Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

The sleigh traveled northward into the city center along the right bank of the Irtysh River, past rows of dull two-story buildings and the dark remains of Omsk’s eighteenth-century fortress. For a city that had functioned as the administrative capital for Western Siberia and the Steppes Region under the tsar, and now as capital of the White government in Siberia, Ned found downtown Omsk dull and uninspiring. Not until the sleigh turned onto Lyubinsky Avenue did he detect signs of the city’s prosperity during the last two decades, when Omsk had been called the “Chicago of Siberia” for its many foreign consulates and international trading offices opened since the Siberian Exposition of Agriculture and Industry of 1910. Here was where the consulates, trading companies, banks and insurance firms were located, many of them in modern stone buildings designed by celebrated European architects.

At last, the sleigh stopped outside a three-story brick building whose ground floor contained the Lyubinsky Café. Once inside, Ned could see in the dim electric lighting that few tables were occupied, perhaps because of the early hour.

The patrons all appeared to be Russians of the idle rich class, the women clad in ancient, threadbare finery and the men in badly worn coats and uniforms, some with badges of rank marked in indelible pencil. They had fled to Siberia with sufficient wealth to dine every night at Omsk’s fashionable restaurants if they wished, and apparently did so in an effort to recall happier days and take refuge from tomorrow’s anxieties. But where would they go from Omsk? Ned noticed that most of the men proudly avoided returning his gaze, though a few wives cast nervous glances in his direction. He could not help wondering if some of them frequented the cafés each night simply because they had nowhere else to spend their time.

The headwaiter led Ned to a table for two in a dark and isolated corner of the restaurant, where Colonel Ward rose immediately to greet him. Ward was an imposing figure, half a head taller than Ned, with a barrel chest, broad shoulders, powerful arms, and a massive head. His face held a thoughtful expression, though not severe, and his square jaw gave the impression of a resolute character not easily deflected from its goal.

“I’m terribly pleased to have reached you in time,” the colonel began once they were seated. “You see, I’ve been granted an audience with Admiral Kolchak later this evening and I thought it might be useful to both of us if you could accompany me after we’ve had something to eat.”

Ned blinked in surprise.

“You mean, tonight?”

A broad smile spread across the colonel’s face. Ned was reminded at once that Ward was a man who had spent his entire life leading men to face new challenges. Having grown up in the working class, he had joined the British Army as a young man and served with distinction in the Sudan campaign. Later, he rose rapidly in the trade unions movement and served as a Liberal-Labour member of parliament until re-entering the army in his late forties as a lieutenant colonel. Early in the Great War, Ward had recruited no fewer than five battalions of workers and led one of them into battle in France until he and his men were redeployed to Singapore and from there to Siberia.

“No time like the present,” Ward answered, unfolding a starched linen napkin over his broad lap.

Ned had no choice but to agree.

“Have you met the Admiral before?” he asked.

“This will be my third occasion,” the colonel replied. “He and I arrived in Omsk the very same day in late October, but we didn’t meet until several weeks later, when the Ufa Directory and Siberian Government merged. The next time we met was a few days after the coup, when he requested my regiment’s help to maintain order.”

“I imagine that was a delicate choice,” Ned remarked, aware that many believed the British to have instigated the coup that brought Kolchak to power and now regarded the regiment as Kolchak’s Praetorian Guard. “I mean,” Ned added, “some people have accused the Admiral of ruling with an iron hand.”

Ned watched for signs in the colonel’s answer that might indicate whether Ward harbored autocratic tendencies of his own.

“In the beginning, of course, certain actions the Admiral took to restore order were necessarily severe,” Ward explained, giving Ned a pensive look. “From the outset, he relied heavily on support from the army and the officer corps.”

“And the Cossacks, no doubt,” Ned noted.

“A high-handed bunch, to be sure,” Ward agreed. “But despite his reliance on them, I believe the Admiral has shown himself to be more liberal than the outside world allows. And I find it unfortunate that he’s been obliged to employ the mailed fist to maintain his government against Bolshevik subversion.”