I ENLIST BY THE GRACE OF THE TSAR
I spent nearly two months travelling homeward from Yakutsk, by water,
rail and foot. The war was everywhere. The barge on the Lena was filled
with recruits. In Irkutsk the uniform was much in evidence, and every
now and then a regiment of soldiers would march through the streets on
the way to the station, arousing one’s martial spirit. My convoy left
me upon my arrival there, and I had to appeal to the authorities for
funds to continue my journey.
My heart was beating furiously when I reached Tomsk, after an absence
of about six years. Tears dimmed my eyes as I walked the familiar
streets. Here, in this two-storied house, I had first learned
the fickleness of man’s love. That was ten years ago, during the
Russo-Japanese War, when I was only fifteen years old. There, in
that dilapidated little shop, where I can see the figure of Nastasia
Leontievna bent over the counter, I spent five years of my early youth,
waiting on customers, scrubbing floors, cooking, washing and sewing.
That long apprenticeship, under the stern eyes of Nastasia Leontievna,
served me in good stead in later years, I must admit. The smoking
chimney yonder belongs to the house in which I was married, some eight
years ago, only to gain experience at first hand of man’s brutality.
And here, in this basement, my father and mother have been dwelling for
seventeen years.
I swung open the door. My mother was baking bread and did not turn
immediately. How old she had grown! How bent her shoulders, how white
her hair! She turned her head and stared at me for a second. A lump
rose in my throat, rendering me speechless.
“Mania!” she exclaimed, rushing toward me and locking me in her arms.
We wept, kissed each other, and wept again. My mother offered prayers
to the Holy Mother and swore that she would never let me leave her side
again. The bread was almost burned to charcoal, having been forgotten
in the oven in the excitement of my return. My father came in, and
he also was greatly aged. He greeted me tenderly, the years having
softened the harshness of his nature.
I paid some visits to old friends. Nastasia Leontievna was overjoyed
to see me. The sister of Afanasi Botchkarev, my first husband, also
welcomed me cordially, in spite of the fact that I had escaped from her
brother. She realized well enough how brutal and rough he was. She told
me that Afanasi had been called in the first draft, and that it was
reported that he was among the first prisoners taken by the Germans. I
have never heard of him again.
I rested for about three days. The news from the front was exciting.
Great battles were raging. Our soldiers were retreating in some places
and advancing in others. I longed for wings to fly to their help. My
heart yearned and ached.
“Do you know what war is?” I asked myself. “It is no work for a
woman. You must make sure before starting out, Marusia, that you won’t
disgrace yourself. Are you strong enough in spirit to face all the
trials and dangers of this colossal war? Are you strong enough in body
to shed blood and endure the privations of war? Are you firm enough at
heart to withstand the temptations that will come to you, living among
men? Search your soul for a brave and truthful answer.”
And I found strength enough in me to answer “yes” to all these
questions. I suppressed the hidden longing for Yasha in the depths of
my being, and made the fateful decision. I would go to war and fight
till death, or, if God preserved me, till the coming of peace. I would
defend my country and help those unfortunate ones on the field of
slaughter who had already made their sacrifices for their country.
It was November, 1914. With my heart steeled in the decision I had
made, I resolutely approached the headquarters of the Twenty-fifth
Reserve Battalion stationed in Tomsk. Upon entering a clerk asked me
what I wanted.
“To see the Commander,” I replied.
“What for?” he inquired.
“I want to enlist,” I said.
The man looked at me for a moment and burst out laughing. He called to
the other clerks. “Here is a _baba_ who wants to enlist!” he announced
jokingly, pointing at me. There followed a general uproar. “Ha! ha!
ha!” they chorused, forgetting their work for the moment. When the
merriment subsided a little I repeated my request to see the Commander,
and his adjutant came out. He must have been told that a woman had come
to enlist, for he addressed me gaily:
“What is your wish?”
“I want to enlist in the army, your Excellency,” I answered.
“To enlist, eh? But you are a _baba_,” he laughed. “The regulations do
not permit us to enlist women. It is against the law.”
I insisted that I wanted to fight, and begged to see the Commander. The
adjutant reported me to the Commander, who ordered that I should be
shown in.
