by Max Hennessy
‘How do you know?’ Moyalan asked.
‘Well, there was only me and Count Kuprin who could speak both languages well enough to ask that sort of question, and he never asked either of us to find out if it was right.’
‘I see. Please go on. Did things now begin to be different?’
‘Yes, they did. More spit and polish. Marching to meals in squads. Extra duties. Inspections before we were allowed in town. More guards. More parades. That sort of thing.’
‘What was the cause of all this?’
‘The Colonel hated Communism, o’ course, and he wanted to do his whack, but I think he enjoyed showing off a bit, as well, because it was all going to be in the paper.’
‘Do you remember the day of September 3rd, 1919?’
‘Yes. I even remember the weather. It was beginning to get chilly by then and we knew autumn was on its way. Red sun in the evening. That sort of thing. A touch of mist in the valleys at night.’
‘What was the military situation at the time?’
‘Things was beginning to go wrong a bit for the Whites by then. We used to get the news from Captain Barry who heard it through the Russians on the railway. The Whites had attacked north from Tsaritzyn but they’d been driven back and they’d finally had to abandon the place again. Actually they picked up afterwards and began to advance again but it wasn’t going to be for long and most of us knew it. There was already talk of us being pulled out of Russia.’
‘How did Colonel Prideaux react to this news?’
‘I heard him tell Major Finch we’d got to pull our socks up, and he ordered a parade. It was on the square in front of the barracks, with lots of civvies watching. Big as Hyde Park, it always seemed to me, that square. Everybody was out – even cooks, and all wheeled transport, even the armoured cars, though they were put at the back where they wouldn’t annoy the Colonel.’
‘Were you on parade?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t dodge it for once. As a nominal member of a car crew, I was standing by one of the Hispanos, tucked away behind the horsed troops. I was pretty mad, sir.’
‘Where were the British squadron?’
‘On the right of the parade, with Mr. Potter in front and Mr. MacAdoo behind. The regiment looked smart enough, but I knew the Russians weren’t very happy. They had their standard out and their chaplain and altar and ikon, but they were sullen. Everybody in Russia except the Reds was sullen just then because the news wasn’t as good as we’d hoped it’d be. They looked all right, though, if you didn’t examine ’em too close. They had British uniforms and the British coat of arms on their buttons and British bandoliers and carbines, but they were sloppy and they were unwilling. I knew there was trouble coming. If the enemy came within forty miles of Nikolovssk I gave ’em only a few days before they started wearing the red star and the hammer and sickle.’
‘Where was Colonel Prideaux?’
‘At the front of the parade. On a transport horse we’d got from the Russian artillery. Smart, though. As if he’d been built into his uniform. He looked a proper soldier, I must say. Behind him was Mr. Finch and then Mr. Murray-Hughes on a grey horse. He looked like another member of the Colonel’s staff.’
‘Was he a good rider?’
‘No. He sat like a sack of potatoes, and he could never hold his horse in proper. It had been a team-mate of the Colonel’s bay at some time, and ever since it arrived Sergeant Sidebottom had been trying to break it of a habit of following the bay everywhere it went. We all thought it was nuts.’
‘Did the parade please the British troops?’
Hardacre grinned. ‘It didn’t please me.’
Moyalan smiled. ‘I see. Did the parade go off smoothly?’
‘Until one of the Russians let off his carbine by accident. It sent a dozen of C Squadron’s horses skittering out of line. Then the Colonel spurred across the front of the parade – to tick off the Russian officers, I suppose – and, of course, off went Mr. Murray-Hughes’ grey after him, with Mr. Murray-Hughes clinging to its neck. When the Colonel stopped, so did the grey – so sudden Mr. Murray-Hughes fell off, right in front of the Colonel.’
‘To the great delight of the troops, no doubt,’ Godliman put in.
Hardacre looked up and grinned. He and Godliman seemed to have taken to each other. ‘Yes, milord,’ he said. ‘Everybody started laughing. Mr. Murray-Hughes blushed and got up. His collar had burst its stud and he looked a bit soft with it up under his ear, and I heard the Colonel swear at him.’
