Surgeon Grow; an American in the Russian fighting

Front matter

SURGEON CROW

AN A-MERTCAN IN THE RUSSIAN FIGHTING

Columbia (HnitJer^ftp

Foreword

One hot July day in 19 17, on a road a couple of miles back of the Russian trenches,! witnessed an incident which was to me one of the most significant in all my Russian experience.

It was just when the Russian offensive, the plan of which was conceived and carried out by the Kerensky government, was beginning to break down. The revolutionary soldiers had gone forward in their attacks when ordered to do so, but their morale was bad and when the Germans counter-attacked, the line gave way at a certain point. Wild rumors were circulated by pro-German tools who were in the Russian ranks. They cried out that the German cavalry was surrounding them, and caused a panic among the Russians, who turned and fled.

I was standing by the roadside talking to a British officer who was about to bring up his armored cars to get into action against the Germans. Several of these armored car sections had been sent viii FOREWORD

by the British to Russia to give what help they could. The officer had ridden ahead of his motors to investigate the condition of the roads. As we stood talking the roll of drums, crackles of rifles and machine-gun fire could be heard from our position.

Suddenly the British officer grasped my arm and pointing down the road in the direction of the trenches, exclaimed, "My word, old chap I what is raising that cloud of dust?"

A great yellow cloud rose in the air, sw'eeping towards us rapidly. I thought of artillery limbers coming back for more shells, but the volume of that cloud was too great. As it rolled nearer we made out a great straggling disorganized mob of soldiers, running for their lives, apparently. Many were without hats or coats and some had thrown their rifles away.

They were a panic-stricken mob bent only on putting as much space between themselves and the Germans as possible. Their grimy faces were streaked with sweat, their eyes glared wildly like the eyes of a stampeding herd of steers, as they bore down upon us.

When they were about a hundred feet from us the dapper little English lieutenant stepped into

FOREWORD ix

the middle of the road, raised his walking stick aloft with his left hand and held out his right hand w'ith the gesture of a traffic-policeman stopping a runaway horse.

The frightened soldiers in the foremost ranks of the fleeing mob checked their pace, those in the rear crowded on. I expected to see them sweep that little khaki-clad figure aside like a straw, or trample him under foot. There were no Russian officers In sight. I thought they might have murdered any officers who had tried to stop their flight and I expected to see the Englishman go dowft with a bullet or a bayonet in his chest. Strange to say the entire crowd of nearly 500 men stopped before that dapper little figure with the outstretched arms. They stood stock still, their great burly chests heaving, their brown faces shining with moisture.

There was a strange silence for a moment, the thunder of pounding boots on hard earth had ceased and only the deep roll of artillery reached my ears. Then a clear, almost boyish voice began speaking in very bad Russian. The little officer told those Russians what he thought of them, what cowards they were to be running away, and ordered them to return and fight. It was not a

X FOREWORD

very grammatical speech but It was forceful and liberally interspersed with good English "cuss words." The mob stood silently listening, many with a shamefaced expression. They crowded up nearer to hear, they forgot their panic of a moment before. When he finished speaking a scattered cheer which soon grew into a lusty roar from 500 throats boomed out. Several underofficers and soldiers said a few words and in a trice they had formed into an orderly body in columns of eight and were marching back toward the battlefield. Those who had thrown their rifles away picked them up again and returned and fought like demons.

Had that ofBcer been a Russian he would have been killed in an Instant, but the mere fact that he was a foreigner saved the situation. The Russian soldier has a great respect for the French, the Enghsh and the American. Especially is the American looked up to, and it is astonishing the Influence that can be wielded by one of our countrymen. The Russian Is a simple-minded, childlike individual, but he is also an idealist and at heart he loves his fellowmen. Being primitive, his passions, either of love or hate, admiration or scorn, are naturally colossal. He is also sensitive to ex-

FOREWORD xi

traneous influences, as witness the effect of German propaganda.

