I had left my medals and crosses in Petrograd before starting out on the fateful errand. Borrowing some money from Madame Vasilieva, I went to Petrograd to fetch them. The railway carriage in which I travelled was packed with about a hundred and fifty soldiers. But they were no longer the cutthroats, the incensed and revengeful ruffians of two months ago. They did not threaten. They did not brag. The kindness of their true natures had again asserted itself. They even made a place for me, inviting me to sit down.
“Please, Madame Bochkareva,” they said, “take this seat.”
“Thank you, comrades,” I answered.
“No, don’t call us comrades any more. It’s a disgrace now. The comrades are at present fleeing from the front, while the Germans are threatening Moscow,” some of them remarked.
I felt among friends. This comradeship was what endeared the Russian soldier to my heart. Not the comradeship of the agitators, not the comradeship so loudly proclaimed in the Bolshevik manifestoes and proclamations, but the true comradeship that had made the three years in the trenches the happiest of my life. That old spirit again filled the air. It was almost too good to be true. After the nightmare of revolutions and terror, it seemed like a dream. The soldiers were actually cursing Bolshevism, denouncing Lenin and Trotsky!
“How has it come about that you all talk so sensibly?” I asked.
“Because the Germans are advancing on Moscow, and Lenin and Trotsky don’t even raise a finger to stop them,” came the answer. “A soldier has escaped from Kiev and has just telegraphed that the Germans are seizing Russians and sending them to Germany to help to fight against the Allies. Lenin and Trotsky told us that the Allies were our enemies. We now see that they are our friends.”
Another soldier, who had been home on leave, told of an armed Red Guard detachment that had descended on his village one fine day and robbed the peasants of all the bread they had, the product of their sweat and toil, exposing them to starvation.
“The people are hungry, that’s why they join the Red Guard,” one of the men remarked. “At least then they get food and arms with which to plunder. It is getting so that no one is safe unless he belongs to the Red Guard.”
“But why don’t you do something?” I addressed myself to them. “Everywhere I see the people are indignant, but they do nothing to cast off the yoke.”
“We have demanded more than once the resignation of Lenin and Trotsky. There were large majorities against them at several elections. But they are supported by the Red Guard and keep themselves in power in spite of the will of the people. The peasants are against them almost to a man.”
“The more reason why you should act,” I said. “Something ought to be done!”
“What? Tell us what!” several inquired.
“Even to get together, for instance, and reestablish the front!” I suggested.
“We would, but we have nobody we can trust to lead us. All our good people are fighting among themselves,” they argued. “Besides, we should need arms and food.”
“You just said that the Allies were our friends. Suppose we asked them to send us arms and food and help us to reorganize the front, would you be willing to fight the Germans again?” I inquired.
“Yes,” answered some, “we would.”
“No,” replied others; “what if the Allies got into Russia and wanted to take advantage of us, like the Germans?”
“Well, you must elect your own leader to cooperate with the Allies only on condition that we fight till we defeat the enemy and finish the war,” I proposed.
“But whom could we choose as our leader?” the men persisted. “All our chiefs are divided. Some are reputed to be monarchists. Others are said to be exploiters of the poor working people. Others are declared to be German agents. Where could we find a man who did not belong to one or other of these parties?”
“What if I, for instance, took charge, and became your leader?” I ventured to ask. “Would you follow me?”
“Yes, yes!” they cried. “We could trust you. You are a peasant yourself. But what could you do?”
“What could I do? You know that these scoundrels are destroying Russia. The Germans are seizing everything they can lay hold on. I would try to restore the front!”
“But how?” they asked.
At this moment, the idea of going to America originated in my mind. We had all heard that America was now one of the Allies.
“What if I should go to America to ask there for help?” I ventured.
My companions all burst out laughing. America is so remote and so unreal to the Russian peasant. It did not sound like a practical proposition to the soldiers. But they raised only one objection.
“How would you ever get there? The Bolsheviks and Red Guards will never let you out of the country,” they said.
“But if I did get there and to the other Allies,” I insisted, “and came back with an army and equipment, would you join me then, and would you persuade all your friends to come with you?”
“Yes, we would! Yes! We know that you could not be bought. You are one of us!” they shouted.
“In that event, I will go to America!” I announced resolutely, there and then making up my mind to go. The soldiers would not believe me. When we reached Petrograd, and I parted from them affectionately, with their blessings following me, I did not forget to warn them to remember their pledge upon hearing of my return from foreign lands with troops.
I spent only a few hours in Petrograd and did not go to see General X. I got my war decorations from the woman friend with whom I had left them, and saw only a few of my acquaintances. I told all of them of the
