SUMMARY OF WORLD WAR WORK OF THE AMERICAN YMCA

With the Soldiers and Sailors of America at home, on the sea, and overseas    

With the men of the Allied Armies    

and with the Prisoners of War in all parts of the world

Copyright,1920, by The International Committee of Young Men's Christian Associations

Franklin A. Gaylord

WITH THE ARMIES OF OUR ALLIES  

Down the Volga with the Red Triangle   Welfare work is necessary to Russian civil life. The funda-  mental need in Russia is aid to the peasant; and as soon as it established itself, the Red Triangle organization set up a floating exhibit  of American agricultural methods to be sent down the Volga through the  heart of Russia. It covered several hundred miles along both banks of  this great river, reaching tens of thousands of people. Thirty-one Russian  helpers aided the Y rural experts to demonstrate the films, models-,  charts, and personal talks on modern methods of farm organization  and home keeping in rural America.   The exchange of prisoners, following the Brest-Litovsk peace,  brought thousands of liberated Russians, who for three years had lived  on the border-line of starvation. Many of them died en route and the  doctors pronounced 25 per cent of the remainder tubercular. The Y was called upon to attack the problem, and, according to the civil  authorities, the service in Moscow, Petrograd, and the cities near the  border, saved thousands of these soldiers who would have died soon  after reaching home. The indispensable supplementary ration, which  was the substantial welcome of the Y, consisted of milk, eggs, palatable  bread, and other necessities, which were the height of luxury to these  returned prisoners. On many days the food supplied by the Y was  all these men got to eat.

We have followed the Triangle through the dark days in southern  and central Russia; now let us follow it to the Arctic Sea. Here, too,  the armies of the Allies were fighting their way in the World War.  This campaign had as its main military object the break-up of possible  German submarine bases on the Arctic Sea and the protection of supplies delivered to the Kerensky government at Archangel and Murmansk.   In the rigorous task in North Russia, 65 American Y secretaries,  with some 30 British Y secretaries and a number of auxiliaries of  Russian and other nationalities, were given the main responsibility  for welfare service among the troops under the exceptional conditions  of an Arctic winter in a miscellaneous force comprising twelve  nationalities.   Here the Y M C A was the only substantial force conducting welfare  work throughout this difficult operation.

Fighting against the Elements at Archangel   The number of the Allied troops reached 30,000 men at the maximum.  About half were regular allied detachments, while the rest were Russian  volunteer units. The American troops amounted to about 5000 men in  the Archangel district, and 2500 along the Murmansk Railway.   The larger Y work was based on Archangel, where the Allies main-  tained their headquarters for fighting fronts on a narrowing circle 50 miles  further south. After the first establishment of headquarters, which  had again (as in France, England, and Italy) preceded the arrival of the  American troops, secretaries were sent to the combat regions in the  south, and by Christmas, 1918, every important base in the region had  its Y hut and characteristic activities. When the town of Shenkursk  was captured by the Bolsheviks in the middle of the Winter the Y hut,  which had been a center in the midst of the fighting area, was burned  with many other buildings. In other sections Y secretaries without  permanent quarters went about with the troops on duty and distributed  comforts to troops on the front line. Four American secretaries on this  service were captured, one was awarded the French Croix de Guerre,  three were given the Russian Cross of St. George, and others were mentioned in American Army Orders for bravery under fire on the front  line.

With Reindeer Sled in the Far North   An American Y hut in Russia had the honor of being placed at  the apex of the narrow salient, pushed into the Bolshevik lines at  Oust Podenga on the Vaga River, the farthest point reached by the  Allies.   This hut, directly across the river from enemy troops and closely  camouflaged in consequence, was one of the finest field huts maintained  in North Russia. Qn the Vologda Railroad a string of specially equipped  box cars and canteens, with Y men in charge, served the outposts;  while horse and reindeer sled service was given to other outlying points  in the five or six campaigns in which the small American Army was  bearing the heaviest attacks, braving the terrible arctic conditions  and the exposed guerilla nature of the warfare. American casualties of  over 400 were due largely to exposure to the fearful cold.

Testimony of Commanding Officer in North Russia   At the time when this service was at its height Colonel Stewart,  Commanding Officer of the American Forces in Northern Russia  reported after a visit to the front: "On behalf of the officers and  fnlisted men of my command I desire to express the appreciation we all feel of the excellent work done by your representatives in the ameliora-  tion of the hardships of service of my troops. In my recent visit to  various units of my command, aggregating twenty-eight days, during  which, besides rail transportation, I covered 650 miles by sleigh, the  work of your organization was constantly brought to my attention." 

The Allied Expeditionary Army in Siberia assumed the proportions  of a powerful force in August, 1918. It varied during the succeeding  months from 60,000 to 80,000 along a front of almost 6000 miles. President Wilson officially placed America in cooperation with this force  (Aug. 3, 1918) and a few weeks later the 27th U. S. Infantry and other  units arrived from Manila. Major General Graves took command of the  American forces. The objectives were: the protection of the Vladivostok  stores, the support of the Czechs, and the restoration of the Siberian  Railroad.   Eleven armies were on the Siberian front; the largest was the  Japanese; here, also, were the British, French, Italian, Roumanian,  Polish, and Russian troops, and last of all the splendid regiments of  the Czecho-Slovak Army, which had found and fought their way across  Russia. The campaign lasted more than one year amid the most unstable  political and military conditions, and all the national forces except a  strong group of Japanese have now been removed from Siberia. But  the opportunity for service in this expedition was incalculable and the  American Y adapted itself adequately to the abnormal and fluctuating  conditions.

At Vladivostok — Over 100 Y Men in 11 Armies   The number of secretaries in Siberian work considerably passed  the 100 mark; they were assisted by 200 Czech, Russian, Japanese,  and others from various nationalities. The cost of the work was over  $2,000,000. The Y service was carried to every section of this enormous front and showed results in every one of the 11 national armies.   Seventeen were allotted to the American Expeditionary Forces, 15  served with the Czech Army, 20 in special Russian civil work, 10 administered the manifold activities of the International Hut and other activities  for the Allied units in Vladivostok, 12 were occupied in the lecture and  cinema bureau and the rest were assigned to miscellaneous activities. The  Association had 10 separate huts among the American forces and 14 isolated posts as an extension service from the hut centers. There were also  canteen cars which traveled with the troops when they were entrained. 

. . .

