Now that political equality had come, the first pæans of rejoicing had hardly sounded before the economic demands found voice. Strikes in Moscow grew more and more frequent. Production steadily decreased. Many of the owners closed their factories on the ground that they could not be run upon the terms of the workers except at a loss. Some shut down because they thought it would the more quickly bring the workers to their senses. Industry was completely disorganized. It was not until four days after the Bolshevist uprising in Petrograd that Mother Moscow suddenly became aware that she was to be the battleground of a class conflict quite as determined and far more bitter than any that had torn the scorned City of Peter. It was Friday night, November 9, when the first stray shots near the Moscow Duma signaled the coming trouble. At three the following morning the populace awoke to the alarm of a heavy fusillade. For seven days the firing continued almost ceaselessly. There were pickets on every corner, and on Tuesday heavy artillery sent the guests of the Metropole and National hotels to the cellars in search of safety. The American Red Cross Mission turned its headquarters in the National Hotel into a first-aid station. The military school cadets, reinforced by some of the older officers, were intrenched in the city Duma, the Riding Academy, and the Kremlin. The Bolsheviki conducted their military operations from the Governor-General’s palace. As the attack gained strength, the cadets were forced back into the Kremlin. The Bolshevist army was made up largely of factory workers. The Moscow garrison, as a whole, had agreed to remain neutral; but twenty thousand soldiers offered to fight with the Bolsheviki, and it was estimated that about five thousand took part. The critical moment came with the arrival of a company of sailors and Red Guards, sent from Petrograd to reinforce the Soviet. Kaledin was supposed to be marching to the rescue of Mother Moscow at the head of the Don Cossacks, but his coming was as mythical a performance as that of Kerensky’s at Petrograd. When the surrender finally came, the cadets had been driven into a corner of the Kremlin. Telegraph and telephone wires had been broken by bullets, and Mother Moscow was cut off from all contact with the outside world. Street-car tracks were torn up, windows were smashed, the stucco sides of the quaint old houses were peppered with bullet-holes, and here and there the front of a building had been crashed in or the entire top story swept away. The damage done to the Kremlin was slight--nothing compared to what we had feared; and if anything could dry Mother Moscow’s tears and restore her ancient self-respect, it was this crumb of comfort. Here, as in Petrograd, the defense of the Provisional Government centered around the Duma, and both bodies were dissolved by the Bolsheviki. Mayor Rudineff held up his hands when I asked him what he intended to do.