ars-kaya on the eastern shore of the Azov Sea. The landing
was easy, following a short bombardment of the shore. This was the last time
I saw my brother. His regiment, formerly the personal guard of the Czar, was
the first to set out on a landing barge. My regiment was to follow close
behind. My last sight of him was as he stood in the prow of the landing
barge, smiling and waving to me.
As we should have expected, the landing was a fiasco. The Cossack
population did not budge. Those whom the Bolsheviks considered bad risks had
been removed before we landed. In any case, the Cossacks had not forgotten
their grievances against the White Army. There is a Russian proverb that
says, "Never spit in a well; you may need to drink from it someday."
For the first time, we were facing a new Red Army, better outfitted and
equipped than we were. It was clear from the start that they were
unbeatable. On the evening of August 22, the day my brother was killed, the
First Cossack division, commanded by General Babiev, arrived at the stanitza
of OIguinskaya, with a great number of Red prisoners. Almost immediately, he
had to order us out, without a chance to rest either ourselves or our
exhausted horses. He had been informed that the Red cavalry was attempting
to cut us off from our base. With us were two companies from the Konstantin
Military School of Kiev and two cannons. He left only two sections of mv
regiment, my own included, in the stanitza, along with the cadets and the
two cannons.
We were glad of a chance to catch some sleep. But we had also been left
in charge of a few hundred prisoners, and we didn't know what to do with
them. They were mostly boys of eighteen to twenty who did not understand the
war at all. We couldn't let them go nor could we kill them. Soon, our
dilemma was solved for us. A patrol, coming in from the opposite direction
General Babiev had gone in, notified us that a large force of Red cavalry
was advancing toward the stanitza. Since cavalry cannot fight in a town, the
director of the military school, the highest-, ranking officer among us,
ordered us to withdraw immediately to the north, in the direction of our
landing base. We had to abandon the prisoners.
Our cavalry detachment left the stanitza last. A little over a mile
from the village, we spotted a full Red cavalry regiment facing the village
from the east. When they saw us, they advanced in attack formation.
We were only about a hundred and fifty and would be overrun easily
without even the chance to resist with honor. All we could do was retreat,
and even then our chances of getting away were almost nil. We knew what
would happen to us: the officers would be slaughtered and the Cossacks taken
prisoner.
When the Reds were about five hundred yards from us, ;: they
broke into a full gallop. We drove our horses to the ; utmost of their
endurance but the Reds' horses were in much better condition, and they
gained on us. They were now only a hundred yards away. Behind me, I saw that
the front rider had seen my epaulets and had picked me out. His saber was
extended.
My horse was slowing down. I put my sword away and ^ took out my
pistol. I would take a few Reds, and use the last bullet on myself. My
orderly's horse fell just in front of me. There was nothing I could do for
him. The Red horseman was still behind me. Though he wore no insignia, he
was clearly the leader of the regiment. I fired twice and missed. But the
third time, I saw him fall less than fifty yards behind me.
We were all resigned to die -- and then we were miraculously rescued.
The two companies of cadets, who had been hidden by a tall growth of
sunflowers, were suddenly visible, and getting ready to fire on the Red
cavalry. One company formed the first line, kneeling on one knee, and behind
it stood the second. On their flanks were two heavy Maxim machine guns. They
waited for us to get close. As soon as we had spotted them, our two
detachments split in two, going off to the right and the left.
The Reds were practically on top of us, charging with such screams and
curses that even seasoned soldiers would have been terrified, but the
students did not move a muscle. Then came a curt order, and all hell broke
loose. The Red horsemen, cut down by the rifle and machine-gun fire, turned
back. Our two cannons had been brought up in the rear and they opened fire
on them as they fled.
The field was filled with dead and wounded men and horses. It was an
incredible experience in every way: the courage and coolness of the
students; the savagery of the Red attack, its courage and fanaticism. We
learned later that there had been three regiments against our two companies.
But such defeats were of no use now. It had been over for us ever since the
failure of our ill-advised landing.
