Four of our own fellows lay on their backs in the grass, all within a few paces. They were of those who had fallen in the first rush, and had been overlooked. Their clothes were little stained, for no rains had touched them, and their hats were still cocked to one side in the jauntiest manner.
The first man was a skeleton, picked as clean as a century of waiting might do. His skull looked out between the tunic and the hat; and through the bones of his hands grasses had woven a road. One could only gape at the fellow.
The next man waited on his back too; but the fierce suns had done otherwise with him. The flesh had decayed under the skin, while the skin had stayed, becoming a dark parchment drawn tightly over the bones. Every hair on head and hand remained. Face and hands were tiny, the face and hands of a child they were: yet the face was full of expression, and more terrible to look on than the face of any ape.
The third man was as the second.
The fourth man had swollen up and afterwards sunk down again. I had to turn away and spit.
And those four men had been filled with great foolish hopes but a few weeks before, Amen! Amen!
Come, hang up the gun by the chimney!
Come, scabbard the sword and the dirk!
And we’ll tip-toe afar,
Where the sunbeams still are,