Mobilisation in Russia is an inevitably slow and difficult operation. The circumstances under which it is effected render it almost impossible to reduce it to a matter of automatic precision, as is the case with the German Army. It is typically Russian: rather ponderous and very human. The chances of its being successfully and quickly accomplished are so slight compared with those of its proving an orgy of confusion and disorganisation that nobody, least of all in Russia itself, where businesslike methods are not expected of officials of any sort, dared hope that it would be carried out without a hitch. The Allies were apprehensive, the Kaiser was openly contemptuous and left only second-line troops to guard his eastern frontiers until Russia could extricate her army from the inevitable confusion and be worthy of the attentions of the perfect Teutonic fighting machine.

The German, of course, with his keen materialism, has a reputation for doing these things with an automatic efficiency. The Slav, on the other hand, is of a very different temperament, and the Tzar’s army has acquired, and deserved, a reputation for mismanagement. It is the most human of armies, for certainly there never was one more given to error. The Manchurian campaign was one of the worst muddles of modern times. In comparison, the South African War was a model of efficient management. It was always a case of the wrong thing at the wrong moment: and even when there appeared to be a chance of the right thing happening, corruption or ineptitude stepped in and stultified every effort. Those who happened to be in Russia during that period will remember that hardly a day passed without some fresh instance of the national habit of blundering through. The railways were in a state of frantic disorganisation; whole regiments got mislaid; food and clothing were always lacking in spite of the most lavish expenditure. Worst of all, numerous officials and Jewish contractors became suddenly and mysteriously wealthy, and made small secret of the source of their prosperity.

Nobody raised his voice in protest because nobody had expected anything different. The orgy of mismanagement was accepted with a good-humoured shrug of the shoulders. Nitchevo, it can’t be helped! That was the comment of the fatalism which is at once the greatest weakness and greatest strength of the Russian character.

Of course, there was excuse enough. Mobilisation is carried on in the face of more difficulties in Russia than in any other country. Everything militates against its speed and efficiency. It is all on so vast a scale that it would seem impossible for human ingenuity to place it on a systematised basis. The area of the Russian Empire is forty times that of Germany, but its population is only three times as great. The units to be concentrated are diffusely scattered; they have to be gathered singly. The aggregate length of the Russian railway system is only twice that of the German lines, and few of the Russian railways have been laid with a view to meeting military needs. The majority of the troops summoned to the colours have to traverse vast distances, often on foot, before they can reach the railway which will take them to their mobilisation centres. The sparseness of the population renders it difficult for orders to filter through, and still more difficult for troops to be quickly concentrated. A good deal must of necessity be left to the zeal and initiative of the reservists themselves who, in most cases, are utterly unreliable without supervision.

At the best, therefore, with good weather and good luck, the mobilisation is but a slow process. Previous to the present war the most obstinate optimist did not believe that, in the most favourable circumstances, it could be completed in less than three weeks or a month.

In the present case, too, there were special aggravating circumstances which rendered success all the more doubtful. July had been a month of labour disputes, and it seemed more than likely that the strikes would seriously hamper the mobilisation. Moreover, the Russian military plans were incomplete. A programme of reform was being pushed forward with all possible speed, but it was not to be completed until 1916, at least. The army was in a state of transition. A new system was being imposed upon it, and it was by no means ready for the supreme test. There was a general feeling that it would be better to rely on the old system which, whatever its defects, had at least the merits of being known and understood. A partial muddle was better than the risk of absolute chaos.

The order for mobilisation, therefore, could not have come at a more inopportune time. Russia, in spite of all official assurances to the contrary, was unprepared.

It is well known that this inevitable slowness and possible impotence on the part of Russia during the early period of the war was the foundation on which the Kaiser constructed his plan of campaign. He could, so he thought, smash the Allies in the West and return in time to mete out similar treatment to the Russians before they could do any damage in the East. Everything favoured the plan, which had all the merits of simplicity and conciseness. Nobody who was acquainted with the disadvantages under which Russia laboured could deny that, humanly speaking, Germany was immune from a serious attack from Russia for at least six weeks. Even that estimate seemed to err on the side of optimism, for at that time there was no reason to suppose that Austria would have much difficulty in defeating Serbia and menacing Russia with a strong advance.

