From the first break of dawn the battle had raged; now, at midday, it was at its height. Far in the interior, almost on the edge of the great desert, in that terrible season when air that is flame by day is ice by night, and when the scorch1 of a blazing sun may be followed in an hour by the blinding fury of a snow-storm, the slaughter3 had gone on, hour through hour, under a shadowless sky, blue as steel, hard as a sheet of brass4. The Arabs had surprised the French encampment, where it lay in the center of an arid5 plain that was called Zaraila. Hovering6 like a cloud of hawks8 on the entrance of the Sahara, massed together for one mighty9, if futile10, effort — with all their ancient war-lust11, and with a new despair — the tribes who refused the yoke12 of the alien empire were once again in arms; were once again combined in defense13 of those limitless kingdoms of drifting sand, of that beloved belt of bare and desolate14 land so useless to the conqueror15, so dear to the nomad16. When they had been, as it had been thought, beaten back into the desert wilderness17; when, without water and without cattle, it had been calculated that they would, of sheer necessity, bow themselves in submission18, or perish of famine and of thirst; they had recovered their ardor19, their strength, their resistance, their power to harass20 without ceasing, if they could never arrest, the enemy. They had cast the torch of war afresh into the land, and here, southward, the flame burned bitterly, and with a merciless tongue devoured21 the lives of men, licking them up as a forest fire the dry leaves and the touchwood.
Circling, sweeping22, silently, swiftly, with that rapid spring, that marvelous whirlwind of force, that is of Africa, and of Africa alone, the tribes had rushed down in the darkness of night, lightly as a kite rushes through the gloom of the dawn. For once the vigilance of the invader23 served him naught24; for once the Frankish camp was surprised off its guard. While the air was still chilly25 with the breath of the night, while the first gleam of morning had barely broken through the mists of the east, while the picket-fires burned through the dusky gloom, and the sentinels and vedettes paced slowly to and fro, and circled round, hearing nothing worse than the stealthy tread of the jackal, or the muffled26 flight of a night-bird, afar in the south a great dark cloud had risen, darker than the brooding shadows of the earth and sky.
The cloud swept onward27, like a mass of cirrhi, in those shadows shrouded28. Fleet as though wind-driven, dense29 as though thunder-charged, it moved over the plains. As it grew nearer and nearer, it grew grayer, a changing mass of white and black that fused, in the obscurity, into a shadow color; a dense array of men and horses flitting noiselessly like spirits, and as though guided alone by one rein30 and moved alone by one breath and one will; not a bit champed, not a linen-fold loosened, not a shiver of steel was heard; as silently as the winds of the desert sweep up northward31 over the plains, so they rode now, host upon host of the warriors32 of the soil.
The outlying vedettes, the advancing sentinels, had scrutinized33 so long through the night every wavering shade of cloud and moving form of buffalo34 in the dim distance, that their sleepless35 eyes, strained and aching, failed to distinguish this moving mass that was so like the brown plains and starless sky that it could scarce be told from them. The night, too, was bitter; northern cold cut hardly chillier36 than this that parted the blaze of one hot day from the blaze of another. The sea-winds were blowing cruelly keen, and men who at noon gladly stripped to their shirts, shivered now where they lay under canvas.
Awake while his comrades slept around him, Cecil was stretched, half unharnessed. The foraging37 duty of the past twenty-four hours had been work harassing38 and heavy, inglorious and full of fatigue39. The country round was bare as a table-rock; the water-courses poor, choked with dust and stones, unfed as yet by the rains or snows of the approaching winter. The horses suffered sorely, the men scarce less. The hay for the former was scant40 and bad; the rations41 for the latter often cut off by flying skirmishers of the foe42. The campaign, so far as it had gone, had been fruitless, yet had cost largely in human life. The men died rapidly of dysentery, disease, and the chills of the nights, and had severe losses in countless43 obscure skirmishes, that served no end except to water the African soil with blood.
