“Ha, there goes the Commander of the Women’s Battalion. She demands iron discipline. Ha, ha!” they would laugh, turning to me, “What now?” With smiles and conciliatory answers I managed to get to Headquarters. I made a report to the Commandant and was assigned some dugouts for the Battalion. There were crowds of soldiers everywhere as I walked to the billets. They began to harangue me. “You were late with your Battalion,” they said. “It’s peace now.” “I am always with you, I am myself a common peasant soldier,” I answered. “If you make peace now I will abide by your decision. I am not going to fight against the people.” “Yes, you are for the people now, but where were you before?” they inquired. “You maintained the discipline of the old régime in your Battalion.” “If I had had no discipline,” I answered, “my Battalion would have become a shameful thing. You would have sneered at it yourselves. Women are not like men. It is not customary for women to fight. Imagine what would have become of three hundred girls among thousands of men let loose without supervision and restraint, and you will agree with me that I was right.” The men appreciated my argument. “We think you are right about that,” they assented, and became more sympathetic. I requested their help in cleaning out the dugouts for my girls, and they gave it cheerfully. I dispatched an instructor for the Battalion, and by night my soldiers were comfortably quartered. Under the protection of sentinels picked from the men attached to my unit we passed a restful night. But our presence offered too good an opportunity for the agitators to let it pass. So in the morning after breakfast, as I started on my way to Headquarters, a small group of insolent soldiers, not more than ten in number, blocked my path, heaping insults upon me. In a few minutes the ten ruffians were increased to twenty, thirty, fifty, a hundred. I tried to parry their jeers and threats, but without success. In ten minutes I was almost surrounded by several hundreds of these ruffians in uniform. “What do you want with me?” I cried out, losing patience. “We want to disband your Battalion. We want you to surrender all the rifles to us.” Now there can hardly be a greater dishonour for a soldier than to surrender his arms without a fight. However, my girls knew that I hated the idea of perishing at the hands of a mob. When they heard of the demand of the crowd they all came out, with rifles in hand. I made a couple of attempts to argue, but it was apparent that the men came with the purpose fixed in their minds by propagandists. They would not give way and finally cut me short by giving me three minutes to decide. One of the ringleaders stood there, watch in hand, counting the time. Those were moments of indescribable agony.