“Come and have a look,” I called to Owen, who had just entered the dug-out. I could see him standing3 with his back to the candlelight reading a letter or something.
He came out, and together we looked across the valley at the shoulder of down that was silhouetted5 by the continuous light of gun-flickers. Our guns had commenced a two hours’ bombardment.
“No answer from the Boche yet,” I said.
“They’re firing on C 2, down by the cemetery7.”
“Yes, I hardly noticed it; our guns make such a row. By Jove, it’s magnificent.”
We gazed fascinated for a long time, and then went into the dug-out where Edwards and Paul were snoring rhythmically8. I read for half an hour, but the dug-out was stuffy9, and the smell of sand-bags 257 and the flickering10 of the candle annoyed me for some reason or other. Somehow “Derelicts” by W. J. Locke failed to grip my attention. Owing to our bombardment, there were no working-parties, in case the Germans should take it into their head to retaliate11 vigorously. But at present there was no sign of that.
I went outside again, and walked along Park Lane until I came to the Lewis-gun position just this side of the corner of Watling Street. The sentry12 was standing up, with his elbows on the ground level (there was no parapet) gazing alert and interested at the continuous flicker6 of our shells bursting along the enemy’s trenches14. Lance-Corporal Allan looked out of the dug-out, and, seeing me, came out and stood by us. And together we watched, all three of us, in silence. Overhead was the continual griding, screeching15, whistling of the shells as they passed over, without pause or cessation; behind was a chain of gun-flickers the other side of the ridge16; and in front was another chain of flashes, and a succession of bump, bump, bumps, as the shells burst relentlessly17 in the German trenches. And where we stood, under the noisy arch, was a steady calm.
“This is all right, sir,” said Lance-Corporal Allan. He was the N.C.O. in charge of this Lewis-gun team.
“Yes,” said I. “The artillery19 are not on short rations20 to-night.” 258
For always, through the last four months, the artillery had been more or less confined to so many shells a day. The officers used to tell us they had any amount of ammunition21, yet no sooner were they given a free hand to retaliate as much as we wanted, than an order came cancelling this privilege. To-night at any rate there was no curtailment23.
“I believe this is the beginning of a new order of things,” I said, half musing24, to myself; “that is, I believe the Boche is going to get lots and lots of this now.”
“About time, sir,” said the sentry.
“Is there a push coming off?” said Lance-Corporal Allan.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I expect we shall be doing something soon. It’s quite certain we’re going to get our three weeks’ rest after this turn in. The Brigade Major told me so.”
Corporal Allan smiled, and as he did so the flashes lit up his face. He was quite a boy, only eighteen, I believe, but an excellent N.C.O. He had a very beautiful though sensuous25 face that used to remind me sometimes of the “Satyr” of Praxiteles. His only fault was an inclination26 to sulkiness at times, which was perhaps due to a little streak27 of vanity. It was no wonder the maidens28 of Morlancourt made eyes at him, and a little girl who lived next door to the Lewis-gunner’s billet was said to have lost her heart long ago. To-night I felt a pang29 as I saw him smile. 259
“We’ll see,” I said. “Anyway it’s going to be a good show giving the Boche these sort of pleasant dreams. Better than those one-minute stunts30.”
I was referring to a one-minute bombardment of Fricourt Wood, that had taken place last time we were in the line. It was a good spectacle to see the wood alive with flames, hear our Vickers’ guns rattling31 hard behind us from the supports, and see the Germans firing excited green and red rockets into the air. But the retaliation32 had been unpleasant, and the whole business seemed not worth while. This continuous pounding was quite different.
I went back and visited the other gun position, and spent a few minutes there also. At last I turned in reluctantly. I went out again at half-past eleven, and still the shells were screaming over. It seemed the token of an irresistible33 power. And there was no reply at all now from the German lines.
The short summer nights made life easier in some respects. We “stood to” earlier, and it was quite light by three. As I turned in again, I paused for a moment to take in the scene. Davies had retired34 to a small dug-out, that looked exactly like a dog-kennel, and was not much larger. As Davies himself frequently reminded me of a very intelligent sheepdog, the dog-kennel seemed most suitable. I heard him turning about inside, as I stood at the door of our own dug-out.
