I was drafted in July, 1915, and sent with others to a Hungarian training camp. We were not there long before we heard that we were to go to the front. On the day of departure, Anka, to whom I am engaged, came to the station with my mother. There were, of course, many other women, all with flowers in their arms and all with eyes red from weeping. For they did not want us to go to fight those who had done us no harm. My father, who had always been a great patriot, could not come, but he sent me these words which he had painstakingly copied from our greatest poet:

"It is shameful when in misery to moan over our fate; he who by his deeds appeases the wrath of Heaven, acts better. Not from a tearful eye but from a diligent hand fresh hope will blossom. Thus even evil may yet be changed to good."

Later this fell into the hands of a German, but he did not understand it. I did.

It was hard to part. My mother, in the midst of her uncontrollable sobs, whispered:

"Jozef, when the time comes, you know what you must do."

It was hard to part. At the end, Anka gave me some red and white ribbon, the Czech and Slovak colors, which I tied around my rifle. It did not remain there long, for when the Magyar captain in charge of our battalion saw it, he swore savagely, and taking his saber, cut it off and stamped it under his heels. Not satisfied, he deliberately hit me a blow from which I suffered for many days. At the same time he muttered: "Take care what you are about, you Slovak dog!"

My companions were as indignant as myself at the insult to our colors to which we have every right. "If a time comes when we can revenge ourselves, we'll not forget," we promised one another.

By this time we had all heard, somehow, of Czechs and Slovaks who refused to fight against the Allies, declaring that they had not voted for the War, and ought not to be compelled to fight; and of many Czech and Slovak desertions. Just before we left, there was fiendish rejoicing among the Austrian Germans and Magyars, because a Czech regiment, intending to desert to the Russians, had been trapped, and all the officers and every tenth private shot. The story did not frighten us or make us less determined to surrender if opportunity offered. Better to be shot, we told ourselves, than to serve those who in victory would treat our people still worse than they had already done.

We got to the front at Rovno and all that day were kept working without a morsel to eat. We had just finished entrenching ourselves, when Russian shrapnel blew over us.

Towards morning, I heard shouting. Soon after I saw a bearded Russian with a long bayonet, standing over me. I tried to tell him I was a friend, but he had no time to listen, for Austrian machine gun shot began to come from the rear, and, with others, I was taken to a wood not far away.

It was already full of prisoners. As soon as we came, the Austrian and Magyar prisoners pitched into us, claiming that what had happened was the fault of those "Czech and Slovak cowards." Even here, the Germans and Austrians blustered and tried to order us about.

We were very hungry, but nothing was given us to eat until we reached Rovno. Here we received a little, several of us sharing one bowl. After that we were marched to Kiev, a distance between two hundred and three hundred miles. We still had very little to eat, for Magyars and Austrian Germans had not yet got over their notion of being superior people and so entitled to more than we. When we complained, they even beat us. One poor fellow who had grabbed a loaf of bread from a Magyar who had two, was found next morning with his throat cut.

Our prison camp was at Darnica, near the city. It was just a big field with some trees, surrounded by barb wire. I remained here about two weeks when, because workmen were needed and because of Czecho-Slovak efforts in Petrograd, we were allowed to volunteer for work on farms or in ammunition factories.

I chose the latter and came to Kiev. I had not been in the city long, before I heard that Czech and Slovak prisoners were being organized to join a so-called Hussite legion which was made up of Czech and Slovak residents of Russia, who had already rendered valuable assistance to the Russians as scouts. The Russian authorities had been opposed to the plan at first, not caring to encourage revolutionaries, even though not Russian revolutionaries. However, in the end, a grudging consent was given. I wished to join, but was not permitted to leave my work.

Then the Revolution came, and, as the prisoners were freed, the Czechs and Slovaks flocked to their own colors, and I with them. If I live forever I shall never forget how I felt when I found myself among my own people, our red and white flag waving over us, and heard the band play our "Kde domov muj."

When we had to swear our oath of loyalty to Francis Joseph before leaving Austria-Hungary, all Czech and Slovak soldiers mumbled the words. When we swore the oath of obedience to Prof. Masaryk, "the little father," as we called him, who had come to Russia, we shouted it so joyously and loudly that the people from around came to see what all the noise was about.