Chapter 3

Reinforcements have arrived. The vacancies have been filled and the sacks of straw are already laid out in the huts. Some of them are old hands, but there are twenty-five men of a later draft from the base. They are about two years younger than us. Kropp nudges me: "Seen the infants?"

Reinforcements have arrived. The empty spots have been filled, and straw sacks are already laid out in the huts. Some of the men are experienced soldiers, but twenty-five are from a later draft at the base. They are about two years younger than us. Kropp nudges me: "Seen the babies?"

I nod. We stick out our chests, shave in the open, shove our hands in our pockets, inspect the recruits and feel ourselves to be stone-age veterans.

I nod. We stick out our chests, shave outdoors, and shove our hands in our pockets. We size up the recruits and feel like veterans from the Stone Age.

Katczinsky joins us. We stroll past the horse-boxes and go over to the reinforcements, who have already been issued with gas-masks and coffee.

Katczinsky joins us. We walk past the horse stalls and over to the reinforcements. They have already been given gas masks and coffee.

"Long time since you've had anything decent to eat, eh?" Kat asks one of the youngsters.

"It's been a long time since you've had anything decent to eat, huh?" Kat asks one of the young men.

He grimaces. "For breakfast, turnip-bread—lunch, turnip-stew—supper, turnip-cutlets and turnip-salad." Kat gives a knowing whistle.

He grimaces. "For breakfast, turnip bread. For lunch, turnip stew. For supper, turnip cutlets and turnip salad." Kat gives a knowing whistle.

"Bread made of turnips? You've been in luck, it's nothing new for it to be made of sawdust. But what do you say to haricot beans? Have some?"

"Bread made from turnips? You're lucky. It's not unusual for bread to be made from sawdust. But what do you think of navy beans? Want some?"

The youngster turns red: "You can't kid me."

The young man turns red: "You can't fool me."

Katczinsky merely says: "Fetch your mess-tin."

Katczinsky simply says: "Get your mess tin."

We follow curiously. He takes us to a tub beside his straw sack. It is nearly half full of a stew of beef and beans. Katczinsky plants himself in front of it like a general and says:

We follow him, curious. He takes us to a tub beside his straw sack. The tub is nearly half full of beef and bean stew. Katczinsky stands in front of it like a general and says:

"Sharp eyes and light fingers! That's what the Prussians say."

"Keep your eyes sharp and your fingers nimble! That's what the Prussians say."

We are surprised. "Great guts, Kat, how did you come by that?" I ask him.

We are surprised. "Wow, Kat, how did you get that?" I ask him.

"Ginger was glad I took it. I gave him three pieces of parachute silk for it. Cold beans taste fine, too."

"Ginger was glad I took it. I gave him three pieces of parachute silk for it. Cold beans taste good, too."

Grudgingly he gives the youngster a portion and says:

He reluctantly gives the young man a portion and says:

"Next time you come with your mess-tin have a cigar or a chew of tobacco in your other hand. Get me?" Then he turns to us. "You get off scot free, of course."

"Next time you come with your mess tin, have a cigar or some chewing tobacco in your other hand. Got it?" Then he turns to us. "You get away without paying, of course."

* *

* *

Katczinsky never goes short; he has a sixth sense. There are such people everywhere but one does not appreciate it at first. Every company has one or two. Katczinsky is the smartest I know. By trade he is a cobbler, I believe, but that hasn't anything to do with it; he understands all trades. It's a good thing to be friends with him, as Kropp and I are, and Haie Westhus too, more or less. But Haie is rather the executive arm operating under Kat's orders when things come to blows. For that he has his qualifications.

Katczinsky never goes without. He has a sixth sense. There are people like him everywhere, but you don't appreciate them at first. Every company has one or two. Katczinsky is the smartest I know. I believe he's a cobbler by trade, but that has nothing to do with it. He understands all trades. It's good to be friends with him, as Kropp and I are. Haie Westhus is too, more or less. But when things come to blows, Haie is more like the muscle who acts on Kat's orders. He's well qualified for that.

For example, we land at night in some entirely unknown spot, a sorry hole, that has been eaten out to the very walls. We are quartered in a small dark factory adapted to the purpose. There are beds in it, or rather bunks—a couple of wooden beams over which wire netting is stretched.

