"Go ahead without me, boys. Greet my people for me. God with you. You've fought well. Damn you, fellow, run, I tell you! Down on your faces! Take breath. Fire!"
When, long ago, I went to my confirmation lesson, the Superintendent once said—ah, what a remarkable man that was!—"I would like only to take a single look at my little garden. I'm a city child, and have grown so fond of the flowers, this little bit of earth!"—Hui! hui! there it whistles over our heads again. I greet Death. And my lips touch the ridge of the field furrow.
Of dust thou art; to dust thou shalt return.
"Boys, you're not afraid? Eh?" And I try to laugh.
"The apes over there! They don't know how to shoot. Such clowns! They'll hit the sky!"
Hui! hui! tack-a-tack-tacktack! Run on! The patent-leathered lackeys can't hit us!
But there lies one of the other company. Dead.
"Don't run! Keep halting! Fire!"
From the village a hail of shrapnel. From the opposite side, the same. But now nobody runs with lowered head. We are now used to the benediction of bullets. Further on, further on!
Of the brigade there's not a trace. When the artillery had shot away its ammunition, the order was given: "Retire, all!" It reached me, in front there with the rifle lines, fully an hour later than the rest.