EIGHT HOURS IN GERMAN HANDS
The morning on which I was taken before the military medical commission
I was in high spirits. It was a late December day, but my heart was
aglow as I was led into the large room in which about two hundred other
patients were waiting for the examination which would decide whether
they were to be sent home or were considered fit to be returned to the
front.
The chairman of the commission was a General. As my turn came and he
reached the name of Maria Botchkareva he thought it a mistake and
corrected it to Marin Botchkarev. By that name I was called out of the
crowd.
The General shouted the order that was given to every soldier awaiting
discharge.
“Take off your clothes.”
I walked up resolutely and threw off my clothes.
“A woman!” went up from a couple of hundred throats, followed by an
outburst of laughter that shook the building. The members of the
commission were too amazed for words.
“What the devil!” cried the General. “Why did you undress?”
“I am a soldier, Excellency, and I obey orders without question,” I
replied.
“Well, well. Hurry up and dress,” came the order.
“How about the examination, Excellency?” I queried, as I put my things
on.
“That’s all right. You are passed.”
In view of the seriousness of the injury I had sustained the commission
offered me a couple of months’ leave, but I declined it and requested
to be sent to the front in a few days. Supplied with fifteen roubles
and a railway ticket I left the hospital and went to Daria Maximovna,
who had invited me previously to stay with her for a little time. It
was a short visit, lasting only three days, but a very happy one. It
was so pleasant to be in a home again, to eat home food and to be under
the care of a woman who became a second mother to me. With packages for
myself and Stepan and the blessings of the whole family following me I
left Moscow from the Nikolaiev Station. The train was crowded and there
was only standing room.
On the platform my attention was attracted to a poor woman with a
little baby in her arms, another mite on the floor and a girl of about
five hanging on to her skirt. All the woman’s property was packed in a
single bag. The children were crying for bread, the woman tried to calm
them, evidently in dread of something. It touched my heart to watch
this little group, and I offered some bread to the children.
Then the woman confided in me the cause for her fear. She had no money
and no ticket and expected to be put off at the next station. She was
the wife of a soldier from a village in German hands and was now bound
for a town three thousand versts away, where she had some relatives. I
felt that something must be done for this woman, and I made an appeal
to the soldiers who filled the car, but they did not respond at first.
“She is the wife of a soldier, of one like yourselves,” I said.
“Suppose she were the wife of one of you! For all you know, the
wives of some of you here may be wandering about the country in
a similar state. Come, let us get off at the next station, go to
the station-master and ask that she may be allowed to go to her
destination.”
The soldiers were moved and they helped me to take the woman and
her belongings off the train at the next stop. We went to the
station-master, who was very kind, but explained that he could do
nothing in the matter. “I have no right to give permission to travel
without a ticket, and I can’t distribute free tickets,” he said, and he
sent us to the military commandant. I went with the woman, having been
deserted by the soldiers who had heard the train whistle and did not
want to miss it. I waited for another train.
The commandant repeated the words of the station-master. He had no
right to provide her with a military pass, he said.
“No right!” I exclaimed, beside myself. “She is the wife of a soldier
and her husband is probably now, at this very moment, going into
battle to defend the country, while you, safe and well-fed in the rear
here, won’t even take care of his wife and children. It is an outrage.
Look at the woman. She needs medical attention, and her children are
starved.”
“And who are you?” sharply asked the commandant.
“I will show you who I am,” I answered, taking off my medals and
cross and showing him my certificate. “I have shed enough blood to be
entitled to demand justice for the helpless wife of a soldier.”
But the commandant turned his back on me and went away. There was
nothing to be done but to make a collection. I went to the First-Class
waiting-room, which was filled with officers and well-to-do
passengers, took my cap in my hand and went round, begging for a poor
soldier’s wife. When I had finished there were eighty roubles in the
cap. With this money I went to the commandant again, and handed it to
him with a request that he should provide accommodation for the woman
and her children. She did not know how to express her gratitude to me.
The next train came in. I never before saw one so packed. There could
be no thought of getting inside a car. The only space available was on
the top of a coach. There were plenty of passengers even there. With
the aid of some soldiers I climbed on to the top, where I spent two
days and two nights. It was impossible to get off at every station to
take a walk. We had to send some one even to fetch the tea, and our
food consisted of that and bread.
Accidents were not uncommon. On the very roof on which I travelled a
man fell asleep, rolled off, and was killed instantaneously. I narrowly
escaped a similar fate. I began to doze and drifted to the edge and had
not a soldier caught me in the nick of time I should undoubtedly have
fallen off. We finally arrived at Kiev.
That journey on the train was a symbol of the country’s condition
in the winter of 1916. The government machinery was breaking down.
