The Daily Worker Newspaper, May 24, 1924, Page 11

The Chase in the Night (A Memory of John Reed ground”) “Under- IM and I were sitting in an or- dinary little room of a worker’s dwelling on the outskirts of a small coast town. Wé ‘were waiting for Bob, the third comrade of our trio, who had gone out in the winternight to meet an oversea steamer. There was always a job for us with the steamer. Always the mail—the red or “fist” mail, as we called it—and often a fellow stowaway. Our little room, which we wished to look as ordinary and unnoticeable as possible, was a station on the only line of communication between two worlds. And what a line! Through the blockade of the Allies and the Border States, through White Armies and fronts, through barriers of police, customs and detectives massed up against Red Russia in 1918-20, thru all this our line was cut, ‘known to few, used by many. White Terror reigned in the Border States and many a brave comrade was _ killed or tortured, or still sits in jail for the running of that line. Nevertheless, it never closed; men and mail kept going from Russia to the Western World and from the Western World to Russia. OB returned. He had the mail, mostly letters and reports from all over the world, forwarded from hand to hand and addressed to the leaders of the World Revolution. There were other things, too, and amongst them, in the back of a certain book, a thin slip, intelligible to Jim alone. Off he went to decipher it, and this was the result: “in same steamer american eastward pass wil- son, American Wilson—a passenger, h’m, that was my part of the work so I put on my coat and went out. T was about half-past ten when I came down to the deserted harbour. The quays, covered with streaks of thin snow, looked un- Pleasantly white and lit under the swinging arc lights. Down below the icy black water swished faintly against the concrete work. It was not a good night: too clear, too still —one cowld see and hear too far. At the end of the pier lay the steamer, sending down a smeli of oil and fried potatoes with the wind. Slowly I approached, trying to look as much like a whisky smuggler as possible, for that was the most innocent and natural mask for a “political” in these days. The railing on the pier between the steamer and the customs’ shanty was already removed and all officials had apparently gone, but some dog of a ‘tec might still be nosing round... . Voices and the clatter of messtins could be heard from the forecastle but the rest of the ship seemed lifeless, except for the fizzing steam some- where up round the funnel, and the regular tapping of a piece of loose rope against the mast. Presently a fellow in a stoker’s shirt and trousers came scampering up. I hailed him from my observation point on the pier: “Gothenburgh-Bill aboard?” He stopped, stared at me for a second, then with “All right, wait a mo’” turned down again. Bill came up and ashore and we talked in the shadow of a magazine. Yes, there had been a fellow this trip; but Bill was astonished. Hadn’t I been down once before, earlier—no—anyway,.he had put his passenger on shore and told him to follow two fellows one of whom he had supposed to be me, I cursed him for his carelessness. “Well, anyway, what was he like?” “Tall, strong fellow, darkish in a big green ulster” “Well, I'm off to find him. Good night.” Bill returned to the steamer. P town the streets were empty. I walked round and round on the lookout, but in vain. After one o'clock, I went home full of apprebension. Damn Bill! He had been nervous and wanted to get rid of his dangerous passenger too quickly. The American might have been caught already. But in that case there would be word waiting at home for me from the charwoman of a certain institution. However, Jim and Bob had no news for me, so we looked forward to the morning. orning came. We had mobilised four comrades and sent each to his part of the town to watch for a green ulster on a swarthy,. probably dirty fellow, who would harken to a casually uttered “Wilson,” the pass- word. Right enough, before long one of the boys returned with the green ulster trailling behind. He looked the things we were after, so I who was supposed to know a little English said: “How do!” He certainly looked tired, unshaven and black with coal dust in the wrinkles of his face and neck, but he smiled and said, “Hope I'n right this time!” .. .“‘Sure, as the fourteen points of . .. “Wilson” he echoed with a laugh. E seated him in a corner of our wooden sofa and gave him cigarettes. How he smoked! Must have been one hundred a day. We didn’t ask him questions, for we were trained not to, but he told us his. name was John Reed. “Oh, is that him,” Jim said, and stopped the rocking chair in which he sat to show his deferance. Jim was a lover of ? EUROPE. literature and-knew “Ten Days” in translation. Granny who kept house for us, and who never “knew” or asked anything—at any rate never told anything, even ultimately in court—good old red granny gave us breakfast of fresh herring and coffee. While Jack ate, he told us his story, then he went to sleep, while one of us went to buy him clean clothes, for Jack, like. everybody “underground” traveled light; a toothbrush in the ulster pocket. / F lagers was his story. On the other side, Jack had been put in charge of Gothenburgh-Bill and stowed away in the coal bunker where he remained for two days. Of course it was pitch dark, almost airless, with bare sharp coal lumps to lie upon. And it wasn’t too safe either; a new trimmer had been taken on board who knew noth- ing about the stowaway and his work sometimes brought him quite near to where Jack lay. Jack could hear the clinking sound of glass bottles— smuggled whisky, hastily being buried