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Updated: May 26, 2025
The wind blew gustily that night, and all the hours long, the Germans collected their dead, built great pyres of wood and straw and cremated their comrades who had fallen on the field of honor. The next day, at this point, developed fighting of the same general character.
Would that he consumed his own smoke! for his smoke is horrible to inhale, and inhale it you must, and not only that, but you must live in it for the time. It has an unspeakable, wild, Hindoo odor about it, such as may lurk in the vicinity of funereal pyres. It smells like the left wing of the day of judgment; it is an argument for the pit. By midnight the works were in full operation.
There are twenty-eight sacred cows at the central temples, and perhaps 500 more at other places of worship throughout the city; the trees around the temple gardens swarm with sacred monkeys and apes; there are twenty-two places where the dead are burned, and the air of the city is always darkened during the daytime by columns of smoke that rise from the funeral pyres.
And books, countless books, too, and bales of newspapers went also to these pyres.
Dreading contagion, for the field of death lay near to Lima, the Chileans had forced the Chinamen of that city to gather the dead, cover them with kerosene and fire. After nightfall, the blue glow rising from these awful funeral pyres, lit up the whole field.
Farther on, behind the roof of the Madeline, the huge pile of the Opera House shone out like a mass of burnished copper; and the summits of other buildings, cupolas, and towers, the Vendome column, the church of Saint-Vincent de Paul, the tower of Saint-Jacques, and, nearer in, the pavilions of the new Louvre and the Tuileries, were crowned by a blaze, which lent them the aspect of sacrificial pyres.
For afterward, when on seven pyres dead men were burnt, the son of Talaos spake on this wise: 'I seek the eye of my host, him who was alike a good seer and a good fighter with the spear. This praise also belongeth to the Syracusan who is lord of this triumphal song.
For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, The pyres, thick flaming shot a dismal glare. Five hundred weary men moved along slowly through double lines of guards. Five hundred men marched silently towards the gates that were to shut out life and hope from most of them forever.
Only round the two new pyres not yet quite finished was anything approaching a crowd assembled, and there a priest was officiously directing the laying of the logs. It was the manner of their laying and the careful building of a scaffold on each side of either pyre that held Rosemary McClean's attention called all the rebellious womanhood within her to interfere and drew her nearer.
Men are bringing logs of wood to pile upon the pyres, others are poking about in the ashes of the last burned to see if maybe an anklet or ear-ring has fallen off and may be scavenged. The red flames rise and lick up the sides, while the enveloping smoke wreathes around the corpse.
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