Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1915-04-28

From the French of Charles Tardieu, il
the Paris Figaro. translated for The
Rhiladelphia Public ledger.

e loI tue french OF Charles lAruleu, IN
the ParlS Figaro. translated for the
Philadelphia Public Ledger.
How can l make YOU see. With the
aid of mere words and u few poor lit
erary articles, a thing which is all
movement. all transport of SOUL, all
nerceheSs and all clamoro Music alone
could give an approximate idea of bat
Tile and Its tumult. but even music
could not represent its intoxicating re-
aiities. | do not hope to make you smell
the powder or the heavy odor of blood.
nor to enable YOU to perceive the rum
bilngs. the ~splendors, the heaNings of
TINS dull and cruel strife. I would only
Drlng before your eyes a corner OF
France. and II soldier In the midst of
the hurricane OF bullets. Of shells. of
bayonets. of screenings. of g%roanings
ana OF the thud OF marching feet.
~ Is necessary. as the commander
says. to take the trench.
He does not put it in words. but we
divine in his accent. in his gesture and
IN his glance. that. cost what 1t may.
the order must be executed: Conquer
or die. These words. which formerly
had for us only a certain vague, ideal
and heroic meaning, take upon them
selves a sudden weight of significance
now that we are really face to Il
with the Comrade.
The Ice is Broken.
An artilleryman running up and y
folded paper to the commander. He
reads 1t, his brows knit. he sCribbles a
For France, ~forward!" and he leaps
out OF the trench, followed by us all.
Thirty meters are cleared away in as
word with u pencil and gives III note
back to the man. who disappears to-
ward the rear. Some minute slip by,
broken by intermittent volleys.
They evidently We're on the watch.
We cannot hope to surprise them and
wa a Vsa oTNOnnl t1n% {. or<oYy. Tohy
Our parts are cast; the first skirmtsh
has prepared us. AS IL timid bathec
tries the water with his feet we have
taken the temperature of combat: the
ice is broken between danger and our
nerves. Everyone smiles and is res :.
The stretcher bearers come up. AT. n
carrying away the last wounded. The
commander goes up and down the lines
hurting advice at us in crisp words:
Don't fire: throw yourselves down
at each halt: run toward the mitrail-
leuses after each blast! Courage. my
ines of wire"
Before he stops Is men have consent
ed to be hurled to death. The moment
has come,
The eyes of h chief flash. With a
quick gesture he pulls his revolver from
his sheath.
"For France. Forward"
WY CIliluFen, DayOnGl or n II
many seconds; but our movement has
been seen. for Il terrible fusilladc
throws us upon our stomachs.
Our hearts beat and strain within
our breasts and our breath m short.
The knapsack is troublesome. Some
have already thrown it away.
My Algerian has not quilted me. He
holds i'm one hand his rifle and in the
other his shears, and is prepared to
follow me.
The laying waste has not yet begun
They fire high and the bullets make
their familiar music above our heads
Some Marmite shells flash out here and
there without doing any damage. We
await orders and gain a little ground
on u hands and knees. The fusillade
stops. I look at those about me. They
have become men of deeds and have
passed the 3 of rash temerity and
thoughtless audacity. The heat and
noise of combat have fired their brain
Yet an mistaken resolution makes the