It was _Rabotchi i Soldat,_ announcing the victory of
the Proletarian Revolution, the liberation of the Bolsheviki still
in prison, calling upon the Army front and rear for support... a
feverish little sheet of four pages, running to enormous type,
containing no news....
On the corner of the Sadovaya about two thousand citizens had
gathered, staring up at the roof of a tall building, where a tiny
red spark glowed and waned.
"See!" said a tall peasant, pointing to it. "It is a provocator.
Presently he will fire on the people...." Apparently no one thought of
going to investigate.
The massive facade of Smolny blazed with lights as we drove up, and
from every street converged upon it streams of hurrying shapes dim
in the gloom. Automobiles and motorcycles came and went; an enormous
elephant-coloured armoured automobile, with two red flags flying
from the turret, lumbered out with screaming siren. It was cold, and
at the outer gate the Red Guards had built themselves a bon-fire. At
the inner gate, too, there was a blaze, by the light of which the
sentries slowly spelled out our passes and looked us up and down.
The canvas covers had been taken off the four rapid-fire guns on
each side of the doorway, and the ammunition-belts hung snakelike
from their breeches. A dun herd of armoured cars stood under the
trees in the court-yard, engines going. The long, bare,
dimly-illuminated halls roared with the thunder of feet, calling,
shouting.
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