efuge forever and aye! I pray Thee, I pray Thee, let me die an honest
soldier's death. And not suffer long. Now, dear Lord, please; now! If
only my fellows don't begin to run!

"Slowly, men; slowly. Halt at the brown stretch of field."

Panting, we lie there. "Rifles in position! Take aim! Fire!"

As soon as a few shots have been fired, there ensues a pause in the
firing over there. We make good use of it. Then, "Down on your bellies
again!"

I cannot go further.

"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.

Scattered stragglers join me.

"Where is our Chief Lieutenant?"

"Wounded in the neck; only a glancing bullet. Has returned slowly on
an artillery horse. Midway among the shrapnels. Great fellow."

Nobody knows where the point of reunion is. I lead the rest of the
battalion after the other companies. Night is falling. Somewhere a
cavalry patrol tells us: They're to bivouac over there at the fort.

We march toward that. Bicycle men come to meet us. We hear from
them--no one believed that a single man of us could escape that
devil's caldron alive. My orderly (Bursche) comes riding to meet me.
His eyes are wet.

"My Captain! My Captain!"

I must press many hands. I warm myself