 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by James Smith. The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. Chapter 1 The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. As the landscape changed from brown to green, the army awakened and began to tremble with eagerness at the noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the roads, which were growing from long troughs of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber tinted in the shadows of its banks, purled at the army's feet, and at night when the stream had become of a sorrowful blackness, one could see across it the red eye-like gleam of hostile campfires set in the low brows of distant hills. Once a certain tall soldier developed virtues and went resolutely to wash a shirt. He came flying back from a brook waving his garment banner-like. He was swelled with a tail he had heard from a reliable friend who had heard it from a truthful cavalryman who had heard it from his trustworthy brother. One of the orderlies of division headquarters. He adopted the important air of a herald in red and gold. We're going to move out tomorrow, sure, he said pompously to a group in the company street. We're going way up the river cut across and come around and behind him. To his attentive audience he drew a loud and elaborate plan of a very brilliant campaign. When he had finished, the blue-clothed men scattered into small, arguing groups between the rows of squat-brown huts. A negro teamster who had been dancing upon a cracker-box with a hilarious encouragement of two-score soldiers was deserted. He sat mournfully down. Smoke drifted lazily from a multitude of quaint chimneys. It's a lie, that's all it is, a thundering lie, said another private loudly. His smooth face was flushed and his hands were thrust sulkily into his trousers' pockets. He took the matter as an affront to him. I don't believe the Donald army ever going to move. Withset, I've got ready to move eight times in the last two weeks and we ain't moved yet. A tall soldier felt called upon to defend the truth of a rumor he himself had introduced. He, and the loud one, came near to fighting over it. A corporal began to swear before these. He had just put a costly board floor in the house, he said. During the early spring he had reframed from adding extensively to the comfort of his environment because he had felt that the army might start on the march at any moment. Of late, however, he had been impressed that they were in a sort of eternal camp. Many of the men engaged in a spirited debate. One outlined in a particularly lucid manner all the plans of the commanding general. He was opposed by men who advocated that there were other plans of campaign. They clamored at each other, numbers making futile bids for the popular attention. Meanwhile, the soldier who had fetched the rumor bustled about with much importance, he was continually assailed by questions. What's up, Jim? The army going to move? And what are you talking about? How you know it is? Well, you can believe me or not, just as you like. I don't care a hang. There was much food for thought in the manner in which he replied. He came near to convincing them by disdaining to produce proofs. They grew much excited over it. There was a youthful private who listened with eager ears to the words of the tall soldier and to the varied comments of his comrades. After receiving a fill of discussions concerning marches and attacks, he went to his hut and crawled through an intricate hole that served as its door. He wished to be alone with some new thoughts that had lately come to him. He lay down in a wide bunk that stretched across the end of the room. In the other end, cracker boxes were made to serve as furniture. They were grouped about the fireplace. A picture from an illustrated weekly was upon the log walls and three rifles were paralleled on pegs. Equipments hung on handy projections and some ten dishes lay upon a small pile of firewood. A folded tent was serving as a roof. The sunlight, without beating upon it, made it glow a light yellow shade. A small window shot an oblique square of white or light upon the cluttered floor. The smoke from the fire at times neglected the clay chimney and reathed into the room, and this flimsy chimney of clay and sticks made endless threats to set ablaze the whole establishment. The youth was in a little transfist onishment, so they were at last going to fight. On the morrow, perhaps, there would be a battle, and he would be in it. For a time he was obliged to labor to make himself believe. He could not accept the assurance and omen that he was about to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth. He had, of course, dreamed of battles all of his life, of vague and bloody conflicts that had thrilled him with their sweep and fire. In visions he had seen himself in many struggles. He had imagined peoples secure in the shadow of his eagle-eyed prowess. But awake he had regarded battles as crimson blotches on the pages of the past. He had put them as things of the bygone with his thought images of heavy crowns and high castles. There was a portion of the world's history, which he had regarded as the time of wars. But it, he thought, had been long gone over the horizon and had disappeared forever. From his home his youthful eyes had looked upon the war in his own country with distrust. It must be some sort of a play affair. He had longed as spared of witnessing a Greek-like struggle. Such would be no more, he had said. Men were better or more timid, secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions. He had burned several times to enlist tales of great movements shook the land. They might not be distinctly Homeric, but there seemed to be much glory in them. He had read of marches, sieges, conflicts, and he had longed to see it all. His busy mind had drawn from him large pictures extravagant in color, lurid with breathless deeds. But his mother had discouraged him. She had affected to look with some contempt upon the quality of his war-arter and patriotism. She could calmly seat herself, and with no apparent difficulty, in many hundreds of reasons why he was of vastly more importance on the farm than on the field of battle. She had had certain ways of expression that told him that her statements on the subject came from a deep conviction. Moreover, on her side was his belief that her ethical motive in the argument was impregnable. At last, however, he had made firm rebellion against this yellow light thrown upon the color of his ambitions. The newspapers, the gossip of the village, his own pictureings had aroused him to an uncheckable degree. They were in truth fighting finally down there. Almost every day, the newspaper printed accounts of a decisive victory. One night, as he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him the clangoring of the church bells as some enthusiast jerked the rope frantically to tell the twisted news of a great battle. This voice of the people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged ecstasy of excitement. Later he had gone down to his mother's room and had spoken thus, Ma, I'm going to enlist. Henry, don't you be a fool, his mother had replied. She had then covered her face with the quilt. There was an end to the matter for that night. Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a town that was near his mother's farm and had enlisted in a company that was forming there. When he had returned home, his mother was milking the brindle cow, four others stood waiting. Ma, unenlisted, he had said to her defiantly, There was a short silence. The Lord's will be done, Henry. She had finally replied and had then continued to milk the brindle cow. When he had stood in the doorway with his soldiers' clothes on his back and with the light of excitement and expectancy in his eyes almost defeating the glow of regret from the home bonds, he had seen two tears leaving their trails on his mother's scarred cheeks. Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing whatever about returning with his shield or on it. He had privately primed himself for a beautiful scene. He had prepared certain sentences which he thought could be used with touching effect, but her words destroyed his plans. She had dodgedly peeled potatoes and addressed him as follows. You watch out, Henry, and take good care of yourself. In this here fighting business, you watch and take good care of yourself. Don't go thinking you can lick the whole rebel army at the start because you can't. You're just one little fella amongst a whole lot of others, and you've got to keep quiet and do what they tell you. I know how you are, Henry. I've met your eight pair of socks, Henry, and I've put in all your best shirts because I want my boy to be just as warm and comfortable as anybody in the army. Whenever they get holes in them, I want you to send them right back to me so I can dirt them. And always be careful and choose your company. There's lots of bad men in the army, Henry. The army makes them wild, and they like nothing better than the job of leaning off a young fella like you as they never been away from home much as always had a mother, and alerting them to drink and swear. Keep clear of them, folks, Henry. I don't want you to ever do anything, Henry, that you would be ashamed of to let me know about. Just think as if I was watching you. Keep that in your mind always. I guess you'll come out about all right. You must always remember your father, too, child, and remember he never drunk a dropper liquor in his life and seldom swore cross oath. I don't know what else to tell you, Henry, except that you must never do no shirking, child, on my account. If so, be your time comes when you have to be killed. I'll do a mean thing. Why, Henry? Don't do anything except what's right, because it's me a woman has to bear up against such things these times, and the Lord'll take care of us all. Don't forget about the socks and the shirts, child, and I've put a cup of blackberry jam with your bundle, because I know you like it above all things. Goodbye, Henry. Watch out and be a good boy. He had, of course, been impatient under the ordeal of this speech. It had not been quite what he expected, and he had borne it with an air of irritation. He departed feeling vague relief. Still, when he had looked back from the gate, he had seen his mother kneeling among the potato pairings. Her brown face, upraised, was stained with tears, and her spare form was quivering. He bowed his head and went on, feeling suddenly ashamed of his purposes. From his home he had gone to the seminary to bid adieu to many schoolmates. They had thronged about him with wonder and admiration. He had felt the gulf now between them, and had swelled with calm pride. He and some of his fellows who had done blue were quite overwhelmed with privileges for all of one afternoon, and it had been a very delicious thing. They had strutted. A certain light-haired girl had made vivacious fun at his martial spirit, but there was another and darker girl whom he had gazed at steadfastly, and he thought she grew demure and sad at sight of his blue and brass. As he walked down the path between the rows of oaks, he had turned his head and detected her in a window watching his departure. As he perceived her, she had immediately begun to stare up through the high tree branches of the sky. He had seen a good deal of flurry and haste in her movement, as she changed her attitude. He often thought of it. On the way to Washington his spirit had soared. The regiment was fed and caressed at station after station until the youth had believed that he must be a hero. There was a lavish expenditure of bread and cold meats, coffee and pickles and cheese. As he bathed in the smiles of the girls and was padded and complimented by the old men, he had felt growing within him the strength to do mighty deeds of arms. After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals. But since his regiment had come to the field, the army had done little, but sit still and try to keep warm. He was brought them gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better or more timid. Secular and religious education had a face the throat-grappling instinct. Or else firm finance held in check the passions. He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out as far as he could for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also he was drilled and drilled and reviewed and drilled and drilled and reviewed. The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the riverbank. They were a suntanned philosophical lot who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterwards they usually expressed sorrow and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man who spat skilfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally. Yank! The other had informed him. You're a right dumb goodfella. This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war. Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of grave, whiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor. Tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. They'll charge through hell's fire and brimstone to get a hold on a haversack. And such stomachs ain't a last and long, he was told. From the stories the youth imagined, the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms. Still he could not put a whole faith in veterans' tales for recruits with their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled fresh fish at him and were in no wise to be trusted. However he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight so long as they fought, which in fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle. Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means or roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself. A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the other portals of his mind, but now I felt compelled to give serious attention to it. A little panic fear grew in his mind. As his imagination went forward to a fight he saw hideous possibilities. He contemplated the lurking menaces of the future and failed in an effort to see himself standing stoutly in the midst of them. He recalled his visions of broken-bladed glory but in the shadow of impending tumult he suspected them to be impossible pictures. He sprang from the bunk and began to pace nervously to and fro. Good Lord, what's the matter with me? He said aloud. He felt that in this crisis his laws of life were useless. Whatever he had learned of himself was here of no avail. He was an unknown quantity. He saw that he would again be obliged to experiment as he had in early youth. He must accumulate information of himself, and meanwhile he resolved to remain close upon his guard lest those qualities of which he knew nothing should everlastingly disgrace him. Good Lord, he repeated in dismay. After a time the tall soldier slid dexterously through the hole the loud private followed. They were wrangling. That's alright. Said the tall soldier as he entered. He waved his hand expressively. You can believe me or not, just as you like. All you gotta do is sit down and wait as quiet as you can. Then pretty soon you'll find out I was right. His comrade grunted stubbornly. For a moment he seemed to be searching for a formidable reply. Finally he said, Well, you don't know everything in the world, do you? Didn't say I knew everything in the world. Ported the other sharply. He began to stow various articles snuggly into his knapsack. The youth, pausing in his nervous walk, looked down at the busy figure. Going to be a battle, sure. Is there, Jim? He asked. Of course there is, replied the tall soldier. Of course there is. You just wait till tomorrow. And you'll see one of the biggest battles ever was. You just wait. Dunder, said the youth. Oh, you'll see fighting this time, my boy. What'll be regular out and out fighting? Added the tall soldier with the air of a man to exhibit a battle for the benefit of his friends. Huh? Said the loud one from a corner. Well, remarked the youth. Like it's not this story, it'll turn out just like the mothers did. Not much it won't, replied the tall soldier exasperated. Not much it won't. Didn't the cavalry all start this morning? He glared about him. No one denied his statement. Cavalry started out this morning. He continued. They're going to Richmond or someplace while we fight all the Johnny's. Some dodged like that. The regiments got orders too. A fellow had seen him go to headquarters told me a little while ago. And they're raising blades all over camp. Anybody can see that. Shucks, said the loud one. The youth remained silent for a time. At last he spoke to the tall soldier. Jim, what? How do you think the regiment will do? Oh, they'll fight alright I guess after they once get into it. Said the other with cold judgment. He made a fine use of the third person. There's been heaps of fun poked at him because they're new of course and all that. But they'll fight alright I guess. Think any of the boys will run? Persisted the youth. Oh, there may be a few of them run but there's them kind in every regiment especially when they first goes on to fire. Said the other in a tolerant way. Of course it might happen that the whole kit and caboodle might start and run. Some big fight and come first off and then again they might stay and fight like fun. But you can't bet on nothing. Of course they had never been under fire yet and it ain't likely that they'll lick the whole rebel army all at once the first time. But I think they'll fight better than some if worse than others. That's the way I figure. Call the regiment, fresh fish and everything but the boys come a good stock and then after they get shooting, he added with a mighty emphasis on the last four words. Oh, you think you know began the loud soldier with scorn. The other turned savagely upon him. They had a rapid altercation in which they fastened upon each other various strange epithets. The youth at last interrupted them. Did you ever think you might run yourself, Jim? He asked. On concluding the sentence he laughed as if he had meant to aim a joke. The loud soldier also giggled. The tall private waved his hand. Well, he said profoundly, I thought I might get too hot for Jim Conklin and some of them scrimmages and if a whole lot of boys started to run well I suppose I'd start and run and if I once started to run I'd run like the devil and no mistake but if everybody was standing in a fighting well I'd stand and fight by Jimny I would, I'll bet on it. Huh, said the loud one. The youth of this tale felt gratitude from these words of his comrade. He had feared that all of the untried men possessed great and correct confidence. He now was in a measure reassured. End of Chapter 1 The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane Chapter 2 The next morning the youth discovered that his tall comrade had been the fast-flying messenger of a mistake. There was much scoffing at the latter by those who had yesterday been firm adherents of his views and there was even a little sneering by men who had never believed the rumor. The tall one fought with a man from Chatfield Corners and beat him severely. The youth felt, however, that his problem was in no wise lifted from him. There was, on the contrary, an irritating prolongation. The tale had created in him a great concern for himself. Now, with the newborn question in his mind, he was compelled to sink back into his old place as part of a blue demonstration for days he made ceaseless calculations but they were all wondrously unsatisfactory. He found that he had not established nothing. He finally concluded that the only way to prove himself was to go into the blaze and then figuratively to watch his legs to discover their merits and faults. He reluctantly admitted that he could not sit still and with a mental slate and pencil derive an answer to gain it. He must have blaze, blood, and danger. Even as a chemist requires this, that, and the other. So he fretted for an opportunity. He continually tried to measure himself by his comrades. The tall soldier, for one, gave him some assurance. This man's serene, unconcerned dealt him a measure of confidence for he had known him since childhood and from his intimate knowledge he did not see how he could be capable of anything that was beyond him—the youth. Still, he thought that his comrade might be mistaken about himself or, on the other hand, he might be a man here to fordoom peace and obscurity, but in reality made to shine in war. The youth would have liked to have discovered another who suspected himself. A sympathetic comparison of mental notes would have been a joy to him. He occasionally tried to fathom a comrade with seductive sentences. He looked about to find men in the proper mood. All attempts failed to bring forth any statement which looked in any way, like a confession to those doubts acknowledged in himself. He was afraid to make an open declaration of his concern because he dreaded to place some unscrupulous confident upon the high plain of the unconvest from which elevation he could be derided in regard to his companions. His mind wavered between two opinions according to his mood. Sometimes he inclined to believing them all euros. In fact, he usually admired in secret the superior development of the higher qualities in others. He could conceive of men going very insignificantly about the world bearing a load of courage unseen and although he had known many of his comrades through boyhood, he began to fear that his judgment of them had been blind. Then, in other moments, he flouted these theories and assured him that his fellows were all privately wondering and quaking. His emotions made him feel strange in the presence of men who talk excitedly of a prospective battle and drama they were about to witness with nothing but eagerness and curiosity parent in their faces. It was often that he suspected them to be liars. He did not pass such thoughts without severe condemnation of himself. He didn't reproach as at times. He was convicted by himself of many shameful crimes against the gods of traditions. In his great anxiety his heart was continually clamoring at what he considered the intolerable slowness of the generals. They seemed content to perch tranquilly on the river bank and leave him bowed down by the weight of a great problem. He wanted it settled forthwith. He could not long bear such a load, he said. Sometimes his anger at the commanders reached an acute stage and he grumbled about the camp like a veteran. One morning, however, he found himself in the ranks of his prepared regiment. The men were whispering speculations and recounting the old rumors. In a gloom before the break of the day their uniforms glowed a deep purple hue. From across the river the red eyes were still bearing. In the eastern sky there was a yellow patch like a rug laid for the feet of the coming sun. And against it black and pattern-like loomed the gigantic figure of the colonel on a gigantic horse from off in the darkness came the trampling of feet. The youth could occasionally see dark shadows that moved like monsters. The regiment stood at rest for what seemed a long time. The youth grew impatient. It was unendurable the way these affairs were managed. He wondered how long they were to be kept waiting. As he looked all about him and pondered upon the mystic gloom he began to believe that at any moment the ominous distance might be a flare and the rolling grazers of an engagement come to his ears. Daring once at the red eyes across the river he conceived them to be growing larger as the orbs of a row of dragons advancing. He turned toward the colonel and saw him lift his gigantic arm and calmly stroke his mustache. At last he heard from along the road at the foot of the hill the clatter of a horse's galloping hoofs. It must be the coming of orders. He bent forward scarce breathing. The exciting clickety-clack as it grew louder and louder seemed to be beating upon his soul. Presently a horseman with jangling equipment drew rain before the colonel of the regiment. The two held a short, sharp worded conversation. The men in the foremost ranks grained their necks. As the horseman wheeled his animal in galloped way he turned to shout over his shoulder. Don't forget that box of cigars. The colonel mumbled in reply. The youth wondered what a box of cigars had with war. A moment later the regiment went swinging off into the darkness. It was now like one of those moving monsters wending with many feet. The air was heavy and cold with dew. A