The scene was one of the most perfect peace. 260 The sun was not up, but by now the light was firm and strong; night had melted away. I went back and walked a little way along Park Lane until I came to a gap in the newly erected35 sand-bag parados. I went through the gap and into a little graveyard36 that had not been used now for several months. And there I stood in the open, completely hidden from the enemy, on the reverse slope of the hill. Below me were the dug-outs of 71 North, and away to the left those of the Citadel37. Already I could see smoke curling up from the cookers. There was a faint mist still hanging about over the road there, that the strong light would soon dispel38. On the hill-side opposite lay the familiar tracery of Redoubt A, and the white zigzag39 mark of Maidstone Avenue climbing up well to the left of it, until it disappeared over the ridge. Close to my feet the meadow was full of buttercups and blue veronica, with occasional daisies starring the grass. And below, above, everywhere, it seemed, was the tremulous song of countless40 larks41, rising, growing, swelling42, till the air seemed full to breaking-point.
And there was not a sound of war. Who could desecrate43 such a perfect June morning? I felt a mad impulse to run up and across into No Man’s Land and cry out that such a day was made for lovers; that we were all enmeshed in a mad nightmare, that needed but a bold man’s laugh to free us from its clutches! Surely this most exquisite44 morning could not be the birth of another day of 261 pain? Yet I felt how vain and hopeless was the longing45, as I turned at last and saw the first slant46 rays of sunlight touch the white sand-bags into life.
“What time’s this working-party?” asked Paul at four o’clock that afternoon.
“I told the sergeant-major to get the men out as soon as they’d finished tea,” I replied. “About a quarter to five they ought to be ready. He will let you know all right.”
“Hullo!” said Paul.
“What are you ‘hulloing’ about?” I asked.
Paul did not answer. Faintly I heard a “wheeoo, wheeoo, wheeoo,” that grew louder and louder and ended in a swishing roar like a big wave breaking against an esplanade—and then “wump—wump—wump—wump” four 4·2’s exploded beyond the parados of Park Lane.
“Well over,” said Edwards.
“I expected this,” I answered. “They’ve been too d—d quiet all day—especially after the pounding we gave them last night.”
“There they are again,” I added. This time I had heard the four distant thuds, and we all waited.
“Wump, wump—Crump.” There was a colossal47 din4, the two candles went out, and there was a shaking and jarring in the blackness. Then followed the sound of falling stuff, and I felt a few patters of earth all over me. Gradually it got lighter48, and 262 through the smoke-filled doorway49 the square of daylight reappeared.
“Je ne l’aime pas,” said I, as we all waited, without speaking. Then Edwards struck a match and lit the candles; all the table, floor, and beds were sprinkled with dust and earth. Then Davies burst in.
“Are you all right?” we asked.
“Yessir. Are you?”
“Oh, we’re all right, Davies,” said I. “But there’s a job for Lewis cleaning this butter up.”
At length we went outside, stepping over a heap of loose yielding earth, mixed up with lumps of chalk and bits of frayed50 sand-bags. Outside, the trench13 was blocked with débris of a similar kind. Already two men had crossed it, and several men were about to do so. It was old already. There was still a smell of gunpowder51 in the air, and a lot of chalk dust that irritated your nose.
“I think I’ll tell the sergeant-major not to get the working-party out just yet,” I said to Paul. “They often start like that and then put lots more over about a quarter of an hour later.” And I sped along Park Lane quickly.
As I returned I heard footsteps behind me. I looked round, but the men were hidden by a traverse. And then came tragedy, sudden, and terrible. I have seen many bad sights—every man killed is a tragedy—but one avoids and hides away the hideousness52 as soon as possible. But never, 263 save once perhaps, have I seen the thing so vile22 as now.
“Look out!” I heard a voice from behind. And as I heard the shell screaming down, I tumbled into the nearest dug-out. The shell burst with a huge “crump,” but not so close as the one that had darkened our dug-out ten minutes before. Then again another four shells burst together, but some forty or fifty yards away. I waited one, two minutes. And then I heard men running in the trench.
As I sprang up the dug-out steps, I saw two stretcher-bearers standing looking round the traverse. And then there was the faint whistling overhead and they pushed me back as they almost fell down the dug-out steps.
“Is there a man hurt?” I asked. “We can’t leave him.”
“He’s dead,” said one. And as he spoke53 there were three more explosions a little to the left.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye,” said the stretcher-bearer and closed his eyes tight.
“He’s past our help,” said the other man.
At last, after a minute’s calm, we stepped out into the sunshine. I went round the traverse, following the two stretcher-bearers. And looking between them, as they stood gazing, this is what I saw.
In the trench, half buried in rags of sand-bag and 264 loose chalk, lay what had been a man. His head was nearest to me, and at that I gazed fascinated; for the shell had cut it clean in half, and the face lay like a mask, its features unmarred at all, a full foot away from the rest of the head. The flesh was grey, that was all; the open eyes, the nose, the mouth were not even twisted awry54. It was like the fragment of a sculpture. All the rest of the body was a mangled55 mass of flesh and khaki.
