RUSSIA FROM WITHIN.

Taranaki Daily News, 5 September 1922, Page 2

RUSSIA FROM WITHIN.

I.IFE IN THE LAND OF . THE SOVIET. AN ESCAPE OVER THE ICE. It was after midnight when we drove out, and, conditions being good, the driye over the sea to a point well along the Finnish coast, a distance of some 40 odd miles, was to take us between four and five hours. was.qf the type known as drbypy, wboifen one, broad and low, filled with hay. The drovny, used mostly haulage, . is my favorite kind of sfedge, and nest? ling icomfortably at full length |ipder the ijay, I thought of long mght-drives in the interior in days /gone by, when some’pne used to- ride on horseback'' with a torch to kfefcp away/ the wolves. In a moment we were out, flying it speed across the ice r_.windswept after recent storms. The . halfinch of fiqzen snow just gave grip to the hoofs. Twice, sydueniy bumping i(nto snow ridges, we When we got going'. the sang jupt like a The driver noticed thia, too, and waj& alive to the danger of being heard freinj shore a couple of miles away; sturdy pony, exhilarated by the‘keep frosty air; was hard to restrain. Some inilea out of Petrograd lies on an island in the Finnish Gull, the famous fortress of Kronstadt, one of the most impregnable in the world. Searchlights from the fortress played from time to time across the belt of ice separating the fortress from the northern shore. The passage through this narrow belt was the crucial* point ■in our journey. Once past Kronstadt we should be in Finnish waters and safe. To avoid danger from' the searchlights,. the Finn drove within a mile of the mainland, the runners hissing and singing like saws. As we entered the narrows a dazzling beam of light swept the horizon from the fortress, catching us momentarily in its track; but we were sufficiently near the shore not to appear as a black speck on the ice. Too near, perhaps ? The dark line of the woods seemed but a stone’s throw away. You could almost see the individual trees. Hell! what a noise our sledge-runners made! “Can’t you keep the horse back a bit, man?” “Yes, but this is the spot we’ve got to drive past quickly!” We were crossing the line of Lissy Nos, a jutting point on the coast marking the narrowest part of the strait. Again a beam of light shot out from the fortress, and the wooden pier and huts of Lissy Nos were lit as by a flash of lightning. But we had passed the point already. It was rapidly receding into the darkness as we regained the open sea. Sitting upright on the heap of hay, I kept my eyes riveted on the receding promontory. We were nearly a mile away now. and you could no longer distinguish objects clearly. But my eyes were still riveted on the rocky promontory. Were those rocks —moving-? ' I tried to pierce the darkness, my eves rooted to the black point! Rocks ? Trees ? Or—•—or I sprang to my feet and shook the (Finn by the shoulders with all my force. “Damn it, man! Drive like hell — we’re being pursued!” Riding out from Lissy Nos was a group of horsemen, five or six in number. My driver gave a moan, lashed his horse, the sledge leapt forward, and the chase began in earnest. “Ten thousand marks if we escape!” I yelled in the Finn’s ear. For a time we kept a good lead, but in the darkness it was impossible to see whether we were gaining or losing. My driver was making low moaning cries; he appeared to be pulling hard on the reins, and the sledge jerked so that I could, scarcely stand. Then I saw that the pursuers were gaining—and gaining rapidly! The moving dote grew into figures galloping at full speed. Suddenly there was a flash and a crack; then another,, and another. They were firing with carbines, against which a pistol was useless. I threatened the driver with my revolver if he did not pull ahead, -but dropped like a stone into tbe hay as a bullet whizzed close to my ear. At that moment the sledge suddenly swung round. The driver had clearly had difficulty with his reins, which appeared to have got caught in the shaft, and before I realised vfhat was happening the horse fell, the sledge whirled round and came to a sudden stop. At such moments one has to think rapidly. What would the pursuing Red Guards go for first—a fugitive? Not if there was possible loot. And what more likely than that the eledge contained loot? Eeel-like, I slithered over the side and made in the direction of the shore. Progress was difficult, for there were big patches of ice, coal-black in color, as slippery as glass. Stumbling along, I drew from my pocket a packet, wrapped in dark brown paper, containing maps and documents which were sufficient, if discovered, to assure my being shot without further ado, and held it ready to whirl away across the ice. If seized, I would plead smuggling. It seemed impossible that I could escape! Looking backwards. I saw the group round the sledge. The Reds, dismounted, were examining the driver. In a moment they would renew.the pursuit, and I should be spotted at once running over the ice. Then an idea occurred. The ice,, when completely windswept, formed great patches as black as ink. My clothes were dark. I ran into the middle of a big black patch and looked at my boots. I could not see them. To get to the shore was impossible, anyway, so this was the only chance. Jerking the packet a few yards from me where I might easily find it, I dropped flat on the black ice and lav motionless, praying that I should be invisible.. It was not long before I heard the sound of hoofs and voices approaching. The search for me had begun. But the riders avoided the slippery wind-swept places as studiously as I had in running, and, thank Heaven, just there much of the ice was -wind-swept. As they rode round and about, I felt that someone , was bound to ride just over me. Yet they didn’t after all. It seemed hours and days of night and darkness before the riders retreated to the sledge and rode off with it, returning whence they had come. But 1 time is measured not by degrees of hope or despair, but by fleeting seconds and minutes, and by my luminous watch I detected that it was only half-past one. Prosaic half-past one! (From “Red Dusk and the Morrow,” bv Sir Paul Dukes, K.8.E.. late chief of the British Secret Service in Soviet ' I