Morning journal and courier., 1891-12-17
KILLING A MAN.
A Soldier Relates His Experience, and How He Felt About IT.

 From the Detroit Free Press.l They do not call it murder when men meet to slaughter each other in battle They simply report so many dead, wounded and missing. When you fire into the smoke concealing the other battle line you fire in the hopes to kill or wound. It is your du- ty. Battle cannot be won without killing. You load and ire-load and fre-move to the right or to the left-advanoe or retreat, and when the battle is over you may have fired 50 rounds and yet you have not had a near sight of the enemy; you have sim | ply fired at him, and you cannot vouch that single one of your bullets has found & living target.
 Here is a brigade of us in battle line across an old meadow; our right and left | join other brigades. We have thrown | down the rail fence, gathered logs and | brush and sod, and erected a breastwork. It Is only a slight one, but enough to shel- ter us while lying down. A division of the enemy breaks cover half a mile away and comes marching down upon us. The field I pieces behind us open on their solid col ums, but they are not checked, Under the smoke we can see the work of the shells, | but they can not halt that mass of men. | The grape and canister does awful execu- | ton, but there should be dozen guns in stead of six.
 They are going to charge us The guns cannot prevent that Orders run along the line, and We are waiting until every bullet, no matter if fired by a soldier with his eyes shut, must hit a foe. select my man while he is yet beyond range. I have | eyes for no other. He is a tall soldierlY | Nrn fsarr Str nf nt Az he comes nearer l imagine that he is lock | ing as fxedly at me as l am at him. I ad- | mire his coolness. He looks neither to the right nor to the left. The man on his right is hit and goes down, but he does not falter.
 lam going to kill that man. I have a res: for my gun on the breast work, and when the order comes to fire cannot miss him. He is living his last minute on earth! We are calmly waiting until our volley shall prove a veritable flame of death. Now they close up the gaps, and We can hear the shouts of their officers as they make ready to charge. My man is still opposite me. He still seems to be looking at me and no one else. I know the word is coming in a few seconds more, and I sim at his chest. I could almost be sure of hitting him with a stone when we get the word to fire. There is a pillow of hame-a pillow of smoke-a fierce crash, and GOO bullets are fired into the compact mass of advancing men. Not one volley alone, though that worked horrible destruction. but another and another until there was no longer a living man to fire at.
 The smoke drifts slowly away-men cheer and yell-we can the meadow be- yond hesped with dead and dying men. We advance our line. As We go forward look for my victim. He is lying on his back, eyes half shut and fingers clutching at the grass. He gasps, draws up his legs and straightens them ont again and is dead as pass on. have killed my mani My bullet alone struck him, tearing that gbAst- ly wound in his breast, and am entitled to all the honor. Do l swing my cap and cheer! Do point him out and expect to be congratulated No! have no cheers. feel no elation. I feel that I murdered him, WAT or no war, and that his sgonized face will haunt me through all the years Of my life.