No one seemed to know what to expect.
Sounds of shooting were heard and they were explained as the battle between
the regiments that had revolted and those that had remained loyal. In the
distance columns of smoke were seen and report had it that palaces were
burning. Again it was difficult to know the truth. As I proceeded on my
way, I was joined by the little minister of the British American Church,
where I had attended services the day before, where he had prayed fervently
for the Tsar and his family and asked God to put down the anarchists, and
other lawless men. We were discussing the situation, not knowing exactly
what to make of it. Perhaps the word revolution passed our lips but neither
of us nor those about us took it seriously. Near the Liteiny a gate opened
and about two dozen armed soldiers led by a petty officer stepped out and
marched towards the center of the street. Immediately the crowd, excited
and scared, scattered and ran for their lives but the soldiers motioned for
them to stop and told them that they would not shoot. We left them, and
proceeded on our way, trying as before to interpret what we saw. While
in the midst of our discussion we were struck by a new and unfamiliar
sound--tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta, and we instinctively knew that a machine gun
was firing. In a flash the streets were cleared and my minister and I found
ourselves sticking like posters against the wall.
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