Homeric Epic of the Czechs Crossing Siberia  

The most dramatic event in the Far Eastern campaign is that of  the Czecho-Slovak Army Corps. These Czechs, most of them ex-prisoners of war from the Austrian Army, had fought in Kerensky's last  offensive, the only unit on the Russian side displaying the ardor which  wins victory. During the Winter of 1917-1918, they held their organization together and brought it up to a total strength of 40,000 (which  later was recruited to 60,000 or more) superbly trained men. They  started in May, 1918, to travel by train across Russia and Siberia fdr  transport across the Pacific and Atlantic and for service on the West  Front. They filled 60 trains and attached to each regimental group  there was at least one Y car. The Y men with the expedition included  a number returning to America from the Russian service, but several  had been with the Czecho-Slovaks from the beginning. They wete  called "uncles" in honor of their practical demonstration of the sympathy  which signified to the Czechs the ties of a blood relative. They bought  and manufactured supplies for the canteen cars wherever they could,  and throughout the expedition maintained a resourceful service for  the soldiers and conducted local welfare work whenever the train stopped  long enough at any one point along the route.  

This expedition was attacked by Bolsheviki in June and part of it cut off from Siberia; 15,000 men got through but the remaining 25,000  started on a long campaign which lasted the greater part of the next  year. This campaign was the chief reason for American intervention.  One detachment after another of the Czech Army fought its way through  to junction with other Czech-Allied units, all served by Y secretaries.

Fifteen or more Y secretaries were attached to the Czech Army  fighting as an Allied force along the Trans-Siberian Railroad. This  army covered an enormous area, stretching west as far as Ufa and  Samara in European Russia. The fifteen clubs maintained for this  army by the Y were scattered along 1800 miles of railroad, while to  serve the vast intervening stretches, eighteen canteen cars, like the  club cars in the Far East, were attached from time to time to the 60  trains controlled by the Czech staff.   Several Y secretaries went with the Czechs on the last stage of their  around-the-world trip to Prague, where they received a fitting share  in the welcome given to this Homeric expedition on its home-coming.  One of the Y canteen cars, which made the trip across Siberia, was  brought back to Bohemia with the army. It has been proposed that it be  erected in Prague as a public memorial to American constancy and service. 

Christmas 1918

 

The Messenger | 22 Dec 1918

The minister wishes to convey his Christmas greetings to the members of the congregation. May this Christmas bring you joy. We have been thankful for victory, now with the Christmas song in our ears we think of the blessings of peace on earth and long for the reestablishment of good-will. No dream of prophet or seer ever excelled the ambition of statesmen today to establish a lasting peace and a League of Nations. One’s imagination fails to measure the possibilities of development that lie bound up with that dream—war no longer possible.

America has taken a leading part in making peace possible, her President is the leader of the other nations as they seek to realize their dreams. Let us support him as he endeavors to promote the Christian ideal in international relations.

In my interest in world politics I haven’t forgotten my parish nor you, my friends. I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me of having a part in war activity, and now with enthusiasm I look forward to this winter as one that shall mean much in the development of our church.

The Star of Bethlehem is the Star of human hope and glory. The Christian ideal has not failed; it is the only untried, program that remains, and men and nations are turning toward it and preparing to follow its rays.

In Memoriam | John R. Hubbard | 22 Dec 1918

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep!

The wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!

Historic Scene in Russia: The Rev. Jesse Halsey, D.D. (Eye-witness.)

by Jesse Halsey, United States Y.M.C.A. Representative in Russia (1917-1918)

18 December 1918 | The Christian Advocate*

 

A picture worthy of Rembrandt! A little room, log-built and rough, and humidly hot from a well-stoked sheet-iron stove of modest proportions. Smoke as of dense fog, partly the fault of the stove and partly the inmates, for the district soviet is in session.

But this is not the only contrast the room affords, for, I repeat, the Soviet of Mouman District, North Russia, is in session. Here at the table’s head, in full light, is Urieff; there in the shadow is Grokatoff; both Bolsheviks: one straightforward and open, the other careful, diplomatic, and almost crafty. Urieff, constantly puffing at his inseparable and immense calabash, says little, keeps order, and puts the question.

Grokatoff is “foreign commissar” and Trotsky’s personal representative. He, too, speaks seldom, but notes everything and daily sends his minute report to Moscow. It is his task to prevent the entrance through this port of all “counter-revolutionists” and undesirable foreigners of the bourgeois and capitalistic classes.

Senkavitch, the vice-president, is a Pole. He is labor delegate and head of the Red Guard. I can hear his cheery half-broken “Hello, John!” as he pulled me and my baggage on the crowded weekly freight at a little junction point one bitter midnight last winter. For seven years he had worked as a lithographer in Buffalo, and he said it sounded good to hear English. Always quick to speak his mind and as quick to act, he became less popular with his constituents as the days wore on; and when he tried to stop looting at a fire in the British barracks, his “soldiers” turned and would have lynched him but for the timely arrival of marines from the American cruiser, who sent him aboard the admiral’s flagship for safety.

Contrast Senkavitch, unkempt and uncombed (as he was in his ante-sergeant days) with the trim Zvginseff, who sits opposite. He has been a general, commanding one of the Czar’s crack regiments and for “certain reasons” advanced one of the grand dukes to a prominent position which developed into a place of real danger in battle, so that the grand duke lost his life—and the general his position. (Since then Zvginseff has been a democrat.) It is interesting to see him and the Pole together. One, the polished gentleman with French, English, and Russian at his tongue’s end; the other a rough workingman unable to speak even Russian with grammatical correctness, each admiring the other and complementing the other—the old Monarchist and the new Anarchist, each a real patriot, and learning to work together—this augurs well for the future of Russia.

In the background always, moving quietly to obtain some papers from the adjoining room or motioning to the president as he calls attention to some forgotten detail, never conspicuous but always quietly dominating, is Vesallago, “business manager and secretary.” He was a naval captain, and one night his flotilla of destroyers crept out of their Black Sea base and raided a Turkish port. Partially successful, he undertook to repeat his exploit the following night. The crew mutinied, but he drove them to their task. When returning to port, after accomplishing their objective, his sailors drove him off the ship. His admiral, who supported him, was also dismissed by the sailors. This was in the early days of the revolution, and both men luckily escaped with their lives. A few months later officers were not “dismissed” in this gentle fashion, and soon after Vesallago had come to the north and held a place as chief of staff to Admiral Katlinksy, two shots were fired in the halflight of the Arctic day, and the admiral fell dead at his office door. Vesallago succeeded to the admiral’s place, without his rank, and during the days of open anarchy that followed his position was very precarious. Threats and attempts on his life were repeated, and at last, one night in July, two hand-grenades were thrown into his room, wrecking the building but miraculously sparing the man. Allying himself with no party, blamed by his fellow officers for his “Bolshevik sympathies” and feared by the Bolsheviks as a spy and counter-revolutionist, facing death constantly, he has placed his fine executive ability at the disposal of his country without pay and without thanks.

