As I was about to descend into the ditch I suddenly observed a huge German taking aim at me. Hardly did I have time to fire when something struck my right leg, and I had a sensation of a warm liquid trickling down my flesh. I fell. My comrades had put the enemy to flight and were pursuing him. There were many wounded, and cries of “Save me, Holy Jesus!” came from every direction.
I suffered little pain and made several efforts to get up and reach our trenches. But every time I failed. I was too weak. There I lay in the darkness of the night, within fifty feet of what had been, twenty-four hours before, the enemy’s position, waiting for dawn and relief. To be sure, I was not alone. Hundreds, thousands of gallant comrades were scattered on the field for miles.
It was four hours after I was wounded before day arrived and with it our stretcher-bearers. I was picked up and carried to a first-aid station a mile and a half in the rear. My wound was bandaged, and I was sent on to the Division Hospital. There I was placed on a hospital train and taken to Kiev.
It was about Easter of 1915 when I arrived in Kiev. The station there was so crowded with wounded from the front that hundreds of stretchers could not be accommodated inside and were lined up in rows on the platform outside. I was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the Eugene Lazaret, where I was kept in the same ward with the men. Of course, it was a military hospital, and there was no woman’s ward.
I was there all through the spring of 1915. The nurses and physicians took good care of all the patients in the hospital. My swollen leg was restored to its normal condition, and it was a restful two months that I passed in Kiev. At the end of that period I was taken before a military medical commission, examined, pronounced in good health, provided with a ticket, money and a certificate and sent to the front again.
My route now lay through Molodechno, an important railway terminus. When I arrived there in the early part of July I was sent to the Corps Headquarters by wagon, and thence I proceeded on foot to my Regiment.
My heart throbbed with joy as I drew nearer to the front. I had been eager to get back to my comrades. They had endeared themselves to me so much that I loved my Company as much as my own mother. I thought of the comrades whose lives I had saved and wondered how many of them had returned to the fighting line. I thought of the soldiers whom I had left alive and wondered if they were still among the living. Many familiar scenes came up in my imagination as I marched along under the brilliant rays of the sun.
As I approached the regimental headquarters a soldier saw me in the distance and, turning to his comrade, he pointed towards me.
“Who can that be?” he asked, thoughtfully. The partner scratched his neck and said:
“Why, he looks familiar.”
“Why, it’s Yashka!” exclaimed the first, as I moved nearer. “Yashka! Yashka!” they shouted at the top of their voices, running toward me as fast as they could.
“Yashka is back! Yashka is back!” the news was passed along to men and officers alike. There was such spontaneous joy that I was overwhelmed. Our regiment was then in reserve, and soon I was surrounded by hundreds of old friends. There was kissing, embracing, handshaking. The men capered about like children, shouting, “Look who’s here! Yashka!” They had been under the impression that I was disabled and would never return. They congratulated me upon my recovery. Even the officers came out to shake hands with me, some even kissing me, and all expressing their gratification at my recovery.
I shall never forget the welcome I received from my comrades.
They carried me on their shoulders, shouting, “Hurrah for Yashka! Three cheers for Yashka!” Many of them wanted me to visit their dugouts and share with them the food parcels they had received from home. The dugouts were really in a splendid state, clean, furnished, well protected. I was reassigned to my old company, the Thirteenth, and was now considered a veteran.
Our company was shortly detailed to act as the protecting force to a battery of artillery. Such duty was regarded by the men as a holiday, for it made possible a genuine rest in healthful surroundings. We spent between two and three weeks with the battery and were then moved to Sloboda, a town in the vicinity of Lake Naroch, about twenty-seven miles from Molodechno. Our positions were in a swampy region, full of mud-holes and marshes. It was impossible to construct and maintain regular trenches there. We, therefore, built a barrier of sandbags, behind which we crouched, knee-deep in water. It was impossible to endure such conditions for any length of time. We were compelled to snatch brief intervals of sleep standing, and even the strongest constitutions quickly broke down. We were relieved at the end of six days and sent to the rear to recuperate. Then we had to relieve the men who had taken our places.
Thus we continued to hold the line. As the summer neared its end and the rains increased, the water would rise and at times reach our waists. It was important to maintain our front intact, although for several miles the ground was so boggy as to be practically impassable. The Germans, however, made an attempt in August to outflank the marshes, but they failed.
Later we were shifted to another position, some distance away. There was comparative quiet on our front. Our main work consisted in sending out raiding parties and keeping a keen watch over the enemy’s movements from our advanced listening-posts. We slept in the morning and stayed wide-awake all
