Khortiza, October 24, 1919

A terrible event has happened. We learned about it two days ago, but we did not believe the rumor. Today we received the surest confirmation of the facts. The village Dubovka does not exist anymore. This colonist village is only twenty miles away from here. Many people of our place had relatives and friends there. The history of that village ended the 18th of October, 1919.

The 17th of October, at night, a band of horsemen surrounded the village and divided themselves in such a way that all farms could be attacked at the same time, so none of the inhabitants would warn his neighbor. Thus they made a complete slaughter. All male inhabitants above fifteen years of age have been cut down in cold blood. Eighty-four lives have been taken.

There must have been heart-breaking scenes when—as we are told—wives in despair tried to protect their husbands or sons by covering them with their own bodies, with the result, of course, that they lost their lives likewise. Most of the women, scared by the slaughter, ran away with their children, barefooted and in night clothes. It was bitterly cold that night. They were seeking refuge in the neighboring village, four miles away. But even there they were not to find rest from the evildoers. The same slaughter was going on there, too.

It is inexplicable, but it is a fact, that the tragedy was repeated here on only ten farms. Then the murderers retired. Many of them have been recognized as inhabitants of the neighboring Ukrainian villages. After this, the Russians of the neighborhood came like hyenas to get the spoil. Everything portable is being moved to their homes. Not only cattle and furniture but even roofs are taken away. That is what they are doing just now while I am writing. People in quiet countries hardly will believe the story of the tragedy. And yet we can prove it. In a state of high tension we are waiting for a similar fate. The mental strain deadens all the pain which we have to bear daily, and which torments us so severely. We have not yet been faced with the decision. But it is as clear as sunshine that we cannot make a compact with a gang of assassins.

Tomorrow the fourth regiment comes back from the front line, and the sixth has to take its place. We know enough of those heroes. There the mad devils are together. We tremble. We know what may happen.