‘What happened afterwards?’ Moyalan asked.
‘Well, the scene in the office wasn’t exactly sweet, sir. I heard the Colonel. My word, he was different. There wasn’t much smile about him now and I realised there was more to him than met the eyes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, we’d always thought he was easy-going but now he seemed a proper fire-eater.’
‘What did he say?’
‘“That damned scribbler,” he called Mr. Murray-Hughes. He was in a rare old pet. “Showing us up,” he said. “In front of all the Russians, too. I won’t have him on my parades in future.” And then he turned to Major Finch and said he’d to stop all the facilities with Barry we’d granted to him. “Damn his confounded newspaper,” he said. “Why should I kow-tow to a blasted pen-pusher?”’
‘But he himself had encouraged Mr. Murray-Hughes, had he not?’
‘Yes, sir. With Major Finch’s assistance, of course.’
‘Was anything else said?’
‘Yes. He said “What a blasted regiment! It was a disgrace.” He seemed real upset.’
‘Disappointed?’
‘Yes, sir. As though the big things he’d expected hadn’t come off. “God knows what we’re in for,” he said.’
‘What were you in for, Mr. Hardacre?’
‘More than the Colonel expected. I knew that.’
‘I see.’ Moyalan paused, then decided not to side-track. ‘Let’s go back a little. Did this discouragement stop Mr. Murray-Hughes writing his reports?’
‘No, sir. He knew which side his bread was buttered and he began to lay it on a bit. He did a report on the parade even.’
‘You saw it?’
‘Yes. It found its way as usual to my corner of the office next day. There was a hundred-rouble note with it to make sure it was despatched. It always got my back up the way he left tips every time. It’s beneath the dignity of the working man.’
‘But you took the tip, nevertheless?’ Godliman asked.
Hardacre’s eyes wrinkled. ‘Yes, milord.’
‘And the report?’ Moyalan prompted.
‘It made me stare, and I took it across to Major Finch, and asked him if he’d seen it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was talking to this woman. Countess Seinikina. The Colonel was away for the day and she was sitting in his office, all furs and jewels, drinking tea Russian fashion with a lump of sugar between her teeth. She was always coming to see him when the Colonel was off somewhere and he liked to show off a bit. “Yes, my good and honest Hardacre,” he said.’ Hardacre imitated a plummy voice with an enthusiasm that made the judge smile. ‘“I have. I like it. I particularly like the paragraph that states that Colonel Prideaux commands a well-trained regiment ready for action against the best that the Bolsheviks can send against him. I like that very much indeed. It does us proud.”’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said it looked more like Mr. Murray-Hughes was just trying to butter up the Colonel.’
‘And Major Finch? What did he reply to this?’
‘He put his finger to his lips. He was a great one for acting the goat with me – especially if she were there, though I didn’t like it much. He treated me like a boy scout. He said “The less said about that the better, worthy Hardacre. Let’s face it, the Kouragine Hussars aren’t the Horse Guards, are they?”’
‘And then?’
‘I started to protest, but he got fed up with
me, especially when she laughed at him. He got mad. “We’ve agreed that the report presents the regiment through rose-tinted spectacles,” he said. I got mad then and said that A Squadron was all right.’
‘A new feeling of pride in your unit that had come over you?’ Godliman asked.
‘I suppose so, milord, yes. But Major Finch did a bit more of his usual jeering and said that, under the circumstances, the Colonel was expecting A Squadron to be even better. “If we can’t do anything with B and C,” he said, “we’ll make A into a crack squadron with a bit more work, and shame the others into following suit.”’
‘What was your reaction to that?’ Moyalan asked.
‘I thought A Squadron wasn’t going to like it. There’d been a few grumbles under Major Higgins at first, but they’d stopped because A Squadron had turned out to be not so bad after all. But Major Higgins knew exactly what to expect from a bloke, especially with all the Bolshie propaganda that was being slung at us, and I had an idea that he’d decided he’d pushed A Squadron as far as he dared. And they’d already been pushed further than that by the Colonel and were pretty near the limit.’
