"And so," said the bland4 old gentleman, raising himself languidly on his hollowed slab5 of stone, "and so you find the company of the ladies more agreeable than mine? I do not wonder. How did you leave them all in the temple of Lal?" It would be impossible to indicate the sly mockery which rustled6 in his tone.
"So that was your doing, too?" I asked.
He moved a deprecatory hand, smiling blandly7 through me into space. "I may have been used as an unworthy instrument," he murmured, "but for most of your experience, I fancy, you're indebted to the Little Gods themselves. Did you find amusement, or instruction, was it?—forgive me, I forget—in the Games they showed you?"
"I'm very tired of your Little Gods, if they exist," I said bluntly, for he made me angry. "As I told you once, and as I would tell them to their faces, I think them cowards. I ask you again, do they never give their victims a fair chance? Is there never a single plaything of theirs which, fighting bravely and in good faith, is permitted to win? Are the dice9 always cogged?"
"You like to see them win?" my old heathen priest asked in bland surprise. "What a very commonplace taste; for people are always winning what they strive for, thousands of them every day. It's only the exceptions, the surprises, which are interesting. I thought you asked to see Life through my eyes. But since your taste runs that way—" he yawned ever so slightly behind his hand—"You'll excuse me, won't you?" he apologized, "but this is an hour which I invariably devote to a nap." He made a little careless, dismissing gesture. "Wander where you choose," said he, "and watch men fight, since that's your taste, and win—what they may win."
It was my dismissal, and there I saw him last, as I had seen him first, lying motionless on his hollowed slab, smiling blandly, cynically10, into Emptiness, with light yet bitter mockery in his smile.
Then, or so it seemed to me, I wandered far and long, and saw many men striving mightily11 for many things, and most of them were winners, and most of them, winning, found themselves no nearer their hearts' desires. But among them I marked three, and have remembered them, whose striving seemed to me not wholly without interest. The first of them was a very common-seeming man indeed, and the only thing about him which made him worthy8 of remark was, that he was an optimist12.
Samar is a sorry strip of island which rises in gray-green, commonplace, and yet sinister13 ugliness from a green and treacherous14 sea. Its coasts are a desolation of over-thrifty vegetation. Its interior, so far as it has been explored, is a wilderness15 of forest and precipitous mountains. And the people who inhabit it are worthy of the place, outcasts and refugees from other islands, outlawed16 men for whom no other spot of earth holds a future.
Toward the end of 1901, soldiers and marines and sailors, the 41st Infantry17, U.S.A., among them, were rushed to Samar to punish the murderers of Balangiga and cleanse18 the plague-spot of the Philippines of its spawn19. The work proved to be difficult and slow. The blazing summer had darkened into such winter as the Eastern tropics know, a season of lowering skies and deluges20 of rain, and dank cold and boisterous21 winds, and still the quarry22 flitted elusively23 from stronghold to stronghold of the untracked mountains, emerging at rare intervals24 to strike with murderous suddenness at unexpected places and then disappear, as hard to bring to bay as any other beast of prey25 which makes cunning atone26 for its lack of strength and courage.
At Sabey, a hopeless town half-way up the east coast of the island, Company B of the 41st was stationed, as hard-fisted, hard-mouthed, hard-living, hard-fighting a set of terriers as ever was enlisted27. Its Captain, one Burrell, delighted in catching28 his pets wild and taming them to his peculiar29 taste. B's ranks, for the most part, were filled by transfer from other organizations whose officers were glad to turn over their black sheep. Burrell, by some method of his own, speedily made soldiers, his sort of soldiers, of them, and they swore by him.
It was unusual for B to sit in garrison30 when the 41st was afield, for the company had a reputation consonant31 with its character, and was welcome at the front whenever there was action. But all that autumn it was held in quarters, while the rain drummed on the iron roof and reports came in of little battles north and south and west.
"Ev'rybody had a man's size grouch32 on, fr'm th' Old Man down," they reported afterward33. "Ev'rybody but just John Henry Sullivan, him we called Peaceful Henry. You couldn't hammer a grouch onto Peaceful with an axe34."
Sullivan was the humorist of the company, a long, lank35, freckled36 figure-of-fun who was tolerated, ordinarily, though unmercifully mocked, for a certain likable simplicity37 of mind and a childish friendliness38 for everything. But that fall his antics palled39 on B. "They was times when we'd a been glad to kill him," as they said, "if it hadn't been for havin' to look forrard to a long enlistment40 with him down below."
