in winter sunshine. Shelling had ceased during the night, but began
again with terrific force in the morning, and we started off under a
perfect hail of shells. There were four German aeroplanes hovering just
above us, throwing down bombs at short intervals. The shells aimed at
them looked so innocent, like little white puff-balls bursting up in the
blue sky. We hoped they would be brought down, but they were too high
for that. The bombs were only a little diversion of theirs by the
way--they were really trying to locate the Russian battery, as they were
evidently making signals to their own headquarters. Danger always adds
a spice to every entertainment, and as the wounded were all out and we
had nobody but ourselves to think about, we could enjoy our thrilling
departure from Lodz under heavy fire to the uttermost. And I must say I
have rarely enjoyed anything more. It was simply glorious spinning along
in that car, and we got out safely without anyone being hurt.
We passed through Breeziny, where the tail-end of a battle was going on,
and the Prince stopped the car for a few minutes so that we could see
the men in the trenches. On our way we passed crowds of terrified
refugees hurrying along the road with their few possessions on their
backs or in their arms; it reminded me of those sad processions of
flying peasants in Belgium, but I think these were mostly much poorer,
and had not so much to lose. Just as the sun was setting we stopped for
a rest at a place the Prince knew of, half inn, half farm-house. We
looked back, and the sky was bloody and lurid over the western plain
where Lodz lay. To us it seemed like an ill omen for the unhappy town,
but it may be that the Germans took those flaming clouds to mean that
even the heavens themselves were illuminated to signal their victory.
Some bread and some pale golden Hungarian Tokay were produced by our
host for our refreshment. The latter was delicious, but it must have
been much more potent than it looked, for though I only had one small
glass of it, I collapsed altogether afterwards, and lay on the floor of
the car, and could not move till the lights of Warsaw were in sight. In
a few minutes more we arrived at the Hotel Bristol, and then the Flying
Column went to bed at last.
IX
MORE DOINGS OF THE FLYING COLUMN
The Grand Duchess Cyril happened to be staying at the Hotel Bristol too.
Like most of the other members of the Russian Royal Family, since the
beginning of the war she has been devoting her whole time to helping
wounded soldiers, and is the centre of a whole network of activities.
She has a large hospital in Warsaw for men and officers, a very
efficient ambulance train that can hold 800 wounded, and one of the best
surgeons in Petrograd working on it, and a provision train which sets up
feeding-stations for the troops and for refugees in places where food is
very scarce, which last is an indescribable boon to all who benefit by
it. The Grand Duchess's hospital in Warsaw, like every other just at
this time, was crammed to overflowing with wounded from Lodz, and the
staff was inadequate to meet this unexpected need.
The Grand Duchess met Princess V. in the lounge just as we arrived from
Lodz, and begged that our Column might go and help for a time at her
hospital. Accordingly, the next day, the consent of the Red Cross Office
having been obtained, we went off to the Grand Duchess's hospital for a
time to supplement and relieve their staff. They met us with open arms,
as they were all very tired and very thankful for our help. They only
had room for fifty patients and had had about 150 brought in.
Fortunately the Grand Duchess's ambulance train had just come back to
Warsaw, so the most convalescent of the old cases were taken off to
Petrograd, but even then we were working in the operating-theatre till
twelve or one every night. They hoped we had come for two or three weeks
and were very disgusted when, in five days' time, the order came for us
to go off to Skiernevice with the automobiles. The hospital staff gave
us such a nice send-off, and openly wished that they belonged to a
flying column too. I must say it was very interesting these startings
off into the unknown, with our little fleet of automobiles containing
ourselves and our equipment. We made a very flourishing start out of
Warsaw, but very soon plunged into an appalling mess of mud. One could
really write an epic poem on Russian roads. At the best of times they
are awful; on this particular occasion they were full of large holes
made by shells and covered with thick swampy mud that had been snow the
week before. It delayed us so much that we did not get to Skiernevice
till late that night.
Skiernevice is a small town, important chiefly as a railway junction, as
two lines branch off here towards Germany and Austria north-west and
south-west. The Tsar has a shooting-box here in the midst of beautiful
woods, and two rooms had been set apart in this house for our Column.
