A river crawled along, its straight banks parallel with the road over which the camions were moving. In the crepuscular2 light it was a dark, straggly, insignificant3 stream, which, compared by the platoon with rivers that they had known, was only a creek4. It was quite dark when the camions stopped at a town along the river, built in the valley between large hills. The men debarked and were assigned to their billets wherever empty rooms could be found in the houses.
In Nanteuil, the name of the village where they had stopped, the ranks of the platoon were filled by men from one of the replacement5 battalions6 that recently had arrived in France from[168] the United States. A daily routine was quickly established, and with but one day’s rest the platoon was kept at work from early morning until late afternoon. They drilled four hours a day, were inspected daily by the acting8 company commander, tried to rid themselves of lice by swimming in the Marne, made secret expeditions to neighboring villages, where they got drunk and made amorous9 eyes at sloppy10 French grandmothers, threw hand-grenades in the river and watched the dead fish rise to the surface, swore at the gendarmes11 when those persons remonstrated12 with them, shrank into basements whenever the long-distance German shells were aimed at the bridge that crossed the river at Nantueil, cursed their officers, and tried to scare the new men by exaggerating the frightfulness13 of the front, gorged14 themselves on the plentiful15 rations16, and played black jack17, poker18, or rolled dice19 out of sight of their officers. The officers smiled and told each other that they were not only recovering their morale20, but were imbuing21 the new men with that spirit peculiar22 to the Marine23 Corps24.
The platoon had been in Nanteuil one week when Hicks returned, dusty, tired, and hungry. The older men crowded around him eagerly,[169] while the more recent members stood off wonderingly.
“Well, Hicksy, old boy, did you have a good rest?” Pugh asked.
“Rest? Rest hell. The only way you can get a rest is to get killed. But don’t go to the hospital thinking you’ll get it.” Hicks paused, sat down and lighted a cigarette. “Remember that night they put over the gas attack?” He was assured by each of the old-timers that he did.
“Well, the next afternoon I woke up in an evacuation hospital. They carried me in on a stretcher, and when I opened my eyes there was a lousy doctor standing25 over me. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. Well, I could hardly talk, but I managed to whisper that I was gassed. He looked down at my card that the first-aid officer had pinned on me. ‘God damn it, get up, you coward,’ he said to me. ‘What the hell do you mean by taking a wounded man’s place?’ Of course, I was sore as hell, but what could I do? So I stuck around a while until an ambulance started for our battalion7, and then I hid in it and came along.”
The men cursed the medical officer effusively26.
“Saw Harriman back there,” Hicks continued.[170] “He was lyin’ in bed with his foot in a sling27. Said he got lost and some Squarehead shot him.” Hicks threw the butt28 of his cigarette. “But if you think the medical officers are bad, you ought to see the enlisted30 men. Don’t take any souvenirs back with you if you go. The damn orderlies’ll steal ’em. One guy had a Luger pistol and about four hundred francs when he got in the hospital, and they give him a bath, and when he come out he hadn’t a thing in his clothes. But I got a good hot bath, I’ll say that much. And I got some clean clothes. The damned clothes I had stunk31 so of gas that they had to bury them.”
“How was the chow?”
“Rotten. And you have to line up in the mud in your pajamas32 to get it if you’re a walking patient. They say the base hospitals are worse.”
“Yeh, but you don’t have no shavetail raggin’ you around all the time, do you?”
“The hell you don’t. Them damned orderlies who are supposed to do the work hand you a broom and tell you to clean up the deck, or wash up the toilets, or make up somebody’s bed.” Hicks got up and limped away. “Got to report to the company commander.”
[171]
“How come you’re limpin’, Hicksy?”
“Still got sores on my legs where that confounded gas burned.”
After an hour’s close order drill the next day Hicks was noticed to be unable to keep in step. Three times Lieutenant34 Bedford bit his lip and refrained only by great repression35 from reprimanding him. When the platoon came to a halt, Lieutenant Bedford moved over to Hicks and quietly and venomously asked: “Hicks, what the hell’s the matter with you? Why the hell do you walk along like you had a brick in your pants?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it, Lieutenant Bedford. I still have sores on my legs.”
“Well, what are you doing back here then? Fall out and report to the sick-bay at once.” Lieutenant Bedford was exasperated36.
Hicks limped out of sight. But after that he did not drill with the platoon. Each day when they set out he watched them from the window of the bare room where his squad37 was billeted. And each day the sergeant38 of the Medical Corps secretly treated him for his burns. At the close of a week Hicks was well, and when orders were[172] received for the platoon to move he was quite ready.
Then began a dismal39 time; when, almost invariably, the platoon had been marched into some woods at night and had made their beds on the ground, they would be ordered to make up their equipment and be ready to march in an hour or less. Thus they lived in the woods in the daytime and at night marched from one forest to another.
