The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1892-02-03
KILLING A MAN.
A Thing Required of Soldier in the
Line of Duty.

They do not call it murder when
men meet to slaughter each other in
battle, saws the Detroit Free Press.
They simply report so many dead,
wounded. and missing. When you fire
into the smoke concealing the other
battle line you fire in the hope to kill
OF wound. 1t is your duty. Battles
can not be won without killing. You
load and fire-load and fire-move to
the right or left-advance and retreat,
and when the battle is over you may
have fired rounds. and yet you have not
had near sight of the enemy; you
have simply fired at him, and you can
not vouch that 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 sod. and erected a
breast-work. 1t is only slight one,
but enough to shelter us while lying
down. A division of the enemy breaks
cover half q 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 instead of six. They
are going to charge US. The guns can
not 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. l
select my man while he is yet beyond
range. / have eyes for no other. He
is tall, soldierly fellow wearing the
stripes of sergeant. As he comes
nearer l imagine that he is looking as
fxedly at me as am at him. l ad-
mire his GOODNESS. He looks neither to
the right nor to the left. The Aman on
his right is hit and goes down, but he
does not falter.
am going to kill that man! have
rest for nv gun on the breastwork,
and when the order comes to fire l can
not miss him. He is living his last
minute on earth! We are calmly
awaiting 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 op-
posite me. He still seems to be look
ing at me and no one else. / know
the word is coming in a few seconds
more, and aim at his chest. I 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
smoke-a fierce crash, and 1000 bull
lets are fired into that compact mass
of advancing men. Not one volley
alone, though that worked horrible
destruction, but another and another,
until there is no longer living man to
fire at.
The smoke drifts slowly away-men
cheer and yell-we can see the meadow
beyond heaped with dead and dying
men. We advance our line. As we
go forward look for my victim. He
is living 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 !
pass on. have killed my man! My
bullet alone struck him, tearing that
ghastlv wound in his breast, and l am
entitled to all the honor. Do 1 swing
my cap and cheerP Do l point him
out and expect to be congratulated
No! l have no cheers. l feel no
elation. feel that murdered him,
war or no war. and that his agonized
face will haunt me through all the
wears of nv life.