“We advanced steadily, and again the enemy made a backward move. Then Voislav shouted, ‘Come on for the guns!’ At that moment a bullet lodged in his chest. He fell, but got up again on his knees to command: ‘The guns! Take the guns!’
“Our lieutenant was dead when we brought up the guns to where he lay. Still, I think he must have heard our ‘Hurrah!’ when we took the guns. Every man of us kissed him before we buried him, and we dug him the deepest grave I have seen in this campaign. We were very fond of him because of his kind heart and elegant manner of speech. Some had nicknamed him ‘the Parisian,’ but he was Serbian to the core.”
CHAPTER X
OUR ALLY FRANCE
O torn out of thy trance,
O deathless, O my France,
O many-wounded mother, O redeemed to reign!
O rarely sweet and bitter
The bright brief tears that glitter
On thine unclosing eyelids, proud of their own pain;
The beautiful brief tears