THE JOURNEY TO KHARKOV.
The wagons, with their helpless freight, reached Alexandrovsk shortly
after daybreak. Their first stupor having passed, the children conversed
with each other in whispers and tried in their own poor way to console
one another. Jacob, whose mutilated ear and broken arm had not been
improved by the rough treatment he had experienced, wept bitterly at
first, until the savage voice of a soldier bade him be quiet. Then the
child made a Spartan-like endeavor to forget his pain and fell asleep
upon his brother's breast. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning when
they arrived at the Governor's palace. The devout and religious General
Drudkoff usually declined to transact any business on that day; but this
was an important matter of State, a question threatening perhaps the
very existence of the Empire, and a departure from ordinary rules was
allowable. The waifs were brought into the ante-chamber, and obliged to
pass muster before his excellency, who read them a lesson upon their
future career and duties. After those whose hasty abduction had made it
impossible to dress, had been provided with odds and ends of clothing,
the rags cast off by the children of the Governor's serfs, and which his
excellency declared were much too good for Jews, the lads were again
placed upon rickety carts, and, while the Governor proceeded to his
religious services at the _kiosk_, they were escorted under a strong
guard to the military headquarters at Kharkov.
Long and tedious was the journey. At noon a village was reached, and the
travellers were furnished with a meal consisting of pork and bread.
Half-famished by his long fast, one of the boys had already bitten into
his portion, but stern religion interfered.
"Do not eat it," whispered Mendel; "it is _trefa!_" (unclean).
The lads gazed wistfully at the tempting morsels, but touch them they
dared not.
"Why don't you eat?" roughly asked one of the soldiers, whose duty it
was to walk by the side of the wagon and guard against a possible
escape.
"It is forbidden," answered Mendel, who, being the oldest of the little
group, took upon himself the duties of spokesman. "It is unclean."
"If it is good enough for us, it is good enough for a Jew. Here, eat
this quickly!" and he endeavored to force a large piece of the dreaded
meat between the teeth of one of the lads.
"If they wont eat, let them starve," said another of the guards, who was
attracted by the noise. "Why do you trouble yourself about them?"
"You are right," answered the first; "let them starve."
And their fast continued.
The smiling fields through which they rode, the sunny sky above them,
the merry birds warbling in the bushes, had no attraction for the
ill-fated boys. The world was but a vast desert, an unfriendly
wilderness to them. But Mendel's mind, sharpened by misfortune, was not
dormant. A thought of escape had already presented itself to his active
brain.
"If Jacob and I could only manage to run away and reach our uncle in
Kief," he mused.
Presently he plucked up courage and asked the guard: "Will you please
tell me what you are going to do with us?"
"You will find out when you get to Kharkov," was the ungracious
rejoinder.
To Kharkov! The information was welcome indeed. Not that Mendel had ever
been in that place, but he recollected hearing his uncle say that he had
come through Kharkov on his way from Kief. It must be on the direct
route to the latter city. O God! if he could but escape!
A dark, stormy night found the travellers in the miserable little
village of Poltarack. The weary horses were unharnessed and the soldiers
looked about for comfortable quarters for the night. They found refuge
in a dilapidated structure, the only inn of which the place could boast.
The children were led to a barn, where a bountiful supply of straw
served them as a bed. A piece of bread and a glass of rank brandy formed
their evening meal, and hunger left them no desire to investigate
whether the humble repast was _kosher_ (clean) or not.
The footsteps of the guards had scarcely died away in the distance,
before Mendel sprang to the door and endeavored to open it. It was
securely locked and the boy turned disconsolate to his companions. It
was the hour when, at home, their fathers would send them lovingly to
bed, when their mothers would tuck them comfortably under the covers and
kiss them good-night; and here they lay, clad in tatters, numb with
cold, pinched with hunger; pictures of misery and woe. Heart-rending
were the sighs, bitter the complaints, in which the poor lads gave
utterance to their feelings.
"Come, boys!" at length cried Mendel, "it wont do to grieve. Let us bear
up as bravely as possible. They will take us to Kharkov and leave us at
military headquarters. Perhaps we can escape. If we are kept together it
will be difficult, but if they separate us, it will perhaps be easy to
give the soldiers in charge the slip. If you get away, do not at once go
back home or you will be recaptured. Go on until you come to a Jewish
settlement, where you will be cared for. Jacob, you must try to stay
with me, whatever may happen."
Long and earnest was the conversation between the boys, all of whom, in
spite of their tender years, realized their perilous position.
Then Mendel arose and recited the old and familiar Hebrew evening
prayers and the little gathering made the responses; then, weary and
homesick, the boys cried themselves to sleep.
At break of day, the Cossacks pounded at the barn-door, and the boys,
after breakfasting on dry bread, again set out upon their tedious
journey. The soldiers who had accompanied the wagons, were replaced by
others; the new men were in a better humor and more graciously inclined
than those of the preceding day. They even condescended to jest with the
young recruits and to civilly answer their many questions. From their
replies, Mendel gleaned that the commander at Kharkov would distribute
them among the various military camps throughout the province, where
constant hard labor, a stern discipline and a not too humane treatment
would eventually toughen their physical fibre and wean them from the
cherished religion of their youth.
The weather was unfriendly, the sky was overcast, and the boys,
shivering with cold and apprehension, at length made their entry into
Kharkov. The commander of the garrison, a grim-visaged, bearded warrior,
received them, heard the story of their capture from one of the guards,
amused himself by pulling the boys' ears and administering sundry blows.
He then divided them into twos, to be escorted to the various barracks
about the district. Mendel and Jacob were permitted to go together, not
because the commander yielded to a feeling of humanity, but because they
happened to be standing together, and it really did not matter to the
Russian authorities how the new recruits were distributed. A soldier was
placed in charge of each couple, and, like cattle to the slaughter, the
boys were led through the town.
Weary and silent, yet filled with wonder and surprise, Mendel and Jacob
preceded their guard through the gay and animated streets of Kharkov. It
was a new life that opened to their vision. With childish curiosity they
gazed at every booth, looked fondly into every gaily decorated shop and
glanced timidly at the many uniformed officers who hurried to and fro.
For a moment, their desolate homes, their sorrowing parents, their
unpromising future were forgotten in the excitement of the scenes about
them, and it required at times the rough command and brutal push of the
soldier behind them to recall them to the misery of the moment. This
soldier, a fine-looking, sturdy fellow, appeared as much interested in
the animated scene as were his captives. Years had passed since he had
last visited Kharkov, his native town. Much had changed during that
period. A conflagration had destroyed the central portion of the city
and imposing stone edifices had in many streets replaced the former
crazy structures. Now and then an old building or hoary landmark would
recall pleasant memories of early youth. The fountain in the centre of
the square was eloquent with reminders of by-gone joys, of hasty
interviews, of stolen kisses; and our brave warrior strode along with a
bland smile of contentment upon his bronzed countenance. Suddenly, a man
brushed past him. The two looked at each other for a moment, as if in
doubt, and then with a simultaneous shout of recognition, they shook
each other heartily by the hand.
"Cantorwitch!" cried the soldier. "By all the saints, this is rare good
luck! How have you been?"
"Very well, friend Polatschek. But you are the last man I should have
looked for in Kharkov. How well your service agrees with you."
The two friends stood and talked of all that had befallen them since
their separation. Not until the calendar of gossip had been exhausted
did Cantorwitch finally ask: "But what brings you to Kharkov, my boy? I
thought you were on the southern frontier."
"So I was; so I was," rejoined the other. "I have been sent up with two
Jewish recruits. Holy Madonna! what has become of them?"
Mendel and Jacob had disappeared, without even saying, "By your leave!"
In vain the friends peered into the various shops along the street, into
every open door-way, behind every box and barrel. In vain they inquired
of every soldier who passed. No one had seen the runaways.
Poor Polatschek, after listening to the consolations of his friend and
fortifying himself with a quart of spirits, returned to headquarters, to
spend the following ninety days under arrest for gross negligence while
on duty.