In Those Days | Page 8

had descended to our father Jacob, to smite
our guard and set us free. At the same time, the rising sun brought us
all a feeling of hunger. We began to sigh, each and every one of us
separately. But the noise we made did not amount even to the barking
of a few dogs or the cawing of a few crows. That is what hunger can do.
And when the guard had distributed among us some of the food we had
brought with us, we ate it with relish, and felt satisfied. At the same
time we began to feel the discomfort we were causing one another,
cooped up as we were in the wagon. I began to complain of my
neighbor, who was sitting on my legs. He claimed that I was pressing
against him with my shoulder. We all began to look up to the guard, as
if expecting that he could or would prevent us from torturing one
another.
Still I had some fun even on that day of weeping. I happened to turn

around, and I noticed that Barker, my dog, was running after our
wagon.
"Too bad, foolish Barker," said I, laughing at him in spite of my
heartache. "Do you think I am going to a feast? It is into exile that I am
going; and what do you run after me for?"--

This made old Samuel laugh; he laughed like a child, as if the thing had
just happened before his eyes, and as if it were really comical.
Meanwhile our coach had reached the top of the hill; we jumped into
our seats, and proceeded to make one another uncomfortable.
The old man glanced at his son, who was sitting opposite to him. It was
a loving and tender look, issuing from under long shaggy eyebrows, a
beautiful, gentle, almost motherly look, out of accord with the hard-set
face of an irritable and stern father.
The old man made his son's seat comfortable for him, and then fell
silent.

V
I am going to pass over a long time--resumed the old man later. There
was much traveling and many stops; much tramping on foot, with legs
swollen; but all that has nothing to do with the subject.
Once in a while our guard would get angry at us, curse us bitterly, and
strike us with his whip. "You cursed Jews," he would say, "do I owe
you anything that I should suffer so much on your account, and
undergo all the hardships of travel?"
Indeed, there was a good deal of truth in what he said. For, willingly or
unwillingly, we did give him much trouble. Had we died, say the year
before, or even at that very moment, he would not have been put to the
necessity of leading a crowd of half-dumb boys. He would not have had

to stand the hardships of travel, and would not have been compelled to
listen to the wailings of children torn from the arms of their parents. Or
do you think it is agreeable to feel that little children consider you a
hard and cruel man? When I grew up and served in the army myself,
and had people below me in age and position under my command, I
came to understand the troubles of our guard; so that now, after having
gone through many experiences, after I have passed, as they say,
through fire and water, I may confess that I bear no malice towards all
those at whose hands I suffered. There are many ex-Cantonists who
cannot forget the birch-rod, for instance. Well, so much is true: for
every misstep, for every sign of disobedience a whipping was due. If
one of us refused to kneel in prayer before the crucifix; if one of us
refused to eat pork; if one of us was caught mumbling a Hebrew prayer
or speaking Yiddish, he was sure to get a flogging. Twenty, thirty, forty,
or even full fifty lashes were the punishment. But, then, is it
conceivable that they could have treated us any other way? Why,
hundreds of Jewish children that did not understand a word of Russian
had been delivered into the hands of a Russian official that did not
understand a word of Yiddish. He would say, Take off my boots, and
the boy would wash his hands. He would say, Sit down, and the boy
would stand up. Were we not like dumb cattle? It was only the rod that
we understood well. And the rod taught us to understand our master's
orders by the mere expression of his eyes.
Then many of the ex-Cantonists still remember with horror the
steam-bath they were compelled to take. "The chamber of hell," they
called the bath. At first blush, it