Not even the officers could give a reason for the senseless man?uvring. It was during this time that the rumor40 became common that they were to board battleships and effect a landing party on the Mole41; they also were to be sent to southern France to a rest camp as soon as their barracks near Marseilles had been completed; they also were to be returned to the United States and be split up to serve as recruiting officers and instructors42 to the drafted men. These rumors43, and the occasional rations of cigarettes they were given, helped them to endure their nightly pilgrimages and their cramped44 daily lives in the woods.
And then one day, when they had despaired ever of doing anything but moving through the night from one clump45 of woods to another, an[173] order was received for the platoon to be ready to entrain on camions at three that afternoon. They did not know whether to rejoice or not.
The march was more weary than even they had expected. They had left the camions early that morning, and had begun a climb up a long, punishing hill whose summit seemed in the clouds. On this road the marching was even, steady. There was no body of troops in front of the platoon to cause it to halt, stand with heavy packs cutting through the shoulder muscles, and then march on again. A forest on one side, the scene stretched out on the other a long, flat prairie of glistening46 wheat. On and on they marched, reaching the summit of the hill and escaping the sun where large, tall trees bowed in a canopy47 over the road. Noon came and day disappeared; the shadows threw themselves fantastically upon the road, and still the platoon continued its steady tramp. The air grew cool. It found an easy entrance through the slight clothing of the men and covered their bodies with a dampness. Darkness found them heavily pounding out the miles along the road. Men began grumbling48, threatening to fall out along the roadside. They were indignant at not having rested, at not being fed. One man,[174] desiring to drink, reached for his canteen and found it empty. His voice rose plaintively49 in the stillness. Other men felt thirst. They made known their desires in language reproachful and uncomplimentary to their officers.
At midnight the platoon stopped. It turned into the woods and lay down. Orders were passed among the men to dig holes in the ground for protection. “We’ll be here all night,” the officers said, “and there may be an attack before we shove off.”
The men greeted the order by failing to move. Several of them muttered that they didn’t give a damn whether the enemy attacked or not. Suddenly, out of the thick blackness of the woods and the night a six-inch gun barked and recoiled50, barked again and recoiled. The shells sped through the night, striking, ?ons afterward51, with the noise of a pricked52 balloon. Another salvo shot over into the darkness, the ignition of the charge lighting53 up a small distance of woods and throwing the trees into crazy relief. Three shells, large ones, raced each other over the enemy lines. They struck with a clatter54, as if they had felled half of the forest. All along the line long-range rifles fired their huge bolts of explosives toward the enemy. Small seventy-fives[175] barked like little dogs running after an automobile55. In retaliation56 the shrill57 shriek58 of the German shells answered. On both sides the batteries continued pounding away. An orderly, parting the brush and making a noise like a stampede of wild horses, appeared and asked to be directed to the company commander. Five minutes afterward the platoon was given orders to move forward. To the tune59 of heavy artillery60 battering61 away like enormous drums the platoon, joined at each end by other units of the division, felt its way blindly through the forest. When the sun rose they were still working their way through the trees. Unexpectedly the guns in the rear of the moving lines stopped. The battle of Soissons had begun.
The platoon was first apprised62 of the nearness of the enemy when King Cole raised his rifle and fired quickly. He had seen a soiled gray uniform skirting among the trees a few yards ahead. A quick electric shock ran from shoulder to shoulder along the advancing line. The platoon stopped for a moment as if stunned63. Then they advanced without increasing their pace. In their faces a machine-gun spat64 angrily, the bullets flying past like peevish65 wasps66. Automatic rifles were manipulated in the middles[176] of the automatic rifle squad, and the loaders took their places at the sides of the men who were firing, jamming in one clip of cartridges67 after another. Rifle bullets fled past the advancing men with an infuriating zing. The Maxim68 machine-guns kept up a rolling rat-t-t-tat, coldly objective.
The platoon had reached the first machine-gun nest, almost without knowing it. There were three Germans, their heavy helmets sunk over their heads, each performing a definite part in the firing. They, too, were surprised. Pugh, a little in the lead, drew a hand-grenade from his pocket, pulled out the pin, and threw it in their faces. It burst loudly and distinctly. One German fell flat, another grasped at his arm, his face taking on a blank expression as he did so, while the last man threw his hands above his head. Inattentive to his gesture of surrender, the line pushed on.
The fighting grew more furious. Germans, surprised, were hiding behind trees and firing their slow-working rifles. When the advancing line would reach them they would receive a charge of shot in their bodies, sometimes before they had fired at the swiftly moving line. Some member of the platoon offered his version[177] of an Indian war whoop69. It was successful in hastening the attack. Exhilarated, but sheerly impotent, one man ran forward blubbering, “You God-damn Germans,” and pointing an empty rifle at the trees. Other men calmly and methodically worked the bolts of their rifles back and forth70, refilling the chambers71 as they were emptied of each clip of five shots. From time to time a man dropped, thinning the ranks and spreading them out to such an extent that contact on the right side of the moving line was lost.
