Yashka · Part IV · Chapter 20 (3/3)

He wanted to detain me, but some of the soldiers who had travelled on the same train with me hurried to my defence. There was a hot argument. I drew out my pass from the Soviet and claimed the freedom to go wherever I pleased. I was finally left in peace.

I waited for the return of old Kitova to the last minute, desirous to see her and especially to learn about Yasha and other friends in North Siberia. Her daughter could only tell me that Yasha had married a Yakut woman, after the local fashion, and was still in Amga when last she heard.⁠ ⁠…

We resumed the journey eastward. At Khabarovsk, about 460 miles from Vladivostok, we changed trains and had to accommodate ourselves for the night at the station in the women’s waiting-room. When I was about to settle down for the night, the door opened and a voice behind me called out sharply:

“Commander Bochkareva?”

“Yes,” I replied, alarmed at this form of address.

“Are you going to England?” was the next question.

“No.”

“Where, then, are you going?”

“To Vladivostok, to stay with some relatives.”

The official then demanded my baggage in order that he might search it. He found a letter from the Moscow Consul to his Vladivostok colleague. I explained that, the Consul had helped me in Moscow and now asked the English representative at Vladivostok to help me also. The official told me in a whisper that he was only fulfilling orders, but did not sympathize any longer with Lenin’s regime. He had left four soldiers outside the room in order to facilitate matters for me. His eyes then fell on a photograph of me in the trunk. It showed me in full uniform and was the last copy in my possession. He asked for it and my autograph, and to win his good will I gave it to him without demur. He then advised me to conceal the letter from the Consul, and I sent it by Nadia to Ivanov, one of my fellow-travellers outside. One of these was a member of a provincial Soviet, an ex-Bolshevik. He and other soldiers aided me while I was on the train to evade the Red Guards, who used to search it daily, at various stations, for officers going to join General Semenov. More than once, in an emergency, I was concealed under their overcoats. When the Guard asked:

“Who’s there?”

“A sick comrade,” was the answer, and they passed on.

The official had received orders to take me to the town and detain me. Escorted by the four Guards, Nadia and I were taken to the police station. I was locked up, while the official went to call a meeting of the local Soviet. Nadia remained outside the cell, and I suddenly heard her cry for help. Rushing to the door, I saw through the keyhole that the Red Guards were annoying her. I banged at the door, shouting to the rascals to leave her alone, appealing to their sense of shame, but they only jeered and continued to torment her. My helplessness behind the locked door infuriated me. I dare not think of what the ruffians would have done to Nadia had not my friend Ivanov come in with two other soldiers to plead for me.

They found Nadia crying and me banging at the door in a white fury. I told them of the behaviour of the four Red Guards toward my sister, and a sharp quarrel ensued. Presently the chairman of the local Soviet and the majority of its members arrived. My case was taken up. It appeared that orders had been received from Moscow or Irkutsk to detain me. As the search had not led to the discovery of any incriminating evidence against me, my claim that I was going to Vladivostok could not be refuted.

Ivanov and the two soldiers put up a valiant defence, arguing that I was a sick woman, that they had come to know me during our companionship on the train as a real friend of the people, and that it would be a disgrace to arrest me and send me back with no evidence against me. But for these three defenders, I should in all probability have been dispatched under escort to Moscow or Tutalsk. With their aid, I was able to make such a favourable impression on the Khabarovsk Soviet that I was permitted to proceed to Vladivostok, where I arrived about the middle of April, 1918, with five roubles and seventy kopecks in my purse.

The Soviet in Vladivostok kept a close watch over all the people who were arriving and departing. As soon as Nadia and I reached a lodging house, our documents were demanded in order that they might be sent to the Soviet for inspection. Nadia had a regular passport, while I made use of the paper from the Moscow Soldiers’ Section. It is usual for such documents to be returned to their owners with the stamp of the local Soviet on the back. But ours were slow in arriving⁠—not a good omen.

