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 MAGGIE: A Child of the Streets 
 
PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 BY 
 
 STEPHEN CRANE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE OPEN BOAT," ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 
 i 
 
Contents 
 
 C 85 
 A 15 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE . . . . . I 
 
 THE LITTLE REGIMENT IQ5 
 
 THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS .... 227 
 
 A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 273 
 
 AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 29 1 
 
 A GREY SLEEVE 309 
 
 THE VETERAN . . . ." .... 335 
 
An Appreciation 
 
 ALL men are aware of antagonism and desire, or at 
 the least are conscious, even in the nursery, that 
 their hearts are the destined theatres of these 
 emotions; all have felt or heard of their violence; 
 all know that, unlike other emotions, these must* 
 often be translated into the glittering drama of 
 decisive speech and deed ; all, in short, expect to be 
 lovers, and peer at the possibility of fighting. And 
 yet how hard it is for the tried to compare notes,, 
 for the untried to anticipate experience ! Love and 
 war have been the themes of song and story in every 
 language since the beginning of the world, love- 
 making and fighting the supreme romances of most 
 men and most nations ; but any one man knows 
 little enough of either beyond the remembered 
 record of his own chances and achievements, and 
 knows still less whither to turn in order to learn 
 more. We resent this ignorance as a slur on our 
 manhood, and snatch at every chance of dispelling* 
 it. And at first, in the scientific " climate" of our 
 time, we are disposed to ask for documents : for 
 love-letters, and letters written from the field of 
 battle. These we imagine, if collected and classified, 
 might supply the evidence for an induction. But on 
 second thoughts, we remember that such love-letters 
 
 as have been published are, for the most part, not 
 
 
 
x AN APPRECIATION 
 
 nearer to life than romantic literature, but farther 
 removed from it by many stages : that they are 
 feeble echoes of conventional art not immediate 
 reflections, but blurred impressions of used plates 
 carelessly copied from meretricious paintings. And 
 so it is with the evidence at first hand upon war. 
 The letters and journals of soldiers and subordinate 
 officers in the field are often of a more pathetic 
 interest than most love-letters ; but to the searcher 
 after truth they are still disappointing, for they deal 
 almost exclusively with matters beyond the possi- 
 bilities of the writer's acquaintance. They are all 
 of surmises of what dear ones are doing at home, or 
 of the enemy's intentions and the general's plans for 
 outwitting him : they reflect the writer's love and 
 professional ambition, but hardly ever the new things 
 he has heard and seen and felt. And when they 
 attempt these things they sink to the level of the 
 love-letters, and become mere repetitions of accepted 
 form. 
 
 I can remember one letter from an English private, 
 describing an engagement in which some eighty men 
 were killed and wounded out of a force of eight 
 thousand : he wrote of comrades in his own battalion 
 " falling like sheep," and gave no clue to the country 
 in which he served. It might have been in Siberia 
 or the Sahara, against savages or civilised troops ; 
 you could glean nothing except that he had listened 
 to patriotic songs in music halls at home. Perhaps 
 the most intimate love-letters and battle-letters 
 never get printed at all. But, as it is, you cannot 
 generalise from collections of documents as you can 
 from collections of ferns and beetles : there is not, 
 and there never can be, a science of the perceptions 
 and emotions which thrill young lovers and recruits. 
 
AN APPRECIATION xi 
 
 The modern soldier is a little less laconic than his 
 mediaeval forebear. Indeed he could hardly surpass 
 the tantalising reserve of, say, Thomas Denyes, a 
 gentleman who fights at Towton, aud sums up the 
 carnage of thirty-eight thousand men in a single 
 sentence : " Oure Soveraign Lord hath wonne the 
 feld."* But it is astonishing to note how little 
 even the modern soldier manages to say. He re- 
 ceives rude and swift answers in the field to the 
 questions that haunted his boyish dreams, but he 
 keeps the secret with masonic self-possession. 
 
 Marbot's Memoirs and, in a lesser degree, Tom- 
 kinson's Diary of a Cavalry Officer, are both admir- 
 able as personal accounts of the Peninsular Campaign, 
 but the warfare they describe is almost as obsolete as 
 that of the Roses, and, even if it were not so, they 
 scarcely attempt the recreation of intense moments 
 by the revelation of their imprint on the minds that 
 endured them. And, on the score of art and of 
 reticence, one is glad that they do not. Their 
 authors were gallant soldiers waging war in fact, 
 and not artists reproducing it in fiction. They 
 satisfy the special curiosity of men interested in 
 strategy and tactics, not the universal curiosity of 
 Man the potential Combatant. He is fascinated by 
 the picturesque and emotional aspects of battle, and 
 the experts tell him little of either. To gratify 
 that curiosity you must turn from the Soldier to the 
 Artist, who is trained both to see and tell, or inspired, 
 even without seeing, to divine what things have 
 been and must be. Some may rebel against accept- 
 ing his evidence, since it is impossible to prove the 
 truth of his report. But it is equally impossible 
 
 * Review of the Paston Letters, Saturday Rcvieiv, November 
 30, 1895. 
 
xii AN APPKECIATION 
 
 to prove the beauty of his accomplishment. Yet 
 both are patent to every one capable of accepting 
 truth or beauty, and by a surer warrant than any 
 chance coincidence of individual experience and 
 taste. 
 
 Mr. Stephen Crane, the author of The Red Badge 
 of Courage (London : Heinemann), is a great artist, 
 with something new to say, and consequently, with 
 a new way of saying it. His theme, indeed, is an old 
 one, but old themes re-handled anew in the light of 
 novel experience, are the stuff out of which master- 
 pieces are made, and in The Red Badge of Courage 
 Mr. Crane has surely contrived a master-piece. He 
 writes of war the ominous and alluring possibility 
 for every man, since the heir of all the ages has won 
 and must keep his inheritance by secular combat. 
 The conditions of the age-long contention have 
 changed and will change, but its certainty is coeval 
 with progress : so long as there are things worth 
 fighting for fighting will last, and the fashion of 
 fighting will change under the reciprocal stresses 
 of rival inventions. Hence its double interest of 
 abiding necessity and ceaseless variation. Of all 
 these variations the most marked has followed, 
 within the memory of most of us, upon the adoption 
 of long-range weapons of precision, and continues to 
 develop, under our eyes, with the development of 
 rapidity in firing. And yet with the exception of 
 Zola's La Debdcle, no considerable attempt has been 
 made to portray war under its new conditions. The 
 old stories are less trustworthy than ever as guides 
 to the experiences which a man may expect in 
 battle, and to the emotions which those experiences 
 are likely to arouse. No doubt the prime factors 
 in the personal problem the chances of death and 
 
AN APPRECIATION xiii 
 
 mutilation continue to be about the same. In 
 these respects it matters little whether you are 
 pierced by a bullet at two thousand yards or stabbed 
 at hands' play with a dagger. We know that 
 the most appalling death-rolls of recent campaigns 
 have been more than equalled in ancient warfare ; 
 and, apart from history, it is clear that, unless 
 one side runs away, neither can win save by the 
 infliction of decisive losses. But although these 
 personal risks continue to be essentially the same, 
 the picturesque and emotional aspects of war are 
 completely altered by every change in the shape 
 and circumstance of imminent death. And these 
 are the fit materials for literature the things 
 which even dull men remember with the undyiug 
 imagination of poets, but which, for lack of the 
 writer's art, they cannot communicate. The sights 
 flashed indelibly on the retina of the eye ; the 
 sounds that after long silences suddenly cipher; 
 the stenches that sicken in after-life at any chance 
 allusion to decay ; or, stirred by these, the storms of 
 passions that force yells of defiance out of inarticu- 
 late clowns ; the winds of fear that sweep by night 
 along prostrate ranks, with the acceleration of trains 
 and the noise as of a whole town waking from night- 
 mare with stertorous, indrawn gasps these colossal 
 facts of the senses and the soul are the only colours 
 in which the very image of war can be painted. Mr. 
 Crane has composed his palette with these colours, 
 and has painted a picture that challenges comparison 
 with the most vivid scenes of Tolstoi's La Guerre et 
 la Paix or of Zola's La Debacle. This is unstinted 
 praise, but I feel bound to give it after reading the 
 book twice and comparing it with Zola's Se"dan and 
 Tolstoi's account of Rostow's squadron for the first 
 
XIV 
 
 AN APPRECIATION 
 
 time under fire. Indeed, I think that Mr. Crane's 
 picture of war is more complete than Tolstoi's, more 
 true than Zola's. Rostow's sensations are conveyed 
 by Tolstoi with touches more subtile than any to be 
 found even in his Sdbastopol, but they make but a 
 brief passage in a long book, much else of which 
 is devoted to the theory that Napoleon and his 
 marshals were mere waifs on a tide of humanity, 
 or to the analysis of divers characters exposed to 
 civilian experiences. Zola, on the other hand, com- 
 piles an accurate catalogue of almost all that is 
 terrible and nauseating in war ; but it is his own 
 catalogue of facts made in cold blood, and not the 
 procession of flashing images shot through the senses 
 into one brain, and fluctuating there with its rhythm 
 of exaltation and fatigue. La Ddbdcle gives the 
 whole truth, the truth of science, as it is observed by 
 a shrewd intellect, but not the truth of experience 
 as it is felt in fragments magnified or diminished 
 in accordance with the patient's mood. The terrible 
 things in war are not always terrible; the nauseat- 
 ing things do not always sicken. On the contrary, 
 it is even these which sometimes lift the soul to 
 heights from which they become invisible. And, 
 again, at other times, it is the little miseries of most 
 ignoble insignificance which fret through the last 
 fibres of endurance. 
 
 Mr. Crane, for his distinction, has hit on a new 
 device, or at least on one which has never been used 
 before with such consistency and effect. In order 
 to show the features of modern war, he takes a sub- 
 ject a youth with a peculiar temperament, capable 
 of exaltation and yet morbidly sensitive. Then he 
 traces the successive impressions made on such a 
 temperament, from minute to minute, during two 
 
AN APPRECIATION xv 
 
 days of heavy fighting. He stages the drama of 
 war, so to speak, within the mind of one man, and 
 then admits you as to a theatre. You may, if you 
 please, object that this youth is unlike most other 
 young men who serve in the ranks, and that the 
 same events would have impressed the average man 
 differently ; but you are convinced that this man's 
 soul is truly drawn, and that the impressions made 
 in it are faithfully rendered. The youth's tempera- 
 ment is merely the medium which the artist has 
 chosen : that it is exceptionally plastic makes but 
 for the deeper incision of his work. It follows from 
 Mr. Crane's method that he creates by his art even 
 such a first-hand report of war as we seek in vain 
 among the journals and letters of soldiers. But 
 the book is not written in the form of an auto- 
 biography: the author narrates. He is therefore 
 at liberty to give scenery and action, down to the 
 slightest gestures and outward signs of inward ela- 
 tion or suffering, and he does this with the vigour 
 and terseness of a master. Had he put his descrip- 
 tions of scenery and his atmospheric effects, or his 
 reports of overheard conversations, into the mouth 
 of his youth, their very excellence would have belied 
 all likelihood. Yet in all his descriptions and all his 
 reports he confines himself only to such things as 
 that youth heard and saw, and, of these, only to such 
 as influenced his emotions. By this compromise he 
 combines the strength and truth of a monodrama with 
 the directness and colour of the best narrative prose. 
 The monodrama suffices for the lyrical emotion of 
 Tennyson's Maud ; but in Browning's Martin Relph 
 you feel the constraint of a form which in his Ring 
 and the Book entails repetition often intolerable. 
 Mr. Crane discovers his youth, Henry Fleming, 
 
rvi AN APPRECIATION 
 
 in a phase of disillusion. It is some monotonous 
 months since boyish ''visions of broken-bladed 
 glory" impelled him to enlist in the Northern 
 Army towards the middle of the American war. 
 That impulse is admirably given : " One night as 
 he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him the 
 clangouring of the church bells, as some enthusiast 
 jerked the rope frantically to tell the twisted news 
 of a great battle. This voice of the people rejoicing 
 in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged 
 ecstasy of excitement. Later he had gone down to 
 his mother's room, and had spoken thus : ' Ma, I'm 
 going to enlist.' 'Henry, don't you be a fool,' his 
 mother had replied. She had then covered her face 
 with the quilt. There was an end to the matter for 
 that night." But the next morning he enlists. He 
 is impatient of the homely injunctions given him in 
 place of the heroic speech he expects in accordance 
 with a tawdry convention, and so departs, with a 
 " vague feeling of relief." But, looking back from the 
 gate, he sees his mother " kneeling among the potato 
 parings. Her brown face upraised and stained with 
 tears, her spare form quivering." Since then the army 
 has done "little but sit still and try to keep warm " 
 till he has " grown to regard himself merely as a part 
 of a vast blue demonstration." In the sick languor of 
 this waiting, he begins to suspect his courage, and lies 
 awake by night through hours of morbid introspection. 
 He tries " to prove to himself mathematically that he 
 would not run from a battle " ; he constantly leads 
 the conversation round to the problem of courage in 
 order to gauge the confidence of his messmates. 
 
 " How do you know you won't run when the time comes ? " 
 asked the youth. "Run?" said the loud one, "run? of 
 course not!" He laughed. "Well," continued the youth, 
 
AN APPRECIATION xvii 
 
 " lots of good-a-'nough men have thought they was going to 
 do great things before the fight, but when the time come 
 they skedaddled." " Oh, that's all true, I s'pose," replied the 
 other, " but I'm not going to skedaddle. The man that bets 
 on my running will lose his money, that's all." He nodded 
 confidently. 
 
 The youth is a u mental outcast " among his com- 
 rades, "wrestling with his personal problem," and 
 sweating as he listens to the muttered scoring of a 
 card game, his eyes fixed on the " red, shivering re- 
 flection of a fire." Every day they drill ; every night 
 they watch the red camp-fires of the enemy on the 
 far shore of a river, eating their hearts out. At last 
 they march: "In the gloom before the break of 
 the day their uniforms glowed a deep purple blue. 
 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 ; and against 
 it, black and pattern-like, loomed the gigantic figure 
 of the colonel on a gigantic horse." The book is 
 full of such vivid impressions, half of sense and half 
 of imagination : The columns as they marched 
 " were like two serpents crawling from the cavern 
 of night." But the march, which, in his boyish 
 imagination, should have led forthwith into melo- 
 dramatic action, is but the precursor of other marches. 
 After days of weariness and nights of discomfort, 
 at last, as in life, without preface, and in a lull of 
 the mind's anxiety, the long-dreaded and long- 
 expected is suddenly and smoothly in process of ac- 
 complishment : " One grey morning he was kicked 
 on 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 
 with the first effects of speed. His canteen banged 
 
xviii AN APPRECIATION 
 
 rhythmically upon his thigh, and his haversack 
 bobbed softly. His musket bounced a trifle from 
 his shoulder at each stride and made his cap feel 
 uncertain upon his head." From this moment, 
 reached on the thirtieth page, the drama races 
 through another hundred and sixty pages to the 
 end of the book, and to read those pages is in itself 
 an experience of breathless, lambent, detonating life. 
 So brilliant and detached are the images evoked 
 that, like illuminated bodies actually seen, they leave 
 their fever-bright phantasms floating before the 
 brain. You may shut the book, but you still see 
 the battle-flags "jerked about madly in the smoke," 
 or sinking with "dying gestures of despair," the 
 men " dropping here and there like bundles " ; the 
 captain shot dead with "an astonished and sorrowful 
 look as if he thought some friend had done him an 
 ill turn " ; and the litter of corpses, " twisted in 
 fantastic contortions," as if "they had fallen from 
 some great height, dumped out upon the ground 
 from the sky." The book is full of sensuous im- 
 pressions that leap out from the picture : of gestures, 
 attitudes, grimaces, that flash into portentous defini- 
 tion, like faces from the climbing clouds of night- 
 mare. It leaves the imagination bounded with a 
 " dense wall of smoke, furiously slit and slashed by 
 the knife-like fire from the rifles." It leaves, in 
 short, such indelible traces as are left by the actual 
 experience of war. The picture shows grisly shadows 
 and vermilion splashes, but, as in the vast drama it 
 reflects so truly, these features, though insistent, are 
 small in size, and are lost in the immensity of the 
 theatre. The tranquil forest stands around; the 
 " fairy-blue of the sky " is over it all. And, as in 
 the actual experience of war, the impressions which 
 
AN APPEECIATION xix 
 
 these startling features inflict, though acute, are 
 localised and not too deep : are as it were mere pin- 
 pricks, or, at worst, clean cuts from a lancet in a 
 body thrilled with currents of physical excitement 
 and sopped with anaesthetics of emotion. Here is 
 the author's description of a forlorn hope : 
 
 As the regiment swung from its position out into a cleared 
 space the woods and thickets before it awakened. Yellow 
 flames leaped toward it from many directions. The line 
 swung straight for a moment. Then the right wing swung 
 forward ; it in turn was surpassed by the left. Afterward 
 the centre careered to the front until the regiment was a 
 wedge-shaped mass .... the men, pitching forward in- 
 sanely, had burst into cheerings, mob-like and barbaric, but 
 tuned in strange keys that can arouse the dullard and the 
 stoic .... There was the delirium that encounters despair 
 and death, and is heedless and blind to odds .... Presently 
 the straining pace ate up the energies of the men. As if by 
 agreement, the leaders began to slacken their speed. The 
 volleys directed against them had a seeming wind-like effect. 
 The regiment snorted and blew. Among some stolid trees it 
 began to falter and hesitate .... The youth had a vague 
 belief that he had run miles, and he thought, in a way, that 
 he was now in some new and unknown land .... 
 
 The charge withers away, and the lieutenant, the 
 youth, and his friend run forward to rally the 
 regiment. 
 
 In front of the colours three men began to bawl, " Come on ! 
 Come on ! " They danced and gyrated like tortured savages- 
 The flag, obedient to these appeals, bended its glittering form 
 and swept toward them. The men wavered in indecision for a 
 moment, and then with a long wailful cry the dilapidated regi- 
 ment surged forward and began its new journey. Over the 
 field went the scurrying mass. It was a handful of men 
 splattered into the faces of the enemy. Toward it instantly 
 sprang the yellow tongues. A vast quantity of blue smoke 
 hung before them. A mighty banging made ears valueless- 
 The youth ran like a madman to reach the woods before a. 
 
xx AN APPRECIATION 
 
 bullet could discover him. He ducked his head low, like a 
 football player. In his haste his eyes almost closed, and the 
 scene was a wild blur. Pulsating saliva stood at the corner 
 of his mouth. Within him, as he hurled forward, was born a 
 love, a despairing fondness for this flag that was near him. 
 It was a creation of beauty and invulnerability. It was a 
 goddess radiant, that bended its form with an imperious 
 gesture to him. It was a woman, red and white, hating and 
 loving, that called him with the voice of his hopes. Because 
 no harm could come to it he endowed it with power. He 
 kept near, as if it could be a saver of lives, and an imploring 
 cry went from his mind. 
 
 This passage directly challenges comparison with 
 Zola's scene, in which the lieutenant and the old 
 tradition, of an invincible Frenchman overrunning 
 the world "between his bottle and his girl," expire 
 together among the morsels of a bullet-eaten flag. 
 Mr. Crane has probably read La Dtbdde, and wittingly 
 threw down his glove. One can only say that he is 
 justified of his courage. 
 
 Mr. Crane's method, when dealing with things 
 seen and heard, is akin to Zola's : he omits nothing 
 and extenuates nothing, save the actual blasphemy 
 and obscenity of a soldier's oaths. These he indi- 
 cates, sufficiently for any purpose of art, by brief 
 allusions to their vigour and variety. Even Zola 
 has rarely surpassed the appalling realism of Jim 
 Conklin's death in Chapter X. Indeed, there is 
 little to criticise in Mr. Crane's observation, except 
 an undue subordination of the shrill cry of bullets 
 to the sharp crashing of rifles. He omits the long 
 chromatic whine defining its invisible arc in the air, 
 and the fretful snatch a few feet from the listener's 
 head. In addition to this gift of observation, Mr. 
 Crane has at command the imaginative phrase. The 
 firing follows a retreat as with "yellings of eager 
 
AN APPKECIATION xxi 
 
 metallic hounds " ; the men at their mechanic load- 
 ing and firing are like "fiends jigging heavily in 
 the smoke"; in a lull before the attack "there 
 passed slowly the intense moments that precede the 
 tempest " ; then, after single shots, " the battle roar 
 settled to a rolling thunder, which was a single long 
 explosion." And, as I have said, when Mr. Crane 
 deals with things felt he gives a truer report than 
 Zola. He postulates his hero's temperament a day- 
 dreamer given over to morbid self-analysis who 
 enlists, not from any deep-seated belief in the holi- 
 ness of fighting for his country, but in hasty pursuit 
 of a vanishing ambition. This choice enables Mr. 
 Crane to double his picturesque advantage with an 
 ethical advantage equally great. Not only is his 
 youth, like the sufferer in The Fall of the House of 
 Usher, super sensitive to every pin-prick of sensa- 
 tion : he is also a delicate meter of emotion and 
 fancy. In such a nature the waves of feeling take 
 exaggerated curves, and hallucination haunts the 
 brain. Thus, when awaiting the first attack, his 
 mind is thronged with vivid images of a circus he 
 had seen as a boy : it is there in definite detail, even 
 as the Apothecary's shop usurps Borneo's mind at 
 the crisis of his fate. And thus also, like Herodotus' 
 Aristodemus, he vacillates between cowardice and 
 heroism. Nothing could well be more subtile than 
 his self - deception and that sudden enlighten- 
 ment which leads him to " throw aside his mental 
 pamphlets on the philosophy of the retreated and 
 rules for the guidance of the damned." His soul is 
 of that kind which, "sick with self-love," can only 
 be saved " so as by fire " ; and it is saved when the 
 battle-bond of brotherhood is born within it, and is 
 found plainly of deeper import than the cause for 
 
xxii AN APPRECIATION 
 
 which he and his comrades fight, even as that cause 
 is loftier than his personal ambition. By his choice 
 of a hero Mr. Crane displays in the same work a 
 pageant of the senses and a tragedy of the soul. 
 
 But he does not obtrude his moral. The "tall 
 soldier" and the lieutenant are brave and content 
 throughout, the one by custom as a veteran, the 
 other by constitution as a hero. But the two boys, 
 the youth and his friend, "the loud soldier," are at 
 first querulous braggarts, but at the last they are 
 transmuted by danger until either might truly 
 say 
 
 " We have proved we have hearts in a cause, we are noble still, 
 And myself have awaked, as it seems, to the better mind ; 
 It is better to fight for the good than to rail at the ill ; 
 I have fejt with my native land, I am one with my kind. 
 I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assigned." 
 
 Let no man cast a stone of contempt at these two 
 lads during their earlier weakness until he has fully 
 gauged the jarring discordance of battle. To be 
 jostled on a platform when you have lost your 
 luggage and missed your train on an errand of vital 
 importance gives a truer pre-taste of war than any 
 field-day ; yet many a well-disciplined man will 
 denounce the universe upon slighter provocation. 
 It is enough that these two were boys and that they 
 became men. 
 
 Yet must it be said that this youth's emotional 
 experience was singular. In a battle there are a 
 few physical cowards, abjects born with defective 
 circulations who, literally, turn blue at the approach 
 of danger, and a few on whom danger acts like the 
 keen, rare atmosphere of snow-clad peaks. But 
 between these extremos come many to whom danger 
 
AN APPRECIATION xxiii 
 
 is as strong wine, with the multitude which gladly 
 accepts the " iron laws of tradition " and finds 
 welcome support in " a moving box." To this youth, 
 as the cool dawn of his first day's fighting changed 
 by infinitesimal gradations to a feverish noon, the 
 whole evolution pointed to " a trap " ; but I have 
 seen another youth under like circumstances toss 
 a pumpkin into the air and spit it on his sword. 
 To this youth the very landscape was filled with 
 "the stealthy approach of death." You are con- 
 vinced by the author's art that it was so to this 
 man. But to others, as the clamour increases, it 
 is as if the serenity of the morning had taken refuge 
 in their brains. This man "stumbles over the 
 stones as he runs breathlessly forward " ; another 
 realises for the first time how right it is to be 
 adroit even in running. The movement of his body 
 becomes an art, which is not self-conscious, since 
 its whole intention is to impress others within the 
 limits of a modest decorum. We know that both 
 love and courage teach this mastery over the details 
 of living. You can tell from the way one woman, 
 out of all the myriads, walks down Piccadilly, that 
 she is at last aware of love. And you can tell from 
 the way a man enters a surgery or runs toward a 
 firing-line that he, too, realises how wholly the justi- 
 fication of any one life lies in its perfect adjustment 
 to others. The woman in love, the man in battle, 
 may each say, for their moment, with the artist, 
 " I was made perfect too." They also are of the few 
 to whom " God whispers in the ear." 
 
