The third day in the front line. The section is on guard at the telephone. There is a good gourbi or hut provided for each half-section. Two hours' sentry1 duty on the Vregny road, along which a spent ball comes whistling from time to time.
A pleasant diversion; Captain P—— of the Flying Corps2 arrives from Paris in a motor-car, and sends for Reymond and myself.
We go down to the car, which has come to a halt below the grotto3. Muddy and slimy, enveloped4 in multi-coloured wrappings, rifle and cartridges5 hanging on to our persons, pipes in mouth and bearded faces, dirty and grimy, we all the same greet the captain with a very martial8 military salute9.
He has brought us an enormous hamper10 of provisions. What luck! We are now assured of keeping up Christmas-eve. He also brings us letters, and offers to take back any messages from ourselves. In a dreamy maze11 of wonder we gaze upon this astonishing individual, who will be in[Pg 209] Paris to-night, and whose surroundings are something else than fields of beetroots.
Whilst engaged in conversation, a 150 shell falls a few yards from the car. It fails to explode.
Captain P—— briefly13 gives us the news. The war will last longer than people think; perhaps another five or six months. We ourselves, it appears, are in a very quiet sector14, neither attacked nor attacking, just mounting guard.
Thursday, 24th December.
A bright sun, fine and cold weather. The company go down to the grotto, where they are to sleep to-night. Consequently we shall celebrate our Christmas-eve "beneath these vaults15 of stone" as the song goes in Don Carlos.
Here comes the postman. What a heap of parcels! We spend the afternoon in unpacking16 them; the war is forgotten; our main preoccupation is to prepare a dinner to which the squadron will all contribute. Jules has gone down to Bucy; for once he has received the lieutenant17's permission. His errand is to bring back some wine.
Crouching18 in a corner, with a bayonet-candlestick by my side, I write away. The man next to me becomes irritated by my silence and evident preoccupation.
"What are you writing?" he asks.
"A letter to my servant."
"Well! That's the very last thing I should have expected you to do."
[Pg 210]
"You fool! I'm giving her instructions to send out my New Year's gifts, telling her to buy boxes of sweets and chocolates, and giving her the addresses to which they are to be sent, with my card."
No sooner have I spoken than a whole string of epithets—snob, poseur20, dandy—comes down on my devoted21 head. I reply in very dignified22 fashion—
"Oh, indeed! Then you cannot even tolerate ordinary politeness in a man?"
"Politeness! Just look at yourself in a mirror. You would be better employed in giving yourself a scrub down."
At eight o'clock the corner of the grotto containing the first squadron is illuminated23 with a goodly number of candles.
In the first place, for a successful Christmas-eve celebration we must have some sourcrout—Alsatian, of course. There are five large tins of it, along with a knuckle24 of ham. Then follow all kinds of sausages, one of which has come from Milan. We speedily dispatch it, at the same time exhorting25 our "Latin sister" to join in with us. Carried away by an irresistible26 impulse, the squadron takes by assault several patés de foie gras. The dessert is most varied27: pears, oranges, preserves in jars, in tubes and in pails, a pudding which flames up when you apply a match to it, and, last of all, a drink which the cook has most carefully prepared: coffee with the real odour of coffee.
[Pg 211]
It is past ten o'clock. The bottles are empty. Every one is very gay and lively; no one intoxicated29.
So pleasant an evening cannot end without music.
The concert begins with our old marching songs, those we used to sing at drill, or when tramping the dusty roads, to quicken our speed, songs which we run the risk of forgetting in this accursed war where we scarcely stir a foot. The words are not invariably to be recommended, but the familiar swing and rhythm which used to make us forget the weight of our haversacks, this evening make us forget our burdens of worry and ennui30. Most conscientiously31 do we brawl32 out the tunes33. The great advantage of the grotto lies in the fact that one can shout as loud as one pleases.
The lieutenant lifts up the tent canvas with which we have barricaded34 our den19.
"Well! This is something like! You are doing it! May I come in?"
"Of course, mon lieutenant!"
We give him a seat on an empty bag, and the concert recommences.
