Yashka · Part III · Chapter 13 (1/3)

XIII

The Battalion at the Front

The same morning on which the telegram came from General Polovtzev there also arrived a banner, with an inscription that read something like this:

“Long live the Provisional Government! Let Those Who Can, Advance! Forward, Brave Women! To the Defence of the Bleeding Motherland!”

We were to march with this banner in the demonstration, that had been organized in opposition to the Bolshevik demonstration fixed for the same day. The Invalids were to march in the same procession. I talked matters over with their chief when we met at Morskaya.

The air was charged with alarming rumours. The Captain of the Invalids placed fifty revolvers at my disposal. I distributed them among the instructors and my other officers, reserving a pair for myself.

The band of the Volynski regiment headed the Battalion of Death, as half the soldiers of that regiment had refused to march against the Bolsheviks, having already been contaminated with Bolshevist ideas, although it was only June.

Mars Field, our destination, was about five versts from our barracks. The whole route was lined with enormous crowds which cheered us and the Invalids, of whom there were about five hundred. Many women on the pavements wept, grieving for the girls whom I was leading into what seemed a conflict with the Bolsheviks. Everybody said: “Something is going to happen today.”

As we approached the Mars Field, where the opposing demonstration was held, I ordered my soldiers to sit down and rest for fifteen minutes.

“Form ranks!” I ordered at the end of that time. We were all more or less nervous, as if on the eve of an offensive. I addressed a few words to the Battalion, instructing them to support me to the end, not to insult anybody, not to run away at the least provocation, in order to avoid a panic. They all pledged themselves to fulfil my instructions.

Before resuming the march the Captain of the Invalids, several of his subordinate officers, and all my instructors came forward and asked to march in the front row with me. I objected, but they insisted, and I finally had to give way, in spite of my desire to show the Bolsheviks that I was not afraid.

The crowds on the Mars Field were indeed enormous. A long procession, with Bolshevist banners, flowed into the great square. We stopped within fifty feet of a Bolshevist cart and were met promptly by a hail of jokes and curses. There were jeers at the expense of the Provisional Government and shouts of: “Long live the revolutionary democracy! Down with the war!”

Some of the women could not suppress their indignation and began to answer back, provoking heated argument.

“When you cry, ‘Down with the war!’ you are helping to destroy Free Russia,” I declared, stepping forward and addressing my turbulent neighbours. “We must beat the Germans first and then there will be no war.”

“Kill her! Kill her!” several voices threatened.

Greatly excited, I rushed a few steps nearer to the crowd. My fingers gripped the two pistols, but in all the tumult that followed, the idea was fixed in my mind that I must not shoot at my own people, common workers and peasants.

“Wake up, you deluded sons of Russia! Think what you are doing! You are destroying the Motherland! Scoundrels!” I concluded as their jeers continued.

My instructors tried to hold me back as the throng swarmed round me, but I tore myself out of their arms and plunged into the thick of it. I worked myself up to such a state of frenzy that I did not cease talking even when a volley of shots was sent into our midst. Then my officers ordered the Battalion to fire. There followed a terrible scuffle.

Two of my instructors were killed, one while defending me. Two others were wounded. Ten of my women were also wounded. Many bullets grazed me, but I escaped till struck unconscious by a blow on the head with an iron bar, from behind. Many of the onlookers were drawn into the scrimmage and the result was a panic.

I recovered consciousness in the evening. I was in my own bed with a physician beside it. He told me that although I had lost a good deal of blood my wound was not serious, and that I should be able to resume my duties soon.

Late in the evening the officer in charge reported that Michael Rodzianko had come to see me. The physician went out to meet him and I heard the two conversing in the room next to mine. Rodzianko’s first question was whether I had been killed. It appeared that rumours were being spread in the town that I had been struck dead on the Mars Field. The doctor’s account of my condition apparently came as a joyful relief to the President of the Duma.

He then came in and smilingly approached my bed and kissed me.

“My little heroine, I am very glad that you escaped serious injury. There were many alarming reports about you. It was a brave act to march straight into the midst of the Bolsheviks. Nevertheless, it was foolish of you and the wounded men to oppose such tremendous odds. I have heard of your victory in the fight against the introduction of the committee system in the Battalion. Well done! I wanted to call and congratulate you earlier, but I have been very busy.”