For example, we arrive at night in some completely unfamiliar place, a miserable hole stripped bare to its walls. We are housed in a small, dark factory that has been converted for that purpose. It has beds, or rather bunks. Each is made of a couple of wooden beams with wire netting stretched over them.

Wire netting is hard. And there's nothing to put on it. Our waterproof sheets are too thin. We use our blankets to cover ourselves.

The wire netting is hard. And there’s nothing to put on it. Our waterproof sheets are too thin. We use our blankets to cover ourselves.

Kat looks at the place and then says to Haie Westhus: "Come with me." They go off to explore. Half an hour later they are back again with arms full of straw. Kat has found a horse-box with straw in it. Now we might sleep if we weren't so terribly hungry.

Kat looks around and says to Haie Westhus, "Come with me." They go off to explore. Half an hour later, they return with their arms full of straw. Kat has found a horse stall filled with straw. Now we might sleep if we weren't so terribly hungry.

Kropp asks an artilleryman who has been some time in this neighbourhood: "Is there a canteen anywhere abouts?"

Kropp asks an artilleryman who has been in the area for some time: "Is there a canteen nearby?"

"Is there a what?" he laughs. "There's nothing to be had here. You won't find so much as a crust of bread here."

"Is there a what?" he laughs. "There's nothing here. You won't find even a crust of bread here."

"Aren't there any inhabitants here at all then?"

"Doesn't anyone live here at all, then?"

He spits. "Yes, a couple. But they mostly loaf round the cook house and beg."

He spits. "Yes, a couple. But they mostly hang around the cookhouse and beg."

"That's a bad business!—Then we'll have to pull in our belts and wait till the rations come up in the morning."

"That's bad! So we'll have to tighten our belts and wait until the rations arrive in the morning."

But I see Kat has put on his cap.

But I see that Kat has put on his cap.

"Where to, Kat?" I ask.

"Where are we going, Kat?" I ask.

"Just to explore the place a bit." He strolls off. The artilleryman grins scornfully. "Let him explore! But don't be too hopeful about it."

"Just to look around a bit." He walks off. The artilleryman grins scornfully. "Let him look around! But don't get your hopes up."

Disappointed we lie down and consider whether we couldn't have a go at the iron rations. But it's too risky; so we try to get a wink of sleep.

Disappointed, we lie down and consider eating our emergency rations. But that would be too risky, so we try to get some sleep.

Kropp divides a cigarette and hands me half. Tjaden gives an account of his national dish—broad-beans and bacon. He despises it when not flavoured with bog-myrtle, and, "for God's sake, let it all be cooked together, not the potatoes, the beans, and the bacon separately." Someone growls that he will pound Tjaden into bog-myrtle if he doesn't shut up. Then all becomes quiet in the big room—only the candles flickering from the necks of a couple of bottles and the artilleryman spitting every now and then.

Kropp splits a cigarette and gives me half. Tjaden describes his national dish, broad beans and bacon. He hates it without bog-myrtle for flavor. And, "for God's sake, cook it all together, not the potatoes, beans, and bacon separately." Someone growls that he will pound Tjaden into bog-myrtle if he doesn't shut up. Then the big room falls quiet. The only movement comes from candles flickering in the necks of two bottles and the artilleryman spitting now and then.

We stir a bit as the door opens and Kat appears. I think I must be dreaming; he has two loaves of bread under his arm and a blood-stained sandbag full of horse-flesh in his hand. The artilleryman's pipe drops from his mouth. He feels the bread. "Real bread, by God! and still hot too!"

We stir a little as the door opens and Kat appears. I think I must be dreaming. He has two loaves of bread under his arm and a bloodstained sandbag full of horse meat in his hand. The artilleryman's pipe falls from his mouth. He feels the bread. "Real bread, by God! And still hot too!"

Kat gives no explanation. He has the bread, the rest doesn't matter. I'm sure that if he were planted down in the middle of the desert, in half an hour he would have gathered together a supper of roast meat, dates, and wine.

Kat doesn't explain. He has the bread, and the rest doesn't matter. I'm sure that if he were dropped in the middle of the desert, he would find a supper of roast meat, dates, and wine within half an hour.

"Cut some wood," he says curtly to Haie.

"Cut some wood," he says sharply to Haie.

