Khortiza, October 11, 1919

Up till now the cow of Marguerite’s brother was in our stable, replacing the dead one. Somebody has followed Marguerite or has found out somehow; at any rate it became known that the cow had belonged to people whose son was a volunteer. An Anarchist came to get the cow back. Marguerite appealed to the men quartered in her home. She asked them to help her to keep the cow if they still wanted to drink milk. This appeal was useless however. Should they stand against their own thief comrades? Where the milk came from, they did not care. Of course, they would not give it up. They made it our duty to get it for them.

Thus the strange horseman took the cow away. The woman did not give up, for she has an old mother and two small girls who cannot be without milk. She followed the robber and started to bargain with him. She proposed to buy the cow from him. He demanded ten thousand rubles. She offered one thousand, although she did not possess even that much. After long bargaining, the bandit, who became aware of the fact that he could not proceed very fast with a cow, would give the animal back for three thousand rubles. Now Marguerite ran from house to house to borrow that money. I had hidden mine and had forgotten where I had put it. But soon I remembered that it had been in the garret under the roof somewhere. I went up the stairway in stocking feet in order to be as noiseless as possible and not to arouse suspicion amongst our men. After I had found the hiding-place I ran into the fields where the bandit was leading away the cow. I offered him the money agreed upon. But he now demanded a larger sum. I almost failed to have him believe that the poor wife had no money except this offered. Seeing that he got as much as was possible he left the cow. I brought her home the shortest way.

After some time Marguerite came home, sorrowful, for she did not succeed in getting a sum of three thousand rubles. Everybody had been robbed of the last penny.

How glad she was when I told her that my money had done it.

Now we have a cow, that’s true, but the chickens are gone. They were young and were laying in spite of the cold weather. These brave heroes, the Anarchists, have invented the following method of catching chickens: They cut off with their sabers the legs of the poor animals, or wound them somehow; thus they get possession of this “game” which then is brought before the hostess who has to prepare a meal whenever it may be. In many cases that was in the middle of the night.—

We are moved by all these little things almost more than by the death of men, for the dead are secure, they are safe. Many a one envies them. It is surely true, as long as we live we need food. We see with anxiety that our stores shrink so rapidly that we can see ahead only for a few days more. Soon we shall not be able to satisfy our tormentors. The more acute the question of nourishment becomes the more wild the bandits become and the more unrestrained. One hardly can understand why they have no regard for anything at all. Are they indeed becoming brutes?

They still, seemingly, believe that we hold back some food somewhere. How should we manage that? They control everything everywhere, in the rooms, in the cellar, under the roof. Did they not get, lately, the last remainders of the food in the cellar? “Cook it for us,” they ordered. Marguerite is not as afraid as most others are. She replied, “I shall boil it for you but not all at once. Half of it will do for the first time. The rest will be for tomorrow.”

“We never think of the next day,” they answered back, “therefore, once more, prepare it all for today. That is our order!”—“Order” emphasized.

Self-control you would preach to them in vain. Marguerite is annoyed by such folly. She does not understand how men can eat so much meat. I tried to furnish an explanation. I said, “You know as well as I do, wild animals like to devour meat, the peaceful cows and horses eat grass. Don’t you see, they have to have it?”

Marguerite was right. The next day there was no meat. The Anarchists, at this time, did not need it. They over-ate and now they lie and groan. But surely the next day they will demand roast meat again. So it goes. And when the hostess cannot secure any meat they send out someone of their number to get it, who comes back in a short time with half a dozen chickens. Marguerite had to obey their command and prepare them a chicken dinner.

For two weeks we have had this plague in our house. The emotional strain exhausts us; we have no longer energy to hope anew each day. Each morning my friend, his wife, and I talk over our situation. In our opinion they will not be able to stay here very much longer on account of the shortage of food—such as is left. But the Anarchists arc calculating differently. They kill off cows which are expected to calve in a few weeks. They send expeditions to all the villages of the colonists and get bread and flour.

Yes, we cannot help realizing that these ravishers will not die of famine as long as there is bread somewhere. We, of course, will have to face hunger very soon. Most of us eat but potatoes. Our physical strength is vanishing. I noticed it today when I had to cut down a few pear trees in our orchard and was chopping them to pieces. I frequently had to stop and rest before I could recover sufficient strength to struggle forward again.

Our only rescue lies in the change of the front line. Each time when the cannon thunder increases, or when the crackling of the rifles grows in intensity, we live in new hope. We do not care which side wins if only the line would be moved in One or the other direction.

Those forces beyond the river possess better artillery, but the stream is too great a hindrance. It is indeed not easy to cross the river. And besides they may figure, no doubt, that Father Makhno is sly and has devoted men. His bands are growing every day. Many are attracted by the prospect of plundering. Whether there are a hundred thousand, as some say, or less, there are too many for us. Every house is filled with them. Significantly, they are mostly peasants. The factory workers are usually organized, they are not Anarchists. They belong in general to the Bolshevik party or to the Socialists.

The peasant Anarchists are anxious to provide themselves with clothes this time. Doubtless the Ukrainian peasants are just now in great need of clothing. The peasants of Northern Russia are used to a poorer life and can make clothing for themselves. They weave linen and sew their clothes. For the winter they make furs out of sheep hides and shoes of tree bark. This kind of clothing was, at any rate, used before the war in many places, even not far from Moscow. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that the northerners are more quiet. The Ukrainian peasant, living on a more fertile soil was used to a more comfortable life. That was true concerning clothing too. He, indeed, misses the products of factories much more than his northern brother does.

Besides, the Ukrainian peasant has become rebellious in consequence of the constant change of regime. Is it not true that, for two years, he has had to endure, with almost every new moon, a new government? After this, and very soon, there will not be an administration which will easily gain his respect. Certain moral conceptions which should underlie any form of State have been overthrown.

The masses have become aware of their power but, unfortunately, they have not learned, as yet, to use it as a power of order and organization. Once they cheered the Bolsheviks for having given them the right to take possession of all soil. But since the Bolsheviks, too, tried to build up an organization by means of a dictatorship and began in their turn to impose a strict regime upon the agricultural districts, the peasants came to themselves again.

Now the Ukrainian nationalists and the Black Anarchists courted them. The Whites also tried to dominate them in their way. Makhno, the sly one, knows better how to win the peasants. “Land and freedom,” these were old slogans among them. Makhno knew it. So he gives what they want. They do not realize that arbitrariness can become fatal to every one of them, too.