He was not allowed to continue. An indescribable uproar arose, and the storm of shouts seemed to tear Kalmikov down from the barrel. He strode across towards Bunchuk, but halted a few steps away and turned to the cossacks:
‘Cossacks! Last year cornet Bunchuk deserted from the front; you know that. And are we going to listen to this coward and traitor?’
The commander of the sixth company, major Sukin, out-shouted Kalmikov with his deep voice:
‘Arrest him, the scum! We have poured out our blood, and he has saved himself in the rear! Seize him!’
‘Wait a bit, brother!’ ‘Let him speak!’ ‘We don’t want any deserters!’ ‘Go on, Bunchuk!’ ‘Down with them!’ ‘Give it to them, Bunchuk, give it to them!’ A chorus of conflicting shouts arose from the cossacks.
A tall, capless cossack, a member of the regimental revolutionary committee, jumped on to the barrel. His clean-shaven head turned like a snake’s this way and that on his slender neck. In fiery words he called upon the cossacks not to obey the orders of general Kornilov, the traitor to the revolution, and spoke of the ruinous consequences of a war with the people. At the end of his speech he turned to Bunchuk:
‘And you, comrade,’ he cried, ‘don’t think that we despise you as the officers do. We are glad of you and respect you, because when you were an officer you did not crush the cossacks, but were with them as a brother. We never heard a rough word from you; but don’t think that we, uneducated men, don’t understand good treatment. Even the cattle understand a kindly word, and far more man. We bow to the earth before you, and ask you to tell the Petrograd workers that we shall not raise a hand against them.’
There was a roar of approving shouts like the roll of kettledrums. It rose to an extraordinary pitch, slowly fell, and died away.
Kalmikov again jumped up on to the barrel, his handsome form swaying towards the cossacks. Panting and deathly pale, he spoke of the glory and honour of the Don, of the historic mission of the cossackry, of the blood which officers and men had all shed.
Kalmikov was followed by a cossack with a lint-white head of hair. His indignant words attacking Bunchuk were shouted down by the crowd, and they dragged him off the barrel. At once Chikamasov jumped up. Waving his arms as though cleaving a log, he barked:
‘We won’t go! We won’t detrain! Kalmikov says the cossacks promised to help Kornilov; but who asked us whether we would? We’ve made no promises to Kornilov! The officers of the Cossack Alliance made the promises. Let them help him!’
One after another at an increasing rate the speakers clambered on to the barrel. Bunchuk stood with head bowed, a swarthy flush in his cheeks, the pulse beating strongly in his face and neck. The atmosphere was charged with electricity. A little more, and some hasty action would have led to bloodshed. But the soldiers of the garrison came along in a crowd, and the cossack officers abandoned the meeting.
Half an hour later Dugin came running to Bunchuk.
‘Ilia, what shall we do?’ he panted. ‘Kalmikov has thought of something. They’re unloading the machine-guns, and they’ve sent mounted couriers off somewhere.’
‘We’ll go along. Collect twenty cossacks or so. Hurry!’
By the officers’ wagon Kalmikov and three other officers were loading machine-guns on to horses. Bunchuk strode up to them, glanced round at the cossacks behind him, and thrusting his hand into his greatcoat pocket, pulled out a revolver:
‘Kalmikov, you are arrested!’ he declared. ‘Hands up …’
Kalmikov leapt away from the horse, and bent to pull his revolver out of its holster. But over his head whistled a bullet, and in a heavy, ominous voice Bunchuk shouted:
‘Hands up!’
The hammer of his revolver slowly rose to the half-cock. Kalmikov watched it with narrowed eyes, and slowly raised his hands, his fingers twitching. The officers unwillingly handed over their weapons. The cossacks unloaded the horses and carried the machine-guns into the wagon.
‘Set guards over these,’ Bunchuk told Dugin. ‘Chikamasov, you arrest the other officers and bring them here. Dugin and I will take Kalmikov along to the garrison revolutionary committee. Captain Kalmikov, please to step forward.’
