The ambulance stopped, the man
was helped out at the back, and led by the provost-marshal to his
place upon the coffin, where he was blindfolded. The firing party
silently took its place. The muskets were cocked and aimed, while
the noise of the retiring ambulance covered the sound. The
provost-marshal, with a merciful deception, told the prisoner he
must wait a moment and he would return to him before the final
order, but stepping quickly out of the range of the muskets, he gave
the signal with his handkerchief, and the man fell dead at the
volley, which sounded like a single discharge. The detail of
soldiers for the firing had been carefully instructed that
steadiness and accuracy made the most merciful way of doing their
unwelcome duty. The surgeon made his official inspection of the
body, which was placed in the coffin and removed in the ambulance.
The drums and fifes broke the spell with quick marching music, the
regiments took their arms, sharp words of command rattled along the
lines, which broke by platoons into column and moved rapidly off the
field.
I confess it was a relief to have the painful task ended, and
especially to have it ended in the most perfect order and
discipline.
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