But to return to our meeting, now enter the Allied representatives. First, the senior Allied officer, Rear Admiral ------[Thomas Kemp], R. N., C. M. G., etc., retired before the war, but now rejoicing to be back in active service. His kindly blue eyes, close-cropped grizzled beard, his almost shabby uniform and half-concealed decorations (this out of courtesy to the Russian officers who had lost  all insignia of rank and uniform)—these you would note. His slow, deliberate, almost labored Russian, as he makes clear his points, one by one—this you would appreciate if you are a novice in the language, as am I. The admiral’s secretary is there. Sometimes he supplies a Russian word of finer-shaded meaning, but whether he spoke or not, the amount of gold on his uniform would remind you of his presence. The French captain knows no Russian but is accompanied by the consul, who is an accomplished linguist and popular with everyone because of his engaging manners. In the corner, as far aspossible from the blasting heat of the stove, is the American representative, aY. M.C. A. man (selected for the very obvious reason that he is the onlyAmerican in the district), in a flannel shirt, which has powers to disabuse theRussian “tavarish” of the capitalistic tendencies of the American democracy.

Many things are discussed. Many questions are asked. “Will the British send fishing gear for the Russians?” “Yes,” from the admiral. “Nets and trawls?” “Yes.” “Will the Americans send flour?” “Yes.” “And sugar? And shoes?” “When may these be expected?” “When will the American cruiser arrive?” “Can America send some railway construction  engineers?” and machinists?” “Will the Allies furnish food for the Finnish contingent, who wish to enlist?” “What can be done to make the food distribution more equitable?” “Could the American representative undertake to market the season’s catch of fur?” “Does he know the prevailing price for white fox?” “What is the likelihood of the Kola bridge withstanding the next ice jam?” “How long will it take to replace it?” “How can we convince the natives that the wireless men on the hill are not prospecting for gold?” . . . One question after another, on and on; some trivial, some weighty with international possibilities, but all answered to allay Russian suspicion of the imperialistic ambitions of the Allies, to show our interest and gain their friendship.

One scene more. Just as adjournment is proposed, Senkavitch is called out, and soon returns, accompanied by half a dozen breathless men who have come in by reindeer to report the aggression of the Finnish and German forces on an important harbor some hundred miles to the west. What can they do? The general and Senkavitch turn to the admiral: Will he send a cruiser? A moment’s thought, a sharp, “Yes,” and his secretary is on his way down the hill to signal off the orders. A brief but carefully worded agreement is drawn up and signed. The Allies agree to help the Russians against the Germans and the Finns; they refuse to interfere in internal affairs or lend aid to any political party; they have no designs on Russian territory. Two hours later, H. M. S.“-------,” with full complement of marines and a hundred Red Guards, steams out of the harbor. “Intervention” in Russia has begun.

from "Russian Sideshow: America’s Undeclared War" by Robert L. Willett, 2003, Potomac Books 
In an action which completely frustrated the Soviets in the capital, the Murmansk Soviet signed an accord with the Allies, British, French, and even American. This agreement pledged the Allies to defend Murmansk and recognize the Murmansk Regional Soviet as the acknowledged government of the area. Captain Bierer of the Olympia signed on behalf of the American government, even though he had no authority to do so. It is interesting to note that this document was executed several days before Wilson’s Aide Memoire, which authorized intervention in Russia. The Murmansk agreement was completely unauthorized by the U.S. government, yet it was finally approved in October 1918. While it was a stroke of luck for the Allies to have the tie-in with a Russian government, even an out-of-favor one, the Allies pledged to protect those individuals who had faced the wrath of their own people by separating themselves from the Central Soviet.

"He breaks the ‘Bread of Life’ with clean hands."

from a student of Jesse Halsey's at McCormick

 

FOREWARD

It may be a presumptuous for a student to undertake the task of writing a biography of his professor, but the joy that the writer has gleaned from making new and rich discoveries of insights into the character of his “Ideal” has and will out-weigh any possible misunderstandings relative to gathering and interpreting the facts.

The writer wishes to thank all who have asked him in obtaining information about Dr. Halsey: Dr. John Frederick Lyons for assisting in finding some of the articles that Dr. Halsey wrote and The Reverend L.W. Harvison a personal friend and admirer of Dr. Halsey who gave many interesting facts about him as a pastor in the Seventh Presbyterian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio.

The “biographer” wishes to beg pardon from Dr. Halsey for the poor attempt at writing his biography. The writer will be very happy to have corrections made where needed.

“My Ideal”

Dr. Jesse Halsey was born in Southampton, Long Island, New York. “Go where you will through these United States, when you find certain names you know their forbears came sometime or other from Southampton—such names as these: Howell, Sayre, HALSEY, Pierson, Cooper, Herrick, Fordham, and Topping.[1]

Along with his big wrists and heavy hands go his covetous ability of doing a thousand-and-one things properly and well. The present writer, observing that these characteristics are generally those of men who have spent many of the formative years on a farm, was not surprised to learn that his “Biographee” was once a farm boy. Could any but a farmer’s heart “see” “farm houses low and sturdy with grey weathered shingles punctuate the flat countryside. Shingles three feet long, rived from red cedar that grew in the swamps, worn thin now where they have defied the east-wind-driven storms of two hundred winters and the bristling heat of as many summers, but with butts still thick enough to cast healthy shadows in endless parallel windows where the long sweeping roofs on the north side slope almost to the ground . . .

“Leaning barns and wood sheds where eel-spears and clam rakes and harpoons prod the latest agricultural machinery. A discarded seine is sometimes seen, used now as a net for tennis or volleyball, but a swift reminder of days when corn was grown with fish for fertilizer—‘two bunkers to a hill.’”[2]

After having done countless chores on the farm and having laid an academic foundation he went to Princeton where he sat at the feet of the famous teacher who conceived the idea for the League of Nations, Woodrow Wilson. A little insight into a teacher-student relationship is suggested by the two swapping dictionaries. After Princeton, Dr. Halsey went to Union Seminary.

