Deadlocked3, their grip at each other's throats, German and Frenchman watched each other across a narrow, noisome4 waste, now and forever to become the symbol of all that is most horrible, most deadly, most pitiable:
No Man's Land!
Tens of thousands of men waited for the word of command which should bid them expose themselves to the unsated appetite of hungry slaughter5, tens of thousands of men waited inactive while death and mutilation chose them, one by one.
A gray soil, a gray sky, and a gray doom6.
The only thing that moved was the shuddering7 skin of the earth as the bullets flayed8 it in streaks9 or the shells dug deep holes like the festering sores[Pg 303] of a foul10 disease. Not a blade of grass, not a weed, not a shrub11 remained; where leafy woods once had been, now only a few scarred and slivered12 stumps13 pointed14 accusing fingers upward. It was Chaos15 come again.
Where were the shouting hosts charged with valor16, such as those who had driven forward at La Fère Champenoise, when Foch's army saved France?
Gone!
Where were the gallant17 fights to save the guns, when men met in open combat under the open sky?
Gone!
Where were the cavalry18 charges when squadrons with saber or with lance clashed in a deadly but glorious shock?
Gone!
Where were the armies that had fought hand to hand in the streets of Charleroi; that had snatched at and escaped from death alternately in the great retreat; that had hurled19 themselves at each other with equal fury in the attack or the defense20 of Paris; that had charged up the slopes of Le Grand Couronne and the bluffs21 of the Aisne with equal gallantry, and, dying, still had shaken their fists in the face of Slaughter?
[Pg 304]
Gone, all gone!
Aye, gone indeed, but where?
Dug in!
Horace, off duty for a few hours from his post as military telephonist, for which he had fitted himself to qualify when his work as a motor cyclist was done, looked at the smitten22 world. He tried to compare the war before him with the war to which for one brief, wild month he had been so close. There was no comparison.
To nothing that the world has ever seen could the War of the Trenches24 be compared.
It was a cold, invisible inferno25, which, every morning and evening, spewed up its ghastly tale of dead and wounded; which, every evening and morning, yielded up its line of staggering, weary, war-dulled figures, glad to exchange the peril26 of death for the miserable27 existence which was all that was possible behind the trenches in the plain of Champagne that first fearful winter.
The war of men was over, only a war of murderous moles28 remained.
In a rickety hovel behind the lines, which, as Horace's companion in the telephone work declared, was "weather-proof only when there wasn't any weather to put it to the proof," the boy[Pg 305] had puzzled over this new warfare29. At last, one day, the opportunity serving, he hunted up his friend the veteran—now a sergeant30-major—and learned the causes and the methods of the ditch-born strife31.
Courtesy of "Le Miroir."
The Valley of the Dead.
Bombardment of shrapnel and high explosive shell, forming a barrage32 fire through which the men seen in the trench23 are about to plunge33.
"Modern fighting," said the veteran, as he cleaned his rifle, a daily task in that rust-devouring atmosphere, "is the result of modern weapons. Whereas a musket34 would take two minutes to load and had a range of only a couple of hundred yards, a modern rifle will fire thirty shots a minute and over, and has a good killing35 range at an almost flat trajectory36 of a thousand yards. Suppose it takes a charging force of infantry37 six minutes to run a thousand yards, where a musket would get in three shots a modern rifle would put in from 180 to 300 shots, and would be firing almost continuously."
"Men would have to be under cover to face that fire," agreed Horace.
"More murderous than the rifle," the veteran continued, "is the machine-gun, which fires 600 shots a minute and can be operated by two men. It is estimated as being equal to fifty men, but, in reality, its destructiveness in the hands of a good gunner is far higher. It's easy to handle,[Pg 306] too, the Maxims38 weighing sixty pounds and our Hotchkiss fifty-three pounds, because the English weapon is water-cooled and ours is air-cooled."
"Which is best?"
"Ours," replied the veteran promptly40, "because a Maxim39, when it's firing steadily41, gets so hot that it boils the water and the enemy can see the steam. Then he knows where you are and concentrates his fire and—you tuck in your toes and no one will ever wake you up."
"Invisibility counts," said the boy.