With the adjutant laughing behind me, I blushed and became confused
when brought before the Commander. He rebuked the adjutant and inquired
what he could do for me. I repeated that I wanted to enlist and fight
for the country.
“It is very noble of you to have such a desire. But women are not
allowed in the army,” he said. “They are too weak. What could you, for
instance, do in the front line? Women are not made for war.”
“Your Excellency,” I insisted, “God has given me strength, and I can
defend my country as well as a man. I have asked myself before coming
here whether I could endure the life of a soldier, and found that I
could. Cannot you place me in your regiment?”
“My dear,” the Commander declared gently, “how can I help you? It is
against the law. I have no authority to enlist a woman even if I wanted
to. You can go to the rear, enlist as a Red Cross nurse or in some
other auxiliary service.”
I rejected his proposal. I had heard so many rumours about the women
in the rear that I had come to despise them. I therefore insisted
on my determination to go to the front as a regular soldier. The
Commander was deeply impressed by my obstinacy, and wanted to help me.
He suggested that I should send a telegram to the Tsar, telling him of
my desire to defend the country, of my moral purpose, and beg him to
grant me special permission to enlist.
The Commander promised to draw up the telegram himself, with a
recommendation of his own, and to have it sent from his office. He
warned me, however, to consider the matter again, to think of the
hardships I should have to bear, of the soldiers’ attitude toward me,
and the universal ridicule that I should provoke. But I did not change
my mind. The telegram was sent at my expense, costing eight roubles,
which I obtained from my mother.
When I disclosed to my family the nature of my visit to the Commander
of the Twenty-fifth Battalion they burst into tears. My poor mother
cried that her Mania must have gone out of her senses, that it was an
unheard-of, impossible thing. Who ever heard of a _baba_ going to war?
She would allow herself to be buried alive before letting me enlist. My
father supported her. I was their only hope now, they said. They would
be forced to starve and go begging, without my help. And the house was
filled with sobs and lamentation, the two younger sisters and some
neighbours joining in.
My heart was rent in twain. It was a cruel, painful choice that I was
called upon to make, a choice between my mother and my country. It had
cost me so much to steel myself to that new life, and now, when I was
seemingly near the goal, my long-suffering mother called upon me to
give up this ideal that possessed me, for her sake. I was tormented and
agonized by doubt. I realized that I must make a decision quickly, and,
with a supreme effort and the help of God, I resolved that the call of
my country came before the call of my mother.
After some time had passed a soldier came to the house.
“Is Maria Botchkareva here?” he questioned.
He came from headquarters with the news that a telegram had arrived
from the Tsar, authorizing the Commander to enlist me as a soldier, and
that the Commander wanted to see me.
My mother did not expect such an answer. She grew frantic. She cursed
the Tsar with all her might, although she had always revered him as the
Little Father. “What kind of a Tsar is he?” she cried, “if he takes
women to war? He must have lost his senses. Who ever heard of a Tsar
calling women to arms? Hasn’t he enough men? Goodness knows, there are
myriads of them in Mother Russia.”
She seized the Tsar’s portrait on the wall, before which she had
crossed herself every morning, and tore it to bits, stamping them on
the floor, with imprecations and anathema on her lips. Never again
would she pray for him, she declared. “No, never!”
The soldier’s message had an opposite effect on me; and I was in high
spirits. Dressing in my best clothes, I went to see the Commander.
Everybody at headquarters seemed to know of the Tsar’s telegram, smiles
greeting me everywhere. The Commander congratulated me and read its
text in a solemn voice, explaining that it was an extraordinary honour
which the august Emperor had conferred on me, and that I must make
myself worthy of it. I was so happy, so joyous, so excited. It was the
most blissful moment of my life.
The Commander called in his orderly and instructed him to obtain a full
soldier’s outfit for me. I received two complete undergarments made of
coarse linen, two pairs of foot-rags, a laundry-bag, a pair of boots,
one pair of trousers, a belt, a regulation blouse, a pair of epaulets,
a cap with the insignia on it, two cartridge pockets and a rifle. My
hair was clipped short.
There was an outburst of laughter when I appeared in full military
attire, as a regular soldier of the Fourth Company, Fifth Regiment. I
was confused and somewhat bewildered, being hardly able to recognize
myself. The news of a woman recruit had preceded me at the barracks,
and my arrival there was the signal for riotous mirth. I was surrounded
on all sides by raw recruits who stared at me incredulously, but some
were not satisfied with mere staring, so rare a novelty was I to them.
