 CHAPTER I. 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 rumours. It cast its eyes upon the roads which were growing from long troves of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber-tended in the shadow 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 his 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 at Division Headquarters. He adopted the important heir of a herald in red and gold. We're going to move to-morrow, sure. He said pompously to a group in the company street, we're going way up the river, cut across, and come around behind him. To his attentive audience he drew a loud and elaborate plan of a very brilliant campaign. When he had finished, the blue cloth 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 the hilarious encouragement of two-score soldiers was deserted. He sat warmfully down. Smoke drifted lazily from a multitude of quaint chimneys. It's a lie. That's all it is. Thunder and lie, said another private loudly. His smooth face was flushed, and his hands were thrust suckily into his trouser pockets. He took the matter as an affront to him. I don't believe the Durned Old Army's ever going to move. We're set. I got ready to move eight times in the last two weeks, and we ain't moved yet. The 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. The corporal began to swear before the assemblage. He had just put a costly board floor in his house, he said. During the early spring he had refrained 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 peculiarly 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 question. What's up, Jim? The army's going to move. Ah, 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 very 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 a door. He wished to be alone with some new thoughts that had lately come to him. He lay down on 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 on the log walls, and three rifles were paralleled on pegs. Equipment hung on handy projections, and some tin dishes lay upon a small pile of firewood. A folded tent was serving as a roof. The sunlight without beating up on it made it glow a light yellow shade. A small window shot an oblique square of white light upon the cluttered floor. The smoke from the fire at time neglected the clay chimney, and wreathe 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 trance of astonishment, 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 with assurance an omen that he was about to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth. He had, of course, dreamed of battles all 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 people 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. Things were better and 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 a-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 him large pictures extravagant color, lurid with breathless deeds. But his mother had discouraged him. She had effected to look with some contempt on the quality of his war adore and patriotism. She could calmly seat herself and with no apparent difficulty give him 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, or over 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 newspaper, The Gossips of the Village, his own pictureings, had aroused him to an uncheckable degree. They were, in truth, finding finely down there. Almost every day the newspapers printed accounts of a decisive victory. One night as he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him clangoring of the church bell as some enthusiasts 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. Well, I'm going to enlist. Henry, don't you be a fool, his mother had replied. He had then covered her face with a quilt. There was an end to that matter for the night. Nevertheless the next morning he had gone to a town that was near his mother's farm and enlisted in a company that was forming there. When he had returned home his mother was milking the brindle-cow, for others stood waiting. Well, I've enlisted. He had said to her, defiantly, There was a short silence. Lords will be done, Henry, she had finally replied, and then continued to milk the brindle-cow. Henry 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 for the home-bounds. He had seen two-tierers leaving her 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 doggedly peeled potatoes and addressed him as follows. You watch out, Henry, and take good care of yourself in this hair-fighting business. You watch out 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 feller 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 knit you eight pair of socks, Henry, and I 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 away back to me so as I can durn 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 leading off a young feller like you, as they never been away from home much and as alls 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 wouldn't be ashamed to let me know about. Just think as if I was watching you. If you keep that in your mind, alls, I guess you'll come out about all right. You must always remember your father, too, child, and remember he never drunk a drop of liquor in his life and seldom swore across oath. I don't know what else to tell you, Henry, except in that you must never do no shirking child on my account. If so, be a time comes when you have to be killed or do a mean thing. Why, Henry, don't think of anything except what's right, because there's many a woman has to bear up against such things these times, and a lord will take care of us all. Don't forget about socks and the shirts, child, and I'll 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 bore 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 pierings, her brown face upraised as stained with tears and her spare form equivering. 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 his many schoolmates. They had thronged about him with wonder and admiration. He had felt a gulf now between them, and had swelled with calm pride. He and some of his fellows, who had donned the 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 gazed at steadfastly, and he thought she grew demure and sad at sight of his blue and brass. As he had walked down the path between the rows of oaks, he had turned his head and detected her at a window, watching his departure. As he perceived her, she had immediately begun to stare up through the high tree branches at the sky. He had seen a good deal of flurry and haste in her movement, as she changed her attitude. You 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 basked in the smiles of the girls and was patted and complimented by the old men, he had felt growing with him in 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 then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better or more timid. Secular and religious education had affected 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 river bank. They were a suntan philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward 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 skivally between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally. Yank! The other had informed him. Here are our damn good fellow! This sentiment floating to him upon the still air made him temporarily regret war. Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gravely whiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor. Tremendous bodies of fierce soldierly 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 of 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 as 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 on 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 and 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 outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it. He will panic fear groan his mind, as his imagination went forward to a fight. He saw hideous possibilities. He contemplated the lurking innocence 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 the 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. It 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 ever lastingly disgrace him. Good Lord, he repeated in dismay. After a time the tall soldiers slid dexterously through the hole. The loud private followed. They were wrangling. That's all right, said the tall soldier, as he entered. He waved his hand expressively. You can believe me or not, just as you like. All you got to do is sit down and wait as quiet as you can, and 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, retorted the other sharply. He began to stow various articles snugly into his knapsack. The youth pausing in his nervous walk looked down at the busy figure. Going to be a battle, sure, isn't there, Tim? He asked. Course there is, replied the tall soldier. Course there is. You just wait till tomorrow, and you'll see one of the biggest battles ever was. Just wait. Thunder, 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 an air of a man who is about to exhibit a battle for the benefit of his friends? Huh? Said the loud one in the corner. Well, remarked the youth, like is not this story'll turn out just like them others did. Not much it won't, replied the tall soldier, exasperated. Not much it won't. When the cavalry all start this morning, he glared about him. No one denied his statement. The cavalry started this morning, he continued. They say there are hardly any cavalry in the camp. They're going to Richmond, or someplace while we fight all the Johnny's. It's some dodge like that. The regiment got orders, too. A fellow what's seen him go to headquarters told me a little while ago, and there raise him blazes all over the camp. Anybody can see that. Shucks, said the loud one. The youth remained silent for a time, and last he spoke to the tall soldier. Jim? What? How do you think the regiment'll do? Ah, they'll fight all right. I guess after they once get into it, said the other one with cold judgment. He made a fine use of the third person. There'd been heaps of fun poked at him because they're new, of course, and all that, but they'll fight all right, I guess. Think any of the boys'll run? Persisted the youth? Ah, there may be a few of them run, but there is them kind in every regiment, especially when they first goes under fire, said the other in a tolerant way. Of course it might happen that the whole Kitten Caboodle might start and run if some big fight can come first off, and then again they might stay and fight like fun. But you can't bet on nothing. But of course they ain't never been under fire yet, and it ain't likely they'll lick the whole Rebel Army all once, first time, but I don't think they'll fight better than some worse than others. That's the way I figure. They call the regiment fresh fish and everything, but the boys come of good stock, and most of them will fight like sin after they once get shooting. He added with a mighty emphasis on the last four words. Ah, you think you know, began the loud soldier with scorn. The other turned savage upon him. They had a rapid altercation in which they fastened upon each other various strange epithets. The youth that 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. Now he said profoundly, I've thought it might get too hot for Jim Conklin in some of them scrimmages, and if a whole lot of boys start and run away, I suppose I'd start and run. And if I once started to run, I'd run like a devil in no mistake. But if everybody was a-standin' and a-fighting, why I'd stand and fight. Be Jiminy, I would. I'll bet on it. Ha, said the loud one. The youth of this tale felt gratitude for these words of his comrade. He had feared that all of the untried men possessed a great incorrect confidence. He now was in a measure reassured. CHAPTER II 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 to his views, and there was even a little sneering by men who had never believed the rumour. 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 this 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 could establish 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 metal 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. Meanwhile he continually tried to measure himself by his hands. The tall soldier, for one, gave him some assurance. The man's serene unconcern 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 heard for doomed to 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 which he privately acknowledged in himself. He was afraid to make an open declaration of his concern, because he dreaded to place some unsprupulous confident upon the high plain of the unconfessed from which elevation he could be derided. In regard to his companions his mind wavered between two opinions, according to this mood. Sometimes he inclined to believing them all heroes. In fact he usually admitted in secret the superior development of the higher qualities in others. He could conceive of men going very insignificantly about the world, burying 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 those theories and assured himself that his fellows were all privately wondering and quaking. His emotions made him feel strange in the presence of men who talked excitedly of a prospective battle as of a drama they were about to witness, with nothing but eagerness and curiosity apparent 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 dinned reproaches 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 internal 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 the gloom before the break of the day their uniforms glowed a deep purple hue. From across the river the red eyes were still peering. In the eastern sky there was a yellow patch, like a rug, laid for the feet of the coming sun. But 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 going to be kept waiting. 