A COSSACK DRILL
The night was spent at the home of an aunt, whose husband, a grocer,
was also a retired Cossack. Their home was a very humble one, but what
it lacked in luxury it made up in the hospitality of its owners.
Fresh straw for beds was brought in and put in a room set apart. This
straw was covered with heavy home-spun bed linen, some feather pillows,
and two big fur coats as comforters. After a fire had been kindled in
the stove, we were invited to partake of supper, which consisted of
deer meat, pancakes heavily buttered, and sour cream.
After eating very heartily I became so sleepy that I was ordered to
bed. When I awoke, the sun was streaming directly into my face.
Father, who was already dressed, tried to hurry me by saying, "You are
a nice Cossack! They must be half through the drill which you were so
anxious to see. Mongalov has promised to give you a horse so that you
can follow the _sotnia_" (a company of from one hundred and twenty to
one hundred and sixty horsemen).
This was news to me. Burning my mouth in my haste to swallow my hot
tea, I was ready to follow my father in a few minutes.
When we came to the barracks the Cossacks, holding on to the reins of
their horses with their right hands, were assembled in the front yard,
and the sergeant-major was calling the roll. "We came too late for the
morning prayer," my father whispered to me as the roll was ended.
Here came an order from the sergeant-major. "Seat yourselves." At once
every man leaped upon his horse.
"Line up," came next, and the horses arranged themselves in two
straight lines, head to head and breast to breast.
"Silence!" was the next order, and all gazed mutely ahead, immovable as
statues.
Some long command, the words of which I did not catch, followed, and
the company changed positions to six in a row. A moment after, all were
trotting along the road out of town.
As we started to follow, the sergeant-major hailed me. "Good morning!
Are you the young fellow whom Captain Mongalov wishes to have a horse?"
"Yes," answered my father for me, adding, "But I'm afraid he isn't a
good enough rider to follow the company."
"Never fear," returned the sergeant-major. "I'll bet he's a true
Cossack and will take to horses as a duck does to a lake."
A soldier now held a horse until I had climbed into its saddle. When he
let it go, it started so fast to catch up with the others that I had
difficulty in keeping my seat. However I did this, and also managed to
prevent the horse from joining the ranks.
After we had left the city, the company was halted in a big plain
which stretched far out before us. It was somewhat rolling, with here
and there washed-out places. The sergeant-major rode along the line
inspecting the ammunition and appearance of the men. While he was doing
this, horses were heard approaching at full speed. On the foremost sat
Mongalov. A little behind came two other officers.
"Greetings to you, little brothers!" he shouted as he rode along the
line without reining in his horse.
Then I was almost dumbfounded by the suddenness of a gigantic answer.
"Good Day to Your Honor," came from the company as from one man.
Mongalov noticed me and kindly stopped to say: "Keep close to the
trumpeter and you'll see everything. Only don't get into anybody's way
or I'll have to arrest you." With a smiling nod he rode to the front.
At a word from him, the officers took their places. Then followed
several changes of position, all done with great rapidity and
precision. I learned later that Captain Mongalov's men were unusually
well trained even for Cossacks. The Captain loved his profession and
the men were devoted to him. There was something fatherly in the great
care that he took of the Cossacks under him. On the other hand, he was
severe in punishing any breach of discipline. No one resented this
since he was just and endeavored to make the punishment corrective.
At the conclusion of the drill Mongalov called out in a voice
resounding with warm approval: "Well done, little brothers, well done.
Thank you!"
And again, as one man, the company responded: "We were glad to do our
best, Your Honor."
"Down!" was the next order.
All leaped together to the ground.
"Rest and smoke," came again, and he and his officers jumped off their
own horses and stood together discussing the next drill.
The company followed their example, and soon burst into loud talk and
laughter, while clouds of smoke arose from pipes and cigarettes.
In the meantime I didn't know what to do. I was afraid that if I
climbed down I couldn't get up again on my horse, who seemed unusually
lively and disobedient to me. But I was not left long in this awkward
position, for after a quarter of an hour of rest the Cossacks were
again on their horses, every man ready to obey any order.
To judge by the alert look on their faces, the most important part of
the drill was now to come. Every eye was turned toward their commanding
officer as if trying to guess what new trick would be required of them.
Mongalov sat on his steed, his right hand twirling his mustache, his
eyes directed far down the field as if surveying the distance or
estimating the difficulties before his men. Then his voice rang out
abruptly: "Company, build _lava_!"
