Now onto part 2 of the story of the Bargen family as told by my grandfather George Harald Martens (and remember when he refers to HIS grandfather, that would be my great great grandfather). On a cautionary note, it is strongly recommended that the reader is not eating while reading this entry.
The night most remembered is November 29, 1919. Many people fled when they heard that Makhno's bandits had been reported as coming toward the 15 villages of the Sagradowka [Zagradovka] Settlement. Everybody was deathly afraid and many fled to escape this encounter. Grandpa Peter told his family to put on a 2nd layer of clothing and get into the buggy while he harnessed up their fastest team, then they fled as fast as the horses could run. When he met his cousin's family at a crossroad, the cousin said,
"I am going to my parents' house at Munsterberg!" Grandpa said,
"I'm going to the Russian village about 20 miles away!" Peter's dealings and reputation with his Russian neighbors were good, and he had many friends there. That day Makhno's bandits started their three day plundering spree by killing 99 people at Munsterberg, one of the Zagradovka settlements. This included Peter's cousin and family. The warning came just before noon,
"Makhno's bandits have been seen coming toward the Mennonite settlements!" Everyone was fearful, but none anticipated the hellish viciousness with which Makhno would strike.
Maria Martens (nee Peters) feared for her husband's life, so she covered him in the compost pile behind the garden. Maria did not return to dig him out, so when things quieted down, Willie Martens (who was a first cousin of my great great grandfather Wilhelm Martens III) worked his way out of the compost pile and returned to the house. There, Willie found his hired hand, his wife Maria, and his 6 children: Willie, Johann, Anna, Helene, Jakob, and Mariechen, all sitting around the dining room table. Their heads were placed upon the window sills around the room. It is believed that the only people to survive this Munsterberg massacre were Willie, two older boys that hid out of sight under the floorboards of an almost full outhouse pit, and a family that was able to hide in their fireplace chimney.
Johann Martens, a middle aged man, was not well. He was also in deep depression. Johann had a premonition that today he would die. His family and his closest friend, his minister, were not able to console him. I've been told that the bandits went to his house and many of them raped his 16 year old daughter. When the bandits approached Johann in his upstairs bedroom with knives and sabers swinging, he raised his arms as if to protect himself. His limbs flew around the bedroom like cordwood as they were severed from his body. Here, he bled to death.
During one of Makhno's Ukrainian village raids, it was said that he lined the men of the village up on one side of a narrow village street opposite their wives and daughters on the other side of the street. Then, as a vindictive act, Makhno then selected his infected men to rape the wives and daughters of the men who had been his employers prior to his imprisonment.
The raiders were a filthy bunch of inhumanity and always seemed to need fresh clothes, so they simply took what they wanted. This time, one of the bandits wanted the village minister's clothes, so the minister was dragged to the center of the village and stripped of all his clothes. Then the fiendish devils decided to have some fun with him, so they tied his hands behind his back, tied weights to his genitals, and turned a pack of attack dogs on him. While the naked man was running the length of the village's only street with the weight banging against his knees, the dogs were tearing him apart and the fiendish bandits kept taunting and hollering,
"Look there, you religious Germans, there goes your Holy One!" He almost made it to the end of the village street before the dogs killed him.
Grandpa's cousin, Peter Bahnman, about 30 years old, was trapped in his house. When the fiendish bandits started swinging their swords, cousin Peter raised his arms to protect himself, and his hands rolled under the table. Then they proceeded to cut him to pieces.
Grandpa's uncle, Johann Martens, was 70. He was stripped of his clothes, led to the top of a manure pile, and used for target practice. He was murdered November 29, 1919. Johann's 59 year old brother Peter Martens was murdered the same day, too.
One bandit observed a large rat running into a short length of pipe. With the rat trapped in the pipe, he went looking for a suitable victim. After they had tied the victim to a tree, they put the pipe with the rat against the poor man's stomach, and inserted a red hot poker partway into the other end of the pipe. The highly motivated rat immediately clawed and chewed his way into the screaming man's stomach. He did not live long with the large rat chewing and digging around his stomach and heart cavity.
During the November 29, 30, and December 1, 1919 raids, Makhno's bandits murdered over 229 people in the Zagradovka settlement. Other casualties included the hundreds of survivors who were injured, raped, mutilated, and plundered. The Bargens and Martens families had much hardship and lost many relatives (39) to this Makhno massacre, and later, lost many more to the starvation from 1922 to 1932 and the Holodomor Genocides, and more to Stalin's midnight callers during the Great Purge. The Bolsheviks and bandits were also suffering because of the man-made famine, so eventually they took almost all of the peasants' farm animals, grain, next year's seed, and all the feed and food as needed to fill their empty stomachs. My aunt Sarah, who grew from 6 to 13 during that time and approaching 80 [as of 1992] asks me not to ask her about that part of her life, because those memories often generate nightmares. Mary Bargen, my mother, was 19, and Sarah was 13 when the Peter Bargen family escaped to Canada in 1926.
In Memory of Zagradovka
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
The Bargen Family, Part 1
My great great grandfather, Wilhelm Martens III, married Katharina Decker in 1844. They had 12 children. His oldest son Wilhelm IV is my great grandfather on my father's side. His daughter, eighth born Maria, is my great grandmother on my mother's side.This great grandmother, Maria Martens, married Peter Bargen Sr, a school teacher and farmer. Some of their descendants lost their lives during and following the Revolution (1918-1938). A few did make it to Canada and South America. Those who did get out of Russia have a tremendous appreciation for the freedom we enjoy in our society. Peter Sr. and Maria named their first son Peter. This young Peter was tall, slim, very intense, disciplined, and had a very persuasive personality. The following history centers around Maria's children and grandchildren, including my grandparents, Peter Jr. and Elisabeth Bargen [nee Isaak] and their oldest child, my mother, Mary Bargen. Mom was 18 when she arrived in Canada in 1926. Her experiences as an insecure young girl in Ukraine during the Revolution haunted her and had a major influence on her later life.
