LITHUANIA

UNDER THE SICKLE AND HAMMER

By COL. JONAS PETRUITIS of the Lithuanian Army

Published by THE LEAGUE FOR THE LIBERATION OF LITHUANIA Cleveland, Ohio Printed in the United States of America Biographical Sketch of Col. Jonas Petruitis

At Rozalimas, a peaceful and fruitful village in the county of Panevezys, Lithuania, was born Jo nas Petruitis, in the year 1890. He received his earliest education in the primary school of Rad­ viliskis, then was transferred to the Saule Seminary in Kaunas and later graduated from the sixth class of the Gymnasium at Libau, Latvia. From his earliest schooldays he outshone all his comrades in his ardor for Lithuanian freedom and his sincere religious beliefs. In 1911, Jonas was called to military duty under the Czarist regime and was transported to the Caucasus where he served as a private in a regiment stationed on the Persian border. During this period there was an uprising in Persia and his regiment was sent there to crush t he movement. Later Jonas was sent to the officers training school at Tiflis, Georgia, where he gra duated and attained his first lieutena ncy in the summer of 1914. During the first World War Jonas participated in various battles on the Russian front, and for his bravery and alertness was pro­ J moted to the rank of Captain. During the Russian Revolution in 1917, Jonas organized a battalion comprised of Lithuanians who were serving in the Russian Army and he remained its leader until the battalion was demobilized. Notwithstanding all obstacles, Jonas survived the stormy Bolshevik Revol ution, and found his way back to his beloved Lithuania in 1918. He learned that Lithuania had proclaimed herself independent since February, 1918, and Jonas immediately gave all his energy to the work of defense. With a nucleus of men whom he gathered from the region of his birthplace, he began the organization of the Lithuanian Army. From ·the beginning of 1919 to the end of 1920 Jonas and his faithful adherents participated in all the most important battles for Lithuanian liberty. Especially did he distinguish himself in the war against the Bermontists at the battle of Radviliskis (Autumn of 1919) and in the war agai nst the Poles at the battle of Gied'raiciai (Autumn of 1920). While fighting against the onslaughts of the Bolsheviks, he was taken prisoner in 1919, bu t managed to escape and return to rally on his still struggling battalion. In 1924 Jonas was promoted to the rank of Colonel and until 1927 he led the Second Infantry Division and even for a time assumed the duties of Commander of this division in Kaunas. Towards the end of 1927 Jonas was discharged as an army reserve and settled down as a farmer in Alytus on the beautiful forest-clad banks of the Nemunas river. There he cultivated a modest farm and wrote his memoirs, four volumes of which were published before the beginning of World War II. Colonel Jonas Petruitis was characterized by his straight­ forward manners and a very sensitive nature. He was of medium stature though very strong physique. His features were classic and his hair flaxen blond. His eyebrows were bushy, almost white, and underneath shone eyes of beautiful grey-blue. He was a figure unique and not easily forgotten. The present war found him stranded at Alytus. The thread of his life can be followed from this point in his poignant memoirs. It is barely a year that news of his death in Lithuania filtered through, and numerous Lithuanian newspapers announced the end of a noble Lithuanian patriot's life. Introduction and Historical Sketch of Lithuania

Plato, in speaking of true knowledge, gives the example of a man who has spent all his life in a cave. This man sees only shadows through the opening of the cave, and draws his con­ clusions about realities only from shadows. Led out from the cave this cave-man, although he sees real objects, cannot see them clearly for his eyes are unaccustomed to the light. And much time must elapse before his eyes become accustomed to seeing things as they really are. What is known in this country about Soviet Russia is further than the shadow from the real object. And it is not surprising: the American mentality is so different from the bolshevist-Russian one that for the first to understand the second long and specialized study is necessary. Besides, Communistic propaganda which has been very intensive in the past year has darkened the picture of the Soviet Union even further-a picture which is already far from clear to the American mind. The fact that the Soviet Union in the course of this war became the ally of the United States and contributed a great deal to the defeat of Hitler further confuses the picture, for it forces one "volens nolens" to think of the Soviet Union in favorable terms. Everyone remembers only that the Soviet Union has saved many lives of Americans in taking upon herself the principal burden of the war against Hitler. In the face of all this the American public, if confronted with a true glimpse of the Soviet Union, does not understand it any better than the cave-man who sees the real object instead of the shadow for the first time. That is why W. C. Bullitt's article appearing some time ago in Life magazine created a real sensation and evoked a flood of comment. True, Bullitt is neither a Russian, nor is he a Communist. There is some justification for doubting his statements. But there can be none when similar statements are made by a Russian and a Communist, not an ordinary man , but one who has played a leading role in the USSR. A Com­ munist should be able to judge what Communism and its aims for the world are. And in spite of all this the writings of two prominent Communists, Victor A. Kravchenko and Alesander Barmine are met with great reservations and suspicion. This is perhaps because they give too much light on the subject; there­ fore, eyes which are not accustomed to the light are dazzled by the sudden glare. But does this mean that all whose eyes are unused to light should be satisfied with only shadows? No, we are not slaves or cave-men in chains. We are free citizens of a free country. We are not afraid of the light of day although its effects may some­ times be dazzling. The story by Colonel Petruitis given below sheds that light on Communism which is lacking to most people. At the same time, it is a document from one of the most tragic periods in the life of the Lithuanian nation. It illustrates the Bolshevik terror in Lithuania during the first Soviet occupation of Lithuania (1940­ 1941). Today Lithuania is occupied for the second time by the Soviets. Devastated and ruined by the war, having lost a large number of her inhabitants, some forcibly deported by the Soviets to the depths of Russia, some to Germany for labor by the Nazis, the Lithuanian nation is in deadly danger. However, there were times when Lithuania was a great and powerful state. Allying herself with Poland, in the west she was able to protect herself from the incursions of the Teutonic Knights, ancestors of the Junkers of the present day. Extending her boundaries far to the east, Lithuania for centuries formed a wall protecting the rest of Europe from the nomadic tribes of Eastern Europe and Asia, especially the Tartars. Behind that wall Western civilization was enabled to grow and flourish. The Lithuanians are an ancient race. There is reason to think that their ancestors-the Aestiorum gentes-as early as the neolithic age, or about 3000 years before the birth of Christ, lived on the Baltic shores between the Vistula and Dauguva rivers, and even beyond the Dauguva-up to present day Estonia. The first to mention the name-Aestiorum gentes-was the Roman writer Tacitus. However, the name "Lithuanians" is encountered only in the beginning of the IX century, in a report of a scout of Charlemagne sent to discover what nations lived beyond the boundaries of his empire. Although they are mentioned already in the IX century, the Lithuanians did not form their state till the XIII century when a Lithuanian duke named Mindaugas overthrew other rulers and became the ruler of unified Lithuania (1236-1263). Due to national unification, the Lithuanians were the only tribe of the Aestiorum Gentes to remain unconquered by the Teutonic Order. While the Latvians and Prussians were conquered in the XIII century, the Lithuanian rulers were able to create a large and powerful state which flourished exceedingly in the XV century and existed to the very end of the XVIII century. But Mindaugas' creative work did not end in the national unification. Understanding the great significance of Christian culture and civilization and wishing to prevent the Teutonic Order from continuing its attacks on the Lithuanians as pagans, Mindaugas and his court accepted Christianity in 1251. In 1253 he was crowned King of Lithuania. But this act which enabled him to receive the kingly crown set all of pagan Lithuania against him. Besides, Mindaugas had many enemies, mostly dukes who had been defeated in the struggles for national unification. Personal ambitions and reactions against the new religion gave rise to the murder of Mindaugas in 1263 by a conspiracy of the dukes. This fact however does not detract from his renown and only shows that he was too modern for his times-at least a hundred years in advance of his contemporaries. After Mindaugas' death Lithuania lived through a difficult period; from the west the Teutonic order continued its merciless attacks, while in the east wars with Russian dukes went on incessantly. But in 1295 Lithuania came under the rule of a very talented and warlike ruler named Vytenis (1295-1316) who was able not only to preserve the life of the nation, but to reconquer all territories lost after Mindaugas' death and to extend his territories. Still more talented than Vytenis and an able diplomat besides was his brother Gediminas (1316-1341). His rule was marked by great territorial expansion to the east. This expansion reached the point of culmination under Vytautas the Great (1392-1430) grandson of Gediminas. Vytautas extended Lithuanian boundaries to the river Don and almost to the city of Moscow. After Gediminas' death his two sons, Algirdas and Kestutis, became the rulers of Lithuania. Algirdas ruled the eastern and Kestutis the western half of Lithuania. Algirdas, continuing the policy of his father and being no less endowed with diplomatic ability, extended Lithuania's boundaries still further to the east, while Kestutis successfullv defended Lithuania from the attacks of the Teutonic Knights. Everything went well while the two brothers, who lived together in ideal harmony, were alive. This was one of the best periods in Lithuanian history. But upon the death of Algirdas (1377) disagreements arose between Jogaila, son and heir of Algirdas, and Kestutis, which led to armed clashes and the eventual assassination of Kestutis (1382). Then Kestutis' son Vytautas arose to defend his father's heritage. A long struggle for power between him and Jogaila ensued (1382-1392) . This struggle ended in Vytautas' victory over his cousin, but during that struggle an event transpired which was to change the whole course of Lithuanian history. Jogaila married Jadvyga, queen of Poland, and became King of Poland (1386). In this way the states of Poland and Lithuania were bound together by close ties. These ties became stronger as time went on because the two states had common enemies-the Germans and Russians. This cooperation made possible a great common victory over the Teutonic Order at the battle of Grunwald near Tannenberg (1410) where combined Lithuanian and Polish forces inflicted one of the greatest defeats of the time. The German Drang nach Osten was arrested for several hundred years. However, in other respects Lithuanian ties with Poland caused great harm. They opened the way for Polish influence in Lithuania. Especially favorable conditions for this influence were created by the Christianization of Lithuania (1387). Poland had accepted the new faith in the X century and already had a strong organized church. This could.not help but have the greatest influence during the Christianization of Lith­ uania. The first Christian priests in Lithuania were almost ex­ clusively from Poland. Since Christianity, especially in the Middle Ages, brought culture together with it, the fact that Poland had four centuries' start gave her some cultural advantages over Lithuania. This is one of the reasons why Poland had more influence over Lithuania than vice versa. Beginning with Casimir, son of Jogaila (1440-1492), Lithuania entered into a personal union with Poland-both states had the same ruler. About a hundred years later (1569) the two states formed a federation by the Treaty of Lublin. The federative state of Lithuania-Poland weakened as time went on. The extinction of the Jogaila dynasty (1572) soon after the Union of Lublin was one of the causes. The end of the Jogaila family meant that there was no authority in the state. Therefore, election of a new ruler, who was generally a foreign prince, evoked the greatest rivalry and hostilities among the nobles, envious of one another and greedy for power. Constant strife among them produced chaotic conditions. However, perhaps the greatest factor in Lithuania-Poland's downfall was the degeneration of the nobility. At the same time a great Russian empire was growing out of the small principality of Moscow, and in the west a new Prussian state was rising. Towards the end of the XVIII century these two states together with Austria made an agreement to divide among themselves the weakened state of Lithuania-Poland. This agreement was realized in the three partitions of the Lith­ uanian-Polish State (1772, 1793, 1795). Thus without any strong resistance Lithuania and Poland, which once had been powerful states, lost their independence. As a consequence of these partitions a part of Lithuania, and after the Congress of Vienna (1815) the whole of Lithuania came under Russian domination, excepting only Lithuania Minor with the towns of Klaipeda (Memel) and Tilze (Tilsit) , which remained under German rule. In the beginning Russian rule was humane to some extent, but after two Lithuanian-Polish insurrections (1831 and 1863) oppression became marked and religious and national persecution began. Lithuanian schools were closed and Russian schools instituted in their place; Lithuanian societies were abolished; Catholic churches and monasteries were closed and converted into Greek Orthodox places of worship. The slightest resistance to Russification laws was punished by the greatest penalties, usually by exile to Siberia. The execution of the laws was accomplished in the most brutal manner. Even churches were closed in the same fashion, especially when the people at­ tempted resistance. Armed police formations would on those occasions enter holy places, force the people to scatter, and despoil the interior of the church or monastery, even mutilating the crosses. The closing of one church and monastery-that of Kraziai-has taken an histori c significance. The populace who tried to prevent closure of the church were flogged by Cossack troops; some were driven into the river and were drowned. Many were severely beaten by the police and imprisoned (1893). This barbaric act of the Czarist administration resounded not only throughout Russia, but through the whole expanse of Europe. The most brutal weapon of the Czarist regime was the ban on the printing of literature in the Lithuanian language (1864-1904). It was forbidden to print even prayerbooks. As usual, trans­ gression of this decree was punished by the greatest penalties ­ imprisonment at hard labor or exile to Siberia. However, Russification imposed by persecution and various restrictions, did not thrive in Lithuania. Therefore, the Russians began to colonize Lithuania in the second half of the XIX century. Being unable to destroy the Lithuanian soul, they attempted to destroy the physical life of the nation. Bu t " Czarist" methods of colonization, it must be said, were very far behind the efficient methods of the modern Nazis or bolsheviks who massacre or deport the local inhabitants and seize their property, bringing in their own people to take their place. The Czarist government acknowledged private property and confiscated it only for political and other offenses. However, these "liberal" Czarist methods had no success. The Russian colonists were of a culture far inferior to the Lithuanian, and besides, they were largely morally degenerate - drunkards, thieves, etc. Therefore, in spite of the privileges given them, they usually became tramps and lost their possessions. Taking advantage of the outbreak of World War I, the Lith­ uanians as also did the Latvians and Estonians, proclaimed the restitution of their independent state. At that time Lithuania was occupied by the Germans. At first the German government of occupation did not pay any attention to the declaration of in­ dependence; in fact, they actively opposed its public proclamation. . But with the shifting of the fortunes of war to the Allies, the German Kaiser Wilhelm II recognized Lithuanian independence on March 23, 1918. However, the Germans permitted the Lith­ uanians to ' form their government only in the late au tumn of 1918, when they had already lost the war. Even though the Germans did recognize Lithuania as an in­ dependent state yet they departed from it only at the end of 1918 while the rest of their army which had been left behind in the depths of Russia straggled home through Lithuania almost throughout 1919. Lithuania was the battlefield of the Russian and German armies in 1915 and with conditions as they were in 1918 and 1919 its strength was acutely sapped. During World War II the world has become familiar with governing methods of the Germans in occupied countries and with their fiendish talent for sucking the life blood out of its inhabitants, so that it will not be difficult to imagine what re­ mained of Lithuania after three years of German management during World War I. The retiring German army in 1918 and 1919 plundered, de­ stroyed, or burned whatever came their way or where feasible took their booty to Germany. The Great Powers were so occupied at that time with the settlement of their own serious problems that they paid little heed to what was transpiring in a seemingly distant and little land called Lithuania. It is little wonder that towards the end of 1918, Lithuania which was already suffering from many deficiencies, was faced by im­ pending famine. True, Lithuania was proclaimed independent, but the state itself was in its infancy and unorganized and it was not yet clear whether she could be self-reliant. Let us try to understand the hardships which stood before Lithuania in 1918 and 1919. Despite her great needs, no help came from her neighbors. It must be remembered that the American Lithuanians alone rallied to Lithuania's cause and sent supplies, but the amount was inadequate to meet the needs. Take Italy as an example. The United States which has recently begun to send supplies to Italy finds that famine still exists on a wide scale! Lithuania was thrown on its own resources. But Liberty is a magical word. Emerson has truly said: "But what avail to plough or sail, or land or life, if Freedom fail?" So spurred on by this hidden power, the Lithuanians were enabled to perform miracles in the face of seemingly insuperable difficulties. Without proper tools, machinery or livestock, every man or woman who still had some strength returned to till the fields or any other daily task. With such zeal the crop of 1919 was so bountiful that the approaching famine was warded off. Of course the enthusiasm of the farmers was not the only factor which helped to prevent the famine. The fact that Lithuania is mainly an agricultural country, with-only 20 per cent of its popu­ lation residing in the towns, was of great importance. However the economic situation of Lithuania was still in chaotic condition. The educational problems, too, were in a very sad state, for it is clear that no foreign occupant will ever be interested in raising cultural standards. So that although .Lithuania was now independent she suffered in the economic and cultural sense. A small number of patriotic and high minded Lithuanian intelligentsia well understood the needs of the moment, 'and from the very first days began to organize an economical and cultural struc ture with un tiring ardor. Lithuania until its declaration of independence in 1918, was like many of the agrarian states of Eastern Europe, dominated by a semi-feudal system. The land was for thegreater part held by a comparatively small number of estate owners. The remainder of the land was divided among numerous small farmers, in other words, plots, and naturally were solely dependent upon the landed gentry. A system such as this could bring no benefit economically, to the farmer. To eliminate this evil, one of the first bills passed by th e Lith­ uanian govern ment was the Land Reform Bill in 1922. The amount of land which could be owned was limited at first to 80* hektares but later increased to 150 hektares. All estates which exceeded this number were appropriated by the government and the owner was remunerated. Thus many lands were dis­ tributed among small land-holders or even those who had never possessed land heretofore, making these sma ll farmers virtually independent from the large estate owner and economically" free. The Land Reform Bill not only helped to raise the economic standards of the country but it banished forev er the haunting ' danger of communism. The introduction of the Lithuanian monetary system in 1922 was another important economic factor. Up to this period German currency was in circulation, and owing to its fluctuations and depreciation much loss was felt. The introduction of the Land Reform Bill and the Lithuanian Monetary System speeded Lithuania's efforts to bring her eco­ nomi c system to order. A third factor, the Cooperative System, sponsored and developed by the government, helped Lithuania make economical strides by leaps and bounds. In a decade the Lithuanian farmer of the primitive old Tsarist regime was trans­ formed into one whose produce could compete in the world market with t hat of Denmark, Belgium or Holland. During this period an effort was made to develop Lithuanian industry. For example, the textile industry attained a high rank. The economic progress can best be seen by studying the yearly receipts of the Lithuanian Government. From 166.3 million lits in 1923 the top level in 1938 'was 366.4 million lits. It was hoped in 1940 to pass the 400 million mark. (100 1its = $16.50.) Parallel with the development of Lithuanian agriculture was the expansion of the educational system. From the very start a nucleus of primary schools was organized and systematically the number of schools grew into a network throughout all Lithuania. During the Czarist regime there were * 1 tIekt are = 2.47 Acres. not over several hundred primary schools, while up to the end of Lithuanian Independence the number reached over 3,000. In the same way the five high schools of pre-World War I in­ creased to 60 in 1940. In 1922 the Lithuanian University was founded. From the very beginning connections were made with all the leading uni­ versities of Western Europe and Lithuanian students were sent abroad to study in various schools. Upon completion of their studies they returned home and continued to develop the educa­ tional field. Thus unusual progress was made, so that soon certain faculties of the Lithuanian University were on a par with those of Western Europe. In addition to the University, Lithuania was proud of the following institutions of learning also. For example: The School of Commerce and Pedagogy. The Academy of Agriculture. The Conservatory of Music. The Academy of Fine Arts. The State Opera developed into one of the finest musical insti­ tutions in Europe and some of their stars toured the various capitals of Europe and South America with outstanding success. Briefly, Lithuania made astounding progress economically and culturally during its twenty-two years of life as an independent sta t e. From a distant and forgotten province of Czarist Ru ssia she became a modern state resembling those of Western Europe. But no sooner had Lithuania become a full-fledged member of the Western World, than the blood-curdling visage of a twentieth century Genghis Khan, born on the wild steppes of Georgia appear­ ed on its horizon. He-allying himself with the Attila of the twentieth century-determined to leave in ashes and ruins not only Lithuania, but a large number of other states, the flower of Europe's intellect and culture. *** The Russian revolution of 1917 made the attitude of the Russian Czarist regime towards enslaved nations more liberal, at least in theory. Lenin, the leader of the Bolshevik Party, its ideologist, and the first dictator of Communist Russia, has said: "Any incorporation of a small or weak nation into a large or strong state without the definite, clear and voluntary desire to that effect of that nation . .. if this nation is not accorded the right to decide the problem of the form of its political existence by a free vote- implying the complete withdrawal of the troops of the incorporating or merely strong nation - t hen the incorporation is an annexation, i.e , an arbi­ trary appropriation of a foreign country, an act of violence." In accordance with the principles of Lenin, the Soviet Union by the Peace Treaty of July 12, 1920, recognized Lithuania as an independent state and voluntarily renounced all rights of Lith­ uania. The first paragraph of the above-mentioned treaty reads: "Pursuant to the declaration made by the Federal States of Soviet Socialist Republics of Russia to the effect that all peoples have the right to self-determination until they become completely separated from the state of which they are a part, Russia without any prejudice recognizes the self­ rule and independence of the State of Lithuania with all its juridical consequences resulting from such recognition and for all time renounces voluntarily and forever all sovereignty rights of Russia which it has had in regard to the Lithuanian nation or territory." This recognition of Lithuanian sovereignty rights was repeated by the Lithuanian-Soviet non-aggression treaty of September 28, 1926, later prolonged to 1945. The inviolability of Lithuania's social structure and the sovereignty of Lithuanian rights was proclaimed once again by the Soviet Union by the Mutual Assist­ ance Pact of 1939 signed by the two nations. Article 7 of that treaty says: "The realization of this treaty must not infringe the sover­ eign rights of the contracting parties, especially the structure of their state, their economic and social systems ..." In spite of all these treaties and recognitions, in June, 1940, the armed forces of the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania, and two months later, on August 3rd, annexed Lithuania to the Soviet Union. Having occupied Lithuania, the Soviet Union at once began to perpetrate the most unheard-of terror, in comparison with which even Czarist persecution seemed like the Golden Age. Arrests, imprisonments and deportations of leading Lithuanian men began immediately. Private 'property was abolished; its owners were thrown out into the street, imprisoned or massacred. Usually Soviet officials took possession of the property seized. Eye­ witnesses state that even Pozdniakov, Soviet minister to Lith­ uania, did not scruple to take possession and to bring into his dwelling the furniture belonging to a Lithuanian of his acquaint­ ance. A Soviet official well known to Americans, Victor A. Kravchenko, says among other things: "When the little Baltic countries were raped, I burned with shame. On all sides we saw the evidence of terror visited upon these non-Russian peoples. High Soviet officials daily arrived in Moscow in cars and trucks loaded with property stolen from Estonians, Letts and Lithuanians, who were deported by the scores of thousands." In executing the deportation of the leaders of the Lithuanian nation from Lithuania to the depths of the Soviet Union, the Soviet Administration in Lithuania was preparing lists of names and plans for the deportation of some 1,500,000 more for deporta­ tion. The Appeal to Fellow Americans, published in August, 1944, by the Lithuartian Information Center in New York gives docu­ mentary materials on the projected deportation and the cruelties of Soviet policy in the Baltic countries. Also a booklet by L. Ekis, entitled Th e Truth about Bolshevik and Nazi Atrocities in Latvia published by the Latvian Legation gives a good picture. In Spring 1941 on the eve of the German attack on the Soviets, the latter were preparing to execute the planned deportation of the Baltic peoples. In less than one month's time they deported about 60,000 persons from Lithuania alone who finding themselves in frightful conditions are doomed to a slow death. Many of the deportees, crowded into cattle-wagons, died before they reached their destination. The Lithuanian American press has written a great deal about their moral and physical sufferings. However, if the reader is seeking authentic documents, he may find them in L'Occupation Allemande et Sooietique de la Pologne of May 3,1941, a note presented by the Polish Government to the United Nations and later published in book form in London. Especially note­ worthy are documents 193 and 202. Today Lithuania and the neighboring states of Latvia and Estonia are under Bolshevik occupation for the second time. News from these reaching us via Sweden shows that the NKVD entering on the heels of the Red Army introduced the most violen t terror. Massacres are taking place in the Baltic countries. New deportations of the inhabitants are being begun. Organiza­ tions of citizens of Baltic descent in the Western Democracies have addressed themselves several times to President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill to stop these atrocities reminiscent of Genghis Khan and Attila. However, later news shows that the NKVD terror in the Baltics remains unabated. From all that is said above, it becomes evident that the de­ struction of German and Japanese military might will not bring freedom to the world, for Bolshevik tyranny is no whit better than theirs. If true freedom and stable peace for the world is t o be desired, Communist tyranny must also be destroyed. Having this in mind we are convinced that, besides war against the Germans and Japanese, there should also be a struggle against Communism. If the story of Colonel Petruitis given below con­ tributes at least to some extent to the fight against Communism, we shall feel that we have done our duty. Into the Hands of the NKVD