We arrived late in the evening, secretly hoping that we should get a
night in bed, and were rather rejoiced at finding that there were no
wounded there at all at present, though a large contingent was expected
later. So we camped in the two rooms allotted to us: Princess, Sister
G., and myself in one, and all the men of the party in the other. No
wounded arrived for two or three days, and we thoroughly enjoyed the
rest and, above all, the beautiful woods. How delicious the pines smelt
after that horrible Lodz. Twice a day we used to go down the railway
line, where there was a restaurant car for the officers; it seemed odd
to be eating our meals in the Berlin-Warsaw International Restaurant
Car. There was always something interesting going on at the station. One
day a regiment from Warsaw had just been detrained there when a German
Taube came sailing over the station throwing down grenades. Every man
immediately began to fire up in the air, and we ran much more risk of
being killed by a Russian bullet than by the German Taube. It was like
being in the middle of a battle, and I much regretted I had not my
camera with me. Another day all the débris of a battlefield had been
picked up and was lying in piles in the station waiting to be sent off
to Warsaw. There were truck-loads of stuff; German and Russian
overcoats, boots, rifles, water-bottles, caps, swords, and helmets and
all sorts of miscellaneous kit.
We often saw gangs of prisoners, mostly Austrian, but some German, and
they always seemed well treated by the Russians. The Austrian prisoners
nearly always looked very miserable, cold, hungry, and worn out. Once we
saw a spy being put into the train to go to Warsaw, I suppose to be
shot--an old Jewish man with white hair in a long, black gaberdine,
strips of coloured paper still in his hand with which he had been caught
signalling to the Germans. _How_ angry the soldiers were with him--one
gave him a great punch in the back, another kicked him up into the
train, and a soldier on the platform who saw what was happening ran as
fast as he could and was just in time to give him a parting hit on the
shoulder. The old man did not cry out or attempt to retaliate, but his
face was ashy-white with terror, and one of his hands was dripping with
blood. It was a very horrible sight and haunted me all the rest of the
day. It was quite right that he should be shot as a spy, but the
unnecessary cruelty first sickened me.
There were masses of troops constantly going up to the positions from
Skiernevice, and as there was a short cut through the park, which they
generally used, we could see all that was going on from our rooms. On
Sunday it was evident that another big battle was pending. Several
batteries went up through our woods, each gun-carriage almost up to its
axles in mud, dragged by eight strong horses. They were followed by a
regiment of Cossacks, looking very fierce in their great black fur
head-dresses, huge sheep-skin coats, and long spears. There was one
small Cossack boy who was riding out with his father to the front and
who could not have been more than eleven or twelve years old. There are
quite a number of young boys at the front who make themselves very
useful in taking messages, carrying ammunition, and so on. We had one
little boy of thirteen in the hospital at Warsaw, who was badly wounded
while carrying a message to the colonel, and he was afterwards awarded
the St. George's Cross.
There were enormous numbers of other troops too: Siberians, Tartars,
Asiatic Russians from Turkestan, Caucasians in their beautiful
black-and-silver uniforms, Little Russians from the south, and great
fair-haired giants from the north.
The little Catholic Church in the village was full to overflowing at the
early Mass that Sunday morning with men in full marching kit on their
way out to the trenches. A very large number of them made their
Confession and received the Blessed Sacrament before starting out, and
for many, many of these it was their Viaticum, for the great battle
began that afternoon, and few of the gallant fellows we saw going up to
the trenches that morning ever returned again.
That afternoon the Prince had business at the Staff Headquarters out
beyond Lowice, and I went out there in the automobile with him and
Monsieur Goochkoff. We went through Lowice on the way there. The little
town had been severely bombarded (it was taken two or three days later
by the Germans), and we met many of the peasants hurrying away from it
carrying their possessions with them. You may know the peasants of
Lowice anywhere by their distinctive dress, which is the most
brilliantly coloured peasant dress imaginable. The women wear gorgeous
petticoats of orange, red and blue, or green in vertical stripes and a
cape of the same material over their shoulders, a bright-coloured shawl,
generally orange, on their heads, and brilliant bootlaces--magenta is
the colour most affected. The men, too, wear trousers of the same kind
of vertical stripes, generally of orange and black. These splashes of
bright colour are delicious in this sad, grey country.
