Heroic Story of the Czecho-Slovak Legions/Retreat of the 100,000
I.
RETREAT OF THE 100,000.
Admiration was excited in Europe and America in the spring and summer of 1918 by the wonderful performance of the little army of 100,000 men forming the Czecho-Slovak legions in Siberia. It was a new army, hastily formed after many difficulties and long negotiations by the Provisional Government, of a young nation recognised only a few months before by the Great Powers. Its general direction was still uncertain, its equipment very inadequate, and the means of its maintenance in face of Bolshevik opposition very problematical. But the discipline of its soldiers, the rapid decision of its officers, the courage, cohesion, and patriotism of all, brought it into fame, as it were, in a single day, and attracted the attention of the whole civilised world.
On Sept. 9 Mr. Lloyd George, wiring to Professor Masaryk on behalf of the British War Cabinet, congratulated him on the striking successes of the Czecho-Slovak forces against the German and Austrian troops in Siberia, and said: “The story, of the adventures and triumphs of this small army is, indeed, one of the greatest epics in history.“ The elements out of which, after three long years of waiting and negotiations, this heroic army was formed, have been described to me in a graphic account by two of their number whom I have found here in Italy.
They belong to the Czecho-Slovak army, which is being trained with the aid and protection of the Italian Government in the numerous camps around Gallarate, not far from the lake of Como and Lago Maggiore. It is not one of the least surprises of the war to find an army of 40,000 Czecho-Slovaks on the plains of Lombardy. Fifteen or more busy camps have been formed, three or four miles apart, communicating either by railway or roads, with motor-cars travelling to and fro or motor-cycles scurrying from camp to camp. They wear Italian uniform, with the leaf of the popular Bohemian tree as their only distinction. They know only their own native language, and it is the first time that Czech is spoken by such a large number under the sunny sky of Italy.
ARMY OF EX-PRISONERS.
The army is being formed of ex-prisoners taken in the East and the West, and no small number at the Italian front, and by volunteers from America. Their officers have been called from France and Russia, and from the distant stations of Siberia. They are fine-looking, soldierly men, of medium size, taciturn as a rule, but with a bright twinkle in their blue eyes and a strong patriotic fervour in their hearts. It is difficult at first to understand them and penetrate into their souls, which they seem anxious to hide from the stranger. They are so retiring, so modest, so unassertive, that one might easily mistake the qualities they conceal. The Austrians, their former masters, completely misjudged them; the Russians, for three years misunderstood them, and the Allies for long ignored them. It required their splendid performances in every task to which they were put by the Russians, and finally their heroic exploits in Siberia, to elicit from the world all the credit and admiration they deserve.
The Czecho-Slovak army has few generals. It is one of their traits of modesty not to hurry to create them. There will be plenty of time to do so later. At present the whole collection of camps is under the command of an officer under the rank of general, Colonel Gibis, who has also been in Siberia. A colonel who has 40,000 men to take care of is a busy man, and I could not ask him to devote time to me. He kindly referred me to two other officers, who had been with him in Siberia, Captain “N.“ and Captain “S.“ as they prefer to be designated, and they very gladly volunteered to relate to me the story of a crowded life. One was taken prisoner in 1915, and the other in the beginning of 1916. The former was sent to various camps near Omsk, and the latter was director of a Czecho-Slovak camp in Turkestan. They had witnessed all the difficulties of the Czecho-Slovaks in Russia, and their transformation from prisoners of war into legions of fighting soldiers. “It is a long story,“ they said, “but if you have patience to listen we shall gladly relate it.“ I was only too pleased to listen. Here is Captain N.’s story:
I had been a student for five years at the Prague Gymnasium and University. I had followed the lectures of Professor Masaryk, and was one of his admirers. This, I think, ought to be enough to prove that I was an ardent Czech and cherished, like our dear professor and teacher, whom we all love and adore, the patriotic hope of some day seeing our country free and independent. I became a teacher in a gymnasium, and, according to Austrian law, I did only one year’s military service for having been a college student, and was given a sublieutenant’s commission, for which I cared very little. But it was better than serving as a private. I married in June, 1914, just a month before the war, and have not seen my wife since my departure from Prague! The war came as a stunning surprise, and filled us with anguish and terrible forebodings.
