The Virginia enterprise. [volume] (Virginia, St. Louis County, Minn.) 1893-19??, 1901-11-15
A TRAGEDY OF THE TRENCH.

A TRAGEDY OF THE TRENCH.
Soaking rains and sodden ground: a
small barrier of upturned sod, looking as
if an anchor from balloon had scooped
up a few yards of soil and then scared
upward again. Behind this little hum
mock two men are lying fat on their
faces, while third figure is doubled up
and forms support for one Of the two
men-a steady support for the rifle. He
lies absolutely still, has been dead for
hours. with bullet through his brain.
Getting cramped beyond endurance, he
had, in spite of his companions remon-
strances, insisted on rising and stretch
ing his limbs, and, as they had predicted,
fell back dead.
The two living men are filthy and III
rags; their boots, half torn from their
feet, look like those forlorn leather mys-
teries one finds in bitches and out-of-
the way places, always suggestive of
some tragedy or of thieving tramps who
may have discarded them for less hope
less pair which they have managed to
collect on their rounds.
1t is hard to tell which of the men is
the elder; each one is sunburned and
grimed with dirt; two weeks growth On
cheek and chin makes their sunken faces
positively ferocious; their eyes have
hungry CLEAN. 1t is days since they have
had meal, subsisting on ration biscuits.
more resembling dogs food than aught
else; but they have carefully nibbled at
these to exc out sustenance.
For eight long hours these men have
lain in this shallow trench, SO shallow
that when bullets come Whlstllng over
their heads their faces are pressed into
the loose earth for protection. The ach-
nm G o
well-nigh uncomfortable, and now and
then one or the other casts a glance to-
wards the crushed and twisted form be-
side them with an expression of envy,
as if it suggested welcome thong ut.
But, British gentlemen, prlvates
mark of distinction than their well-bred
voices, they are not ready. to give up
their lives without a struggle.
Curzon, the elder man of the two,
| manages, with a great effort, to get his
*Hold on a bit Mortlake,'' he says to
his his COMPANION rsanaie land you shall have a
I'D give my soul for cigarette and
3. and S. groans Mortla Ike.
"Pi pes better, old man; rain can't put
"Well, while you are getting your
Whit, I'll take a pot at the ,bessarS, then 7!
raising himself gingerly and sighting his
rifle as he speaks.
In another moment he tumbles back,
knocking the pipe and its precious con-
tents out of Curzon's mouth. Good
GOD, Mortys you're not ?: t done f f gasps
lake. "Got any stuff in your f1ask?'' .
Only a drop, cursed luck as it is"
and without seconds hesitation he
whips out the flask and holds it to the
white lips of his friend.
THAT'S enough, that's enough; don't
pour all the precious stuff down my
throat. I may be dead in ten minutes
NO nonsense, old man; try and wrig-
gle around, so that can see what the
damage is; such tiny hole it must be;
wish I could stop the blood. In your
side? Here? Bad-does it hurt?'
Not much, feel sick and queer; think
{d I'm off; Hope net Got Got lot to live live
when he is going? Don't know-of
course you don't; do look like it? Now.
Curzon. don't get up you. can't mend
matters, and if you were hit and l was
left alone l should 60 mad; ughv'
What is it. Morty? pain"'
NO, | forgot the poor devil under me,
and and his III ia face is Sold and wet; his boot is
Curzon moves the dead mans leg by
pushing sideways with his foot; Mort
lake grows deadly pale during the oper-
alton. rs there any blood coming now,
Curzon? Feel as if were soaked in it,
mo, old fellow; keep up your courage
| for the matters sake"
ION curses himself for a fool for having
mentioned the matters name Mortlake,
with curious note in his voice, says:
"1ou were always wanting me to keep
up something for her sake, weren't
your
"Oh, YES, you're right there, but don't
get reminiscent and sentimental; keep
up; dent ;, imagine it's dangerous
well. it's just as we'll these times to
be ready to send in your checks; never
thought I'd get hit, q fellow never does:
always looks to see the next poor chap 20
down instead. Remember the dance at
| the Vernos' the night before we sailed
Cad, how we chafed about this picnic,
kind of thing; call this war. Why, here
we are shooting out Of the graves we
have started to dig for ourselves. and
| shooting men we have never laid eyes
on, beastly impolite, call it, with these
long,range rifles: Wonder if hit any
one before they bagged me?"
which, & aoR y for the pipe
tries to relight the smouldcring emberr.
"Got light or bit of paper about
you, Morty? II I could get this bloom
ing thing to 60, Whit would do you
good-a letter. All, thanks! The en-
velope is damp; can use the inside
sheet? Scent. Good Lord, how funny it
| SEEMS
You can have it, Curzon. old fellow
and Mortake's face grows graver as he
speaks, "but promised the little girl
who wrote it to keep it forever; keep q
bit. and if I'm knocked out, send # to
her. Know her address, I expect, Think
I'm fool, perhaps? Well, the truth is.
I'm not comfortable in my mind abou;
that little episode; awfully unsophisti-
Gated little. girl, and perhaps I did run
her bit hard (my old way, you saw:
hang it all, I didn't mean to win her
young affections, but luck was against
| ns. Country house party, two weeks con.
stantly thrown together, and then the
excitement Of coming out here: tears and
| scene; lost my head, couldn't seem 4
| brute, so played the game; exchanged
rings, wrote foolish letters, tragic good
! by, and here we are" -.
Curzon gravely-"Morty, you are incor-
rigible; where is her ring? You woull
like me to send it n-that Is, you would
,.g = 81. - )