I arose horror-stricken. I wanted to say something but was speechless. Petrukhin was greatly horrified too. He ran after Pugatchov, seized him by the arm, and shouted:
“What is the matter, have you gone mad? Madame Bochkareva came here of her own accord. Nobody captured her. She is going to Kislovodsk for a cure. She is a sick woman. She says that she lost her way. Anyhow, she has never fought against us. She returned home after we took over the power.”
“Ah, you don’t know her!” exclaimed Pugatchov. “She is a Kornilovka, the right hand of Kornilov.”
“Well, we are not releasing her, are we?” retorted Petrukhin. “I am going to call the committee together and have her story investigated.”
“An investigation!” scoffed Pugatchov. “And if you don’t find any evidence against her, will you let her go? You don’t know her! She is a dangerous character! How could we afford to save her? I wouldn’t even waste bullets on her. I would call the men and they would make a fine gruel of her!”
He made a motion toward the door. Petrukhin kept hold of him.
“But consider, she is a sick woman!” he pleaded. “What is the investigation committee for if not to investigate before punishing? Let the committee look into the matter and take whatever action it considers best.”
At this point the Commandant of the station arrived. He supported Petrukhin. “You can’t act like that in such a case,” he said, “this is clearly a matter for the investigation committee. If she is found guilty, we will execute her.”
Petrukhin went to summon the members of the investigation committee, who were all, twelve in number, common soldiers. As soon as he told the news to each member, he told me later, the men became threatening, talking of the good fortune that brought me into their hands. But Petrukhin argued with every one of them in my favour, as he was convinced of the genuineness of my plea. In such a manner he won some of them over to my side.
Meanwhile Pugatchov paced the room like a caged lion, thirsting for my blood.
“Ah, if I had only known it before, I would have had you shot in company with those fifteen officers!” he said to me.
“I should not have the heart to shoot at my own brothers, soldier or officer,” I remarked.
“Eh, you are canting already,” he turned on me. “We know your kind.”
“Taking you all in all,” I declared, “you are no better than the officers of the old regime.”
“Silence!” he commanded angrily.
Petrukhin came in with the committee at that instant.
“I must ask you not to make such an uproar,” he said, turning to Pugatchov, feeling more confident with the committee at his back. “She is in our hands now, and we will do justice. It is for us to decide if she is guilty. Leave her alone.”
There were only ten members of the committee within reach. The other two members were absent and the ten, as they made a quorum, decided to go on with the work.
“Whether you find her guilty or not, I will not let her get out of here alive!” Pugatchov declared. “What am I?” he added. “I am no enemy either.”
However, this threat worked in my favour, as it touched the committee’s pride. They were not to be overridden like that. Pugatchov demanded that I should be searched.
“I am at your disposal,” I said, “but before you proceed further I want to hand over to you this package of money. There are ten thousand roubles in it, sent to me by Princess Tatuieva, my former adjutant, to enable me to take the cure at the springs. I kept this money intact, because I hoped to return it to her upon reaching the Caucasus.”
The money had in reality been given to me by Kornilov, to secure my parents and myself from starvation in the future.
The valuable package was taken away, without much questioning. I was then ordered to undress completely. Petrukhin protested against it, but Pugatchov insisted. The dispute was settled by a vote, the majority being for my undressing.
The search was painstaking but fruitless. There was the ticket to Kislovodsk, the letter from Princess Tatuieva, a little bottle of holy water, given to me by my sister Nadia, and a scapular, presented to me before leaving for the front by one of the patronesses of the Battalion.
“Ah, now we have got it!” exclaimed Pugatchov, seizing the sacred bag. “There is the letter from Kornilov!”
The bag was ripped open and a scroll of paper was taken out on which a psalm had been written in a woman’s hand. I declared that the sin of tearing it open would fall on their heads and that I would not sew it up again. One of the soldiers obtained a needle and thread and sewed up the bag again.
The members of the committee apologized for having been obliged to have me searched in such a manner.
“What shall you do with me now?” I asked.
“We shall have you shot!” answered Pugatchov.
“What for?” I demanded in despair.
The brute did not reply. He merely smiled.
Petrukhin was afraid to defend me too warmly, lest he should be suspected of giving aid to a spy. He preferred to work indirectly for me, by influencing the members of the committee individually. It was decided, I believe, at the suggestion of Petrukhin, that the case should be submitted to the Commander-in-Chief, Sablin, for consideration and sentence. This was merely a device for preventing an immediate execution, but the feeling among the men was that my death was certain. Nevertheless, I was deeply grateful to Petrukhin for his humane attitude. He was a man of rare qualities, and among Bolsheviks he was almost unique.
I was ordered to a railway carriage used as a jail for captured officers and other prisoners. It was a death-chamber. Nobody escaped from it alive. When I was led inside, there were exclamations:
“Bochkareva! How did