Farther on in the woods a small trench73 had been dug, but through the fierceness and unexpectedness of the attack most of the enemy had been driven from it. The platoon, moving on feet that felt like wings, dashed toward the trench, some of the men sprawling74 into it. Before them, a few yards distant, a machine-gun poked75 its nose from between the crevice76 of two large rocks. The sight of it infuriated Lieutenant Bedford, who was leading the platoon by a few paces. Then, yards away, he began throwing bombs at it. His last bomb exhausted77, he aimed his pistol and chucked the remaining shots at it. Now, almost able to look over the top of the rock and see the gunner, he threw the[178] useless pistol at the heavy steel helmet. The gunner dropped his head, covering it with his hands. When he looked up, the platoon had passed. Farther, the resistance grew less. The bombardment of the night before had taken its toll78 of Germans. Bodies lay gawkily about on the grass. One body, headless, clutched a clay pipe between its fingers. Another lay flat on its back, a hole in its stomach as big as a hat. A heavy leather pack, which a shell had struck, was the centre of a ring of packages of Piedmont cigarettes which its owner had salvaged79 from some dead American.
The trees became sparse80. Ahead, over an interminably long wheat-field, the platoon could see the horizon. There were no Germans in sight. The platoon, ordered to do so, faced in the direction from which they had come and combed the woods for machine-gun nests which they might have passed unnoticed during the attack.
In their poignant81 hunger the men forgot even to look for pieces of German equipment which they might sell to Y. M. C. A. men and others of the personnel behind the lines. But each leather German pack was searched for food, and canteens were picked up, shaken, and either[179] thrown down with disgust or hastily put to the men’s lips and greedily drained of whatever might be in them. There were loaves of black bread which, in spite of the mouldy look that was common to them all, were devoured82; an occasional comb of honey was found. Pugh, exploring one of the packs, drew forth a pair of baby stockings and a small knitted hood83. Beside the pack lay a peaceful-looking, home-loving German who had passed his middle years.
They were nearing a clump of bushes when a young German stepped out. His face was the color of putty and his eyes brought to Hicks the picture of an escaped convict hunted by bloodhounds in a Southern swamp. His hands were high above his head, as high as their frightened nerves would permit them to be. At the sight of him an uncouth85, illiterate86 tatterdemalion from the south of Illinois snarled87 half animal-like, raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired directly at the prisoner. A look of surprise, utter unbelief, came over the man’s face as he dropped heavily to the ground. “Damn ye, that’ll larn ye ta stay hum.” The fellow, his thin evil face grimaced88 with[180] hatred89, walked over and spat expertly a stream of tobacco juice at the already dead body. The rest of the platoon looked on nonplussed90, not knowing whether their comrade had done the ethical91 thing or not.
Hot and tired, knowing nearly every need of the body, the platoon was formed near the place where they had entered the woods late the night before, as the sun was sinking out of sight.
They arrived at a crossroads and turned to the right. Thick woods, green at the fringe and black within, walled the smooth white ribbon of road on either side. Through soft, fluffy92 clouds that floated over an inanely93 blue sky the sun volleyed rays of brilliant light. Small, shiny pebbles95, reflecting the glint, were transformed into pretty baubles96 of crystal and amber72.
On the right of the road, moving forward in an unbroken stream, plodded97 a single file of drab-colored men. From a distance the line looked like a swaying, muddy snake. In the middle of the road, also moving forward, black, roan, and sorrel horses pulled caissons, field kitchens, and supply wagons98. Men, returning from the direction in which the main traffic was[181] moving, were on the left. They passed by, dejected, vapid-minded, a look of dull pain in the eyes of each. They were the wounded from the attack. Most spectacular among them were the French Colonials, with their red kepis, their broad chests showing strength and endurance beneath their blue or tan tunics99. Occasionally a mass of white, blood-stained gauze would be wrapped around a black, shiny head, and strong white teeth would be doggedly100 bared with pain. The small carbines and long knives that they carried set them off as a special sort of troops. And then the French, with their horizon-blue uniforms and drooping101, inevitable102 mustaches. Shoulders sagging103, they slouched along with bandaged heads and bandaged arms. And the gray of the German uniform and the thump104, thump of the leather boots that they wore. Small, hideous105 caps, round and gray, with a thin red piping circling the top, set awkwardly on their heads, which rose from thick fat necks. Behind them walked surly, wary106 Frenchmen. A number of English troops were scattered107 through the unending line. Beside the Americans whom they passed their khaki uniforms looked smart and tailored. In this multicolored canyon108 no words were exchanged. The[182] Colonials looked sullen109, the French beaten and spiritless, the Americans dogged and conscientious110, the English expressionless; the Germans seemed the most human of them all. For them the fighting was finished.
