The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1888-06-08
THE VALLEY OF DEATH.

me? Limb? It was as IL the tree fell on
me. Strange! Neither limb nor tree to
be seen. Hank! Thunder2 No, Can
mons There, that would wake the dead
"a solid shot--or was it q shell boring a
hole through that tree? Another-and
another. Leaves dropping. That sound
the ping, ping of bullets Why am
here alone? What is this weight on my
arm2 Here, you; / say, sir! Move a
little, will you? What, sulking, are
you? Well, then, just allow me to pull
my arm from under you. Don't you
think it is rather hot herewith these
twigs dropping on you? If my head
wasn't so light I'd cut and run. He
won't speak. Are you hurt? I thought
was dubbed with tree while ago.
Just try and move bit. Wonder if he
is asleep? / must get look at you, old
fellow-why, he is stone dead, with all
his weight on my arm.
Unjust have tainted. This weight on
my arm brought me to. will lose my
senses if lie here with this awful face
grinning at me. Why don't they carry
him away? Where are the stretcher
bearers2 Help! No one comes. 1 must
free myself from this dead man. 1t is
like tearing soul from sinew-ahl poor
arm. Poor useless arm. I'll not try to
xft you to my head again. bangle till
the doctors come, / shall never lift you
again. At least can sit up-I am up.
Another dead man. Another - dead
men everywhere on this side. No; not
all dead. That one in brown opens and
closes his fingers. And there! Merciful
Father! Five lying with their feet to-
gether-all but one disemboweled-
open--and one without head Only
shell could do matchmaking in their
midst. What is this awful thing-man
or beast-crawling, wriggling on its side,
coming this way? 1t has the hair. the
eyes of man, but where is the face, the
nose, jaw? Isthat his tongue hanging ON
his breasts Keep off! keep off, whatever
you are!
y y
That at least was no dream. And now
that am able to think, / know what has
happened. Loss of blood-the pain this
arm gives me has weakened me. That
poor wretch who lost his face--he is
lying very quiet now. And that poor
fellow does not move his fingers. I
wonder if any Of them are like me
lying in a faint. Nobody stirs. What!
not a soul alive here but me? 1t cannot
be. There must be some weak with pain
and loss of blood. But how can they be
silent with the cannons laundering,
limbs swapping all around us, and that
rattle that never ends-that comes in
swells like tremendous gusts of rain,
scattering lead through the forest and
marking the trees. There! that was
enough to crack the earth. 1t must have
exploded on the ground. 1t has set the
leaves and grass on fire. see tho
flames leap up. Ho, there! do you not
see the fire2 Do you not hear the
branches cracking? Will you lie and be
burned like grass? They do not hear.
These men would not open their ears to
the God who Numbered his commands
from Mount Sinai The charge that
mows down ranks of men as ripe grain
falls before the reaper has no terrors for
them, nor belching cannon, nor all the
Sslmult of battle can rouse them. The
NJuluDcb tiltb NAhCo tnCal VII buululOu
the quick and the dead on judgment day.
/ am suffocating with the smoke and
heat. If I could crawl to the edge Of
that little stream-where so many dead
ie-could lie on its edge, OF reach that
great stone, I may escape the fire.
All! water. Blessed water. heard
it patter, patter, patter in my dreams.
But--how is this2 The ground is dry,
Surely heard water dripping. Great
drops fell I hear it now. Great drops
from clear sky. A clear sly Ha, hal
It is the patter of bullets i have escaped
the fire, but what living, creature win
survive the lust of iron and lead sweep
ing back and forth over the red fieldi
Listen. That is the cry that broke the
stiffness of the Sabbath morn, that dis
mayed and terrified my comrades,
but though it chilled my very marrow, I
did not run. What! Run? Did ever
flinch2 Not when I preached my trial
sermon. A man whose mission is to
save the erring give way to fearl But
the god of battles called me here. Yes,
tits the same shrill yell, but growing
fainter-as the hurtling lead plows deeper
all around me. That answering shout
they come this way. Perhaps some one
will see me-if IL is only to moisten my
lips-ay, and / may be ground beneath
the hoofs of the horses galloping riderless
past me. The shower Of lead has ceased,
but not the bark of the cannon. How
the great balls lop the tops off the trees,
and splinter and rive and perforate the
trunks. IT'S like the cry of lost souls,
these bursting shells and answering shells
screaming over me. Nothing but sound
awe inspiring, soul sickening sound.
Ny very soul goes out on it. This is
surely death. The god Of battle reigns--
the world rocks.
Thought was lying in the old loft,
In the old log house. The winds were
signing; the branches of the old elm
swept the roof gently above me. Look
ing out of the little two pane gable wiz
dow, saw the moon hang low like .
scythe. There was the Growing of cocks,
the cackle of geese and ducks, and the
laughter of the harvesters following
father to the fields an hour before dag,
break, while / snuggled in bed and
feigned not to hear my sister call me.
A. n.