Colonel Muraviov, ex-patriot, was in command-an efficient man, but
to be carefully watched. At Colpinno, at Obukhovo, at Pulkovo and
Krasnoye Selo were formed provisional detachments, increased in size
as the stragglers came in from the surrounding country-mixed
soldiers, sailors and Red Guards, parts of regiments, infantry,
cavalry and artillery all together, and a few armoured cars.
Day broke, and the pickets of Kerensky's Cossacks came in touch.
Scattered rifle-fire, summons to surrender. Over the bleak plain on
the cold quiet air spread the sound of battle, falling upon the ears
of roving bands as they gathered about their little fires, waiting....
So it was beginning! They made toward the battle; and the worker
hordes pouring out along the straight roads quickened their pace....
Thus upon all the points of attack automatically converged angry
human swarms, to be met by Commissars and assigned positions, or
work to do. This was _their_ battle, for _their_ world; the officers
in command were elected by _them._ For the moment that incoherent
multiple will was one will....
Those who participated in the fighting described to me how the
sailors fought until they ran out of cartridges, and then stormed;
how the untrained workmen rushed the charging Cossacks and tore them
from their horses; how the anonymous hordes of the people, gathering
in the darkness around the battle, rose like a tide and poured over
the enemy.
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