 But had Mr. Crane taken an average man he 
 would have written an ordinary story, whereas he 
 has written one which is certain to last. It is 
 glorious to see his youth discover courage in the 
 
xxiv AN APPRECIATION 
 
 bed-rock of primeval antagonism after the collapse 
 of his tinsel bravado ; it is something higher to see 
 him raise upon that rock the temple of resignation. 
 Mr. Crane, as an artist, achieves by his singleness 
 of purpose a truer and completer picture of war 
 than either Tolstoi, bent also upon proving the 
 insignificance of heroes, or Zola, bent also upon 
 prophesying the regeneration of France. That is 
 much; but it is more that his work of art, when 
 completed, chimes with the universal experience of 
 mankind; that his heroes find in their extreme 
 danger, if not confidence in their leaders and con- 
 viction in their cause, at least the conviction that 
 most men do what they can or, at most, what they 
 must. We have few good accounts of battles many 
 of shipwrecks ; and we know that, just as the storm 
 rises, so does the commonplace captain show as a 
 god, and the hysterical passenger as a cheerful 
 heroine. 
 
 It is but a further step to recognise all life for a 
 battle and this earth for a vessel lost in space. We 
 may then infer that virtues easy in moments of dis- 
 tress may be useful also in everyday experience. 
 
 GEORGE WYNDHAM. 
 
The 
 Red Badge of Courage 
 
 CHAPTEE 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 
 troughs of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A 
 river, amber -tinted 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 
 camp-fires set in the low brows of distant hills. 
 
 Once a certain tall soldier developed virtues and 
 went resolutely to wash a shirt. He came flying 
 back from a brook waving his garment banner-like. 
 He was swelled with a tale he had heard from a 
 reliable friend, who had heard it from a truthful 
 cavalryman, who had heard it from his trustworthy 
 
xxiv AN APPRECIATION 
 
 bed-rock of primeval antagonism after the collapse 
 of his tinsel bravado ; it is something higher to see 
 him raise upon that rock the temple of resignation. 
 Mr. Crane, as an artist, achieves by his singleness 
 of purpose a truer and completer picture of war 
 than either Tolstoi, bent also upon proving the 
 insignificance of heroes, or Zola, bent also upon 
 prophesying the regeneration of France. That is 
 much; but it is more that his work of art, when 
 completed, chimes with the universal experience of 
 mankind; that his heroes find in their extreme 
 danger, if not confidence in their leaders and con- 
 viction in their cause, at least the conviction that 
 most men do what they can or, at most, what they 
 must. We have few good accounts of battles many 
 of shipwrecks ; and we know that, just as the storm 
 rises, so does the commonplace captain show as a 
 god, and the hysterical passenger as a cheerful 
 heroine. 
 
 It is but a further step to recognise all life for a 
 battle and this earth for a vessel lost in space. We 
 may then infer that virtues easy in moments of dis- 
 tress may be useful also in everyday experience. 
 
 GEORGE WYNDHAM. 
 
The 
 Red Badge of Courage 
 
 CHAPTEE 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 
 troughs of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A 
 river, amber -tinted 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 
 camp-fires set in the low brows of distant hills. 
 
 Once a certain tall soldier developed virtues and 
 went resolutely to wash a shirt. He came flying 
 back from a brook waving his garment banner-like. 
 He was swelled with a tale he had heard from a 
 reliable friend, who had heard it from a truthful 
 cavalryman, who had heard it from his trustworthy 
 
2 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 brother, one of the orderlies at division headquarters. 
 He adopted the important air of a herald in red and 
 gold. 
 
 "We're goin' t' move t' morrah sure," he said 
 pompously to a group in the company street. "We're 
 goin' 'way up the river, cut across, an' come around 
 in behint 'em." 
 
 To his attentive audience he drew a loud and 
 elaborate plan of a very brilliant campaign. When 
 he had finished, the blue-clothed men scattered into 
 small arguing groups between the rows of squat 
 brown huts. A negro teamster who had been danc- 
 ing upon a cracker-box with the hilarious encourage- 
 ment of twoscore soldiers was deserted. He sat 
 mournfully down. Smoke drifted lazily from a 
 multitude of quaint chimneys. 
 
 "It's a lie! that's all it is a thunderin' lie!" 
 said another private loudly. His smooth face was 
 flushed, and his hands were thrust sulkily into his 
 trousers' pockets. He took the matter as an affront 
 to him. " I don't believe the derned old army's ever 
 going to move. We're set. I've 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 rumour he himself had introduced. He 
 and the loud one came near to fighting over it. 
 
 A 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 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 3 
 
 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 clamoured at each other, num- 
 bers making futile bids for the popular attention. 
 Meanwhile, the soldier who had fetched the rumour 
 bustled about with much importance. He was con- 
 tinually assailed by questions. 
 
 "What's up, Jim?" 
 
 " Th' army's goin' t' move." 
 
 "Ah, what yeh talkin' about? How yeh know 
 it is?" 
 
 " Well, yeh kin b'lieve me er not, jest as yeh like. 
 I don't care a hang." 
 
 There was much food for thought in the manner 
 in which he replied. He came near to convincing 
 them by disdaining to produce proofs. They grew 
 much excited over it. 
 
 There was a youthful private who listened with 
 eager ears to the words of the tall soldier and to the 
 varied comments of his comrades. After receiving 
 a fill of discussions concerning marches and attacks, 
 he went to his hut and crawled through an intricate 
 hole that served it as a door. He wished to be 
 alone with some new thoughts that had lately come 
 to him. 
 
 He lay down on a wide bank that stretched across 
 the end of the room. In the other end, cracker* 
 
4 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 boxes were made to serve as furniture. They were 
 grouped about the fireplace. A picture from an 
 illustrated weekly was upon the log walls, and three 
 rifles were paralleled on pegs. Equipments hung 
 on handy projections, and some tin dishes lay upon 
 a small pile of firewood. A folded tent was sei ving 
 as a roof. The sunlight, without, beating upon it, 
 made it glow a light yellow shade. A small window 
 shot an oblique square of whiter light upon the 
 cluttered floor. The smoke from the fire at times 
 neglected the clay chimney and wreathed into the 
 room, and this flimsy chimney of clay and sticks 
 made endless threats to set ablaze the whole estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 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 labour 
 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 
 peoples secure in the shadow of his eagle-eyed 
 prowess. But awake he had regarded battles as 
 crimson blotches on the pages of the past. He 
 had put them as things of the bygone with his 
 thought-images of heavy crowns and high castles. 
 There was a portion of the world's history which 
 he had regarded as the time of wars, but it, he 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 5 
 
 thought, had been long gone over the horizon and 
 had disappeared for ever. 
 
 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 long 
 despaired of witnessing a Greek-like struggle. Such 
 would be no more, he had said. Men were better, 
 or more timid. Secular and religious education 
 had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else 
 firm finance held in check the passions. 
 
 He had burned several times to enlist. Tales of 
 great movements shook theland. They might not 
 be distinctly Homeric, but there seemed to be mucli 
 glory in them. He had read of marches, sieges, 
 conflicts, and he had longed to see it all. His busy 
 mind had drawn for him large pictures extravagant 
 in colour, lurid with breathless deeds. 
 
 But his mother had discouraged him. She had 
 affected to look with some contempt upon the 
 quality of his war ardour 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. More- 
 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 colour 
 of his ambitions. The newspapers, the gossip of 
 the village, his own picturings, had aroused him to 
 
6 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 an uncheckable degree. They were in truth fight- 
 ing finely down there. Almost every day the news- 
 papers printed accounts of a decisive victory. 
 
 One night, as he lay in bed, the winds had carried 
 to him the clangouring of the church bell, as some 
 enthusiast jerked the rope frantically to tell the 
 twisted news of a great battle. This voice of the 
 people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver 
 in a prolonged ecstasy of excitement. Later he had 
 gone down to his mother's room and had spoken 
 thus : " Ma, I'm going to enlist." 
 
 "Henry, don't you be a fool," his mother had 
 replied. She had then covered her face with the 
 quilt. There was an end to the matter for that 
 night. 
 
 Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a 
 town that was near his mother's farm and had en- 
 listed in a company that was forming there. When 
 he had returned home his mother was milking the 
 brindle cow. Four others stood waiting. " Ma, I've 
 enlisted," he had said to her diffidently. There was 
 a short silence. "The Lord's will be done, Henry," 
 she had finally replied, and had then continued to 
 milk the brindle cow. 
 
 When he had stood in the doorway with his 
 soldier's clothes on his back, and with the light of 
 excitement and expectancy in his eyes almost defeat- 
 ing the glow of regret for the home bonds, he had 
 seen two tears leaving their trails on his mother's 
 scarred cheeks. 
 
 Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing 
 whatever about returning with his shield or on it. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 7 
 
 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 dog- 
 gedly peeled potatoes, and addressed him as follows : 
 " You watch out, Henry, an' take good care of yer- 
 self in this here fighting business you watch out, 
 an' take good care of yerself. Don't go a-thinkin' 
 you can lick the hull rebel army at the start, because 
 yeh can't. Yer jest one little feller amongst a hull 
 lot of others, and yeh've got to keep quiet an' do 
 what they tell yeh. I know how you are, Henry. 
 
 "I've knet yeh eight pair of socks, Henry; and 
 I've put in all yer best shirts, because I want my 
 boy to be jest as warm and comf'able as anybody in 
 the army. Whenever they get holes in 'em, I want 
 yeh to send 'em right-away back to me, so's I kin 
 dern 'em. 
 
 "An' allus be careful an' choose yer comp'ny. 
 There's lots of bad men in the army, Henry. The 
 army makes 'em wild, and they like nothing better 
 than the job of leading off a young feller like you, 
 as ain't never been away from home much, and has 
 allus had a mother, an' a-learning 'em to drink and 
 swear. Keep clear of them folks, Henry. I don't 
 want yeh to ever do anything, Henry, that yeh 
 would be 'shamed to let me know about. Jest think 
 as if I was a-watchin' yeh. If yeh keep that in yer 
 mind allus, I guess yeh'll come out about right. 
 
 " Yeh must allus remember yer father, too, child, 
 an' remember he never drunk a drop of licker in his 
 life, and seldom swore a cross oath. 
 
8 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " I don't know what else to tell yeh, Henry, ex- 
 cepting that yeh must never do no shirking, child, 
 on my account. If so be a time comes when yeh 
 have to be kilt or do a mean thing, why, Henry, 
 don't think of anything 'cept what's right, because 
 there's many a woman has to bear up 'ginst seen 
 things these times, and the Lord '11 take keer of 
 us all. 
 
 "Don't forgit about the socks and the shirts, 
 child; and I've put a cup of blackberry jam with 
 yer bundle, because I know yeh like it above all 
 things. Good-bye, Henry. Watch out, and be a 
 good boy." 
 
 He had, of course, been impatient under the 
 ordeal of this speech. It had not been quite what 
 he expected, and he had borne it with an air of 
 irritation. He departed feeling vague relief. 
 
 Still, when he had looked back from the gate, he 
 had seen his mother kneeling among the potato 
 parings. Her brown face, upraised, was stained 
 with tears, and her spare form was quivering. He 
 bowed his head and went on, feeling suddenly 
 ashamed of his purposes. 
 
 From his home he had gone , to the seminary to 
 bid adieu to many schoolmates. They had thronged 
 about him with wonder and admiration. He had 
 felt the gulf now between them, and had swelled 
 with calm pride. He and some of his fellows who 
 had donned 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 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 9 
 
 fun at his martial spirit ; but there was another and 
 darker girl whom he had gazed at steadfastly, and 
 he thought she grew demure and sad at sight of 
 his blue and brass. As he 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. 
 He often thought of it. 
 
 On the way to Washington his spirit had soared. 
 The regiment was fed and caressed at station after 
 station until the youth had believed that he must be 
 a hero. There was a lavish expenditure of bread and 
 cold meats, coffee, and pickles and cheese. As he 
 basked in the smiles of the girls, and was patted and 
 complimented by the old men, he had felt growing 
 within him the strength to do mighty deeds of arms. 
 
 After complicated journeyings with many pauses, 
 there had come months of monotonous life in a 
 camp. He had had the belief that real war was 
 a series of death struggles, with small time in 
 between for sleep and meals ; but since his regiment 
 had come to the field the army had done little but 
 sit still and try to keep warm. 
 
 He was brought 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 effaced the throat-grappling instinct, 
 or else firm finance held in check the passions. 
 
 He had grown to regard himself merely as a 
 
io PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 part of a vast blue demonstration. His province 
 was to look out, as far as he could, for his per- 
 sonal 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 sun-tanned, 
 philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively 
 at the blue pickets. When reproached for this 
 afterwards, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore 
 by their gods that the guns had exploded without 
 their permission. The youth, on guard duty one 
 night, conversed across the stream with one of 
 them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat 
 skilfully between his shoes, and possessed a great 
 fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth 
 liked him personally. 
 
 "Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a 
 right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating 
 to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily 
 regret war. 
 
 Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked 
 of grey, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing 
 with relentless curses, and chewing tobacco with 
 unspeakable valour tremendous bodies of fierce 
 soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. 
 Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men 
 who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge 
 through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a 
 haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a-lastin' long," 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 11 
 
 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 were their prey. They talked 
 much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not 
 tell how much might be lies. They persistently 
 yelled " Fresh fish ! " at him, and were in nowise 
 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 fact no one disputed. 
 There was a more serious problem. He lay in his 
 bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathema- 
 tically 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. 
 
 A little panic-fear grew in his mind. As his 
 imagination went forward to a fight, he saw hideous 
 possibilities. He contemplated the lurking menaces 
 
12 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 ner- 
 vously to and fro. " Good Lord, what's th' matter 
 with me ? " he said aloud. 
 
 He felt that in this crisis his laws of life were 
 useless. Whatever he had learned of himself was 
 here of no avail. He was an unknown quantity. 
 He saw that he would again be obliged to experi- 
 ment as he had in early youth. He must accumulate 
 information of himself, and meanwhile he resolved 
 to remain close upon his guard lest those qualities 
 of which he knew nothing should everlastingly dis- 
 grace him. " Good Lord ! " he repeated in dismay. 
 
 After a time the tall soldier slid dexterously 
 through the hole. The loud private followed. They 
 were wrangling. 
 
 "That's all right," said the tall soldier as he 
 entered. He waved his hand expressively. " You 
 can believe me or not, jest as you like. All you've 
 got to do is to sit down and wait as quiet as you 
 can. Then pretty soon you'll find out I was right." 
 
 His comrade grunted stubbornly. For a moment 
 he seemed to be searching for a formidable reply. 
 Finally he said, "Well, you don't know everything 
 in the world, do you ? " 
 
 "Didn't say I knew everything in the world," 
 retorted the other sharply. He began to stow 
 various articles snugly into his knapsack. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 13 
 
 The youth, pausing in his nervous walk, looked 
 down at the busy figure. "Going to be a battle 
 sure, is there, Jim ? " he asked. 
 
 "Of course there is," replied the tall soldier. 
 " Of course there is. You jest wait 'til to-morrow, 
 and you'll see one of the biggest battles ever was. 
 You jest 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 the air of a man who is about to 
 exhibit a battle for the benefit of his friends. 
 
 " Huh ! " said the loud one from a corner. 
 
 "Well," remarked the youth, "like as not this 
 story '11 turn out jest like them others did." 
 
 "Not much it won't," replied the tall soldier, 
 exasperated. "Not much it won't. Didn't the 
 cavalry all start this morning?" He glared about 
 him. No one denied his statement. "The cavalry 
 started this morning," he continued. "They say 
 there ain't hardly any cavalry left in camp. They're 
 going to Kichmond, or some place, while we fight 
 all the Johnnies. It's some dodge like that. The 
 regiment's got orders, too. A feller what seen 'em 
 go to headquarters told me a little while ago. And 
 they're raising blazes all over camp anybody can 
 see that." 
 
 " Shucks ! " said the loud one. 
 
 The youth remained silent for a time. At last he 
 spoke to the tall soldier. " Jim ! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " How do you think the reg'ment '11 do ? " 
 
14 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "Oh, they'll fight all right, I guess, after they 
 once get into it," said the other, with cold judgment. 
 He made a fine use of the third person. " There's 
 been heaps of fun poked at 'em because they're new, 
 of course, and all that; but they'll fight all right, 
 I guess." 
 
 "Think any of the boys '11 run?" persisted the 
 youth. 
 
 " Oh, there may be a few of 'em run, but there's 
 them kind in every regiment, 'specially when they 
 first goes under fire," said the other in a tolerant 
 way. " Of course it might happen that the hull kit- 
 and-boodle might start and run, if some big fighting 
 came first- off, and then again they might stay and 
 fight like fun. But you can't bet on nothing. Of 
 course they ain't never been under fire yet, and it 
 ain't likely they'll lick the hull rebel army all-to- 
 oncet the first time ; but I think they'll fight better 
 than some, if worse than others. That's the way 
 I figger. They call the reg'ment ' Fresh fish ' and 
 everything; but the boys come of good stock, and 
 most of 'em '11 fight like sin after they oncet git 
 shootin'," he added, with a mighty emphasis on the 
 last four words. 
 
 "Oh, you think you know " began the loud 
 
 soldier with scorn. 
 
 The other turned savagely upon him. They had 
 a rapid altercation, in which they fastened upon each 
 other various strange epithets. 
 
 The youth at last interrupted them. "Did you 
 ever think you might run yourself, Jim ? " he asked. 
 On concluding the sentence he laughed as if he 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 15 
 
 had meant to aim a joke. The loud soldier also 
 giggled. 
 
 The tall private waved his hand. " Well," said he 
 profoundly, " I've thought it might get too hot for 
 Jim Conklin in some of them scrimmages, and if 
 a whole lot of boys started and run, why, I s'pose I'd 
 siart and run. And if I once started to run, I'd run 
 like the devil, and no mistake. But if everybody 
 was a-standing and a-fighting, why, Fd stand and 
 fight. Be jiminey, I would. I'll bet on it." 
 
 " Huh ! " 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 and correct 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 of 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 
 nowise lifted from him. There was, on the contrary, 
 an irritating prolongation. The tale had created in 
 him a great concern for himself. Now, with the 
 new-born 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 mental 
 slate and pencil derive an answer. To gain it, he 
 must have blaze, blood, and danger, even as a chemist 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 17 
 
 requires this, that, and the other. So he fretted for 
 an opportunity. 
 
 Meanwhile he continually tried to measure him- 
 self by his comrades. The tall soldier, for one, gave 
 him some assurance. This man's serene unconcern 
 dealt him a measure of confidence, for he had known 
 him since childhood, and from his intimate know- 
 ledge he did not see how he could be capable of any- 
 thing 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 
 heretofore 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 witb 
 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 unscrupulous confidant upon the high 
 plane of the unconfessed from which elevation he 
 could be derided. 
 
 In regard to his companions his mind wavered 
 between two opinions, according to his mood. Some- 
 times he inclined to believing them all heroes. In 
 fact, he usually admitted in secret the superior de- 
 velopment of th3 higher qualities in others. He 
 
18 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 could conceive of men going very insignificantly 
 about the world bearing a load of courage unseen ; 
 and although he had known many of his comrades 
 through boyhood, he began to fear that his judg- 
 ment of them had been blind. Then, in other 
 moments, he flouted these theories, and assured 
 himself that his fellows were all privately wonder- 
 ing and quaking. 
 
 His emotions made him feel strange in the pre- 
 sence 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 
 clamouring at what he considered the intolerable 
 slowness of the generals. They seemed content to 
 perch tranquilly on the river bank, and leave him 
 bowed down by the weight of a great problem. He 
 wanted it settled forthwith. He could not long 
 bear such a load, he said. Sometimes his anger at 
 the commanders reached an acute stage, and he 
 grumbled about the camp like a veteran. 
 
 One morning, however, he found himself in the 
 ranks of his prepared regiment. The men were 
 whispering speculations, and recounting the old 
 rumours. In the gloom before the break of the day 
 their uniforms glowed a deep purple hue. From 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 19 
 
 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 ; and against it, 
 black and pattern-like, loomed the gigantic figure of 
 the colonel on a gigantic horse. 
 
 From off in the darkness came the trampling of 
 feet. The youth could occasionally see dark shadows 
 that moved like monsters. The regiment stood at 
 rest for what seemed a long time. The youth grew 
 impatient. It was unendurable the way these affairs 
 were managed. He wondered how long they were 
 to be kept waiting. 
 
 As he looked all about him and pondered upon 
 the mystic gloom, he began to believe that at any 
 moment the ominous distance might he aflare, 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 moustache. 
 
 At last he heard from along the road at the foot 
 of the hill the clatter of a horse's galloping hoofs. 
 It must be the coming of orders. He bent forward, 
 scarce breathing. The exciting clickety-click, as it 
 grew louder and louder, seemed to be beating upon 
 his soul. Presently a horseman with jangling 
 equipment drew rein before the colonel of the 
 regiment. The two held a short, sharp-worded 
 coDversation. The men in the foremost ranks 
 craned their necks. 
 
 As the horseman wheeled his animal and galloped 
 
20 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 these huge crawling reptiles. 
 From the road came creakings and grumblings as 
 some surly guns were dragged away. 
 
 The men stumbled along, still muttering specula- 
 tions. 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 aloud. A low, tittering 
 laugh went 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 mellowingly upon the earth, the 
 youth saw that the landscape was streaked with two 
 long, thin, black columns which disappeared on the 
 brow of a hill in front, and rearward vanished in a 
 wood. They were like two serpents crawling from 
 the cavern of the night. 
 
 The river was not in view. The tall soldier burst 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 21 
 
 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 on6 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 threw 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 dun-coloured 
 cloud of dust floated away to the right. The sky 
 overhead was of a fairy blue. 
 
 /The youth studied the faces of his companions, 
 (ever on the watch to detect kindred emotions. He 
 suffered disappointment. Some ardour 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 in behind the enemy. They 
 expressed commiseration for that part of the 
 army which had been left upon the river bank, feli- 
 citating themselves upon being a part of a blasting 
 host. 
 
22 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The youth, considering himself as separated from 
 the others, was saddened by the blithe and merry 
 speeches that went from rank to rank. The com- 
 pany wags all made their best endeavours. The 
 regiment tramped to the tune of laughter. 
 
 The blatant soldier often convulsed whole files by 
 his biting sarcasms aimed at the tall one. 
 
 And it was not long before all the men seemed to 
 forget their mission. Whole brigades grinned in 
 unison, and regiments laughed. 
 
 A rather fat soldier attempted to 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 regiment, standing at rest in the 
 roadway, whooped at once, and entered whole-souled 
 upon the side of the maiden. The men became so 
 engrossed in this affair that they entirely ceased to 
 remember their own large war. They jeered the 
 piratical 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 kis downfall. Loud and vociferous 
 congratulations were showered upon the maiden, 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 23 
 
 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. Camp 
 fires, like red, peculiar blossoms, dotted the night. 
 
 The youth kept from intercourse with his com- 
 panions 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 cheek. The moon had been 
 lighted and was hung in a tree-top. The liquid 
 stillness of the night enveloping him made him feel 
 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 re- 
 membered he had often cursed the brindle cow and 
 her mates, and had sometimes flung milking-stools. 
 But, 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 
 
24 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 between himself and those men who were dodging 
 imp-like 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, " Oh, Wilson ! " 
 
 The latter approached and looked down. " Why, 
 hello, Henry ; is it you ? What 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 peeked. 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've got 'em now ! " 
 As he spoke his boyish face was wreathed in a glee- 
 ful smile, and his voice had an exultant ring. " We've 
 got 'em now. At last, by the eternal thunders, we'll 
 lick 'em good ! " 
 
 " If the truth was known," he added more soberly, 
 " they've licked us about every clip up to now ; but 
 this time this time, we'll lick 'em good ! " 
 
 " I thought you was objecting to this march a little 
 while ago," said the youth coldly. 
 
 "Oh, it wasn't that," explained the other. "I 
 don't mind marching if there's going to be fighting 
 at the end of it. What I hate is this getting moved 
 here and moved there, with no good coming of it, 
 as far as I can see, excepting sore feet and damned 
 short rations." 
 
 "Well, Jim Conklin says we'll get a plenty of 
 fighting this time." 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 25 
 
 " He's right for once, I guess, though I can't see 
 how it come. This time we're in for a big battle, 
 and we've got the best end of it, certain sure. Gee 
 rod ! how we will thump 'em ! " 
 
 He arose and began to pace to and fro excitedly. 
 The thrill of his enthusiasm made him walk with an 
 elastic step. He was sprightly, vigorous, fiery in 
 his belief in success. He looked into the future 
 with clear, proud eye, and he swore with the air 
 of an old soldier. 
 
 The youth watched him for a moment in silence. 
 When he finally spoke his voice was as bitter as 
 dregs. "Oh, you're going to do great things, I 
 s'pose!" 
 