by the trimmer, Twice Bill managed to sneak in and bring him some water and sandwiches, and report how the ON THE EVE OF THE REVOLUTION journey progressed. Then the steamer came to port. Customs officials and police began their search, so Jack crawled into the remotest corner of the coal bunker, jamming himself between the coal and the ceiling, until Bill came t0 his release. Taking him above, Bill pointed to two figures lolling under a lamp-post on the pier, and shoved him ashore. Jack under- stood he was to follow these two at some distance until he was spoken to. He stepped forward, rejoicing to breathe air again, and with a hand- ful of cotton-waste rubbed the coal dust out of his eyes. Presently, the two fellows started moving. Jack followed 30 paces behind. The three sauntered up town and loafed round an open square. Now and then the two would glance back uneasily at Jack, but nothing was said, so he kept faithfully trotting after them. They turned right, turned left, walked on and on and finally entered a veritable labyrinth of lanes and alleyways between small, straggling houses and dingy back yards in the suburb of the town. In order not to lose his guides, Jack had come up much closer, and then the men after a moment’s hesitation in front of a certain house, turned quickly on to the open highroad and set straight out to the country, with their pursuer in grim determination after them. Here street lamps ceased; Only snow and woods were visible. It was grow- ing very late. The two abead walked faster and faster. Jack was puzzled. He thought of hailing them but he knew the country was dangerous and unconditional discipline necessary. Clearly they were nervous and afraid of something. Thus on-and on, until, suddenly, both fellows bolted at full speed off the road, up a wooded hill and disappeared ... Jack stopped .. . wiped his brow. Two hours and a half—more—this chase had lasted and here he was in the middle of the night absolutely at a loss. Slowly he turned and tramped back to town. Be: only explanation I could offer was that the fellows had been smugglers, unarmed and frightened, thinking themselves shadowed by a detective, Jack laughed heartily at 7 By FRED. ANDERSON the funny chase, which, however, had cost. him a whole winter night's terribly wearisome and risky watch in the streets. Goodness only knows how he kept on his feet, frozen, hungry and tired as he was, and afraid of attracting the attention of the patrolling police constables. But the longest night comes to an end. With the morning, people began moving in the streets. He had al- ready decided to return to ship when he found himself being shyly observed by an idle fellow. Passing near he heard him mutter: ‘“Vilson, Vilson” so he replied and was taken to our quarters. N the afternoon, when Jack had rested, we went to have a bath in one of the small steam baths which was kept by the widow of a worker, lying now with many other proletar- ians in the “doggraves” dug by them- selves before execution, outside the town. She had a son, though, who was alive; he had escaped to Russia and was fighting with the reds. When we entered the bathhouse, I thought I had better give an explanation as to why my comrade didn’t speak the local tongue. So I told her he was, a Swedish sailor. She looked at him rather curiously, but said nothing. They have a wonderful scent on some matters, these widows and mothers, know. How she _ guessed I do not know, but she somehow felt I was not quite “straight”—had something to do with that “underground traffic.” When, however, according to the custom of the place, she same in to wash us, and saw the scar on Jack’s back (he had had an operation down in Salonika, he told me) she turned to me and said in my ear; “You dont need to fool me; he aint no Swede, a Russian he is, swarthy fellow, and wounded too—a red guard he is... But don’t be ‘fraid—1 never tell. Our Charlie too, you know... O I let it pass, and when I saw the tenderness with which the old soul washed and massaged Jack— without her usual chatter, though—I realised that it was better to let it pass. A great honour had _ befallen Jack. “Russian” and “Red” in those days and in that land meant to the bourgeoisie, to the capitalists and to all respectable people the things most feared, detested, hated on earth and hell. It spelled death to the man charged with it. But to the work- ingclass—then bleeding and silent under the iron heel of White Terror —it meant hope in a hopeless night, it meant daring and revolt—some- thing to love and cheer in the secret of your heart when everything else seemed lost. And so this old proletar- jan woman bathed and washed John Reed as thought he had been her own son, “The Russfan Redguard.” EXT morning then we saw Jack off eastward along the “line” and we heard soon after that he had arrived safely in Russia. HERRIOT EXPECTING SOCIALISTS 10 HELP HIM FORM GABINET PARIS, May 22.—It is now defi- nitely established that Edouard Herriot is to be the next Premier of France, provided he can form a cab- inet. The leader of the radical social- ists today said he would offer min- isterial portfolios to certain social- ists, but that their acceptance de- pended largely upon whether the so- cialist congress voted in favor of participation in a coalition govern- ment. Herriot expected to confer with Aristide Briand, former premier, to- day and to arrange to carry on with the formation of a cabinet single handed, if the socialists refused par- ticipation. ENGLEWOOD TRUNK WORKS 642 W. 63rd Street, Chicago Manufacturers and Jobberwin High Grade TRUNKS, BAGS, SUIT CASES LEATHER NOVELTIES JOSEPH. PASTHOFF, Prop. Opposite Western Indiana Depot Between Normal Blvd, and Wallace * Phone Englewood $196 St.