The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1919-01-10

sat three generations Of harvesters-
"A men, women and children.
A warm, soothing natural" odor of
oxen and stable came thinly and not
unpleasantly into the feast chamber,
which had that dignity of proportion
and fine simplicity Of lines which
speaks of Tuscan taste, even in these
humble quarters. A light hung from
the center of the ceiling threw a rath-
er dim illumination over the festive
board, but amply sufficient for us to
see all the good things which awaited
our impending attack. First soup was
served from huge bowls into deep, ca
pacious dishes; next came a rich and
satisfying fritto misto, and then large
platters. burdened with pasta redo
lent with an herb savored sauce.
There was plenty of honest wine to
wash down the huge slashes of war
bread served out generously to all
of us.
No Bitterness in War Talk.
After the pleasant business of eating
was over the men started talking about
ohO "ohs IL was IdlACl Ou-
jective discussion, without bitterness
or hatred, of something unpleasant
which had to be done, but all must
wish that it should be ended and laid
aside as soon as possible. Then the
conversation waxed warm in the more
direct and personal realities of the
years corps, and the promise for the
coming seasons. One by one the
little children Struggled closer to their
mothers sides and childish heads
bent sleepily over the table or fell,
relaxed and safe, on arms soft and
solicitous with maternal care. The
drowsiness of hard days labor crept
irresistibly upon the men. G.ssei. a
We said good night and start
ed homeward; the little oil lamp by
the door had f1ickered out, but faint
moonlight was bathing the landscape
in soft, mystical indistinctness far
away the domes and towers of Flor
bols of hopes and darings, of love and
faith.
l sat in contemplation, watching the
moonlight wax stronger and brighter,
making more real and definite the pic
ture of peace on earth spread so won
drously before me, till. my thoughts
wandered away to another harvest
scene, far removed among sterner but
no less peace loving mountains, har-
vest scene of battle wherein men like
those with whom ] had gathered
grapes today were the protagonists.
Look! A once fourishing little
town, with not single one Of its
houses unscathed, and most Of them
horribly rent asunder, showing the
debris of what had once been the
privacy and the sanctity of peaceful
hearths. In the partial shelter of
these shells of homes along the main
streets of the town. countless men are
sitting or crouching. in full fighting
equipment, waiting for orders to pro-
coed to the front trenches, where a
battle has just been fought and won.
Let US walk to the battlefield; it is
reached through a pine wood stiIl
smoking resinously from the fires
which the bursting shells have started.
The road is wholly exposed to the
range of the enemy's artillery, but
thousands of men have CALAMITY
crossed it in order to reach their CON-
rades in the trenches beyond. You
can see what the harvest has been
here! There are fragments of shrap-
mel and unexploded shells along every
foot of the line; by the whir of the
projectiles still passing over our
heads we can reconstruct the scene of
fire of some hours ago; the shells whizz
by us with that horrible suggestive
rotatory sound which seems to say !:
Coming. Coming, Bang you die /!