|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
 |
||||
|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
|
|
||||
|
now they were taking him out to be slaughtered. The regiment slid down a bank and wallowed across a little stream. The mournful current moved slowly on, and from the water, shaded black, some white bubble eyes looked at the men. As they climbed the hill on the farther side artillery began to boom. Here the youth forgot many things as he felt a sudden impulse of curi- osity. He scrambled up the bank with a speed that could not be exceeded by a bloodthirsty man. He expected a battle scene. There were some little fields girted and squeezed by a forest. Spread over the grass and in among the tree trunks, he could see knots and waving lines of skirmishers who were running hither and thither and firing at the landscape. A dark battle line lay upon a sunstruck clearing that gleamed orange color. A flag fluttered. Other regiments floundered up the bank. The brigade was formed in line of battle, and after a pause started slowly through the woods in the rear of the receding skirmishers, who were con- tinually melting into the scene to appear again farther on. They were always busy as bees, deeply absorbed in their little combats. The youth tried to observe everything. He did not use care to avoid trees and branches, and his forgotten feet were constantly knocking against stones or getting entangled in briers. He was aware that these battalions with their commotions were woven red and startling into the gentle fabric of softened greens and browns. It looked to be a wrong place for a battle field. The skirmishers in advance fascinated him. Their shots into thickets and at distant and prominent trees spoke to him of tragedies--hid- den, mysterious, solemn. |