‘That was smart … smart!’ one of the officers remarked in admiring tones, jumping into the wagon and watching Bunchuk, Dugin and Kalmikov march off.
‘Gentlemen! For shame, gentlemen! We behaved like children! No one thought of striking that scoundrel down! When he raised his revolver against Kalmikov we should have gone at him, and it would have been all over.’ Major Sukin stared at the other officers indignantly, and fumbled with a cigarette in his case. The officers silently lit cigarettes, occasionally exchanging glances. The speed with which Bunchuk had acted had crushed them.
For a little way Kalmikov walked along without speaking, biting the end of his black whisker. His left cheek burned as though it had been scrubbed with a brush. The passers-by stopped and stared in amazement, whispering to one another. Above the town the evening sky was clouded. Fallen birch leaves lay in ruddy ingots along the roads. Rooks were circling around the green cupola of the church. Beyond the station, beyond the darkling fields night had already fallen, breathing coldly; but to the south torn, leaden-white clouds were still to be seen scudding along. Crossing invisible frontiers, night pressed on the shadows.
By the station Kalmikov turned sharply round and spat in Bunchuk’s face.
‘Scoundrel …’ he shouted.
Bunchuk dodged the spittle, and raised his eyebrows. His fingers itched to seize his revolver. But he restrained himself and curtly ordered the officer to walk on.
Kalmikov moved on, cursing horribly, pouring out a stream of oaths born of mortal pain, fear, desperation and yearning during the years of war.
‘You’re a traitor! You’ll pay for this!’ he shouted, frequently stopping and turning on Bunchuk.
‘Get on! I ask you …’ Bunchuk urged again and again.
And again Kalmikov would step out, clenching his fists, and straining like an excited horse. They drew near to the water-tower. Grinding his teeth, Kalmikov screamed:
‘You’re not a party, but a gang of scurrilous dregs of society. Who is your leader? The German staff command! Bolsheviks … ha-ha! Mongrels! Your party can be bought like prostitutes. The cads! The cads, blast them all …! They’ve betrayed their fatherland! I’d hang you all from one tree … But the time will come! Didn’t your Lenin sell Russia for thirty silver marks? He took his bribe … and hid himself … the convict …’
‘Stand up against the wall!’ Bunchuk shouted deliberately panting out the words.
Dugin began to get agitated. ‘Ilia! Bunchuk! Wait a bit!’ he exclaimed. ‘What are you going to do? Stop!’
His face distorted and livid with rage, Bunchuk leapt at Kalmikov and struck him on the temple. He trampled on the cap that went flying from the officer’s head, and dragged the prisoner towards the dark brick wall of the water-tower.
‘Stand up!’
‘What are you going to do …? You … won’t dare … won’t dare to shoot me?’ Kalmikov roared, struggling to resist him.
He was flung with his back against the wall, and straightened up, abruptly understanding.
‘So you’re going to kill me!’
He took a step forward, swiftly buttoning up his greatcoat.
‘Shoot, you son of a swine! Shoot …! And see how Russian officers can die …! In the face of death I … Oh …!’
The bullet struck him in the mouth. The echo of the shot went ringing round the water-tower. Kalmikov clutched at his head with his left hand, stumbled, and fell. He bowed in a half-circle, spat out bloodstained teeth on to his breast, and licked his lips with his tongue. His back had hardly touched the damp ground when Bunchuk fired again. Kalmikov shuddered convulsively, turned over on his side, then like a drowsy bird huddled his head on his chest and sobbed once or twice.
Bunchuk turned away. Dugin ran after him.
‘Ilia … What did
you shoot him for, Bunchuk?’
Bunchuk shook him by the shoulder, fixing his gaze firmly into the cossack’s eyes, and said with a strangely calm, gentle voice:
‘It’s either us or them! There’s no middle way. There are no prisoners in this war. Blood for blood. War to extermination … Understand? Such men as Kalmikov have to be wiped out, crushed like serpents. And those who slobber with pity for them must be shot too. Understand? What are you slobbering for? Pull yourself together! Be hard! If Kalmikov had had the power he would have shot us without removing the cigarette from his mouth; and you … Ah, you cry-baby!’