We knew that we Czecho-Slovaks would be sent to the first lines; that if any were to be butchered and sacrificed, we would certainly be the first. Had the Continent of Europe sunk under our feet and the waves of the Atlantic come rolling over the Alps to swallow us up, they could hardly have been a greater surprise! This is the first impression it made on us Czechs in Prague. We had no interest in this conflict between Austria and Serbia. Still less had we any sympathy with Austria's difference with Russia. Quite the contrary, our sympathies were all on the other side, with the Serbs and the Russians. We were in the position of being compelled by an inexorable circumstance to fight for our worst enemies, the Austrians and Magyars, against those we considered our best friends or our kindred, the Russians and Serbs.
All the lessons of our dear Professor Masaryk came back to me in a fearful turmoil of thoughts, foretelling in what a terrible position we should some day be placed as Austrian subjects. That position became morally and almost physically impossible; it is only Austrian and Magyar tyrants that could expect us to go and fight for their cause. The night the mobilisation order was published there was many a sad family dinner in Prague. There were whisperings, looks, and quiet understandings. Publicly it was dangerous to manifest our thoughts too openly. In many of us there was a resolution that if fight we must, fight we would; but some day or other „against“, not „for“, Austria.
THE “CHILDREN OF PRAGUE“.
I belonged to the celebrated 28th Regiment of Prague, which was known as that of the “Children of Prague“. The Germans thought that by giving us that name we would glory some day in our military exploits in behalf, of course, of Austria. We accepted the name with quite a different interpretation. We would fight as “Children of Prague“ for our town and our country alone, and not for Austria. We now glory in the fact that it was our regiment, the 28th of Prague, the famous “Children of Prague“, that was among the first, if not the first, that went over band and banner to a man to the Russians. I afterwards rejoiced to hear the fury it excited in Vienna. It was an honour to us that our name was struck out of the Austrian Army List and that we were followed by the execrations of Francis Joseph and his courtiers. Execrations like those are as blessings to us. The Emperor is gone, his empire is in the dust, and we shall return with our band and banners to Prague, after great hardships and sufferings, but with satisfaction and glory.
Our regiment was one of the first to be mobilised. We were marched through the city of Prague with a German regiment beside us. Each of the German soldiers had his bayonet fixed to his rifle as he accompanied us step by step. This was an indication of the confidence placed to us. They did not trust us a single moment. Despite the presence of the German regiment, we flaunted our own white Czech flag, and a young German, who wanted to pull it out of the hand of the soldier who carried it, was sent rolling in the gutter.
Our families and relatives, our comrades not yet called out, and the younger students whom we knew accompanied us. It is no harm to say that there was a tear in many an eye as it caught sight of a handkerchief waving from someone already in black. The women waved to us from the windows and balconies, and there were cries to us: “Don’t go; don’t fight; throw down your arms!“ A glance at the window or balcony revealed to us from whom it came, from our brothers and sisters, from our young wives or mothers. But the German regiment with bayonets fixed marched stiffly along with us. They did not understand the words in Czech flung at us from the windows, and even if they did, it was their policy to pretend not to understand.
A SIGNIFICANT INCIDENT.
It was in the Ferdinandstrasse that a young German tried to pull the white Czech flag out of the hand of our soldier. Some day when I go back to Prague, I may find the spot again where he was sent rolling in the gutter, and our white flag continued to go with us proudly. It would be no harm to mark the spot for ever as a symbol of our resolution, and the sentiments with which the 28th Regiment, the “Children of Prague“, marched to the war.
We were assembled in a barrack after some three hours march outside Prague. The German troops who surrounded us tried to be gay. They did everything to make themselves and us believe that it was to be a mere holiday war. Their condescension to us went even further, and they hinted it might be possible that we would not be sent to the front at all. Our regiment would simply be kept drilling, and before our drill was finished the war would perhaps be over. We knew better. We had no need to be told that as soon as they could the Austrians would send us right to the battle-front, and the very worst they could find. As we marched we sang, but our own national songs, and in some of them the words “freedom“ and “Bohemia“ often recurred. We sang the songs not only on the road, but when passing through the villages, and the Czech population understood us, if the Germans did not.
We were kept three days at the first village to drill and wait for orders. On the fourth day the orders came, and we were marched off at once. In the evening we came to a railway station, where we were put aboard a train and started off during the night. We were always accompanied by a German regiment. A German regiment preceded us and a German regiment followed us. We anxiously questioned whither we were going. The word came that it was to the River San. This was bad news. So, at least, we imagined. If we wanted to throw down our arms, a river front might be the very worst place. We should have to swim across. Many of us might not be able to swim. The Austrians would see it and turn their guns on us as we tried to cross. The Russians might not understand us and fire on us too. We hoped it would be somewhere in the Carpathians, or at least on a hill. If we held positions on a hill it would be much easier to contrive to signal to the Russians somewhere below where our signals would not be seen by the Austrian command at the back. All these thoughts passed through the minds of some of us.