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 crashes of an engagement come to his ears. Staring 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 the foot of the road along the hill the clatter of a horse's galloping hooves. It must be the coming of orders. He bent forward, scarce breathing. The exciting clickly 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-warded conversation. The men in the foremost ranks craned their necks. As the horseman willed his animal and galloped away, 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 to do 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 swore bitterly and allowed, alow, to ring laugh when among his fellows. Presently they passed into a roadway and marched forward with easy strides. 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 meldingly 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 into a wood, they were like two serpents crawling from the cavern 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 at 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 cloud of dust floated away to the right, the sky overhead was of very blue. The youth studied the faces of his companions, ever on the watch to detect kindred emotions. He suffered disappointment. From our door 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 and behind the enemy. They expressed commissuration for that part of the army, which had been left upon the river bank, felicitating themselves upon being a part of a blasting host. The youth considering himself as separated from the others was saddened by the Blythe and Mary speeches that went from rank to rank. The company wags all made their best endeavours. The regiment trampled to the tune of laughter. The blatant soldier often convulsed whole files by his biding sarcasm aimed at the tall one. And it was not long before all the men seemed to forget their mission. The skates grand and unison, and regiments laughed. A rather fat soldier attempted to pilfer a horse from a door-yard. He planned 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, stood like a dauntless statue. The observant regiments standing at rest in the roadway whooped at once and entered holes sold upon the side of the meeting. The men became so engrossed with this affair that they entirely ceased to remember their own large war. They jeered the pyridog of 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 crows and 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. Tents sprang up like strange plants, campfires like red, peculiar blossoms dotted the night. The youth kept from intercourse with his companions as much as 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 tenderly against his cheeks. The moon had been lighted and was hung in the treetop. The liquid stillness of the night enveloping him made him feel a vast 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 often cursed the brindle cow and her mates, 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 mused seriously upon the radical differences between himself and those men who were dodging implike around the fires. As he mused thus he heard the rustle of grass, and upon turning his head discovered the loud soldier. He called out, "'Well, Wilson,' the latter approached and looked down. "'Well, hello, Henry. It is 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. "'Oh, we got him now.' As he spoke, his boyish face was wreathed in a gleeful smile, and his voice had an exultant ring. We got him now at last. By the eternal thunders we'll lick him good. If the truth was known,' he added more soberly, they'd 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 marchin' a little while ago,' said the youth, coldly. "'Oh, that wasn't it,' explained the other. "'I don't mind marchin' if there's going to be a fighting at the end of it. What I hate is this getting moved here and there, with no good coming of it as far as I can see, excepting sore feet and damned short rations.' "'Well, Jim Conklin says we'll get up. Plenty of fighting this time.' He'd write 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 sure. Gee, rod-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 drakes. "'You're going to do great things,' I suppose.' The latter 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 his 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 Luth, 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 skadddle. 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?' "'Nah, 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 the fighting. That's what I said. And I am, too.' "'Who are you, anyhow? You talk as if you thought you was Napoleon Bonaparte.' He glared at the youth for a moment and then strewed 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 tall soldier. In the darkness he saw visions of a thousand-tongue 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 in here 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. "'How about 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. CHAPTER III When another night came the calms changed to purple streaks. Filed across two pontoon bridges, a glaring fire wine tinted the waters of the river. Its rays shining upon moving masses of troops brought forth here and there, 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. And the soldiers slept the brave sleep of we-read men. In the morning they were routed 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 grumblings. 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 sudden 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 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 columns, had accosted them thus. Hey, fellers, what brigade is that? And when the men had replied that they formed a regiment and not a brigade, the older soldiers had laughed and said, Oh, God! Also, there was too great a similarity in hats. The hats of a regiment should properly represent the history of headgear for a period of years. And moreover, there were no letters of faded gold speaking from the colors. They were new and beautiful, and a color-bearer habitually oiled the pole. Presently the army sat down to think. The odor of the peaceful pines was in the men's nostrils, and the sound of monotonous ax-blows rang through the forest and insects nodding on their perches, crooned like all women. The youth returned to his theory of a blue demonstration. One grey 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 panting from the first effects of speed, his canteen bagged rhythmically upon his thigh. 