THE WHIRLING EARTH
Half-way on the march some one fell down beside me, flung out his arms,
clawed himself tightly to the earth, and screamed and gasped against the
soil. Barely half an hour later we saw another who had fallen into
convulsions. And when we were lying in a damp ditch waiting for the
enemy, a man suddenly jumped up, and shrieked, and ran away. He laughed
back at us from afar until he vanished from our sight in the rain. The
shrieking and running away had infected us all. 'Twon't be long before
it will be your turn.
One night when we were lying in our trenches, and had fallen asleep to
the thunder of the guns, I suddenly started up--confused--dazed; and
lo, the stars were standing bright in the dark, rainless sky, and shone
down solemnly, ah God! how solemnly, on the turmoil, as if nothing in
this world mattered. Yet there--in front of me, before my very eyes
--glimmered a red reflection--that surely must be a pool of blood, for
the stars are mirrored in it so redly--and suddenly a blind rage
overtook me to howl aloud and clench my fists, and to scream in the very
face of the great Master up above there--But I had neither time to howl
nor to run. For in this self-same night it so happened that an uncanny
whirr fell on our ears from out the distance. That was Death flying
toward us on propellers. The spectres of the night whirred above us; we
shot blindly into the air--for every moment the storm was bound to break
over us.... Torpedo tubes above us ... they'll spurt in a minute ...
they're going to fling down dynamite ... and then the magnesium bombs
blazed out ... cries and crashes rose wherever we looked ... then they
are gone again ... but we had to retire from our trenches ...
senselessly, like automata, we marched for the whole of that day. I felt
the goose-flesh creeping over my skin; my nerves ached, and if the
bayonet were not at the small of my back I should chuck my rifle away,
and roll sprawling in the damp sand.
And yet four days afterward they have contrived to get us to make a
stand again. For in our rear, on the other bank of the river, our
regiments have crossed, and are groping for new positions. But we have
to cover their passage at any cost.
We were now drawing on our last reserve. We were still standing with our
spades in our hands, and throwing, with aching backs and arms, more soil
on the works, when in front of us we saw figures passing up and down on
the grey, twilight field. They were grubbing the soil up busily, and
were putting something we could not see into holes, and covering it in
again. They went about their work noiselessly--no incautious step and
no unguarded movement--and when they came back again and passed us, and
marched on, their faces were livid and their lips dumb. They proved
themselves to be first-class moles. They had done a good bit of work.
They had undermined the earth. They had stuffed the ground with
explosives, and if the enemy comes to-night we shall repay the gifts
they lavished upon us from the sky the other day with interest. They
have arranged it all like a rat-trap.
Over there, beyond the mined field even, two companies are lying in
extended order. And midway between them, without a vestige of cover,
stands our battery on the open field. It is planted there as if it were
doomed to be delivered into the enemy's hands.
And now we are lying in our long trenches, and are peering out into the
field, with our eyes glued to the sharply outlined silhouettes of the
guns. The sun has set some time ago.
From the far distance the thin rattle of musketry reaches us clearly.
Wonder if it'll last much longer?
Our orders are to remain under arms.
We have put on our overcoats. The night is chilly, and lowering, I gaze
out over the field of death--nothing makes any difference to me now--if
only it were over quickly.
A scout has come in, and delivers his report in a whisper.
Our instructions are not to fire before the order to fire is given,
and--then to fire into the air.
In the background, far on the horizon, the ground rises, and the gray
skyline stands out against the cloudy sky. The musketry fire has become
hotter from minute to minute, and has increased to a threatening rattle.
To the right and left of us fighting is in full swing. In front of us
the mined field lies silent, and the two companies too, are lying silent
in their rifle-pits.
I am conscious that I am terribly tired--I can no longer keep myself on
my feet--my head sinks down on my rifle--my eyes close--but the
overstrained nerves are still alert.
And now----
The earth reverberates sullenly.
That's our battery! It is firing straight into the darkness. So our turn
is coming now.
We hear how "ours" over there are opening fire, and how it suddenly
increases, and dies down, and then again swells to a maddening rattle.
That is an attack by sharpshooters in overwhelming strength ... they
cannot be very far from one another now ... and yet the battery goes on
bellowing, and luring the enemy to assault....
