The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1924-05-24
CA Memory Of John Reed under
ground")

small coast town. We were waiting
for Bob, the third comrade of our trio,
who had gone out in the winternight
to meet an oversee steamer. There was
always job for us with the steamer.
Always the mail-the red or fist"
mail, as we called it-and often
fellow stowaway.
Our little room, which we wished to
look as ordinary and unnoticeable as
possible. was a station on the only line
OF communication between two
worlds And what line! Through
the blockade OF the Allies and the
Border States, through White Armies
and fronts. through barriers of police,
customs and detectives massed up
against Red Russia in 1890, thru
all this our line was cut, KNOWN
to few, used by many. White Terror
reigned in the Border States and
many a brave comrade was killed or
tortured, or still sits in jail for the
running of that line. Nevertheless, it
never closed; men and mail kept
going from Russia to the Western
World and from the Western World
to Russia.
DOB returned He had the mail,
- mostly letters and reports from
all over the world, forwarded from
hand to hand and addressed to the
leaders Of the World Revolution.
There were other things, too, and
u ,orcf IN Aoo 0f n
certain book, thin slip, ineligible
to Jim alone. Off he went to decipher
it, and this was the result: Gin same
steamer american eastward pass will
son. American Wilson, passenger,
HIM, that was my part of the work so
l put on my coat and went out.
1T was about half-past ten when l
| came down to the deserte d
harbour The quays, covered with
streaks of thin snow, looked I'M
pleasantly white and lit under the
swinging arc lights. Down below the
icy black water swished family
against the concrete work. 1t was
not good night: too clear. too still
One could see and hear too far At
the end of the pier lay the steamer,
sending down a smell of oil and fried
potatoes with the wind. Slowly 1
approached, trying to look as much
like a whisky smuggler as possible.
for that was the most innocent and
natural mask for a political in these
days. The railing on the pier between
the steamer and the customs shanty
was already removed and all officials
had apparently gone, but some dog of
a tee might still be nosing round. :.
Voices and the clatter of messtins
could be heard from the forecastle but
the rest of the ship seemed lifeless,
except for the fizzing steam some
where up round the funnel, and the
regular tapping of piece Of loose
rope against the mast. Presently a
fellow in stoker's shirt and trousers
came scampering up. hailed him
from my observation point on the
pier: "Gothenburgh-Bill aboard?" He
stopped, stared at me for second,
then with "All right, wait a mo-"
turned down again. Bill came up and
ashore and we talked in the shadow
of a magazine. Yes, there had been
a fellow this trip; but Bill was
astonished. Hadn't been down once
before, earlier-no-anyway, he had
put his passenger on shore and told
him to follow two fellows one of
whom he had supposed to be me. /
cursed him for his carelessness. well,
anyway, what was he like?" "Tall,
strong fellow, darkish in big green
ulster" well, I'm off to find him.
Good night" Bill returned to the
steamer.
ZIP town the streets were empty.
~ walked round and round on the
lookout, but in vain. After one o'clock,
l went home full Of apprehension.
Damn Bill! He had been nervous and
wanted to get rid of his dangerous
passenger too quickly. The American
might have been caught already. But