True, France would fill the gaps up as fast as they occurred, and the “Monitor” would only allude44 to the present operations when it could give a flourishing line descriptive of the Arabs being driven back, decimated, to the borders of the Sahara. But as the flourish of the “Monitor” would never reach a thousand little way-side huts, and sea-side cabins, and vine-dressers’ sunny nests, where the memory of some lad who had gone forth45 never to return would leave a deadly shadow athwart the humble46 threshold — so the knowledge that they were only so many automata in the hands of government, whose loss would merely be noted48 that it might be efficiently49 supplied, was not that wine-draught of La Gloire which poured the strength and the daring of gods into the limbs of the men of Jena and of Austerlitz. Still, there was a war-lust in them, and there was the fire of France; they fought not less superbly here, where to be food for jackal and kite was their likeliest doom50, than their sires had done under the eagles of the First Empire, when the Conscript hero of today was the glittering Marshal of tomorrow.
Cecil had awakened51 while the camp still slept. Do what he would, force himself into the fullness of this fierce and hard existence as he might, he could not burn out or banish52 a thing that had many a time haunted him, but never as it did now — the remembrance of a woman. He almost laughed as he lay there on a pile of rotting straw, and wrung53 the truth out of his own heart, that he — a soldier of these exiled squadrons — was mad enough to love that woman whose deep, proud eyes had dwelt with such serene54 pity upon him.
Yet his hand clinched55 on the straw as it had clinched once when the operator’s knife had cut down through the bones of his breast to reach a bullet that, left in his chest, would have been death. If in the sight of men he had only stood in the rank that was his by birthright, he could have striven for — it might be that he could have roused — some answering passion in her. But that chance was lost to him forever. Well, it was but one thing more that was added to all that he had of his own will given up. He was dead; he must be content, as the dead must be, to leave the warmth of kisses, the glow of delight, the possession of a woman’s loveliness, the homage56 of men’s honor, the gladness of successful desires, to those who still lived in the light he had quitted. He had never allowed himself the emasculating indulgence of regret; he flung it off him now.
Flick–Flack — coiled asleep in his bosom57 — thrilled, stirred, and growled58. He rose, and, with the little dog under his arm, looked out from the canvas. He knew that the most vigilant59 sentry60 in the service had not the instinct for a foe afar off that Flick–Flack possessed61. He gazed keenly southward, the poodle growling62 on; that cloud so dim, so distant, caught his sight. Was it a moving herd63, a shifting mist, a shadow-play between the night and dawn?
For a moment longer he watched it; then, what it was he knew, or felt by such strong instinct as makes knowledge; and, like the blast of a clarion64, his alarm rang over the unarmed and slumbering65 camp.
An instant, and the hive of men, so still, so motionless, broke into violent movement; and from the tents the half-clothed sleepers66 poured, wakened, and fresh in wakening as hounds. Perfect discipline did the rest. With marvelous, with matchless swiftness and precision they harnessed and got under arms. They were but fifteen hundred or so in all — a single squadron of Chasseurs, two battalions67 of Zouaves, half a corps69 of Tirailleurs, and some Turcos; only a branch of the main body, and without artillery70. But they were some of the flower of the army of Algiers, and they roused in a second, with the vivacious71 ferocity of the bounding tiger, with the glad, eager impatience72 for the slaughter of the unloosed hawk7. Yet, rapid in its wondrous73 celerity as their united action was, it was not so rapid as the downward sweep of the war-cloud that came so near, with the tossing of white draperies and the shine of countless sabers, now growing clearer and clearer out of the darkness, till, with a whir like the noise of an eagle’s wings, and a swoop74 like an eagle’s seizure75, the Arabs whirled down upon them, met a few yards in advance by the answering charge of the Light Cavalry76.
