Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1894-01-11
PINK BLOSSOMS
How They Were Showered Around the
Bodies of Innocent Victims.


Bodies of Innocent Victims.
| A body of cavalry sent out on a recon
| noissance, to pass over the neutral ground
between the two armies, to develop any re-
| cent earthworks thrown up, to. locate the
| enemy's vedettes, to see if he Is repairing
| the roads and bridges in his front, to OBJ
| serve everything which may have posi-
| BILE bearing ON the events of - week to
| come, more than that, to drive off horses
and cattle, to load score of wagons with
provisions and forage, to add to the desti-
| tuition and terror of helpless old men as
| they sit at their doors and of the women
and children as they work in the barren
| fields
War is always sacrifice-never mercy.
War demands death and wounds and de-
struction. He who can kill and wound and
destroy most is the greatest hero. War re-
spects nothing, venerates nothing, blackens
everything. 1t moves in trails across a coun-
try as venomous serpent winds through
the grass. You follow the trails and look
in vain for one single spot where mercy and
pity staid the hand of destruction. Black
ness, desolation. death and new made graves
are the milestones on the trails of war.
1t was a May day, with the peach trees
everywhere in blossom Behind us were
the smoke and fame of destruction; ahead,
the old farmhouses which sheltered no one
who could march in the ranks and fight
against u.s. The fragrant blossoms, the
green hills, the sunny skies-everything
told of peace, and yet war was at hand as
the flaxen haired children came running to
the doors. just below farmhouse we halt
to water our thirsty horses at a brook flow
ing lazily across the road. A few men ride
on to the housc. We can hear children
crying in affriLgt. We can hear the voice
of a woman raised in fearful protestation.
We can see an old gray haired man with a
child in his arms ut the door, and though
his voice is too weak to reach us we can see
by his gestures that he resents the lawless
invasion of the premises.
Some of US ride to the right to reach the
barns, where the wagons are already drawn
up; some to the left, where horses are at
pasture; the remainder straight on up the
road. Suddenly the bugles sound the
alarm and then warn us to rally on the CEN
ter. In one minute the scene is changed
from dreamy peace to active war. A body
of the enemy, having the same object in
view as ourselves, has come up from the
south and attacked us at sight Many
saddle on our side is emptied before we
check their fierce charge and push them
back till we have room to form. Each side
has light battery. The guns get to work
almost as soon as the carbines. The old
farmhouse is the key of the battlefield. An
old man and mother and four children are
in there, but what of itS This is war. No
one gives them thought. Shot and shell
plow through the ancient structure-bul-
lets search out every nook and corner. Now
our right wing drives the enemy back with
a cheer--now the enemy presses back our
left and shouts in exultation. It is hot
fight for 80 minutes-time enough for the
dead and wounded to number $50. The
reverberation of the guns brings down a
shower of blossoms at every discharge, and
the black powder smoke floats up through
the branches and smirches and discolors
and leaves its CRIME.
Rally on the centerl Forward-trot-
gallop-chargep'
We have broken the enemy and sent him
flying. We follow him for mile or more,
shooting and hacking, and then the bugles
blow the recall, and we cease the pursuit.
There are dead men on the dusty highway,
in the bitches, among the May weeds and
the thistles, and dead horses almost block
the way at certain points. Yes, a hot little
fight, and we are proud of our victory as
we return to the old farmhouse. We have
our dead to bury and our wounded to look
after, and it is only when an officer starts
to enter the house to say that it must be
turned into q shambles that the inmates
are remembered. The officer cries out and
starts back in horror Under the peach
tree growing close to the back door lies the
body of the old gray haired man-father
and grandfather to the woman and the
children. He must have been in flight
when struck by q solid shot which cut him
almost in two at the hips. He was carry
ing a child not more than years old
Rugged to his breast. Her little arms were
around his neck, and her face was hidden
in his BOSOM. We unclasped the old mans
arms and took her up. She was dead-dead
without a wound. She had died of terror
as he sank down with her, perhaps kissing
her in his last breath.
And as we stood with uncovered heads
the woman came out. Great heavensl but
how white her face-how CHASTITY the color
of her lips-how red the blood which drip
ped from her wounded shoulder on the pink
blossoms at her feetl She looked at her
father and gasped for breath. She looked
at her youngest born and her throat swelled
up, and her eyes dilated until her look
frightened us.
s'Dead-both dead?" she finally asked in
a whisper
Poor womanr' replied the officer as we
turned our heads away.
go in" she Missed, pointing to the open
door; Ego in and gaze upon the rest of your
work!'
There they lay-the other three children
all killed and mangled by the same shell
as it exploded in the kitchen. Flaxen hair
and chubby hands and little blue sunbon-
nets contrast strangely with the red blood
of war. We tiptoed out and stood beside
the mother, who had FRUSTRATED herself on
the bodies of those so dear to her. She
could not weep and wall. She could only
moan and Groom to them in the agony of
her breaking heart.
Poor woman-poor womanp some one
sighed.
She rose up slowly, looked from face to
face as if to picture it on her memory for
ever, and said:
Leave mel May the God of heaven take
vengeance upon you to the uttermost!'
And we called it a hot little fight, and we
felt proud of victory won over superior
force, and we Well, each and every
trooper prayed heaven to be merciful and
pitiful to that poor woman, and over the
graves of her dear ones hundred rough
and blood stained hands scattered peach
tree blossoms in atonement. We could do
no more. War was impatient and anGered
even as we did that. NJ. QUAD.
A NfavOrsa Dan 1hter Rohhed.