But among the many factors with which the Kaiser omitted to reckon must be included General Soukhomlinov—the Russian Kitchener, as he has, not inaptly, been called.

When the disastrous Manchurian campaign was ended, Russia sadly needed a man who could take to heart the lessons of defeat and build up a new and better army from the discredited fragments of the old. The moment produced the man. Soukhomlinov, the greatest War Minister Russia has known, has for the past nine years been engaged on an immense scheme for the remodelling and reorganising of the army. Quietly and with inexorable efficiency, he has cut away cancer after cancer and added reform to reform. No problem has been too large, no detail too trivial, and no circumstance too hopeless, for him to devote to it his tireless energy. The whole military system from top to bottom, and in every nook and cranny, has been renovated.

Soukhomlinov’s greatest merit is that, in planning and carrying this huge scheme into effect, he has not fallen into the trap that lurks in the path of every military reformer. Although working on western lines, he has not attempted to imitate the German or any other army. That would have been the obvious course for a man of less genius. But Soukhomlinov had the greatness to realise that an imitation army can never be satisfactory. An army must be national to the core, or it will fail in its object. “What is health to the Russian is death to the German,” is a Russian saying that is very true. And an attempt to force Teuton temperaments into Slav bodies would result only in a bastard production emphasising the defects of both.

Soukhomlinov knew that the Russian is the finest soldier in the world. His bravery, his unquestioning obedience, his infinite capacity for suffering and hardship, his stolid fatalism which makes him the same in victory or defeat, all these qualities render him an ideal fighting man. German helmets or the goose step would not add one jot to his virtues. He has never had a chance, because he has never been properly led or properly organised. It is in these two directions, therefore, that General Soukhomlinov has concentrated his efforts. Under the new regime the Russian officer has been transformed. The army is no longer a hobby for fashionable young men, but a stern business in which slackers and the inept are not wanted. The habit of heavy drinking at night—which during the Manchurian campaign so often resulted in such heavy slaughter in the morning—is a thing of the past. The army requires clear heads, and Soukhomlinov has no use for befuddled officers.

Efficient organisation is as vital to an army as efficient leadership, and the greatest test of organisation is the mobilisation.

Owing to the speed with which Germany and Austria can effect their mobilisation, Russia must of necessity begin a European war on the defensive. Consequently, her mobilisation bases are not situated on the frontier, but at a considerable distance in the interior, at Warsaw, and other towns lying behind the Vistula. These towns are protected by a long chain of fortresses and fortified positions, stretching from Kovno to Radom, and designed to hold an invading force in check until the troops have been mobilised and the advance can begin.

The method by which the mobilisation is effected will be understood by reference to the diagram. At the call to arms recruits and reservists living at the outlying hamlets, a a a, make their way to the central villages and towns, b b. This journey has usually to be performed on foot, and may be anything up to fifty miles. At b b the men are collected in batches and passed on to the concentration centres, c c c. For this journey railways are sometimes available, but in the more remote districts the roads are, more often than not, the only means of communication. The peasant soldiers troop into the concentration centres in their ordinary dress, they leave them ready for the field. All day long a constant stream of peasants is pouring into the barracks, and a constant stream of soldiers, fully equipped for hostilities, is pouring out. Regiments and battalions are formed. Then, when all is complete, they pass on by train to the mobilisation base D.

The success of the system obviously depends on the maintenance of an even flow of men from a and D. A delay or hitch at any point may throw the whole process out of gear. The area covered is so vast, the population so sparse, the army so huge, and the means of communication from point to point leave so much to be desired that difficulties and dangers spring up in every direction. An especially weak point about the system is that in the early stages so much depends upon the men themselves.

Ivan Ivan’ich, the Russian Tommy Atkins, is no better and no worse than the rank and file of any army. He is not averse to temptation, especially when it takes the form of alcohol. Vodka was the cause of much of the muddle of the Manchurian mobilisation. In the present instance, however, General Soukhomlinov very wisely decided to take no risks. He decided on a bold stroke which, in the unsettled state of the country at the beginning of the war, might easily have been the cause of serious rioting. The Imperial ukase ordering the mobilisation was followed by another which practically prohibited the sale of alcohol in all districts likely to be affected by the military preparations. The railway stations, concentration centres, and mobilisation bases were signalled out for specially stringent regulations. There were also severe pains and penalties for those who, in their patriotic fervour, were inclined to be over-generous to the troops on their way to the front.

