All night we have journeyed, and all day. It is now evening. Our special
train has stopped at a wayside station for three hours to await the
Petrograd train, on to which we shall link for Moscow. Then we shall
travel again all night and arrive at our destination to-morrow morning.
It has been a beautiful day of sunshine. I crossed the frontier riding
on the engine. The front of our car has a verandah from which one can
get a beautiful view. We crossed two wide rivers on temporary bridges,
as the original ones lay in débris below us, having been blown up by
Yudenitch in his retreat last year after his attack on Petrograd. The
woods on either side of the river were full of trenches, dug-outs and
barbed wire. I had tea and bread and caviare at 9 a.m. and the same
thing at 3 p.m. and again at 7. There is no restaurant car; we have
brought our food with us in a hamper. There are other things to eat
besides caviare, only I cannot eat them. There is cheese, and some ham
which is not like any ham that I have ever known, and there is a sort of
schnitzel sausage and some apples.
The soldier who was with us yesterday and is still with us, and whose
name is Marinashky, is a chauffeur. I thought he was an officer. He eats
with us, smokes with us, joins in the discussions and kindly lays the
table for food and clears away for us. It sounds odd, but it seemed
quite natural until I heard that he was a chauffeur. My bourgeois
bringing-up is constantly having surprises! Marinashky has a nice
clear-cut face, and square jaw like the Americans one saw during the
war.
This afternoon we got out of the train and walked up the line, as there
were three hours to dispose of. I led the way because there was a wood I
wanted to go to. It was extremely pretty, and the moss sank beneath
one’s feet. The children collected berries and scarlet mushrooms, which
they brought to me as offerings.
On the way back Kameneff and his boy and I found a dry place covered
with pine needles, where we lay down, and to the sound of father and son
talking softly in Russian I went fast asleep. The sun was setting when
they woke me up. In the heart of Russia, in the company of Bolsheviks, I
had spent an Arcadian hour.
[Illustration: GUKOVSKI, HIS DAUGHTER, KAMENEFF AND MARINASHKY.
_p. 62._]