But at the very end of the year a hope of cornering the enemy appeared, and the spirits of B Company rose accordingly. Midway of its length, Samar narrows till a scant41 thirty-five miles separates the long rollers of the Pacific shore from the quieter waters of the Visayan Sea. So, at least, the triangulation of the Coast Survey bore witness, then. Until that winter there was no record of men who had crossed the savage42 island. But a local tradition asserted that an old and long-abandoned trail led from Sabey on the east coast, that very Sabey where B was stationed, to Nalang on the west.
If that ancient trail could be opened once more, Samar would be cut in two, the activity of the skulking43 outlaws44 would be impeded45, and a scheme of effective reconcentration would be possible at last. The men of B Company felt that their old luck was with them when the duty of making the first reconnaissance of the old trail fell to them.
They were ready to move at once, and soon after reveille, on the morning of December 25th, Captain Burrell, Lieutenant47 Roberts, and twenty men, all dressed in the blue and khaki of field service, and bearing haversacks bulging48 with four days' rations49, assembled on the beach at Sabey to make an attempt at crossing Samar.
It was an inauspiciously gray and threatening morning. Behind the explorers, breakers crashed thunderously on the sand, and a roaring northeast monsoon50 whipped spume about in frothy sheets. Before them, the wilderness lay grim and forbidding, in the cold light. But they accepted the rawness and the gloom with the indifference51 of long acquaintance. Four marches straight westward52, of ten miles each at most, child's play to men like them, should bring them to Nalang. There was no breath of adventure in the air.
Yet of the party which faced the hills that morning, seven lie within the shadow still, and only one came out again unaided, seventeen days later, to report that somewhere behind him fourteen men of B, including the Old Man who made it B, lay starving and delirious53 with fever.
On the morning of the start, they had of course no premonition of all this. Burrell and Roberts waved careless farewells to the one lady of Sabey, the post surgeon's young wife, the men grumbled54 aimlessly at the prospect56 of a wet march and a wet camp, and Sullivan, settling his haversack strap57 more comfortably, grinned at the disappointed ones in front of quarters who could not go. "Reckon we'll locate that overland route for the Sumner this time, sure," he remarked, with a fatuous58 attempt at humor.
"Fall in," the Captain ordered, and the little column set its front westward and swung off along the drenched59 banks of Sabey River.
Four days later, as an early nightfall was closing down, eighteen of the party struggled to the summit of a half-wooded ridge60 in the interior of the island, and the worn-out men straightened up with momentary61 eagerness to peer into the cloud-hung west. Only the blankness of further up-tumbled ridges62 and black waves of forest veiled in sheets of rain lay before them, and to north, south, and east as well. Nowhere on the circle of the horizon was a leaden gleam of the guiding sea.
The men seemed dazed. They had made their four marches, of far more than ten miles each, it seemed, at such cost of strength and courage as no one who has not travelled in that land can comprehend. They had made the last march on all but a remnant of their food, and the baffling trail they followed had led them nowhere. An hour before it had vanished in a thicket63. Since then they had cut a trail with their bayonets, pushing for this ridge in the hope that from its summit they might see the coast at last. Instead, they found that they were lost in the Samar hills. Faint from hunger and exertion64, chilled to the bone from tramping in clammy clothing and sleeping in drenched blankets, with shoes that burst from their swollen65 feet like pulp66 and hung in shreds67, already halting of speech and step with the burning weakness of fever, half a dozen of them, they stood there in the beating downpour, stunned68, and daunted69.
All this had come to them in four days,—that was the paralyzing fact. It appalled70 them that all their pride of strength should have vanished in that little space, when other days were coming, how many no one knew, of uglier promise. Foiled, while they still had food and strength, by the task they had set themselves, each day of increased weakness and privation now would call them to increased exertion till the sea was reached—the sea which might, and might not, lie beyond the furthest of those mountains to the west, if it was west. Dumbly they stared at them, avoiding each other's eyes.
Captain Burrell, still weakened by the wound he got in front of Tientsin, was one of the hardest-hit of the fever-victims, and his teeth chattered71 when he talked, but he retained a humor dryer72 than the weather. "I reckon we'll camp right here," he said. "H'm. We can't quite fetch the coast to-night, and this ridge is well-drained, anyway. H'm."
