very one knew that whoever would lift his head would be
killed on the spot. Lord only knows the odd and horrible thoughts that
were passing in these terror-stricken, muddled minds.

Hershel Mak felt very keenly that he was eager to live; that like the
rest of these men, he had a father and mother and also his own little
desires, remote from this place and sacred to him alone. He was also
sorry for "uncle" and for that dying German, who lay in the puddle,
and who had been killed, perhaps by a bullet from "uncle's" rifle.

The hours were passing and the unbearable nervous horror grew, and
the inner tension, terrible and so taut that it seemed to be ready to
snap every second, was beginning to turn into a sort of nightmare,
which makes one shiver all over, which dims one's eyes with red mist,
which banishes all fear of death and suffering and turns all that is
human into an elemental, savage fury.

At the very moment, when the tension reached its highest point and the
nightmare was about to pass in a ruthless engagement, Hershel Mak,
unable to control his strained nerves any longer began to pray
plaintively in the tongue of his forefathers. "_Shma Isroel! Shma
Isroel!_" ... His comrades did not understand him and glanced at him
in terror, as at a madman, but from the opposite side another
frightened and plaintive voice answered him in Jewish: "A Jew!... A
Jew!..."

Hershel Mak's heart fell within him. The mad joy that took hold of him
is indescribable. It was undefiled human joy that filled him to the
brim, when from the place whence he expected only death and hatred
there came familiar human words. Forgetting the deathly peril, he
sprang to his knees, threw up his arms and cried out, as if responding
to a voice heard in the desert.

"I!... I!..."

A shot crashed; but it was only Mak's cap, that jumped up and landed
in the mud puddle. From beyond the stream and the trees a typical head
with ears projecting from under the varnished helmet looked straight
at him.

"Don't shoot!... Don't shoot!" yelled Hershel Mak in Russian, German
and Jewish all at once, waving his hands frantically. And the other
Jew, in a long light-grey cloak was also yelling something to his
fellow-soldiers. Now not one but about ten pairs of eyes looked at
Hershel Mak, with astonishment and sudden joy. A vague, faint hope was
seen in these frightened human eyes, which suddenly became simple and
sympathetic. Then Hershel Mak and the Jew in the