Singers, with some pretence35 to a voice, try hard to carry off their sentimental36 or grandiloquent37 ditties, but it is the motley repertoire38 of absurdity39 and ridicule40 that meets with the success of the evening: the songs of Montmartre, artistes' refrains, fertile in spicy41 nonsense. We mark time by tapping our empty plates with the back of[Pg 212] the hand. The noisy merriment is intensified42 when we come to the chorus.
With frenzied43 enthusiasm the squadron shouts out the chorus of Hervé's Turcs—
Nous, nous sommes les soldats
Et nous marchons au pas,
Plus souvent au trépas....
And now Charensac comes forward.
"Make way for the Ambassador of Auvergne," barks out Varlet.
"Quite right, I am from Auvergne, and I'm going to dance the bourrée."
He dances it, all alone. Some of the audience, making a humming sound with their hands, the rest whistling or else beating time with cans and gamelles, form an improvised44 orchestra, half Spanish, half negro. The dancer's big round face, flanked with little tufts of black whiskers, lights up. He is both the Auvergnat and his betrothed—advancing, receding45, seeming to escape from himself. When you think he is utterly46 exhausted47, he still finds it possible to shout out in joyous48 accents—
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, a collection for 'l'artisse.'"
And he mimics49 in succession a lion-tamer and a lady walking the tight rope. The sous rain down into his képi.
Thereupon Charensac strikes a lyrical vein50. He sings in the patois51 of Auvergne, and, being in an expansive mood, relates the whole of his life,[Pg 213] from his birth down to the present day, forgetting nothing, not even his wedding festivities, in the course of which he assures us that he thrashed his mother-in-law.
Charensac's eloquence52 is made up of hiccoughs and invocations, songs and laughter, but we understand all the same. We gather that this giant of an Auvergnat is a compound of landowner, estate manager, Government official, and representative of his syndicate at the Bourse du Travail53. I find I have had to come to the front to learn that a keen sense of the rights of property is not incompatible54 with the spirit of revolutionary claims.
Charensac stops for a moment, exhausted. Thereupon Reymond, who has had his eyes fixed55 on him for some time, leans on his elbow, and from the corner in which he has been lying, remarks—
"You don't know whom you make me think of, Charensac, always shouting and stuffing like a huge ogre? I'll tell you; you remind me of old Ubu."
"Who's old Ubu?" asks the other.
"Old Ubu——" begins Reymond.
Startled, I burst out—
"You're not going to tell the first squadron who old Ubu was?"
"Don't you interrupt."
And Reymond explains. In profound silence we listen as he relates how Ubu was the first man who recommended that eight bullets should be put into a rifle, because with eight bullets it[Pg 214] is possible to kill eight of the enemy, and you have that number the less to account for. The thing that delights the first squadron is Ubu's prophetic description of the modern battle: "... We have the foot-soldiers at the foot of the hill ... the cavalry56 behind them to burst upon the jumbled57 mass of combatants, and the artillery58 round by the windmill here to fire upon them all." The men clap their hands in delight and exclaim knowingly: "Yes, that's it! The very thing!"
Finally Reymond says that Ubu, like Charensac, was a sort of enormous giant, with a voice of thunder and an insatiable appetite.
After this, Charensac is never called anything but old Ubu, and as the sly rascal59 sees here a new excuse for the satisfaction of his appetites, he accepts the surname with enthusiasm.
Old Ubu will become popular in the 352nd Regiment60, and rightly so. In warfare61 it is necessary to evoke62 the shade of Jarry as frequently as that of Homer.
Midnight. A procession of magi moves along the galleries. Reymond, a muffler wrapped turban-wise round his head and majestically63 draped in the folds of a poncho64, carries the myrrh in a gamelle. The tent pickets65 serve the purpose of sceptres. Some one walks backwards66 in front of the kings, with an electric lamp raised above his head. This represents the star.
The star guides us back to our crèche, where the candles have just flickered67 out. Kings and[Pg 215] shepherds lie pêle-mêle on the ground, and the loud snoring soon proves them to be sound asleep.
Friday, 25th December.
At half-past six the sergeants68 shout into the grotto—
"Up, 24th, and fully28 equipped!"
"What's this?... What's the matter?"
"Get up at once; within a quarter of an hour we must be in the fighting line."
Each man, half-awake, puts on his boots and his puttees and fastens on his haversack.
