The six privates awoke from a state of inert1 dreaming, or lolling against the barn that flanked the gateway2 of battalion3 headquarters, to stand in two rows of three and await orders. At last the A.S.C. lorry had turned up, an hour late, and while it turned round I despatched one of the privates to our transport to get six sand-bags. By the time he returned the lorry had performed its about-wheel, and, all aboard, myself in front and the six behind, we are off for C——.
We pass through Béthune. As we approach through the suburbs, we rattle6 past motor despatch4 riders, A.S.C. lorries, Red Cross carts, columns of transport horses being exercised, officers on horse-back, officers in motor-cars, small unarmed fatigue7 parties, battalions8 on the march; then there are carts carrying bricks, French postmen on bicycles, French navvies in blue uniforms repairing the road, innumerable peasant traps, coal waggons9, women with baskets, and children of course everywhere. “Business as usual”—yet, but for a line of men not so many miles away the place would be a 43 desolate10 ruin like the towns and villages that chance has doomed11 to be in the firing-line.
So I moralise. Not so the Tommies, sprawling12 behind, inside the lorry, and caring not a jot13 for anything save that they are on a “cushy” or soft job, as the rest of the battalion are doing four hours’ digging under R.E. supervision14. A good thing to be a Tommy, to be told to fall in here or there, and not to know whether it is for a bayonet-charge, or a job of carting earth!
“Bang—Bang-bang.” We are nearing the firing-line, having left Béthune, where military police stand at every corner directing the traffic with flags, one road “up,” another “down”: we are once more within the noisy but invisible chain of batteries. “Lorries 6 miles per hour.” The shell-holes in the road, roughly filled with stones, would make quicker going impossible anyhow. We are entering C——, and I keep an eagle eye open for ruined houses, and soon stop by a house with two walls and half a roof. Out come the six Tommies and proceed to fill a sand-bag each with bricks and empty it into the lorry. The supply is inexhaustible, and in half an hour the A.S.C. corporal refuses to take more, declaring we have the regulation three-ton load, so I stop work and prepare to depart.
The corporal, however, has heard of a sister-lorry near by, which has unfortunately slipped into a ditch and, so to speak, sprained15 its ankle. Though extraordinarily16 unromantic in appearance, the 44 corporal shows himself imbued17 with a spirit of knight18 errantry, and, having obtained my permission to rescue the fair damsel, sets off for what he declares cannot take more than ten minutes. As I thought the process would take probably more like twenty minutes, I let the men repair to a house on the opposite side of the road, where was a rather more undamaged piece of roof than usual (it was now raining), and myself explored the place I happened to be in.
Occasionally, at home one comes across a deserted19 cottage in the country; a most desolate spirit pervades20 the place. Imagine, then, what it is like in these villages half a mile or a mile behind what has been the firing-line for now twelve months. A few steps off the main road brought me into what had formerly21 been a small garden belonging to a farm. There had been a red-brick wall all along the north side with fruit trees trained along it. Now, the wall was mostly a rubble-heap, and the fruit trees dead. One sickly pear tree struggled to exist in a crumpled22 sort of heap, but its wilted23 leaves only added to the desolation of the scene. An iron gate, between red brick pillars, was still standing24, strangely enough; but the little lawn was run to waste, and had a crater25 in the middle of it about five feet across, inside of which was some disintegrating26 animal, also empty tins, and other refuse. Trees were broken, weeds were everywhere. I tried to reconstruct the place in my imagination, but it was a 45 chaotic27 tangle28. I came across a few belated raspberries, and picked one or two; they were tasteless and watery29. Rubbish and broken glass were strewn everywhere. It was a dreary30 sight in the grey rain; the only sign of life a few chattering31 blue-tits.
The house was an utter ruin, only a ground-room wall left standing; some of the outhouses had not suffered so much, but all the roofs were gone. I saw a rusty32 mangle33 staring forlornly out of a heap of débris; and a manger and hayrack showed what had been a stable. The pond was just near, too, and gradually I could piece together the various elements of the farm. Who the owners were I vaguely34 wondered; perhaps they will return after the war; but I doubt if they could make much of the old ruins. These villages will most likely remain a blighted35 area for years, like the villages reclaimed36 by the jungle. Already the virginia creeper and woodbine are trying to cover the ugliness....
