The Chairman returned to the billets and told his soldiers that the General ordered them into the trenches under penalty of death. This incensed the men.
“Aha, he is threatening to shoot!” cried one.
“He’s of the old regime,” exclaimed another.
“He wants to practise on us the Tsar’s methods!” shouted several voices.
“He is a blackguard!” suggested another.
“He ought to be killed! He wants to rule us with an iron hand!” the men roared, working themselves up to a fever.
Meanwhile, the news came from the trenches that the men were holding meetings there, proclaiming their determination not to remain in their position after seven o’clock. The General was in great difficulty. He was faced with the probability of his section of the front being left entirely open to the enemy. He telephoned to the reserve billets and asked the Chairman of the Committee what was going on there.
Suddenly the General grew pale, dropped the receiver and said:
“They want to kill me.”
Chief of Staff Kostayev took up the receiver and in a trembling voice inquired what the trouble was. I listened to the answer.
“They are in an ugly mood. They have mutinied and threaten to mob the General. The excitement is spreading, and some of them have already started out for Headquarters.”
The voice of the Chairman at the other end of the wire was clearly expressive of his alarm. In reply to questions what the General could do to calm the mob he said that the committee admired and respected the General, that its members were doing their best to allay the passions that had been aroused, but seemed helpless.
A few minutes later several officers and men ran into the house, greatly agitated.
“General, you are lost if you don’t get away in time!” one of them said.
Shortly afterwards Colonel Belonogov, a man of sterling heart, beloved by his soldiers even before the revolution, rushed in. He brought the same tidings, asking the General to hide. I joined in, imploring the Commander to conceal himself till the storm had passed. But he refused.
“Why should I hide?” he exclaimed. “What wrong have I done? Let them come and kill me! I have only done my duty.”
He went into his study and locked himself in.
The mob was moving nearer and nearer. There was a deathly pallor on the faces of all those present. Every minute or so someone would dash in breathlessly, with eyes full of horror, to herald the approaching tempest.
The tide of tumultuous humanity reached the house. There were cries and howls. For a second we were all in suspense. Then Colonel Belonogov said he would go out and talk to them and try to make them see reason. The Colonel had a gentle voice and a gentle heart. He never addressed even his own orderly in the ordinary fashion. When a little time before he had asked to be transferred to another position, his own soldiers persuaded him into staying where he was.
In a word the Colonel was an exceptional man. Without question there was no other officer in the Corps as fit as he to undertake the task of mollifying an excited mob. He went out on the porch and calmly faced the steadily increasing multitude.
“Where is the General? Where is he? We want to kill him!” the savage chorus bawled.
“What are you thinking of?” the Colonel began. “Come to your senses and consider the order. It was an order to relieve your own comrades, soldiers like yourselves. Now, you know that this was no more than fair. The General simply wanted you to take the places of your comrades.”
“But he threatened to shoot us!” interrupted the men.
“You did not quite understand. He only said generally that to get obedience one must shoot. …”
“Shoot!” a hundred voices went up from every side, catching the word but not the meaning.
“Shoot! Aha, he wants to shoot! He’s for the old regime himself!” a thousand voices roared, without even giving the ashen-faced Colonel a chance to explain.
“Kill him! Show him what shooting is!” raged the vast throng, while the speaker tried vainly to raise his voice and get a hearing.
Suddenly someone jerked the stool from under his feet. In an instant a hundred heavy heels had trampled the life out of that noble body. It was a horrible, terrifying scene. Several thousand men had turned into beasts. The lust of blood was in their eyes. They swayed backwards and forwards as if intoxicated, crushing the last signs of life out of their victim, stamping on the corpse in a frenzy. The mob’s thirst for blood became inflamed. The officers realized that every moment was precious. Kostayev thought that the only way to save ourselves was to escape through the rear of the house.
“I will go out to them,” I declared.
The remaining officers thought me mad and tried to dissuade me.
“Belonogov was the idol of his regiment, and see what’s become of him. If you go it is certain death,” they said. Colonel Kostayev disappeared and several of the Staff followed him.
I could not see how the situation would be saved by escaping. It might save a couple of lives, although even that was unlikely, but the mutiny would extend and might grow beyond control. “I will go out,” I resolved, crossed myself and dashed into the infuriated mob.
“What is the matter?” I shouted at the top of my voice. “What has happened to you? Let me pass!”
The crowd separated and made a way for me to the stool.
“Look at her!” jeered some voices.
“Eh, eh, look at this bird!” echoed others.
“Your Excellency!” scoffed one man.
“Now,” I began sharply, as soon as I had jumped on the stool. “I am no ‘your Excellency!’ but plain Yashka! You can kill me right away, or you can kill me a little later, five, ten minutes later. But Yashka