Muster70 in front of the grotto: a frightful71 din12. From Crouy to Vailly every single battery keeps up an uninterrupted fire on the German trenches72. What an awakening74 we are giving them for their Christmas!
In a few words the lieutenant explains the day's programme—
"Attacks on the left as soon as the bombardment is over. In front of Bucy we are commanded not to move. The 24th must hold the support trenches and keep in readiness 'for any eventuality.'"
The usual thing!
This morning the fighting emplacements are not very dangerous. The company deploys75 along the path which skirts the ridge7 on a level with the grotto. This is the first line as it was at the beginning of November; to-day the first line is over five hundred yards forward.
Men belonging to the 23rd relate how the[Pg 216] Germans have been singing hymns76 all night long. They must have been celebrating their triumphs; our artillery will bring them all back to their senses. The shells hammer away at the frozen soil, tearing it up when they explode. Impossible to hear oneself speak in the midst of the uproar77. The sky is pale blue, gradually assuming a darker tint78. The sun is shining brightly, but it affords no warmth. Each man sends out from his mouth tiny clouds with every breath.
On the road between the loop-holes there are still to be seen some of the branch-constructed shelters in which we lodged79 a couple of months ago. With the exception of two on sentry duty, we are going to finish here our interrupted Christmas dreams.
In war-time, unless he is sent on guard or given fatigue80 duty, the foot-soldier makes his bed anywhere and anyhow. In case he has insufficient81 room he shrinks into as small space as possible, his knees touching82 his chin. The cartridge6 cases of the man behind him dig into his ribs83, and those of the man in front crush his stomach, the hilt of the bayonet finds a place between two other ribs, whilst the sheath always seems twisted and bent84.... Well, it can't be helped. You just settle down as well as you can, and you dream, whether awake or asleep.
From time to time some one will growl85 out, "Its impossible to sleep with such a noise going on!" and off he falls at once into a deep slumber86.
A joyless day seems in store for us. Shall we be attacked? Or are we to attack?
[Pg 217]
A brief distraction87 takes the form of a young mouse, which comes out of its hole close to our feet, and is by no means startled by the sight of six poilus seated around on the floor. Soon it scampers88 away, but immediately reappears and fastens its impudent89 eyes upon us. The roar of the cannon90 does not seem to disturb its tiny ears. It is neutral. I quietly put out my hand, but evidently the gesture is too familiar, for the mouse re-enters its trench73 and appears no more.
At two o'clock the 24th are ordered to equip and muster. It appears that we are to relieve the 23rd in the first line.
News arrives: our attack in the direction of Crouy has succeeded only partially91. The artillery duel92 is coming to an end. We appreciate the silence that follows.
We are fixed up in the first line. I spend a couple of hours with Verrier at the listening post, anything but a pleasant spot. The Germans are fifty yards away. By risking an eye at the loop-hole we distinctly make out their wires and the mounds93 of earth behind which they are. At night we have to keep our ears alive to the faintest sound to prevent ourselves from being taken prisoners or massacred by a patrol party.
An interlude. The Germans are imitating the cries of various animals: cock and dog, calf94 and pig.
We ask for news of the Kaiser. They reply—
"He's quite well, thanks. We'll see you again shortly in Paris."
[Pg 218]
A single though expressive95 word is our retort.
Again they shout to us from the enemy's trenches—
"A merry Christmas! Send us some wine."
Then they sing the Marseillaise!
Saturday, 26th December.
This morning we found the water frozen in our cans.
The cooks, when bringing in the soup, assure us that the Hindus have been sent for to make an attack on Crouy. They describe minutely how they are dressed.
"There is a fellow in the train de combat," says "the Fireman," "who has come across them at Soissons."
Thereupon Jacquard cannot contain himself for joy. Being of a most optimistic temperament96, he sees the Sikhs and Gurkhas coming down Hill 132 and cutting our invaders97' throats. He endeavours to give his foolish face an expression of ferocity, and explains how the Hindus attack.
"The beggars glide98 about noiselessly in the dark, like serpents. Impossible to hear them coming. Before you are aware they are upon you, cutting your throat with the big knife they hold between their teeth...."
"Bigre! Lucky for us they're on our side."
