Just at
present, the bellowing monsters were silent, so that they came upon them
unexpectedly. Something was sticking up out of the greenery like a gray
beam; at other times, this apparition would emerge from a conglomeration
of dry trunks. Around this obstacle was cleared ground occupied by men
who lived, slept and worked about this huge manufactory on wheels.
The senator, who had written verse in his youth and composed oratorical
poetry when dedicating various monuments in his district, saw in these
solitary men on the mountain side, blackened by the sun and smoke,
with naked breasts and bare arms, a species of priests dedicated to
the service of a fatal divinity that was receiving from their hands
offerings of enormous explosive capsules, hurling them forth in
thunderclaps.
Hidden under the branches, in order to escape the observation of the
enemy's birdmen, the French cannon were scattered among the hills
and hollows of the highland range. In this herd of steel, there were
enormous pieces with wheels reinforced by metal plates, somewhat like
the farming engines which Desnoyers had used on his ranch for plowing.
Like smaller beasts, more agile and playful in their incessant yelping,
the groups of '75 were mingled with the terrific monsters.
The two captains had received from the general of their division orders
to show Senator Lacour minutely the workings of the artillery, and
Lacour was accepting their observations with corresponding gravity while
his eyes roved from side to side in the hope of recognizing his son.
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