FIRST SOUND OF THE GUNS.
It was with these thoughts that we fell asleep. Gradually the first tumultuous impressions of the war as we were beginning to see it passed. We sat listlessly in our trains, which kept moving hither and thither for days, as if looking for the River San. We never got to the river till some time in September. When we got there we had hurriedly to be shifted back because the Russians had been victorious on the very River San, and were crossing it at numerous points. So much the better, thought we. Perhaps, after all, we shall not have to fight. The Russians will beat the Austrians before these have a chance of throwing us into the battle.
We were suddenly awakned from these reflections when one morning we landed at a village called Gremboff, in Galicia. The battle was raging about twenty kilometres away, and we heard the guns for the first time. They startled us out of our sleep with a violent shock, and we looked at each other. It might have been about Sept. 10, 1914. I have no recollection of the exact date. But every hour the sound of the guns became more intense and seemed to move nearer, like an approaching storm. We then realised what it was to be after all, only reserve troops. Our regiment was a regiment of reserves, and the others had to stand the brunt of the battle first. But what if the others were beaten and we should suddenly get orders?
These reflections now seem whimsical, but they were such as troops who had not yet been under fire were liable to make. Before we had much time to reflect we got orders to march. We did so all night and in the morning we got to a village called Nisko, into which the Russians had already penetrated. We had on either side of us two Austrian, the 14th and the 58th, regiments of Linz, and also a Hungarian Honved regiment. We took up positions, were ordered to dig trenches, but had scarcely time to do so when orders came to fall back We learned that two Czech battalions had passed over to the Russians. Lucky they! we thought in our hearts. Being among the reserves and behind the actual battle line, we had no opportunity of following their example.
The whole of September passed in retreating. The Russians were victorious in every battle. We were shifted from place to place, and saw the exodus of the peasants and villagers, who were mostly escaping towards Moravia. We observed with satisfaction that the officers of the German regiments were treating us politely. They were not so arrogant as they had been in the first days, and, as I am told, they again became later on. I met many German-Austrian officers then who were already disheartened. They spoke freely of the war being lost, and that Austria had nothing to do but to sue on the first opportunity for peace.
In proportion as the Austrians and Magyars became depressed we grew cheerful. We had no regret at Austria and Hungary being beaten. We talked of it among ourselves in camp at evenings, and chuckled over it. Our admiration for Russia grew by leaps and bounds. We little anticipated the terrible disappointments which she had in store for us but in those days we adored everything Russian. Grand Duke Nicholas had made great promises to the Poles, we knew it, and he folloved it up by sending us, by means of Russian aviators, numerous messages of hope and comfort. The leaflets dropped from the sky by Russian aeroplanes were carefully watched by our men and picked up when no Austrians were spying upon them. They hid them avay in their breasts like things sacred. In the evening we sad together in the trenches when no Austrians were about. Our soldiers took out the little leaflets from under their coats and read them. We talked them over in all sorts of ways and felt boundless gratitude tovards Russia. In our minds she had a divine mission to carry out the liberation of all Slavs. We sincerely believed all the promises. We resolved to do our share to help in their realisation. Our greatest desire was to have an opportunity of going over to the Russians.
COLD RECEPTION BY POLES.
Our line of retreat led us gradually to Cracow. When passing through the town we had an incident with a Polish regiment. It was the first time we got into contact with the Poles, and it gave us a chill. Our men, thinking only of Slav brotherhood imagined that perhaps with the Poles a combined action might be devised. Let us throw down our arms. Why fight for the Austrians? These wore hints thrown out. I think our men would have been ready to go to any lengths that day if the Poles had shown the slightest disposition. On the contrary, the Poles looked at us sternly. They became menacing and threw out the word “Traitor“. We could not understand at first. Later on we understood. The Poles were not affected by the messages of Grand Duke Nicholas as we had been. On the contrary, many of them thoroughly hated the Russians. They were influenced by the Poles of Russia, whose one ideal was to obtain their independence from Russia. For this they were willing to fight in the cause of Austria. And Austria had constantly and cleverly made them believe that she was fighting the cause of their liberty.
About Nov. 15 we were moved out of Cracow. This time we had a presentiment that we should soon be thrown into the fray in earnest. We got to a village called Volki Biotrkov, and were under heavy bombardment for days, although we were in positions at the rear as reserves. One day, about Nov. 20. I was in an infirmary of reserves with another Czech officer and two doctors from Prague and a number of soldiers. A Russian shell burst in the big room in which we were assembled and killed or gravelly wounded all except myself. I was merely stunned and unconscious for a while, but when picked up I came to myself again, and found that I had no injury whatever. But all my dear colleagues were either dead or dying. These were our first casualties.