Young Peter Bargen served some of his required "government service" in the Forestry Department, which included a short tour on the Tsar's [Nicholas Romanov II] palace grounds. After his tour of duty, Peter returned home to Sagradowka [now Zahradivka, Kherson Oblast, Ukraine], to continue his business and raise the family. Peter's income came from the sale of farm products as well as horses bred and raised for market. Peter was successful and had hired hands and servants to help with the farm work, house work, and child rearing.
The Bargens, Mennonites, and others of German heritage had been treated reasonably well by the Tsar because they were productive, law abiding, loyal, and always paid their taxes promptly. After the First World War, this all changed. The Tsar's family had been murdered and five years of terrible bloody revolutionary unrest followed. This revolutionary war process included extremely brutal, cruel treatment for those hard working people who represented the upper and middle class - especially those of German descent.
After the Tsar was murdered, the revolutionaries released many prisoners, including a vile person named Nestor Makhno. This 5'1" man was able to put together a large band of drunken, heroin and opium addicted renegades. With this following of bandits he proceeded to rob, steal, plunder, rape, mutilate, and kill thousands of unprotected, good, hard-working people. This included many defenseless pacifist Mennonites with whom he had lived and worked.
The Kerensky Provisional Government's White Army of Generals Anton Denikin and Pyotr Vrangel were not able to fight off the Bolshevik's Red Army and retain control of the government, while trying to maintain law and order by gaining control of the marauding bands of renegades. These renegades were often referred to as the Black Army because they belonged to neither the White nor Red Armies. Wherever these bandits went, they stole everything they could carry, mutilated and killed many just for sport, abused and raped many women and girls with no consideration for age or health, and then left after they had achieved almost total destruction. As it turned out, these marauding bandits created enough of a diversion for the National White Army that they made the big difference in the outcome of the revolution, and the Bolshevik Red Army eventually won the control of what we remember as the Soviet Union.
As pacifists, most Mennonites did not own or use weapons. Therefore, they were defenseless and easy prey for these marauding bandits. One fall evening, about dusk, when one of these bands was approaching grandpa's settlement, he quickly got about 30 men together. They rode all their horses into a corn field, each man pulled up a cornstalk, peeled off the leaves, shouldered the bare stalk, and rode out to meet the bandits. Not wanting a confrontation with what they presumed to be "armed" men, the bandits fled. After Makhno discovered the ruse, he put a bounty on grandpa's head. He was now a wanted man!
Later another fall evening, a small band of armed men came looking for my grandpa Peter. The sun had set, but it wasn't dark yet. These killers on horseback saw him running over a hill in a freshly plowed field toward a small corn field. Grandpa knew that he couldn't outrun these men on horseback. While out of sight in the shadows of the cornfield, Peter dove down between two rows of cornstalks and quickly dusted himself with loose dirt. The murder band circled and crossed the small cornfield for about 20 minutes looking for him. Grandpa said,
"God must have blinded their eyes, because their horses kept stepping over me."
For almost seven years, Grandpa Bargen was either hiding or running for his life. The Bolsheviks wanted him dead because he had remained loyal to the government following the assassination of the Tsar's family. Makhno wanted him dead too. During this seven year period, his daughter Mary - my mother - and his oldest child, grew from a 12 year old girl to a 19 year old adult. In her dad's absence, she helped with the family business. One day, a strange looking man with a large unkempt bushy beard came to purchase a horse. Mom took him to the barn and showed him a horse. He asked to deal with my grandmother, so my mother Mary went to get her mother. Mary was then told to stay in the house and watch over the younger children. After the dirty bearded stranger left, grandma Maria asked Mary if she knew who that man was. She said,
"No." Then grandma told Mary,
"That was your father."
Grandpa would say in Low German,
"I would do almost anything I could to avoid a confrontation. If that fails, I can talk for five minutes; I can change their minds and save my skin." A familiar heavily armed man rode into grandpa's yard one noon. It was too late for Peter to hide, and he could tell that this horseman had ridden a long distance, so he walked up to the man and immediately said, "Your horse looks tired and thirsty, let me get him some water. He also looks hungry, let me get him some hay and some oats. And you look like you have had a long ride, you must be hungry too. Can I fix you something to eat?" During lunch together, Peter was a gracious host, and later this armed man left as a friend of grandpa. A few weeks later, grandpa learned that Makhno shot and killed this horseman for not killing grandpa when he had the chance.
Friday, November 30, 2012
The Death Tolls
A meticulous written record was made of the death tolls on what was called "Schreckenstage" ("Terror-Days" in German) by my Mennonite ancestors in the Zagradovka Colony. The lists of those killed by Nestor Makhno and his bloodthirsty militia are grouped by village, and the manner in which they were slain was also documented. Some names may appear to be duplicates, but each listing is a different person. It was very common for firstborn sons to be named after their father, or for that matter, to be named after someone else in the extended family.
Despite their attempts at accuracy, at least three dozen missing were never found, most of which were from Muensterberg. That village had a population of about 100, and of those, only one woman and one other family survived, the latter of which hid inside their chimney. The village was almost entirely burned, and many remains could not be recovered or identified. Today, the outlines of building foundations at what was once Muensterberg can still be seen in Google Earth or other mapping programs at coordinates 47°32'0.64"N 33°16'10.15"E ...now the ruins serve as gravestones to the missing. Of the more than 230 victims of the Terror-Days, below is the list of casualties they were able to identify.
Orloff is one of the few villages in the Zagradovka Colony that still has the same name today, though the Ukrainians adjusted the spelling to "Orlove." Of course, Zagradovka is now "Zahradivka" and lies just 4.5 miles northeast of Orlove. I wonder if the Ukrainian citizens today are aware of their local history, and the events that took place there a lifetime ago.
