Ambulances were everywhere driving to the rear at a gallop2 past the centre and left sections of McDunn's Battery, which, unlimbered, was standing3 in a cotton field, the guns pointed4 southward across the smoke rising below.
Claymore's staff, dismounted, stood near. The young general himself, jacket over one arm, was seated astride the trail of the sixth gun talking eagerly to McDunn, when across the rolling ground came a lancer at full speed, plunging6 and bucketing in his saddle, the scarlet7 rags of the lance pennon whipping the wind. The trooper reined8 in his excited horse beside Claymore, saluted10, and handed him a message; and the youthful general, glancing at it, got onto his feet in a hurry, and tossed his yellow-edged jacket of a private to an orderly. Then he faced the lancer:
"Tell Colonel Craig to hold his position no matter what it costs!" he exclaimed sharply. "Tell Colonel Arran that I expect him to stand by the right section of the 10th battery until it is safely and properly brought off!" He swung around on Captain McDunn.
"Limber your battery to the rear, sir! Follow headquarters!" he snapped, and threw himself into his saddle, giving his mount rein9 and heel with a reckless nod to his staff.
McDunn, superbly mounted, scarcely raised his clear, penetrating11 voice: "Cannoneers mount gun-carriages; caissons follow; drivers, put spur and whip to horses—forward—march!" he said.
"Trot13 out!" rang the bugles14; the horses broke into a swinging lope across the dry ridges15 of the cotton field, whips whistled, the cannoneers bounced about on the chests, guns, limbers and caissons thumped16, leaped, jolted17, rose up, all wheels in the air at once, swayed almost to overturning, and thundered on in a tornado18 of dust, leaders, swing team, wheel team straining into a frantic19 gallop.
The powerful horses bounded forward into a magnificent stride; general and staff tore on ahead toward the turnpike. Suddenly, right past them came a driving storm of stampeding cavalry20, panic-stricken, riding like damned men, tearing off and hurling21 from them carbines, canteens, belts; and McDunn, white with rage, whipped out his revolver and fired into them as they rushed by in a torrent22 of red dust. From his distorted mouth vile23 epithets24 poured; he cursed and damned their cowardice25, and, standing up in his stirrups, riding like a cossack at full speed, attempted to use his sabre on the fugitives26 from the front. But there was no stopping them, for the poor fellows had been sent into fire ignorant how to use the carbines issued the day before.
Into a sandy field all spouting27 with exploding shells and bullets the drivers galloped28 and steered29 the plunging guns. The driver of the lead team, fifth caisson, was shot clear out of his saddle, all the wheels going over him and grinding him to pulp30; piece and limber whirled into a lane on a dead run, and Arthur Wye, driving the swing team, clinging to the harness and crawling out along the traces, gained the saddle of the lead-horse.
"Bully31 for you!" shouted McDunn. "I hope to God that cowardly monkey cavalry saw you!"
The left section swung on the centre to get its position; limber after limber dashed up, clashing and clanking, to drop its gun; caisson after caisson rounded to under partial cover in the farm lane to the right.
The roar of the conflict along the river had become terrific; to the east a New Jersey33 battery, obscured in flame-shot clouds, was retiring by its twenty-eight-foot prolonges, using cannister; the remains35 of a New Hampshire infantry36 regiment37 supported the retreat; between the two batteries Claymore in his shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, heavy revolver swinging in his blackened fist, was giving a tongue lashing32 to the stream of fugitives from the river woods.
"Where are you going! Hey! Scouting39? Well scout38 to the front, damn you! . . . Where are you going, young man? For ammunition40? Go back to the front or I'll shoot you! Get along there you malingerers! or, by God, I'll have a squadron of Arran's pig-stickers ride you down and punch your skins full of holes! Orderly! Ask Colonel Arran if he can spare me a squad41 of his lancers for a few minutes——"
The orderly saluted, coughed up a stream of blood, fell backward off his horse, scrambled42 to his feet, terror-stricken, both hands pressed convulsively over his stomach!