"It's the difference between life and death!" was the reply. "That's where the value of the trenches becomes evident. Since both rifles and machine-guns have a flat trajectory, when they do strike the ground, they do it at a very slight angle. If your head is ten inches below the level of the ground, a thousand men can fire at you with rifles and machine-guns a hundred yards away, and you can smoke a pipe comfortably and listen to the song of the bullets overhead.
"Shrapnel, especially when handled by the 'Soixante-Quinze,' which, in addition to being the best field-gun in the world, has the best shell with the best time-fuse, is more destructive against advancing troops than machine-gun and rifle-fire[Pg 307] combined, when it is rightly timed. Of course, it is far harder to aim exactly and to time to the second. A shrapnel shell holds 300 bullets and a 'Soixante-Quinze' can fire fifteen shells a minute. That means that one gun can send 4500 bullets a minute into an advancing enemy, the bullets scattering42 in a fan shape from the burst of the shell. The Boches, by the way, waste a tremendous amount of ammunition43 in bursting their shrapnel too high. I got hit, myself, with three balls from a shell which had burst too far away and they didn't even make a hole in my trousers; bruised44 me a bit, that was all.
"But you can see, my boy, when you've got rifle fire, machine-gun fire and shrapnel all looking for a different place to put a hole through you, a trench is the loveliest thing in the world, no matter if it's wet and slimy, full of smells and black with dried blood. The worst pool of filth45 would be a haven46 of refuge if only you could drop your body in it a few inches below the zone of certain death. If one gets caught once in the open, one never grumbles47 again about the labor48 of digging a trench."
"But why are trenches so twisty?" asked Horace. "One misty49 day, when it was safe, an[Pg 308] aviator50 took me up a little way, and I had a chance to look down on our trenches. I was only in the air a few minutes and we didn't go very high, but, although I know this section pretty well, I couldn't make head or tail out of our lines. They looked like a sort of scrawly51 writing, or a spider's web stretched out and tangled52 up."
"That's not a bad description," said the veteran thoughtfully, "they do look a little like that, with the communication trenches for the cross-threads. But there are a good many reasons why the trenches are made 'twisty' as you call it.
"In the first place, a trench is made zigzag54, so that, if the enemy should make a sudden raid and seize a section of the trench, he can't fire along it and enfilade you. Then a trench that wavers in long uneven55 lines is much safer against shell-fire, for, supposing that the enemy does get the range of a piece of trench, his range will be wrong for the same trench ten yards farther on, the shells falling harmlessly in the ground before it or behind it.
"Besides that, a thin wavy56 line is much more difficult to see from an a?roplane than a straight line, because there are no straight lines in nature. That's why we've had to stop putting straw in[Pg 309] the trenches, the line of yellow was too easy to see from overhead."
"Is that why trenches are made so narrow?" the boy asked. "I've often thought it silly to make them so that two people can hardly squeeze past each other. The stretcher-bearers growl57 about it all the time."
"The ideal fire-trench," the veteran answered, "should be only about eighteen inches wide and not quite four feet deep, the upthrown earth forming a parapet. It should be recessed58 here and there, and traversed. To pass a man, you have to slide sideways. The communicating trench should be about fifteen yards to the rear. It should be seven feet deep and about three feet wide.
"Twenty-five yards in the rear is the cover trench, sixteen feet deep, and wide enough to allow troops to march in single file. The communication trenches from one line to another are always best as tunnels, though sometimes they are open. Our trenches here are open, but," the veteran nodded sagely59, "I don't think they ought to be. This is a chalk soil, and the whitish soil underneath61 shows too clearly when you throw it up."
[Pg 310]
"The trenches wouldn't be so bad," said the lad, "if they weren't always wet."
"You can't change that," the veteran responded grimly, "unless you can find some way to make water run up-hill. It stands to reason that if you dig holes in the ground and it rains—as it does nearly all the time in this wretched northern country—the water is going to run into those holes. If you bale it out by day, the Boches see you, and if you pump at night, they hear you. If it rains, the trenches are going to be knee-deep in water and you can't help it."
"But how can you find your way, when one trench looks exactly like another and they're all twisting and turning like so many snakes trying to get warm?"