mass of wet grass marched upon, rustled, like silk. There was an occasional flash and glimmer of steel from the backs of all those huge crawling reptiles. From the road came creakings and grumblings as some surly guns were dragged away. The men stumbled along, still muttering speculations. There was a subdued debate. Once a man fell down and as he reached for his rifle a comrade, unseeing, trod upon his hand. He of the injured fingers wore vitally and allowed. A low dittering laugh went among his fellows. Presently they passed into a roadway and marched forward with easy stride. A dark regiment moved before them and from behind also came the tinkle of equipments on the bodies of marching men. The rushing yellow of the developing day went on behind their backs. When the sun rays at last struck full and mellowingly upon the earth the youth saw that the landscape was streaked with two long, thin black columns which disappeared on the brow of a hill in front and rearward, vanished in a wood. There were like two serpents crawling from the cabin of the night. The river was not in view. The tall soldier burst into praises of what he thought to be his powers of perception. Some of the tall one's companions cried with emphasis that they too had evolved the same thing and they congratulated themselves upon it. But there were others who said that the tall one's plan was not the true one of all. They persisted with other theories. There was a vigorous discussion. The youth took no part in them. As he walked along in careless line he was engaged with his own eternal debate. He could not hinder himself from dwelling upon it. He was despondent and sullen and through shifting glances about him. He looked ahead, often expecting to hear from the advance the rattle of firing. But the long serpents crawled slowly from hill to hill without bluster of smoke. A done colored glad of dust floated away to the right. The sky overhead was of a fairy blue. The youth studied the faces of his companions ever on the watch to detect kindred emotions. He suffered disappointment. Some odour of the air which was causing the veteran commands to move with glee almost with song had infected the new regiment. The men began to speak of victory as of a thing they knew. Also the tall soldier received his vindication. They were certainly going to come around behind the enemy. They expressed consideration for that part of the army which had been left upon the riverbank felicitating themselves on being a part of a blasting host. The youth considering himself as separated from the others was saddened by the blithe and merry speeches that went from rank to rank. The company wags all made their best endeavours. The regiment ramped to the tune of laughter. The blatant soldier often convulsed whole files by his biting sarcasm aimed at the tall one. And it was not long before all the men seemed to forget their mission. Whole brigades grinned in unison and regiments laughed. A rather fat soldier attempted to pill for a horse from a dooryard. He blind to load his knapsack upon it. He was escaping with his prize. When a young girl rushed from the house and grabbed the animal's mane there followed a wrangle. The young girl with pink cheeks and shining eyes did like a dauntless statue. The observant regiment, standing at rest in the roadway, whooped at once and entered household upon the side of the maiden. The men became so engrossed in this affair that they entirely ceased to remember their own large war. They jeered the peratical private and called attention to various defects in his personal appearance. And they were wildly enthusiastic in support of the young girl. To her from some distance came bold advice. Hit him with a stick. There were ten catcalls showered upon him when he retreated without the horse. The regiment rejoiced at his downfall. Loud and vociferous congratulations were showered upon the maiden who stood panting and regarding the troops with defiance. At nightfall the column broke into regimental pieces and the fragments went into the fields to camp. Tens sprang up like strange glance. Campfires like red peculiar blossoms dotted the night. The youth kept from intercourse companions as much as their circumstances would allow him. In the evening he wandered a few paces into the gloom. From this little distance the many fires with the black forms of men passing to and fro before the crimson rays made weird and satanic effects. He lay down in the grass. The blades pressed endlessly against his cheek. The moon had been lighted and was hung in a tree-top. The liquid stillness of the night enveloping him made him feel fast pity for himself. There was a caress in the soft winds and the whole mood of the darkness he thought was one of sympathy for himself in his distress. He wished without reserve that he was at home again making the endless rounds from the house to the barn, from the barn to the fields, from the fields to the barn, from the barn to the house. He remembered he had so often cursed the brindle-gow and hermates and had sometimes flung milking stools. From his present point of view there was a halo of happiness about each of their heads and he would have sacrificed all the brass buttons on the continent to have been enabled to return to them. He told himself that he was not formed for a soldier and he had mused seriously upon the radical differences between himself and those men who were dodging imp-like around the fires. As he mused thus he had the rustle of grass and upon turning his head he called out, oh Wilson, the latter approached and looked down. Why hello, Henry, is it you? What are you doing here? Oh, thinking, said the youth. The other sat down and carefully lighted his pipe. You're getting blue, my boy. You're looking thundering, peaked. What the dickens is wrong with you? Oh, nothing, said the youth. The loud soldier launched then into the subject of the anticipated fight. We've got him now. As he spoke his boyish face was wreathed in a gleeful smile and his boys had an exultant ring. We've got him now at last by the eternal thunders. We'll lick him good. If the truth was known, he added, more soberly. They've licked us about every clip up to now, but this time this time we'll lick him good. I thought you was objecting to this march a little while ago, said the youth in the other. I don't mind marching if there's going to be fighting at the end of it. What I hate is this getting moved here and moved there with no good coming of it, as far as I can see. Accepting sore feet and damn short rations. Well, Jim Conklin says we'll get plenty of fighting this time. He's right for once, I guess, though I can't see how it come. This time we're in for a big battle and we've got the best end of it, certain chore. Girard, how we will thump him, he arose and began to pace to and fro excitedly. The thrill of his enthusiasm made him walk with an elastic step. He was sprightly vigorous, fiery in his belief in success. He looked into the future with clear, proud eye and he swore with the air of an old soldier. The youth watched him for a moment in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was as bitter as dregs. Oh, you're going to do great things, I suppose. The loud soldier blew a thoughtful cloud of smoke from his pipe. Oh, I don't know, he remarked with dignity. I don't know. I suppose I'll do as well as the rest. I'm going to try like thunder. He evidently complimented himself upon the modesty of this statement. How do you know you won't run when the time comes? Asked the youth. Run. Said the loud one. Run, of course not. He laughed. Well continued the youth. Lots of good enough men have thought they was going to do great things before the fight. But when the time came, they skedaddled. Oh, that's all true, I suppose, replied the other, but I'm not going to skedaddle. The man that bets on my running will lose his money, that's all. He nodded confidently. Oh, shucks, said the youth. You ain't the bravest man in the world, are you? No, I ain't exclaimed the loud soldier indignantly. And I didn't say I was the bravest man in the world, neither. I said I was going to do my share of fighting. That's what I said, and I am too. Who are you, anyhow? You dark as if you. You thought you was Napoleon Bonaparte. He glared at the youth for a moment and then strode away. The youth called in a savage voice after his comrade. Well, you needn't get mad about it. But the other continued on his way and made no reply. He felt alone in space when his injured comrade had disappeared. His failure to discover any might of resemblance in their viewpoints made him more miserable than before. No one seemed to be wrestling with such a terrific personal problem. He was a mental outcast. He went slowly to his tent and stretched himself on a blanket by the side of the snoring doll soldier. In the darkness he saw visions of a thousand-dunged fear that would babble at his back and cause him to flee. While others were going coolly about their country's business he admitted that he would not be able to cope with this monster. He felt that every nerve in his body would be an ear to hear the voices while other men would remain stolid and deaf. And as he sweated with the pain of these thoughts he could hear low, serene sentences. I'll bid five. Make it six. Seven. Seven goes. He stared at the red, shivering reflection of a fire on the white wall of his tent until exhausted and ill from the monotony of his suffering. He fell asleep. End of chapter two. Chapter three. When another night came the columns changed to purple streaks filed across two pontoon bridges. A glaring fire wine tinted the waters of the river. Its rays shining upon the moving masses of the troops brought forth here on their sudden gleams of silver or gold. Upon the other shore a dark and mysterious range of hills was curved against the sky. The insect voices of the night sang solemnly. After this crossing the youth assured himself that at any moment they might be suddenly and fearfully assaulted from the caves of the lowering woods. He kept his eyes watchfully upon the darkness. But his regiment went unmolested to a camping place. The regiment soldiers slept the brave sleep of wearied men. In the morning they were rotted out with early energy and hustled along a narrow road that led deep into the forest. It was during this rapid march that the regiment lost many of the marks of a new command. The men had begun to count the miles upon their fingers and they grew tired. Sore feet and damn short rations, that's all said the loud soldier. There was perspiration and grubblings after a time they began to shed their knapsacks. Some tossed them unconcernedly down. Others hid them carefully, asserting their plans to return for them at some convenient time. Men extricated themselves from thick shirts. Presently few carried anything but their necessary clothing, blankets, haversacks, canteens and arms and ammunition. You can now eat and shoot, said the tall soldier to the youth. That's all you want to do. There was a change from the ponderous infantry of theory to the light and speedy infantry of practice. The regiment relieved of a burden received a new impetus. But there was much loss of valuable knapsacks and on the whole very good shirts. But the regiment was not yet veteran like in appearance. Veteran regiments in the army were very likely to be very small aggregations of men. Once when the command had first come to the field some perambulating veterans noting the length of their column had accosted them thus. Hey, fellas, what brigade is that? And when the men had replied that they had formed a regiment and not a brigade, the older soldiers laughed and said, oh, God. Also, there was too great a similarity between the regiments. The hats of a regiment should properly represent the history of the headgear for a period of years. And moreover, there were no letters of faded gold speaking from the colors. There were new and beautiful and the color bear habitually oiled the pole. Presently the army again sat down to think. The odor of the peaceful pines was in the men's nostrils. And the insects knotting upon their perches crooned like old women. The youth returned to his theory of a blue demonstration. On one gray dawn, however, he was kicked in the leg by the tall soldier. And