The crowds on the Mars Field were indeed enormous. A long procession, with Bolshevist banners, flowed into the great square. We stopped within fifty feet of a Bolshevist cart and were met promptly by a hail of jokes and curses. There were jeers at the expense of the Provisional Government and shouts of: “Long live the revolutionary democracy! Down with the war!” Some of the women could not suppress their indignation and began to answer back, provoking heated argument. “When you cry, ‘Down with the war!’ you are helping to destroy Free Russia,” I declared, stepping forward and addressing my turbulent neighbours. “We must beat the Germans first and then there will be no war.” “Kill her! Kill her!” several voices threatened. Greatly excited, I rushed a few steps nearer to the crowd. My fingers gripped the two pistols, but in all the tumult that followed, the idea was fixed in my mind that I must not shoot at my own people, common workers and peasants. “Wake up, you deluded sons of Russia! Think what you are doing! You are destroying the Motherland! Scoundrels!” I concluded as their jeers continued. My instructors tried to hold me back as the throng swarmed round me, but I tore myself out of their arms and plunged into the thick of it. I worked myself up to such a state of frenzy that I did not cease talking even when a volley of shots was sent into our midst. Then my officers ordered the Battalion to fire. There followed a terrible scuffle. Two of my instructors were killed, one while defending me. Two others were wounded. Ten of my women were also wounded. Many bullets grazed me, but I escaped till struck unconscious by a blow on the head with an iron bar, from behind: Many of the onlookers were drawn into the scrimmage and the result was a panic. I recovered consciousness in the evening. I was in my own bed with a physician beside it. He told me that although I had lost a good deal of blood my wound was not serious, and that I should be able to resume my duties soon. Late in the evening the officer in charge reported that Michael Rodzianko had come to see me. The physician went out to meet him and I heard the two conversing in the room next to mine. Rodzianko’s first question was whether I had been killed. It appeared that rumours were being spread in the town that I had been struck dead on the Mars Field. The doctor’s account of my condition apparently came as a joyful relief to the President of the Duma. He then came in and smilingly approached my bed and kissed me. “My little heroine, I am very glad that you escaped serious injury. There were many alarming reports about you. It was a brave act to march straight into the midst of the Bolsheviks. Nevertheless, it was foolish of you and the wounded men to oppose such tremendous odds. I have heard of your victory in the fight against the introduction of the committee system in the Battalion. Well done! I wanted to call and congratulate you earlier, but I have been very busy.”