Christmas that year was a sad one in Lithuania. Faces of many of our friends and loved ones were no longer to be seen. Many had been carried away by the NKVD (Soviet political police-abbreviation of "Peoples'Com­ missariat of Internal Affairs" ) in the first days of the Soviet occupation. As for me, the majority of my relatives and close friends had already disappeared. Waves of arrests still continued. Almost every day and night brought news of the further disappearance of others. On that bleak Christmas Eve one of my few remaining friend s came to see me and insisted that I walk with him to the railroad station for a glass of beer. I was filled with a curious sense of foreboding and did not wish to go. But finally I agreed and we set out. We were already nearing the station when a shadowy figure emerged from the bushes and stood across our path. We observed that still another man was standing at some distance. A car was parked behind the bushes. The unknown man asked me in a low voice: "You are Colonel Petruitis?" "Yes." "You are under arrest. Get into the car. " It was in this manner that I fell into the hands of the Soviet Secret Police. This was the prelude to long months of imprisonment, suffering and exile. In the car I found two more strangers. I was searched at once, but since they found I carried no arms, we started almost immediately. We drove in the direction of Kaunas, going by way of Alytus. We passed right by my home. My captors would not grant my request that I be allowed to stop and say good-bye to my family. We continued on our way without stopping. Cross-Examination and Torture I had heard many stories of the treatment prisoners obtain at the hands of the NKVD. It was said that there 11') was only one verdict, "Guilty," when the prisoners were tried, and that the red executioners use all means in their power to extract "confessions," even the most brutal methods of torture. All this and much more I found to be true during the cross-examinations I underwent, which to me were a nightmare worse than any I had ever imagined. During the long period I was imprisoned I was cross­ examined on several occasions by NKVD officials. There was not even the pretense of a fair trial. I was never in­ formed of my crime, yet I was expected to "confess" my guilt. My body still bears the scars of the tortures I underwent. The first cross-examination took place after I had been confined to the Kaunas prison for several days. The pro­ cedure was not complicated. Commissar Dunkov asked me if I would confess. When I replied that I would not know what to say, he replied that he also did not know, but that I would have to speak in any case. After this the Commissar left the room. One of the two men left by Commissar Dunkov in that room came up to me and said, smiling horribly: "We will teach you to speak, you s-- of a b--. Take off your coat and sit down on that chair. Bring your legs together and place your hands on your knees." I obeyed, whereupon the man seized my wrists and handcuffed them. He ordered the second man to bring him a rubber blackjack and proceeded to beat me with it. The pain of the blows was overpowering. I fell to the ground. Stars of many colors swam before my eyes. The pain seemed to reach the very marrow of my bones; I thought my head would split and that my intestines would burst wide open. I was almost unconscious when I fell from my seat, but I felt that the rain of blows still continued. The first man beat me while the second contented himself with cursing me in the vilest oaths imaginable and kicking me'viciously. The first few strokes of the blackjack gave me excruciating pain. But as time went on, I felt the pain less and less. 16 Finally I sank into a sort of apathy; it was unimportant to me what my torturers were going to do next. Finally the blows ceased. But the stream of oaths continued. After a short while the first man took me by the arms and again seated me in the chair. Then the second man took off the handcuffs and left the room . After a good half-hour, Dunkov made his reappearance. He asked me: " Well, Petruitis, now will you tell the truthZ" I replied that they could continue to beat me . .. Barely had I finished my sentence when Dunkov jumped at me in fury. Waving his fist in front of my nose and kicking me in the shins, he shouted: " Who is it that is beating you? Answer me, answer me ..." That was the end of the first cross-examination. After some time the second cross-examination began precisely as did the first. I was seated in a chair and hand­ cuffs were placed on my wrists. I imagined that I would again be beaten with a blackjack, but I was mistaken. Being beaten with a blackjack was child's play compared to the treatment they now gave me. After handcuffing me, one of the executioners took me to the wall, and suspended me in the air, tying my arms with ropes hanging for that purpose from hooks fixed in the ceiling. I was in terrible agony; my feet remained near the wall while my whole body swung forward. My wrists hurt unbearably for they had to bear the whole weight of my body. "Connect," said the first executioner to the' second . My blood froze at the words, for I thought they meant that I was to be exposed to electric' shocks. But again I was mistaken. My coat was lifted up and the tail of my shirt drawn out from my trousers. A heated object was placed on my back. At once I felt pain and the smell of burning flesh. I clenched my teeth and braced all my strength to keep from crying out loud. They were searing my flesh with some sort of a metal object. After the object had remained on my back for some time, my torturers would remove it for several minutes, and then place it on 17 my back again . They repeated the procedure several times, swearing loudly. After a while they stopped, but held me suspended in the air for a long time after that. By this time I was suffering beyond words. The iron handcuffs bit deep into my wrists. My arms and hands were so numb that I no longer felt them. My sides were aching. At last they removed me from the hooks. Then I saw the instrument of torture-they had been using ­ an ordinary electric iron. The iron left such deep scars in my flesh that I shall carry them to my dying day. After further imprisonment for two and a half weeks, I was placed in solitary confinement. Every two or three days I was cross-examined, always at night. ' As before, I was handcuffed , beaten and kicked around. After this I no longer saw my first torturers and had contact with Dunkov and other prosecutors who did not beat me. I remained in prison for two months. By this time I was so exhausted that I could not climb stairs without assist­ ance or get into the car nick-named "Girele" used for the ' transportation of NKVD prisoners, During these two months I had had almost no sleep or rest. I sank into despondence and became still more apathetic. It seemed that life itself was worth nothing to me.

