OVER THE GUNS.

Marlborough Express, Volume XVI, Issue 136, 13 June 1881, Page 2

OVER THE GUNS.

(American paper.) Here is the posjtioD. Three guns of a divided battery are stationed on the crest of a bill to I the left of an old orchard which surrounds an I ancient farm house. The other three are on I the right of the orchard, and the six pi v ces point at the mcalows before — meadows broken by fences and haystacks and lone trees until they are lost m the edge of the woods a mile away. The eve ranges over the fields m front %nd sees nothing to fear. The ear listens to sounds m rear of the battery and hears the ominous preparations for a bloody struggle. Cavalry are swinging an ay to right to get into position, infantry are marching here and there — guns rushing along at a gallop, and aides fly from point to point with orders. In ten minutes a dsep stillness begins to settle down over the left wiug. The doves fly down from their cotes, the hens walk about m search of food, and the grayheaded farmer stands at the door and shades his eyes with his hand and looks curiously about him. Twenty minutes ago he 'sat rocking m the|porch, and the bees flew lazily m th 3 June sunshine, the birds sang m the orchard, and afar down m the meadow he heard the voices of his sods as they swung their scythes. "Ah! what's that? Down there where meadow and forest blend we can see quick puffs of blue smoke, and here comes the sound of muskets. A blue cloud just begins to gather and rise down there, when we catch sight of men. They are retreating back -coming towards the orchard. They fall back slowly, halting at every fenoe to tear it down and to deliver a fire from behind the scattered rails. Now we see a long, thin line of skirmishers emerge from the woods and ocoupy the ground as the other line leses it. Back ! back ! Forward 1 forward ! and you might think it pantomime if men did not fall out of the lines bere and there and drop heavily to the earth. . There is a stir round about us. The silence has been ao deep that the jingle of a sabre or the rattle of a spur has made men nervous. Out from the edge of the woods, by the broad highway, and across the peaceful fields, pours a host of armed men. Begin: ent after regiment, and line after 1 : ie, sweoi ing forward like mighty waves— now undulating, like the course of a serpent— now inarching on steadily as the stride of Time. One— three— five— ten— you cannot count the flags. S ;i k and fringe and gold and bunting stream over the heads of the men whose eyes are fixed on the orchard and the hillside. The stir deepens. There is a tramping of feet, orders are given m quick, sharp tones, and three companies of infantry come up at a.

I donble-quick as a support, and fling thrmselves down under the trees. Jusi a moment now to listen to the notes of the blue-birds and robins— to see the blue smoke creeping lazily from the' farm-house chimney— to note that the marching lines are almost within musket-shot, and down over men and guns and sabres and shot and shells falls a shower of pink and white apple blossoms— emblems of purity and peace ! Aye ! a ronqh hand brushes them oS a cannon, which a moment later is carrying a horrible death to a score of men. " Boom ! Boom ! Boom I" Now the fight has begun. Men raise their voices from whispers to mad shoots. The smoke leaps up and stains the pure blossoms. Th 6 flame springs forward and scorches the green grass to yellow, and then br-ns it to the roots. Are the lines yet advancing? You cannot see ten feet beyond the guns, but you can hear. Heavens ! but how they shout and scream and shriek and curse ! The guns are using grape and canister, and the murderous missiles cut men into shreds, and scatter flesh and blood over the living far behind. We are driving them back. Hip! hip ! hur — !" No ! Here they are ! Through the cloud of flame and emoke they rush at the gunsspectres of death bursting through and over the vapoury barri»r which had reared itself between the living ;i vl the dead. They shout m fury ! They shriek m despair ! They fight the very flame which dissolves them, anil they pass the muzzle of grim monsters. Here on this acre of ground — here beneath the apple blossoms— is a hell on earth. A hell m which smoke and flame and curse and wail and blood aud wounds and death are so mingled that those outside of it only hear one terrible and appalling roar, as if some fierce beast had received its death wound. Shooting to the right or left— over the guns or under them. Strike where you will, but strike to destroy 1 Now the hell surges down even to the windows of the old farm house — now back under the apple trees and beyond it. Dead men are under the ponderous wheels of the guns— mad devils are slashing and shooting across the barrels. No one seems to know friend from foe. Shoot ! Slash! Kill! And ! But the hell is dissolved. The smoke is lifiing, shrieks and screates grow fainter, and twenty or thirty living men pull the bodies of the dead away from the guns and renew the slaughter against the lioea marching across tbe meadow. Three hundred dead and wounded on the single acre ! Blood on tbe grass, blood on tire and spoke and gun ! Arms hacked off, brains spattered against the trees, skulls cleft ia twain, and bloody fingers last clenched into blood-fed grass ? They tell of war and glory. Look over this hell's acre and end the latter.