We looked at one another for a moment, considered that it was probably our only chance to reach the Winter Palace, and asked to be allowed to take the risk. Two strong hands came over the side to pull me up, and two sailors sitting on a board across the body of the truck arose to give us their seats. They held a hurried consultation, then asked us to stand again. They had decided that this exposed position would be too dangerous for women. The Cossack lad in the shaggy cape spread some proclamations on the floor of the car. “Sit here,” he said, “and when the shooting begins you can lie flat on your backs and keep your heads low.” A bundle of rifles lay on the floor under my knees, and as we started off over the cobbles I grabbed a chain and held fast to keep from being bumped out. The streets were like black cañons. Apparently there was not a human being abroad; yet every time the sailor tossed a handful of white leaflets into the air, men came darting mysteriously from doorways and courtyards to catch them. The Cossack towered above me, rifle in hand, with eyes searching the dark for signs of danger. At the street intersections we slowed up, and groups of soldiers gathered around the bonfires crowded close to the truck for news from Smolney. They peered with curious and startled eyes into our unexpected faces, then hurried back to the circle of light around the blazing birch-wood logs. During one of these pauses Mr. Gomberg grabbed a proclamation and read it to us: “TO RUSSIAN CITIZENS “The power has gone over to the organ of the Petrograd Council of Workmen’s and Soldiers’ Deputies, the War Revolutionary Committee, which is at the head of the Petrograd proletariat and garrison. “The cause for which the people strive: immediate democratic peace, abolition of _pomieschik_ property on land, workmen’s control, the creation of a Soviet government--this business is done. “Long live the Revolution of workmen, soldiers, and peasants. “WAR REVOLUTIONARY COMMITTEE.” It was one by the clock in the steeple of the Nicolaievski Station when we turned into the Nevsky. The great circle was deserted. Earlier in the day there had been fighting here, but no trace of it was visible now. “Put your heads down!” the Cossack ordered, catching sight of a group of unidentified men ahead. We obeyed; but when they proved to be Bolshevist soldiers and Red Guardsmen, we peeped cautiously out again. At the bridge across the Moika Canal we were turned back by the barricade erected early in the afternoon, and by the command of the guard, who said there was firing just ahead and no one could pass. From the direction of the Winter Palace came the occasional _boom!_ of a big gun, followed by the short, sharp crack of the rifles.