"Damn them! They've got me. General!" he gasped43—"they've g-got me this time! There's a piece of shell inside me as big——"
He leaned weakly against his mild-eyed horse, nauseated44; but it was only a spent ball on his belt plate after all, and a few moments later, swaying and sickly, he forced his horse into a trot across the hill.
A major of Claymore's staff galloped with orders to the Zouaves; but, as he opened his mouth to speak a shell burst behind him, and he pitched forward on his face, his shattered arm doubling under him.
"Drag me behind that tree. Colonel Craig!" he said coolly. "I'll finish my orders in a moment." Major Lent and Colonel Craig got him behind the tree; and the officer's superb will never faltered45.
"Your new position must cover that bridge," he whispered faintly. "The left section of McDunn's battery is already ordered to your support. . . . How is it with you, Colonel? Speak louder——"
Colonel Craig, pallid46 and worn under the powder smears47 and sweat, wiped the glistening48 grime from his eye-glasses.
"We are holding on," he said. "It's all right, Major. I'll get word through to the General," and he signalled to some drummer boys lying quietly in the bushes to bring up a stretcher, just as the left section of McDunn's battery burst into view on a dead run, swung into action, and began to pour level sheets of flame into the woods, where, already, the high-pitched rebel yell was beginning again.
A solid shot struck No. 5 gun on the hub, killing49 Cannoneer No. 2, who was thumbing the vent50, and filling No. 1 gunner with splinters of iron, whirling him into eternity51 amid a fountain of dirt and flying hub-tires. Then a shell blew a gun-team into fragments, plastering the men's faces with bloody52 shreds53 of flesh; and the boyish lieutenant54, spitting out filth55, coolly ordered up the limbers, and brought his section around into the road with a beautiful display of driving and horsemanship that drew raucous56 cheers from the Zouaves, where they lay, half stifled57, firing at the gray line of battle gathering58 along the edges of the woods.
And now the shrill59, startling battle cry swelled60 to the hysterical61 pack yell, and, gathering depth and volume, burst out into a frantic treble roar. A long gray line detached itself from the woods; mounted officers, sashed and debonaire, trotted62 jauntily63 out in front of it; the beautiful battle flags slanted64 forward; there came a superb, long, low-swinging gleam of steel; and the Southland was afoot once more, gallant65, magnificent, sweeping66 recklessly on into the red gloom of the Northern guns.
Berkley, his face bandaged, covered with sweat and dust, sat his worn, cowhide saddle in the ranks, long lance couched, watching, expectant. Every trooper who could ride a horse was needed now; hospitals had given up their invalids68; convalescents and sick men gathered bridle69 with shaking fingers; hollow-eyed youngsters tightened70 the cheek-straps of their forage71 caps and waited, lance in rest.
In the furious smoke below them they could see the Zouaves running about like red devils in the pit; McDunn's guns continued to pour solid columns of flame across the creek72; far away to the west the unseen union line of battle had buried itself in smoke. Through it the Southern battle flags still advanced, halted, tossed wildly, moved forward in jerks, swung to the fierce cheering, moved on haltingly, went down, up again, wavered, disappeared in the cannon12 fog.
Colonel Arran, his naked sabre point lowered, sat his saddle, gray and erect73. The Major never stirred in his saddle; only the troop captains from time to time turned their heads as some stricken horse lashed74 out, or the unmistakable sound of a bullet hitting living flesh broke the intense silence of the ranks.
Hallam, at the head of his troop, stroked his handsome moustache continually, and at moments spoke75 angrily to his restive76 horse. He was beginning to have a good deal of trouble with his horse, which apparently77 wished to bolt, and he had just managed to drag the fretting78 animal back into position, when, without warning, the volunteer infantry posted on the right delivered a ragged79 volley, sagged80 back, broke, and began running. Almost on their very heels a dust-covered Confederate flying battery dropped its blackened guns and sent charge after charge ripping through them, while out of the fringing woods trotted the gray infantry, driving in skirmishers, leaping fences, brush piles, and ditches, like lean hounds on the trail.
Instantly a squadron of the Lancers trampled81 forward, facing to the west; but down on their unprotected flank thundered the Confederate cavalry, and from the beginning it had been too late for a counter-charge.
