You shall be taken there and
left. I will give you a letter saying that you have helped us and you have
gone there with our permission. Then the Voroshilov Police will not arrest
you."
This was far better than I had hoped. I wanted
to get to
Voroshilov, because that was where I intended to board the train. I knew
that if I could get to the other side of that city I should be fairly
safe.
The next day, with a number of other men, I climbed aboard a fast
troop-carrier and we roared up the road on the way to Voroshilov. This
time I was wearing a good suit of clothes, and had a large rucksack
stuffed with belongings. I also had a shoulder bag full of food. It gave
me not a qualm to remember that the clothes I wore had been taken from a
dead ship-jumper.
"Don't know where you are going, Priest," said Boris,
"but the captain has said that he trained those dogs, so you had to
leave. You can sleep at the outpost tonight,' and be on your way in the
morning."
That night I was unsettled. I was sick and tired of roaming from place
to place. Sick and tired of living with Death nudging my elbow. It was
utterly lonely living with these people who were so alien, so absolutely
opposed to my peaceful way of living.
In the morning, after a good breakfast, I said good-bye to Boris and
the others, shouldered my load, and set off. Mile after mile I covered,
avoiding the main road, trying to cirde Voroshilov. There was the roar of
a speeding car behind me, the squeal of hastily-applied brakes and I found
myself looking down the muzzle of a sub-machine-gun.
"Who are you? Where are you going?" snarled a scowling
corporal.
"I am on my way to Voroshilov," I replied. "I have a
letter here from Comrade Captain Vassily."
Snatching the letter from me, he tore it open, frowning in the
concentration of reading. Then his face broke into a broad grin. "We
have just come from Sergeant Boris," he said. "Get in, we will
drive you to Voroshilov and let you off where you say."
This was a nuisance, I was trying to avoid
the city! But I
climbed into the patrol car and was speedily driven to Voroshilov. I
alighted near the Police Headquarters, and as the car shot off into the
garage, I walked smartly along, trying to cover as many miles as possible
before nightfall. I planned to camp out near the Railroad and observe what
happened for a night and day before climbing aboard.
Passenger trains were stopped and checked at Voroshilov, but the goods
trains stopped just outside, possibly so that the local people should not
see how many stowaways were killed. I watched and watched, and decided
that my only hope was to get on a train just as it was pulling out.
On the night of the second day a very desirable train stopped. A train
which my experience told me had many "lend-lease" cargoes
aboard. This was not one to be missed, I thought, as I eased myself along
the tracks, peering under, testing locked doors, opening those which were
not locked. Every now and then a shot rang out, followed by the thud of a
falling body. Dogs were not used here for fear that they would be killed
by the wheels. I rolled in the dust, making myself as dirty as possible.
The guards came by, peering at the train, shouting to each other,
flashing powerfill lamps. No one thought to look behind the train, and the
train only engaged their attention. I, prone on the ground behind them,
thought, "my dogs would be far more efficient than this. Dogs would
soon have found me!"
The men, satisfied with their search, strolled off. I rolled sideways
to the track and darted between the wheels of a railroad car. Quickly I
climbed on to an axle and hitched a rope I had ready to a projecting lug.
Fastening it to the other side, I drew myself up and tied myself to the
bottom of the railroad car floor-in the only position, which would escape
scrutiny. This I had planned for a month. The train started with a jerk
which nearly dislodged me, and as I anticipated, a jeep with a spotlight
came racing alongside, with armed guards peering at the axle-bars. I drew
myself tighter to the floor, feeling as a naked man would before a
convention of nuns! The jeep raced on, turned and came back, and passed
out of my sight and life. The train rumbled on. For five or six miles I
held grimly to my painful position, then convinced that the danger was
over, I slowly eased myself out from the rope and managed to balance on
one of the covers of the axles.
For a time I rested as best I could, getting feeling back into my
cramped and aching limbs. Then slowly, cautiously, I edged myself along to
the end of the railroad car and managed to grasp an iron bar. For perhaps
half an hour I sat on the couplings, then drawing myself up on that
swaying platform, I crept blindly around the end and on to the roof. It
was quite dark now, except for the starlight. The moon had not yet risen,
and I knew that I had to work fast to get inside a wagon before any
prowling training saw me in the Siberian moonlight. On the roof I tied an
end of the rope around me, passed the other end around the roof-rail, and
slid cautiously down over the side, paying out the rope I held. Bumping
and scraping along the rough edges, I soon managed to unlock the door with
a key which I had obtained in Vladivostok for the purpose - one key fitted
all the train locks. It proved to be fantastically difficult to slide the
door open as I swung like a pendulum, but light of the first rays of the
bright moon gave me that extra impetus, the door slid open and I crawled
exhaustedly inside. Relinquishing the free end of the rope, I jerked and
pulled until the whole length was in my hands. Shaking with utter
exhaustion, I slid the door shut and dropped to the floor.
