The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1920-01-16
BELGIUM SKETCHES
The Land of the
LiDing and Dead
BY Katharine Essles.or Roberts.

MS PICK. Wearlly ne gaZed across the
desolate land of destruction. His bent
shoulders dropped beneath the blue
smock.
Sometimes II just seems impossible.
Marthe." He turned to the woman in
the doorway. you can't grow gar.
den In these wet shell-holes. Some OF
us tried to turn more ground today,
but every time we swung pick. up
came skull or piece Of shoe, or
something. It doesn't seem right"
Marines knotted fingers twisted at
her apron. mo; but it's all we have.
Jan. We can't waste all West Flan-
ders. and--well. after all. it's home"
Eyes. yes" he sighed; "we've come
back to the same place, but it isn't
home any more. Look at those bare
trees. They lift their broken arms to
the sky and beg for pity. but they'll
never live. And those skulls-they
haunt me. What is the use? Always
struggle. The dead cannot live
again, and we live on land of
DEATH" He kicked off his wooden sa-
bots and followed his wife through the
doorway into the one room that served
for parlor, bedroom and Kitchen.
Marthe bent over the sheet-iron stove
and stirred the soup in battered ket-
tie. II secured up that empty shell
you found yesterday. 1t will do for a
coffee-pot. Try to get another. To
use the same one for everything is
hard" She sighed. II do wish we had
just few Of the old kitchen things.
But suppose some German woman is
using my copper kettles and spoons
now" Marthe welded the homemade
wooden ladle with vicious splash.
Jan laughed bitterly, as he settled
down by the table. Judging by what
they took from Belgium, picture Ger
many as land paved with copper ket-
ties, carpeted with mattresses and fes-
TONED with brass door-knobs. Oh,
what's the use, Marthe? What's the
use Of trying to live like this? An old
abri for house, because there's moth
ing with which to build. We make
our coffee in the shell of spent obus.
Our furniture, everything is makeshift.
Lies nothing but makeshift.
"Why do we cling to it? And the chill
dren that people are trying to raise
out here! They see only desolation;
their toys are broken guns and rusty
bayonets. What kind Of men and
women will they be? And still we go
on working here. because we've no
where else to go, and we think we
have to i've" His gray head sank in
his hands.
Marthe placed the pot Of soup on
the table and gave him wooden
spoon. "That's what Louisa was say
ing this evening. That's the way ev-
erybody feels when the dark comes
on"
Slowly the night mist crept over
No Mans Land and shrouded the
stark, gray trees. One by one shapes
began to rise and wander over the pit
ted ground. They gathered into groups
and the murmur of their voices was
like wind across the fields.
Said one: IT thought 1t hard to die
out here, but when see these people
working, straining to make their
homes, / think it must be harder stil1
to live"
my family has returned" another
spoke. II lived here once. 1t seems
SO long ago. But when I came back
here to fight, my house was all de-
stroyed, my people gone. And then
fell there, in my own front yard
that shell-hole. see it, where the pop
pies grow? My little girl came there
to pick some flowers this afternoon.
/ kissed her hand; she laughed, and
thought poppy tickled her." He
smiled. "If they could know"
"It must be nearly time" another
said. 1.-THE lights are out. The peo-
pie are asleep"
A bugle whispered somewhere in the
dark. The shapes fell into ranks; the
ghostly army marched. Before the
homes the spirits took their posts and
waited for the zero hour to come.
From far they saw the menace creep
ing up-vaguely, until the moon broke
through the mist and showed 1t grim
and hideous-the army of Despair and
faithless Doubt. that sought to drive
the people from the land.
The siege was hard, but through the
long, blue night the shapes stood firm
till, just before the dawn, the hour of
full strength came. Then with a rush
the living spirits fought, and put the
armies Of Despair and Doubt to flight.
The old man stood before the door
of the 'abri and watched the morning
turn from rose to gold. "AIarthe," he
cried, IT was foolish last night. It
must have been that was tired. What
better gift can we have than the land
where our sons have fought? What an
inspiration for our homes! There's no
such thing as despair, Marthe. / was
wrong, very wrong last night. Today
I see only hope In the sky"
And the living spirits of No Mans
Land smiled in their hard-won sleep.
Good Prospects for Belgium.