A whirlwind of lancers and gray riders drove madly down the slope, inextricably mixed, shooting, sabering, stabbing with tip and ferrule.
A sabre stroke severed82 Berkley's cheek-strap, sheering through visor and button; and he swung his lance and drove it backward into a man's face.
In the terrible confusion and tangle83 of men and horses he could scarcely use his lance at all, or avoid the twirling lances of his comrades, or understand what his officers were shouting. It was all a nightmare—a horror of snorting horses, panting, sweating riders, the swift downward glitter of sabre strokes, thickening like sheeted rain.
His horse's feet were now entangled84 in brush heaps; a crowding, cursing mass of cavalrymen floundered into a half demolished85 snake fence, which fell outward, rolling mounts and riders into a wet gully, where they continued fighting like wild cats in a pit.
Yelling exultantly86, the bulk of Confederate riders passed through the Lancers, leaving them to the infantry to finish, and rode at the flying Federal infantry. Everywhere bayonets began to glimmer87 through the smoke and dust, as the disorganised squadrons rallied and galloped eastward88, seeking vainly for shelter to reform.
Down in the hollow an entire troop of Lancers, fairly intact, had become entangled among the brush and young saplings, and the Confederate infantry, springing over the fence, began to bayonet them and pull them from their horses, while the half-stunned cavalrymen scattered89 through the bushes, riding hither and thither90 looking vainly for some road to lead them out of the bushy trap. They could not go back; the fence was too solid to ride down, too high to leap; the carbineers faced about, trying to make a stand, firing from their saddles; Colonel Arran, confused but cool, turned his brier-torn horse and rode forward, swinging his heavy sabre, just as Hallam and Berkley galloped up through the bushes, followed by forty or more bewildered troopers, and halted fo'r orders. But there was no way out.
Then Berkley leaned from his saddle, touched the visor of his cap, and, looking Arran straight in the eyes, said quietly:
"With your permission, sir, I think I can tear down enough of that fence to let you and the others through! May I try?"
Colonel Arran said, quietly: "No man can ride to that fence and live. Their infantry hold it."
"Two men may get there." He turned and looked at Hallam. "We're not going to surrender; we'll all die here anyway. Shall we try the fence together?"
For a second the silence resounded91 with the racket of the Confederate rifles; three men dropped from their saddles; then Hallam turned ghastly white, opened his jaws92 to speak; but no sound came. Suddenly he swung his horse, and spurred straight toward the open brush in the rear, whipping out his handkerchief and holding it fluttering above his head.
Colonel Arran shouted at him, jerked his revolver free, and fired at him. A carbineer also fired after him from the saddle, but Hallam rode on unscathed in his half-crazed night, leaving his deserted93 men gazing after him, astounded94. In the smoke of another volley, two more cavalrymen pitched out of their saddles.
Then Berkley drove his horse blindly into the powder fog ahead; a dozen brilliant little jets of flame pricked95 the gloom; his horse reared, and went down in a piteous heap, but Berkley landed on all fours, crawled hurriedly up under the smoke, jerked a board loose, tore another free, rose to his knees and ripped away board after board, shouting to his comrades to come on and cut their way out.
They came, cheering, spurring their jaded96 horses through the gap, crowding out across the road, striking wildly with their sabres, forcing their way up the bank, into a stubble field, and forward at a stiff trot toward the swirling97 smoke of a union battery behind which they could see shattered squadrons reforming.
Berkley ran with them on foot, one hand grasping a friendly stirrup, until the horse he clung to halted abruptly98, quivering all over; then sank down by the buttocks with a shuddering99 scream. And Berkley saw Colonel Arran rising from the ground, saw him glance at his horse, turn and look behind him where the Confederate skirmishers were following on a run, kneeling to fire occasionally, then springing to their feet and trotting100 forward, rifles glittering in the sun.
A horse with an empty saddle, its off foreleg entangled in its bridle, was hobbling around in circles, stumbling, neighing, tripping, scrambling101 to its feet again, and trying frantically102 to go on. Berkley caught the bridle, freed it, and hanging to the terrified animal's head, shouted to Colonel Arran:
"You had better hurry, sir. Their skirmishers are coming up fast!"
