In vain. He has no strength to rise, and his murderers
finish him with a ball in the head and one in the side, and bury him
hastily in a field a few metres off.
The weary march goes on all day. When it ends, another old
man--seventy-nine years old--"le pere Milliardet"--can do no more. The
next morning he staggered to his feet at the order to move, but fell
almost immediately. Then a soldier with the utmost coolness sent his
bayonet through the heart of the helpless creature. Another falls on the
road a little farther north--then another--and another. All are killed,
as they lie.
The poor Maire, Lievin, struggles on as long as he can. Two other
prisoners support him on either side. But he has a weak heart--his face
is purple--he can hardly breathe. Again and again he falls, only to be
brutally pulled up, the Germans shouting with laughter at the old man's
misery. (This comes from the testimony of the survivors.) Then he, too,
falls for the last time. Two soldiers take him into the cemetery of
Chouy. Lievin understands, and patiently takes out his handkerchief and
bandages his own eyes.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195