Those were the terrible days of November, and the two Americans were forgotten at length—as a pair of buttons on the German uniform, forgotten because they served and were not in the way. All that had not to do with Berthe Wyndham was black as the Prussian night to Mowbray's brain, but Big Belt was always by. He could not have managed except for that. There were days in which it appeared as if half the world were down and bleeding; the other half trying to lift, pulling at the edges of the fallen, as one half-stupefied would pull at a fallen body in a burning house.
At night through the silences between the cannon5, sometimes over the hills through the cold rains, came to Peter Mowbray's ears the sounds of church-bells. Boylan did not always hear them. The German officers declared that there were no such sounds. Boylan's sack was filled with blood.
“If I ever get out of here,” he said, “I'll write one story—one battle till I die—and I'll call it 'Vintage Fourteen'.”
For he was sick of the spilled wine of men. And other armies were fighting in the vineyards of France—as were these in the piney hills of the ancient shepherd kings; and what a fertilizing6 it was for the manhandled lands of Europe—potash and phosphor and nitrogen in the perfect solution of the human blood.
More and more Boylan saw that Peter was queer.
“I can't think,” the latter would say. “I feel like a man dying, under a mountain of dead. Mostly I don't want to live. I don't want to die. I believe that it's all one and that this is the end of the world.”
Peter could work, however. Day and night when they would let him, and mostly the Germans accepted his services gratefully now, he tugged7 at the dead and the dying in the field and in the field hospitals. And with the lanterns at night, often under fire, often so long that Boylan could not rest, but would wait at the hospital-division like a mother for a dissipated son.
“They call this the great German fighting machine,” Peter whispered to Boylan one night, “but we're inside. We can't call it that. It's the most pitiful and devitalized thing that ever ran up and down the earth. And it doesn't mean anything. It's all waste—like a great body killing8 itself piece by piece—all waste and death.”
He tried to make death easy for a soldier here and there, but there was so much. His clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the smoke fell, he watched the sun shining upon the pine-clad hills. That moment the thought held him that the pine trees were immortal9, and men just the dung of the earth.
...One night Boylan asked as they lay down:
“Who are you?”
“Peter Mowbray.”
“Yep, and I'm Boylan. You're at liberty to correct if wrong. Are we ever going to die or get out?”
“I don't know.... Boylan, you've been good to me. We're two to make one—eye to eye—”
“You're making a noise like breaking down again. Don't, Peter. I've gone on a bluff10 all my life. I'm a rotten sentimentalist at heart—soft as smashed grapes. It's my devil. If you break down, I'll show him to you—”
“Maybe not, but I'd shoot my head off first.”
“Did you see the old leprous peasant to-day? He was hump-backed, and he had no lips, but teeth like a dog. He pulled at a soldier's stirrup as we came into town. The soldier was afraid and shot him through the mouth—”
“Shut up, Peter, or you'll get me. I've shown you more now than any living soul knows—”
“You ought to show it to a woman. A man isn't right until a woman knows him in and out.”
“For the love of God—go to sleep!”
They sank into restless death-ridden dreaming; and so it was many nights, until the dawn that they fronted a swift river, black from its snowy banks, saw the rising pine hills opposite and were swept possibly by mistake into the center of comprehensible action—a picture lifted from the hundred-mile ruck.
A little town, so far nameless, sat with a shivering look on the slope, about a half mile up from the river. A Russian quick-fire gun or two was emplaced in that vicinity, and two batteries of bigger bores (that the correspondents knew of) were higher on either side. Infantry12 intrenchments that looked like mole13 tracks from the distance corrugated14 the slopes in lateral15 lines, and roads came down to the two bridges that spanned the swift stream, less than a mile apart.
The morning was spent in artillery16 dueling17. The Russians seemed partly silenced at noon. At no time was their attack cocky and confident. The Germans determined18 to cross in the early afternoon. This movement was not answered by excessive firing. German cavalry19 and small guns on the east bridge, a heavy field of helmets took the west. Boylan and Mowbray rode with the artillery. Even as the German forces combined for position, the firing of the Russians was not spiteful. There seemed a note of complaint and hysteria. There was no tension in the German command; it was too weathered for that.
Now the cavalry went into action and guns moved away farther to the east for higher emplacement.
“They're going to charge the horses up into the town. They haven't much respect for the infantry trenches,” said Boylan.
At that instant Peter's mind opened a clearer series of pictures of Berthe Wyndham than he had known for days. Palace Square near the river corner; her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; across the siding after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and all the wonderful films of the skylight prison—the dearest of all as she slept. He could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich with these pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how she looked. It had been easier to remember something which Peter designated secretly as her soul.
Suddenly the turf rocked under his feet and his body was bent20 in the terrific concussion21 from behind. They turned and saw the middle stone abutment of the nearer bridge lifted from the stream—the whole background sky black with dust and rock. Then, just as he thought of it, the west bridge went. He spoke22 before Boylan, and rather unerringly, as one does at times coming up from a dream.
“They've trapped what they think they can handle—and fired the bridges by wire.”
Boylan said: “I can't call it German stupidity, because it didn't occur to me that the bridges were mined.... It's to be another leisure spraying. We're in the slaughter-pen.... God, man, look at the horses!”
It had been too late to call back the cavalry. Peter's eyes followed Boylan's sweeping23 arm. The horsemen were in skirmish on the slope, just breaking out into charge. The town above and the emplacements adjoining which had kept their secret so well, were now in a blur24 of sulphur and action directed upon the cavalry charge. The whole line went down in the deluge—suddenly vanished under the hideous25 blat of the machines—whole rows rubbed into the earth—a few beasts rising empty, shaking themselves and tumbling back, no riders. Peter turned to the infantry in formation on the western slopes. The Russian fire was not lax now, not discouraged in the least, nor hysterical26. It was cold-blooded murder in gluttonous27 quantity.
The Americans forgot themselves. Cavalry gone—they turned to the west and saw the poor men-beasts in rout28. Even the infantry comprehended the trick, and felt something superhuman behind it. They rushed back toward the river—swift, ugly with white patches and unfordable, requiring a good swimmer.... The eyes of Boylan turned back to the Horse. He had always loved the cavalry, ridden with the cavalry always by preference. Peter was watching the river—the hands up from the center of the river....
They were alone, and now the Russian machines were on the German batteries not yet emplaced, none unlimbered. It was as if the wind carried them the spray from the sweeping fountains, turned from the horse to put out the guns. Peter was hit and down—hit again and the night slowly settled upon him, bringing the bells.
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1
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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2
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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fertilizing
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| v.施肥( fertilize的现在分词 ) | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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10
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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11
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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12
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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13
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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14
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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15
lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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16
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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17
dueling
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| n. 决斗, 抗争(=duelling) 动词duel的现在分词形式 | |
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18
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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19
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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20
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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21
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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22
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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23
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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25
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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26
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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27
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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28
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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