then, before he was entirely awake, he found himself running down a wood road in the midst of men who were panning from the first effects of speed. His canteen banged rhythmically upon his thigh and his haversack bob softly. His musket bounced a trifle from his shoulder at each stride and made his cap feel uncertain upon his head. He could hear the men whisper jerky sentences. Say, what's all this about? What the thunder we skedal in this wafer? Billy, keep off my feet. You run like a cow. And the loud soldier's shrill voice could be heard. What the devil lay in such a hurry for? The youth thought the damp fog of early morning moved from the rush of a great body of troops. From the distance came a sudden splatter of firing. He was bewildered. As he ran with his comrades, he strenuously tried to think. But all he knew was that if he fell down those coming behind would tread upon him. All his faculty seemed to be needed to guide him over and past obstructions. He felt carried along by a mob. The sun spread disclosing rays and one by one regiments burst into view like armed men just born of the earth. The youth perceived that the time had come. He was about to be measured. For a moment he felt in the face of his great trowel like a babe, and the flesh over his heart seemed very thin. He seized time to look about him calculatingly. But he instantly saw that it would be impossible for him to escape from the regiment. It enclosed him, and there were iron laws of tradition and laws on all four sides. He was in a moving box. As he perceived this fact, it occurred to him that he had never wished to come to the war. He had not enlisted of his free will. He had been dragged by the merciless government, and now they were taking him out to be slaughtered. The regiments slid down a bank and walled across a little stream. The mournful current moved slowly on, and from the water, shaded black, some white bubble eyes looked at the men. As they climbed the hill on the farther side, artillery began to boom. Here the youth forgot many things as he felt a sudden impulse of curiosity. He scrambled up the bank with a speed that could not be exceeded by a bloodthirsty man. He expected a battle scene. There were some little fields girded and squeezed by a forest. Spread over the grass and in among the tree trunks he could see knots and waving lines of skirmishers who were running hither and tither and firing at the landscape. A dark battle line lay upon a sun-streck clearing that gleamed orange color. A flag fluttered. Other regiments floundered up the bank. The brigade was formed in a line of battle and after a pause started slowly through the woods in the rear of the receding skirmishers who were continually melting into the scene to appear again further on. They were always busy as bees deeply absorbed in their little combats. The youth tried to observe everything. He did not use care to avoid trees and branches, and forgotten feet were constantly knocking against stones or getting entangled in briars. He was aware that these battalions with their commotions were woven red and startling into gentle fabric of softened greens and browns. It looked to be a wrong place for a battlefield. The skirmishers in advance fascinated him. Their shots into the thickets and at a distance and prominent trees spoke to him of tragedies. Hidden, mysterious solemn. Once the line encountered the body of a dead soldier he lay upon his back staring at the sky. He was dressed in an awkward suit of yellowish brown. The youth could see that the soles of his shoes had been worn to the thinness of writing paper and from a great rant in one of the dead foot projected pithously. And it was if fate had betrayed the soldier in death that exposed to his enemies that poverty which in life he had perhaps concealed from his friends. The ranks opened covertly to avoid the corpse. The invulnerable dead man forced away for himself. The youth looked keenly at the ashen face. The wind raised the tawny beard. It moved as if a hand were stroking it. It vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare. The impulse of the living to try to read in the dead eyes the answer to the question. During the march the ardor which the youth had acquired went out of view of the field rapidly faded to nothing. Its curiosity was quite easily satisfied. If an intense scene had caught him with its wild swing as he came he might have gone roaring on. This advance upon nature was too calm. He had opportunity to reflect. He had time in which to wonder about himself and to attempt to probe his sensations. Absurd ideas took hold upon him. He thought that he did not relish the landscape. It threatened him. A coldness swept over his back and that is true that his trousers came to him that they were no fit for his legs at all. A house standing placidly in the distant fields had to him an ominous look. The shadows of the woods were formidable. He was certain that in this vista there lurked fierce-eyed host. The swift thought came to him that the generals did not know what they were about. It was all a trap. Suddenly those close forests with rifle barrels iron-like brigades would appear in the rear. They were all going to be sacrificed. The generals were stupid. The enemy would presently swallow the whole command. He glared about him expecting to see the stealthy approach of his death. He thought that he must break from the ranks and harangue his comrades. They must not all be killed like pigs. And he was sure it would come to pass unless they were informed of these dangers. The generals were idiots to send them marching into a regular pen. There was but one pair of eyes in the core. He would step forward and make a speech. Shrill and passionate words would come to his lips. The line broken into moving fragments by the ground went calmly on through the fields and woods. The youth looked at the men nearest him and saw for the most part expressions of deep interest as if they were investigating something that had fascinated them. One or two stepped with overvaluant errors as if they were already plunged into war. Others walked upon thin ice. The greater part of the untested men appeared quiet and absorbed. They were going to look at war, the real animal war, the blood swollen god, and they were deeply engrossed by the march. As he looked, the youth gripped his outcry at his throat. He saw that if the men were tottering with fear, they would laugh at his warning. They would jeer him and, if practical, pelt him with missiles, admitting that he might be wrong, a frenzied declamation of the kind would turn him into a worm. He assumed, then, the demeanor of one who knows that he is doomed alone to unwritten responsibilities. He was surprised by the young lieutenant of his company who heartily began to beat him with a sword, calling out in a loud and insolent voice, calm young man get up into the ranks there. No sulking will do here. He mended his pace with suitable haste and he hated the lieutenant who had no appreciation of fine minds. He was a mere brute. After a time the brigade was halted in the cathedral light of the forest. The busy skirmishers were still popping. Through the aisles of the wood could be seen the floating smoke from the rifles. Sometimes it went up in little balls, white and compact. During this halt many men in the regiment began erecting tiny hills in front of them. They used stones, sticks, earth, anything they thought might turn a bullet. Some built comparatively large ones while others seemed content with little ones. This procedure caused a discussion among the men. Some wished to fight like duelists believing it to be correct to stand erect and be from their feet to their foreheads a mark. They said they scorned the devices of the cautious. But the others scoffed and reply and pointed to the veterans on the flanks who were digging the carriers. In a short time there was quite a brigade along the regimental fronts. Directly, however, they were ordered to withdraw from that place. This astonished the youth. He forgot his stewing over the advance movement. Well then, what did they march us out here for? He demanded of the tall soldier. The latter with calm faith began a heavy explanation. Although he had been compelled by the protection of stones and dirt to which he had devoted much care and skill. When the regiment was aligned in another position each man's regard for his safety caused another line of small entrenchments. They ate their noon meal behind a third one. They were moved from this one also. They were marched from place to place with apparent aimlessness. The youth had been taught that a man becomes another thing in the world. He saw his salvation in such a change. Hence this waiting was an ordeal for him. He was in a fever of impatience. He considered that there was denoted a lack of purpose on the part of the generals. He began to complain to the tall soldier. I can't stand this much longer, he cried. I don't see what good it does to make us wear out our legs for nothing. He wished to return to camp knowing that this affair was a blue demonstration. I was to go into battle and discover that he had been a fool in his doubts and was in truth a man of traditional courage. The strain of the present circumstances he felt to be intolerable. The philosophical tall soldier measured a sandwich of cracker and pork and swallowed it in an enchilante manner. Oh, I suppose we must go reconordering around the country just to keep them from getting too close or to develop them or something. Huh, said the tall soldier. Well, cried the youth, still fidgeting. I'd rather do anything most go tramping around the country all day doing no good to nobody and just tiring ourselves out. So what I said the loud soldier, it ain't right. I tell you, if anyone with any sense was running this army it'd, oh, shut up, roar to tall private. You little fool. You little damn cuss. You ain't had that there coat and them pants on for six months and yet you talk as if, well, I want to do some fighting anyway interrupted the other. I didn't come here to walk. I could have walked home round and round the barn if I just wanted to walk. The tall one red faced swallowed another sandwich but gradually he chewed his face becoming again quiet and contented. He could not rage and fierce argument in the presence of such sandwiches. During his meals he always wore an air of blissful contemplation of the food he had swallowed. His spirit seemed to be communing with the Veyons. He accepted new environment and circumstances with great coolness eating from his haversack at every opportunity. On the march he had went along with the stride of a hunter objecting to neither gate nor distance and he had not raised his voice when he had been ordered away from three little protective pals of earth and stone each of which had been an engineering feet worthy of being made sacred to the name of his grandmother. In the afternoon the regiment went out over the same ground it had taken in the morning. The shape had seized to threaten the youth. He had been close to it and had become familiar with it. When however they began to pass into a new region his old fears of stupidity and incompetence re-assailed him. But this time he doggedly let them babble. He was occupied with his problem and in his desperation he concluded that the stupidity did not greatly matter. Once he thought he had concluded that it would be better to get killed directly and end his troubles. Regarding death thus out of the corner of his eye he conceived it to be nothing but rest. And he was filled with a momentary astonishment that he should have made an extraordinary commotion over the mere matter of getting killed. He would die, he would go to some place where he would be understood. It was useless to expect depreciation from his profound and fine sense from such men as the lieutenant. He must look to the grave for compensation. The skirmish fire increased to a long clattering sound. With it was mingled far away cheering. A battle spoke. Directly the youth could see the skirmishers running. They were pursued by the sound of musketree fire. After a time the hot, dangerous flashes of the rifles were visible. Smoke clouds went slowly and incidentally across the fields like observant phantoms. The din became