But Dugin’s head shook and his teeth chattered, and he went stumbling along over his great feet.
They walked along the deserted street without speaking. Bunchuk glanced back. The funereally sombre clouds moving towards the east foamed low in the sky. Out of a small space of clear September heaven the horned, rain-washed moon gazed with the green, slanting eye of a corpse. At a corner a soldier and a woman with a white shawl over her shoulders stood pressed to each other. The soldier embraced the woman and strained her towards him, whispering something. But she pushed with her hands at his chest and flung her head back, muttering in a choking voice: ‘I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!’ And a youthful, hollow laugh came from her lips.
Summoned to Petrograd by Kerensky, on September thirteenth general Krimov shot himself.
Delegations and the commanders of the sections of Krimov’s army began to pour to the Winter Palace to make their submission. Men who only recently had been marching to open war on the Provisional Government now obsequiously bowed and scraped to Kerensky, assuring him of their feelings of utter devotion. Morally shattered, Krimov’s army struggled in its death-agony. From sheer inertia some sections still rolled on towards Petrograd, but the movement had lost all purpose, for the Kornilov putsch was at an end, the Bengal lights of this outburst of reaction were dying out, and the temporary ruler of the country was strutting like a Napoleon, and speaking at government meetings of the ‘complete political stabilization’ of Russia.
The day prior to Krimov’s suicide general Alexeev was appointed commander-in-chief. Realizing the equivocal nature of his position, the scrupulous and squeamish Alexeev at first categorically refused the post offered to him; but afterwards he accepted, being governed by the desire to mitigate the fate of Kornilov and those who had been implicated in the organization of his anti-governmental revolt. Alexeev entered into direct telephonic communication with Kornilov at staff headquarters, trying to ascertain the late commander’s attitude to his appointment and imminent arrival. The negotiations dragged on with interruptions until late at night.
On September 14th Alexeev arrived at staff headquarters. The same evening, on the instruction of the Provisional Government he arrested Kornilov, Lukomsky and Romanovsky. The next day the commander-in-chief of the South-Western front, general Denikin, together with generals Markov, Vannovsky and Erdeli, were arrested at Berdichev. So ended the Kornilov revolt. But in its end it engendered a new revolt; for the first beginnings of the plans for the coming civil war and the extended attack on the revolution were born in the ‘Kornilov days’.
Chapter Six
Early one morning at the beginning of November, captain Listnitsky received instructions from the regimental commander to take his company on foot to the Winter Palace Square. He gave the necessary orders to the sergeant-major, and hurriedly dressed. The other officers rose also, yawning and cursing. They went into the yard. The company was drawn up in troop columns. Listnitsky led them at a swift march into the street. The Nevsky Prospect was deserted. Occasional shots sounded in the distance. An armoured car was driving about the Winter Palace Square, and Junkers were on patrol. A desert silence reigned in the streets. At the gates of the Winter Palace the cossacks were met by a detachment of Junkers and the cossack officers of the fourth company. One of them, the company commander, led Listnitsky to one side.
‘Have you all the company with you?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘The second, fifth and sixth companies refused to march, but we’ve got the machine-gun detachment with us. How are your cossacks?’
Listnitsky curtly waved his hand and replied:
‘Bad! But how about the first and fourth regiments?’
‘They’re not here. They won’t come. You know an attack from the Bolsheviks is expected today? The devil knows what is afoot.’ He sighed sadly and added: ‘I’d be glad to get back to the Don and away from all this …’
Listnitsky led his company into the palace yard. The cossacks piled their arms and wandered over the spacious courtyard, whilst the officers gathered in one corner and smoked and talked.
Some time later a regiment of Junkers and the Women’s Battalion arrived. The Junkers took up their position with machine-guns in the vestibule of the palace. The women crowded in the yard. The cossacks drew towards them, making filthy jests. A sergeant clapped one of the women on the back, remarking:
‘It’s your job to have children, auntie, and not mix in men’s business.’
