You have heard of us in the enemy's country. Ah, there was fat living!
Eggs by the hundred thousand; egg pancakes to tighten the belts of a
whole army, and mutton and beef without stint. We grew fat. Our ragged
and gaunt Austrian prisoners looked upon us with envy. Soon they also
were fat!
You know that we of the Cossack regiments have little to do with
the fighting in trenches. For us it is to make forays, to make
whirlwind attacks upon detachments of the enemy guarding their line
of communications, and capture positions badly defended by artillery.
I may be permitted to instance our usefulness on the frontier of
Galicia, between the Dniester and Pruth. It was my Cossacks who
surprised the Austrians at Okna.
The Austrians were intrenched. Our infantry attacked, but were
repulsed. Ah, then you should have beheld my little ones! There were
two Cossack regiments--two thousand dashing, fierce fellows--itching
for a hand-to-hand encounter with the despised Teutons. As the infantry
were retreating my little ones were given their chance.
Yelling madly and firing their carbines, they galloped west and east,
covering a long front to convince the Austrians that they were in large
force. The ruse worked. The enemy started to retreat to the southwest.
Before they were clear of their trenches the Cossacks were riding them
down, plying the cold steel right and left and cutting off large bodies
for prisoners--finally taking the position.
That is the work at which my fine fire-eaters are famous. The Sotnik
(Captain) of my regiment sent to me a bloodstained, grizzled victor in
a hundred battles who begged the privilege of presenting to me seven
caps belonging to the Austrian infantry service uniform, each pierced
through its crown. Like so many grouse, they were skewered upon my
brave Cossack's bayonet.
"Thank you, Batjuschka, but I am not hungry," I said, for my little
ones do not mind being teased. "Neither are they hungry who lately
wore them," was the quick answer. "Where are those seven Austrians?"
I asked, looking about in pretended stupidity. "With God," said my
gallant Cossack, as he reverently crossed himself. "Ah," I said,
"afterwards you went back and with your bayonet skewered each Austrian
cap where it lay beside its dead owner." "No," he replied gravely,
"with my bayonet I skewered each cap with the same thrust that sent its
owner to God." And again he crossed himself.
It was all true--there were witnesses of the encounter--seven to one,
and all the seven now "with God."
Do you shudder when I write to you of these things? Do you say to
yourself that "this terrible war" has robbed me of all my estimable
"woman's weaknesses?" Do you picture me brazenly calloused to scenes
of human agony and violent deaths for thousands in a single engagement
which probably has no effect upon the final outcome?
You would be wrong. It is simply that if you are a soldier it is your
duty to kill, and perhaps to be killed, in defense of your country. No
matter how dreadful the things that happen, they are inseparable from
war and you must get used to them. Gradually you do get used to them.
If you did not your services to your country would be of no value.
You would not be a true soldier, who must be able always to shrug his
shoulders and say to himself, "Well, such things happen," and then go
on faithfully with his soldier's work.
But believe me, these duties performed as well as I am able to
perform them, promotions, honors--afterward they will be as nothing
compared with what is dear to me as a woman. Through all this violence
and carnage and misery I know that I shall have gained in all that
becomes a woman--in faithfulness, tenderness, pity for the poor and
unfortunate, and in charity.