Читать книгу The Red Reign - Kellogg Durland - Страница 7

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Welcomed by officers of the guard—Being Cossackized—An interrupted sleep—Presentation to the governor-general—An amusing interview—The general’s vanity and how it was tickled—The story of the Cossacks—An Ingoosh brigand—An expedition into the mountains.

RINCE ANDRONNIKOV, some time lieutenant in the Terskoi-Koubansky Cossack regiment, presently attached to the person of the empress, received me in Vladikavkas with a graciousness known only in the East—charming formality blended with cordial warmth—and I at once felt at home.

The prince was in the uniform of the Cossacks of the mountains. A kilted outer garment of gray, loose-fitting, but well cut, offered a pleasing background for what was to me a startling array of side-arms—a saber, a dagger, a revolver, and a row of rifle cartridges across the breast.

“You will be one of us across the Caucasus?” he said in exquisite French. “Our regiment is indeed honored.”

It was the noon hour when I presented myself to Prince Andronnikov, and the officers of his regiment were about sitting down to lunch. I was introduced to a score or more of them, charming fellows all, scions of some of the noblest families in Russia. The commander of the regiment was Count Schouvoleff, who bore the distinction of being an aide-de-camp to the czar.

Russian officers enjoy the privilege of maintaining their headquarters in the hotels—if such there be—in the vicinity of the place where their troops are stationed. The hotel accommodations of Vladikavkaz being somewhat better than of the average town of similar size, I found my officer companions all most comfortably quartered. I was received with profuse cordiality and the charm of personality of all of them possessed me from the first moment. They all spoke excellent French and several perfect English—one, indeed, spoke English absolutely without accent and with a vocabulary far richer than my own. They apparently looked upon my joining them as school-boys look forward to a frolic. For, of course, my advent was celebrated in true Russian military fashion, by a dinner, which, to my still un-Russianized stomach, seemed to go on and on, rivaling the famous brook of poetry. When I had wrestled to master the names of my companions and had told them all the incidents worth recounting of my journey from St. Petersburg, a captain, Count Scherematiev, carried me off to a military tailor to have me measured and fitted for the Cossack uniform I was to wear on that long and eventful journey through the mountains. This uniform is extremely picturesque and far more comfortable than any military uniform I know, although its quaintness and exaggerated ferociousness suggests a time long gone by. A long, loose undergarment called a bishmet, tight-fitting around the neck, clinging to the body, and ending with a kind of short skirt effect at the bottom; above, another loose garment called a tcherkaska; riding trousers, and loose Circassian boots made of goose-skin. The color of the cloth used in this uniform depends entirely upon the taste of the wearer. I chose black, though the Russians frequently prefer crimson, or gray, or brown. The hat surmounting this uniform, called a papakha, is made of lamb’s wool somewhat coarser than astrakhan, with a top of cloth colored blue or red according to the regiment to which the officer belongs. Our color was blue. Across the breast of the tcherkaska is a line of cartouches which ordinarily are of metal, and, being purely for ornamentation, are empty. Originally, however, this was the regular rifle cartridge belt and the soldiers to this day carry their cartridges here. The invariable accompaniment of the Circassian uniform is a dagger worn suspended from the belt exactly in the middle of the body. These daggers are often highly and beautifully ornamented with silver and gold hand-work by the Circassians of the Caucasus. At the left side hangs the Cossack saber, which differs somewhat in form from the swords worn by officers in other branches of the army. The handles of these sabers as well as the scabbards are, like the daggers, generally richly ornamented with carvings and beaded metal work. On the right hip the revolver is carried. Although these Cossack officers spend most of their lives on horseback, they wear no spurs.

When I had been amply measured, had selected the materials for the different garments of the uniform and bought a pair of goose-skin riding-boots, Captain Scherematiev took me to an arms shop to buy me a saber. Here we met with a piece of rare good fortune. The proprietor brought out a beautiful Circassian hand-worked Cossack sword that had been made expressly for a certain Cossack officer who had been killed only the day before! He would sell me the weapon at a reasonable price. I bought it with avidity, being indeed fascinated by the exquisite workmanship of the ornamentation and the excellent temper of the blade. I had speedy assurance that I had made no mistake in purchasing it, for that very night an officer offered me exactly double what I had paid for it.