‘Were they, in fact, at the limit?’
‘No. As a matter of fact, I was wrong. During September the regiment was more often out of barracks than it was in.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, according to Major Finch, the Colonel had smelt promotion in Mr. Murray-Hughes’ despatch about the parade, especially as he’d got a nice little signal from General Inde in Khaskov who’d seen it. He changed his mind about Mr. Murray-Hughes pretty quick after that and, in spite of him falling off his horse, he was all smiles again and forgot about not giving him any facilities. “Perhaps I was wrong about this scribbler chap,” he said. He was after publicity and, it seemed to me, the rides after that were arranged with the full co-operation of Mr. Murray-Hughes.’
‘All this was a long time ago,’ Kirkham interjected, rising to his feet slowly. ‘Surely it’s impossible, having regard to the circumstances and the confusion that prevailed at the time, to remember in such detail. Men involved in great affairs or battle campaigns, I find, don’t remember. It’s an established fact that men under stress all see things differently.’
There was a pause in the evidence for an exchange between Moyalan and Kirkham, but Godliman saw no reason to interfere with the cross-examination and Moyalan went on.
‘What happened on these rides, Alderman Hardacre?’ he asked.
‘Well, Mr. Murray-Hughes was always there, sir,’ Hardacre continued. ‘Always on the grey horse that insisted on following the Colonel’s bay. It was quite an advantage on the steppes, too, because it meant he was always just where he could see everything that went on.’
‘Did you accompany these rides?’
‘Not if I could dodge ’em, sir. But I saw the messages Mr. Murray-Hughes sent home afterwards. I took ’em down to Barry.’
‘What was the gist of these telegrams?’
‘They made us out to be a crack regiment who were only waiting for a chance to get at Budenny’s lot.’
Moyalan handed over a newspaper cutting pasted on thick paper.
‘Do you recognise that?’ he asked.
Hardacre stared at the cutting, then he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s one of the despatches.’
‘Dated October 17th, 1919,’ Moyalan said. ‘I quote: “There is not the slightest doubt that when Budenny’s hordes of ill-disciplined horsemen are confronted with the Kouragine Regiment, they will not hesitate to turn tail and bolt.”’ He looked up at Hardacre. ‘That is the sort of thing you mean?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did you f eel about it?’
‘I thought I’d die laughing.’
* * *
The Slavska Barracks was a hotbed of dissatisfaction by this time. With the knowledge that things were beginning to go against the White Army in the north, the Russian units occupying the great yellow-painted blocks were already unwilling to obey orders and there appeared to be dozens of agitators in the infantry battalions, who were handing out pamphlets they’d obtained from friends in the town. The trouble soon spread to the engineers and the artillery, and even the Kouragine Russians of B and C Squadrons were seething with discontent as the summer drew to its end. Their neglected mounts were always going lame so that every move outside the barracks ended with a slow straggle back through the thick dust of limping men and horses, carefully herded by officers and sergeants to make sure they didn’t slip away to join the Reds, and with a steady deterioration in morale and a constant dwindling of numbers because there were always a few who did slip away.
Even A Squadron’s mutterings were growing louder because Chapman and Jones, the troublemakers, had taken to drinking regularly with the Russians and were bringing back Communist pamphlets they’d been given, and Hardacre knew it wouldn’t take much for Colonel Prideaux to have a completely disaffected regiment on his hands that would require more than a despatch from Christopher Murray-Hughes to explain away.
‘I’ll give ’em another three months,’ he decided as the autumn drew closer. ‘Then the balloon’ll go up.’
As it happened, there was even less.
* * *
When Hardacre had made his prediction, things had still seemed to be holding for the White forces. In spite of difficulties, Kolchak had re-occupied Tobolsk in Siberia and the Poles were pushing hard into Red territory, while to the north of Nikolovssk, Denikin was knocking at the gates of Voronezh. The Whites had almost a third of European Russia within their lines and a great deal more of Asiatic Russia.