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 this all about? What a thunder we skedaddle in this way for! Billy, keep off my feet! Yeah, run like a cow! And a loud soldier's shrill voice could be heard. What a devil they is 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 spatter 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 faculties 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 trial like a babe, and the flesh over his heart seemed very thin. He seized time to look about him calculatedly, 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 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 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 wallowed 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 further 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 the 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 among the tree trunks he could see knots and waving lines of skirmishers who were running hither and thither and firing at the landscape. A dark battle line lay upon a sun-struck clearing that gleamed orange color. A flag fluttered. Other regiments floundered up the bank. The brigade was formed in 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 busiest bees, deeply absorbed in their little combats. The youth tried to observe everything. He did not use care to avoid trees and branches, and his 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 the 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 thickets and at distant 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 the rent and one a dead foot projected piteously, and it was as if faded betrayed the soldier. When death had exposed to his enemies the poverty in 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. He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body in stair, the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the question. During the march the adore which the youth had acquired went out of view of the field rapidly faded to nothing. His curiosity was quite easily satisfied. If an intense scene had caught him with its wild swing as he came to the top of the bank, 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 upon himself and to attempt to probe the sensations. Absurd ideas took hold upon him. He thought that he did not relish the landscape but threatened him. Colton swept over his back, and it is true that his trousers felt to him that they were no fit for his legs at all. A house standing placidly in distant fields, and to him an onamous look. The shadows of the woods were formidable. He was certain that in the vista there lurked fierce-eyed hosts. 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 would bristle 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'd learn 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 forth and make a speech. Shrill and passionate words came 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 overvalued airs, as if they were already plunged into war. Others walked as upon thin ice. The greater part of the untested men appeared quiet and absorbed. They were going to look at war, the red animal, war, the blood swollen god. And they were deeply engrossed in this march. As he looked, the youth gripped his outcry at his throat. He saw that even if the men were tottering with fear, they would laugh at his warning. They would hear him, if practicable, 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 lagged, with tragic glances at the sky. He was surprised presently by the young lieutenant of his company, who began heartily to beat him with a sword, calling out in a loud and insolent voice, come, young man, get up at that ranch. No sulking, old two here. He mended his pace with suitable haste, and he hated the lieutenant, who had no appreciation of fine minds. It was a mere brute. After a time the reggae was halted in the cathedral light of a forest. The bushy skirmishers were still popping. Through the aisles of the wood could be seen of 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 stone, sticks, earth, and anything they thought might turn a bullet. Some built, compared to the large ones, while others seemed content with the little ones. This procedure caused a discussion among the men. Some wished to fight like doulas, 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 in reply and pointed to the veterans on the flanks who were digging at the ground like terriers. In a short time there was quite a barricade along the regimental fronts. Directly however they were ordered to withdraw from that place. This astounded the youth. They forgot his stewing over the advanced 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 to leave a little 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 became another thing in battle. He saw his salvation in such a change. Hence his waiting was an ordeal to him. He was in a fervor 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 soldiers. 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 or else 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 present circumstances he felt to be intolerable. The philosophical tall soldier measured his sandwich of cracker and pork and swallowed it in a nonchalant manner. Ah, I suppose it must go reconorting around the country just to keep him from getting too close or develop him or something. Huh? Said the loud soldier. Well, cried the youth still fidgeting. I'd rather do anything, most thing go tramping around the country all day doing no good to nobody and just tiring ourselves out. Somewhat I, said the loud soldier. It ain't run, I tell you. If anybody with a sense was a-running this army, it— Oh, shut up! Roared the tall private. You little fool, you damn little cuss. He ain't had that there coped or them pants on for six months, and yet you talk as if— Well, I'm on do some fighting anyway, interrupted the other. I didn't come here to walk. Go to walk to home, round and around the barn, if I just wanted to walk. The tall one red-faced swallowed another sandwich, as if taking poison into despair. But gradually, as he chewed, his face became again quiet and contented. He could not rage in fierce argument in the presence of such sandwiches. During his meal he always wore an air of blissful contemplation of the food he had swallowed. His spirit then seemed to be communing with the vions. He accepted new environment and circumstances with great coolness, eating from his haversack at every opportunity. On the march he went along with this drive 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 piles of earth and stone, each of which had been an engineering feat 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 landscape then ceased 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 reassailed 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 momentarily 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 appreciation of his profound and fine senses from such men as Lieutenant. He must look to the grave for comprehension. The skirmish fire increased to a long clatter of sound. With it was mingled a faraway cheering, a battery spoke. Directly the youth would see the skirmishers running. They were pursued by the sound of musketry fire. After a time the hot dangerous flashes of the rifles were visible. Smoke clouds went slowly and instantly across the fields like observant phantoms. The den became crescendo, like the roar of an oncoming train. A brigade ahead of them and on the right went into action with a rendering roar. It was if they had exploded, and thereafter it lay stretched in the distance beyond a long gray wall, that one was obliged to look twice at, to make sure 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 a heavy and sad hand laid upon his shoulder, awakening from his trance of observation