Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1888-04-20
THE VALLEY OF DEATH.

IeH on me when that shell shrleked above
he? Limb? 1t was as if the tree fell on
he. Strangel Neither limb nor tree to
be seen. Hank! Thunder9 No. Can
honsl There that would wake the dead
"a solid shot-or was it shell boring a
hole through that tree? Another-and
mother. Leaves dropping. That sound
he ping, ping of bullets. Why am 1
here alone? What is this weight on my
lrm1 Here, you; l say, sir! Move a
title, will you? What, sulking, are
tou? WE'LL then, just allow me to pull
hy arm from under you. Don't you
think it is rather hot herewith these
wigs 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 a while ago.
ust try and move a bit. Wonder if he
s asleep? I must get look at you, old
9ellow-why, he is stone dead, with all
his weight on my arm.
l must have tainted. This weight on
hy arm brought me to. / will lose my
enses if lie here with this awful face
Erinning at me. Why don't they carry
him away? Where are the stretcher
bearersl Help! No one comes. must
rec myself from this dead man. 1t is
ike tearing soul from sinew-ah poor
Erm. Poor useless arm. I'll not try to
lift you to my head again. bangle till
he doctors come, shall never lift you
lgan. AT least can sit up-I am up.
Another dead man. Another - dead
nen everywhere on this side. No; not
III dead. That one in brown opens and
loses his fingers. And there! Merciful
Father! Five lying with their feet to-
kether-all but one Decentralization
bpen-and one without head! Only a
hell could do that bursting in their
midst What is this awful thing-man
pr beast-crawling, wriggling on its side,
toming this way? 1t has the hair. the
yes of man, but where is the face, the
bose, jaw? Is that his tongue hanging on
bis breast2 Keep off! keep off, whatever
Tou are!
Il
That at least was no dream. And now
hat am able to think, l know what has
happened. Loss of blood-the pain this
lrm gives me has weakened me. That
Door wretch who lost his face-he is
ying very quiet now. And that poor
ellow does not move his fingers 1
wonder if any of them are like me
wing in faint. Nobody stirs. What
bot a soul alive here but me? 1t cannot
be. There must be some weak with pain
Ind loss of blood. But how can they be
ilent with the cannons laundering,
limbs swapping all around us, and that
rattle that never ends-that comes in
wells like tremendous gusts of rain,
|pattering 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
caves and grass on fire. l see the
1ames leap up. Ho, there! do you not
bee 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
he 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
hem, nor belching cannon, nor all the
umult of battle can rouse them. The
trumpet that wakes them will summon
he quick and the dead on judgment day
am suffocating with the smoke and
heat. If l could crawl to the edge of
hat little stream-where so many dead
ie-could lie on its edge, or reach that
great stone, I may escape the fire.
All! water. Blessed water. I heard
It patter, patter, patter in my dreams.
But-how is this9 The ground is dry.
Surely heard water dripping. Great
drops fell. hear it now. Great drops
from a clear sky. A clear sky! Ha, ha!
It is the patter of bullets. have escaped
the fire, but what living creature will
burvive the lust Of iron and lead sweep
ing back and forth over the red field
Listen. That is the cry that broke the
etillness of the Sabbath morn, that dis.
mayed and terrified my comrades,
but though it chilled my very marrow, ]
did not run. What! Run? Did eve,
Aincha Not when l preached my trial
eermon. A man whose mission is to
Bave the erring give way to fear But
the god of battles called me here. Yes
tits the same shrill yell, but growing
fainter-as the hurting lead plows deeper
all around me. That answering shout
they come this way. Perhaps some ONT
will see me-if il is only to moisten my
ips-ay, and may be ground beneath
the hoofs of the horses galloping riderles
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 tn,
trunks. IT'S like the cry of lost souls
these bursting shells and answering shell
screaming over me. Nothing but sount
awe inspiring, soul sickening sound
My very soul goes out on it. This i
surely death. The god of battle reigns-
the world rocks.
thought was lying in the old loft
I'm the old log house. The winds wer
signing; the branches of the old elm
swept the roof gently above me. Look
ing out of the little two pane gable win
dow, l saw the moon hang low like
scythe. There was the growing of cocks
the cackle of geese and ducks, and tn
laughter of the harvesters following
father to the fields an hour before day
break, while l snuggled in bed an
feigned not to hear my sister call me
FRi e l. l. L.