This drastic measure was fully justified by the results. With nothing to delay them, the men arrived punctually at their posts. They were sober, and displayed all the virtues of sobriety. Their health and temper were noticeably improved. There were none of the quarrels and disturbances usually associated with mobilisation. The conduct of the troops was in every way irreproachable. The worries and work of the officers were lightened a hundredfold.

Russia, in short, provided the world with an object lesson in the value of temperance.

Of course there was some grumbling. Men who had tramped fifty versts or so to serve the “Little Father” thought that they were at least entitled to drink his health and damnation to the Nemetz. But generally the order of things was accepted with the unquestioning stolidness of the Russian peasant. The “Little Father” had said, “No vodka”—therefore, nitchevo, why complain?

The following description of the actual mobilisation is based upon the letters written by Vasili Grigorovich, the cobbler of a little town in the Ukraine, to an English friend. The bond between this rather ill-assorted pair is Vasili’s unsatiable thirst for learning. Self-taught, he reads everything and anything that comes his way, and it was a chance conversation over an out-of-date newspaper during the mending of the traveller’s boot that led to the friendship.

“The news that a general mobilisation was ordered reached the village late in the afternoon. The Governor himself came to tell us that the ‘Little Father’ is at war with the Nemetz, and that we must all start off for Berlin at once. He is a witty man, our Governor. I started getting ready, but Marya scolded me for not being quick enough. Indeed, she scolded me all the time, even when I bade her goodbye. That’s like our women. They always hide their heartaches. And after all they are quite right, for what are their sorrows compared with the orders of the Tzar? She swore at me and said I was not fit to be a soldier, when I kissed her. But her voice was thick and her eyes glistened. And Dimitri, who caught me up later, told me that when he passed he saw her praying before our ikon. It was the first time, too, that he had seen Marya weeping.

“She is a fine woman, though outwardly rough. I am very glad to hear that the Tzar has ordered that the wives and families of the soldiers shall be well supplied with money. He is a great Tzar. However, it will be very lonely for Marya all through the winter, and if it were not for thinking of her I should be quite happy.

“Dimitri and I had to tramp thirty-two versts—a good stretch. We went some distance out of our way to reach an inn. But it was closed by the Tzar’s orders. Well, the Little Father knows best.

“We decided to walk all through the night, because we both wanted to be fighting the Nemetz as soon as possible. We had not gone far before a farm cart full of soldiers caught us up and they gave us a lift. It was rather cold, but we did not mind. We talked about the war, and the news about the inns. We are sure to win, but it is rather hard on the innkeepers, who will lose a lot of money. However, they are all rich.

“We reached —— before dawn. The officer there was very surprised, because the men from our district were not supposed to arrive until late in the evening. He was rather cross too, because everybody was coming too soon, and upsetting the arrangements. However, a landed proprietor offered his mansion for the use of the soldiers. Fancy that!

“The next day we marched to ——, where there is a railway station. There are no trains for the ordinary passengers, because the Tzar has taken them all for the soldiers. Fifty trainloads of soldiers are passing through —— every day! Dimitri said we should be able to get drinks at the station, but he was wrong. I hear now that it is a crime to give vodka to the soldiers.

“Our train was very full, because of the men all being so early. It was rather uncomfortable, but we were all too glad to be going to the front to notice it. At one station two boys, who had run away from home and wanted to fight, were discovered by an officer and turned out. They were very disappointed, but there was more room for us.

“At last, after sixteen hours, we reached ——. At first we thought that there was no accommodation for us, but we found that a camp had been prepared for us. The town was very full of soldiers, but they were all very orderly and quiet. The day after our arrival we received our new uniforms, rifles and other things. The uniforms are very smart, something like the English, I am told. The boots, too, are excellent. The very best leather. It is evidently true that the Tzar has made our army better than ever it was. It is a bad lookout for the Nemetz. In these uniforms and boots we shall be able to chase them all the way to Berlin quite comfortably.

“Our regiment is complete. To-morrow we start for Warsaw, where our Army Corps is forming. In a few days we shall meet the Nemetz. Good-bye.”