That night I dined alone, by preference, for I wanted a simple meal, and retired early, to rest from my long journey across the empire from St. Petersburg. About one o’clock in the morning a vigorous pounding at my bedroom door startled me into instantaneous wakefulness; lighting a candle I turned the key and opened the door to a police officer accompanied by several gendarmes. With profuse apologies in voluble French, the officer begged me to grant him the permission of examining my luggage and my papers. With all the graciousness I could master I assured my visitor that the unaccustomed privilege of a midnight search was a pleasure and a joy. I begged him to permit me to assist him in any way I could. After a superficial survey of my really innocent documents, he turned suddenly and said, “Now, monsieur, where is your revolver?” “I have none, sir,” I replied. The officer looked incredulous for a moment, then said in surprise: “Do you mean you have come to the Caucasus without a revolver?” “Yes,” I replied, “I have. Though as I am soon to adopt Circassian dress, I presume I shall be equipped with a revolver.” The officer was puzzled at this until I showed him my credentials and explained to him my reasons for coming to Vladikavkaz. Immediately his manner toward me changed completely and in a tone of real concern he told me that I must permit him to loan me one of his own revolvers until I secured one of my own, for he should feel very badly if any harm were to befall me while I was the guest of their city, especially as I was to travel with the officers of the Terskoi-Koubansky regiment.

Taking a 38-caliber American revolver out of an inner pocket he laid it on the table and very courteously said:

“I know it is late, monsieur, but may I trouble you to accompany me to my office that I may give you extra cartridges?”

“Extra cartridges!” I exclaimed. “But this weapon is loaded. Surely I shall not be needing more than seven bullets before morning!”

“Pardon, monsieur. You are now in the Caucasus. It is always best to be prepared for anything. You will return here in half an hour, and you shall have an escort.”

To me the idea of getting out of bed at 1 A.M. to visit police headquarters for extra cartridges seemed preposterous, but I was gently coerced into assent. A mounted escort surrounded our carriage all the way to the headquarters, and when I returned with the cartridges, the escort clattered behind my cab.

Early next morning Andronnikov called for me to present me to the governor-general of the territory of the Terek—the ataman, as the chief of a Cossack district is called. This interview was one of the oddest experiences I had ever had. The roomy reception-hall of the official residence was crowded with people, mostly peasants, awaiting an audience with the ataman to present one or another grievance. The acting aide-de-camp recognized my friend and we were received without delay. The general was an oldish man with a brief gray beard, and metallic gray eyes whose glitter was emphasised by the strong glasses he wore. He was thick-set and heavy, not above medium height.

The prince was received with marked respect, and when he had made his formal salutations he presented me as an American correspondent. He got no further. The general pushed back his chair, and, stepping toward me, asked in apparent anger if I knew a Mr. S——, an American merchant in a certain town in Siberia. I had never heard of the gentleman.

“Americans are not white!” he exclaimed. “They are not true.” Just what the general’s grievance was against Mr. S—— I could not discover, but his tirade against Americans in general and Mr. S—— in particular was heartfelt and prolonged, and neither Andronnikov nor I seemed able to turn the general to other topics. Suddenly he paused in his wrath and, looking me straight in the eye, asked: “You are a correspondent?” I replied affirmatively. “That is bad!” he answered emphatically. “You remember Mr. —— of the ‘London Times’?” The name was familiar to me, for this man had been asked to leave Russia for his plain speaking. The general then vented his feelings in regard to this man, and toward correspondents in general. Poor Andronnikov, my host, grew more and more confused and embarrassed till I suffered for him.

Suddenly, for a third time, the general changed the subject. This time he hurled his invectives against the Jews. “The Jews are at the bottom of all of Russia’s troubles,” he cried. “If we could settle the Jews we would tranquilize Russia.” I hastened to assure him that I was not a Jew, though in America there were many people who welcomed the Jews from Russia.

“You are not a Jew. No. But have you a courier?” I told him no, but I expected to secure one that day. “Then don’t get a Jew!” he warned. “If you do you will both be killed!” As he went on, in his bitterness I realized again how deep-rooted is this hatred of the Jew in the minds and hearts of certain Russian officials, and why the responsibility for Jewish massacres is so seldom fixed. The general strode back and forth like a caged tiger. Twice he came so near to me that his breath was on my cheek. My discomfort was great and I was beginning to lose my temper. I wished heartily I had not come. At last I had an inspiration. Interrupting the general without apology, I exclaimed: “Your excellency is quite right. The problem of the Jew is a tremendous one. The firm and courageous way that you, sir, look at this vast question and the strength with which you approach it fills me with admiration. I shall tell the people of America about you, sir. America knows how great is Russia’s problem. I pray your excellency permit me to send a photograph of yourself to America—a photograph in this uniform, sir, with those medals on your breast—”

“This uniform?” put in the general. “You like this? Ah! But you should see me in my other uniform!”

“I would I might!” I replied with feeling. “I pray your excellency to permit me to come when you are wearing it!”

