Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1915-02-18

ths control OF ofnceru,. keeping 10 TIE
denies; In swarms and patches. under
the control Of nothing but their own
emotions. Mostly they were hugsina
cover, from instinct n not from direc
ton, but some relied on straight linea
OF tight and speed OF foot for escape
Coursing aeroplanes were playing 9
new part. Their wireless was inform.
ing the Brown gunners where the
masses were thickest This way and
that the Brown artillery IRE drove 70
treating bodies. prodding them in the
back with the fearful shepherdry OF
their shells. oficers' swords flashed
in the faces Of the boilers or In hold
ing rear-guards TO their work. onicers
and orderlies were galloping hither
and thither with messages. In want OF
wires. Commanders had been told to
hold, but how and where to holdf They
saw neighboring regiments and bri-
gades going and they had to go. The
machine, the complicated modern war
machine. was broken; the machine.
with its nerves OF intelligence cut. be-
came a thing of disconnected parts,
each part working out its own saliva
ton. Authority ceased to be that Of
the bureau and army lists. II was that
of units racked by hardship, acting on
the hours demand.
Gorged was the pass road, over
flowing with the struggling tumult OF
men and vehicles. Self-preservation
breaking the bonds of discipline was
in the ascendant, and It sought the
highway. even as water keeps to the
river bed. Like specks on the labor
ing tide was the white of bandages. An
ambulance trying to cut out to one
side was overturned. The frantic
chauffeur and hospital-corps orderly
were working to extricate the wound
ed from their painful position. A gun
was overturned against the ambulance.
A melee of horses and men was form
ing at the foot Of the garden gate In
front of the narrowing bounds Of the
road into the town, as stream banks
up before a jam Of driftwood. The
struggle for right Of way became In
creasingly wild; the dam Of men.
horses. and wagons grew. A Brown
dirigible was descending toward the
great target; but on closer view its
commander forbore, the humane i'm
pulse outweighing the desire for retri-
button for colleagues in camp and
mess who had gone down in a holo-
caust in the aerial battles Of the night.
Under the awful spell Of the piano.
rama, she did not see Westerling, who
had stopped only q few feet distant
with his aide and his valet, nor did he
notice her as the tumult glazed his
eyes. He was as an artist who looks
on the ribbons of the canvas Of his
painting. or the sculptor on the frag-
ments Of his statue. Worse still, with
no faith to give him fortitude except
the materialistic, he saw the altar OF
his god Of military efficiency in ruins.
He who had not allowed the word re-
treat to enter his lexicon now saw q
rout He had laughed at reserve
armies in last nights feverish defiance,
at Turcas's advocacy Of slower and
surer method Of attack. In those hours
Of shifting at wall with his fists and
forehead, in denial Of all the truth 50
clear to average military logic, II he
had only even a few conventional d.
rectioRs all this disorder would have
been avoided. His army could have
fallen back in orderly fashion to their
own range. The machine out OF order.
he had attempted no repair; he had al
lowed 1t to thrash itself to pieces.
The artiIlery's maceration Of the
human jam suddenly ceased; perhaps
because the gunnerS had seen the Red
Cross flag which q doctor had the
presence of mind to wave. Westerling
turned from sight worse to him than
the killing-that of the flowing retreat
along the road pressing frantically
over the dead and wounded In growing
disorder for the cover Of the town.
Near by were Bellini, the chief of in
'telligence, and a subaltern VINO nao
arrived only a minute before. The sub
altern was dust-covered. He seemed
to have come in from hard ride. Both
were watching Marta, as If waiting for
her to speak. She met Westerling's
look steadily, her eyes dark and etill
and in his the reflection Of the vague
realization of more than he had
guessed in her relations with him.
WELL" she breathed to Westerling.
"the war goes on!"
That's It'll That's the voice!" ex-
claimed the subaltern in an explosion
of recognition.
A short, sharp laugh Of irony broke
from Bellini; the laugh Of one whose
suspicious are confirmed In the mix
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