The least weary of the men smiled forlornly in response to the spirit that lived in their Old Man, and Sullivan laughed outright73. "I've been lookin' for a well-dreened place like this to start my cactus-farm in, sir," he remarked. Already the formalities of rank had vanished, and discipline meant obedience74 for the common good, not ceremony.
"Might do it, by irrigating," said the Captain. "H'm." He cast a sharp glance at his one unapprehensive subordinate. "The rest of you camp right here," he ordered. "Sullivan and I are going back along to stir up those loafers who fell out."
"See here, sir," Lieutenant Roberts cried, in half-hearted protest, for every inch of his six feet of young body was aching dully, "that leg of yours—"
"Is a corker," said the Captain shortly. "H'm. Come along, Sullivan."
An hour later the two, staggering with sleep, herded75 the last of the sodden76, half-delirious stragglers up to the fire which spluttered in the wet and gloom, and the sick men sprawled77 obediently among their unconscious fellows. For an instant the officer stared down at them. "Hopeful lot, ain't they?" he muttered. "H'm."
"It sure looks some like a graveyard78, Captain," said Sullivan cheerfully. The Captain glanced at him again.
Sullivan seemed doubtful. "I—I do' know's I ever thought much about it, sir," he said.
"I reckoned not," said the Captain. "H'm. Well, don't. Go to sleep."
"I was thinkin' I'd keep th' fire goin' a while, it looked so kind of homelike," Sullivan objected. "I ain't much sleepy. You turn in, sir."
"I'm not sleepy, either," said the other gruffly. "H'm. Roll in now. Pronto." Obediently Sullivan sank down where he stood, and was asleep.
Burrell sat long, brooding over the fire, listening to the deep breaths and smothered80 groanings of his men. One of them babbled81 in delirium82, piteously, for a moment, and the Captain went and soothed83 him, awkwardly. Then he stood above him, gazing off into the gulf84 of blackness to the west. He glanced down at the muttering soldier, and away again into the night. "God damn you," he said to the Island of Samar gravely, courteously85, as one might deliver a challenge to mortal combat.
Next morning they breakfasted on what was left of their food, consuming all but a precious emergency ration46 of two tins of bacon, a pound and a half in all. Then they pushed on in what was meant to be a last desperate dash for the coast, going down into a long wide valley smothered in primeval forest. Every trail had vanished, each step of advance had to be slashed86 from a jungle of underbrush and creepers, and for all their suffering they gained a scant five miles. They halted at nightfall in a little opening, where they shed their equipments as they stood, and sprawled among them. Sullivan and the Captain, going back for the many stragglers, failed to discover two of them.
They camped that night without food or fire, in a rain that came down harder than ever, if such a thing could be. Next day, without breakfast, they resumed their dogged advance, halting often to rest and search for food. But in that dead season the forest yielded nothing more edible87 than leaves and bark, and a few woody seed pods like rose-haws in size and shape.
"Hell-apples," Sullivan named those, after he had had opportunity to observe their effects. "They look all right, and they taste all right," he explained, "but they sure do raise hell with your insides."
The men munched88 them greedily, despite their uncomforting properties. A time was coming when a rotting log that harbored store of grubs would seem a treasure-house to them.
The bayonets did not hack89 out a trail as rapidly as they had on the day before, and they had made no more than three miles and a half when night shut down. Yet, slow as the advance was, only half a dozen men were up with it, and, when Burrell would have gone back for the others, his wounded leg crumpled90 under him. Without a word, Lieutenant Roberts joined Sullivan, and it was midnight when the pair brought in the last straggler they could find. Three were still missing, and the Captain forbade further search. "They'll have to take a chance," he said. "H'm."
When the next day broke, merely a lightening of the gloom under the dripping branches, Lieutenant Roberts rose stiffly from the pool that had formed about him in the night and stood, blue-lipped and shaking, over the Captain, whose tortured leg would not permit him to do more than raise himself on one elbow. The two officers faced the situation together. They needed no words. All about them lay the forest of that deadly central valley. Somewhere beyond it, unattainably far for the majority of the men, rose the western rampart of the island. For thirty-six hours they had had no food but hell-apples, the fever was growing on them, and three-fourths of the command, any doctor would have said, could not march a mile.
The Captain spoke91 at last, staring sullenly92 at the ground. "Call the men, will you?" he asked. "H'm. I reckon it's time to split."