Then he hauls out a frying-pan from under his coat, and a handful of salt as well as a lump of fat from his pocket. He has thought of everything. Haie makes a fire on the floor. It lights up the empty room of the factory. We climb out of bed.

Then he pulls a frying pan from under his coat. He also takes a handful of salt and a lump of fat from his pocket. He has thought of everything. Haie makes a fire on the floor. The fire lights up the empty factory room. We climb out of bed.

The artilleryman hesitates. He wonders whether to praise Kat and so perhaps gain a little for himself. But Katczinsky doesn't even see him, he might as well be thin air. He goes off cursing.

The artilleryman hesitates. He wonders whether to praise Kat and perhaps get a little something for himself. But Katczinsky doesn't even see him. The artilleryman might as well be invisible. He walks away cursing.

Kat knows the way to roast horse-flesh so that it's tender. It shouldn't be put straight into the pan, that makes it tough. It should be boiled first in a little water. With our knives we squat round in a circle and fill our bellies.

Kat knows how to roast horse meat so it's tender. You shouldn't put it straight in the pan because that makes it tough. First, you should boil it in a little water. We squat in a circle with our knives and fill our bellies.

That is Kat. If for but one hour in a year something eatable were to be had in some one place only, within that hour, as if moved by a vision, he would put on his cap, go out and walk directly there, as though following a compass, and find it.

That is Kat. Suppose food were available in only one place, for just one hour a year. During that hour, he would put on his cap and go straight there, as if guided by a vision. He would find the food as though following a compass.

He finds everything—if it is cold, a small stove and wood, hay and straw, a table and chairs—but above all food. It is uncanny; one would think he conjured it out of the air. His masterpiece was four boxes of lobsters. Admittedly we would rather have had a good beef steak.

He finds everything. If it is cold, he finds a small stove and wood. He finds hay and straw, a table and chairs, but above all, food. It is uncanny. You would think he made it appear out of thin air. His greatest achievement was finding four boxes of lobsters. Though we would rather have had a good beef steak.

* *

* *

We have settled ourselves on the sunny side of the hut. There is a smell of tar, of summer, and of sweaty feet. Kat sits beside me. He wants to talk. To-day we have been practising saluting because Tjaden failed to salute a major. Kat can't get it out of his head.

We sit on the sunny side of the hut. The air smells of tar, summer, and sweaty feet. Kat sits beside me. He wants to talk. Today we practiced saluting because Tjaden failed to salute a major. Kat can't stop thinking about it.

"You see, we are losing the war because we can salute too well," he says.

"You see, we're losing the war because we're too good at saluting," he says.

Kropp stalks up, with his breeches rolled up and his feet bare. He lays out his washed socks to dry on the grass. Kat turns his eyes to heaven, lets off a mighty fart, and says apologetically: "Every little bean must be heard as well as seen."

Kropp walks up with his pants rolled up and his feet bare. He spreads his washed socks on the grass to dry. Kat looks up at the sky, lets out a mighty fart, and says apologetically: "Every little bean must be heard as well as seen."

The two begin to argue. At the same time they lay a bottle of beer on the result of an air-fight that's going on above us. Katczinsky won't budge from the opinion, which as an old Front-hog, he rhymes:

The two start to argue. At the same time, they bet a bottle of beer on the outcome of an air fight overhead. Katczinsky won't change his mind. As an old front-line veteran, he puts his opinion in rhyme:

Kropp on the other hand is a thinker. He proposes that a declaration of war should be a kind of popular festival with entrance-tickets and bands, like a bull fight. Then in the arena the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing-drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. Whoever survives, his country wins. That would be much simpler and more just than this arrangement, where the wrong people do the fighting.

Kropp, on the other hand, is a thinker. He suggests that declaring war should be like a public festival, with tickets and bands, like a bullfight. Then the ministers and generals of both countries could fight it out in the arena, wearing swim trunks and carrying clubs. The country whose men survive wins. That would be much simpler and fairer than the way things are now, where the wrong people do the fighting.

The subject is dropped. Then the conversation turns to drill.

They drop the subject. Then they start talking about drill.

A picture comes before me. Burning midday in the barrack-yard. The heat hangs over the square. The barracks are deserted. Everything sleeps. All one hears is the drummers practising; they have installed themselves anywhere and practise brokenly, dully, monotonously. What a concord! Midday heat, barrack-square, and drummers beating!