Miles from the place where the platoon had alighted from the camions another road split the deep wall of green forest, and at the crossing a large farmhouse111 stood in the middle of a large field. Whitewashed112, all but the roof, it looked like a cheap but commodious113 burial vault114, with the yard in the rear filled high with dead and wounded. The first place of shelter from the actual front, it was being used as a dressing115 station for the maimed. Many of the men brought back wounded had died there; in a pile made like carelessly thrown sticks of wood their bodies now lay. There those whom an imaginary line had named Friend and Enemy shared a common lot. German bodies and Austrian mingling116 and touching117 French, Belgian; their positions a gruesome offering to the God of War. All day long the heavy hobnailed boots of hurriedly advancing men had beaten out a requiem118.
The platoon filed along to the left upon the cross-road, marching as swiftly as their tired[183] legs would permit. The stream of wounded had stopped. The field kitchens and supply wagons had turned off in the woods in rear. For miles sounded the baffled roar of firing artillery. Now and then a man fell out alongside the road, unable to march any longer, the cool green of the grass in the late afternoon offering a tantalizing119 bed. From behind them commenced a great clatter of caissons drawn120 jerkily along the shell-torn road by galloping121, lathered122 horses. Artillerymen, one on the back of the leading horse, two on the caisson seat, urged the horses forward with picturesque123 curse words, only stopping long enough to shout at the platoon:
In a twilight125 of mauve the platoon came to a halt on the crest126 of a broad hill. Silently they deployed127, mud-caked ghosts, dragging wearily and uncertainly out in a long line that offered its front to the challenging boom of the enemy’s long-range guns. Water was found in a spring near by, and the men lay down in the shallow holes that they had dug, their blankets and ponchos128 thrown over them. A solitary129 sentry130 watched the stars, watched the red, the green,[184] the blue-and-white signal lights flare131 for a moment along the line, then die away.
The gray spirit of dawn rose and hovered132 over the ground. In the faint light a unit of cavalry133 filed past. The riders, on delicate, supple134 mounts, carried long lances, with their points skyward. On their blue helmets bright, feathery plumes135 fell back gracefully136. Their spotless uniforms, gray in the morning light, set off their youthful figures like those of pages attending a medi?val court. The horses, their fine legs delicately contoured, minced137 daintily down the hill and out of sight.
Ahead, through a scattered line of trees, stretched a spacious138 prairie, covered thick with wheat,—a slightly rolling sea, majestically139 and omnipotently140 engulfing141 the universe.
The platoon rose stiffly, bewildered, rubbing the stiffness from their faces. Over the calm of the air a danger was borne. Men smelled it in the acrid142 odor of powder which covered the grass. The trees, a thin line before them, swayed poignantly143. Lorelei, singing seductively, sat in their branches. In attack formation the platoon moved toward the trees, to the front toward which they were moving.
Beyond the trees a narrow path ran parallel. Reaching it, the platoon turned to the left, tramping heavily toward the main road from which they had come the night before.
Scuffing144 the dust with lagging feet, the platoon crawled along the dusty road, lined on each side by contorted faces of men who had come to support the line of attack. Farther down the road a small town lay half hidden in the valley. Long, slender smoke-stacks rose amid a cluttering145 of small deserted146 houses, where, twenty-four hours earlier, German soldiers had been quartered. Through one of the chimneys of the factory a three-inch shell had ploughed its way, stopping with the nose protruding147 from one side, the butt from the other. There it was suspended, implicit148 in its obedience149. Interminably long words were printed on signs over the doors of the houses. At a street crossing the old names of the thoroughfares had been blotted150 out, and such names as Kaiserstrasse and Wilhelmstrasse were roughly lettered over them. There was a touch of impiety151, of great barbarousness, in the changing of names which for so long had been honored. Also a very strong suggestion of a sound, thorough business administration having been instituted in place[186] of the lax, pleasant manner of the village before the war. A peculiar, disagreeable odor hinted at great and ruthless thrift152. The Germans had been careful of their dead. None remained lying on the street.
The platoon wound through the town and out upon the wheat-field which that morning they had viewed through the scraggly trees. Dazzling sunlight beat upon the full-topped yellow heads of wheat that weighted down the cool green stalks; on the flat, absurdly shaped helmets of the soldiers; on the sharp white bayonets raised above the wheat with which the field was filled. Deploying153, the men halted, joined on either side by other men with silly-looking helmets, rifles, and bayonets.
From the road a small tank labored154 up the hill, puffing155 and creaking in every joint156. Another tank, a miniature of the tanks pictured in the recruiting posters, wheezed157 along on its caterpillar158 tread. More tanks came. They were all small, ineffectual-looking little monsters, wearing a look of stubborn, gigantic babies. The arrival of the tanks was greeted by the firing of a salvo of shells from the German lines.