But where has Jacquard, who has never travelled beyond the neighbourhoods of the Rue99 de Sentier and Levallois-Perret, obtained such detailed100 infor[Pg 219]mation about the warlike habits of these distant peoples?
Meanwhile there is a dead calm; they forget to relieve us. The section returns to Bucy after forty hours' outpost duty. We quarter in a half-ruined house which contains scarcely enough room to lie down in. We sleep in higgledy-piggledy fashion with our comrades, the feet of one man against the face of another, and vice101 versa.
Sunday, 27th December.
No means of returning to the Achains', the company being fixed up at the other extremity102 of the village. I knock at the door of the Ronchards, the brother and sister who showed us hospitality one afternoon last month. They place at our disposal a large well-warmed room, where we can all six sleep on an enormous litter of straw.
Mademoiselle Ronchard has not yet recovered from her disappointment at our not eating her rabbit stew103. The stove begins to roar and we come back to life again.
A detail: we find ourselves covered with fleas104. An energetic hunt commences. It is not without results.
We hear a voice in the street and rush out. The Montagne farm is a mass of flame, the result of a bombardment which has lasted several hours. The entire hill is illumined; even from this distance we can hear the roar of the fire. Beams fall to the ground and flames of fire rise into the air. Dark silhouettes105 are seen in the neighbourhood.[Pg 220] Without a word we gaze long at the sinister106 spectacle. Some one simply remarks—
"The pity of it all!"
We return to the Ronchards.
Monday, 28th December.
Thaw107 and rain, creating mud and all the old troubles over again. We remain indoors at the Ronchards'.
How calm and quiet this evening! There are six of us, feet in slippers108, sitting round the table. Some are reading, others writing by the soft light of a lamp. Are we the same persons who, only the day before yesterday, were wallowing in the trench between two walls of mud? Are we really at war, at the front, with the enemy less than a mile away? Our friends and relatives, whose letters betray constant anxiety on our behalf, invariably imagine us in the thick of the fight. If only they could know, this very moment, that we are in such comfortable quarters, that there is such an element of peace in our sad surroundings!
The howling wind makes us appreciate by contrast the joy of being under cover. The distant firing sounds like the noise made by a cart as it jolts109 along over the pavings.
Tuesday, 29th December.
An hour's drill this morning in the shell-ploughed fields, manual exercise and section school, just to remind us that we are soldiers. Hair review by the lieutenant in the afternoon.[Pg 221] The entire company must pass through the barber's hands.
Charensac bursts into our room, shouting out, "Good day. How are you, my young friends?" His voice upsets us completely, and we roughly inquire whether he has not yet learnt the value of silence after five months of warfare. Thereupon he explains in his gibberish—
"Don't get angry. I know some one at Crouy who has received a supply of benedictine and all sorts of good things to eat. I at once thought of you, for I know my generous little mates will pay for me a drink...."
He is absolved110. A bottle of benedictine is worth considering at certain moments of one's life, and so Charensac starts for Crouy, supplied with funds, precise instructions, and promises.
In ordinary times the road to Crouy is probably as good as any other road. But these are not ordinary times. Shells are continually falling, and a portion of the village of Crouy itself is in the hands of the enemy. A German machine-gunner, whom we know well, opens fire when any one passes a certain corner. Charensac, however, disdains111 the very idea of peril112; he is very brave. The other day, when he was brawling113 away as usual, his weary neighbour interrupted him—
"Ah! là, là, you wouldn't make such a noise if we were attacking."
Charensac replied, not without an air of dignity, speaking instinctively114 of himself in the third person, as though he might have been C?sar or Napoleon—
[Pg 222]
"Don't trouble yourself about Charensac. Just keep by his side when there is hot work to be done, then no one will ever be in a position to say that you were afraid."
And, as a matter of fact, Charensac continues to make fine sport of war, even in the midst of danger. Certainly I have never met his like before.
Charensac returns in the course of the evening. We all run to meet him. He tosses off a glass of benedictine, accepts a flannel115 girdle, two pocket-handkerchiefs, a bar of chocolate, a camphor sachet for killing116 fleas, and then he retires to sleep, shrieking117 joyfully118.
Wednesday, 30th December.
From noon to four o'clock we clean out the branch trenches, which the rain has transformed into mud puddles119.
Thursday, 31st December.
Morning drill during a brief spell of sunshine.
