t morning the soup had lost what small
resemblance it had had to soup--it had no more nourishment in it than
dishwater. We began then to see that they were going to starve every
one into a desire to work.

We had not been taking soup in the morning, for it was, even at its
best, a horrible dish to begin the day with. We had made tea or
coffee of our own, and eaten something from our parcels. But this
morning we were lined up with the Russians and given soup--whether
we wanted it or not.

After the soup, the working parties were despatched, and then the
three unhappy Russians were started on their endless journey again,
racing up and down, up and down, with an N.C.O. standing in the
middle to keep them going. They looked pale and worn from their hard
experience of the night before, but no Bengal tiger ever had less
mercy than the N.C.O., who kept them running.

The distance across the end of the yard was about seventy-five feet,
and up and down the Russians ran. Their pace was a fast trot, but
before long they were showing signs of great fatigue. They looked
pitifully at us as they passed us, wondering what it was all about,
and so did we. We expected every minute it would be over; surely they
had been punished enough. But the cruel race went on.

In an hour they were begging for mercy, whimpering pitifully, as they
gasped out the only German word they knew--"Kamerad--Kamerad"--to
the N.C.O., who drove them on. They begged and prayed in their own
language; a thrust of the bayonet was all the answer they got.

Their heads rolled, their tongues protruded, their lips frothed,
their eyes were red and scalded--and one fell prostrate at the feet
of the N.C.O., who, stooping over, rolled back his eyelid to see if
he were really unconscious or was feigning it. His examination proved
the latter to be the case, and I saw the Commandant motion to him to
kick the Russian to his feet. This he did with right good will, and
the weary race went on.

But the Russian's race was nearly ended, for in another half-dozen
rounds he fell, shuddering and moaning, to the ground--and no kick or
bayonet thrust could rouse him...

Another one rolled over and over in a fit, purple in the face, and
twitching horribly. He rolled over and over until he fell into the
drain, and lay there, unattended.

The last one, a very wiry fellow, kept going long after the other
two, his strength a curse to him now, for it prolonged his agony,
but he fell