Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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FRANK WELLER S HE SUN has slipped below the horizon. The faint blue line away to the west, suggesting the contact of earth and sky, was slightly edged with crimson. Two or three truant stars were already twinkling in the dark blue canopy above. At another time the serenity of it all might have stirred the soul of a poet to an expression of immortal feeling. But to us, a regiment of French in- fantrymen, it brought only a deep thankfulness that another day of slaughter was at an end. Rifles and machine guns that had cracked incessantly since the first dim hint of dawn were now silent and the general con- fusion of battle, so horrible in its intensity, had given place to a strange calm as the shadows of approaching night fell gently upon the earth. The last pale streaks of twilight faded out of the western sky and the moon, like an impetuous enchantress, seeing the last fluttering edge of her rival ' s golden robe broke from behind a cloud and enveloped the universe in the radiance of her beauty. As the stars grew thicker and brighter, a gentle breeze came whispering across the fields, bringing in its train through moonlight and starlight the holy hour of evening. Men who but a few hours ago were trying to kill other men now banished from their minds all thoughts of strife. The field out in front of our trench was strewed with silent grey-coated figures. They were shock troops who had been hurled against our first line fortifications. They made a gallant sight, those young fellows, grimly advancing while our machine gunners cut great swaths in their ranks. We had lost many a brave French lad in breaking that charge, and now it seemed that a mutual feeling of human sympathy pervaded the atmosphere and established an unspoken truce between us and the Germans. The world must be made safe for democracy. — The President. Page Twenty- three]

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Many of our men sat smoking in meditative silence, thinking of the poor fellows lying out there in the field so white and still. They were no longer the enemy, simply the beings of God ' s creation. Those bodies once moved with the life and vitality He had given them. Mortal hands had destroyed the body, but the soul, impervious to human destruction, took its place in eternity. As they sat there with these thoughts in mind there crept into their consciousness this proposition, Man has destroyed that which God has made, and the deep silence with which it was accepted made one feel he was witnessing an atonement between man and the Almighty. Others of our regiment, younger and lighter-hearted, hummed low tunes or sat conversing in groups. While I watched them my own mind became filled with sacred contemplation that comes only to the soldier who has come safely out of battle. Suddenly from the German trenches came the clear ringing notes of a cornet. How the fellow could play! He fairly picked up our feel- ings and carried them along with him. When he stopped for a moment every man of us rose up and cheered him. An American in our regiment started singing Silver Threads Among the Gold, and the Boche played an accom- paniment on his cornet. It was great. At the conclusion not one of us could speak, but a young soldier next to me (a mere boy) started crying very softly and soon all down the line of strong men — war-hardened veterans — were chok- ing back tears they were ashamed for their comrades to see. Probably to please his Yankee partner the Teuton musician played Dixie and ' Way Down Upon the Swanee River. After that he ran over a few popular French airs and quit. We supposed he would play no more, and at the shift of guards wrapped up in our blankets. I was about half asleep when again there fell on my ears the silvery tones of his instrument. He was playing a waltz, and at the first strain I leaped up in trembling excitement. Only two men in the whole world new that waltz existed — myself and the dearest friend of my youth, Karl Schmallhausen, a Bavarian musician. On my twenty-third birthday he had composed and played it for me: a waltz so beautiful that we decided to share it with no others, but keep it as a bond of mutual affection. For three years I had not heard it played, and now its slow melody came drifting to me over the battle field, bringing a message from Karl. I knew he was fighting with the enemy, for once within the borders of his native land his body and soul must become the tool of his Imperial Master. Often I had won- dered if he had gone through it all unscathed, as I had. A Zouave from the rest billets back of the base line came down the trench with an alto under his arm. I stopped h im and asked if I might play it. Nervously I played through the first strain of the waltz and immediately Karl played the second. Thus, The world ' s peace must be planted upon the tested foundations of political liberty. — The President. [Page Twenty-four