He is, and will be in the future, just as susceptible to the sympathy or criticism of the American people. At this time he needs help, he needs sympathy and above all he needs understanding. We will gain nothing by adverse criticism, but should reap much benefit both now at this very critical time in our national existence and in after years if we pursue the proper course toward Russia.

I have given a few lectures on Russia in the United States and have been struck by the division of feeling towards the Russian soldier. One attitude is of distinct and decided contempt; the other is a real appreciation of what he has done in the past for the Allies, and of the great sacrifice he has made for our cause, with a warm expression of sympathy for his present helpless and pitiable condition.

The book I have written contains no argument. I have tried to tell the simple story of what I saw, to relate my own experiences and impressions in a purely narrative style, leaving the reader to draw his own conclusions. My earnest desire is to bring plainly before the American people the heroic fight these peasant soldiers put up while suffering xii FOREWORD

under most adverse conditions in the field and while many baneful influences were at work in the rear, undermining the organization of the Russian government and military machine.

Not only does Russia need our help at this time but I think all will agree that we need Russia's help.

Surely there should be a bond of sympathy between this the oldest, and Russia the youngest democracy, and a united front against Prussian autocracy and militarism.

M. C. G.

Media, Pa., March 22, 1918.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I I Go TO Russia i

II Two Weeks OF Sight-seeing ... ii

Chapter I

TF Dr. Edward Egbert, of Washington, D. C, •^ had not been as persuasive a talker as he was skilled as a surgeon, the most eventful eighteen months of my life would, I suppose, have been passed instead in the humdrum pursuit of my profession as a Philadelphia physician.

As a physician, I would have followed with more than average interest the great drama then being unfolded in Europe, because warfare, with all its pain and suffering, makes a special appeal to medical men, but my part, like that of the bulk of Americans, would have been that of a sympathizing onlooker rather than that of an active participant. At any rate, not until the United States had entered the war would it seriously have occurred to me to disrupt my personal affairs to take a part In a struggle in which we were but remotely interested.

As it was, however, the whole aspect of things, as far as I was concerned, was changed by a remarkable conversation I had with Dr. Egbert in Washington in August, 191 5. That interview threw me into the great struggle almost as suddenly as Europe herself became engulfed in it.

Some eight months before, Dr. Egbert had sailed from this country for Russia to become chief surgeon of the American Red Cross hospital at Kiev. He was home again on a short leave of absence and planned to return within a few weeks.

We were in the Hotel Willard in Washington. It was a typical sultry August evening and we were seated by an open window although all the air we got came in the form of hot gusts from the street, bringing with them the shrill calls of newsboys, the honking of motor-car horns and the rattle of the street-cars.

As Dr. Egbert described to me some of the conditions prevailing on the Russian front, however, and the terrible things he had seen and undergone, I ceased to notice the sounds of the busy city. His story carried me to war-torn Galicia and before my eyes passed a stream of wrecked humanity, straggling back through the dusky forest isles from the field of battle which lay at their farther border.

I could hear the cries of the wounded, the screeching of the shells and the rattle of the machine-guns and rifles.

"When I was over there this spring," the doctor told me, "I saw thousands of wounded sent back to the evacuation hospitals with only the care which could be given them by orderlies — men who, it is true, had received a few months' training but who lacked any real knowledge of modern aseptic methods in the treatment of the wounded.

"Just think," he continued, "the Russian regiments number four thousand, and sometimes after a fight a bare few hundred come back unscathed, perhaps a thousand being killed and the balance — more than two thousand — being more or less seriously wounded — and the regiment has just three doctors ! What possible chance have three doctors to give proper attention to more than two thousand cases in the space of the few hours at their disposal!"

This was a revelation to me. I had no idea that any of the armies in the great conflict were so poorly equipped with medical men.

"As you know," the doctor went on, "I was in charge of the hospital at Kiev. When these poor fellows reached me after journeying for perhaps three or four days from the front their condition was pitiable. Many of them still had on the original first aid dressings which the orderlies had applied on the battle-field and in a great percentage of the cases the delay in administering proper medical attention had resulted disastrously.