They wanted to make sure that their eyes were not deceived, so they
proceeded to pinch me, jostle me and brush against me.
“Nonsense, she isn’t a _baba_,” remarked one of them.
“Indeed, she is,” said another, pinching me.
“She’ll run like the devil at the first German shot,” joked a third,
provoking roars of laughter.
“We’ll make it so hot for her that she’ll run before even getting to
the front,” threatened a fourth.
Here the Commander of my company interfered, and the men dispersed.
I was granted permission to take my things home before settling
permanently at the barracks. I asked to be shown how to salute. On the
way home I saluted every uniform in the same manner. Opening the door
of the house, I halted on the threshold. My mother did not recognize me.
“Maria Leontievna Botchkareva here?” I asked sharply, in military
fashion. Mother took me for some messenger from headquarters, and
answered, “No.”
I threw myself on her neck. “Holy Mother, save me!” she exclaimed.
There were cries and tears which brought my father and little sister
on the scene. My mother became hysterical. For the first time I saw
my father weep, and again I was urged to come back to my senses and
give up this crazy notion of serving in the army. The landlady and old
Nastasia Leontievna were called to help dissuade me from my purpose.
“Think what the men will do to a solitary woman in their midst,” they
argued. “Why, they’ll make a prostitute of you. They will kill you
secretly, and nobody will ever find a trace of you. Only the other day
they found the body of a woman along the railroad track, thrown out of
a troop-train. You have always been such a sensible girl. What has come
over you? And what will become of your parents? They are old and weak,
and you are their only hope. They always said that when Marusia came
back they would end their lives in peace. Now you are shortening their
days, driving them to their graves in sorrow.”
For a little while I hesitated again. The fierce struggle in my bosom
between the two conflicting calls was renewed. But I held by my
decision, remaining deaf to all entreaty. Then my mother grew angry
and, crying out at the top of her voice, she shouted:
“You are no longer my daughter! You have forfeited your mother’s love.”
With a heavy heart I left the house for the barracks. The Commander of
the Company did not expect me, and I had to explain to him why I could
not pass that night at home. He assigned to me a place in the general
sleeping-room ordering the men not to molest me. On my right and on my
left were soldiers, and that first night in the company of men will
ever stand out in my memory. I did not close my eyes once during the
night.
The men were, naturally, unaccustomed to such a strange creature as
myself and took me for a woman of loose morals who had made her way
into the ranks for the sake of carrying on her illicit trade. I was,
therefore, compelled constantly to fight off intrusions from all sides.
As soon as I made an effort to shut my eyes I would discover the arm
of my left-hand-neighbour round my neck, and would restore it to its
owner with a push. While keeping an eye on his movements, however, I
offered an opportunity for my neighbour on the right to get too near
to me, and I would savagely kick him in the side. All night long my
nerves were taut and my fists busy. Toward dawn I was so exhausted that
I nearly fell asleep, when I discovered a hand on my chest, and before
the man realized my intention, I struck him in the face. I continued to
rain blows till the bell rang at five o’clock, the hour for rising.
Ten minutes were given us to dress and wash, tardiness being punished
by a rebuke. At the end of ten minutes the ranks formed and every
soldier’s hands, ears and foot-rags were inspected. I was in such haste
to be in time that I put my trousers on inside out, provoking roars of
laughter.
The day began with a prayer for the Tsar and country, following which
every one of us received the daily allowance of two-and-a-half pounds
of bread and a few cubes of sugar from our respective squad commanders.
There were four squads to a company. Our breakfast consisted of bread
and tea and lasted half an hour.
At the mess I had an opportunity to get acquainted with some of the
more sympathetic soldiers. There were ten volunteers in my company, and
they were all students. After eating, there was roll-call. When the
officer reached my name he read: “Botchkareva,” to which I answered,
“Aye.” We were then taken out for instruction, since the entire
regiment had been formed only three days before. The first rule that
the training officer tried to impress upon us was to pay attention,
and to watch his movements and actions. Not all the recruits could do
it easily. I prayed to God to enlighten me in the study of a soldier’s
duties.