We were ordered to the coast, where boats were waiting to take us back
to the Crimea. I asked about my brother's regiment and was told it was due
in an hour. I went under a tree to wait. The heat was unbearable. I was
terribly anxious and went out to the road to watch, hiding myself behind
shrubs. At last, in the distance was the glorious standard of His Imperial
Majesty that had been awarded to the regiment for its valor in the battle of
Leipzig in 1813. My grandfather, father, uncles, cousins, my brother and I
myself had all served under it.
The regiment had almost passed by and there was still no sign of my
brother. Then I saw Berejnoi, his friend, a boy of the same age who had
volunteered at the same time. I called to him and he came toward me. His
manner was enough to tell me what I feared to hear. "Where is Ivan?" For a
long moment he did not answer. "He was killed the day before yesterday." I
had been waiting for these words, but they struck me like a blow in the
face. Berejnoi told me how Ivan had died, and that he had been buried with
another officer and two Cossacks in the stanitza of Grivenskaya with full
military honors. Some of his belongings had been kept for me.
My brother's death affected me so that I could not bear the idea of
going back to war. When I got back to the Crimea, I told my commander that I
had to have some time off. He consented, and I returned to Theodosia with a
small detachment of veterans of the Civil War. I was then twenty-two years
old.
The news from the front was very pessimistic. Under pressure from the
Reds, the army had been forced to retreat to the Crimea, which was protected
by fortifications, some built by the Tartars and some by us. Our army
thought they had foreseen everything, but the fierce cold was a surprise --
and a costly one. The only unfortified part of the Crimea was along the
stormy Sivach Bay, which was on the army's right flank and was to have
formed an invulnerable barrier against the Reds. But the supposedly
unpassable Sivach froze overnight so thick that the Red cavalry crossed it
easily and attacked from the rear. That was the end of the White Army.
6. Into Exile
SO, NOW I WAS ON BOARD the steamboat Vladimir as it got under way to
leave Theodosia. The Black Sea is often stormy in the winter, but that
November day it was extraordinarily calm. It seemed to me that even the sea
understood the tragedy of men about to leave their homeland forever.
The good weather lasted all the way to Constantinople, which was lucky
because many of the boats were old and all were overloaded. Even a slight
storm could have caused a catastrophe. That night there was a cold wind and
I pushed my way below deck, but the air was so stale I couldn't stand it for
more than five minutes. I found a small space on deck amid all the heads and
legs, wrapped myself in my burka, and for the first time in my life, fell
asleep outside my homeland.
In the morning the cold was intense. The waves were higher, and the
boat began to pitch. On the horizon we could see a large two-stack ship and
near it a smaller ship.
Small boats were passing between them. The smaller ship, the Caucasus,
terribly overloaded with men, was slowly sinking. Fortunately, it stayed
afloat until all on board had been evacuated.
The sun rose higher and warmed us somewhat. I was terribly hungry.
Before we had left shore I had been able to find a large can of English
corned beef, but no one had been willing to sell us any bread, since they
knew that our money would be worthless after we departed. I opened the can
with my Cossack dagger and began to eat with my fingers. When I saw the
haggard faces of the others, and how they gazed at my every mouthful, I
offered to share the meat with the men around me. One of them had a few
pieces of bread and we ate that with the canned meat. It was very spicy and
made us frightfully thirsty. One man volunteered to go for water. It took
him an hour to fight his way through the crowd and return with a bucket of
foul-smelling water that we drank with pleasure.
To pass the time, I decided to search the ship for friends. I received
nothing but hostile looks since I had to trample on people's feet in order
to move. The men were used to the worst after two years of civil war, but it
was particularly difficult for the few women on board.
At last I found some officers from my former regiment near the prow.
Because we were facing into the wind it was colder there than on the decks,
but also less crowded. We made a sort of tent around ourselves to block the
wind and stayed there together. The next day we saw some low mountains split
by a deep crevasse, the entrance to the Bosporous straits. On both sides
stood the ruins of forts that no longer threatened anybody. Turkey had lost
the war and Constantinople was occupied by French, English and Italian
troops.
