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INDIAN DIARY By HARRY POLLITT 1/-

It will be a long time before I forget what I saw in the working- class district of Bombay. Only once before had I seen such poverty and dreadful housing conditions and that was in the West Indies in 1938, but Bombay was worse. What a commentary on the greed and rapacity of British imperial- ism that after all the millions they have robbed from the workers of the West and East Indies, such conditions as these should exist! Had dinner and a long talk with Comrade Ghosh. Went to bed, dead-beat, but could not sleep because of thinking about what I had seen all day. December 13. THIS morning, under a grilling sun, I made another tour round Bombay, and to the seaside place called Juhu. I was literally fascinated by the multitude of sights that I saw. Performing monkeys, mongooses and snakes. I had seen pictures of snake-charmers at work, but I have never seen so many in real life before. I watched one girl dance on the hard sands who would make many Ajoy Ghosh and Harry Pollitt 4 of our English dancers green with envy, so beautiful were her hands, movements, postures and muscle control. What a small place the world is. While walking along the sands, looking at the people and trying to take everything in, I noticed a group of 25 young Bombay workers sunbathing and singing. One of them broke away and came running toward me. He stopped: "Comrade Pollitt, I recognised you. I was at the docks yesterday. Please come and speak to my comrades of the Young Workers' League." This evening I was on my way to the working-class district of Bombay to speak at my first demonstration in India. What a huge variety of colour was to be seen in the streets! The beautiful saris of the women, the white clothes of the men, and a variety of costumes and styles of dresses and headgear that certainly made it a memorable sight. But always you were brought up with a jerk, when some appalling aspect of human wretchedness and misery inevitably forced itself before your eyes. Arriving at an open space I found a vast crowd squatting on the green and thousands more standing as far as the eye could see. I was introduced by Comrade Ajoy Ghosh, and then the old Indian custom of placing garlands of flowers around the necks of those you love and respect was shown to me. I must have had over 50 such garlands placed around my neck by comrades representing every section of the working-class move- ment in Bombay. They had to be taken from me in relays. I was literally being smothered in beautiful flowers and bouquets. To me it was deeply touching, and I know that tears were stream- ing down my cheeks. December 14. FOR many more years than I care to remember, I used to address all letters to my Indian comrades to Raj Bhuvan, Sandhurst Road, Bombay. Now the Central Party Offices are in Delhi, but Raj Bhuvan, which means People's House, is still used by the Party as the headquarters of its publishing activities. Our full-time comrades in leading positions lead a very austere and frugal life. They not only work in Raj Bhuvan, but live there with their families. It really means they are on the job all the time. We went over the printing house, which prints all the publications of the Party, and with the limited facilities they have at their dis- posal they work wonders. For example, they have no linotype machines or modern flatbed machine or other equipment, but their work reaches a very high standard indeed. They have printed a very fine edition of Comrade R. Palme Dutt's book, The Crisis of Britain and the British Empire, which sells 5

Published by THE COMMUNIST PARTY 16 KING STREET LONDON W.C.2 Printed by FARLEIGH PRESS LTD. (T.U. all depts.) BEECHWOOD WORKS, WATFORD, HERTS CP/V/5/3/54 INDIAN DIARY By HARRY POLLITT December 12. I COULD not sleep last night through excitement at landing at Bombay this morning. I was on deck at 6 a.m., just as we began to enter the estuary at Bombay. It was a wonderful spectacle. The hills on the starboard side behind which the sun was rising made a splendid dash of colour. On the port side the first outline of Bombay began to appear. By 7 a.m. the Batory had tied up at the quayside. It was 8 a.m. before the Indian officials came on board for all the usual formalities. By 9 a.m. I heard a tremendous shouting, but the only words I could make out were "Harry Pollitt." Soon hundreds of workers appeared on the quay; they were waving red flags and calling for me. Everybody on board came running on deck to see what the excite- ment was about, and the looks on the faces of my fellow passengers, and especially the Old India Hands, when they found it was myself who was being greeted, was something I will never forget. I finally got through the Customs, everybody being very kind and helpful, particularly the luggage porters, who were all coming up to shake my hand. But when I got into the street, what a sight met my astonished gaze. I was greeted by Comrades Mirajkar, Chary and Prasante. Mirajkar, of course, is one of the veterans of the Communist Party of India and one of the Meerut prisoners, along with Ben