The General of the Staff was quartered at Radzivilow Castle, and I
explored the place while the Prince and Monsieur Goochkoff did their
business. The old, dark hall, with armour hanging on the walls and
worm-eaten furniture covered with priceless tapestry, would have made a
splendid picture. A huge log fire burning on the open hearth lighted up
the dark faces of the two Turkestan soldiers who were standing on guard
at the door. In one corner a young lieutenant was taking interminable
messages from the field telephone, and under the window another
Turkestan soldier stood sharpening his dagger. The Prince asked him
what he was doing, and his dark face lighted up. "Every night at eight,"
he said, still sharpening busily, "I go out and kill some Germans." The
men of this Turkestan regiment are said to be extraordinarily brave men.
They do not care at all about a rifle, but prefer to be at closer
quarters with the enemy with their two-edged dagger, and the Germans
like them as little as they like our own Gurkhas and Sikhs.
The next day the wounded began to arrive in Skiernevice, and in two
days' time the temporary hospital was full.
The Tsar had a private theatre at Skiernevice with a little separate
station of its own about 200 yards farther down the line than the
ordinary station, and in many ways this made quite a suitable hospital
except for the want of a proper water-supply.
The next thing we heard was that the Russian General had decided to fall
back once more, and we must be prepared to move at any moment.
All that day we heard violent cannonading going on and all the next
night, though the hospital was already full, the little country carts
came in one after another filled with wounded. They were to only stay
one night, as in the morning ambulance trains were coming to take them
all away, and we had orders to follow as soon as the last patient had
gone. Another operating- and dressing-room was quickly improvised, but
even with the two going hard all night it was difficult to keep pace
with the number brought in.
The scenery had never been taken down after the last dramatic
performance played in the theatre, and wounded men lay everywhere
between the wings and drop scenes. The auditorium was packed so closely
that you could hardly get between the men without treading on some one's
hands and feet as they lay on the floor. The light had given out--in the
two dressing-rooms there were oil-lamps, but in the rest of the place we
had to make do with candle-ends stuck into bottles. The foyer had been
made into a splendid kitchen, where hot tea and boiling soup could be
got all night through. This department was worked by the local Red
Cross Society, and was a great credit to them.
About eight o'clock in the morning the first ambulance train came in,
and was quickly filled with patients. We heard that the Germans were now
very near, and hoped we should manage to get away all the wounded before
they arrived.
The second train came up about eleven, and by that time a fierce rifle
encounter was going on. From the hospital window we could see the
Russian troops firing from the trenches near the railway. Soon there was
a violent explosion that shook the place; this was the Russians blowing
up the railway bridge on the western side of the station.
The second train went off, and there were very few patients left now,
though some were still being brought in at intervals by the Red Cross
carts. Our automobiles had started off to Warsaw with some wounded
officers, but the rest of the column had orders to go to Zyradow by the
last train to leave Skiernevice.
The sanitars now began to pack up the hospital; we did not mean to leave
anything behind for the enemy if we could help it. The few bedsteads
were taken to pieces and tied up, the stretchers put together and the
blankets tied up in bundles. When the last ambulance train came up about
2 P. M. the patients were first put in, and then every portable
object that could be removed was packed into the train too. At the last
moment, when the train was just about to start, one of the sanitars ran
back and triumphantly brought out a pile of dirty soup plates to add to
the collection. Nothing was left in the hospital but two dead men we had
not time to bury.
The wounded were all going to Warsaw and the other Russian Sisters went
on in the train with them. But our destination was Zyradow, only the
next station but one down the line.
When we arrived at Zyradow about three o'clock we were looking forward
to a bath and tea and bed, as we had been up all night and were very
tired; but the train most unkindly dropped us about a quarter of a mile
from the station, and we had to get out all our equipment and heavy
cases of dressings, and put them at the side of the line, while Julian,
the Prince's soldier servant, went off to try and find a man and a cart
for the things. There was a steady downpour of rain, and we were soaked
by the time he came back saying that there was nothing to be had at all.
