The Attack on Orloff

The following memoir of Abram Walde captures in ghastly detail another story of the same attacks on the Zagradovka Colony on November 29th 1919, as he bore witness to the cruel fate of my great great great grandfather, Peter Isaak.

MEMORIES OF DAYS OF TERROR

by Abram Walde (1900-1980)

It was in the year 1919. The Civil War was raging in Russia. The hosts of the White Army had penetrated far into the north, and in the occupied zone the punishing of war criminals was being carried out. Many an innocent Russian suffered an unjust punishment. This, and other unwise dealing of the White Army aroused severe bitterness in the populace.

In the north, bands of Ukrainians under the leadership of Nestor Makhno, had joined the ranks of the Red Army against the White forces. In the late summer of 1919, the Makhno bands managed to break through the ranks of the White Army. Burning and killing, these hordes flooded through the Ukraine. Ruffians, idlers, and those who were embittered flocked into his hosts, and in a short time he had a following of not less than 80,000 strong.

It was not long before terrifying reports were circulating. Eichenfeld has been massacred! - Heuboden has suffered the same fate! - Krivoy-Rog has been invaded and is occupied by Makhno! - Ekaterinoslav is in turmoil! As yet the villages of the Sagradowka Colony have been spared from their forays.

It was late fall 1919. Dense fog covered the fields. The streets were a mass of deep mud and nearly impassable. The village farmers are in an agitated mood. Everywhere they can be seen standing in small groups at the fences. The reports of the evil deeds of the Makhno are increasing and his bands are progressively coming nearer and nearer. Yesterday two of our villages, Rosenort and Altonau were visited by the bands. Nothing drastic had been done there, but they had promised to return!

Some refugees from Altonau are arriving. They do not trust the situation in their village, hoping rather to find greater safety in our village, Orloff. It has come to be noon. The farmers separate from each other. Father also comes home and we gather for diner.

"How does it look, Father?!"

"Not good. There are still some who wish to defend themselves."

Soon after dinner, a visitor, a school friend from the neighboring village, comes to see me. We cross the street to the A. Penner residence. Soon we hear some commotion on the street and we go to investigate.

There from the north they come – wagon after wagon. The entire street is full of them, and everywhere they are turning in to the yards.

We hurry to get across the street. My friend runs for the garden right away, and I enter the house.

Already there is a terrible clattering in the front porch. Father and I go to see.

"Your money!" screams one villain, and immediately follows us into the house. Then he spies a clothes closet and begin digging around in it. I see that he has my clothes on his arm and ask him to give them back to me. "There, take them," he says, jumps on his horse and rides away.

"Let us be glad, and thank God, if this is all it will be," says Father.

We look out upon the street. A band of riders comes galloping in from the south, and confusion seems to result on the street. Several riders enter the yard of A. Penner. Penner approaches them.

"Penner is being stabbed!" cries Father, "Penner is falling!"

We hear a sudden racket on the front porch and go to investigate. With drawn bayonets they come upon us. "Don't move" they scream, "Hand over your money." Father tells them that his money has already been taken. "Hand over your money!"

Slowly we retreat into the back room and into a bedroom. Here a bandit is digging through a closet. He stands up as he becomes aware of us.

"Let the young one live – take the old man along," he commands and resumes his search. I am taken to a corner room and made to sit on a chair. Father is led away. The house is in a state of riot. They dig through everything. From the street to sound of rifle and machine-gun fire is almost continuous.

Suddenly the villain holds his revolver in front of my eyes!

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, I know."

"Do you know what it's for?"

"Yes, I know."

Then he spies a basket of buns that has been left there by Mother. He grabs one and begins to eat. Then he throws one to me.

"Here, eat!" I eat.

He continues to eat, but his eyes are always focused on me. Nothing good is to be seen in those eyes. He pulls out his saber

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what it is for?" "Yes"

"There you have it!"

I brace myself. It is only a blow with the side. He goes off. I begin to breathe again. In a few moments he is back and holds his revolver in front of me. He goes away – and comes back – how many times I cannot remember.

Then it becomes quiet in the house. I raise myself and see a neighbor, Peter Isaak running into our garden. One arm dangles at his side. He falls down under a tree. A bandit on the street sees this, comes to him, and shoots him in the forehead. His brains gush out. Chickens come and peck at the wound.

A creeping horror comes over me. I cry to God – the Lord has mercy! On the street the rearguard passes by with the Black Flag. I look out into the yard and see two horses still standing there. A few moments later I look again, and the horses are gone.

Slowly I dare to move from the corner room. It is so quiet in the house. I come into the barn. There stands Father in the back of the barn leaning against a post. As I come to him, he removes a cloth that he has been holding around his face - his lower jaw has been blown apart by a shot. I take him by the arm and help him into the machine shed. In the carriage I find a pillow and lay him on it. Then I kneel beside him.

"Father, where are Mother and the children?"