Despite their attempts at accuracy, at least three dozen missing were never found, most of which were from Muensterberg. That village had a population of about 100, and of those, only one woman and one other family survived, the latter of which hid inside their chimney. The village was almost entirely burned, and many remains could not be recovered or identified. Today, the outlines of building foundations at what was once Muensterberg can still be seen in Google Earth or other mapping programs at coordinates 47°32'0.64"N 33°16'10.15"E ...now the ruins serve as gravestones to the missing. Of the more than 230 victims of the Terror-Days, below is the list of casualties they were able to identify.
November 29, 1919, Gnadenfeld:
- Gerhard Schellenberg Sr – shot
- Peter Wiebe Sr – shot
- David Koehn – shot and burned
- Abram Isaak – shot
- Johann Wiebe – shot
- Peter J. Koop – murdered in a Russian village
- Abram Warkentin – murdered in a Russian village
- Johann Kliewer – shot
- Johann Klassen – shot
- Gerhard Wiebe – chopped to pieces
- Johann Doerksen – chopped to pieces
- unknown non-Mennonite – chopped, shot, and burnedNovember 29, 1919, Reinfeld:
- Herman Bahnmann – slaughtered
- Heinrich Epp – shot and burned
- his wife, Elizabeth Epp – shot and burned
- their infant daughter Liese – shot and burned
- their daughter Katharina – shot and burned
- Aaron Epp – chopped to pieces
- Kornelius Warkentin – chopped and burned on a haystack
- Heinrich Koop – chopped and shot
- Peter Funk – shot
- Abram Funk – shot
- Johann Klassen – shot and chopped on the oven bench
- Mrs. Klassen – chopped
- Peter Boschmann – shot
- Gerhard Boschmann – burned
- Peter Bahnmann – chopped, shot, and burned
- Mrs. Jakob Reimer – shotNovember 29, 1919, Orloff:
- Heinrich Wiens (age 62) – shot
- Rev. Peter Martens – shot
- Wilhelm Peter Martens – chopped
- Abram Walde – chopped, died slowly
- Kornelius Nickel – shot
- Peter Isaak – chopped and shot
- Isbrand Friesen (visiting from Schoenau) shot and burned
- Jakob H. Wiens – shot
- Jakob Klassen – shot through the head
- Nikolai Harder – chopped to pieces
- Johann Lammert – chopped to pieces
- Jakob Koehn of Altonau – shot
- Peter Koehn of Altonau – shot
- Diedrich Neufeld Sr – shot
- Johann D. Neufeld – chopped and shot
- Heinrich Wiebe Sr (age 73) chopped and stabbed in bed
- Jakob H. Wiebe – chopped and shot
- Jakob J. Wiebe Jr – shot
- Jakob Adrian Sr – shot
- Abram Walde (age 75) – shot
- Wilhelm Fr. Martens – shot through the heart
- Gerhard Wall (age 77) – shot while sitting in a chair
- Johann Peters – shot and burned
- Heinrich Wall – shot and burned
- Peter Wiebe – chopped to pieces in bed
- Mrs. Peter Wiebe – chopped to pieces in bed
- Heinrich Neufeld (teacher) – shot in schoolroom
- Johann Toews (teacher) – shot in schoolroom
- August Penner – chopped
- Heinrich D. Jager of Tiege (young student) – chopped
- Wilhelm Peters – slaughtered with a saber
- Liese Lammert – chopped to pieces
- Jakob W. Penner (sick with typhoid fever) – chopped in bed
- Johann Heinrichs – shot
- Wilhelm Penner – chopped
- David Block – chopped
- Johann Siemens – shot
- Kornelius Willms of Tiege – perished from wounds
- Maria Reimer – chopped
- Heinrich P. Siemens – shot and burned
- Rev. Jakob T. Friesen – decapitated
- Jakob Heinrich Duerksen of Neuhalbstadt (young student) – chopped
- Johann W. Martens (age 73) – hands torn apart by mushrooming bullet, died 6 days later
- Peter Klassen – sword wounds to head, died slowly
- Gerhard G. Bargen of Alexanderfeld (student) – chopped 21 times, suffered long before deathNovember 29, 1919, Tiege:
- Johann Giesbrecht Sr – shot
- Gerhard Schroeter – chopped
- Peter Buller – chopped
- Rev. Wilhelm Duekmann – chopped and shot
- Jakob Braun – chopped, stabbed, and shot
- Franz F. Klassen (teacher) – shot
- Heinrich Isaak – shot
- Heinrich de Fehr of Altonau – shot
- Abram P. Dyck – chopped and burned
- Olga – servant of Apothecary A. Gauderer – shot
- Heinrich Friesen – shot
- Isaak Tschetter (a miller) – shot
- Isaac de Jager – shot
- Johann Krause – chopped and shot
- Peter Lammert – chopped and shot
- Johann J. Martens – shot
- Heinrich A. Fast – shotNovember 29, 1919, Muensterberg:
- Abraham Reimer – chopped and burned
- his wife, Emilie Reimer – died from a heart attack
- their son Gerhard – chopped with a saber
- their son Willie – chopped with a saber
- their daughter Emilie – chopped with a saber
- Johann Friesen – chopped and shot
- Jakob Duekmann – chopped and shot
- his wife, Maria Duekmann – chopped and shot
- their son, Jacob – chopped and shot
- their daughter Maria – chopped and shot
- their son Peter – chopped and shot
- Peter P. Goossen – chopped and burned
- his wife, Maria Goossen – chopped and burned
- Rev. Abraham Regehr – chopped and burned
- his wife, Helene Regehr – chopped and burned
- Johann A. Regehr – chopped and burned
- his wife, Helene Regehr – chopped and burned
- their infant daughter Lena (14 days old) burned alive in her cradle
- Sarah A. Warkentin of Friedensfeld – chopped
- Wilhelm Jakob Martens – chopped and burned
- his son Jakob – chopped and burned
- his son Kornelius – choppped and burned
