An orderly brought a horse for me at the appointed time for departure, and as I mounted, I felt the thrill that can only come to a man who, after a lapse of thirteen years, again finds himself in an American army saddle and an American army horse between his knees. We rode down through the gullys and over the decrepit bridges, into the town, and dismounted in front of the big Russian church on a cliff over the Amur. Here we found a long line of Cossacks on their horses, drawn up in single rank across the street from the church, facing the little square. There was a great throng of Siberians, keeping at a respectful distance from the raised lances shining above the heads of the shaggy ponies. Here we were introduced to many Russian officers in the service of Kalmikoff, nearly all of them wearing orders of the Czar’s régime, and some of them wearing orders gained on the Manchurian plains not so long ago, in action against the army of Kuroki. General Oi, the local Japanese commander, and his staff arrived, and he and his officers were all introduced to us. Among those there that day was a lone British officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Roberts. I am not sure that this dignified and canny British observer did not see more, and understand more, of what was going on, than all the rest of us Anglo-Saxons. This statement is not made in derogation of the abilities of American officers as observers, nor as a compliment intimating a superior craft in international affairs on the part of the British officer, but occurs to me as due to the lack of anything approaching a “policy” regarding Siberian affairs on the part of our administration. Not knowing what we were expected to do beyond avoiding as far as possible any action which might be interpreted as “interference,” our interests did not extend beyond the dramatic effect of what we were there to witness. To us, it was merely a show, possibly with something of an historical interest, as it had been said that by presenting the colors to this regiment of Cossacks, Kalmikoff was acting as a sort of godfather at the “birth of the new Siberian army.” But the British, with India so close to Russia, and an age-old suspicion of “the man who walks like a bear” in the backs of their heads, watch Russian affairs with deadly earnestness, for to lose India might be the first break in the chain of the British Empire. So to Colonel Roberts, a gaunt and elderly officer typical of the men who have built the best traditions of Britain in far-flung empires, this was more than a mere entertainment of a day. At least I got that impression, as I observed him--politely punctilious, yet with roving eyes which saw, and weighed, every trifling incident.