 The loud soldier blew a thoughtful cloud of 
 smoke from his pipe. " Oh, I don't know," he re- 
 marked with dignity ; "I don't know. I s'pose 
 I'll do as well as the rest. I'm going to try like 
 thunder." He evidently complimented himself upon 
 the modesty of this statement. 
 
 "How do you know you won't run when the 
 time comes ? " asked the youth. 
 
 " Eun ? " said the loud one ; " run ? of course 
 not ! " He laughed. 
 
 " Well," continued the youth, " lots of good- 
 a-'nough men have thought they was going to do 
 great things before the fight, but when the time 
 come they skedaddled." 
 
 " Oh, that's all true, I s'pose," replied the other; 
 "but I'm not going to skedaddle. The man that 
 bets on my running will lose his money, that's all." 
 He nodded confidently. 
 
26 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Oh, shucks ! " said the youth. " You ain't the 
 bravest man in the world, are you ? " 
 
 "No, I ain't," exclaimed the loud soldier indig- 
 nantly ; " and I didn't say I was the bravest man 
 in the world, neither. I said I was going to do 
 my share of fighting that's what I said. And I 
 am, too. Who are you, anyhow ? You talk as if 
 you thought you was Napoleon Bonaparte." He 
 glared at the youth for a moment, and then strode 
 away. 
 
 The youth called in a savage voice after his 
 comrade : " Well, you needn't git 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 mite 
 of resemblance in their view points 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- 
 tongued fear that would babble at his back and 
 cause him to flee, while others were going coolly 
 about their country's business. He admitted that 
 he would not be able to cope with this monster. 
 He felt that every nerve in his body would be an 
 ear to hear the voices, while other men would 
 remain stolid and deaf. 
 
 And as he sweated with the pain of these 
 thoughts, he could hear low, serene sentences. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 27 
 
 " I'll bid five." " Make it six." " Seven." " Seven 
 goes." 
 
 He stared at the red, shivering reflection of a 
 fire on the white wall of his tent until, exhausted 
 and ill from the monotony of his suffering, he fell 
 asleep. 
 
CHAPTEK III 
 
 WHEN another night came the columns, changed 
 to purple streaks, filed across two pontoon bridges. 
 A glaring fire wine-tinted the waters of the river. 
 Its rays, shining upon the moving masses of 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 fear- 
 fully 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 its soldiers slept the brave sleep of 
 wearied 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 
 an* damned short rations, that's all," said the loud 
 soldier. There was perspiration and grumblings. 
 After a time they began to shed their knapsacks. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 29 
 
 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 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 
 column, 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, 
 "OGawd!" 
 
 Also, there was too great a similarity in the 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 speak- 
 ing from the colours. They were new and beautiful, 
 and the colour-bearer habitually oiled the pole. 
 
 Presently the army again sat down to think. 
 The odour of the peaceful pines was in the men's 
 
3 o PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 nostrils. The sound of monotonous axe-blows rang 
 through the forest ; and the insects, nodding upon 
 their perches, crooned like old 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 banged 
 rhythmically upon his thigh, and his haversack 
 bobbed softly. His musket bounced a trifle from 
 his shoulder at each stride and made his cap feel 
 uncertain upon his head. 
 
 He could hear the men whisper jerky sentences : 
 Say what's all this about ? " " What th' 
 thunder we skedaddlin' this way fer ? " " Billie 
 keep off m' feet. Yeh run like a cow." And 
 the loud soldier's shrill voice could be heard : " What 
 th' devil they in sich 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 of firing. 
 
 He was bewildered. As he ran with his com- 
 rades 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 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 31 
 
 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 calculatingly. 
 
 But he instantly saw that it would be impossible 
 for him to escape from the regiment. It inclosed 
 him. And there were iron laws of tradition and 
 law 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 the war. He had 
 not enlisted of his free will. He had been dragged 
 by the merciless government. And now they were 
 taking him out to be slaughtered. 
 
 The regiment 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 farther side 
 artillery began to boom. Here the youth forgot 
 many things as he felt a sudden impulse of curiosity. 
 He scrambled up the bank with a speed that could 
 not be exceeded by a bloodthirsty man. 
 
 He expected a battle scene. 
 
 There were some little fields girted and squeezed 
 by a forest. Spread over the grass and in among 
 the tree trunks he could see knots and waving lines 
 of skirmishers, who were running hither and thither 
 and firing at the landscape. A dark battle line lay 
 upon a sunstruck clearing that gleamed orange 
 colour. 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 
 
32 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 of the receding skirmishers, who were continually 
 melting into the scene to appear again farther on. 
 They were always busy as bees, deeply absorbed in 
 their little combats. 
 
 The youth tried to observe everything. He did 
 not use care to avoid trees and branches, and his 
 forgotten feet were constantly knocking against 
 stones or getting entangled in briers. 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 a great rent in one the dead foot 
 projected piteously. And it was as if fate had 
 betrayed the soldier. In death it exposed to his 
 enemies that poverty which in life he had perhaps 
 concealed from his friends. 
 
 The ranks opened covertly to avoid the corpse. 
 The invulnerable dead man forced a way for him- 
 self. 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 and stare; 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 33 
 
 the impulse of the living to try to read in dead 
 eyes the answer to the Question. 
 
 During the march the ardour which the youth 
 had acquired when 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 
 about himself, and to attempt to probe his sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 Absurd ideas took hold upon him. He thought 
 that he did not relish the landscape. It threatened 
 him. A coldness swept over his back, and 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 had 
 to him an ominous look. The shadows of the 
 woods were formidable. He was certain that in 
 this 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 ap- 
 pear in the rear. They were all going to be 
 sacrificed. The generals were stupids. The enemy 
 would presently swallow the whole command. He 
 glared about him, expecting to see the stealthy 
 approach of his death. 
 
 He thought that he must break from the ranks 
 and harangue his comrades. They must not all 
 * o 
 
34 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 corps. 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 fields and woods. 
 The youth looked at the men nearest him, and 
 saw, for the most part, expressions of deep inter- 
 est, as if they were investigating something that 
 had fascinated them. One or two stepped with 
 over-valiant 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 warn- 
 ing. They would jeer him, and, 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 demeanour of one who 
 knows that he is doomed alone to unwritten re- 
 sponsibilities. He lagged, with tragic glances at 
 the sky. 
 
 He was surprised presently by the young lieu- 
 tenant of his company, who began heartily to 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 35 
 
 beat him with a sword, calling out in a loud and 
 insolent voice : " Come, young man, get up into 
 ranks there. No skulking '11 do here." He mended 
 his pace with suitable haste. And he hated the 
 lieutenant, who had no appreciation of fine minds. 
 He was a mere brute. 
 
 After a time the brigade was halted in the 
 cathedral light of a forest. The busy skirmishers 
 were still popping. Through the aisles of the 
 wood could be seen the floating smoke from their 
 rifles. Sometimes it went up in little balls, white 
 and compact. 
 
 During this halt many men in the regiment 
 began erecting tiny hills in front of them. They 
 used stones, sticks, earth, and anything they 
 thought might turn a bullet. Some built compa- 
 ratively large ones, while others seemed content 
 with little ones. 
 
 This procedure caused a discussion among the 
 men. Some wished to fight like duellists, 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. He forgot his stewing 
 over the advance movement. " Well, then, what did 
 they march us out here for ? " he demanded of the 
 tall soldier. The latter with calm faith began a 
 
36 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 posi- 
 tion, each man's regard for his safety caused another 
 line of small intrenchments. 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 a battle. He saw his salvation in 
 such a change. Hence this waiting was an ordeal 
 to him. He was in a fever of impatience. He con- 
 sidered that there was denoted a lack of purpose on 
 the part of the generals. He began to complain to 
 the tall soldier. " I can't stand this much longer," 
 he cried. " I don't see what good it does to make 
 us wear out our legs for nothin'." He wished to 
 return to camp, knowing that this affair was a blue 
 demonstration; or else to go into a battle and dis- 
 cover 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 intoler- 
 able. 
 
 The philosophical tall soldier measured a sandwich 
 of cracker and pork, and swallowed it in a nonchalant 
 manner. " Oh, I suppose we must go reconnoitring 
 around the country jest to keep 'em from getting too 
 close, or to develop 'em, or something." 
 
 "Huh ! " said the loud soldier. 
 
 "Well," cried the youth, still fidgeting, "I'd 
 rather do anything 'most than go tramping 'round 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 37 
 
 the country all day doing no good to nobody and 
 jest tiring ourselves out." 
 
 " So would I," said the loud soldier. " It ain't 
 right. I tell you if anybody with any sense was 
 a-runnin' this army it " 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! " roared the tall private. " You 
 little fool. You little damn' cuss. You ain't had 
 that there coat and them pants on for six months, 
 and yet you talk as if " 
 
 " Well, I wanta do some fighting anyway," inter- 
 rupted the other. " I didn't come here to walk. I 
 could 'ave walked to home 'round an' 'round the 
 barn, if I jest wanted to walk." 
 
 The tall one, red-faced, swallowed another sand- 
 wich as if taking poison in 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 saodwiches. 
 During his meals he always wore an air of blissful 
 contemplation of the food he had swallowed. His 
 spirit seemed then to be communing with the viands. 
 
 He accepted new environment and circumstance 
 with great coolness, eating from his haversack at 
 every opportunity. On the march he went along 
 with the stride of a hunter, objecting to neither gait 
 nor distance. And he had not raised his voice when 
 he had been ordered away from three little protec- 
 tive 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 
 
38 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 landscape then ceased to threaten the youth. He 
 had been close to it, and 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 momentary astonishment that he should 
 have made an extraordinary commotion over the 
 mere matter of getting killed. He would die; he 
 would go to some place where he would be under- 
 stood. It was useless to expect appreciation of his 
 profound and fine senses from such men as the 
 lieutenant. He must look to the grave for compre- 
 hension. 
 
 The skirmish fire increased to a long clattering 
 sound. With it was mingled far-away cheering. A 
 battery spoke. 
 
 Directly the youth would see the skirmishers run- 
 ning. 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 
 msolently across the fields like observant phantoms. 
 The din became crescendo, like the roar of an on- 
 coming train. 
 
 A brigade ahead of them and on the right went 
 into action with a rending roar. It was as if it had 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 39 
 
 exploded. And thereafter it lay stretched in the 
 distance behind a long grey wall, that one was 
 obliged to look twice at to make sure that it waa 
 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 and beheld the loud 
 soldier. 
 
 "It's my first and last battle, old boy," said the 
 latter, with intense gloom. He was quite pale, and 
 his girlish lip was trembling. 
 
 "Eh?" murmured the youth in great astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " It's my first and last battle, old boy," continued 
 the loud soldier. " Something tells me " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I'm a gone coon this first time, and and I 
 w-want you to take these here things to my 
 folks." He ended in a quavering sob of pity for 
 himself. He handed the youth a little packet done 
 up in a yellow envelope. 
 
 "Why, what the devil " began the youth 
 
 again. 
 
 But the other gave him a glance as from the 
 depths of a tomb, and raised his limp hand in a 
 prophetic manner and turned away. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE brigade was halted in the fringe of a grove. 
 The men crouched among the trees and pointed 
 their restless guns out at the fields. They tried to 
 look beyond the smoke. 
 
 Out of this haze they could see running men. 
 Some shouted information and gestured as they 
 hurried. 
 
 The men of the new regiment watched and 
 listened eagerly, while their tongues ran on in 
 gossip of the battle. They mouthed rumours that 
 had flown like birds out of the unknown. 
 
 "They say Perry has been driven in with big 
 loss." 
 
 "Yes, Carrott went t' th' hospital. He said he 
 was sick. That smart lieutenant is commanding 
 ' G ' Company. Th' boys say they won't be under 
 Carrott no more if they all have t' desert. They 
 all us knew he was a " 
 
 " Hannises' batt'ry is took." 
 
 " It ain't either. I saw Hannises' batt'ry off on 
 th' left not more'n fifteen minutes ago." 
 
 "Well " 
 
 " Th' general, he ses he is goin' t' take th' hull 
 command of th' 3041)1 when we go inteh action, 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 41 
 
 an' then he ses we'll do sech fightin' as never 
 another one reg'ment done." 
 
 "They say we're catchin* it over on th' left. 
 They say th' enemy driv' our line inteh a devil of a 
 swamp an' took Hannises' batt'ry." 
 
 "No sech thing. Hannises' batt'ry was long 
 here 'bont a minute ago." 
 
 " That young Hasbrouck, he makes a good off'cer. 
 He ain't afraid 'a nothin'." 
 
 " I met one of th' I48th Maine boys, an' he ses 
 his brigade fit th' hull rebel army fer four hours 
 over on th' turnpike road an' killed about five 
 thousand of 'em. He ses one more sech fight as 
 that an' th' war '11 be over." 
 
 "Bill wasn't scared either. No, sir! It wasn't 
 that. Bill ain't a-gittin' scared easy. He was 
 jest mad, that's what he was. When that feller 
 trod on his hand, he up an' sed that he was willin' 
 t' give his hand t' his country, but he be dumbed 
 if he was goin' t' have every dumb bushwhacker 
 in th' kentry walkin' 'round on it. So he went t' 
 th' hospital disregardless of th' fight. Three fingers 
 was crunched. Th' dern doctor wanted t' amputate 
 'm, an' Bill, he raised a heluva row, I hear. He's 
 a funny feller." 
 
 The din in front swelled to a tremendous chorus. 
 The youth and his fellows were frozen to silence. 
 They could see a flag that tossed in the smoke 
 angrily. Near it were the blurred and agitated 
 forms of troops. There came a turbulent stream of 
 men across the fields. A battery changing position at 
 a frantic gallop scattered the stragglers right and left. 
 
42 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 little shower of pine needles. 
 
 Bullets began to whistle among the branches and 
 nip at the trees. Twigs and leaves came sailing 
 down. It was as if a thousand axes, wee and in- 
 visible, were being wielded. Many of the men were 
 constantly dodging and ducking their heads. 
 
 The lieutenant of the youth's company was shot 
 in the hand. He began to swear so wondrously, 
 that a nervous laugh went along the regimental 
 line. The officer's profanity sounded conventional. 
 It relieved the tightened senses of the new men. 
 It was as if he had hit his fingers with a tack- 
 hammer at home. 
 
 He held the wounded member carefully away 
 from his side, so that the blood would not drip 
 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 hori- 
 zontal 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. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 43 
 
 Wild yells came from behind the walls of smoke. 
 A sketch in grey 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 3<D4th immediately began to jeer. With the 
 passionate song of the bullets and the banshee 
 shrieks of shells were mingled loud catcalls and bits 
 of facetious advice concerning places of safety. 
 
 But the new regiment was breathless with horror. 
 "Gawd! Saunders's got crushed!" whispered the 
 man at the youth's 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 motion- 
 less, carven; and afterward he remembered that 
 the colour-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 fists, punching every head they could reach. 
 They cursed like highwaymen. 
 
 A mounted officer displayed the furious anger of 
 a spoiled child. He raged with his head, his arms, 
 and his legs. 
 
 Another, the commander of the brigade, was 
 galloping about bawling. His hat was gone, and 
 his clothes were awry. He resembled a man who 
 has 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 
 
44 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 retreat- 
 ing men apparently were not even conscious of the 
 presence of an audience. 
 
 The battle reflection that shone for an instant in 
 the faces on the mad current made the youth feel 
 that forceful hands from heaven would not have 
 been able to have held him in place if he could 
 have got intelligent control of his legs. 
 
 There was an appalling imprint upon these faces. 
 The struggle in the smoke had pictured an exaggera- 
 tion of itself on the bleached cheeks and in the eyes 
 wild with one desire. 
 
 The sight of this stampede exerted a flood-like 
 force that seemed able to drag sticks and stones 
 and men from the ground. They of the reserves 
 had to hold on. They grew pale and firm, and red 
 and quaking. 
 
 The youth achieved one little thought in the 
 midst of this chaos. The composite monster which 
 had caused the other troops to flee had not then 
 appeared. He resolved to get a view of it, and 
 then, he thought he might very likely run better 
 than the best of them. 
 
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 remem- 
 bered how he had stood, a small, thrillful boy, pre- 
 pared to follow the dingy lady upon the white horse, 
 or the band in its faded chariot. He saw the yellow 
 road, the lines of expectant people, and the sober 
 houses. He particularly remembered an old fellow 
 who used to sit upon a cracker-box in front of the 
 store and feign to despise such exhibitions. A 
 thousand details of colour and form surged in his 
 mind. The old fellow upon the cracker-box appeared 
 in middle prominence. 
 
 Some one cried, " Here they come ! " 
 There was rustling and muttering among the men. 
 They displayed a feverish desire to have every pos- 
 sible 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, pro- 
 duced a red handkerchief of some kind. He was 
 engaged in knitting it about his throat with ex- 
 quisite attention to its position, when the cry was 
 
 45 
 
46 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 repeated up and down the line in a muffled roar of 
 sound. 
 
 " Here they come ! Here they come ! " Gun-locks 
 clicked. 
 
 Across the smoke-infested fields came a brown 
 swarm of running men who were giving shrill 
 yells. They came on, stooping and swinging their 
 rifles at all angles. A flag, tilted forward, sped near 
 the front. 
 
 As he caught sight of them, the youth was 
 momentarily startled by a thought that perhaps 
 his gnn was not loaded. He stood trying to rally 
 his faltering intellect so that he might recollect 
 the moment when he had loaded, but he could not. 
 
 A hatless general pulled his dripping horse to 
 a stand near the colonel of the 3O4th. He shook 
 his fist in the other's face. "You've got to hold 
 'em back!" he shouted savagely; "you've got to 
 hold 'em back!" 
 
 In his agitation the colonel began to stammer. 
 "A-all r-right, general, all right, by Gawd! We- 
 we'll do our we-we'll d-d-do do our best, general." 
 The general made a passionate gesture and galloped 
 away. The colonel, perchance to relieve his feelings, 
 began to scold like a wet parrot. The youth, turning 
 swiftly to make sure that the rear was unmolested, 
 saw the commander regarding his men in a highly 
 resentful manner, as if he regretted above everything 
 his association with them. 
 
 The man at the youth's elbow was mumbling, as 
 if to himself, " Oh, we're in for it now ! oh, we're in 
 for it now ! " 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 47 
 
 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. 
 "Beserve your fire, boys don't shoot till I tell you 
 save your fire wait till they get close up don't 
 be damned fools " 
 
 Perspiration streamed down the youth's face, 
 which was soiled like that of a weeping urchin. 
 He frequently, with a nervous movement, wiped 
 his eyes with his coat-sleeve. His mouth was still 
 a little ways open. 
 
 He got the one glance at the foe-swarming field 
 in front of him, and instantly ceased to debate the 
 question of his piece being loaded. Before he was 
 ready to begin before he had announced to himself 
 that he was about to fight he threw the obedient, 
 well-balanced rifle into position, and fired a first wild 
 shot. Directly he was working at his weapon like 
 an automatic affair. 
 
 He suddenly lost concern for himself, and forgot 
 to look at a menacing fate. He became not a man 
 but a member. He felt that something of which 
 he was a part a regiment, an army, a cause, or 
 a country was in a crisis. He was welded into 
 a common personality which was dominated by a 
 single desire. For some moments he could not flee, 
 no more than a little finger can commit a revolution 
 from a hand. 
 
 If he had thought the regiment was about to be 
 annihilated, perhaps he could have amputated him- 
 self from it. But its noise gave him assurance. 
 
48 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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. It was a myste- 
 rious fraternity born of the smoke and danger of 
 death. 
 
 He was at a task. He was like a carpenter who 
 has made many boxes, making still another box, 
 only there was furious haste in his movements. He, 
 in his thought, was careering off in other places, 
 even as the carpenter who, as he works, whistles and 
 thinks of his friend or his enemy, his home or a 
 saloon. And these jolted dreams were never perfect 
 to him afterward, but remained a mass of blurred 
 shapes. 
 
 Presently he began to feel the effects of the war 
 atmosphere a blistering sweat, a sensation that his 
 eyeballs were about to crack like hot stones. A 
 burning roar filled his ears. 
 
 Following this came a red rage. He developed 
 the acute exasperation of a pestered animal, a well- 
 meaning cow worried by dogs. He had a mad 
 feeling against his rifle, which could only be used 
 against one life at a time. He wished to rush 
 forward and strangle with his fingers. He craved 
 a power that would enable him to make a world- 
 sweeping gesture and brush all back. His impotency 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 49 
 
 appeared to him, and made his rage into that of a 
 driven beast. 
 
 Buried in the smoke of many rifles, his anger was 
 directed not so much against the men whom he knew 
 were rushing toward him, as against the swirling 
 battle phantoms which were choking him, stuffing 
 their smoke robes down his parched throat. He 
 fought frantically for respite for his senses, for 
 air, as a babe being smothered attacks the deadly 
 blankets. 
 
 There was a blare of heated rage mingled with a 
 certain expression of intentness on all faces. Many 
 of the men were making low-toned noises with their 
 mouths, and these subdued cheers, snarls, impreca- 
 tions, prayers, made a wild, barbaric song that went 
 as an undercurrent of sound, strange and chant-like, 
 with the resounding chords of the war march. The 
 man at the youth's elbow was babbling. In it there 
 was something soft and tender, like the monologue 
 of a babe. The tall soldier was swearing in a loud 
 voice. From his lips came a black procession of 
 curious oaths. Of a sudden another broke out in a 
 querulous way, like a man who has mislaid his hat. 
 " Well, why don't they support us ? Why don't they 
 send supports ? Do they think " 
 
 The youth in his battle sleep heard this as one 
 who dozes hears. 
 
 There was a singular absence of heroic poses. The 
 men, bending and surging in their haste and rage, 
 were in every impossible attitude. The steel ram- 
 rods clanked and clanged with incessant din as the 
 men pounded them furiously into the hot rifle- 
 
50 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 barrels. The flaps of the cartridge-boxes were all 
 unfastened, and bobbed idiotically with each move- 
 ment. The rifles, once loaded, were jerked to the 
 shoulder and fired without apparent aim into the 
 smoke or at one of the blurred and shifting forms 
 which upon the field before the regiment had been 
 growing larger and larger, like puppets under a 
 magician's hand. 
 
 The officers, at their intervals, rearward, neglected 
 to stand in picturesque attitudes. They were bobbing 
 to and fro, roaring directions and encouragements. 
 The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary. 
 They expended their lungs with prodigal wills. 
 And often they nearly stood upon their heads in 
 their anxiety to observe the enemy on the other 
 side of the tumbling smoke. 
 
 The lieutenant of the youth's company had en- 
 countered a soldier who had fled screaming at the 
 first volley of his comrades. Behind the lines these 
 two were acting a little isolated scene. The man 
 was blubbering and staring with sheep-like eyes at 
 the lieutenant, who had seized him by the collar 
 and was 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 in it. He tried to reload 
 his gun, but his shaking hands prevented. The 
 lieutenant was obliged to assist him. 
 
 The men dropped here and there like bundles. 
 The captain of the youth's company had been killed 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 51 
 
 in an early part of the action. His body lay stretched 
 out in the position of a tired man resting, but upon 
 his face there was an astonished and sorrowful look, 
 as if he thought some friend had done him an ill 
 turn. The babbling man was grazed by a shot that 
 made the blood stream widely down his face. He 
 clapped both hands to his head. " Oh ! " he said, 
 and ran. Another grunted suddenly as if he had 
 been struck by a club in the stomach. He sat down 
 and gazed ruefully. In his eyes there was mute, 
 indefinite reproach. Farther up the line a man, 
 standing behind a tree, had had his knee-joint 
 splintered by a ball. Immediately he had dropped 
 his rifle and gripped the tree with both arms. And 
 there he remained, clinging desperately and crying 
 for assistance, that he might withdraw his hold upon 
 the tree. 
 
 At last an exultant yell went along the quivering 
 line. The firing dwindled from an uproar to a last 
 vindictive popping. As the smoke slowly eddied 
 away, the youth saw that the charge had been 
 repulsed. The enemy were scattered into reluctant 
 groups. He saw a man climb to the top of the 
 fence, straddle the rail, and fire a parting shot. The 
 waves had receded, leaving bits of dark debris upon 
 the ground. 
 
 Some in the regiment began to whoop frenziedly. 
 Many were silent. Apparently they were trying to 
 contemplate themselves. 
 
 After the fever had left his veins, the youth 
 thought that at last he was going to suffocate. He 
 became aware of the foul atmosphere in which he 
 
52 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 had been struggling. He was grimy and dripping 
 like a labourer in a foundry. He grasped his canteen 
 and took a long swallow of the warmed water. 
 
 A sentence with variations went up and down 
 the line. " Well, we've helt 'em back. We've helt 
 'em back ; derned if we haven't." The men said 
 it blissfully, leering at each other with dirty 
 smiles. 
 
 The youth turned to look behind him and off to the 
 right and off to the left. He experienced the joy of 
 a man who at last finds leisure in which to look 
 about him. 
 
