“I will take no orders from a baba,” he sneered, “I can do as I please. We have freedom now.”
It was a bitter shock to me. Why, this very same soldier would have gone through fire for me a week before. And now he was sneering at me. It seemed incredible and overwhelming.
“Ha, ha,” he jeered. “You can go yourself.”
Flushed with vexation I seized a rifle and answered:
“Can I? I will show you how a free citizen ought to guard his freedom!”
And I climbed over the top and made my way to the listening-post where I remained on duty for the full two hours.
I talked to the soldiers, appealing to their sense of honour and arguing that the revolution imposed greater responsibilities upon the man in the ranks. They agreed that the defence of the country was the most important task confronting us. But had not the revolution brought them also freedom, with the injunction to take upon themselves the control of the army, and to abolish discipline? The men were full of enthusiasm, but obedience was contrary to their ideas of liberty. Seeing that I could not get my men to perform their duties, I went to the Commander of the Company and asked to be released from the army and sent home.
“I see no good in staying here and doing nothing,” I said. “If this is war, I want to be out of it. I can do nothing with my men.”
“Have you gone out of your mind, Yashka?” said the Commander. “Why, if you, who are a peasant yourself, one of them, beloved by all the rank and file, cannot remain, what can we officers do? It is our duty as soldiers to stay to the last, until the men come to their senses. I am having my own troubles, Yashka,” he confided to me, in a low voice. “I cannot have my way, either. So you see, we are all in the same boat. We have just got to put up with it.”
It was altogether contrary to my inclinations, but I remained. Little by little things improved. The soldiers’ committees began to exercise their functions, but they did not interfere with the purely military department of our life. Those of the officers who had been disliked by the men, or whose records were typical of Tsaristic officials, disappeared with the revolution. Even Colonel Stubendorf, the Commander of the Regiment, had gone, retiring perhaps because of his German name. Our new Commander was Kudriavtzev, a popular officer.
Discipline was gradually reestablished. It was not the old discipline. Its basis was no longer dread of punishment. It was a discipline founded on the high sense of responsibility that was soon instilled into the grey ranks of our army. True, there was no fighting between us and the enemy. There were even the beginnings of that fatal fraternization plague which was later to be the ruin of the mighty Russian Army. But the soldiers responded to the appeals from the Provisional Government and the Soviet in the early weeks of the spring of 1917. They were ready to carry out unflinchingly any order from Petrograd.
Those were still the days of immense possibilities. The men worshipped the distant figures in the rear who had brought them the boon of liberty and equality. We knew almost nothing of the various parties and factions. Peace was the sole thought of the men. They were told that peace could not come without defeating or overthrowing the Kaiser. Therefore, we all expected the word for a general advance. Had that word been given at that time nothing in the world could have withstood our pressure. Nothing. The revolution had given birth to elemental forces in our hearts that defied and ever will defy description.
Then there began a procession of speechmakers. There were delegates from the army, there were members of the Duma, there were emissaries of the Petrograd Soviet. Almost every day there was a meeting, and almost every other day there were elections. We sent delegates to Corps Headquarters and delegates to Army Headquarters, delegates to a congress in Petrograd and delegates to consult with the Government. The speakers were almost all eloquent. They painted beautiful pictures of Russia’s future, of universal brotherhood, of happiness and prosperity. The soldiers’ eyes would light up with the glow of hope. More than once even I was caught by those eloquent and enticing phrases. The rank and file were carried away to an enchanted land by the orators and rewarded them with tremendous applause.
There were speakers of a different kind, too. These solemnly appealed for a realization of the immediate duty which the revolution imposed upon the shoulders of the army. Patriotism was their keynote. They called us to defend our country, to be ready at any moment for an attack to drive out the Germans and win the much-desired victory and peace. The soldiers responded to these calls to duty with equal enthusiasm. They swore that they were ready. Was there any doubt that they were? No. The Russian soldier loved his Mother Country before. He loved her now a hundredfold more.
The first signs of spring arrived. The rivers had opened, the ice fields had thawed. It was muddy, but the earth was fragrant. The winds were laden with intoxicating odours. They were carrying across the vast fields and valleys of Mother Russia tidings of a new era. There was spring in our souls. It seemed that our long-suffering people and country were being restored to a new life and one wanted to live, live, live.
But there, a few hundred feet away, were the Germans. They were not free. Their souls did not commune with God. Their hearts knew not the immense joy of this wonderful spring. They were still slaves, and they would not let us alone in our freedom. They thrust themselves over the fair extent of our country and would not retire. They must be driven out before we could embark upon a
