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Irvin S. Cobb. The Glory of the Coming
The Glory of the Coming
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I. WHEN THE SEA-ASP STINGS
CHAPTER II. “ALL AMURIKIN—OUT TO THEM WIRES”
CHAPTER III. HELL'S FIRE FOR THE HUNS
CHAPTER IV. ON THE THRESHOLD OF BATTLE
CHAPTER V. SETTING A TRAP FOR OPPORTUNITY
CHAPTER VI. THROUGH THE BATTLE'S FRONT DOOR
CHAPTER VII. AT THE FRONT OF THE FRONT
CHAPTER VIII. A BRIDGE AND AN AUTOMOBILE TIRE
CHAPTER IX. ACES UP!
CHAPTER X. HAPPY LANDINGS
CHAPTER XI. TRENCH ESSENCE
CHAPTER XII. BEING BOMBED AND RE-BOMBED
CHAPTER XIII. LONDON UNDER RAID-PUNISHMENT
CHAPTER XIV. THE DAY OF BIG BERTHA
CHAPTER XV. WANTED: A FOOL-PROOF WAR
CHAPTER XVI. CONDUCTING WAR BY DELEGATION
CHAPTER XVII. YOUNG BLACK JOE
CHAPTER XVIII. “LET'S GO!”
CHAPTER XIX. WAR AS IT ISN'T
CHAPTER XX. THE CALL OF THE CUCKOO
CHAPTER XXI. PARADOXES BEHIND THE LINES
CHAPTER XXII. THE TAIL OF THE SNAKE
CHAPTER XXIII. BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW
CHAPTER XXIV. FROM MY OVERSEAS NOTE-BOOK
Отрывок из книги
Irvin S. Cobb
What Mine Eyes Have Seen of Americans in Action in This Year of Grace and Allied Endeavor
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We whizzed along the road for the better part of a mile, part of the time through dips, the contour of which kept us hidden from spying eyes in the hostile observation pits across the ridge to the eastward, and part of the time upon the backbone of this Vosges foothill. These latter places were shielded on their dangerous side by screens of marsh grasses woven in huge sheets ten feet high and swinging between tall poles set at six-yard intervals. There were rips and tears in these rude valances to show where chance shots from German guns had registered during the preceding few days of desultory artillery fire.
On the way we passed one full company of French infantry coming out of the front line for rest, and one contingent of our own soldiers. The Frenchmen were hampered, as French foot soldiers on the move always are, by enormous burdens draped upon them, back, flank and front; and under the dirt and dust their faces wore weary drawn lines. Laden like sumpter mules, they went by us at the heavy plodding gait of their kind, which is so different from the swaggering, swinging route step of the Yankee, and so different from the brisk clip at which the Britisher travels, even in heavy-marching order, but which all the same eats up the furlongs mighty fast.
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