 Under foot there were a few ghastly forms motion- 
 less. They lay twisted in fantastic contortions. 
 Arms were bent and heads were turned in incredible 
 ways. It seemed that the dead men must have 
 fallen from some great height to get into such posi- 
 tions. They looked to be dumped out upon the 
 ground from the sky. 
 
 From a position in the rear of the grove a battery 
 was throwing shells over it. The flash of the guns 
 startled the youth at first. He thought they were 
 aimed directly at him. Through the trees he watched 
 the black figures of the gunners as they worked 
 swiftly and intently. Their labour seemed a com- 
 plicated thing. He wondered how they could re- 
 member its formula in the midst of confusion. 
 
 The guns 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 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 53 
 
 drearily toward the rear. It was a flow of blood 
 from the torn body of the brigade. 
 
 To the right and to the left were the dark lines of 
 other troops. Far in front he thought 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 
 the tiny horses. 
 
 From a sloping hill came the sound of cheerings 
 and clashes. Smoke welled slowly through the 
 leaves. 
 
 Batteries were speaking with thunderous oratorical 
 effort. Here and there were flags, the red in the 
 stripes dominating. They splashed bits of warm 
 colour 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 a 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 clamours which came from 
 many directions, it occurred to him that they were 
 fighting, too, over there, and over there, and over 
 there. Heretofore 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 
 gleamings on the trees and fields. It was surprising 
 that Nature had gone tranquilly on with her 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 him- 
 self. For moments he had been scrutinising his 
 person in a dazed way as if he had never before 
 seen himself. Then he picked up his cap from the 
 ground. He wriggled in his jacket to make a more 
 comfortable fit, and kneeling, relaced his shoe. He 
 thoughtfully mopped his reeking features. 
 
 So it was all 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 thus was magnificent. 
 
 He felt that he was a fine fellow. He saw himself 
 even with those ideals which he had considered as 
 far beyond him. He smiled in deep gratification. 
 
 Upon his fellows he beamed tenderness and good 
 will. " Gee ! ain't it hot, hey ? " he said affably to 
 a man who was polishing his streaming face with his 
 coat-sleeves. 
 
 " You bet ! " said the other, grinning sociably. 
 
 54 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 55 
 
 "I never seen sech dumb hotness." He sprawled 
 out luxuriously on the ground. "Gee, yes ! An' I 
 hope we don't have no more fightin' till a week 
 from Monday." 
 
 There were some handshakings 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 ag'in! Here they come ag'in!" The man 
 who had sprawled upon the ground started up and 
 said, " Gosh ! " 
 
 The youth turned quick eyes upon the field. He 
 discerned forms begin to swell in masses out of a 
 distant wood. He again saw the tilted flag speeding 
 forward. 
 
 The shells which had ceased to trouble the regiment 
 for a time came swirling again, and exploded in the 
 grass or among the leaves of the trees. They looked 
 to be strange war flowers bursting into fierce bloom. 
 
 The men groaned. The lustre faded from their 
 eyes. Their smudged countenances now expressed 
 a profound dejection. They moved their stiffened 
 bodies slowly, and watched in sullen mood the 
 frantic approach of the enemy. The slaves toiling 
 in the temple of this god began to feel rebellion at 
 his harsh tasks. 
 
 They fretted and complained each to each. " Oh, 
 say, this is too much of a good thing ! Why can't 
 somebody send us supports?" 
 
56 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " We ain't never goin' to stand this second bang- 
 ing. I didn't come here to fight the hull damn' 
 rebel army." 
 
 There was one who raised a doleful cry. " I wish 
 Bill Smithers had trod on my hand, insteader me 
 treddin' on his'n." The sore joints of the regiment 
 creaked as it painfully floundered into position to 
 repulse. 
 
 The youth stared. Surely, he thought, this im- 
 possible thing was not about to happen. He waited 
 as if he expected the enemy to suddenly stop, 
 apologise, and retire bowing. It was all a mistake. 
 
 But the firing began somewhere on the regi- 
 mental 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 an earth-like yellow in the sun-rays and 
 in the shadow were a sorry blue. The flag was some- 
 times eaten and lost in this mass of vapour, 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 wear- 
 ing invisible mittens. And there was a great uncer- 
 tainty about his knee-joints. 
 
 The words that comrades had uttered previous to 
 the firing began to recur to him. " Oh, say, this is 
 too much of a good thing ! What do they take us 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE $7 
 
 for why don't they send supports ? I didn't come 
 here to fight the hull damned rebel army." 
 
 He began to exaggerate the endurance, the skill, 
 and the valour of those who were coming. Himself 
 reeling from exhaustion, he was astonished beyond 
 measure at such persistency. They must be machines 
 of steel. It was very gloomy struggling against such 
 affairs, wound up, perhaps, to fight until sundown. 
 
 He slowly lifted his rifle and, catching a glimpse 
 of the thickspread field, he blazed at a cantering 
 cluster. He stopped then and began to peer as best 
 he could through the smoke. He caught changing 
 news of the ground covered with men, who were all 
 running like pursued imps, and yelling. 
 
 To the youth it was an onslaught of redoubtable 
 dragons. He became like the man who lost his 
 legs at the approach of the red and green monster. 
 He waited in a sort of a horrified, listening atti- 
 tude. He seemed to shut his eyes and wait to be 
 gobbled. 
 
 A man near him, who up to this time had been 
 working feverishly at his rifle, suddenly stopped and 
 ran with howls. A lad whose face had borne an 
 expression of exalted courage, the majesty of he 
 who dares give his life, was, at an instant, smitten 
 abject. He blanched like one who has come to the 
 edge of a cliff at midnight and is 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 
 
58 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 clamour, 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 bobbed wildly, and his canteen, 
 by its slender cord, swung out behind. On his 
 face was all the horror of those things which he 
 imagined. 
 
 The lieutenant sprang forward bawling. The 
 youth saw his features wrathfully red, and saw him 
 make a dab 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 be- 
 tween 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 be- 
 lieved himself liable to be crushed. 
 
 As he ran on he mingled with others. He dimly 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 59 
 
 saw men on his right and on his left, and he heard 
 footsteps behind him. He thought that all the regi- 
 ment was fleeing, pursued by these ominous crashes. 
 
 In his flight the sound of these following footsteps 
 gave him his one meagre 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 hurtled over his 
 head with long wild screams. As he listened, he ima- 
 gined them to have rows of cruel teeth that grinned 
 at him. Once one lit before him, and the livid light- 
 ning of the explosion effectually barred the way in 
 his chosen direction. He grovelled on the ground, 
 and then springing up, went careering off through 
 some bushes. 
 
 He experienced a thrill of amazement when he 
 came within view of a battery in action. The men 
 there seemed to be in conventional moods, altogether 
 unaware of the impending annihilation. The battery 
 was disputing with a distant antagonist, and the 
 gunners were wrapped in admiration of their shoot- 
 ing. They were continually bending in coaxing 
 postures over the guns. They seemed to be pat- 
 ting them on the back, and encouraging them with 
 words. The guns, stolid and undaunted, spoke with 
 dogged valour. 
 
 The precise gunners were coolly enthusiastic. 
 
6o PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 They lifted their eyes every chance to the smoke- 
 wreathed hillock from whence the hostile battery 
 addressed them. The youth pitied them as he ran. 
 Methodical idiots! Machine-like fools! The re- 
 fined 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 barn-yard, was impressed deeply 
 upon his mind. He knew that he looked upon a 
 man who would presently be dead. 
 
 Too, he felt a pity for the guns, standing, six good 
 comrades, in a bold row. 
 
 He saw a brigade going to the relief of its pes- 
 fcered fellows. He scrambled upon a wee hill and 
 watched it sweeping finely, keeping formation in 
 difficult places. The blue of the line was crusted 
 with steel colour, and the brilliant flags projected. 
 Officers were shouting. 
 
 This sight also filled him with wonder. The 
 brigade was hurrying briskly to be gulped into 
 the infernal mouths of the war god. What manner 
 of men were they, anyhow ? Ah, it was some won- 
 drous 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 mo- 
 tions with his arms. The teams went swinging up 
 from the rear, the guns were whirled about, and the 
 battery scampered away. The cannon, with their 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 61 
 
 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 division seated 
 upon a horse that pricked its ears in an interested 
 way at the battle. There was a great gleaming of 
 yellow and patent leather about the saddle and bridle. 
 The quiet man astride looked mouse-coloured 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 a surety 
 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. It was criminal 
 to stay calmly in one spot and make no effort to stay 
 destruction. He loitered in a fever of eagerness for 
 the division commander to apply to him. 
 
 As he warily moved about, he heard the general 
 
62 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 call oat irritably: "TompHns, go over an' see 
 Taylor, and tell him not t' be in such an all-fired 
 hurry; tell him t' halt his brigade in th' edge of th' 
 woods ; tell him t' detach a reg'ment say I think 
 the centre 11 break if we don't help it out some ; 
 tell him f hurry up." 
 
 A slim youth on a fine chestnut horse caught 
 these swift words from the mouth of his superior. 
 He made his horse bound into a gallop almost from 
 a walk in his haste to go upon his mission. There 
 was a cloud of dust. 
 
 A moment later the youth saw the general bounce 
 excitedly in his saddle, 
 
 " Yes, by heavens, they have ! " The officer leaned 
 forward. His face was aflame with excitement 
 " Yee, by heavens, they've held 'im ! They've held 
 'im!" 
 
 He began to blithely roar at his staff : " Well 
 wallop "im now. Well wallop 'im now. We've got 
 'em sure," He turned suddenly upon an aid : " Here 
 YOU Jones quick ride after Tompkins see 
 Taylor tell him t' 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 paean. He 
 kept repeating, " They've held 'em, 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 
 
CHAPTER VH 
 
 THE youth cringed as if discovered in a crime. By 
 heavens, they had won after all ! The imbecile line 
 had remained and become victors. He conld hear 
 cheering. 
 
 He lifted himself npon his toes and looked in the 
 direction of the fight. A yellow fog lay wallowing 
 on the tree-tops. From beneath it came the clatter 
 of musketry. Hoarse cries told of an advance. 
 
 He turned away amazed and angry. He felt that 
 he had been wronged. 
 
 He had fled, he told himself, because annihilation 
 approached. He had done a good part in saving 
 himself, who was a little piece of the army. He 
 had considered the time, he said, to be one in which 
 it was the duty of every little piece to rescue itself 
 if possible. Later the officers could fit the little 
 pieces together again, and make a battle front If 
 none of the little pieces were wise enough to save 
 themselves from the flurry of death at such a time, 
 why, then, where would be the army? It was all 
 plain that he had proceeded according to very cor- 
 rect and commendable rules. His actions had been 
 sagacious things. They had been full of strategy. 
 They were the work of a master's legs. 
 
 Thoughts of his comrades came to 
 63 
 
64 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 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 
 injustice. He had proceeded with wisdom and from 
 the most righteous motives under heaven's blue, only 
 to be frustrated by hateful circumstances. 
 
 A dull, animal-like rebellion against his fellows, 
 war in the abstract, and fate grew within him. He 
 shambled along with bowed head, his brain in a tumult 
 of agony and despair. When he looked loweringly 
 up, quivering at each sound, his eyes had the expres- 
 sion 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 RED BADGE OF COURAGE 65 
 
 The ground was cluttered with vines and bushes, 
 and the trees grew close, and spread out like bouquets. 
 He was obliged to force his way with much noise. 
 The creepers, catching against his legs, cried out 
 harshly as their sprays were torn from the barks 
 of trees. The swishing saplings tried to make 
 known his presence to the world. He could not 
 conciliate the forest. As he made his way, it was 
 always calling out protestations. When he sepa- 
 rated embraces of trees and vines, the disturbed 
 foliages waved their arms and turned their face 
 leaves toward him. He dreaded lest these noisy 
 motions and cries should bring men to look at 
 him. So he went far, seeking dark and intricate 
 places. 
 
 After a time the sound of musketry grew faint, 
 and the cannon boomed in the distance. The sun, 
 suddenly apparent, blazed among the trees. The 
 in sects were m aking rhythmical noises. They seemed 
 to be grinding their teeth in unison. A woodpecker 
 stuck his impudent head around the side of a tree. 
 A bird flew on light-hearted wing. 
 
 Off was the rumble of death. It seemed now that 
 Nature had no ears. 
 
 This landscape gave him assurance. A fair field 
 holding life. It was the religion of peace. It would 
 die if its timid eyes were compelled to see blood. 
 He conceived Nature to be a woman with a deep 
 aversion to tragedy. 
 
 He threw a pine cone at a jovial squirrel, and 
 he ran with chattering fear. High in a tree-top 
 he stopped, and, poking his head cautiously from 
 
66 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 behind a branch, looked down with an air of trepi- 
 dation. 
 
 The youth felt triumphant at this exhibition. 
 There was the law, he said. Nature had given 
 him a sign. The squirrel, immediately upon re- 
 cognising danger, had taken to his legs without 
 ado. He did not stand stolidly baring his furry 
 belly to the missile, and die with an upward glance 
 at the sympathetic heavens. On the contrary, he 
 had fled as fast as his legs could carry him; and 
 he was but an ordinary squirrel, too doubtless 
 no philosopher of his race. The youth wended, 
 feeling that Nature was of his mind. She re- 
 enforced his argument with proofs that lived where 
 the sun shone. 
 
 Once he found himself almost into a swamp. He 
 was obliged to walk upon bog tufts, 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 emerge 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 ob- 
 scurity into promises of a greater obscurity. 
 
 At length he reached a place where the high* 
 arching boughs made a chapel. He softly 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, horror-stricken at 
 the sight of a thing. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 67 
 
 He was being looked at by a dead man, who was 
 seated with his back against a column-like tree. 
 The corpse was dressed in a uniform that once had 
 been blue, but was now faded to a melancholy shade 
 of green. The eyes, staring at the youth, had 
 changed to the dull hue to be seen on the side of 
 a dead fish. The mouth was open. Its red had 
 changed to an appalling yellow. Over the grey 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 a 
 tree. Leaning upon this he retreated, step by step, 
 with his face still toward the thing. He feared that 
 if he turned his back the body might spring up and 
 stealthily pursue him. 
 
 The branches, pushing against him, threatened to 
 throw him over upon it. His unguided feet, too, 
 caught aggravatingly in brambles; and with it all 
 he received a subtle suggestion to touch the corpse. 
 As he thought of his hand upon it he shuddered 
 profoundly. 
 
 At last he burst the bonds which had fastened 
 him to the spot and fled, unheeding the underbrush. 
 He was pursued by a sight of the black ants swarm- 
 ing greedily upon the grey face, and venturing 
 horribly near to the eyes. 
 
 After a time he paused, and, breathless and pant- 
 
68 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 ing, listened. He imagined some strange voice would 
 come from the dead throat and squawk after him in 
 horrible menaces. 
 
 The trees about the portal of the chapel moved 
 soughingly in a soft wind. A sad silence was upon 
 the little guarding edifice. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE trees began softly to sing a hymn of twilight. 
 The sun sank until slanted bronze rays struck the 
 forest. There was a lull in the noises of insects, as 
 if they had bowed their beaks and were making a 
 devotional pause. There was silence, save for the 
 chanted chorus of the trees. 
 
 Then, upon this stillness, there suddenly broke 
 a tremendous clangour of sounds. A crimson roar 
 came from the distance. 
 
 The youth stopped. He was transfixed by this 
 terrific medley of all noises. It was as if worlds 
 were being rended. There was the ripping sound of 
 musketry, and the breaking crash of the artillery. 
 
 His mind flew in all directions. He conceived the 
 two armies to be at each other, panther fashion. He 
 listened for a time. Then he began to run in the 
 direction of the battle. He saw that it was an 
 ironical thing for him. to be running thus toward 
 that which he had been at such pains to avoid. 
 But he said, in substance, to himself that if the 
 earth and the moon were about to clash, many 
 persons would doubtless plan to get upon the roofs 
 to witness the collision. 
 
 As he ran, he became aware that the forest had 
 
 69 
 
70 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 stopped its music, as if at last becoming capable of 
 hearing the foreign sounds. The trees hushed and 
 stood motionless. Everything seemed to be listen- 
 ing to the crackle and clatter and ear-shaking 
 thunder. The chorus pealed over the still earth. 
 
 It suddenly occurred to the youth that the fight 
 in which he had been was, after all, but perfunctory 
 popping. In the hearing of this present din he was 
 doubtful if he had seen real battle scenes. This 
 uproar explained a celestial battle ; it was tumbling 
 hordes a-struggle in the air. 
 
 Reflecting, he saw a sort of a humour in the point 
 of view of himself and his fellows during the late 
 encounter. They had taken themselves and the 
 enemy very seriously, and had imagined that they 
 were deciding the war. Individuals must have sup- 
 posed that they were cutting the letters of their 
 names deep into everlasting tablets of brass, or en- 
 shrining their reputations for ever in the hearts of 
 their countrymen, while, as to fact, the affair would 
 appear in printed reports under a meek and im- 
 material title. But he saw that it was good, else, 
 he said, in battle every one would surely run save 
 forlorn hopes and their ilk. 
 
 He went rapidly on. He wished to come to the 
 edge of the forest that he might peer out. 
 
 As he hastened, there passed through his mind 
 pictures of stupendous conflicts. His accumulated 
 thought upon such subjects was used to form scenes. 
 The noise was as the voice of an eloquent being, 
 describing. 
 
 Sometimes the brambles formed chains, and tried 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 71 
 
 bo 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 roundabout ways, and 
 presently he was where he could see long grey walls 
 of vapour where lay battle lines. The voices of 
 cannon shook him. The musketry sounded in long 
 irregular surges that played havoc with his ears. 
 He stood regardant for a moment. His eyes had 
 an awestruck expression. He gawked in the direc- 
 tion 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, lay in the dirt. 
 A dead soldier was stretched with his face hidden in 
 his arm. Farther 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 battle-ground was owned 
 by the dead men, and he hurried, in the vague 
 apprehension that one of the swollen forms would 
 rise and tell him to begone. 
 
 He came finally to a road from which he could 
 see in the distance dark and agitated bodies of 
 
72 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 troops, smoke-fringed. In the lane was a blood- 
 stained crowd streaming to the rear. The wounded 
 men were cursing, groaning, and wailing. In the 
 air, always, was a mighty swell of sound that it 
 seemed could sway the earth. With the courageous 
 words of the artillery and the spiteful sentences 
 of the musketry mingled red cheers. And from 
 this region of noises came the steady current of the 
 maimed. 
 
 One of the wounded men had a shoeful 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 mismanage- 
 ment of the army. One was marching with an air 
 imitative of some sublime drum-major. Upon his 
 features was an unholy mixture of merriment and 
 agony. As he marched, he sang a bit of doggerel in 
 a high and quavering voice : 
 
 " Sing a song 'a vic'try, 
 
 A pocketful 'a bullets, 
 Five an' twenty dead men 
 Baked in a pie." 
 
 Parts of the procession limped and staggered to this 
 tune. 
 
 Another had the grey seal of death already upon 
 his face. His lips were curled in hard lines, and 
 his teeth were clinched. 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 spectre 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 73 
 
 of a soldier, his eyes burning with the power of a 
 stare into the unknown. 
 
 There were some who proceeded sullenly, full of 
 anger at their wounds, and ready to turn upon any- 
 thing as an obscure cause. 
 
 An officer was carried along by two privates. He 
 was peevish. " Don't joggle so, Johnson, yeh fool/' 
 he cried. " Think m' leg is made of iron ? If yeh 
 can't carry me decent, put me down, an* let some 
 one else do it" 
 
 He bellowed at the tottering crowd who blocked 
 the quick march of his bearers. " Say, make way 
 there, can't yeh ? Make way, dickens take it all." 
 
 They sulkily parted and went to the roadsides. 
 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 shoulder of one of the tramping bearers 
 knocked heavily against the spectral soldier who 
 was staring into the unknown. 
 
 The youth joined this crowd and marched along 
 with it. The torn bodies expressed the awful 
 machinery in which the men had been entangled. 
 
 Orderlies and couriers occasionally broke through 
 the throng in the roadway, scattering wounded men 
 right and left, galloping on followed by howls. The 
 melancholy march was continually disturbed by the 
 messengers, and sometimes by bustling batteries 
 that came swinging and thumping down upon them, 
 the officers shouting orders to clear the way. 
 
 There was a tattered man, fouled with dust, blood, 
 and powder stain from hair to shoes, who trudged 
 
74 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 quietly at the youth's side. He was listening with 
 eagerness and much humility to the lurid descrip- 
 tions 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 story-teller 
 with unspeakable wonder. His mouth was agape 
 in yokel fashion. 
 
 The sergeant, taking note of this, gave pause to 
 his elaborate history while he administered a sar- 
 donic comment. " Be keerful, honey, you'll be 
 a-ketchin' flies," he said. 
 
 The tattered man shrank back abashed. 
 
 Aiter a time he began to sidle near to the youth, 
 and in a different way try 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 
 bough. 
 
 After they had walked together for some time the 
 tattered man mustered sufficient courage to speak. 
 " Was pretty good fight, wa'n'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, wa'n't it?" 
 
 " Yes," said the youth shortly. He quickened his 
 pace. 
 
 But the other hobbled industriously after him. 
 There was an air of apology in his manner, but he 
 evidently thought that he needed only to talk for a 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 75 
 
 time, and the youth would perceive that he was a 
 good fellow. 
 
 "Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?" he began in 
 a small voice, and then he achieved the fortitude to 
 continue. " Dern me if I ever see fellers fight so. 
 Laws, how they did fight ! I knowed th' boys 'd 
 like when they onct got square at it. Th' boys ain't 
 had no fair chanct up t' now, but this time they 
 showed what they was. I knowed it 'd turn out 
 this way. Yeh 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 talkin' 'cross pickets with a boy from 
 Georgie, onct, an' that boy, he ses, ' Your fellers '11 
 all run like hell when they onct hearn a gun,' he ses. 
 'Mebbe they will,' I ses, 'but I don't b'lieve none of 
 it/ I ses ; ' an' b'jiminey,' I ses back t' 'um, ' mebbe 
 your fellers '11 all run like hell when they onct hearn 
 a gun,' I ses. He larfed. Well, they didn't run t' 
 day, did they, hey ? No, sir ! They fit, an' fit, an' 
 fit." 
 
 His homely face was suffused with a light of love 
 for the army which was to him all things beautiful 
 and powerful. 
 
 After a time he turned to the youtn. "Where 
 yeh hit, ol' boy ? " he asked in a brotherly tone. 
 
 The youth felt instant panic at this question, 
 although at first its full import was not borne in 
 upon him. 
 
76 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "What?" he asked. 
 
 " Where yeh hit ? " repeated the tattered man. 
 
 "Why," began the youth, " I I 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 bent his head and fastened his eyes studiously 
 upon the button as if it were a little problem. 
 
 The tattered man looked after him in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
CHAPTEK IX 
 
 THE youth fell back in the procession until the 
 tattered soldier was not in sight. Then he started 
 to walk on with the others. 
 
 But he was amid wounds. The mob of men was 
 bleeding. Because of the tattered soldier's question 
 he now felt that his shame could be viewed. He 
 was continually casting sidelong glances to see if 
 the men were contemplating the letters of guilt he 
 felt burned into his brow. 
 
 At times he regarded the wounded soldiers in an 
 envious way. He conceived persons with torn bodies 
 to be peculiarly happy. He wished that he, too, had 
 a wound, a red badge of courage. 
 
 The spectral soldier was at his side like a stalking 
 reproach. The man's eyes were still fixed in a stare 
 into the unknown. His grey, appalling face had 
 attracted attention in the crowd, and men, slowing to 
 his dreary pace, were walking with him. They were 
 discussing his plight, questioning him, and giving 
 him advice. In a dogged way he repelled them, 
 signing to them to go on and leave him alone. The 
 shadows of his face were deepening, and his tight 
 lips seemed holding in check the moan of great 
 despair. There could be seen a certain stiffness in 
 
 77 
 
78 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 the movements of his body, as if he were taking 
 infinite care not to arouse the passion of his wounds. 
 As he went on he seemed always looking for a place, 
 like one who goes to choose a grave. 
 
 Something in the gesture of the man as he waved 
 the bloody and pitying soldiers away made the youth 
 start as if bitten. He yelled in horror. Tottering for- 
 ward he laid a quivering hand upon the man's arm. 
 As the latter slowly turned his wax-like features 
 toward him, the youth screamed 
 
 "Gawd! JimConklin!" 
 
 The tall soldier made a little commonplace smile. 
 " Hello, Henry," he said. 
 
 The youth swayed on his legs and glared strangely. 
 He stuttered and stammered. " Oh, Jim oh, Jim 
 oh, Jim " 
 
 The tall soldier held out his gory hand. There 
 was a curious red and black combination of new 
 blood and old blood upon it. "Where yeh been, 
 Henry?" he asked. He continued in a monoto- 
 nous voice, " I thought mebbe yeh got keeled 
 over. There's been thunder t' pay t'-day. I was 
 worryin' about it a good deal."' 
 
