When the job of
bringing forth the dead was done the wagon stood loaded pretty nearly to
capacity. Four of the boxes rested crosswise upon the flat wagon-bed
and the other three were racked lengthwise on top of them. Here, too,
was a priest in his robes, and here were two altar boys who straggled,
so that as the procession started the priest was moved to break off his
chanting long enough to chide his small attendants and wave them back
into proper alignment. With the officers, the nurses and the surgeons
all marching afoot marched also three bearded civilians in frock coats,
having the air about them of village dignitaries. From their presence
in such company we deduced that one of the seven silent travelers on the
wagon must be a French soldier, or else that the Germans had seen fit to
require the attendance of local functionaries at the burial of dead
Germans.
As the cortege--I suppose you might call it that--went by where I stood
with my friends, I saw that upon the sides of the coffins names were
lettered in big, straggly black letters.
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