The Russian artillery during those first months of the war was excellent and far superior to the Austrian artillery. The Russians obtained most of their advantages by their artillery, and there were comparatively few infantry attacks. We often wondered why the Russians did not press on more quickly, as we were continually retreating, and a strong infantry attack would have completely scattered the Austrian forces.
THE LONGED-FOR OPPORTUNITY.
We were again marched back to Cracow, and on Nov. 28 we were embarked on a train, and learned that our next destination was in the Carpathians. The great battle of Limanoff had begun, and we were being hurried out as reserves to make good the advantages which the Austrians had gained at the outset. It was the first success which the Austrians obtained. They had attacked the Russians on the flank, and the latter fell back a short distance to a place called Bochna. It was here that our regiment got for the first time into the actual fighting line, and it was hell for the next ten days. Our opportunity come at last!
It was on Dec. 8 that our regiment was deployed in the very front line, and had assigned to it the task of holding a hill, cost what it. might. As usual, of course, we were well hemmed in by Austrian contingents. Our position was in the centre of three hills. On the hill to our right was the 27th Austrian Regiment. On the hill to the left was the 59th Austrian Regiment. The hill we occupied was slightly forward. Our regiment was commanded by an Austrian, Colonel Marten, who, with his staff, was about 800 yards behind our trenches. As I stood on the summit of the hill I could easily take in the whole battle. I could count one by one the Russian machine guns on the hill opposite us, and distinctly saw the distribution of companies and sections. Furious fighting was going on to our right and left between the Austrians and the Russians.
In front of us something mysterious was happening. The Russians were perfectly quiet, not a shell dropped on our hill, not a rifle shot came in our direction. I saw, however, a furious hand-to-hand bayonet attack by the Russians against the 27th Austrian Regiment to my right. A similar attack was being made on the 59th Austrian Regiment to my left. The Austrians, it must be said, fought well at first. But the Russians gained ground steadily: they gradually occupied trench after trench, and as I was watching the battle I saw that the Russians had already passed our own line, both to our right and to our left.
We had not fired a shot. In the midst of this furious combat our position was a perfect oasis of calm. I doubt if our colonel at the back of us knew it. Perhaps he thought that we were fighting like lions. If so he must have given us credit for great heroism when he saw that the Russians were overpowering both the 27th Regiment to the right and the 59th to the left, and still we held our position. The colonel and his staff were already in danger. The two regiments on their side were broken up and beginning to retreat. It was time to take action, and the colonel sent orders for us to fall back.
JOINING THE RUSSIANS.
There was no response. The order was not even passed on through the trenches. A hint sufficed to our men to make them lie quie they were. The Russians had already deliberately left their trenches opposite, and were coming towards us. The moment was a critical one. Had the Russians understood us? I felt sure they did, but at the last moment some of our men lost control of their nerves. I saw about ten of them run away and take flight. All the rest remained where they were, including four Czech lieutenants.
As soon as the Russians were on the edge of our trenches our men climbed out. Those who still kept a rifle in their hands threw them down. “We are Czechs,“ was the cry, as the men ran to get behind the Russians, and nothing now would keep them back. Our most exemplary group was the band, which kept together, every man clinging to his musical instrument as the one thing to be saved. The Russians pointed the direction we were to take, and our men lost no time getting to the opposite hill. The first stragglers had hardly reached it when there was a change. The Austrian Gunners had observed the movements of our regiment. A whole regiment surrendering with its band and banner could not pass unobserved. In an instant the guns of the 27th and 59th Regiments to our right and left that still remained in position opened fire on our men. But it was too late!
The regiment got safely over the hill opposite, and the men looked radiant. It was too much for them. The national song burst out spontaneously, our own flag waved around a small group, and the men of our band stood up and played our hymn, leading the march farther into the Russian lines. As we passed, the Russians looked on in wonder, and the word went round that we were Czechs, and some Russians cheered. The “Children of Prague“ had done their duty. Only ten had been defaulters, and we were sorry for them. The rest were safe. It was no small thing to keep one's nerves, for the private to keep his eye on his officer, and for the officer to keep his eye on the private, in the midst of the most furious of battles. To stand the strain, even for half an hour, of remaining firm and inactive in the midst of furious tumult was an act of sublime bravery and self-possession, and when the ordeal was over and our nerves instrung, the first relief was to burst out into song, and to feel that though prisoners, we were “free“.