 The youth still lamented. "Oh, Jim oh, Jim 
 oh, Jim " 
 
 "Yeh know," said the tall soldier, "I was out 
 there." He made a careful gesture. "An', Lord, 
 what a circus! An', b'jiminey, I got shot I got 
 shot. Yes, b'jiminey, I got shot" He reiterated 
 this fact in a bewildered way, as if he did not know 
 how it came about. 
 
 The youth put forth anxious arms to assist him, 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 79 
 
 but the tall soldier went firmly on as if propelled. 
 Since the youth's arrival as a guardian for his friend, 
 the other wounded men had ceased to display much 
 interest. They occupied themselves again in dragging 
 their own tragedies toward the rear. 
 
 Suddenly, as the two friends marched on, the tall 
 soldier seemed to be overcome by a terror. His face 
 turned to a semblance of grey paste. He clutched 
 the youth's arm and looked all about him, as if dread- 
 ing to be overheard. Then he began to speak in a 
 shaking whisper 
 
 "I tell yeh what I'm 'fraid of, Henry I'll tell 
 yeh what I'm 'fraid of. I'm 'fraid I'll fall down 
 an' then yeh' know them damned artillery waggons 
 they like as not '11 run over me. That's what I'm 
 'fraid of " 
 
 The youth cried out to him hysterically, " I'll take 
 care of yeh, Jim ! I'll take care of yeh ! I swear t' 
 Gawd I will ! " 
 
 "Sure will yeh, Henry?" the tall soldier be- 
 seeched. 
 
 " Yes yes I tell yeh I'll take care of yeh, Jim!" 
 protested the youth. He could not speak accurately 
 because of the gulpings in his throat. 
 
 But the tall soldier continued to beg in a lowly 
 way. He now hung babe-like to the youth's arm. 
 His eyes rolled in the wildness of his terror. "I 
 was allus a good friend t' yeh, wa'n't I, Henry ? I've 
 allus been a pretty good feller, ain't I? An' it 
 ain't much t' ask, is it? Jest t' pull me along 
 outer th' road? I'd do it fer you, wouldn't I 
 Henry?" 
 
8o PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 He paused in piteous anxiety to await his friend's 
 reply. 
 
 The youth had reached an anguish where the sobs 
 scorched him. He strove to express his loyalty, but 
 he could only make fantastic gestures. 
 
 However, the tall soldier seemed suddenly to for- 
 get all those fears. He became again the grim, 
 stalking spectre of a soldier. He went stonily 
 forward. The youth wished his friend to lean 
 upon him, but the other always shook his head 
 and strangely protested. " No no no leave me 
 be leave me be " 
 
 His look was fixed again upon the unknown. He 
 moved with mysterious purpose, and all of the 
 youth's offers he brushed aside. "No no leave 
 me be leave me be " 
 
 The youth had to follow. 
 
 Presently the latter heard a voice talking softly 
 near his shoulder. Turning, he saw that it belonged 
 to the tattered soldier. " Ye'd better take 'im outa 
 th' road, pardner. There's a batt'ry comin' helity- 
 whoop down th' road an' he'll git runned over. He's 
 a goner anyhow in about five minutes yeh kin see 
 that. Ye'd better take 'im outa th' road. Where 
 th' blazes does he git his stren'th from ? " 
 
 " Lord knows ! " cried the youth. He was shaking 
 his hands helplessly. 
 
 He ran forward presently and grasped the tall 
 soldier by the arm. " Jim ! Jim ! " he coaxed, 
 " come with me." 
 
 The tall soldier weakly tried to wrench himself 
 free. " Huh," he said vacantly. He stared at the 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 81 
 
 youth for a moment. At last he spoke as if dimly 
 comprehending. " Oh ! Inteh th' fields ? Oh ! " 
 
 He started blindly through the grass. 
 
 The youth turned once to look at the lashing 
 riders and jouncing guns of the battery. He was 
 startled from this view by a shrill outcry from the 
 tattered man. 
 
 " Gawd ! He's runnin' ! " 
 
 Turning his head swiftly, the youth saw his friend 
 running in a staggering and stumbling way toward 
 a little clump of bushes. His heart seemed to 
 wrench itself almost free from his body at this 
 sight. He made a noise of pain. He and the tat- 
 tered man began a pursuit. There was a singular 
 race. 
 
 When he overtook the tall soldier he began to 
 plead with all the words he could find. "Jim 
 Jim what are you doing ? what makes you do this 
 wa y ? you'll hurt yerself." 
 
 The same purpose was in the tall soldier's face. 
 He protested in a dulled way, keeping his eyes 
 fastened on the mystic place of his intentions. 
 No no don't tech me leave me be leave me 
 
 The youth, aghast and filled with wonder at the 
 tall soldier, began quaveringly to question him. 
 ' Where y eh goin', Jim ? What you thinking about ? 
 Where you going ? Tell me, won't you, Jim ? " 
 
 The tall soldier faced about as upon relentless 
 pursuers. In his eyes there was a great appeal. 
 "Leave me be, can't yeh? Leave me be fer a 
 
82 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The youth recoiled. " Why, Jim," he said, in a 
 dazed way, "what's the matter with yon?" 
 
 The tall soldier turned and, lurching danger- 
 ously, went on. The youth and the tattered soldier 
 followed, sneaking as if whipped, feeling unable to 
 face the stricken man if he should again confront 
 them. They began to have thoughts of a solemn 
 ceremony. There was something rite-like in these 
 movements of the doomed soldier. And there was 
 a resemblance in him to a devotee of a mad religion, 
 blood -sucking, muscle -wrenching, bone -crushing. 
 They were awed and afraid. They hung back lest 
 he have at command a dreadful weapon. 
 
 At last they saw him stop and stand motionless. 
 Hastening up, they perceived that his face wore an 
 expression telling that he had at last found the 
 place for which he had struggled. His spare figure 
 was erect; his bloody hands were quietly at his 
 side. He was waiting with patience for something 
 that he had come to meet. He was at the rendez- 
 vous. They paused and stood, expectant. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 Finally, the chest of the doomed soldier began 
 to heave with a strained motion. It increased in 
 violence until it was as if an animal was within, and 
 was kicking and tumbling furiously to be free. 
 
 This spectacle of gradual strangulation made the 
 youth writhe, and once, as his friend rolled his eyes, 
 he saw something in them that made him sink wail- 
 ing to the ground. He raised his voice in a last 
 supreme call. 
 
 " Jim Jim Jim " 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 83 
 
 The tall soldier opened his lips and spoke. He 
 made a gesture. " Leave me be don't tech me 
 leave me be " 
 
 There was another silence while he waited. 
 
 Suddenly his form stiffened and straightened. 
 Then it was shaken by a prolonged ague. He 
 stared into space. To the two watchers there was 
 a curious and profound dignity in the firm lines of 
 his awful face. 
 
 He was invaded by a creeping strangeness that 
 slowly enveloped him. For a moment the tremor 
 of his legs caused him to dance a sort of hideous 
 hornpipe. His arms beat wildly about his head in 
 expression of imp-like enthusiasm. 
 
 His tall figure stretched itself to its full 
 height. There was a slight rending sound. Then 
 it began to swing forward, slow and straight, in 
 the manner of a falling tree. A swift muscular 
 contortion made the left shoulder strike the ground 
 first. 
 
 The body seemed to bounce a little way from the 
 earth. " God ! " said the tattered soldier. 
 
 The youth had watched, spellbound, this cere- 
 mony at the place of meeting. His face had been 
 twisted into an expression of every agony he had 
 imagined for his friend. 
 
 He now sprang to his feet and, going closer, 
 gazed upon the paste-like face. The mouth was 
 open, and the teeth showed in a laugh. 
 
 As the flap of the blue jacket fell away from the 
 body, he could see that the side looked as if it had 
 been chewed by wolves. 
 
84 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The youth turned, with sudden, livid rage, toward 
 the battlefield. He shook his fist. He seemed 
 about to deliver a philippic. 
 
 "Hell " 
 
 The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE tattered man stood musing. 
 
 "Well, he was reg'lar jim-dandy fer nerve, 
 wa'n't he," said he finally, in a little awestruck 
 voice. "A reg'lar jim-dandy." He thoughtfully 
 poked one of the docile hands with his foot. "I 
 wonner where he got 'is strength from? I never 
 seen a man do like that before. It was a funny 
 thing. Well, he was a reg'lar jim-dandy." 
 
 The youth desired to screech out his grief. He 
 was stabbed, but his tongue lay dead in the tomb 
 of his mouth. He threw himself again upon the 
 ground and began to brood. 
 
 The tattered man stood musing. 
 
 " Look-a-here, pardner," he said after a time. 
 He regarded the corpse as he spoke. " He's up an* 
 gone, ain't 'e, an' we might as well begin t' look out 
 fer ol* number one. This here thing is all over. He's 
 up an' gone, ain't 'e? An' he's all right here. 
 Nobody won't bother 'im. An' I must say I ain't 
 enjoying any great health m'self these days." 
 
 The youth, awakened by the tattered soldier's 
 tone, looked quickly up. He saw that he was 
 swinging uncertainly on his legs, and that his face 
 
 had turned to a shade of blue. 
 
 85 
 
86 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "Good Lord!" lie cried, "you ain't goin' t' not 
 you, too." 
 
 The tattered man waved his hand. " Nary die," 
 he said. " All I want is some pea soup an' a good 
 bed. Some pea soup," he repeated dreamfully. 
 
 The youth arose from the ground. "I wonder 
 where he came from. I left him over there." He 
 pointed. " And now I find 'im here. And he was 
 coming from over there, too." He indicated a new 
 direction. They both turned toward the body as if 
 to ask of it a question. 
 
 "Well," at length spoke the tattered man, "there 
 ain't no use in our stayin' here an' tryin' t' ask him 
 anything." 
 
 The youth nodded an assent wearily. They both 
 turned to gaze for a moment at the corpse. 
 
 The youth murmured something. 
 
 " Well, he was a jim-dandy, wa'n't he ? " said the 
 tattered man as if in response. 
 
 They turned their backs upon it and started away. 
 For a time they stole softly, treading with their 
 toes. It remained laughing there in the grass. 
 
 "I'm commencin' t' feel pretty bad," said the 
 tattered man, suddenly breaking one of his little 
 silences. "I'm commencin' t' feel pretty damn' 
 bad." 
 
 The youth groaned. "0 Lord!" He wondered 
 if he was to be the tortured witness of another grim 
 encounter. 
 
 But his companion waved his hand reassuringly. 
 " Oh, I'm not goin' t' die yit ! There too much 
 dependin' on me fer me t' die yit. No, sir ! Nary 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 87 
 
 die ! I can't I Ye'd oughta see th' swad a' chil'ren 
 I've got, an* all like that." 
 
 The youth, glancing at his companion, could see 
 by the shadow of a smile that he was making some 
 kind of fun. 
 
 As they plodded on the tattered soldier continued 
 to talk. " Besides, if I died, I wouldn't die th' way 
 that feller did. That was th' funniest thing. I'd 
 jest flop down, I would. I never seen a feller die 
 th' way that feller did. 
 
 " Yeh know Tom Jamison, he lives next door t* 
 me up home. He's a nice feller, he is, an' we was 
 allus good friends. Smart, too. Smart as a steel 
 trap. Well, when we was a-fightin' this atternoon, 
 all-of-a-sudden he begin t' rip up an' cuss an' beller 
 at me. ' Yer snot, yen blamed infernal ! ' he swear 
 horrible he ses t' me. I put up m' hand t' m' head, 
 an' when I looked at m' fingers, I seen, sure 'nough, 
 I was shot. I give a holler an' begin t' run, but 
 b'fore I could git away another one hit me in th' 
 arm an' whirl' me clean 'round. I got skeared when 
 they was all a-shootin' b'hind me, an' I run t' beat 
 all, but I cotch it pretty bad. I've an idee I'd 
 a' been fightin' yit if 'twasn't fer Tom Jamison." 
 
 Then he made a calm announcement : " There's 
 two of 'em little ones but they're beginnin' t' 
 have fun with me now. I don't b'lieve I kin walk 
 much furder." 
 
 They went slowly on in silence. "Yeh look 
 pretty peek-ed yerself," said the tattered man at 
 last. " I bet yeh've got a worser one than yeh 
 think. Ye'd better take keer of yer hurt. It 
 
88 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 don't do t' let sech things go. It might be inside 
 mostly, an' them plays thunder. Where is it 
 located ? " But he continued his harangue with- 
 out waiting for a reply. "I see 'a feller git hit 
 plum in th' head when my reg'ment was a-standin' 
 at ease onct. An' everybody yelled out to 'im: 
 ' Hurt, John ? Are yeh hurt much ? ' ' No,' ses 
 he. He looked kinder surprised, an* he went on 
 tellin' 'em how he felt. He sed he didn't feel 
 nothin'. But, by dad, th' first thing that feller 
 knowed he was dead. Yes, he was dead stone 
 dead. So, yeh wanta watch out. Yeh might have 
 some queer kind 'a hurt yerself. Yeh can't never 
 tell. Where is your'n located ? " 
 
 The youth had been wriggling since the intro- 
 duction of this topic. He now gave a cry of ex- 
 asperation, and made a furious motion with his 
 hand. " Oh, don't bother me I " he said. He was 
 enraged against the tattered nun, and could have 
 strangled him. His companions seemed ever to 
 play intolerable parts. They were ever upraising the 
 ghost of shame on the stick of their curiosity. He 
 turned toward the tattered man as one at bay. " Now, 
 don't bother me," he repeated with desperate menace. 
 
 "Well, Lord knows I don't wanta bother any- 
 body," said the other. There was a little accent of 
 despair in his voice as he replied, "Lord knows 
 I've gota 'nough m* own t' tend to." 
 
 The youth, who had been holding a bitter debate 
 with himself, and casting glances of hatred and con- 
 tempt at the tattered man, here spoke in a hard 
 voice. " Good-bye," he said. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 89 
 
 The tattered man looked at him in gaping 
 amazement. "Why why, pardner, where yeh 
 goin' ? " he asked unsteadily. The youth, looking 
 at him, could see that he, too, like that other one, 
 was beginning to act dumb and animal-like. His 
 thoughts seemed to be floundering about in his 
 head. "Now now look a here, you Tom 
 Jamison now I won't have this this here won't 
 do. Where where yeh goin' ? " 
 
 The youth pointed vaguely. "Over there," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Well, now look a here now," said the 
 tattered man, rambling on in idiot fashion. His 
 head was hanging forward, and his words were 
 slurred. "This thing won't do, now, Tom Jami- 
 son. It won't do. I know yeh, yeh pig-headed 
 devil. Yeh wanta go trompin' off with a bad hurt. 
 It ain't right now Tom Jamison it ain't. Yeh 
 wanta leave me take keer of yeh, Tom Jamison. It 
 ain't right it ain't fer yeh t' go trompin' off 
 with a bad hurt it ain't ain't ain't right it 
 aint." 
 
 In reply the youth climbed a fence and started 
 away. He could hear the tattered man bleating 
 plaintively. 
 
 Once he faced about angrily. " What ? " 
 
 "Look a here, now, Tom Jamison now it 
 ain't 
 
 The youth went on. Turning at a distance he 
 saw the tattered man wandering about helplessly in 
 the field. 
 
 He now thought that he wished he was dead. 
 
90 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 He believed that he envied those men whose bodies 
 lay strewn over the grass of the fields and on the 
 fallen leaves of the forest. 
 
 The simple questions of the tattered man had 
 been knife thrusts to him. They asserted a society 
 that probes pitilessly at secrets until all is apparent. 
 His late companion's chance persistency made him 
 feel that he could not keep his crime concealed in 
 his bosom. It was sure to be brought plain by 
 one of those arrows which cloud the air and are 
 constantly pricking, discovering, proclaiming those 
 things which are willed to be for ever hidden. He 
 admitted that he could not defend himself against 
 this agency. It was not within the power of 
 vigilance. 
 
CHAPTEK XI 
 
 HE became aware that the furnace roar of the 
 battle was growing louder. Great brown clouds 
 had floated to the still heights of air before him. 
 The noise, too, was approaching. The woods filtered 
 men, and the fields became dotted. 
 
 As he rounded a hillock, he perceived that the 
 roadway was now a crying mass of waggons, teams, 
 and men. From the heaving tangle issued exhorta- 
 tions, commands, imprecations. Fear was sweeping 
 it all along. The cracking whips bit, and horses 
 plunged and tugged. The white-topped waggons 
 strained and stumbled in their exertions like fat 
 sheep. 
 
 The youth felt comforted in a measure by this 
 sight. They were all retreating. Perhaps, then, 
 he was not so bad after all. He seated himself 
 and watched the terror-stricken waggons. They 
 fled like soft, ungainly animals. All the roarers 
 and lashers served to help him to magnify the 
 dangers and horrors of the engagement that he 
 might try to prove to himself that the thing with 
 which men could charge him was in truth a sym- 
 metrical act. There was an amount of pleasure to 
 him in watching the wild march of this vindication. 
 
92 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Presently the calm head of a forward-going 
 column of infantry appeared in the road. It came 
 swiftly on. Avoiding the obstructions gave it the 
 sinuous movement of a serpent. The men at the 
 head butted mules with their musket stocks. They 
 prodded teamsters indifferent to all howls. The men 
 forced their way through parts of the dense mass by 
 strength. The blunt head of the column pushed. 
 The raving teamsters swore many strange oaths. 
 
 The commands to make way had the ring of a 
 great importance in them. The men were going 
 forward to the heart of the din. They were to 
 confront the eager rush of the enemy. They felt 
 the pride of their onward movement when the 
 remainder of the army seemed trying to dribble 
 down this road. They tumbled teams about with a 
 fine feeling that it was no matter so long as their 
 column got to the front in time. This importance 
 made their faces grave and stern. And the backs 
 of the officers were very rigid. 
 
 As the youth looked at them the black weight 
 of his woe returned to him. He felt that he 
 was regarding a procession of chosen beings. The 
 separation was as great to him as if they had 
 marched with weapons of flame and banners of 
 sunlight. He could never be like them. He could 
 have wept in his longings. 
 
 He searched about in his mind for an adequate 
 malediction for the indefinite cause, the thing upon 
 which men turn the words of final blame. It 
 whatever it was was responsible for him, he said. 
 There lay the fault. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 93 
 
 The haste of the column to reach the battle 
 seemed to the forlorn young man to be some- , 
 thing much finer than stout fighting. Heroes, he 
 thought, could find excuses in that long seething 
 lane. They could retire with perfect self-respect 
 and make excuses to the stars. 
 
 He wondered what those men had eaten that they 
 could be in such haste to force their way to grim 
 chances of death. As he watched, his envy grew 
 until he thought that he wished to change lives 
 with one of them. He would have liked to have /\ 
 used a tremendous force, he said, throw off himself 
 and become a better. Swift pictures of himself, 
 apart, yet in himself, came to him a blue desperate 
 figure leading lurid charges with one knee forward 
 and a broken blade high a blue, determined figure 
 standing before a crimson and steel assault, getting 
 calmly killed on a high place before the eyes of 
 all. He thought of the magnificent pathos of his 
 dead body. 
 
 These thoughts uplifted him. He felt the quiver 
 of war desire. In his ears he heard the ring of 
 victory. He knew the frenzy of a rapid successful 
 charge. The music of the trampling feet, the 
 sharp voices, the clanking arms of the column near 
 him, made him soar on the red wings of war. For 
 a few moments he was sublime. 
 
 He thought that he was about to start for the 
 front. Indeed, he saw a picture of himself, dust- 
 stained, haggard, panting, flying to the front at 
 the proper moment to seize and throttle the dark, 
 leering witch of calamity. 
 
94 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Then the difficulties of the thing began to drag 
 at him. He hesitated, balancing awkwardly on one 
 foot. 
 
 He had no rifle ; he could not fight with his 
 hands, said he resentfully to his plan. Well, rifles 
 could be had for the picking. They were extra- 
 ordinarily profuse. 
 
 Also, he continued, it would be a miracle if he 
 found his regiment. Well, he could fight with any 
 regiment. 
 
 He started forward slowly. He stepped as if 
 he expected to tread upon some explosive thing. 
 Doubts and he were struggling. 
 \ He would truly be a worm if any of his comrades 
 should see him returning thus, the marks of his 
 flight upon him. There was a reply that the intent 
 fighters did not care for what happened rearward, 
 saving that no hostile bayonets appeared there. In 
 the battle-blur his face would, in a way, be hidden, 
 like the face of a cowled man. 
 
 But then he said that his tireless fate would bring 
 forth, when the strife lulled for a moment, a man 
 to ask of him an explanation. In imagination he 
 felt the scrutiny of his companions as he painfully 
 laboured through some lies. 
 
 Eventually, his courage expended itself upon 
 these objections. The debates drained him of his 
 fire. 
 
 He was not cast down by this defeat of his plan, 
 for, upon studying the affair carefully, he could not 
 but admit that the objections were very formidable. 
 
 Furthermore, various ailments had begun to cry 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 95 
 
 out. In their presence he could not persist in flying 
 high with the wings of war ; they rendered it almost 
 impossible for him to see himself in a heroic light. 
 He tumbled headlong. 
 
 He discovered that he had a scorching thirst. 
 His face was so dry and grimy that he thought 
 he could feel his skin crackle. Each bone of his 
 body had an ache in it, and seemingly threatened 
 to break with each movement. His feet were like 
 two sores. Also, his body was calling for food. It 
 was more powerful than a direct hunger. There 
 was a dull, weight-like feeling in his stomach, and, 
 when he tried to walk, his head swayed and he 
 tottered. He could not see with distinctness. Small 
 patches of green mist floated before his vision. 
 
 While he had been tossed by many emotions, he 
 had not been aware of ailments. Now they beset 
 him and made clamour. As he was at last com- 
 pelled to pay attention to them, his capacity for 
 self-hate was multiplied. In despair, he declared 
 that he was not like those others. He now con- 
 ceded it to be impossible that he should ever become 
 a hero. He was a craven loon. Those pictures of 
 glory were piteous things. He groaned from his 
 heart and went staggering off. 
 
 A certain moth-like quality within him kept him 
 in the vicinity of the battle. He had a great desire 
 to see, and to get news. He wished to know whc 
 was winning. 
 
 He told himself that, despite his unprecedented 
 suffering, he had never lost his greed for a victory, 
 yet, he said, in a half-apologetic manner to his 
 
96 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 conscience, he could not but know that a defeat 
 for the army this time might mean many favour- 
 able things for him. The blows of the enemy 
 would splinter- regiments into fragments. Thus, 
 many men of courage, he considered, would be 
 obliged to desert the colours and scurry like 
 chickens. He would appear as one of them. 
 They would be sullen brothers in distress, and he 
 could then easily believe he had not run any 
 farther or faster than they. And if he himself 
 could believe in his virtuous perfection, he conceived 
 that there would be small trouble in convincing 
 all others. 
 
 He said, as if in excuse for this hope, that pre- 
 viously the army had encountered great defeats, and 
 in a few months had shaken off all blood and tradi- 
 tion of them, emerging as bright and valiant as a 
 new one; thrusting out of sight the memory of 
 disaster, and appearing with the valour and con- 
 fidence of unconquered legions. The shrilling 
 voices of the people at home would pipe dismally 
 for a time, but various generals were usually com- 
 pelled to listen to these ditties. He of course felt 
 no compunctions for proposing a general as a 
 sacrifice. He could not tell who the chosen for 
 the barbs might be, so he could centre no direct 
 sympathy upon him. The people were afar, and 
 he did not conceive public opinion to be accurate 
 at long range. It was quite probable they would 
 hit the wrong man, who, after he had recovered 
 from his amazement, would perhaps spend the rest 
 of his days in writing replies to the songs of his 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 97 
 
 alleged failure. It would be very unfortunate, no 
 doubt, but in this case a general was of no conse- 
 quence to the youth. 
 
 In a defeat there would be a roundabout vindica- 
 tion of himself. He thought it would prove, in a 
 manner, that he had fled early because of his superior 
 powers of perception. A serious prophet upon pre- 
 dicting a flood should be the first man to climb a 
 tree. This would demonstrate that he was indeed 
 a seer. 
 
 A moral vindication was regarded by the youth 
 as a very important thing. Without salve, he could 
 not, he thought, wear the sore badge of his dis- 
 honour through life. With his heart continually 
 assuring him that he was despicable, he could not 
 exist without making it, through his actions, appa- 
 rent to all men. 
 
 If the army had gone gloriously on he would be 
 lost. If the din meant that now his army's flags 
 were tilted forward he was a condemned wretch, 
 He would be compelled to doom himself to isolation. 
 If the men were advancing, their indifferent feet were 
 trampling upon his chances for a successful life. 
 
