CHAPTER IV
A TERRIBLE MARCH
Sazonoff as Raft-builder — A Bitter Disappointment — A Hay-maker's Larder — We Pillage a Communist's Farm — A Narrow Shave — Sazonoff's Swimming Achievement.
We recommenced our exhausting journey through the marshes, covered with thick scrub. We had no food. Despair took the place of hope in our hearts. Time after time we fell down from exhaustion and weariness. My frost-bitten feet caused me fearful torment.
We continued to follow the river Kem almost due south, then turned west. Thus, falling and getting up, and falling into the water again, we covered twenty-five miles. We came to a big lake, with fishermen's huts on the shore. The men were not at home. We took a quantity of food and left a tchervonets on a stone with a note which ran:
"We are sorry, but necessity compels us to steal. We leave you a tchervonets."
For a long time we did not know how to get across the lake. We tried to go round, and walked ten miles — still we were confronted by water. Then Sazonoff, who had grown up in the neighbourhood of water, made some odd little rafts, fastening planks together with everything we had — rifle slings, belts, shirts — and brought us over to the other side. This voyage across the lake, I remember, used up what little energy we still had. Indeed, when I now recall all that we went through in those dreadful days, I cannot understand how we endured such a strain, both physical and mental, and how it was that we did not fall down dead somewhere in the Karelian mosses. But evidently God thought fit to save us, to bring us out of the dense, marshy jungle, that we might bear witness to the whole world of the place of torment into which a loathsome government has turned the once holy Solovetsky Monastery.
After crossing the lake, we decided to march due west. More marshes in endless succession, no paths, not a scrap of bread. We usually endured the pangs of hunger for three days, and on the fourth day went in search of bread, at the risk of falling into a trap. While in search of provisions, we came upon a wooden road through the marshes, evidently laid down by the British. We could see no tracks on it. We held a council of war, and decided to turn off northward in the hope of coming to a habitation. We covered twenty miles: not a soul.
Then we came to another lake, and there, on the other side, was a large village. We could hear voices and the barking of dogs. We dragged ourselves to the bank. Bezsonoff and Sazonoff stood by the water's edge for a long time, and shouted:
"Hallo! Hallo!"
At last we made ourselves heard. A boat came over, rowed by a Karelian.
"Can we get any bread? We'll pay for it."
"Yes, you can get bread, you can get anything you like," the honest fisherman replied. "But there are Tchekists from the Solovky in the village, searching for you."
Once more we had to plunge into the depths of the scrub. It rained unceasingly, the days were raw and windy. For four more days we had nothing to eat. We had only our tobacco.
At last we came to a wooden footpath raised above the water. We went along it and came to a tiny hut in the middle of the marshes. We examined the little place carefully, but could find nothing eatable. While the rest of us were making a fire of brushwood in the rain, Bezsonoff continued to prospect in the neighbourhood of the hut, and suddenly returned from his reconnaissance with five loaves of black bread in his hands. He ate greedily as he walked. I thought at first it was a hallucination caused by hunger, but no, it was real bread, and plenty of it!
It was evidently a hut belonging to Karelian hay-makers. They bring their stores of food to their huts in winter, because in summer it is impossible to get to them; the marshes are turned into an inland sea. Not far from our hut Bezsonoff found a wooden shelter like a gigantic mushroom, with an opening in the middle, and under it exactly a hundred huge loaves, three bags of groats and a bag of salt. Our joy knew no bounds. We decided to have a good rest. Happily, the possibility of a Tchekist ambush in the midst of the marshes — the passage of which was quite impracticable except by a footpath such as we had found — could be almost entirely dismissed. We made out of that bread (in fancy) tea, cooked meat and various kinds of soup! We lived in the hut until each of us had five cakes of bread left.
Then — westward once again! Water, water, water without end. We marched for nearly a week on the five cakes per man. We found a path, which led us to a lonely dairy farm. We hid, kept our ears open, and finally sent Sazonoff on to get food. When he came back with bread and butter we noticed that a peasant woman ran out of the cottage and hurried to a boat which lay by the bank. We had evidently come to a Communist's house, and the woman had gone to fetch Red soldiers. We fired a few shots after her; she took fright and went back to the house.
We pillaged those Communists without mercy. We took a tub of butter, a lot of white bread, and all the fish there was in the house. We had now so much food that even Bezsonoff and I, who usually walked at the head of the party in "light marching order," rifle in hand, had each of us to shoulder a sack.
We were by this time simply in rags. The thorny bushes had torn our clothes to shreds; our boots had come unstitched. With tangled beards, incredibly filthy faces, holes at knees and elbows, we looked like cannibals, or escaped convicts — which, for that matter, was just what we were.
Going along a narrow path through the woods, we came upon tracks of Red soldiers' boots and the stump of a makhorka cigarette. As we had no tobacco left by then, we eagerly seized the stump, and each of us had two puffs at it. Sazonoff and Malbrodsky insisted that we should leave the dangerous path. We came to a river. We looked for a ford for over three hours, but could not find one, and had to go back to the path we had abandoned.
After we had walked for a long time we came to a place where the marks of many feet were plainly visible. We knew from this that we were quite close to the frontier; but we could not say even approximately where the frontier was. We had no map, and none of us knew how many miles we had to go to reach Finland. The arrow of the compass showed us where west lay, and that was all.
We followed the tracks cautiously. We had just gone round a slight hillock, when from behind a big rock there came a hail of bullets. I was so taken by surprise that I stopped dead. Fifty or sixty rounds were fired at us point blank. We saw the flashes from the rock. But not one of us was touched. Not till then did we perceive that the ambush was laid on both sides of the path. The woods, particularly dense at that spot, saved us. We scattered among the undergrowth. The firing went on for a long time. It may have been the Soviet frontier patrol we had encountered.
Moving swiftly westward, we came to a halt again at the river. We could still find no ford. We tried to find a way round; we went a long way and came back again. We learnt a few days later that this stream was the frontier between Russia and Finland. It is considered impassable, and is, therefore, guarded by neither Finlanders nor Russians.
But cross the river we must; it blocked our route westward. Sazonoff swam to the opposite bank. Malbrodsky plunged into the water and began to drown. The strong current swept him downstream; I dragged him out with difficulty. I myself was carried for several yards downstream; I began to suffocate, but in the nick of time I stuck the muzzle of my rifle into the river bottom and supported myself on it. We did not know what to do. We had no strength at all. We jumped recklessly into the water several times, and every time returned to the bank completely exhausted. Then Sazonoff gave us another exhibition of his skill in mastering any current; he carried each of us in turn over to the opposite bank on his back!
This was at three o'clock on the morning of June 15th.