Killing No Murder

Horowhenua Chronicle, 10 June 1915, Page 4

Killing No Murder

[Tin's articlo is one of- ;i series of nar- ] ratlves describing life in the trenches of -Europe, written by Pnil Rader, son oi Bev. William Rader, oi Saa Fran- j cieco. He served for a time with the French Foreign Legion, but h now in T-ondon.] London, March 29.—How it feels to kill a man is something- 1 cannot adequately describe. There are some millions of men in Europe who have had this feeling during the past halfyear, but 1 venture to say that not one of them could faithfully detail liis emotions upon first taking a human life. After you see your victim drop yon first feel a sense of triumph. Then tho iiges of training in the Ten Commandments come to the front, and you feel like a. murderer. Then you want to run around among your mates and tell them the circumstances of the killing and got them to tell you that you did tho right thing. SIGHTING THE GAME. ■My experience was like that 1 was standing beside my lieutenant one day. He had fastened a small mirror to a twig, and was looking at the German trenches, when suddenly lie exclaimed: "Get your gun! A Boclie has come out of his trench. I ran down the trench, gob my gun and came back to tho loophole. 1 was so excited I could liardly aim. Through the hole I saw a German standing on the edge of his trench. He had Dceii carrying a huge boaixl and had rested it against his back while he tried to light his pipe. 13RINGING HIM DOAYN. "Get him! Gel him!" said the lieutenant. I fired and missed. Tho German struck another match, and merely looked contemptuously at the «pot in space where the bullei had whistles past him. He was only 15 feet away from me, but through tho loophole I could see only part of Ins body, and I wanted to hit him low. if possible. 1 aimed again. He wheeled round and backed in a circle, like n drunken man trying to keep his balance. Tlu-n "lie throw up both hands and h>ll forward on his face. 1 turned around to look at the lieutenant. He hart moved aivay. He was proud. Then a wave of remorse came over me—it was the "Thou Shalt Not Kill" that 'is butiod in every man's mind and heart. . A CO'MRADE DISSENTS. "J got a Gorman. , ' 1 shouted to a soldier near by. I r.i>id him how the man had been stantLiug ihere, holding a board. "Did ho have a rilli;?'-' asked the soldier. "Why. no," 1 said. "And you shot :in unarmi'd man r" ! "J had direct orders,'" J answered. i 1 felt like a do;;. It .'cemed to me • that I mu*l Jiiift some human being who would say that 1 had done right. I told another soldior n !; ont it. ""Served him right." .'-aid tho soldier "He'd have done tlto same thing to you." Those wore splendid voids for me. 1 had slouched flhuift- ihe trench before I met him. After that .1 held up my head. PRIDE AND REMORSF, But the two — the pride and tin; rtiuoric — foiiglu'. -in my miiui. ax last I ttild it io an old J-ogion soldier. I ".uy 1>.,y," Lo said, "it s war. Could

yuu'w! iv.iised to .-iiooi. uiict-r the eycis of xhe lieutenant? AYar is killing, and that's ail thcro i= to it. Suppose every soldier in the Frefltt'i line were to obey Jii.s own instiuctfi tiuout killing. None of tho enemy would' die. The French, have brought you iiere to kill, find you must kill whatever , ->on can." Technically 1 had done wrojig, because all war is icrribly wrong.

.1. sat behind a nuichine gun one clay suon after that and killed eleven Germans who had built a barricade in eoine

near-by trees. They wore shooting at us, and 1 felt much better about killing them than I did aboul .killing the singln German..

And then later again on ihe bicycle seat of a machine gun, and, at the rate of 7CO .shots a minute, a Ivred at advancing columns of Germans in cloee formation and watched t'tem drop and squirm. They were conuii gi-o kill us, if they could. It was only- fair to kill them, under tho rules of the war game. A terrific sense of power filled me, the rattle of tha.t gun was Rvceeier and grander to me than the Hallelujah Chorus. I knew what it meant to be drunk when killing. Other maeluno guns were going, too; but I felt at the time as if mine were the- only one. The .Germans turned and ran, their formation smashed, their dead and wounded strewing the hillside. But that night ,after 1 had crawle-d into my niudhole, 1 didn't dare to think of all the women and children whoso hearts had been hit by that machine gun tire. MERE BRUTAL KILLING. I had joined the French Foreign Legion expecting to be niadle ,i member of the flying corps. Instead, 1 had found my way to the trenches where killing was our only job—brutal out aud out killing, with little science and less chivalry. When my chance came 1 got out. I Everybody else Mould quit too. 1 "knew they would. I lived with them, and slept and ate with them, and I knew they would have (piit, if they could. So would every other man in all the armies in all this great war. AYhen the word runs along the line some happy day that tho war is ended, I don't want to have to wri*e the efor\ of-how the men feel. Only God will be able to measure the joy—no human being would be able to ivll it.