 As these thoughts went rapidly through his mind, 
 he turned upon them and tried to thrust them away 
 He denounced himself as a villain. He said that 
 he was the most unutterably selfish man in exist- 
 ence. His mind pictured the soldiers who would 
 place their defiant bodies before the spear of the 
 yelling battle fiend; and as he saw their dripping 
 corpses on an imagined field, he said that he was 
 their murderer. 
 
 Q 
 
98 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Again he thought that he wished he was dead. 
 He believed that he envied a corpse. Thinking of 
 the slain, he achieved a great contempt for some of 
 them, as if they were guilty for thus becoming life- 
 less. They might have been killed by lucky chances, 
 he said, before they had had opportunities to flee, or 
 before they had been really tested. Yet they would 
 receive laurels from tradition. He cried out bitterly 
 that their crowns were stolen, and their robes of 
 glorious memories were shams. However, he still 
 said that it was a great pity he was not as they. 
 
 A defeat of the army had suggested itself to him 
 as a means of escape from the consequences of his 
 fall. He considered now, however, that it was use- 
 less to think of such a possibility. His education 
 had been that success for that mighty blue machine 
 was certain ; that it would make victories as a con- 
 trivance turns out buttons. He presently discarded 
 all his speculations in the other direction. He 
 returned to the creed of soldiers. 
 
 When he perceived again that it was not possible 
 for the army to be defeated, he tried to bethink him 
 of a fine tale which he could take back to his regiment, 
 and with it turn the expected shafts of derision. 
 
 But, as he mortally feared these shafts, it became 
 impossible for him to invent a tale he felt he could 
 trust. He experimented with many schemes, but 
 threw them aside, one by one, as flimsy. He was 
 quick to see vulnerable places in them all. 
 
 Furthermore, he was much afraid that some arrow 
 of scorn might lay him mentally low before he could 
 raise his protecting tale. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 99 
 
 He imagined the whole regiment saying, " Where's 
 Henry Fleming ? He run, didn't 'e ? Oh, my ! " 
 He recalled various persons who would be quite sure 
 to leave him no peace about it. They would doubt- 
 less question him with sneers, and laugh at his 
 stammering hesitation. In the next engagement 
 they would try to keep watch of him to discover 
 when he would run. 
 
 Wherever he went in camp, he would encounter 
 insolent and lingeringly-cruel stares. As he ima- 
 gined himself passing near a crowd of comrades, 
 he could hear some one say, " There he goes ! " 
 
 Then, as if the heads were moved by one muscle, 
 all the faces were turned toward him with wide, 
 derisive grins. He seemed to hear some one make 
 a humorous remark in a low tone. At it the others 
 all crowed and cackled. He was a slang phrase. 
 
CHAPTEK XII 
 
 THE column that had butted stoutly at the ob- 
 stacles in the roadway was barely out of the youth's 
 sight before he saw dark waves of meii come sweep- 
 ing out of the woods and down through the fields. 
 He knew at once that the steel fibres had been 
 washed from their hearts. They were bursting from 
 their coats and their equipments as from entangle- 
 ments. They charged down upon him like terrified 
 buffaloes. 
 
 Behind them blue smoke curled and clouded 
 above the tree-tops, and through the thickets he 
 could sometimes see a distant pink glare. The 
 voices of the cannon were clamouring in intermi- 
 nable chorus. 
 
 The youth was horror-stricken. He stared in 
 agony and amazement. He forgot that he was 
 engaged in combating the universe. He threw 
 aside his mental pamphlets on the philosophy of 
 the retreated and rules for the guidance of the 
 damned. 
 
 The fight was lost. The dragons were coming 
 with invincible strides. The army, helpless in the 
 matted thickets and blinded by the overhanging 
 night, was going to be swallowed. War, the red 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 101 
 
 animal war, the blood -swollen god, would have 
 bloated fill. 
 
 Within him something bade to cry out. He had 
 the impulse to make a rallying speech, to sing a 
 battle hymn, but he could only get his tongue to 
 call into the air, "Why why what what's th' 
 matter?" 
 
 Soon he was in the midst of them. They were 
 leaping and scampering all about him. Their 
 blanched faces shone in the dusk. They seemed, 
 for the most part, to be very burly men. The youth 
 turned from one to another of them as they galloped 
 along. His incoherent questions were lost. They 
 were heedless of his appeals. They did not seem to 
 see him. 
 
 They sometimes gabbled insanely. One huge 
 man was asking of the sky, " Say, where de plank 
 road ? Where de plank road ? " It was as if he 
 had lost a child. He wept in his pain and dismay. 
 
 Presently, men were running hither and thither 
 in all ways. The artillery booming, forward, rear- 
 ward, and on the flanks, made jumble of ideas of 
 direction. Landmarks had vanished into the gath- 
 ered gloom. The youth began to imagine that he 
 had got into the centre of the tremendous quarrel, 
 and he could perceive no way out of it. From 
 the mouths of the fleeing men came a thousand wild 
 questions, but no one made answers. 
 
 The youth, after rushing about and throwing inter- 
 rogations at the heedless bands of retreating infantry, 
 finally clutched a man by the arm. They swung 
 around face to face. 
 
102 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "Why why " stammered the youth, strug- 
 gling with his balking tongue. 
 
 The man screamed, " Let go me ! Let go me ! " 
 His face was livid, and his eyes were rolling uncon- 
 trolled. He was heaving and panting. He still 
 grasped his rifle, perhaps having forgotten to release 
 his hold upon it. He tugged frantically, and the 
 youth, being compelled to lean forward, was dragged 
 several paces. 
 
 " Let go me ! Let go me ! " 
 
 " Why why " stuttered the youth. 
 
 " Well, then ! " bawled the man in a lurid rage. 
 He adroitly and fiercely swung his rifle. It crushed 
 upon the youth's head. The man ran on. 
 
 The youth's fingers had turned to paste upon the 
 other's arm. The energy was smitten from his 
 muscles. He saw the flaming wings of lightning 
 flash before his vision. There was a deafening 
 rumble of thunder within his head. 
 
 Suddenly his legs seemed to die. He sank writh- 
 ing to the ground. He tried to arise. In his efforts 
 against the numbing pain he was like a man wrest- 
 ling with a creature of the air. 
 
 There was a sinister struggle. 
 
 Sometimes he would achieve a position half erect, 
 battle with the air for a moment, and then fall again, 
 grabbing at the grass. His face was of a clammy 
 pallor. Deep groans were wrenched from him. 
 
 At last, with a twisting movement, he got upon 
 his hands and knees, and from thence, like a babe 
 trying to walk, to his feet. Pressing his hands to his 
 temples, he went lurching over the grass. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 103 
 
 He fought an intense battle with his body. His 
 dulled senses wished him to swoon, and he opposed 
 them stubbornly, his mind portraying unknown 
 dangers and mutilations if he should fall upon the 
 field. He went tall soldier fashion. He imagined 
 secluded spots where he could fall and be unmolested. 
 To search for one he strove against the tide of his 
 pain. 
 
 Once he put his hand to the top of his head and 
 timidly touched the wound. The scratching pain of 
 the contact made him draw a long breath through 
 his clenched teeth. His fingers were dabbled with 
 blood. He regarded them with a fixed stare. 
 
 Around him he could hear the grumble of jolted 
 cannon as the scurrying horses were lashed toward 
 the front. Once, a young officer on a besplashed 
 charger nearly ran him down. He turned and 
 watched the mass of guns, men, and horses sweep- 
 ing in a wide curve toward a gap in a fence. The 
 officer was making excited motions with a gauntleted 
 hand. The guns followed the teams with an air of 
 unwillingness, of being dragged by the heels. 
 
 Some officers of the scattered infantry were curs- 
 ing and railing like fishwives. Their scolding voices 
 could be heard above the din. Into the unspeakable 
 jumble in the roadway rode a squadron of cavalry. 
 The faded yellow of their facings shone bravely. 
 There was a mighty altercation. 
 
 The artillery were assembling as if for a con- 
 ference. 
 
 The blue haze of evening was upon the field. The 
 lines of forest were long purple shadows. One 
 
104 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 cloud lay along the western sky partly smothering 
 the red. 
 
 As the youth left the scene behind him, he heard 
 the guns suddenly roar out. He imagined them 
 shaking in black rage. They belched and howled 
 like brass devils guarding a gate. The soft air was 
 filled with the tremendous remonstrance. With it 
 came the shattering peal of opposing infantry. 
 Turning to look behind him, he could see sheets of 
 orange light illumine the shadowy distance. There 
 were subtle and sudden lightnings in the far air. 
 At times he thought he could see heaving masses 
 of men. 
 
 He hurried on in the dusk. The day had faded 
 until he could barely distinguish place for his 
 feet. The purple darkness was filled with men who 
 lectured and jabbered. Sometimes he could see 
 them gesticulating against the blue and sombre sky. 
 There seemed to be a great ruck of men and muni- 
 tions spread about in the forest and in the fields. 
 
 The little narrow roadway now lay lifeless. There 
 were overturned waggons like sun-dried boulders. 
 The bed of the former torrent was choked with the 
 bodies of horses and splintered parts of war machines. 
 
 It had come to pass that his wound pained him 
 but little. He was afraid to move rapidly, however, 
 for a dread of disturbing it. He held his head very 
 still, and took many precautions against stumbling. 
 He was filled with anxiety, and his face was pinched 
 and drawn in anticipation of the pain of any sudden 
 mistake of his feet in the gloom. 
 
 His thoughts, as he walked, fixed intently upon 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 105 
 
 his hurt. There was a cool, liquid feeling about it, 
 and he imagined blood moving slowly down under 
 his hair. His head seemed swollen to a size that 
 made him think his neck to be inadequate. 
 
 The new silence of his wound made much worri- 
 ment. The little blistering voices of pain that had 
 called out from his scalp were, he thought, definite 
 in their expression of danger. By them he believed 
 that he could measure his plight. But when they 
 remained ominously silent he became frightened, and 
 imagined terrible fingers that clutched into his brain. 
 
 Amid it he began to reflect upon various incidents 
 and conditions of the past. He bethought him of 
 certain meals his mother had cooked at home, in 
 which those dishes of which he was particularly fond 
 had occupied prominent positions. He saw the 
 spread table. The pine walls of the kitchen were 
 glowing in the warm light from the stove. Too, he 
 remembered how he and his companions used to go 
 from the school-house to the bank of a shaded pool. 
 He saw his clothes in disorderly array upon the grass 
 of the bank. He felt the swash of the fragrant 
 water upon his body. The leaves of the overhanging 
 maple rustled with melody in the wind of youthful 
 summer. 
 
 He was overcome presently by a dragging weari- 
 ness. His head hung forward and his shoulders 
 were stooped as if he were bearing a great bundle. 
 His feet shuffled along the ground. 
 
 He held continuous arguments as to whether he 
 should lie down and sleep at some near spot, or 
 force himself on until he reached a certain haven. 
 
io6 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 He often tried to dismiss the question, but his body 
 persisted in rebellion, and his senses nagged at him 
 like pampered babies. 
 
 At last he heard a cheery voice near his shoulder : 
 " Yeh seem t' be in a pretty bad way, boy ? " 
 
 The youth did not look up, but he assented with 
 thick tongue. " Uh ! " 
 
 The owner of the cheery voice took him firmly 
 by the arm. "Well," he said, with a round laugh, 
 " I'm goin' your way. Th' hull gang is goin' your 
 way. An' I guess I kin give yeh a lift." They 
 began to walk like a drunken man and his friend. 
 
 As they went along, the man questioned the 
 youth, and assisted him with the replies, like one 
 manipulating the mind of a child. Sometimes he 
 interjected anecdotes. "What reg'ment do yeh 
 b'long teh? Eh? What's that? Th' 304^ N 1 
 York? Why, what corps is that in? Oh, it is? 
 Why, I thought they wasn't engaged t'-day they're 
 'way over in th' centre. Oh, they was, eh ? Well, 
 pretty nearly everybody got their share 'a fightin' 
 t'-day. By dad, I give myself up fer dead any 
 number 'a times. There was shootin' here an' shoot- 
 in* there, an' hollerin' here an' hollerin' there, in 
 th' damn' darkness, until I couldn't tell t' save m' 
 soul which side I was on. Sometimes I thought I 
 was sure 'nough from Ohier, an' other times I could 
 'a swore I was from th' bitter end of Florida. It 
 was th' most mixed up dern thing I ever see. An' 
 these here hull woods is a reg'lar mess. It'll be a 
 miracle if we find our reg'ments t'-night. Pretty 
 soon, though, we'll meet a-plenty of guards an' 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 107 
 
 provost-guards, an' one thing an' another. Ho ! 
 there they go with an off'cer, I guess. Look at 
 his hand a-draggin'. He's got all th' war he wants, 
 I bet. He won't be talkin' so big about his reputa- 
 tion an' all when they go t' sawin' off his leg. Poor 
 feller! My brother's got whiskers jest like that. 
 How did yeh git 'way over here, anyhow ? Your 
 reg'ment is a long way from here, ain't it ? Well, 
 I guess we can find it. Yeh know there was a boy 
 killed in my comp'ny t'-day that I thought th' world 
 an' all of. Jack was a nice feller. By ginger, it 
 hurt like thunder t' see ol' Jack jest git knocked 
 flat. We was a-standin' purty peaceable fer a spell, 
 'though there was men runnin' ev'ry way all 'round 
 us, an' while we was a-standin' like that, long come 
 a big fat feller. He began t' peck at Jack's elbow, 
 an' he ses, 'Say, where's th' road t' th' river?' 
 An' Jack, he never paid no attention, an' th' feller 
 kept on a-peckin' at his elbow an' sayin', 'Say, 
 where's th' road t' th' river?' Jack was a-lookin' 
 ahead all th' time tryin' t' see th' Johnnies comin' 
 through th' woods, an' he never paid no attention 
 t' this big fat feller fer a long time, but at last he 
 turned 'round an' he ses, 'Ah, go t' hell an' find 
 th' road t' th' river ! ' An' jest then a shot slapped 
 him bang on th' side th' head. He was a sergeant, 
 too. Them was his last words. Thunder, I wish 
 we was sure 'a findin' our reg'ments t'-night. It's 
 goin' t' be long huntin'. But I guess we kin do it." 
 In the search which followed, the man of the 
 cheery voice seemed to the youth to possess a wand 
 of a magic kind. He threaded the mazes of the 
 
io8 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 tangled forest with a strange fortune. In encounters 
 with guards and patrols he displayed the keenness 
 of a detective and the valour of a gamin. Obstacles 
 fell before him and became of assistance. The youth, 
 with his chin still on his breast, stood woodenly by 
 while his companion beat ways and means out of 
 sullen things. 
 
 The forest seemed a vast hive of men buzzing 
 about in frantic circles, but the cheery man con- 
 ducted the youth without mistakes, until at last he 
 began to chuckle with glee and self-satisfaction. 
 " Ah, there yeh are ! See that fire ? " 
 
 The youth nodded stupidly. 
 
 " Well, there's where your reg'ment is. An' now 
 good-bye, ol' boy, good luck t* yeh." 
 
 A warm and strong hand clasped the youth's 
 languid fingers for an instant, and then he heard a 
 cheerful and audacious whistling as the man strode 
 away. As he who had so befriended him was thus 
 passing out of his life, it suddenly occurred to the 
 youth that he had not once seen his face. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 THE youth went slowly toward the fire indicated by 
 his departed friend. As he reeled, he bethought 
 him of the welcome his comrades would give him. 
 He had a conviction that he would soon feel in his 
 sore heart the barbed missiles of ridicule. He had 
 no strength to invent a tale ; he would be a soft 
 target. 
 
 He made vague plans to go off into the deeper 
 darkness and hide, but they were all destroyed by 
 the voices of exhaustion and pain from his body. 
 His ailments, clamouring, forced him to seek the 
 place of food and rest, at whatever cost. 
 
 He swung unsteadily toward the fire. He could 
 see the forms of men throwing black shadows in 
 the red light, and as he went nearer it became 
 known to him in some way that the ground was 
 strewn with sleeping men. 
 
 Of a sudden he confronted a black and monstrous 
 figure. A rifle barrel caught some glinting beams. 
 "Halt! halt!" He was dismayed for a moment, 
 but he presently thought that he recognised the 
 nervous voice. As he stood tottering before the 
 rifle barrel, he called out, " Why, hello, Wilson, you 
 
 you here ? " 
 
 109 
 
no PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The rifle was lowered to a position of caution, and 
 the loud soldier came slowly forward. He peered 
 into the youth's face. " That you, Henry ? " 
 
 "Yes, it's it's me." 
 
 " Well, well, ol* boy," said the other, " by ginger, 
 I'm glad t' see yeh ! I give yeh up fer a goner. I 
 thought you was dead sure enough." There was 
 husky emotion in his voice. 
 
 The youth found that now he could barely stand 
 upon his feet. There was a sudden sinking of his 
 forces. He thought he must hasten to produce his 
 tale to protect him from the missiles already at the 
 lips of his redoubtable comrades. So, staggering 
 before the loud soldier, he began, "Yes, yes. I've 
 I've had an awful time. I've been all over. 'Way 
 over on th' right. Ter'ble fightin' over there. I 
 had an awful time. I got separated from the reg'- 
 ment. Over on th' right I got shot. In th' head. 
 I never see sech fightin'. Awful time. I don't see 
 how I could 'a got separated from th' reg'ment. I 
 got shot, too." 
 
 His friend had stepped forward quickly. " What ? 
 Got shot ? Why didn't yeh say so first ? Poor ol' 
 boy, we must hoi' on a minnit ; what am I doin' ? 
 I'll call Simpson." 
 
 Another figure at that moment loomed in the 
 gloom. They could see that it was the corporal. 
 " Who yeh talkin' to, Wilson ? " he demanded. His 
 voice was anger-toned. " Who yeh talkin' to ? Yeh 
 th' derndest sentinel why hello, Henry, you here ? 
 Why, I thought you was dead four hours ago! 
 Great Jerusalem, they keep turnin' up every ten 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE in 
 
 minutes or so! We thought we'd lost forty-two 
 men by straight count, but if they keep on a-comin' 
 this way, we'll git th' comp'ny all back by mornin' 
 yit. Where was yeh ? " 
 
 " Over on th' right. I got separated " began 
 
 the youth with considerable glibness. 
 
 But his friend had interrupted hastily. " Yes, an' 
 he got shot in th' head, an' he's in a fix, an' we must 
 see t' him right away." He rested his rifle in the 
 hollow of his left arm and his right around the 
 youth's shoulder. 
 
 " Gee, it must hurt like thunder ! " he said. 
 
 The youth leaned heavily upon his friend. " Yes, 
 it hurts hurts a good deal," he replied. There was 
 a faltering in his voice. 
 
 "Oh," said the corporal. He linked his arm in 
 the youth's and drew him forward. "Come on, 
 Henry. I'll take keer 'a yeh." 
 
 As they went on together the loud private called 
 out after them, "Put 'im t' sleep in my blanket, 
 Simpson. An' hoi' on a minnit here's my canteen. 
 It's full 'a coffee. Look at his head by th' fire 
 an' see how it looks. Maybe it's a pretty bad un. 
 When I git relieved in a couple 'a minnits, I'll be 
 over an' see t' him." 
 
 The youth's senses were so deadened that his 
 friend's voice sounded from afar, and he could 
 scarcely feel the pressure of the corporal's arm. 
 He submitted passively to the latter's directing 
 strength. His head was in the old manner hang* 
 ing forward upon his breast. His knees wobbled. 
 
 The corporal led him into the glare of the fire. 
 
H2 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "Now, Henry," he said, "let's have look at yer ol' 
 head." 
 
 The youth sat down obediently, and the corporal, 
 laying aside his rifle, began to fumble in the bushy 
 hair of his comrade. He was obliged to turn the 
 other's head so that the .full flush of the fire-light 
 would beam upon it. He puckered his mouth with 
 a critical air. He drew back his lips and whistled 
 through his teeth when his fingers came in contact 
 with the splashed blood and the rare wound. 
 
 " Ah, here we are ! " he said. He awkwardly made 
 further investigations. " Jest as I thought," he 
 added presently. " Yeh've been grazed by a ball. 
 It's raised a queer lump jest as if some feller had 
 lammed yeh on th' head with a club. It stopped 
 a-bleedin' long time ago. Th' most about it is, that 
 in th' mornin' yeh'll feel that a number ten hat 
 wouldn't fit yeh. An' your head '11 be all het up an' 
 feel as dry as burnt pork. An' yeh may git a lot 'a 
 other sicknesses, too, by mornin'. Yeh can't never 
 tell. Still, I don't much think so. It's jest a damn' 
 good belt on th' head, and nothin' more. Now, 
 you jest sit here an' don't move, while I go rout 
 out th' relief. Then I'll send Wilson t' take keer 'a 
 yeh." 
 
 The corporal went away. The youth remained on 
 the ground like a parcel. He stared with a vacant 
 look into the fire. 
 
 After a time he aroused, for some part, and the 
 things about him began to take form. He saw that 
 the ground in the deep shadows was cluttered 
 with men, sprawling in every conceivable posture. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 113 
 
 Glancing narrowly into the more distant darkness, 
 he caught occasional glimpses of visages that loomed 
 pallid and ghostly, lit with a phosphorescent glow. 
 These faces expressed in their lines the deep stupor 
 of the tired soldiers. They made them appear like 
 men drunk with wine. This bit of forest might have 
 appeared to an ethereal wanderer as the scene of the 
 result of some frightful debauch. 
 
 On the other side of the fire the youth observed 
 an officer asleep, seated bolt upright, with his back 
 against a tree. There was something perilous in his 
 position. Badgered by dreams, perhaps, he swayed 
 with little bounces and starts, like an old, toddy- 
 stricken grandfather in a chimney corner. Dust and 
 stains were upon his face. His lower jaw hung down, 
 as if lacking strength to assume its normal position. 
 He was the picture of an exhausted soldier after a 
 feast of war. 
 
 He had evidently gone to sleep with his sword in 
 his arms. These two had slumbered in an embrace, 
 but the weapon had been allowed in time to fall 
 unheeded to the ground. The brass-mounted hilt 
 lay in contact with some parts of the fire. 
 
 Within the gleam of rose and orange light from 
 the burning sticks were other soldiers, snoring and 
 heaving, or lying death-like in slumber. A few pairs 
 of legs were stuck forth, rigid and straight. The 
 shoes displayed the mud or dust of marches, and bits 
 of rounded trousers, protruding from the blankets, 
 showed rents and tears from hurried pitchings 
 through the dense brambles. 
 
 The fire crackled musically. From it swelled 
 
ii4 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 light smoke. Overhead the foliage moved softly. 
 The leaves, with their faces turned toward the 
 blaze, were coloured shifting hues of silver, often 
 edged with red. Far off to the right, through a 
 window in the forest, could be seen a handful of 
 stars lying, like glittering pebbles, on the black level 
 of the night. 
 
 Occasionally, in this low-arched hall, a soldier 
 would arouse and turn his body to a new position, 
 the experience of his sleep having taught him of 
 uneven and objectionable places upon the ground 
 under him. Or, perhaps, he would lift himself to a 
 sitting posture, blink at the fire for an unintelligent 
 moment, throw a swift glance at his prostrate com- 
 panion, and then cuddle down again with a grunt of 
 sleepy content. 
 
 The youth sat in a forlorn heap until his friend 
 the loud young soldier came, swinging two canteens 
 by their light strings. " Well, now, Henry, ol' boy," 
 said the latter, " we'll have yeh fixed up in jest 
 about a minnit." 
 
 He had the bustling ways of an amateur nurse. 
 He fussed around the fire and stirred the sticks to 
 brilliant exertions. He made his patient drink 
 largely from the canteen that contained the coffee. 
 It was to the youth a delicious draught. He tilted 
 his head afar back and held the canteen long to his 
 lips. The cool mixture went caressingly down his 
 blistered throat. Having finished, he sighed with 
 comfortable delight. 
 
 The loud young soldier watched his comrade with 
 an air of satisfaction. He later produced an exten- 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 115 
 
 sive handkerchief from his pocket. He folded it 
 into a manner of bandage, and soused water from 
 the other canteen upon the middle of it. This 
 crude arrangement he bound over the youth's head, 
 tying the ends in a queer knot at the back of the 
 neck. 
 
 " There," he said, moving off and surveying his 
 deed, " yeh look like the devil, but I bet yeh feel 
 better." 
 
 The youth contemplated his friend with grateful 
 eyes. Upon his aching and swelling head the cold 
 cloth was like a tender woman's hand. 
 
 " Yeh don't holler ner say nothin'," remarked his 
 friend approvingly. "I know I'm a blacksmith at 
 takin' keer 'a sick folks, an' yeh never squeaked. 
 Yer a good un, Henry. Most 'a men would 'a' been 
 in th' hospital long ago. A shot in th' head ain't 
 foolin' business." 
 
 The youth made no reply, but began to fumble 
 with the buttons of his jacket. 
 
