Yashka

by Mariia Bochkareva; Isaac Don Levine

The official had received orders to take me to the town and detain me. Escorted by the four Guards, Nadia and I were taken to the police station. I was locked up, while the official went to call a meeting of the local Soviet. Nadia remained outside the cell, and I suddenly heard her cry for help. Rushing to the door, I saw through the keyhole that the Red Guards were annoying her. I banged at the door, shouting to the rascals to leave her alone, appealing to their sense of shame, but they only jeered and continued to torment her. My helplessness behind the locked door infuriated me. I dare not think of what the ruffians would have done to Nadia had not my friend Ivanov come in with two other soldiers to plead for me.

They found Nadia crying and me banging at the door in a white fury. I told them of the behaviour of the four Red Guards toward my sister, and a sharp quarrel ensued. Presently the chairman of the local Soviet and the majority of its members arrived. My case was taken up. It appeared that orders had been received from Moscow or Irkutsk to detain me. As the search had not led to the discovery of any incriminating evidence against me, my claim that I was going to Vladivostok could not be refuted.

Ivanov and the two soldiers put up a valiant defence, arguing that I was a sick woman, that they had come to know me during our companionship on the train as a real friend of the people, and that it would be a disgrace to arrest me and send me back with no evidence against me. But for these three defenders, I should in all probability have been dispatched under escort to Moscow or Tutalsk. With their aid, I was able to make such a favourable impression on the Khabarovsk Soviet that I was permitted to proceed to Vladivostok, where I arrived about the middle of April, 1918, with five roubles and seventy kopecks in my purse.

The Soviet in Vladivostok kept a close watch over all the people who were arriving and departing. As soon as Nadia and I reached a lodging house, our documents were demanded in order that they might be sent to the Soviet for inspection. Nadia had a regular passport, while I made use of the paper from the Moscow Soldiers’ Section. It is usual for such documents to be returned to their owners with the stamp of the local Soviet on the back. But ours were slow in arriving—not a good omen.

I went to the English Consul and was received in his office by an elderly Russian Colonel, who served there in the capacity of secretary and interpreter. He recognized me at once, as a telegram from Moscow announcing my coming had preceded me. The Consul was very kind and cordial when I was shown into his study, but declared that his position was such that he could not take it upon himself to obtain a passport for me from the Soviet, as he was suspected of counter-revolutionary activities.

Without revealing to the Consul the true purpose of my journey, I explained to him that my journey to London was undertaken not merely as a social visit to Mrs. Pankhurst, but as an escape from the terror of Bolshevism, which made life perilous for me anywhere in Russia. He advised me to go to the local Soviet, tell them of my desire to go to Mrs. Pankhurst, of whom the Bolsheviks had certainly heard, and ask for passports. The Consul thought that the Soviet could not find anything suspicious about my journey to his country, and would allow me to proceed unmolested. I replied with an account of some of the things I had endured at the hands of Lenin’s government and said that I was certain that my formal application for a passport would be the end of my adventure. He then telephoned to the American Consul at Vladivostok, informed him of my arrival and my plight, and enlisted his interest.

I returned to the hotel, with three hundred roubles in my purse, given me by the Consul. The place was dirty and without conveniences, but it was almost impossible to obtain decent accommodation in the city. However, the proprietor of the inn was very helpful and later saved me from trouble.

The following day the Consul told me that all efforts to win the goodwill of the Soviet toward me had not only failed but had been met with threats. The Bolsheviks might even send me back, I learned. I renewed my entreaties to the Consul to send me away, even without the Soviet’s passport. He would not promise to do so, but under the pressure of my appeals finally showed an inclination to consider the matter.

Upon leaving the Consulate I was stopped in the street by a soldier.

“Botchkareva?” he asked.