Bradley and Lester Hutchinson. I had to walk through a solid wall of enthusiastic workers. At every few yards I was garlanded and given bouquets, until by the time I reached the car I was weighed down with flowers. Arrived at my hotel, and was soon greeted by Comrade Ajoy Ghosh, the general secretary of the Indian Party, and Comrade Dange, well known to British workers. Afterwards had a rest, because the morning's excitement had been very exhausting. In the afternoon did a four-hour tour of Bombay. It's a great city, but also one where the contrast between rich and poor is sharper than I have ever seen before. Visited the splendid park on the Malabar Hills, and looking across the bay saw the Batory steaming away on the last lap of its journey to Karachi. I had spent some of the happiest hours of my life on the Batory. 3

at 8s. 6d., which, by Indian standards, is a very high price, and yet they have already sold over 2,000 copies. I discovered that when I mentioned Dutt's name it found no response, but when I then mentioned R.P.D. a light came into their eyes, and you would have thought I had named some god. Oh, Shades of the Notes of the Month in the Labour Monthly! I spent all afternoon preparing my speech for the important public reception which is being given to me this evening in the Sunderbai Hall by the Bombay Committee of the Communist Party. It is the second largest hall in Bombay and seats 1,500. Long before the meeting started every seat was occupied. Every gangway was crammed with people sitting on their haunches. The back of the hall and the platform also were crammed, and my speech had to be relayed outside to hundreds who could not get into the hall. I was begged to make a long speech. Well, I did, because the comrades said it "was a special kind of audience and everybody understood English." I must say you could have heard a pin drop throughout the entire proceedings. At the end of my speech, which I am afraid lasted 1¾ hours, no one stirred. The chairman announced the meeting was at an end. No one stirred, only cries of "Please speak a bit longer." I was dead beat, however, speaking so long in such heat, even if I had been doing it in my shirt. The International was sung in Hindi. Still the audience did not move. So I emulated what Tom Mann used to do, and called for "Three cheers for a lasting peace that would be heard in Washington." That did it, and I am sure they could be heard in Washington. So ended one of the most impressive experiences in my memory. And so to bed, to get ready for my journey to Delhi tomorrow. December 16. I T'S been another of those times when you say "It's been quite a day." Left Bombay Airport at 8.30 a.m. after a journey from the air terminal office lasting about 45 minutes, which took us right round the Marine Drive and through many interesting parts of Bombay and its environs. I wonder just how many people sleep out in the streets all night in Bombay, and I also wonder if there is another place in the world where so many well-to-do citizens take their morning constitutional along the Promenade at 7 a.m.? The journey to Delhi seemed to me to be across one of the most barren stretches of land. Here and there you saw a few green patches which had been tilled, and now and again a cluster of villages. Arrived at Delhi Airport at 12.15 p.m., and as the plane was taxi-ing to the Reception Hall one of the passengers said: "I see we 6 are being greeted by Red Flags, who is going to take the lead?" Dead silence. I looked out then and saw a crowd and Red Flags. The plane came to a stop. Every passenger seemed to be bearing himself with a demeanour which said, "Well, it's not me." I finally emerged, and as soon as my feet were on the ground found myself once again surrounded by comrades, with flags, gar- lands, and bouquets. I thought to myself, "Fancy this happening at London Airport!" I was garlanded 25 times. I could hardly walk off the tarmac, which did not prevent me singing (to myself, of course) a favourite old ballad of my father's: "She wore a wreath of roses, the first time that we met." A short speech of thanks from me, and then off in a car to Delhi. I suppose it is about ten miles to the town, so I got a good chance to see this and that. Among which was the "Lodge," where the British Viceroy of India used to live. I wish you could all see it. What a palace! What grounds! And then, being what I am, I thought of all the people I had seen with nowhere to lay their heads, except on the pavement. A wash and brush up, and then went to see the Parliament House. A splendid building. I was able to obtain a seat in the Distinguished Visitors' Gallery, and listened for a short time to an interesting debate on the Special Marriages Bill. There had recently been an important by-election in South-East Calcutta, which everyone had expected the Congress candidate to win. To their consternation the Communist candidate, Comrade Gupta, won it hands down. Comrade Gupta is blind, but this dreadful affliction has not stopped him from giving a lifetime of service to the working class of Calcutta. I was proud to be introduced to him. Just before