A picture comes to mind. It is a scorching midday in the barracks yard. Heat hangs over the square. The barracks are deserted. Everything is asleep. All I can hear is the drummers practicing. They have settled wherever they can and practice in fits and starts, dully and monotonously. What harmony! Midday heat, the barracks square, and drummers beating!

The windows of the barracks are empty and dark. From some of them trousers are hanging to dry. The rooms are cool and one looks toward them longingly.

The barracks windows are empty and dark. Trousers hang from some of them to dry. The rooms are cool, and one looks at them longingly.

O dark, musty platoon huts, with the iron bedsteads, the chequered bedding, the lockers and the stools! Even you can become the object of desire; out here you have a faint resemblance to home; your rooms, full of the smell of stale food, sleep, smoke, and clothes!

Oh, dark, musty platoon huts, with your iron beds, checkered bedding, lockers, and stools! Even you can become something we long for. Out here, you are a little like home, with your rooms smelling of stale food, sleep, smoke, and clothes!

Katczinsky paints it all in lively colours. What would we not give to be able to go back to it! But we must not pursue that line of thought any further.

Katczinsky describes it all vividly. What wouldn't we give to go back to it! But we must not let ourselves think about it any further.

Those early morning hours of instruction—"What are the parts of the 98 rifle?"—the midday hours of physical training—"Pianist, forward! By the right, quick march. Report to the cook-house for potato-peeling."

Those early morning lessons: "What are the parts of the 98 rifle?" The midday physical training: "Pianist, forward! Turn right and march at a quick pace. Report to the cookhouse to peel potatoes."

We indulge in reminiscences. Kropp laughs suddenly and says: "Change at Löhne!"

We share memories. Kropp suddenly laughs and says: "Change at Löhne!"

That was our corporal's favourite game. Löhne is a railway junction. In order that our fellows going on leave shouldn't get lost there, Himmelstoss used to practise the change in the barrack-room. We had to learn that at Löhne, to reach the branch-line, we must pass through a subway. The beds represented the subway and each man stood at attention on the left side of his bed. Then came the command: "Change at Löhne!" and like lightning everyone scrambled under the bed to the opposite side. We practised this for a whole hour——

That was our corporal's favorite game. Löhne is a railway junction. Himmelstoss used to make us practice changing trains in the barrack room. He did it so our fellows wouldn't get lost at Löhne while going on leave. We had to learn that at Löhne, we had to go through an underpass to reach the branch line. The beds stood for the underpass, and each man stood at attention on the left side of his bed. Then came the command: "Change at Löhne!" Everyone scrambled under the bed to the other side like lightning. We practiced this for a whole hour.

Meanwhile the German aeroplane has been shot down. Like a comet it bursts into a streamer of smoke and falls headlong. Kropp has lost the bottle of beer. Disgruntled he counts out the money from his wallet.

Meanwhile, the German plane has been shot down. Like a comet, it trails smoke as it plunges toward the ground. Kropp has lost the bottle of beer. Annoyed, he counts out the money from his wallet.

"Surely Himmelstoss was a very different fellow as a postman," say I, after Albert's disappointment has subsided. "Then how does it come that he's such a bully as a drill-sergeant?"

"Himmelstoss must have been a very different person as a postman," I say, after Albert's disappointment has faded. "So why is he such a bully as a drill sergeant?"

The question revives Kropp, more particularly as he hears there's no more beer in the canteen. "It's not only Himmelstoss, there are lots of them. As sure as they get a stripe or a star they become different men, just as though they'd swallowed concrete."

The question perks Kropp up, especially when he hears there’s no more beer in the canteen. "It’s not just Himmelstoss. There are lots of them. As soon as they get a stripe or a star, they become different men, as if they’d swallowed concrete."

"That's the uniform," I suggest.

"That's the uniform," I suggest.