In front of us and behind us, ships of our armada waited for permission
to enter the straits. Mixed in with great ships like the Don, the Rion, and
the Kherson there were smaller boats of every description, about a hundred
altogether. Anything that could float had been used in the evacuation.
As our ship entered the Bosporus, I forgot my troubles and the hunger
and cold. There was Asia on one side, and Europe on the other. At the Golden
Horn, I could scarcely contain myself. On the left was Scutari, in front of
Istanbul with its dome of Sancta Sophia and the minarets of hundreds of
mosques. Our whole armada was assembled in the strait, accompanied by
warships of the occupying powers. Not far off was the magnificent cruiser,
the General Kornilov, and the elegant yacht, the Loucoul, which carried
General Wrangel, his family and staff. The General Kornilov, pride of the
Russian navy, which had been launched in 1915, was to be taken by the French
to Bi-zerte, where it rotted away because the French refused to return it to
the Soviet Union. The Loucoul later sank in the Bosporus.
The noonday sun made us forget the freezing cold of Russia. As soon as
we cast anchor we were surrounded by small boats filled with Greek and
Turkish merchants selling all kinds of supplies. Almost nobody had any
foreign money, of course. For a loaf of bread or a kilo of figs, the vendors
would take a wedding ring. One could buy some bread and some halvah for a
pistol. The goods and payments were raised and lowered in nets over the side
of the ship. To persuade us to deal with them rather than the Turks, the
Greeks would make the sign of the cross in the Orthodox fashion. Most of us
on the boats had eaten nothing for three days and many gave away anything
they had for some bread. I had two automatic pistols, a gold watch, a gold
cigarette case, my dagger with its silver handle, and a gold cross and chain
that my mother had given me. It was all I owned in the world, and in spite
of my hunger, I could not part with my possessions.
Shortly afterward, I was glad I had made that decision. A motor launch
was headed for us loaded with bread. Because there was not enough to go
around, the crew began throwing the bread up onto the deck; but the railings
were high and a good deal fell into the water. It made me feel sick to see
this food being lost, so I gazed instead at the city's panorama. Suddenly,
out of nowhere, a magnificent loaf of bread, which must have weighed almost
a pound, landed in my arms. I finished it off in short order and began to
feel more optimistic. It is amazing what a loaf of bread can do for a hungry
man.
Alongside the small boats of the merchants, there were other small
craft pulling up. These held families of officers who had been evacuated a
month or two earlier, searching for husbands, fathers and brothers. It was
an almost impossible task, and even if they did find them, it was still
useless. We were forbidden by the Allies to disembark.
In the evening the sailors told us that our ship was lifting anchor and
that we would be put off on some Greek island. Eventually we learned that
the island was Lemnos in the Aegean Sea, populated by a few very poor
people. It did not seem a very cheerful prospect. As we got into the open
sea, the boat began to pitch wildly and many were seasick.
As we passed through the Dardanelles the next day, we saw the wreck of
the French heavy cruiser, the Bove, which had been sunk by a mine during the
world war. Toward evening we made out the outline of our "promised land," as
one compatriot called it. The land looked gray and sterile. It made me
melancholy.
They put us off in groups on a peninsula that was connected to the
island by a narrow isthmus. The peninsula had been an Allied naval base
during the world war. There was a large building that desalinated seawater,
and next to it some wooden barracks. Farther on stood an immense wooden
warehouse, its walls painted with pitch, and beyond that some houses that
must have been occupied by the headquarters staff during the war. Far off on
the right we could see the Greek city of Moudros, and on the other side of
the isthmus was the village of Portianos.
We were each given bread and a can of pate, and were issued tents large
enough to hold ten men. Soon a city of tents arose and the place looked less
forbidding. It was terribly cold and we shivered inside the tents, though
they were secure and quite waterproof.
Exhausted, we soon fell asleep, but around midnight we were awakened by
an uproar -- shouting and the sound of wood being ripped apart. The Cossacks,
frozen inside their tents, were dismantling the warehouse, the only wood on
the island. We took our share. By morning, the warehouse had disappeared. We
forgot one detail, however. The planks were coated with pitch and let off a
suffocating black smoke when burned.