I got into bed a comrade came to see me. He showed me a newspaper in which it was stated the Ceylon authorities had distributed 10,000 copies of my photograph so that every police officer at ports and railway stations would recognise me if I attempted to enter Ceylon. I regret that no reward was issued for apprehending the body. But I had to laugh also. I remembered saying facetiously to the pressmen at Southampton that I would get into Ceylon by emulating the gentleman in the Bible who once parted the seas and walked through them. I suppose the Government of Ceylon took it seriously. December 17. I HAD begun to think that life had no more surprises for me, but I was mistaken. Left Delhi at 8.30 a.m. for Amritsar, and arrived at the airport at 10.30 a.m. While coming in to land I could see scores of red flags and a great crowd of people. 7

Immediately the plane had stopped before the reception hall the great crowd had surged on to the tarmac, and on emerging from the plane I was met by representatives of the Communist Party, trade unions, peasant organisations, peace movement and various cultural organisations. I immediately recognised the Communist Member of Parliament for the area where the airport was situated. He had acted as an Arrival at Amritsar interpreter for me at a conference in Moscow in 1934. I was also glad to greet my old friend Mulk Raj Anand, the famous Indian author, who was on a visit to his native town of Amritsar. Outside the aerodrome I made a short speech in which I expressed the hope that before my visit was at an end the people of Amritsar would know there were other kinds of British citizens than General Dwyer, the butcher of Amritsar. Off we went to the town, and it was quite a triumphal procession. I was very moved when I heard that scores of the people who had greeted me at the airport were peasants who had come from 20 miles and more. Our first stop was at the Memorial Gardens, which marked the spot where, on April 13, 1919, the massacre of principal Amritsar citizens took place on the instructions of General Dwyer. 8 At the Martyrs' Well, Amritsar 9

I laid a wreath in the centre of the memorial, and observed a solemn two minutes' silence, which was what I thought all that is best among the British people would expect me to do. From there we went to the Golden Temple, the most famous and sacred shrine of the Sikh population of the Punjab. I was wel- comed by the vice-chairman of the organisation, and then taken round the temple by a Sikh gentleman. I was presented with a scarf and two religious symbols, and I must be one of the few foreigners who have been taken into the innermost parts of the temple and shown the jewels, gold and pearls whose value no one can compute. My greatest and never-to-be-forgotten thrill was when I was intro- duced to the veteran Indian comrade Baba Sohan Singh. He is 83 years of age, 35 of which have been spent in Indian prisons. Bent almost double through the effects of imprisonment and hunger strikes, as I looked at him I thought how little in Britain we know of sacrifice for the cause. Amritsar gave the impression in parts of having been subject to heavy bombing. On making inquiries I found what I had seen was the result of the Communal Riots caused by the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947. I was told that it was estimated that nearly a million people of all religions lost their lives in this regrettable dispute, and because Amritsar is only 16 miles from the Pakistan border, and there was a flow of refugees both ways, its loss of life and property had been very heavy indeed. From there to a great demonstration in Amritsar. There were many thousands present, and what a sight it was! All squatting on the ground as far as the eye could see. The tall, handsome bearded men, with their multi-coloured turbans, the women in their beautiful dresses. A sword was presented to me—the highest honour of all to any- one visiting the Punjab. I hope my speech made the comrades feel their respect worth while. I listened to a play about life in the countryside and the struggle against landlords and money-lenders, which was splendidly performed Had dinner very late and then to the hotel, dead beat but very happy. Punjab the Valley of the Five Rivers—partition means that the Indian part has only two of these rivers now. But what lovely country it is, and how proud its citizens are they belong to it, and how sorry they are it has been divided. December 18. UP TP with the lark, after a very, very cold night, but as fresh as a daisy. Addressed a meeting of all the leading members of the Communist Party in the district on the situation in Britain and the work of our Party. 