The soldiers had lost faith in their leaders, and there was a
general feeling that they were being sent in thousands merely to be
slaughtered. Rumours flew thick and fast. The old soldiers had been
killed off and the fresh drafts were impatient for the end of the war.
The spirit of 1914 was no more.
In Kiev I had to obtain information as to the position of my regiment.
It was now near the town of Berestechko. In my absence the men had
advanced ten miles. The train from Kiev was also very crowded and there
was only standing room. At the stations we sent some of the soldiers
to fill our kettles with hot water. The men could seldom get in and
out through the entrances, so they used the windows. The train passed
through Zhitomir and Zhimerinka on the way to Lutzk. There I changed to
a branch line, going to the station of Verba, within twenty miles of
our position.
It was muddy on the road to the front. Overhead flew whole flocks of
aeroplanes, raining bombs. I got used to them. In the afternoon there
was a downpour, and I was thoroughly soaked. Dead tired, with water
streaming from my clothes, I arrived in the evening within three miles
of the first line. There was a regimental supply train camping on both
sides of the road. I approached a sentry and asked:
“What regiment is billeted here?”
“The Twenty-Eighth Polotsk Regiment.”
My heart leaped for joy. The soldier did not recognize me. He was a new
man. But the others must have told him of me.
“I am Yashka,” I said.
That was a pass-word. They all knew the name and had heard from the
veterans of the regiment many stories about me. I was taken to the
Colonel in command of the supply train, a queer old man who kissed
me on both cheeks and jumped about, clapping his hands and shouting,
“Yashka! Yashka!”
He was kind-hearted and immediately began to look after my comfort. He
promptly ordered an orderly to bring a new outfit and gave instructions
for the bath used by the officers to be prepared for me. Clean and in
the new uniform, I accepted the invitation to sup with the Colonel.
There were several other officers at the table and all were glad to
see me. The news spread that Yashka had arrived, and some soldiers
could not restrain their desire to shake hands with me. Every now and
then there would be a meek knock at the door and in answer to the
Colonel’s question, “Who’s there?” a plaintive voice would say:
“Excellency, may I be allowed to see Yashka?”
In time quite a number of comrades were admitted into the house. One
part of it was occupied by the owner, a widow with a young daughter. I
spent the night with the latter and in the morning started out to the
front. Some of our companies were in reserve and my progress became a
triumphal journey. I was feasted on the way and given several ovations.
I presented myself to the Commander of the Regiment, who invited me to
dine that afternoon with the Regimental Staff, certainly the first case
of an ordinary soldier receiving such an invitation in the history of
the Regiment. At dinner the Commander toasted me, telling the story
of my work with the Regiment and wishing me many more years of such
service.
At the conclusion he pinned a cross of the 3rd Degree on my breast, and
marked with a pencil three stripes on my shoulder, thus promoting me to
the grade of senior non-commissioned officer. The Staff crowded round
me, pressing my hands, praising me and expressing their good wishes.
I was profoundly moved by this display of cordial appreciation and
affection on the part of the officers. This was my reward for all the
suffering I had undergone.
And it was a reward worth having. What did I care for a wound in the
spine and four months’ paralysis if this was the return that I received
for my sacrifice? Trenches filled with bloody corpses held no horror
for me then. No Man’s Land seemed quite an attractive place in which
to spend a day with a bleeding leg. The screech of shells and the
whistle of bullets presented themselves like music to my imagination.
Ah, life was not so bleak and meaningless, after all. It had its
moments of bliss that compensated for years of torment and misery.
The commander had, in his order of the day, stated the fact of my
return and promotion. He furnished me with an orderly to show me the
way to the trenches. Again I was hailed by everybody as I emerged
from the dugout of the Commander of the Company, who had placed me in
charge of a platoon of seventy men. In this capacity I had to keep an
inventory of the supplies and equipment of my men, a soldier acting as
clerk under my instructions.
Our positions were on the bank of the Styr, which is very narrow and
shallow at that point. On the opposite bank were the German trenches.
Several hundred feet from us was a bridge across the stream which had
been left intact by both sides. At our end of it we maintained a post
while the enemy kept a similar watch at the opposite end. Our line
was very uneven, owing to the irregularity of the river’s course. The
Germans were very persistent in mine-throwing. However, the mines
travelled so slowly that we could take cover before they fell on our
side. My Company occupied a position close to the enemy’s first line.
I had not spent a month in the trenches when a local battle occurred
which resulted in my capture by the Germans. The latter had continued
their mine-throwing operations for a period of about twelve days so
regularly that we grew accustomed to them and were not expecting an
attack. Besides, it was past the time of year for active fighting, and
the cold was intense.
One morning about six o’clock, when we had turned in for our daily
sleep, we were suddenly awakened by a tremendous “Hurrah!” We nervously
seized our rifles and peeped through the loop-holes. Great Heavens!