 " Well, come now," continued his friend, " come 
 on. I must put yeh t' bed, an' see that yeh git a 
 good night's rest." 
 
 The other got carefully erect, and the loud young 
 soldier led him among the sleeping forms lying in 
 groups and rows. Presently he stooped and picked 
 up his blankets. He spread the rubber one upon 
 the ground, and placed the woollen one about the 
 youth's shoulders. 
 
 "There now," he said, "lie down an git some 
 Bleep." 
 
 The youth, with his manner of dog-like obedi- 
 
Ii6 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 ence, got carefully down like a crone stooping. He 
 stretched out with a murmur of relief and comfort. 
 The ground felt like the softest couch. 
 
 But of a sudden he ejaculated, " Hoi' on a minnit ! 
 Where you goin' t' sleep ? " 
 
 His friend waved his hand impatiently. " Right 
 down there by yeh." 
 
 " Well, but hoi' on a minnit," continued the youth 
 " What yeh goin' t' sleep in ? I've got your " 
 
 The loud young soldier snarled, " Shet up an' go 
 on t' sleep. Don't be makin' a damn' fool 'a yerself," 
 he said severely. 
 
 After the reproof the youth said no more. An 
 exquisite drowsiness had spread through him. The 
 warm comfort of the blanket enveloped him and 
 made a gentle languor. His head fell forward on 
 his crooked arm, and his weighted lids went softly 
 down over his eyes. Hearing a splatter of musketry 
 from the distance, he wondered indifferently if 
 those men sometimes slept. He gave a long sigh, 
 snuggled down into his blanket, and in a moment 
 was like his comrades. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHEN the youth awoke it seemed to him that he 
 had been asleep for a thousand years, and he felt 
 sure that he opened his eyes upon an unexpected 
 world. Grey mists were slowly shifting before the 
 first efforts of the sun-rays. An impending splen- 
 dour could be seen in the eastern sky. An icy dew 
 had chilled his face, and immediately upon arousing 
 he curled farther down into his blanket. He stared 
 for a while at the leaves overhead, moving in a 
 heraldic wind of the day. 
 
 The distance was splintering and blaring with the 
 noise of fighting. There was in the sound an ex- 
 pression of a deadly persistency, as if it had not 
 begun and was not to cease. 
 
 About him were the rows and groups of men that 
 he had dimly seen the previous night. They were 
 getting a last draught of sleep before the awakening. 
 The gaunt, careworn features and dusty figures were 
 made plain by this quaint light at the dawning, but 
 it dressed the skin of the men in corpse-like hues, 
 and made the tangled limbs appear pulseless and 
 dead. The youth started up with a little cry when 
 his eyes first swept over this motionless mass of 
 men, thick-spread upon the ground, pallid, and in 
 
ii8 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 strange postures. His disordered mind interpreted 
 the hall of the forest as a charnel place. He be- 
 lieved for an instant that he was in the house of the 
 dead, and he did not dare to move lest these corpses 
 start up, squalling and squawking. In a second, 
 however, he achieved his proper mind. He swore 
 a complicated oath at himself. He saw that this 
 sombre picture was not a fact of the present, but a 
 mere prophecy. 
 
 He heard then the noise of a fire crackling briskly 
 in the cold air, and, turning his head, he saw his 
 friend pottering busily about a small blaze. A few 
 other figures moved in the fog, and he heard the 
 hard cracking of axe-blows. 
 
 Suddenly there was a hollow rumble of drums. 
 A distant bugle sang faintly. Similar sounds, vary- 
 ing in strength, came from near and far over the 
 forest. The bugles called to each other like brazen 
 gamecocks. The near thunder of the regimental 
 drums rolled. 
 
 The body of men in the woods rustled. There 
 was a general uplifting of heads. A murmuring of 
 voices broke upon the air. In it there was much 
 bass of grumbling oaths. Strange gods were ad- 
 dressed in condemnation of the early hours necessary 
 to correct war. An officer's peremptory tenor rang 
 out and quickened the stiffened movement of the 
 men. The tangled limbs unravelled. The corpse- 
 hued faces were hidden behind fists that twisted 
 slowly in the eye-sockets. 
 
 The youth sat up and gave vent to an enormous 
 yawn. " Thunder ! " he remarked petulantly. He 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 119 
 
 rubbed his eyes, and then putting up his hand felt 
 carefully of the bandage over his wound. His 
 friend, perceiving him to be awake, came from the 
 fire. " Well, Henry, ol' man, how do yeh feel this 
 mornin' ? " he demanded. 
 
 The youth yawned again. Then he puckered his 
 mouth to a little pucker. His head, in truth, felt 
 precisely like a melon, and there was an unpleasant 
 sensation at his stomach. 
 
 " Lord, I feel pretty bad," he said. 
 
 " Thunder ! " exclaimed the other. " I hoped ye'd 
 feel all right this mornin'. Let's see th' bandage 
 I guess it's slipped." He began to tinker at the 
 wound in rather a clumsy way until the youth 
 exploded. 
 
 " Gosh-dern it ! " he said, in sharp irritation ; 
 " you're the hangdest man I ever saw ! You wear 
 muffs on your hands. Why in good thunderation 
 can't you be more easy ? I'd rather you'd stand off 
 an' throw guns at it. Now, go slow, an' don't act 
 as if you was nailing down carpet." 
 
 He glared with insolent command at his friend, 
 but the latter answered soothingly. "Well, well, 
 come now, an' git some grub," he said. " Then, 
 maybe, yeh'll feel better." 
 
 At the fireside the loud young soldier watched 
 over his comrade's wants with tenderness and care. 
 He was very busy marshalling the little black vaga- 
 bonds of tin cups and pouring into them the 
 steaming, iron coloured mixture from a small and 
 sooty tin pail. He had some fresh meat, which 
 he roasted hurriedly upon a stick. He sat down 
 
120 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 then and contemplated the youth's appetite with 
 glee. 
 
 The youth took note of a remarkable change in 
 his comrade since those days of camp life upon the 
 river bank. He seemed no more to be continually 
 regarding the proportions of his personal prowess. 
 He was not furious at small words that pricked his 
 conceits. He was no more a loud young soldier. 
 There was about him now a fine reliance. He 
 showed a quiet belief in his purposes and his abili- 
 ties. And this inward confidence evidently enabled 
 him to be indifferent to little words of other men 
 aimed at him. 
 
 The youth reflected. He had been used to re- 
 garding his comrade as a blatant child with an 
 audacity grown from his inexperience, thoughtless, 
 headstrong, jealous, and filled with a tinsel courage 
 a swaggering babe accustomed to strut in his own 
 door-yard. The youth wondered where had been 
 born these new eyes ; when his comrade had made 
 the great discovery that there were many men who 
 would refuse to be subjected by him. Apparently, 
 the other had now climbed a peak of wisdom from 
 which he could perceive himself as a very wee thing. 
 And the youth saw that ever after it would be easier 
 to live in his friend's neighbourhood. 
 
 His comrade balanced his ebony coffee-cup on 
 his knee. "Well, Henry," he said, "what d'yeh 
 think th' chances are? D'yeh think we'll wallop 
 'em?" 
 
 The youth considered for a moment. "Day- 
 b'f ore-yesterday," he finally replied, with boldness, 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 121 
 
 "you would 'a' bet you'd lick the hull kit-an'-boodle 
 all by yourself." 
 
 His friend looked a trifle amazed. " Would I ? " 
 he asked. He pondered. " Well, perhaps I would," 
 he decided at last. He stared humbly at the fire. 
 
 The youth was quite disconcerted at this sur- 
 prising reception of his remarks. "Oh no, you 
 wouldn't either," he said, hastily trying to retrace. 
 
 But the other made a deprecating gesture. " Oh, 
 yeh needn't mind, Henry," he said. "I believe 
 I was a pretty big fool in those days." He spoke 
 as after a lapse of years. 
 
 There was a little pause. 
 
 " All th' officers say we've got th' rebs in a pretty 
 tight box," said the friend, clearing his throat in a 
 commonplace way. " They all seem t' think we've 
 got 'em jest where we want 'em." 
 
 "I don't know about that," the youth replied. 
 "What I seen over on th' right makes me think 
 it was th' other way about. From where I was, 
 it looked as if we was gettin' a good poundin' 
 yestirday." 
 
 "D' yeh think so?" inquired the friend. "I 
 thought we handled 'em pretty rough yestirday." 
 
 "Not a bit," said the youth. "Why, lord, man, 
 you didn't see nothing of the fight. Why ! " Then 
 a sudden thought came to him. *' Oh ! Jim Conklin's 
 dead." 
 
 His friend started. "What? Is he? Jim 
 Conklin?" 
 
 The youth spoke slowly. "Yes. He's dead. 
 Shot in th' side." 
 
122 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Yeh don't say so. Jim Conklin . . . poor 
 cuss!" 
 
 All about them were other small fires, surrounded 
 by men with their little black utensils. From one 
 of these near came sudden, sharp voices in a row. 
 It appeared that two light-footed soldiers had been 
 teasing a huge, bearded man, causing him to spill 
 coffee upon his blue knees. The man had gone into 
 a rage and had sworn comprehensively. Stung by 
 his language, his tormentors had immediately bristled 
 at him with a great show of resenting unjust oaths. 
 Possibly there was going to be a fight. 
 
 The friend arose and went over to them, making 
 pacific motions with his arms. " Oh, here, now, boys, 
 what's th' use?" he said. "We'll be at th' rebs in 
 less'n an hour. What's th' good fightin' 'mong our- 
 selves?" 
 
 One of the light-footed soldiers turned upon him, 
 red-faced and violent. " Yeh needn't come around 
 here with yer preachin'. I s'pose yeh don't approve 
 'a fightin' since Charley Morgan licked yeh ; but 
 I don't see what business this here is 'a yours or 
 anybody else." 
 
 "Well, it ain't," said the friend mildly. "Still 
 I hate t' see " 
 
 There was a tangled argument. 
 
 "Well, he " said the two, indicating their 
 
 opponent with accusative forefingers. 
 
 The huge soldier was quite purple with rage. He 
 pointed at the two soldiers with his great hand, ex- 
 tended claw-like. " Well, they " 
 
 But during this argumentative time the desire to 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 123 
 
 deal blows seemed to pass, although they said much 
 to each other. Finally, the friend returned to his 
 old seat. In a short while the three antagonists 
 could be seen together in an amiable bunch. 
 
 "Jimmie Eogers ses I'll have t' fight him after 
 th' battle t'-day," announced the friend as he again 
 seated himself. "He ses he don't allow no inter- 
 ferin' in his business. I hate t' see th' boys fightin' 
 'mong themselves." 
 
 The youth laughed. "Yer changed a good bit. 
 Yeh ain't at all like yeh was. I remember when 
 
 you an' that Irish feller " He stopped and 
 
 laughed again. 
 
 " No, I didn't use t' be that way," said his friend 
 thoughtfully. " That's true 'nough." 
 
 " Well, I didn't mean " began the youth. 
 
 The friend made another deprecatory gesture. 
 "Oh, yeh needn't mind, Henry." 
 
 There was another little pause. 
 
 " Th' reg'ment lost over half th' men yestirday," 
 remarked the friend eventually. "I thought 'a 
 course they was all dead, but, laws, they kep' 
 a-comin' back last night until it seems, after all, we 
 didn't lose but a few. They'd been scattered all 
 over, wanderin' around in th' woods, fightin' with 
 other reg'ments, an' everything. Jest like you 
 done." 
 
 "So?" said the youth. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE regiment was standing at order arms at the side 
 of a lane, waiting for the command to march, when 
 suddenly the youth remembered the little packet 
 enwrapped in a faded yellow envelope which the 
 loud young soldier with lugubrious words had in- 
 trusted to him. It made him start. He uttered 
 an exclamation and turned toward his comrade. 
 
 "Wilson!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 His friend, at his side in the ranks, was thought- 
 fully staring down the road. From some cause his 
 expression was at that moment veiy meek. The 
 youth, regarding him with sidelong glances, felt 
 impelled to change his purpose. "Oh, nothing," 
 he said. 
 
 His friend turned his head in some surprise. 
 " Why, what was yeh goin' t' say ? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing," repeated the youth. 
 
 He resolved not to deal the little blow. It was 
 sufficient that the fact made him glad. It was not 
 necessary to knock his friend on the head with the 
 misguided packet. 
 
 He had been possessed of much fear of his friend, 
 for he saw how easily questionings could make holes 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE fz$ 
 
 in his feelings. Lately, he had assured himself 
 that the altered comrade would not tantalise him 
 with a persistent curiosity, but he felt certain that 
 during the first period of leisure his friend would 
 ask him to relate his adventures of the previous 
 day. 
 
 He now rejoiced in the possession of a small 
 weapon, with which he could prostrate his comrade 
 at the first signs of a cross-examination. He was 
 master. It would now be he who could laugh and 
 shoot the shafts of derision. 
 
 The friend had, in a weak hour, spoken with sobs 
 of his own death. He had delivered a melancholy 
 oration previous to his funeral, and had doubtless, in 
 the packet of letters, presented various keepsakes to 
 relatives. But he had not died, and thus he had 
 delivered himself into the hands of the youth. 
 
 The latter felt immensely superior to his friend, 
 but he inclined to condescension. He adopted to- 
 ward him an air of patronising good-humour. 
 
 His self-pride was now entirely restored. In the 
 shade of its flourishing growth he stood with braced 
 and self-confident legs, and since nothing could now 
 be discovered, he did not shrink from an encounter 
 with the eyes of judges, and allowed no thoughts of 
 his own to keep him from an attitude of manfulness. 
 He had performed his mistakes in the dark, so he 
 was still a man. 
 
 Indeed, when he remembered his fortunes of yes- 
 terday, and looked at them from a distance, he began 
 to see something fine there. He had license to be 
 pompous and veteran-like. 
 
126 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 His panting agonies of the past he put out of hia 
 sight 
 
 In the present, he declared to himself that it was 
 only the doomed and the damned who roared with 
 sincerity at circumstance. Few but they ever did it. 
 A man with a full stomach and the respect of his 
 fellows had no business to scold about anything 
 that he might think to be wrong in the ways of 
 the universe, or even with the ways of society. Let 
 the unfortunates rail ; the others may play marbles. 
 
 He did not give a great deal of thought to these 
 battles that lay directly before him. It was not 
 essential that he should plan his ways in regard to 
 them. He had been taught that many obligations 
 of a life were easily avoided. The lessons of yester- 
 day had been that retribution was a laggard, and 
 blind. With these facts before him, he did not 
 deem it necessary that he should become feverish 
 over the possibilities of the ensuing twenty-four 
 hours. He could leave much to chance. Be- 
 sides, a faith in himself had secretly blossomed. 
 There was a little flower of confidence growing 
 within him. He was now a man of experience. 
 He had been out among the dragons, he said, and 
 he assured himself that they were not so hideous as 
 he had imagined them. Also they were inaccurate ; 
 they did not sting with precision. A stout heart 
 often defied, and defying, escaped. 
 
 And furthermore, how could they kill him who 
 was the chosen of gods and doomed to greatness ? 
 
 He remembered how some of the men had run 
 from the battle. As he recalled their terror-struck 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 127 
 
 faces, he felt a scorn for them. They had surely 
 been more fleet and more wild than was absolutely 
 necessary. They were weak mortals. As for him- 
 self, he had fled with discretion and dignity. 
 
 He was aroused from this reverie by his friend, 
 who, having hitched about nervously and blinked 
 at the trees for a time, suddenly coughed in an in- 
 troductory way, and spoke. 
 
 " Fleming ! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 The friend put his hand up to his mouth and 
 coughed again. He fidgeted in his jacket. 
 
 "Well," he gulped at last, "I guess yeh might 
 as well give me back them letters." Dark, prickling 
 blood had flushed into his cheeks and brow. 
 
 "All right, Wilson," said the youth. He loos- 
 ened two buttons of his coat, thrust in his hand, 
 and brought forth the packet. As he extended it 
 to his friend the latter's face was turned from him. 
 
 He had been slow in the act of producing the 
 packet because during it he had been trying to 
 invent a remarkable comment upon the affair. He 
 could conjure nothing of sufficient point. He was 
 compelled to allow his friend to escape unmolested 
 with his packet. And for this he took unto himself 
 considerable credit. It was a generous thing. 
 
 His friend at his . side seemed suffering great 
 shame. As he contemplated him, the youth felt 
 his heart grow more strong and stout. He had 
 never been compelled to blush in such manner for 
 his acts; he was an individual of extraordinary 
 virtues. 
 
128 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 He reflected, with condescending pity : " Too bad! 
 Too bad ! The poor devil, it makes him feel tough ! " 
 
 After this incident, and as he reviewed the battle 
 pictures he had seen, he felt quite competent to 
 return home and make the hearts of the people 
 glow with stories of war. He could see himself in 
 a room of warm tints telling tales to listeners. He 
 could exhibit laurels. They were insignificant ; still, 
 in a district where laurels were infrequent, they 
 might shine. 
 
 He saw his gaping audience picturing him as the 
 central figure in blazing scenes. And he imagined 
 the consternation and the ejaculations of his mother 
 and the young lady at the seminary as they drank 
 his recitals. Their vague feminine formula for be- 
 loved ones doing brave deeds on the field of battle 
 without risk of life would be destroyed. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A SPUTTERING of musketry was always to be heard. 
 Later, the cannon had entered the dispute. In the 
 fog-filled air their voices made a thudding sound 
 The reverberations were continued. This part of 
 the world led a strange, battleful existence. 
 
 The youth's regiment was marched to relieve a 
 command that had lain long in some damp trenches. 
 The men took positions behind a curving line of 
 rifle-pits that had been turned up, like a large 
 furrow, along the line of woods. Before them was a 
 level stretch, peopled with short, deformed stumps. 
 From the woods beyond came the dull popping of 
 the skirmishers and pickets, firing in the fog. From 
 the right came the noise of a terrific fracas. 
 
 The men cuddled behind the small embankment, 
 and sat in easy attitudes awaiting their turn. Many 
 had their backs to the firing. The youth's friend 
 lay down, buried his face in his arms, and almost 
 instantly, it seemed, he was in a deep sleep. 
 
 The youth leaned his breast against the brown 
 dirt, and peered over at the woods and up and down 
 the line. Curtains of trees interfered with his ways 
 of vision. He could see the low line of trenches but 
 for a short distance. A few idle flags were perched 
 
 "9 I * 
 
130 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 on the dirt-hills. Behind them were rows of dark 
 bodies, with a few heads sticking curiously over 
 the top. 
 
 Always the noise of skirmishers came from the 
 woods on the front and left, and the din on the right 
 had grown to frightful proportions. The guns were 
 roaring without an instant's pause for breath. It 
 seemed that the cannon had come from all parts, and 
 were engaged in a stupendous wrangle. It became 
 impossible to make a sentence heard. 
 
 The youth wished to launch a joke a quotation 
 from newspapers. He desired to say, " All quiet on 
 the Kappahannock," but the guns refused to permit 
 even a comment upon their uproar. He never suc- 
 cessfully concluded the sentence. But at last the 
 guns stopped, and among the men in the rifle-pits 
 rumours again flew, like birds ; but they were now 
 for the most part black creatures, who flapped their 
 wings drearily near to the ground, and refused to 
 rise on any wings of hope. The men's faces grew 
 doleful from the interpreting of omens. Tales of 
 hesitation and uncertainty on the part of those 
 high in place and responsibility came to their ears. 
 Stories of disaster were borne into their minds with 
 many proofs. This din of musketry on the right, 
 growing like a released genie of sound, expressed 
 and emphasised the army's plight. 
 
 The men were disheartened, and began to mutter. 
 They made gestures expressive of the sentence : 
 " Ah, what more can we do ? " And it could always 
 be seen that they were bewildered by the alleged 
 news, and could not fully comprehend a defeat. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 131 
 
 Before the grey mists had been totally obliterated 
 by the sun-rays, the regiment was marching in a 
 spread column that was retiring carefully through 
 the woods. The disordered, hurrying lines of the 
 enemy could sometimes be seen down through the 
 groves and little fields. They were yelling, shrill 
 and exultant. 
 
 At this sight the youth forgot many personal 
 matters, and became greatly enraged. He exploded 
 in loud sentences. " B'jiminey, we're generaled by 
 a lot 'a lunkheads." 
 
 " More than one feller has said that t'-day," ob- 
 served a man. 
 
 His friend, recently aroused, was still very drowsy. 
 He looked behind him until his mind took in the 
 meaning of the movement. Then he sighed. " Oh, 
 well, I s'pose we got licked," he remarked sadly. 
 
 The youth had a thought that it would not be 
 handsome for him to freely condemn other men. 
 He made an attempt to restrain himself, but the 
 words upon his tongue were too bitter. He pre- 
 sently began a long and intricate denunciation of 
 the commander of the forces. 
 
 " Mebbe it wa'n't all his fault not all together. 
 He did th } best he knowed. It's our luck t' git 
 licked often," said his friend, in a weary tone. He 
 was trudging along with stooped shoulders and 
 shifting eyes, like a man who has been caned and 
 kicked. 
 
 " Well, don't we fight like the devil ? Don't we 
 do all that men can ? " demanded the youth loudly. 
 
 He was secretly dumfounded at this sentiment 
 
I3 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 when it came from his lips, For a moment his face 
 
 lost, il,M valour, mul ho lookod ^nillily .^,,,,11, him. 
 
 But no one questioned his right to deal in such 
 words, and presently he recovered his air of courage. 
 He went on to repeat a statement he had heard going 
 from group to group at the camp that morning. "The 
 
 hritfadior said ho novor saw a now iv.r'i it. li^ht, Urn 
 
 way we fought yestirday, didn't he ? And we didn't 
 do belter than many another reg'ment, did we ? Well, 
 then, you can't say it's the army's fault, can you ? " 
 
 In his ivply, 1,1.,' friond'H voiro was storn. "'A 
 
 course not," he Mid. "No man dare say we don't 
 
 litfhi, liUo Mi' <lovil. No man will ovor dare wiy it. 
 
 Th' boys fight like hell-roosters. But still still, we 
 don't hare no lack." 
 
 " Well, then, if we fight like the devil an' don't 
 
 ovor whip, it, must, ho t,ho ^onoral's fault," said tlu^ 
 
 youth grandly and decisively, "And I don't see 
 any sense in fighting and fighting and fighting, 79(1 
 
 ;il\\.i\: I,,:, in..' lliroll;'li soino doi'MOll old Illllklioatl of 
 
 a general." 
 
 A H.'uv;islic man \vlio was l.raiiipiiij^ .-it, tlio youth's 
 sid(\ l.hon spnl. I. y. " M.-hln* yoh tliinU yoh lit. 
 
 tli' hull battle yestirday, Fleming, he remarked. 
 The speech pierced the youth. Inwardly he was 
 
 ivdtHvd to an ahj.'d. pulp hy tln-r rhatico wonls. 
 
 His legs quaked privately. He oast a frightened 
 
 diuiro at (,ho sarca.'-t ic man. 
 
 " Why, no," he hastened to say in a conciliating 
 voice, "I don't think I fought the whole battle 
 
 yost onlay." 
 
 lint llio ot.litM- HiMMiuul innoi-ont, of any doopor 
 
rut ii i. I.AIIUK OK CQUNAQE 133 
 
 iiumm.. ; Apparently ha hml iu information, It 
 was merely his habit M Oh I " ha replied, in Mia 
 sume tuna of calm derision. 
 
 The youth, uexnrtheloss, felt a threat, Hid nun. I 
 shrank from going near to tha danger, and thereafter 
 he was silent, Tha significance of the sarcastic 
 IUHU'H words took from him all loud i... . .1 that 
 would make him appear prominent. He became 
 suddenly a modest person, 
 
 There was low-toned talk among the troops, The 
 otHoers were impatient and snappy, their counte- 
 nances olouded with the talea of ndafortuna, Tha 
 troops, sifting through tha forast, ware sullen. In 
 the youth's company onoe a man's langh rang out, 
 A douen soldiers turned their fanes quiokly toward 
 IUHI and frowned with VN 'i'e, 
 
 Tha nuiaa of llring dogged their foul i t huniu- 
 tiiues it seemed lo be driven a little way, but it 
 always returned ttgain with increased insolence, The 
 men muttered and cursed, throwing black looks in 
 its direction, 
 
 In a claar space tha troops were at lust hid led. 
 llegiments and brigades, broken and detached 
 i in.. ii !ih their ancountars with thickets, grew to- 
 gether again, and lines wera ftiued toward the pur 
 suing bark of the enemy's infantry. 
 
 This noise, following like tha yalliugs of aager, 
 metallic hounds, inuretiaed to a loud and j> 
 bin i, and then, as the sun went serenely up n>< 
 
 I H.... i)|| ,11 .In, M,|, II,, ;:l. 
 
 11111111 ' '"-'i" I-" Hi "-I" i'"lonfddpaalings. 1 1>< 
 
 WQOd bf/.-.M, i. , , ,,. I. I. ,,!,,: 
 
134 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Whoop-a-dadee," said a man, "here we are! 
 Everybody fightin*. Blood an' destruction." 
 
