The Bismarck tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, N.D.) 1916-current, 1917-12-10
WHICH WILL YE?

WHICH WILL YE?
The room is only softly lighted by
the ruddy glow of the lowering CRATE
fire. Even the tick of the clock seems
hushed, and over all is the peace and
silence of the end of a day. 1t is
the hour when you arc wont to sum
I'D the effort and results of another
brief span in your life; but, this night
you feel yourself such little help
less, forgotten Speck among the nigh
ty doings Of the big world, your work,
your successes, all your affairs SO
much like mere bubbles on the bosom
of the irresistible flood outside that
moves on and on towards Gods pur-
pose.
Across the hearth from you, sits the
dear, tired wife. gently rocking, with
your wee baby son blissfully sleeping
on her bosom. Your sweet little daugh-
ter Of only six years of age tiptoas in,
in Ill &iH Aghsgowtn ( ~ yes paid
like; f1bM VI apansy ollyour tHecki
andYcArfsss back upstairs to her tr0tliiii.
die, bed Yes, you1 have peace, rest,
content, love, all hejblessings of home
happiness and you drowsily nod over
Brand Whitlock's story of Belgium
that's lying on your knees, ,ss... -.
The door is banged open, and there
rushes in a gang of helmeted soldiers
Their faces are the faces of brutes
Their red eyes blaze with the passion
of loot and lust. Their bulldog mouths
SLAYER with the dregs of rum. They
bind you fast: in your chair. They
bayonet your baby son to the mantle
piece, A WARNING TO ALL ENE
MES OF KULTURED GERMANY
They strip the struggling. blood.spat
tering infants mother, YOUR WIFE
and make such a plaything of her as
would draw pity from the meancst
flend in hell.
You see it all, ALL! O God! All
the awful, shameful details! and as
they throw her. bruised and dishOn
Ored, into the corner where the chill
'dren piled their playthings, to moar
and moan. you pray for the blessing
of death upon her. They did not bind
your eyes, for SEEINGAALL, you, too
will be warning to the enemies OF
Germany. ...........
The room clears, and there comes
in procession of hundreds and hun
dreds Of children, to circle about you
and pass out again, as directed by
your little daughter. Their faces arc
the faces of the aged. Their eyes
have the fixed stare of the dead. Thei,
futtering rags disclose protruding ribs
and hip bones. Their fleshless shanks
show the blisters that the frost makes
They roll their swollen tongues be
hind their sunken cheeks, as if. they
would eat. They come with bias,
of means such as the lost, hopeless
souls send forth while driven, eve,
on and on, through the awful. dark
abysses of the inferno, Fit is it that
your little daughter be leader of such
host: for, she is the perfect com
posite of that starving, freezing, home
less, lost army of CHASTITY children
They're gone! And now the miro,
over your fireplace drips with the
blood in which these words from Whit
locks official report are painted there
on:
But whether their hands were
Q!rt off or not, whether they were
impaled on bayonets or not, chill
dren were shot down by military
order in cold blood. In the awful
crime of the Rock of Bayard, there
overlooking the Meuse below Di-
nant, infants in their mothers
arms were shot without mercy.
Among the victims were babies in
arms, boys and girls, fathers and
mothers of families, even old
men.
1T was there that II children un-
der the age of six persisted from
the fire of the executioners, six of
them as they lay in their mothers
arms:
THE child Fievet, three weeks
old;