"Grow, Russia needs doctors and needs them badly. There is no time to lose. We must forget all questions of race or nationality and remember only that we are doctors and are able to avert some of the awful suffering which our fellow human-beings are compelled to endure for the want of the attention which we can provide. How about your going over with me. Grow?"

I must confess that the doctor's eloquence had deeply impressed me, but not until he put the question to me flatly had I sensed its personal application.

"If you will come with me, Grow, when I sail two weeks from to-day," the doctor continued, noticing my hesitation, "you'll never regret it, I can assure you. I'm going on the Russian munition ship Dvinsk from New York, and if you'll go with me I'm quite sure you won't have the slightest difficulty in obtaining a commission in the Russian army medical service. You will gain there an experience in surgery in a few months which you could not get otherwise in years and years of private practice.

"I don't know, but we all feel — all of us who are in Europe — that America is bound to be drawn into this great world conflict. If we do come In, the training and experience which you will get in Russia will stand you in good stead when the opportunity comes to serve your own country.

"Aside from that — ^thlnk of the help you will be to suffering humanity. The satisfaction you will derive from that in after years will more than repay you for the time you devote to this work. Will you come?"

The surgeon's eyes glowed with enthusiasm. He was a very different man from the one I had known some eight months before. It was not so much the lines of care in his face as it was something else which I cannot describe. As it was, as I looked earnestly into his face I realized that the part he had played in the great war had made him better and stronger than when I had last seen him.

I made a sudden decision. I resolved to go to Russia. I would throw up my practice, sail with Dr. Egbert two weeks hence, and try to get a commission in the Russian army. The doctor's eloquence had awakened in me an inherent love of adventure, a latent desire to see this great world tragedy, and a growing belief that the experience which I would gain in Russia would prove of some benefit to my own country later on.

That was in the latter part of August, 19 15. Just one month later, Dr. Egbert and I drove down the Morskaya in Petrograd, swung round the corner into St. Isaac's square, over whose cobblestones our droshky clattered, and halted in front of our hotel opposite the great cathedral.

This hotel, the Astoria, was situated on the square. It was a large brownstone building, built and owned by a German company but taken over by the Russian government after war was declared.

We arrived about tea-time and the lobby was filled with a brilliant throng of officers and ladies. An orchestra was playing, and save for the presence of officers with arms in slings and others who walked on crutches, one could scarcely have realized that it was war-time.

I shall always remember my first dinner in the Astoria. Dr. Egbert and myself were the guests of several Americans who were stopping there. At one end of the beautiful dining-room of the hotel was a long counter upon which was displayed all manner of zachowsky, caviar, smoked fish of every description, mushrooms pickled in vinegar, shrimp, crawfish, etc. White-garbed attendants served whatever was selected, which was eaten right there or taken to the table. Then followed a typical Russian dinner of cabbagesoup, trout, quail, roast veal, various vegetables, artichokes, dessert and tea — a remarkable contrast to the foodless banquets which have since become to prevalent all over the world.

It was a brilliant assemblage. At a small table on our right was the Grand Duke Michael with a party of friends. He was a slender chap, about thirty-six years of age. His hair was closecropped and he wore the uniform of a captain of Hussars. At other tables were Cossack officers with their picturesque, many-colored uniforms, silver-handled sabres and daggers, with revolvers on their hips, dark swarthy faces and glowing black eyes, lending color and atmosphere to the scene.

When a general, his breast covered with crosses and other decorations, would enter the room, every officer of lower rank would rise from his table, click his spurs together and bow, the general bowing in return and the officers standing facing him until he was seated.

The women were superb in their Parisian gowns, and I had never seen such jewels. A vivaclous conversation was general and there was much laughter. French was spoken more than Russian.