Roberts' face brightened. "I'll make it out all right," he declared. "Never felt huskier in my life. I could break world's records from here to a plate of grub."
Only ten men of the seventeen who were left responded to the call. The others, roused from the stupor93 of deep sleep, merely stared up vacantly and muttered, so Roberts let them lie. "Boys," said Burrell, when they had formed a little circle round him, "'most of us need a lay-off. H'm. So we're goin' to rest up here for a couple of days and then push on slow. Mr. Roberts and a couple of you can plug ahead now, though, so's to have some grub cooked up to meet us. I reckon we'll raise a famine in Nalang. H'm. Roberts, who'll you take with you?"
Despite the lightness of the officer's tone, every man knew what he asked for, and as the subaltern's eyes swept round the circle, shrewdly weighing each man's serviceability, shoulders squared and faces took on looks of quite ferocious94 good cheer.
"I seen you first, sir," Terry Clancy cried all at once, and stumbled to his feet.
"I've got a fine healthy appetite, myself," Sullivan remarked plaintively95. "I'm with you for a sprint96, Lieutenant."
"You're too old, Clancy," said Roberts kindly97. "I want yearlings for this. And you, Sullivan,"—his voice held good-natured condescension98, as he glanced down at his own bulging chest and sturdy limbs,—"you're too spindly. You're liable to double up, any time."
At last he chose Red Hannigan and Peter Kelley, two men of his own kind, bull-necked, thick-limbed and heavy-shouldered. The Captain handed him one of the two tins of bacon. "We'll look for you back," he said, "long about—H'm—day after to-morrow. Or day after that. H'm."
The eyes of the officers glinted into each other. "Sure," said Roberts, gravely shaking his commander's hand. "Come along, you fellows."
Twelve days later a party from Nalang found Lieutenant Roberts, the first white man to win across Samar, sitting contentedly99 on the beach in the sunshine, forty miles above the town, eating snails100 and aimlessly tossing the shells at what had been his feet. Red Hannigan and Peter Kelley were never found, for Roberts never could remember where they left him.
After the departure of the rescue party, apathy101 settled over the camp in the valley. The Captain straightened his bad leg and lay back with closed eyes. The others lay about him, dozing102. Even the worst of the fever-victims only cried out occasionally. Beside the relief of not having to march, cold and wet and hunger and sickness were little things.
It was well on in the afternoon when Clancy was roused by a sound which puzzled him. Stumbling out of camp, he came upon a sight which struck him speechless.
Sullivan, sitting astride a mouldering103 log, was wrenching104 off strips of sodden bark and digging his fingers deep into the punky wood. Suddenly the meaning of it burst on Terry. "Quit that!" he cried. "Quit it, I tell you."
Sullivan, glancing up, had the grace to redden. Then he lowered his eyes, and resumed his pecking. "I don't care," he muttered defiantly105. "I'm hungry enough to eat anything."
Clancy turned away. Presently, from behind a clump106 of undergrowth, there came the sound of ripping bark. For a while Sullivan, still busy, preserved discreet107 silence. But his grin broadened slowly, and at last he sang out, "Hi, Terry! Pick for the little white ones. The others has kind of soured, I reckon."
There was no answer. After a time another man limped out, watched Sullivan for a little, and soon the sounds of the chase rose from another secluded108 spot. There was no element of sociability109 in those meals as yet.
Then came a slow succession of days not so tremendously hard to bear, as the pangs110 of hunger faded into the milder discomfort111 of starvation, and the fever felled them one by one. Days so like each other that only the calendar notched112 in the grip of the Captain's revolver kept their count.
Each morning fewer of them were able to join Sullivan in the search for grubs and seed pods, and he began bringing them what spoil of the forest he could find. They took it unquestioningly from his hand, those who were conscious, like children. Indeed, as the days passed, the rough fellows turned for all their needs to the man who had been their butt113, and he never failed to meet their primitive114 wants. That lanky115 body of his held a surprising store of tough endurance, and he seemed fever-proof. As for his cheerfulness, it was inexhaustible.
Big Terry Clancy and the Captain were the last to yield to their weakness, refusing, gently, the food Sullivan brought them. Hard men as those of B were, not one of them, in his sane116 moments, spoke a word of discontent or of complaint during those days. I like to remember that of them, as I like to remember that I never heard an American regular soldier, traditional grumbler117 that he is, grumble55 when he had a reason for it.