As the days went by, the camp took on the appearance of a real city,
but it was only appearance. There was nothing inside -- no source of heat, no
beds or covers, no water to wash ourselves or our clothes. Crowded together,
we were soon infested by an enormous army of lice, which we could not fight
off. It was a horrible existence.
Our legal situation was also precarious. When General Wrangel realized
that his army could no longer resist the Red Army, he had appealed to
foreign governments to aid the refugees when they left the Crimea. Poland
had just concluded an agreement with the Reds, and that had freed the Red
Army to fight Wrangel. But, during a dangerous time for Poland, when
Boudienny's Red cavalry was advancing on Warsaw, Wrangel had helped the
Poles by breaking out of the Crimea and marching toward the Ukraine. To show
its gratitude on behalf of its Polish ally, the French government had given
de jure recognition to the Crimean government. Therefore, it was normal
enough for Wrangel to appeal to France to save the lives of his followers.
The French agreed to assist the refugees until they could migrate to new
homelands.
The French commissary supplied us with daily food: a loaf of bread for
every five persons (shipped all the way from Constantinople, it was almost
inedible by the time it arrived), a can of corned beef for every four
people, a spoonful of margarine each, and a little sugar and tea. We put
everything except the sugar and tea into a large pot and this "soup" was our
daily nourishment. It left us chronically hungry.
But the French did not neglect their own interests. They confiscated
all the Russian ships as well as all their supplies. This caused terrible
privation. They ordered the Cossacks shipped to Lemnos and the regular
detachments to near Gallipoli. The situation of the regulars was even worse
than ours; the land there was an absolute desert. To keep us from escaping,
the French treated us not as allies but as prisoners of war.
There were some English soldiers and one officer on Lemnos, charged
with dismantling their base, but their barracks were some distance away and
we saw little of them. Our sources told us that one could get all sorts of
supplies in the Greek village, from which we were cut off. I wracked my
brain to find a way of getting there. There came a day when I was so hungry
that I decided to give it a try, come what might. I would have to cross
through the English zone and then pass the posts of the Cherkess, who were
guarding us for the French. Since I didn't have a penny to my name, I took
along an Austrian pistol that I had captured. In Western Europe, if someone
offered a gun to a grocer, he would call the police. But, in the East, a
pistol is the easiest thing in the world to sell.
I knew that the only safe way out was right through the English
encampment and I thought if I could get through there, I wouldn't have to
worry about the Cherkess guards. I passed the barracks without seeing a
soul, and I was sure that I was safely on the open road when I heard
footsteps gaining on me. I decided to head for an outdoor privy I saw
nearby, but as soon as I was inside realized that I had made a mistake.
Through a crack in the door I could see an English officer heading straight
for the privy, and for me.
He approached and I heard him swear when he saw that it was occupied.
First come, first served, I said to myself. I waited for him to go away.
Unfortunately, that was not his attitude. He kept pounding on the door and
swearing. After a few minutes, I realized I had no choice and opened the
door. When he saw me, he got so angry I thought he was going to hit me. The
only thing I could think to do was draw my pistol and say "Russian officer."
He got the message and backed off. I also backed away until I had passed the
barracks and the way was open. Later, I learned that the privy was "for
officers only," and that, although he was the only officer in the
detachment, British military discipline allowed no exceptions.
In the village I was astonished to see the main street lined with
shops. I went into what looked like the best of the lot and was overwhelmed
by the variety of the merchandise. I wondered who in this poor village could
afford all these preserves, canned meats, honey, and chocolate. Soon I
realized that all these goods were a burden to the proprietor. Only a short
time before, there had been a sizable English garrison nearby with plenty of
money to spend. When they departed, the merchants were left high and dry.
So, my entrance was greeted with warm smiles and handshakes.
Before offering my pistol for sale, I asked the prices of some of the
goods. After I had figured out how much I wanted would cost, I decided on
three hundred drachmas for my Austrian pistol. The merchant, as I had
foreseen, was anxious to bargain and made a counteroffer of two hundred.
