d up their back," that is, cold
shivers, made kind-hearted, level-headed men do harsh things. Comrade
Danny Anderson of "Hq" Company could tell a blood-curdling story of the
execution he witnessed. Six alleged agents of the German war office,
Russian Bolo spies, in one "windy" moment were brutally put away by
British officers. Their brains spattered on the stone wall. Sherman said
it. We are glad to say that such incidents were remarkably rare in North
Russia. The Allied officers and troops have a record of which they may
be justly proud.

Here we may as well tell of the S. B. A. L. mutiny in Archangel in early
winter. It is the story of an occurrence both pitiful and aggravating.
After weeks of feeding and pampering and drilling and equipping and
shining of brass buttons and showing off, when the order came for them
to prepare to march off to the fighting front, the S. B. A. L. held a
soviet in their big grey-stone barracks and refused to get ready to go
out because they had grievances against their British officers. This was
aggravatingly unreasonable and utterly unmilitary. Severe measures would
have to be used. They were given till 2:00 p. m. to reconsider their
soviet resolution.

Meanwhile G. H. Q. had ordered out the American "Hq" Company trench
mortar section and a section of the American Machine Gun Company to try
bomb and bullet argument on the S. B. A. L.'s who were barricading their
barracks and pointing machine guns from their windows. Promptly on the
minute, according to orders, the nasty, and to the Americans pitifully
disagreeable job, was begun. In a short time a white flag fluttered a
sign of submission. But several had been killed and the populace that
swarmed weeping about the American soldiers reproachfully cried:
"Amerikanski nit dobra." And they did not feel at all glorious.

A few minutes later to the immense disgust of the doughboys, a company
of English Tommies who by all rules of right and reason should have been
the ones to clean up the mutinous mess into which the British officers
had gotten the S. B. A. L.'s, now hove into sight, coming up the
recently bullet-whistling but now deadly quiet street, with rifles slung
on their shoulders, crawling along slowly at sixty to the minute
pace--instead of a riot-call double time, and singing their insulting
version of "Over There the Yanks are Running, Running, everywhere, etc."
And their old fishmonger reserve officer--he wore Colonel's insignia,