Colonel Arran stood quietly gazing at him. Suddenly he reeled and stumbled forward against the horse's flank, catching103 at the mane.
"Are you badly hurt, sir?"
The Colonel turned his dazed eyes on him, then slid forward along the horse's flank. His hands relaxed their hold on the mane, and he fell flat on his face; and, Berkley, still hanging to the bit, dragged the prostrate104 man over on his back and stared into his deathly features.
"Where did they hit you, sir?"
"Through the liver," he gasped. "It's all right, Berkley. . . .
Don't wait any longer——-"
"I'm not going to leave you."
"You must . . . I'm ended. . . . You haven't a—moment—to lose——"
"Can you put your arms around my neck?"
"There's no time to waste! I tell you to mount and run for it! . . . And—thank you——"
"Put both arms around my neck. . . . Quick! . . . Can you lock your fingers? . . . This damned horse won't stand! Hold fast to me. I'll raise you easily. . . . Get the other leg over the saddle. Lean forward. Now I'll walk him at first—hold tight! . . . Can you hang on, Colonel?"
"Yes—my son"
A wild thrill ran through the boy's veins105, stopping breath and pulse for a second. Then the hot blood rushed stinging into his face; he threw one arm around the drooping106 figure in the saddle, and, controlling the bridle with a grip of steel, started the horse off across the field.
All around them the dry soil was bursting into little dusty fountains where the bullets were striking; ahead, dark smoke hung heavily. Farther on some blue-capped soldiers shouted to them from their shallow rifle pits.
Farther on still they passed an entire battalion107 of regular infantry, calmly seated on the grass in line of battle; and behind these troops Berkley saw a stretcher on the grass and two men of the hospital corps108 squatted109 beside it, chewing grass stems.
They came readily enough when they learned the name and rank of the wounded officer. Berkley, almost exhausted110, walked beside the stretcher, leading the horse and looking down at the stricken man who lay with eyes closed and clothing disordered where a hasty search for the wound had disclosed the small round blue hole just over the seat of the liver.
They turned into a road which had been terribly cut up by the wheels of artillery111. It was already thronged112 with the debris113 of the battle, skulkers, wounded men hobbling, pallid malingerers edging their furtive114 way out of fire. Then ahead arose a terrible clamour, the wailing115 of wounded, frightened cries, the angry shouts of cavalrymen, where a Provost Guard of the 20th Dragoons was riding, recklessly into the fugitives, roughly sorting the goats from the sheep, and keeping the way clear for the ambulances now arriving along a cross-road at a gallop.
Berkley heard his name called out, and, looking up, saw Casson, astride a huge horse, signalling him eagerly from his saddle.
"Who in hell have you got there?" he asked, pushing his horse up to the litter. "By God, it's Colonel Arran," he added in a modified voice. "Is he very bad, Berkley?"
"I don't know. Can't you stop one of those ambulances, Jack5? I want to get him to the surgeons as soon as possible——"
"You bet!" said Casson, wheeling his horse and displaying the new chevrons116 of a sergeant117. "Hey, you black offspring of a yellow whippet!" he bellowed118 to a driver, "back out there and be damn quick about it!" And he leaned from his saddle, and seizing the leaders by the head, swung them around with a volley of profanity. Then, grinning amiably119 at Berkley, he motioned the stretcher bearers forward and sat on his horse, garrulously120 superintending the transfer of the injured man.
"There's an emergency hospital just beyond that clump121 of trees," he said. "You'd better take him there. Golly! but he's hard hit. I guess that bullet found its billet. There's not much hope when it's a belly-whopper. Too bad, ain't it? He was a bully old boy of a colonel; we all said so in the dragoons. Only—to hell with those lances of yours, Berkley! What cursed good are they alongside a gun? And I notice your regiment has its carbineers, too—which proves that your lances are no good or you wouldn't have twelve carbines to the troop. Eh? Oh, you bet your boots, sonny. Don't talk lance to me! It's all on account of those Frenchmen on Little Mac's staff——"
"For God's sake shut up!" said Berkley nervously122. "I can't stand any more just now."
