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I raised both hands and pushed him back, saying, "I am Anglisky polkovnik, and will not allow you to murder the wounded Russian officer." He answered that he was "Serbian polkovnik," and I said "Come into the other room," and by strategy got him away.
He lived, he told me, with his wife in a flat in the Anglisky Prospect; his sister-in-law and another of his wife's uncles, a brother of Alexei Petrovitch, also lived with them. I said that I would be very glad to come. It is impossible to describe how deeply, in the days that followed, I struggled against the attraction that this invitation presented to me.
I had no doubt it was, but then I was English, and a Hampshire man at that. Then the usual teacher arrived and asked if he would be allowed to speak to the "Anglisky Polkovnika." Receiving an affirmative, he entered and began the conversation. He naïvely confessed that if he had known it was an "Anglisky" train he would have allowed it to pass.
None of them had even seen the British flag, few of them had the slightest idea where the "Anglisky" lived, and one old Kirghis explained to his wondering tribemen that we were a strange tribe that had broken away from "Americanski" and gone to live on a great island in the middle of the lakes, where no one could touch us unless they risked their lives on great wooden rafts.
Nevertheless Bohun was not able to be for ever in his company; work separated them, and then Lawrence lodged with Baron Wilderling on the Admiralty Quay, a long way from Anglisky Prospect. Therefore, at the end of three weeks, Henry Bohun discovered himself to be profoundly wretched. There seemed to be no hope anywhere. Even the artist in him was disappointed.
Either the Russian peasant is a most litigious person, or else he mistook a free system of justice as a healthy English pastime which he thoroughly enjoyed. It was extremely flattering to be told that these people preferred that the "Anglisky Polkovnika Boorpg" should decide their disputes than that they should be reserved for a Russian tribunal.
General Evan Pootenseiff arranged a parade of the 2nd Siberian Cossack Regiment outside Omsk on May 14 to say "Good-bye" to the "Anglisky Polkovnika," his officers and soldiers. Needless to say, we were all there, and it was an occasion that will be remembered by all who had the honour to be present.
We walked back very happily to Anglisky Prospect. Vera Michailovna said good-night to me and went in. Before he followed her, Bohun turned round to me: "Isn't she splendid?" he whispered. "By God, Durward, I'd do anything for her.... Do you think she likes me?" "Why not?" I asked. "I want her to frightfully. I'd do anything for her. Do you think she'd like to learn English?"
The inhabitants of Zema were just congratulating themselves on having got rid of the "Anglisky" when they suddenly found machine guns in position ready to spray all their main thoroughfares with lead should the occasion arise. Sections of the town were searched, house by house, until the piles of arms necessitated transport to remove them.
As I turned into Anglisky Prospect I found stretched like a black dado, far down the street, against the wall, a queue of waiting women. They would be there until the early morning, many of them, and it was possible that then the bread would not be sufficient. And this not from any real lack, but simply from the mistakes of a bungling, peculating Government. No wonder that one's heart was heavy.
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