And now a martial symphony rises over the dark country ... bugles shrill
through the darkness, and drums are rolling sullenly ... that means a
general assault ... there rises a sound of shouting and tramping ... a
thunderous roar of triumph rises to the dark sky ... that is the shout
of victory from a thousand throats ... in their thousands they have
charged "ours" over there, and have crushed them by assault.... Ha, ha!
they have taken a battery by storm....
Why, of a sudden, has silence fallen ... what is the object of it ...
now it's our turn....
"Into the air! Rapid fire!" And the volley, crashes. And look there ...
over there the cheer rings out again ... the signals for assault sound,
and thousands of voices are shouting it simultaneously ... there they
are foaming up ... they are charging on, drunk with victory, in closed
ranks ... they are rolling with a roar over the mined field ... they are
trampling the earth, as if with horses' hoofs ... that means Death ... I
am lying rigid ... now it must break, now ... I open my mouth wide ...
my rifle is trembling in my grasp....
And then--
The Earth has opened her mouth ... lightnings, crashes and thunderings,
and the Heaven splits in twain and falls down in flame--the earth
whirls upwards in shreds ... men and the earth blaze and hurtle through
the air like Catharine wheels ... and then ... a crash, a maddening
uproar, strikes us full in the chest, so that we reel backward to the
ground, and half-consciously struggle for breath in the sand ... and now
... the storm is over ... the pressure of the atmosphere relaxes off our
chest ... we breathe deep ... only scattered, dancing flames now and
squibs ... fireworks....
But what on earth has happened?----
We peer out fearfully over our earthworks.
Has red Hell opened its mouth:
There rises a noise of screams and yells, an uproar so unnaturally wild
and unrestrained that we cringe up closer to one another ... and,
trembling, we see that our faces, our uniforms, have red, wet stains,
and distinctly recognize shreds of flesh on the cloth. And among our
feet something is lying that was not lying there before--it gleams white
from the dark sand and uncurls ... a strange dismembered hand ... and
there ... and there ... fragments of flesh with the uniform still
adhering to them--then we realize it, and horror overwhelms us.
Outside there are lying arms, legs, heads, trunks ... they are howling
into the night; the whole regiment is lying mangled on the ground there,
a lump of humanity crying to Heaven....
Clouds are arising from the earth ... they are rising crying aloud in
the air ... they pass over us in thick drifts, so that we can see the
wounds steaming, and can taste blood and bones upon our tongues....
And then a spectral vision rises before my eyes ... I see red Death
standing outside there on the plain ... the clouds reveal a face
grinning down on the symphony ... and suddenly a clear note detaches
itself from the darkness--a tune which enraptured Death is playing to
himself till his fiddle splits ... is that a human being coming up,
running, here?... he is coming with a rush ... he will leap upon our
backs ... halt! halt! halt! He stumbles upright into the trenches, and
tumbles sobbing and howling, among our rifles. He strikes out at us with
hands and feet ... he is crying and struggling like a child, and yet no
man dares go up to him ... for now he is rising on his knee ... and then
we see! Half his face has been torn away ... one eye gone ... the
twitching muscle of the cheek is hanging down ... he is kneeling, and
opening and closing his hands, and is howling to us for mercy.
We gaze at him horror-stricken and are paralyzed ... then at length the
yokel--and our eyes thank him for it--raises the butt of his rifle and
places the muzzle against the sound temple ... bang!... and the maimed
wreckage falls over backward and lies still in his blood....
And again the darkness casts up shapes ... they run up and reel about
like drunken men ... they fall over and pick themselves up anew ... they
race forward through the night in zigzags, until they at last collapse
exhausted, and lie still under our very eyes and make an end of it....
And at length some one comes crawling toward us ... he is crawling up on
all fours ... he is dragging something behind him with his body, and all
the time he is whining like a sick dog, and is howling shrilly in
long-drawn tones ... he is still crawling along I fast--and when he has
reached us we see--I and the blood stands still in our hearts--they are
his entrails hanging out of his body ... his belly has been ripped up
from below ... he is crawling, he is crawling up on his entrails ... he
is coming ... the entrails are coming ... horror breaks out from every
pore ... for hardly three paces away from me he lies still ... and then
... May God forgive me!... he raises himself slowly on his hands ... he
succeeds for a moment ... and looks ... Merciful God!... he looks at me,
and refuses to let my eyes go again ... I can see nothing except these
great, death-stricken eyes.... Merciful God! ... his eyes, those eyes!