"Roughly speaking it is," says Kat, and prepares for a long speech; "but the root of the matter lies elsewhere. For instance, if you train a dog to eat potatoes and then afterwards put a piece of meat in front of him, he'll snap at it, it's his nature. And if you give a man a little bit of authority he behaves just the same way, he snaps at it too. The things are precisely the same. In himself man is essentially a beast, only he butters it over like a slice of bread with a little decorum. The army is based on that; one man must always have power over the other. The mischief is merely that each one has much too much power. A non-com. can torment a private, a lieutenant a non-com., a captain a lieutenant, until he goes mad. And because they know they can, they all soon acquire the habit more or less. Take a simple case: we are marching back from the parade-ground dog-tired. Then comes the order to sing. We are glad enough to be able to trail arms but we sing spiritlessly. At once the company is turned about and has to do another hour's drill as punishment. On the march back the order to sing is given again, and once more we start. Now what's the use of all that? It's simply that the company commander's head has been turned by having so much power. And nobody blames him. On the contrary, he is praised for being strict. That, of course, is only a trifling instance, but it holds also in very different affairs. Now I ask you: Let a man be whatever you like in peace-time, what occupation is there in which he can behave like that without getting a crack on the nose? He can only do that in the army. It goes to the heads of them all, you see. And the more insignificant a man has been in civil life the worse it takes him."

"Roughly speaking, it is," says Kat, preparing for a long speech. "But the real issue lies elsewhere. For example, suppose you train a dog to eat potatoes. If you then put a piece of meat in front of him, he'll snap at it. That's his nature. Give a man a little authority, and he behaves the same way. He snaps at it too. The two things are exactly the same. At heart, man is a beast. He just spreads a little good manners over it, like butter on bread. "That's what the army is built on. One man must always have power over another. The trouble is that each one has far too much power. A noncommissioned officer can torment a private, a lieutenant can torment a noncommissioned officer, and a captain can torment a lieutenant until he goes mad. Because they know they can, they all soon develop the habit, more or less. "Take a simple example. We're marching back from the parade ground, dead tired. Then we're ordered to sing. We're glad enough just to be able to carry our rifles at our sides, but we sing without spirit. At once, the company is turned around and made to do another hour of drill as punishment. On the march back, we're ordered to sing again, and we start again. Now what's the point of all that? It's simply that so much power has gone to the company commander's head. And nobody blames him. On the contrary, he's praised for being strict. "Of course, that's only a small example, but the same thing applies in very different matters. Now I ask you: whatever a man does in peacetime, what job lets him behave like that without getting punched in the nose? He can only do that in the army. It goes to all their heads, you see. And the less important a man was in civilian life, the worse it affects him."

"They say, of course, there must be discipline," ventures Kropp meditatively.

"They say, of course, that there has to be discipline," Kropp suggests thoughtfully.

"True," growls Kat, "they always do. And it may be so; still it oughtn't to become an abuse. But you try to explain that to a blacksmith or a labourer or a workman, you try to make that clear to a simple tommy—and that's what most of them are here. All he understands is that he has been properly trained so that when he comes up to the front he thinks he knows exactly what he should do in every circumstance and what not. It's simply amazing, I tell you, that the ordinary soldier survives so long up here in the front-line. Simply amazing!"

"True," Kat growls, "they always do. And that may be so, but it still shouldn't become an abuse. But try explaining that to a blacksmith or a laborer or a worker. Try making it clear to an ordinary soldier. That's what most of them are here. All he understands is that he's been properly trained. So when he reaches the front, he thinks he knows exactly what to do and what not to do in every situation. I tell you, it's amazing that the ordinary soldier survives so long here on the front line. Simply amazing!"

No one protests. Everyone knows that drill ceases only in the front-line and begins again a few miles behind, with all the absurdities of saluting and parade. It is an iron law that the soldier must be employed under every circumstance.

No one protests. Everyone knows that drill stops only at the front line. It starts again a few miles behind the front, with all the absurd saluting and parades. It is an unbreakable rule that soldiers must be kept busy under all circumstances.

Here Tjaden comes up with a flushed face. He is so excited that he stutters. Beaming with satisfaction he stammers out: "Himmelstoss is on his way. He's coming to the front!"

Tjaden comes up, his face flushed. He is so excited that he stutters. Beaming with satisfaction, he stammers, "Himmelstoss is on his way. He's coming to the front!"

* *

* *

Tjaden has a special grudge against Himmelstoss, because of the way he educated him in the barracks. Tjaden wets his bed, he does it at night in his sleep. Himmelstoss maintained that it was sheer laziness and invented a method worthy of himself for curing Tjaden.