Dr. Halsey served with Dr. Wilfred Thomas Grenfell in Labrador, doing countless and diverse duties from fixing plumbing to assisting at the operating table. With Dr. Grenfell, Dr. Halsey shared the rewards of skillful service joyfully rendered. “Dr. Grenfell always had a high regard for him. The same is true of men like Dr. Henry Sloane Coffin and Dr. Robert E. Speer,” writes the Reverend L.W. Harvison.

During the First World War, Dr. Halsey served abroad as chaplain, ministering to our men “whatever, whenever, and wherever.” At the close of the war he “returned from Russia and spoke at the synod of Ohio concerning the fame of Wilson and America in Russia at that time.”[3]

Accepting a pastorate in Cincinnati, Dr. Halsey soon became a “leader of a small growing group of ‘liberal’ ministers at a time when it was dangerous to be known in that Presbytery as a liberal. Largely under his influence, the spirit of that Presbytery was changed from one of belligerent fundamentalism to one of a harmonious fellowship of men of divergent theological beliefs.[4]

While pastor of the Seventh Presbyterian Church there in Cincinnati, Dr. Halsey organized what is now known as the “Presbyterian Ministers’ Breakfast Club.” It meets the first Monday in each month in the dining room of that church. This club grew out of a need for ministers to “get together” in attempting to solve problems and to lay plans. Thanks to the resourcefulness of Dr. Halsey the club was organized and given such a start as to be still a high-light of the month for the ministers.

He is the type of man to whom men instinctively turn for help in time of trouble. He has gone beyond the bounds of organized religion to be friendly to men of other faiths and cults. To other ministers he has been a kind of “pastor’s pastor” or a bishop without Episcopal authority because he has cared nothing for authority over others. “He has unstintedly given of his time to help others and has always been interested in the pastors of the small churches who have been in need.”[5]

Not only is he an outstanding churchman, but a citizen. At Cincinnati he was a positive force for civic righteousness. “There are things to see in Cincinnati—as in any other big city. I am not thinking of them except as they help one to feel the pulse of the municipality and gauge its inner spirit. The Chamber of Commerce will direct you to the sights of the town. I would guide you to its heart.”[6]

“His church was always interested in missions and gave generously. He was interested in improving conditions of church life in the deteriorated West End of Cincinnati. I have known him to drive thirty miles to take food and money to an old man and his wife who were strangers but appealed to him in need. I do not suppose that even he knows how much of his money he has given away to those in need. But these things were never done with an eye to publicity . . . He is a man of humility and utterly devoid of pretension. He has taken criticism humbly where many of us might have been disposed to defend ourselves against it.[7]

Even his best friends do not consider him as a great preacher, yet he is a great preacher from the standpoint that when he preaches it is truth coming out of his big heart and personality. “He is a man who, as much or perhaps more than any other I know, incarnates his gospel.”[8]

He has given many the impression of being blessed with a strong physical constitution, by maintaining a physical pace that is beyond the energy and inclination of most men. He did much of his reading late at night after his family retired and while most of his fellow ministers were asleep.

He breaks the ‘Bread of Life’ with clean hands. “I think he has never said anything ‘off-color’ or smutty.”[9]

“He is a man with a variety of interests: music, art glass, poetry, short stories, cooking, painting, and whatnot . . . He is at much at home in a pair of overalls with a rake or shovel in his hands as in a pulpit robe . . . In Cincinnati, he organized a group of ministers to paint the interior of my church. It would be interesting to know just how many churches he has helped to decorate on the inside and outside.”[10] During the fall and winter of 1945, he was not only instrumental in getting the chapel organ put in, but he did some of the work. During the Christmas holidays he and a few students painted the interior of the chapel.

Dr. Halsey has always been a man of open-mindedness, but he has been unfailing in loyalty to Christ. As a professor of Pastoral Theology he attempts to see (and does see) both sides of the question. He can see with the eyes of the so-called “liberals,” “conservatives,” “radicals,” and whatnot. He sees through the eyes of pupil as well as teacher. He is a friend to everyone.

The “biographer” has made reasonable effort to find and read as much of his writings as possible. Again the old saying, “Great teachers do little writing” is illustrated. The most widely known of his work as a composter and compiler I believe, is his most helpful suggestions for funerals: LIVING HOPE.

The article on the newly revised Book of Common Worship, “A Sense of Direction”[11] gives insight into the Pastor as a lover of good form in worship. (Dr. Halsey served on the revision committee.) The article on “Books of Common Worship” that appeared in the winter number of “Religion in Life” (1933) gives a rather complete list and helpful comments on the various books. Dr. Halsey’s rich, suggestive and helpful prayers, responses, and litanies often have some quotation or paraphrase from works of such great men as Dr. W.E. Orchard and Dr. John Hunter.

Dr. Halsey generously gives much credit to many great men as having exerted influence upon him. It was Dr. Richard S. Campbell, says Dr. Halsey, who influenced him to enter the ministry. About a dozen great men who influenced Dr. Halsey had as their model Maltie Babcock. “Behind him (Dr. Halsey) have been certain persons of Christian influence: his father, his sister, Dr. Grenfell, Dr. Coffin, and others I may not know.”[12]

Dr. Halsey has been shepherding the “budding undershepherds” here at the seminary since 1939. He was not here long before the students found in him a confidential and able counselor. One student remarked, “Dr. Halsey has more ‘horse-sense’ than all of the other professors put together.’”

Dr. Halsey’s office is the most popular office for students seeking sound advice, or coming with sorrows or joys. He gives the student the impression that he has all the time needed to listen to some problem.

It is unfortunate (for the students) that Dr. Halsey’s many duties require his presence off the campus. [Amen is written in the margin by JH.]

In class he is careful to give the student a wholesome combination of the scholarly with the practical. He also sees that every student who takes his courses shall at least know something about weddings and funerals.

The present writer has heard him called or referred to as “Skipper” and “Uncle Jesse.” Perhaps his “nick-names” will suggest a much better biography than a hurried student can possibly write.

[handwritten at bottom] Humbly I say “thank you.” I’ll try to live up to the implications. JH

---

[1] “The East riding of Yorkshire,” Jesse Halsey, The Presby. Tribune, July 1940, p. 12.

[2] IBID, p. 11.

[3] From a personal letter from L.W. Harvison, Harvey, Ill. Oct. 24, ’46.

[4] IBID.

[5] IBID.

[6] “The Spirit of Cincinnati,” Jesse Halsey, The Presbyterian Tribune, May 16, 1935.

