“He’s of the old régime,” exclaimed another.
“He wants to practise on us the Tsar’s methods!” shouted several voices.
“He is a blackguard!” suggested another.
“He ought to be killed! He wants to rule us with an iron hand!” the men roared, working themselves up to a fever.
Meanwhile, the news came from the trenches that the men were holding meetings there, proclaiming their determination not to remain in their position after seven o’clock. The General was in great difficulty. He was faced with the probability of his section of the front being left entirely open to the enemy. He telephoned to the reserve billets and asked the Chairman of the Committee what was going on there.
Suddenly the General grew pale, dropped the receiver and said:
“They want to kill me.”
Chief of Staff Kostayev took up the receiver and in a trembling voice inquired what the trouble was. I listened to the answer.
“They are in an ugly mood. They have mutinied and threaten to mob the General. The excitement is spreading, and some of them have already started out for Headquarters.”
The voice of the Chairman at the other end of the wire was clearly expressive of his alarm. In reply to questions what the General could do to calm the mob he said that the committee admired and respected the General, that its members were doing their best to allay the passions that had been aroused, but seemed helpless.