This picture is so vastly different from that which I saw some fourteen months later when I returned to Russia after a short visit home — during which time the Czar had been deposed — ^that, at the cost of digressing, I can't help referring to it.

I found that the Astoria had been wrecked by the Revolutionists. The dining-room was a shambles. Officers no longer kept up their appearance or bearing and the few who dined in the soiled, bedraggled room, presided over by Insolent, slovenly Tartar waiters, ate silently, with gloomy, hopeless faces, brooding over the chaos which surrounded them and addressing the waiters in the most respectful tones lest they be refused service.

But to return to my first visit to Petrograd. After dinner, Dr. Egbert met in the lobby a young officer acquaintance. Captain Dumbrofsky, who spoke English and from, whom I got the first inkling of what was going on in Russia as a result of German propaganda.

Captain Dumbrofsky's right arm was bandaged and carried in a sling and he looked fagged and worn.

"It has been terrible!" he exclaimed. "We have been steadily retreating for two months. Our soldiers have fought magnificently, holding trenches until whole regiments have been simply wiped out by the Nemets' (German) long range heavy artillery. My own regiment has been all but annihilated — all my comrades are killed or wounded."

"How is it that you have been unable to hold them?" I asked.

"The trouble has been," the Captain explained, a little shamefacedly, "we have no equipment. Our men have had to fight with clubs and stones.

lo SURGEON GROW

Our field artillery, the guns of which can fire eighteen shells per minute, were allowed for many days only three shells per day for each gun!"

We asked him what his personal plans were.

"I am only slightly wounded," he replied, "and hope to return to the front in a few days. I cannot stay here in Petrograd while my country is being invaded."

He looked a fit subject for a hospital and I told him I thought he should not return too soon.

"Nichevo! It is nothing!" he said. "I am quite well and strong, and my place is at the front."

"They are nearly all Hke that," Dr. Egbert explained to me as we walked away; "they simply don't know what quit means."

My subsequent experiences fully confirmed the doctor's view.

Russian troops on their way south to help in BrusilofF's big drive talk

with wounded men returning from the fighting. This sanitary train was

equipped by the Dowager Empress, and there were very few like it in

Russia. As a rule the wounded were moved in ordinary box cars.

Wounded men waiting to be loaded onto the cattle trucks that served as

evacuation trains. They lay on rough straw and often went 4 or 5 days

without medical attention.

Chapter II

'T^HE next morning we were up early. One of ■^ the first things we did was to pay a visit to Henry, one of our fellow-passengers on the voyage from America to Russia.

Henry was a little mouse-like man who had never been a hundred miles from the small seaport town in New England which was his home.

Henry had been employed all his life with a shipbuilding company. This company had built some submarine-chasers for the Russian government but for some reason or other they refused to chase. The motors wouldn't go and the vessels were lying in the Gulf of Finland, near Kronstadt, waiting for t^e magic touch of some one from the shipbuilding company, and Henry had been delegated to apply it.

"There's something wrong with the hot-water tap in my bathroom," complained Henry, as we

II entered his room, which was on the floor below ours. "I've tinkered with the durned thing for an hour but I can't get it to work."

"Well, why don't you get the hall porter to fix it for you?" suggested Dr. Egbert. "You'll find him out there by the elevator."

Henry went out and in a moment or two returned with a uniformed man who, to say the least, seemed most reluctant to help Henry solve the problem of the hot-water tap. Indeed, if Henry had not dragged him forcibly by the arm, he certainly wouldn't have entered the room at all.

"I want you to fix the hot-water tap," Henry explained, holding the rebellious official with one hand and pointing to the bathroom with the other.

Right then it occurred to me that something was very much amiss. The old gentleman whom Henry had dragged into his room looked as if he were going to have an apoplectic fit, and a glance I got at Dr. Egbert showed me that he was almost in as precarious a condition.

With an indignant snort, Henry's prisoner tore himself from his captor's grasp and rushed from the room with Henry in pursuit.