Belin comes to dinner.
The year about to begin will be a year of peace and victory, of our return home.
We do not wait for midnight before going to bed, though we first wish one another a happy 1915.
Friday, 1st January, 1915.
Not everybody has followed our example of sobriety in letting in the new year. This morning[Pg 223] some unsteady walking is visible in the streets of Bucy and Bacchic songs fill the air.
At five the company returns to the grotto.
Saturday, 2nd January.
A fight against mud, which we scrape away from the road. At noon we proceed to the first line; for some time past, relieving forces have been sent out in the daytime. Passing through the branch is a difficult matter, for we wade120 in mud up to the knee.
Two hours' duty at the listening post. A calm night. Occasional firing.
Sunday, 3rd January.
The cooks bring in the soup at ten o'clock and inform us that we shall be relieved in the evening instead of at noon. Mud and war! Five more hours of this sort of work! This is what we call, like all good Pickwickians, "Adding insult to injury, as the parrot said when being taught to learn English after being taken from his native land."
From four to six, Verrier and I, facing each other as we lean against the trench walls, await the relief without speaking a word, our eyes obstinately121 fixed on our boots.
The return at night along the branches; the mud is thicker and more plentiful122 than ever. Frightful oaths and the continual exhortation—
"Gently ahead! We cannot follow you."
Shades glide behind one another, accompanied[Pg 224] by the sound of the gamelle chains. The head of the company has already reached the grotto whilst the rear is still waiting in the first line till its turn comes to march away.
The branch opens out on to a very uneven123 path, scarcely visible through the wood. In the profound darkness we hear the outbursts of rage and the curses of the men. The rifles knock against the branches. There is another path skirting the wood, over exposed ground. A few balls whistle past, chiefly during reliefs. We have to advance in Indian file, carefully planting our feet in the steps of the man in front because of the many holes in the ground. Fifty yards of a steep ascent124, slippery as soap. The falls multiply. Wonderful to relate, there are no broken bones; not even a sprained125 ankle.
At last we reach the grotto. Candles and pipes are lit. Each man removes his equipment and his coat and flings himself on to the straw. After a brief rest we dine, seated round a newspaper which serves for a tablecloth126. Our comrades left behind in the grotto have kept the parcels which have arrived whilst we have been in the first line. We manifest a schoolboy's delight in unfastening them.
Monday, 4th January.
In front of the grotto the sections muster in columns of fours. A few stragglers arrive, buckling127 on their haversacks.
The sergeant69 welcomes them with the words—
[Pg 225]
"Don't hurry, I beg of you. I suppose I'm here to wait for you."
The company goes down to Bucy. Within a short time the six of us are installed with the Ronchards.
Another hunt for fleas. A vigorous offensive is necessary to prevent ourselves being devoured128 alive. The labour required to keep one's body clean becomes something herculean. The mud on coats and puttees refuses to dry. We give up the struggle.
Tuesday, 5th January.
Whilst the rest are away at drill I stay behind, the major having exempted129 me from duty. I seize the opportunity to do the house work and Jules gives me a helping130 hand.
It is Jules' dream to become a valet de chambre in Paris. His views on life as lived in the capital are unusual and lacking in precision.
He says to me—
"When peace is proclaimed, won't you take me back with you?"
"Listen to me, Jules, I don't want to hurt you, but I cannot afford more than one servant."
"Nonsense, a man like you!"
"Yes, you see how badly society is built up."
Jules goes over his good points—
"You know me well; I can easily adapt myself to things. With me, you may have your mind at peace, I would take charge of everything, and you would not even need to pay me."
[Pg 226]
Such disinterestedness131 sends a shudder132 through me.
"You agree?" asks Jules.
"But—don't you see, I'm tied down here."
"How stupid you are! Things will not always remain as they are now."
"And what if I am killed?"
"Don't talk like that. It would be a pity!"
He sticks to his idea, for he has chosen me to assist him in the realization133 of his dreams. Finally he remarks—
"You will leave me free to go out whenever I want, won't you? And every morning I'll go and kill some little birds for you."
In the evening we chat away with quite civilian134 freedom of mind. We forget both what we are engaged upon, and where we are. Plans for the future are discussed without any one thinking of making the remark that our talk is very silly. We pay attention neither to our odd-looking accoutrements, nor to our unshaven chins. We are not even aware of our tired condition.