[7] From a personal letter from L.W. Harvision.

[8] IBID.

[9] IBID.

[10] IBID

[11] Jesse Halsey, The Presbyterian Tribune, July 1944, p. 17.

[12] From a personal letter from L.W. Harvison.

The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.

"My father used to sit and read the dictionary by the hour."

My father used to sit and read the dictionary by the hour. As a boy I could never understand it, but I do now. He was one of the original subscribers of the Standard Dictionary, paying five dollars in advance and when it was impossible to publish at that price sending in the second five. As I say, he used to read it by the hour. I never learned the dia-critical marking, new style, and have always stuck to a Webster. In college days my roommate talked me into buying a Standard. This I did, floundered around with the pronunciation and wished I had a Webster. At the same time the president of our college, Woodrow Wilson, had bought a Webster. This he did not like, wanting a Standard. He mentioned the fact one day in a preceptorial division and I offered to exchange. We made an even trade, as I remember. This was in 1908. I have often wondered if his war speeches were abetted by my dictionary. His, I used, up ‘til 1918 when it was stolen out of my study. I hope the appropriator found Mr. Wilson’s name in it, ‘though I doubt if that was the reason it was taken. For a long time I have coveted the Oxford Dictionary, the big one, but the price was prohibitive. When in came down to within my reach I happened to read Billy Phelps who says it’s pedantic for an individual to want it so I have up my ambition and not very long ago became the proud possessor of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, known in England as the S.O.E.D. I am sure that if my father had had this he would have read nothing else, for the history of each word is traced, and dated. So many many words came into the language, I find in the decade following 1600. This, however, is more or less of a teaser. Someday I am going to have the big one. This just starts you off on a hunt, and then you go to the library to look up the full genealogy of your word. Today, I wrote an appreciative review of a friend’s book, saying something like this—“He weighs with a just balance. It is in the main however, Troy rather than avoirdupois,” thinking that I had paid him a fine compliment indicating the scrupulous discerning quality of his observation. I turned up Troy, however, in the Oxford and found to my consternation, having mailed my manuscript, something like this—B. fig. In allusion to the pound Troy being less than the pound avoirdupois 1599, “There was Cresid and Nell was avoirdupois 1599.” My friend wrote back in high dudgeon that I had done despite to his volume. Why the magazine editor didn’t catch it I do not know, apparently he was no wiser than I.

--Jesse Halsey

“The blind see . . .

“I ought to tell you about my friends the “Eskimo Twins.” How the Doctor found them starving and brought them to our Orphanage (Frank Sayre, now Governor of the The Philippines, gave it to us. He was a student helper the same year I was—he and his brother.) These twins had congenital cataracts, one summer there came to us a Dr. Andrews, oculist from Santa Barbara, he removed the cataracts. I never have forgotten the day that those kids, who had become great friends of mine, looked out on the world for the first time. The next Sunday, I preached in the little church (the Doctor was away). My text? 'The blind see . . . this day is the Scripture fulfilled in your ears.'”

“The reason for my being sent to North Russia goes back to some Labrador experiences of twenty-five years ago. President Wilson knew that I had been in Labrador with Grenfell at the same time [1909] that his son-in-law, Frank Sayre, was there. (That was the year [Robert] Peary came home from the pole and Sayre and I were on the Roosevelt helping him refit in Battle Harbor.) 

[Ed note: Washington Post, 26 November 1913: When returning from the Grenfell camp in 1909, Sayre missed his steamer, but found the arctic ship, ROOSEVELT, with Robert Peary aboard, at Battle Harbor, and acting as secretary for the explorer.] 

When the intervention idea was developing, President Wilson told the State Department I was just the man for the north, so as the Y.M.C.A. hut work had completely gone to pieces, I (with several of my colleagues) went with the State Department and about the middle of January set out from Petrograd for the north.”

--Jesse Halsey

from "A Labrador Doctor"

By Sir Wilfred Thomason Grenfell

from Chapter XX “Marriage”

1919

The journey from Lake Forest to Labrador would have been a tedious one, but by good fortune a friend from New York had arranged to come and visit the coast in his steam yacht, the Enchantress, and was good enough to pick me up at Bras d’Or. Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, who had previously shown me much kindness, permitted us to rendezvous at his house, and for a second time I enjoyed seeing some of the experiments of his most versatile brain. His aeroplanes, telephones, and other inventions were all intensely interesting, but among his other lines of work the effort to develop a race of sheep, which had litters just as pigs do, interested me most.

Francis Sayre, whom I had heard win the prize at Williams with his valedictory speech, was again to be my summer secretary. On our arrival at St. Anthony we found a great deal going on. The fame as a surgeon of my colleague, Dr. John Mason Little, had spread so widely that St. Anthony Hospital would no longer hold the patients who sought assistance at it. Fifty would arrive on a single mail boat. They were dumped down on the little wharf, having been landed in small punts from the steamer, as in those days we had no proper dock to which the boats could come. The little waiting-room in the hospital at night resembled nothing so much as a newly opened sardine tin; and to cater for the waiting patients was a Sisyphean task without the Hercules. Through the instrumentality of Dr. Little’s sister a fund of ten thousand dollars was raised to double the size of the hospital, and the work of building was begun on my return. Although the capacity was greatly increased thereby we have really been unable ever to make our building what it ought to be to meet the problem. The first part, constructed of green lumber hauled from the woods, and other wings added at different periods of growth, the endeavor to blast out suitable heating-plant accommodations—all this has left the hospital building more or less a thing of rags and patches, and most uneconomical to run. We are urgently in need of having it rebuilt entirely of either brick or stone, in order to resist the winter cold, to give more efficiency and comfort to patients and staff and to conserve our fuel, which is the most serious item of expense we have to meet.

But at that time with all its capacity for service the new addition was rising, sounding yet one more note of praise in better ability to meet the demands upon us.

And pari passu came the beautiful offer of my friend, Mr. Sayre, to double the size of our orphanage, putting up the new wing in memory of his father. This meant that instead of twenty we might now accommodate forty children at a pinch. Life is so short that it is the depths of pathos to be hampered in doing one’s work for the lack of a few dollars. Of great interest to my fiancée and myself was the selection of a piece of ground adjoining the Mission land, and the erection for ourselves of the home which we had planned and designed together before I had left Lake Forest. We chose some land up on the hillside and overlooking the sea and the harbour, where the view should be as comprehensive as possible. But we feared that even though our new house was very literally “founded upon a rock,” the winds might some day remove it bodily from its abiding-place, and therefore we riveted the structure with heavy iron bolts to the sold bedrock.

