River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1919-01-09

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
the. war. 1t was a simple, rather OBJ
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 la the more
direct and personal realities of the
years corps, and the promise for the
coming seasons. One by one the
little children snuggled 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, urging
them to well-earned and refreshing
sleep.
We said good night and start
ed hOmeward; the little oil lamp by
the door had f1ickered out, but a faint
moonlight was bathing the landscape
in soft, mystical indistinctness; far
away the domes and towers of Flor.
ence rose skyward like dream SYM
bols of hopes and darings, of love and
faith.
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, q har-
vest scene of battle wherein men like
those with whom I had gathered
grapes today were the protagonists.
We. have been told of the thrill of
gallant assault and the stirring emo
tons of brave defense, but what of
the harvest after the decisive fighting
is over and one walks over the fields
plowed by the merciless artillery and
narrowed by the struggles and the suf-
ferings of men. What of the fruitage
of battle, not alone of the dead and
the wounded we have been told so
often, but of all the other and indie
scribably sad things which the eye
and the heart Of the harvest gathers!
Amidst Scenes of DesoIation.
Look! A once fourishing little
town, with not a single one of it's
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 still
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 COM
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-and you die