The Tommies meanwhile had been smoking Gold Flakes37, and one or two had also been exploring; one had discovered a child’s elementary botany book, and was studying the illustrations when I came up. Our combined view now was “Where is the lorry?” and this view held the field, with increasing curiosity, annoyance38, and vituperation, for one solid hour and a half. It was dinner-time, and a common bond of hunger held us, until at last in exasperation39 I marched half the party in quest of our errant conveyance40. 46 I was thoroughly41 annoyed with the gallant42 corporal. Three-quarters of a mile away I found the two lorries. My little corporal had rescued his lorn princess, but she, being a buxom43 wench, had brought her rescuer into like predicament! And so we came up just in time to see the rescue of our lorry from the treacherous44 ditch! I felt I could not curse, especially as the little corporal had winded himself somehow in the stomach during the last bout5. It had been a feeble show; yet there was the lorry, and in it the bricks, on to which the fellows climbed deliberately45 as men who recover a lost prize. And so we arrived at our transport (the bricks were for a horse-stand in a muddy yard) at half-past two; after which I dismissed the party to its belated dinner.
The above incident hardly deserves a place in a chapter headed “working-parties,” being in almost every respect different from any other I have ever conducted. I think the “working-party” is realised less than anything else in this war by those who have not been at the front. It does not appeal to the imagination. Yet it is essential to realise, if one wants to know what this war is like, the amount of sheer dogged labour performed by the infantry46 in digging, draining, and improving trenches47.
The “working-party” usually consists of seventy to a hundred men from a company, with either one or two officers. The Brigadier going round the trenches finds a communication trench48 falling in, 47 and about a foot of mud at the bottom. “Get a working-party on to this at once,” he says to his Staff Captain. The Staff Captain consults one of the R.E. officers, and a note is sent to the Adjutant of one of the two battalions in billets: “Your battalion will provide a working party of ... officers ... full ranks (sergeants50 and corporals) and ... other ranks to-morrow. Report to Lt. ..., R.E., at ... at 5.0 p.m. to-morrow for work on ... Trench. Tools will be provided.” The Staff Captain then dismisses the matter from his head. The Adjutant then sends the same note to one or more of the four company commanders, detailing the number of men to be sent by the companies specified51 by him. (He is scrupulously52 careful to divide work equally between the companies, by the way.) The company commander on receiving the note curses volubly, declares it a “d—d shame the hardest worked battalion in the brigade can’t be allowed a moment’s rest, feels sure the men will mutiny one of these days,” etc., summons the orderly, who is frowsting in the next room with the officers’ servants, and says, “Take this to the sergeant49-major,” after scribbling53 on the note “Parade outside Company H.Q. 3.30 p.m.,” and adding, as the orderly departs, “Might tell the quartermaster-sergeant I want to see him.” Meanwhile the three subalterns are extraordinarily engrossed54 in their various occupations, until the company commander boldly states that it is 48 “rotten luck, but he supposes as So-and-so took the last, it is So-and-so’s turn, isn’t it?” and details the officers; if they are new officers he tells them the sergeants will know exactly what to do, and if they are old hands he tells them nothing whatever. The “quarter” (company quartermaster-sergeant) then arrives, and is told the party will not be back, probably, till 10.0 p.m., and will he make sure, please, that hot soup is ready for the men on return, and also dry socks if it turns out wet; he is then given a drink, and the company commander’s work is finished.
Meanwhile the company sergeant-major has received the orders from the orderly, and summons unto him the orderly-sergeant, and from his “roster,” or roll, ticks off the men and N.C.O.’s to be warned for the working party. This the orderly-sergeant does by going round to the various barns and personally reading out each man’s name, and on getting the answer, saying, “You’re for working party, 3.15 to-day.” The exact nature of the remarks when he is gone are beyond my province. Only, as an officer taking the party, one knows that at 3.25 p.m. the senior sergeant calls the two lines of waiting “other ranks” to attention, and with a slap on his rifle, announces “Working-party present, Sir,” as you stroll up. Working-parties are dressed in “musketry order” usually—that is to say, with equipment, but no packs; rifles and ammunition55, of course, and waterproof56 sheets rolled and fastened 49 to the webbing belt. The officer then tells the sergeant to “stand them easy,” while he asks one or two questions, and looks once more at “orders” which the senior sergeant has probably brought on parade, and at 3.30, with a “Company-Shern! Slo-o-ope hip57! Right-in-fours: form-fórs! Right! By the right, Quick march!” leads off his party, giving “March at ease, march-easy!” almost in one breath as soon as he rounds the corner. Then there is a hitching58 of rifles to the favourite position, and a buzz of remarks and whistles and song behind, while the sergeant edges up to the officer or the officer edges back to the sergeant, according to their degree of intimacy59, and the working-party is on its way.
