The Plébiscite; or, A Miller's Story of the War: By One of the 7,500,000 Who Voted "Yes"Erckmann-Chatrian
Philosophy
The Plébiscite; or, A Miller's Story of the War: By One of the 7,500,000 Who Voted "Yes"
Erckmann-Chatrian
France -- History -- Third Republic, 1870-1940 -- Fiction
"Thank God, I am not dead yet; and I should be glad to hear from you,
if possible. You must know that, on arriving at Luetzelbourg, we were
sent off by railway in cattle-trucks. We were thirty or forty
together; and we were not so comfortable as to be able to sit, since
there were no seats, nor to breathe the air, as there was only a small
hole to each side. Those of us who wanted to breathe or to drink,
found a bayonet before our noses, and charitable souls were forbidden
to give us a glass of water. We remained in this position more than
twenty hours, standing, unable even to stoop a little. Many were taken
ill; and as for me, my thigh bones seemed to run up into my ribs, so
that I could scarcely breathe, and I thought with my comrades that they
had undertaken to exterminate us after some new fashion.
"During the night we crossed the Rhine, and then we went on rolling
along the line, and travelling along the other side as far as Rastadt,
where we are now. The hindmost trucks, where I was, remained; the
others went on into Germany. We were first put into the casemates
under the ramparts; damp, cold vaults, where many others who had
arrived before us were dying like flies in October. The straw was
rotting--so were the men. The doctors in the town and those of the
Baden regiments were afraid of seeing sickness spreading in the
country; and since the day before yesterday those who are able to walk
have been made to come out. They have put us into large wooden huts
covered in with tarred felt, where we have each received a fresh bundle
of straw. Here we live, seated on the ground. We play at cards, some
smoke pipes, and the Badeners mount guard over us. The hut in which I
am--about three times as large as the old market-hall of Phalsbourg--is
situated between two of the town bastions; and if by some evil chance
any of us took a fancy to revolt, we should be so overwhelmed with shot
and shell that in ten minutes not a man would be left alive. We are
well aware of this, and it keeps our indignation within bounds against
these Badeners, who treat us like cattle. We get food twice a day--a
little haricot or millet soup, with a very small piece of meat about
the size of a finger: just enough to keep us alive. After such a
blockade as ours, something more is wanted to set us up; our noses
stand out of our faces like crows' bills, our cheeks sink in deeper and
deeper; and but for the guns pointed at us, we should have risen a
dozen times.
"I hope, however, I may get over it; father's cloak keeps me warm, and
Cousin George's louis are very useful. With money you can get
anything; only here you have to pay five times the value of what you
want, for these Badeners are worse than Jews; they all want to make
their fortunes in the shortest time out of the unhappy prisoners.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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