Two or three days later - one loses all count of time under such
conditions - I felt the train slowing. Hurrying to the door, I opened it a
crack and peered out. There was nothing to be seen except snow, so I
rushed to the other side. Train guards were running along after a group of
refugees. Obviously a big search was under way. Picking up my belongings,
I dropped over the side and into the snow. Dodging and twisting between
the wheels of the trucks I managed to completely confuse my snow-trail.
While I was still at it, the train started to move, and I grabbed
desperately at the nearest icy coupling. By great good fortune I managed
to get my arms around one, and I hung there, feet dangling, until a sudden
jolt enabled me to get my legs up as well.
Standing up, I found that I was at the end of a truck which was covered
with a stiff, frozen tarpaulin. The knots were solid ice, the heaay canvas
was like sheet iron. I stood upon the swaying, ice-covered couplings
battling with the icy knots. I breathed upon them, hoping that they would
soften, but my breath froze and made the ice thicker. I dragged the rope
backwards and forwards against the metal of the truck side. Darkness was
falling when the last frayed strand parted, and I was able, with immense
effort, to prise up an edge of the canvas and crawl inside. Inside, as I
fell to the floor, a man jumped at me, flailing a piece of sharp steel at
my throat. Instinct and habit came to my rescue, and the man was soon
nursing a broken arm and moaning. Two other men came at me, one with an
iron bar and one with a broken jagged bottle. To one with my training,
they presented no real problem, and they were soon disarmed. Here was the
law of the jungle, the strongest man was king! Now that I had beaten them,
they were my servants.
The wagon was full of grain which we ate just as it was. For drink we
collected snow or sucked ice, which we broke from the tarpaulin. We could
get no warmth, for there was nothing to burn, and the train crew would
have seen the smoke. I could manage with the cold, but the man with the
broken arm froze solid one night and we had to dump him over the side.
Siberia is not all snow, parts of it are mountainous, like the Canadian
Rockies, and other parts are as green as Ireland. Now, though, we were
troubled with snow, for this was the worst season in which to be
travelling.
We found that the grain disturbed us badly, it caused us to swell up,
and gave us severe dysentery, weakening us so much that we hardly cared
whether we lived or died. At last the dysentery abated, and we suffered
the sharp pangs of starvation. I lowered myself over the side with my rope
and scraped the grease from the axle boxes. We ate that, retching horribly
in the process.
The train rumbled on. Around the end of Lake Baykal, on to Omsk. Here,
as I knew, it would be shunted and re-assembled, I should have to leave
before reaching the city, and jump aboard another train which had been
remade. There is no point in detailing all the trials and tribulations of
the change of trains, but I, in company with a Russian and a Chinaman,
managed to board a fast freight train to Moscow.
The train was in good condition. My eareflilly-preserved key opened a
wagon and we clambered inside, hidden by the darkness of a moonless night.
The wagon was very full, and we had to force our way in. There was no
glimmer of light and we had no idea of the contents. A pleasant surprise
awaited us in the morning. We were starving, and I saw that one corner of
the wagon was stacked with Red Cross parcels which had apparently not
reached their destination, but had been "liberated" by
the Russians. Now we lived well. Chocolate, canned foods, canned milk,
everything. We even found in a parcel a little stove with a supply of
solid, smokeless fuel.
Investigating the bales, we found them to be full of clothing and
articles which could have been looted from Shanghai stores. Cameras,
binoculars, watches. We fitted ourselves out in good clothes, for ours
were in a shocking state. Our greatest need was for water. We had to
depend upon snow which we could scrape off ledges.
Four weeks and six thousand miles after I left Vladivostok, the train
was approaching Noginsk, some thirty or forty miles from Moscow. The three
of us held a discussion and decided that as the train crews were becoming
active - we heard them walking across our roofs-we would be wise to leave.
Very carefully we inspected each other to make sure that there was nothing
suspicious about us; then we picked a very good supply of food and
"treasures" with which to barter. The Chinaman went first, and
as we slid the door shut after him, I heard rifle fire. Three or hours
later the Russian dropped off, fellowed by me after a half an hour
interval.
I plodded along in the dark, quite sure of my way, for the Russian, a
native of Moscow who had been exiled in Siberia - had carefully coached
us. By morning I had covered a good twenty miles, and my legs, so badly
battered in prison camps, were troubling me greatly.
