AN OLD SOLDIER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LIII, Issue 16282, 15 July 1916, Page 1 (Supplement)

AN OLD SOLDIER.

IN DEFEAT AND VICTORY. ET BESSIE NXN'A WATTY. I THOUGHT at 67 I was an old man. But •when war -was declared I felt all the blood of youth tingling through my veins. I was feverish to be off to once again do my part in warespecially this war of supreme aggression. I remember the Germans 'way back in the 70'sI remember their manner of warfare. I remember their barbarity and their supreme cruelty. A coarse race* at the best; boastful; bombastic; their language guttural. I am an aged veteran now. But when I was young and strong I fought in the Crimea, and many a, minor skirmish as well. \\ hen the daylight fades and over the city creeps the gloom of dusk; when the east wind roams across the land and the clouds go scudding across the sky, I sit with folded arms in the shadows, thinking and dreaming of all the years that have passed over me. And again I see the regiments in motion ; the uniforms spie and span at first, but very soon dustbegrimed and battleworn. Eager to be Off. Who of us worth calling men—even we who are old with the yearsare not eater j to be off to show our skill with sword | and gun ? \\ ho of us are not burning to deal some deadly blow at the rapacious j Hun? To revenge the women and little ! children; the grey hairs of the old ? Aye. I and to suffer torments so that victory, ! glorious victory shall be ours ? S I look at my hands. They are old to ]be sure. They are wrinkled. The | knuckles a little twisted. But how often have they struck a telling blow at an enemy! Ah, to live the life again that I I lived in the fine old days of battle! J Who would not? For once the taste of it j has tipped the tongue, it runs like poison I through the body. Such a glorious life j— march in the sun and the rain; to feel the winds of heaven moving round : J to tramp over the battleground ploughed jto a mire with the tramp, tramp of the I horses and the marching of the men.

A Soldier's First Battle.

I remember the fear tliat gripped mv heart and seemed to turn my blood to i water that first night in the darkness waitj ing for the enemy to move. It was a ! night black as the bowels of the earth : I still as the hour before the dawn. Though | I was consumed with eagerness to be in I the fury of the fray, yet my hand shook ■ and my eyes saw visions. But when, the I first shot rang out I lifted my rifle and | fired. It was a random shot—and lam j not ashamed to own itbut by some lucky I chance it struck home. When I saw the big dark body lurch and fall my brain cleared as if by magic. My hands grew steady. I was as cool as the best of them, as fearless as any. I felt I had been a warrior in some past eraand who can tell? Each time I lifted my rifle a body heaved downwards. I laughed with de- | lightl was mad with the victory. But i mind you, I was out to kill the enemy, I not the man! I was out to fight for j Britain, land of my heart and soul. How i often when I have seen the old flag flutterj ing its tattered colours in the roaming ' winds, the vigour that cold and exposure i had robbed me of has come back to me. ; How many a shout of triumphant glory I has rung out across the way at sight of it? j Boy! what can be better than standing I and defending at the price of life the ! frontiers of our Empire? To see the enemy roll back; to hear the hoarse shouts of victory and oft-times enough the groans of defeat? But defeats and disap- | pointments come and go. We lose and I retrieve, but what of it when the end is ! sure? I have learned that to go slowly, j slowly, is the better way. How Brave lien Die. j Does any man in the midst of battle ever j think of the death that may strike him j down at any moment? I think not. If so, j it is looked upon by all as the finest death. Is it not better to face it doing; our I duty to our King and Empire— faced | it must be sooner or later—than sitting I as I do, waiting for the end day by day, ! night following night? Now, as I sit about with little to do but to think, the memories that sweep oyer me, the pictures that fill my days and the dusk of my evenings are pleasant enough, though tinged with sadness. I think of the fine lads who fought at my side—aye and many of them went down— remember the youth that flooded our veins and the resolute conviction that gripped us each of going back home to tell the tale of triumph. And we had our little snatches of fun and wit. Abuse and banter went hand in hand through the ranks. We gave and took. We were ever talking of the dav when we should return to those we loved to the strains of mighty music. There is a jagged scar upon my fore- i arm. Another upon my thigh. I received | j scars even as I gave them. As a gladiator ! I and • a shot I nave struck many down. ( But, God! how bravo men die!" I have \ seen my comrades in the last throes of j death agonies smiling still. 1 have heard ' them with their last breaths calling to j God to save our Queen. For in those davs I ictoria the Good reigned over us. I ' have never yet got quite accustomed to I | the ruling of a King. ! A Battlefield Incident. j I i i Well I remember one night when I re- • I ceived a wound in mv thijh. I lav fur I j hours in the snow, the frost pinching mo j mercilessly. A!! around were red pools of | gore. And from out the deepest shadows ! death seemed to grin. Then suddenly | from out the i;loom a form came creeping Ito me. Friend or enemy? I was helpless. i I was completely at his mercy. Then as 1 he drew close and stooped to scan mv face 1 his voice rang out softly. "Cheer-oil. matey! "Hook it with me. I can help you sure as blood is running!" Hew*-a lit! le chap -Sharp as a needle like | 1 suppose, most little chaps are. Gently, tenderly, with the care of a woman, he • half lifted, halt dragged, me over ' the | stretches of snow-covered ground until Iwe were in comparative safetv. Yet ; though that little , hap saved niv We at I the perilous risk of his. the en'emv got i "ism at dawn. They told me later" that he died like a hero, his face transformed I with smiles and turned to the rising sun : I his last breath an exhortation to his com- i , rades to final victory. i I have heard it said bv men when di=- I i cussing the German that he is hard to i I understand. To me he is not hard to 1 ' understand at all. T car. sum him up in ! ! Rtantly anil I believe oorreitly He is a I j blatant being with a craving for power. and the craving is such that lie will -top ,at no vile thing to achieve his end. He jis a vulgariaji. He is an artifice of ! | devilment. He is consumed hv greed and ' , avarice. A dei-ecrater of all that is beau--1 tifill and holy. Well mav he .-ing of "Der i Tag." but it will he a different one to that J which is blinding him to truth and honour. ; And so. I repeat. I am feverish to join the j good old colours once again before mv earthly exit. For the Wood is racing through my veins again as once it did before. My heart is pound i to the (lashing of guns. If the authorities could only see their way to take ma how gladlv would I col