I was curious to know what would be done to me in Moscow. Petrukhin replied to my inquiries that among the papers relating to my case, which my escort would take with them to Moscow, the chief document was the protocol. That protocol had been drawn up by himself, in the capacity of chairman of the Investigation Committee. He described in it how I had lost my way while going to Kislovodsk, getting stranded at Zverevo, and how I had reported of my own free will to the authorities, adding that I had with me a ticket to Kislovodsk, an invitation from Princess Tatuyeva to come to the Caucasus, and a certificate from a physician certifying to my ill-health. The last was, of course, an invention. Petrukhin sent the ticket and the letter from Tiflis, adding that he had misplaced the physician’s certificate and would send it on later.
“It is unlikely,” he said to me, “that you would be punished with death in the face of such evidence. I should expect your release, sooner or later. But in any event, here is a poison pill. I prepared it for you originally to take in case the mob got their way, so that you should escape torture at the hands of these savages. I hope you will not need to resort to it in Moscow.”
I still carry with me that poison pill wherever I go. …
Petrukhin gave me forty roubles for expenses, as I was penniless. I thanked him and asked him to write a letter to my people, telling them where I was. We then took leave of one another. Petrukhin and Peter exchanged kisses with me, and I again and again reiterated how much I owed to them, swearing that in any future emergency, whatever happened, I would always be ready to do everything within my power for them. We all realized that many a change was still in store for Mother Russia, before she settled down to a peaceful existence.
Accompanied by my friends and surrounded by four armed guards, forming my escort, I was led to an empty railway coach, attached to an engine. On this train, consisting of cattle-trucks and my coach, I was taken to Nikitino. There I was brought before the Commandant, with a request to provide accommodation for the party on an ordinary train. It was the very Commandant who had helped me so generously to get to Zverevo on the munition train. Of course, he did not recognize the Sister of Mercy in Bochkareva.
On the platform I had another striking encounter. The news that Bochkareva had been seized and was being taken to Moscow became known in the station and a number of Red Guards and soldiers gathered about me, showering upon me insults, curses and threats. Among these, in the foremost rank, was the repulsive-looking man who was in charge of the train on which I went to Zverevo and who had proposed marriage to me.
The beast did not recognize me now. He sneered in my face, and repeated my name syllable by syllable, taking a peculiar joy in distorting it and railing generally at my appearance and reputation.
“The slut! We have got her, the harlot!” he raved. “Only I can’t understand why they didn’t shoot her there. Why bother with such a slut!”
I could not help laughing. I laughed long, without restraint. It was so amusing. I was almost tempted to disclose to him how I had duped him. He still has no idea that Alexandra Smirnova, whose fictitious address at Kislovodsk he, in all probability, cherishes yet, was Maria Bochkareva!
For three days I travelled with my escort from Nikitino to Moscow. I was treated with consideration, but always as a prisoner. The guards would get food for me and themselves at the stations on the way. Upon our arrival at Moscow I was taken in a motorcar to the Soldiers’ Section of the Soviet, established in what was formerly the Governor’s mansion. My guards delivered me to a civilian, with all the documents of the case, and left.
“What, coming from Kornilov?” the official asked me gruffly.
“No, I was on my way to take the cure at Kislovodsk,” I replied.
“Ah, yes, we know those cures! What about the epaulets? Why did you take them off?”
“Because I am a plain peasant woman. I have defended my country bravely for three years. I am not guilty.”
“Well, we will see about that later,” he interrupted and ordered me to be led away to prison.
I was locked up in a small cell, in which there were already about twenty prisoners, officers and civilians, all arrested by agents who had overheard them talk against the Bolshevik regime! A fine reincarnation of the worst methods of Tsarism.
The cell was in a frightful condition. There was no lavatory in it, and the inmates were not permitted to leave the room! The stench was indescribable. The men smoked incessantly. The prisoners were not even allowed to take the short, daily promenade outside, which was granted by the old regime.
Apparently in order to make me confess, I was subjected to a new form of torture, never practised by the Tsar’s jailers. I was denied food! For three days I did not receive even the niggardly ration given to the other prisoners. My companions were all kind to me, but the portions that they received were barely enough to sustain life in their own bodies. So for three days and three nights, I lay on the bunk, in a heap under a cover, on the point of suffocation, starved, feverish, and thirsty, as no water was allowed me.
During these days the Commandant of the prison, a sailor, would come in several times daily to torment me with his tongue.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.
“What? You will be shot!” was his answer.
“Why?”
“Ha, ha. Because you are a friend of Kornilov’s.”
Those were the hours when I hugged the pill given me by Petrukhin, expecting every moment an order to face