Should I Commit Suicide? Nights without sleep are endless in their monotony. The same blank walls, the same window with bars inter­ twined with barbed wire, the same crooked door staring you in the face are enough to drive you to despair. Thousands of times I thought to myself of the luxury of one night of.complete rest. If only I could drop off into the same quiet slumbers that I had known in bygone days. Nothing seemed more delightful to me than the prospect of death, for that would mean eternal sleep. Then at least I would no longer be tortured by ceaseless questions. I would no longer hear the daily order "Lie down," "Get up." The slow passage of time would no longer hold monotony for me, for over there a thousand years or one day are all the same. 18 Typical Maidens oj Lithuania

19 Two conflicting ideas about death revolved in my brain. We hold life dear, I thought, because impending death threatens to cut its thread. But death, the end of earthly existence, also brings freedom from suffering, and the key to eternal life. These questions worried me during those endless nights of sleeplessness. Finally I concluded that death as freedom from suffering was the right answer. The desire to end it all and to take my own life became overwhelming. I began to seek the means to devise an instrument to serve my purpose. My guards had removed all metal from my clothing with the exception of several hooks. These I fashioned into a wire several inches in length. Wasting no time, I began to sharpen the end of the wire against the rough surface of the wall, looking from time to time through the aperture in my door to make sure that the guard was not watching me. Then, taking my instrument in my right hand, I drew it across my left. A few drops of blood appeared. .I rejoiced; my instrument would be sharp enough to cut my artery. I waited for nightfall which was the best time to accomplish my purpose. In the daytime the guard, who often watched my activities through the aperture, could see that something was wrong, and then call the doctor and revive me. After cutting the arteries, death does not come at once. Sometimes a long period of time elapses before the end. At last, night fell and I heard the order: "Lie down." But I did not cut my arteries, for a still small voice inside me whispered: "God gave you life-only God can take it away." I became drowsy and fell asleep . In my dreams I saw my late friend, Major Joseph Tomkus, in his military topcoat and cap, standing right beside me and looking at me. His voice clearly said: "Dear John, do not do what you have planned. Do not make the mistake that I made." I woke from sleep and cried out, "Joseph, Joseph! How did you get here?" But my friend had vanished from sight. I remembered that he had com­ mitted suicide within the walls of this prison some three 20 months ago, in nearby cell No. 69. I felt as if I had seen a vision. In thinking of Joseph, I fell asleep again. This time I dreamed that I stood in Vilnius, in the Cathedral square. As I was passing the belfry, I suddenly came face to face with my dead wife. She was dressed in white from head to foot. She looked at me with sadness and a look of reproach in her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "Justine," I said, "You left me. But I will join you soon. I will commit suicide." "Do not do it, John. Think of our children," she said and vanished. I awoke shivering, with a pain in my side. I knelt and began to pray for the souls of Justine and Joseph. Then I began to pace up and down. I no longer thought of committing suicide, and could not understand how such a thought could have come into my head. The words I had seen scratched on the wall of the prison cell came to my memory: "Suffer, my son; God also suffered." I placed my life in the hands of the Almighty and resolved to bear my trials to the bitter end. Life had taken on new meaning for me. I began to have faith and to believe that some day I would be a free man again. I was glad that I had not taken my life. I hid the sharpened bit of wire; it proved very useful to me on various future occasions.

Moment of Candor After this long period in solitary confinement, I was placed in another cell where I found many friends and acquaintances. This seemed a pleasant change; for now at least I had someone to talk to. However, the first feeling of pleasure did not last. . One night a Red Army man was brought to our cell. He told us that his name was Skvortsov, and that he was a non-commissioned officer of an artillery regiment stationed in Sanciai (suburb of Kaunas) as well as a "politruk" (political commissar). He had been arrested for no reason 21 whatever. He said that many politruks and officers were being seized and arrested at this time. At first he was very downcast and taciturn; he would not talk to any­ one. But after a while he became more friendly. He was a pleasant fellow and we grew to like him very much. One evening at dusk he began to tell us in a voice charged with deep feeling: "Here, friends, give me a cigarette. I see you are good fellows and will not betray me. Come up closer and I will tell you what is really happening in Russia. We have been suffering for over 20 years in an atmosphere of poverty, famine, imprisonment, terror and misery. We do not know if conditions will ever change. While waiting for better times, some of us have lost all hope ..." Here Skvortsov stopped. Tears of emotion were running down ·his cheeks. After a moment he continued: "I am 35 years old. I well remember the old life at home with my parents. I am a primary school teacher. My wife works in a factory. We cannot earn enough to keep the wolf from the door. It is well for us that we have no children. Believe it or not, the clothes we wear are the same ones that our parents wore in pre- . revolution days. We have not the means to buy new ones. "As a teacher, I have a good opportunity to see how people live. They weep in silence, for they dare not com­ plain aloud. The tears of many have run dry. We are constantly afraid; we are afraid of expressing our thoughts; we are afraid even to think. No one can hide from the all-seeing eye of the NKVD. We are afraid of one another, for many among us are compelled to spy on their family and friends, and carry reports to the NKVD. Such is the demand of the Communist ideal. You cannot refuse to carry out this duty, for punishment according to Para­ graph 59 of the Criminal Code is sure to follow." Skvort­ sov again became silent. None of us said a word. "The tragedy is that the Russians do not know how people in other parts of the world live," he continued. "For years and years we have been told that the working people in capitalist countries live in the greatest poverty and squalor. .. We, soldiers of the Red Army, also believed 22 this tale until we saw Lithuania. Now we see that it was all a lie. Although here we of the Red Army are separated from the people as though we were criminals, yet we can see and feel the difference between your way of life and ours ; . ." His voice broke. His feelings overcame him and he could not continue. Sufferings of Our Companions in Misfortune The inmates of our cell grew to be good friends. We lived and shared everything as members of one family. As time went on, some of our companions were removed from our cell; others took their place. In this way we learned something of the events of the outside world. The days dragged by. Finally winter was over; spring had arrived. I found out a great deal during those weary months. There was much opportunity for conversation. It ap­ peared that everyone of the inmates of our cell had undergone torture at the hands of the NKVD. Some of these experiences were so terrible that they were enough to make your hair stand on end. One such man was John G. His back and hips were terribly swollen and . drenched in blood. Pieces of skin and flesh dangled from his wrists. It seems that John G., a very large man, had such large wrists that handcuffs could not be put on easily. He broke his chains while he was being blackjacked; new handcuffs had to be put on. He was thrown to the ground, beaten and trampled upon. Worse tortures, how­ ever, were suffered by those who had the misfortune to be questioned in the garage. Here the victims usually expired before the death sentence was passed. John G. told us that one of his friends had all the fingers of both his hands broken there. His fingers were inserted into the crack of the heavy garage door which was then closed by the NKVD. It was said that Colonel Sarauskas had his ear­ drums pierced in that same garage. Captain J. was one man who tried to appeal to higher authority and submit a written complaint about the cruel way the NKVD had treated him. Returning from one 23 cross-examination, he ripped off his clothes and began to shout: "Bring the prison doctor! Let him see the injuries inflicted on me by the NKVD!" The gashes on his body were so terrible that the prison guards shuddered at the sight. Captain J . told us that he submitted a written complaint, demanding medical attention. After three weeks had gone by, when his wounds had begun to heal, a physician finally came. In cell No. 94 was my acquaintance, Z., from Panevezys. He did not stay long, for he was removed after several days. Since he suffered from asthma, the NKVD could not torture him quite as much as the others. When they beat him, Z. at once lost consciousness. The NKVD men were frightened and made great efforts to revive him . The NKVD does not like to murder its victims before the necessary information has been extracted from them. . On the eve of the Russo-German war, Colonel B. G. was brought in. He told us thatthe NKVD was conducting an unheard-of wave of terror. People, for the most part intellectuals, were being arrested and deported to the depths of Russia. Those who could. were fleeing their homes and taking refuge in the forests. Thus life was in­ secure not only for us who were within prison walls, but even for people of the outside world. But there was not one among us who would not have changed places with one of our hunted and persecuted countrymen. We could only suffer and wait for a chance to be free. Would that day ever dawn? We could only hope.