After some haggling, we agreed on two hundred and fifty, and I chose what I
wanted. I was so hungry that I couldn't wait until I got back to camp. I ate
two cans of sardines, some salmon, ham, and chocolates so fast that the
Greek merchant could barely believe his eyes.
In the evening I made my way back to camp without incident, and shared
some of my food with my companions, who had not expected me to come back
with such treasure. From then on I was the go-between between the village
and camp. My comrades awaited my arrival with impatience. One day they told
me about a Russian soldier who lived in a nearby village. I asked to meet
him and two days later they introduced us. He was a sailor, not a soldier,
and had been wounded during the war and cared for in the English hospital.
By the time he was well, the Revolution had broken out, and he had married a
Greek woman and settled down on the island.
Since he spoke Greek quite well, he was a great help to me as an
interpreter. He advised me that pistols were very much in demand and that I
had been selling mine much too cheaply. A few days later, I arrived in town
with three pistols and asked a thousand drachmas apiece. The merchants
pointed to their foreheads to indicate that I must be mad. I walked out of
the store. At the edge of the village they caught up with me and the real
bargaining began. Two hours later, we had agreed on eight hundred drachmas
per pistol.
At this point the English soldiers left the island, and the Cherkess
guards took over the part of the line they had been covering. This made
getting through much more difficult, but for a while I was able to slip
through between two outposts. By now I was obsessed with the idea of
escaping. My sailor friend told me that there were several bands of Greek
smugglers. If I paid them well enough, they could get me to Greece or
Turkey. I had no money, but I still had my gold cigarette case, which
weighed two grams. I asked my friend to introduce me to them.
The smugglers were enough to strike fear into the heart of the timid.
They were big, rough men, windburned from the open sea. They invited us to
share their meal and we accepted. After eating and prodigious drinking, they
fell to singing. When that was over, the serious conversation between the
"captain" and me began. To my great surprise, he spoke Russian. He had been
born in Odessa and had lived there until he was twenty-five. He had had to
leave the city in a hurry to escape arrest for killing a customs official.
When I heard his story, I decided not to trust myself to his mercies, but I
continued the negotiations. I told him I had no money but that I owned a
gold cigarette case. He was pleased, until I told him that I had left it in
the camp and would show it to him when we met next. He didn't much like
that, but agreed to take me to Salonika in two weeks, since he was going
there on business.
When we left, I told my sailor friend that I would never dare to go to
sea with those ruffians. He insisted that I was wrong to judge them on their
appearances, that they were honest men in spite of their trade. I decided to
postpone my decision until the next meeting. I had a little reserve of
provisions, so I delayed a few days before returning to the village.
Three days later, an old colonel whom I had known for a long time came
to me. He was dying of hunger, he said, because he couldn't digest the
rations issued to us. He offered me his Mauser and asked me to trade it in
the village for something he could eat. I could not refuse this old, sick
man the opportunity to eat some decent food before he died. I promised to
go.
I got there without any problem and sold his pistol easily, since he
had also supplied some cartridges, a very scarce item. I bought some food
for him I was sure he would like, and on the way home I was thinking about
how pleased he would be. But when I arrived at my usual crossing point, I
found an outpost manned by three Cherkess soldiers. Whichever direction I
went, I found more guards. It was getting later and later, and I knew things
would be even worse in the morning.
One side of the small peninsula where our camp was located faced the
open sea, but the other side was bounded by a bay where the water was
relatively shallow and calm when the wind blew from the land. That night the
wind was blowing from the center of the island. I crept to the shore and
found the water was very cold but shallow enough to walk in. I still had
about a mile to go to reach the camp. I packed the colonel's supplies and my
clothes around my shoulders and waded in. I walked out to about ten yards
from the shore; nobody could see me from shore. The water was up to my
chest. I was frozen.
About halfway across, the wind suddenly changed. It began to blow into
my face. The waves were over my head. The undertow grew stronger and I began
to lose my footing. At this point, the shore was rocky and forbidding, and I
couldn't climb out of the water. I thought of ditching the colonel's
foodstuffs and my clothes. But where could I find new clothing -- I decided
to fight it out. Once more, Lady Luck came to my rescue. The wind suddenly
shifted. I slowly made my way to a safe part of the shoreline and later
reached camp, frozen and exhausted but alive.
