The Irish standard., 1915-07-17

nands are sun mapping up and down
on the grass. am looking back as
II fascinated while my legs keep on
advancing.
But suddenly something begins to
set up a rattle over there in the wood
and buzzes like huge alarm-clocks
running down.
'Lie down."
And there we are lying down, nat
on our stomachs, as II we had already
been mown down, for every man Of
us knows what that was. They have
masked machine-guns in the wood
over there; they are opening fire on
us. feel how my heart is humping
against my ribs. A machine-gun is
equivalent to company, the Old Man
once explained to US, after we had
been shot down in heaps to the last
man by the machine-guns In the au.
tumn maneuvers.
What's the next thing?
Cautiously, without raising It, I turn
my head. Behind us, too, the lines of
skirmishers, close up to us, have dis
appeared from the face Of the earth;
they too, have gone to cover in the
grass. Only outside the firing zone
are they still being pushed forward.
Shall we have to retreat? Are we
going to attack?
Then the order to fire rings out, and
Is zealously passed on from unit to
unit.
rapid fire! Into the wood!"
Yes, but what are we to fire at?
Lying down, there is nothing to be
seen of the sharpshooters. They
won't do us any harm; in another min.
ute they will have disappeared among
the trees. But the machines-they
have hidden them away among the
foliage to good purpose.
Our subaltern, lying a bare five
PAGES away from me in the grass,
raises himself on his elbows, and
gazes intently through his field
glasses. know what is vexing his
soul. He is handsome, splendid lad,
for whom even we grizzled old-timers
would 60 through fire and water, for
he meets you as man to man, with
out shifting or swagger, as 1t becomes
q youngster. And the other day,
when l was marching with the rear
guard, we discussed Lilliencron's nov.
els. Since then he has always ap-
pealed to me as If he had stepped
straight out of one of these romances
Of war. He is all ablaze to CLEAN
his first laurels. But however much
he may twiddle the focus of his
glasses up and down and crane his
neck, he cannot discover a trace of
the enemy, and we blaze away fool
ishly at the wood, and may, for all I
know, be bringing down leaves or
hrds from the trees there.
"Close to the big oak. To the right
In the underground" some one of the
rank and file sings out.
I strain my eyes to the spot, and
fail to see anything.
And again hear the guns growing
Ill round us. But somewhere out Of
the far distance clear, long-drawn
bugle-call rings out amid the iron bass.
1t thrills nerve and brain against an
iron wall.
Behind there, to the right-they are
on the run there! And from afar the
rifle fire rattles like mad.
my men! Up with you! At the
double!"
That came from our lot our
subaltern is racing on with his drawn
sword in his hand. am still
prone. and have. almost automatically.
drawn my right knee close up under
my body they are rising to
their feet to the left and right of me.
and dashing on after him q
wrench! and my knapsack slides lop-
sided up the back of my neck I.
then Jump up with my rifle in my
right hand, and am running for all
my legs are worth.
But as we rise to our feet the ma
chine-guns in the woods begin to buzz,
and to rain lead into our ranks, until
right and left of me men yelp and
drop twisted and tumbled to the
ground.
Down! Rapid fret"
The line is prone and again we are
blazing desperately into the wood, and
can catch no glimpse of our enemy.
Never single arm raised against US,
never the eye of a single man to chal-
lenge us. The wood, the green wood,
Is numbering us from afar, before .
single human face comes in view.
And while to the right and left Of
me the rifle fire chatters necessarily,
the grim mockery of it maddens my
blood, and makes me see red before
my eyes. I see scale-armor and visors
high in their stirrups the
knights burst blazing out of the wood,
and !, reckless horseman of the
past, ! leap into the saddle-my broad
sword flashes clear and kisses the
morning breeze-and now up and at
them like thunderbolt. Then eyes
ere flashing into mine and hands are
raised for the melee-and stroke for
stroke, breast to breast, the pride Of
youthful, virile strength Ha.
ha-ha-ha! What has happened!
Where have horse and rider vanished?
Where is my sword? We are not even
charging men. Machines are trained
on us. Why, we are only charging
machines. And the machine triumphs
deep into our very flesh. And the
machine is draining the life-blood from
our veins. and tapping it up in buck