The platoon lay down in the wheat, trying to shield their bodies from the sight of the enemy.[187] But the tanks, wheeling and rearing and grinding like devils gnashing their teeth, made perfect targets for the long-range shells. With their small, ridiculous gun-barrels pointing in three directions through holes in their steel armor, they were delightfully159 impervious160 to the havoc161 they were causing the infantry162. And their silly camouflage163, into the making of which some painter had put his soul—reds and greens, the colors of autumn leaves, black and modest browns—in all their disguise they were as apparent at a distance of one thousand yards as large white canvases with black bull’s-eyes and rings scored on them. For an everlasting164 half-hour they ploughed and squirmed through the field, struggling to get into position in order that the attack might commence. Meanwhile shells, timed like the ticking of a clock, fell with horrible and spirit-shaking accuracy. At last the tanks had man?uvred themselves into the proper distance ahead of the front line. Whistles were blown piercingly. The advance, the men aligned165 in four waves, had commenced.
Hicks, lying in the wheat, divided his attention between the man?uvring of the tanks and the frantic166 scampering167 of the insects on the[188] ground and in the wheat, whose manner of existence he had disturbed by his sitting down. Black little creatures, they waddled168 over the ground with as great a seriousness and importance as if they supported the burden of the world. Disorganized, they ran in all directions, even toward Hicks’s hobnailed boots and upon his awkwardly rolled puttees. It was the first time since he had enlisted that he had thought much about bugs169, save for the kind that infest170 the body. Now he wondered whether their lives were not as important as the lives of men; whether they were not conscious of a feeling that, were they no longer to exist, the end of the world would come. He compared them with the hustling171, inane94 little tanks, and almost concluded that one was as important as the other. He stood by carefully so as not to step on any of the insects.
So far the German shells had burst either far behind the platoon or far in front of it. But now the whine172, ever increasing, of a shell informed him that in a moment he would be listening to the ripping sound of flying pieces of shell casing. He waited, breathless. Fifteen yards behind him the shell exploded terrifically. He looked back. “Oh, Larson,” he called.[189] Larson was nowhere to be seen. “Damn these tanks,” he fretted173. “They’ll have us all killed, first thing we know.”
The dread174 of the attack was forgotten in the more immediate175 danger of the enemy artillery finding the exact range of the platoon by means of the sputtering176 tanks. A flock of shells left the long, black mouths of the German guns and began their journey toward Hicks. He winced177, tied his muscles into knots, and threw himself flat on the ground, quite forgetful of the insects. The shells all struck within a radius178 of twenty yards, throwing up dirt, grain, a black cloud of smoke. The whistle blew and Hicks rose again.
As he started forward, abreast179 of the first wave, he had never before felt so great a stiffness in his legs, nor so great a weight in his shoes. It was as if they were tied to the earth. For a moment the jargon180 and melody of a once-popular song flooded his brain. Then he thought of the platoon joke about the man from the wilds who had come barefoot to a recruiting officer to enlist29, and who, upon putting on a pair of shoes, had stood still for hours, believing that he was tied. “Ha,” thought Hicks, “that’s a funny one. They had to put sand in[190] his shoes before he would move.” War was a business of tightening181 things, he observed, as he fastened the chin strap182 of his helmet more tightly. Corroborating183 the evidence, he tightened184 his belt over his empty stomach. The men were marching along, an interval185 of three yards between each. A shell struck directly upon the moving front wave a few yards to the left of Hicks. An arm and a haversack foolishly rose in the air above the cloud of smoke of the exploding shell. Slightly farther on machine-guns began an annoying rat-tat-tat, the bullets snipping186 off the heads of grain. More men fell. The front rank went on with huge gaps in it. On they stolidly187 marched. Hicks, glancing back, saw that the four waves had been consolidated188 into but two. But the bayonets glistened189 as brightly as before.
“Close in there, Hicks,” somebody yelled, and Hicks asked whether the men were not being killed swiftly enough, without grouping them together more closely. They advanced to a point where they were enfiladed by the enemy’s machine-guns. As the four lines had become two, so now the two lines became one. But on they marched, preserving a line that could have passed the reviewing stand on dress parade.
Beyond a cluster of trees was a village which had been named as the objective of the attack for that day. The road, canopied190 by green tree boughs191, led to it from the town which that morning the platoon had left. The road was level, more level even than the field. It made a path as directing as a bowling-alley for the machine-gunners and riflemen in the village. Thus, the road was almost a certain death-trap for any one who tried to cross it. The right section of the platoon had begun the attack on one side of the road, the left on the other. As the ranks thinned and a greater distance between each man was required to preserve contact with the advancing line, the men on the right, where the heavier firing occurred, spread out, drawing away from the road.