Our situation was more desperate with each passing day. With the hunger
and cold, the increasing filth of our clothing and living quarters, many of
the Cossacks and officers began to think they would die on that miserable
island. We were told that General Wrangel had gone to Bulgaria and
Yugoslavia to ask asylum for his soldiers. Meanwhile, the French had
announced their intention to cut off their aid to the refugees. Shortly they
showed their hand: "Enlist in the Foreign Legion and your future will be
secure." France had a Moroccan war on its hands and needed experienced
soldiers. Many Cossacks enlisted, and some returned to Russia to take their
chances there rather than die on Lemnos or in North Africa.
7. Flight from Lemnos
I WOULD NOT ENLIST in the legion, but neither could I return to Russia.
I would certainly be hanged on the spot. I kept trying to think of some way
to escape, and I would certainly have ended up going with the smugglers if
some good news had not reached us at last. General Wrangel had obtained the
agreement of the Yugoslav government to accept the women, children, sick,
wounded and elderly refugees on Lemnos. A ship was to come for them in a few
days. Of course, I didn't belong to any of the groups that were to be
evacuated.
When the day of departure dawned, a huge Russian ship, the Kherson,
appeared on the horizon. It was too large to get close to the island and a
small Greek boat was brought out to ferry the passengers. A crowd began to
gather very early in the morning and boarding was set for 9 A.M. Since I had
nothing better to do, I went down to watch. The arrangements were being
supervised by the Russian commander who, when he saw me, whispered:
"Nicholas, do you want to get out of this place?"
"Do I? But how?"
"Take a piece of paper out of your pocket and pretend to show it to me.
I'll pass you onto the ferry. When you get aboard, hide until it's time to
board the Kherson. From there on, you're on your own."
I looked for a hiding place on the ferry. The decks and cabins were
full; I would have to go down into the hold. The first hold was too close to
the deck to be safe, but, as I searched, I found a small opening in a
corner. This led to a lower hold which would, I thought, make a safe hiding
place. So I climbed down the iron ladder into the darkness. I couldn't see a
thing. I felt around me and came on some empty crates. I sat down on one of
them.
Suddenly, I heard something move nearby and then something brushed
against me. Rats. I tried to build a barricade around myself with the
crates, and then I sat down with my back against the hull. I had thought
they would leave me alone, but I was wrong. The rats attacked me from all
sides. Picking up a plank, I began to swing left and right, but this only
served to madden them. Several jumped on my legs and bit me before I could
knock them off.
I was so desperate I almost called out. At that moment, the ship's
engines started up and I would not have been heard, in any case. I found
another plank and with the two of them I battled the rats for a quarter of
an hour that seemed like an eternity. I could feel the plank hitting against
what seemed like a carpet of rats but they kept jumping onto my legs and
biting me.
Then the boat slowed down, and a few minutes later it stopped
altogether. I made my way toward the ladder, literally walking on rats and
kicking them out of the way;
as I climbed up the ladder two of them still clung to my legs. At last
I reached the upper hold and then got onto the deck. I was safe but
everybody was staring at me;
there was blood all over my hands and legs.
The Greek captain saw immediately what had happened to me. I explained
my dire situation to him in French, and he took me to his cabin, where he
washed and disinfected my wounds. After he had bandaged them, he urged me to
seek medical help on board the Kherson. What he had been able to do was
inadequate, and my wounds were likely to become infected. And rats can carry
the plague.
As soon as I reached the deck of the Kherson, I was taken charge of by
a nurse, who led me to the infirmary. The ship's doctor examined me all over
as I told him what had happened. He had my clothes burned and told me to
wash thoroughly. What a pleasure it was to put on clean clothes again. Under
the attentive care of the nurses, I began to revive.
I tried not to think of the future; how would I survive in foreign
countries where I knew nobody? I had no job skills and not a penny in my
pocket.