One working-party I remember very well. We were in billets at ——, and really tired out. It was Nov. 6th, and on looking up my letters I find our movements for the last week had been as follows:
Oct. 29th. 9.0 a.m. Moved off from billets.
12.0 midday. Lunch.
3.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches.
Oct. 30th. Front trenches.
Oct. 31st. Front trenches.
Nov. 1st. Relieved at 3.0 p.m. (The Devons were very late relieving us, owing to bad rain and mud.)
5.30 p.m. Reached billets.50
Nov. 2nd. Rain all day. Morning spent by men in trying to clean up. Afternoon, baths.
Nov. 3rd. 9.0 a.m. Started off for trenches again. It had rained incessantly60. Mud terrible.
1.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches.
Nov. 4th. Front trenches. Rained all day.
Nov. 5th. 2.30 p.m. Relieved late again. Mud colossal62. Billets 5.0 p.m.
Nov. 6th. Morning. Cleaning up. Inspection63 by C.O.
Afternoon. Sudden and unexpected Working-Party. 3.0 p.m.—11.0 p.m.!!
Yet I thoroughly enjoyed those eight hours, I remember. There were, I suppose, about eighty N.C.O.’s and men from “B” Company. I was in charge, with one other officer. We halted at a place whither the “cooker” had been previously64 despatched, and where the men had their tea. Luckily it was fine. The men sat about on lumps of trench-boards and coils of barbed wire, for the place was an “R.E. Dump,” where a large accumulation of R.E. stores of all description was to be found. I apologised to the R.E. officer for keeping him a few minutes while the men finished their tea; he, however, a second-lieutenant, was in no hurry whatever, 51 it seemed, and waited about a quarter of an hour for us. Then I fell the men in, and they “drew tools,” so many men a pick, so many a shovel65 (the usual proportion is one pick, two shovels66), and we splodged along through whitish clay of the stickiest calibre in the gathering67 twilight68. An R.E. corporal and two R.E. privates had joined us mysteriously by now, as well as the second-lieutenant, and crossing H—— Street we plunged69 down into a communication trench, and started the long mazy grope. The R.E. corporal was guide. The trench was all paved with trench-mats, but these were not “laid,” only “shoved down” anyhow; consequently they wobbled, and one’s boot slipped off the side into squelch70, rubbing the ankle. Continually came up the message from behind, “Lost touch, Sir!” This involved a wait—one, two minutes—until the “All-up” or “All-in” came up. (One hears it coming in a hoarse71 whisper, and starts before it actually arrives. Infinite patience is necessary. R.E. officers are sometimes eager to go ahead; but once lose the last ten men at night in an unknown trench, and it may take three hours to find them.) The other officer was bringing up the rear.
At last we reached our destination, and the R.E. officer and myself told off the men to work along the trench. This particular work was clearing what is known as a “berm,” that is, the flat strip of ground between the edge of the trench and the thrown-up earth, each side of a C.T. (communication trench). 52
When a trench is first dug, the earth is thrown up each side; the recent rains were, however, causing the trenches to crumble72 in everywhere, and the weight of the thrown-up earth was especially the cause of this. Consequently, if the earth were cleared away a yard on each side of the trench, and thrown further back, the trench would probably be saved from falling in to any serious extent, and the light labour of shovelling73 dry earth a yard or so back would be substituted for the heart-breaking toil74 of throwing sloppy75 mud or sticky clay out of a trench higher than yourself.
The work to be done had been explained to the sergeants before we left our starting-point. As we went along, the R.E. officer told off men at ten or five yards’ interval76, according to the amount of earth to be moved. Each man stopped when told off, and the rest of the company passed him. Sergeants and corporals stopped with their section or platoon, and got the men started as soon as the last man of the company had passed. At last up came the last man, sergeant, and the other officer, and together we went back all along. The men were on top (that is why the working-party was a night one); sometimes 53 they had not understood their orders and were doing something wrong (a slack sergeant would then probably have to be routed out and told off). The men worked like fun, of course, it being known, to every one’s joy, that this was a piece-job, and that we went home as soon as it was finished. There was absolute silence, except the sound of falling earth, and an occasional chink of iron against stone; or a swish, and muttered cursings, as a bit of trench fell in with a slide, dragging a man with it; for it is not always easy to clear a yard-wide “berm” without crumbling77 the trench-edge in. One would not think these men were “worn out,” to see them working as no other men in the world can work; for nearly every man was a miner. The novice78 will do only half the work a trained miner will do, with the same effort.
