Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1892-02-11
WAR "REMINISCENCES.
KILLING A MAN.
Soldiers Graphic Picture of Real and
Horrible War.

Horrible War.
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 in
70 the smoke concealing the
other battle-line you fire in
the hopes to kill or wound
Il is your duty. Battles can not be won
without killing, and the result OF bat
lies changes the whole system Of gov
ernments. You load and fire-load and
fre-move TO the right or left-advance
or retreat, and when the battle is over.
you may have fired fifty rounds and yet
you have not had a near sight of the
enemy; you have simply fired at him,
and you can not vouch that one single
one of your bullets has found living
target
Here is 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 sods. and erected a
breast-worl1s. 1t is only a slight one,
but enough to shelter us while lying
down. A division of the enemy breaks
cover half a mile away and comes
marching down upon us. The field
pieces behind us open on their solid
columns, 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 execution, but there should
be a dozen guns behind US instead of
six.
They are going to charge us. The
guns can not prevent that. Orders run
along the line. and we are waiting un-
til every bullet. no matter if fred by a
soldier with his eyes shut, must hit
foe. / select my man while he is yet
beyond range. have eyes for no other.
He is a tall, soldierly fellow wearing
the stripes of a sergeant AS he comes
nearer imagine that he is looking as
fxedly at me as / am at him. / adj
mire his GOODNESS 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.
am going to kill that man! have
rest for my gun on the breastwork,
and when the order comes to fire ! can
not miss him. He is living his last min
ute on earth! We are calmly waiting
until our volley shall prove veritable
flame of death. Now they close up the
gaps and we hear the shouts of their
officers as they make ready to charge
My man is still opposite me. He still
seems to be looking art me and no one
else. / know the word is coming in a
few seconds more and l aim at his
chest / could almost be sure of hitting
him with stone when we get the word
to fire. There is billow of flame-a
billow of smoke-a fierce crash, and
four thousand bullets are fred into that
compact mass of advancing men. Not
one volley alone, though that worked
horrible destruction, but another and
another, until there was no longer
living man to fire at
The smoke drifts slowly away-men
cheer and yell-we can see the meadow
before us heaped 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 straight
ems them out again, and is dead as l
pass on. l have killed my man! My
bullet alone struck him, tearing that
CHASTITY wound in his breast, and l 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
/ feel that murdered him, war or no
war, and that his agonized face will
haunt me through all the years of my
life Detroit Free Press.