“And who are you?” sharply asked the commandant.
“I will show you who I am,” I answered, taking off my medals and cross and showing him my certificate. “I have shed enough blood to be entitled to demand justice for the helpless wife of a soldier.”
But the commandant turned his back on me and went away. There was nothing to be done but to make a collection. I went to the First-Class waiting-room, which was filled with officers and well-to-do passengers, took my cap in my hand and went round, begging for a poor soldier’s wife. When I had finished there were eighty roubles in the cap. With this money I went to the commandant again, and handed it to him with a request that he should provide accommodation for the woman and her children. She did not know how to express her gratitude to me.
The next train came in. I never before saw one so packed. There could be no thought of getting inside a car. The only space available was on the top of a coach. There were plenty of passengers even there. With the aid of some soldiers I climbed on to the top, where I spent two days and two nights. It was impossible to get off at every station to take a walk. We had to send some one even to fetch the tea, and our food consisted of that and bread.
Accidents were not uncommon. On the very roof on which I travelled a man fell asleep, rolled off, and was killed instantaneously. I narrowly escaped a similar fate. I began to doze and drifted to the edge and had not a soldier caught me in the nick of time I should undoubtedly have fallen off. We finally arrived at Kiev.
That journey on the train was a symbol of the country’s condition in the winter of 1916. The government machinery was breaking down. The soldiers had lost faith in their leaders, and there was a general feeling that they were being sent in thousands merely to be slaughtered. Rumours flew thick and fast. The old soldiers had been killed off and the fresh drafts were impatient for the end of the war. The spirit of 1914 was no more.
In Kiev I had to obtain information as to the position of my regiment. It was now near the town of Berestechko. In my absence the men had advanced ten miles. The train from Kiev was also very crowded and there was only standing room. At the stations we sent some of the soldiers to fill our kettles with hot water. The men could seldom get in and out through the entrances, so they used the windows. The train passed through Zhitomir and Zhimerinka on the way to Lutzk. There I changed to a branch line, going to the station of Verba, within twenty miles of our position.
It was muddy on the road to the front. Overhead flew whole flocks of aeroplanes, raining bombs. I got used to them. In the afternoon there was a downpour, and I was thoroughly soaked. Dead tired, with water streaming from my clothes, I arrived in the evening within three miles of the first line. There was a regimental supply train camping on both sides of the road. I approached a sentry and asked:
“What regiment is billeted here?”
“The Twenty-Eighth Polotsk Regiment.”