In the Russian Ranks: A Soldier's Account of the Fighting in Poland

by John Morse

So I began to look about me. I had papers, testimonials and a permit. How could I utilize these?

Among the comrades with whom I had returned to the front was an officer of the Tomski regiment. I applied to him, and he introduced me to a Staff Captain named Muller. Muller, as we all know, is a very common German name; but many Russians are of German stock. Muller, in spite of his name, was a thorough Russian: and he stated my case to another Staff Officer, Colonel Simmelchok, who proposed that I should apply for recognition as a newspaper correspondent. The difficulty was that I could not name any paper to which I was a contributor, or potential contributor. Finally, the General commanding the troops at Lovicz was applied to. Having expressed the opinion that I had better go home, he refused to give me permission to join any Russian corps, and said that if I remained at headquarters I must do so at my own risk. In view of the excellent recommendations which I possessed from several Russian commanders he would not positively order my departure: and in view of my ignorance of the Russian language, he could not advise that I should be given a commission in any Russian unit. I might enlist as a private if I liked.

I saw at once that if I enlisted in a Russian regiment, my liberty of action would be stopped immediately; and I should see no more of the war than what the tip of my own bayonet could show: and I had serious thoughts of departing, and trying some other commander. Colonel Simmelchok came to the rescue. I might remain at my own risk. Very well: Colonel Krastnovitz, commanding the 2nd battalion of the Vladimir regiment was a friend of his, and would make me a member of their mess. Nothing could have met my views better, except a remittance of ready cash: but I was generously told that I need not trouble my head about that: we were soldiers on campaign, and would mostly enjoy campaign fare only; and so it proved. For we had few luxuries, except an occasional fowl, or duck, obtained from the country-people, a batch of eggs or a joint of pork. We never ran short of tobacco; but wine was almost unknown in the mess.

There was a very decided change in the weather. The mud had disappeared and the ground was frozen hard: the trees sparkled with frost particles, and the ground was coated, every morning, with rime. The air was "shrewd and biting," and we had some boisterous north winds which chilled me to the marrow. Meanwhile desperate fighting was going on, and the Russians seemed to be giving ground in several places. The ground was becoming so hard that trench-making became difficult, and a good deal of the fighting was in the open under old-fashioned conditions: the losses, therefore, were exceptionally heavy, especially in killed and wounded. More prisoners are taken in trench warfare than in any other form of military action owing to the fact that if the men do not escape before an assault takes place they have no chance of doing so when the enemy is actually amongst them. The broad hind-quarters of a Deutschman crawling over the crest of a trench affords a remarkably fine butt for a bayonet thrust: and Huns usually prefer surrender to cold steel.

For several days we were left in doubt of what was taking place in our neighbourhood, though daily glowing accounts reached us of the progress of Russian arms in the Austrian area of the war. The general impression seemed to be that matters were not going on so well in the West Polish district as they should be.

On the 20th we made a night march to a village, the name of which did not transpire. It was deserted, with the exception perhaps of a dozen miserable starving creatures, and had been partly burnt down. We arrived about four o'clock in the morning, at which time it had been snowing heavily for two hours.

We remained hiding in the village all day, fires and even smoking being strictly forbidden. There were about 800 of us: and I do not know if there were other infantry detachments near us, but I heard from the Colonel that a force of Cossacks was reconnoitring some eight or nine versts in front of us; and we could hear the distant booming of heavy guns, a sure sign that the contending parties were in contact, as artillery do not fire at nothing.

The greater part of the day snow was falling, and though it cleared up in the evening it was only for a few hours. We had brought three days' rations in our haversacks. The food consisted of biscuit, and fat boiled mutton, which is excellent diet for marching men. Our drink was water only, which we had to procure where we could find it; not an easy task, as the rivers were full of putrid bodies and carcasses of horses, and the Germans had polluted many of the wells.

On the 21st we made another night march over an open plain on which were many small pine-woods. We kept under cover as much as possible, and finally halted in a pine-wood, where we hid ourselves all day, not seeing a soul of any kind. In the afternoon a Cossack arrived, and delivered a written message to the Colonel, the contents of which he did not divulge; but at night he called for a dozen volunteers who, he said, must be men of enterprise, not afraid to sacrifice themselves if necessary. These men were placed under the command of a young officer, Captain Folstoffle, and proceeded along the bed of a frozen brook, our feet being muffled with pieces of sheep's skin. Naturally I supposed that we were near the enemy; but Folstoffle spoke not a word of either French or English, and no communication of any kind was made to me or to the men: we were left to glean information from the "march of events."

The booming of the guns continued, at intervals, all night, and to the north-west the sky was crimson with the reflection of a large fire—a burning town, I imagined. The only sign of life I saw was a large animal (a wild boar, I think), which rushed out of the cover of some rushes when disturbed by our approach.