"Great Scott, Henr}-!" shouted Dr. Egbert.

"Come back, will you! That's not the porter; that's an admiral of the Russian Na^'yM"

Henry's jaw fell and he almost collapsed.

"You've got yourself In dutch now, for fair," Dr. Egbert went on. "You've gravely insulted him, and the chances are he'll have you thrown into prison."

"But I thought he was the porter — with all that gold braid and stuff — and he was standing at the elevator, too," replied Henr}-, whose face had turned the color of ashes.

Just then a dapper little fellow in the blue uniform of a naval lieutenant knocked at the door and, in a very correct English, declared :

"The Admiral demands an apolog}^ from the American who has so gravely Insulted him!"

Henry being quite speechless, Dr. Egbert explained the cause of the supposed affront and offered Henr}^'s profuse apologies to the Admiral.

The Lieutenant clanked his heels together, saluted, and solemnly withdrew. After a few moments he returned with the information that the Admiral would accept the apologies of the American— a message which undoubtedly saved Henry's life, because I fuUy believe another five minutes of suspense would have killed him.

The incident was an amusing one to me; but Henry's mistake was really quite excusable because of the fact that in Russia every one wears some sort of uniform, even the school children, and one has to live in Russia quite a while before understanding the significance of all the different uniforms which are worn.

After breakfast, Dr Egbert suggested that we go sight-seeing, and I gladly acquiesced.

After considerable hagghng with an isvoscheek, or cabman, in front of the hotel — a most necessary preliminary — we piled into the rickety old cab and went clattering off over the cobblestones of St. Isaac's Square.

These isvosclieeks are droll looking fellows, with great padded coats fastened around the waist by a tight belt. The more costly the equipage and the finer the horse, the greater the padding, and the fare seemed to vary in direct ratio with the amount of padding — an isvoscheek who looked as though he could roll more easily than walk charging two or three times as much as a more slender one. They were usually bearded and wore quaint high hats and altogether they presented a very weird appearance — especially if the face and neck were thin and scrawny in contrast to the hugely padded body. Some were mere boys of fourteen or fifteen, but all wore the quaint top hat, no matter how battered or frayed, and the huge padded coat.

We passed a long column of men marching four abreast, with an armed guard of soldiers escorting them. They were raw youths in every conceivable costume — a draft of new troops called up for training. They ambled and slouched along carrying bundles and packages, shuffling in their heavy boots — typical country bumpkins.

"How can they ever make soldiers out of such material?" I asked.

"Well, there's the answer," replied Dr. Egbert, pointing ahead of us, "those soldiers you see marching towards us were an exact counterpart of these fellows only a few weeks ago."

I looked in the direction he Indicated and saw a long, orderly line of soldiers in grey-brown marching towards us in perfect rhythm, with the free swing of the Russian military step, their heavy hobnailed boots thumping the cobblestones in absolute time. Fine erect soldierly men they were, every slender bayonetted rifle at the same angle, every movement in unison.

We stopped a moment as they passed us. The officer's voice could be heard ringing out with bell-like clearness, a great church we were passing acting as a sounding-board, as he addressed an order to his men, then a metallic clatter as every rifle-butt hit the cobblestones together.

Our isvoscheek took us through the great wide thoroughfare called the Nevsky Prospect. As wide as it was, both sidewalks and road-bed were very crowded and our isvoscheek had constantly to yell at unwary pedestrians who got in our way, rattling his whip in the socket and waving his arms to urge the horse on.

The buildings were immense solid-looking structures, some of stone but many of stucco. They had been painted yellow or reddish brown but most of them were faded and dingy and looked in need of a new coat.

Most of the men we passed were in uniform.

One of the peculiarities I noticed was the fact that practically every shop in addition to a sign giving the name of the firm and the commodity handled had a picture of the commodity painted on the walls — a baker's shop having loaves of bread, rolls and cakes painted above the windows, a furniture store chairs, tables, couches and sideboards, and so on.

