WOMEN WARRIORS.
Perhaps in no other war have there been so many women warriors as in this one. In Russia, in Galicia, in Hungary, in Serbia, and in Montenegro, countless women have gone out to fight. They have served in the trenches, in the mountain passes and on ships. They have suffered hardships the same as the men, enduring the cold, the wretched food and the strenuous work without a murmur. Each one of the women has had love of country and fireside in her heart, but in most cases it was love for her husband from whom she did not wish to be separated that sent her to the front.
The peasant women in these far eastern countries have always done the work of men. They have tilled the soil, built houses and made roads, and so it seems quite natural to them that they should fight. A number of Russian women soldiers have been taken prisoners, and it is impossible to tell them from men.
The German government does not permit her women to fight, but every now and then one of them disguises herself as a man and enlists, fighting for her country until she is found out. In France, a few women have done the same thing, and in England a regiment of "Riflewomen" has been formed, not for service on the front, but for home defense if it ever becomes necessary. In Serbia, early in the war, women formed a battalion known as the "Death's Head Battalion," and at that time they were very active. Some women in the Austrian, Hungarian and Russian armies have been made corporals and sergeants, and many of them have received decorations for valor.
The most famous woman warrior of the present war has been the Grand Duchess Augusta of Austria, wife of the Grand Duke Josef. Ever since Italy entered the war she has been at the head of her regiment on the Italian front. She dresses like a soldier, wears a helmet on her head, carries a sword and rides her horse like a man. The Grand Duke is very proud of her and does everything he can to encourage her activities.
Elizabeth Lorenz, also a Viennese, is the second famous woman warrior. She is the wife of the famous surgeon Dr. Adolf Lorenz, and she went to the front as her husband's assistant, driving a Red Cross wagon to and from the firing line. She was decorated by Franz Josef before he died.
Another Austrian to serve her country was a little twelve-year-old peasant girl, Rosa Zenoch, who, during the fighting at Rawaruska, carried water to the soldiers in the trenches. In the thick of the fray she stopped to give a drink to a wounded Hungarian soldier lying by the wayside. Some shrapnel burst around her and she was severely wounded. She was carried to the hospital train, but on the way to Vienna it was necessary to amputate her leg. When Franz Josef heard about her case he sent her a golden band set with diamonds, 10,000 crowns and a new leg.
In one Hungarian regiment the eighteen-year-old Anna Falacia served five months without any one knowing that she was a girl. Since Anna's mother died she and her twin brother had been inseparable, and when he was called to the colors, she dressed herself as a boy and went with him. During the storming of Belgrade the brother of Anna Falacia was shot and he fell dying at her feet. When she saw him lying there she burst into tears. They carried him away and she left her post and followed the bier. The sergeant called her back. "I am Anna Falacia," she cried, "I am a girl, and now that my brother is dead, I am going back."
A German woman who disguised herself as a man was Maria Balka. When the Russians invaded Memel in East Prussia they killed Max Balka. When his wife Maria saw what they had done, she swore that she would have revenge. She dressed as a man and enlisted. No one knew her. She was a good soldier and she rose from private to corporal and then to sergeant. She even won a band for being one of the five best shots in her regiment.
At Kowno, twenty thousand Russians were taken prisoners, and Maria Balka with two underofficers and ten men were ordered to take one thousand of them to Gumbinnen. There were no trains, and they had to march. The orders were strict—if a prisoner got out of line he was to be shot. It was no time for mercy.
In the village of Pilwiski they passed a hut. A Russian peasant woman was standing in the doorway. She had a baby in her arms. When she saw the men she rushed forward crying, "Peter! Peter Doroff!" A prisoner broke from the ranks and rushed into her arms, although he knew the order was death. Four German privates stopped and leveled their guns and waited the order from Maria Balka to fire. Maria Balka's face was all aflame; she would make at least one Russian suffer as she had suffered. It was her moment. But the Russian woman flung herself at Maria's feet.
"That is my husband," she pleaded, "Don't shoot him. He is all I have."
Maria's hand which had been raised to give the signal trembled and then fell at her side.
"March," she said to the surprised soldiers.
"You may keep him," she said to the terrified woman. When Maria reported at headquarters she explained what she had done, and she told them that she was a woman. The next day she went back to Memel. Her desire for revenge was dead.
One German woman, Anne Marie Reimer, the wife of a doctor in East Prussia, served seven months as the driver of an automobile truck, and the result of her experiences is a very interesting book Seven Months on the East Front as a Driver. In this book, she tells how she guided her automobile right up to the firing line. Once, when the fighting was very fierce she did not have her clothes off for four weeks. When the Kaiser came to review her regiment, she passed in review in front of him with the rest of the men. In February, 1915, she was taken with fever contracted by the exposure. Her husband brought her to Berlin. In her book she says that no one knows the unselfishness and the kindness of soldiers toward each other, and she thinks that war has an ennobling influence on the men.
The Russian prisoners in the German prison camp at Zossen went in a body to the German major and asked him to have a Russian prisoner, Nicholas Nisoff, removed from their barracks. He was possessed with the devil, they said, and he was trying to cast a spell over them. The major sent for Nicholas Nisoff, and he came pale and trembling.
"Nicholas Nisoff," said the major, "sit down and tell me what is the matter. What have you done that you are silent all day and cry out all night?"
It was below freezing in the major's barnlike office, but Nicholas had to wipe the perspiration from his brow as he staggered into a seat. He began in broken sentences.
"It happened in Galicia. In the morning we took two hundred Austrian and Hungarian prisoners. We shut them up in different places, and in one hut where thirty of them were, I was detailed on night watch. All night long I paced up and down before the cottage. It was very quiet, but at last I heard a noise. The window was slowly opened and some one jumped to the ground. "Halt!" I cried, "Halt! Or I will fire." The person did not stop, so I fired into the darkness. I took out my pocket lamp to see what kind of a Hungarian I had shot, and there on the ground a slender figure was lying. I looked again. I could not believe what I saw. It was a woman! Her cap had fallen off and her long yellow hair was streaming about her. I felt her heart. It had stopped beating. And I, Nicholas Nisoff, had killed a woman. And since that time I cannot sleep, and in the night she comes to me with her long hair streaming around, and pointing her finger at me she says, 'Nicholas Nisoff! Why did you shoot me?'"
When he had finished, Nicholas again wiped the sweat from his brow and the major wrote down something on a paper. The next day Nicholas was taken away and brought to Berlin where he was given employment on a railroad. He is much happier now, and it is only now and then that the ghost of the Hungarian woman comes to haunt him.
Helene Lichowitz! When they came for Ivan Lichowitz, Helene begged them not to take her husband. He was ill, she said. But it made no difference, and three weeks later he was in the trenches. Once he coughed so violently that he lost consciousness. But when he came to, Helene Lichowitz was bending over him.
"I have come to take care of you," she said. For three weeks they were together. Helene did the same work as a man, and most of Ivan's work too. On a bitter cold day last December there was a night attack by the Germans. The Russians were ordered to charge. Ivan stumbled along blindly, and Helene supported him when she thought that he was going to fall. When they had gone a little way, there was a great roar from the German side, followed by a volley of bullets, shells burst in the air.
In the evening the German ambulance men came to save what they could of the poor creatures lying there. Ivan was dead, but Helene was carried to a field hospital. The German doctor did everything he could to save her, but Helene Lichowitz did not want to live. She said her work was done. In three days she died, holding the hand of the tear-dimmed German doctor.