Building a Village

A GROUP OF GOVERNMENT officials had measured the expanse of land to be allocated. They now pointed out the boundaries established for the colony.

How delighted Martin was to again be surrounded by a strong group of fellow Germans. He had felt extremely lonely at times, but now there was to be a real village, for there were even more coming.

However, nothing concerning mankind is ever perfect, reasonable and just, as he was to find out soon after the group arrived at the homesteading site. Everyone had a different opinion on where their home site was to be, where their fields would be, and what water rights they were to be allotted. There were even a few fellows who argued that it was unfair that the first settled couples and Martin had chosen the best places for themselves. This was true, but they had also been the first to take the risks of coming alone and, thereby, starving or freezing to death. The mindless bickering became unbearable. Martin almost wished the lot of them gone when the trouble began.

By decree many rules had been placed upon the division of the lands, and the wants and wishes of the settlers were subordinate to those orders. The officials had defined the borders of their colony. On one side they bordered land set aside for another colony, a village later named Huck. On the other they bordered steppe land, state-owned rental lands, another colony soon to be. Furthermore, they bordered on a settlement of Count Razumovsky, named Ryubushka (a Razumovsky had been favorite to Tsarina Elizabeth), the village of Sinenky, plus a small settlement of poor, free farmers. The officials allocated 10,870 desyatinas to the settlement. However, of this grand sounding number only 1,000 desyatinas were arable land, as the settlers soon enough realized.

At last, after conferring among themselves, a committee was chosen, consisting of Martin, representing the first settlers, the deacon, Albert Brunner, as an arbiter of the church, and Kurt Halberstamm, with a few newcomers representing the new immigrants. These men called everyone together, putting forth the following: the village would be built, according to German tradition, on both sides of the village’s main street, following the line already begun by the first arrivals. Every house would have the same amount of land allotted for a garden, stalls for livestock, and a barn. All land for fields and meadows was to be measured out from the village in equidistant plots. That insured that all had the same access to water. At the end of the village a piece of ground was reserved for the church building.

As the plan was fair and the young people were restless, the plan was accepted by all. Instantly the plotting of the village commenced and was accomplished quickly. The allocation for the fields and meadows was another matter. For the moment everyone was busy erecting housing, because Martin was quick to remind everyone, winter in Russia could begin in September. Following this line of concern, the little committee tried to assess the amount of their supplies. Would their stores last six or seven months if things were bad? They concluded that their supplies were dismally inadequate for such a long winter. They consoled themselves with the knowledge that two more boats were to come, and each boat would bring more materials, and extra foodstuffs – or so they hoped.

There was not enough wood and planking to build proper houses. So the committee sent groups into the forested hills to select well-suited trees to be cut. Likewise they learned to create strong frameworks of hewn and cut tree limbs that, bent into shape, added strength to walls with few beams. Such woven walls required a treatment of clay. Some houses were built from sod-brick, others only partly so. Martin and the happy-go-lucky Hermann Behm had discovered that adding egg whites and blood to the clay made it smoother, harder, keeping it from crumbling when dried. However, both commodities were in short supply

Approaching the bustling little community from afar, a pronounced hum was discernible, the invigorating hum of ceaseless activity. Each person in the blossoming village had a role to play and tasks to perform. The women concerned themselves with the backbreaking work of establishing gardens. A family could not survive without a garden. Although it was already rather late in the season, some cold-growing vegetables could still be planted. Another of their projects was the raising of poultry. They would need chickens, ducks and geese for meat, for cows and pigs were slow growing. Months ago Martin had invited Cornelia, Hanna, Rosemary and Hedi, the wives of his fellow settlers, to help raise setting hens so there would be a brood of chicks to give in trade to the new settlers – an important beginning.

It was amid this bustle that the impending arrival of another boat was announced, perhaps the last of the season. Not everyone could go to the Volga’s edge to welcome the few newcomers and receive supplies.

Only personal friends and close family went to greet them, helping them through the first few hours. By now a pattern had been established, and proceedings progressed speedily.

Martin had sent Christoph to the Volga to arrange the trek of a small caravan to the village. Secretly the young man was glad to perform this duty, for it was far easier and a hundred times more exciting to meet people than perform any of the backbreaking tasks Martin would have given him in the fields.

From the start things promised to be exciting and different. A dry wind blew hard from the Kazakh steppe across the Volga, interfering with the landing of the boat. It was almost impossible for the crew to secure the boat, a circumstance that set the crew to cursing loudly. Their choice examples of earthy Russian blew up into the faces of the waiting crowd, which added their own impatient comments and advice to the din, shouting even louder as the wind carried away their well meaning but useless advice, as it was given in German. Christoph, watching from a vantage point, was vastly amused by the wind, the crew and the chaos.

A few ragged Russians muzhiks, sent from Razumovsky’s estate, arrived with two dromedaries and a few packhorses to carry out supplies sent by boat for the estate. They had barely reached the waiting crowd, when the camels, apparently filled with deep-seated rivalry and hatred, fell upon each other, beginning a fight. None of the Germans had ever seen such a vicious, fierce spectacle. Oh, they had seen stallions or two bulls have a go at each other, but those fights did not compare in malignancy to what they now beheld. Attacking each other with rodent-like, large front teeth, slamming their necks together, winding them like snakes about the opponent to bring him to his knees, onto the ground, and kicking with their hind legs, those were the methods used by the camels. It seemed to the spectators that only the death of one of them would end the mayhem.