There was a crash as if rock were hurled77 upon rock, as the Chasseurs, scarce seated in saddle, rushed forward to save the pickets78; to encounter the first blind force of attack, and, to give the infantry79, further in, more time for harness and defense. Out of the caverns80 of the night an armed multitude seemed to have suddenly poured. A moment ago they had slept in security; now thousands on thousands, whom they could not number; whom they could but dimly even perceive, were thrown on them in immeasurable hosts, which the encircling cloud of dust served but to render vaster, ghastlier, and more majestic82. The Arab line stretched out with wings that seemed to extend on and on without end; the line of the Chasseurs was not one-half its length; they were but a single squadron flung in their stirrups, scarcely clothed, knowing only that the foe was upon them, caring only that their sword-hands were hard on their weapons. With all the elan of France they launched themselves forward to break the rush of the desert horses; they met with a terrible sound, like falling trees, like clashing metal.
The hoofs83 of the rearing chargers struck each other’s breasts, and these bit and tore at each other’s manes, while their riders reeled down dead. Frank and Arab were blent in one inextricable mass as the charging squadrons encountered. The outer wings of the tribes were spared the shock, and swept on to meet the bayonets of Zouaves and Turcos as, at their swift foot-gallop, the Enfants Perdus of France threw themselves forward from the darkness. The cavalry was enveloped84 in the overwhelming numbers of the center, and the flanks seemed to cover the Zouaves and Tirailleurs as some great settling mist may cover the cattle who move beneath it.
It was not a battle; it was a frightful85 tangling86 of men and brutes87. No contest of modern warfare88, such as commences and conquers by a duel89 of artillery, and, sometimes, gives the victory to whosoever has the superiority of ordnance90, but a conflict, hand to hand, breast to breast, life for life; a Homeric combat of spear and of sword even while the first volleys of the answering musketry pealed91 over the plain.
For once the Desert avenged92, in like, that terrible inexhaustibility of supply wherewith the Empire so long had crushed them beneath the overwhelming difference of numbers. It was the Day of Mazagran once more, as the light of the morning broke — gray, silvered, beautiful — in the far, dim distance, beyond the tawny94 seas of reeds. Smoke and sand soon densely95 rose above the struggle, white, hot, blinding; but out from it the lean, dark Bedouin faces, the snowy haicks, the red burnous, the gleam of the Tunisian muskets96, the flash of the silver-hilted yataghans, were seen fused in a mass with the brawny97, naked necks of the Zouaves, with the shine of the French bayonets; with the tossing manes and glowing nostrils98 of the Chasseurs’ horses; with the torn, stained silk of the raised Tricolor, through which the storm of balls flew thick and fast as hail, yet whose folds were never suffered to fall, though again and again the hand that held its staff was cut away or was unloosed in death, yet ever found another to take its charge before the Flag could once have trembled in the enemy’s sight.
The Chasseurs could not charge; they were hemmed99 in, packed between bodies of horsemen that pressed them together as between iron plates; now and then they could cut their way through, clear enough to reach their comrades of the demi-cavalry, but as often as they did so, so often the overwhelming numbers of the Arabs urged in on them afresh like a flood, and closed upon them, and drove them back.
Every soldier in the squadron that lived kept his life by sheer, breathless, ceaseless, hand-to-hand sword-play, hewing100 right and left, front and rear, without pause, as, in the great tangled102 forests of the west, men hew101 aside branch and brushwood ere they can force one step forward.
The gleam of the dawn spread in one golden glow of morning, and the day rose radiant over the world; they stayed not for its beauty or its peace; the carnage went on, hour upon hour; men began to grow drunk with slaughter as with raki. It was sublimely103 grand; it was hideously104 hateful — this wild-beast struggle, this heaving tumult105 of striving lives, that ever and anon stirred the vast war-cloud of smoke and broke from it as the lightning from the night. The sun laughed in its warmth over a thousand hills and streams, over the blue seas lying northward, and over the yellow sands of the south; but the touch of its heat only made the flame in their blood burn fiercer; the fullness of its light only served to show them clearer where to strike and how to slay106.
It was bitter, stifling107, cruel work; with their mouths choked with sand, with their throats caked with thirst, with their eyes blind with smoke; cramped108 as in a vise, scorched109 with the blaze of powder, covered with blood and with dust; while the steel was thrust through nerve and sinew, or the shot plowed110 through bone and flesh. The answering fire of the Zouaves and Tirailleurs kept the Arabs further at bay, and mowed111 them faster down; but in the Chasseurs’ quarter of the field — parted from the rest of their comrades as they had been by the rush of that broken charge with which they had sought to save the camp and arrest the foe — the worst pressure of the attack was felt, and the fiercest of the slaughter fell.
