Yashka · Part III · Chapter 15 (2/3)

The order was given that by seven o’clock the Corps should be moved to relieve the soldiers at the fighting line. I went to my girls and gave the word for them to be ready too. They had heard of the disturbance and had passed some anxious moments, and therefore they gave me a hearty welcome. The General had telephoned to the front line that the Corps was a few hours late and asked the soldiers there to remain in the trenches for the night. The distance that we had to cover was about ten miles, and we arrived at the front before dawn.

The Battalion, now consisting of only some two hundred women, occupied a small sector to itself, opposite the town of Kreva. There was no sign of actual warfare at the fighting line. Neither the Germans nor the Russians used their arms. Fraternization was general. There was a virtual, if not formal, truce. The men met every day, indulged in long arguments and drank beer brought by the Germans.

I could not tolerate such war and ordered my women to conduct themselves as if everything were as usual. The men became very irritated by our militant attitude toward the enemy. A group of them, with the Chairman of the Regimental Committee, came over to our trench to discuss the matter.

“Who are our enemies?” began the Chairman. “Surely, not the Germans who want peace. It’s the bourgeoisie, the ruling class, that is the real enemy of the people. It’s against them that we ought to wage war, for they would not listen to the German peace proposals. Why does not Kerensky obtain peace for us? Because the Allies will not let him. Well, we will very soon drive Kerensky out of his office!”

“But I am not of the ruling class. I am a plain peasant woman,” I objected. “I have been a soldier since the beginning of the war and have fought in many battles. Don’t agitate here against officers.”

“Oh, I don’t mean you,” he replied; trying to win me over to the pacificist idea. Several German soldiers joined the Russian group. The discussion became heated. They repeated the old argument that the Germans had asked for peace and that the Allies had not accepted it. I replied that the Germans could have peace with Russia if they withdrew from the invaded parts of our country. So long as they kept our land, it was the duty of every Russian to fight and drive them out.

Thus life dragged on. Nights and days passed in discussions. Kerensky had almost entirely lost his hold on the men, who were drifting more and more toward Bolshevism. Finally, the feud between Kerensky and Kornilov reached a crisis. Kerensky asked the Commander-in-Chief by telephone to send some loyal troops to Petrograd, apparently realizing that his days were numbered. Kornilov replied with a message through Alexeiev, requesting a written certificate from Kerensky, investing the Commander-in-Chief with full authority to restore discipline in the army. It would seem that Kornilov was willing to save Kerensky, provided the latter allowed him to save the front.

But Kerensky evidently saw in this an opportunity of restoring his fallen prestige and securing his position. He therefore turned against Kornilov, publicly declaring that the latter was aiming at supreme power and he appealed to the workmen and soldiers to rise against the Commander of the army. The result was the brief encounter between the revolutionary masses and Kornilov’s Savage Division. Kornilov was defeated. Kerensky triumphed, and for the moment it looked as if he had attained his object. All the radical forces were united and Kerensky, as the saviour of the revolution from an attempt at a counterrevolution, again became the idol of the soldiers and the working class.

The larger part of the army sided with Kerensky when he appealed for support against Kornilov. But this did not last long. Kerensky little by little lost the confidence of the masses which he had suddenly acquired, because he did not bring them the much desired peace.

Those of the soldiers and officers who sided with Kornilov were nicknamed Kornilovetz. To call a man by this name was equivalent to calling him a counterrevolutionary, an advocate of the old regime, or an enemy of the people.

The inactivity of life in the trenches became wearisome. One rainy day I sent out a listening party into No Man’s Land, with instructions to shoot at the enemy in case of his approach. I watched the party go forward. Suddenly, a group of Germans, numbering about ten, came in the direction of our trenches. They walked along at their ease with their hands in their pockets, some whistling, others singing. I aimed my rifle at the leg of one of the troop and wounded him.

The whole front was in an uproar in a second. It was scandalous! Who dared do such a thing! The Germans and the Russians were seething with rage. Several of my women came running up to me greatly alarmed.

“Commander, why did you do that?” they asked, seeing me with a smoking rifle in hand.