On the fourth evening after the departure of Lieutenant Roberts, the tenth night out from Sabey and the fifth since they had eaten food for human beings, Sullivan was the only man left stirring in the camp. In spite of the rain—and I would have you read always to the torrential beat of a tropical downpour and the soughing of cold, damp-laden winds—he had managed, with the last of the matches and the powder from half a dozen cartridges118, to kindle119 a fire in a fallen trunk, and had kept it going, and had dragged his comrades round it. He sat beside the Captain, and presently, glancing down, he saw that the officer's eyes were fixed120 steadily121 on him. "Anything you want, sir?" he asked.
Sullivan surveyed the prostrate123 men about him. "Well," he said imperturbably124, "I reckon there's me. And you."
"H'm," the Captain grunted125, and even in his sickness his eyes brightened. "Then," he said, "I reckon it's up to—us. H'm."
For a moment he mused126, and then he went on, "It's no use trying Nalang. Roberts tried that. But if some one could get back to Sabey I think some of the men would try—"
"The boys would get you out of hell, sir," said Sullivan gravely, "if you sent th'm word."
"Think so?" said Burrell. "H'm. Well, to-morrow you'd better send word to 'em." The Captain's eyes had a queer brightness as he stared at Sullivan, reading his face. "H'm," he muttered at last, "if I ever do have to get a message out of there, I hope you'll be round to carry it."
Something in his tone dragged Sullivan toward him with suddenly blazing eyes. "Captain," he begged, demanding assurance from the man who was his deity127, "do you mean that? No jollyin' now, sir. You sure think I can do it?"
"Think?" said the Captain. "H'm. I'm bankin' on you, Sullivan. I know you can do it."
"Then," said Sullivan blissfully, "by God, I will, sir."
Early as it was next morning when Sullivan rose for his start, he found the Captain's steady eyes on him. "You don't need your rifle," he said. "Nor your belt."
"I reckon not, sir," said Sullivan whimsically, "not for buggin'."
"You take that can of bacon out of my haversack," his officer continued. "I've saved it for this."
"I don't need it none, sir," said Sullivan, edging away. "There'd ought to be fine buggin' back along. An' hell-apples, I reckon."
"Take it," said Burrell shortly, and Sullivan yielded to the habit of obedience. He turned for his journey.
"Hold on," his officer commanded. "You're forgettin' something." He lifted a clawlike hand, and Sullivan gripped it for a minute in silence. He strode across the little opening to the beginning of the back trail. There he halted, turned, and hurled128 the tin of bacon at his commander. "You go to hell, sir," he shrilled129 defiantly. "I'll do fine, buggin',"—and he ran stumblingly down the trail.
The Captain twisted his head—it was the only movement he could make—and watched the retreating figure of the mutineer. "H'm," he muttered after it, and shut his eyes, to wait.
For the first few hours Sullivan, uplifted by the thought of his mission, went on at what seemed to him a tremendous pace. In reality his knees lifted jerkily, his feet came down flat and stiff, and his stride was that of a child. A giddiness, too, overtook him now and then, and a white mist drifted before his eyes. At such times the walls of the trail seemed to rush by in a blur130 of green, and he had an exhilarating sense of rapid movement.
Long before noon he had covered the three miles and a half to the first camp on the back trail. There he hesitated. A temptingly crumbly log lay beside the trail, and his stomach was cramped131 with such hunger as he had not felt for days. But he halted only a moment. "Time enough to eat to-night," he muttered, and went on.
The afternoon was harder. The giddiness and the mist assailed132 him oftener, and several times, when the blankness became complete, he was roused by finding that his face had come into not ungentle contact with the ground. Once, doubling limply, he struck his face on his knee instead, and a cut lip gave him the pleasant salty taste of blood. Sharp pains of breathlessness stabbed his sides at intervals, and his heart had fits of throbbing133 suffocatingly134. But he never halted as long as he could see. When the trail was only blackness in the night he sank down.
The rain and the light woke him to an accusing sense that it had long been day. He moved on at once. "I'll eat when I've made that up," he muttered, as the blur enclosed him.
That day was mostly blur until, along in the afternoon, his mind cleared suddenly. The ground sloped upward under his feet. A rocky, sparsely-wooded ridge rose above him. Remembrance tingled135 through him. "My cactus-farm!" he cried, in delighted recognition. "I'm gettin' almost there."