he turned to behold the loud soldier. "'Is my first and last battle, old boy?' said the latter, with intense gloom. He was quite pale, and his girly slip was trembling, and murmured to youth, in great astonishment. "'Is my first and last battle, old boy?' continued the loud soldier. Something tells me—' "'What?' "'I'm a gone coon this first time, and I won't want you to take these here things to my folks.' He ended up in a quavering sob of pity for himself. He handed the youth a little packet, done up in a yellow envelope. "'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. CHAPTER IV CREATE was halted in a 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 gossip of the battle. They mouthed groomers that had flown like birds out of the unknown. They say Perry has been driven in with a big loss. Yes, Carrot went to the hospital. He said he was sick. That smart lieutenant is commanding G Company. The boys say they won't be under Carrot no more, if they all have to desert. They always knew he was, uh, Hannas' battery is took. It ain't either. I saw Hannas' battery off on the left, not more than fifteen minutes ago. Well, the general, he says he's going to take the whole command of the three-oh-fourth when we go into the action. Then he says we'll do such fighting as never another one regiment done. They say we're catching it on the left. They say the enemy had driven our line into a devil of a swamp and took Hannas' battery. No such thing. Hannas' battery was long here about a minute ago. The young Hasbrook, he makes a good osfarsir. He ain't afraid of nothing. I met one of the one-forty-eighth main boys, and he says his brigade fit to a whole rebel army for four hours over the Turnpike road and killed about five thousand of them. He said one more such fight is that and the war will be over. Bill ain't scared either. No sir. He was just mad. That's what he was. When that fellow trod on his hand and he up and said that he was willing to give his hand to his country, but he'd be dumbed if he was going to have every dumb-bush-whacker in the country walking round on it, sir, I went to the hospital disregardless of the fight. Three fingers was crunched. There during doctor wanted to amputate him. Me and Bill, he raided our hell of a row here. He's a funny fellow. The din and the front swelled to a tremendous chorus. The youth and his fellows were frozen into silence. They could see a flag that tossed in the smoke angrily. Near it were the blurred and agitated forms of troops. There was a turbulent stream of men across the fields. A battery-changing position at a frantic gallop scattered the 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 redly flung the brown earth. There was a slow shower of pine needles. Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees. Twigs and leaves came sailing down. It was as if a thousand axes, wean and invisible, were being wielded. Many of the men were constantly dodging and ducking their heads. The lieutenant of the youth company was shot in the hand. He began to swear so wondrously. Then 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 upon his trousers. The captain of the company, tucking his sword under his arm, produced a handkerchief, and began to bind with it the lieutenant's wound. And they disputed as to how the binding should be done. The battle flag in the distance jerked about madly. It seemed to be struggling to free itself from an agony. The billowing smoke was filled with horizontal flashes. Men running 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 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 left of the 304th immediately began to jeer. With the passionate song of the bullets and the banshee shrieks and shells were mingled loud cat-calls and bits of facetious advice concerning places of safety. But the new regiment was breathless with horror. God, Sanders got crushed! Whispered the man at the youth elbow. They shrank back and crouched as if compelled to await a flood. The youth shot a swift glance along the blue ranks of the regiment. The profiles were motionless, carbon, and afterward he remembered that the color 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. Here and there were officers carried along on the stream like exasperated chips. They were striking about them with their swords and with their left fist punching every head they could reach. They cursed like highwaymen. A moderate 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 about bawling. His hat was gone and his clothes were array. He resembled a man who had come from bed to go to a fire. The hoofs of his horse often threatened the heads of the running men, but they scampered with singular fortune. In this rush they were apparently all deaf and blind. They heeded not the largest and longest of the oaths that were thrown at them from all directions. Frequently, over this tumult, could be heard the grim jokes of the critical veterans, but the retreating men 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 on these faces. The struggle and the smoke had pictured an exaggeration of itself on the bleached cheeks and in the eyes wild, 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 quicking. 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. CHAPTER V 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, small, frilful 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 expecting 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 expositions. 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 a 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 seven hundred new bonnets were being tried on. The tall soldier, having prepared his rifle, produced a red handkerchief of some kind. He was engaging in knitting 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! Here they come! Gunlocks clicked. Across a smoke-infested field came a brown swarm of running men who were giving shrill yells. They came on, swooping and swinging the 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 used to try and rally his faltering intellect so that he might recollect the moment when he had loaded it, 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! God! Well, well, Dora! D-D-Dora! Our best! General! Passionate gesture and galloped away. The colonel perchanced to relieve his feelings began to scold like a wet parrot. The youth turning swiftly to make sure that the rear was unrelested 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 muttering 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. Boys, don't shoot to tell you. Save your fire, tell, wait till we get up close. Don't be damn fools! Perspirations screamed 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 way open. He got the one glance of the foe-swarming field in front of him, and instantly 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, cause, or 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 could commit a revolution from a hand. If he had thought the regiment was about to be 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 