To keep up their spirits, some of the men were striking the ground with their oaken cudgels; some spat in their palms, and put on an indomitable mien as they marched along. The women went no farther than the mill, while the men went on slowly up the slope, their feet raising puffs of dust. They trudged on in silence, with proud hard faces and eyes glittering defiantly. Their ranks moved as solemnly as in a procession, and if anyone began talking, the stern looks of the others silenced him soon. It was no time for conversation then: each man withdrew within himself to find courage and strength there for what was coming. At the cross and the village landmarks they stopped awhile to rest. But they were still silent, gazing out upon the landscape: on the huts of Lipka, scarce visible amongst their orchards; on the gilt cupola of the village church; on the vast expanse of green, green fields. And, as they listened to the shepherds’ pipes playing far away and drank in the sweet peace and joy of springtime all around, many of them felt a dull sinking of heart, and looked out towards Podlesie with painful misgivings. “Come!” Roch cried to stir them up; “we are not here to trifle the time away!” For he saw in his men clear signs of weakening resolve. They turned and made straight for the farm-buildings. Their way led them through lands overgrown with weeds, miserable rye-fields, blue with cornflowers, patches of late-sown oats, all yellow with flowers of gold, land where the thin wheat crop was quite scarlet with wild poppies, and plots where the potatoes were hardly above ground yet. Gross carelessness and neglect were seen at every step. “A Jew could not have tilled the land worse! It is an eyesore!” growled one of the men. “The worst farm-hand would have done better work.” “This one, though a great owner, has had no respect for the sacred land which is his!” “No, he treats it as one that only milks and never feeds his cow: small wonder if it gives him naught!” They had now reached the fallows. At a slight distance rose the dingy ruins of the burnt buildings; the orchard was black with charred trunks. Around stood the messuages, some of the roofs fallen in, and the chimney-stacks standing up stark and black. Near the houses a group of persons was to be seen: they were the Germans. A cask of beer stood upon the paving-stones; a man on a door-step played the flute; the others, either lolling on benches or upon the grass, were taking their ease, in shirt-sleeves, with pipes in their mouths, and drinking beer out of earthenware jugs. Some children frisked outside the house, and lusty cows and horses grazed hard by.