The Chef d’Escadron had been shot dead as they had first swept out to encounter the advance of the desert horsemen; one by one the officers had been cut down, singled out by the keen eyes of their enemies, and throwing themselves into the deadliest of the carnage with the impetuous self-devotion characteristic of their service. At the last there remained but a mere47 handful out of all the brilliant squadron that had galloped112 down in the gray of the dawn to meet the whirlwind of Arab fury. At their head was Cecil.
Two horses had been killed under him, and he had thrown himself afresh across unwounded chargers, whose riders had fallen in the melee113, and at whose bridles115 he had caught as he shook himself free of the dead animals’ stirrups. His head was uncovered; his uniform, hurriedly thrown on, had been torn aside, and his chest was bare to the red folds of his sash; he was drenched116 with blood, not his own, that had rained on him as he fought; and his face and his hands were black with smoke and with powder. He could not see a yard in front of him; he could not tell how the day went anywhere, save in that corner where his own troop was hemmed in. As fast as they beat the Arabs back, and forced themselves some clearer space, so fast the tribes closed in afresh. No orders reached him from the General of the Brigade in command; except for the well-known war-shouts of the Zouaves that ever and again rang above the din2, he could not tell whether the French battalions were not cut utterly117 to pieces under the immense numerical superiority of their foes118. All he could see was that every officer of Chasseurs was down, and that, unless he took the vacant place, and rallied them together, the few score troopers that were still left would scatter119, confused and demoralized, as the best soldiers will at times when they can see no chief to follow.
He spurred the horse he had just mounted against the dense crowd opposing him, against the hard, black wall of dust, and smoke, and steel, and savage120 faces, and lean, swarthy arms, which were all that his eyes could see, and that seemed impenetrable as granite121, moving and changing though it was. He thrust the gray against it, while he waved his sword above his head.
“En avant, mes freres! France! France! France!”
His voice — well known, well loved — thrilled the hearts of his comrades, and brought them together like a trumpet122-call. They had gone with him many a time into the hell of battle, into the jaws123 of death. They surged about him now; striking, thrusting, forcing, with blows of their sabers or their lances and blows of their beasts’ fore-feet, a passage one to another, until they were reunited once more as one troop, while their shrill124 shouts, like an oath of vengeance125, echoed after him in the defiance126 that has pealed victorious127 over so many fields from the soldiery of France. They loved him; he had called them his brethren. They were like lambs for him to lead, like tigers for him to incite128.
They could scarcely see his face in that great red mist of combat, in that horrible, stifling pressure on every side that jammed them as if they were in a press of iron, and gave them no power to pause, though their animals’ hoofs struck the lingering life out of some half-dead comrade, or trampled129 over the writhing130 limbs of the brother-inarms they loved dearest and best. But his voice reached them, clear and ringing in its appeal for sake of the country they never once forgot or once reviled131, though in her name they were starved and beaten like rebellious132 hounds; though in her cause they were exiled all their manhood through under the sun of this cruel, ravenous134, burning Africa. They could see him lift aloft the Eagle he had caught from the last hand that had borne it, the golden gleam of the young morning flashing like flame upon the brazen135 wings; and they shouted, as with one throat, “Mazagran! Mazagran!” As the battalion68 of Mazagran had died keeping the ground through the whole of the scorching136 day while the fresh hordes137 poured down on them like ceaseless torrents138, snow-fed and exhaustless — so they were ready to hold the ground here, until of all their numbers there should be left not one living man.
He glanced back on them, guarding his head the while from the lances that were rained on him; and he lifted the guidon higher and higher, till, out of the ruck and the throng139, the brazen bird caught afresh the rays of the rising sun.