The shells continued to fall, using as their target the slowly moving tanks which regulated the advance of the infantry. Suddenly a large six-inch shell struck the turret192 of the tank nearest the platoon. The tank recoiled and stood stock-still. A moment later two men, like frightened rabbits, scurried193 out of the tank and ran back toward the rear.
Three airplanes, white stars in a field of red on their wings, flew gaily194 over the field and toward the German lines. They floated gracefully[192] and haughtily195 out of sight. Not much later on they precipitately196 returned with three Fokkers after them like angry hornets. Shriven of their grandeur197, they flocked in disorder198 back to their hangars, the machine-guns of the German planes spitting bullets after them. The aerial entertainment was changed: Four large German bombing planes, pursuing a businesslike course, arrived above the advancing men and began to drop bombs and fire machine-gun bullets at them. The bombs reported as noisily as the seventy-seven-millimetre guns, but they made only a shallow hole in the ground. More devastating199 were the machine-gun bullets which zinged off the steel helmets of the men or bored their way through to the skull200. Under the combination of direct artillery fire, enfilade machine-gun, rifle sniping, bombs dropped from airplanes, the ranks of the advancing men had become so sparse that the attack was brought to a temporary halt.
It was now afternoon and the heat of the sun was unendurable. It burned upon the helmets and through the clothing and caused sweat to trickle201 down the skin, irritating the scratches, bruises202, and burns with which the bodies of the men were covered. The four bombing planes[193] continued lazily to circle overhead, “kicking out their tail-gates,” as the men graphically203 phrased it. Hicks and Pugh, with four of the new men, were at the farthest point of advance. Lying flat, they tried with their bayonets, their mess knives, to throw up a protection of ground in front of them. Thoroughly204 tired, they worked slowly, in spite of the danger. They were half-way finished when a bullet zipped through the wheat and penetrated205 the bone of the crooked206 elbow with which the man next Hicks was supporting himself.
“Here it is,” said Hicks, picking up a small steel-jacketed bullet.
“By God, that hurts. Help me get my shirt off.”
“Je’s, you’re lucky,” Hicks murmured enviously207. “You’ll never come back to the front any more. And what a fancy place to get hit!” The shirt off, the bullet was seen to have gone through the forearm just above the elbow, coming out on the other side.
“Don’t you think so?” eagerly. “It don’t hurt so much.”
“No, but you better hurry up and git outa here or you’ll have somep’n more than a busted208 arm,” one of the new men advised.
[194]
The arrival of a salvo of shells decided209 the new man upon an immediate departure. Throwing away all of his equipment, he hurried away, his elbow pressed closely to his side.
Behind Hicks, a few yards, some one began to whimper.
“Well, why don’t you beat it back?”
“I’m af-f-fraid.”
“Damn it, get the hell out of here. Do you want us to go nutty with your bawlin’!” This from one of the new men.
“You’ve got a good excuse to go back, you know,” Hicks assured. “Go back with Hensel. A wounded man’s supposed to have somebody go back with him.”
“I c-c-can’t-t. I went b-back once s-s-shell-shocked, and the d-doctors raised hell with me. I’m af-f-frai-d-d to go back again.” The man started to laugh unpleasantly. His laughter changed to violent sobbing. The men grew doubly frightened. “I can’t stay here and hear that,” one of them said. “It takes all the starch212 out of me.” But he didn’t move.
Near the road King Cole lay upon the ground,[195] his lips pressed against the dirt. By his head his hands were clinched213, the knuckles214 flat. His helmet had fallen forward so that it covered his brow, but not the back of his head. His legs were as rigid215 as death. On his right leg the puttee had become unwound, the spiral-shaped cloth stringing out behind. The leather, worn through by much marching, a glimpse of his bare foot appeared where the sole of his shoe had worn through. His shirt was tattered216, and in the middle of his back a large hole had been blown. Surprisingly, there was very little blood on his shirt or upon any other part of his body, save where the gaping217 hole showed the raw flesh. Hours earlier King Cole had been struck by the explosion of a shell. Since then he had lain—alive.
A molten mass of flaming gold all day, the sun, from sheer exhaustion218 of vengeful burning, dropped weakly out of sight. Declining, it filled the sky with mauve and purple, gold and crimson219 designs. Swaying mournfully in the wisps of evening wind, the full heads of grain were like slender lances raised by an army of a million men. The village ahead, toward which the platoon had advanced within a distance of five[196] hundred yards, was a vague blur220 against the soft gray sky.
It was an hour before nightfall, and firing along the front had partly ceased. The men in the advance line were lying prone221, thankful for the surcease offered by the approaching night. Heard behind them was a swishing sound. Hicks turned, forgot even for the moment the piteous moans of the shell-shocked man when he saw troops swiftly walking.