crescendo like the roar of an oncoming train. A brigade ahead of them and on the right went into action with a rending roar. It was as if it had exploded. And thereafter it lay stretched in the distance behind a long gray wall that one was obliged to look at twice to make sure that it was smoke. The youth, forgetting his neat plan of getting killed, gazed spellbound. His eyes grew wide and busy with the action of the scene. His mouth was a little ways open. Of a sudden he felt heavy and a sad hand laid upon his shoulder. Awakening from his trance of observation he turned and beheld the loud soldier. It's my turn and last battle, boy said the latter with intense gloom. It was quite pale and his girlish lip was trembling. A murmured the youth in great astonishment. It's my first and last battle, oh boy, continued the loud soldier. Something tells me what? I'm going to coon this first time and I want you to take these things to my folks. He ended in a quavering sob himself. He handed the youth a little packet done up in the yellow envelope. Why, what the devil began the youth again! But the other gave him a glance as from the depths of a tomb and raised his limp hand in a prophetic manner and turned away. End of Chapter 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. Or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Joseph Laverde, Miami-Sburg, Ohio. June 2006 www.cainflyrods.us The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane Chapter 4 The brigade was halted in the fringe of a grove. The men crouched among the trees and pointed their restless guns out at the fields. They tried to look beyond the smoke. Out of this haze they could see running men. Some shouted information and gestured as they hurried. The men of the new regiment watched and listened eagerly. While their tongues ran on in gossip of the battle, they mouthed rumors that had flown like birds out of the unknown. They say Perry has been driven Yes, Karat went to the hospital. He said he was sick. That smart lieutenant is commanding G company. The boys say they won't be under Karat no more if they all have to desert. They all knew he was a... Hannes' battery has stuck. It ain't neither. I saw Hannes' battery off on the left. Not more than 15 minutes ago. Well, the general, he says he's going to take the whole command up and forth when we get into action. And then he says we'll do such fighting as never another one regiment's done. They say we're catching it all over on the left. They say the enemy driving our line into the devil of a swamp and took Hannes' battery. No such thing. Hannes' battery was long here about a minute ago. That young Hasbrock, he makes a good officer. He ain't afraid of nothing. I met one of those 148th young boys as he says his brigade fit the whole rebel army for four hours over the Turner Pike Road. Killed about 5,000 of them. He says one more such fight is that in the world be over. Bill wasn't scared either. No, sir. He wasn't that. Bill ain't getting scared easy. He was just mad. That's what he was. When that fellow trot on his hand he up and said that he was willing to give his hand to his country. But he'd be dumbed and he was going to have every dumb bushwhacker in the country walking round on it. So he went to hospital, just regardless of the fight. Three fingers was crunched. Darned Doctor wanted to amputate him and Bill, he raised a hell of a row out here and he's a funny fella. The den in front swelled to a tremendous chorus. The youth and his fellows were frozen to silence. They could see a flag that tossed in the smoke angrily. Near it were their blurred and agitated forms of troops. There came a turbulent stream of men across the fields. A battery changed position at a frantic gallop scattering their stragglers right and left. A shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads of the reserves. It landed in the grove and exploding readily flung of the brown earth. There was a little shower of pine needles. Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees. Twigs and leaves came sailing down. It was if a thousand axes we and invisible were being wielded. Many of the men were constantly dodging and ducking their heads. The lieutenant of the youth's company was shot in the hand. He began to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the regimental line. The officer's profanity sounded conventional. It relieved the tightened senses of the new men. It was as if he had hit his fingers with a tack hammer at home. He held the wounded member carefully away from his side so that the blood would not drip on his trousers. The captain of the company tucking his sword under his arm produced a handkerchief and began to bind it with the lieutenant's wound. They disputed as to how the binding should be done. The battle flag and the distance suddenly it seemed to be struggling to free itself from an agony. The billowing smoke was filled with horizontal flashes. Men rushing swiftly emerged from it. They grew in numbers until it was seen that the whole command was fleeing. The flag suddenly sank down as if dying. Its motion as it fell was a gesture of despair. Wild yells came from behind the walls of the smoke. A sketch in gray and red dissolved into a mob-like body of men who galloped like wild horses. The veteran regiments on the right and the left of the 304th immediately began to jeer. With the passionate song of the bullets and the banshee shrieks of shells were mingled loud catcalls and bits of fascist advice concerning places of safety. But the new regiment was breathless with horror. God! Saunders got crushed! Whispered the man at the use elbow. They shrank back and crouched as if compelled to a way to flood. The youth shot a swift glance along the blue ranks of the regiment. The profiles were motionless, craven. And afterward he remembered that the color of sergeant was standing with his legs apart as if he expected to be pushed to the ground. The following throng went whirling around the flank. There were officers carried along on the stream like exasperated chips. They were striking about them with their swords and with their left fists, punching every head they could reach. They cursed like highwaymen. A mounted officer displayed the furious anger of a spoiled child. He raged with his head, his arms, and his legs. Another, the commander of the brigade, was galloping around bawling. The horse was gone and his clothes were array. He resembled a man who had come from bed to go to a fire. The hooves of his horse often threatened the heads of the running man, but they scampered with singular fortune. In this rush they were apparently all deaf and blind. They heated not the largest and longest of the oaths, but that were thrown at them from all directions. Frequently over the Talmud could be heard the grim jokes of the critical veterans. The retreating man apparently were not even conscious of the presence of an audience. The battle reflection that's shown for an instant in the faces on the mad current made the youth feel that forceful hands from heaven would not have been able to have held him in place if he could have got intelligent control of his legs. There was an appalling imprint upon the faces. The struggle and the smoke had pictured an exaggeration of itself on the bleached cheeks and in the eyes wowed with one desire. The sight of the stampede exerted a flood-like force that seemed able to drag sticks and stones and men from the ground. They of the reserves had to hold on. They grew pale and firm and red and quaking. The youth achieved one little thought in the midst of this chaos. The composite monster which had caused the other troops to flee had not then appeared. He resolved to get a view of it and then he thought he might very likely run better than the best of them. End of Chapter 4 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Julian Jameson The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane Chapter 5 There were moments of waiting. The youth thought of the village street at home before the arrival of the circus parade on a day in the spring. He remembered how he had stood a small, thrillful boy prepared to follow the dingy lady upon the white horse or the band in its faded chariot. He saw the yellow road, the lines of expectant people and the sober houses. He particularly remembered an old fellow who used to sit upon a cracker-box in front of the store and feigned to despise such exhibitions. A thousand details of color and form surged in his mind. The old fellow upon the cracker-box appeared in middle prominence. Someone cried, Here they come! There was rustling and muttering among the men. They displayed a feverish desire to have every possible cartridge ready to their hands. The boxes were pulled around into various positions and adjusted with great care. It was as if they were being tried on. The tall soldier, having prepared his rifle, produced a red handkerchief of some kind. He was engaged in nodding it about his throat with exquisite attention to its position when the cry was repeated up and down the line in a muffled roar of sound. Here they come! Gunlocks clicked. Across the smoke-infested fields came a brown swarm of running men who were giving shrill yells. They came on, stooping and swinging their rifles at all angles. A flag, tilted forward, sped near the front. As he caught sight of them, the youth was momentarily startled by a thought that perhaps his gun was not loaded. He stood, trying to rally his faltering intellect so that he might recollect the moment when he had loaded, but he could not. A hatless general pulled his dripping horse to a stand near the colonel of the 304th. He shook his fist in the other's face. You've got to hold him back, he shouted savagely. You've got to hold him back. In his agitation the colonel began to stammer. All right, general, all right, by God, we'll do our best, general. The general made a passionate gesture and galloped away. The colonel, per chance to relieve his feelings, began to scold like a wet parrot. The youth, turning swiftly to make sure that the rear was unmolested, saw the commander regarding his men in a highly resentful manner as if he regretted above everything his association with them. The man at the youth's elbow was mumbling as if to himself, oh, we're in for it now, oh, we're in for it now. The captain of the company had been pacing excitedly to and fro in the rear. He coaxed in schoolmistress fashion as to a congregation of boys with primers. His talk was an endless repetition. Reserve your fire, boys. Don't shoot till I tell you. Save your fire. Wait till they get close up. Don't be damned fools. Perspirations streamed down the youth's face, which was soiled like that of a weeping urchin. He frequently, with a nervous movement, wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve. His mouth was still a little ways open. He got the one glance and he ceased to debate the question of his peace being loaded. Before he was ready to begin, before he had announced to himself that he was about to fight, he threw the obedient, well balanced rifle into position and fired a first wild shot. Directly he was working at his weapon like an automatic affair. He suddenly lost concern for himself and forgot to look at a menacing fate. He became not a man, but a member. He felt that something of which he was a part, a regiment, an army, a cause or a country, was in crisis. He was welded into a common personality which was dominated by a single desire. For some moments he could not flee. No more than a little finger can commit a revolution from a hand. If he had thought the regiment was about annihilated, perhaps he could have amputated himself from it. But its noise gave him assurance. The regiment was like a firework that, once ignited, proceeds superior to circumstances until its blazing vitality fades. It wheezed and banged with a mighty power. He pictured the ground before it as strewn with the discomforted. There was a consciousness always comrads about him. He felt the subtle battle brotherhood more potent even than the cause for which they were fighting. It was a mysterious fraternity born of the smoke and danger of death. He was at a task. He was like a carpenter who has made many boxes, making still another box. Only there was furious haste in his