discomfited. There was a consciousness always of the presence of his comrades about him. He felt the subtle battle brotherhood more potent even than the cause for which they were fighting. He was a mysterious fraternity born of the smoke and danger of death. He was at a task. He was like a carpenter who had made many boxes, making still another box. Only there was furious hastenness movements. He in his thought was careening off 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 an 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 to 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-fantoms 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 blare of heated rage, mingled with a certain expression of intentness on all faces. Many of the men were making low-tone noises with their mouths, and those subdued cheers snarls, imprecitation, prayers made a wild barbaric song that went as an undercurrent of sound, strange, and chat-light, 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 curious oaths. Of a sudden another broke out in a quarrelous way like a man who has mislady's 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 impossible 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 infastened 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 on upon the field before the regiment had been growing larger and larger, like puppets under a magician's hand. The officers at their intervals rewered, neglected to stand in picturesque attitudes. They were bobbing to and fro, roaring directions and encouragement. The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary. They expanded their lungs with prodigital wills, and often they nearly stood upon their heads in their anxiety to observe the enemy on the other side of the tumbling smoke. The lieutenant of the youth 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 with blubbering and staring with sheep-like eyes at the lieutenant who had seized him by the collar and was pommeling him. He drove him back into the ranks with many blows. 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 on 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 though he had thought some friend had done him an ill-turn. The babbling man was grazed by a shot that made the blood stream wildly down his face. He clapped both hands to his head. Oh! He said and ran, another grunted suddenly as he had been struck by a club in the stomach. He sat down and gazed ruefully. In his eyes there was a mute, indefinite reproach. Further up the line a man standing behind a tree had had his knee joints 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 assistance that he might withdraw his hold upon the tree. At last an exultant yell went up 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 a fence, straddle a rail and fire a parting shot. The waves had receded, leaving bits of dark debris upon the ground. Some of the regiment began to whoop friendzendly. 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 laborer 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. Darn if we haven't. The men said it blissfully, leering at each other with thirty smiles. The youth turned to look behind him and off to the right and off to the left. He experienced the joy of a man who at last finds leisure in which to look upon him. Underfoot there were a few ghastly forms, motionless. They 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 gun 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 gun squatted in a row like savage chiefs. They argued with abrupt violence. It was a grim pow-wow. Their busy servants ran hither and thither. A small procession of wounded men were going drearly toward the rear. There 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 he could 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 their tiny horses. From a sloping hill came the sound of cheering and clashes. Smoke welled slowly through the leaves. Batteries were speaking with thunderous oratorical effect. Here and there were flags, the red and 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 emblem. They were like beautiful birds strangely undaunted in the storm. As he listened to the din from the hillside to a deep pulsating thunder that came from afar to the left and to the lesser climbers which came from many directions it occurred to him that they were fighting to over there and over there and over there. Therefore 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 glimmings on the trees and fields. It was surprising that nature had gone tranquilly on with their golden process in the midst of so much devilment. CHAPTER VI 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 wiggled in the jacket to make a more comfortable fit and kneeling replaced his shoe. He thoughtfully mopped his reeking features. So it was over at last. The supreme trial had been passed. The red formidable difficulties of 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 this 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, eh? He said affable to a man who was polishing his streaming face with his coat sleeve. He, you bet, said the other grinning sociably. I'd never seen such dumb-hotness. He sprawled out luxuriously on the ground. Gee, yes, and I hope we don't have no more fighting till a week for Monday. There were some handshaking 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 along the ranks 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 in masses out of a distant wood. He again saw the tilted flags beating 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 men groaned. The luster faded from their eyes. Their smudged countenances now expressed profound dejection. They moved their stiffened body slowly and watched in sullen mood the frantic approach of the enemy. The slaves toiling in the template 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 going to stand this second-banging. I didn't come here to fight the whole damn rebel army. There was one who raised a doful cry. I wish Bill Smithers had trod on my hand instead of treading on his. The sword joints to the regiment creaked as it painfully floundered into 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 firing began somewhere on the regimental line and ripped along in both directions. The level sheets of flame developed great clouds of smoke that tumbled and tossed in the mild wind near the ground for a moment, and then rolled through the ranks as through a gate. The clouds were tinged and earth-like yellow in the sun rays, and in the shadow they were sorry blue. The flag was sometimes eaten and lost in this mass of vapor, but more often it projected, sun-touched, resplendent. Into the youth's 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 was wearing invisible mittens, and there was a great uncertainty about his knee joints. The words that comrades had uttered previously to the firing had begun to recur to him. Oh, say this is too much of a good thing. What do they take us for? Why don't they send supports? I didn't come here to fight the whole damn rebel army. He began to exaggerate the endurance, the skill, and the valor of those who were coming, himself reeling from exhaustion as he was astonished beyond measure at such persistency. They must be machines of steel. It was very gloomy struggling against such affairs wound up, perhaps, to fight until sundown. He slowly lifted his rifle and catching a glimpse of a 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 reducible dragons. He became like a man who lost his legs at the approach of the red and green monster. He waited in a sort of a horrified listening attitude. He seemed to shut his eyes and wait to be cobbled. 