In the Russian Ranks: A Soldier's Account of the Fighting in PolandMorse, John
History
In the Russian Ranks: A Soldier's Account of the Fighting in Poland
Morse, John
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Poland; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British
I saw the two peasants brought into the courtyard of the house and
blindfolded. They were then placed against a wall, where one of them
fell to his knees. He was brutally kicked until he stood up again, when
he leaned against the wall, rocking himself in agony of spirit. The
other man stood stolid, like a statue, probably paralyzed by fear. Only
three soldiers to each man formed the firing-party, and neither of the
prisoners was killed outright. One of them screamed horribly, the other
tried to rise to his feet. A non-commissioned officer stepped forward
very deliberately, and blew their brains out one after the other. The
whole terrible scene affected me so greatly that I could not forbear
hissing, in which I was joined by the soldiers. There was no glass in
the windows, so the Germans plainly heard us; and shortly afterwards a
party of them came into the room, and beat us with sticks until I
thought they meant to murder us. I used my fists pretty freely, until I
was knocked senseless.
When I came to, I found that breakfast had been served, consisting of a
can of dirty water for each man, and about half a pound of black bread
of the consistence of putty. We were not allowed to leave the room all
day; and the place stank abominably. Another meal was served in the
afternoon, it consisted, like the former one, of half a pound of wet
bread, and a few ounces of fat mutton. The drink was water of so filthy
an appearance that only dire necessity compelled me to swallow a few
mouthfuls of it. We were granted no facilities for personal cleanliness.
Early the next morning we were fetched out and paraded, and I saw that
the Uhlans were ready for a march. An officer began to question me in
Russian. I said, in French, that I could not speak Russian. "Are you
French?" he asked in surprise. "No." "What are you then?" I blurted out
that I was an Englishman; and expected that I had committed myself. It
was an agreeable surprise when the officer said that he had spent twelve
years in England, and had always been well treated there. He immediately
became very friendly, gave me cigars, sent into the house for the
remains of a sausage and some good bread, was sorry that they had no tea
or coffee, but gave me half a bottle of champagne instead. Again I had
met with one of those lucky chances that have, from time to time,
lightened the burden of life.
When I explained to Captain Eshricke (this is how he pronounced his
name) the condition of my feet, he very kindly ordered that I should be
permitted to ride my horse; but he first exacted a promise that I would
not attempt to escape. I was compelled to give this promise, though I
did so with some reluctance. I also persuaded him to permit my
fellow-prisoners to ride in a country cart, as they were in a very tired
condition, and it is difficult for infantry to keep up with cavalry even
when going at a foot pace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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