Sometimes I was appealed to as to the “yard.” Was this wide enough? One man had had an unlucky bit given him with a lot of extra earth from a dug-out thrown on to the original lot. So I redivided the task. It is amazing the way the time passes while going along a line of workers, noticing, talking, correcting, praising. By the time I got to the first men of the company, they were half-way through the task.
At last the job was finished. As many men as space allowed were put on to help one section that somehow was behind; whether it was bad luck in distribution or slack work no one knew or cared. 54 The work must be finished. The men wanted to smoke, but I would not let them; it was too near the front trenches. And then I did a foolish thing, which might have been disastrous79! The R.E. corporal had remained, though the officer had left long ago. The corporal was to act as guide back, and this he was quite ready to do if I was not quite sure of the way. I, however, felt sure of it, and as the corporal would be saved a long tramp if he could go off to his dug-out direct without coming with us, I foolishly said I had no need of him, and let him go. I then lost my way completely. We had never been in that section before, and none of the sergeants knew it. We had come from the “R.E. Dump,” and thither80 we must return, leaving our tools on the way. But I had been told to take the men to the Divisional Soup Kitchen first, which was about four hundred yards north of X, the spot where we entered the C.T. and which I was trying to find. For all I knew I was going miles in the wrong direction. My only guide was the flares81 behind, which assured me I was not walking to the Germans but away from them. The unknown trenches began to excite among the sergeants the suspicion that all was not well. But I took the most colossal risk of stating that I knew perfectly82 well what I was doing, and strode on ahead.
There was silence behind after that, save for splashings and splodgings. My heart misgave83 me that I was coming to undrained trenches of the 55 worst description, or to water-logged impasses84! Still I strode on, or waited interminable waits for the “All up” signal. At last we reached houses, grim and black, new and awfully85 unknown. I nearly tumbled down a cellar as a sentry86 challenged. I was preparing for humble87 questions as to where we were, the nearest way to X, and a possible joke to the sergeant (this joke had not materialised, and seemed unlikely to be of the easiest), when I recovered myself from the cellar, mounted some steps, and found myself on a road beside a group of Tommies emerging from the Soup Kitchen! My star (the only one visible, I believe, that inky night) had led me there direct! I said nothing, as every one warmed up in spirits as well as bodies with that excellent soup; and no one ever knew of the quailings of my heart along those unknown trenches! To lead men wrong is always bad; but when they are tired out it is unpardonable, and not quickly forgotten. As it was, canteens were soon brimming with thick vegetable soup, filled from a bubbling cauldron with a mighty88 ladle. In the hot room men glistened89 and perspired90, while a regular steam arose from muddied boots and puttees; every one, from officer to latest joined private, was sipping91 with dangerous avidity the boiling fluid. Many charges have been laid against divisional staffs, but never a complaint have I heard against a soup kitchen! So in good spirits we tramped along, and dumped our tools in the place where we had found them. “Clank-clank, clank,” 56 as spade fell on spade. Then, “You may smoke” was passed down. The sergeant reported “All correct, Sir!” and we tramped along in file. Soon the bursts of song were swallowed up in a great whistling concert, and we were all merry. The fit passed, and there was silence; then came the singing again, which developed into hymns92, and that took us into our billets. Here we were greeted with the most abominable93 news of réveillé at 5.0 a.m., but I think most of the men were too sleepy to hear it; we two officers deplored94 our fate while eating a supper set out for us in a greenhouse, our temporary mess-room!
That is a working-party: interesting as a first experience to an officer; but when multiplied exceedingly, by day, by night, in rain, mud, sleet95, and snow, carrying trench boards, filling sand-bags, digging clay, bailing96 out liquid mud, and returning cold and drenched97, without soup—then, working-parties became a monotonous98 succession of discomforts99 that wore out the spirit as well as the body.