Tjaden has a special grudge against Himmelstoss because of how Himmelstoss trained him in the barracks. Tjaden wets his bed at night while he sleeps. Himmelstoss claimed it was pure laziness and came up with a cure that was just like him.

He hunted up another piss-a-bed, named Kindervater, from a neighbouring hut, and quartered him with Tjaden. In the huts there were the usual bunks, one above the other in pairs, with mattresses of wire-netting. Himmelstoss put these two so that one occupied the upper and the other the lower bunk. The man underneath was of course disgusted. The next night they were changed over and the lower one put on top so that he could retaliate. That was Himmelstoss's system of self-education.

He found another bedwetter named Kindervater in a nearby hut and assigned him to room with Tjaden. The huts had the usual bunk beds, stacked in pairs, with wire mesh mattresses. Himmelstoss put one man in the upper bunk and the other in the lower one. The man underneath was disgusted, of course. The next night, Himmelstoss switched them, putting the lower man on top so he could get even. That was Himmelstoss's system of self-education.

The idea was low but not ill-conceived. Unfortunately it accomplished nothing because the first assumption was wrong: it was not laziness in either of them. Anyone who looked at their sallow skin could see that. The matter ended in one of them always sleeping on the floor, where he frequently caught cold.

The idea was mean, but not badly thought out. Unfortunately, it accomplished nothing because the first assumption was wrong: neither of them was lazy. Anyone who saw their pale, sickly skin could tell that. In the end, one of them always slept on the floor and often caught cold there.

Meanwhile Haie sits down beside us. He winks at me and rubs his paws thoughtfully. We once spent the finest day of our army-life together—the day before we left for the front. We had been allotted to one of the recently formed regiments, but were first to be sent back for equipment to the garrison, not to the reinforcement-depot, of course, but to another barracks. We were due to leave next morning early. In the evening we prepared ourselves to square accounts with Himmelstoss.

Meanwhile, Haie sits down beside us. He winks at me and thoughtfully rubs his big hands. We once spent the best day of our army life together. It was the day before we left for the front. We had been assigned to one of the newly formed regiments. But first we were to be sent back to the garrison for equipment. Of course, we were going to another barracks, not the reinforcement depot. We were due to leave early the next morning. That evening, we prepared to settle scores with Himmelstoss.

We had sworn for weeks past to do this. Kropp had even gone so far as to propose entering the postal service in peace-time in order to be Himmelstoss's superior when he became a postman again. He revelled in the thought of how he would grind him. It was this that made it impossible for him to crush us altogether—we always reckoned that later, at the end of the war, we would have our revenge on him.

For weeks, we had sworn to do this. Kropp had even suggested joining the postal service after the war. He wanted to be Himmelstoss's superior when Himmelstoss became a postman again. He loved imagining how he would make Himmelstoss suffer. This was what kept Himmelstoss from crushing us completely. We always counted on getting our revenge on him after the war.

In the meantime we decided to give him a good hiding. What could he do to us anyhow if he didn't recognize us and we left early the next morning?

Meanwhile, we decided to give him a good beating. What could he do to us if he didn't recognize us and we left early the next morning?

We knew which pub he used to visit every evening. Returning to the barracks he had to go along a dark, uninhabited road. There we waited for him behind a pile of stones. I had a bed-cover with me. We trembled with suspense, hoping he would be alone. At last we heard his footstep, which we recognized easily, so often had we heard it in the mornings as the door flew open and he bawled: "Get up!"

We knew which pub he went to every evening. On his way back to the barracks, he had to take a dark road where nobody lived. We waited for him there, behind a pile of stones. I had brought a bedspread. We trembled with suspense, hoping he would be alone. At last we heard his footsteps. We recognized them easily. We had heard them so often in the mornings, just before the door flew open and he shouted: "Get up!"

"Alone?" whispered Kropp.

"Alone?" whispered Kropp.

"Alone."

"Alone."

I slipped round the pile of stones with Tjaden.

I slipped around the pile of stones with Tjaden.

Himmelstoss seemed a little elevated; he was singing. His belt-buckle gleamed. He came on unsuspectingly.

Himmelstoss seemed a little tipsy. He was singing. His belt buckle gleamed. He walked on, unsuspecting.