V oices of the Doomed At dusk the noises of the day would become hushed and silent. A deathly stillness would descend upon the prison cells, the corridors and the prison yard. At this ·hour the pitiful voices of those condemned to death sounded more eerie and heart-breaking than at any other. Almost every evening these cries would echo from cell to cell: "Purvys Vytautas condemned to die."-"And­ riusis Petras-to die."-."Rusteika Stepas . . ." Long 24 after the voices were still, the cries of desolation would ' ring in my ears. ' One evening I counted perhaps 17 such voices of the doomed. It seemed that my heart would break to hear them. They resounded from the prison walls and pene­ trated even the darkest corners of the cells. Then all was still again. Suddenly a women's voice, pure and clear as a silver bell, rang out from cell No. 107: "Men, have faith in Divine Providence." , The pleasing and musical voice and above all the re­ assuring thought it expressed was of great comfort to all the prisoners, no matter whether they stood face to face with certain death, or whether they were still uncertain of their fate. To many of us that silvery voice was familiar; it was that of Vanda Pranckoniene, a young and beautiful woman, wasting away in solitary confinement. On her, too, the death sentence had been passed; she was like a flower beginning to bloom, already doomed to wither away. She had borne all her trials and sorrows with the greatest patience and courage; her sweet nature had won for her the admiration and respect of everyone, in­ cluding even the prison-guards. We could ,not see her, but we felt that she was on her knees at her customary evening prayer. These ordinary words "Men, have faith in Divine Providence" sounded to us like the voice of an angel from a far-off, happy land. For a moment we for­ got our sorrows and a feeling of infinite peace descended upon us. But not for long; after a moment we again remembered our cruel destiny. The voice of peace had cleared away the fogs of the present for a moment and then returned whence it had come. Again we were sur­ rounded by blank prison-walls. , . "Men, let us pray," said Captain J. in a whisper. We could not see one another in the darkness, but the im­ pulse to pray was so strong that we obeyed him without question. We knelt and our lips moved in silent prayer. Retreat of the Reds After nightfall the prisoners would call to one another: "Marie, answer me!"-"Cell No : 145, answer!"- "Marie, 25 dearest, sing for us, will you?" In answer to this last request, a silvery soprano arose. It was so weak and so full of sorrow that to hear it was enough to make one weep. It ceased almost immediately, drowned out by the thunder of moving tanks and motorized .detachments coming from the other side of the Nemunas river. Sud­ denly an excited voice shouted from one of the cells: "Men! The sentry boxes are empty. The guards are no longer here! Let us make our escape. Run, everyone who can! The prison is mined!" I thought to myself: "If this is true, then only blood-spattered ruins will remain to show that-living human beings once existed here." But, like my companions, I did not pay much attention to the rumor; we were too busy listening to-the commotion going on outside. We did not know it then, that already the Reds were fleeing before the onslaught of the advancing German armies. Our cigarettes had given out long before. Now in this moment of tension and excitement, the urge to smoke became unbearable. We knew that there were still some cigarettes in cell No. 95. We shouted to its inmates to give us some. Antanas G. tied a bundle of cigarettes together with string and swung it under our window. With the help of a spoon we secured our prize. Oh, but it was good to smoke again! Growing more calm, we began to discuss future plans. Was it possible that the Reds had mined the prison? Should we try to make our escape? I tried to get in touch with cell No. 143. Cell No. 144 heard my cries. Colonel L. informed us that their cell had decided to wait for some time yet. Even if escape from the cells were possible, we could be trapped in the prison-yard by machine-gun fire. It was by no means certain that our guards had left. Sure enough, after a while we heard voices on the other side of the wall whispering together in Russian. So the corridors were riot empty. Our enemies still surrounded us and cut off our escape. Through the prison window we saw numbers of armed Soviet soldiers around the bath­ house. They would go into the bath-house and hurriedly 26 27 come out again. The buzz of voices outside our door became louder. The crash of splintering wood was heard from cell No. 92. It sounded as if someone were trying to break down the door with the help of a heavy metal object. "Is it possible that the NKVD are trying to make their way into the cells and murder us here?" I wondered. Just then Captain J. said, echoing my thought: "Maybe -, the NKVD men have lost the keys in the confusion, and are now trying to break down the doors. John G., you and I will stand on either side of the door. The rest of you line up behind us. When they get in here we will try to seize their rifles." We did as he said; but although Captain J. and John G. were big strong men, our chances of .escaping gunfire were small indeed. What could un­ armed men do against the NKVD men? Meanwhile the NKVD men were approaching. We heard them break down the door of cell No. 92. A voice barked: "Ruki v verch, vihodi" (Hands up, go out). The inmates of the cell were driven downstairs. After they had left, we heard two revolver shots. A hysterical voice was heard: "Men, .blood is flowing in the second floor corridor." However, this must have been the figment of someone's imagination, for even if blood had been flowing, no one in the cells could see it. But it seemed possible to us that the two shots meant that prisoners were being executed. To steady our nerves, we took up our cigarettes again. John D. began to examine our straw mattresses to see if they would make some kind of a barricade. Suddenly the idea came to me that perhaps it might be wiser for us to give in quietly and not try to defend ourselves, for we #' would almost certainly lose our lives in the attempt. After some argument Captain J. and the others agreed. . Our turn also came. One NKVD man called through the aperture to ask how many there were in our cell. "Five," we answered. At once they began their attempt to batter down the door. "Do you want any assistance?" we called. The NKVD men ordered us to push all together and as strongly as we could. Still the door would 28 not move. At last the lock broke and the door swung open by itself. The beam ofa flashlight shone in our cell; by its light we saw gun-barrels pointing straight at us. "Hands up: go out singly," ordered the chief NKVD man, who was armed with a revolver. I went first, after me the Captain and then the others. Behind everyone of us marched an NKVD guard boring the muzzle of a revolver into the back of our heads. One unexpected movement, and he might pull the trigger-the bullet would pass directly through the brain. We all thought that we were being taken to our execution, and we wondered why they did not shoot us here, on the spot? Shouting "Left," "Right," or "Straight ahead," the NKVD men drove us downstairs. But they could not open the great prison gate. Therefore we were driven down to the basement, consisting of cells of solitary con­ finement .. Each of us was ordered to face the door of five of those cells. Now, we thought, this is surely the end. The basement is at least a good place to pile our corpses - there is plenty of room. This thought went round and round in my head. My brain refused to work any further. The minutes passed; everyone seemed like an eternity. After perhaps five minutes, we were marched upstairs to the third floor, and then down again to the great front gates, open this time, straight to Mickevicius street and into waiting cars. Our path was lined by a double row of NKVD men with guns cocked and pointing at us . We were seated into two big Municipal buses. 19 prisoners condemned to death were seated in the "Zalioji Girele" (Green Forest vehicle taking prisoners to the place of execution). We later heard that one of those condemned. to die, my acquaintance Fabian S., did not go with them. He was left behind in some miraculous way and thus escaped death. It appeared that Fabian S., after being imprisoned for some time in cell No :89 (where also was Rev. Pranas P.) was condemned to death by the Special Soviet Tribunal. On that same fateful night, the NKVD had sent him to solitary confinement in cell No. 17. They were unsuccessful in breaking down his door; for some 29 reason or other they gave up the attempt and so Fabian was left behind. After the Soviets abandoned Lithuania, he was set free together with some other prisoners for­ gotten by the NKVD. Last Glimpses of Lithuania In our bus we were jammed like sardines. There was no room to turn around. The bus, which normally ac­ commodated 40 passengers, was now loaded with 40 prisoners and 20 armed NKVD. guards. Some of the latter stood in front, near the driver and the front door, others at the back. The prisoners sat on the seats and on the floor. Those on the floor were ordered to turn their backs to the guards in order to prevent revolt. We all sat with our hands behind our backs, looking neither to the right nor to the left, saying not a word. If one of us so much as opened his mouth, an NKVD man, clutching his revolver, would shout roughly: "Molchat!" (Be quiet). It was about one o'clock in the morning when we started our journey. It was pitch-dark in the bus. We were not allowed to talk. We had to wait for the light of morning to find out who our traveling-companions were. Our bus drove through Misko street, returned to Mickevicius St., Kestucio, Maironio, Laisves Aleja where we passed the Post Office Building, through Savanoriu Avenue, and then we rode straight along Ukmerge high­ .way. Our bus had to stop frequently; we made slow progress, because the roads were jammed with traffic. They were full of Soviet soldiers, tanks, trucks and other vehicles, all leaving Kaunas by way of the Ukmerge high­ way. The Germans occupied Kaunas shortly thereafter. Naturally the first question in our minds was: "Where are they taking us?" I for one thought that Davalgoniai Forest was a possible destination. Fortifications from the days of World War I were still standing there. In all respects it was a convenient place of execution. But the light of dawn showed me that we were passing the forest by. The sun was up when we passed the little town of Karmelava. The ruins of several houses were burning. 30 A battered Soviet tank sprawled beside the road. Evi­ dently the Germans had wrecked the place with machine­ gun fire. I had known for some time that Colonel Antanas S. was sitting beside me. As it became lighter, I noted with great joy that all my companions from cell No. 94 were here with me in this bus. It is easier to face death if you are in company of friends. Without turning my head I managed to recognize several more. Rev. Antanas P. was sitting by the door in front of me, almost next to the driver. I was sitting with my back to the rising sun . The odor of sweat and the dirty bodies of the guards, their canvas boots and their overcoats, was disgusting. Their leering faces nauseated me. It seemed to me that these horrible heads under the blue caps trimmed with red were hardly human at all; they seemed like human skulls over which rough ugly toad-skins had been stretched. B. and Juozas Z. were also in the bus. Professor K. and Colonel S. were sitting on the floor. At the back, to the left, Colonel Balys G. was sitting beside Captain J. Near them sat Vanda Pranckoniene, the only woman on the bus, barefooted and dressed only in her undershirt. She was not the only one dressed in such attire; many of the men also sat in their underwear. The NKVD had seized everyone as they stood. Those who happened to be un­ dressed were not allowed to put on their clothes. Not one of us was allowed to take any belongings. Naturally Vanda P. must have felt embarrassed, sitting there before all those men dressed only in her shirt. Yet her face never lost its look of calm resignation. The rough guards would often step on her feet as they walked past her. Her efforts to move out of the way did not help her. She was hurt by their heavy boots many times, but not once did I hear her cry out in anger: Though tears would stream from her eyes from the pain,·she would only raise sorrowing eyes to her torturers and sometimes even man­ age a smile. All of us wanted to give up our seats to her, but this was notallowed. Ifwe moved or spoke, the wooden voice of the guard would bark: "Molehat, neshevelitsia" (quiet, don't move). 31 We passed the town of Jonava, now reduced to a heap of still-burning ruins. At the railroad crossing near the bridge across the Neris river, Soviet tanks and trucks were tangled in a seemingly inextricable traffic jam. What damage a bomb from above could have caused there. The Soviets would not have known which way to turn. However, no bombs fell. Our bus made its way forward as best it could. We were at the end of a long line of vehicles. The "Zalioji Girele" had traveled this road some hours earlier, going in the direction of Ukmerge. I knew that Rev. Pranas P . was traveling in it. Yanda P., who also was condemned to death, was traveling with us because the "Girele" was crammed too full for more passengers. Normally the "Girele" carried 10 prisoners; now it carried 19. How hot and crowded it must have been to be con­ fined in that small space behind the sealed iron door! True, the guards rode on the other side of the door. At least the prisoners could talk and move around. But this was doubtless of no comfort to them. "Behind us was another bus containing about 40 prison­ ers from the same Kaunas prison. It appears that on that occasion over 100 prisoners were removed from there. In front of us was an armored car filledwith NKVD men with a lieutenant at their head. Near Pagelaziai German planes machine-gunned us. Our guards at once stopped the bus. They all leaped for the ditch beside the road. As for us, we were not allowed to leave our places. Cursing and swearing, the guards shouted: "If you so much as move, you will be shot." The bus driver in his fright crept under the front fender beside the motor; the NKVD had a great deal of trouble extricating him when the danger was past. Ukmerge also was a scene of smoking ruins. By high­ way and byway men, women "and children with small bundles under their arms were fleeing the town. Leaving Ukmerge behind, our bus turned into the Sirvintai road. Here the road was almost clear of traffic. The Soviet 32 army was retreating straight along the highway to Utena instead. While we drove past Sirvintai and Maisiogala, memories of the past came to my mind. It was here, near Sirvintai and Oiedraiciai, that the hurriedly-assembled Lithuanian Army composed of volunteers, defeated the forces of the Polish general Zeligowski and prevented further incursions into Lithuania. On this same road we were now traveling the defeated Zeligowski had fled towards Vilnius . .. All these places 'were well-known to me, for I had often wandered here on foot. Almost every path and e very tree was well-remembered and dear to my heart. Although our guards had forbidden us to turn our heads or 't o look through the window, I managed to steal an occasional glance at these well-remembered battlefields where so many of my best friends had laid down their lives for Lithuania's freedom. The verdant fields were dotted with gay summer flowers. They had never looked so beautiful to me 'as on that day. The waters of the lakes seemed more crystal-clear, the song of the brook more musical than ever before. How I longed to linger in this beautiful country-side and enjoy the works of nature which I had missed so much while I was con­ fined within prison walls! . Some miles from Maisiogala German planes coming from the direction of Vilnius strafed us again with machine­ guns and bombs. 'The Germans little knew, and cared less, that our bus contained Lithuanian prisoners as well as Russians. As before, the guards sought safety in a .ditch by the roadside, forbidding us prisoners to leave the bus. Bomb fragments damaged the top of the roof and the wall of the left side. However, not one of us was injured. We were sorry indeed to see that bomb drop to the left side of the bus, and not to the right, where the NKVD men were lying in the ditch. And so we approached Vilnius. On entering the city we saw a house lying in ruins near the Neris river bridge by the church of St. Ralph. Across the bridge, on the right-hand side of the street, lay another. Down a narrow street we drove into the yard of the NKVD building. We 33 were not allowed to alight. For about half an hour we sat and waited. The NKVD men in that house were as busy as bees in a bee-hive. It was evident that they were preparing to evacuate it in a great hurry. About one o'clock in the afternoon we left the NKVD building. Crossing the railroad tracks, we turned into the highway leading to Molodechno. Near Smurgainiai, German planes again strafed us. ' After the danger was over, when the guards were getting into the bus, Colonel G. seized the opportunity to ask that at least Mrs. Yanda P. be allowed to leave the bus to satisfy the most ele­ mentary necessities of life. After long consultation the NKVD finally agreed, and even allowed all prisoners to .' go as far as the ditch for the same purpose. We welcomed this chance ' of stretching our limbs, stiff and cramped with long sitting, and for getting a breath of fresh air. Three of us were allowed to leave the bus at a time, each with a guard directly behind him . When Yanda P. re­ turned, we had all silently agreed that this time she was to have a seat. She sat down on the seat we had saved for her. Farewell to Our Native Land The sun had set and we still had about 50 kilometres to go before reaching Minsk when our bus suddenly broke down. At first the NKVD men refused to believe that there was anything wrong, but finally the driver con­ vinced them. Thereupon the guards told us to get out of the bus. The driver was ordered to make the necessary repairs at once and to proceed to the railroad station of Minsk. At that moment a truck filled with high Red Army officials went past. We saw the uniforms of generals, colonels, etc. The NKVD men shouted to them to stop the truck. All officers were told to get off. One general refused to comply, saying that it was important for him to reach headquarters at once. Then one NKVD man, boring the muzzle of a revolver into his back, shouted: "Molchat!" (be quiet) and the general at once became 34 obedient. Everyone got off the truck. We were greatly surprised to see high army officers bowing to the will of an NKVD private. Such is the power which the NKVD holds in its hands! The majority of the prisoners were loaded into the truck. One of them was Vanda P. I tried to get her to accept my coat, since the evening was chilly, but she refused my offer and continued to travel. dressed just as she was. The rest of us were loaded into a closed car used especially for the transportation of prisoners. This car had been driving in front of us, empty, seemingly in case an emergency like this should arise. In the compartment for prisoners, in reality an almost airtight iron box, there was room for four persons, or six at the most. Now twelve of us were thrust inside. What could we do? We squeezed in somehow, sitting on one another's knees, etc. Although we were extremely crowded, we could talk among ourselves, and no longer had to sit with our hands behind our backs. The guards were outside the iron door, at the back of the car. This of course was a relief. But after about 15 minutes we began to gasp for want of air. We cried out: "Help! Help! Give us air. We are ch0 kimg ... " "Molchat!" shouted-the NKVD men. "If you don't let us out, we shall die in no time," said Professor K. in Russian. . I was in agony. My lungs hurt; everything was going black before my eyes; there was a ringing in my ears. I was on the verge of losing consciousness. Some of us shouted feverishly: "Air! Air!" Meanwhile the NKVD reached the conclusion that we were indeed about to expire for lack of air. But still they could not agree among themselves as to whether they should open the window, or the window arid 'the door, should they open only the window, or the door as well? At last they stopped arguing, and opened a crack in the door. The breath of fresh cool air revived us. Woe were 35 saved. But we were still tormented by terrible thirst. Since the time we had set out, we had not had a drop of water. Our throats were parched and our tongues were dry. But of course our guards would not let us have any. In the Prison of Minsk Night had fallen by the time we reached Minsk. We thought that we drove past the railroad station, for we heard the puff of engines and the rumble of railroad cars. The town lay in darkness-evidently blacked-out. After about an hour we reached the northern part of the city where stands the far-famed huge prison of Minsk. We were herded into a large room in the lowest story of the prison building. In the center of the room was a huge concrete pillar which supported the ceiling. There were only two windows, both covered by sheets of paper. Here all hundred of us from the Kaunas prison .were gath­ ered. There were no prisoners from any other locality. We at once requested a barrel of water and a tub for certain purposes. Our request was granted. Almost immediately we emptied the barrel and filled the tub. Now there were no NKVD men with us. We were free to walk around and talk. The 19 condemned to die were also with us. Among them was my old friend Colonel R., so changed that he was almost unrecognizable. He also did not recognize me at first; it seemed that not much of the old Petruitis remained in me. . "How are you, Stephen?" I said to him. "Well, what can I say? I am going to be shot, and that is all," he replied gloomily, striking his forehead with his finger. I did not talk with himlong, for almost at once those : condemned to die were separated from us. Colonel R. was the first to be led away. I never saw those 19 again, . ~xc~pt once from a distance, and did not talk to them agam. Having led away the doomed prisoners, the NKVD ordered the rest of us to go to the office of the .prison, 36 • seemingly to attend to some formalities. They asked us: "According to which paragraph of the Criminal Code are you accused?" noting something on a piece of paper mean­ while. One by one we were led into a tiny nearby cell. It was clear almost immediately that we would not be able to squeeze into the cell. For this reason we were ordered to another. Meanwhile day had dawned. Again we were marched into the big room with the concrete pillar. We remembered that it was June 24, the feast of St. 'John. Since my name is John, my friends began to give me namesday greetings, and I did the same to the others who were named John. One of the priests with us said: "Friends, for all we ' know this may be our last day on earth. Let each one of us make his peace with God. Kneel and I will give you absolution." Without a word we did as he said. In the profound silence you could have heard a pin drop. It seemed to us that we were indeed bidding farewell to our life on earth. We were so deeply stirred that tears ran down the cheeks of many -of us when the priest offered the prayer for absolution. Not 15 minutes later we heard the screech of sirens and the bark of anti-aircraft guns. Through our window we saw a regular swarm of German planes-there may have been about 150. The din was terrific: the noise of ex­ ploding bombs mingled with the crash of gun-fire. The sky was black with smoke .and fumes. We crouched against the wall, wondering how soon our building would be hit: Suddenly there was a terrible explosion; our walls rocked. Large pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling. We had hardly recovered from our fright when another and still closer explosion was heard. Bricks and plaster fell from the wall near the door. The pile of rubble was so high that none could get to the door. , At last the bombardment stopped. About two ,hours later we heard the grinding of a key in the lock. The door opened to some extent. We were ordered to leave the room one by one. We now saw that bombs had inflicted 37 heavy damage on parts of our prison. The tiny cell near the office which we left a bare half-hour beforethe bomb­ ing started was a heap of ruins. Brick, stone and pieces of wood lay where concrete walls had stood. In the part . of the building lying nearest the street, only our-room was unharmed. We later found out that the assistant warden of the prison and nine NKVD men had lost their lives on this occasion. We were marched through the great prison-yard, now littered with rubble, to the interior of the prison. Our cell was a large one, with windows facing the city. We could see some of the life outside. Again we were terribly thirsty. We had had nothing in the past 24 hours except a little soup. All day long at intervals the bombardment went on. When evening came, it seemed that the whole city lay in flames. After talking over the day's events, we lay down to sleep. But we did not sleep long. A terrific crash awakened us. One of us, standing beside the window, reported that prisoners were being taken out of the cells into the yard and then marched to the street, it was evident that the prison was being evacuated. Soon our turn came; we were taken out into the yard, told to stand four abreast and to march out into the street. Hundreds of prisoners were being marched out of the building. Our group now numbered several thousand. Although we of the Kaunas prison were extremely dirty and our clothes hung in rags, yet we looked well compared to those others of Minsk who looked like walking corpses coated with filth. A double line of NKVD men with guns cocked and pointing at us, each man about two or three steps from the other, stood guard over us. The March Eastward The rattle of shots rang constantly in our ears. Some of the prisoners of Minsk made attempts to escape and hide in the ruins of the prison. The NKVD picked them off with their rifles as if they had been targets in a marks­ manship contest. Many ran for a little distance, then fell and lay still. However, some were successful in making their escape, if only for a little while. 38 39 I