On the morning of December 31, 1920, the Kherson pulled into an inlet
between some mountains. Passing through the Gulf of Kotor we steamed into
the great harbor of Katarro. In front of us was Mount Lovtchen, on which was
perched the kingdom of Montenegro; to our right, in the distance, we could
see Albania. We gradually approached the little port of Zeienika, where we
were to disembark.
The cafes and restaurants reminded me that I was hungry. I didn't want
to sell any of my "treasures" but I had been given some slippers on the ship
and I was carrying my new English leather boots in a sack. I put them on
sale in a cafe. After a little haggling, I had a hundred crowns in my
pocket. As I left the cafe, I ran into a captain whom I had known quite
well. He had fifty dinars. Pooling our resources, we had enough to celebrate
the New Year in style. We went to a cafe that was frequented by Russian
refugees, most of them wounded officers like my friend the captain. They
invited us to join them, and then the drinking began. We drank to our
country and to a quick return; we drank really to forget our exile and the
uncertain future. I drank so much that I do not remember how I ended up in a
barracks with my friend. But I had nothing to fear. No one asked me any
questions and I was put on the list to receive free food and four hundred
dinars a month. The king of Yugoslavia welcomed us like brothers. Later, all
the Cossacks on Lemnos were evacuated to Yugoslavia, where many of them were
assigned to border patrols. Many Russian officers and physicians were able
to find positions in Yugoslavia that resembled what they had had in Russia.
My leg wounds were a source of concern. They were healing very slowly
and the treatments I received from a Russian doctor did not seem to help
much. I was also worried about proper clothing. After my clothes had been
burned on the Kherson, I had been given some that had been disinfected so
often that they smelled to high heaven. They were also too small for me. My
captain friend told me that there was a warehouse of civilian clothes in
Zei-enika sent by the American Red Cross.
I went to see Mr. Rodzianko, the head of the Russian Red Cross in
Zeienika, but to my surprise I was refused any help. I was so angry that I
began to plan my revenge on him and, at the same time, get what I needed.
Each week we went in groups to baths, which were next to a deep and rapid
creek that ran down from the mountains. We entered the baths from the side
away from the creek, there we left our shoes and hats. Then we went into a
large room on the creek side, where we took off our clothes, made a package
out of them, and put them inside a steam cylinder to be disinfected. After
we bathed, we emerged on the other side, where we found our shoes and hats
and retrieved our clothing from the opposite end of the steam cylinder.
After I undressed, I waited for everyone else to go into the baths. I
made a pack of my clothes and put two heavy stones inside it. Stark naked, I
walked back out and threw the bundle into the creek. Then I went into the
bath, washed thoroughly, and came out with all the others to wait for my
clothes to be taken out of the disinfectant. When they didn't turn up, I
began to protest loudly and to complain of the cold. I was given a blanket
while everyone searched high and low for my clothes. It soon became clear
that they would not be found. An attendant was dispatched to Rodzianko, who
finally relented. I was issued clean underclothing and a splendid suit. The
label in one of the pockets read, "Wood & Saxe, Tailors, New York."
That was one thing solved. There remained the problem of my legs, which
were giving me more and more trouble. The camp physician sent me to the
hospital in Ragusa (today Dubrovnik), which was located in an enormous
former convent with endless corridors and rooms of every size and shape. The
physician in charge was the former chief medical officer of the Austrian
army and there was also a Russian doctor. Soldiers of the new Kingdom of the
Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes served as nurses. I spent a month there and was
very well taken care of. Toward the end of my stay, I learned that my uncle,
the colonel of the former Escort of the Czar, now called the Kuban guard,
was also in Yugoslavia.
I was just getting ready to leave the hospital when I became deathly
ill. Two days before I was to leave, I had gone to the toilet at night with
almost no clothes on. The hospital had no electric light after 10 P.M. There
were small alcohol lamps in the rooms but no light at all in the corridors.
The toilets were quite far from my room and I got lost in the unlit
corridors. I was terribly cold and I called out to the nurse but the place
was so huge that I wandered for almost an hour before anyone heard me. I was
trembling like a leaf. In the morning I had a high fever and developed
pneumonia. For two weeks I was between life and death. Even after the fever
had passed, it took me two weeks to recover my strength. I had to stay in
the hospital another month.
