Peter had never been actually down among men before. He had watched men, studied them sincerely, passed them in the street, reflected upon their problems. At the same time, his personal impetus7 had always been away from men, his a different purpose, a different aim. He was one now, one in the massed destiny of the command, one to obey. Only by falling could he be free from this extraordinary authority of the army.
Moreover, he felt that the motive8 energizing9 this authority was not of the human but of the tiger.
He might have thought of all this before, as he had thought of death as one thing for the outsider and a different thing for the little lens-maker he liked so well. But this was experience, not conjecture10. He was an atom of the charge. The army authority disrupted his moral sense. It bound and gagged him. No imagination could have constricted11 his vital and creative force as this adventure, in which he was caught up like a chip and carried forward in a rush of animal power. Fear had no part of his revulsion, but the break of his will. It was not like a man drowning, in an insensible element; this that carried him had a consciousness and it was unclean.
He saw that the rankers leaned on each other; that there was not yet in the peasant faces about him a single separate individual relation to the impending12 peril13. These men might have, seen others fall by the hundreds, but their faith was in the command, their law its law. Peter saw that they were in a sense like men parading through city streets, who endure the eyes of the crowds because they are part of a line. It was the eternal illusion of numbers again—the elbow brush, the heat, the breath, the muttering of men—this atmosphere that the military machine breathed. Standing14 alone, most of them would have fallen from fear.
He smelled the unwashed crowd. Under all the bronze that life in the open had given the command was the lardy look of earth-born men, close-to-the-ground men; these were the hordes15 that put on pounds and size, the rudiment16 of a mind, the momentary17 ignition of soul perhaps in moments such as now—and pass to the earth again. Yet the history of Europe was to be written upon a surface like this; this, the soil of the future. It was close to chaos18, but as yet undefiled by man. This was the newest product of earth, the new terrific fecundity19 of the North that had alarmed lower Europe; these were the peasant millions as yet unfathered, strong as yet only as bulls are strong, gregarians, almost without memory; their terror, pain, passion, hope, genius not individual yet, but in the solution of the crowds.
Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle to retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution draining his vitality20. He could have given himself to the white fire of a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps—but to give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, the crush ended. Entire figures of men could be seen, instead of necks, beards, and shoulders. Samarc gripped his arm, the other hand pointing to a little red-haired boy who ran, crouched21, sped on again, halted to look, in the true squirrel fashion of advance, which is the approved procedure of skirmishers. He talked to himself, appeared lost in absorption, reminded one continually of Spenski when his face was averted—and was just one of the miles of infantry.
Their faces looked cold now; a part of the gray tone so often observed. The officers fought to stretch them out. Every line of fear that the human mouth can express Peter saw. Now the drum of the Austrian pieces. It was not as they had heard it in the heights, but like an encore at first—as if some tremendous mass of men in a wooden gallery had started a buffeting22 of feet. The valley muffled23 the volleys; the actual steel was not heard until it neared like a rain torrent24; indeed it found their immediate25 lines before they heard the murderous cutting of the air. The Austrian gunners were placed for enfilading, so that a fraction of point gave them impaling26 force and a wide swath in the ranks.
Now men were down and crying out. The fire was like that of a hostile regiment28 concentrating its volley upon a little knot of soldiers—the air was whipped, wild with throbbing29 missiles. Supernatural fear was the answer from the very souls of men. Their prayer (in Mowbray's conception) was not for life, but for cessation. Yet the machines held them with infernal leisure as one holds the stream from a garden hose to a spot of clay clinging to masonry30.
In all postures31 the soldiers met the gale32, with every answering sound. Then falling, rising, crawling, the remnant went back. It was not pain nor death nor wounds that mattered—but the hurtling concussions33 in the air, the plague of steel....
It stopped. Peter lay exhausted34 an instant. He felt no hurt. He was down because one could not stand in that sweep of projectiles35. He recalled that he had seen the red head fall a moment before, and turned like a sick man, his eyes rolling, to learn if it were a dream or not. Yes, Redhead had fallen. Samarc was crawling toward him on his knees. Peter writhed36 forward, too, but disliking the movement lest it bring the guns upon them again. He forgot that. Redhead was muttering about the storm.
“Are you hard hit, boy?” Peter called.