"Oh!" said Casson, taken aback, "I didn't know you were such cronies with your Colonel. Sorry, my dear fellow; didn't mean to seem indifferent. Poor old gentleman. I guess he will pull through. There are nurses at the front—nice little things. God bless 'em! Say, don't you want to climb up with the driver?"
Berkley hesitated. "Do you know where my regiment is? I ought to go back—if there's anybody to look after Colonel Arran——"
"Is that your horse?"
"No—some staff officer's, I guess."
"Where's yours?"
"Dead," said Berkley briefly123. He thought a moment, then tied his horse to the tail-board and climbed up beside the driver.
"Go on," he said; "drive carefully", and he nodded his thanks to
Casson as the team swung north.
The Provost Guard, filing along, carbines on thigh124, opened to let him through; and he saw them turning in their saddles to peer curiously125 into the straw as the ambulance passed.
It was slow going, for the road was blocked with artillery and infantry and other ambulances, but the driver found a lane between guns and caissons and through the dusty blue columns plodding126 forward toward the firing line; and at last a white hospital tent glimmered127 under the trees, and the slow mule128 team turned into a leafy lane and halted in the rear of a line of ambulances which were all busily discharging their mangled129 burdens. The cries of the wounded were terrible.
Operating tables stood under the trees in the open air; assistants sponged the blood from them continually; the overworked surgeons, stripped to their undershirts, smeared130 with blood, worked coolly and rapidly in the shade of the oak-trees, seldom raising their voices, never impatient. Orderlies brought water in artillery buckets; ward-masters passed swiftly to and fro; a soldier stood by a pile of severed limbs passing out bandages to assistants who swarmed131 around, scurrying132 hither and thither under the quiet orders of the medical directors.
A stretcher was brought; Colonel Arran opened his heavy lids as they placed him in it. His eyes summoned Berkley.
"It's all right," he said in the ghost of a voice. "Whichever way it turns put, it's all right. . . I've tried to live lawfully133. . . . It is better to live mercifully. I think—she—would forgive. . . . Will you?"
"Yes."
He bent134 and took the wounded man's hand, in his.
"If I knew—if I knew—" he said, and his burning eyes searched the bloodless face beneath him.
"God?" he whispered—"if it were true——"
A surgeon shouldered him aside, glanced sharply at the patient, motioned the bearers forward.
Berkley sat down by the roadside, bridle in hand, head bowed in his arms. Beside him his horse fed quietly on the weeds. In his ears rang the cries of the wounded; all around him he was conscious of people passing to and fro; and he sat there, face covered, deadly tired, already exhausted to a stolidity135 that verged136 on stupor137.
He must have slept, too, because when he sat up and opened his eyes again it was nearly sundown, and somebody had stolen his horse.
A zouave with a badly sprained138 ankle, lying on a blanket near him, offered him bread and meat that stank139; and Berkley ate it, striving to collect his deadened thoughts. After he had eaten he filled the zouave's canteen at a little rivulet140 where hundreds of soldiers were kneeling to drink or dip up the cool, clear water.
"What's your reg'ment, friend?" asked the man.
"Eighth New York Lancers."
"Lord A'mighty! You boys did get cut up some, didn't you?"
"I guess so. Are you Colonel Craig's regiment?"
"Yes. We got it, too. Holy Mother—we got it f'r fair!"
"Is your Colonel all right?"
"Yes. Steve—his son—corporal, 10th Company—was hit."
"What!"
"Yes, sir. Plumb141 through the collar-bone. He was one of the first to get it. I was turrible sorry for his father—fine old boy!—and he looked like he'd drop dead hisself—but, by gosh, friend, when the stretcher took Steve to the rear the old man jest sot them clean-cut jaws o' his'n, an' kep' his gold-wired gig-lamps to the front. An' when the time come, he sez in his ca'm, pleasant way: 'Boys,' sez he, 'we're agoin' in. It's a part of the job,' sez he, 'that has got to be done thorough. So,' sez he, 'we'll jest mosey along kind o' quick steppin' now, and we'll do our part like we al'us does do it. For'rd—mar-r-rch!'"