Then, like arrows launched at once from a hundred bows, they charged; he still slightly in advance of them, the bridle114 flung upon his horse’s neck, his head and breast bare, one hand striking aside with his blade the steel shafts140 as they poured on him, the other holding high above the press the Eagle of the Bonapartes.
The effort was superb.
Dense bodies of Arabs parted them in the front from the camp where the battle raged, harassed141 them in the rear with flying shots and hurled lances, and forced down on them on either side like the closing jaws of a trap. The impetuosity of their onward movement was, for the moment, irresistible142; it bore headlong all before it; the desert horses recoiled143, and the desert riders themselves yielded — crushed, staggered, trodden aside, struck aside, by the tremendous impetus144 with which the Chasseurs were thrown upon them. For the moment the Bedouins gave way, shaken and confused, as at the head of the French they saw this man, with his hair blowing in the wind, and the sun on the fairness of his face, ride down on them thus unharmed, though a dozen spears were aimed at his naked breast; dealing145 strokes sure as death, right and left as he went, with the light from the hot, blue skies on the ensign of France that he bore.
They knew him; they had met him in many conflicts; and wherever the “fair Frank,” as they called him, came, there they knew of old the battle was hard to win; bitter to the bitterest end, whether that end were defeat, or victory costly146 as defeat in its achievement.
And for the moment they recoiled under the shock of that fiery147 onslaught; for the moment they parted and wavered and oscillated beneath the impetus with which he hurled his hundred Chasseurs on them, with that light, swift, indescribable rapidity and resistlessness of attack characteristic of the African Cavalry.
Though a score or more, one on another, had singled him out with special and violent attack, he had gone, as yet, unwounded, save for a lance-thrust in his shoulder, of which, in the heat of the conflict, he was unconscious. The “fighting fury” was upon him; and when once this had been lit in him, the Arabs knew of old that the fiercest vulture in the Frankish ranks never struck so surely home as his hand.
As he spurred his horse down on them now, twenty blades glittered against him; the foremost would have cut straight down through the bone of his bared chest and killed him at a single lunge, but as its steel flashed in the sun, one of his troopers threw himself against it, and parried the stroke from him by sheathing148 it in his own breast. The blow was mortal; and the one who had saved him reeled down off his saddle under the hoofs of the trampling149 chargers. “Picpon s’en souvient,” he murmured with a smile; and as the charge swept onward, Cecil, with a great cry of horror, saw the feet of the maddened horses strike to pulp150 the writhing body, and saw the black, wistful eyes of the Enfant de Paris look upward to him once, with love, and fealty151, and unspeakable sweetness gleaming through their darkened sight.
But to pause was impossible. Though the French horses were forced with marvelous dexterity152 through a bristling153 forest of steel, though the remnant of the once-glittering squadron was cast against them in as headlong a daring as if it had half the regiments154 of the Empire at its back, the charge availed little against the hosts of the desert that had rallied and swooped155 down afresh almost as soon as they had been, for the instant of the shock, panic-stricken. The hatred156 of the opposed races was aroused in all its blind, ravening157 passion; the conquered had the conquering nation for once at their mercy; for once at tremendous disadvantage; on neither side was there aught except that one instinct for slaughter, which, once awakened, kills every other in the breast in which it burns.
The Arabs had cruel years to avenge93 — years of a loathed158 tyranny, years of starvation and oppression, years of constant flight southward, with no choice but submission or death. They had deadly memories to wash out — memories of brethren who had been killed like carrion159 by the invaders’ shot and steel; of nomadic160 freedom begrudged161 and crushed by civilization; of young children murdered in the darkness of the caverns, with the sulphurous smoke choking the innocent throats that had only breathed the golden air of a few summers; of women, well beloved, torn from them in the hot flames of burning tents and outraged162 before their eyes with insult whose end was a bayonet-thrust into their breasts — breasts whose sin was fidelity163 to the vanquished164.