"You can't, unless you know the plans," the sergeant-major answered. "You've no idea of the amount of work that our draughtsmen have to do, in mapping out these underground cities and thousands of miles of ditch-streets. I know my little section, of course, and each officer has learned the tangle53 of trenches in which his command is likely to operate. But the officers have to know the tangle of the enemy's trenches, too, and, what's more, when we attack, they have to be in the front[Pg 311] and guide us. An assault isn't just a blind drive over the top, it must have a definite goal and has to be reached a certain way. The officers have got to know the Boche roads as well as our own."
"But how can they find that out?"
"Aeroplanes with photographers and draughtsmen," came the reply. "You've heard the story of the tattooed62 draughtsman?"
"No," answered Horace, "I haven't."
"He was a young fellow," the veteran began, "who was assigned to the job of making a plan of the enemy's trenches opposite his part of the line. The Boche lines were on a little higher ground than ours at that point, so that nothing could be seen from the fire trench. The young draughtsman went up in a machine several times, but there was a very efficient battery of anti-aircraft guns a little back of their lines and the Archies would not let our Farman a?roplane come down low enough for a photograph to show anything definite.
"This chap got desperate. He was bound to succeed, no matter what happened to him. At last, one night, we caught a Boche patrol on No Man's Land and wiped them out. As soon as the return fire slackened, the draughtsman, who had[Pg 312] been in one of the dug-outs, crawled out, and, wriggling63 flat to where the Boches had fallen, he grabbed one of the dead men by the ankle and dragged him to our trench.
"Then, unobtrusively and to our open-mouthed astonishment64, the young draughtsman dressed himself in the dead man's uniform, read carefully all the papers in the pockets, so that he might learn who it was he was counterfeiting65 and bade us good-bye.
"'There's just about one chance in a million,' he said, 'that I don't get found out right away. If I am, then—' He clicked his tongue like a trigger. 'If I'm not caught and can manage to go back with the relief and return again,' he said, 'as soon as I get to the trench I'll bolt out of it, holding my left arm stretched out straight. You'll know by that, it's me. They'll pot me from behind, of course, but I may get half-way over No Man's Land before they do. If I drop, just smother67 the place where I fell with bullets so that the Boches don't have a chance to sneak68 out and get me.'
"'But that'll cut you to ribbons,' I said to him.
"He shrugged69 his shoulders.
"'I'll be dead, probably,' he said, 'and if I'm[Pg 313] not and you kill me, then it's only five minutes' difference, anyway.
"'Then, when it's night, let some of the fellows go out and drag me in. I've got an indelible pencil, and you'll find a map of the trenches on my chest.'"
"Did he go?"
"He did," the veteran answered. "We watched close all that night, all the next day and all the next night, till we were sure that he had been nabbed.
"Then, suddenly, one of our chaps called,
"'Here he comes!'
"Sure enough, just as it was getting light enough to see, a figure dressed like a Boche came jumping out of the trench holding his left arm stretched out straight and began a bolt across No Man's Land. He was running like a hare, but three or four rifles spoke70. He dropped, wounded, and began to crawl, inch by inch, to our lines. Then they got a machine-gun full on him and began to spray him with bullets, like you sprinkle a flower-bed in summer.
"He didn't wriggle71 very far.
"We answered them hot and heavy. We didn't leave room for a worm to crawl up to him, much[Pg 314] less a man. Then, when night came, some of our fellows drove a sap to where he lay and hooked down the body."
"And the map?"
"Scrawled72 on his bare chest, the way he said it would be," the veteran answered, "and underneath was written in the same smeared73 violet marks the word:
"'Victory!'"
"You can't beat France when it comes to heroism74!" declared Horace.
"The English are just as nervy," answered the veteran. "Even in the trenches, though, they fight differently. They make far fewer night attacks than we do, and far more mines. There's few nights that the British haven't got a listening patrol out somewhere on the line."
"I hear every one talking of a 'listening patrol,'" put in the lad; "tell me, Sergeant, just what a listening patrol is for."
"To listen," answered the veteran laconically75.
"Of course, but for what?"
The answer came, sinister76,
"Mines!"
"Ah!" Horace had seen the effects of those most terrible of all weapons of trench warfare.
Courtesy of "Illustrated77 London News."
Listening Patrol Trapped by a Star-Shell.
Courtesy of "Illustrated London News."
Locating Enemy Sappers on a Listening Patrol.