Finally I was discharged from the hospital. The administration gave me
a new civilian suit, a little money, and a ticket to the city of Novi Sad,
where my uncle was living. His wife had left Russia to join him three months
earlier with their son and two daughters. Novi Sad had belonged until
recently to Hungary and had three names -- Novi Sad in Serbian, Neusatz in
German, and Ujvidek in Hungarian -- and its population was as mixed as its
names. The children playing in the streets spoke not only three national
languages but also Yiddish, for there was also a sizable Jewish population.
It was a wonderfully charming city on the Danube.
My aunt was an enterprising woman. She had managed to save her valuable
jewels and with the money had bought a hotel with a superb cafe. (Two years
later, she and one of her partners lost control of the establishment to the
third partner. But in the meanwhile, I lived the high life.) I had the best
room in the hotel; I ate in the cafe and my aunt gave me pocket money. She
bought me two new suits in the latest fashion. It was a soft life, but I was
uneasy living off my relatives. So one day I decided to go to Belgrade in
search of any former comrades who might be there. Belgrade had suffered
terribly during the war from bombardment by the Austrians across the Danube.
Rebuilding was going on everywhere.
After several days in Belgrade I was involved in a dramatic incident
and my good luck saved me once again. The parliament building had been
renovated and was to be dedicated by the prince regent, the future King
Alexander. He was to be accompanied by President Pasic. I found a spot along
the parade route near a large building where construction work was going on.
In order to see over the mounted guards along the street, I stood on a small
pile of bricks. I could hear the cheering in the distance and then the
church bells began to ring. There was a foreigner standing next to me, a man
of medium height who could not see over the guards. Since I was tall enough
to see the parade from ground level, I gave him my place on the pile of
bricks. The parade came along and I could see the regent and Pasic, seated
in an open carriage.
After that, things happened so quickly I couldn't tell what was going
on. The horses fell under their traces;
there were people covered with blood. The police were running in all
directions. There had been an assassination attempt against the regent. The
foreigner next to me was stretched out on the ground, his face covered with
blood. As I tried to reach him, the police arrived and carried him to an
ambulance. Next day I read in the newspapers that he was Swiss and had been
hit by a bomb fragment. He had been blinded. Given my height, the shrapnel
would have hit me in the chest if I had stayed standing on the bricks.
III. The Treasure of the White Army
8. A Fantastic Secret
AT THE RUSSIAN EMBASSY in Belgrade I ran into a fellow officer who had
been attached to the same brigade as I at the outbreak of the Civil War. I
had not laid eyes on him since those days.
"My dear friend," he said, "you are just the man I have been looking
for. Of course, I had no idea I would find you here though I knew you were
in Yugoslavia. I have just returned from Bulgaria, and I had a talk with
General Pokrovsky in Sofia. He asked me to try to find you and to set up a
meeting with him there. Here is a ticket. His address is marked on the
back."
I was startled. I had not even seen the general for ages and had never
felt sympathetic toward him. I disapproved of his cruelty to the enemy and,
as well, his behavior toward the Cossacks. Why on earth would he wish to see
me? Out of curiosity, and because I was bored and wanted to do something
new, I decided to go anyhow.
I went back to Novi Sad to tell my aunt and uncle.
They tried to dissuade me from going without being quite sure why. My
uncle knew Pokrovsky and didn't think highly of him. But I had made up my
mind, and two days later, I took the train for Sofia. I didn't have a
passport, but I managed to get through both the Serbian and the Bulgarian
customs with a sort of identification that my uncle had written out on some
of his leftover regimental letterhead.
When I arrived at Pokrovsky's house, his orderly informed me that the
general was in Tirnovo, the former capital of the Bulgarian kingdom. The
next day I found him in a house on the outskirts of the city. It belonged to
a Bulgarian colonel who was an adversary of the government. Pokrovsky
greeted me warmly: 'T am delighted to see you, molodoi [young man]. I'll
tell you later why I sent for you. First, let's go eat. But forget the
General Pokrovsky. I am incognito here. I am Captain Ivanov."
The political situatio