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The Men With the Spades
The graves that Freer were dug by our own men or rather by a small fatigue party from a regiment nearby. Nearly every morning they came, the men with the spades. There was only one man who kept in his conduct a sense of decorum. He wore his uniform precisely about him and though perspiration assailed his face as he worked on his mordlin task not a drop of it ever touched his jacket. I fancied the flies through thicker over whatever grave he worked upon. Fitting enough to be named for a dealer in smallpox when he himself seemed almost taken by fever. The next day he stood in his open grave, saluted me and died on the spot