The last six nights before the promised rest were spent in working-parties at Festubert. There the ground was low and wet, and it was decided100 to build a line of breastwork trenches a few hundred yards behind the existing line, so that we could retire on to dry ground in case of getting swamped out. For six nights in succession we left billets at 10.0 p.m. and returned by 4.0 a.m. The weather was the 57 coldest, it turned out eventually, that winter. It started with snow; then followed hard frost for four nights; and, last but not least, a thaw101 and incessant61 sleet and rain. I have never before experienced such cold; but, on the other hand, I have never before had to stand about all night in a severe frost (it was actually, I believe, from 10° to 15° below freezing point). At 2.0 a.m. the stars would glitter with relentless102 mirth, as the cold pierced through two cardigans and a sheepskin waistcoat. I have skated at night, but always to return by midnight to fire and bed. Bed! At home people were sleeping as comfortably as usual; a few extra blankets, perhaps, or more coals in the grate!
I was out five nights of the six. Captain Dixon was on leave, so we only had three officers in “B,” and two had to go every night. Every night at 9.30 the company would be fallen in and marched off to the rendezvous104, there, at 10.0, to join the rest of the battalion. There was no singing; very little talking. In parts the road was very bad, and we marched in file. The road was full of shell-holes, and bad generally; the ice crackled and tinkled105 in the ruts and puddles106; the frozen mud inclined you to stumble over its ridges107 and bumps. It took us the best part of an hour to reach our destination. The first night we must have gone earlier than the other nights, as I distinctly remember viewing by daylight those most amazing ruins. There was a barrier across the 58 road just before you entered the village; (a barrier is usually made like this— you can defend the road without blocking it to traffic; at the same time it cannot be rushed by motor-cycles or armoured cars); then just opposite were the few standing fragments of the church; bits of wall and mullion here and there; and all around tombstones leaning in every direction, rooted up, shattered, split. There was one of the crucifixes standing untouched in the middle of it all, about which so much has been written; whether it had fallen and been erected108 again I cannot say. The houses were more smashed, crumpled, and chaotic than even Cuinchy or Givenchy.
I remember that corner very vividly109, because at that spot came one of the few occasions on which I had the “wind up” a little. Why, I know not. We were halted a few moments, when two whizz-bangs shot suddenly into a garden about twenty yards to our right, with a vicious “Vee-bm ... Vee-bm.” We moved on, and just as we got round the corner I saw two flashes on my left, and two more shells hissed110 right over us and fell with the same stinging snarl111 into the same spot, just twenty yards over us this time. I was, luckily, marching at the rear of the company at the time, as I ducked and almost sprawled112 in alarm. For the next minute or 59 two I was all quivery. I am glad to know what it feels like, as I have never experienced since such an abject113 windiness! I believe it was mainly due to being so exposed on the hard hedgeless road; or, perhaps that last pair did actually go particularly near me. At any rate, such was my experience, and so I record it.
At the entrance to the communication trench R.E. officers told us off: “A” Company, “carrying party”; “B” Company to draw shovels and picks and “follow me.” Then we started off along about a mile and a half of communication trenches. I have already said that Festubert is a very wet district, and it can easily be imagined that the drainage problem is none of the easiest. This long communication trench had been mastered by trench-mats fastened down on long pickets114 which were driven deep down into the mud. The result was that the trench floor was raised about two feet from the original bottom, and one walked along a hollow-sounding platform over stagnant115 water. The sound reminded me of walking along a wooden landing-stage off the end of a pier103. Every few hundred yards were “passing points,” presumably to facilitate passing other troops coming in the other direction; but as I never had the good fortune to meet the other troops at these particular spots, though I did in many others, I 60 cannot say they were particularly useful. Another disadvantage about these water-logged trenches was that the bad rains had made the water rise in several places even over the raised trench-board platform; others were fastened on top; but even these were often not enough. And when the frost came and froze the water on top of the boards, the procession became a veritable cake-walk, humorous no doubt to the stars and sky, but to the performers, feeling their way in the thick darkness and ever slipping and plunging116 a boot and puttee into the icy water at the side, a nightmare of painful and jarring experiences.
There was one junction117 of trenches where one had to cross a dyke118 full of half-frozen water; there was always a congestion119 of troops here, ration-parties, relieving-parties, and ourselves. All relieving had to be done at night, as the trenches with their artificially raised floors were no longer deep enough to give cover from view. This crossing had to be negociated in a most gingerly fashion, and several men got wet to their waists when compelled to cross while carrying an awkward-shaped hurdle120. After this, the trench was worse than ever; in parts it was built with fire-steps on one side, and one could scramble121 on to this and proceed on the dry for awhile; but even here the slippery sand-bags would often treacherously122 slide you back into the worst part of the iced platform, and so gave but a doubtful advantage. At last the open was gained; then 61 came the crossing of the old German trench, full of all kinds of grim relics123 from the spring fighting. And so to our destination.
