The Press. (Stafford Springs, Conn.) 1883-1935, 1900-07-26
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i The Three 'VfSitationS.
Al Soldier sEsieaasAip That Lasted
Beyond the Grave.
BysAugpste Win.

eN al eTSsrf7f ~ !:
san Soldier sHsieadsAip That Lasted =
- Beyond the Grave.
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Observation-Disclosures
In the month of August, 1S45, col
umn of French soldiers, composed Of
African chasseurs, spahis and few
battalions of infantry, crossed the
beautiful valley filed with orange trees
and agaves that lies at the foot Of
Djebel-Ammer, one Of the principals
chains of the Atlas. y
AS the troops gradually drew near 20
Djebel-Ammer the soil, hitherto rich
and carpeted with vegetation, grew
sandy and barren. The orange trees
were replaced by. horrible cactuses and
lentisks. Tonight and left rose Masses
of black and blue rocks, like monstrous
Japanese vases, whence sprung huge,
cactuses, with leaves as jagged as the
claws Of some giant crab. The dry
heath shuddered in the breeze, giving
forth an uncanny cracking. The pale
rays from the rising stars cast the
shadows Of men and horses in long,
dim silhouettes. Jackals were bowling
far away; great birds whirled through
the air, uttering piercing cries. You
could hear the horses plunging heavily
through the sand, soaked by recent
rain. From time to time you caught
sharp click-a rifle being cooked be-
cause a big bunch of grass had moved
or because a stone had rolled down a
bank. Naturally enough, since in Africa
behind every. tumbling stone, every
rustling bOugh, an enemy Is ambushed.
The courageous officer in command,
General Etienne Vergamier, was a
man in his prime-not much beyond
49, With his imposing stature, his
broad shoulders, his gentle eyes, his
open brow and winning smile, he could
have served as a model for northern
hero, a son of Ossian and Of Fingal,a
who might fight and die chanting
heroic strain. Major Banis, his COM
panion, was a cold, methodical man..
but, withal, a man of great intelligence
and wide scholarship.
Vergamier had spurred his horse to q
trot and kept silence for a time The
major respected his reverie; but finally
yielding to the curiosity that his init
mate acquaintance with the general
warranted he began:
eve have a long. ride ahead Of us,
the road is growing more and more
stony, Wen have to check our pace
more and more. General, tell me about
the event that you referred to a few
moments back. Isn't it just the hour
for ghost stOriesY
whats the good, major? You wont
believe me-"
II believe in all sensations. l may
merely take the liberty of discussing
the principles you base yours on"
you are going to thrust your phys
iologist''s scalpel into my hearts most
secret chamber. Yet, although it is
an effort, will yield to your request.
I beg of you, don't laugh. All that i
am about to relate is serious" The
general began:
At 20 left st. Cyr along with my
best friend, Georges de Mancel, a
charming fellow-fair. pale, slight, as
dreamy as a poet, as strong as
kabyle, as brave as a lion. We had
known each other from the first at St.
Cyr. In the midst of the brutal quar-
rels renewed daily by barbarous ira
ditions he had often taken my defense
and had stood up for me as did for
him. We were sincerely attached to
each other and bitterly regretted the
coming separation made necessary by
our entrance into the service
But we were luckier than we had
hoped. for we met again at the capture
Of the Fort Emperor, both of us en-
signs, full of hope and revealing In the
war. A few days ter Algiers fell I'M
der our assault. Georges was one Of the
first to enter the city. l saw him drop,
struck by bullet in the left breast. I
raised him and carried him on my
shoulders to a little house deserted at
the first cannonade. laid him down
In woman's bedroom-cool, scented,
vOluptuOus. The bed was not made!
I placed my poor Georges in it and
stanched the blood as best l could. 1t
was hopeless; the agony began. Weak
ened by the loss of blood, he could
hardly raise his head to look at me
once more; he held one Of my hands in
his and pressed it conyulsively when
the pain became 'unbearable. Yet at in
tervals he had a few moments respite.
"Etienne," he said to me, IL am dy-
ing very young, and I regret life, for
with your friendship 1t was sweet TO
me. We are about to part, but who
knows whether it Is forever! No one
can say what awaits us beyond the
tomb-perhaps further suffering, per-
haps happiness or nOthingness. But IL
my soul Is immortal, IL 1t retains in I'm.
known regions the affections and mem
cries that filed it during its sojourn
true that we shall see once more those
whom we have loved tenderly, be sure,
my good Etienne, be- sure that / will
come back to you. Some evening in
spring, L hope! L feel death Is easier,
and yet l am suffering tortures. But
my poor mother said to me when she
was dying, Il will comet backv And
she did come back to me last~night-t
she smiled to me. Her eyes are full
of tears now. Etienne, goodby." A
sigh and he was gone.
l will not paint my grief to you; it
was terrible. And when Georges was
buried in the midst of the beating Of
drums and the shouts. of victory,
wept bitter tears, for ] felt that my
youth was lying in the coffin by my
friends side. Georges strange fare
well had impressed me profoundly. At
night hideous visions haunted my
sleep For six months was as nervous
as a woman, and, ii you will believe
me, major, l was positively afraid to
be alone in the dark.
But one year, two. years passed.
Georges memory, indelibly craven on
my heart, yielded, without becoming
effaced, to the preoccupations Of the
war to my anxieties about my future. /
My puerile fears, positive disease,
vanished. Yes, the, more look back
the surer 1 am of it. 1 had quite be-