Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1915-03-11
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Human Slaughter House
By WILHELM IAMszUs


Shall we have to retreat? Arc We
going to attack?
Then tho order to IRE rings out. and
a. xealously passed on from unit to
unit.
s rapid fre! 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 bare hve
PAGES away from me in the grass.
raises himself on his elbows. and
gazes intently through his field
/, glasses. know what is vexlng his
soul. He is q 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 snifflng or swagger, as 1t becomes
q youngster. And the other day.
when was marching with the rear
guard, we discussed Lilliencron's nov
els. Since then he has always ap.
:pealed to me as II 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 trace OF
the enemy, and we blaze away fool
ishly at the wood, and may, for all
know. be bringing down leaves or
birds 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
all round us. But somewhere out Of
the far distance a clear, long-drawn
bugle-call rings out amid the iron bass.
It 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. I am still
prone. and have. almost automatically.
drawn my right knee close up under
INV tnAv thew 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 :.
then jump up with my rife In my
right hand. and am running for al
my legs are worth.
But az We rf1e d 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 fire!"
The line is prone and again we are
blazing desperately into the wood, and
can catch no glimpse of our enemy.
Never a 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 q
single human face comes in view.
And while 20 the right and left of
me the rifle fire chatters necessarily,
the grim mockery Of 1t maddens my
blood, and makes me see red before
my eyes. see scale-armor and visors
high In their stirrups the
knights burst blazing out Of the wood,
and I, . 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
are 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
etfuls. Those who have been hit are
already lying mown down in swaths
behind US and are writing on their
wounds. And yet they are racing up
behind us in their hundreds-young.
healthy human flesh for the machines
to butcher.
"Up! Get on! At the double!"
The gallant young subaltern dashes
on he is waving his sword