A number of soldiers who were friends of mine next hastened into our trench to warn me of the men’s ugly temper and threats. I told them that I saw the Germans approach my girls and make an effort at flirtation. But this defence did not appease the soldiers. They placed machine guns in the first trench and were preparing to slaughter us all. Fortunately, we were informed in time and were hidden in a side trench. The machine guns raked our position, without causing any casualties. The firing was finally interrupted by the sharp orders of the Chairman of the Regimental Committee. I was called before him to give an explanation. I bade farewell to my girls, telling them that there would probably be a repetition of the episode of Colonel Belonogov’s lynching.

I was received by the men with threats and ugly words.

“Kill her!”

“She’s a Kornilovka!”

“Make an end of her!”

I was surrounded by the members of the committee, who kept back the mob. Several speakers rose in my defence, but hardly succeeded in appeasing the crowd. Then an officer got up to talk in my behalf. He was a popular speaker. But this time his popularity did not avail him. He said that I was right. He would have done the same thing had he been in my place. That was as far as he got.

“Aha, so you are a Kornilovetz too!” shouted the crowd. “Kill him! Kill him!”

In an instant the man was thrown off the chair and struck on the head. In another instant he was crushed to death under a thousand heels.

Then the mob swayed in my direction. But the committee seized me and carried me off to the rear, hiding me in a dugout. One of my girls, Medvedovskaya, was placed at the entrance to guard it.

Meanwhile, my girls heard what had happened and hurried to my aid. The mob dispersed to look for me and some of the men came to the dugout in which I was concealed.

“Where is Bochkareva? Let us in to see if she is there!” they shouted. The girl sentry said she had orders to shoot if they approached near her. They did. She-fired, wounding one in the side.

The poor girl was bayoneted by the brutes.

The committee and my friends, numbering about one hundred, insisted that I should be given a trial and not lynched. My girls were ready to die for me to the last one. I was taken out from the dugout by my defenders, who made an effort to lead me to safety for an open trial.

The mob, which had now increased, pressed closer and closer. The two sides were fighting for me. It was agreed that no weapons were to be used in the scramble. The mass of humanity swayed back and forth, my girls fighting with the strength of infuriated wild beasts to stave off the mob. Now and then a man would get close enough to strike a blow at me. As the struggle developed these blows increased in number till I was knocked senseless. In that state my friends dragged me away from the scene of the struggle.

My life was saved, although I was badly knocked about. It cost the lives of a loyal girl and an innocent friend. I was sent to Molodechno, a couple of my girls going with me to look after me. The Battalion was taken from the front to the reserve billets. But even there their lives were not safe. They were insulted, annoyed, and dubbed Kornilovki. There were daily tumults. The windows of their dugouts were broken. The officers were powerless and seldom showed their faces. My instructors did their best to defend me and the Battalion, explaining that we were non-party.

One morning a car came for me from Headquarters at Molodechno. There I met the Commanding General of my Corps, who described the unbearable conditions in which my girls were placed. They were waiting for me, refusing to go home, unless I disbanded them. He had sent them to dig reserve trenches in order to keep them away from the men. They did splendid work, he said, but as soon as they returned the men began to molest them. Only the previous night a gang of soldiers made an assault on the dugouts in which my girls were billeted. They beat the sentry and broke in with the intention of attacking the women. There was a panic. Some of the girls seized their rifles and fired in the air. The noise attracted the attention of my instructors and several other soldiers, among whom there were numerous decent men. The situation was saved by the latter.

But what was to be done? Life for the Battalion was becoming absolutely unbearable, at least at this part of the front. It was difficult to understand the change which had come over the men in a few months. How long ago was it that they almost worshipped me, and I loved them? Now they seemed to have lost their senses.

The General advised me to disband the Battalion. But that would be to admit failure and despair as to my country’s condition. I was not ready to make such admissions. No, I would not disband my unit. I would fight to the end. The General could not understand my point of view. Was not the case hopeless since the soldiers had turned machine guns on the Battalion? Wouldn’t I have been lynched but for the desperate struggle of my girls and the soldiers who were my friends? So I resolved to go to Petrograd and ask Kerensky to transfer me to a fighting sector.

I went to see my girls before leaving for the capital. It was a pathetic meeting. They were glad to learn of my intended journey. They could not stand it much longer where they were. They were prepared to fight the Germans, to be tortured by them, to die at their hands or in prison camps. But they were not prepared for the torments and humiliation that they were made to suffer by our own men. That had never entered into our calculations at the time the Battalion was formed.