[Pg 315]
"You see," the veteran explained, "when trenches are well and solidly dug, especially the way the Germans build them; when solid machine-gun emplacements are made and properly manned with plenty of ammunition; when there is a concentration of artillery78 to support the trenches on both sides, nobody can do much. Of course, they shell us all the time, and we shell them. They send over rifle-bombs and we shoot ammonal and vitriol grenades. Once in a while, if they're lucky, they'll land a 'Minnenwerfer' in one of our trenches and then there's a little work for the doctor and a lot for the grave-digger."
"What's a 'Minnenwerfer'?"
"A pleasant little toy the Germans have invented, which looks like a rubber ball at the end of a stick. Its right name is the 'Krupp trench howitzer.' It weighs only 120 pounds—at least one of them that we captured, weighed that—and can be handled by a couple of men. Although it has a caliber79 of only 2.1-inch it throws a shell of 16-inch diameter."
"How on earth can it do that?" asked the boy. "You can't squeeze a 16-inch shell down a 2.1-inch muzzle80!"
"That's what the stick is for," came the reply.[Pg 316] "The shell is round, like one of the old-fashioned cannon81-balls you see piled up in village squares beside antiquated82 cannon. It weighs 200 pounds and has a bursting charge of 86 pounds of tri-nitro-toluol. The shell is bored to the center. You shove one end of the iron rod into the gun so that it sticks out about eight inches beyond the muzzle. Then you put the shell on the rod by the hole bored to the center. It looks like a toy balloon at the end of a child's toy cannon. Then you fire it, the iron rod is shot out, driving the bomb ahead of it and off she goes."
"Will it go far?"
"Far enough," the veteran said. "At an angle of projection83 of 45 degrees with the low muzzle velocity84 of 200 feet per second, the range of the bomb is 1244 feet and it takes eight seconds to come. That's the only good thing about it, sometimes you can hear it coming soon enough to dodge85 into a dug-out. But neither Minnenwerfers, nor the 5.6-inch nor even the 8.4-inch howitzers will win a trench. It takes mines to do that.
"So, in order to gain an advantage, one side or the other burrows86 deep tunnels in the earth, sometimes 16 feet down, sometimes 60, all depending on the soil and the plan. The men work underground[Pg 317] like moles and they drive a long subterranean88 gallery until they come right below an important point, maybe an officers' dug-out or a grenade depot89. Then they burrow87 upwards90 a bit, and put in a tremendous charge of explosive, melinite or something like that, and fix an electric wire. The earth is then rammed91 back into the gallery, an electric contact is made and whiz! bang! about forty tons of mixed heads, legs, bits of bomb-proof and earth go flying into the air, leaving a hole big enough to build a bungalow92 in and never see the roof.
"Then it's our turn. While the section of the Boche line is in confusion we dash across, while our artillery, behind us, smothers93 the rest of the line. We settle in the big hole and build our trenches from it and we've gained a hundred yards and can pepper the Boche trenches from their rear. A mine's a great thing, although, sometimes, it costs more men to consolidate94 and hold a place like that than to take it. The British have beaten us all at that game. They've got small armies of Welsh miners, doing nothing but that all day and all night long. They're used to it, it's their trade and they don't mind.
"Now, a listening patrol, which is what I began[Pg 318] to tell you about, is a patrol generally consisting of four men, under an officer, which creeps out on No Man's Land during the night. By approaching near the enemy trenches, listening with their ears to the ground, the men can hear if there is any one at work under them. The earth—as you ought to know, being a telephonist—is a good conductor of sound, and if there's any tricky95 business going on, a listening patrol can find it out."
"What good does it do to know that some one is driving a mine under you? Do you desert the trench, then, until they blow it up?"
The veteran almost growled96.
"Does a Frenchman desert a trench!" he said. "No, we find out exactly where they're digging, and start a tunnel from our side, right below the other. Then, when they're working busily, a little explosion below them smashes their tunnel into soup and they're all dead—and buried—without troubling any one."
"I shouldn't think a listening patrol would be so dangerous, then," said the boy, "if you've only got to crawl out and listen."
