The dead men lay on the cellar stair,
Toll1 of the bomb that found them there;
In the streets men fell as a bullock drops,
Sniped from the fringe of Hulluch copse.
And stiff in khaki the boys were laid—
Food of the bullet and hand-grenade—
This we saw when the charge was done,
And the East grew pale to the rising sun
In the town of Loos in the morning.
A rim2 of grey clouds clustered thick on the horizon as if hiding some wonderful secret from the eyes of men. Above my head the stars were twinkling, a soft breeze swung over the open, and moist gusts3 caught me in the face as I picked my way carefully through the still figures in brown and grey that lay all over the stony4 face of the level lands. A spinney on the right was wrapped in shadow, and when, for a moment, I stood to listen, vague whispers and secret rustlings could be heard all around. The hour before the dawn was full of wonder, the world in which I moved was pregnant with[137] mystery. "Who are these?" I asked myself as I looked at the still figures in khaki. "Where is the life, the vitality5 of yesterday's dawn; the fire of eager eyes, the mad pulsing of roving blood, and the great heart of young adventure? Has the roving, the vitality and the fire come to this; gone out like sparks from a star-shell falling in a pond? What are these things here? What am I? What is the purpose served by all this demolition6 and waste?" Like a child in the dark I put myself the question, but there was no answer. The stars wheel on their courses over the dance of death and the feast of joy, ever the same.
I walked up to the church by the trench7 through the graveyard8 where the white bones stuck out through the parapet. A pale mist gathered round the broken headstones and crept along the bushes of the fence. The Twin Towers stood in air—moody, apathetic9, regardless of the shrapnel incense10 that the guns wafted11 against the lean girders. Sparrows twittered in the field, and a crow broke clumsily away from the branches in the spinney. A limber jolted12 along the road near me creaking and rumbling13. On! driver, on! Get to Les Brebis before the dawn, and luck be with you! If the enemy sees you! On! on! I knew that he hurried; that one eye was on the east where the sky was flushing a[138] faint crimson14, and the other on the road in front where the dead mules16 grew more distinct and where the faces of the dead men showed more clearly.
At that moment the enemy began to shell the road and the trench running parallel to it. I slipped into the shelter and waited. The transport came nearer, rolling and rumbling; the shrapnel burst violently. I cowered17 close to the parapet and I had a vivid mental picture of the driver leaning forward on the neck of his mule15, his teeth set, his breath coming in short, sudden gasps18. "Christ! am I going to get out of it?" he must have said. "Will dawn find me at Les Brebis?"
Something shot clumsily through the air and went plop! against the parados.
"Heavens! it's all up with me!" I said, and waited for the explosion. But there was none. I looked round and saw a leg on the floor of the trench, the leg of the transport driver, with its leg-iron shining like silver. The man's boot was almost worn through in the sole, and the upper was gashed19 as if with a knife. I'm sure it must have let in the wet.... And the man was alive a moment ago! The mule was still clattering20 along, I could hear the rumble21 of the wagon22.... The firing ceased, and I went out in the open again.
[139]
I walked on the rim of the parapet and gazed into the dark streak23 of trench where the shadows clustered round traverse and dug-out door. In one bay a brazier was burning, and a bent24 figure of a man leant over a mess-tin of bubbling tea. All at once he straightened himself and looked up at me.
"Pat MacGill?" he queried25.
"A good guess," I answered. "You're making breakfast early."
"A drop of tea on a cold morning goes down well," he answered. "Will you have a drop? I've milk and a sultana cake."
"How did you come by that?" I asked.
"In a dead man's pack," he told me, as he emptied part of the contents of the tin into a tin mug and handed it up.
The tea was excellent. A breeze swept over the parapet and ushered26 in the dawn. My heart fluttered like a bird; it was so happy, so wonderful to be alive, drinking tea from a sooty mess-tin on the parapet of the trench held by the enemy yesterday.
"It's quiet at present," I said.
"It'll soon not be quiet," said the man in the trench, busy now with a rasher of bacon which he was frying on his mess-tin lid. "Where have you come from?"
"I've been all over the place," I said.[140] "Maroc, and along that way. You should see the road to Maroc. Muck to the knees; limbers, carts, wagons27, guns, stretchers, and God knows what! going up and down. Dead and dying mules; bare-legged Jocks flat in the mud and wheels going across them. I'll never forget it."
"Nobody that has been through this will ever forget it," said the man in the trench. "I've seen more sights than enough. But nothing disturbs me now. I remember a year ago if I saw a man getting knocked down I'd run a mile; I never saw a dead person till I came here. Will you have a bit of bacon and fried bread?"