I took my documents with me and left the same evening, telling my soldiers that I would not stay away longer than a week, which was the limit that they set on their endurance. Upon my arrival in Petrograd I went to the quarters occupied by the Battalion while in training. It was evident at a glance that an atmosphere of depression weighed heavily on the Russian capital. The smiles and rejoicings were gone from the streets. There was gloom in the air and in everybody’s eyes. Food was very scarce. Red Guards were plentiful. Bolshevism walked the streets openly and defiantly, as if its day had already come.

My friends, who had taken an interest in the Battalion, were horrified to learn of conditions at the front. Their accounts of the state of affairs at the capital depressed me greatly. Kerensky, after his dispute with Kornilov, had cut himself off completely from his friends and acquaintances of the upper classes. I went to General Anosov, telling him of my mission. But he would not accompany me anywhere, although he placed his motorcar at my disposal. I drove to the Commander of the Military District, General Vasilkovsky, a Cossack, who looked impressive and strong, but was actually a weakling. He received me cordially and asked the purpose of my visit to the city. He had heard of the rough handling I had endured and expressed his sympathy.

“But,” he added, “no one is safe in these days. I, myself, expect to be thrown out at any time. It is a matter of days, of hours, for the Government. Another revolution is ripening and is close upon us. Bolshevism is everywhere, in the factories and in the barracks. And how are things at the front?”

“The same or even worse,” I answered, and I told him of all my trials and troubles, and the help I expected to obtain from him and the War Minister.

“Nothing can help you now,” he said. “The authorities are powerless. Orders are not worth the paper on which they are issued. I am going now to Verkhovsky, the new War Minister. Would you like to come with me?”

On the way we discussed Verkhovsky’s appointment. He was the same man who, as Commander of the Moscow Military District, had rescued me from the mob at Moscow some weeks before. He was a very popular leader and had considerable influence with the soldiers.

“Perhaps if he had been appointed some months ago he might have saved the army. But it is too late now,” said Vasilkovsky.

When we arrived at the War Ministry, we found that Kerensky was in Verkhovsky’s study. We were announced, and I was asked to come in first. As I opened the door I saw immediately that all was lost. The Prime Minister and the War Minister were both standing. They presented a pathetic, heartbreaking sight. Kerensky looked like a corpse. There was not a vestige of colour in his face. His eyes were red as if he had not slept for nights. Verkhovsky seemed to me like a man who is drowning, reaching for help. My heart sank. War had made me callous, and I was seldom shocked. But this time I was nearly overcome by the sight of these two agonized figures. I saw the agony of Russia reflected in their despairing faces.

They made an effort to smile, but it was a failure. The War Minister then inquired how things were at the front. “We heard you were roughly treated,” he said.

I gave a detailed account of everything that I had myself witnessed and experienced. I told them in detail about the lynching of Colonel Belonogov, of the officer who tried to defend me, of the bayoneting of my girl, of the machine guns that were turned on me because I wounded one of the enemy.

Kerensky seized his head in his hands and cried out:

“Oh, horror! horror! We are perishing! We are drowning!”

There was a tense, painful pause.

I ended my story with the suggestion that action was urgently needed or all would be wrecked.

“Yes, action is needed, but what action? What is to be done now? What would you do if you were to be given authority over the army? You are a common soldier, tell me what you would do?”

“It is too late now,” I answered after thinking a little time. “Two months ago I could have accomplished a great deal. Then they still respected me. Now they hate me.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the War Minister. “Two months ago I might have saved the situation myself, if I had only been here then!”

We then discussed the purpose of my journey. I asked for a transfer to a more active part of the front and for a certificate that the Battalion was to be run without committees. This certificate I obtained from the War Minister without delay, and I still have it in my possession. He also agreed to my first request and promised to look into the matter and issue orders for my transfer.

Kerensky was silent during the conversation. He stood like a ghost, the symbol of once mighty Russia. Four months before he was the idol of the nation. Now almost all had turned against him. As I looked at him I felt I was in the presence of that immense tragedy which was rending my country into fragments. Something seemed to clutch my throat and shake me. I wanted to cry, to sob. My heart dripped blood for Mother Russia. What would I not have done to avert that impending catastrophe? How many deaths would I not have died at that moment?