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The Last Trench
http://www.louisbeam.com/last_trench.htm
As they walked through the bodies strewn throughout the overran trenches, one officer could not help but comment on the composition of the dead laying everywhere:
"Old men with silver locks lay dead, side by side with mere boys of thirteen or fourteen. It almost makes one sorry to have to fight against people who show such devotion for their homes and their country."
Silver haired men lay across the bodies of thirteen-year-old children piled in clumps or scattered individually where a last desperate stand had been made. The blood of both meeting in one final offering to freedom, liberty and homeland. In clumps they lay with bodies broken, mangled, and torn by shot, explosion, and hand-to-hand mortal combat. A last dying grimace of determination frozen forever on many of the faces. Their blood now coagulating in clumps upon each other and on a ground that could absorb no more. These then were the defenders of the last trench.
No ancient Spartan battled more bravely at Thermopylae --- giving his life's blood for freedom. No desperate warrior struggled more bravely upon the parapets of the Alamo while shouting liberty or death to his last gasping breath. For these chosen few now lying at the feet of the victorious foe had died in desperate hand to hand combat when there was no longer time to load the weapons, no longer time to fire. Boys fighting grown men twice their size. Old men fighting hardened soldiers in the strength of their manhood. Young and old had determined to extract with their life's blood the last measure of resistance to the hated foe who now stood upon their soil in overwhelming numbers, war materials, and arrogance.
Mothers would weep bitter tears this night, wives of many years would moan with grief. For their loved ones would never return from this last trench. But their deaths, their desperate bitter defense of all that is holy, would provide time for the Southern commander to make his decision for the rest of the outnumbered force to withdraw and live to fight another day. These honoured few, these children in rags but recently removed from their mothers' loving arms, moved even the heart of their bitter foe. Now these children lie in death, wrapped in the arms of their fathers, uncles and neighbours. These men and children showed by their courage and gave by their blood, an example for all mankind to follow in generations to come - when the stake is liberty and the prize freedom.
Minutes before, two hundred and fourteen brave souls stood there staring intently while the Stars and Bars gently caressed the wind above their head. Some five hundred yards to their front six thousand battle hardened federal veterans prepared to assault. Suddenly, federal officers could be heard shouting commands and men stepped forward confidently, looking sure of sweeping over the handful before them.
In the last trench the defenders looked at the thousands coming upon them and bowed their heads momentarily to ask God to help them aim straight, shoot fast, and kill many, and yes... “Dear Jesus take my soul to heaven.” For the God these men worshiped did not require them to turn the other cheek before the enemy of their people. No pleas to be spared were spoken this day. For this was their moment, their time, their home and loved ones they would die for. Eternal greatness had arrived. Looking up from prayers, young boys and old men glanced at each other in one last moment of reassurance that each would do his duty, fight to the last and die with determined resolve.
Then the terrible struggle began. Yankee cannon blew men to pieces tossing their flesh upon the shirts and faces of their comrades. Lead bullets gouged gaping, gushing holes in the bodies of thirteen-year-old children now become soldiers. It was only with the greatest amount of desperate struggle that they were able to throw back the first assault. The last trench began to fill with patriots blood as the hated destroyer of their homeland fell back to regroup and a brave cheer went up among the defenders of the trench. Young voices that in weeks before had sung in small country churches now mixed melodiously with the mature voices of their grandfathers' generation.
As the men regained their breath, a soft-spoken Southern accent could be heard drifting down the trench. While carefully stepping over the mangled bodies of young and old a Colonel offered encouragement as he moved down the line. His firm but gentle voice was laced with the nuances of a culture that was about to die. While later generations would mock his accent and trample his children's legacy, no Leonidas ever spoke fairer words or more firmly of duty, honour and homeland to hard pressed soldiers. Suddenly, as federal drums began to beat the advance, he stood for all to hear and his soft voice now grew in strength:
“Stand fast boys! Think now of your mothers and sisters at home. Remember it is for them that you are here today. Be ready now, and when they come, give them your steel and bullets knowing that you fight for the liberty of your loved ones. Be prepared now! And extract from these cruel invaders of our homeland a last bitter measure of payment for our soil. Look you to each other firmly now, knowing that we all die here today as men who fulfill their duty. Eyes forward!”