10 About 200 present. Then paid a visit to the offices of the Party paper, again garlanded, and then a visit to the Party offices. The comrades begged me to cancel my other engagements so as to visit Kashmir. Oh, what inducements they held out to me! The finest garden in all the world! What a welcome I would get! I nearly fell for all this seduction, but, being a strong-willed per- son, kept humming to myself: Pale hands I loved, Beside the Shalimar; Where are you now, Where are you now? This brought noon, and we were off to Amritsar once again. Got there rather late. Left Amritsar at 5 p.m. and arrived at Delhi Airport at 6.30 p.m. Met by the comrades. An excellent dinner in the Volga Restaurant, and then what do you think happened? I got into a jeep (I noticed it gloried in the new name of Land Rover) and we did some roving, I can assure you. We left Delhi at 8 p.m. for the 125-mile drive to Agra, where the Taj Mahal is situated. What a drive and what dust! I mustn't repeat here a rather vulgar saying about dust, but I assure you that when the Land Rover pulled up outside the Taj Mahal at 11.50 p.m. precisely, you could not see either the driver, my two interpreters or myself for dust. Anyhow, here we were, and another dream of my boyhood days now about to be realised. We were about to see the Taj Mahal in the light of an almost full moon, and the guide books had told me this was when it ought to be seen in all "its irresistible beauty." We entered the portals of the outer building, and there before my eyes was the Taj Mahal! I have not the command of language or the poetical expression to describe this scene. All I can say is that it just took my breath away to gaze on such a scene of extraordinary loveliness. Never, never, as long as I live, will I ever forget it. Slowly we walked down the majestic marble path to the Taj Mahal. We went all round it. Our guides explained its history. But I seemed to have lost the power of listening. I could only gaze spellbound at all this exquisite loveliness. At last we tore ourselves away. Went back to Agra, found a hotel, and at 2 o'clock decided it was time for bed—but not without the resolve that having seen the Taj Mahal by moonlight, we would see it in sunlight also the next morning. December 19. Ο NCE more emulating the lark, we were up and about early, and on our way to the Taj Mahal again, but instead of being greeted by larks, we found a man playing his pipes outside the hotel, and persuading a great cobra to go through its dancing performance. 11

A glorious sight met our eyes as the sun poured its rays all round the Taj Mahal, which we went all over again. Rightly described as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, it deserves such a description. It was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as an immortal tribute to his beloved wife. It was built of pure white marble, and when the sun is shining it dazzles the eyes to look at it. We couldn't stay any longer. We had to visit Fort Agra. Another exciting experience. A gigantic fort inside of which are several won- derful palaces. We hadn't time to take it all in. We were ponder- ing over this and that as we stood in the royal harem of one of these magnificent palaces. Suddenly I heard a noise, saw four youths gesticulating and giving the salute we knew so well in the days of the Spanish Civil War. They ran up to me, and before I knew where I was I was garlanded four times in the royal harem. But it's time to be off to Delhi. As we left the Agra Fort and emerged outside, it was to be greeted with cries of "Long Live Harry Pollitt!" which prompted a pedlar of souvenirs to reduce his price for his articles from 1s. 6d. to 1d. Into the Land Rover jeep once more. How different to travel through the countryside in darkness and in daylight! Never did I think such poverty existed! You can read the dry statistics, you can read words, you can try to imagine what it is like. But you have to see the poverty, the people, the houses they live in before this awful soul-searing poverty can make you understand the actual reality of the situation. It drove me into depression. I tried to think of what I would do if my people had to endure such conditions. The bitterness of thought, the hatred of the rich landlords and moneylenders, was profound in the extreme. The whole scene as we passed through village after village, was only relieved by the colourful and gay dresses of the peasant women, who seemed in this manner to be hurling defiance and a challenge to the whole of their ghastly squalid surroundings. We passed caravans drawn by bullocks and camels. We saw hun- dreds of monkeys and parrots. We passed a field where hundreds of vultures were to be seen. They seemed to be saying, "We'll get you all yet for your folly in tolerating such conditions!" At 5 o'clock we were back at the hotel. A wash and brush up, and then off to address a demonstration in Old Delhi. What a demonstration—and what a galaxy of pressmen! It is a huge field, right in front of Delhi's famous mosque. It is quite dark, but a full moon. Thousands and thousands of people are squatting in front of the platform and standing as far as the eye can see. I am garlanded by various Delhi democratic organisations, and then I receive one which I shall wear at our own Party congress. 