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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

I shall not soon forget the look of their bellies
or the smell of their wet flanks. They had no sooner passed than I
fell back and rolled half over like a log. I could feel a warm flow
of blood trickling down my left arm. A shell, shot at the retreating
army, passed high above me, whining as it flew. Then my mind
went free of its trouble. The rain brought me to as it came pelting
down upon the side of my face. I wondered what it might be, for I
knew not where I had come. I lifted my head and looked to see a
new dawn - possibly the city of God itself. It was dark - so dark I
felt as if I had no eyes. Away in the distance I could hear the
beating of a drum. It rang in a great silence - I have never known
the like of it. I could hear the fall and trickle of the rain, but it
seemed only to deepen the silence. I felt the wet grass under my
face and hands. Then I knew it was night and the battlefield where
I had fallen. I was alive and might see another day - thank God! I
felt something move under my feet I heard a whisper at my
shoulder.


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