- his son Heinrich – chopped and burned
- his daughter Mariechen – chopped and burned
- his daughter Sarah – chopped, suffered for many days before dying
- Heinrich P. Thiessen – chopped and burned
- his wife, Maria Thiessen – chopped and burned
- all their children, Helene – chopped and burned
- Heinrich – chopped and burned
- Anna – chopped and burned
- Peter – chopped and burned
- Aaron – chopped and burned
- Maria – chopped and burned
- Maria Martens nee Peters – chopped and burned
- her son Willie – chopped and burned
- her son Johann – chopped and burned
- her daughter Anna – chopped and burned
- her daughter Helene – chopped and burned
- her son Jakob – chopped and burned
- her daughter Mariechen – chopped and burned
- Johann Wiebe – chopped and burned
- his wife, Katharina Wiebe – chopped and burned
- their daughter Helene – chopped and burned
- Jakob A. Regehr – chopped and burned
- his wife, Maria Regehr nee Toews – chopped and burned
- their son Abraham – chopped and burned
- their daughter Liese – chopped and burned
- their daughter Lenchen – chopped and burned
- their son Jakob – chopped and burned
- their daughter Margaretha – chopped and burned
- their daughter Tinchen – chopped and burned
- Bernhard Langermann – chopped and burned
- his wife, Maria nee Reimer – chopped and burned
- their son Johann – chopped and burned
- their son Gerhard – chopped and burned
- their daughter Elisabeth – chopped and burned
- their daughter Anna – chopped and burned
- Daniel P. Goossen – chopped and burned
- his wife, Maria Goossen – chopped and burned
- Heinrich Ott – chopped and burned
- his wife Anna Ott – escaped to Shestirnya, but were slain and eaten by dogs & pigs
- Katharina Wolf – escaped to Shestirnya, but were slain and eaten by dogs & pigs
- Heinrich Wolf – chopped in Shestirnya
- Johann Wiebe – chopped and burned
- Gerhard Bergen – chopped and burned
- his wife, Anna Bergen – chopped and burned
- Heinrich Enns – chopped and burned
- Rev. Jakob J. Wiens – chopped and burned
- Peter Johann Wiebe – chopped and burned
- Peter Goossen Sr – chopped and burned
- Katharina Klippenstein nee Goossen – chopped and burned
- Helene Klippenstein – chopped and burned
- Gerhard Reimer Sr – chopped and burned
- his wife, Mrs. Reimer – chopped and burned
- their daughter Katharina – chopped in the street
- Gerhard Friesen (an infant) – burned alive in the cradle
- Gerhard Goossen – chopped and burned
- Peter P. Goossen Jr – chopped
- Grandmother widow Giesbrecht – chopped and burned
- Bernhard Giesbrecht – chopped and burned
- his wife, Mrs. Giesbrecht – chopped and burned
- their son Bernhard – chopped and burned
- their daughter Elisabeth – chopped and burned
- their daughter Anna – chopped and burned
- widow Huebert – chopped in a Russian village
- Abram A. Friesen – chopped in a Russian village
- Friedrich Wunsch – chopped in Shestirnya and eaten by dogs
- David Nickel – chopped and burned
- Johann Nickel – chopped and burned
- Heinrich Nickel – chopped and burned
- Johann D. Martens (teacher) – chopped and burned
- Klaas Enns – chopped and burned
- Katharina D. Friesen (infant) – killed while suckling (mother survived her wounds)
- Heinrich Buegler – chopped
- widow Klippenstein – died of a heart attack
- Abraham Schwarz – chopped
- Kornelius Klippenstein – missing without a traceDecember 1, 1919, Schoenau:
- Jakob Neufeld
- Johann Pauls
- Rev. Martin Hamm – chopped and shot
- Jakob Unruh Sr
- Mrs. Unruh
- Jakob Nickel Sr
- Johann Wiebe – abused and shot
- Jakob Wiebe – abused and shot
- Franz of Reisen
- Abraham Franz
- Franz Nickel
- Abram Quiring – shot a few days later on the streetFebruary, 1920, Neu Schoensee:
- Jakob D. Janzen – shot in a surprise night attackAugust, 1922, Blumenort:
- Franz Kroeker – slain on his way to town
- Abram Wiebe – beaten, choked with reins
- Johann Goertzen – beaten, choked with reins
- his son – beaten, choked with reins
Orloff is one of the few villages in the Zagradovka Colony that still has the same name today, though the Ukrainians adjusted the spelling to "Orlove." Of course, Zagradovka is now "Zahradivka" and lies just 4.5 miles northeast of Orlove. I wonder if the Ukrainian citizens today are aware of their local history, and the events that took place there a lifetime ago.
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.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
93rd Anniversary
The purpose of this blog is to create awareness of the genocide that occurred against my ancestors, who were citizens of Imperial Russia, though they were of German descent, and living in "South Russia" which is today known as the country of Ukraine. What was most unique about them is that they were Mennonites: peaceful Christians who led lives very similar to the Amish, believing in hard work, strong faith, and dedicated to freedom and nonviolence. They lived in tight communities: clusters of villages referred to as colonies. In these colonies, they would not intermarry with Russians, only other Mennonites of German descent. It goes without saying that citizens in each colony were closely related, and many Mennonites were related to those in other colonies as well.