,;"" The town was still burning. From somewhere in the distance came the thunder of big guns. The horizon was lighted by the flashes of exploding shells. .s, Despite the 'orders of the NKVD that we were to take nothing with us, some of us had managed to secrete a.few .. . belongings-clothes, dishes, or bowls. We had now taken them out into the street with us. When the NKVD men caught sight of them, they ordered us to throw them away, saying: "You will not need these things any more." Again our hearts stood still, for we thought their words meant that we were being taken to our execution. "Forward March!" came the order. And so the march .of death began. . We marched at a good pace. But this was not fast enough for the NKVD. "Skorej! Neotstavaj!" (Faster, don't lag), they shouted, brandishing their revolvers. Finally we all broke into a run. We sped through streets piled _high with rubble and dead bodies, the light of flaming buildings made the night as bright as day. NKVD bullets flew still more frequently, for 'now many more tried to escape' from the group. I was struck with the irony of the situation. Here we were, creatures who had lost everything they had .ever possessed, dressed in rags, fleeing this city of the dead. Where were we running? Doubtless straight into the jaws of death. I was not mis­ taken; many of them lost their lives on thisterrible march. We reached some'sort of bridge. Crossing it, we found ourselves on a fine asphalt highway-the Mogilev high­ way. Walking across railroad tracks, we passed a .stone quarry decorated with posters urging workers to increase production. We had reached the outskirts of the city. Towards the east the sky brightened. Another day was . dawning. A cuckoo's voice called in the near-by forest. How pleasant it was to hear that familiar call! It was the first time that year that I had heard it. But I was not to .listen to the cuckoo for long, for those pleasing sounds were shortly drowned in the whine of bullets and 40 the clatter of machine-gun fire. We marched along the Mogilev highway ' straight to the 'east. About 8 kilo­ metres from Minsk, in a pine forest, stands "Army Town" ". - or military barracks. In front of a pretty white building stood two huge statues of Lenin and Stalin encircled by flowers. An NKVD officer on horseback overtook us and told us to slow our pace. And so we continued to march along the center of the highway. NKVD guards marched on either side.

From somewhere in the forest shots and machine-gun fire still resounded. We did not know what they signified. Was there a battle going on? We were soon to find out. About 15 kilometres from Minsk we saw a heart-rending sight": a pile of about 300 corpses. Our guards ordered us not to look 'in that direction when we passed, but we could not help seeing. We understood that here was the explanation of the mysterious gun-fire. Some of the prisoners from Minsk told us that all these men were fellow-prisoners who had been condemned to death. Doubtless our 19 friends from Kaunas were among them, though I never found anything to prove or disprove this. In any case we lost all traces of our unfortunate friends here,. in this spot, 15 · kilometres from Minsk, on the Mogilev highway. Later I had the opportunity of talking to two men fortunate enough to escape the .massacre. They said that the NKVD, in order to occupy the at­ tention of the prisoners and thus prevent their escape, conducted a sort of farcical trial.. Compared to the prisoners, the NKVD men werefew in number. The latter were well aware of the fact that if they began shooting indiscriminately, many prisoners would run and hide among the trees of the forest. Therefore, all were ordered to lie flat on their faces. They were then called by name. When they raised their heads, they were shot by the approved NKVD method-two bullets through the fore­ head (the NKVD supposedly does this "in case the first shot did not kill the victim"). In order to reassure the -, prisoners, death sentences were read for 24 out of 25, while the 25th man was proclaimed free. "The freed men 41 were ordered to take to the highway. However, every one of them was shot by the NKVD if they were not successful in finding refuge in the forest. Several men sprang up and took to the forest without waiting for their names to be called. A few escaped with their lives. Much to my regret, I did not ask these men if there had been any women among the 300 unfortunates. So I never did find out if our friend Yanda P. was among the number. I was told that only two persons condemned to die of those lying in the prison hospital-. the Polish Colonel Dobrovolski and one other-were shot by the NKVD, while the others escaped death. Rushing into the hospital, an NKVD man shouted: "Which of you is Colonel Dobrovolski?" "Here I am," the latter replied, and im- . mediately received two bullets through the forehead. The same fate met the second man who also answered to his name. The others did not say a word when their names were called and so were .not shot, .at least not for the moment. We were still going forward. The sun became burning hot. Many were walking with difficulty. The roadside was littered with various refuse, dead dogs or horses and even human bodies. My feet ached; my legs and thighs were in such pain that I could no longer .walk without assistance. Friends had to support me. Colonel S. at once organized assistance for those who were in difficulties, and asked the younger men to take turns in giving us the support of their arms. Shots echoed from the end of the line. We found out a little later that theNKVD was shooting everyone on the spot who felt too weak to go any further. . The NKVD men often drank water f~om their cans, but there was not a drop for us. Our tongues were black with thirst. Every time we passed a river or some ex­ panse of water the longing to stop and slake our thirst became well-nigh unbearable. All this time Colonel S. ceaselessly urged us on with words of comfort and en- 42 couragement, magically producing a lump of sugar or a crumb of bread. Our numbers had greatly decreased. Many fainted from sun-stroke or exhaustion. Others simply sat by the way-side to rest. In either case they died. Two shots of a revolver rang for each of these unfortunates. It was plain that the same fate awaited us all if the march continued much longer, for who can go on forever without food or water? We learned later that the NKVD men had secret instructions to execute us all before we reached Mogilev. This is why they drove us so hard, hoping that we would fall exhausted arid give them the opportunity of killing us off. But unex­ pected events prevented them from accomplishing their nefarious design. Near the village of Smilovichi an NKVD officer on horseback announced that 5 kilometres ahead there was a river where we could all drink, wash and rest for a while. This news gladdened us exceedingly, for almost all of us .were ready to drop from thirst and fatigue. We walked as briskly as we could. Finally I too dragged myself to the green meadow beside the river-bank. I dropped on the grass exhausted. I craved for the water with a terrible longing, but I was incapable of walking any further. Vincent M . filled my cap with water and brought it to me. Although I had been warned not to drink too much at first, I could not stop myself. I drank and drank until I could hold no more. I felt well and strong again. But when I tried to rise, I fell back to the ground. My legs were numb and racked with terrible pain. We rested for perhaps one and a half hours. When the order "forward march" came, Stasys S. and V. helped me to my feet. With their assistance, I walked perhaps another 15 kilometres. At nightfall we reached a big pine forest. At some distance were detachments of trucks, armored cars, tanks and artillery. We were ordered to sit down under the trees. The NKVI;> men sat in a ring around us. If anyone made a move, they let fly a volley . of shots. Bullets whizzed over our heads. In this same place we lay down to sleep. We fell asleep almost at once, but woke after a short while, numb and half-frozen. 43 At dawn all prisoners were divided into groups of 20. Each group was given one five-pound loaf of bread. Some of us got a few crumbs, others got nothing at all. I was one of those who got none. On this day there were many more in our group who could not walk without assistance. Even our two strong men-Jonas and Stasys-seemed without energy. We were grieved t o find our beloved Colonel S., yesterday very much alive and full of spirits, lying unconscious. After great efforts we were successful in reviving him. He could not walk by himself and had to be supported. . "Forward!" sounded the order. Our exhausted group pushed on. Many times I thoughtthat it would be just as well for me to drop by the wayside and wait for the two bullets which would end my sufferings. But the God­ given instinct of self-preservation urged me on. The terrible gunfire together with the other sounds and sights of yesterday would not leave off tormenting me. About two hours later we had left the forest behind us. We came' to a marshy river. Here we were allowed to stop and drink. Though the water was . muddy, we drank as greedily as before. . In front of us rode a truck with about 30 NKVD men seated in it. At times they would ride alongside of us, observing us intently. Then they would go in front, stop r ' and closely scrutinize everyone going by. After every such "examination" several of us would be ordered to fall I ' out. Other NKVD men were ordered to "cope with them." Immediately afterwards several double shots would ring out. One time a man who walked almost' alongside of me was dragged out of line by a: guard. The man seized the guard's hand, and covering it with kisses, entreated him to have mercy. But even his bitter tears did not help him. Two shots finished him off. Up to that time not one from our Kaunas group had been designated for execution. But now our turn came: Bronius B. and Juozas Z. were led out. The latter was a close friend of mine. We had lived together for some time in Alytus, Now I saw him sitting on a tree-stump beside 44 the road, clearly distinguishable because of the red neckerchief he had tied around his neck. Near him a group of NKVD men were animatedly talking together. After a while Juozas stood up and moved towards the road. After him went an NKVD man, boring a revolver into the back of his head. Two shots were heard; Juozas fell to the ground. My thoughts sped silently to him: "Rest in peace, dear friend; your trials are over!" Two further shots announced that Bronius B. had also left this earth. . We entered a beautiful pine forest. The pine trees swayed and sighed as if in sorrow for our cruel fate. Double revolver shots were ,echoing more and more fre­ quently now to our rear. We came to a place where the road branched off in two directions: through Berezina to Mogilev, and through Cherven to Bobruisk. We took the latter. The sun stood to the south and we suffered from the heat of its rays. All of us were so exhausted that we could hardly drag our feet along. My head sang; black spots appeared before my eyes. We crossed a pretty wooden bridge and reached the town of Cherven. The town was full of cars and tanks; we saw many Soviet soldiers and also civilians. We tramped along the streets, the NKVD men shouting meanwhile: "Neraz­ gliadyvat." (Don't look around.) While we were going past astore, some good-hearted man threw a cigarette to one of the prisoners. Another by-passer began to curse loudly, no doubt a "patriot," and immediately told the NKVD guard of this incident. I did not see how the affair ended. We passed a large stone building, evidently a hospital. We saw white-clad women standing at the ' windows and weeping. One woman was so overcome with grief that we heard her sob. The town of Cherven is very pretty. There are many orchards and green lawns. Before the Bolshevik Revolu- . tion its' name had been "Igumen" (Monk in Russian). The Bolsheviks changed it to its present name which means "June" in the old Slav tongue. 45 We were driven into the spacious yard of the prison of Cherven, enclosed ·by a high wooden fence over which were stretched several rows of barbed wire. The men were at once separated from the women. The NKVD men sat down on benches in the corner, near the office of the prison. From there they could watch our every movement. Other NKVD men watched us from the office; guards stood in the sentry boxes. The sun was beating down unmercifully. It was terribly hot. The high fence shut off all possibility of a breeze. I felt myself a complete invalid. My good friends were solicitous of my welfare. I asked them to pick me a bunch of camomile and mint, both of which grew in great profusion all over the yard. Having said those words, I fell to the ground in a dead faint. Stasys J. and Vincas M. returned with an armful of the herbs. With them I pillowed my head; in breathing their sweet fragrance I was lulledto sleep. I do not know how long I slept. I was awakened by my friends who had brought me some cool clear water to drink. After resting and drinking some water, I felt vastly better. With the help of Vincas and Stasys, I made my way to a corner of the yard where stood two barrels of water which had just been brought in. I took off my shirt and bent over. Stasys and Vincas poured water over my head, back and shoulders, rubbing me with their hands meanwhile. After such a bath and massage I felt quite strong and could even walk without assistance. Evening fell and it became cooler, so much so that those of us who were in their shirt-sleeves felt chilly. I gave my coat to John D., my friend from cell No. 94, who had been brought to the Kaunas.prison without a coat and ·had been dressed that way ever since. We had not dared to hope for food. But, unexpectedly, some was given us. We were ordered to sit down in groups of twelve. Each group was given a small loaf of . bread. It tasted very good to me. We felt stronger after we had eaten. The NKVD men ordered us to remain seated in groups. Guards walked among us. If anyone moved, they pointed their guns at the offender . Several 46 47 times they shot into the air. One of the NKVD men, whose appalingly ugly face stands out in my memory, made a sadistic game out of this. Whenever anyone stirred, he would raise his revolver to the level of his right eye and take aim slowly and carefully, threatening meanwhile to pull the trigger. The prisoner who was ' threatened was unlikely to make another movement" after such an experience. That NKVD man was something to see with his long head covered with thick black hair, hooked nose, and thick lips and big buck teeth. One NKVD rr an kept close watch over our Kaunas group. We were greatly annoyed by his constant vigil­ ance. I warned my friends to speak as little as possible and to lower their voices. For allwe knew, he might under­ stand.the Lithuanian language. Our Colonel S. was rapidly declining both physically and mentally. He started to babble feverishly about his fear and suspicion of somebody or something, and to talk all sorts of nonsense. We tried to quiet him as best we could, but wewere not always successful. When evening fell the NKVD men began to call for volunteers for the Red Army of the requisite military age from the group of Minsk criminals. Many offered their services. Their names were taken down, they were lined up and marched out of the yard. Our group was now con­ siderably smaller; there was at once more room in the yard. After 'dark one of the prisoners shouted: "Are we going to get any soup?" "Yes indeed, at twelve o'clock you will get some good soup," said one of the NKVD men . To many of us this unexpectedly courteous answer seemed suspicious. We wondered what events were brew­ ing and waited for midnight with some apprehension. In the meantime the sun·had set. A yellowish-red glare lit the horizon. :'I'he first stars of evening appeared in the clear blue sky. There was not a breath of wind . The camomile blossoms did not stir in the warm summer air. 48 Suddenly Captain J., who was an experienced flyer, frowned and began to listen intently. "I hear planes," he said. After a moment we too heard-them. The hum of approaching planes was growing stronger all the time. Soon we saw their dark silhouettes against the sky. There were quite a few. Soviet anti-aircraft guns opened fire. Rockets flew into the air. Soviet fighter planes rose and an air battle began. At the same time the bombs dropped from the German planes began to explode somewhere in the town. Many houses caught fire. It was a terrible and also a beautiful sight; we sat there that calm summer night and watched the patterns of bright light formed in the sky by flames, rockets and incendiary bombs. Their passage left pale blue trails in the sky, visible long after the latter had disappeared. These trails joined to form a long and beautiful blue ribbon. The thunder of exploding bombs, anti-aircraft fire and the clatter of machine-guns seemed to make a symphony of harmonious sounds. After about a half-hour the bombardment stopped. All was quiet again. The shooting lights in the heavens dis­ appeared, but the sky continued to be bright with the light of fires which, mixed with dense smoke, colored the atmosphere with an unpleasant red glow. We were ordered to get up and stand without moving. Each was called by name and led off into a corner. Here NKVD officers stood and questioned the prisoners. Others were ordered to stand against the wall of a stable standing close by. Evidently the NKVD men were in a great hurry. Conversing in a low voice, they urged one another to hurry: "Skorej, Skorej. Davaj, Davaj" (faster, faster, give, give). My name also was called. They had hardly begun to question me when an NKVD man, who I think was the same one who had been watching our group so closely, shouted: "I know him, he was formerly an officer of the Lithuanian Army." I wasat once taken by the arm and dragged to the wall where prisoners lined four deep were standing. About 25 of our Kaunas group, as far as I could see in the dim light, were lined up against the stable wall. Beside me were standing: Colonel Joseph 49 T., Petras K., Antanas S. and Professor K. Other ac­ quaintances of mine, including the priests Pranas and Antanas P., and .Colonels Balys G. and Juozas S., were led to the rear. . We had hardly got into line 'when one NKVD man shouted: "Which is Professor K.?" He spoke up and was thereupon led off into the darkness, possibly in the direction of the stable. There were about 400 of us lined up against that wall. Soon we were ordered to march out through the prison gates and out into the street, where we were again lined up by the prison wall, but on the other side. NKVD men formed a half-circle around us. They whispered together, consulting among themselves. We were certain that at any moment they might begin to shoot. Standing against the wall, we had little chance of escape, though possibly a few from either end of the line might be successful in breaking through the human wall of NKVD men. But, to our great astonishment, there was no shooting; after some time, another group of NKVD men approached. Ordering "us to draw back, they took up"their positions between us and the wall. Immediately afterwards we heard: "Forward march" and we set out at a fast pace in the direction of Bobruisk.