One excitement of that season was Admiral Peary’s return from the North Pole. We were cruising near Indian Harbour when some visitors came aboard to make use of our wireless telegraph, which at that time we had installed on board. It proved to be Mr. Harry Whitney. It was the first intimation that we had had that Peary was returning that year. Whitney had met Cook coming back from the polar sea on the west side of the Gulf, where he had disappeared about eighteen months previously. I had met Dr. Cook several times myself, and indeed I had slept at his house in Brooklyn. He had visited Battle Harbour Hospital in 1893 when he was wrecked in the steamer in which he was conducting a party to visit Greenland. We had again seen him as he went North with Mr. Bradley in the yacht, and he had sent us back some Greenland dogs to mix their blood with our dogs, and so perhaps improve their breed and endurance. These, however, I had later felt it necessary to kill, for the Greenland dogs carry the dangerous tapeworm which is such a menace to man, and of which our Labrador dogs are entirely free so far.

The picture of this meeting on the ice between Cook and Whitney gave us the impression of another Nansen and Jackson at Spitzbergen. Whitney had welcomed Cook warmly, had witnessed his troubles at Etah, and his departure by komatick, and had taken charge of his instruments and records to carry South with him when he came home. But his ship was delayed and delayed, and when Peary in the Roosevelt passed on his way South, fearing to be left another winter Whitney had accepted a passage on her at the cost of leaving Cook’s material behind. He had met his own boat farther south and had transferred to her. He left the impression very firmly on all our minds that both he and Dr. Cook really believed that the latter had found the long-sought Pole.

A little later, while cruising in thick weather in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, my wireless operator came in and said: “There can be no harm in telling you, Doctor, that Peary is at Battle Harbour. He is wiring to Washington that he has found the Pole, and also he is asking his committee if he may present the Mission with his superfluous supplies, or whether he is to sell them to you” Seeing that it is not easy to know whence wireless messages come if the sender does not own up to his whereabouts, I at once ordered him to wireless to Peary at Battle the simple words: “Give it to them, of course,” and sign it “Washington.” I knew that the Commander would see the joke and if the decision turned out later to be incorrect, it could easily be rectified by purchasing the goods. A tin of his brown bread now lies among my curios and one of his sledges is in my barn.

On our arrival at Battle Harbour we found the Roosevelt lying at the wharf repainting and refitting. A whole host of newspaper men and other friends had come North to welcome the explorer home. Battle was quite a gay place; but it was living up to its name, for Peary not only claimed that he had found the Pole, but also that Cook had not; and he was realizing what a hard thing it is to prove a negative. We had a very delightful time with the party, and greatly enjoyed meeting all the members of the expedition. Among them was the ill-fated Borup, destined shortly to be drowned on a simple canoe trip, and the indomitable and athletic Macmillan who subsequently led the Crocker Land expedition, our own schooner George B. Cluett carrying them to Etah.

My secretary, Mr. Sayre, was just about to leave for American, and at Peary’s request he transferred to the Roosevelt with his typewriter, to help the Commander with a few of his many notes and records. I dare say that he got an inside view of the question then agitating the world from Washington to Copenhagen; but if so, he has remained forever silent about it. For our part, we were glad that some one had found the Pole, for it has been a costly quest in both fine men and valuable time, energy, and money. It has caused lots of trouble and sorrow, and so far at least its practical issues have been few.

AFTER A “RETREAT”

By Jesse Halsey | c1932

Conference (like Spurgeon’s “committee”) is a collective noun that means many—but not much. Yet conferences innumerable go on, and conference must be had, so it seems.

One bitter night, in North Russia, during the war, I asked a lone sentry what most he dreaded in our isolation, and he said, “I miss bein’ shoulder to shoulder on the march—we never march.” The value of conference is in comradeship; and its perils lie in the implication that plans and programs can take the place of work; we need “to march.”

But what are the marching orders? No one appears to know. At least there seems to be divided council. Here again is the disadvantage of conference. So many questions are asked, so much discussion develop, such differences of opinion, so little unanimity of thought, a dozen different emphases, and in every conference group one or two brethren who have positive opinions on every last subject: (but are not able to convince their confreres.)

Is there wisdom in a multitude of counselors? Walter Lippman seems to doubt it, in the political field, and I agree, as to the religious. But, as I have intimated, conference does mean fellowship, and fellowship means strength for our souls and for our cause. Not programs, but more brotherliness will strengthen the church. Friendliness is a good beginning and in days of mistrust and bickering these ought to be, among ministers, camaraderie and understanding. Somehow or other the world outside rather expects a minister to be a gentleman—and brotherly! To forge a brotherhood, to weld a fellowship, is the first business of a conference.

Discussion is valuable, and interchange of ideas. A great number of questions will be propounded. (Most men who ask questions will at least suggest an answer, so I say “propounded,” not “asked.”) Suppose we list some of the contemporary interrogations. It would run like this: Have you read “Re-thinking Missions?” What about it? (These are among the first.) What about the Oxford movement? (Whether the quester says “Bookman” or “Buckman,” will, subtly, indicate his own feelings.) What do you know about Karl Barth? Is the proper emphasis on worship or on the sermon? What is the best book of the contemporary flood? How do you balance your budget? (“I don’t,” comes the answer.) The ethics of Jesus—do you preach them now? Socialism, communism, bolshevism and not the first queries, but their shadow is thrown over all. And then (toward the end)—prohibition?

Where shall the emphasis be placed? Where are our leaders? The soldiers are ready. What of the march? (Haig latterly, Napoleon formerly, is credited with the opinion that there are no poor soldiers, only poor colonels.) And the colonels are in conference!

One (lieutenant) colonel has come to the following conclusions after many conferences, participated in, listened to, and conducted. And these “findings” are colored by the opinion and feeling of a hundred of his brothers, if he has been able to interpret words—and “feelings.”

First and foremost among the younger clergy there is a desire to follow Christ if they can ascertain His will. They are not strong for theology, many of them, but they take Jesus seriously, as few generations of Christians ever have. Over their ministry I would write the text, “Why call me Lord, Lord and do not the things that I say?”

Many have ceased to look for Leadership or to talk about it. When leaders appear they are not always recognized. They do their work, give their message, and pass on. Then men awake and recognize their quality. Moreover, when a man has the qualities of leadership he seldom knows it. And, surely, he never talks about it. Like the blue-bird, it comes unsought. No Federal Council pronouncement, no denominational-headquarters-ukase, none of the old dynamite will stir us now. It has “frozen” and cannot be detonated. (One of my first jobs as a Labrador missionary, years ago, was to thaw the giant powder over the forge fire, so that it could be exploded.)

