Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1915-04-28
ON THE OF GLORY
French Soldier Tells How Wars Lust Leads to Butch
ery-Bavarians Were B%ayoneted as They Called Out
Comrades to Victorious Assailants-"Conquer or
Die For France ~-,~ssv i s..sss-, Asxs-ss. IN.

muscles of their hands stand out and
hardens their faces.
DO not fire! Forward" cries q
voice.
We run like mad for the woods. and
among the branches which lash our
faces. We take off our kepis and hang
them on the skirts of our coats.
Ia, ca. ia. ca, cata. ca ia! From
right and left the mitrailleuses patter
upon the underbrush. 1t sounds like a
hailstorm on the leaves. We throw
ourselves to the ground, painting for
breath.
AGA places have already appeared
in our line, but they have been filed at
once by new forces. We are anxiously
waiting while our temples throb
beneath the storm of grape. Dur 81,
the human smell is strong.
Going to the "Fete."
know not what my neighbors are
thinking: but an obstinate question
is In my mind. Dare 1 plunge my bay
onet into the body OF a man. even up
to the hilt? That sauare blade which
pierces the flesh, a squirt OF red, the
frightful grimace OF q mar trans
out any emotion. 1 have seen L4iabeauf,
Callemin and their like OF sinister mem
cries, die. But not like that!
Tacataca, ia, ca, tn! Pluh, Pluh!
Xzz. VIZ, VIZ VIZ! Boom! Boom! What
"A hubbubi But rs OF u men ara
slain. 1t is our turn to go to tho
fete now!
Forward! The wretches!" shouts
the commander. 10 meters In advance.
bareheaded, superb, with d~isheveled
hair.
Beneath the tempest of iron. with
teeth clenched. and breast %throbbtnE,
we hur ourselves forward. The ranks
thin out. The men slip down as II they
stumbled over a tree root, but none ut
tiers a cry or raises himself. The
wounded fall to the earth without NOV
ing. ! recognize only two OF three
always there. He has put. his rifle in
his bandoleer and his right hand grips
his shears firmly. The last rush has
carried us nearly to the clearing.
Scarcely so meters separate us from
the enemy's trenches from which the
storm of iron Is pouring.
How can we contain ourselves? The
seconds seem like hours. We are ex-
asperated. maddened with the desire to
| fire, to strike. to finish it. Without
thinking we fire furiously.
Capturing the Guns.
Suddenly we tremble from head to
foot. With a magnificent discord which
pet sounds the charge. Then a for
midable cry: Forward! With the bay
~onets!" repeated from 1000 throats as
If mad, while the metallic notes pierce
the heart and rush us on irresistibly.
There is q drop to drink above!
There hs a drop to drink!
Howling like demons. no obstacle a
| check US. Who falls? No one knows!
There is a drop to drink above!
Fallen trees, woven together, invis-
ible holes thnt make us stumble, wires
which entangle us, these are not enough
to check our onward rush.
There Is a drop to drink
With a glance Of the eye. which only
Is years on the football field can give
to a man, I take in the battlefield.
There are some trenches about 100 me-
tiers long, with two mitrailleuses at
each end which sweep the earth with
their last gusts. and scarcely 30 West
p~halians-all that two officers could
hold at the point of the revolver-rush
l out of the trenches, firing as thew run