CHAPTER XIX

THE BLACKEST CHAPTER OF ALL

When the days were at their longest, some of the Russians who had been working for the farmers came into camp, refusing to go back because the farmers made them work such long hours.  There is daylight-saving in Germany, which made the rising one hour earlier, and the other end of the day was always the “dark.”  This made about a seventeen-hour day, and the Russians rebelled against it.  The farmers paid so much a day (about twenty-five cents) and then got all the work out of the prisoners they could; and some of them were worked unmercifully hard, and badly treated.

Each night, a few Russians, footsore, weary, and heavy-eyed from lack of sleep, trailed into camp with sullen faces, and we were afraid there was going to be trouble.

On the night of July 3d, three tired Russians came into camp from the farms they had been working on after we had had our supper.  The N.C.O. was waiting for them.  The trouble had evidently been reported to Headquarters, and the orders had come back.  The Commandant was there, to see that the orders were carried out.

In a few minutes the N.C.O. started the Russians to run up and down the space in front of the huts.  We watched the performance in amazement.  The men ran, with dragging footsteps, tired with their long tramp and their long day’s work, but when their speed slackened, the N.C.O. threatened them with his bayonet.

For an hour they ran with never a minute’s breathing-spell, sweating, puffing, lurching in their gait, and still the merciless order was “Marsch!” “Marsch!” and the three men went struggling on.

When the darkness came, they were allowed to stop, but they were so exhausted they had to be helped to bed by their friends.

We did not realize that we had been witnessing the first act in the most brutal punishment that a human mind could devise, and, thinking that the trouble was over, we went to sleep, indignant at what we had seen.

In the morning, before any of us were awake, and about a quarter of an hour before the time to get up, a commotion started in our hut.  German soldiers, dozens of them, came in, shouting to everybody to get up, and dragging the Russians out of bed.  I was sleeping in an upper berth, but the first shout awakened me, and when I looked down I could see the soldiers flourishing their bayonets and threatening everybody.  The Russians were scurrying out like scared rabbits, but the British, not so easily intimidated, were asking, “What’s the row?”

One of the British, Walter Hurcum, was struck by a bayonet in the face, cutting a deep gash across his cheek and the lower part of his ear.  Tom Morgan dodged a bayonet thrust by jumping behind the stove, and escaped without injury.

When I looked down, I caught the eyes of one of our guards, a decent old chap, of much the same type as Sank, and his eyes were full of misery and humiliation, but he was powerless to prevent the outbreak of frightfulness.