The Green Horror

IN HIS HEART CHRISTOPH believed that God had tested his faith through adversity. He believed that now, with the horrible test of the Pugachevchaya behind them, life would begin anew. It must be possible for the settlers to have an easier, more joyful life.

Yet, as he rode among his fields, looking after his new crop, his heart grew cold in his breast, feeling like an icy stone. In the fields, where he had cast his seed grain, not a sprout could be seen. Why had nothing emerged from the brown soil? He could not understand it. There had been enough moisture for germination, he thought.

Perhaps the seed had begun to germinate in storage and been dried before it sprouted totally. That would explain it. No matter how much he wracked his brain, he found no answer. Not long thereafter, as he rode through the area again, the fields had turned green. His heart pounding, he raced to the fields. Upon coming closer, though, the horse, sensing his dismay, faltered in its canter. To his horror Christoph saw variegated goosefoot growing in his carefully tilled fields.

All his work had been for naught. What would they eat now? When he came home in the evening, Karin read the awful news in his defeated, pained-looking face and the slope of his shoulders.

“We shall somehow make out. We always have, with God’s help, survived. Don’t blame yourself. You did all you could do.”

She consoled him while she tenderly held him by his shoulders, earnestly looking into his face. Seeing her almost crying with concern for him, he managed to smile and said, “I will think of something, and we have a little money we hid from the mob.”

A few days later Christoph was just beginning to work out in his mind how to cope with this unmitigated disaster, when he was called to a community meeting with the mayor, the Gemeindevorsteher. The meeting was held in the open so everyone could attend. When most of the villagers were assembled – men, a few women, and older children – the meeting began.

The mayor scanned the somber-looking crowd of stoic, worn-looking men and women whose faces were set and tired and whose eyes were filling with tears, for a meeting such as this could only mean more problems.

In this sad assumption they were not disappointed. Without preparation the Vorsteher began to read a document sent by the Chancery of Oversight for Foreigners, wherein it stated that henceforth the privilege of tax-free living was revoked. Not only were the settlers to pay taxes, but the time of debt repayment to the government had also come due.

Following this recitation by the Vorsteher, the elder translated the official language into terms the settlers could understand. Deafening silence followed his words.

For a few minutes the assembled remained in total numbness, incomprehension written on their faces. Then it dawned on them what they had just heard. Suddenly, a wailing outcry rose from the crowd.

“Wie sollen wir das schaffen? How shall we accomplish this?” cried one group.

“Unmöglich, das können wir nicht! Impossible, we can’t do this!” roared another.

After a while the mayor quieted the crowd, so he could be heard once more.

“We are as dismayed as you are and have thought about this very much. The elder council has decided that we will ask for our tax burdens and the repayment sums as a whole for the village. In this way we can insure that the poorest can be helped along by those better off, and perhaps we can find a fairer way among us to pay off this burden.”

However, even though these words were reasonable and reassuring, the heart-breaking clamor arose again.

“How can we afford to pay anything? Unprotected by the government, we have been plundered of the most basic stuffs for survival by Pugachev, and now we will have no harvest!” was the outcry heard most often.

From the women arose a wordless wail, punctuated ever so often by: “The children, oh God, the children,” and “We will starve. We will all starve!”

And so it happened that at harvest time the starving village crowd flocked to the fields, overgrown with goosefoot weed, and harvested the awful seed of the wretched plant. They ground it into grain as their only means to live through the winter.

Fortunately for the settlers the brighter, more compassionate element in the government persevered. And so, on October 21, 1775, by the highest decree, the colonists’ debts were postponed for another five years, in hopes that by then they might reach self-sufficiency.