We were off. I carried nothing. My host carried a small canvas bag containing some food and a salve for his wound. We walked without event, and by late morning we were near a small town. My companion was quiet. At times he did not seem sure which road we should take. We rested about an hour; then suddenly he said, “I know now where we are. I see the church steeple over there.” He began to tell me that he was familiar with this part of the country. After walking several more hours, we came upon the ruin of a factory. We sat on the fallen bricks and ate our lunch. We had bread, hard-boiled eggs and a bottle of sour milk, and we purchased some apples. For the first time, I knew approximately where we were. Passing the ancient city of Ufa, high up on the banks at the junction of the Ufa and Belaya Rivers, we had a beautiful view. We could see the vast stone quarries and stone cutting mills spread before our eyes. There were many chimneys, a witness to the size of Russian industries. But no smoke came out of them. Part of Ufa was inhabited by Bashkirs, but now there were very many foreigners who were purchasing grain from the government, exchanging precious stones and platinum for the food sold or given them by the Bolshevik leaders, while the Russian people were not able to purchase their own products. Here we stayed well into the afternoon, when my host surprised me by saying, “We are lucky that the train is leaving on this day. We will take the train from Ufa.” We remembered that the depot was on the other side of the town, but when we reached it, we found no train there. We were told that the train had stopped farther down the track. We followed the track for a distance until we found the train standing. There were many peasants but the foreigners with their loot were boarding it first; some of the peasants even got up on the roofs of the cars. We finally managed to get into the doorway, but had to stand up all night. There were facilities on the train, but the rest rooms were packed with people. We were afraid to get off the train for fear of not being able to get back on again. Our next stop was a small town named Bugulma. Here we changed to another train to go on to Simbirsk (since renamed Ulianov, after that heinous Tsederbaum-Ulianov-Lenin). We saw the Volga River at one of its most beautiful spots, the picturesque city of Simbirsk lying high on the bank, its many church steeples spread out before us. Suddenly I remembered what Miss Rita Khitrovo, former lady in waiting, had said of her ancestors, who had founded Simbirsk, and how we had hoped to make a trip to this historic city when the war was over. Palisades had been constructed here by the Boyar Khitrovo in the seventeenth century to defend the city from the Tartars.