movements. He, in his thoughts, was rearing off in other places even as the carpenter who, as he works, whistles and thinks of his friend or his enemy, his home or a saloon. And these jolted dreams were never perfect to him afterward, but remained a mass of blurred shapes. Presently he began to feel the effects of the war atmosphere, a blistering sweat, a sensation that his eyeballs were about to crack like hot stones. A burning roar filled his ears. Following this came a red rage. He developed the acute exasperation of a pestered animal, a well-meaning cow worried by dogs. He had a mad feeling against his rifle, which could only be used against one life at a time. He wished to rush forward and strangle with his fingers. He craved a power that would enable him to make a world-sweeping gesture and brush all back. His impotency appeared to him and made his rage into that of a driven beast. Buried in the smoke of many rifles his anger was directed not so much against the men whom he knew were rushing toward him as against the swirling battle phantoms which were choking him, stuffing their smoke robes down his parched throat. He fought frantically for respite for his senses, for air, as a babe being smothered attacks the deadly blankets. There was a glare of heated rage mingled with a certain expression of intentness on all faces. Many of the men were making low-toned noises with their mouths and these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations, prayers, made a wild barbaric song that went as an undercurrent of sound, strange and chant-like with the resounding chords of the war march. The man at the youth's elbow was babbling. In it there was something soft and tender like the monologue of a babe. The tall soldier was swearing in a loud voice. From his lips came a black procession of various oaths. Of a sudden another broke out in a quarrelous way, like a man who has mislead his hat. Well, why don't they support us? Why don't they send supports? Do they think the youth in his battle sleep heard this as one who dozes, hears? There was a singular absence of heroic poses. The men, bending and surging in their haste and rage, were in every possible attitude. The steel ramrods clanked and clanged with incessant din as the men pounded them furiously into the hot rifle barrels. The flaps of the cartridge boxes were all unfastened and bobbed idiotically with each movement. The rifles, once loaded, were jerked to the shoulder and fired without apparent aim into the smoke, or at one of the blurred and shifting forms which upon the field before the regiment were growing larger and larger, like puppets under a magician's hand. The officers, at their intervals, rearward, neglected to stand in picturesque attitudes. They were bobbing, to and fro, roaring directions and encouragements. The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary. They expended their lungs with prodigal wills. And often they nearly stood upon their heads in their anxiety and fear of the enemy on the other side of the tumbling smoke. The lieutenant of the youth's company had encountered a soldier who had fled screaming at the first volley of his comrades. Behind the lines, these two were acting a little isolated scene. The man was blubbering and staring with sheep-like eyes at the lieutenant, who had seized him by the collar and was pummeling him. He drove him back into the ranks the soldier went mechanically, dully, with his animal-like eyes upon the officer. Perhaps there was to him a divinity expressed in the voice of the other, stern, hard, with no reflection of fear in it. He tried to reload his gun, but his shaking hands prevented. The lieutenant was obliged to assist him. The men dropped here and there, like bundles. The captain of the youth's company had been killed in an early part of the action. His body lay stretched out in the position of a tired man resting. But upon his face there was an astonished and sorrowful look, as if he thought some friend had done him an ill turn. The babbling man was grazed by a shot that made the blood stream widely down his face. He clapped both hands to his head. Oh! he said, and ran. Another grunted suddenly as if he'd been struck by a club in the stomach. He sat down and gazed ruefully. In his eyes there was mute, indefinite reproach. Farther up the line a man standing behind a tree had had his knee joint splintered by a ball. Immediately he had dropped his rifle and gripped the tree with both arms. And there he remained, clinging desperately and crying for the presence that he might withdraw his hold upon the tree. At last an exultant yell went along the quivering line. The firing dwindled from an uproar to a last vindictive popping. As the smoke slowly eddied away the youth saw that the charge had been repulsed. The enemy were scattered into reluctant groups. He saw a man climb to the top of the fence, straddle the rail, and fire a parting shot. Some of the troops had receded, leaving bits of dark debris upon the ground. Some in the regiment began to whoop frenziedly. Many were silent. Apparently they were trying to contemplate themselves. After the fever had left his veins, the youth thought that at last he was going to suffocate. He became aware of the foul atmosphere in which he had been struggling. He was grimy and dripping like a labourer in a foundry. He grasped his canteen and took a long swallow of the warmed water. A sentence with variations went up and down the line. Well, we've held him back. We've held him back, turned if we haven't. The men said it blissfully, leering at each other with dirty smiles. The youth turned to look behind him and off to the right and off to the left. Finds leisure in which to look about him. Underfoot there were a few ghastly forms, motionless. They lay twisted in fantastic contortions. Arms were bent and heads were turned in incredible ways. It seemed that the dead men must have fallen from some great height to get into such positions. They looked to be dumped out upon the ground from the sky. From a position in the rear of the grove a battery was throwing shells over it. The flash of the guns startled the youth at first. He thought they were aimed directly at him. Through the trees he watched the black figures of the gunners as they worked swiftly and intently. Their labor seemed a complicated thing. He wondered how they could remember its formula in the midst of confusion. The guns squatted in a row with savage chiefs. They argued with abrupt violence. It was a grim powwow. Their busy servants ran hither and thither. A small procession of wounded men were going drearily toward the rear. It was a flow of blood from the torn body of the brigade. To the right and to the left were the dark lines of other troops. Far in front he thought they would see lighter masses protruding in points from the forest. They were suggestive of unnumbered thousands. Once he saw a tiny battery go dashing along the line of the horizon. The tiny riders were beating the tiny horses. From a sloping hill came the sound of cheerings and clashes. Smoke welled slowly through the leaves. Batteries were speaking with thunderous oratorical effort. Here and there were flags the red in the stripes dominating. They splashed bits of warm color upon the dark lines of troops. The youth felt the old thrill at the sight of the emblems. They were like beautiful birds strangely undaunted in a storm. As he listened to the din from the hillside to a deep pulsating thunder from afar to the left and to the lesser clamors which came from many directions it occurred to him that they were fighting too over there and over there and over there. Hereafter he had supposed that all the battle was directly under his nose. As he gazed around him the youth felt a flash of astonishment at the blue, pure sky and the sun gleaming on the trees and the fields. It was surprising that nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process in the midst of so much devilment. End of Chapter 5 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Dusty Hodges The Red Badge of Courage In Crane Chapter 6 The youth awakened slowly he came gradually back to a position from which he could regard himself. For moments he had been scrutinizing his person in a dazed way as if he had never before seen himself. Then he picked up his cap from the ground. He wriggled in his jacket to make a more comfortable fit and kneeling released his shoe. He thoughtfully mopped his wreaking features. So it was all over at last the supreme trial had been passed the red formidable difficulties the war had been vanquished. He went into an ecstasy of self-satisfaction. He had the most delightful sensations of his life. Standing as if apart from himself he viewed that last scene. He perceived that the man who had fought thus was magnificent. He felt that he was a fine fellow. He saw himself even with those ideals which he had considered as far beyond him. He smiled in deep gratification. Upon his fellows he beamed tenderness and goodwill. Gee ain't it hot hey? He was polishing his streaming face with his coat sleeves. You bet! said the other grinning sociably. I never seen such dumb hotness. He sprawled out luxuriously on the ground. Gee yes! And I hope we don't have no more fight until a week from Monday. There were some handshakeings and deep speeches with men whose features were familiar but with whom the youth now felt the bonds of tied hearts. He helped a cursing comrade to bind up a wound of the shin. But of a sudden, cries of amazement broke out of the new regiment. Here they come again, here they come again! The man who had sprawled upon the ground started up and said, gosh! The youth turned quick eyes upon the field. He discerned forms began to swell and masses out of a distant wood. He again saw the tilted flag speeding forward. The shells which had ceased to trouble the regiment for a time came swirling again and exploded in the grass or among the leaves of the trees. They looked to be strange warflowers bursting into fierce bloom. The lustre faded from their eyes. Their smudge countenances now expressed a profound dejection. They moved their stiffened bodies slowly and watched in sullen mood the frantic approach of the enemy. The slaves toiling in the temple of this god began to feel rebellion at his harsh tasks. They fretted and complained each to each. Oh, say, this is too much of a good thing. Why can't somebody send us supports? We ain't never gonna stand this second banging. I ain't come here to fight the whole damn rebel army. There was one who raised a doleful cry. I wish Bill Smith is a trod on my hand instead of me treading on his own. The sword joints of the regiment creaked as it painfully floundered in position to repulse. The youth stared. Surely he thought this impossible thing was not about to happen. He waited as if he expected the enemy to suddenly stop, apologize, and retire, bowing. It was all a mistake. But the firearm began somewhere on the regimental line and ripped along in both directions. The sheets of flame developed great clouds of smoke that tumbled and tossed in the mild wind near the ground for a moment, then rolled through the ranks as though a gate. The clouds were tinged in earth-like yellow in the sun rays and in the shadow were a sorry blue. The flag was sometimes eaten and lost in this massive vapor, but more often it projected, sun-touched, resplendent. Into the used eyes there came a look that one can see in the orbs of a jaded horse. His neck was quivering with nervous weakness and the muscles of his arms felt numb and bloodless. His hands, too, seemed large and awkward as if he were wearing invisible mittens. And there was a great uncertainty about his knee joints. The words that comrades had uttered previous to the firing began to recur to him. Oh, say, this is too much of a good thing. What did they take us for? Why don't they send supports? I didn't come here to fight the whole damned rebel army. He began to exaggerate the endurance, the skill, and the valor of those who were coming. Himself reeling from exhaustion, he was astonished beyond measure at such persistency. They must be machines of steel. It was very glooming, struggling against such affairs, wound up perhaps to fight until sundown. He slowly lifted his rifle and, catching a glimpse of