There, within a hundred feet of us, in front and in the rear, the
Germans were crossing the Styr! Before we had time to organize
resistance they were upon us, capturing five hundred of our men. I was
among the number.
We were brought before the German Staff for examination. Every one of
us was tormented with questions, intended to extract valuable military
information. Threats were bestowed on those who refused to disclose
anything. Some cowards among us, especially those of non-Russian
stock, gave away important facts. As the examination was proceeding,
our artillery on the other side opened up a violent bombardment of
the German defences. It was evident that the German Commander had not
many reserves, as he made frantic appeals by telephone for support. It
required a considerable force to keep guard over us and an even larger
force to take us to the rear. As the enemy expected a Russian attack at
any moment, it was decided not to remove us until help arrived.
“So I am a German prisoner,” I thought. “How unexpected! There is still
hope that our comrades on the other side will come to our rescue. Only,
every minute is precious. They must hurry or we are lost. Now my turn
is coming. What shall I tell them? I must deny being a soldier and
invent some kind of a story.”
“I am a woman and not a soldier,” I announced as soon as I was called.
“Are you of noble blood?” I was asked.
“Yes,” I answered, promptly deciding to claim that I was a Red Cross
nurse, dressed in man’s uniform, in order to pay a visit to my
husband, an officer in the front line trenches.
“Have you many women fighting in the ranks?” was the next question.
“I don’t know. I told you that I was not a soldier.”
“What were you doing in the trenches then?”
“I came to see my husband, who is an officer of the Regiment.”
“Why did you shoot, then? The soldiers tell that you shot at them.”
“I did it to defend myself. I was afraid to be captured. I serve as a
Red Cross nurse in the rear hospital, and came over to the fighting
line for a visit.”
The Russian fire was growing hotter every minute. Some of our shells
wounded not only enemy soldiers but several of the captives. It was
past noon, but the Germans were too nervous to eat their lunch. The
expected reserves were not forthcoming, and there was every sign of a
fierce counter-attack by our troops.
At two o’clock our soldiers went over the top and started for the
German positions. The enemy Commander decided to retreat with his batch
of prisoners to the second line rather than defend the front trenches.
It was a critical moment. As we were lined up the “Hurrah” of our
comrades reached us. It stimulated us to a spontaneous decision.
We threw ourselves, five hundred strong, at our captors, wrested many
of their rifles and bayonets and engaged in a ferocious hand-to-hand
combat, just as our men rushed through the torn wire entanglements into
the trenches. The confusion was indescribable; the killing merciless. I
grasped five hand grenades that lay near me and threw them at a group
of about ten Germans. They must have all been killed. Our entire line
across the river was advancing at the same time. The first German line
was occupied by our troops and both banks of the Styr were then in our
hands.
Thus ended my captivity. I was in German hands for a period of only
eight hours and amply avenged even this brief stay. There was great
activity in our ranks for a couple of days. We fortified the newly-won
positions and prepared for another attack. Two days later we received
the signal to advance. But again our artillery had failed to cut the
German wire defences. After pushing on under a devastating fire and
incurring heavy losses we were compelled to retreat, leaving many of
our comrades wounded and dying on the field of battle.
Our Commander improvised a relief party by calling for twenty
volunteers. I responded among the first. Provided with twenty red
crosses which we prominently displayed, and leaving our rifles in the
trenches, we went out in the open daylight to rescue the wounded. I was
allowed to proceed by the Germans almost to their barbed wire. Then, as
I leaned over a wounded man whose leg was broken, I heard the click of
a trigger and immediately lay flat on the ground. Five bullets whistled
over me, one after another. Most of them hit the wounded soldier, who
was killed. I continued to lie motionless, and the German sniper was
evidently satisfied that he had killed me as well. I remained in this
position till night, when I crawled back to our trenches.
Of the twenty Red Cross volunteers only five returned alive.
The following day an order was issued by the Commander thanking all
those soldiers who had been captured three days before and had resolved
to save themselves by fighting their captors. My name appeared first
on the list. Those of us who had refused to give any information to
the enemy were praised in the order. One soldier, who had revealed to
the Germans a great deal of important information, was executed. I
was recommended for a cross of the 2nd Degree, but, being a woman, I
received only a medal of the 3rd Degree.
The opening of the year 1917 found us resting two miles in the rear.
There was much fun and merriment in the reserve billets. Although the
discipline was as strict as ever, the relations between the officers
and men had, in the course of the three and a half years of the war,
undergone a complete transformation.
