Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1892-01-28
WAR "REMINISCENCES.
KILLING A MAN.
A soldiers Graphic Picture of Real ana
Horrible War.


A soldiers Graphic Picture of Real ana
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 lire IN
to the smoke concealing the
other battle-line you fire IN
the hopes to kill or wound
1t is your duty. Battles can not be won
without killing. and the result OF bat
ties 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 fred at him,
and you can not vouch that one 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 sods- and erected
breast-worlxs 1t is only 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 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
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
fixedly at me as / am at him. ! 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.
am going to kill that man. | have
a 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 at me and no one
else ] know the word is coming in a
few seconds more, and ! aim at his
chest ] could almost be sure Of hitting
him with a stone when we get the word
TO fire. There is billow of fiame-a
billow of smolxe-a fierce crash, and
four thousand bullets are fired into that
compact mass Of advancing men. Not
one volley alones 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 see the meadow
before us heaped with dead and dying
men. We advance our line. As we go
forward look for my victim. lie is
wing on his back, eyes half shut and
fingers clutching at the grass. He
yasps draws up his legs and straight
sns them out again, and is dead as
pass on. l have killed my mani My
bullet alone struck him, tearing that
yhastly wound in his breast, and ] am
entitled to all the honor. Do | swing
ny cap and cheer? DO point him out
md expect to be congratulated? No!
have no cheers | feel no elation.
feel that ! murdered him, war or no
var, and that his agonized face will
haunt me through all the years of my
ife. Detroit Free Press.