“Wait!” he shouted as he disappeared from the room. For a quarter of an hour the prince and I waited. Then the door was opened by an orderly, and the general entered, clad in a magnificent uniform. It was Circassian in style, and in color a rich royal purple. The prince and I both spent ourselves in admiration till the general resumed his seat and began to discuss the object of my visit. His whole attitude was altered and from this on I found him most kind, affable, and courteous. He did all that any man could to help me and make easy my journey. He expressed satisfaction that I was interested in the Cossacks, when I asked him to tell me about this branch of the service. Who were the Cossacks? What were they? I did not know, although no word is more commonly on the lips in connection with Russia.

“Cossacks are the bravest, the truest we have,” he said. “It is a source of regret to all who know the Cossacks that so little is known about them in their home life, for the stories of the pogroms, the massacres, give so false a view of the Cossack as he really is.”

“I want to know him as he really is,” I replied; “that is why I have come so far at this time, and why I am so eager to travel with a party of Cossack officers through this marvelous country of the Caucasus.”

“If you will wait until I have received some deputations I will tell you much about them and then plan a trip to some of their villages for you,” said the general.

Andronnikov and I were both intensely relieved at the general’s change of manner, and I was deeply grateful for the opportunities he presented to me. Long afterward when Andronnikov and I would sometimes meet—in St. Petersburg and elsewhere—we would always have a hearty laugh over our reception at the hands of this crotchety old general, and of how he melted into winsome affability when we played on his ridiculous vanity.

While the deputations were being presented Andronnikov and I remained in an adjoining room, Andronnikov examining the various war trophies with which the room was stored, souvenirs for the most part of battles in the long, not-yet ended war to subdue the tribes of the Caucasus and bring the many peoples of that extraordinary region under the Russian yoke. I was silently framing questions about the Cossack that I would put to the general when I got back to him. In regard to this strange friend of the czars I suppose I knew about as much as the average reader, but certainly no more, and my notions were all vague and shadowy. I had heard war critics condemn him as practically useless in battle, though useful for scout duty and skirmish work. I had heard it said that he makes a skilful artilleryman, but with a rifle is a notoriously poor shot. But then he is not a proper military man. Scientific soldiering is not his métier. “Irregular” cavalry, military people call him when he is mounted. Regular Cossack officers are apt to be snubbed and looked down upon by other officers because they are not subject to the same rigid tests that regular army officers must submit to, and the discipline which is traditional with soldiers has never been imposed upon the Cossack.

The Cossack is not a soldier, in the ordinary sense, though he is the main prop of the army. He is not a proper, thoroughbred Russian, though he is a loyal servant of the Czar. Cossack life and Cossack government is entirely independent, and the only official in the bureaucracy whom the Cossack recognizes is the minister of war.

The Cossack has all (and more) that the most radical revolutionists in Russia desire. The Cossacks, perhaps, are the largest body of practical communists in the world. Their land, their hunting-grounds, their fishing-preserves, their timber-tracks, are held in common, and no Cossack may fish or shoot or cut wood save by the order and permission of his community. At the same time his individual freedom is beyond that of any people living under the protection of civilization. Exempt from every obligation except one—service in arms. Their service is unique in system as well as in kind.

Popularly the Cossack is a modern Caliban. To the world at large he is pretty much an enigma, but mostly a thing of evil. To the muzhik and the Jew the very name, Cossack, is a synonym of horror, a word instinct with terror, with plunder, rape, massacre; the looting of shops a game by the way and the burning of houses a night’s sport.

To the Czar and the government of Russia the name Cossack is very different; a word almost sacred. The Cossack is the bulwark of czarism, the guardian of autocracy. Without the Cossack, reactionary mandates would long have been impotent. Where there is a dangerous frontier to guard, the Cossacks are employed. Where martial law is prescribed, the brunt of the enforcement is left to Cossacks. Where a province or town is in revolt, the Cossacks are sent. And where people are shot down and cut down in numbers—unarmed men, women, and children—it is generally the Cossack who is charged with the responsibility.

Because the Cossack is so important to the Russian government, because he is so feared by the people at large, because of the uniqueness of his past in history and in modern life, and the originality of his mode of living, I wanted to form his near acquaintance. I wanted to know him, not merely as the war correspondent knows him, in the saddle, in the field, in the barracks; this, but this and much more—in his stanitza; in his home, among his fellows and his neighbors. With the officers of Terskoi-Koubansky regiment I would doubtless see a good deal, and from the inside, but I desired much more than this, and the old general in suggesting that I visit some of their villages gave me just the opportunity I desired.

When Andronnikov and I were recalled to the audience-room I inquired of the general as to how long the Cossacks had been in the territory which he at present administered. He gave us a clear and concise account of Cossack history, telling us who they were, their several branches, and concluding by an extravagant recital of their virtues. The general spoke in French and I made no notes while he was speaking, but what he told me was full of interest. As nearly as I could remember it the general’s narrative was as follows: