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.
I dressed myself in my berth--the space below was too full already,
and I thought I could face it better with my clothes on. When I got
down, the hut was nearly empty, but a Gordon Highlander who went out
of the door a few feet ahead of me was slashed at by one of the
N.C.O.'s and jumped out of the way just in time.
All this was preliminary to roll-call, when we were all lined up
to answer to our names. That morning the soup had lost what small
resemblance it had had to soup--it had no more nourishment in it than
dishwater. We began then to see that they were going to starve every
one into a desire to work.
We had not been taking soup in the morning, for it was, even at its
best, a horrible dish to begin the day with. We had made tea or
coffee of our own, and eaten something from our parcels. But this
morning we were lined up with the Russians and given soup--whether
we wanted it or not.
After the soup, the working parties were despatched, and then the
three unhappy Russians were started on their endless journey again,
racing up and down, up and down, with an N.C.O. standing in the
middle to keep them going. They looked pale and worn from their hard
experience of the night before, but no Bengal tiger ever had less
mercy than the N.C.O., who kept them running.
The distance across the end of the yard was about seventy-five feet,
and up and down the Russians ran. Their pace was a fast trot, but
before long they were showing signs of great fatigue. They looked
pitifully at us as they passed us, wondering what it was all about,
and so did we. We expected every minute it would be over; surely they
had been punished enough. But the cruel race went on.
In an hour they were begging for mercy, whimpering pitifully, as they
gasped out the only German word they knew--"Kamerad--Kamerad"--to
the N.C.O., who drove them on. They begged and prayed in their own
language; a thrust of the bayonet was all the answer they got.
Their heads rolled, their tongues protruded, their lips frothed,
their eyes were red and scalded--and one fell prostrate at the feet
of the N.C.O., who, stooping over, rolled back his eyelid to see if
he were really unconscious or was feigning it. His examination proved
the latter to be the case, and I saw the Commandant motion to him to
kick the Russian to his feet. This he did with right good will, and
the weary race went on.
But the Russian's race was nearly ended, for in another half-dozen
rounds he fell, shuddering and moaning, to the ground--and no kick or
bayonet thrust could rouse him...
Another one rolled over and over in a fit, purple in the face, and
twitching horribly. He rolled over and over until he fell into the
drain, and lay there, unattended.
The last one, a very wiry fellow, kept going long after the other
two, his strength a curse to him now, for it prolonged his agony,
but he fell out at last, and escaped their cruelty, at least for the
time, through the black door of unconsciousness.
Then they were gathered up by some of the prisoners, and carried into
the _Revier_.
* * *
Just as the three unconscious ones were carried away, three other
Russians, not knowing what was in store for them, came in. We did
not see them until they walked in at the gate. They also had been on
farms, and were now refusing to work longer. They came into the hut,
where their frightened countrymen were huddled together, some praying
and some in tears. The newcomers did not know what had happened. But
they were not left long in doubt. An N.C.O. called to them to
"heraus," and when they came into the yard, he started them to run.
The men were tired and hungry. They had already spent months on the
farms, working long hours: that did not save them. They had dared to
rebel, so their spirits must be broken.
Our hearts were torn with rage and pity. We stormed in and out of the
huts like crazy men, but there was nothing we could do. There were
so few of us, and of course we were unarmed. There was no protest
or entreaty we could make that would have made any appeal. Orders
were orders! It was for the good of Germany--to make her a greater
nation--that these men should work--the longer hours the better--to
help to reclaim the bad land, to cultivate the fields, to raise more
crops to feed more soldiers to take more prisoners to cultivate more
land to raise more crops.
It was perfectly clear to the Teutonic mind. No link in the chain
must be broken. Deutschland über Alles!
At noon the Russians were still running--it is astonishing what the
human machine can stand! The N.C.O. impatiently snapped his watch
and slashed at the one who was passing him, to speed them up, and so
hasten the process. He was getting hungry and wanted his dinner. Then
an order came from the Commandant that it was to be stopped--and we
hoped again, as we had the night before, that this was the end.
We brought the three poor fellows, pale and trembling, to our end of
the hut, and gave them as good a meal as our parcels would afford.
One of them had a bayonet wound in his neck, which the N.C.O. had
given him. He had jabbed him with the point of his bayonet, to
quicken his speed. In spite of their exhaustion, they ate ravenously,
and fell asleep at once, worn out with the long hours of working as
well as by the brutal treatment they had received.
But there was no sleep for the poor victims--until the long, black
sleep of unconsciousness rolled over them and in mercy blotted out
their misery--for the N.C.O.'s came for them and dragged them away
from us, and the sickening spectacle began again.
There were just eleven of us, British and Canadians, in the camp
at this time, twelve of the British having been sent away; and it
happened that this was the day, July 4th, that we wrote our cards. We
remembered that when the men had written cards about the lice it had
brought results: we had no other way of communication with the world,
and although this was a very poor one, still it was all we had. We
knew our cards would never get out of Germany; indeed, we were afraid
they would never leave the camp, but we would try.
We went to the place where the cards were kept, which was in charge
of a Polish Jew, who also acted as interpreter. He had been in the
Russian Army, and had been taken prisoner in the early days of the
war. There was a young Russian with him who did clerical work in the
camp. They were both in tears. The Jew walked up and down, wringing
his hands and calling upon the God of Abraham and of Isaac and of
Jacob! Sometimes he put his hands over his ears... for the cries of
his countrymen came through the window.
When we got our cards, we wrote about what had happened. Some of the
cards were written to John Bull; some to the British War-Office; some
to the newspapers; some to friends in England, imploring them to
appeal to the United States Government at Washington, to interfere
for humanity's sake. We eased our minds by saying, as far as we could
say it on a card, what we thought of the Germans. Every card was full
of it, but the subject was hardly touched. I never knew before the
full meaning of that phrase, "Words are inadequate."
Words were no relief!--we wanted to kill--kill--kill.
* * *
The running of the Russians went on for days. Every one of them who
came in from the farm got it--without mercy.... Different N.C.O.'s
performed the gruesome rites...
* * *
We had only one hope of quick results. The Commandant of the camp at
Celle--that is the main Cellelager--had an English wife, and had,
perhaps for that reason, been deprived of his command as an Admiral
of the fleet. We hoped he would hear of our cards--or, better still,
that his wife might hear.
The first indication we had that our cards had taken effect was the
change in the soup. Since the first day of the trouble, it had been
absolutely worthless. Suddenly it went back to normal--or a little
better.
Suddenly, too, the running of the Russians stopped, although others
of them had come in. A tremendous house-cleaning began--they had us
scrubbing everything. The bunks were aired; the blankets hung on the
fence; the windows cleaned; the yard was polished by much sweeping.
Evidently some one was coming, and we hoped it was "the Admiral." At
the same time, the N.C.O.'s grew very polite to us, and one of them,
who had been particularly vicious with the Russians, actually bade me
"good-morning"--something entirely without precedent.
Every day, I think, they expected the Admiral, but it was two weeks
before he came. His visit was a relief to the Germans, but a distinct
disappointment to us. Apparently, the having of an English wife does
not change the heart of a German. It takes more than that. He did
not forbid the running of the Russians; only the bayonet must not be
used. The bayonet was bad form--it leaves marks. Perhaps the Admiral
took this stand in order to reinstate himself again in favor with the
military authorities, and anxious to show that his English wife had
not weakened him. He had the real stuff in him still--blood and iron!
* * *
The running of the Russians began again--but behind the trees, where
we could not see them... but we could hear...
There are some things it were well we could forget!
The running of the Russians ceased only when no more came in from the
farms. Those who had been put out came out of the _Revier_ in a day
or so--some in a few hours--pale and spiritless, and were sent back
to work again. They had the saddest-looking faces I ever saw--old
and wistful, some of them; others, gaping and vacant; some, wild and
staring. They would never resist again--they were surely broken! And
while these men would not do much for the "Fatherland" in the way of
heavy labor, they would do very well for exchanges!
[Illustration: Friedrichsfeld Prison-Camp in Summer]