“If this convention wants to be the voice of revolutionary democracy, it must not sit idly by before the rapidly developing civil war that may result in a disastrous explosion of the counter-revolution,” he said. “When the question of the organization of the government is being settled by the conspiracy of a single one of the revolutionary parties, we are challenged by only one problem; the immediate warding off of this impending civil war.” He proposed the appointment of a committee for negotiating with other Socialist parties and organizations to stop the rapidly developing clash. The resolution was passed; but, instead of immediately appointing a committee, Trotzky permitted the convention to listen to the opinions of delegate after delegate on a number of subjects not pertaining to the question. It was a critical moment in the history of the Russian Revolution. Perhaps it was some bitter memory of insults he had suffered at the hands of these other leaders, perhaps it was simply the natural inability of the Russian to compromise, or a combination of these and other motives, that made Trotzky delay action, and thereby toss away his opportunity for compromise. Probably even he himself could not say. Meanwhile the guns on the Neva continued their eloquent _boom! boom! boom!_ Kharash, a delegate from the Twelfth Army, got the floor. “While a proposition for peaceful settlement is being introduced here, a battle goes on in the streets of Petrograd,” he said. “The Winter Palace is being shelled. The specter of civil war is rising. The Mensheviki and Socialist Revolutionists repudiate all that is going on here, and stubbornly resist all attempts to seize the government.” “He does not represent the Twelfth Army!” cried a soldier from the ranks. “The army demands all power to the Soviets.” Twenty others were on their feet the same instant: “Staff! Staff! He comes from the Staff! He is not a soldier!” they shouted angrily, shaking their fists at the delegate from the Twelfth. Pandemonium broke loose. The shouts of the men inside the building drowned the boom of the guns outside. In the midst of it a man demanded and got the floor. “We are leaving the convention,” he said. “We can stand no more! We are going unarmed to die with our comrades in the Winter Palace.” A hush fell over the crowd. It was broken only by the sound of shuffling feet as the speaker led the way to the door, followed by a hundred or more of the conservative revolutionists, who filed quietly out. At midnight, with three fellow correspondents, I left the atmosphere of that memorable meeting, gray with smoke and charged with battle, and went in search of passes that would permit me to go to the Winter Palace. CHAPTER XI THE FALL OF THE WINTER PALACE