12 It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen in my life and was presented by the Delhi district committee of the Party. I keep writing "What a day!", and so I must write it again, I have seen the Taj Mahal, the Agra Fort, where I noticed a tribute to Mr. John Strachey for his care of Indian culture. I have seen the Oulab Minar, and bullocks, monkeys, parrots, performing bears, vultures, camels, little donkeys carrying great loads. But later this morning I had the greatest thrill of all. And that is quite another story. December 20. I WAS leaving the hotel in Delhi this morning, and going down the stairs met the inevitable Scotsman. "Well, I'm blowed, fancy seeing you here, Harry! You don't re- member me, do you?" I looked a little, then replied: "Yes, you stayed in Jean Cowe's house in Scott Street, Glasgow, when Randall Swingler and I stayed there, when Malcolm McEwen fought a by-election in Dumbarton." "Right first time, Harry—all the best!" Then off to the Delhi aerodrome in that Land Rover. The driver is a Sikh comrade who fought with the British Army in Italy during the Second World War. He was chosen to take part in the Victory Parade in London in 1946, but his political opinions became known and that finished it. But what a driver! What he can make that Land Rover do is nobody's business. Left Delhi Airport at 8.15 a.m. and after a pleasant journey touched down at Calcutta Airport at 12.15 p.m. What a sight met our eyes! There were hundreds of Red Flags, and thousands of the working people of Calcutta waiting to greet me. Just one seething mass took hold of me as soon as I put my feet on the tarmac. I was garlanded until I lost count. At one time in the proceedings I could not see an inch before me. The car started, but after about 15 minutes a cry went up, and another crowd of people blocked the road completely. Poor people, their poverty stuck out a mile. They were refugees from East Pakistan. They brought their flowers and garlands, women and little children offering up a single flower. I was crying, and it's no use making any bones about it. I noticed the appalling conditions they were living under, and I shall look upon their floral tributes to me as one of my most precious memories. The weather was very warm and what with all the garlands, the heat and excitement, I felt almost all-in. But arriving at the hotel, a bath, forty winks, and at 3.30 p.m. I was ready for anything— and I was soon to have it in plenty. A number of the comrades came to discuss the demonstration I 13

At Calcutta Airport was to address at 4.0 p.m. Most of them were young and had joined the Communist Party while they were studying in England. Now any public speaker, if he cares to tell the truth, is always interested in how many people he will be talking to. And being a Truthful James I asked the simple question and received the reply, “100,000 at the least.” I looked at the comrade and he looked at me. No words were spoken, but I could not help thinking of what I always tell the British comrades when they say “Harry, we’ve booked another hall for an overflow,” and I always make the reply, “Fill the hall you’ve got, and it will be fine.” Off we went to a kind of huge Hyde Park. I couldn’t see a thing for people. I had to fight my way to the platform, and was exhausted when I got there. But then the sight of that vast audience! Talk about a little drop of what you fancy does you good—I felt I was walking on air. When I had to mount a raised platform and “show my face,” I just couldn’t see where the audience ended. I wondered if an Attlee or a Deakin could command such an audience anywhere in the world. The garlanding and gifts of bouquets came to an end. One com- rade gave me a splendid piece of sculpture of Comrade Stalin he had made, and then I was called upon to say a few words. 14 They lasted non-stop for an hour. It seemed half of the audience could follow me in English. The “Internationale” was sung, then I mounted the dais again. took out my handkerchief, à la Tom Mann, and called for “Three cheers for peace that will be heard in Washington,” and I’m sure they were—and that was that. Or was it? Tired? Not arf! Happy? Twice over! Goodnight! December 21. FIRST thought this morning is to try to remember how many years it is since I first began to send congratulatory telegrams to Com- rade Stalin on the occasion of his birthday, which would have been today. Therefore glad to see the Communist Party daily newspaper in Calcutta had made a feature of this fact in its issue today. Up as usual. Then to make a speech to the Bengal Provincial Conference of the Communist Party. Garlanded no end. This time with a difference. The flowers seemed to be tiny lotus; their perfume was enchanting, and I was informed that they are called “Nights of Fragrance.” Then to inspect the Party office, the Party bookshop, and the Party press. There everything is hand-set, and I only wish everyone em- ployed on the Daily Worker could see the conditions under which our Calcutta comrades get their daily newspaper out. It would make them all think, and no mistake. Part of the Calcutta Demonstration 15