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 the unexpression of exalted courage, the majesty of he who dares give his life, was at an instant smitten object. 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 regiment 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. He lost 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 bob 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 lieutenants sprang forward, bawling. The youth saw his features wrathfully red, and saw him make a stab with his sword. His one thought of 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 a 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 appalling than to be merely within hearing. 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 one man on his right and on his left, and he heard footsteps behind him. He thought that all the regiment was fleeing pursued by these ominous crashes. In his flight the sound of these following footsteps gave him his one meeker relief. He felt vaguely that death must make a first choice of the men who were nearest. The initial morsels for the dragons would be then. Those who were following him. 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 hurled over his head with long, wild screams. As he listened he imagined them to have rows of cruel teeth that grinned at him. Once one lit before him and the livid lightning of the explosion effectively barred the way in his chosen direction. He grobbled 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, all together unaware of the impending annihilation. The battery was disputing with a distant antagonist and the gunners were wrapped in admiration of their shooting. They were continually bending in, coasting postures over the guns. They seemed to be patting them on the back and encouraging them with words. The guns, stolid and undaunted, spoke with dogfowler. The precise gunners were coolly enthusiastic. They lifted their eyes every chance to the smoke-reed hillock from whence the hostile battery addressed them. The youth pitted them as he ran. Methodical idiots, machine-like fools! The refined joy of planting shells in the midst of the other battery's 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 an abandon of temper he might display in a placid barnyard, was impressed deeply upon his mind. He knew that he looked upon a man who would presently be dead. Two, he felt a pity for the gun standing six good comrades in a bold row. He saw Brigade going to the relief of its pestered fellows. He scrambled upon a wee hill and watched it sweeping finally, keeping information in difficult places. The blue of the line was crusted with steel color and the brilliant flanks projected, officers were shouting. This sight also filled him with wonder. The Brigade was hurrying briskly to be gulped into the infernal mouth 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 batteries scampered away. The cannon, with her 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 since he had left the place of noises. Later he came upon a general of divisions 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 manastride looked mouse-colored upon such a splendid charger. A jingling staff was galloping hither and thither. Sometimes the general was surrounded by horsemen, and at 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 opportunity, why... He felt that he would like to thrash the general, or at least approach and tell him in plain words exactly what he thought him to be. He 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 rarely moved about, he heard the general call out irritably. Tomkins, go over to see Taylor, and tell him not to be in such an all-fire hurry. Tell him to halt his brigade in the edge of the woods. Tell him to detach a regiment. Say I think the center will break if we don't help out some. Don't hurry up. A slim youth on a fine chestnut horse caught those 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 heaven they've held him! He began to blithely roar at his staff. We'll wallop him now. We'll wallop him now. We've got him sure. He turned suddenly to an aide. Here, you, Jones, quick, right after Tomkins, 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 sun. In his eyes was a desire to chant a pan. He kept repeating, They've held him! By heavens! His excitement made his horse plunge, and he merrily kicked and swore at it. He held a little carnival of joy on horseback. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Red Badge of Courage, an episode of the American Civil War. This liberal box recording is in the public domain, recording by Mike Bandetti. The Red Badge of Courage, an episode of the American Civil War by Stephen Crane. Chapter 7 The youth cringed, as if discovered in a crime. By heavens! They had one 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. Of course, 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. He heard 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 fury 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. Lots 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 in 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-in justice. 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 wore in the abstract and fate grew within him. He shambled along with bowed head, his brain and 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 and his punishment great and knows that he can find no words. He went from the fields into a thick wood 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 bogeys. He was obliged to force his way with much noise. The creepers catching against his leg 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 and disturbed foliagees waved their arms and turned their face leaves toward him. He dreaded least these noisy motions and cries should bring men to look at him. So he went far seeking dark and intricate places. After a time the sound of musket tree grew faint and the cannon boomed in a distance. The sun suddenly apparent blazed among the trees. The insects were making rhythmical noises. They seemed to be grinding their teeth in unison. 