The copper era and Morenci leader., 1915-03-26
PENS VIVID CLASSIC
Unknown Stretcher Bearer De
 scribes Horror of Horrors.
Farmhouse, the Refuge Of Wounded and Dying, Is Bombarded by Artil- lery - Ghastly the Scenes
 That Ensue.

AOnQOu."1Q0 the following account of the lombard ment of farmhouse. situated between the French and German lines and tenn porarily 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 writers:
 I've now heard the whizrz-z that those who have once heard can never forget. The shell was coming straight
 toward us. We fell flat, in the twin
 kling of an eye, our noses to the ground. Happy he who finds drain or ditch at such moment Yet we had time to ask ourselves whether 1t would pass over or catch us in this ridiculous position; and saw the past and the future.
 We got up, muddy and peev1sh. 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.
 We entered the kitchen and three ground floor rooms were 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 of water, a bullet comes through the window and strikes him full in the heart. The poor fellow sinks without a sigh.
 Most of the wounded are taken away iE a lull of the combat. It 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 guaranty that he will be among the next to be removed Scarcely is he laid there than shrapnel bursts over the cart, killing him. The firing sounds more clearly.
 "A wounded man in the kitchen calls me. Struck by a 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 congealed 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, see the plaster break into a huge star, and through a gaping hole the end of great shell appears. The ceiling sinks funnel-wise; at the same moment the roof cracks and the shell explodes. Then all is dark Presently come to myself. half suffo {, cated with dust and the fumes of dy. namite.
 ''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 disen gage their fellows. Nearly all of us are bleeding. The poor lover is dead, disfgured. Shells have struck the l house on two sides.
 They manage to get into the cellar, and here the German wounded, hungry and desperate. burst out into com plaints of this war of immeasurable agony into which they have been driven
 My poor wife! My poor childrenr cries one of them, wounded in the stomach by fragment of shell.
 At this moment, in a dark corner, we heard a sob and e woman's voice rose out of the shadow. All of my own children are dead and my hus- band was killed up there in the yard It was the farmers wife. She had helpless, the work of de- struction. Children, husband, goods. she had lost everything. And I saw once more the emaciated dog up there paying in the yard before the clotted