the thick-spread field, he blazed at a cantering cluster. He stopped then and began to peer as best he could through the smoke. He caught changing views of the ground, covered with men who were all running like pursued imps and yelling. To the youth it was an onslaught of redoubtable dragons. Even like the man who lost his legs at the approach of the red and green monster. He waited in a sort of horrified, listening attitude. He summed to shut his eyes and wait to be gobbled. A man near him who, up to this time, had been working feverishly at his rifle suddenly stopped and ran with howls. The lad whose face had borne an expression of exalted courage, the majesty of he who dares give his life was, at an instant, smitten abject. He blanched like one who has come to the edge of a cliff at midnight and has suddenly made aware. There was a revelation. He, too, threw down his gun and fled. There was no shame in his face. He ran like a rabbit. Others began to scamper away through the smoke. The youth turned his head, shaken from his trance by this movement as if the regimen was leaving him behind. He saw the few fleeting forms. He yelled then with fright and swung about. For a moment in the great clamor he was like a proverbial chicken. That's the direction of safety. Destruction threatened him from all points. Directly he began to speed toward the rear in great leaps. His rifle and cap were gone. His unbuttoned coat bulged in the wind. The flap of his cartridge box bobbed wildly and his canteen by its slender cord swung out behind. On his face was all the horror of those things which he imagined. The lieutenant sprang forward bawling. The youth saw his features wrathfully read and saw him make a dab with his sword. After the incident was that the lieutenant was a peculiar creature to feel interested in such matters upon this occasion. He ran like a blind man. Two or three times he fell down. Once he knocked his shoulder so heavily against the tree that he went headlong. Since he had turned his back upon the fight his fears had been wondrously magnified. Death about to thrust him between the shoulder blades was far more dreadful than death about to smite him between the eyes. When he thought of it later he conceived the impression that it is better to view the noises of the battle were like stones. He believed himself liable to be crushed. As he ran on he mingled with others. He dimly saw men on his right and on his left and he heard footsteps behind him. He thought that all the regiment was flung pursued by those ominous crashes. In his flight the sound of those following footsteps gave him his one meager relief. He felt vaguely that death must make a first choice of the men who were nearest. The initial morsels for the dragons so he displayed the zeal of an insane sprinter in his purpose to keep them in the rear. There was a race. As he, leading, went across a little field he found himself in a region of shells. They hurtled over his head with long, wild screams. As he listened he imagined them to have rows of cruel teeth that grinded him. Once one lit before him and the vivid lighting of the explosion effectively barred the way of his chosen direction. He groveled on the ground and then springing up went careening off through some bushes. He experienced a thrill of amazement when he came within view of a battery in action. The men there seemed to be in conventional moods altogether unaware of the impending annihilation. The battery was disputing with a distant antagonist and the gunners were wrapped in the admiration of their shooting. They were continually bending and coaxing postures over the guns. They seemed to be patting them on the back and encouraging them with words. The guns, stolen and undaunted, spoke with them. The precise gunners were coolly enthusiastic. They lifted their eyes every chance to the smoke-breathed hillock from whence the hostile battery addressed them. The youth pitied them as he ran. Methodical idiots! Machine-like fools! The refined joy of planting shells in the midst of the other's battery formation would appear a little thing when the infantry came swooping out of the woods. The face of a youthful rider who was jerking his frantic horse with was deeply impressed upon his mind. He knew that he looked upon a man who would presently be dead. Two, he fell to pity for the guns, standing, six good comrades in a bold row. He saw a brigade going to the relief of its pestered fellows. He scrambled upon a wee hill and watched it sweeping finely, keeping formation in difficult places. The blue of the line was crusted with steel color and the brilliant flags projected. Officers were shouting. The brigade was hurrying briskly to be gulped into the infernal mouths of the war god. What manner of men were they, anyhow? Ah, it was some wondrous breed! Or else they didn't comprehend the fools. A furious order caused commotion in the artillery. An officer on a bounding horse made maniacal motions with his arms. The teams went swinging up from the rear. The guns were whirled about and the battery scampered away. The cannon with their noses poked slantingly at the ground grunted and grumbled like stout men, brave but with objections to hurry. The youth went on, moderating his pace and see had left the place of noises. Later he came upon a general of division seated upon a horse that pricked its ears in an interested way at the battle. There was a great gleaming of yellow and patent leather about the saddle and bridle. The quiet man astride looked mouse colored upon such a splendid charger. A jingling staff was galloping hither and thither. Sometimes the general was surrounded by horsemen and other times he was quite alone. He looked to be much harassed. He had the appearance of a business man whose market is swinging up and down. The youth went slinking around this spot. He went as near as he dared trying to overhear words. Perhaps the general, unable to comprehend chaos might call upon him for information. And he could tell him. He knew all concerning it. Of assurity the force was in a fix and any fool could see that if they did not retreat while they had an opportunity, why? He felt he would like to thrash the general or at least approach and tell him in plain words exactly what he thought him to be. It was criminal to stay calmly in one spot and make no effort to stay destruction. He loitered in a fever of eagerness for the division commander to apply to him. As he warily moved about he heard the general call out irritably Tompkins go over and see Taylor and tell him not to be in such an all fired hurry tell him to halt his brigade in the edge of the woods tell him to detach a regiment I think the center will break if we don't help it out some tell him to hurry up. A slim youth on a fine chestnut horse caught these swift words from the mouth of his superior he made his horse bound into a gallop almost from a walk in his haste to go upon his mission there was a cloud of dust a moment later the youth saw the general bounce excitedly in his saddle Yes by heavens they have the officer leaned forward his face was aflame with excitement Yes by heavens they've held him they've held him they've lowered his staff we'll wallop him now we'll wallop him now we got him sure he turned suddenly upon an aide here you Johns quick right after Tompkins see Taylor tell him to go in everlastingly like blazes anything as another officer sped his horse after the first messenger the general beamed upon the earth like a son in his eyes was a desire to chant a pan he kept repeating they've held him by heavens this is a carnival of joy on horseback end of chapter 6 the youth cringed as if discovered in a crime by heavens they had won after all the imbecile line had remained and become victors he could hear cheering he lifted himself upon his toes and looked in the direction of the fight a yellow fog lay wallowing on the treetops from beneath it came the clatter of musketry horse cries told of an advance he turned away amazed and angry he felt that he had been wronged he had fled he told himself because annihilation approached he had done a good part in saving himself who was a little piece of the army he had considered the time he said to be one in which it was the duty of every little piece to rescue itself if possible later the officers could fit the little pieces together again and make a battle front if none of the little pieces were wise enough to save themselves from the flurry of death at such a time why then where would be the army it was all plain that he had proceeded according to very correct and commendable rules his actions had been sagacious things they had been full of strategy they were the work of a master's legs thoughts of his comrades came to him the brittle blue line had withstood the blows and won he grew bitter over it it seemed that the blind ignorance and stupidity of those little pieces had betrayed him he had been overturned and crushed by their lack of sense and holding the position when intelligent deliberation would have convinced them that it was impossible he the enlightened man who looks afar in the dark had fled because of his superior perceptions and knowledge he felt a great anger against his comrades he knew it could be proved that they had been fools he wondered what they would remark when later he appeared in camp his mind heard howls of derision their density would not enable them to understand his sharper point of view he began to pity himself acutely he was ill-used he was trodden beneath the feet of an iron injustice he had proceeded with wisdom and from the most righteous motives under heaven's blue only to be frustrated by hateful circumstances a dull animal-like rebellion against his fellows war in the abstract and fate grew within him he shambled along with bowed head in a tumult of agony and despair when he looked loweringly up quivering at each sound his eyes had the expression of those of a criminal who thinks his guilt little and his punishment great and knows that he can find no words he went from the fields into a thick woods as if resolved to bury himself he wished to get out of hearing of the crackling shots which were to him like voices the ground was cluttered with vines and bushes and the trees grew close and spread out like bouquets he was obliged to force his way with much noise the creepers catching against his legs cried out harshly as their sprays were torn from the barks of trees the swishing saplings tried to make known his presence to the world he could not conciliate the forest as he made his way it was always calling out protestations when he separated embraces of trees and vines the disturbed foliagees waved their arms and turned their face leaves toward him he dreaded lest these noisy motions and cries should bring men to look at him so he went far and intricate places after a time the sound of musketry grew faint and the cannon boomed in the distance the sun suddenly apparent blazed among the trees the insects were making rhythmical noises they seemed to be grinding their teeth in unison a woodpecker stuck his impudent head around the side of a tree a bird flew on light-hearted wing off was the rumble of death it seemed now that nature had no ears this landscape gave him assurance a fair field holding life it was the religion of peace it would die if its timid eyes were compelled to see blood he conceived nature to be a woman with a deep aversion to tragedy he threw a pine cone at a jovial squirrel and he ran with chattering fear high in a treetop he stopped and poking his head cautiously from behind a branch looked down with an air of trepidation the youth felt triumphant at this exhibition there was the law he said nature had given him a sign the squirrel immediately upon recognizing danger had taken to his legs without ado he did not stand stolidly bearing his furry belly to the missile and die with an upward glance at the sympathetic heavens on the contrary he had fled as fast as his legs could carry him and he was but an ordinary squirrel two doubtless no philosopher of his race the youth wended feeling that nature was of his mind she reinforced his argument with proofs that lived with a sun shone once he found himself almost into a swamp he was obliged to walk upon bog tuffs and watch his feet to keep from the