We seized the bed-cover, made a quick leap, threw it over his head from behind and pulled it round him so that he stood there in a white sack unable to raise his arms. The singing stopped. The next moment Haie Westhus was there, and spreading out his arms he shoved us back in order to be first in. He put himself in position with evident satisfaction, raised his arm like a signal-mast and his hand like a coal-shovel and fetched such a blow on the white sack as would have felled an ox.

We grabbed the bedcover and quickly leaped forward. From behind, we threw it over his head and pulled it around him. He stood there in a white sack, unable to raise his arms. The singing stopped. The next moment, Haie Westhus was there. He spread his arms and shoved us back so he could go first. He took his position with obvious satisfaction. He raised his arm like a signal mast and his hand like a coal shovel. Then he struck the white sack with a blow that could have felled an ox.

Himmelstoss was thrown down, he rolled five yards and started to yell. But we were prepared for that and had brought a cushion. Haie squatted down, laid the cushion on his knees, felt where Himmelstoss's head was and pressed it down on the pillow. Immediately his voice was muffled. Haie let him get a gasp of air every so often, when he would give a mighty yell that was immediately hushed.

Himmelstoss was thrown down. He rolled five yards and began to yell. But we were ready for that and had brought a cushion. Haie squatted down and put the cushion on his knees. He felt for Himmelstoss's head and pressed it into the cushion. His voice was muffled at once. Haie let him gasp for air every so often. Each time, Himmelstoss let out a mighty yell that was immediately muffled.

Tjaden unbuttoned Himmelstoss's braces and pulled down his trousers, holding the whip meantime in his teeth. Then he stood up and set to work.

Tjaden unbuttoned Himmelstoss's suspenders and pulled down his pants, holding the whip in his teeth as he did so. Then he stood up and got to work.

It was a wonderful picture: Himmelstoss on the ground; Haie bending over him with a fiendish grin and his mouth open with blood-lust, Himmelstoss's head on his knees; then the convulsed, striped drawers, the knock knees, executing at every blow most original movements in the lowered breeches, and towering over them like a woodcutter the indefatigable Tjaden. In the end we had to drag him away to get our turn.

It was a wonderful sight. Himmelstoss lay on the ground, his head on Haie’s knees. Haie bent over him, grinning wickedly, his mouth open with bloodlust. Himmelstoss’s striped underpants twitched, and his knock-knees made all sorts of strange movements inside his lowered trousers with every blow. Tireless Tjaden towered over them like a woodcutter. In the end, we had to drag Tjaden away so we could have our turn.

Finally Haie stood Himmelstoss on his feet again and gave one last personal remonstrance. As he stretched out his right arm preparatory to giving him a box on the ear he looked as if he were going to reach down a star.

Finally, Haie stood Himmelstoss back on his feet and gave him one last personal warning. As Haie stretched out his right arm to slap Himmelstoss on the ear, he looked as if he were reaching for a star.

Himmelstoss staggered. Haie stood him up again, made ready and fetched him a second, well-aimed beauty with the left hand. Himmelstoss yelled and fell down on all fours cursing. His striped postman's backside gleamed in the moonlight.

Himmelstoss staggered. Haie stood him up again, got ready, and landed another beautiful, well aimed punch with his left hand. Himmelstoss yelled and fell on all fours, cursing. His backside, covered by his striped postman’s uniform, gleamed in the moonlight.

We disappeared at full speed.

We disappeared as fast as we could.

Haie looked round once again and said wrathfully, satisfied and rather mysteriously:

Haie looked around once more and spoke angrily, with satisfaction and a hint of mystery:

"Revenge is black-pudding."

"Revenge is blood sausage."

Himmelstoss ought to have been pleased; his saying that we should each educate one another had borne fruit for himself. We had become successful students of his method.

Himmelstoss should have been pleased. His idea that we should teach one another had paid off for him. We had learned his methods well.

He never discovered whom he had to thank for the business. At any rate he scored a bed-cover out of it; for when we returned a few hours later to look for it, it was no longer to be found.

He never found out whom he had to thank for it. In any case, he got a bed cover out of it. When we returned a few hours later to look for the cover, it was gone.

That evening's work made us more or less content to leave next morning. And an old buffer was pleased to describe us as "young heroes."

That evening's work left us more or less ready to leave the next morning. And an old man was pleased to call us "young heroes."