In an eating place I showed my papers as a corporal in the Frontier
Guards. These were Andrel's; I had been told that I could have all his
belongings, and no one had thought of adding "except his official
papers and Identity Card". The waitress looked doubtful, and called a
policeman who was standing outside. He came in and there was much
discussion. No, I had no food ration card, I had inadvertently left it in
Vladivostok, food regulations were not enforced for the Guards at
Vladivostok. The policeman fiddled with my papers, and then said,
"You will have to eat on the Black Market until you can get to the
Food Bureau and obtain another Card. They will have to get in touch with
Vladivostok first." With that he turned and walked away.
The waitress shrugged her shoulders. "Have what you like, Comrade,
it will cost you five times the official price." She brought me some
sour, black bread and some awful-looking and worse-tasting paste. She
misunderstood my signs for "drink" and brought me some stuff,
which almost made me pass out on the spot. One sip of it, and I thought I
had been poisoned. One sip was enough, but the waitress even charged me
for water while she slurped up the vile brew for which I had paid so much.
As I left the policeman was waiting. He fell into step as I walked
along. "This is very irregular, Comrade, walking with a pack on your
back. I wonder if I should not take you to the Station for interrogation.
Have you a spare watch on you, Comrade, to make me forget my duty?"
Silently I fumbled in my pocket, and then I produced one of the watches
I had taken from the train. The police-man took it, glanced at it, and
said, "Moscow - straght ahead. Avoid the main thoroughfare and you
will be all right." Then he turned and walked away.
I plodded along the side roads, keeping a good look-out for policemen
who might demand watches. It seemed to me, from my own experience, that
Russians had a simply dreadful craving for watches. Many of them
could not tell the time, but the mere fact of having a watch seemed to
satisfy them in some strange manner. An emaciated man tottering ahead of
me suddenly swayed and fell on to his flice in the gutter at the side of
the road. Passers-by did not even glance at him, but went on their way. I
made as if to go to him when an old man just behind me muttered,
"Careful, Comrade stranger, if you go to him the police will think
you are looting. He is dead anyway. Starvation. It happens to hundreds
here every day."
Nodding my thanks, I walked straight on. "This is a
terrible place,"
I thought, "with every man's hand against his fellows. It must be
because they have no religion to guide them."
That night I slept behind the crumbling wall of a derelict Church.
Slept, with about three hundred others for company; My rucksack was my
pillow, and during the night I felt stealthy hands trying to unfasten the
straps. A quick blow to the would-be thief's throat sent him gasping and
reeling backwards, and I was not troubled again.
In the morning I bought food on the Government Black Market, for in
Russia the Government runs the Black Market, and then continued on
my way. The Russian on the train had told me to pose as a tourist and to
hang a camera (taken from the train) around my neck. I had no film, and in
those days hardly knew one side of the camera from the other.
Soon I found myself in the better part of Moscow, the part that the
ordinary tourist sees, for the ordinary tourist does not see
"behind the scenes" - the misery, poverty and death which exists
in the slum side streets. The Moscow River was before me, and I walked
along its banks for a time before turning up into Red Square. The Kremlin,
and the Tomb of Lenin impressed me not at all. I was used to the grandeur
and sparkling beauty of the Potala. Near an entrance to the Kremlin a
small group of people waited, apathetic, slovenly, looking as if they had
been driven there like cattle. With a "swoosh" three huge
black cars rushed out, across the Square, and disappeared into the
obscurity of the streets. As people were looking dully in my direction,I
half-raised the camera. Suddenly I felt a terrific pain shoot through my
head For a moment I thought that a building had fallen on me. I fell to
the ground, and the camera was smashed from my hands.
Towering Soviet guards stood over me; one of them was methodically and
unemotionally kicking me in the ribs in order to make me rise to my feet.
Half stunned as I was, it was difficult for me to rise, so two policemen
reached down and roughly dragged me to my feet. They fired questions at
me, but they spoke so rapidly and in such a "Moscow accent" that
I understood not a word. At last, tired of asking questions and getting no
reply, they marched me off along Red Square, a policeman on each side, and
one be-hind me with a huge revolver poking painfully into my spine.
We stopped at a dismal looking building, and entered by a basement
door. I was roughly pushed-shoved would be a better word-down some stone
steps and into a small room. An officer was sitting at a table, with two
armed guards standing by a wall of the room. The senior police-man in
charge of me gabbled out a lengthy explanation to the officer, and placed
my rucksack on the floor beside him. The officer wrote what was obviously
a receipt for me and for my belongings, and then the policemen turned and
left.
I was roughly pushed into another room, a very large one, and left
standing before an immense desk, with an armed guard on each side of me.
Some time later, three men came in and seated themselves at the desk and
went through the contents of my rucksack. One rang for an attendant, and,
when he entered, gave him my camera, giving him brusque instructions. The
man turned, and went off, carefully carrying that inoffensive camera as if
it were a bomb about to explode.