It was slow work to establish proper relations with the men. The
first few days I was such a nuisance to the Company Commander that
he wished me to ask for dismissal. He hinted as much on a couple of
occasions, but I continued to mind my own business and never reported
the annoyances I endured from the men. Gradually I won their respect
and confidence. The small group of volunteers always defended me. As
the Russian soldiers call each other by nick-names, one of the first
questions put to me by my friends was what I would like to be called.
“Call me Yashka,” I said, and that name stuck to me ever after, saving
my life on more than one occasion. There is so much in a name, and
“Yashka” was the sort of name that appealed to the soldiers and always
worked in my favour. In time it became the nickname of the regiment,
but not before I had been tested by many additional trials and found to
be a comrade, and not merely a woman, by the men.
I was an apt student and learned almost to anticipate the orders
of the instructor. When the day’s duties were completed and the
soldiers gathered into groups to while away an hour or two in games
or story-telling, I was always asked to take part. I came to like the
soldiers, who were good-natured fellows, and to enjoy their sports.
The group which Yashka joined would usually prove the most popular in
the barracks, and it was sufficient to secure my co-operation in some
scheme to make it a success.
There was little time for relaxation, however, as we went through an
intensive training course of only three months before we were sent
to the front. Once a week, every Sunday, I would leave the barracks
and spend the day at home, my mother having reconciled herself to my
enlistment. On holidays I would be visited by friends or relatives.
On one such occasion my sister and her husband called. I had been
detailed for guard duty in the barracks that day. While on such duty a
soldier is forbidden to sit down or to engage in conversation. I was
entertaining my visitors when the Company Commander passed.
“Do you know the rules, Botchkareva?” he asked.
“Yes, your Excellency,” I answered.
“What are they?”
“A soldier on guard duty is not allowed to sit down or engage in
conversation,” I replied. He ordered me to stand for two hours at
attention at the completion of my guard duty, which took twenty-four
hours. Standing at attention, in full military equipment, for two hours
is a severe task, as one has to remain absolutely motionless under the
eyes of a guard, and yet it was a common punishment.
During my training I was punished in this manner three times. The
second time it was really not my fault. One night I recognized my squad
commander in a soldier who annoyed me, and I dealt him as hard a blow
as I would have given to any other man. In the morning he placed me
at attention for two hours, claiming that he had accidentally brushed
against me.
At first there was some difficulty in arranging for my bathing. The
bath-house was used by the men, and so I was allowed one day to visit
a public bath-house. I thought it a good opportunity for some fun. I
came into the women’s room, fully dressed, and there was a tremendous
uproar as soon as I appeared. I was taken for a man. However, the fun
did not last long. In an instant I was attacked from all sides and only
narrowly escaped serious injury by crying out that I was a woman.
In the last month of our training we engaged in almost continuous rifle
practice. I applied myself zealously to acquiring skill in handling
a rifle and won an honourable mention for good marksmanship. This
considerably enhanced my standing with the soldiers and strengthened
our feeling of comradeship.
Early in 1915 our regiment received orders to prepare to proceed to
the front. We received a week’s leave. The soldiers passed these last
days in drink and revelry and gay parties. One evening a group of boys
invited me to go along with them to a house of ill repute.
“Be a soldier, Yashka,” they urged me laughingly, scarcely expecting me
to accept their invitation.
A thought flashed through my mind.
“I will go with them, and learn the soldier’s life, so that I may
understand his soul better.” And I expressed my willingness to go.
Perhaps curiosity had something to do with my decision. It was greeted
with an explosion of mirth. Noisily we marched through the streets,
singing and laughing, until we came to our destination.
My knees began to tremble as the party was about to enter the house. I
wanted to turn back and flee. But the soldiers would not let me. The
idea of Yashka going with them to such a place took a strong hold on
their imagination. Soldiers, before going to the front, were always
welcome in the haunts of vice, as they spent their money freely. Our
group was, therefore, promptly surrounded by the women of the place,
and one of them, a very young and pretty girl, picked me out as her
favourite to the boundless mirth of my companions. There was drinking,
dancing and a great deal of noise. Nobody suspected my sex, not even
my youthful sweetheart, who seated herself in my lap and exerted all
her charms to entice me. She caressed me, embraced me and kissed me. I
giggled, and my comrades gave vent to peals of laughter. Presently I
was left alone with my charmer.
