The farther we traveled from Petrograd, the point of contact in Russia with western civilization, the more apparent it grew that things were terribly wrong with the empire. More and more the changed character of the station crowds reminded us of the widespread disruption of the army. The men who met the train wore soldiers’ uniforms but they had lost all of their upright, soldierly bearing. They slouched like convicts, they were dirty and unkempt, and their eyes were full of vacuous insolence. Absence of discipline and all restraint had robbed them of whatever manhood they had once possessed. The news of the women’s battalion had drawn these men like a swarm of bees. They thrust their unshaven faces into the car windows, bawling the parrot phrases taught them by their German spy leaders. “Who fights for the damned capitalists? Who fights for English bloodsuckers? We don’t fight.” And the women, scorn flashing from their eyes, flung back: “That is the reason why we do. Go home, you cowards, and let women fight for Russia.” Their last, flimsy thread of “peace” propaganda exhausted the men usually fell back on personal insults, but to these the women, following strict orders, made no reply. When the language became too coarse the women simply closed the windows. No actual violence was ever offered them. When they left the train for hot water or for tea, for more food or to buy newspapers, they walked so fearlessly into the crowds that the men withdrew, sneering and growling, but standing aside. There was something indescribably strange about going on a journey to a destination absolutely unknown, except to the one in command of the expedition. Above all it was strange to feel that you were seeing women voluntarily giving up the last shred of protection and security supposed to be due them. They were going to meet death, death in battle against a foreign foe, the first women in the world to volunteer for such an end. Yet every one was happy, and the only fear expressed was lest the battalion should not be sent at once to the trenches. As for me, when we arrived at our destination, some two miles from the barracks prepared for us, I had a moment of longing for the comparative safety of the trenches. For what looked to me like the whole Russian army had come out to meet the women’s battalion, and was solidly massed on both sides of the railroad track as far as I could see. I looked at the Nachalnik calmly buckling on her sword and revolver. She had a confident little smile on her lips. “You may have to fight those men out there before you fight the Germans,” I said. “We are ready to begin fighting any time,” she replied. She was the first one out of the train, and the others rapidly followed her. CHAPTER VIII IN CAMP AND BATTLEFIELD