Khortiza, September 24, 1919

No man could have possibly thought yesterday that it was Sunday. There was nothing to make us realize what day it was.

For three days these Anarchists have been passing through our place. Many thousands went by, and everyone robbed. No horse has been left to the farmers. And yet this is the time of sowing winter wheat. But strange to say, nobody cares to do things like that. As long as these Makhno-bandits stay with us our only concern is how to remain alive.

Most of the people have become so compliant that on the very first demand, without any resistance, they take off their last boots and quietly remain barefooted. Far more serious is the fact that the farmers have to look on as they carry away the wheat, feed, and the last flour to their horses which these men have stolen from other farmers.

It is worse for those families whose sons serve in the so-called volunteer-army of General Denikin. In those cases there is no pardon. I saw it yesterday when they burned down a big farm just because the son was in this army. It was a fine farm. The dwelling house was new. The barns were filled with grain and hay up to the roof. And what modern implements and machinery the farmer had!

There were armed men at the doorway keeping away everybody who intended to save the least things.

This was not the only house which was destroyed by fire. Last night the beautiful house of the factory owner was burned down. But that destruction of property is not the worst. Men are slain, women are ravished.

There are rumors circulating about that the number of adherents of Makhno is growing like an avalanche. There are a hundred thousand men, they say. Surely these poorly organized Anarchists do not know themselves how many they are. But we are sure that there are many thousands of them, because for three days they have continually passed through our village and crossed the Dnieper bridge. For three days and nights we did not take off our clothes. And we did not rest either. No wonder then that we are nearly dead from fatigue. And yet, as soon as a dog barks, we sit up and listen to approaching steps.

Last night they were four times in our house. My friend and his wife with whom I live are quite skillful in dealing with them. Twice they succeeded in buying themselves off by a pair of trousers. But twice there was no escape from them.

These invasions at daytime are surely awful enough, but they cannot be compared with the horror of a surprise at night. We had no oil to light the lamps, and imagine how they groped about through all rooms, making a row and swearing. They lighted matches and threw them everywhere, into the bedding, into cupboards, on the floor. We were following them to prevent a fire.

How hard it is for the parents to keep up before their children! By and by, however, the children realize that their dear ones are as powerless as they are themselves. The little girl of eight years stood between us looking at the window and listening. I felt her little heart beating while we were anxiously trying to see what was happening outdoors.

“There, father!” she cries and clings convulsively to him. Indeed, there a man passes. We pause breathlessly—and there he knocks at the door. Although we had expected it, we nevertheless are so terrified that we at first do not dare to go near the door. But, as soon as the strokes gain in number and vigor, we hurry to open in order not to increase the wrath of the intruders.

Marguerite, my friend’s wife, had been cooking the whole day yesterday for the uninvited guests. The bread was gone. So she had to knead and to bake anew. There is nobody who likes to be refused bread. As soon as there are three or four men in the house, the first thing they do is to order a meal, even when they had their dinner in a neighbor’s house half an hour ago. They are as voracious as locusts.

Mrs. U., living close to the main street, has just now fifty men billeted in her house and she has to feed them all. Besides this she must bake two hundred pounds of bread daily.

Marguerite has a brother at our place. His family had to flee because of their son being a “volunteer.” We do not know where this family is hiding now. There is no safe shelter around our settlement because they are aiming at all villages of these Western colonists. The house is exposed to their depredations; it looks like a bee-hive, with this one difference, however, that nothing is being brought in but everything taken out. Here is one who drags a bundle of clothing away, and there another one casts out the chairs through the window onto the street. A third leads the cow away. The fat hogs were butchered yesterday. When Marguerite heard of it she was bold enough to mingle with them and to save some of the meat. In order to do that she had disguised herself with the poorest clothes she could find and forced herself through the crowds at the meat table. “Now let me have a good piece,” she called, “I suppose that’s for poor people.” Saying that she pushed a leg into her sack. Then after this she instructed a boy of about fifteen how to conduct himself in a manner appropriate to the situation, and sent him over more than once to bring back to our cellar as much meat as he could carry. Fortunately the boy was a Russian. He was a good-hearted little fellow. He himself got interested in the adventure and tried on his own account to penetrate into the house to save a few other things of those fugitive people. It was difficult to hide the secured food from the spying eyes of the robbers. The boy made them think he was carrying a sack of chaff and put it into the cow stable. Later we tried to find a better hiding place for these things.

I put away some of my valuable possessions under the rafters of the roof. Woe, should they find them! When they discover hidden goods they behave as if we had committed a crime, and as a result they become more pitiless.

My friend and I are seriously concerned about the future of our settlement. They have a design upon us. People who do not know anything about world affairs and world politics are hoping for some outside power to rescue us. Some even believe the German armies will come back to occupy the Ukrainian territory. They do not want me to destroy their illusions. But what is the use to erect a building on sand? For that is what this hope amounts to. Germany has been conquered, and although we do not know what peace covenant has been made with her, it is wholly unthinkable that the allies will let her have the rich Ukraine.