"Never see good in an enemy until you have defeated him."—War Proverb.
Twilight1 softened2 the gaunt corners of the ruined houses, and sheaves of shadows cowered3 in unfathomable corners. A wine shop, gashed4 and fractured, said "hush5!" to us as we passed; the shell-holed streets gaped6 at the indifferent, unconcerned sky.
"See the streets are yawning," I said to my mate, Bill Teake.
"That's because they're bored," he replied.
"Bill," I said, "what do you mean by bored?"
"They've holes in them," he answered. "Why d'yer arst me?"
"I wanted to know if you were trying to make a pun," I said. "That's all."
Bill grunted8, and a moment's silence ensued.
"Suppose it were made known to you, Bill," I said, "that for the rest of your[124] natural life this was all you could look forward to, dull hours of waiting in the trenches9, sleep in sodden11 dug-outs, eternal gun-firing and innumerable bayonet-charges; what would you do?"
"Wot would I do?" said Bill, coming to a halt in the middle of the street. "This is wot I'd do," he said with decision. "I'd put a round in the breech, lay my 'ead on the muzzle12 of my 'ipe, and reach down and pull the blurry13 trigger. Wot would you do?"
"I should become very brave," I replied.
"I see wot yer mean," said Bill. "Ye'd be up to the Victoria Cross caper14, and run yer nose into danger every time yer got a chance."
"You may be right," I replied. "No one likes this job, but we all endure it as a means towards an end."
"Flat!" I yelled, flopping15 to the ground and dragging Bill with me, as a shell burst on a house up the street and flung a thousand splinters round our heads. For a few seconds we cowered in the mud, then rose to our feet again.
"There are means by which we are going to end war," I said. "Did you see the dead and wounded to-day, the men groaning16 and shrieking17, the bombs flung down into cellars, the bloodstained bayonets, the gouging18 and[125] the gruelling; all those things are means towards creating peace in a disordered world."
The unrest which precedes night made itself felt in Loos. Crows made their way homeward, cleaving19 the air with weary wings; a tottering20 wall fell on the street with a melancholy21 clatter22, and a joist creaked near at hand, yearning23, as it seemed, to break free from its shattered neighbours. A lone24 wind rustled25 down the street, weeping over the fallen bricks, and crooning across barricades26 and machine-gun emplacements. The greyish-white evening sky cast a vivid pallor over the Twin Towers, which stood out sharply defined against the lurid27 glow of a fire in Lens.
All around Loos lay the world of trenches, secret streets, sepulchral28 towns, houses whose chimneys scarcely reached the level of the earth, crooked29 alleys30, bayonet circled squares, and lonely graveyards31 where dead soldiers lay in the silent sleep that wakens to no earthly réveillé.
The night fell. The world behind the German lines was lighted up with a white glow, the clouds seemed afire, and ran with a flame that was not red and had no glare. The tint33 was pale, and it trailed over Lens and the spinneys near the town, and spread trembling over the levels. White as a winding[126] sheet, it looked like a fire of frost, vast and wide diffused34. Every object in Loos seemed to loose its reality, a spectral35 glimmer36 hung over the ruins, and the walls were no more than outlines. The Twin Towers was a tracery of silver and enchanted37 fairy construction that the sun at dawn might melt away, the barbed-wire entanglements38 (those in front of the second German trench10 had not been touched by our artillery) were fancies in gossamer39. The world was an enchanted poem of contrasts of shadow and shine, of nooks and corners black as ebony, and prominent objects that shone with a spiritual glow. Men coming down the street bearing stretchers or carrying rations40 were phantoms41, the men stooping low over the earth digging holes for their dead comrades were as ghostly as that which they buried. I lived in a strange world—a world of dreams and illusions.
Where am I? I asked myself. Am I here? Do I exist? Where are the boys who marched with me from Les Brebis last night? I had looked on them during the day, seeing them as I had never seen them before, lying in silent and unquestioning peace, close to the yearning earth. Never again should I hear them sing in the musty barns near Givenchy; never again would we drink[127] red wine together in Café Pierre le Blanc, Nouex-les-Mines....
Bill Teake went back to his duties in the trench and left me.
A soldier came down the street and halted opposite.
"What's that light, soldier?" he asked me.
"I'm sure I don't know," I answered.
"I hear it's an ammunition42 depot43 afire in Lens," said the man. "Our shells hit it, and their blurry bullets have copped me now," he muttered, dropping on the roadway and crawling towards the shelter of the wall on his belly44.
"Where are you hit?" I asked, helping45 him into the ruins of the estaminet—my dressing46-station.