93 years ago to the day of this posting, one of their colonies was brutally attacked by a militant anarchist named Nestor Makhno, who had a particular hatred for Mennonites. In a time where Russia was extremely unstable, the Imperial White Army was fighting a civil war against the Red Army, and there was widespread government and societal collapse. The Mennonites were mostly unaffected because they lived relatively isolated lives and kept out of politics. They were wealthier than most of their fellow countrymen, largely due to their simple lives and strong moral values such as modesty and temperance. In a way, they were victims of their own success.
Heritage is another strong value of the Mennonites. They believe it is important to know your lineage and many of them preserved their family histories in memoirs and journals. I have the journals of several of my Mennonite ancestors as well as several journals from their relatives. I am going to share the journal of Elizabeth Bargen, who was an aunt of one of my ancestors. I am going to transcribe it as true to her own words as possible. If you read it with a German accent in mind, some of the awkwardly translated parts might make better sense, as her native language was Low German, her second language was Russian and possibly Ukrainian, and her third language would eventually have been English after the survivors fled to Canada and America.
The village names described in the journal are mostly Mennonite villages inside the Zagradovka Colony. Zagradovka itself has many spelling variations today, due to the different spoken languages and written alphabets. I prefer to use the most common spelling, with others ranging from the Germanic Sagradowka to the contemporary Ukrainian Zahradivka, which is still there today on the eastern shores of the Ingulets River. Most old Mennonite villages are there as Ukrainian villages today, repopulated by Ukrainians and renamed after the Stalinist Purges a dozen years after these events take place.
That should be enough of the background story for a bit of context, so let us listen to Mrs. Bargen:
***
On the 28th of November, 1919, we had butchered two pigs. There was plenty of every kind of meat. Both my parents and my husband's parents, as well as our neighbor, John Martens, came to help us butcher. There had been much talk of murder and violence that I was so excited and began to feel sick and weak.
My parents, K. Regehr, went home for the night. My husband's parents, Peter Bargen, stayed night at our place. They thought it would be safer here in Tiege than in Altonau. In Altonau, many strange riders had already been seen during the day. These riders had told the people that Altonau would receive some visitors. Before my parents left for home, we read Psalms 91 and prayed together.
The night was peaceful, but the next day which was November 29th was the most dreadful day of our lives. In the morning, I took a liver sausage and some spare ribs to our neighbor, the Martens. He had ordered some meat. Mrs. Martens met me and seemed very scared. She told me that she had not slept all night. Mr. Martens hadn't even undressed for the night. When I entered the room, Mr. Martens began to cry and said,
"Today is my birthday, but I'm going to be murdered today. They'll come and kill me!" I begged him to call Minister Frank Klassen who could comfort him and would pray with him. Rev. Klassen was at the Martens's home that afternoon.
As I walked home, a great number of our neighbors were standing in our street, old and young, and were exchanging their fears with each other. Soon after that, father Bargen left for home. Mother stayed with us. My husband dressed in his worst clothes in order that the robbers would think of him as a poor man and not rich. On his feet, he wore some wooden slippers which he hadn't worn for years. Mother and I cleared away the meat while the 15 year old nursemaid Rosa played with the children and our housemaid Pauline cooked us some coffee.
Frank, my husband, came into the house and told us that they were already murdering and robbing in Gnadenfeld. Towards evening I undressed the children and put them to bed. Frankie, our little son, was only two years old, and Lizie, our daughter, was nine months. The housemaid went out to milk the cows, and the nursemaid was going to set the table for the evening meal when a man entered our house. He came in running and his face was deathly white as he said,
"Now they are here! They came from Orloff. It is burning!" He had barely uttered the words when our yard and house were full of the bandits. There were so many that they stood and walked close to each other. They looked like the devil himself. They were covered with filth and blood. Many carried their bare swords in their hands that were still dripping with blood! On some we saw icicles of frozen clotted blood.
David Wiens of Steinfeld lived in our summer kitchen. Wiens, who was seeking his wife, pressed through the band of robbers into the kitchen. They yelled at him thinking he was host of this house. In his anxiety, Wiens said,
"I am not host, he is," pointing to my husband who was standing next to me.
These demonic men pulled my husband from my side and two men began wielding their blood splattered swords at him. One who was quite drunk, yelled time and again,
"I'll knock your head off!" He would wield his sword again, but never hit him. All he did was chop big holes into the wall. Frank didn't say a word. I had my baby, already in her night clothes, in my arms and our son by the hand. I stood there and witnessed this terrible scene which I will never forget. Our son walked up to one of the murderers and tried to take his gun. He said,
"Give that here, that's my dad's!" The men put his sword to the boy's back and said to his companion,
"Kill the little one. He will only grow up to be our enemy," but the man stroked Frankie's head and answered,
"Let the little boy live."
While all this was going on, my husband had left the room. Because he was dressed so poorly, they thought him to be a worker and let him walk out. One man even told him to go and hide, for they were going to murder everyone. Frank took off his slippers and walked into the garden on stocking feet and escaped in the direction of Nikolaifeld.
From me the robbers demanded money and gold. They took me from room to room by poking their bloody swords at me. All at once, one of the men grabbed my baby out of my arms and hurled her across the room. She gave one cry and then lay still. I thought she was dead. In the meantime, I had lost track of my son and couldn't see him anywhere.
Then with much cursing and pushing me around with their swords, they wanted me to fulfill their desires. If I wouldn't, they would chop me to pieces. I told them they could kill me but first they should kill my children. Then my mother-in-law, Maria Bargen [nee Martens] stepped in and begged the men to leave me alone because I was sick. They turned their attention to mother and began beating her. They forgot me, so I went and picked up my baby. She was blue and limp. I pressed myself through the band of men into the entry. Here, one man handed me my son and winked towards the door. That is, I should get out. I took my children and pressed through the cursing troop and came out into the open.
While these men were harassing me in the house, I saw how they slashed Mr. Martens across the chest as I looked out of our window. After a few more strokes with the sword, the robber pulled a short gun from his pocket and shot him. Later I heard he was shot with an explosive shell.
