A fun look at the western way of life.

Essay by yankee842 November 2003

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A Day That Wouldn't End

Once again, I spent my day on a forty-mile forced march. The Sabbath is not viewed during war if it is at all in the army. The morning was hectic, as the bugle sounded we had been given thirty minutes notice to gather our belongings and fall in rank. We broke camp unexpectedly which meant taking everything we could carry with us. In the early morning hours, a cool breeze blew but it died down as the temperature rose the consequences almost became unbearable the sun was like a branding iron pressing against our backsides and sweat was pouring off my forehead. We were clothed in woolen uniforms during the hottest part of summer. There was a distinct aroma of perspiration floating back from the men ahead of me informing us we were all in need of a bath. Our company had an enduring smell as if instead of tents we had been living in a pigsty.

My forty-pound knapsack weighed heavily upon my back and shoulders as if I was carrying a bolder and I had a rifle with bayonet besides. After awhile a man can begin to feel like a pack mule carrying such a heavy burden, it is not hard to make a private feel like an ass. Men staggered and then began falling behind, exhaustion made it hard to keep up. A man would be helped to his feet as he struggled to continue but eventually some of the men just gave out. I saw many of my comrades fall out to the side of the column waiting to be picked up by the coming ambulance; I'm sure we lost a few men to sunstroke, not all of them could be saved. The strong stench of whisky drifted back in our...