A shot rang out. Antoshchenko’s coachman pulled the horses round so sharply they reared, and then bolted out of the parade ground and down the street along the slope of Mariinsky Park. They were chased by several rifle shots. Then the regiment broke rank. The men began cursing and yelling wildly. Makhno’s First Company was driven up against a wall. The men fought back with their rifle butts. Amid all this noise, piercing two-fingered bandit whistles rang out and seemed to hover in the air over everything – the parade ground, the fortress and even Kiev itself.
‘Back to the barracks! Quiet!’ shouted the commanders, although by now no one paid them any attention. The regiment had mutinied.
Makhno’s men were being beaten because they were Antoshchenko’s favourite company. They had retreated to the ground floor of the fortress and begun shooting from the windows. Cooks and orderlies were being beaten up left and right. It was hard to make out what was happening. The frenzied melee spread from the parade ground to the stairwells and the guardrooms. Fortunately, our fatigue guard had escaped notice, and so we quietly walked back to our barracks and barricaded ourselves inside.
The mutiny ended two hours later after the fortress was surrounded by the International Regiment, composed of Hungarian and Austrian prisoners of war stationed nearby. Amazingly, no one had been killed, although there were a good many wounded.
We were called back to the parade ground by the signal alarm the next morning at eleven o’clock. The men were angry, cursing and grumbling as they reluctantly fell in. Officers informed the regiment that members of the government were on their way to speak to the soldiers and get to the bottom of what had just happened. A collective sigh of relief swept through the ranks.
A wooden platform had been erected in the centre of the square. Before long, cars bearing members of the government, led by Rakovsky, drove up. The regiment presented arms. The band struck up ‘The Internationale’. Looking at the columns of soldiers standing at attention, no one could have believed that only a few hours earlier the regiment had been in a state of rebellion. The only clue was the bandages covering up the wounds and bruises on some of the men’s heads.
Antoshchenko had climbed unobtrusively onto the platform. He didn’t acknowledge the regiment. Instead, he went over to the government delegates and tried to engage them in conversation but was studiously ignored. Rakovsky was the first to speak. He spoke softly, kindly, and tried to reassure the soldiers, telling them that a special government commission had been set up to investigate the complaints against the commander. A decision would be forthcoming in three days, and should the complaints be found justified, the most decisive of measures would be taken against the regimental commander.
Antoshchenko was standing behind Rakovsky. Blood filled his face. One of his cheeks, marked by a crimson scar, twitched. His hand repeatedly clenched, then unclenched on the hilt of his sword. At last, he could stand it no longer. Antoshchenko pushed Rakovsky out of the way and started shouting: ‘Just what are you thinking, Comrade Rakovsky, talking to these bloodthirsty louts like a bunch of schoolboys? The government may lick your boots, comrade, but I don’t intend to. I’ve had more than enough of this shit, and I’ll talk to you all as I see fit. First of all, how dare you sons of bitches complain to our most beloved government about me, your commander, your father, in fact? Who put such an idea in your thick skulls? Complain? No, you ought to kiss my hands. Who was it who turned you cut-throats into men? I did, Antoshchenko! Who put shoes on your feet and clothes on your back? Again, I did, Antoshchenko! Who feeds you buttered porridge and makes sure you get your full tobacco ration? That very same commander, Comrade Antoshchenko. If it weren’t for me, you’d all have been shot long ago, so many fish in a barrel, I swear to it on the life of my poor dead father, that fine cobbler from Khristinovka. And you dare to complain! And to mutiny! Scum! You there, with the red face – three steps forward, march! No, not you, the one over there, in the Austrian greatcoat. Just who issued that to you, huh? Answer!’
The soldier in the Austrian coat stepped forward three paces and stood at attention but didn’t say a word.
‘I gave you everything. I did … I, you snub-nosed fool! Just who was it who gave you puttees of blue wool, of the finest English fabric? Don’t know, eh? Well, damn your eyes! I gave them to you, against all the regulations, I, Commander Antoshchenko, gave you puttees meant only for officers. I took pity on you vermin. What are you goggling for? Can’t you speak? And another thing! You dare to complain about your commander, meanwhile you brave boys have been selling government bread on the sly to the monks at Pechersk. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? And who’s been flogging soldiers’ coats at the Zhitny Market? And who stripped those trollops over on Vladimirskaya Hill and sent them off to walk naked through the streets of Russia’s mother city? I know everything. I’ve got you all right here,’ at this point Antoshchenko began clenching and unclenching his red-leather fist. ‘I could execute any one of you at any moment.’
His adjutant tried to stop him, but Antoshchenko paid him no attention. ‘Brewing hooch all over the barracks, making coils out of gas-masks. Wasting bullets for the fun of it, for your ridiculous crimes, while there’s a shortage of them at the front where soldiers are waging a war against the free Ukrainian atamans!
‘All right then, you see what I mean. Enough’s enough. Speaking here before representatives of the government, I forgive you. I don’t give a fig for any of you, but I won’t say that I harbour any hatred in my heart. What can I expect from a lot of oafs like you anyway? And so, men, listen!’
Antoshchenko pulled his bent sabre out of its sheath. The blade flashed like sparkling water in the raw morning air.
‘All right now! Beginning with the companies to my right, on my count … forward march! Past the platform … all together now, sing!’
The band struck up a rollicking tune, and the regiment marched clumsily past the platform. The First Company broke into song:
A puffed-up cock
Went out for a walk,
They caught him, they jailed him,
Not even his passport could save him.
The government representatives, not waiting for the end of the song, quickly descended from the platform and drove off. The entire regiment wondered what would happen next. We were all certain that Antoshchenko would be relieved of command and cashiered. But the days passed and nothing happened. It became obvious that the government didn’t have time to worry about Antoshchenko. Denikin had taken Odessa. The situation was grave.
Antoshchenko continued to strut about and bullied the regiment more than he had before the notorious mutiny. The difficult, turbulent existence of our regiment was brought to an end by a soldier in our company – that very same meek little Iosif Morgenstern I mentioned earlier. Although gentle and long-suffering, Morgenstern hated Antoshchenko with a wild, raging passion, especially after the commander vowed to ‘carve up’ all the Jews in the regiment and get rid of what he called its ‘Jerusalem Gentry’. One night, against regulations, our company was ordered to guard a warehouse out beyond the Baikovoe Cemetery. Amazingly, each of us was issued with two cartridges for our rifles. It was warm. The air was filled with the smell of flowering stocks. A waning crescent moon rose over darkened Kiev and traversed the still Ukrainian sky. To keep from falling asleep, I sang bits of songs to myself –
The sounds of the city have died completely,
Beyond the Neva tower, there’s silence in the gloom,