Unfortunately, however, public opinion in Britain had been against taking part in someone else’s civil war from the start and there was too much Socialistic and pacifist feeling in Europe for it to be safe for any government to come down too hard on the side of the Whites. The French, in fact, were already pulling out and the British government was growing more reluctant with every day to give assistance.
Then in October, the sky seemed to fall in. The signs of approaching disaster had not been missed by Hardacre. Although Denikin had captured Orel and Novosil within two hundred miles of Moscow, the Red Army had captured Kiev two days later, and in his jaunts to the station, Hardacre had already noticed troop trains jammed with weary men passing through on their way back from the front. On one such journey, he brought back the first warning from headquarters to be prepared to fall back.
Prideaux accepted the telegram with a smile, but his expression changed abruptly as he read it, and Hardacre knew what was in his mind even before he spoke to Finch.
‘They’re talking about leaving,’ he said in a flat, shocked voice. ‘We’ve got to be ready to move south!’
‘Oh, well, sir,’ Finch said lightly. ‘We’ve been doing all right here. We can’t stay for ever.’
Prideaux’s face wore an expression of surprising bitterness. ‘I didn’t come out here,’ he said in slow precise tones that were devoid of his usual friendliness, ‘simply to go straight home again!’
Finch didn’t reply and Prideaux went on with a new note of harshness in his voice that Hardacre had never heard before. ‘I spent four years in a prisoner-of-war camp,’ he said with obsessive firmness. ‘And I have no wish to retreat. You don’t get promotion retreating.’
But there was more bad news as the month advanced. The Reds had got between the Don and the Volunteer Armies, and the White Army was evacuating Kursk and Orel in a hurry. Against the advice of his subordinates, Denikin had spread his lines too thinly, and was now retreating on all fronts, trying as he went to stop up the gaps in a dozen places at once with outnumbered troops. Petrograd fell and the Kuban cavalry divisions were moved to the Caucasian Army’s right flank to help the hard-pressed volunteers there.
Prideaux received the news with a twisted mouth. ‘That’s where we ought to be,’ he said sharply. ‘Not sitting here waiting for something to happen.’
A flood of telegrams to Khaskov foll
owed, requesting permission to be moved to an active area, and Hardacre, startled at the urgent vehemence of them, handed them over to the signaller at the station firmly expecting that none of them would ever reach their destination in sufficient time to have any effect, because the telegraph had a habit of breaking down at crucial moments like this.
The station these days was a chaos, and Barry, the Railway Battalion officer, was at his wit’s end. The sidings were jammed with hospital trains carrying the victims of wounds and typhus, and the platforms were crowded with refugees coming in from the east and the north, all of them trying to get on to the trains moving south. Women with children or infants in arms ran alongside the packed carriages, begging to be allowed aboard, and occasionally there were outbreaks of fighting as disaffected troops tried to force their way into the trucks.
The news remained bad. Kolchak in Siberia evacuated Omsk and, except around Kharkov, Denikin’s armies were now in full retreat. The Middlesex Regiment, which had been on the Siberian front, had sailed from Vladivostok for home and the few remaining R.A.F. men were already heading for the coast.
The news from the north had the effect in Nikolovssk of setting a match to the tinder of crime in the town. Lawlessness increased and every morning that Hardacre went to the station he seemed to see the police carting away the stiffening corpse of someone killed in a scuffle during the night. There was an outbreak of intense political activity and strikes, and an enormous amount of looting; and military police were moving among the wagons and trucks and vans in the sidings, searching for stolen goods, deserters or marauders. The war maps in the shop windows began to show ever-narrowing circles of red round Omsk, Kursk and Kharkov, and there were troops everywhere, most of them – even to Hardacre’s jaundiced eye – not the stuff of which fighting retreats were made.
Almost as though to show them up, there was an immediate and unexpectedly vicious tightening of discipline in the Kouragine Regiment. On Prideaux’s orders, more guards were mounted, more parades were ordered, and more drills were laid on.