The four were much together for a few days after that, Samarc and Spenski not yet assigned to their battery. They learned each other in those few days as men often fail to learn the hearts of their associates during years. There was fighting—scattered, open, surprising often to one out of touch with the points and the . Different towns every day, and a continual giving of territory on the part of the Austrians.
“This is not the main fighting at all,” said Boylan. “This is but the edge of the game. It won't break into print. The big stuff is farther on. These that we meet are the Austrian columns hurrying forward. This territory is ours for the marching through. We'll catch it later—and this will be forgotten.”
Samarc had known these towns that the Russian column was passing through, yet he had to ask the names, because of the destruction. The Austrians would always destroy in haste before leaving, and more the Russians would destroy. It seemed to affect Samarc, as some reopened from its ruin for his eyes.
“It seems to say,” he told the lens-maker, “'I was this at one time, and now I must go.'” Orders came for Samarc and Spenski, but they were not to be remotely stationed, since their battery was assigned to Kohlvihr's division—a different camp but the same field. Few words about the separation, but each of the four understood.... Night and day, the dead had been with them in the recent days—in such richness and variety they could not escape, could not cover them, and something from the dead entered their hearts. To Peter—so queerly were his thoughts running—the incident of their last night together had to do with an ant colony.
Supper was over, and they had tossed on a decayed log to keep up the fire. A nest of ants was presently driven by the heat from the soft heart of the wood. They found themselves in flame and turned back, as Peter thought, to seek the shelter of the nest again. It was not so; they were wiser than that, and marched forth in scores once more, each carrying an egg in its . Spenski swung the end of the log out to the grass for them to make good their retiring. It was all very and admirable. Peter respected them....
The dead were with them. They had not learned to forget. Spenski would whimper in his sleep. The days did not fill him, wearied his body but other and were restless at night. This man who could grind a lens so that a line from the center of the earth to the center of the sun would pass through it without , was more shocked than the other three by the of the days, his imagination and sleep . His companion who imagined himself of coarser and heavier often placed his hand upon the dreaming one. Spenski would start, open his eyes and say, “Thanks, Samarc.”
Continual rocking through the long days, and the of the earth from the forward. A mountain country of sharply cool nights, of cool bright days—the of and balsam, good water, steady skirmishing—food just a bit scarce so that the peasants snapped and bolted, showing sharp about the eyes. It was not hunger—just the lean kind of fare. Peter often watched the halted columns at night as the men sprang to the feeding. Supper fires burst forth at the drop of the rifles. Not so raw now, the Warsaw , a military eye would remark—getting ripe, in fact.
A week , Boylan reported at supper that they would be permitted to ride with the battery on the following day. In the meantime they had not seen nor heard of the other pair. Fighting and marching from dawn to nightfall usually; human nature refused effort after that. They were so near dead at night that they laughed about it, and felt their faces in , sharp-boned and as the faces of the dead. Mowbray's was still clean shaven. Young Dabnitz, the of the staff, and a rather brilliant young Russian, was the only other who had kept his razors in order. Perhaps a woman ruled his heart, as Berthe Wyndham ruled Mowbray's.
Big Belt had lost his last reservation about his companion. He gave everything to Peter that he had given to Lonegan and something more—for the field called a little more, and perhaps Peter called a little more. The extent of Boylan's had nothing to do with words or matters of conduct so far, but it was a huge affair, a suggestion of which came to the younger man from time to time and him.
Twice during the first fortnight, Boylan had asked if this were his first venture into the field with troops. “The reason I ask,” he explained later, “is that you appear to have been on the job before.”
This would have been a matter interesting to the Old Man of The States, according to Lonegan's story.
“I miss the little guy,” said Boylan, referring to Spenski. They were anticipating the next day with the battery.
“I miss Samarc, too,” said Peter.
Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their hardest, for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment but punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. The face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy. He marveled at what seemed the swift of an ancient worldly establishment like Austria—going down unsung. It was not like a country losing its identity, though that had to do with the facts; but rather like a shadow passing, to be followed, not by sunlight, but by another shadow of different contour and texture.
“We put such store by names,” he muttered, as he watched the Austrian give way before them, “and yet, the world will get on with other names just the same.”
...There had been no chance for talk. They had merely pressed the hands of their friends, something darkly about Samarc, as if his eyes were in deep shadow, and something in the eyes that shone from the haggard face of Little Spenski. They looked forward to the night, as men and athirst in a pit listen to the............