The older officers, trained in pre-war conditions, were no longer to be
found, having died in battle or been disabled. The new junior officers,
all young men taken from civil life, many of them former students and
school teachers, were liberal in their views and very humane in their
conduct. They mixed freely with the men in the ranks and allowed us
more liberty than we had ever enjoyed. At the New Year festival we all
danced together. These new relations were not entirely due to the new
attitude from above. In a sense, they were generated from below by a
dumb and yet potent undercurrent of restlessness.
We were reviewed before returning to the front line by General Valuyev,
the Commander of the Fifth Corps. I was presented to him by the
Commander. The General shook my hand warmly, remarking that he had
heard many praiseworthy things of me.
Our positions were now on a hill, in the vicinity of Zelenaya Kolonia,
while the enemy was at our feet in the valley. The trenches we occupied
had been in German hands some time before.
It was late in January when I made an expedition into No Man’s Land at
the head of a patrol of fifteen men. We crawled along a ditch that had
once been a German communication trench. It ran along a very exposed
part of the field and we exercised the utmost caution. As we came
near to the enemy’s trench line I thought I heard German conversation.
Leaving ten men behind, with instructions to come to our aid in case of
a fight, five of us crept forward at a snail’s pace and with perfect
noiselessness. The German voices grew clearer and clearer.
Finally we beheld a German listening-post. There were four of them,
all seated with their backs toward us. Their rifles were scattered on
the ground while they warmed their hands over a fire. Two of my men
stretched their hands out, reached the rifles and removed them. It was
a slow and difficult operation. The Germans chattered on unconcernedly.
As I was cautiously reaching for the third rifle two of the Germans,
having apparently heard a noise, made as if they were about to turn.
In an instant my men were upon them. The two were bayoneted before I
was able to realize what was happening. It had been my intention to
bring in the four alive. The other two Germans were safe in our hands.
In all my experience of patrol duty, and I must have taken part in at
least a hundred expeditions into No Man’s Land, it was the first case
of a German listening-post being caught in such a manner. We returned
triumphantly with our prizes.
One of the prisoners was a tall, red-headed fellow, the other, who
wore pince-nez, was evidently an educated man. We took them to
Regimental Headquarters, accompanied on the way by much cheering and
congratulations. The Commander wanted to know the details of the
capture and had them written down word for word. He congratulated me,
pressing my hand, and so did all the other officers, telling me that
my name would live for ever in the annals of the Polotsk Regiment. I
was recommended for a gold cross of the 1st Degree and given two days’
leave for rest in the village.
At the end of the two days my Company joined me in the reserve. Strange
things were occurring in our midst. In subdued voices the men repeated
dark rumours about Rasputin’s death. Wild stories about his connections
with the Court and Germany were communicated from mouth to mouth. The
spirit of insubordination was growing among the soldiers, though at
that time it was still kept within bounds. The men were weary, terribly
weary of the war. “How long shall we continue this fighting?” and “What
are we fighting for?” were on the lips of everybody. It was the fourth
winter and still there was no end in sight.
Our men were genuinely anxious to solve the great puzzle that the war
had become to them. Hadn’t it been proved again and again that the
officers at Headquarters were selling them to the enemy? Hadn’t a
multitude of reports reached them that the Court was pro-German? Hadn’t
they heard of the War Minister placed under arrest and charged with
being a traitor? Wasn’t it clear, therefore, that the Government, the
official class, was in league with the enemy? Then, why continue this
carnage indefinitely? If the Government was in alliance with Germany,
what prevented it from concluding peace? Was it the desire to have
millions more of them slaughtered?
This was the riddle that forced itself upon the peasant mind. It was
complicated by a hundred other suggestions that were injected into
his brain from various channels. Depressed in spirit, discouraged and
sullen in appearance was the Russian soldier in February, 1917.
We returned to our positions and took up the heavy burden. It was not
long before an attack was organized against the German line. Our
artillery again displayed little effectiveness and again we climbed out
of the trenches and swept across No Man’s Land while the enemy’s wire
defences were intact. It was not the first wave of Russian breasts that
had beaten itself in vain against that deadly barrier, to be hurled
back with grave losses without even coming to grips with the foe. But
each of those waves had left its drop of bitterness in the hearts of
the survivors. And it was a particularly strong draught of bitterness
that this last futile attack had left in the souls of the soldiers upon
our sector.
Nevertheless, in February, 1917, the front was unprepared for the
eruption that was soon to shake the world. The front maintained its
fierce hatred for the Germans and could not conceive of a righteous
peace save through the efficient organization of a gigantic offensive
against the enemy. The obstacle in the way of such an offensive was
the traitorous Government. Against this Government were directed the
indignation and suppressed discontent of the rank and file. But so old,
so stable, so deep-rooted was the institution of Tsarism that, with all
their secret contempt for the Court, with all their secret hatred for
the officials of the Government, the armies at the front were not ripe
yet for a conscious and deliberate rising.
Part Three
REVOLUTION