to stern with Georgians, the latest comers to
Imperial City. They waited and stared whilst we slowly steamed to the
French base. Then in a short while we were in the great capital again
amid the surging masses of humanity.

I was asked by Count Tolstoy, the aide-de-camp, and also by Treloar, if I
would see the General, and accordingly did so, boarding a caique at
Galata, and being rowed to his yacht "Luculle." First I saw the Baroness
Wrangel, a bright, bird-like lady, trim and neat and cheerful, speaking
English like one of us. Baron Wrangel is a tall, gaunt, and very
remarkable-looking personage. His Cossack uniform with ivory-topped
cartridge-cases intensifies the length of his body and of his face. He
has all the medals there are, but only wears two, a Vladimir Cross at the
centre of his collar, like a brooch, and a Georgian on his chest. His
head is long, and his cheeks seem to curve inwards from his temples.
There is sparse grey hair on his whitish scalp, and lifting his
full-sleeved arm he scratched his head with an open penknife whilst he
talked.

In a strong military voice he said that two million Russians outside
Russia acknowledged him as their leader. The French alternatives of
Brazil or "Sovdepia" he considered shameful. Soviet Russia he always
referred to as "Sovdepia"--the new name for it. Exodus to Brazil without
preliminary conditions meant, he said, white slavery. Return to Sovdepia
meant the _chresvichaika_ and execution. Time, he believed, was on his
side. The Allies would need his army yet, and would be foolish if they
deserted those who had sacrificed themselves to the Allied cause. Like
many other Russians, Baron Wrangel believes in the coming complete
disruption of Europe. Germany is almost bound to go the way of Russia.

That was the voice of Baron Wrangel, and one had the impression of a fine
character which would stand the test of adversity. A soldier, however,
and not a statesman or a prophet. But perhaps it takes neither a
statesman nor a prophet to see that Europe is in mortal danger.

* * * * * *

The supreme problem at Constantinople and on the peninsula seems to be to
liquidate the Russian population fairly and honourably. Even those who
have no sympathy with the military adventures in Russia will feel the
call of humanity here. The Russians are not guilty of any crime: they
are only terribly unfortunate.

Shortly after I saw Wrange