“What is the matter?” I shouted at the top of my voice. “What has happened to you? Let me pass!”
The crowd separated and made a way for me to the stool.
“Look at her!” jeered some voices.
“Eh, eh, look at this bird!” echoed others.
“Your Excellency!” scoffed one man.
“Now,” I began sharply, as soon as I had jumped on the stool. “I am no ‘your Excellency!’ but plain Yashka! You can kill me right away, or you can kill me a little later, five, ten minutes later. But Yashka will not be afraid.
“I will have my say. Before you slay me I must speak my mind. Do you know me? Do you know that I am one of you, a plain peasant soldier?”
“Yes, we do,” the men answered.
“Well,” I resumed, “why did you kill this man?” and I pointed at the disfigured body at my feet. “He was the kindest officer in the Corps. He never beat, never punished a soldier. He was always courteous, to privates and officers alike. He never spoke contemptuously to any one. Only a month ago he wanted to be transferred and you insisted on keeping him. That was four weeks ago. Had he changed, could he have changed, in such a short time?
“He was like a father to his men. Weren’t you always proud of him? Didn’t you always boast that in his regiment the food was good, the soldiers were well shod, the baths were regular? Didn’t you, of your own accord, reward him with a Soldiers’ Cross, the highest honour that the free Russian army has to offer?