Among the Cossacks, who are, of course, a less reliable people than the ordinary peasants, the mobilisation was no less smooth. A Government official in the Ural provinces gives a vivid account of the scenes. The Cossacks, it may be noted, supply their own horses, uniforms and equipment.

“On July 31st the village awoke to find a red flag waving before the Government building, the sign that a general mobilisation had been ordered. Immediately everything was in a state of uproar. Nobody knew who was the enemy and nobody cared. It was sufficient that there was war. Only the women made wild conjectures as to whom it was against. There was no thought for work. Horses were groomed, uniforms donned, rifles and sabres cleaned with enthusiastic vigour. Soon the Government veterinary surgeon took his stand before the chief building and the work of examining the horses began. Each man in turn brought up his horse and put it through its paces. The test was most strict, and any animal showing the slightest defect was promptly branded as useless. All day the work continued, a crowd of women and children watching the proceedings. At night the red flag was pulled down and a red lamp was hoisted in its place. In the evening there was a great feast. A whole ox was roasted, there was dancing among the younger people, but owing to the new regulations there was practically no vodka. All through the night men came riding into the village from the outlying districts.

“On the Sunday when the preparations were almost complete the consecration service was held. The whole village assembled before the little wooden church. It was a stirring sight to see these great warriors in their full battle array kneeling before their Maker and solemnly asking His aid. At the conclusion of the service each man was blessed by the priest and anointed with holy water. Then he led his horse away and received the blessings of his family.

“On the following day they set off on journey of thousands of miles. The women, children and old men watched them. Their eyes gleamed with tears and their breasts heaved. Then, when the last man had disappeared from view, they turned away, walked to the fields and took over the labours which the men had left unfinished.”

In the simple narrative of Vasili Grigorovich and the description of the Cossack scenes may be found all the causes which contributed to the startling success of the Russian mobilisation.

The organisation, thanks to the genius of Soukhomlinov, proved perfect. The smallest detail had been prepared, and every possibility foreseen. In no direction was there any fluster or confusion. The commissariat and transport arrangements worked splendidly; the equipment of the troops with the new service uniform—an idea borrowed from the results of Britain’s South African experiences—was an unqualified success. The uniform has been designed for business purposes only, and with no regard for show. It is very similar to the British uniform; the chief differences being that the Russian tunics are looser, and in place of puttees, long boots are worn. Special attention has been given to this latter detail. Manchuria taught Russia to realise the advantages enjoyed by a well-shod army.

But perhaps the greatest triumph of the mobilisation was the prompt and businesslike way in which the financial question was settled. All who had suffered any loss as a result of the dislocation of trade and traffic caused by the requisition of the railways and other means of transport, were recompensed without delay. By utilising the organisation of the zemstvos or local councils, it was possible to prevent all distress and to make ample provision for the wives, families, and other dependants of the men called to the colours. Indeed, in Moscow and Southern Russia money has seldom been so plentiful as it was during the period of the mobilisation, and many families are better off now than they ever were.

Another contributing cause was the conduct and efficiency of both officers and men. The former proved that they have taken the reforms of the last few years thoroughly to heart. The latter showed that even the lowest ranks felt that they were “Soukhomlinov’s men.” To some extent, of course, their efficiency was due to their enforced sobriety. But much of it arose from an honest determination to rise to the occasion. Ivan Ivan’ich is taking this war very seriously. He is calmly confident of his ability to win, and he is immensely proud of the new army, of which he is a member. Moreover, he had an unlimited enthusiasm for the war. He was anxious to be killing the hated Nemetz, who threatened his own liberty and that of his brother Slavs, and he knew that the better he behaved the sooner he would be at the front. There was no mistaking his eagerness to do the right thing. The following is an extract from the diary of a traveller, who spent nearly thirty hours in Kiev waiting for a train to be available for civilian passengers to Petrograd.

“Everywhere there are soldiers. There must be tens of thousands of infantry, cavalry and artillery. They are constantly on the move. In their peasant blouses, baggy trousers, and birch-bark shoes, they pour in ceaseless streams into the barracks, where they are served with their equipment. They issue forth transformed into as smart soldiers as could be wished. All the uniforms are new, and appear to be made of excellent material. They are greyish khaki in hue, and not unlike the British service uniform in appearance. Seven million brand-new uniforms of the finest quality! That gives some idea of the millions which Russia has been quietly spending on her army!

