Our chief care was to get enough sleep. We marched by night, in order, I suppose, that the enemies’ spies should not know where we went. The Russians were kept well informed of our movements. This was not wonderful when we consider that wherever we marched we met refugees returning to their homes. We even advanced to battle once through a crowd of these people. Among them there must certainly have been a large number of spies. But by marching at night, when all Russians had to be indoors, we were able suddenly to reinforce threatened positions and give the enemy some disagreeable surprises. The first thing we did after digging ourselves in, was to go to sleep. One of my earliest lessons in the art of war was when I was posted as sentry—in my simplicity I thought against the Russians—while the rest went to sleep. Suddenly the company sergeant-major appeared in our midst and wanted to know why the others were all snoring. Afterwards my corporal took me aside and explained to me that the company sergeant-major was a far more dangerous man than the Russians, and that I had been posted to prevent surprise from him. That afternoon, however, I was able to retrieve my reputation. We advanced a little, dug ourselves in again, and all went off to sleep leaving me as sentry, and I was just able to wake them in time to receive the lieutenant commanding the company. At last, one night the Russians made a surprise attack and caught us in our sleep. There are all sorts of questions connected with this surprise I should like answered. Theoretically our arrangements made such things impossible. We had patrols all night long in No Man’s Land, we had outposts half a mile from billets, and we had patrols whose only business was to go from sentry to sentry and collect news. Finally, there was a sentry posted at the billets who ought to have given the alarm if he heard firing going on. The old regiment which marched out in August, 1914, would not have allowed itself to be caught napping so badly. It could only have happened to a regiment of recruits. By the last thing I saw of the sergeant-major, it seemed he had lost his head for once. Instead of organizing the defence, he was screaming with fury at the sentry for letting the Russians in upon us, all the while busily kicking him fore and aft.
For myself, I plunged in the direction of the firing, when suddenly the earth to my left seemed to become alive with flame. To my excited senses it appeared that a whole regiment was firing at point-blank range at me alone. We were in a country of low sand-dunes; I tried to run, but the sand hindered my steps, and the volleys of fire still pursued me. Russian rifles fire much too high, so the bullets went over my head, but I had no time to think of that. I plumped down and shammed dead. The firing stopped at once. Then I made a sudden start, got a little way, and then managed to get over the crest of the dune into the valley below. In a minute or two the same thing had to be repeated all over again. The Russians seemed to be everywhere. I can well believe the huntsmen who say the fox enjoys being hunted. I really did enjoy this crowded hour of glorious life. All my faculties were stretched with the one endeavour to escape. Of consequences to myself I did not think. That part of me that could think was simply the spectator at a particularly thrilling drama. At last I met a corporal who gave me instructions to proceed in a certain direction. I went as he instructed me, and I saw in the distance dim shadowy figures moving. I hailed them, they stopped, I approached, and found myself before a party of Russian soldiers. They grinned and made me welcome. A few minutes later a burst of loud cheering announced that the Russians had taken our position by storm.
CHAPTER VI
IN CAPTIVITY
I think it of the greatest importance to set down exactly how the Russians treated their prisoners, because the German reports tell of abominable cruelties, and the Russian denials are often taken as a matter of course and are not believed. It is useless to ignore the fact that the prisoners of war suffered much, and indeed we had to undergo horrors which even now it appals me to remember. But of deliberate or methodical cruelty we encountered little, and when we did come across it, we usually put it down to the character of the persons in command, and not to any system enjoined upon them from above. The few exceptions will be carefully noted in their proper places. The Russian is a careless, happy-go-lucky fellow. A temperament like his makes a man a kind warder, but at the same time his lack of organizing power inflicts hardships which a little foresight could easily prevent. In Russia they told us that we should be ordered two pounds of meat a day in Siberia, and should only receive half a pound. The other pound and a half disappeared through “squeeze” or “graft.” That fact alone characterizes the Russian treatment of prisoners better than any words of mine can—its good intentions spoiled by official incapacity.
I have mentioned that the Russian soldiers grinned when I suddenly ran into their midst that night. This gave me my first insight into their nature. According to what we had been told in the regiment, the Russian was a bloodthirsty savage who would cut the throat of any one who fell into his hands, and who never showed mercy. I have collected the experiences of prisoners from every one of the various fronts, and I have found no instance of cruelty on the part of the common soldier. The general opinion of the Russian is reflected in the judgment of an Austrian officer I knew. “The Russian soldier is the kindest and warmest-hearted man in the world, so long as he is not drunk, but then he is below the beast.” I know some will say, “But how about the excesses of the Revolution, then?” To begin with, these excesses are not organized by Russians, but by Jews, and they are carried out by Letts and soldiers of the Central Powers in Russian uniform. And since the Bolsheviks came into power alcohol has been easy to obtain, and a drunken soldier has become as common a sight as it was rare in the last years of the Czar.
There were ugly stories about the Cossacks. These were seldom related to me by eye-witnesses, but only repeated at third or fourth hand. One of the stories is not without its humorous side. A little Austrian Jew, the only decent one I met in captivity, was wounded and left on the field of battle. The Russians bound up his wounds, but as the struggle raged to and fro they could not remove him, and he lay there for days. From time to time Cossacks would ride by and prod him with their lances, and shout the question, “Germanski?” He answered, “No; Austrian.” If he had said he was a German they would have killed him on the spot; but if they had known that he was a Jew they would have hacked him into a thousand pieces. In any case the cruelty of the Germans towards the Cossacks justified, if such things can be justified, the treatment that the Cossacks occasionally meted out to the Germans.
WITH THE RUSSIANS
Providence having led me to these fellows, I was not inclined to quarrel with its decrees. I had done all that was required of me, and I did not conceive it my duty to engage in single combat with half a dozen Russian soldiers on behalf of a cause I detested. From the first the soldiers were decently behaved, almost respectful, and they left me in possession of all my property. I was even allowed to keep my knife; but presently a man came along, who, from the expert way he searched me, must have been either a policeman or a thief by profession, and he took everything of value he could find. Fortunately my breastpurse, containing £3, escaped his notice. There was an amusing moment when one of my captors drank off the contents of my water-bottle, hoping to find in it tea or something stronger. When it proved to be coffee he spat it out in great disgust, and turned on me, shouting “Germanski! Lutheranski!” The inference was obvious, that only a pig of a Lutheran would drink such a mess as coffee. I dared not laugh out, but in my heart I thanked him for the incident. The Russian soldiers were interested in our religion. They used the word “Lutheranski” as a term of contempt, while they treated the Catholics with a certain respect.
Finally, after an anxious quarter of an hour, spent in dodging German bullets on the one hand, and, on the other, Russian officers who wanted my captors to return to the fight, I was introduced to the General. And at once I was able to remark the awe which the German name had inspired. He drew himself up and received my salute with a ridiculously vain air. Two days later, at Divisional Headquarters the same feeling was noticeable. Here, too, the General was flattered at being saluted by a German soldier. It nurtured the pride of race in the Germans, and gave them an immense feeling of superiority even in captivity.