Those are a mother's eyes looking down on me unspeakably ... that is a
son of his mother lying there before us butchered.... I will break out
of my fastness.... I will throw myself on him, sobbing, and kiss his
face, and bathe his anguish away in my tears.... I will do it! I will!
... and cannot stir myself from my rigid tension.... Then the monstrous
strain relaxes--his arms give way ... he falls forward on his face and
sinks down on his tortured body. His hands twitch once more ... then he
lies still and kisses Mother Earth, who has slain her children so
horribly....
I am done ... my hands are trembling.... Then all of a sudden, a voice
behind us begins to sing ... solemnly--long-drawn.... "Now thank we all
our God" ... that is Madness singing there ... we are all next door to
madness.... I look round, and see gray, distorted faces, and blazing,
startled eye-balls.... And suddenly the singing voice changes to a loud,
impudent burst of laughter....
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" The laugh is full of horror, and mingles with the
dying whine beyond.... The laugh grows ever louder, and ever wilder, and
laughs in triumph at the naked, pitiful dying, littering the ground.
"Drummers! Strike up!" shouts the voice.
"Uncover for prayer!"
We recognize him; he is a reservist belonging to some pious sect. A
sergeant has seized him, and tries to hold him ... the captain has run
up, but the madman tears himself away and runs ahead of them to a
rifle-pit ... he stands aloft, a black, wild silhouette against the pale
sky, and spreads out his arms in blessing over the sick night ... he
stands there like a rapt priest, and raves, and is blessing the mangled
darkness. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost."
Then arms seize him from behind and pull him down ... they drag him to
the ground.... "Our Father" he howls aloud, and strikes and kicks out
all round him, and goes on praying from his raging body until at length
breath fails him ... they have tied him hand and foot, and have gagged
him....
But now the Thing-that-Couldn't happens--that none the less was bound
to happen.
And when the voice calls out it comes over me as if I had lived it all
once before....
"Captain!" shouts the hard, naked, impudent voice we all know. "Haven't
you got any cotton wool for us to plug our ears with?"
We have all turned round as if at the word of command. It is the
militia-man, the yokel, standing facing the captain and gesticulating at
him. "I only wanted to ask if those are wild beasts, or if they're what
are called human beings you've torn to pieces there?"
But curt and sharp, as we knew it, the rasping note of command responds:
"What the devil's the matter with you? Pull yourself together. Can't you
hear? Get back to your place at once."
But then it bursts out, the voice of Nature, and resounds so harshly,
and tears down all barriers.
"Murderers!" roars a blasphemous mouth. "Murderers of men! We shall have
to knock them all on the head like dogs."
We all start as if under an electric shock ... that was what was on the
tip of the tongues of all of us ... that was the climax that was bound
to come ... we cannot endure to go on lying in this charnel-house any
longer....
"You mind what you're about." The other's wrath breaks out once more ...
and then we know it for certain, the captain is a fool ... he has lost
the game from the very start ... and now ... it is like a shadow play
before my eyes ... like a ghostly kinematograph.... I see that the
militia-man has drawn his bayonet ... the captain is standing facing him
with his revolver in his hand, and gives him an order ... he promptly
gets a blow with the butt end of the rifle on his head that fells him to
the ground without a sound ... and they leap up from all the
trenches.... "Murderers!" they cry. "Murderers! Kill them!"
There is no stopping it now.... I feel I have gone mad.... I do not know
where I am.... I see wild beasts all round me distorted unnaturally in a
life-and-death grapple ... with bloodshot eyes, with foaming, gnashing
mouths, they attack and kill one another, and try to mangle one
another.... I leap to my feet.... I must get away, to escape from
myself, or in another minute I shall be in the thick of this maddened,
death-doomed mob.... I stumble over the rifle-pits.... I race out into
the night, and tread on quaking flesh ... step on hard heads, and
stumble over weapons and helmets ... something is clutching at my feet
like hands, so that I race away like a hunted deer with the hounds at
its heels ... and ever more bodies--breathless--out of one field into
another.... Horror is crooning over my head ... horror is crooning
beneath my feet ... and nothing but dying, mangled flesh....
Has the whole earth exploded then?... Are there nothing but dead abroad
this night?... Has every human being been fusilladed?