From the point of view of a parish minister in a denomination that has no bishop (in name at least); in a Protestantism that has no pope (for better or for worse); I have determined on a few and simple things that, God helping me, shall characterize my ministry from this time forward. (And this slowly formed decision has been molded by many conferences and much fellowship with the brethren.)

I am done with labels. Men of goodwill are everywhere and except for these all abide in the ship we cannot be saved. Time has done some things even with my non-scholar’s mind and I know some of the tricks of the party-labeled protagonists; they “walk in blinders” as Scott (Ernest F.) says.

So Variety is my first word. From anyone who has knowledge I am willing to learn. My brethren will differ with me on all sorts of things, and we will agree to differ. I love them still and hope that they will at least respect me. The pattern is too complicated for any one man to know everything.

Then I must Simplify. Technology will hit the rocks; it carries too much sail. People need a few truths, simply stated, but beautifully clothed in life. For example; whatever elevates human life, dignifies it and makes it meaningful is for me RIGHT. Whatever degrades life is WRONG. This is simple—and inclusive. (Edwin Lewis says it emphatically, and more at length. I acknowledge the debt, but the principle I learned long ago.) For me, quite arbitrarily, if you please, this is the criterion. A philosophy that belittles life is wrong. A science that degrades life is wrong. An ethic that cheapens life is wrong. Art, education, literature, drama (movies included), whatsoever heightens the value of life is right and whatsoever debauches or besmirches life is wrong—arbitrarily or eternally wrong—(just as you please). There I stand.

Another simplification (most difficult to practice) might be characterized as “brotherhood” (there are many synonyms). Charles Kingsley avowed that we ministers use “brethren” because we don’t mean “brothers.” The practice of this virtue would solve most, if not all, of our social problems. “Every problem is a problem in personnel.” Effective conferences of all sorts could be built around this principle. It is called Love in the New Testament, but, as Moffat points out, it has a vigorous ethical, never a romantic, connotation. It works in the family; it works in a church—sometimes. It always works if it is worked. Race, creed, color, all will yield to it. It is our only hope. All the problems of international politics apparently must come back to this simple practice. It is a long road but a sure road. To simplify.

Dr. Lynn Hough has told us, in a variety of ways, that we need more great thinking. Many smart and some great thinkers we have, but great undergirding thought is lacking. (Here is the reason for the welcome to Karl Barth: Will he stand the test?) I read the brilliant epigramist, the caustic critic, the Menken, whoever he may be, in his particular line (and religion has its brilliant exponents, too). They leave me burned out. Some system, some simple but profound principles that will tie thoughts into the bundle of thought—these, I need, and the times need. (The first books I ever bought with my own money were Calvin’s Institutes. Long since they went on the top shelf; I knew too much. They have come down. I need a system. I find, too, that Augustine’s “City of God” has been dusted off. A gesture of desperation? Have your way. And Hocking, rather than Wieman, gets attention in a study hour. I am becoming a sturdy Theist.)

Yes, after a quarter century of tasting and testing there seem to be emerging some Certainties for me. And people are saying to me (and my brother ministers), as Helen Keller said to Phillips Brooks, “Tell us what you KNOW about God.” With Carlisle I determine to consume my own smoke. Such as I have I’ll give. Without apology, in congenial thought forms, I’ll try to convey my conviction that Jesus Christ is Lord. With Pearl Buck I’m sometimes tired of preaching, but as preaching is needed, the living-preaching, I will try and “carry on.” With Dr. Fosdick, sometimes, at least, I will try to “debunk the debunkers.” Cynicism, and agnosticism and atheism are not entirely new. I ought to have known it. This is not the first generation to question. Plato’s teacher taught him to question rather drastically. There is a wisdom not of today: (A lot of it is in the Bible).

Yes, I should have known it. My teachers often said so. For example; one day in preceptorial, when the talk had wandered from politics to philosophy, and an enthusiastic student was expounding the Riddle of the Universe after Haeckel’s formula, Woodrow Wilson turned to another student, who was majoring in philosophy, and said, “Tell us about Democritus.” Materialism is not new; that was the implication—and the truth.

Variety, Simplification, Certitude—these three I now covet, having learned much from my brethren and some things from experience.

Murmansk | Spring 1918

from "Russian Sideshow: America’s Undeclared War" by Robert L. Willett, 2003, Potomac Books

 

“Then came a change: in February 1918, Germany reattacked Russia in the Ukraine, although Germany was still in negotiations with the Bolshevik Soviet. In Murmansk there was a concern that the nearby Finnish border would offer Germany a haven from which it could launch a North Russian offensive. The threat of German attack brought some harmony to the three diverse Murmansk groups—the government, rebellious military, and allies—as they recognized the need for British defense and supply. At this time, an American, Lt. Hugh Martin, a passport control officer, was the senior U.S. representative on the scene. A few other Americans were also there: Allen Wardwell of the Red Cross had made his second appearance in the new city, while YMCA official Reverend Jesse Halsey was a more recent arrival.

With this new spirit of cooperation among the three Murmansk groups, the area faced a new concern: a civil war had begun in Finland, and it was feared that Germany would aid the White (anti-Bolshevik) side, possibly invading Murmansk with a combined force. In retrospect, we know that both Germany and Finland had their hands full and gave little thought to any additional fronts. However, anticipation provided fuel for those who saw the possibilities of a German threat. Historian George Kennan wrote, “In March and April there was no serious danger of attack on Murmansk by Finns under German command; but by the time the British and the French had spent some weeks acting as though there were such a danger, they succeeded in conjuring it into real existence.” As tensions heightened, the British sent another cruiser, HMS Cochrane, and the French sent the heavy cruiser Admiral Aube. At last pleas to Wilson finally caught his attention. Rumors flew about, all indicating German-Finnish forces heading toward Murmansk or its railroad.

Eventually, in April 1918, Wilson relented and reluctantly made a step toward intervention by sending the USS Olympia, Admiral Dewey’s old flagship, Capt. Bion B. Bierer commanding. However, Wilson cabled, “to caution him [Bierer] not to be drawn in further than the present action there without first seeking and obtaining instructions from home.” With Bierer’s instructions was the added information that he would be under the command of the British naval commander, Adm. Thomas W. Kemp. Admiral Kemp had telegraphed earlier:

“I beg USS Olympia may have orders to come to Murmansk and that she be put definitely and fully under my orders the same as the French cruiser Admiral Aube. There can be only one Allied head here and I consider this step indispensable for both military and political reasons.”