They kept on asking me questions, which I could not understand. At
last, they called an interpreter, then another, and another until they
found one who could converse with me. I was stripped of my clothes and
examined by a doctor. All the seams of my clothing were examined, and some
of them were ripped open. At last my clothes were flung at me, less
buttons, less belt and shoe laces. At a command the guards hustled me out
of the room, carrying my clothes, and marched me along corridor after
corridor. They made no sound, felt slippers were on their feet, nor did
they speak to each other or to me. As we marched silently along, a really
blood-curdling scream rose and fell quaveringly on the still air. I
involuntarily slowed down, but the guard behind me jumped at my shoulder
with such force that I thought he had broken my neck.
At last we stopped at a red door. A guard unlocked it, and I was pushed
in to fall headlong down three stone steps. The cell was dark and very
damp. It was about six feet by twelve feet, with a foul and stinking
mattress on the floor. For a quite unknown time I stayed there in the
dark-ness, becoming hungrier and hungrier, wondering why mankind had such
a savage nature.
After a very long interval, a hunk of sour black bread and a small jug
of brackish water was passed in. The silent guard motioned for me to drink
the water then. I took a gulp, and he snatched the jug from my lips,
poured the water on the floor, and went out. The door closed silently.
There was no sound except occasional hideous screams, which were quickly
and violently suppressed. Time crawled on. I nibbled at the sour black
bread. I was hungry and thought that I could have eaten anything, but this
bread was terrible; it stank as if it had been dragged through a cesspool.
A long time after, so long that I feared I was quite forgotten, armed
guards came silently to my cell. Not a word was spoken; they gestured for
me to go with them. Having no choice, I did so, and we tramped through
endless corridors, giving me the impression that we were retracing our
steps time after time in order to build up a suspense. At last I was
marched into a long room which had a brightly painted white wall at one
end. Roughly the guards manacled my arms behind me, and turned me to face
the white wall. For long moments nothing happened, then very powerful,
utterly dazzling lights were switched on so as to reflect from the white
wall. It felt as if my eyeballs were being scorched even with my eyes
shut. The guards wore dark glasses. The light beat down in waves. The
sensation was as if needles were being pushed into my eyes.
A door softly opened and shut. The scrape of chairs and the rustle of
papers. A low-voiced muttered conversation which I did not understand.
Then-the blow of a rifle-butt between my shoulders, and the questioning
began. Why had I a camera which had no flim in it? Why had I the papers of
a Frontier Guard stationed at Vladivostok. How? Why? When? Hour after hour
the same stupid questions. The light blazed on, giving me a splitting
headache. A blow from a gun-butt if I refused to answer. The only respite
was for a few moments every two hours when the guards and questioners were
replaced by fresh ones; for the guards too became exhausted by the bright
lights.
After what seemed to be endless hours, but which in reality could not
have been more than six, I collapsed on the floor. Guards quite
unemotionally began pricking me with their sharpened bayonets. To struggle
to my feet with my arms fixed behind me was difficult, but I did it, again
and again. When I became unconscious buckets of cesspool water were thrown
over me. Hour after hour the questioning went on. My legs began to swell.
My ankles became thicker than my thighs as the body fluids drained down
and made the flesh waterlogged.
Always the same questions, always the same brutality. Sixty hours of
standing. Seventy hours. The world was a red haze now, I was all but dead
on my feet. No food, no rest, no respite. Just a drink of some
sleep-preventing drug forced into my mouth. Questions. Questions.
Questions. Seventy-two hours, and I heard no more, saw no more. The
questions, the lights, the pain, all faded, and there was blackness.
An unspecified time elapsed, and I regained a pain-filled
consciousness, flat on my back on the cold, wet floor of a reeking cell.
It was agony to move, my flesh felt soggy and my back felt as if the spine
were made of broken glass. No sound there was to show that others were
alive, no glimmer of light to mark night from day. Nothing, but an
eternity of pain, hunger and thirst. At last there was a chink of light as
a guard roughly shoved a plate of food on to the floor.
A can of water slopped beside it. The door shut, and again I was alone
with my thoughts in the darkness.
Much later the guards came again, and I was dragged - I could not walk
- to the Interrogation Room. There I had to sit and write my life history.
For five days the same thing happened. I was taken to a room, given a
pencil stub and paper and told to write everything about myself. For three
weeks I remained in my cell, recovering slowly.
Once again I was taken to a room, where I stood before three high
officials. One glanced at the others, looked at a paper in his hands, and
told me that certain influential people had testified that I had helped
people in Vladivostok. One testified that I had helped his daughter escape
from a Japanese Prisoner of War camp.
"You will be released," said the official, "and taken to
Stryj, in Poland. We have a detachment of men going there. You will
accompany them."
Back to a cell-a better one this time-while my strength was built up
enough to enable me to travel. At last I marched through the gate of the
Lubianka Prison, Moscow, on my way to the West.