The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1899-02-10
DEATH OF A SOLDIER.

He had lived in an infant village of Scot
land, lying in the bosom of the hills, wrapped
in green trees, and soothed by the prattle Of
a fussy brook and the weird singings and
sighings of nature. He had lived in the
peace of solitude, with the mountains for
his great shaggy payfellows, and he
scrambled among their great boards, the
forests, like a little flea. The burn was his
bath, and he and his companions would run
around it like young white deer-diving like
white arrows into the water, or framing it's
clear mirror like a group Of beautiful nude
angels whose wings were at the washing.
Here his memory was born, and the birth.
place of memory is its shrine for evermore.
Such was his nursery-the hummlng of
bees. the singing of birds, the murmuring
brooks, the tanning of green branches-the
nursery of life; far away from the hum
ming Of bullets, the blare of trumpets, the
rolling of drums-the nursery of death.
Now he was dying. The dying have good
memories. Deaths door is mirror. He had
worked on the little farm with his elder
brother. His name was John-no, it was
"Jock." He had worked there till he was
20. He rose at five in the morning and
yoked "Bess" the old mare, into the pillow.
They plowed together for two hours One
Of "Bess' eyes was blind-the left one.
They had breakfast at eight, and Jock
asked the blessing: "We thank Thee, O
Father, for giving us our daily bread" That
was all. He remembered it, every word.
He was lying beside rock 1t was black
-smooth-hard. 1t cleaned with the many
colors of an opal where the sun struck it
The sun was going down. 1t seemed to be
hot with its days work. 1t buried its red
face in the sand. How silent everything
was! 1t was like the kirk on the Sabbath
How large the rock was when he lay at it's
feet! Like life. He had never thought it
SO large when he had walked about it four
hours ago. Like life again. He had walked
about it on his feet. How strange to walk
on ones feet!
Where were the soldiers-his matese
Were they all killed? He was alive, but
dying. His heart throbbed too fast How
still everything was; no humming in the
air, or yelling of the black whitehead dew
ills, or oaaths or squirtings of blood-noth-
ing but silence. Could he turn his head?
He could, but something like hot water
triclSled over his brow. There was a dead
black Arab about two yards away-a ghast-
ly bunch of mortality. How black he was!
Jock" had never seen black man. His
eyes were staring at him like balls of glass
When did he leave home? Two years ago
two years ago-two years ago. Some
thing in his ears seemed to draw out the
words like elastic and ring them like bells.
What was he thinking Of? His memory
seemed to faint and then recover. Two
years since then? Was that all?
He remembered that morning very well.
A bonnie morning. The birds were singing
and the burn murmuring to ITSELF Itwoud
be murmuring now. Jock would be in bed
by this time. The great mountains were
clothed in purple crimson thrones. The
sheep dotted them with white spots, and
they were very silent and lonesome He had
his red coat on, and his sword and all; but
he cried as he went over the brae.
He remembered it very well. "S'long,
Jock" he had said, but they never shook
hands. ..S'long Dick" said Jock, and
combed down,the mare.
Rover followed him up the brae Rover
was his collie, his dog They had worked to-
gether many a morning up the hills. He
had shared his breakfast many time.
That nigger's eyes-how they stared. Rover
stared at him like that 'Hame!" he cried,
.'Hame wi We, Rover!" The dog looked at
him with surprised eyes, but did not bulge.
"Hame, Rover!'' The dog whined, but did
not move. He took up stone and flung it
at the dog 1t struck it. He covered un-
der the blow. 'Hame, Rover!" he cried,
sternly, and the tears ran down his cheeks.
The dog ran back little way, faced about,
pumped down on the heather and watched
him. When he turned at the top of the
brae and looked back it was watching him
still.
A brown fly was standing on the black
rock about foot from his face. 1t stood
very still. 1t might have been painted. He
watched it intently. Its wings we're like
glistening armor. Its feet and legs were
bright red. 1t had been wading in blood
Would it never go? He could not raise his
hand to brush it away. He blew it with his
-gaspingly-but it did not bulge.
Suddenly it started away.
Was the world dead that everything was
so hushed? Something howled very far
away-a dog, perhaps. How beautiful the
desert was-like great beach with the
ocean rolled away out Of sight. A golden
floor, like the floor of Heaven But one did
not die in Heaven. A star glimmered very
far away, like shimmering jewel in deep
blue evening robe. The moon rose up to the
roof of the world like yellow Chinese Ian
tern.
Why was relying here? How had it hap
pened? Then he remembered-the regi-
.ment standing in the sandy desert waiting
for the rush. How strange it all was. The
silence was terrible. A man behind him be-
gan to laugh. Another swore oaths in low
voice. Another said: Got a bite O. baccy,
mate?" Then, from behind the rocks, a
long row of white smoke puffs curled up,
like smoke from gigantic pipes. Red
tongues spit at them. The air hummed and
iwhistled. A mans hat went off. Abayonet
fell with jingle, and man sat down upon
the sand with scared, white face, fddling
with the buttons on his coat. Somebody be-
gan to moan. The captain said: STEADY,
men. Take the beggars low down."
Then the great dark wave, white-crested,
came racing across the yellow beach. It
broke upon the red rock-ferce, angry
faces, blazing eyes, white teeth, big Tapping
feet. He set his teeth and drove his bayo-
net in big black body. How softit was. It
squirmed on the end of it like fly on the
end of pin.
Then the blow came-a terrible shock. 1t