This was done, Dr. Egbert explained, because seventy per cent, of the population could not read and lettered signs meant nothing to them. While this revelation of the proportion of illiteracy in Russia was appalling, it was rather consoling to me to reflect that the ignorance of the natives would make shopping easier for me.

Altogether I spent two weeks in sight-seeing, and very interesting weeks they were. I had many wonderful drives through the islands. There were dinners at Felician's on the balcony overlooking the canal where boats carrying students rowing with their sweethearts in the crisp October evenings would float by, the silence broken by beautiful youthful voices singing the sad romances the Russian loves so well.

Meanwhile, of course, I was watching for an opportunity to enter the Russian army medical service. The fact that I did not speak Russian and had no friends in the Russian army made the task extremely difficult, but finally I heard, through an American acquaintance, of a Russian surgeon who was anxious to go away to Finland for a vacation. He had been working day and night since the beginning of the war and was nearly broken down from the strain of overwork.

Securing a letter of introduction from the American, I called on this surgeon, Dr. Vicker, at his office.

Dr. Vicker was a charming man, of middle age, with a scar from cheek bone to chin from a sabre cut received while a student in Germany.

He explained to me that he was chief surgeon to the Hussars Hospital at Tsarskoe-Selo, which had a hundred and fifty beds, and he was also attending a large private practice. He was doing all of the surgical work, having only a woman doctor in the hospital, who acted as anesthetist and resident physician, to help him. The fighting was intense at that time, October, 19 15, and they were crowded with work.

"I shall be very glad, Dr. Grow," he declared, after a short interview in which I told him of my professional experience in America, "to have you come with me to-morrow to Tsarskoe-Selo and help me with several operations. I can then judge of your ability and you will become familiar with our work. Meet me, if you will, at the Tsarskoe-Selo Station at Petrograd at seven o'clock to-morrow morning."

Delighted with the opportunity to do some work, I thanked him for his interest and promised to be on hand in time. Sight-seeing was very interesting, but I had left America to work in Russia, not to enjoy myself, and I was very anxious to start in.

Chapter III The Hussars Hospital At Tsarskoe-selo

A FORTY-FIVE minute ride by train from Petrograd brought us to Tsarskoe-Selo — which literally means the village of the Czar. It was so called because the Emperor had his favorite palace there, where he spent most of his time before he became commander-in-chief of the Russian Armies in the field, when he removed to Mogheliv, where the General Staff was located.

We engaged a droshky and drove to the hospital, passing some of the beautiful grounds surrounding the palace.

The hospital was a large white structure, used In peace times as the special hospital of the Hussars, a large body of whom are permanently stationed at Tsarskoe-Selo. On the ground floor was the receiving room and two large airy wards with rows of white cots all occupied by wounded soldiers.

On the second floor was the oflScers' ward, an 20 operating room and dressing room, baths, etc.; while the third floor was divided into small private rooms for cases requiring isolation and quiet, and the rooms for the resident doctor and several resident nurses.

All the nurses except one were titled women who, at the beginning of the war, had taken the six months' training course required to become a war-sister. They had given up everything else and devoted themselves resolutely to the task In hand.

The exception was a lady who had been a professional nurse for many years, and who acted as assistant in operations and had charge of the operating room.

I met the head sister, Baroness Maria Alexandrovna P , a fine motherly woman of fifty-five, with snow-white hair and the sweetest face imaginable, and the ten other sisters, all of whom were either Baronesses or Princesses with the exception of the little professional nurse, who was simply Sister Olga Michaelovna.

Let me digress for a moment to explain Russian names. In Russia persons are called by their first names and their middle names, which latter consists of the father's name to which, In a male, ovitch is added, and, in a female, ovna is added. Thus Olga Michaelovna signified Olga, the daughter of Michael. Even servants address their masters by the first two names, the family name being invariably omitted. The Grand Duke Nicholas is spoken of by every one as Nicholi Nicholiovich.