“All right, we will go. Come into the house. We will have tea and something to eat.”
The invitation was welcome indeed, as I had grown hungry during my long wait at the station and the walk to the village. When we had finished our tea and lunch and the peasant harnessed his horse, I asked for a large apron, which I put on over my clothes. I then asked for the baba’s winter shawl and wrapped it over my head and shoulders, almost completely covering my face, so that I no longer looked like a Sister of Mercy, but one of the local peasant-women.
Praying to God to grant me a safe journey, I seated myself in the cart. The horse started off along the road.
The Bolshevik front was still ahead of me. But I was making progress....
CHAPTER XVIII
CAUGHT IN A BOLSHEVIK DEATH-TRAP
“What shall I say to the sentries?” the moujik asked me as we approached the front positions.
“Tell them that you are carrying your sick baba to a hospital in the city, as she is suffering from high fever,” I answered, and I asked him to wrap me in the huge fur overcoat on which he was seated. I was warm enough without it, but I thought that it would raise my temperature even more, and I was not mistaken. Under all the wrappings I looked more like a heap than a human form. When we reached the outposts I began to moan as if in pain.
“Where are you going?” I heard a voice ask my driver sharply, as the horse stopped.
“To a hospital in the city,” was the answer.
“What have you got there?” the inquirer continued.