Berkley sat still, hands clasped over his knees, thinking of Stephen, and of Celia, and of the father out yonder somewhere amid the smoke.
"Gawd," said the zouave, "you got a dirty jab on your cocanut, didn't you?"
The bandage had slipped, displaying the black scab of the scarcely healed wound; and Berkley absently replaced it.
"That'll ketch the girls," observed the zouave with conviction.
"Damn it, I've only got a sprained ankle to show my girl."
"The war's not over," said Berkley indifferently. Then he got up, painfully, from the grass, exchanged adieux with the zouave, and wandered off toward the hospital to seek for news of Colonel Arran.
It appeared that the surgeons had operated, and had sent the Colonel a mile farther to the rear, where a temporary hospital had been established in a young ladies' seminary. And toward this Berkley set out across the fields, the sound of the battle dinning142 heavily in his aching cars.
As he walked he kept a sullen143 eye out for his stolen horse, never expecting to see him, and it was with a savage144 mixture of surprise and satisfaction that he beheld145 him, bestridden by two dirty malingerers from a New York infantry regiment who rode on the snaffle with difficulty and objurgations and reproached each other for their mutual146 discomfort147.
How they had escaped the Provost he did not know; how they escaped absolute annihilation they did not comprehend; for Berkley seized the bridle, swung the horse sharply, turning them both out of the saddle; then, delivering a swift kick apiece, as they lay cursing, he mounted and rode forward amid enthusiastic approval from the drivers of passing army waggons148.
Long since the towering smoke in the west had veiled the sun; and now the sky had become gray and thick, and already a fine drizzling149 rain was falling, turning the red dust to grease.
Slipping, floundering, his horse bore him on under darkening skies; rain fell heavily now; he bared his hot head to it; raised his face, masked with grime, and let the drops fall on the dark scar that burned under the shifting bandage.
In the gathering gloom eastward he saw the horizon redden and darken and redden with the cannon flashes; the immense battle rumour150 filled his ears and brain, throbbing151, throbbing.
"Which way, friend?" demanded a patrol, carelessly throwing his horse across Berkley's path.
"Orderly to Colonel Arran, 8th New York Lancers, wounded. Is that the hospital, yonder?"
"Them school buildin's," nodded the patrol. "Say, is your colonel very bad? I'm 20th New York, doin' provost. We seen you fellers at White Oak. Jesus! what a wallop they did give us——"
He broke off grimly, turned his horse, and rode out into a soggy field where some men were dodging152 behind a row of shaggy hedge bushes. And far behind Berkley heard his loud, bullying153 voice:
"Git! you duck-legged, egg-suckin', skunk-backed loafers! Go on, there! Aw, don't yer talk back to me 'r I'll let m' horse bite yer pants off! Back yer go! Forrard! Hump! Hump! Scoot!"
Through the heavily falling rain he saw the lighted school buildings looming154 among the trees; turned into the drive, accounted for himself, gave his horse to a negro with orders to care for it, and followed a ward-master into an open-faced shed where a kettle was boiling over a sheet-iron stove.
The ward-master returned presently, threading his way through a mass of parked ambulances to the shed where Berkley sat on a broken cracker155 box.
"Colonel Arran is very low. I guess you'd better not bother him to-night."
"Is he—mortally hurt?"
"I've seen worse."
"He may get well?"
"I've seen 'em get well," said the non-committal ward-master. Then, looking Berkley over: "You're pretty dirty, ain't you? Are you—" he raised his eyebrows156 significantly.
"I'm clean," said Berkley with the indifference157 habituated to filth.
"All right. They'll fix you up a cot somewhere. If Colonel Arran comes out all right I'll call you. He's full of opium158 now."
"Did they get the bullet?"
"Oh, yes. I ain't a surgeon, my friend, but I hear a lot of surgeon talk. It's the shock—in a man of his age. The wound's clean, so far—not a thread in it, I hear. Shock—and gangrene—that's what we look out for. . . . What's the news down by the river?"
"I don't know," said Berkley.
"Don't you know if you got licked?"
"I don't think we did. You'd hear the firing out here much plainer."
