We stand guard with
them in the wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with them in
ravines running with blood, in the furrows of old fields. We are with
them between contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the
life ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them pierced
by balls and torn with shells, in the trenches, by forts, and in the
whirlwind of the charge, where men become iron, with nerves of steel. We
are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine; but human speech can
never tell what they endured. We are at home when the news comes that
they are dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first sorrow. We
see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the last grief.
The past rises before us, and we see four millions of human beings
governed by the lash; we see them bound hand and foot; we hear the
strokes of cruel whips; we see the hounds tracking women through tangled
swamps. We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty
unspeakable! Outrage infinite! Four million bodies in chains--four
million souls in fetters.
Pages:
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493