Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1915-03-05

and hne art. TWO hundred and forty
bullets and more to the minute!
What q marvel Of mechanism one Of
those machine-guns is. You set It
buzzing, and it spurts out bullets
thicker than rain can fall. And the
automaton ticks its lips hungrily and
sweeps from right to left. 1t is
pointed on the middle Of the body.
and sprays the whole firing-line with
one sweep. it is as though death had
strapped his scythe for old iron; as II
nowadays he had graduated az expert
mechanic. They have ceased to NOW
corn by hand nowadays. BY this time
Of day even the sheaves are gathered
up by machinery. And SO they will
have to shovel our millions Of bodies
underground with burying machines.
Curse! I cannot get rid Of this
h1deous thought. It is always crop
ping up again. We have passed on
from retail to Wholesale methods Of
business. In place Of the loom at
which you sat working with your own
hands, they have now set the great
power-looms in motion. Once It was q
knightly death, an honorable soldiers
death: now it is death by machinery.
That is what is sticking in my gull
let. We are being hustled from life
to death by experts-by mechanicians.
And just as they turn out buttons and
pins by wholesale methods of produc-
ton, so they are now turning out the
crippled and the dead by machinery.
Why do I. all Of sudden, begin to
shudder? feel as II it had suddenly
become clear as daylight that this 10
madness-blood.red madness lowering
for us there.
Curse! l must not go on brooding
over it any longer, or it will drive me
mad. Your rife at the ready! The
enemy is facing you! Has that ceased
to be case of man to man? What
does it matter even II the bullet finds
its billet more surely? Aim steadily
straight for the chest. Who
is it really facing me? The man ] am
now going to shoot dead! An
enemy? What is an enemy?
And again I see myself on that
glorious morning Of my holidays. at q
French railway station, and again !
am gazing curiously out Of the win
dow. A foreign country and .
stranger-peopte. The moment for de-
parture has come. The station-master
is just giving the signal. Then little
old woman extends her trembling
hand to the window, and fine young
fellow in our carriage takes the
wrinkled hand and strokes 1t, until the
old woman's tears course down her
motherly cheeks. Not q word does
she speak. She only looks at her boy.
and the lad gazes down on his mother.
Then 1t flashes upon mo like q Tevelar
ton. Foreigners can shed tears.
Why, that IL just the same thing It
10 with US. They weep when they,
take leave Of one another. They love
ono another and feel grief. :.
And as the train rolled out Of the sta
ton. kept on looking out Of the win
dow and seeing the old woman stand
ing on the platform 90 desolately. and
gazing after the train without stirring.
could not help thinking Of my own
mother. It was myself who was
saying good-by there. and on the plat
form yonder my poor old mother was
in tears. Pocket-handkerchiefs were
floating in the breeze. They were
waving their hands, and I waved mine
too; for I. too. was one who belonged
to her. -.
And again l put my rifle TO my
shoulder. and take aim for the center
Of the target. -
I will not 60 on torturing myself
With these thoughts.
The target seems to have been
moved nearer to me.
OF Q sudden 1t seems TO me q II
tho blue-painted figure had stepped out
OF it, white square. cape ct It. l
distinctly sec face In front Of me-.
I have got my finger on the trigger,
and feel the tension Of the pressure.
Why don't pull It through? MY
finger 10 trembling .. Now, now,
I recognize the face. That ID the