Forward! The men, famished3 as they were, yelled at the sound of that welcome word. Anywhere, out of that infernal wood—anywhere, through any hell, to get at the enemy! Forward they went on the run like hounds after hare, and the run warmed them up. The sun came out and they raced on,74 steaming. “We didn’t mind the shells at all, then,” said Coco. “Lying on the ground waiting for them at Bertrix we had nothing to do but be afraid—but now we had no time. All we thought of was to get at those cursed ‘Bosches’ as fast as we could.” And so through the bursting shells, across the wide field to rising ground.
It was there, on that hillside, they got a sight of what had happened during those deadly days along the Marne. First, rows and rows of twisted, limp-lying Frenchmen, dead for long, thrown by the shells into horribly fantastic groups; and sickening heads and limbs lying scattered4 alone. Bodies everywhere, mostly resting face up to the sky, eyes open, staring. In places they were stretched regularly in long straight lines; on other fields the corpses5 were dotted all about singly. “One had to jump over them every minute,” said Georges. Further on, the75 French dead were mingled6 with Germans, piled sometimes four high like a football scrimmage.
Then, in a sparsely7 wooded tract8 they passed the relics9 of a bayonet fight—fearful! Apparently10, the French African troops had chased a battalion11 of retreating Germans up against a wall, and the bodies were, well—the “Turcos” do not stab merely in the breast—they do not stab merely to kill—they stab anywhere, they stab joyfully12, like demons13.
More and more German dead were passed, leaped over, even trod on where the way was narrow, and still the thundering of cannon14 came from every side. It seemed as if the whole world were fighting—as if all the old quiet ways of life had ceased to exist, even in memory. Still they pushed forward, marched to the west of Vitry-le-Fran?ois, crossed the Marne on a pontoon bridge at76 Blacy under a rain of rifle fire, and hurried through a beet15 field for a crest16 above the long, white, poplar-lined national road at Couvrol.
The “Bosches” were in retreat! A motorcyclist, racing17 from Vitry to Chalons with dispatches, had stopped to yell out the news.
As Georges struggled desperately18 up through the soft loam19, his view was extended over the country about the Marne. Here, on those same wide rolling plains, Attila and all his Huns had fought his ancestors when France was but a nucleus20 of scattered Roman settlements; and here that horde21 had been defeated and driven back to their wildernesses22. Now, no matter in which direction he gazed, he could see the modern barbarians23 strewing24 destruction. Puffs25 of smoke were in the air everywhere, but thickest about Vitry-le-Fran?ois.
77
The shells from the French “75’s” burst beautifully with a cloud of jet black and white. The fleecy snowy-white puffs, gray red in the center, showed where the shrapnel sent its shower of leaden balls. But, oftener than all the rest, came the droning “marmites” of the German big guns, bursting with heavy thunder in a sudden reddish flash, changing into a spume of drab smoke, edged with white.
To the westward26, village after village was smoking. Machine guns were spitting, crackling along the roads, volleys of rifle fire snapped from every wood. Up and up went the Twentieth Regiment27, till it came to the top of the little hill.
Smack-bang in their faces, a salvo of bullets greeted the men. Another volley, another! Georges, staggering back, taken by surprise with the others, as men dropped all about him, caught sight on a low hillside beyond78 of a deep gray mass of men extended in battle front only a hundred meters away. There, waiting to hold back the advance, was at least a full regiment of infantry—one of those hundreds of little rear guards that were left absolutely unsupported, to cover the German retreat, and to fight to the death without hope of success.
The Twentieth, rallying instantly, shouted a defiant28 answer to the German “Hurrahs,” and sent its volley into the enemy. Beside Georges, a man named Charles Griffe, one of the few of his friends left from Toulouse, suddenly fell, clasping his hands over his head as he crumpled29 down. The sudden excitement seemed to hypnotize Georges. “The blood seemed to boil in my head,” he expressed it. He didn’t hear the command to fix bayonets at all; the first thing he knew he was running like a machine, yelling with the others, down into the ravine and up the other79 side, and always with the horror of those points of gleaming steel ahead, climbing zig-zag up the slope toward—what? It seemed impossible to go against that row of sharp bayonets and live.
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1
theatrical
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adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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2
shreds
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v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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3
famished
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adj.饥饿的 | |
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4
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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5
corpses
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n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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6
mingled
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混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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7
sparsely
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adv.稀疏地;稀少地;不足地;贫乏地 | |
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8
tract
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n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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9
relics
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[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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10
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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11
battalion
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n.营;部队;大队(的人) | |
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12
joyfully
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adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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13
demons
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n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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14
cannon
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n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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15
beet
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n.甜菜;甜菜根 | |
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16
crest
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n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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17
racing
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n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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18
desperately
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adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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19
loam
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n.沃土 | |
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20
nucleus
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n.核,核心,原子核 | |
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21
horde
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n.群众,一大群 | |
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22
wildernesses
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荒野( wilderness的名词复数 ); 沙漠; (政治家)在野; 不再当政(或掌权) | |
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23
barbarians
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n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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24
strewing
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v.撒在…上( strew的现在分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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25
puffs
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n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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26
westward
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n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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27
regiment
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n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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28
defiant
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adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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29
crumpled
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adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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