“The men are as proud as peacocks, and tremendously in earnest. Ivan Ivanovich is a very important person just now, and he knows it. Physically, he is splendid. Seldom tall, but always thick-set and well proportioned, he is a first-class fighting man, and, with his experience of Russia’s climate, he can endure practically any hardship. I doubt if there are any troops living who will suffer more and grumble less. That is the advantage of being a Russian. And it is all done on the most frugal of vegetarian diets! What would our Tommies say to a diet of black bread and fermented cabbage!

“Those who doubted Russia’s military value should spend a few hours in Kiev and note how regiment after regiment marches through with never the slightest hitch or confusion. They should see these sturdy Tommies, with their cruel rapier like bayonets always fixed. They should hear their deep-throated war chants. Then they would realise that Russia is going to play a very important part in this war....”

It must not be forgotten that the nation itself was largely responsible for the success of the mobilisation. The self-sacrificing enthusiasm of all classes was a revelation to those who believed that Russia was in a parlous condition internally. The inevitable losses and inconvenience were cheerfully borne. The rich came forward in a wholly unprecedented manner. In Russia, owing to the lack of a middle class, the distinction between noble and peasant is most rigorously observed. The old days of the serfdom have not been entirely forgotten. But during those early weeks of August the national call was responded to with equal enthusiasm by rich and poor. Mansions were placed at the disposal of the peasant soldiers. Food and gifts were showered upon them; even carriages were offered to help them on their way. The owner of an estate near Novgorod, not only entertained, at his own expense, nearly three hundred troops a day, but his wife and daughters served them with their own hands. A year ago such an action would have meant social ostracism. To-day it is an example which is being followed everywhere.

This rapprochement between the classes will have effects extending far beyond the mobilisation. They give promise of a new and happier Russia, for Ivan Ivan’ich never forgets a kindness.

The enthusiasm of the people was evinced in a thousand different ways. There was cheering and singing everywhere, but practical enthusiasm was no less in evidence. Often it resulted in trouble. The impersonation of reservists who had been called up, by those who had not, was very frequent. In many cases the discovery of the trick ended in blows with the result that neither proceeded to the front, the impersonator going to gaol and the impersonated to the hospital. Thousands of boys ran away from their homes in order to enlist. Some Polish boys living at Vilna were so disappointed at being refused admission to the army on account of their age that they formed themselves into an unofficial patrol. Unfortunately they fell in with some Austrian Cavalry, and the next day their bodies were discovered hanging from the branches of a tree.

The enthusiasm was not confined to the men. Women and girls sacrificed their tresses and disguised themselves as recruits. Some actually managed to reach the front without being detected, and one even contrived to enter the air service.

At no time during the mobilisation was the religious aspect of the war allowed to be forgotten. Before starting on their journey reservists knelt before their humble ikons. In every village the priest blessed the troops as they passed. Ikons and sacred relics have been taken to the front.

Petrograd witnessed the most impressive scenes. The most holy of all ikons, the famous Smolensk, “Mother of God,” which is embellished with jewels enough to ransom the Tzar himself, was carried in solemn procession to Kazan Cathedral. Hundreds of thousands stood in the streets through which the ikon passed. Every head was bared, a muttered prayer was on every lip. Thousands were unable to gain admission into the cathedral during the services, and gathered in the square outside, sometimes to the extent of fifty thousand, chanting the responses and singing the hymns. On the Sunday following the declaration of war, the Tzar blessed the Russian arms and those of the Allies. The flags of the nations were placed on the altar before the Smolensk ikon, and with all the Byzantine pomp and circumstance of the Greek ritual the aid of the Almighty was invoked.

Thus in most gratifying circumstances the news went forth that Russia was ready. The mobilisation was sufficiently complete to warrant an advance. The date was August 16th, barely a fortnight after the issue of the general mobilisation order and a full month sooner than the Kaiser had calculated. The number of men in the field cannot be stated with accuracy. Experts have talked glibly of millions, but none know the exact number of Russia’s fighting men except the Russian General Staff, and doubtless the German. Four million men in the field and a further three million in reserve may be taken as a likely estimate.

In any case the mobilisation was the finest feat of the war. It was a triumph over almost insuperable difficulties and a miracle of national organisation and effort. It was the most significant and most threatening of the many clouds which were beginning to gather round Germany.