Then, in but a few short moments, the second massive wave was upon them and less than one-hundred and fifty yet remained to stand against the shot and shell of the thousands. Desperately they fought, each with every ounce of strength he could muster beating back the flood of foe upon their trench. Unbelievably, as old man and young child stood side by side fighting with their every fiber, gasping for breath not even with time for the wounded to wipe the blood from their eyes — again they turned the tide back.
Exhausted, out of breath, and with no hope whatsoever of relief, they were yet proud to the very center of their being of having fulfilled their promise to the commander "to not give up." Once again across the carnage of this field cheering could be heard. Yet it was fainter now, softer, for there was not so much breath left to carry it to the ears of those in the distance. As voices of young lads who but days before left their mothers loving arms, united with those who long since buried mothers in a far away time, tears sprang to the eyes of comrades. Hearts beat heavily, pounding with emotion for those dead and dying all around them who were giving the last final measure of their lives to their beloved homeland and liberty.
The foe, too, was no coward, and now aware of the mettle of those he faced, he stared at the last trench in growing disbelief. Federal troops regrouping but a short distance away left hundreds of their dead and dying in front of the determined men in the trench. For how could so few hold back so many? In spite of themselves and completely involuntarily, admiration began to spring forth in their hearts for such bravery as they now faced. Fear also raced into their being. Not a fear of losing, for so many could not lose to so few. But rather, fear of death. For they understood clearly now, if they had not before, that when the order came again to move forward, many more of them would have to die if they were to prevail over this valiant band of resolute defenders. They were not so sure their cause was worth this sacrifice. Unlike those who stood now in so few numbers desperately clinging to their positions in the last breath of life, the attackers suffered doubts of the rightness of their government's decision to destroy the liberty of those they opposed. Many in the enemy camp thought to himself that death was to be avoided if at all possible. For they knew for certain, as they listened to the now fainter cheer from the last trench, that strength of numbers, might, and power, do not make for right. They sensed in their very souls that they were killing the best of this land.
http://www.louisbeam.com/last_trench.htm
As they walked through the bodies strewn throughout the overran trenches, one officer could not help but comment on the composition of the dead laying everywhere:
"Old men with silver locks lay dead, side by side with mere boys of thirteen or fourteen. It almost makes one sorry to have to fight against people who show such devotion for their homes and their country."
Silver haired men lay across the bodies of thirteen-year-old children piled in clumps or scattered individually where a last desperate stand had been made. The blood of both meeting in one final offering to freedom, liberty and homeland. In clumps they lay with bodies broken, mangled, and torn by shot, explosion, and hand-to-hand mortal combat. A last dying grimace of determination frozen forever on many of the faces. Their blood now coagulating in clumps upon each other and on a ground that could absorb no more. These then were the defenders of the last trench.
No ancient Spartan battled more bravely at Thermopylae --- giving his life's blood for freedom. No desperate warrior struggled more bravely upon the parapets of the Alamo while shouting liberty or death to his last gasping breath. For these chosen few now lying at the feet of the victorious foe had died in desperate hand to hand combat when there was no longer time to load the weapons, no longer time to fire. Boys fighting grown men twice their size. Old men fighting hardened soldiers in the strength of their manhood. Young and old had determined to extract with their life's blood the last measure of resistance to the hated foe who now stood upon their soil in overwhelming numbers, war materials, and arrogance.
Mothers would weep bitter tears this night, wives of many years would moan with grief. For their loved ones would never return from this last trench. But their deaths, their desperate bitter defense of all that is holy, would provide time for the Southern commander to make his decision for the rest of the outnumbered force to withdraw and live to fight another day. These honoured few, these children in rags but recently removed from their mothers' loving arms, moved even the heart of their bitter foe. Now these children lie in death, wrapped in the arms of their fathers, uncles and neighbours. These men and children showed by their courage and gave by their blood, an example for all mankind to follow in generations to come - when the stake is liberty and the prize freedom.