On the open ground lay a tracing of white tape like this— forming a serpentine124 series of contacting squares; in the blackness only two white-bordered squares were visible from one position. Each man was given a square to dig. I forget the measurements; about two yards square, I think, and two feet deep. The earth had to be thrown about eight yards back against a breastwork of hurdles125. These hurdles were being brought up by the “carrying-parties” and fastened by wires by the R.E’s; the R.E. officers had, of course, laid our white tapes for us previously. Eventually the sentries126 will stand behind the hurdle breastwork with a water-ditch ten yards in front of them, which obstacle will be suitably enhanced by strong wire entanglements127.
But all this vision of completion is hid from the eyes of Private Jones, who only knows he has his white-taped square to dig. Arms and equipment are laid carefully on the side of the trench furthest from the breastwork; and nothing can be heard but the hard breathing and the shovelling and scraping of the “other ranks.” For two hours those men 62 worked their hardest; indeed, it was much the best job to have on those cold nights. I did more digging then than I have ever done before or since. “Come on, Davies, you’re all behind,” and for ten minutes I would do an abnormal amount of shovelling, until, out of breath, I would hand the boy back his shovel, and tell him to carry on, while all aglow128 I went along the line examining the progress of the work. We had quite a number of bullets singing and cracking across, and there were one or two casualties every night. Sometimes flares would pop over, and every one would freeze into static posture129; but on the whole things were very quiet, the enemy doubtless as full of water as ourselves.
That intense cold! Yet I did not know then that it is far worse being on sentry in the frost than marching and digging. And I am not sure that the last night, when it rained incessantly, was not worse than all the rest. We had a particularly bad piece of ground that night, pitted with shell-holes, full of frozen water: you were bound to fall in one at last, and get wet to the waist; but even if you did escape that sticky humiliation130, the driving sleet and rain were bad enough in themselves. That was a night when I found certain sergeants sheltered together in a corner; and certain other sergeants in the middle of their men and the howling gale131. I soon routed the former out, but did not forget; and have since discovered how valuable a test of the good and the useless N.C.O. is a working party in the rain. 63
Never have I longed for 2.0 a.m. as I did that night! My feet were wet, my body tired, my whole frame shivering with an approaching cold. The men could do nothing any longer in that stinking132 slush (for these old shell-holes of stagnant water were, to say the least of it, unsavoury!). I was so heavy with sleep I could scarce keep my eyes open. But when at last the order came from our second-in-command “Cease work,” I was filled with a dogged energy that carried me back to billets in the best of spirits, though I actually fell asleep as I marched behind the company, and bumped into the last four, when they halted suddenly half-way home! And so at four o’clock the men tumbled upstairs to breakfast and braziers (thanks to a good quartermaster-sergeant). I drank Bovril down below, and then, in pyjamas133, sweaters, and innumerable blankets, turned in till 11.0 a.m. Next afternoon we left Rue134 de l’Epinette and halted at a village on the road to Lillers, whence we were to train to “a more northern part of the line,” and enjoy at last our long-earned rest.
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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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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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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12
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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13
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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14
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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15
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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16
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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17
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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18
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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19
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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20
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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22
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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23
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
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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25
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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26
disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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27
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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28
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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29
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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30
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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31
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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32
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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33
mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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34
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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35
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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36
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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37
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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38
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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39
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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40
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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41
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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42
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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43
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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44
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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45
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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46
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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47
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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48
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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49
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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50
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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51
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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52
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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53
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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54
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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55
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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56
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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57
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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58
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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59
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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60
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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61
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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62
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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63
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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64
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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65
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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66
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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67
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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68
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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69
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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70
squelch
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| v.压制，镇压；发吧唧声 | |
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71
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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72
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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73
shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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74
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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75
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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76
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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77
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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78
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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79
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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80
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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81
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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82
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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83
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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84
impasses
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| 绝境（impasse的复数形式） | |
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85
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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86
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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87
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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88
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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89
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
perspired
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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92
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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93
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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94
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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96
bailing
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| （凿井时用吊桶）排水 | |
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97
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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98
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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99
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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100
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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101
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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102
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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103
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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104
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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105
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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106
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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107
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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108
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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109
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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110
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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111
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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112
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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113
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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114
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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115
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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116
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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117
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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118
dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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119
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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120
hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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121
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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122
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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123
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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124
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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125
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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126
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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127
entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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128
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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129
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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130
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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131
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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132
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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