How curiously we regarded everything! How odd it all seemed! Nothing
appeared quite familiar; the most commonplace objects - an old saddle, a
splintered wheel, a forgotten canteen everything related something of
the mysterious personality of those strange men who had been killing us.
The soldier never becomes wholly familiar with the conception of his
foes as men like himself; he cannot divest himself of the feeling that
they are another order of beings, differently conditioned, in an
environment not altogether of the earth. The smallest vestiges of them
rivet his attention and engage his interest. He thinks of them as
inaccessible; and, catching an unexpected glimpse of them, they appear
farther away, and therefore larger, than they really are - like objects
in a fog. He is somewhat in awe of them.
From the edge of the wood leading up the acclivity are the tracks of
horses and wheels - the wheels of cannon. The yellow grass is beaten
down by the feet of infantry. Clearly they have passed this way in
thousands; they have not withdrawn by the country roads.
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