We go out into the yard for a quiet smoke. It is very mild; the sky is lit up with stars, as in times of peace. Away towards the north we hear the firing of the sentries135. The cannon is booming on our left.
Reymond does not feel sleepy; neither do I.
"Suppose we write an article for the Figaro?"
Agreed. I set to work. After scribbling136 away for an hour, I hand a few sheets across to Reymond. After reading them, he declares—
[Pg 227]
"How idiotic137!"
I feel hurt.
"Then write the article yourself, since you are so clever."
"It's not my business; I'm a painter. Begin it all over again."
I obey. More sheets and a further reading by Reymond.
"This time it's not quite so bad. Suppose we go over it word for word."
At two in the morning we are still at it. Our aim is to set forth138 nothing but facts, and at the same time to thrill our readers.
Wednesday, 6th January.
It's all very well to play at being journalists, and to spend the night in writing, but this morning we must all be ready for drill at half-past seven. The two collaborators are snoring away. Varlet wakes us by walking over our bodies.
"Come now, up! you two journalists."
The journalists refuse to budge139.
"You'll be marked absent!"
"Don't trouble about that."
At ten o'clock our comrades return. Our absence has passed unnoticed, the very thing upon which our modesty140 and laziness combined were relying.
At noon—
"Quick! Muster in half an hour. We return to the trenches."
[Pg 228]
The usual stir and commotion141 in alarms of this kind.
Afternoon and night are spent very quietly in the grotto.
Thursday, 7th January.
The 24th occupies fresh positions between Bucy and Crouy, still in the first line. The weather is dreadful; it is useless to gaze through the loop-hole, you cannot see a yard in front of you.
A dull, unpleasant day. This evening, seated by Reymond's side in a dug-out, which luckily is waterproof142, I recopy by candle-light the article for the Figaro, taking down the words at his dictation, with tongue protruding143, like a schoolboy, to make my handwriting more legible. From time to time the rain, oozing144 through the ceiling, drops a tear-stain on to the copy.
When the sheets of paper are filled, I carefully put them away safe from the wet. They will be in the postman's hands to-morrow.
Four hours' sentry duty now to divert our minds. Those who pass by tell us that the shelters are falling in upon the sleepers145. Several times during the night we have to go to the help of our buried comrades.
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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sector
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| n.部门，部分；防御地段，防区；扇形 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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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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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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poseur
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| n.装模作样的人 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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22
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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23
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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24
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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25
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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26
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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28
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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29
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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30
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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32
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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33
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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34
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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35
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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36
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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37
grandiloquent
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| adj.夸张的 | |
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38
repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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39
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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40
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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41
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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42
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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43
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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44
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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45
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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46
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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47
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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48
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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49
mimics
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| n.模仿名人言行的娱乐演员，滑稽剧演员( mimic的名词复数 )；善于模仿的人或物v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的第三人称单数 )；酷似 | |
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50
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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51
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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52
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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53
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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54
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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55
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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56
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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57
jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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58
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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59
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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60
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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61
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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62
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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63
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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64
poncho
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| n.斗篷，雨衣 | |
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65
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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66
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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67
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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69
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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70
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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71
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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72
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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73
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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74
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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75
deploys
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| （尤指军事行动）使展开( deploy的第三人称单数 )； 施展； 部署； 有效地利用 | |
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76
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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77
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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78
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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79
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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80
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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81
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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82
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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83
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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84
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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85
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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86
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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87
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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88
scampers
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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89
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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90
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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91
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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92
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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93
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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94
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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95
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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96
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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97
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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98
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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99
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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100
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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101
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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102
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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103
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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104
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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105
silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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106
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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107
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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108
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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109
jolts
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的名词复数 ) | |
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110
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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111
disdains
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| 鄙视，轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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112
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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113
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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114
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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115
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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116
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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117
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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118
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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119
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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120
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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121
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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122
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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123
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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124
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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125
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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126
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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127
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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128
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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129
exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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131
disinterestedness
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132
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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133
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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134
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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135
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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136
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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137
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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138
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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139
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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140
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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141
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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142
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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143
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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144
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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145
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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