"Good Soup at Twelve O'clock" After some kilometres we came to a forest. Somewhere to the left of us in the distance we heard gunshots. As we proceeded, they became more and more frequent, and louder as well. We wondered if the Reds were shooting German parachutists. Now there were gunshots both to our left and our right. And then shooting was so close that bullets whizzed in the air over our heads. "Ne in­ stinctively broke ranks and made for the ditch on the right hand side of the road. We lay down, piled one on top of the other. The NKVD men at once opened fire on us. In the confusion both the lines of NKVD men on the left and on the right hand side of the road were firing volley after volley. Many NKVD men as well as prisoners fell mortally wounded, or killed outright. An armored 50 car drove up from the direction of Cherven and its occupants began to fire a machine-gun straight along the road. Since we were all lying in the ditch, and the NKVD men .were in the road, the machine-gun left us un­ harmed. However, many NKVD men fell. A car in which­ the commanding offi cer of the NKVD was riding, which had been driving to our rear, went up in flames. . The driver slumped forward in his seat, hit by a bullet from the armored car. . Meanwhile I was lying at the bottom of a heap. On my feet lay Colonel Joseph T.; on top of me-Peter K. and to my right-some White Russian who incessantly mut-­ tered the Lord's Prayer to himself. In observing the asinine behavior of the NKVD who were mowing down their own men while attempting to shoot us, I was struck with the humor of the situation. I laughed out loud at the sight. Peter K . reproved me for laughing at such a time as this. "But I can't help it. These men don't know how to use their arms, and yet they pretend to be warriors," I cried from my place at the bottom of the heap. "You may well laugh, lying there in safety at the bottom. But for me it is no joke; bullets are whizzing past my head and one has even singed my ear," replied N~. . Terrified NKVD men were yelling as loudly as they could: "Stop, stop! You are shooting your own men." And then the fire ceased. Only the groans of the wounded broke the sudden stillness. .Again the voices of NKVD men were heard: "Petrov-dead, Siderov-wounded. What the h-- is this?" "Where is our commander?" A third voice replied: "He is not here." And still another: "I will take over the command. Follow me!" Those of us who were still alive were ordered to stand up and stand in line, two by two. . Those who were wounded could onlygroan and remain lying on the ground. The NKVD men walked among them, administering blows with some sort of instrument. At first I did not 51 understand what they were doing. My ears would catch a muffled thud and then the wounded man would lie still. Then I saw that the NKVD men were splitting their skulls open with their trench-shovels. Trench-shovels are heavy and massive; anyone hit by it does not rise again. Swiftly and surely the NKVD men proceeded with their vile deed. It seems their hands were used to such work. The NKVD did not strike the prisoners who lay still and showed no signs of life. They merely kicked them viciously to see if they were really dead. Later I learned that some of our people who lay still, pretending to be dead, and not uttering a sound when kicked and abused, escaped such a death. They were able to rise later and , escape into the forest. But there were few who showed such presence of mind. Having finished their little "examination," the NKVD men led us forward along the highway for a distance of about half a kilometre. Their commander reappeared. The NKVD men cursed and swore, hurling the vilest of oaths against their own leader because he had abandoned them at a time of such need. The commander replied in Russian: "Nichevo! (that is nothing). We will cope with them (the prisoners) at once. Line them up four by four." After his command had been obeyed, he shouted: "Skorej, lozhites, m--, m--! (Quick now, lie down, m--, m--, one of the vilest swear-words in the Russian tongue). We lay flat on our faces. In the front line lay Peter K., Colonel Joseph T., myself and the same unknown White Russian to my right. "Don't raise your head! Don't look around! Don't talk!" ordered NKVD men, the same who had marched to the left of us, who now held the muzzles of their revolvers close to our backs. All NKVD men were ordered.by their commander to move over from the right side of the road to the left. Thus the right side of the road was empty of NKVD men. NKVD men with automatic rifles stood at equal intervals of several paces. Between them stood NKVD men carrying ordinary rifles. In this way they formed a dense wall. We understood what their next step was to be. 52 With us lay many former Red Army politruks and other officials. At this time of suspense several of them lost their nerve. They cried out, weeping: " Grazhdanin starshij (older citizen)! have pity on me. I served as politruk for two years. I am innocent of any crime, only Petrov falsely accused me. I am a very conscientious' citizen, I love Stalin very much. Have mercy on me, think of my poor wife and family! " "Quiet! Don't talk, or I will shoot you down like a dog" was the ready answer of the NKVD men to all such cries of desolation. "Quiet, m--, m--! Quiet!" their rough voices vied with one another. The commander, finding that his chauffeur would be unable to serve him any more, asked if any of the prisoners knew how to drive. A great clamor arose from the prisoners: "Take me!"-"No, take me!"-"I am a very good driver, I can drive any type of car."-"I am a motor­ cyclist .."-"1 am a chauffeur and aviator as well .. : ' However, the hopes of these desperate men were in vain, for the NKVD commander found a driver among his own men. Some of our group began to go out of their minds. They muttered and cried out senseless things. It was a gruesome experience to hear the voices of men going mad. At this moment Colonel Joseph T . whispered to me: "Farewell, John, we shall see each other no more on this earth." "Everything is still possible, Joseph," was my .reply. My mind was busy with the thought: In what way do they plan to shoot us? Probably they would not shoot us while we were lying down. No doubt we would be ordered to stand.up. And then-well, the gun-fire would fell us as if we were rye mown down by the sickle. I thought: "No, never, no matter how they try to make me, they will not get me to stand up." If only I could makemy way to the right-hand side of the road before the 53 shooting began! Perhaps this would not prove impossible. The same White Russian who had annoyed me with his mutterings before now distracted me with his "Oche nash izhe yes ' na nebesih (Our Father which art in Heaven ..." I was excessively annoyed. . I felt no fear at all, only disgust and blinding anger. They would make'an end of me here in this terrible forest near the Bobruisk highway, and my children would never learn how their father died. . The NKVD men were completing their preparations for the massacre. Incoherent babblings were heard on all sides; more and more men were going mad. Many prayed out loud. All the curses and the "Molchat!" of the NKVD men could not stop them. The NKVD men now seemed to be ready. In a moment we would hear the order: "Fire!" perhaps the last order that we would ever hear. I remembered that it must now be close to midnight, and midnight was the time when the NKVD man in the prison of Cherven had promised us some "Good soup." Such was the gruesome joke. "Biezhite, strieliajem!" (run, we are shooting) came' the cry from the NKVD. A rain of bullets whizzed in our direction. At three paces from us, the' automatic and ordinary rifles had opened fire. My White Russian neighbor rose and began to run, but fell almost at'once. I had the presence of mind not to get up. I rolled over the dead body of the White Russian straight into the ditch. Somebody leaped on top of me, but shuddered and lay . still almost immediately. I lay in the ditch beside the road with this dead body on top of me as some sort of a cover. I was safe, at least for the time being, Continuous'fire lasted very long-at least for five min­ utes. My plan had been to feign death and wait till the NKVD men left, when I hoped to be able to jump up and run for the forest. But when the gunfire stopped and ,I heard the NKVD commander give the order for another 54 "examination," my plans changed. No matter what happened, I was determined not to let them split open my skull, with a trench-shovel. Escape I never knew exactly 'when I crawled out from under that dead body and began to run. Bullets whined im­ mediately after; at least five rifles were aimed at me. Perhaps they would have got me if a dead body had not been in my path. I stumbled and fell heavily. The NKVD men evidently thought I had been hit and stopped shoot­ ing at me. Almost at once I rose and ran again. The night was very dark; there was little chance of their seeing me. Possibly also they did not hear the noise I made when I got up. They did not fire at me again. Later I learned that the NKVD men were in such a hurry that they did not have time to make their "ex­ amination," but got into trucks and went off in the direc­ tion of Bobruisk. I ran and ran with no thought in my mind except to get away from these horrors, away from the terrible executioners. After some time my strength gave out; I could run no longer. My heart beat like a hammer, my feet were as heavy as lead. I continued at a walk. I was haunted by terrifying sights and sounds. I could not distinguish if I saw hallucinations or if these visions were real. Line after line of horrible NKVD men seemed to be approaching 'me. Their faces seemed inhuman in their cruelty; their eyes were bloodshot; they were foaming at the mouth. Again I thought I saw the NKVD men drag a wounded man, still alive, from a pile of corpses; they hit him on the head with a trench-shovel. Fragments of his brain flew all around, spattering even the face of his _ executioner. It seemed the horrible face of the NKVD man was directly in front of me; I could see the streaks of blood mingled with fragments of the shattered brain of the victim flowing down his cheeks. Again I saw the weary group of prisoners marching along the Minsk­ Mogilev highway. Their mud-spattered' faces were full . 55 of fatigue and despair, their clothes hung in rags, their feet were bare and bleeding. A man broke away from the line and began to run directly towards me. He was so ragged that he was almost naked. He gesticulated and waved his arms. His lips moved. It seemed that he was trying to tell me something. His eyes were deep wells of inexpressible sorrow. The wind stirred his long black beard. . At last dawn glimmered in the east. The dreadful hallucinations left me. I was no longer enveloped by such stark terror. I saw that the location where I now was was very sparsely wooded. It would be very unsafe in case of pursuit. I passed a tract of woodland overgrown with young fir trees. I heard a loud rustling. I froze in terror. Was there an NKVD man behind that tree? Whatever it was, man or beast, was crawling out. Shortly it would come towards me . . . . "John, is it really you?" came the voice of Colonel Joseph T. Soon his figure came clearly into view. . I wept and fell into his arms. His cheeks too were wet with tears of joy. To think that we had escaped with our lives and were meeting once again! We embraced and kissed each other. With Joseph 'I'