"But there's others listening, too! If they hear a move, or think that they hear a move, up goes a star shell, bright as day, to show you sprawled97 on[Pg 319] the ground. Your only chance is to lie still, like a dead man. But, lots of times, even if they think you're dead they'll turn a machine-gun on you, just to make sure. You don't have to imitate being dead any more, then. I know of six officers, right in this sector98, who have been killed in listening-patrol work, and I couldn't count how many men."
He leaned forward and stared out into space gloomily.
"I don't call this—war," he said in a lower voice. "I can't call it war when a soldier's chief weapons are a pickax and a spade for digging trenches—and graves. And—I wanted to be an officer!" He stared out upon the faded world and repeated slowly, "I wanted to be an officer! I wanted to lead men into—that!"
"You lead men now!" said the boy.
The fire of responsibility and pride flashed back into the dull eyes and involuntarily the veteran stood up.
"I lead men now," he cried, "and I'll lead them till we drive the Germans back from the last foot of the soil of France!"
He strode off to his multifarious duties with swing and determination in his step.
[Pg 320]
It was three days after that when Horace, who was gradually acclimatizing to the nerve-racking cannonade of the battlefield, became conscious that it was steadily increasing in intensity99. The clouds hung low, muffling100 the resonance101 and emphasizing the sharp reports of the cannon. The moist, sluggish102 air, full of unimaginable odors, became pungent103 with sulphur, powder, the burnt smell of calcined soil and the fumes104 of charred105 wool arising from the ignited clothing of the unburied dead on No Man's Land.
Significant, too, that evening, was the appearance of wagon-loads of wire. One of the men groaned106 aloud as he saw it,
"Zut! That means some dodging107 of bullets to-night!"
Never, till Time has ceased to be, will any man calculate the number of deaths which have been caused by that entrapment108 born in the brain of some fiend—wire entanglement109.
Wire! The strangler!
Wire! The man-trap!
Wire! That grips a soldier with malicious110 glee and holds him fast to an immediate111 or a lingering death.
Wire! Which lies before every heroic effort,[Pg 321] which throws its snaky coils around the feet and around the nerves of the bravest.
Embodiment of hate, of diabolic trickery, of malign112 expectancy113, arch-creator of despair—Wire!
For every mile of fighting front, there are a thousand miles of wire, with a weight of 110 tons. For every mile of front, 12,000 standards and 12,000 pickets114 must be used. Withal, that thousand miles of wire has cost a thousand lives to put it up and keep it in repair, that, when the time may come, it may cost the lives of two thousand of the enemy.
Just as the character of the fighting shows the nature of troops, so does the wire that they use. The German wire is put up by machinery115. It is a harder, tougher wire than is used by the Allies, with curved barbs116, altogether a more efficient thing in itself. But, by reason of that very solidity, it affords greater resistance to shell-fire, and therefore, under heavy bombardment, funnels117 of passage can be driven through it, by which troops may assault the trenches it is designed to protect.
British wire is thinner, lighter118, sharper. It is irregularly constructed, with pitfalls119. It is largely put up by knife-rests, afterwards staked to the ground. It stretches over a wide space, as[Pg 322] a rule, with the result that while shell-fire beats it down and explosions may uproot120 the stakes, the ground remains121 a hideous122 tangle of treachery for the feet.
A form of wire used on the French front consists of two spiral coils, four feet in diameter, wound loosely in opposite directions and entangled123. It is so loose and yields so little resistance that shell-fire, however much it may blow the coils into the air, only entangles124 it the more. The spiral coils retain their form. Moreover, most important of all, it cannot be crossed by throwing planks126 upon it, for the coils give way and the plank125 drops in between. Nothing but a bridge of hurdles—or the bodies of dead men—will serve for passage over it.
Well the soldiers knew what the strengthening of wire under an increased bombardment implied.
The Germans were preparing to assault.
If further assurance were needed, Horace found it in the tramping of feet as re?nforcements came rolling up from the rear. What men were these?
These were the unafraid!
These were the terror of the enemy!
The Moroccan Division! Chosen for the moments of danger, picked for occasions when savage127[Pg 323] ferocity is required, the Africans wait for the word of command.
Courtesy of "The Sphere."
French Tank Cutting Wire.
Note the lower lines and greater speed of the French design compared with the British, more mobile but less powerful.