“Who is it?” whispered a stretcher-bearer, bending his head down to look sideways at that mask.
“Find his identity-disc,” said the other.
“It is Lance-Corporal Allan,” said I.
Then up came the regimental sergeant-major, and Owen followed him. They too gazed in horror for a moment. The sergeant-major was the first to recover.
“Hi! you fellows,” he called to two men. “Get a waterproof56 sheet.”
“Come away, old man,” said I to Owen.
In silence we walked back to the dug-out. But my brain was whirling. “A certain man drew a bow at a venture,” I thought again. That was how it was possible. No man could keep on killing57, if he could see the men he killed. Who had fired that howitzer shell? A German gunner somewhere right away in Mametz Wood probably. He would never see his handiwork, never know what he had done 265 to-day. He would never see; that was the point. Had he known, he would have rejoiced that there was one Englishman less in the world. It was not his fault. We were just the same. What of last night’s bombardment? (The memory of Lance-Corporal Allan up by his gun-position gave me a quick sharp pang.) Had we not watched with glittering eyes the magnificent shooting of our own gunners? This afternoon’s strafe was but a puny58 retaliation.
Slowly it came back to me, the half-formed picture that had arisen in my mind the night of Davidson’s death. “A certain man drew a bow at a venture,” expressed it perfectly59. It was splendid twanging the bow, feeling the fingers grip the polished wood, watching the bow-string stretch and strain, and then letting the arrow fly. That was the fascinating, the deadly fascinating side of war. That was what made it possible to “carry on.” I remembered my joy in calling up the artillery in revenge for Thompson’s death. And then again, whenever we put a mine up, how exhilarating was the spectacle! Throwing a bomb, firing a Lewis gun, all these things were pleasant. It was like the joy of throwing stones over a barn and hearing them splash into a pond; like driving a cricket ball out of the field.
But the arrows fell somewhere. That was the other side of war. The dying king leant on his chariot, propped60 up until the sun went down. The 266 man who had fired the bolt never knew he had killed a king. That was the other side of war; that was the side that counted. What I had just seen was war.
I leaned my face on my arm against the parados. Oh, this unutterable tragedy! Had there ever been such a thing before? Why was this thing so terrible? Why did I have this feeling of battering61 against some relentless18 power? Death. There were worse things than death. There were sights, such as I had just come from, as terrible in everyday life, in any factory explosion or railway accident. There was nothing new in death. Vaguely62 my mind felt out for something to express this thing so far more terrible than mere63 death. And then I saw it. Vividly64 I saw the secret of war.
What made war so cruel, was the force that compelled you to go on. After a factory explosion you cleared up things and then took every precaution to prevent its recurrence65; but in war you did the opposite, you used all your energies to make more explosions. You killed and went on killing; you saw men die around you, and you deliberately66 went on with the thing that would cause more of your friends to die. You were placed in an arena67, and made to fight the beasts; and if you killed one beast, there were more waiting, and more and more. And above the arena, out of it, secure, looked down the glittering eyes of the men who had placed you there; cruel, relentless eyes, that 267 went on glittering while the mouths expressed admiration68 for your impossible struggles, and pity for your fate!
“Oh God! I shall go mad!” I thought, in the agony of my mind. I saw into that strange empty chamber69 which is called madness: I knew what it would be like to go mad. And even as I saw, came the thought again of those glittering eyes, and the ruthless answer to my soul’s cry: “The war is utterly70 indifferent whether you go mad or not.”
Owen was standing waiting for me. I grew calm again, and turned and put my hand on his shoulder. Together we reached the door of the dug-out.
“Oh, Bill,” he said, “have you ever seen anything more awful?”
“Only once. No, not more awful: more beastly. Nothing could be more awful.”
We told the others.
“Not Allan?” said Edwards. He was Lewis-gun officer, and Allan was his best man.
“Not Allan?” he repeated. “Oh, how will they tell his little girl in Morlancourt? What will she say when she learns she will never see him again?”
“Thank God she never saw him as we saw him just now,” I said, “and thank God his mother never saw him.”
“If women were in this war, there would be no war,” said Edwards.
“I wonder,” said I.
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1
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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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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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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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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15
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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16
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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17
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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19
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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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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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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23
curtailment
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| n.缩减，缩短 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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27
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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28
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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31
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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36
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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42
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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43
desecrate
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| v.供俗用，亵渎，污辱 | |
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44
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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45
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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46
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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47
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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48
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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49
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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50
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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52
hideousness
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53
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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54
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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55
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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58
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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59
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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60
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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62
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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63
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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64
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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65
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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66
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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67
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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68
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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69
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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70
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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