How long have I been running?... I hear how my lungs are whistling ...
and hear how my temples are beating ... my breath is choked.... I am
done.... I stagger backwards ... am falling dead to the ground ... no! I
am sinking back on something soft, and sit still motionless, and listen
intently to the night.... I can hear nothing except the blood in my
ears ... all of a sudden there is a light in my eyes like bright, clean
daylight ... the sun is shining ... then I realize it, it is my own head
... visions are teeming in my brain, and are teeming out of my head, one
unwearyingly on the heels of the other.... I see the regiments marching
out ... they are passing by in the bright sunshine ... the Blues from
over there, the Reds from over here; they are marching against each
other in long array.... Now they halt, and are standing drawn up against
each other on a huge front ... ready for the fray ... then our captain's
voice on this side rings out.... "Ready?" ... and the rifles on both
sides are raised. I see the black mass of the muzzles ... they are
scarcely ten paces apart ... they are aiming straight for the chest....
"Stop!" I am trying to cry out, "Stop! You ought to attack in open order
with seven paces intervals." ...
Then our captain's voice rings out again, "Fire!" ... the volley
crashes, and behold! not a man is hit ... they all are standing there
unscathed ... they have fired into the air ... and with shouts of joy
the ranks dissolve ... they rush toward one another ... the rifles fall
to the ground ... but they rush into one another's arms, and fondle one
another, and laugh aloud as children laugh ... then they fall back into
line ... they shoulder their rifles ... right about turn!... the bands
strike up a joyous march, they march off with bands playing--every
regiment to its own home....
And now I catch myself singing an accompaniment to it aloud.... I am
beating time with my right hand, and supporting myself on my seat with
my left ... and something trickles oddly across my hand--something like
warm water.... I raise my hand to my eyes ... it is red and moist ...
blood is flowing over my white hand ... then I realize it, the white
thing under me is not a heap of sand.... I have been sitting on a corpse
... horror-stricken, I rush about ... and one is lying over there, too
... and there, and there!... Merciful God! I see it plainly now; there
are only dead to-night ... the human race died out this very night ... I
am the last survivor ... the fields are dead--the woods dead--the
villages dead--the cities dead--the Earth is dead--the Earth was
butchered to-night, and I, only I have escaped the slaughter-house.
And it comes over me as a great thing, a pathetically great thing--now I
know what my destiny is--lowering, I watch my own actions, and wait to
see how I shall accomplish it--I mark how I am slowly putting my hand
into my pocket--before I left home I took my pocket-pistol with me. I am
holding the toy in my hand--the steel is looking up at me and blinking
at me--I am gazing with a smile into its black, confiding muzzle--I am
holding it against my temples--I pull the trigger, and fall over
backward--the last of mankind on this dead earth!
EPILOGUE
WE POOR DEAD
They have now covered up our hot breath with earth. Why are you blinking
at me with your bleared eyes, my brother? Are you not glad? Don't they
envy us our sweet death? They have laid us out in a picturesque row, and
you need only turn your head to rub against human flesh at once, and if
you turn your yellow eyeball, you can see nothing but corpses in the
twilight. One beside the other, that is how they are sleeping. And
corpse upon corpse, ever more of them, through the whole length of the
loose soil of the potato-field, and we even fill the whole adjoining
field of roots.
Wonder whether the sun still goes on shining above us?--whether they
still know how to laugh in the towns as we used to in our time? Wonder
whether my wife still goes on remembering her dead husband--and my two
kiddies--whether they have already forgotten their father? They were so
tiny at the time--another man'll come along--they will call another
fellow father--and my wife is still so young and fair.
We poor dead heroes! So do not disturb our last sleep any longer. We had
to die to enable the others to live. We died for our native land in its
straits. We are victorious now, and have won land and fame, land enough
for millions of our brothers. Our wives have land, our children, our
mothers, our fathers have land. And now our poor native land has air to
breathe. It need no longer be stifled. They have cleared the air of us.
They have got rid of us, of us who were far too many. We are no longer
eating the bread away from other folks' mouths. We are so full-fed, so
full-fed and quiet. But they have got land! Fertile land! And ore! Iron
mines! Gold! Spices! And Bread!
Come, brother philosopher, let us turn our faces to the earth. Let us
sleep upon our laurels, and let us dream of nothing but our Country's
Future.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Human Slaughter-House, by Wilhelm Lamszus