As I emerged into the open, the two maids called me from the pig pen which was built onto the shed. Here is where they had been hiding. There among the pigs and mire which almost reached our knees, my baby regained consciousness and began to cry pitifully. There was one window towards the shed in which a great number of bandits were milling around. They would have seen us had they only looked through the hole, but God kept his protecting hand over us.
It was very cold in this pig pen so that the mud around us got quite stiff during the night. I took off my dress and petticoat and wrapped my crying baby in them. By now, both children and both maids were crying. Inside the shed was such heathenish noise that they didn't hear us. Oh, how we prayed to God there, among all this dirt. The children fell asleep but we three sat there shaking and faint hearted.
Soon we heard some loud cursing and moaning in the shed. I was afraid it was my husband they were molesting, so I dared myself and looked through the hole into the shed. I saw a very nice looking girl being raped by a shed full of robbers. All at once from out in the yard, someone yelled that he had grabbed a nice girl. The bandits in the shed all ran out into the yard leaving the girl on the straw. I called her and told her to come quickly to the hole. She was barely on our side of the wall when her tormentors returned. They looked everywhere for the girl, but seemingly never saw the hole in the wall. My, how we prayed to God for protection!
We heard one bandit suggest that they burn the shed, then they would get even with those hiding in it, so we left our hiding place. We actually got away! As we were running and turned around to look at our village, we saw many yards in flames. We could hear the cattle bellowing in the burning barns. When we sat down to rest ourselves, the girl told me they had killed my husband. How that hurt! I couldn't say a word nor shed a tear. On the next morning when they told her that her father had been killed, she cried bitterly.
We fled all night and were running on stocking feet since we had lost our shoes. Over plowed and frozen fields, we fled. From time to time, we heard people passing not far from us, but since we didn't know if they were friend or foe, we remained very quiet.
When we arrived in Blumenort, we couldn't find anyone in the village. How lonesome a deserted village appears! We ran to Alexanderkrone. The girls changed off carrying my son. I carried my baby the entire time for that was the only way we could keep her quiet. Before we reached the village, and in the darkness, we came upon some ice through which I broke. I sank into the water til under my arms. My baby also got wet. I couldn't go any further. The girls dragged me to the first house. The people, Peter Friesen, were just ready to flee. They gave me and the children dry clothing, loaded me on their wagon, as sick as I was, and took me to Neu Schoensee and put me into the house of Jacob Janzen.
Mrs. Janzen put me into a warm bed and nursed me as well as she could. I thought I would die, for I was in urgent need of a doctor. I wanted to die, and therefore welcomed it, for then I would see my husband again. In the afternoon, we got word that the bandits were approaching. Everybody fled; only Mrs. Janzen stayed with me, but those approaching were not bandits. They were people who were fleeing, and with them was my husband! What a meeting we had! Now I could cry. Until now, neither of us had been able to shed any tears. Too much had happened to us.
Soon after that, we had to flee Neu Schoensee, as an attack was feared. They loaded me on another wagon and drove me to Neu Halbstadt, where I was again put to bed at the home of Minister Janzen. Mrs. Janzen here cared for me as a mother looking after her child.
After about five days, when all the bandits had left, we were able to move back into our house, but oh my! Our house looked a mess. There wasn't a trace of clothes nor bedding. Neither was there anything to eat. The dresser drawers lay in front of the door, covered with human waste. On the table lay a pile of broken glasses of canned fruit and jam. They even used the top and underneath the table as their bathroom!
In spite of all this, we were fortunate - for our house was still standing, and our loved ones were alive. Many of our people could not say this. It is true, after this experience, our people would have liked to leave Russia, but this was not possible.We could not expect help from anywhere. It taught many, as Mr. Fast said, to again turn to the Lord in prayer. Small surprise attacks became the order of the day. Large attacks could happen again any day. How could we prevent them from coming?
Abram Quiring of Shoenau walked on the street in the beginning of December. Someone saw a man step out from behind a post and shoot him. Who was this murderer? Why did he do it? No Man could answer these questions. No police investigated the shooting, for there were no police. It was evident to all of us; that which happened to Mr. Quiring could happen to someone else tomorrow.
On February 1920, someone knocked on the window of the home of Frank Wiens, chairman of the Neu Schoensee village. When he asked who was there, they told him they were soldiers who wanted to be taken on a wagon. This happened every day. Wiens got dressed and went with the heavily armed men to the farmer who had the wagon. When they came even with Jacob Janzen's yard, the men called a halt and said they didn't want to go any farther. They wanted the owner of this house to drive them. Wiens had to submit to this. He awoke brother Janzen and told him these men wanted him to drive them somewhere. Mr. Janzen barely opened the door when these men began to rob him. Janzen's wagon was driven in front of the house on which the bandits piled anything from his house that they desired. When this was done, they took Janzen's son and stood him in front of his father, and Wiens in front of the son. One of the bandits shot Mr. Janzen in the back. This bullet was meant to kill all three of them at the same time. They would have accomplished this if they had not used a sawed-off gun which diminished the power of the bullet. Janzen cried,
"I'm hit!" and fell to the ground and was dead. His son was injured and Wiens was unharmed. Both remained alive. Since the lamps were out, the murderers ran out of the room as if someone had used a whip on them. They jumped on the wagon and chased out of the village.
Likewise in the village of Alexanderfeld and Nikolaifeld, blood was shed. No one could feel secure any more. Not rich or poor, German, Russian, or Jew. No woman, young or old, pretty or homely, well or sick, was sure of her honor. No man was sure of his belongings. Robbing, raping, and murdering was continued whenever it suited them.
This was the atmosphere in which we lived.
