The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1918-06-20


supposed to aim at this square. To the
right of the form noticed white spot
on the wall. This would be my target
"Ready! Aim! Fire"
The dark form sank into a huddled
heap. My bullet sped on it's way, and
hit the whitish spot on the wall;
could see the splinters fly. Some one
else had received the rifle containing
the blank cartridge, but my mind was
| at ease, there was no blood Of q
| Tommy on my hands.
"Order-Arms! About-Turn Pile
Arms! Stand-Clear."
The stacks were reformed.
"Quick - March! Right Wheel :"
And we left the scene of execution be-
hind us.
1t was now daylight. After march
ing about five minutes, we were dis
missed with the following instructions
from the officer in command:
Return, alone, to your respective
companies, and remember, no talking
about this affair, or else it will go hard
with the guilty ones"
We needed no urging to get away. I
did not recognize any of the men on
the firing squad; even the officer was
stranger to me.
The victims relations and friends in
Blighty will never know that he was
executed; they will be under the i'm
preston that he died doing his bit for
king and country.
In the public casualty lists his name
will appear under the caption "Acci'
dentally Killed." or "Died."
The day after the execution I re,
ceived orders to report back to the
line, and to keep q still tongue in my
head.
Executions are q part Of the days
work, but the part We hated most Of
all, certainly the saddest. The
British var department is thought by
many people to be composed of rigid
regulations all wound around with red
rape. But 1t has heart, and one OF
the evidences of this is the considerate
way In which an execution is concealed
and reported to the relative of the dn-
fortunate man. They never know the
truth He is listed in the bulletins as
among the accidentally killed"
In the last ten years have several
times read stories in magazines Of
towards changing, in charge, to he
roes. used to laugh at it. It seemed
easy for story-writers, but I said,
"Men aren't made that way.p But over
In France I learned once that the
streak Of yellow can turn all white.
picked up the story, bit by bit, from
the captain Of the company, the SEN
tries who guarded the poor fellow, as
well as from my own observations. At
first I did not realize the whole of his
story, but after a week Of investiga-
ton It stood out as clear in my mind
as the mountains Of my native West In
the spring sunshine. It impressed me
SO much that I wrote it all down in
rest billets on scraps Of odd paper. !
The incidents are, as I say, every bit
true; the feelings of the man are true !,
Il know from all I underwent In the
fighting over in France.
We will call him Albert Lloyd. That
wasn't his name, but it will do:
Albert Lloyd was what the world
terms a coward.
In London they called him Stacker.
His country had been at war nearly
eighteen months, and still he was not
in khaki.
He had no good reason for not en-
listing, being alone in the world, hav-
ing been educated in an orphan asy-
lum, and there being no one dependent
upon him for support. He had no good
position to lose, and there was no
sweetheart to tell him with her lips
to go, while her eyes pleaded for him
10 stay.
Every time he saw recruiting SER
geant he'd stink around the corner out
of sight, with terrible fear gnawing
at his heart. When passing the big re-
cruiting posters. and on his way to
business and BACK he passed many, ne
would pull down his cap and look the
other way from that awful finger
pointing at him, under the caption,
"Your King and Country Need You;"
or the boring eyes of Kitchener, which