The station was all in crumbling ruins, so we could not leave the things
there, and our precious dressings were beginning to get wet. Finally we
got permission to put them in a closed cinema theatre near the station,
but it was dark by that time, and we were wet and cold and began once
more to centre our thoughts on baths and tea. We were a small
party--only six of us--Princess, we two Sisters, Colonel S., a Russian
dresser, and Julian. We caught a local Red Crosser. "Where is the
hotel?" "There is no hotel here." "Where can we lodge for to-night?" "I
don't know where you could lodge." "Where is the Red Cross Bureau?"
asked Princess, in desperation. "About a quarter of an hour's walk. I
will show you the way."
We got to the Red Cross Bureau to find that Monsieur Goochkoff had not
yet arrived, though he was expected, and they could offer no solution of
our difficulties, except to advise us to go to the Factory Hospital and
see if they could make any arrangement for us. The Matron there was
_very_ kind, and telephoned to every one she could think of, and finally
got a message that we were expected, and were to sleep at the Reserve.
So we trudged once more through the mud and rain. The "Reserve" was two
small, empty rooms, where thirty Sisters were going to pass the night.
They had no beds, and not even straw, but were just going to lie on the
floor in their clothes. There was obviously no room for six more of us,
and finally we went back once more to the Red Cross Bureau. Princess
seized an empty room, and announced that we were going to sleep in it.
We were told we couldn't, as it had been reserved for somebody else; but
we didn't care, and got some patients' stretchers from the depot and lay
down on them in our wet clothes just as we were. In the middle of the
night the "somebody" for whom the room had been kept arrived, strode
into the room, and turned up the electric light. The others were really
asleep, and I pretended to be. He had a good look at us, and then strode
out again grunting. We woke up every five minutes, it was so dreadfully
cold, and though we were so tired, I was not sorry when it was time to
get up.
We had breakfast at a dirty little restaurant in the town, and then got
a message from the Red Cross that there would be nothing for us to do
that day, but that we were probably going to be sent to Radzowill the
following morning. So we decided to go off to the Factory Hospital and
see if we could persuade the Matron to let us have a bath there.
Zyradow is one very large cotton and woollen factory, employing about
5000 hands. In Russia it is the good law that for every hundred workmen
employed there shall be one hospital bed provided. In the small
factories a few beds in the local hospital are generally subsidized, in
larger ones they usually find it more convenient to have their own. So
here there was a very nice little hospital with fifty beds, which had
been stretched now to hold twice as many more, as a great many wounded
had to be sent in here. The Matron is a Pole of Scottish extraction, and
spoke fluent but quite foreign English with a strong Scotch accent.
There are a good many Scotch families here, who came over and settled in
Poland about a hundred years ago, and who are all engaged in different
departments in the factory. She was kindness itself, and gave us tea
first and then prepared a hot bath for us all in turn. We got rid of
most of our tormentors and were at peace once more.
As we left the hospital we met three footsore soldiers whose boots were
absolutely worn right through. They were coming up to the hospital to
see if the Matron had any dead men's boots that would fit them. It
sounded rather gruesome--but she told us that that was quite a common
errand. The Russian military boots are excellent, but, of course, all
boots wear out very quickly under such trying circumstances of roads and
weather. They are top boots, strong and waterproof, and very often made
by the men themselves. The uniform, too, is very practical and so strong
that the men have told me that carpets are made from the material. The
colour is browner than our own khaki--and quite different both from the
German, which is much greyer, and the Austrian, which is almost blue. I
heard in Belgium that at the beginning of the war German soldiers were
constantly mistaken for our men.
X
BY THE TRENCHES AT RADZIVILOW
The next morning we went up to Radzivilow. It is the next station to
Skiernevice, and there was very heavy fighting going on there when we
went up. We were told we were going up on an armoured train, which
sounded very thrilling, but when we got to the station we only found a
quite ordinary carriage put on to the engine to take us up. The Russian
battery was at that time at the south of the railway line, the German
battery on the north of it--and we were in the centre of the sandwich.
