I asked some of them which side
they were on. "Well," said one, "we don't exactly know the rights of
the matter.... There is no doubt that Kerensky is a provocator, but we
do not consider it right for Russian men to be shooting Russian men."
In the station commandant's office was a big, jovial, bearded common
soldier, wearing the red arm-band of a regimental committee. Our
credentials from Smolny commanded immediate respect. He was plainly
for the Soviets, but bewildered.
"The Red Guards were here two hours ago, but they went away again. A
Commissar came this morning, but he returned to Petrograd when the
Cossacks arrived."
"The Cossacks are here then?"
He nodded, gloomily. "There has been a battle. The Cossacks came
early in the morning. They captured two or three hundred of our men,
and killed about twenty-five."
"Where are the Cossacks?"
"Well, they didn't get this far. I don't know just where they are.
Off that way...." He waved his arm vaguely westward.
We had dinner-an excellent dinner, better and cheaper than could be
got in Petrograd-in the station restaurant. Nearby sat a French
officer who had just come on foot from Gatchina. All was quiet
there, he said. Kerensky held the town. "Ah, these Russians," he
went on, "they are original! What a civil war! Everything except the
fighting!"
We sallied out into the town. Just at the door of the station stood
two soldiers with rifles and bayonets fixed.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267