Ruins of an Ancient Castle in Kaunas

59 the edge of the forest, walking west. After we had gone about three kilometres we came to a road leading from the Zapalchiki kolhoz to Cherven. We walked at some distance from one another so that all of us would not come face to face with danger at the same time. Our Polish friend went first; Joseph was in the middle; I walked last, because I was now racked with fever and had to stop every few minutes to rest. Our Polish friend almost walked right into an NKVD camp. He came to a bare 50 paces of their tents. A guard and a pack of dogs stood in front of the encampment. After one look we turned and fled as fast as our legs would carry us. We reached the edge of the forest again. We planned to take to the road, going in the opposite direction from Cherven. But yet another surprise awaited us; we met up with five kolhoz workers with red neckerchiefs around their necks, walking down the road at a leisurely gait. We turned and ran into the forest. After walking half a kilometre we landed into a terrible morass. Meanwhile night had fallen. It was too dark to make our way out. There was nothing for it but to spend the night right there and wait for the light .of dawn. We were still close to the NKVD encampment and still heard the baying of their dogs. When day came we decided to make a dash for our old hiding place. After long wandering in the swamp, we reached it at last. The sun was now high in the sky. I was so exhausted that I fell on the.ground and was asleep in no time. I was tortured by terrible nightmares. I woke shivering with fever. Joseph, who had sampled some frog meat, complained that it did not taste good. Also, frogs were very hard to catch. And besides, he had doubts as to their food value. "Of course they have food value. Look at the storks­ they eat frogs all the time," I said. "And besides, without salt no meat will taste right." Joseph again said that we would no doubt die of hunger. Again he wanted to go to the kolhoz to look for food. I asked him to wait for evening, when I hoped the fever would have left 'me. Then I would go to look for 60 food. Joseph at first would not agree to have me go, for I was in a very weak condition. But I pointed out that it was far less safe for him to go since he was dressed in army uniform. The Pole was unknown to us and un­ trustworthy in our eyes. It was better to have him re­ main here. All three of us could not go, for it was no use risking three lives at once. In the evening I set out, leaning on a cane. I came to the edge of the forest where I heard the baying of dogs. I expected to find a village near this spot. But only meadows stretched before me. The nearest human habi­ tation was about three kilometres away. I was so weak that I felt that even if I could walk that distance, I certainly would not be able to drag myself back. Sorrow­ fully I turned back. The sun went down and a thick mist descended. I could see no further than a few steps before me. But still I continued on my way to our hiding place. I felt that it must be somewhere near, but I could not see it anywhere. I had lost my way . I sat down in despair and began to call "Joseph! Joseph!" His voice halloed from somewhere in the distance. But I was too weak to get up. After a while he came up and helped me back to our hiding place. I had come to within half a kilometre of it when I sat down . . At night it thundered and lightened. Rain poured as if from a bucket. We were wet through and shivering with cold. With the dawn the sky cleared and the sun burned hot. Again I was racked with fever. Joseph now insisted that we go immediately to the kolhoz that I had seen. I agreed, for it was evident that our strength was giving out. I asked my friends to wait until the fever left off. After about an hour I felt much better. We began to walk in the direction of the kolhoz. I lagged about half a kilometre behind my friends although they were walking very slowly. At last we came to a marshy meadow. .Ahead of us were rye fields and village houses. Here my .strength gave out.' I lay down in the grass. Joseph and our Polish friend went on. Soon they returned, carrying a raw egg and a bit of bread. After a few moments an • 61 old woman came out of the village with a lovable child about four years old. She brought me a bowl of sour milk and a bottle of some home-made drink. She told us that the child was her grandchild. One of her sons was in the army, theother was imprisoned at hard labor. "Perhaps I will-never see him again," she said sadly. "This baby is his son. His mother works in a factory in Puhovichi. The poor little thing might as well be an orphan." The old woman had such a look of kindness in her face that she seemed like a creature from heaven to us. For 'months we had been accustomed to the savage faces of the NKVD men. It seemed that her smile made my soul come to life again. My heart was filled with happiness and gratitude to the kind old lady. After a while she went back whence she had come. We continued on our way to the kolhoz of Zapalchiki. Every­ where were crowds of refugees. At first we thought we too would pretend to be refugees. But it was clear that our unkempt beards and our ragged clothes would give us away. At the same time we wanted to spend this next night under the shelter of a roof. The laborers of the kolhoz were afraid to give us shelter, and sent us to a school building at the other end of the village. We learned that identification papers had to be shown here. Noone was allowed in the village without identification papers. We had to give up our dream of sleeping under a roof. Instead, we crept under a pile of straw and lumber. The night was very cold. Again the mosquitoes gave us no peace. We were terrified that someone might ask for our papers at any moment. The blast of the swine-herd's horn awakened us on this morning of June 30. We had made the acquaintance of this old man already the day before. We had told him who we were . _We had complete confidence in him. Now we asked him the way to Puhovichi; he gave us directions. We were not successful in getting there, however, for at the bridge on the way there soldiers were asking everyone to show identification cards. We turned back to Zap­ alchiki. Then we left it and came to the Molotov kolhoz. 62 Here I again succumbed to fever. Everything went black before my eyes. I fell and could not get up again. Joseph did not want to leave me, but I persuaded him to go on without me. We·agreed that if one of us should reach Lithuania first, he was to tell the relatives of the other everything that had happened and the name of the place where he last saw him. Each of us would make efforts to get in touch with the other immediately on returning. Joseph and our Polish friend embraced me and then went on. I followed them with my eyes. They went . towards the east. . I lay in the ditch near the Molotov kolhoz. After several hours I felt stronger. Crawling along the fences of the village, passing a small wooden tower on a hill, I reached a potato field. Crossing it, I .found myself in a forest. Finding a dry spot under the pines, I lay down and fell asleep. The sun was setting when I woke up. I heard voices conversing in Russian. One voice said: "Here he is. I saw him here, under the pines, already during the day." I was terrified. Were these NKVD men pursuing me? I sighed in relief. Coming towards me was an old woman and a young boy about seventeen years old, with a whip in his hand. ' "Let me see you, golubchik (little pigeon). How do you look? Are you young or old? How did you get here?" asked the woman in a kind voice. "I am a refugee from Minsk. I am very tired and sick. That is why I am resting here under the trees," I replied. "Ah, you are no longer young. You must be very tired and hungry. Don't be afraid of me, little pigeon, tell me the truth. You must be one of those prisoners that the NKVD men were shooting at over there in the forest, beside the road. I saw you already during the day. Do not be afraid of us; this young man is my son-he is the head of this and also of another kolhoz" she reassured me. "I will send my daughter here at once; she will 63 bring you something to eat," said the good-hearted old woman, looking at me with great pity. A short time after she left me, a fair-haired, slender girl of about 18 ran up. She brought me a jug of sweet milk, rye dumplings with sauce and a morsel of cheese. While I was eating, conversing with her the while, the old woman came back. The girl addressed her as "granny;" evidently she was not her daughter. The sun went down in the meantime and it became dark. "The night will be cool and the mosquitoes will start biting. However, we are strictly forbidden to admit any­ one into the kolhoz without documents of identification. But I will take you to the drying-room. There you will be warm and will be able to sleep peacefully without being disturbed," said the old woman. Leaving the forest, we walked in the twilight through the potato fields and vegetable gardens. The girl took up the pitcher and ' returned to the kolhoz. The old woman led me to a small hut between the dairy and a large barn. The hut resembled those built for the drying of flax, but was seemingly used for the drying of boards, for the ground was littered with wood shavings. ' They were soft, and with them I made myself a wonderful bed. It was the first comfortable night I had spent since leav­ ing Kaunas. I lay for 48 hours in that hut. From the west and from .the south came the incessant noise of bombardments; at night the sky was lit by balls of fire and the reflection of fires. The next day, very early, while all were yet asleep, the peasant girl brought me a very tasty breakfast; a jug of milk, several slices of rye bread, a piece of cheese and a boiled egg. Later, choosing a moment, when nobody was in sight, the old woman came to ask after my state of health. I asked her if her son, the head of the kolhoz, knew that a convict was hiding in the hut. "Certainly, my little pigeon, he knows that a convict is here, for I told him so. But my son is a very good man; he loves me and will do anything I ask of him. But he 64 warns you to be very careful, for if someone saw you, that would mean trouble." On July 1 about midnight a great noise arose all over the kolhoz. I sprang to the window and saw a great many soldiers. The whole yard was full of horse-carts, horses and soldiers. They were going into the houses, the barns and the stables, and still there were many left in the yard. I figured that they were preparing to spend the night here and thought to myself: "I hope they won't come here." But this could not be avoided, they came. The door creaked and about 10 armed soldiers came in. Lighting a match, they discovered me lying in a corner. "Who is that lying there?" said one of them. "I am a sick man; I will not disturb you, lying over here by the wall," I replied. "Friends, do not hurt him; he is sick," said the soldiers to one another. Making up beds out of the wood-shavings and throwing their guns into a corner, the soldiers lay down. Several times, the door which had been left unlatched, would be opened, seemingly by other soldiers who had not found shelter, but their friends lying on the floor would exclaim every time: "Don't come in, there is a sick man in here," and the door would close again. .In order to prevent further incursions, they found a scrap of wire somewhere and fastened the door. That night I did not sleep a wink. At dawn the soldiers left, leaving their guns behind. I looked out the window. I saw that the soldiers were throwing away their rifles, helmets, caps and insignia about the yard and gardens. The commanders or officers, and the politruks changed to civilian clothes. All this clearly showed that this was no longer an organized army but an unorganized band. Not waiting any longer, I arose and went into the yard, for in the midst of such general confusion I was no longer in any danger. . 65 The Molotov kolhoz was very large and the street" of the village very long. The kolhoz people were not doing any work, but sitting by the fences, whispering among themselves the while. Their children were gathering the scattered rounds of ammunition and hand-grenades; taking rifles from the piles they tried to discover if they could shoot straight. Near the syrup factory, on the threshold of the entrance, sat my kind old woman with the young girl, talking with the soldiers. They asked for milk and syrup, but the old lady answered that she had nothing and could not oblige them. At this time a German plane flew along the length of the village; just above our heads, and scattered a handful of appeals in the Russian language exhorting the soldiers of the Red Army to give themselves up to the German guards and threatening that all who would be found wandering in the forest and villages would be shot on the spot. After a half-hour not one Red Army soldier re­ mained in the Molotov kolhoz; they all made off in the direction of Cherven, Puhovici and Bobruisk.