“We’re going to be relieved. We’re going to be relieved.” The thought pounded through his brain. The oncoming troops were now near and distinct. Hicks could see the red, brimless stovepipe hats, the black, shiny faces, the picturesque and decorated tunics of the Foreign Legion. They carried small rifles and long knives and looked frightfully dangerous. Hicks reflected that these were the fellows who were supposed to treasure the ears of the enemy as keepsakes. Swiftly, their huge leg muscles bulging222 under their puttees, they walked through the wheat and passed. Hicks felt dismal.
“Relief, hell. They’re going to attack.”
And they were. As silent as ghosts they fled straight for the village. The enemy, seeing[197] them, opened up with their rifles and machine-guns with extraordinary furiousness. The black soldiers advanced unhesitatingly. Some of them dropped flat, never to rise again of their own volition223; others clasped a hand to the part of the body where a bullet had entered and turned back, walking quickly and nervously224, but failing to speak. Hicks had never seen so many men wounded without their exclaiming. Usually, when some American was struck he would cry some such absurdly obvious statement as “Oh, my God, I’m hit.” A German would shriek his inevitable “Kamerad.” A Frenchman would jabber225. But these fellows—Hicks marvelled226. But the remaining five hundred yards were too difficult to cross. Where five of the fleet blacks set valiantly227 forth, but one of them returned.
Darkness fell, closing the world in on four sides. Off to the left, on the farther side of the road, a tank suddenly and unexpectedly burst forth with an internal explosion. Its grim little body showed solidly in the glorious blazing red. The report that followed sounded as if the armor of the tank would have been burst into a million pieces. Up shot another flare of[198] redness, brightening the sky. As if there were some understanding among them, two other tanks began, at regular intervals228, to belch229 their fireworks into the air. It was a wondrous230 sight. Far enough away not to be harmful, it had also the advantage of being a spectacle uninspired by malice231 or hatred. It was a thing in itself, a war of its own, in which nobody shared, totally objective, non-utilitarian and spontaneous. Hicks gleefully considered the sight. But after a while the side-show stopped and the dampness stole through the clothing of the men. A lone232 star twinkled forth, trembled violently for a moment and then disappeared. In the heat of the day many of the platoon had thrown away their blankets. Now they lay shivering with cold and fear and hopelessness.
Over the wheat-field the night mist hung like a thick, wet, flapping blanket. Elephantine, it touched against the faces of the men, sending shivers along their spines233. Machine-gun bullets spattered perfunctorily. The shell-shocked man moaned like a banshee. Disgusted, feeling as if his stomach were about to crawl away from his body, Hicks rose, deciding to cross the road and find out whether there was any possibility of relief before dawn.
[199]
On the other side of the road the ground was softer and the men had dug deeper holes. The little mounds234 of freshly thrown dirt were hardly perceptible.
“Where’s Lieutenant Bedford?” Hicks asked in a low voice.
“Dead as hell,” he was answered.
“Then who’s in charge?”
“I am.”
“Who’s that, Thomas?”
“Yeh.”
“When are we going to be relieved?”
“We’re standing by now. They ought to be here any minute.”
“Well, if that’s so, I’m gonna take my squad back. We’re pretty bad off, way up there, and one of the new fellows is making such a hell of a lot of noise that I’m afraid the Squareheads will begin firing again.”
“’Smatter with him?”
“Shell-shocked, I guess.”
“Well, maybe you’d better shove off.”
Hicks felt his way back through the darkness, through the curtain of mist.
Supporting the weaker man between them, the small party moved off, with Hicks in the lead. He was travelling lightly, with little[200] equipment. At the first of the advance he had thrown away his pack, containing an empty condiment235 can and three boxes of hard bread. Finally he had disposed of all but his pistol, belt, canteen, helmet, and respirator. Leaving, he threw away his automatic rifle and the musette bag in which ammunition236 was supposed to be carried. He walked along, his chin high, stepping briskly through the hip-high wheat. Somewhere beyond was rest and security, warm food, and plenty of blankets.
It irked him that the rest of the squad did not walk as swiftly as he walked. His ears seemed to flatten237 against his head at being held back. The distance was so alluring238. It promised so many things of which his body was in want. There was the hot coffee. Hicks fancied that he could smell the soul-satisfying aroma239 of it. He remembered that the American army little knew the value of coffee to the man who is cold and tired and awake in the early dawn. But there would be, no doubt, French galleys240, with black kettles in which they brewed241 strong black chicory. Hot coffee! He thought of it and felt ready to faint. At any moment a shell might drive into the ground near him and blow him high in the air. Reins242 seemed fastened to[201] his shoulders, holding them back, delaying his progress. He wanted to cry out against the inhumanity of being forced to walk so slowly in so dangerous a place after the work in hand was done. He thought of forging ahead, of leaving the blubbering man to himself. He measured the distance back to the woods and guessed the length of time it would take to arrive. An hour at the most. But if he ran he could make it in half an hour. The responsibility of the safety of the squad held him back. Revolted at his cowardly thoughts, he offered to help carry the burden. The men objected. “You lead the way.” But he was insistent243. With one arm of the blubbering, nerveless mass around his neck, he forged ahead, feeling powerful and exultant244 under the added weight.