I sat up in bed to show my visitor that I was quite well. He told me of the appointment of General Kornilov to the command of the southwestern front, and of a luncheon to be given the following day at the Winter Palace, at which Kornilov would be present. Rodzianko inquired if I should be strong enough to attend it, and the physician thought that I probably should. Rodzianko then took his leave, assuring me of his readiness to help me at all times and wishing me a speedy recovery.

The following morning I spent at the window, with my head bandaged, watching my women drill. I felt strong enough to go with Rodzianko to the luncheon. He called before noon and drove me to the Winter Palace. In the reception-room there I was introduced by the President of the Duma to General Kornilov.

Middle-aged, with a spare, manly, vigorous frame, a keen face, grey moustache, Mongol eyes, semi-Mongol cheekbones: this was Kornilov. He spoke little, but every word he uttered rang out clearly. One felt instinctively that here was a man of powerful character and of dogged perseverance.

“I am very glad to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand. “I congratulate you on your determined fight against the committees.”

“General,” I replied, “I was determined because my heart told me that I was in the right.”

“Always follow the advice of your heart,” he said, “and you will do right.”

At this moment Kerensky appeared. We rose to greet him. He shook hands with Kornilov, Rodzianko and me. The War Minister was in a good humour and smiled benignly at me.

“Here is an obstinate little person. I never saw her like,” Kerensky said, pointing at me. “She took it into her head not to form a committee, and nothing could break her will. One must do her justice. She is a diehard, holding out all alone against us all. She foolishly persisted in maintaining that no such law existed.”

“Well,” said Rodzianko in my defence, “she isn’t such a fool. She is perhaps wiser than you and me together.”

We were then asked into the dining-room. Kerensky was seated at the head of the table, I at its opposite end. Rodzianko was on Kerensky’s right, Kornilov was on my right. There were also three Allied Generals present. One was on my left, and the other two were between Kerensky and Kornilov.

The conversation was carried on mostly in a foreign tongue and I understood nothing. Besides, I had my troubles with the dishes and table etiquette. I did not know how to deal with the unfamiliar dishes, and blushed deeply several times, while I watched my neighbours from the corners of my eyes.

Now and then I engaged in conversation with Kornilov. He approved my decided views about the necessity of discipline in the army, and declared that if discipline were not restored, then Russia was lost. The burden of Kerensky’s conversation at the table was, that in spite of the considerable disintegration that was thinning the ranks of the army, it was not too late as yet. He was contemplating a trip to the front, feeling certain that it would lead to our troops taking the offensive.

Finally Kerensky got up, and the luncheon was over. He told me before leaving that there would be a solemn presentation to me of the two standards and icons sent by the soldiers from the front. I replied that I did not deserve such honours, but hoped to be able to justify his trust in me.

Kornilov parted from me cordially, inviting me to call on him at his headquarters when I arrived at the front. Rodzianko then escorted me home and asked me to come to see him before leaving for the front.

The time remaining before the date fixed by Kerensky for the dedication of the Battalion’s battle flag was spent in intensive training and rifle practice. The women were almost ready to go to the front and awaited June 25 with impatience.

Finally that day arrived. The women were in high spirits. My heart was filled with expectation. The Battalion arose early. Every soldier had a new uniform. The rifles were spick and span. There was a holiday-feeling in the air. We were all cheerful, though nervous under the weight of responsibility which the day was to bring.

At nine in the morning two bands arrived at our gates. They were followed by Captain Kuzmin, assistant Commander of the Petrograd Military District, with instructions for the Battalion to be at the St. Isaac’s Cathedral at ten o’clock in full military array. We started out almost immediately, led by the two military bands.

The throng of people moving in the direction of the Cathedral was enormous. The entire neighbourhood was lined up with units of the garrison. There were troops of all kinds. There was even a body of Cossacks, with flags on the points of their spears. A group of distinguished citizens and officers stood on the steps leading to the entrance of the church. It included Kerensky, Rodzianko, Milyukov, Kornilov, Polovtzev and others. The Battalion saluted as we marched into the huge building.