A quick lunch, and off again. I visited the dock, jute and engineer- ing and ship repair areas. It was dreadful. First, we stopped at the Indian Seamen's Union offices. Then to the "hostels" where Indian seamen waiting to be taken on for a ship are supposed to live. Never in my wildest experience of slum conditions have I seen any- thing like it. You won't believe me if I attempt to describe it, but I will just say this as a general remark. The worst slum in Britain is a paradise compared with the best conditions the mass of the workers of Calcutta have to live in. And this is true of seamen, engineers, jute and textile workers. Human beings with hearts that can beat and minds that can think were never meant to live in such conditions. After seeing the seamen's "homes," although I went through every street and area of the working-class areas of Calcutta, I just could not get out of the car and go into any more "houses." What I saw from the outside was enough. Oh, shades of the P. and O., the British-India Shipping Company, the jute millionaires who have made their ill-gotten gains out of this squalor and misery, this shameful poverty and degradation; there is blood and infamy on every penny of the profits you have extorted from the cheap labour of the Indian working class. There are rich and poor in every capitalist city. There are West Ends and East Ends in every capitalist city. But surely to whatever gods there may be, there cannot be any greater contrast between the two than here in Calcutta! The most depraved human being in Britain would not keep a dog under such conditions. Feeling like nothing on earth after such sights—back to the other Calcutta. The neon lights. The great palaces. The posh hotels. The boulevards, the lovely parks and lakes—and studded everywhere, monuments to such creatures as Lord Canning, streets named after the arch-robber Sir Robert Clive, and the memorial to Queen Vic- toria, a cheap imitation of the Taj Mahal. This is where I really wanted to spew in utter disgust. A late meal in an hotel patronised by the British citizens still making money out of the exploitation of the Indian working people. They are all in evening dress. There is only one thing I wish I could do to them. Not murder, not violence. Only just go and make them eat and sleep in the conditions of the working people who live in the other Calcutta. My only consolation is that this pack of parasites will be driven out of India, as surely as the British rulers who exercised their com- plete domination of India have already been thrown out. December 22. UP at 4 a.m. Funny how you cannot sleep however late you go to bed when next morning you know you have to catch a plane at some unearthly hour. 16 Through Calcutta streets. I wonder exactly how many human beings in Calcutta sleep in the streets. There must be thousands. It is pitiful to see them stretched out this way and that. No one seems to take the slightest notice of something that is a great shock to me. I suppose, having seen it in every city I have been in, I should have begun to get used to it. But I can't. It shocks me. And when, as I have seen, large rats move in and about these pavements, those who know me best will know how I feel. We board the plane and we're off. A lovely sunrise—and then I fall asleep. First stop is Nagpur at 10 a.m. We got there dead on time to wait for the plane from Delhi to Madras. When it comes in, one of Noel Coward's "Mad dogs of Englishmen" gets off, meets another of the same breed, and they get talking. Now I am no eavesdropper, as anyone can tell you, but they talk in the Oxford accent, so loud and so unmistakable that you cannot help hearing what is being said. It goes like this: "Nice to be on terra firma. Never feel sure until I am. Very hot, don't you think?" "Have you read Pollitt's speeches? Why the devil did they let the fellow in? Wonder what he is up to?" I never batted an eyelid. Then came the call. "Passengers for Hyderabad and Madras please take their seats." As far as I have been able to see it has all been very flat country we have flown over. Then we are going down and the Hyderabad Aerodrome is in sight. The nearer we get, the clearer becomes the spectacle of red and blue flags. You know what the red stands for, and the blue is for Peace. The "mad dogs" have also seen this sight, and they exchange glances as much as to say: "My God. He must be with us!" He was. He got down, and at once was surrounded by comrades, flags and flowers. I was informed that I was being housed in the State of Hyderabad Government Guest House. I had an excellent lunch and a couple of hours shut-eye. Then off to a public meeting. I have previously remarked how in the most squalid villages the women seemed to rebel against it by the colours of their saris, which were mostly of red and gold. But here in Hyderabad they took on the most beautiful and varied colours. When I remarked on it I was told in very proud tones: "We pride ourselves on our colours; we make the fabrics here, and we dye them ourselves." At last we arrived at the hall where the meeting was to take place. I tried to do what was expected. At the end I was garlanded by a young comrade who, as he mounted the platform, was received with great applause. It turned out he was 18 years of age, had been sentenced to death for having been allegedly concerned in the disturbances which shook 17