Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-07-31
THE THREE RAVENS.

1t Is night after day OF battle. ALI ma
ture is yet trembling from the clash of the
armies. The hot breath from the cannons
hangs over the country In heavy red
clouds. The air is full Of eddies, like q sea
after storm. 1t quivers from the terrible
commotion of the day. The snow covered
Garth, disturbed in her wintry repose, Is
beaten into hollows by the tracks Of gun
carriages, the stamping of desperate hoofs
and the falling men and horses. Sinister
work! In the burrows Of snow the conflict
has sown the dead. The gray coats are
disheveled and wrinkled from the agonized
writings of their wearers. Arms rise out
of heaped up trenches and feet stick out
straight and rigid as If pushing the earth
before them.
With face uncovered, pale under the
leaden sky, young soldier Is lying. His
hands are black with powder and his
clothes are pierced with bullet holes. He
was in the very heart of the battle, under
full fire, and his comrades, seeing him fall,
believe him to be dead. But he still lives.
He calls with all his remaining strength,
but the only response is means and the
gurgle of the death rattle. At last, numb
with cold and pain, exhausted by the
whistling Of grape and canister, the flash
ing Of cannons and all the scenes of q
bloody contest and overcome by the deep
quiet of nature, he is on the point of CIV
ing up and abandoning himself to sleep
or to death.
Suddenly on the faroff horizon he sees
through his half open eyes three black
specks come out of the north and gradually
grow larger as they approach. They have
wings-dark wings that bear them on
Soon they stop above his head, and he secs
three ravens suspended in the white air,
motionless with tranquility Of beasts Of
prey on the lookout for victims, while the
atmosphere is yet vibrating from the shock
of battle. The almost imperceptible beat
ing of the great wings as the birds poise In
midair seems like the huttering Of three
flags Of war, each one bearing as its en-
blem lowering raven.
"Have they come for me?" he asked
himself faint with terror.
He shoulders as he watches the three
ravens descend slowly and perch on hill
ock but short distance from him. They
are indeed great birds-fat, glossy and
we'll fed Not feather is missing from
their sleek plumago. Moreover, these
birds live IN the very midst of carnage.
They not only live in it, but they even
thrive on it and look on from afar-from
great heights beyond the reach of bullets
descending only when the regiments are
gone and the dead and dying meet on the
same dreadful plane.
In truth, these birds have an air Of i'm
portanoe. They salute one another with
their beaks, they march to and fro, as If
on dress parade, leaving the prints Of their
pointed claws OH the Redeemed snow.
Then, when they have acted the part Of
tops to perfection, they begin to oroak
softly, very softly, without taking their
eyes from the dying man.
Cousins" says one Of them, II have
brought you hither for that little soldier
Of France who is lying there before you.
He was a proud little soldier, animated
by unusual courage, but possessing neither
prudence nor reflection. See his riddled
coat and consider how many balls were
necessary to bring him low. Cousins, 1t
Is fine prey, and, II you are willing, we
will partake. But we must wait yet a
little before we GO to him. Though his
uAAAo OLO ia u1cCu duu LAS LuAuo 60ol1l pOW
erless, he would be an object to be feared
If lie should revive.'
The speaker is the largest IF the party
The two Others, as they listen, keep out Of
the reach Of his ferocious, hooked beak
He continues:
"Ah, we shall soon partake! will eat
his heart. 1t was warm, valiant heart
and will rejuvenate NINE"
Does the little soldier hear what they
are sayingp Is it true, then, that his heart
no longer beatsp
The second raven takes up the sentence:
II will cat his eyes. French eyes are
large and clear and beaming with life"
Quick, open your eyes, little soldier, and
cry out loudly. Though you are weak from
loss of blood, little still remains in your
veins.
Alasl Truly do they say that he is dead,
and when, their conference ended, the
three birds approach him, with evil eye and
ravenous beak and dropping wings, not Il
culver passes through his body. Poor little
soldier Of France! They are going to dis
member him. They will begin with the
buttons on his coat, for these birds of
plumber gather up everything that glistens
even blood. Softly the three birds draw
near, and the Oldest Of them ventures a
peck at his finger. Then the soldier rouses;
his whole frame starts.
"He is not dead He is not deadl' cry
the cowardly birds, retreating to their
hillook.
All, no. The little soldier Of France is
not dead. He raises his head. Indignation
has brought back something Of the old
spirit. His eyes grow bright, his nostrils
dilate. The air seems less heavy and he
breathes more freely. A ray Of the pale
red winter sun creeps across the torn and
furrowed earth. AS he gazes in admiration
at the melancholy sunset, gradually fading
into the glimmer of twilight, suddenly
under the warmth Of his extended hand
the slow melting snow exposes green
point-a tiny blade Of wheat.
Miracle of life The dying man feels as
II he were born again. Resting his hands
on the soil of his fatherland, he tries to sit
up. From afar the three birds watching
him prepare for flight, and when they see
him standing upright at last, searching
with trembling step for his abandoned
arms, they slowly rise from their hillock
and soar away toward the north, already
dark with night. From the sky echoes
back the beating of their terrible wings
and the swapping of their strong beaks 1t
Is hurried, tumultuous fight Of mingled
fear and rage. One reads Of bandits who,
having missed their victims, fight among
themselves as they fee. Translated from
the French Of Alphonse Daudet for New
York Press.
Surprising Fscts About Cattle.