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 of 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 on a tree-top he stopped and poking his head cautiously from behind a branch, looked down with the air of trepidation. The youth felt triumph 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 a do. He did not stand stolidly, bearing his furry belly to the missile and dive with the upward glance at sympathetic heavens. On a contrary, he had fled as fast as his legs could carry him, and he was but an ordinary squirrel, too, doubtless no philosopher of his race. The youth wended, feeling that nature was of his mind. She reinforced his argument with proofs that lived where the sun shone. Once he found himself almost into a swamp, he was obliged to walk upon blog-tuffs and watch his feet to keep from the oily mire. Pausing at one time to look about him, he saw out at some black water a small animal pounce in and 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 boughs made a chapel. He slowly pushed the green doors aside and entered. Pine needles were a gentle brown carpet. There was a religious half-light. Near the threshold he stopped, or a stricken at the sight of a thing. He was being looked at by a dead man. He was seated with his back against a column-like tree. The corpse was dressed in a uniform that once had been blue, but it was now faded to a melancholy shade of green. The eyes staring at the youth had changed to a 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 a 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 the 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 the 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 bounds which had fastened him to the spot and fled, unheeding the underbrush. He was pursued by a sight of the black ant swarming greedily upon the gray face and venturing horribly near to the eyes. After a time he paused and breathless and panting out. 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 soingly in a soft wind. A sad silence was upon the little guarding edifice. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Red Badge of Courage An episode of the American Civil War. The sleeper Vox recording is in the public domain, recording by Mike Venditti. The Red Badge of Courage. The Road of the American Civil War by Stephen Crane. Chapter 8 The trees began softly to sing a hymn of twilight. The sun sank until slighted bronze sprays struck the forest. There was a lull and a noises of insects as if they had bowed their beaks and were making a devotional pause. There was silence, save 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 melody 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 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 running to the crackle and clatter and ear shaking thunder. The chorus peeled over their 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 of struggle in the air, reflecting he saw a sort of humor 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 in shining their reputations forever in the hearts of their countrymen, while as to fact the fair would appear in printed reports under a meek and material title. But he saw that it was good else he said in battle everyone would certainly run, save for long 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 grain walls of vapor where lay battle-lines. The voices of cannon shook him. The muskup tree sounded in long irregular surges that played Hovok with his ears. He stood regarding 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 clambered over it. On the far side the ground was littered with clothes and guns. A newspaper folded up, laying the dirt. A dead soldier was stretched with his face hidden in his arm. Further off there was a group of four or five corpses keeping mournful company. A hot sun had blazed upon the spot. In this place the youth felt that he was an invader. This forgotten part of the battleground was owned by the dead men. Andy hurried in a 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 smoked fringed. In the lane was a bloodstained crowd streaming to the rear. The wounded men were cursing, groaning and wailing. The air always was a mighty swell of sound that seemed to 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 imitated 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-whirl in a high and quivering voice, saying as long as victory, pocket full of bullets, five and twenty dead men faked in a pie. Parts of the procession limped and staggered to this tune. Another had the gray 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 stare into the unknown. There were some who proceeded suddenly full of anger at their wounds and ready to turn upon anything to your cause. An officer was carried along by two privates. He was peevish. No jiggle, so Johnson, you fool, he cried. Think my leg had 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 bearers. Say, make way there, can't you? Make way, Dickens, take it all. They suckly parted and went to the road-sides. As he was carried past, they made pert remarks to him. When he raged in reply and threatened them, they told him to be damned. The soldier of one of the tramping bearers knocked heavily into the spectral soldier who was staring into the unknown. The youth joined his 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 on the 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 followed 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 catch in flies, he said. The tattered man shrank back and bashed. After a time he began to sidle near to the youth and in a different 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 offered sufficient courage to speak. Was pretty good fight, 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 fight, wasn't it? Yes, said the youth shortly. He quickened his pace. But the other hobbled industrially 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 fight, wasn't it? He began in the small boys and then he achieved the fortitude to continue. Learn me, if I ever see fellows fight so, love is how they did fight. I know the boys, like when they once got squared at it, the boys ain't had no fair chance to come in now, but this time they showed what they was. I know they didn't turn out this way. You can't lick them boys. No, sir, they're fighters, 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 across pickets with a boy from Georgia he wants. And that boy he says, you're fellows. I'll all run like hell when they want to hear a gun. He says, maybe they will, I says, but I don't believe none of it, I says. But Jimmy, I see back to them, maybe you're fellows, they'll all run like hell. When once they heard a gun I says, he laughed. Well, they didn't run date, did they? No, sir, they fit and fit and fit. His only face was suffused with the light of love for the army, which was to him all things beautiful and powerful. After a time he turned to the youth. We hear, old boy. In a brotherly tone, youth felt instant panic at this question. Although at first its full import was not born in upon him. What, he asked? Where he hid? Repeated the tattered man. Why, began the youth, that is why I... 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 stood to sleep on the button as if it were a little problem. The tattered man looked after him in an astonishment.