He, on the contrary, kept his locked in a
drawer of his desk, and never wore it except when compelled by official
etiquette. The mere sight of it seemed to be painful to him. One day I
asked him the reason. We are very old and close friends, and he told me.
"The incident occurred when he was a young lieutenant. Indeed, it was
his first engagement. By some means or another he had become separated
from his company, and, unable to regain it, had attached himself to a
line regiment stationed at the extreme right of the Prussian lines.
"The enemy's effort was mainly directed against the left centre, and for
a while our young lieutenant was nothing more than a distant spectator of
the battle. Suddenly, however, the attack shifted, and the regiment
found itself occupying an extremely important and critical position. The
shells began to fall unpleasantly near, and the order was given to
'grass.'
"The men fell upon their faces and waited. The shells ploughed the
ground around them, smothering them with dirt. A horrible, griping pain
started in my young friend's stomach, and began creeping upwards. His
head and heart both seemed to be shrinking and growing cold. A shot tore
off the head of the man next to him, sending the blood spurting into his
face; a minute later another ripped open the back of a poor fellow lying
to the front of him.
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