"They march past," said Henri Barbusse, describing them at the front, "with faces red brown, yellow or chestnut128, their beards scanty129 and fine, or thick and frizzled, their greatcoats yellowish-green, and their muddy helmets displaying the crescent instead of our grenade. From flat or angular faces, burnished130 like new coins, one would say that their eyes shine like balls of ivory and onyx. Here and there in the file, towering above the rest, comes the impassive black face of a Senegalese sharpshooter. The red flag with a green hand in the center goes behind the company.
"These demon-men, who seem carved of yellow wood, of bronze or of ebony, are grave and taciturn; their faces are disquieting131 and secret, like the threat of a snare132 suddenly found at your feet. These men are drunk with eagerness for the bayonet and from their hands there is no quarter. The German cry of surrender, 'Kamerad!' they answer with a bayonet thrust, waist-high."
Their presence, also, told its story.
A counter-assault was planned.
Rarely do the Moroccans hold the trenches. It is not their kind of fighting, nor would their[Pg 324] bodies, used to the sun of North Africa, endure the cold and wet of the muddy trench. They are the troops of the advance. There are no prisoners, no wounded, after they have leaped into a trench. Their trail is the trail of savage death.
All the next day the bombardment increased in violence, and Horace, at his military switchboard, plugged calls to distant quarters for re?nforcements. Everywhere along the line, when the early dusk fell, men were standing133 to arms or marching to the threatened sector.
One section of trench was wiped out with the concentration of high explosive shells; wire, fire trench, communication trench and their living defenders134 being blown into an unrecognizable, pockmarked mass. Another trench was hastily dug behind and craftily135 wired. There the assault would come.
The noise was deafening136, maddening. One felt the slow approach of insanity137. Men sprang up here and there with frantic138 cries that the appalling139 nerve-racking din66 might cease, even for a second. A few went mad, and their hands were bound by their comrades until the crisis was past.
A gray, evil earth; a gray, evil sky, with bomb-dropping aeroplanes overhead like vultures waiting[Pg 325] to swoop140 down upon their carrion141 prey142. Upon that scene night fell.
On that small section of the trenches not less than 50,000 projectiles143 had fallen that evening. The shrill144 whistling of bullets, the baby's wail145 of falling torpedoes146, the spattering "whit60" "whit" of ricochetting fuses, the six-fold squall of the 77's, the whine147 of the small howitzers, and the roar of large shell formed a shrieking148 arch in the tortured and glutted149 air.
Nor was the French artillery silent. The batteries of "Soixante-Quinze" replied incessantly150. From time to time the bellow151 as of a prehistoric152 bull told that the 8.2-inch gun was bodily tearing holes and men in the enemy's trenches. The long thin Rimailho sent its 5.9-inch shell with the swift flight of a vengeful meteor and the new great 10-inch howitzer looped its 240-pound shell upon the dug-outs where the men were sheltering. There is neither shelter nor men after that shell has fallen.
The guards in the advance trenches were redoubled. Extra supplies of bombs and hand-grenades were served out.
Under arms, silent, expectant, grim, stood the Moroccan brigade. Their turn was coming, soon.
[Pg 326]
The night dragged on. No one went to sleep, for sleep was impossible under the fury of noise.
The Germans, systematic153 in everything, over-systematic in everything, never commence an assault before midnight. At half-past eleven o'clock, Horace plugged in for the order to be given for the barrage fire to begin.
The whirlwind of vertically-falling flame shut off the German lines in a tawny154 curtain of annihilation.
Now and then rockets shot up, red, green and white, writing artillery messages on the sky.
The calcium155 whiteness of star shells illuminated156 the gruesome zone of No Man's Land, void, deserted157 and desolate158.
On its horrid159 bleakness160, nothing moved. Its pallid161 stillness intensified162 the menace.
Officers and men glanced anxiously at the watches fastened on their wrists.
Behind, the Moroccan brigade stood motionless. They even laughed in eagerness. It was a jangling laugh. White men who heard it, shivered.
It was not yet midnight, but, suddenly, a vicious crackle of rifles far to the left suggested that there, the moment was at hand.
Not yet the attack, it was a patrol of German[Pg 327] wire-cutters, trying to sneak up under cover to make an opening.
"Cr-a-a-a-a-ck!"