"You're the 8th Cavalry, ain't you?"
"Yes."
"They say you got cut up."
"Some."
"And how about the Zouaves?"
"Oh, they're there yet," said Berkley listlessly. Fatigue159 was overpowering him; he was aware, presently, that a negro, carrying a lantern, was guiding his stumbling steps into a small building where, amid piles of boxes, an army cot stood covered by a blanket. Berkley gave him a crumpled160 mess of paper money, and he almost expired.
Later the same negro rolled a wooden tub into the room, half filled it with steaming water, and stood in profound admiration161 of his work, grinning at Berkley.
"Is you-all gwine bresh up, suh?" he inquired.
Berkley straightened his shoulders with an effort, unbuckled his belt, and slowly began to take off his wet uniform.
The negro aided him respectfully; that wet wad of dollars had done its work profoundly.
"Yo' is de adjetant ob dis here Gin'ral ob de Lancers, suh? De po' ole Gin'ral! He done git shot dreffle bad, suh. . . . Jess you lay on de flo', suh, t'will I gits yo' boots off'n yo' laigs! Dar! Now jess set down in de tub, suh. I gwine scrub you wif de saddle-soap—Lor', Gord-a-mighty! Who done bang you on de haid dat-a-way?"—scrubbing vigorously with the saddle-soap all the while. "Spec' you is lame34 an' so' all over, is you? Now I'se gwine rub you haid, suh; an' now I'se gwine dry you haid." He chuckled162 and rubbed and manipulated, yet became tender as a woman in drying the clipped hair and the scarred temple. And, before Berkley was aware of what he was about, the negro lifted him and laid him on the cot.
"Now," he chuckled, "I'se gwine shave you." And he fished out a razor from the rear pocket of his striped drill overalls163, rubbed the weapon of his race with a proud thumb, spread more soap over Berkley's upturned face, and fell deftly164 to work, wiping off the accumulated lather165 on the seat of his own trousers.
Berkley remembered seeing him do it twice; then remembered no more. A blessed sense of rest soothed166 every bone; in the heavenly stillness and surcease from noise he drifted gently into slumber167, into a deep dreamless sleep.
The old negro looked at him, aged67 face wrinkled in compassion168.
"Po' li'l sodger boy," he muttered. "Done gib me fo' dollahs.
Lor' Gor' a'mighty! Spec' Mars Linkum's men is all richer'n ole
Miss."
He cast another glance at the sleeping man, then picked up the worn, muddy boots, threw the soiled jacket and breeches over his arm, and shuffled169 off, shaking his grizzled head.
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1
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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2
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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3
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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4
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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5
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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6
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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9
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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10
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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11
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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12
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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13
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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14
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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15
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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16
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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19
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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20
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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21
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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22
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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23
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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24
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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25
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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26
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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27
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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28
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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29
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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30
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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31
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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32
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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33
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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34
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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35
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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36
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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37
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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38
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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39
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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40
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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41
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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42
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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43
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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44
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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46
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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47
smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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48
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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49
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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50
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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51
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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52
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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53
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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54
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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55
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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56
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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57
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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58
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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59
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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60
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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61
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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62
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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63
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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64
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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65
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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66
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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67
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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68
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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69
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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70
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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71
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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72
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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73
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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74
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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75
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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76
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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77
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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78
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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79
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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80
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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81
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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82
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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83
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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84
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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85
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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86
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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87
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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88
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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89
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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90
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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91
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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92
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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93
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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94
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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95
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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96
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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97
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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98
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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99
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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100
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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101
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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102
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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103
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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104
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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105
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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106
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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107
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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108
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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109
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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110
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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111
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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112
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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114
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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115
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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116
chevrons
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| n.（警察或士兵所佩带以示衔级的）∧形或∨形标志( chevron的名词复数 ) | |
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117
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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118
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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119
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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120
garrulously
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121
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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122
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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123
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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124
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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132
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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stolidity
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| n.迟钝，感觉麻木 | |
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verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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139
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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dinning
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| vt.喧闹（din的现在分词形式） | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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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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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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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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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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166
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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167
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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168
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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169
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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