Whining245 lazily over their heads, gas shells soared and struck softly in the town in front of them. They reached the valley and passed down into the town. Over the ground and on the weeds a coating of yellow had formed. The air was heavy with an asphyxiating246 smell. The yellow from the ground bit through the puttees and penetrated the clothing; the odor was inhaled247 in deep gulps248 that caused the men to choke.
[202]
There was a moment of indecision in which the men hesitated between putting on their respirators, thereby249 retarding250 their steps, and hurrying through the town, their lungs exposed to the poisonous gas. With the shells continuing to come over in droves, it was not difficult to decide. The men breathed in the gas.
Had they not, they would not have seen the aperture251 in the side of the gulley, where a gas blanket covered a dugout filled with wounded. There they stopped, while Hicks informed the receiving officer that their burden had been badly gassed. He said nothing about his being shell-shocked.
Relieved of the great impedimenta, their progress quickened, and they were through the town almost as soon as they could have wished.
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1
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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2
crepuscular
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| adj.晨曦的；黄昏的；昏暗的 | |
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3
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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replacement
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| n.取代，替换，交换；替代品，代用品 | |
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6
battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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8
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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10
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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11
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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12
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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13
frightfulness
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| 可怕； 丑恶； 讨厌； 恐怖政策 | |
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14
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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15
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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16
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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17
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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18
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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19
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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20
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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21
imbuing
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的现在分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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22
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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23
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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24
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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25
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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26
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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27
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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28
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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29
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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30
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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31
stunk
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的过去分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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32
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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33
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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34
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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35
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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36
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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37
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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38
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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39
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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40
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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41
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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42
instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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43
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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44
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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45
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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46
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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47
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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48
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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49
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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50
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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51
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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52
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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53
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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54
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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55
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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56
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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57
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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58
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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59
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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60
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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61
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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62
apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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63
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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65
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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66
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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67
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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68
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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69
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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70
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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71
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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72
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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73
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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74
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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75
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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76
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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77
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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78
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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79
salvaged
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| （从火灾、海难等中）抢救（某物）( salvage的过去式和过去分词 )； 回收利用（某物） | |
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80
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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81
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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82
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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83
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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84
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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85
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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86
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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87
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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88
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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90
nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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92
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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93
inanely
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94
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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95
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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96
baubles
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| n.小玩意( bauble的名词复数 )；华而不实的小件装饰品；无价值的东西；丑角的手杖 | |
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97
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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98
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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99
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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100
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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101
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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102
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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103
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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104
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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105
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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106
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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107
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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108
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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109
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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110
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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111
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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112
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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114
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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115
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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116
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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117
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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118
requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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119
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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120
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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121
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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122
lathered
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| v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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123
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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124
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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125
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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126
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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127
deployed
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| （尤指军事行动）使展开( deploy的过去式和过去分词 )； 施展； 部署； 有效地利用 | |
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128
ponchos
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| n.斗篷( poncho的名词复数 ) | |
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129
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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130
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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131
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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132
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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133
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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134
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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135
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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136
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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137
minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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138
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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139
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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140
omnipotently
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| adv.全能地 | |
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141
engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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142
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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143
poignantly
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144
scuffing
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| n.刮[磨，擦，划]伤v.使磨损( scuff的现在分词 )；拖着脚走 | |
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145
cluttering
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的现在分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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146
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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147
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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148
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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149
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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150
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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151
impiety
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| n.不敬；不孝 | |
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152
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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153
deploying
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| （尤指军事行动）使展开( deploy的现在分词 )； 施展； 部署； 有效地利用 | |
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154
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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155
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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156
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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157
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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159
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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160
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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161
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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162
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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163
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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164
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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165
aligned
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| adj.对齐的，均衡的 | |
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166
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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167
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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168
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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170
infest
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| v.大批出没于；侵扰；寄生于 | |
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171
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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172
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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173
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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174
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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175
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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176
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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177
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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179
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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180
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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181
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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182
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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183
corroborating
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的现在分词 ) | |
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184
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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185
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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186
snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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187
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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188
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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189
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
canopied
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| adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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191
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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192
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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193
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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195
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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196
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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197
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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198
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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199
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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200
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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201
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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202
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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203
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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204
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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205
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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206
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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207
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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208
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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209
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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210
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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211
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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212
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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213
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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214
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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215
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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belch
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| v.打嗝，喷出 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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condiment
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| n.调味品 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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240
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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241
brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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asphyxiating
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| v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的现在分词 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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249
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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250
retarding
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| 使减速( retard的现在分词 )； 妨碍； 阻止； 推迟 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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