The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1914-12-04
Unknown StretCher Bearer De-
ScribeS Horror of Horrors.
Farmhouse, the Refuge of Wounded
and Dying, Is Bombarded by ArtiI-
Iery = CHASTITY the Scenes
That Ensue.

London-The Chronicle publishes
the following account of the lombard
ment OF farmhouse, situated between
the French and German lines and tenn
porarily a refuge for the wounded.
The article is a translation from the
notes Of a French corporal stretcher-
bearer. The Paris Temps says the
work of the unknown author may be
compared with the most striking pages
of some Russian writer's:
we now heard the whiz-z-z that
those who have once heard can never
forget The shell was coming straight
toward us We fell fiat, in the twin
king of an eye, our noses to the
ground. Happy he who finds drain
or ditch at such a moment. Yet we
had time to ask ourselves whether it
would pass over or catch US in this
ridiculous position; and saw the past
and the future.
I'VE got up, muddy and peevish. A
faint smell of dynamite filled the air.
| We passed through the gateway. The
yard, surrounded on three sides by
! the farmhouse and servants quarters,
was quiet and trim.
I'VE entered the kitchen and three
| ground floor rooms we're full of wound
ed-French and German. Many of the
unfortunates, lying on the blood
marked straw, had horrible wounds.
A soldier asks for a drink; as he rises,
with hand stretched out for the glass
window and strikes him full in the
heart. The poor fellow sinks without
a sigh.
Most of the wounded are taken
away in a lull of the combat. 1t is
three o'clock in the afternoon. Firing
recommences, more violent than ever.
The shells whistle ceaselessly. An
adjutant, terribly wounded, begs to be
put into the cart, which seems to him
a guaranty that he will be among the
next to be removed. Scarcely is he
laid there than a shrapnel bursts over
the cart, killing him. The firing sounds
more clearly.
"a wounded man in the kitchen
calls me. Struck by ball in the
chest, the poor fellow pants for
breath. He is supporting himself by
one arm, which slips on the bloody
straw. With the other hand he feels
in his overcoat pocket, which is glued
up with CONCEALED blood, for letter
which he hands to me, his eyes full of
tears. "My sweetheart" he murmurs.
And see in his fingers little lock of
black hair which he presses tenderly
to his lips.
Raising my eyes to the ceiling, l
see the plaster break into huge
star, and through a gaping hole the
end of a great shell appears. The
ceiling sinks funnel-wise; at the same
moment the roof cracks and the shell
explodes. Then all is dark :.
Presently I come to myself, half suffo-
Gated with dust and the fumes of dy-
Mantle.
THE house is riven from top to bot
| tom, and we can see the calm, blue
sky through the broken roof. The
least seriously wounded men olsen
gage their fellows. Nearly all of US
are bleeding. The poor lover is dead,
disf1gured. Shells have struck the
house on two sides.
They manage to get into the cellar,
and here the German wounded, hungry
| and desperate, burst out into COM
plants of this war of unreasonable
agony into which they have been
driven
My poor wife! My poor children!'
cries one of them, wounded in the
stomach by fragment of shell.
cat this moment, in a dark corner.
we heard sob and womans voice
! rose out of the shadow. All of my