‘Bear children yourself!’ the unfriendly ‘auntie’ snapped back.
The cossack roared with laughter. But towards noon their gay spirits evaporated. The women broke up into platoons and barricaded the gates with great pine beams. They were commanded by a big woman of masculine build, wearing a medal of St George on her well-fitting greatcoat. The armoured car drove more frequently around the square, and the Junkers carried in boxes of cartridges and machine-gun ribbons.
A group of sympathizers and men from his own district was gathered around Lagutin discussing something. The officers had disappeared, and there was no one but the cossacks and the women in the yard. Several abandoned machine-guns, stood by the gates, their shields shining wetly.
Towards evening a light frost set in. The cossacks began to grumble at being left without food.
‘We must send someone for the field-kitchen,’ one of them suggested.
Two men were sent. The cossacks waited another couple of hours, but neither field-kitchen nor messengers appeared. Just as dusk was falling the Women’s Battalion, gathered by the gates, lay down in a long chain behind the beams, and began to fire across the square. The cossacks took no part in the shooting, but stood smoking and getting more and more fed up. At last Lagutin gathered the company by the wall, and apprehensively watching the windows of the palace, spoke to the crowd:
‘This is the position, cossacks! There’s nothing for us to do here. We must go out, or we’ll suffer without cause. They’ll begin to fire at the palace, and where shall we be then? The officers have vanished … And are we to stop and die here? Let’s go home, why should we rub our backs against this wall? As for the Provisional Government … What good have they been to us? What do you think, cossacks?’
‘If we go out of the yard the Bolsheviks will start firing at us,’ a cossack objected.
‘Then let us break up …’
‘No, let us stay here to the end.’
‘We’re like sheep in a pen waiting for the butcher here.’
‘Do what you like, our troop is going out.’
‘And we’re going too!’
‘Send men out to the Bolsheviks. Let them leave us alone and we’ll leave them alone.’
The cossacks of the first and fourth companies came up and joined in the meeting. After a little more discussion three cossacks, one from each company, went out through the gates. After some time they returned, accompanied by three sailors. The sailors leapt across the stockade of beams and strode across the yard with a deliberately jaunty air. They joined the cossacks, and one of them, a handsome young, black-whiskered sailor in a sailor jacket, his cap thrust to the back of his head, pushed into the middle of the crowd.
‘Comrade cossacks!’ he addressed them. ‘We, the representatives of the revolutionary Baltic fleet, have come to propose that you leave the Winter Palace. Why should you defend an enemy bourgeois
government? Let their own bourgeois sons, the Junkers, defend them! Not a single soldier has come out in defence of the Provisional Government, and your brothers of the first and fourth regiments have joined with us. All those who want to go with us, step over to the left.’
‘Wait a bit, brother!’ a sergeant of the first company stepped forward. ‘We’ll go with pleasure, but supposing the Bolsheviks start shooting at us?’
‘Comrades! In the name of the Petrograd Military Revolutionary Committee we promise that you will leave in absolute safety. No one will touch you,’ the sailor replied.
The cossacks hesitated. Some of the Women’s Battalion approached and stood listening for a moment, then went back to the gates.
‘Hey, you women, coming out with us?’ a bearded cossack shouted after them.
‘Pick up your rifles and march!’ Lagutin said resolutely.
The cossacks willingly seized their arms and arranged themselves in line.
‘Shall we take the machine-guns?’ one of the gunners asked the black-whiskered sailor.
‘Yes. Don’t leave them for the Junkers.’
Just as the cossacks were about to leave the courtyard their officers appeared. They stood in a dense group, not removing their eyes from the sailors. The companies began to march off. The machine-gun detachment went in front with its guns. The wheels scraped and rattled against the wet stones. The sailor in the jacket went with the leading troop of the first company. A tall, lint-white cossack tugged at his sleeve and said in a guilty voice:
‘Brother, you don’t think we wanted to go against the people, do you? They got us here by a trick, but if we’d known we shouldn’t have come.’ He shook his head violently. ‘Believe my word, we wouldn’t! God’s truth!’