A machine-gun spoke. The wire-cutters pitched headlong. The young officer, wounded, tried to crawl back to the lines.
"Crack!"
One rifle spoke. Even at night a sharpshooter does not miss. The figure of the German officer moved no more.
The German bombardment, hitherto directed against the batteries far to the rear, began to draw forward. It approached the rear of the trenches where the dug-out for the telephone was situated163.
"Afraid?" the officer asked Horace.
"Yes," the boy answered, "but game!"
A shell fell a dozen yards away. The burst smashed in the roof of the dug-out. A flying piece of concrete grazed the officer's cheek. It bled freely.
"Hit, sir?" the boy asked anxiously.
"Nothing! My cheek!"
He telephoned an order.
The Moroccans, unwillingly164, take cover in a shelter-trench. They dislike the underground, but it is no use to stand and be shot down uselessly.
[Pg 328]
Bombs and grenades fall like a hail of fire.
The telephone bell rings continuously. Every one of the seventeen wires running to the switchboard is working. Horace is on the alert, his fingers as electric as the wires he is handling.
A growing nervousness runs through the lines, making the whole army tingle165 like a single human organism vibrant166 with life.
All the world is in activity or in readiness.
Medical troops pass by, carrying out the wounded from the bombardment.
An enemy patrol dashes forward to destroy the wire, knowing that it will never return alive. It is met by a storm of rifle-fire, but those who survive, cut. A hole is made. The last German falls.
A French patrol rushes out to mend the gap, throwing coils here and there and is, in its turn, wiped out by grenadiers.
The hateful eyes of searchlights peer over the zone of destruction. It is deserted—as yet.
What is that—a shout?
Midnight!
There is one last furious burst from trench mortars167, howitzers and guns.
The white lights, with all the accusing whiteness of the fingers of a thousand dead, cease their[Pg 329] groping and point to the farther side of No Man's Land.
They come!
Black in the whiteness of that intense light, the wave rolls up.
The silent plain crawls with running, staggering, falling, crawling men. The gray-white expanse speckles rapidly with its spotting of dead.
Into the barrage of fire the wave plunges168. It is the end, surely, nothing can get through.
The miracle of escape is demonstrated again. If the masses be large enough, you cannot kill them all. With two-thirds dead, ten thousand men break through. They plunge forward with lowered heads and bristle169 of bayonets. Every third man is a bomb-thrower.
"Let them come nearer, boys!"
Every man holds his breath.
"Fire!"
A solid blast of flame outlines the fire trench. In the white glare of searchlights and star-shells illumining the scene as though by a continuous river of lightning, the wave is seen to waver. Some fall flat, others sink down quietly, others, again, drop to hands and knees and crawl on, yet others, clutched by the wounded in their death-grip,[Pg 330] free themselves with a bayonet thrust—their brothers, their comrades!—and rush on.
The machine guns claim their prey by scores, by hundreds every minute. It does not stop the wave.
Their eyes fixed170 and staring, as though they were figures in their own nightmares, they leap into the trench, hurling171 a last shower of hand grenades as they come.
It is the butt172 and the steel now.
They have reached the trench but they have not won it.
Around each machine gun a special fight gathers.
Another wave is coming. It passes through the barrage fire again and dashes for the trench, already half taken.
Ah! What is that?
The 75's!
The strident roar of unnumbered batteries, with shells timed to the second, breaks loose behind the French lines. The second wave meets that wall of lead. It does not waver, it collapses173.
A third wave—how they are driven on to death, those Germans!
The first wave is nearly gone now, the hand to[Pg 331] hand struggle in the trench is nearly over and the reserves are creeping in.
But the third wave?
Four mines explode simultaneously174. Scores of bodies are thrown in the air. Dozens are thrown down by the sheer impact of the air.
The moment has come.
"Africans! On!"
There is no shouting as they leap over the parapet, but the glitter of their eyes suffices.
The third wave breaks and flees.
"Forward, my children, forward!"
The cry of the officers runs along the line.
The men do not need to be told. The Germans have failed. Now is the counter-assault. Now they have a taste of their own medicine.
"Forward, my children, forward!"
But they, too, have machine guns; they, too, have rifles; they, too, have shrapnel and their wire entanglements175 stretch before us. The French fall as their men fall, but the French commanders will not waste life like theirs.