At Zyradow these cannon sounded distant, but as we neared Radzivilow the
guns were crashing away as they did at Lodz, and we prepared for a hot
time. The station had been entirely wrecked and was simply in ruins, but
the station-master's house near by was still intact, and we had orders
to rig up a temporary dressing-station there.
Before we had time to unpack our dressings, a messenger arrived to tell
us that the Germans had succeeded in enfilading a Russian trench close
by, and that they were bringing fifty very badly wounded men to us
almost at once. We had just time to start the sterilizer when the little
carts began to arrive with some terribly wounded men. The machine guns
had simply swept the trench from end to end. The worst of it was that
some lived for hours when death would have been a more merciful release.
Thank God we had plenty of morphia with us and could thus ease their
terrible sufferings. One man had practically his whole face blown off,
another had all his clothes and the flesh of his back all torn away.
Another poor old fellow was brought in with nine wounds in the abdomen.
He looked quite a patriarch with a long flowing beard--quite the oldest
man I have seen in the Russian army. Poor Ivan, he had only just been
called up to the front and this was his first battle. He was beautifully
dressed, and so clean; his wife had prepared everything for him with
such loving care, a warm knitted vest, and a white linen shirt most
beautifully embroidered with scarlet in a intricate key-pattern. Ivan
was almost more unhappy at his wife's beautiful work having to be cut
than at his own terrible wounds. He was quite conscious and not in much
pain, and did so long to live even a week or two longer, so that he
might see his wife once again. But it was not to be, and he died early
the next morning--one of the dearest old men one could ever meet, and so
pathetically grateful for the very little we could do for him.
The shells were crashing over our heads and bursting everywhere, but we
were too busy to heed them, as more and more men were brought to the
dressing-station. It was an awful problem what to do with them: the
house was small and we were using the two biggest rooms downstairs as
operating- and dressing-rooms. Straw was procured and laid on the floors
of all the little rooms upstairs, and after each man's wounds were
dressed he was carried with difficulty up the narrow winding staircase
and laid on the floor.
The day wore on and as it got dark we began to do the work under great
difficulties, for there were no shutters or blinds to the upstairs
windows, and we dared not have any light--even a candle--there, as it
would have brought down the German fire on us at once. So those poor men
had to lie up there in the pitch dark, and one of us went round from
time to time with a little electric torch. Downstairs we managed to
darken the windows, but the dressings and operations had all to be done
by candle-light.
The Germans were constantly sending up rockets of blue fire which
illuminated the whole place, and we were afraid every moment they would
find us out. Some of the shells had set houses near by on fire too, and
the sky was lighted up with a dull red glow. The carts bringing the men
showed no lights, and they were lifted out in the dark when they arrived
and laid in rows in the lobby till we had time to see to them. By nine
o'clock that evening we had more than 300 men, and were thankful to see
an ambulance train coming up the line to take them away. The sanitars
had a difficult job getting these poor men downstairs and carrying them
to the train, which was quite dark too. But the men were thankful
themselves to get away, I think--it was nerve-racking work for them,
lying wounded in that little house with the shells bursting continually
over it.
All night long the men were being brought in from the trenches. About
four in the morning there was a little lull and some one made tea. I
wonder what people in England would have thought if they had seen us at
that meal. We had it in the stuffy dressing-room where we had been
working without a stop for sixteen hours with tightly closed windows,
and every smell that can be imagined pervading it, the floor covered
with mud, blood and débris of dressings wherever there were not
stretchers on which were men who had just been operated on. The meal of
milkless tea, black bread, and cheese, was spread on a sterilized towel
on the operating-table, illuminated by two candles stuck in bottles.
Princess sat in the only chair, and the rest of us eased our weary feet
by sitting on the edge of the dressing-boxes. Two dead soldiers lay at
our feet--it was not safe just at that moment to take them out and bury
them. People would probably ask how we _could_ eat under those
conditions. I don't know how we could either, but we _did_ and were
thankful for it--for immediately after another rush began.