es--the strangely torn clothing, the parted
belt, the besmirching of the white skin. He knelt and made a closer
examination. When he rose to his feet, he turned his eyes in different
directions as if looking for an enemy. Fifty yards away, on the crest of
a low, thinly wooded hill, he saw several dark objects moving about
among the fallen men--a herd of swine. One stood with its back to him,
its shoulders sharply elevated. Its forefeet were upon a human body, its
head was depressed and invisible. The bristly ridge of its chine showed
black against the red west. Captain Madwell drew away his eyes and fixed
them again upon the thing which had been his friend.

The man who had suffered these monstrous mutilations was alive. At
intervals he moved his limbs; he moaned at every breath. He stared
blankly into the face of his friend and if touched screamed. In his
giant agony he had torn up the ground on which he lay; his clenched
hands were full of leaves and twigs and earth. Articulate speech was
beyond his power; it was impossible to know if he were sensible to
anything but pain. The expression of his face was an appeal; his eyes
were full of prayer. For what?

There was no misreading that look; the captain had too frequently seen
it in eyes of those whose lips had still the power to formulate it by an
entreaty for death. Consciously or unconsciously, this writhing fragment
of humanity, this type and example of acute sensation, this handiwork of
man and beast, this humble, unheroic Prometheus, was imploring
everything, all, the whole non-ego, for the boon of oblivion. To the
earth and the sky alike, to the trees, to the man, to whatever took form
in sense or consciousness, this incarnate suffering addressed that
silent plea.

For what, indeed? For that which we accord to even the meanest creature
without sense to demand it, denying it only to the wretched of our own
race: for the blessed release, the rite of uttermost compassion, the
_coup de grace_.

Captain Madwell spoke the name of his friend. He repeated it over and
over without effect until emotion choked his utterance.

His tears plashed upon the livid face beneath his own and blinded
himself. He saw nothing but a blurred and moving object, but the moans
were more distinct than ever, interrupted at briefer intervals by
sharper shrieks. He turned away, struck his hand upon his forehead, and
strode from the spot. The swine, catching sight of him, threw up their
cri