"In the leg," he answered, "just below the knee. It was when I was speaking to you about the ammunition depot on fire. 'Our shells hit it,' I said, and just then something went siss! through my calf47. 'Their blurry bullets have copped me now,' I said, didn't I?"
"You did," I answered, laying my electric torch on the table and placing the wounded man on the floor. I ripped open his trousers and found the wound; the bullet had gone through the calf.
"Can you use your foot?" I asked, and he moved his boot up and down.
[128]
"No fracture," I told him. "You're all right for blighty, matey."
One of my mates who was sleeping in a cellar came up at that moment.
"Still dressing wounded, Pat?" he asked.
"I just got wounded a minute ago," said the man on the floor as I fumbled48 about with a first field dressing. "I was speaking to Pat about the fire at Lens, and I told him that our shells hit it, 'and a blurry bullet has copped me now,' I said, when I felt something go siss! through my leg."
"Lucky dog," said the man on the stair head. "I'd give fifteen pounds for your wound."
"Nothing doing," said the man on the floor with a laugh.
"When can I get down to the dressing-station?" he asked.
"Now, if you can walk," I told him. "If you're to be carried I shall need three other men; the mud is knee deep on the road to Maroc."
"I'll see if I can walk," said the man, and tried to rise to his feet. The effort was futile49, he collapsed50 like a wet rag. Fifteen minutes later four of us left Loos bearing a stretcher on our shoulders, and trudged51 across the fields to the main road and into the crush of war traffic, hideously52 incongruous in the pale light of the quiet night.[129] The night was quiet, for sounds that might make for riot were muffled53 by the mud. The limbers' wheels were mud to the axles, the mules55 drew their legs slowly out of muck almost reaching their bellies56. Motor ambulances, wheeled stretchers, ammunition wagons57, gun carriages, limbers, water-carts, mules, horses and men going up dragged their sluggish59 way through the mud on one side of the road; mules, horses and men, water-carts, limbers, gun carriages, ammunition wagons, wheeled stretchers and motor ambulances coming down moved slowly along the other side. Every man had that calm and assured indifference60 that comes with ordinary everyday life. Each was full of his own work, preoccupied61 with his toil62, he was lost to the world around him. For the driver of the cart that we followed, a problem had to be worked out. The problem was this: how could he bring his mules and vehicles into Maroc and bring up a second load, then pilot his animals through mud and fire into Les Brebis before dawn; feed himself and his mules (when he got into safety), drink a glass or two of wine (if he had the money to pay for it), and wrap himself in his blanket and get to sleep in decent time for a good day's rest. Thus would he finish his night of work if the gods were kind. But they were not.
[130]
A momentary63 stoppage, and the mules stood stiffly in the mud, the offside wheeler twitching64 a long, restless ear. The driver lay back in his seat, resigned to the delay. I could see his whip in air, his face turned to the east where the blazing star-shells lit the line of battle. A machine gun spoke66 from Hill 70, and a dozen searching bullets whizzed about our heads. The driver uttered a sharp, infantile yell like a snared67 rabbit, leant sideways, and fell down on the roadway. The mule54 with the twitching ear dropped on top of the man and kicked out wildly with its hind32 legs.
"Cut the 'oss out!" yelled someone from the top of a neighbouring wagon58, and three or four soldiers rushed to the rescue, pulled the driver clear, and felt his heart.
"Dead," one said, dodging68 to avoid the hoofs69 of the wounded mule. "The bullet 'as caught the poor cove70 in the forehead.... Well, it's all over now, and there's nothing to be done."
"Shoot the mule," someone suggested. "It's kicking its mate in the belly.... Also put the dead man out of the roadway. 'E'll get mixed with the wheels."
Someone procured71 a rifle, placed the muzzle close to the animal's ear, and fired. The mule stretched its hind legs lazily out and ceased its struggles. Movement was resumed[131] ahead, and dodging round the dead man, we continued our journey through the mud. It was difficult to make headway, our legs were knee-deep in slush, and the monstrous72 futility73 of shoving our way through, wearied us beyond telling. Only at rare intervals74 could we lift our feet clear of the ground and walk in comparative ease for a few moments. Now and again a machine gun opened on the moving throng75, and bullets hummed by perilously76 close to our ears. The stretcher was a dead weight on us, and the poles cut into our shoulders.
The Scottish had charged across the road in the morning, and hundreds had come to grief. They were lying everywhere, out on the fields, by the roadside, and in the roadway mixed up with the mud. The driver who had been killed a moment ago was so preoccupied with his task that he had no time for any other work but his own. We were all like him. We had one job to do and that job took up our whole attention until it was completed. That was why our party did not put down our stretcher on the road and raise the dead from the mud; we walked over them.