I went to the English Consul and was received in his office by an elderly Russian Colonel, who served there in the capacity of secretary and interpreter. He recognized me at once, as a telegram from Moscow announcing my coming had preceded me. The Consul was very kind and cordial when I was shown into his study, but declared that his position was such that he could not take it upon himself to obtain a passport for me from the Soviet, as he was suspected of counterrevolutionary activities.

Without revealing to the Consul the true purpose of my journey, I explained to him that my journey to London was undertaken not merely as a social visit to Mrs. Pankhurst, but as an escape from the terror of Bolshevism, which made life perilous for me anywhere in Russia. He advised me to go to the local Soviet, tell them of my desire to go to Mrs. Pankhurst, of whom the Bolsheviks had certainly heard, and ask for passports. The Consul thought that the Soviet could not find anything suspicious about my journey to his country, and would allow me to proceed unmolested. I replied with an account of some of the things I had endured at the hands of Lenin’s government and said that I was certain that my formal application for a passport would be the end of my adventure. He then telephoned to the American Consul at Vladivostok, informed him of my arrival and my plight, and enlisted his interest.

I returned to the hotel, with three hundred roubles in my purse, given me by the Consul. The place was dirty and without conveniences, but it was almost impossible to obtain decent accommodation in the city. However, the proprietor of the inn was very helpful and later saved me from trouble.

The following day the Consul told me that all efforts to win the goodwill of the Soviet toward me had not only failed but had been met with threats. The Bolsheviks might even send me back, I learned. I renewed my entreaties to the Consul to send me away, even without the Soviet’s passport. He would not promise to do so, but under the pressure of my appeals finally showed an inclination to consider the matter.

Upon leaving the Consulate I was stopped in the street by a soldier.

“Bochkareva?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Why did you come here to tramp the streets?” was the next question.

“I came to visit my relatives, but found that they had moved, so I am going back soon.”

He let me go my way. As soon as I arrived at the inn, the proprietor took me aside to tell me that representatives of the Soviet had called in my absence, and inquired as to my doings and my plans. He had informed them that I had come to visit some relatives, but was unable to find where they were living. They had left with the threat that they would return to arrest me. I did not intend to wait for their arrival and allow myself to be detained and sent back. I telephoned to the Consul and told him of the latest development. Fortunately he had some good news for me. An American transport was to touch at Vladivostok two days later!

Nadia and I hurried to the Consulate. The Consul declared that the Bolsheviks had threatened him if he should be found aiding me to get away. Meanwhile he proceeded to have all the necessary foreign passports prepared for us, and we were photographed for that purpose. The difficulty of leaving Vladivostok without a pass from the Soviet still confronted us. The harbour was under strict supervision, and the boats that were used to ferry passengers from the shore to the steamships were manned and inspected by Bolsheviks.

For nearly two days I remained in my room, in constant dread of the appearance of Red Guards to arrest me. They did not come, however, apparently convinced that I could not escape them anyway. They had ample reason afterwards to change their minds about this. I then went to the Consul again. The American transport Sheridan was due that night, he said, but he was not sure yet if the Captain would be willing to take me on board.

Meanwhile we sought a means to elude the inspectors at the port. A large travelling basket was tried, and I managed to pack myself into it, but the Consul decided that I might be suffocated in case the basket should be left at the pier for a couple of hours. So I got out of the basket.

The transport arrived in the evening, and the Captain expressed his willingness to carry me across the Pacific. At the request of the Consul I remained in his house, while my sister, accompanied by an officer, went to the inn to get my things, and with them left for the vessel. Two hours later I called up the inn to find out whether Nadia had been there with the officer. The proprietor informed me that about fifty Red Guards had just been there looking for me, and had been disagreeably surprised to learn that I had departed already.

“Where did she go?” they asked the proprietor.

“To the railway station, to take a train,” he lied.

“What train?” they shouted indignantly. “There are no trains leaving tonight.” With that they went away, presumably to search for me.