These words produced an effect like a discharge of ammunition in the
midst of the Cossacks. The horses rushed madly forward and to each
side of the center, forming a kind of fan. Only by putting forth the
full strength of my arm did I keep my horse in place, the proud animal
trying so hard to show that she understood the command.
In the wink of an eye the compact body of horses was transformed into a
long line of separate riders, stretched so that there was about twenty
feet between each. All were still, the men with swords drawn out of
their scabbards.
Mongalov no longer shouted orders but indicated what was to be done by
waving his sword in different directions. As if charmed by its motions,
the long line moved, now to the right, now to the left, now forward,
now backward.
Once Mongalov, evidently dissatisfied, ordered the trumpeter to repeat
through the trumpet the order given with the sword. Since that time I
have loved the harmonious sounds of the Cossack trumpet which in a very
short time I grew to understand as plainly as spoken words.
Here something happened. Mongalov again made a sign to the trumpeter.
A short, disagreeably false tone was the result. At this the Cossacks
acted like mad. With swords outstretched, they bent down to their
horses' manes and with a terrible yell, "Whee-ee!" they rushed wildly
to the front against an imaginary enemy. My horse with ears back, took
her bit between her teeth, and flew after them. Here I learned how
rapidly a horse can travel. The air whistled in my ears; my hat was
blown off; my feet flew from the stirrups; and not to be thrown off, I
grabbed the horse by the mane, uttering a short prayer.
I did not know what was happening around me until I found myself,
perhaps because of my light weight, among the other Cossacks. Around
me were excited faces with wild expressions; faces that had lost their
humanity; faces such as demons might possess, or Christian fanatics who
would lay down their lives for their faith.
As we rode, a big washout suddenly loomed before us. Most of the horses
immediately jumped over and disappeared in a mad rush forward. But my
horse and those of three men, perhaps through some fault on our part,
did not make the proper jump. I felt a shock as the hoofs of my horse
struck the opposite banks of the ravine, and then the horse fell to the
ground, throwing me over its head into the middle of a mud-hole.
As I struggled to get up, there came a new signal of three long
harmonious sounds. The _lava_ was stopped. Once out of the hole, I saw
a line of still excited horses far to the front. Two or three riderless
horses, one of them mine, were running around them. Not far from me lay
another breathing hard and trying vainly to rise. Near it a Cossack lay
stretched out, while two others sat on the ground a short distance away.
In a short time Mongalov, the trumpeter, and two officers, came
galloping to us. His first question was to me. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I replied, in a voice that sounded strange to me, so shaken was I
with the new experience.
"Here," said Mongalov to a Cossack, "place this boy back of yourself."
Then, throwing the reins of his horse to the trumpeter, he leaped down
and turned his attention to the man lying stretched on the ground.
He proved to be alive but with a leg broken and was put into the
ambulance which had come up. "What's the matter with you?" Mongalov
asked the two bruised, scratched, and mud-covered men who sat on the
ground.
"_Nichevo_,"[15] they answered, smiling and shaking their heads. And as
soon as their horses were caught and brought to them, they managed to
leap on them as if in reality nothing had happened.
When my horse was led up, Mongalov looked at me where I sat ashamed to
meet his gaze, holding tightly to the belt of the man before me. "You
can stay where you are, my boy," he said kindly, "or ride your own
horse. But let me congratulate you on being now a true Cossack. The
man who has never fallen from his saddle can never make a satisfactory
cavalryman!"
How much good these words did me! They not only made me feel at ease
with myself, but taught me one of the best lessons of my life: that
mistakes or mishaps do not down a man who can rise above them. With
some difficulty I slipped from my safe position, and climbed as swiftly
as possible into the saddle of my former horse.
It was not long before the entire company were again on their way back
to town. At the call "Singers forward," several Cossacks left the ranks
and took their places at the head of the column. One of these men was
urged to sing and he responded with a Little Russian song about a
Cossack who returned home from fighting the Turks. At the conclusion of
each stanza those surrounding the soloist began the refrain which was
taken up by the entire company. Listening to this story-telling song
I almost forgot that I was in Siberia, so vividly did pictures of what
took place far away a hundred years ago pass before me.
This song was followed by a boisterous rollicking one. The chorus was
loud and accompanied by cymbals and tambourine. Any one glancing at the
broadly smiling and yelling faces, would not have believed that their
owners were just returning from the most strenuous kind of work, had it
not been for the mud and perspiration visible and their foam-covered
horses.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 15: Nothing; no harm.]