How cold they looked, the kilted lads lying on their backs in the open, their legs, bare from knee to hip65, white and ghostly in the wan7 light of the blazing ammunition depot at Lens.
[132]
Mud on the roadway, reaching to the axles of the limber wheels, dead men on the roadside, horses and mules tugging77 and straining at the creaking vehicles, wounded men on the stretchers; that was the picture of the night, and on we trudged, moving atoms of a pattern that kept continually repeating itself.
The mutilated and maimed who still lay out in the open called plaintively78 for succour. "For God's sake bring me away from here," a voice called. "I've been lying out this last four days." The man who spoke had been out since dawn, but periods of unconsciousness had disordered his count of time, and every conscious moment was an eternity79 of suffering.
We arrived at Q—— instead of Maroc, having missed the right turning. The village was crowded with men; a perfect village it was, with every house standing80, though the civilian81 population had long since gone to other places. Two shells, monstrous twelve-inch terrors, that failed to explode, lay on the pavement at the entrance. We went past these gingerly, as ladies in dainty clothing might pass a fouling82 post, and carried our burden down the streets to the dressing-station. Outside the door were dozens of stretchers, and on each a stricken soldier, quiet and resigned, who gazed into the cheerless[133] and unconcerned sky as if trying to find some deadened hope.
A Scottish regiment83 relieved from the trenches stood round a steaming dixie of tea, each man with a mess-tin in his hand. I approached the Jocks.
"Any tea to spare?" I asked one.
"Aye, mon, of course there's a drappie goin'," he answered, and handed me the mess-tin from which he had been drinking.
"How did you fare to-day?" I asked.
"There's a wheen o' us left yet," he replied with a solemn smile. "A dozen dixies of tea would nae gang far among us yesterday; but wi' one dixie the noo, we've some to spare.... Wha' d'ye belong tae?" he asked.
"The London Irish," I told him.
"'Twas your fellows that kicked the futba' across the field?"
"Yes."
"Into the German trench?"
"Not so far," I told the man. "A bullet hit the ball by the barbed-wire entanglements; I saw it lying there during the day."
"'Twas the maddest thing I've ever heard o'," said the Jock. "Hae ye lost many men?"
"A good number," I replied.
"I suppose ye did," said the man, but by[134] his voice, I knew that he was not in the least interested in our losses; not even in the issue of battle. In fact, few of us knew of the importance of the events in which we took part, and cared as little. If I asked one of our boys at that moment what were his thoughts he would answer, if he spoke truly: "I wonder when we're going to get relieved," or "I hope we're going to get a month's rest when we get out." Soldiers always speak of "we"; the individual is submerged in his regiment. We, soldiers, are part of the Army, the British Army, which will be remembered in days to come, not by a figurehead, as the fighters of Waterloo are remembered by Wellington, but as an army mighty84 in deed, prowess and endurance; an army which outshone its figureheads.
I went back to the dressing-station. Our wounded man was inside, and a young doctor was busy putting on a fresh dressing. The soldier was narrating85 the story of his wound.
"I was speaking to a stretcher-bearer about the ammunition depot afire in Lens," he was saying. "'Our shells hit it, and their bloomin' bullets 'ave copped me now,' I said, when something went siss! through my leg."
The man gazed round at the door and saw me.
[135]
"Wasn't that what I said, Pat?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered. "You said that their blooming bullets had copped you."
点击
收听单词发音
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1
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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2
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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3
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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4
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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6
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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7
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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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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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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10
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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11
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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12
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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13
blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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14
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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15
flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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16
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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17
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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18
gouging
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| n.刨削[槽]v.凿( gouge的现在分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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19
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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20
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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21
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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22
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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23
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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24
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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25
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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26
barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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27
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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28
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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29
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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30
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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31
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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32
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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33
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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34
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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35
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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36
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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37
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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38
entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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39
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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40
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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41
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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42
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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43
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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44
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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45
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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46
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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47
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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48
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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49
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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50
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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51
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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52
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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53
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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54
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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55
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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56
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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57
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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58
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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59
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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60
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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61
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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62
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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63
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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64
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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65
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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66
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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67
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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69
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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70
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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71
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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72
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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73
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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74
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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75
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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76
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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77
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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78
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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79
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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80
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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81
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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82
fouling
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| n.（水管、枪筒等中的）污垢v.使污秽( foul的现在分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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83
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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84
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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85
narrating
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| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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