There were others about—a whole line of fallen, but they saw just this one—his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was young like the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much bewildered, the gray, clayey hue37 upon him, but not at all uncouth38. Samarc felt his spine39, turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now Redhead saw the effigy40 that was Samarc. He had been watching Peter before.
His mouth opened, eyes seemed to settle back into a red gleam of horror, his face swung around into the dirt. Peter would have given his arm to spare Samarc that. No sound from under the cloth—only a breath. Samarc shouldered him, raised himself with the burden.
There are pressures of will. One turns on a certain force to meet an obstacle, and it is exhausted. There are other sources of power, but one brushes death to summon them. Far ahead they saw the remnant making cover. Now Peter noted41 that there was human need at every step. They lay in all positions, squirmed their faces up to him and implored42. The few were still; the many writhed. He looked for a small one. He had never lifted a man and was surprised when one came up and rolled as if by magic across his back. It was so easy that he wanted to take others.
“I will come back,” he called to the faces.
He meant to come back as he said it. He wanted to bring them all in. He had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc and Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man changes in a day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he been there. A moujik arose from his knees in front of them, as they staggered on. He was stunned43, bewildered, blinded, but he could hear.
“Come on—we're going back,” Peter said.
The other held out his hand gropingly. Peter placed the flap of his coat in it, and the moujik stumblingly followed.... Another soldier on his knees barred the way.
“We're going back,” Peter said. “Come on. You can crawl—”
The soldier set out eagerly to obey, as if it had been a great boon44 to follow with his own strength. It was the mightiest45 episode of the day to Peter Mowbray. “My God, how they obey men!” he said, with awe46. “They could be led right—peasants who obey like that!”
There was singing all about him—not of bullets, though this little movement on the field drew a thin, uncertain long-range fire from some intrenchment (apparently it was not enough to start a machine)—a low singing as of wells of gladness reaching the surface. Peter was torn with the agony of the field, yet thrilling with happiness—as if there was liberation somewhere within. He turned to the crawling one who inspired him:
“We're all hurt, but we're going back to bed. Come on—you're doing famously—”
The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and the Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about the storm.... It was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as harmless as sandflies after the horror of hornets they had known.... They were alone. They saw the heaped rims47 of the Russian works ahead—five of them, alone, for, queerly enough, they were as one.
And now from ahead, from the concealed48 Russian lines, arose a roar such as Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic49 force that filled his eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought that the end of the war must have come—so glad and so mighty50 was that shouting.
Now a fragment of the line ran forth51 to bring the little party in, not minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest they start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of maimed and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the command—even the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an incoherent Boylan took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. Kohlvihr and Dabnitz stood there, the old man repeating:
“Get the name of the hospital man.”
Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat.
“Hospital steward,—I have that,” he said a second time, “but what's the name and the division?”
“He can't speak,” said Peter. “I'll get his name later. He's been wounded in the mouth.”
Curiously52 enough in this turmoil53 it appeared for the first time why Samarc had been allowed a free field practically—why he had not been impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's blouse that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things were darkening about him. He smelled the cedars54. Her colors seemed just out of view.... She had been near.
“Peter—are you hit?” It was Boylan's voice.
Now he heard Kohlvihr say: “Anything for you we can, Mr. Mowbray. As a civilian56, you are of course exempt57 from specific honors, but as soon as I learn your companion's name I shall suggest that he be honored by the Little Father.”
“Why, you've put the whole line back into fighting trim!” Boylan whispered.
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1
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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5
preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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6
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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7
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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8
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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9
energizing
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| v.给予…精力，能量( energize的现在分词 )；使通电 | |
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10
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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11
constricted
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| adj.抑制的，约束的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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14
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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15
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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16
rudiment
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| n.初步；初级；基本原理 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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19
fecundity
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| n.生产力；丰富 | |
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20
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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21
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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24
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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25
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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impaling
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的现在分词 ) | |
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27
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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28
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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29
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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30
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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31
postures
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| 姿势( posture的名词复数 )； 看法； 态度； 立场 | |
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32
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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33
concussions
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| n.震荡( concussion的名词复数 )；脑震荡；冲击；震动 | |
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34
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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35
projectiles
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| n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 )；（炮弹、子弹等）射弹，（火箭等）自动推进的武器 | |
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36
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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39
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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40
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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41
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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42
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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44
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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45
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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46
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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47
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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48
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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49
psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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50
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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51
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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52
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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53
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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54
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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55
bushed
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| adj.疲倦的 | |
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56
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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57
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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