The decision to have American forces commanded by British officers would lead to a host of problems in coming months.

By mid-April, the USS Olympia was steaming from Charleston, South Caroline, toward Murmansk, stopping several times en route, with Captain Bierer on a collision course with the president’s cautionary advice. With him on the Olypia was the new Allied commander, British major general Frederick C. Poole, who took command of all Allied forces in North Russia on his arrival in Murmansk on May 24, 1918.

With mounting concern over threats of German and Finnish invasion, the Murmansk Soviet telegraphed the Central Soviet on May 18, 1918, “The representatives of the friendly powers, the French, American, and British missions currently at Murmansk, continue to show themselves inalterably well-inclined toward us and prepared to render us assistance, running all the way from food supply to armed aid, inclusive.”

An immediate answer on the same day was an important piece of the Murmansk story. It came from People’s Commissar Leon Trotsky, who warned:

“The Germans are advancing in small detachments. Resistance is possible and obligatory. Abandon nothing to the enemy. Evacuate anything that has any value; if this is impossible, destroy it. You must accept any and all assistance from the Allied missions and use every means to obstruct the advance of the plunderers.”

Threats of invasion by German and Finnish troops worried even Petrograd Soviets, so the telegram opened the door for cooperation between the Murmansk Soviet and the Allies, even if it eventually antagonized the Central Soviets. The wire would also haunt Trotsky in years to come as he fell from favor.

From this point on, the Allies began a gradual buildup. The French already had a Slavic command of a few soldiers in the town of Kola. Admiral Kemp had landed about 130 Marines from his ship HMS Glory on March 6, 1918; they had quietly housed themselves in barracks and awaited developments. These British marines were the first purely military troops to take part in the Allied Intervention.

On June 8, apparently at British request, but with the blessing of U.S. ambassador David Francis, Captain Bierer was ordered to land a shore party to help garrison Murmansk. Captian Bierer sent Lt. H.C. Floyd with eight officers and one hundred men and their equipment to Murmansk. Murmansk was under Soviet control, but already some Allied troops were in the city; the local Soviet anticipated a break with the Central Bolsheviks in Petrograd, so the landing was not contested. The American sailors also keep busy, assisting British and French marines in capturing the Russian cruiser, Askold, and other smaller ships, whose Bolshevik-sympathizing crews had mutinied.

On June 23, a six-hundred-man force under British major general Sir C. Maynard was put ashore with its equipment. Major General Maynard’s writings after the war indicated that the goal of these and subsequent troops was to protect Murmansk and Archangel and the southbound railway, but he also stated, “When ready to take the field, the whole force was to endeavor to join hands with the pro-Ally forces in Siberia, and then to assist in opening up a new front against Germany.” The misinformation and lack of understanding of the situation was evident in this stated goal of the expedition.

As General Maynard’s task force landed, his commander was already in Murmansk. Major General Frederick C. Poole had been an honored guest on the USS Olympia when it sailed into the Russian harbor on May 24. He was the overall commander of the Allied North Russian land forces. Poole was noted for his colonial approach to Russians: he patronized them, scolded them, misunderstood them, looked down on them, and generally made himself heartily disliked by those hapless souls he was preparing to liberate. His first contingent of British soldiers was not impressive; most of them were veterans of the western front who were classified as unfit for active service, yet they were expected to conduct themselves with typical British stoicism in an utterly hostile climate and topography.

Poole and Maynard conferred for hours as the contingent arrived. George Kennan says, “From his initial discussions with Poole, Maynard, as will be seen in his memoirs, derived a wildly distorted picture of the situation, including the impression that 15,000 White Finns, in German service, were already on the march against the Murmansk Railway. Maynard set out on a mission to strengthen his defenses, traveling south on a locomotive with several cars full of troops. His reception by the Russian railway workers and stationmasters as he rode south was decidedly antagonistic, to the point of open rebellion. Later Maynard explained, “Bolshevik Russia was a recognized enemy, and I had a free hand to take such military measures as were possible to combat a Bolshevik-White Finn combination.” South of Murmansk in the town of Kandalaksha, he was confronted by a northbound train filled with Red troops. Maynard’s unfortunate response was to mouth machine guns covering the Bolsheviks and order the Red trains to turn around and return south. He called for reinforcements from the port and visited a nearby Allied base at Kem, where he forcibly disarmed two more Red trains and sent them back south. His high-handed actions opened armed hostilities between Allies and Bolsheviks, the first real signal of the conflicts to come.

Even before Maynard’s railroad journey, the relations between the Murmansk Soviet and Central Soviet in Moscow had soured. Murmansk, concerned with its daily survival, depended almost entirely on Allied supplies. The Central Soviet in Petrograd saw things very differently. Trotsky’s invitation had disappeared: the Petrograd government now issued a decree to the Murmansk government to throw the Allies out. The tone of a June 26, 1918, telegram from Petrograd grew even more critical: “If you still refuse to understand Soviet policy equally hostile to English and Germans, blame it on yourselves.” Murmansk fired right back in the same tone, “It is all very well for you to talk that way, sitting there in Moscow.” Lenin could not tolerate that kind of behavior and promptly called the party members of the port city Soviet traitors and declared them outcasts, subject to execution. “The President of the Murmansk Soviet Yuriev (Yuryev) having gone over to the side of the Anglo-French imperialists and participating in inimical actions directed against the Soviet Republic, is hereby proclaimed and enemy of the people and outlawed.” The telegram was signed by Lenin and Trotsky.

In an action which completely frustrated the Soviets in the capital, the Murmansk Soviet signed an accord with the Allies, British, French, and even American. This agreement pledged the Allies to defend Murmansk and recognize the Murmansk Regional Soviet as the acknowledged government of the area. Captain Bierer of the Olympia signed on behalf of the American government, even though he had no authority to do so. It is interesting to note that this document was executed several days before Wilson’s Aide Memoire, which authorized intervention in Russia. The Murmansk agreement was completely unauthorized by the U.S. government, yet it was finally approved in October 1918. While it was a stroke of luck for the Allies to have the tie-in with a Russian government, even an out-of-favor one, the Allies pledged to protect those individuals who had faced the wrath of their own people by separating themselves from the Central Soviet.