93 years ago to the day of this posting, one of their colonies was brutally attacked by a militant anarchist named Nestor Makhno, who had a particular hatred for Mennonites. In a time where Russia was extremely unstable, the Imperial White Army was fighting a civil war against the Red Army, and there was widespread government and societal collapse. The Mennonites were mostly unaffected because they lived relatively isolated lives and kept out of politics. They were wealthier than most of their fellow countrymen, largely due to their simple lives and strong moral values such as modesty and temperance. In a way, they were victims of their own success.
Heritage is another strong value of the Mennonites. They believe it is important to know your lineage and many of them preserved their family histories in memoirs and journals. I have the journals of several of my Mennonite ancestors as well as several journals from their relatives. I am going to share the journal of Elizabeth Bargen, who was an aunt of one of my ancestors. I am going to transcribe it as true to her own words as possible. If you read it with a German accent in mind, some of the awkwardly translated parts might make better sense, as her native language was Low German, her second language was Russian and possibly Ukrainian, and her third language would eventually have been English after the survivors fled to Canada and America.
The village names described in the journal are mostly Mennonite villages inside the Zagradovka Colony. Zagradovka itself has many spelling variations today, due to the different spoken languages and written alphabets. I prefer to use the most common spelling, with others ranging from the Germanic Sagradowka to the contemporary Ukrainian Zahradivka, which is still there today on the eastern shores of the Ingulets River. Most old Mennonite villages are there as Ukrainian villages today, repopulated by Ukrainians and renamed after the Stalinist Purges a dozen years after these events take place.
That should be enough of the background story for a bit of context, so let us listen to Mrs. Bargen:
***
On the 28th of November, 1919, we had butchered two pigs. There was plenty of every kind of meat. Both my parents and my husband's parents, as well as our neighbor, John Martens, came to help us butcher. There had been much talk of murder and violence that I was so excited and began to feel sick and weak.
My parents, K. Regehr, went home for the night. My husband's parents, Peter Bargen, stayed night at our place. They thought it would be safer here in Tiege than in Altonau. In Altonau, many strange riders had already been seen during the day. These riders had told the people that Altonau would receive some visitors. Before my parents left for home, we read Psalms 91 and prayed together.
The night was peaceful, but the next day which was November 29th was the most dreadful day of our lives. In the morning, I took a liver sausage and some spare ribs to our neighbor, the Martens. He had ordered some meat. Mrs. Martens met me and seemed very scared. She told me that she had not slept all night. Mr. Martens hadn't even undressed for the night. When I entered the room, Mr. Martens began to cry and said,
"Today is my birthday, but I'm going to be murdered today. They'll come and kill me!" I begged him to call Minister Frank Klassen who could comfort him and would pray with him. Rev. Klassen was at the Martens's home that afternoon.
As I walked home, a great number of our neighbors were standing in our street, old and young, and were exchanging their fears with each other. Soon after that, father Bargen left for home. Mother stayed with us. My husband dressed in his worst clothes in order that the robbers would think of him as a poor man and not rich. On his feet, he wore some wooden slippers which he hadn't worn for years. Mother and I cleared away the meat while the 15 year old nursemaid Rosa played with the children and our housemaid Pauline cooked us some coffee.
Frank, my husband, came into the house and told us that they were already murdering and robbing in Gnadenfeld. Towards evening I undressed the children and put them to bed. Frankie, our little son, was only two years old, and Lizie, our daughter, was nine months. The housemaid went out to milk the cows, and the nursemaid was going to set the table for the evening meal when a man entered our house. He came in running and his face was deathly white as he said,
"Now they are here! They came from Orloff. It is burning!" He had barely uttered the words when our yard and house were full of the bandits. There were so many that they stood and walked close to each other. They looked like the devil himself. They were covered with filth and blood. Many carried their bare swords in their hands that were still dripping with blood! On some we saw icicles of frozen clotted blood.
David Wiens of Steinfeld lived in our summer kitchen. Wiens, who was seeking his wife, pressed through the band of robbers into the kitchen. They yelled at him thinking he was host of this house. In his anxiety, Wiens said,
"I am not host, he is," pointing to my husband who was standing next to me.
These demonic men pulled my husband from my side and two men began wielding their blood splattered swords at him. One who was quite drunk, yelled time and again,
"I'll knock your head off!" He would wield his sword again, but never hit him. All he did was chop big holes into the wall. Frank didn't say a word. I had my baby, already in her night clothes, in my arms and our son by the hand. I stood there and witnessed this terrible scene which I will never forget. Our son walked up to one of the murderers and tried to take his gun. He said,
"Give that here, that's my dad's!" The men put his sword to the boy's back and said to his companion,
"Kill the little one. He will only grow up to be our enemy," but the man stroked Frankie's head and answered,
"Let the little boy live."
While all this was going on, my husband had left the room. Because he was dressed so poorly, they thought him to be a worker and let him walk out. One man even told him to go and hide, for they were going to murder everyone. Frank took off his slippers and walked into the garden on stocking feet and escaped in the direction of Nikolaifeld.
From me the robbers demanded money and gold. They took me from room to room by poking their bloody swords at me. All at once, one of the men grabbed my baby out of my arms and hurled her across the room. She gave one cry and then lay still. I thought she was dead. In the meantime, I had lost track of my son and couldn't see him anywhere.
Then with much cursing and pushing me around with their swords, they wanted me to fulfill their desires. If I wouldn't, they would chop me to pieces. I told them they could kill me but first they should kill my children. Then my mother-in-law, Maria Bargen [nee Martens] stepped in and begged the men to leave me alone because I was sick. They turned their attention to mother and began beating her. They forgot me, so I went and picked up my baby. She was blue and limp. I pressed myself through the band of men into the entry. Here, one man handed me my son and winked towards the door. That is, I should get out. I took my children and pressed through the cursing troop and came out into the open.