The officiating clergy were two bishops and twelve priests. The church was filled to overflowing. A hush fell on the vast gathering as I was asked to step forward and give my name. I was seized with fear, as if in the presence of God Himself. The standard that was to be consecrated was placed in my hand and two old battle flags were crossed over it, hiding me almost completely in their folds. The officiating bishops then addressed me, dwelling upon the unprecedented honour implied in the dedication of an army standard for a woman.

It was not customary to inscribe the name of a Commander on the flag of a military unit, he explained, but the name of Maria Bochkareva was emblazoned on this standard, which, in case of my death, would be returned to the Cathedral and never used by another Commander. As he spoke and said the prayers, in the course of which he sprinkled me three times with holy water, I prayed to the Lord with all my heart and might. The ceremony lasted about an hour, after which two soldiers, delegates from the First and Third armies presented to me two icons, given by fellow-soldiers, with inscriptions on the cases, expressing their trust in me as the woman who would lead Russia to honour and renown.

I was humbled. I did not consider myself worthy of such honours. When asked to receive the two icons I fell on my knees before them and prayed for God’s guidance. How could I, an ignorant woman, justify the hope and trust of so many brave and enlightened sons of my country?

General Kornilov, representing the army, then presented me with a revolver and sword with handles of gold.

“You have deserved these gallant weapons, and you will not disgrace them,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek.

I kissed the sword, and pledged myself never to disgrace the weapons and to use them in the defence of my country.

Kerensky then pinned the epaulets of a Lieutenant on my shoulders, promoting me to the rank of an officer. He, also, kissed me, and was followed by some of the distinguished guests, who congratulated me warmly.

The high officials departed and General Polovtzev took charge for the rest of the day. I was too overcome to regain my self-possession quickly. I was raised up by the hands of General Polovtzev and General Anosov first. Then some officers of junior rank carried me. Next I was raised above the crowd by some enthusiastic soldiers, and dragged out of their hands by even more jubilant sailors. All the time I was very uncomfortable, but the ovation continued and the cheers would not subside. Women in the throng forced their way to me, kissing my feet and blessing me. It was a patriotic throng, and love for Russia was the dominant note. Orators mounted improvised platforms and talked of the coming offensive and the Battalion of Death, finishing with a “Long live Bochkareva!” The emotion of the soldiers at the moment was such that they cried: “We will go with Bochkareva to the front.” Speakers pointed to the women as heroes, calling upon every able-bodied man to rise to the defence of Russia.

It was a wonderful day: a dream, not a day. Had my fancy come true? Had this group of women already accomplished the object for which it was organized? It seemed so that day. I felt that Russia’s manhood was ready to follow the Battalion and strike the final blow for the salvation of the country.

It was an illusion, and my disenchantment was not very long delayed. But it was such a beautiful illusion that I gained enough strength from it to work patiently for its renewal and realization. What those thousands of Russian soldiers, assembled in the neighbourhood of the St. Isaac’s Cathedral, felt on June 25, 1917, was the thrill that comes from self-sacrifice for the truth, from unselfish devotion to the Motherland, from lofty idealism. It convinced me that the millions of Russian soldiers, scattered over their vast country, were amenable to the word of truth, and instilled into me faith in the ultimate restoration of my country.

After the consecration of the Battalion’s standard, there remained less than two days before leaving for the front. These were spent in preparations. We had to organize a supply unit of our own, as we could not take with us the kitchen of the Guard Regiment that we had used. Also, every member of the Battalion received complete war equipment.

On June 29 we left the grounds of the Institute and marched to the Kazan Cathedral, on the way to the railway station. The bishops addressed us, dwelling upon the significance of the moment and blessing us. Again large crowds followed us into the Cathedral and to the station. When we started out from the church a group of Bolsheviks blocked our way. The women immediately began to load their rifles. I ordered them to stop this, put my sword in the scabbard, and marched forward to the Bolsheviks.

“Why do you block the way? You scoff at us women, claiming that we can’t do anything. Then, why did you come here to interfere with our going? It is a sign that you are afraid of us,” I said to them. They dispersed, jeering.

Accompanied by the hearty cheers of the people who lined the streets, we marched to the station. Our train consisted of twelve vans and one second-class passenger coach. We boarded the train under orders to proceed to Molodechno, the headquarters of the First Siberian Corps, to which the Battalion was to be attached.