With his knees doubling under him, he clawed his way to the ridge, and a well-remembered landscape lay about him, dark billows of unbroken forest and a horizon of up-tumbled hills. The huge emptiness of it smote136 him like a blow and he turned to the old camp. The signs of human occupation, the remembrance of men who had spoken there and of the words they had said, comforted him wonderfully. "Here," he said, having fallen into a way of thinking aloud, "is where I eat. They'd ought to be fine buggin' here."
But the ridge was disappointingly bare of provender137. Not a rotten log, not a seed pod, rewarded his toilsome search. At last, where a hanging corner of rock had sheltered it, he came upon a torpid138 colony of tiger-ants. He looked at them dubiously139. "I wonder," he muttered, "if anybody ever et an ant? I reckon not. Don't seem to be much to th'm."
As he stirred the sluggish140 insects with a doubtful finger, one of them set its mandibles in his flesh. Sullivan's eyes lit with determination. "I'm hungrier'n you be, I reckon," he said gravely.
With the refreshing141 acidity142 of his experiment strong on his tongue, he rose at last, regretfully. "It would seem kind of home-like sleepin' here," he said. "But I reckon I'd better be gallopin' along." And he pushed on till once more darkness brought him merciful oblivion.
He woke to daylight with all his senses clear but one. He understood—there had been times when he forgot even that—that he was Sullivan, that behind him lay his comrades, starving, that before him the trail led to men who needed but a word, and that he had been chosen to take it. But his sense of time was gone. How long he had slept he could not guess. It might have been one night, or many. They might all have died behind him, those sick men and the Old Man who banked on him.
In torture at the uncertainty143, he rose and stumbled forward again. After a while—it might have been an hour or many days—the trail brought him to a torrential river. He recognized it dimly as the Sabey. They had come up it once, sometime, any time, walking in its rocky bed. Now its swirling144 waters covered the trail.
Painstakingly145 Sullivan collected his misty146 faculties147. There was a general feeling of morning in the air. By night he must be at Sabey, he was convinced. He must hurry, therefore. A clear idea flashed across his mind. A raft! He must build a raft and hurry with the rushing river, since there was no more trail. He drew his heavy knife-bayonet and turned to the woods. After a while darkness shut down and stopped his work. But he had cut a good many poles.
The next thing he knew it was light again, so he dragged one of his poles to the river and dropped it in. It sank. Another and another did the same. When they touched the water they sank. When Sullivan understood that his poles would not float, he lost his steady hopefulness for the first time.
But after a while he turned wearily, and stumbled off along the rocky, overhanging banks of Sabey River. When he had walked dizzily a little distance, he fell and lay still. A fall on that cutting volcanic148 rock was another matter from a fall on the trail. At last he recovered enough to stagger on for a few more steps. Then he fell again. That time he did not rise.
But the shock and the loss of blood cleared his head. At last he recognized his predicament. He was through. There was no bitterness in the thought. He had done his best, and failed. The torment149 of hurry was gone, and he lay and watched the foaming150 river and the overarching trees. "I can't do it," Sullivan told himself simply, and quit.
But suddenly his merciless self assailed him. "There's another way," it urged. "You can do it. Th' Old Man said so. Try it."
Weakly, half-sobbing, Sullivan obeyed the summons, and got to his knees. He put out a hand and planted it on the rock, drew up his knee toward it, and his body swayed forward. He put out his other hand, drew up his other knee, swayed forward again. He had gained a foot, at least.
"By God," shouted Sullivan's self to him exultantly151, "you can do it! Try it again. You can't walk, but you can crawl, I reckon. Whoop-eee-ee! Hit her up!"
And Sullivan, obedient as always, hit her up.
And so at last, seventeen days from the time he left Sabey, he returned to it, a blind, gaunt, rain-beaten, silent, grimly crawling thing. He had almost reached the barracks when a soldier, hurrying through the rain, spied him and raised a shout. He revived for a moment when they lifted him, and opened his eyes.
"Back along," faltered152 the messenger. "Starvin'. Hurry up. God!" he sighed, and collapsed153 in their arms.
They carried him to the shack154 they called a hospital, and while the relief party gathered and went out, twenty silent men loaded down with rations, the post surgeon and his wife worked over him. Suddenly the girl broke down.