"Fall back, my children, they have had enough!"
Slowly the bombardment dies down to a watchful176 fire against a repetition of the assault. With[Pg 332] countless177 false alarms the hours of the night pass by.
The gray day breaks slowly.
The trenches are full of dead and No Man's Land is a sight of redoubled horror.
Full daylight comes and shows the scene as desolate as ever, the long line of trenches stretching unbroken from Switzerland to the sea.
All the heroism, the courage, the mad endeavor, the agony, the slaughter, what has it brought to either side?
Nothing.
All that the official communiqués can say, whether sent out from Berlin or from Paris, will be:
"The enemy's attack was repulsed178."
Has nothing been gained?
Yes! The French trenches are still French. From this much of French soil the foreigner's foot is banished179. Aggression180, greed, and hate have made another violent effort to win a strip of territory for their befouling and blackening touch, have tried—and the motionless figures on No Man's Land are France's answer.
Yesterday's clouds have fled and the golden sunshine floods the ravaged181 fields; it pours into[Pg 333] the windows of field hospitals on the French and German sides alike, it blesses with the hope of the future the soldier who will recover and eases the pain of him who looks upon his last sun; it shows the African sharpening his steel for the next charge, and the general planning the next assault; it shines into distant countries whence men are coming to take the places of those that have gone before.
Heroes all!
Yet the communiqué says only:
"The enemy made a violent assault and was repulsed."
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收听单词发音
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1
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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2
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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3
deadlocked
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| 陷入僵局的；僵持不下的 | |
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4
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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5
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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6
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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7
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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8
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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9
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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10
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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11
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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12
slivered
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| 使成薄片（sliver的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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13
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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14
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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15
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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16
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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17
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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18
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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19
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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20
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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21
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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22
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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23
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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24
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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25
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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26
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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27
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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28
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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29
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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30
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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31
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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32
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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33
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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34
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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35
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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36
trajectory
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| n.弹道，轨道 | |
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37
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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38
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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39
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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40
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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42
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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43
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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44
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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45
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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46
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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47
grumbles
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| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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48
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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49
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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50
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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51
scrawly
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| 潦草地写 | |
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52
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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53
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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54
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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55
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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56
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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57
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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58
recessed
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| v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的过去式和过去分词 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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59
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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60
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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61
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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62
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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63
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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64
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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65
counterfeiting
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| n.伪造v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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66
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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67
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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68
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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69
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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70
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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71
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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72
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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74
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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75
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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76
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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77
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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78
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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79
caliber
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| n.能力；水准 | |
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80
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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81
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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82
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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83
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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84
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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85
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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86
burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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87
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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88
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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89
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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90
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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91
rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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92
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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93
smothers
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的第三人称单数 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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94
consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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95
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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96
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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97
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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98
sector
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| n.部门，部分；防御地段，防区；扇形 | |
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99
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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100
muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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101
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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102
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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103
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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104
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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105
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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106
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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107
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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108
entrapment
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| n.（非法）诱捕，诱人犯罪；诱使犯罪 | |
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109
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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110
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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111
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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112
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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113
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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114
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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115
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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116
barbs
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| n.（箭头、鱼钩等的）倒钩( barb的名词复数 )；带刺的话；毕露的锋芒；钩状毛 | |
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117
funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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118
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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119
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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120
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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121
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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122
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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123
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
entangles
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| v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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126
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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127
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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128
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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129
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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130
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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131
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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132
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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133
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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134
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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135
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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136
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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137
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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138
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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139
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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140
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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141
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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142
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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143
projectiles
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| n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 )；（炮弹、子弹等）射弹，（火箭等）自动推进的武器 | |
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144
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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145
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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146
torpedoes
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| 鱼雷( torpedo的名词复数 )； 油井爆破筒； 刺客； 掼炮 | |
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147
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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148
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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149
glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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150
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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151
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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152
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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153
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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154
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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155
calcium
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| n.钙(化学符号Ca) | |
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156
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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157
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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158
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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159
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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160
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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161
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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162
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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164
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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165
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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166
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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167
mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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168
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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169
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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170
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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171
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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172
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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173
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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174
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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175
entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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176
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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177
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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178
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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179
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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181
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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