While these men were harassing me in the house, I saw how they slashed Mr. Martens across the chest as I looked out of our window. After a few more strokes with the sword, the robber pulled a short gun from his pocket and shot him. Later I heard he was shot with an explosive shell.
As I emerged into the open, the two maids called me from the pig pen which was built onto the shed. Here is where they had been hiding. There among the pigs and mire which almost reached our knees, my baby regained consciousness and began to cry pitifully. There was one window towards the shed in which a great number of bandits were milling around. They would have seen us had they only looked through the hole, but God kept his protecting hand over us.
It was very cold in this pig pen so that the mud around us got quite stiff during the night. I took off my dress and petticoat and wrapped my crying baby in them. By now, both children and both maids were crying. Inside the shed was such heathenish noise that they didn't hear us. Oh, how we prayed to God there, among all this dirt. The children fell asleep but we three sat there shaking and faint hearted.
Soon we heard some loud cursing and moaning in the shed. I was afraid it was my husband they were molesting, so I dared myself and looked through the hole into the shed. I saw a very nice looking girl being raped by a shed full of robbers. All at once from out in the yard, someone yelled that he had grabbed a nice girl. The bandits in the shed all ran out into the yard leaving the girl on the straw. I called her and told her to come quickly to the hole. She was barely on our side of the wall when her tormentors returned. They looked everywhere for the girl, but seemingly never saw the hole in the wall. My, how we prayed to God for protection!
We heard one bandit suggest that they burn the shed, then they would get even with those hiding in it, so we left our hiding place. We actually got away! As we were running and turned around to look at our village, we saw many yards in flames. We could hear the cattle bellowing in the burning barns. When we sat down to rest ourselves, the girl told me they had killed my husband. How that hurt! I couldn't say a word nor shed a tear. On the next morning when they told her that her father had been killed, she cried bitterly.
We fled all night and were running on stocking feet since we had lost our shoes. Over plowed and frozen fields, we fled. From time to time, we heard people passing not far from us, but since we didn't know if they were friend or foe, we remained very quiet.
When we arrived in Blumenort, we couldn't find anyone in the village. How lonesome a deserted village appears! We ran to Alexanderkrone. The girls changed off carrying my son. I carried my baby the entire time for that was the only way we could keep her quiet. Before we reached the village, and in the darkness, we came upon some ice through which I broke. I sank into the water til under my arms. My baby also got wet. I couldn't go any further. The girls dragged me to the first house. The people, Peter Friesen, were just ready to flee. They gave me and the children dry clothing, loaded me on their wagon, as sick as I was, and took me to Neu Schoensee and put me into the house of Jacob Janzen.
Mrs. Janzen put me into a warm bed and nursed me as well as she could. I thought I would die, for I was in urgent need of a doctor. I wanted to die, and therefore welcomed it, for then I would see my husband again. In the afternoon, we got word that the bandits were approaching. Everybody fled; only Mrs. Janzen stayed with me, but those approaching were not bandits. They were people who were fleeing, and with them was my husband! What a meeting we had! Now I could cry. Until now, neither of us had been able to shed any tears. Too much had happened to us.
Soon after that, we had to flee Neu Schoensee, as an attack was feared. They loaded me on another wagon and drove me to Neu Halbstadt, where I was again put to bed at the home of Minister Janzen. Mrs. Janzen here cared for me as a mother looking after her child.
After about five days, when all the bandits had left, we were able to move back into our house, but oh my! Our house looked a mess. There wasn't a trace of clothes nor bedding. Neither was there anything to eat. The dresser drawers lay in front of the door, covered with human waste. On the table lay a pile of broken glasses of canned fruit and jam. They even used the top and underneath the table as their bathroom!
In spite of all this, we were fortunate - for our house was still standing, and our loved ones were alive. Many of our people could not say this. It is true, after this experience, our people would have liked to leave Russia, but this was not possible.We could not expect help from anywhere. It taught many, as Mr. Fast said, to again turn to the Lord in prayer. Small surprise attacks became the order of the day. Large attacks could happen again any day. How could we prevent them from coming?
Abram Quiring of Shoenau walked on the street in the beginning of December. Someone saw a man step out from behind a post and shoot him. Who was this murderer? Why did he do it? No Man could answer these questions. No police investigated the shooting, for there were no police. It was evident to all of us; that which happened to Mr. Quiring could happen to someone else tomorrow.
On February 1920, someone knocked on the window of the home of Frank Wiens, chairman of the Neu Schoensee village. When he asked who was there, they told him they were soldiers who wanted to be taken on a wagon. This happened every day. Wiens got dressed and went with the heavily armed men to the farmer who had the wagon. When they came even with Jacob Janzen's yard, the men called a halt and said they didn't want to go any farther. They wanted the owner of this house to drive them. Wiens had to submit to this. He awoke brother Janzen and told him these men wanted him to drive them somewhere. Mr. Janzen barely opened the door when these men began to rob him. Janzen's wagon was driven in front of the house on which the bandits piled anything from his house that they desired. When this was done, they took Janzen's son and stood him in front of his father, and Wiens in front of the son. One of the bandits shot Mr. Janzen in the back. This bullet was meant to kill all three of them at the same time. They would have accomplished this if they had not used a sawed-off gun which diminished the power of the bullet. Janzen cried,
"I'm hit!" and fell to the ground and was dead. His son was injured and Wiens was unharmed. Both remained alive. Since the lamps were out, the murderers ran out of the room as if someone had used a whip on them. They jumped on the wagon and chased out of the village.
Likewise in the village of Alexanderfeld and Nikolaifeld, blood was shed. No one could feel secure any more. Not rich or poor, German, Russian, or Jew. No woman, young or old, pretty or homely, well or sick, was sure of her honor. No man was sure of his belongings. Robbing, raping, and murdering was continued whenever it suited them.
This was the atmosphere in which we lived.
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