They had vengeance to do that made every stroke seem righteous and holy in their sight; that nerved each of their bare and sinewy165 arms as with the strength of a thousand limbs. Right — so barren, so hopeless, so unavailing — had long been with them. Now to it was added at last the power of might; and they exercised the power with the savage ruthlessness of the desert. They closed in on every side; wheeling their swift coursers hither and thither166; striking with lance and blade; hemming167 in, beyond escape, the doomed168 fragment of the Frankish squadron till there remained of them but one small nucleus169, driven close together, rather as infantry will form than as cavalry usually does — a ring of horsemen, of which every one had his face to the foe; a solid circle curiously170 wedged one against the other, with the bodies of chargers and of men deep around them, and with the ground soaked with blood till the sand was one red morass171.
Cecil held the Eagle still, and looked round on the few left to him.
“You are sons of the Old Guard; die like them.”
They answered with a pealing172 cry, terrible as the cry of the lion in the hush173 of night, but a shout that had in it assent174, triumph, fealty, victory, even as they obeyed him and drew up to die, while in their front was the young brow of Petit Picpon turned upward to the glare of the skies.
There was nothing for them but to draw up thus, and await their butchery, defending the Eagle to the last; looking till the last toward that “woman’s face of their leader,” as they had often termed it, that was to them now as the face of Napoleon was to the soldiers who loved him.
There was a pause, brief as is the pause of the lungs to take a fuller breath. The Arabs honored these men, who alone and in the midst of the hostile force, held their ground and prepared thus to be slaughtered175 one by one, till of all the squadron that had ridden out in the darkness of the dawn there should be only a black, huddled176, stiffened177 heap of dead men and of dead beasts. The chief who led them pressed them back, withholding178 them from the end that was so near to their hands when they should stretch that single ring of horsemen all lifeless in the dust.
“You are great warriors,” he cried, in the Sabir tongue; “surrender; we will spare!”
Cecil looked back once more on the fragment of his troop, and raised the Eagle higher aloft where the wings should glisten179 in the fuller day. Half naked, scorched, blinded; with an open gash180 in his shoulder where the lance had struck, and with his brow wet with the great dews of the noon-heat and the breathless toil181; his eyes were clear as they flashed with the light of the sun in them; his mouth smiled as he answered:
“Have we shown ourselves cowards, that you think we shall yield?”
A hurrah182 of wild delight from the Chasseurs he led greeted and ratified183 the choice. “On meurt — on ne se rend81 pas!” they shouted in the words which, even if they be but legendary184, are too true to the spirit of the soldiers of France not to be as truth in their sight. Then, with their swords above their heads, they waited for the collision of the terrible attack which would fall on them upon every side, and strike all the sentient185 life out of them before the sun should be one point higher in the heavens. It came; with a yell as of wild beasts in their famine, the Arabs threw themselves forward, the chief himself singling out the “fair Frank” with the violence of a lion flinging himself on a leopard186. One instant longer, one flash of time, and the tribes pressing on them would have massacred them like cattle driven into the pens of slaughter. Ere it could be done, a voice like the ring of a silver trumpet echoed over the field:
“En avant! En avant! Tue, tue, tue!”
Above the din, the shouts, the tumult, the echoing of the distant musketry, that silvery cadence187 rung; down into the midst, with the Tricolor waving above her head, the bridle of her fiery mare188 between her teeth, the raven133 of the dead Zouave flying above her head, and her pistol leveled in deadly aim, rode Cigarette.
The lightning fire of the crossing swords played round her, the glitter of the lances dazzled her eyes, the reek189 of smoke and of carnage was round her; but she dashed down into the heart of the conflict as gayly as though she rode at a review — laughing, shouting, waving the torn colors that she grasped, with her curls blowing back in the breeze, and her bright young face set in the warrior’s lust. Behind her, by scarcely a length, galloped three squadrons of Chasseurs and Spahis; trampling headlong over the corpse-strewn field, and breaking through the masses of the Arabs as though they were seas of corn.
She wheeled her mare round by Cecil’s side at the moment when, with six swift passes of his blade, he had warded190 off the Chief’s blows and sent his own sword down through the chest-bones of the Bedouin’s mighty form.
“Well struck! The day is turned! Charge!”