What is a Kolhoz? Left by myself, I had wonderful opportunities to talk to the kolhoz-people. Learning that I came from Lithu­ ania, they were very willing to talk to me and tell me their troubles. "How can they fight against the Germans, and what are they fighting for?" they said. It is interesting to note that they did not say "How can we" but "How can they fight," these people held themselves to be Ruthenians. "How can they fight if the father is in prison, and the son fighting, or the son in prison while the father is fighting? Do you know, Sir, what a kolhoz is? A kolhoz is a type of labor camp; from it no one can move a step, and if someone is as much as 15 minutes late to work, he can be imprisoned for three years." "Eh, the whole of this great Russia is nothing more than one large prison," added another kolhoz-man. 66 "How do you live? What do you eat? I see that the harvest this year will be a good one," said I, noticing that they were willing to talk. "You see how we live-our huts are broken down and dilapidated; they are the same ones in which our fathers lived. Each kolhoz-man gets 250 grams of bread or flour for one day's work. Since we have no common bakery in this village, we get flour instead of bread. You can't make bread with that amount of flour, so we have to be content with pancakes and potatoes. We also get sep­ arated milk from the dairy which we sour and make into cheese. Kolhoz-people may keep one pig and one sheep, but it does not always pay to keep your own animals. We must even give up hens' eggs even though the hens do not lay." "Then where do you put the grain that you thresh if you get only 250 grams of flour a day?" I asked, noticing that they were now speaking quite freely and even inter­ rupting each other in their eagerness. "Why even ask? We just have time to cut the harvest and begin to thresh when along come the Government merchants from Minsk and, piling the harvest to the last grain into trucks, take it away. They bring grain to us for seed when it is needed." . "Tell me, why are your cattle'in such bad condition if your fields and meadows are so good?" "Grass alone will not suffice for them, they need some­ thing more, and that "something" is exactly that which is lacking. Our horses are in a very bad state for we use them to work all the fields." "You don't say. I see all sorts of tractors and machines over there. Why don't you make use of them?" "How can we make use of them when we have only one blacksmith for all the kolhoz, and even he knows very little about tractors. Besides, major repairs of machines are made in the town; therefore, they have to be taken there. For this time is needed. And when we take them 67 to the town-sometimes they lie there for a year before they are repaired." "And how about clothing?" I asked further. "With clothes it is exactly the same as with salt, petroleum and other things; they are brought from the town from time to time and distributed to us in small quantities. It would be possible to buy them, but we have no money." I would have been able to talk still further with these poor poverty-stricken people, but the sun was going down, and I was resolved to reach Cherven that same day. Therefore, I said farewell to these good people and to my benefactors-the old woman and the bright girl who had run the greatest risk in keeping me almost 48 hours in the drying room and bringing me food. Then I left for Cherven. With the Germans I now walked without any fear over the marshes where we had hidden after our escape, through the Zapalchiki kolhoz, straight for Cherven. After crossing the forest, I reached the Cherven-Bobruisk highway. Even though I could not think of it without dread, I resolved to look once more at the place where the shooting occurred on the nights of June 26th and 27th. The ditch' beside the forest where we had lain at the time of the shooting, had been much trampled and was full of stiff pools of blood. Further in the forest I found several more corpses which were, however, unrecognizable. The corpses were terribly swollen, and the rags in ,which they were clad were torn in many places; a red liquid was oozing from their mouths and eyes. Thousands of flies buzzed around them; however the mosquitoes, from which I could not defend myself, left them alone. Some of the corpses seemed to be people from Kaunas, or so I judged from the white kerchiefs tied around their heads. Almost at sundown I reached Cherven. The town had suffered comparatively little destruction; several houses, 68 however, had been destroyed. Here and there in the streets and gardens there were huge bomb-craters, and trees pulled up by their roots. Near the prison, of which the doors and gates had been broken down, German soldiers were calmly walking or washing themselves, dressed only in their shirts. There were also many of. them in the streets. I asked one of them where their staff had its headquarters; on being told that it was located in the city park near ' the statues of Stalin and Lenin, I walked there without delay. . In the city park, in the shade of trees, I saw two tidy rows of wooden tables at which perhaps about 20 German officers were sitting at their evening meal. I sat down on a bench at some distance waiting until they had finished. After they had eaten they also gave me some food. After questioning me for a long while, they finally dismissed me. I remained in Cherven from July 2nd till July 7th. I already had obtained my permit to return to Lithuania for July 5th, but it rained heavily next day, so I put off my journey and set out in the early morning of July 7th. To Lithuania From Cherven to Minsk the distance is 63 kilometres, which I had determined to cover in two days. I proceeded along the same blood-soaked path along which we had been driven from Minsk on June 26th and 27th. Coming to the place where the Minsk road branches offin three directions-to Bobruisk, Mogilevand Berisov­ I saw an unexpected sight: the whole field was littered with tanks, armored cars, trucks, guns and ammunition. Here I observed that the Germans had buried their own dead with great care whereas the Red Army men were left to lie on the ground to rot. Later I found out from the local inhabitants that here on the evening of July 1st there had been a great battle. Advancing perhaps another five kilometres I saw a still greater scene of chaos: there was even a greater mass of war materials scattered in ·the forest. Here also the 69 German soldiers were carefully buried while the Red soldiers lay around and rotted. Here and there, however, one of the Red leaders was buried, but in a very strange manner, just thrust into the ground in a standing position. It seemed that some of them had not been buried very deeply, in time the earth had been washed away by the rain or scattered by the winds. In places human heads were sticking out of the ground, bare hands with bent fingers and other parts of the body. It seemed that others had been buried head first, for in some places the feet of corpses could be seen. At the side of the highway there were still many corpses of NKVD prisoners, dressed in civilian clothes (if you could call their rags clothes). Doubtless these were the corpses of those unfortunates who had been driven from the prison of Minsk on June 25th and 26th. An unbear­ able stench arose from this rotting flesh. I also saw the tree stump where Joseph Z. had sat before being shot. At some distance lay a corpse, but, as far as I could judge from the clothes, it was not Joseph; however, it may have been someone from Kaunas, for his head was bound by the same white kerchief. About 20 kilometres further I came to a small kolhoz where I stopped to drink some water and to rest. The people of the kolhoz told me that not far from this place they had buried about 300 prisoners. While they had been handling the corpses, one of them revived and asked - them for water. They had taken him to the kolhoz; the man begged them to hide him there until the German army would come. But the kolhoz people, fearing responsibility, informed the Minsk militia about him. The next day militiamen came and shot him. The un­ fortunate man had told them his name, but they could not remember now what it was. He had told them that he was from the Kaunas prison, and that he was one of those condemned to death. He had been tall and blond, a good looking man dressed in nice clothes. I bade farewell to the people of the kolhoz and went on my way. After a while a middle-aged woman, return- 70 ing from Cherven to Minsk, caught up with me. She said her name was Mrs. Feler. We began to converse. It transpired that she had finished high school in Moscow in Czarist days. Her husband, an engineer and former Czarist army officer, had worked in a metal plant in Moscow, had been sentenced to eight years of imprison­ ment at Archangelsk for sabotage. Having lost her husband, being herself hunted by the NKVD, she found that it was impossible for her to remain in Moscow. Taking her daughter with her, she had returned to Minsk, where she had obtained the position of a primary school . teacher.

Some Facts A bout Soviet Russia "Stefania Feliceyevna," I said to my traveling com­ panion, "Do you think that there could be revolution in Russia?" "No, Joan Jakovlevitch, quite impossible," she ans­ wered heatedly. "The Enkavedists have terrorized the whole nation and destroyed it morally to such a degree that no one would dare even to think about revolution, much less attempt any sort of resistance. No revolution is possible also because during these 25 years the system in which every citizen spies on his fellow has taken shape and has finally become crystallized. Everybody spies on everybody else. Nobody knows who is spying on him; it could be your closest friend, perhaps your brother, son or wife. Every revolution needs some sort of organiza­ tion, but no organization is possible under such a cursed system. The first step would be told to the NKVD and all further activity would be suppressed by the most brutal reprisals and murders. You see, every spy has to give 'reports' very frequently indeed." "How do the Enkavedists force you to spy on one another and to give reports?" I asked. "Very simple, Joan Jakovlevitch. I, for example, work in a school. One day I, just like everyone else, am sum­ moned by the NKVD; no one can evade this. In the 71 beginning they talk politely with me, but afterwards they say: 'Comrade Feler, now you also must work to serve the Communist cause. We will give you a small detail. You will have to observe the teacher, Comrade Ivanov. How you must deal with him will be explained to you later, when you give us your first report. In writing your reports do not sign your real name, but some other name such as Simeva.' If I attempt to refuse to serve the 'cause,' I will not be allowed to return to my home, but will be arrested as a 'counter-revolutionary.' So I have no way out; I must accept. No doubt some other teacher is charged with the duty of observing me. If you should try to deceive them, sooner or later the NKVD will cat ch up with you and arrest you as a counter-revolutionary. They did not have time to introduce their system into Lithuania but, believe me, after some years it would have been the same in Lithuania as in the whole of the USSR." "Stefania Pelicijevna, while I was still in Lithuania I had news that many people were deported from Lithuania into the depths of Russia. Did you hear nothing of this while you were in Minsk?" I asked my companion who was walking faster and faster every minute. Even for me, a man, it was hard work to keep up with her fast pace; I was already quite wet with perspiration. "Are deportations news to you? Not to .us, though. . With us there are deportations several times a year. Our people have become so used to it that now they do not pay the slightest attention to such things and do not become emotional over them any more. From here people are deported to the depths of Russia, and from the depths of Russia people are brought here. After all, is it not the same everywhere? Always the same enkavedists, always you are persecuted, and have to serve the 'cause;' on the other hand, you cannot have property anywhere, so you feel no particular ties with one place or another. Con­ cerning people deported from Lithuania, I cannot say that I know anything definite. I remember only that the Moscow radio was bragging that so many people wanted to leave Lithuania and go to Russia that it was impossible 72 to grant all requests. However, the radio said that per­ haps this would be possible in time." At sundown we came to the town of Smilovichi, which is about 35 kilometres' distance from Cherven. Here also there is a very big kolhoz. We stopped to spend the night at a school where we found many returning refugees from Minsk, teachers and officials, of which almost all were women. Our hospitable hostess made tea and boiled a big pot of potatoes for our supper. We conversed pleasantly while eating. I told them about Lithuania, and they told me about Soviet Russia. Although the standard of living in Lithuania is lower compared to that of other Western European countries, yet my stories of our way of life seemed like so much bragging to my 'listeners and I saw they did not want to believe me. I found out that the primary school teacher in Russia gets 350 rubles a month whereas a kilogram of butter costs 30 rubles. "When you earn so much money, you can allow yourself to buy some butter sometimes," said our hostess with pride. "Now, now, why brag and try to deceive our guest?" a young blond Post Office employee broke in. "Better tell him frankly about the terrible sufferings we have been enduring so far." She herself told us that when her first-born daughter arrived, she obtained only two weeks' vacation; she related how she was forced to walk six kilometres a day to work, carrying her baby, because there was no one she could leave it with. She did not want to give up her child to an orphanage because, so she said, if you ever once let the orphanage have your child, you almost never saw it again. "If I could have been given a place to live nearer the Post Office, it would not have been so bad," she ended her story, and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Her daughter, now about two years old, was sleeping peacefully in her arms the while. I seized the occasion to ask my companions about social security for the aged in Soviet Russia. "With us, every old person is well taken care of," a metal worker from Minsk who had kept silent all this while, said to me with a smile. Evidently he was a victim 73 of tuberculosis for he coughed most of the time. "Old people who cannot work any more are taken to the Old Folks' Home where they are supposed to be well looked after. But in reality they are carried in through one door and carried out through another. Everybody knows that, so every old person works until he almost drops in his tracks. Nobody tries to pretend they are ill"-sadly he ended his tale. "And how are invalids taken care of?" I asked. "Just about the same. Hospitalization and treatment is free with us . But there are almost no private doctors . (practitioners). And even if one can be found, it is almost impossible to obtain medicines. Frequently, however, the doctor looks the patient over and writes that he is pretending illness. And one who feigns illness is a sabo­ teur. Therefore, it is a rare person who can still walk who would go to the doctor." "But who then is to blame for this? Who rules mighty Russia?" "Probably you, Joan Jakovlevic, wanted to ask who is strangling and pitilessly murdering her?" said Mrs. Feler. "The answer is clear: a band of Enkavedists or rather bandits." We finished our conversation and our supper and then went to sleep. I, as a guest, was given a bed. The rest spread something on the floor and lay down. Perhaps we would have slept well if we had not been awakened suddenly by the noise of terrible explosions. Soviet bombers were bombing the town. Soon the explosions ceased; but many of us, including Mrs. Feler, had been disturbed so much that we could not go to sleep again. After sunrise, we drank our tea and said good-bye to our hostess and the others, Mrs. .Feler and I continued on our way. On that day the journey was rather difficult for it was very hot, and the piles of corpses by the road stank terribly. The highway itself was crowded with marching German soldiers and endless lines of prisoners 74 being taken to Minsk. Along the highway walked masses of returning refugees. At sundown we at last reached the suburbs of Minsk, Voyennij Gorodok. Having taken my leave of Mrs. Feler near Minsk, I went straight to the Budilov kolhoz. The man with whom I had stayed in Cherven had relatives in that kolhoz and had given me a letter of recommendation to them. I was very cordially received at the Budilov kolhoz and given food and lodging. Here I remained for 48 hours, for I felt exhausted after the difficult journey from Smilovichi to Minsk, and besides, my stay at the kolhoz was very pleasant. On the evening of the next day some friends of mine arrived at the kolhoz; Doctor M., and John M. and the high school student Jonas Z. They were also cordially received at the kolhoz. The kolhoz people even killed a fat sheep in our honor, and cooked it, making a real feast. On the morning of July 9th we reached Minsk, or rather the place where a short time ago Minsk had stood, to seek some means of returning home . On a hill, sur­ rounded by ruins, stood the great building of the Soviet of the White Russian Republic. The two-towered cath­ edral of Minsk, formerly a beautiful building, also had escaped destruction. There were some little damaged buildings in the streets of Karl Marx and Engels; every­ thing else was a pile of ruins. We found the Komendantur in Karl Marx street in the former building of the Red Army (DKA). Although the Komandant was a German, he spoke good Russian; he advised us to go to the railroad freight station and from there go to Molodechno through Baranovichi by means of some military train. There were as yet no direct communications from Minsk to Molo­ dechno. On the night of July 10th we left on a military train for Baranovichi. Here we found that there was no com­ municationswith Molodechno. The Komandant gave us a new document and counselled us to travel through Brest­ Litovsk, Baltstoge and Gardinas. Arriving in Brest­ Litovsk, we found that there were no communications 75 with Baltstoge or Gardinas, so we returned to Barano­ vichi. We had no alternative than to go to Lyda on foot and from there to Vilnius. On July 20th, having breakfasted, we left Baranovichi and proceeded in the direction of Lyda. It was a pleasant journey; a good highway, beautiful scenery and the blooming natural surroundings of July. Traveling slowly, at the rate of not more than 25 kilometres a day, we gradually felt our strength returning. We spent the nights usually in barns or stacks of hay. For breakfast we almost always had sweet-smelling, fresh milk. In Naugardukas, of which only the outskirts remained, we were taken in by an old doctor who lived together with a surveyor. We rested here for 24 hours. On July 28th we came to Lyda, razed by fire and de­ stroyed. In the center of the city the only buildings that were unharmed were the church, the prison and the ruins of the castle. Everything else was completely destroyed. However, the railroad station and surrounding buildings, which stood in the outskirts of the city, were quite un­ damaged. We heard that the prisoners of the Lyda prison were freed by women armed with axes at the time when the Bolsheviks were retreating. The enkavedists had tried to shoot the women with machine guns, but at that time the store house of the artillery ammunition supplies had gone up in a terrible explosion, and the frightened enkavedists scattered in all directions. They had time only to shoot one woman and wound two others. At the end of July we reached Vilnius through Molo­ dechno, traveling in a military train. I looked at the hill of Gediminas and became filled with sadness; the German swastika flew from the castle tower instead of the Lith­ uanian flag. I went to the Ausros Vartai (Gates of Dawn) church to pray. Falling on my knees before the miraculous picture of the Mother of God, I wept like a child. I prayed for my friends, executed near Cherven, for my beloved home- 76 77 land, Lithuania, and gave thanks for my own seemingly miraculous escape. From Vilnius I went straight to Alytus to see my chil­ dren. I wept with joy to see them once more alive and well. And my children also could not keep back their tears on seeing me, their father, returned to them. Yes, I returned, but they did not return-they were shot there in the forest.

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