"Oh!" she cried. "Look at his poor hands and knees! Oh, Will, what did that to him?"
"What?" stuttered the young surgeon gruffly. "What! Why, the—the nervy son—son of a gun walked on 'em, God knows how far, that's all! Fill those water bottles, will you. And hurry up."
Two days later Sullivan opened his eyes, and stared wonderingly at the room, and the lamplight, and the olla hanging in the window, and the post surgeon's pretty wife, who sat beside his cot. At last his eyes rested on his own hands, shapeless in bandages. And as he looked at them his lips trembled, and he began to cry, weakly, like a child.
The post surgeon's wife thought she understood, and her own breath caught. She was very new to the Army, and she was trying to make a hero of Sullivan. "Poor fellow," she murmured, "I know they're bad. But we'll fix them up. Don't cry about them."
"I ain't c-cryin'!" Sullivan whispered, in tremulous indignation. "I'm l-laughin'. I reckon," he muttered, and a ripple155 of the old whimsicality swept across his face, "I must be about th' first man ever wore his hands to a blister156, walkin'." The wonder of the thought held him entranced.
The girl thought he was light-headed. "Is there anything you'd like?" she asked soothingly157.
Sullivan considered. "Salt," he announced emphatically. "I want salt. Ev'ry drop you've got in th' place. What're you lookin' at? Salt's cheap enough, ain't it? Well, I want some. Seems like I hadn't had no salt f'r years."
How the relief party did its work is another story, and a brave one. It is hard to kill strong men by exhaustion158, and, by the time Sullivan could walk a little, the Captain and the other rescued men were sitting up in bed. At last a day came when Burrell was permitted to have one visitor. "Send Sullivan," he ordered.
The lanky fellow shuffled159 in bashfully, and stood with averted160 eyes. "Glad to see you're back, sir," he muttered.
"Well," asked Burrell gruffly, "you can shake hands, can't you?"
"What's the matter with 'em?" the Captain demanded.
"H'm," the Captain muttered. His eyes were burning into the man. "Sullivan," he said abruptly, "there's a can of bacon in my haversack that belongs to you."
Sullivan gulped163. Discipline had him by the heels again. "Beg y' pardon, sir," he mumbled164 nervously165. "I reckon I must a been sort of loco that day."
"Well," said the Old Man of B Company gravely, "maybe I'll let it go this time. But see it don't happen again. H'm."
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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2
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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3
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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4
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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5
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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6
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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8
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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9
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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10
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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11
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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12
optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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13
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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14
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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15
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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16
outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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17
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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18
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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19
spawn
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| n.卵，产物，后代，结果；vt.产卵，种菌丝于，产生，造成；vi.产卵，大量生产 | |
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20
deluges
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| v.使淹没( deluge的第三人称单数 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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21
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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22
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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23
elusively
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| adv.巧妙逃避地，易忘记地 | |
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24
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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25
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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26
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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27
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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28
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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29
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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30
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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31
consonant
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| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
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32
grouch
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| n.牢骚，不满；v.抱怨 | |
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33
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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34
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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35
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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36
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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38
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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39
palled
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| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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41
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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42
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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43
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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44
outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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45
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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47
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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48
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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49
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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50
monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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51
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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52
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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53
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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54
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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55
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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56
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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57
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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58
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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59
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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60
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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61
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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62
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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63
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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64
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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65
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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66
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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67
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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68
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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69
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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71
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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72
dryer
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| n.干衣机，干燥剂 | |
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73
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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74
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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75
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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76
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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77
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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78
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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79
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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80
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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81
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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82
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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83
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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84
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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85
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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86
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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87
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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88
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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90
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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91
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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92
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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93
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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94
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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95
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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96
sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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97
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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98
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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99
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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100
snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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101
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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102
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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103
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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104
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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105
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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106
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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107
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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108
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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109
sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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110
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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111
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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112
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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113
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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114
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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115
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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116
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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117
grumbler
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| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
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118
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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119
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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120
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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121
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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122
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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123
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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125
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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133
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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suffocatingly
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| 令人窒息地 | |
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135
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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137
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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141
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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acidity
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| n.酸度，酸性 | |
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143
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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144
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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145
painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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146
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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149
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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153
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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155
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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156
blister
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| n.水疱；(油漆等的)气泡；v.(使)起泡 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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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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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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161
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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162
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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163
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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164
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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