Just then came a knock on the door. It opened, and in it stood the
figure of the Colonel. No one rose, but all shouted a greeting. "May
I come in?" asked the Colonel. "_Prosim! Prosim!_" they answered
heartily. He entered, smiling, a tall, distinguished figure in a
goat-skin cape embroidered with gold. "I think I heard you say that
you were going to Tsarskoye Selo, comrades," he said. "Could I go
with you?"
Baklanov considered. "I do not think there is anything to be done
here to-day," he answered. "Yes, comrade, we shall be very glad to
have you." The Colonel thanked him and sat down, filling a glass of
tea.
In a low voice, for fear of wounding the Colonel's pride, Baklanov
explained to me. "You see, I am the chairman of the Committee. We
control the Battalion absolutely, except in action, when the Colonel
is delegated by us to command. In action his orders must be obeyed,
but he is strictly responsible to us. In barracks he must ask our
permission before taking any action.... You might call him our
Executive Officer...."
Arms were distributed to us, revolvers and rifles-"we might meet
some Cossacks, you know"-and we all piled into the ambulance,
together with three great bundles of newspapers for the front.
Straight down the Liteiny we rattled, and along the Zagorodny
Prospekt. Next to me sat a youth with the shoulder-straps of a
Lieutenant, who seemed to speak all European languages with equal
fluency.
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