of her sex upon the ships was taboo—it was one of the new rules of the Soviet of Sailors. The captain was polite, much adorned with gold braid, but very helpless.
"I can do nothing at all," he explained dolefully. "Everything is in the hands of the 'Committee'."
"But she has come ten thousand versts to see the fleet."
"Well, we can see what the Committee says," he answered.
The messenger came back with a special dispensation from the Committee and we were on our way again. Everywhere members of the crew would challenge the presence of a woman in our party, politely capitulating, however, as the captain explained, "By special permit of the Committee."
This Central Committee of the Baltic Sea, or, as it was familiarly known, the Centrobalt, sat in the great cabin de luxe. It was simply a Soviet of the ships. Each contingent of 1,000 sailors had a representative in the committee, which consisted of 65 members, 45 of whom were Bolsheviks. There were four general departments: Administrative, Political, War and Marine, transacting all the affairs of the fleet. The captain had one of the former princes' suites, but from the great cabin he was debarred. Happily my credentials were an open sesame to the committee and the cabin.
The irony of history! Here in these chairs a