oily mire pausing at one time to look about him he saw out of some black water a small animal pounce in emerged directly with a gleaming fish the youth went again into the deep thickets the brushed branches made a noise that drowned the sounds of cannon he walked on going from obscurity into promises of a greater obscurity at length he reached a place where the high arching bows made a chapel he softly pushed the green doors aside and entered the hills were a gentle brown carpet there was a religious half light near the threshold he stopped horror stricken at the sight of a thing he was being looked at by a dead man who was seated with his back against a column-like tree the corpse was dressed in a uniform that had once been blue but was now faded to a melancholy shade of green the eyes staring at the youth had changed to the dull hue to be seen on the side of a dead fish the mouth was open its red had changed to an appalling yellow over the gray skin of the face ran little ants one was trundling some sort of bundle along the upper lip the youth gave a shriek as he confronted the thing he was for moments turned to stone before it he remained staring into the liquid looking eyes the dead man and the living man exchanged a long look then the youth cautiously put one hand behind him and brought it against a tree leaning upon this he retreated step by step with his face still toward the thing he feared that if he turned his back the body might spring up and stealthily pursue him the branches pushing against him threatened to throw him over upon it his unguided feet too caught aggravatingly in brambles and with it all he received a subtle suggestion to touch the corpse as he thought of his hand upon it he shuddered profoundly at last he burst the bonds which had fastened him to the spot and fled, unheeding the underbrush he was pursued by the sight of black ants swarming greedily upon the grey face and venturing horribly near to the eyes after a time he paused and breathless and panting listened he imagined some strange voice would come from the dead throat and squawk after him in horrible menaces the trees about the portal of the chapel moved sowingly in a soft wind a sad silence was upon the little guarding edifice End of Chapter 7 Recorded by Nicole Doolan on the web at NicoleDoolan.com This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information and to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Nicole Doolan on the web at NicoleDoolan.com The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane Chapter 8 The trees began softly to sing a hymn of twilight The sun sank until slanted bronze rays struck the forest There was a lull in the noises of insects as if they had bowed their beaks and were making a devotional pause There was silence say for the chanted chorus of the trees Then upon this stillness there suddenly broke a tremendous clanger of sounds A crimson roar came from the distance The youth stopped He was transfixed by this terrific medley of all noises It was as if worlds were being rendered There was the ripping sound of musketry and the breaking crash of the artillery His mind flew in all directions He conceived the two armies to be at each other panther fashion He listened for a time Then he began to run in the direction of the battle He saw that it was an ironical thing for him to be running thus toward that which he had been at such pains to avoid But he said in substance to himself that if the earth and the moon were about to clash many persons would doubtless plan to get upon the roofs to witness the collision As he ran he became aware that the forest had stopped its music as if at last becoming capable of hearing the foreign sounds The trees hushed and stood motionless Everything seemed to be listening to the crackle and clatter and earth-shaking thunder The chorus peaked over the still earth It suddenly occurred to the youth that the fight in which he had been was, after all, but perfunctory popping In the hearing of this present din he was doubtful if he had seen real battle scenes This uproar explained a celestial battle It was tumbling hordes a struggle in the air Reflecting he saw a sort of humour in the point of view of himself and his fellows during the late encounter They had taken themselves and the enemy very seriously and had imagined that they were deciding the war Individuals must have supposed that they were cutting the letters of their names deep into everlasting tablets of brass or enshrining their reputations in the hearts of their countrymen while, as to fact the affair would appear in printed reports under a meek and immaterial title But he saw that it was good outs, he said In battle everyone would surely run save forlorn hopes and their ilk He went rapidly on He wished to come to the edge of the forest that he might peer out As he hastened there passed through his mind pictures of stupendous conflicts His accumulated thought upon such subjects was used to form scenes The noise was as the voice of an eloquent being describing Sometimes the brambles formed chains and tried to hold him back Trees confronting him stretched out their arms and forbade him to pass After its previous hostility this new resistance of the forest filled him with a fine bitterness It seemed that nature could not be quite ready to kill him But he obstinately took round about ways and presently he was where he could see long grey walls of vapor where lay battle lines The voices of cannon shook him The musketry sounded in long irregular surges that played havoc with his ears He stood regardant for a moment His eyes had an awestruck expression He gawked in the direction of the fight Presently he proceeded again on his forward way The battle was like the grinding of an immense and terrible machine to him Its complexities and powers Its grim processes fascinated him He must go close and see it produce corpses He came to a fence and clamoured over it On the far side the ground was littered with clothes and guns A newspaper folded up lay in the dirt A dead soldier was stretched with his face hidden in his arm Father off there was a group of four or five corpses of a powerful company A hot sun had blazed upon this spot In this place the youth felt that he was an invader This forgotten part of the battleground was owned by the dead men and he hurried in the vague apprehension that one of the swollen forms would rise and tell him to be gone He came finally to a road from which he could see in the distance dark and agitated bodies of troops smoke fringed In the lane was a blood-stained crowd streaming to the rear The wounded men were cursing groaning and wailing In the air always was a mighty swell of sound that it seemed could sway the earth With the courageous words of the artillery and the spiteful sentences of the musketry mingled red cheers and from this region of noises came the steady current of the maimed One of the wounded men had a shoe full of blood He hopped like a schoolboy in a game He was laughing hysterically One was swearing that he had been shot in the arm through the commanding general's mismanagement of the army One was marching with an air imitative of some sublime drum major Upon his features was an unholy mixture of merriment and agony As he marched he sang a bit of dog-roll in a high and quavering voice Sing a song of victory A pocket full of bullets Five and twenty dead men baked in a pie Parts of the procession limped and staggered to this tune Another had the grey seal of death already upon his face His lips were curled in hard lines and his teeth were clenched His hands were bloody from where he had pressed them upon his wound He seemed to be awaiting the moment when he should pitch headlong He stalked like the specter of a soldier His eyes burning with the power of a steer into the unknown There were some who proceeded sullenly full of anger at their wounds and ready to turn upon anything as an obscure cause An officer was carried along by two privates He was peevish Don't juggle so, Johnson, you fool! he cried Think my leg is made of iron? If you can't carry me decent put me down and let someone else do it He bellowed at the tottering crowd who blocked the quick march of his bears Say, make way there, can't ye? Make way, dickens, take it all! They silkily parted and went to the roadsides As he was carried past they made pert remarks to him When he raged and replied and threatened them they told him to be damned The shoulder of one of the tramping bearers knocked heavily against the spectral soldier who was staring into the unknown The youth joined this crowd and marched along with it The torn bodies expressed the awful machinery in which the men had been entangled Orderlies and couriers occasionally broke through the throng in the roadway scattering wounded men right and left galloping on, followed by howls The melancholy march was continually disturbed by the messengers and sometimes by bustling batteries that came swinging and thumping down upon them the officers shouting orders to clear the way There was a tattered man fouled with dust blood and powder stained from hair to shoes who trudged quietly at the youth's side He was listening with eagerness and much humility to the lurid descriptions of a bearded sergeant His lean features wore an expression of awe and admiration He was like a listener in a country store to wondrous tales told among the sugar barrels He eyed the storyteller with unspeakable wonder His mouth was a gape in yokel fashion The sergeant, taking note of this gave pause to his elaborate history while he administered a sardonic comment Be careful, honey You'll be a kitchen-flyz, he said The tattered man shrank back, abashed After a time he began to sidle near to the youth and in a diffident way tried to make him a friend His voice was gentle as a girl's voice and his eyes were pleading The youth saw with surprise that the soldier had two wounds one in the head, bound with a blood-soaked rag and the other in the arm making that member dangle like a broken bow After they had walked together for some time the tattered man mustered sufficient courage to speak was pretty good fat, wasn't it? he timidly said The youth deep in thought glanced up at the bloody and grim figure with its lamb-like eyes What was pretty good fat, wasn't it? Yes, said the youth shortly He quickened his pace but the other hobbled industriously after him There was an air of apology in his manner but he evidently thought that he needed only to talk for a time and the youth would perceive that he was a good fellow Was pretty good fat, wasn't it? he began in a small voice and then he achieved the fortitude to continue Durn me if I ever see fellas fight so Laws how they did fight I knowed the boys and like it when they once got square at it The boys ain't had no fair chance up to now but this time they showed what they was I knowed it turn out this way Yeah, can't lick them boys, no sir They're fatters they be He breathed a deep breath of humble admiration He had looked at the youth for encouragement several times He received none but gradually he seemed to get absorbed in his subject I was talking cross-pickets with the boy from Georgie once then that boy he says Maybe your fellas are all run like hell when they once tear a gun, he says Maybe they will, I says, but I don't blame none of it, I says and but Jiminy, I says, backed him Maybe your fellas are all run like hell when they once tear a gun, I says He larved Well, they didn't run to date, did they, hey No sir, they fit and fit and fit His homely face was effused with a light of love for the army which was to him all things beautiful and powerful After a time he turned to the youth Where you hit, old boy? he asked in a brotherly tone The youth felt instant panic at this question although at first its full import was not born in upon him What? he asked Where you hit? repeated the tattered man Why? began the youth Ah, ah, that is what, ah He turned away suddenly and slid through the crowd His brow was heavily flushed and his fingers were picking nervously at one of his buttons He bent his head and fastened his eyes studiously upon the button as if it were a little problem The tattered man looked after him in astonishment End of Chapter 8 Recorded by Nicole Duhlin on the web at NicoleDuhlin.com