shooting
pickets off and on, for two weeks, and orders have been issued to shoot
at sight and ask no questions. I had been on the line all night and was
so dead tired and worn out with the nervous strain that I was ready to
lie down in the mud even, and go to sleep, when just at daylight I saw a
man crawling on all fours across an open space maybe twenty rods away,
and across a ravine.

"It was a little lighter up where he was and I knew he couldn't see me.
I lay low behind a rock and watched him, and as it grew lighter saw he
wore gray, and I knew he was an enemy. For ten minutes he never moved,
and I lay there with a bead on him trying to decide what to do. I knew
he was there to kill, and that my duty was to shoot, and yet I
hesitated. We shoot in battle not really knowing whether we kill or not,
but to deliberately pull trigger knowing it means sending a human soul
into eternity is an awful thing to do. His own action decided the
matter, for, as I saw him lift himself a little and then raise his gun
to the shoulder, I fired. Then I saw him spring to his feet, whirl
around, clasp his hands to his breast and slowly sink forward half out
of sight. I put a fresh cartridge in, and then never took my eyes off
that gray heap until the relief guard came along. He was not quite dead
when we went to him, for the ball had gone through his lungs, and he was
fighting hard for breath. He was a beardless boy, not over eighteen, and
as he gasped, the blood gushed out of his mouth. We saw him try to
speak, but could not, and then he looked at us three; first one and then
another. It must be he saw more pity in my face than in the others, for
the poor boy suddenly reached out his hand toward me, and as I took it
he drew me down to try and whisper to me. It was of no use; I could not
catch the sound.

"I wiped the blood away from his lips and then rolled my blouse up for a
pillow and laid his head on it. I could see a mute look of gratitude in
his eyes, like those of a dying dog, and, mingling with that, the awful
fear of death. It was all over in a few moments, and at the last he drew
my hand to his lips and kissed it. The other two boys turned away, and I
was glad, for the tears were chasing each other down my face. The one
bit of consolation I had was, the poor boy did not know I shot him. When
it was all over, we left him, and later we three went up there and
buried him beside the rock where he died. I saw his face hovering over