The unsuspecting onlookers soon found that only a quick run would save them from becoming part of the action. Meanwhile, the Russian handlers of the beasts, screaming like banshees, performed an intricate dance around the combatants in their effort to separate them. It was obvious that their valiant ministrations were fruitless.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there appeared a rider on horseback. From his Asiatic countenance to his Muslim garb he proclaimed his affiliation with one of the tribes roaming the steppe. He wore the colorful loose tunic and short vest, wide pants and pointed turban of the Kirghiz, and held in his hand a long coiled whip made from braided ox-hide. He neither spoke, nor did he look upon anyone, but with the quickness of a striking snake he let his whip fly over the camels’ backs.

A sound like a pistol shot was followed by the moan of the injured beasts, for he had slashed their backs and humps as if carved by a knife. Stunned, the beasts stopped attacking each other, concentrating instead on the horrible pain that had been so unexpectedly inflicted upon them. It only needed this short cessation in the fight for their keepers to get a hold of the nooses looped through their noses and, covering their eyes with cloth, pulling them away from each other.

Awestruck, the Germans devoured the Kirghiz rider with their eyes. He, for his part, deigned to acknowledge no one with so much as a glance. With the greatest attention to detail he recoiled his rope and, ignoring admiration and curiosity alike, he dismounted, tethered his horse and strode down to the boat ramp.

Christoph, positioned beside Peter Borchert, who had come for his sister and her husband, exclaimed with admiration, “What a powerful, interesting man!” Peter chimed in with like approval. “My Russian friends have told me that a Kirghiz father puts his son on a horse the moment he turns two, and the little boy, often tied to the horse, rides beside the father and learns the way of the nomadic life,” elaborated Christoph further. They did not know yet that over the next years they would become terribly and fearfully familiar with these Muslim natives.

By now the crew had secured the boat and the new settlers streamed onto shore. Peter Borchert found his sister almost at once and left to greet his people. Christoph watched the reunion for a moment but then let his gaze glide over the newcomers. He noticed an unusually tall, slender female figure with a familiar face. His curiosity was instantly piqued. How well he remembered this face that he last saw in a meadow – her body staked to the ground.

The woman stopped in her stride when she reached the high point of the bank. She turned her head and looked about. Her face was calm and closed, revealing neither disappointment nor surprise. Christoph was puzzled. What was she doing here in Russia? The educated, elegant wife of a prominent man was ill fitted to be here among settlers. This conundrum bothered him so much that he overcame his usual shyness with women. Taking his heart in hand, he walked over to the solemn figure.

“Forgive me, lady, you might not remember me, I am Christoph Meininger. Years ago in a meadow in Hessen I cut your bonds. I don’t mean to be prying and presumptuous, but I wondered how you came to arrive in this God forsaken place.” She turned her head, looking him up and down. At last her eyes came to rest on his handsome, young face. His serious, honest eyes left no doubt that he was sincere and spoke the truth. Her inscrutable face was slowly illuminated by a warm smile. As she began to speak, her large, dark eyes became pools of sadness.

“You probably know me as Frau Herzog, but I don’t carry that name anymore. It’s Carolina Hergert now. I have taken back my maiden name.” She interrupted herself to look deeply into his eyes.

“I thank you for the help you gave us then. If only you could have helped later, too. My husband, you knew him at least by sight I assume, was not pleased that I had been taken like a serving girl. He held it against me that evil had been done to me, nay, more even, he blamed me for having been caught by the monsters. What should I have done? Was I not in my house, doing for him as was my duty? Where was I to hide? They knew all the places anyway.” Tears were rising in her eyes, but she bit her full lips until they turned blue, and continued.

“To shorten the tale, when he found out that I had been made unclean, as he called it, he put me out of the house which had been my dowry from my parents. It was for naught that our priest exhorted him to soften his heart and let me be, for naught that I pleaded, protesting my innocence; he would not hear, perhaps it was his opportunity to wed another.”

Hearing her pathetic tale, Christoph was deeply moved. Before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was also a woman possessed of grace, learning and bearing, and some dolt had thrown her away like a milk maid picks a flower and carelessly drops it in the dusty road. He was at the time of life when women were forever in his thoughts. They were mysterious, exciting, troubling. His heart led him astray, and he blurted out, “What will now become of you? You are all alone. How could he do this? I could have never done such a despicable thing. I would marry you in a heartbeat,” and then he added a bit sheepishly, “if you’d have me.”

He searched her face, afraid that she would laugh at him, but she remained as sad and serene as before. “I thank you, my friend Christoph. You make me very happy with your kind words and your worry about me, but I will be fine. I have come here with my brother Michael and his wife Gudrun. I hope the wide open space with all its freedom will heal my soul.”

Before he could say anything else he heard his name rise above the commotion of the place. At once he remembered his duties and, bidding the lady an awkward good bye, he rushed off toward the caller, almost relieved – for his own emotions discomfited him. Herr Reis and the Russian Vadim had long since set things in motion, and it was early noon when he set off with the first wagons for the village.

When the last of the Hessians had arrived and been absorbed into the new village, August 15, 1767, the incorporation commenced.