I communicated to the Consul what I had learned, and he hid me in a closet. Shortly afterwards several Red Guards arrived, asking for Bochkareva. The Consul denied knowledge of my whereabouts, declared that I had come to him only once, as a result of which he had applied to the Soviet for a passport for me, but since he was refused he washed his hands of my case. The Red Guards said that I had been observed entering the Consulate, but had not been seen to leave it. They glanced about for me and then left, after the Consul’s denial of my visit.

The old Colonel returned, after taking Nadia aboard the transport, with the news that I should have company on the way, as eight Russian officers were to be passengers on the same vessel. Hundreds of Russian officers had arrived in Vladivostok in the belief that they could join the British army there and be transported to France. Unfortunately the Allies would not accept their services and they found themselves in difficult circumstances, without means to return to European Russia and with no desire to do so, as long as Bolshevism was still rampant there. Some of them succeeded by various means in making their way to the United States or Canada.

The Colonel asked me if I wanted to meet my fellow-travellers. I answered in the affirmative, and as they were at the moment at the Consulate, he took me into the room in which they were waiting. Scarcely had I crossed the threshold, when, glancing at the small group of officers, my eyes suddenly fell on Leonid Grigorievitch Filippov, my former battle adjutant, who had carried me unconscious under German fire to safety in that unhappy advance of the Battalion.

“What are you doing here?” both of us asked each other simultaneously, astonished at this unexpected meeting.

I had always felt that I owed my life to Lieutenant Filippov after I had been stunned by a shell and injured while running from the enemy at the end of the fruitless offensive launched by the Battalion. He had taken charge of the Battalion after I had been sent to the Petrograd hospital, and later left for Odessa to train as an aviator.

From a short private conversation I learned that Lieutenant Filippov was in the same plight as all the other officers who had come to Vladivostok under the impression that they would be accepted by the Allies. I decided to ask the Consul to allow him to assume his former post of adjutant to me and let him become a member of my party. The Consul graciously consented, and I was happy at the thought of journeying to foreign lands in the company of an educated friend, with a knowledge of languages, peoples and geography, who was also devoted to Russia with all his heart.

After another conference with the Consul, it was decided that I should be dressed as an Englishwoman and as such make an effort to get to the American transport. The necessary clothes were obtained, and in fifteen minutes I appeared no longer as a soldier, but as a veiled foreign lady who did not understand a word of Russian. Accompanied by the Colonel, I left for the harbour, after having expressed my deepest thanks to the Consul for his great sacrifices in my behalf.

I was supposed to play a speechless role and leave everything to my escort. This I did, although more than once my heart jumped when a guard seemed to scrutinize me closely, and now and then I had to suppress an impulse to laugh when the Colonel, in reply to questions, said that I was an Englishwoman returning home. It was dark when I was ferried to the transport, and everything went off without mishap. But that was not the end of the adventure.

The transport had to remain for another day in the harbour, and it was expected that the Soviet would search it for me. To baffle all attempts to discover me I was placed in a cabin, the entrance and all approaches to which were guarded. Nobody was allowed to come near the room, all inquirers being told that an important German general was detained there on his way to an American prison camp. Even Lieutenant Filippov did not know of the trick and was greatly worried over my non-arrival as the hour for the departure of the ship drew near. If any Bolshevik emissary was sent on board the vessel to look for me, he was stopped in front of a certain cabin by American soldiers and informed that no one would be permitted to get within so many feet of the imprisoned enemy general.

When the anchors of the Sheridan were raised and the ship began to move, I came out of the cabin, to the liveliest merriment of everybody who had expected to see a stern Teuton general emerge from the door.

I was free!

It was April 18, 1918, when I left Russian soil for the first time in my life. Under the American flag, on an American transport, I was heading for that wonderful land⁠—America⁠—carrying in my breast the message of the Russian peasant-soldier to the Allies:

“Help Russia to release herself from the German yoke and become free⁠—in return for the five million lives that she has sacrificed for your safety, the security of your liberties, the preservation of your own lands and lives!”