Photograph by Stanley Washburn 



THE EXODUS FROM POLAND 



Fleeing from their homes to escape the ruthless fury of the conqueror, thousands of 

 these unfortunates died of starvation, leaving their bodies upon the roadside to mark the line 

 of march of a stricken people; and those responsible for this great crime with ruthless thrift 

 gathered the bones of their victims to fertilize the fields which the dead had once called 

 home-land. 



with whom I consulted, agreed in this 

 estimate, that in about six weeks time, a 

 year ago last fall, approximately one mil- 

 lion people along that southern road were 

 made homeless by the burning of their 

 dwellings, and of this one million people 

 at least four hundred thousand died in 

 the flight along that one road. 



Of the balance approximately half were 

 saved and gathered by the Germans later 

 into refugee camps, and today, according 

 to the Central Relief Committee of Po- 

 land, approximately seven hundred and 

 fifty thousand of those miserable refu- 

 gees who escaped with the Russian army 

 are now in Russia, many of them in Si- 

 beria, and more dead than alive. 



HUMAN BONES FOR FERTILIZER! 



It is those people whom the committee 

 has been trying to relieve, because no- 

 body has been able to get food or help 

 into Russian Poland proper, with the ex- 

 ception of one undertaking of the Rocke- 

 feller Foundation. 



As I motored along that road, only a 

 few weeks after that terrible retreat, I be- 

 gan to realize something of what had hap- 

 pened. Both sides of the road were com- 

 pletely lined for the whole 230 miles with 

 mud - covered and rain - soaked clothing. 

 The bones had been cleaned by the crows, 

 which 7\r(i in that country by countless 

 thousands. It is a rich alluvial country. 

 Three-quarters of the people are agri- 

 culturists and one-quarter industrial. 



The Prussians had come along and 

 gathered up the larger bones, because 

 they were useful to them as phosphates 

 and' fertilizer. The little finger bones and 

 toe bones were still there with the rags 

 of clothing. 



The little wicker baby baskets, that 

 hold the baby as he swings by a rope or 

 chain from the rafters of the peasant's 

 cottage, were there by hundreds upon 

 hundreds. I started counting them for 

 the first mile or two and gave up in de- 

 spair, because there were so many. 



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