She gave the order as though she were a Marshal of the Empire, the sun-blaze full on her where she sat on the rearing, fretting191, half-bred gray, with the Tricolor folds above her head, and her teeth tight gripped on the chain-bridle, and her face all glowing and warm and full of the fierce fire of war — a little Amazon in scarlet192 and blue and gold; a young Jeanne d’Arc, with the crimson193 fez in lieu of the silvered casque, and the gay broideries of her fantastic dress instead of the breastplate of steel. And with the Flag of her idolatry, the Flag that was as her religion, floating back as she went, she spurred her mare straight against the Arabs, straight over the lifeless forms of the hundreds slain194; and after her poured the fresh squadrons of cavalry, the ruby195 burnous of the Spahis streaming on the wind as their darling led them on to retrieve196 the day for France.
Not a bullet struck, not a saber grazed her; but there, in the heat and the press of the worst of the slaughter, Cigarette rode hither and thither, to and fro, her voice ringing like a bird’s song over the field, in command, in applause, in encouragement, in delight; bearing her standard aloft and untouched; dashing heedless through a storm of blows; cheering on her “children” to the charge again and again; and all the while with the sunlight full on her radiant, spirited head, and with the grim, gray raven flying above her, shrieking197 shrilly198 its “Tue, tue, tue!” The Army believed with superstitious199 faith in the potent200 spell of that veteran bird, and the story ran that, whenever he flew above a combat, France was victor before the sun set. The echo of the raven’s cry, and the presence of the child who, they knew, would have a thousand musket-balls fired in her fair young breast rather than live to see them defeated, made the fresh squadrons sweep in like a whirlwind, bearing down all before them.
Cigarette saved the day.
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1
scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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6
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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7
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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8
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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10
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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11
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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12
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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13
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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15
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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16
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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17
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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18
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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19
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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20
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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21
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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22
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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23
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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24
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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25
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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26
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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27
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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28
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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29
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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30
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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31
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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32
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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33
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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35
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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36
chillier
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| adj.寒冷的，冷得难受的( chilly的比较级 ) | |
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37
foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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38
harassing
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| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
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39
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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40
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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41
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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42
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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43
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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44
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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45
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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46
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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47
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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48
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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49
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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50
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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51
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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52
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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53
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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54
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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55
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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56
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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57
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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58
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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59
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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60
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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61
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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62
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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63
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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64
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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65
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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66
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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67
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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68
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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69
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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70
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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71
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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72
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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73
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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74
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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75
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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76
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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77
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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78
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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79
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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80
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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81
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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82
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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83
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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86
tangling
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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87
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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88
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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89
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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90
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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91
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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93
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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94
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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95
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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96
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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97
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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98
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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99
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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100
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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101
hew
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| v.砍；伐；削 | |
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102
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103
sublimely
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| 高尚地，卓越地 | |
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104
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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105
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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106
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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107
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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108
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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109
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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110
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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111
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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113
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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114
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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115
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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116
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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117
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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118
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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119
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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120
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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121
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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122
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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123
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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124
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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125
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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126
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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127
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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128
incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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129
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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130
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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131
reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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133
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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134
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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135
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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136
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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137
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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138
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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139
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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140
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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141
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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142
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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143
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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144
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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145
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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146
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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147
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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148
sheathing
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| n.覆盖物，罩子v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的现在分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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149
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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150
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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151
fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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152
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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153
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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154
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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155
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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157
ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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158
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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159
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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160
nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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161
begrudged
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| 嫉妒( begrudge的过去式和过去分词 )； 勉强做； 不乐意地付出； 吝惜 | |
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162
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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163
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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164
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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165
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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166
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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167
hemming
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| 卷边 | |
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168
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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169
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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170
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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171
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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172
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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173
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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174
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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175
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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176
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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177
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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178
withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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179
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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180
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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181
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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182
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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183
ratified
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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185
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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186
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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187
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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188
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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189
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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190
warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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191
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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192
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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193
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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194
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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195
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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196
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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197
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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198
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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199
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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200
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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