Almost inaudible is the answer, "I do not know."

"Father, you are going into the eternal rest?"

"Yes."

Then I hear voices. They are Mother and the younger family members. I go to meet them and bring them to Father. We lift him up. He is very weak. Mother and I each hold him by an arm and help him into the bunkhouse, where Father's sister, Mrs. Heinrich Neufeld and her husband live. We hope that we will find more order there for our house is in a terrible mess. Mrs. Neufeld has already done some straightening out. We lay Father on a bed, and Mother takes her place at his side.

Mrs. Neufeld continues to cast worried looks out the window to the street. Her husband, who is principal of Orloff High School, has not returned. The children have come home and they know only that their father was detained at the school, and then taken to the elementary school. A few hours later the news comes to us that he was shot to death.

I go out into the yard. Our straw-stacks are on fire. At the neighbors they are also burning. All around one sees fire. I go into the garden. There lies our neighbor. We cannot let the body lie like that overnight! I seek for help, and on his yard I meet his son.

"Your father is lying in our garden. Come let us carry him into our kitchen. But his eyes are turned to their house. There is fire in the house, and it is quickly filling with smoke. He feels sure that there are still some persons in the house.

Then I hear voices on the street in our Low German Dialect. I go to them. Several men have gathered together and are going through the village to remove the corpses. The dead are lying everywhere, on the street, along the fences, in the gardens. We carry the neighbor's body into our house. I go into the barn again and mechanically feed the livestock. My brother Hans is suddenly on my mind. I haven't seen him around anywhere. I go to Mother who is still sitting at Father's bedside. "Where is Hans?" She does not know. I go out and brood over it. The horse he liked best is missing. It is likely that he has ridden away and possibly fallen victim to the Makhno bands.

I come to the neighbor's yard again. The house is standing there in brilliant flames. One of his sons has broken a window and called in, in case someone was still inside. A Mr. Isbrand Friesen from Schoenau had been visiting the Isaaks. Later we found his remains in the ashes. It is likely that he had been shot to death in the house. We try to save something from the fire. Then I return to my home again.

Mrs. Neufeld has supper ready, and then wants us all to go to bed. But sleep will not come. There is a knock at the door. I jump up. My friend, who visited me in the afternoon is there.

"How did you manage to stay alive?" I ask him.

"I ran behind the garden to the Wiebe's where my parents were at the time. I saw several bandits in the garden so I quickly hid in a bush and thus was not found. At Penner's the barn is on fire. They are trying to save the house. Come, let us help.”

We go over and help for a while. The barn burned to the ground but the house remained. The next morning my grandmother comes over. Grandfather and Uncle Wilhelm have both been shot to death. Shortly, some people from the neighboring village arrive on the scene. Rev. Johann Voth, a bishop, comes to visit Father. Uncle Franz comes also. During the time that they are with us, Father dies. We take him from his bed and wash him as best we can. Mother has found some clean clothing for him and we dress him in these. Uncle Frank notices a stab wound in his neck.

"This alone, " he remarks, "would be sufficient to kill a person." We then carry the body into our house.

I go out to the village. Fire everywhere. It looks so sinister. I come to the village school. Uncle Heinrich Neufeld should be there. Mr. Wiebe, a teacher, leads me into one of the rooms. There lie the teachers, Neufeld and John Toews, both dead. Mr. Wiebe pulls back somewhat on Neufeld's coat revealing a small blood spot in the heart area – otherwise no wounds. I turn back again. As I near the W. Penner yard, Mrs. Penner calls out to me,

"Come and see!" She leads me to one of the out buildings. There

[A line is missing here on my copy of the story]

As I arrive at my home again, my brother Hans appears. He had indeed ridden away, had been captured by one of the Makhno bands, but had escaped again. He had spent the night in a neighboring village. Afternoon, orders were given to dig a grave. Several young men from the next village have come to help. A dense fog still shrouds the fields. Several horsemen are patrolling the exits of the village. The Makhno band has apparently taken up quarters in one of the Russian villages, not far away. They could appear again at a moments notice. We dig as quickly as possible so that our dead may be buried without delay.

Suddenly we hear, "They are coming!" Like startled wild animals we all run into the fields and gather together in a corn patch. Nothing is to be seen of the village so we listen intently. There is nothing to be heard. We wait. Many a person kneels down and utters a prayer. Everything remains quiet. Slowly and with great care we return. It was a false alarm.

Again we return to work, but we are unable to complete the grave, and must continue on the next morning. It is Sunday. The dense fog still covers the fields. In due time we resume work on the grave and by noon the task is done. Some straw is put on the grave floor on which the dead are to be laid. The funeral is held in the afternoon. One after the other, the dead are brought, and in the order in which come, they are laid in the grave. Forty-five lie in this grave, mostly farmers, but also some teachers, students and servants. Rev. Jakob Janzen gives a funeral address and prays with us. Slowly, we all depart from the graveyard.