Minutes before, two hundred and fourteen brave souls stood there staring intently while the Stars and Bars gently caressed the wind above their head. Some five hundred yards to their front six thousand battle hardened federal veterans prepared to assault. Suddenly, federal officers could be heard shouting commands and men stepped forward confidently, looking sure of sweeping over the handful before them.
In the last trench the defenders looked at the thousands coming upon them and bowed their heads momentarily to ask God to help them aim straight, shoot fast, and kill many, and yes... “Dear Jesus take my soul to heaven.” For the God these men worshiped did not require them to turn the other cheek before the enemy of their people. No pleas to be spared were spoken this day. For this was their moment, their time, their home and loved ones they would die for. Eternal greatness had arrived. Looking up from prayers, young boys and old men glanced at each other in one last moment of reassurance that each would do his duty, fight to the last and die with determined resolve.
Then the terrible struggle began. Yankee cannon blew men to pieces tossing their flesh upon the shirts and faces of their comrades. Lead bullets gouged gaping, gushing holes in the bodies of thirteen-year-old children now become soldiers. It was only with the greatest amount of desperate struggle that they were able to throw back the first assault. The last trench began to fill with patriots blood as the hated destroyer of their homeland fell back to regroup and a brave cheer went up among the defenders of the trench. Young voices that in weeks before had sung in small country churches now mixed melodiously with the mature voices of their grandfathers' generation.
As the men regained their breath, a soft-spoken Southern accent could be heard drifting down the trench. While carefully stepping over the mangled bodies of young and old a Colonel offered encouragement as he moved down the line. His firm but gentle voice was laced with the nuances of a culture that was about to die. While later generations would mock his accent and trample his children's legacy, no Leonidas ever spoke fairer words or more firmly of duty, honour and homeland to hard pressed soldiers. Suddenly, as federal drums began to beat the advance, he stood for all to hear and his soft voice now grew in strength:
“Stand fast boys! Think now of your mothers and sisters at home. Remember it is for them that you are here today. Be ready now, and when they come, give them your steel and bullets knowing that you fight for the liberty of your loved ones. Be prepared now! And extract from these cruel invaders of our homeland a last bitter measure of payment for our soil. Look you to each other firmly now, knowing that we all die here today as men who fulfill their duty. Eyes forward!”
Then, in but a few short moments, the second massive wave was upon them and less than one-hundred and fifty yet remained to stand against the shot and shell of the thousands. Desperately they fought, each with every ounce of strength he could muster beating back the flood of foe upon their trench. Unbelievably, as old man and young child stood side by side fighting with their every fiber, gasping for breath not even with time for the wounded to wipe the blood from their eyes — again they turned the tide back.
Exhausted, out of breath, and with no hope whatsoever of relief, they were yet proud to the very center of their being of having fulfilled their promise to the commander "to not give up." Once again across the carnage of this field cheering could be heard. Yet it was fainter now, softer, for there was not so much breath left to carry it to the ears of those in the distance. As voices of young lads who but days before left their mothers loving arms, united with those who long since buried mothers in a far away time, tears sprang to the eyes of comrades. Hearts beat heavily, pounding with emotion for those dead and dying all around them who were giving the last final measure of their lives to their beloved homeland and liberty.
The foe, too, was no coward, and now aware of the mettle of those he faced, he stared at the last trench in growing disbelief. Federal troops regrouping but a short distance away left hundreds of their dead and dying in front of the determined men in the trench. For how could so few hold back so many? In spite of themselves and completely involuntarily, admiration began to spring forth in their hearts for such bravery as they now faced. Fear also raced into their being. Not a fear of losing, for so many could not lose to so few. But rather, fear of death. For they understood clearly now, if they had not before, that when the order came again to move forward, many more of them would have to die if they were to prevail over this valiant band of resolute defenders. They were not so sure their cause was worth this sacrifice. Unlike those who stood now in so few numbers desperately clinging to their positions in the last breath of life, the attackers suffered doubts of the rightness of their government's decision to destroy the liberty of those they opposed. Many in the enemy camp thought to himself that death was to be avoided if at all possible. For they knew for certain, as they listened to the now fainter cheer from the last trench, that strength of numbers, might, and power, do not make for right. They sensed in their very souls that they were killing the best of this land.
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