Daily in these towns back behind the firing lines a certain percentage
of the invalided and the injured, who had been brought thus far before
their condition became actually serious, would die; and twice daily, or
oftener, the dead would be buried with military honors.
So naturally we were eyewitnesses to a great many of these funerals.
Somehow they impressed me more than the sight of dead men being
hurriedly shoveled under ground on the battle front where they had
fallen. Perhaps it was the consciousness that those who had these
formal, separate burials were men who came alive out of the fighting,
and who, even after being stricken, had a chance for life and then lost
it. Perhaps it was the small show of ceremony and ritual which marked
each one--the firing squad, the clergyman in his robes, the tramping
escort--that left so enduring an impress upon my mind. I did not try to
analyze the reasons; but I know my companions felt as I did.
I remember quite distinctly the very first of these funerals that I
witnessed.
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