"Thanks," I answered, reaching down for the food. "It's very good of you."
"Don't mention it, Pat," he said, blushing as if ashamed of his kindness. "Maybe, it'll be my turn to come to you next time I'm hungry. Any word of when we're getting relieved?"
"I don't hear anything," I said. "Shortly, I hope. Many of your mates killed?" I asked.
"Many of them indeed," he replied. "Old L. went west the moment he crossed the top. He had only one kick at the ball. A bullet caught him in the belly28. I heard him say 'A foul29; a blurry30 foul!' as he went all in[141] a heap. He was a sticker! Did you see him out there?"
He pointed31 a thumb to the field in rear.
"There are so many," I replied. "I did not come across him."
"And then B., D., and R., went," said the man in the trench. "B. with a petrol bomb, D. with shrapnel, and R. with a bayonet wound. Some of the Bavarians made a damned good fight for it."...
Round the traverse a voice rose in song, a trembling, resonant32 voice, and we guessed that sleep was still heavy in the eyes of the singer:
"There's a silver lining33 through the dark clouds shining,
We'll turn the dark cloud inside out till the boys come home."
"Ah! it will be a glad day and a sorrowful day when the boys come home," said the man in the trench, handing me a piece of sultana cake. "The children will be cheering, the men will be cheering, the women—some of them. One woman will say: 'There's my boy, doesn't he look well in uniform?' Then another will say: 'Two boys I had, they're not here——'"
I saw a tear glisten34 on the cheek of the boy below me, and something seemed to have caught in his throat. His mood craved[142] privacy, I could tell that by the dumb appeal in his eyes.
"Good luck, matey," I mumbled35, and walked away. The singer looked up as I was passing.
"Mornin', Pat," he said. "How goes it?"
"Not at all bad," I answered.
"Have you seen W.?" asked the singer.
"I've been talking to him for the last twenty minutes," I said. "He has given me half his breakfast."
"I suppose he couldn't sleep last night," said the singer, cutting splinters of wood for the morning fire. "You've heard that his brother was killed yesterday morning?"
"Oh!" I muttered. "No, I heard nothing about it until now."
The dawn glowed crimson, streaks36 of red shot through the clouds to eastwards37 and touched the bowl of sky overhead with fingers of flame. From the dug-outs came the sound of sleepy voices, and a soldier out in open trench was cleaning his bayonet. A thin white fog lay close to the ground, and through it I could see the dead boys in khaki clinging, as it were, to the earth. I could see a long way round. Behind was the village where the wounded were dressed; how blurred38 it looked with its shell-scarred chimneys in air like the fingers of a wounded hand[143] held up to a doctor. The chimneys, dun-tinted and lonely, stood silent above the mist, and here and there a tree which seemed to have been ejected from the brotherhood39 of its kind stood out in the open all alone. The smoke of many fires curled over the line of trenches40. Behind the parapets lay many dead; they had fallen in the trench and their comrades had flung them out into the open. It was sad to see them there; yesterday or the day before their supple41 legs were strong for a long march; to-day——
A shell burst dangerously near, and I went into the trench; the Germans were fumbling42 for their objective. Our artillery43, as yet quiet, was making preparations for an anticipated German counter-attack, and back from our trench to Les Brebis, every spinney concealed45 a battery, every tree a gun, and every broken wall an ammunition46 depot47. The dawning sun showed the terror of war quiet in gay disguise; the blue-grey, long-nosed guns hidden in orchards48 where the apples lingered late, the howitzers under golden-fringed leaves, the metallic49 glint on the weapons' muzzles50; the gunners asleep in adjacent dug-outs, their blankets tied tightly around their bodies, their heads resting on heavy shells, fit pillows for the men whose work dealt in death and destruction. The sleepers51 husbanded their energy for trying[144] labour, the shells seemed to be saving their fury for more sure destruction. All our men were looking forward to a heavy day's work.
I went back to the dressing-station in Loos. The street outside, pitted with shell-holes, showed a sullen52 face to the leaden sky. The dead lay in the gutters53, on the pavement, at the door-steps; the quick in the trenches were now consolidating54 our position, strengthening the trench which we had taken from the Germans. Two soldiers on guard stood at the door of the dressing-station. I dressed a few wounds and lit a cigarette.
"What's up with that fool?" said a voice at the door, and I turned to the man who spoke55.
"Who?" I inquired.