Suddenly the door swung open and an officer entered. Soldiers were
forbidden to leave their barracks after eight o’clock, and our party
had slipped out in the dark when we were supposed to be asleep.
“Of what regiment are you?” the officer asked, abruptly, as I rose to
salute.
“The Fifth Reserve Regiment, your Excellency,” I replied ruefully.
While this was going on the boys in the other rooms were notified of
the officer’s presence and made their escape through windows and all
available doors, leaving me to take care of myself.
“How dare you leave your barracks?” he thundered at me, “and frequent
such places so late at night, I shall order you to the military prison
for the night.” And he commanded me to report there immediately.
It was my first acquaintance with the military gaol. It is not a very
comfortable place to spend a night in. In the morning I was called
before the prison commandant, who questioned me sternly. Finally, I
could contain myself no longer and broke out into laughter.
“It was all a mistake, your Excellency,” I said.
“A mistake, eh? What the devil do you mean, a mistake? I have a report
here,” he cried out angrily.
“I am a woman, your Excellency,” I laughed.
“A woman!” he roared, opening his eyes wide, and surveying me. In an
instant he recognized the truth of my words. “What the devil!” he
muttered. “A woman indeed: A woman in a soldier’s uniform!”
“I am Maria Botchkareva, of the Fifth Regiment,” I explained. He had
heard of me.
“But what were you, a woman, doing in that place?” he inquired.
“I am a soldier, your Excellency, and I went along with some of my
comrades to investigate for myself the places where the soldiers pass
their time.”
He telephoned to the Commander of my regiment to inquire into my
record and told him where and why I was detained. A titter ran through
the offices when they learned of Yashka’s adventure. The soldiers
already knew from their comrades of the night’s escapade, and with
great difficulty suppressed their merriment, not wanting to attract
the attention of the officers. But now there was a general outburst of
laughter. When I arrived it reached such a pitch that men were actually
rolling on the floor, holding their sides. I was punished by two hours
at attention, the third and last time during my training. For a week
afterwards the regiment talked about nothing but Yashka’s adventure,
nearly every soldier making a point of accosting me with the question:
“Yashka, how did you like it there?”
The date of our departure was fixed. We received complete new outfits.
I was permitted to go home to spend the last night, and it was a night
of tears and sobs and longings. The three months I had spent in Tomsk
as a soldier were, after all, remote from war. But now that I felt so
near to that great experience, it awed me. I prayed to God to give me
courage for the new trials that were before me, courage to live and die
like a man.
There was great excitement in the barracks the following morning.
It was the last that we were to spend there. In complete marching
equipment we marched to the Cathedral where we were sworn in again.
There was a solemn service. The church was filled with people, and
there was an enormous crowd outside. The Bishop addressed us. He spoke
of how the country was attacked by an enemy who sought to destroy
Russia, and appealed to us to defend gloriously the Tsar and the
Motherland. He prayed for victory for our arms and blessed us.
A spiritual fervour was kindled in the men. We were all so buoyant, so
happy, so forgetful of our own lives and interests. The whole city
poured out to accompany us to the station, and we were cheered and
greeted all along the route. I had never yet seen a body of men in such
high spirits as we were that February morning. Woe to the Germans that
might have encountered us that day. Such was Russia going to war in
those first months of the struggle. Hundreds of regiments like our own
were streaming from east, north and south to the battlefields. It was
an inspiring, uplifting, unforgettable sight.
My mother felt none of the exaltation with which I was filled. She
walked along the street, beside my troop, weeping, appealing to the
Holy Mother and all the saints of the Church, to save her daughter.
“Wake up: Marusia,” she cried, “What are you doing?” But it was too
late. The ardour of war possessed me entirely. Somewhere deep in my
heart my beloved mother’s wailings found an echo, but my eyes were
dimmed with tears of joy. It was only when I bade my mother good-bye,
hugging and kissing her for what she felt was the last time, and
boarded the train, leaving her on the platform prostrate and frantic
with grief, that my heart sank and I trembled from head to foot. My
resolution was on the point of giving way when the train moved out of
the station.
I was going to war.