Paul and Pasha, and all of the other ardent men and women whom I saw working in Kronstadt in June, were either killed, imprisoned, or exiled, in August. But by September there were other Pauls, other Pashas, established in Kronstadt, working just as earnestly and fearlessly, and just as hopeful of the ultimate outcome. They all believe in this revolution with the same gloriously blind faith, for they recognize revolution as the inevitable result of the anachronous and rotten social, economic, and political conditions which have for so long sapped the vitality of Russia. CHAPTER XII GOVERNMENTAL TERRORISM Arrived in Bielostok--First impressions--Stories of the injured--The crucifix as a weapon of death--The hospital fired upon--Children victims--Failure of government to place responsibility--Mass of evidence proving governmental complicity in massacres--Other massacres officially instigated--Prince Urusoff’s speech--The assassination of Professor Hertzenstein--A celebrated Moscow physician murdered--Warsaw horrors--Upon whom rests the responsibility?--Arrest of Pasha--Shooting a girl in prison--Bureaucracy guilty of murder and assassination--Placing the responsibility on the Czar--The arch-terrorist and assassin of Russia. The sixth week of the Duma session a _pogrom_, or massacre, was instigated in the town of Bielostok, in Grodno, on the edge of Poland. I hurried to the scene as fast as I could, arriving shortly after the slaughter had ceased and before the wreckage and debris had been cleared from the streets. My train was late. Bielostok was wrapped in midnight quiet when I alighted at the station. The first impression was that I had been set down in the midst of an armed camp. Soldiers were bivouacked in and around the station. A little bridge a few hundred yards down the line was held by a force of fighting strength. Sentinels patroled the deserted streets. The station lies a mile or more outside of the town, and as I had not been there before I at once engaged a man to guide me to the center of the town, where I might find a place to sleep. (There was not a cab anywhere.) We trudged through arbored, deserted streets, turning out for piles of wreckage, and sometimes jumping over obstructions. Suddenly my escort stopped short with an exclamation. “What is wrong?” I inquired. The fellow began to blubber. It was not till I had coaxed him several minutes that he was finally able to blurt out: “It was at this very spot that they killed our school-master--” “Who did it?” I asked. “Three gendarmes. I stood right there”--and he pointed to the middle of the road. “The teacher was coming along the street, annoying no one. Then three gendarmes appeared and caught hold of him and began pounding nails into his head.” The next day I secured a photograph of the man’s corpse with the nails still in the skull.