"Come and see," said the man at the door. I looked up the street and saw one of our boys standing56 in the roadway and the smoke of a concussion57 shell coiling round his body. It was Bill Teake. He looked round, noticed us, and I could see a smile flower broadly on his face. He made a step towards us, halted and said something that sounded like "Yook! yook!" Then he took another step forward and shot out his hand as if playing bowls.
"He's going mad?" I muttered. "Bill, what are you doing?" I cried to him.
"Yook! yook! yook!" he answered in a coaxing58 voice.
[145]
"A bullet will give you yook! yook! directly," I cried. "Get under cover and don't be a fool."
"Yook! yook!"
Then a shell took a neighbouring chimney away and a truckful of bricks assorted59 itself on the roadway in Bill's neighbourhood. Out of the smother60 of dust and lime a fowl61, a long-necked black hen, fluttered into the air and flew towards our shelter. On the road in front it alighted and wobbled its head from one side to another in a cursory62 inspection63 of its position. Bill Teake came racing64 down the road.
"Don't frighten it away!" he yelled. "Don't shout. I want that 'en. It's my own 'en. I discovered it. Yook! yook! yook!"
He sobered his pace and approached the hen with cautious steps. The fowl was now standing on one leg, the other leg drawn65 up under its wing, its head in listening position, and its attitude betokened66 extreme dejection. It looked for all the world like Bill when he peers down the neck of a rum jar and finds the jar empty.
"Not a word now," said Teake, fixing one eye on me and another on the hen. "I must get my feelers on this 'ere cackler. It was up there sittin' atop of a dead Jock when I sees it.... Yook! yook! That's wot you must[146] say to a bloomin' 'en w'en yer wants ter nab it.... Yook! yook! yook!"
He threw a crumb67 to the fowl. The hen picked it up, swallowed it, and hopped68 off for a little distance. Then it drew one leg up under its wing and assumed a look of philosophic69 calm.
"Clever hen!" I said.
"Damned ungrateful fraud!" said Bill angrily. "I've given it 'arf my iron rations44. If it wasn't that I might miss it I'd fling a bully-beef tin at it."
"Where's your rifle?" I inquired.
"Left it in the trench," Bill replied. "I just came out to look for sooveneers. This is the only sooveneer I seen. Yook! yook! I'll sooveneer yer, yer swine. Don't yer understand yer own language?"
The hen made a noise like a chuckling70 frog.
"Yes, yer may uck! uck!" cried Bill, apostrophising the fowl. "I'll soon stop yer uck! uck! yer one-legged von Kluck! Where's a rifle to spare?"
I handed him a spare rifle which belonged to a man who had been shot outside the door that morning.
"Loaded?" asked Bill.
"Loaded," I lied.
The Cockney lay down on the roadway, stretched the rifle out in front, took steady[147] aim, and pulled the trigger. A slight click was the only response.
"That's a dirty trick," he growled71, as we roared with laughter. "A bloomin' Alleymong wouldn't do a thing like that."
So saying he pulled the bolt back, jerked a cartridge72 from the magazine, shoved a round into the breech and fired. The fowl fluttered in agony for a moment, then fell in a heap on the roadway. Bill handed the rifle back to me.
"I'll cook that 'en to-night," he said, with studied slowness. "It'll make a fine feed. 'En well cooked can't be beaten, and I'm damned if you'll get one bone to pick!"
"Bill!" I protested.
"Givin' me a hipe as wasn't loaded and sayin' it was," he muttered sullenly73.
"I haven't eaten a morsel74 of hen since you pinched one at Mazingarbe," I said. "You remember that. 'Twas a damned smart piece of work."
A glow of pride suffused75 his face.
"Well, if there's any to spare to-night I'll let you know," said my mate. "Now I'm off."
"There's a machine gun playing on the road," I called to him, as he strolled off towards the trench with the hen under his arm. "You'd better double along."
He broke into a run, but suddenly stopped[148] right in the centre of the danger zone. I could hear the bullets rapping on the cobblestones.
"I'll tell yer when the feed's ready, Pat," he called back. "You can 'ave 'arf the 'en for supper."
Then he slid off and disappeared over the rim of the trench.
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1
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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4
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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5
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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7
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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8
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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10
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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14
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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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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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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21
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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22
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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23
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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24
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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25
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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26
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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28
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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29
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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30
blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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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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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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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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37
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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38
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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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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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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42
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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43
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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44
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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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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48
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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50
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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51
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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52
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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consolidating
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| v.（使）巩固， （使）加强( consolidate的现在分词 )；（使）合并 | |
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55
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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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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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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58
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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61
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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62
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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63
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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64
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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65
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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66
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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68
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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69
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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70
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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71
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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72
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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73
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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74
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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75
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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