 "I was willin' t' bet they'd attack as soon as 
 th' sun got fairly up," savagely asserted the lieu- 
 tenant who commanded the youth's company. He 
 jerked without mercy at his little moustache. He 
 strode to and fro with dark dignity in the rear of 
 his men, who were lying down behind whatever 
 protection they had collected. 
 
 A battery had trundled into position in the rear, 
 and was thoughtfully shelling the distance. The 
 regiment, unmolested as yet, awaited the moment 
 when the grey shadows of the woods before them 
 should be slashed by the lines of flame. There was 
 much growling and swearing. 
 
 " Good Gawd," the youth grumbled, " we're always 
 being chased around like rats ! It makes me sick. 
 Nobody seems to know where we go, or why we go. 
 We just get fired around from pillar to post, and get 
 licked here and get licked there, and nobody knows 
 what it's done for. It makes a man feel like a damn' 
 kitten in a bag. Now, I'd like to know what the 
 eternal thunders we was marched into these woods 
 for anyhow, unless it was to give the rebs a regular 
 pot-shot at us. We came in here and got our legs 
 all tangled up in these cussed briers, and then we 
 begin to fight and the rebs had an easy time of it. 
 Don't tell me its just luck ! I know better. It's 
 this derned old " 
 
 The friend seemed jaded, but he interrupted his 
 comrade with a voice of calm confidence. " It'll 
 turn out all right in th' end," he said. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 135 
 
 " Oh, the devil it will ! You always talk like a 
 dog-hanged parson. Don't tell me ! I know " 
 
 At this time there was an interposition by the 
 savage-minded lieutenant, who was obliged to vent 
 some of his inward dissatisfaction upon his men. 
 " You boys shut right up ! There's no need 'a your 
 wasting your breath in long-winded arguments 
 about this an* that and th' other. You've been 
 jawin' like a lot 'a old hens. All you've got t' do 
 is to fight, and you'll get plenty 'a that t' do in 
 about ten minutes. Less talkin' and more fightin' 
 is what's best for you, boys. I never saw sech 
 gabbling jackasses." 
 
 He paused, ready to pounce upon any man who 
 might have the temerity to reply. No words being 
 said, he resumed his dignified pacing. 
 
 " There's too much chin music and too little 
 fightin' in this war, anyhow," he said to them, 
 turning his head for a final remark. 
 
 The day had grown more white, until the sun 
 shed his full radiance upon the thronged forest. A 
 sort of a gust of battle came sweeping toward that 
 part of the line where lay the youth's regiment. 
 The front shifted a trifle to meet it squarely. There 
 was await. In this part of the field there passed 
 slowly the intense moments that precede the 
 tempest. 
 
 A single rifle flashed in a thicket before the regi- 
 ment. In an instant it was joined by many others. 
 There was a mighty song of clashes and crashes that 
 went sweeping through the woods. The guns in 
 the rear, aroused and enraged by shells that had 
 
136 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 been thrown bur-like at them, suddenly involved 
 themselves in a hideous altercation with another 
 band of guns. The battle roar settled to a rolling 
 thunder, which was a single, long explosion. 
 
 In the regiment there was a peculiar kind of 
 hesitation denoted in the attitudes of the men. 
 They were worn, exhausted, having slept but little 
 and laboured much. They rolled their eyes toward 
 the advancing battle as they stood awaiting the 
 shock. Some shrank and flinched. They stood as 
 men tied to stakes. 
 
OHAPTEE XVII 
 
 THIS advance of the enemy had seemed to the youth 
 like a ruthless hunting. He began to fume with 
 rage and exasperation. He beat his foot upon the 
 ground, and scowled with hate at the swirling smoke 
 that was approaching like a phantom flood. There 
 was a maddening quality in this seeming resolution 
 of the foe to give him no rest, to give him no time 
 to sit down and think. Yesterday he had fought 
 and had fled rapidly. There had been many adven- 
 tures. For to-day he felt that he had earned oppor- 
 tunities for contemplative repose. He could have 
 enjoyed portraying to uninitiated listeners various 
 scenes at which he had been a witness, or ably dis- 
 cussing the processes of war with other proved men. 
 Too, it was important that he should have time for 
 physical recuperation. He was sore and stiff from 
 his experiences. He had received his fill of all 
 exertions, and he wished to rest. 
 
 But those other men seemed never to grow weary ; 
 they were fighting with their old speed. He had 
 a wild hate for the relentless foe. Yesterday, when 
 he had imagined the universe to be against him, he 
 had hated it, little gods and big gods ; to-day he 
 hated the army of the foe with the same great 
 
 J7 
 
138 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 hatred. He was not going to be badgered of his 
 life, like a kitten chased by boys, he said. It was 
 not well to drive men into final corners ; at those 
 moments they could all develop teeth and claws. 
 
 He leaned and spoke into his friend's ear. He 
 menaced the woods with a gesture. " If they keep 
 on chasing us, by Gawd, they'd better watch out. 
 Can't stand too much." 
 
 The friend twisted his head and made a calm 
 reply. " If they keep on a-chasin' us they'll drive 
 us all inteh th' river." 
 
 The youth cried out savagely at this statement. 
 He crouched behind a little tree, with his eyes burn- 
 ing hatefully, and his teeth set in a cur-like snarl. 
 The awkward bandage was still about his head, and 
 upon it, over his wound, there was a spot of dry 
 blood. His hair was wondrously tousled, and some 
 straggling, moving locks hung over the cloth of the 
 bandage down toward his forehead. His jacket and 
 shirt were open at the throat, and exposed his young 
 bronzed neck. There could be seen spasmodic gulp- 
 ings at his throat. 
 
 His fingers twined nervously about his rifle. He 
 wished that it was an engine of annihilating power. 
 He felt that he and his companions were being 
 taunted and derided from sincere convictions that 
 they were poor and puny. His knowledge of his 
 inability to take vengeance for it made his rage 
 into a dark and stormy spectre, that possessed 
 him and made him dream of abominable cruelties. 
 The tormentors were flies sucking insolently at 
 his blood, and he thought that he would have 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 139 
 
 given his life for a revenge of seeing their faces 
 in pitiful plights. 
 
 The winds of battle had swept all about the 
 regiment, until the one rifle, instantly followed by 
 others, flashed in its front. A moment later the 
 regiment roared forth its sudden and valiant retort. 
 A dense wall of smoke settled slowly down. It 
 was furiously slit and slashed by the knife-like fire 
 from the rifles. 
 
 To the youth the fighters resembled animals tossed 
 for a death-struggle into a dark pit. There was 
 a sensation that he and his fellows, at bay, were 
 pushing back, always pushing fierce onslaughts of 
 creatures who were slippery. Their beams of crim- 
 son seemed to get no purchase upon the bodies of 
 their foes; the latter seemed to evade them with 
 ease, and come through, between, around, and about 
 with unopposed skill. 
 
 When, in a dream, it occurred to the youth that 
 his rifle was an impotent stick, he lost sense of 
 everything but his hate, his desire to smash into 
 pulp the glittering smile of victory which he could 
 feel upon the faces of his enemies. 
 
 The blue smoke-swallowed line curled and writhed 
 like a snake stepped upon. It swung its ends to and 
 fro in an agony of fear and rage. 
 
 The youth was not conscious that he was erect 
 upon his feet. He did not know the direction 
 of the ground. Indeed, once lie even lost the 
 habit of balance, and fell heavily. He was up 
 again immediately. One thought went through 
 the chaos of his brain at the time. He wondered 
 
140 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 if he had fallen because he had been shot. But 
 the suspicion flew away at once. He did not 
 think more of it. 
 
 He had taken up a first position behind the 
 little tree, with a direct determination to hold it 
 against the world. He had not deemed it possible 
 that his army could that day succeed, and from 
 this he felt the ability to fight harder. But the 
 throng had surged in all ways, until he lost direc- 
 tions and locations, save that he knew where lay 
 the enemy. 
 
 The flames bit him, and the hot smoke broiled 
 his skin. His rifle barrel grew so hot that ordi- 
 narily he could not have borne it upon his palms ; 
 but he kept on stuffing cartridges into it, and 
 pounding them with his clanking, bending ram- 
 rod. If he aimed at some changing form through 
 the smoke, he pulled his trigger with a fierce grunt, 
 as if he were dealing a blow of the fist with all his 
 strength. 
 
 When the enemy seemed falling back before 
 him and his fellows, he went instantly forward, 
 like a dog who, seeing his foes lagging, turns and 
 insists upon being pursued. And when he was com- 
 pelled to retire again, he did it slowly, sullenly, 
 taking steps of wrathful despair. 
 
 Once he, in his intent hate, was almost alone, and 
 was firing when all those near him had ceased. He 
 was so engrossed in his occupation that he was not 
 aware of a lull. 
 
 He was recalled by a hoarse laugh and a sentence 
 that came to his ears in a voice of contempt and 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 141 
 
 amazement. " Yeh infernal fool, don't yeh know 
 enough t' quit when there ain't anything t' shoot 
 at? Good Gawd!" 
 
 He turned then and, pausing with his rifle thrown 
 half into position, looked at the blue line of his 
 comrades. During this moment of leisure they 
 seemed all to be engaged in staring with astonish- 
 ment at him. They had become spectators. Turn- 
 ing to the front again he saw, under the lifted smoke, 
 a deserted ground. 
 
 He looked bewildered for a moment. Then there 
 appeared upon the glazed vacancy of his eyes a 
 diamond point of intelligence. " Oh," he said, com- 
 prehending. 
 
 He returned to his comrades and threw himself 
 upon the ground. He sprawled like a man who had 
 been thrashed. His flesh seemed strangely on fire, 
 and the sounds of the battle continued in his ears. 
 He groped blindly for his canteen. 
 
 The lieutenant was crowing. He seemed drunk 
 with fighting. He called out to the youth, "By 
 heavens, if I had ten thousand wild cats like you, 
 I could tear th' stomach outa this war in less'n a 
 week ! " He puffed out his chest with large dignity 
 as he said it. 
 
 Some of the men muttered and looked at the 
 youth in awestruck ways. It was plain that as 
 he had gone on loading and firing and cursing 
 without the proper intermission they had found 
 time to regard him. And they now looked upon 
 him as a war-devil. 
 
 The friend came staggering to him. There was 
 
142 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 some fright and dismay in his voice. "Are yeh 
 all right, Fleming? Do yeh feel all right? There 
 ain't nothin' th' matter with yeh, Henry, is there ? " 
 
 " No," said the youth with difficulty. His throat 
 seemed full of knobs and burs. 
 
 These incidents made the youth ponder. It was 
 revealed to him that he had been a barbarian, a 
 beast. He had fought like a pagan who defends 
 his religion. Regarding it, he saw that it was 
 fine, wild, and, in some ways, easy. He had been 
 a tremendous figure, no doubt. By this struggle 
 he had overcome obstacles which he had admitted 
 to be mountains. They had fallen like paper 
 peaks, and he was now what he called a hero. 
 And he had not been aware of the process. He 
 had slept, and, awakening, found himself a knight. 
 
 He lay and basked in the occasional stares of 
 his comrades. Their faces were varied in degrees 
 of blackness from the burned powder. Some were 
 utterly smudged. They were reeking with per- 
 spiration, and their breaths came hard and wheezing. 
 And from these soiled expanses they peered at him. 
 
 " Hot work ! Hot work ! " cried the lieutenant 
 deliriously. He walked up and down, restless and 
 eager. Sometimes his voice could be heard in a 
 wild, incomprehensible laugh. 
 
 When he had a particularly profound thought 
 upon the science of war he always unconsciously 
 addressed himself to the youth. 
 
 There was some grim rejoicing by the men. " By 
 thunder, I bet this army '11 never see another new 
 reg'ment like us ! " 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 143 
 
 " You bet ! " 
 
 " * A dog, a woman, an' a walnut tree, 
 
 Th' more yeh beat 'em, th' better they be !' 
 
 That's like us." 
 
 "Lost a piler men, they did. If an ol' woman 
 swep' up th' woods she'd git a dustpanful." 
 
 "Yes, an' if she'll come around ag'in in 'bout 
 an' hour she'll git a pile more." 
 
 The forest still bore its burden of clamour. 
 From off under the trees came the rolling clatter 
 of the musketry. Each distant thicket seemed a 
 strange porcupine with quills of flame. A cloud 
 of dark smoke, as from smouldering ruins, went 
 up toward the sun, now bright and gay in the 
 blue, enamelled sky. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE ragged line had respite for some minutes, but 
 during its pause the struggle in the forest became 
 magnified until the trees seemed to quiver from the 
 firing, and the ground to shake from the rushing of 
 the men. The voices of the cannon were mingled in 
 a long and interminable row. It seemed difficult to 
 live in such an atmosphere. The chests of the men 
 strained for a bit of freshness, and their throats 
 craved water. 
 
 There was one shot through the body, who raised 
 a cry of bitter lamentation when came this lull. 
 Perhaps he had been calling out during the fighting 
 also, but at that time no one had heard him. But 
 now the men turned at the woeful complaints of him 
 upon the ground. 
 
 "Who is it? Who is it?" 
 " It's Jimmie Rogers. Jimmie Rogers." 
 When their eyes first encountered him there was 
 a sudden halt, as if they feared to go near. He was 
 thrashing about in the grass, twisting his shuddering 
 body into many strange postures. He was screaming 
 loudly. This instant's hesitation seemed to fill him 
 with a tremendous fantastic contempt, and he damned 
 them in shrieked sentences. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 145 
 
 The youth's friend had a geographical illusion 
 concerning a stream, and he obtained permission 
 to go for some water. Immediately canteens were 
 showered upon him. "Fill mine, will yeh?" "Bring 
 me some, too." "And me, too." He departed, 
 laden. The youth went with his friend, feeling a 
 desire to throw his heated body into the stream 
 and, soaking there, drink quarts. 
 
 They made a hurried search for the supposed 
 stream, but did not find it. "No water here," said 
 the youth. They turned without delay and began 
 to retrace their steps. 
 
 From their position as they again faced toward 
 the place of the fighting, they could of course com- 
 prehend a greater amount of the battle than when 
 their visions had been blurred by the hurling smoke 
 of the line. They could see dark stretches winding 
 along the land, and on one cleared space there was 
 a row of guns making grey clouds, which were filled 
 with large flashes of orange-coloured flame. Over 
 some foliage they could see the roof of a house. One 
 window, glowing a deep murder red, shone squarely 
 through the leaves. From the edifice a tall leaning 
 tower of smoke went far into the sky. 
 
 Looking over their own troops, they saw mixed 
 masses slowly getting into regular form. The sun- 
 light made twinkling points of the bright steel. 
 To the rear there was a glimpse of a distant road- 
 way as it curved over a slope. It was crowded with 
 retreating infantry. From all the interwoven forest 
 arose the smoke and blv\ster of the battle. The air 
 was always occupied by a blaring. 
 
146 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Near where they stood shells were flip-flapping 
 and hooting. Occasional bullets buzzed in the air 
 and spanged into tree trunks. Wounded men and 
 other stragglers were slinking through the woods. 
 
 Looking down an aisle of the grove, the youth 
 and his companion saw a jangling general and his 
 staff almost ride upon a wounded man, who was 
 crawling on his hands and knees. The general 
 reined strongly at his charger's opened and foamy 
 mouth, and guided it with dexterous horsemanship 
 past the man. The latter scrambled in wild and 
 torturing haste. His strength evidently failed him 
 as he reached a place of safety. One of his arms 
 suddenly weakened, and he fell, sliding over upon 
 his back. He lay stretched out, breathing gently. 
 
 A moment later the small creaking cavalcade 
 was directly in front of the two soldiers. Another 
 officer, riding with the skilful abandon of a cowboy, 
 galloped his horse to a position directly before the 
 general. The two unnoticed foot-soldiers made a 
 little show of going on, but they lingered near in 
 the desire to overhear the conversation. Perhaps 
 they thought some great inner historical things 
 would be said. 
 
 The general, whom the boys knew as the com- 
 mander of their division, looked at the other officer 
 and spoke coolly, as if he were criticising his clothes. 
 " Th' enemy's formin* over there for another charge," 
 he said. " It'll be directed against Whiterside, an' 
 I fear they'll break through there unless we work 
 like thunder t' stop them." 
 
 The other swore at his restive horse, and then 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 147 
 
 cleared his throat. He made a gesture toward 
 his cap. " It'll be hell t' pay stoppin' them," he 
 said shortly. 
 
 " I presume so," remarked the general. Then he 
 began to talk rapidly and in a lower tone. He 
 frequently illustrated his words with a pointing 
 finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing 
 until finally he asked, "What troops can you 
 spare ? " 
 
 The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for 
 an instant. "Well," he said, "I had to order in 
 th' 1 2th to help th' 76th, an' I haven't really got 
 any. But there's th' 3O4th. They fight like a lot 
 'a mule-drivers. I can spare them best of any." 
 
 The youth and his friend exchanged glances of 
 astonishment. 
 
 The general spoke sharply. "Get 'em ready, 
 then. I'll watch developments from here, an* send 
 you word when t' start them. It'll happen in five 
 minutes." 
 
 As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his 
 cap and, wheeling his horse, started away, the 
 general called out to him in a sober voice, " I 
 don't believe many of your mule-drivers will get 
 back." 
 
 The other shouted something in reply. He 
 smiled. 
 
 With scared faces, the youth and his companion 
 hurried back to the line. 
 
 These happenings had occupied an incredibly 
 short time, yet the youth felt that in them he had 
 been made aged. New eyes were given to him. 
 
148 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly 
 that he was very insignificant. The officer spoke of 
 the regiment as if he referred to a broom. Some 
 part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and 
 he merely indicated a broom in a tone properly in- 
 different to its fate. It was war, no doubt, but it 
 appeared strange. 
 
 As the two boys approached the line, the lieutenant 
 perceived them and swelled with wrath. " Fleming 
 Wilson how long does it take yeh to gib water, 
 anyhow ? where yeh been to ? " 
 
 But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which 
 were large with great tales. " We're goin' t' charge 
 we're goin' t' charge ! " cried the youth's friend, 
 hastening with his news. 
 
 "Charge?" said the lieutenant. "Charge? Well, 
 b'Gawd ! Now, this is real fightin'." Over his soiled 
 countenance there went a boastful smile. " Charge ? 
 Well, b'Gawd!" 
 
 A little group of soldiers surrounded the two 
 youths. "Are we, sure 'nough? Well, I'll be 
 derned! Charge? Whatfer? What at? Wilson, 
 you're lyinV 
 
 "I hope to die," said the youth, pitching his tones 
 to the key of angry remonstrance. " Sure as shoot- 
 ing, I tell you." 
 
 And his friend spoke in re-enforceinent. "Not 
 by a blame sight, he ain't lyin'. We heard 'em 
 talkin'." 
 
 They caught sight of two mounted figures a short 
 distance from them. One was the colonel of the 
 regiment, and the other was the officer who had 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 149 
 
 received orders from the commander of the division 
 They were gesticulating at each other. The soldier 
 pointing at them, interpreted the scene. 
 
 One man had a final objection : " How could yeh 
 hear 'em talkin' ? " But the men, for a large part, 
 nodded, admitting that previously the two friends 
 had spoken truth. 
 
 They settled back into reposeful attitudes with 
 airs of having accepted the matter. And they 
 mused upon it, with a hundred varieties of ex- 
 pression. It was an engrossing thing to think 
 about. Many tightened their belts carefully and 
 hitched at their trousers. 
 
 A moment later the officers began to bustle 
 among the men, pushing them into a more compact 
 mass and into a better alignment. They chased 
 those that straggled, and fumed at a few men who 
 seemed to show by their attitudes that they had 
 decided to remain at that spot. They were like 
 critical shepherds struggling with sheep. 
 
 Presently, the regiment seemed to draw itself up 
 and heave a deep breath. None of the men's faces 
 were mirrors of large thoughts. The soldiers were 
 bended and stooped like sprinters before a signal. 
 Many pairs of glinting eyes peered from the grimy 
 faces toward the curtains of the deeper woods. 
 They seemed to be engaged in deep calculations of 
 time and distance. 
 
 They were surrounded by the noises of the 
 monstrous altercation between the two armies. 
 The world was fully interested in other matters. 
 Apparently the regiment had its small affair to itself. 
 
150 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The youth, turning, shot a quick inquiring glance 
 at his friend. The latter returned to him the same 
 manner of look. They were the only ones who 
 possessed an inner knowledge. " Mule-drivers hell 
 t' pay don't believe many will get back." It was 
 an ironical secret. Still, they saw no hesitation 
 in each other's faces, and they nodded a mute and 
 unprotesting assent when a shaggy man near them 
 said in a meek voice, "We'll git swallowed." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE youth stared at the land in front of him. Its 
 foliages now seemed to veil powers and horrors. 
 He was unaware of the machinery of orders that 
 started the charge, although from the corners of 
 his eyes he saw an officer, who looked like a boy 
 a-horseback, come galloping, waving his hat. Sud- 
 denly he felt a straining and heaving among the 
 men. The line fell slowly forward like a toppling wall, 
 and, with a convulsive gasp that was intended for a 
 cheer, the regiment began its journey. The youth 
 was pushed and jostled for a moment before he 
 understood the movement at all, but directly he 
 lunged ahead and began to run. 
 
 He fixed his eye upon a distant and prominent 
 clump of trees where he had concluded the enemy 
 were to be met, and he ran toward it as toward 
 a goal. He had believed throughout that it was 
 a mere question of getting over an unpleasant 
 matter as quickly as possible, and he ran desperately, 
 as if pursued for a murder. His face was drawn 
 hard and tight with the stress of his endeavour. 
 His eyes were fixed in a lurid glare. And with his 
 soiled and disordered dress, his red and inflamed 
 features surmounted by the dingy rag with its spot 
 
152 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 of blood, his wildly swinging rifle and banging 
 accoutrements, he looked to be an insane soldier. 
 
 As the regiment swung from its position out into a 
 cleared space the woods and thickets before it awak- 
 ened. Yellow flames leaped toward it from many 
 directions. The forest made a tremendous objection. 
 
 The line lurched straight for a moment. Then 
 the right wing swung forward ; it in turn was sur- 
 passed by the left. Afterward the centre careered 
 to the front until the regiment was a wedge-shaped 
 mass, but an instant later the opposition of the 
 bushes, trees, and uneven places on the ground 
 split the command and scattered it into detached 
 clusters. 
 
 The youth, light-footed, was unconsciously in 
 advance. His eyes still kept note of the clump of 
 trees. From all places near it the clannish yell of 
 the enemy could be heard. The little flames of 
 rifles leaped from it. The song of the bullets was 
 in the air, and shells snarled among the tree-tops. 
 One tumbled directly into the middle of a hurrying 
 group and exploded in crimson fury. There was an 
 instant's spectacle of a man, almost over it, throwing 
 up his hands to shield his eyes. 
 
 Other men, punched by bullets, fell in grotesque 
 agonies. The regiment left a coherent trail of 
 bodies. They had passed into a clearer atmosphere. 
 There was an effect like a revelation in the new 
 appearance of the landscape. Some men working 
 madly at a battery were plain to them, and the 
 opposing infantry's lines were defined by the grey 
 walls and fringes of smoke. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 153 
 
 It seemed to the youth that he saw everything. 
 Each blade of the green grass was bold and clear. 
 He thought that he was aware of every change in 
 the thin, transparent vapour that floated idly in 
 sheets. The brown or grey trunks of the trees 
 showed each roughness of their surfaces. And the 
 men of the regiment, with their starting eyes and 
 sweating faces, running madly, or falling, as if 
 thrown headlong, to queer, heaped-up corpses all 
 were comprehended. His mind took a mechanical 
 but firm impression, so that afterward everything 
 was pictured and explained to him, save why he 
 himself was there. 
 
 But there was a frenzy made from this furious 
 rush. The men, pitching forward insanely, had 
 burst into cheerings, mob-like and barbaric, but 
 tuned in strange keys that can arouse the dullard 
 and the stoic. It made a mad enthusiasm that, 
 it seemed, would be incapable of checking itself 
 before granite and brass. There was the delirium 
 that encounters despair and death, and is heedless 
 and blind to the odds. It is a temporary but sub- 
 lime absence of selfishness. And because it was of 
 this order was the reason, perhaps, why the youth 
 wondered, afterward, what reasons he could have 
 had for being there. 
 
 Presently the straining pace ate up the energies 
 of the men. As if by agreement, the leaders began 
 to slacken their speed. The volleys directed against 
 them had had a seeming wind-like effect. The 
 regiment snorted and blew. Among some stolid 
 trees it began to falter and hesitate. The men, 
 
154 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 staring intently, began to wait for some of the 
 distant walls of smoke to move and disclose to them 
 the scene. Since much of their strength and their 
 breath had vanished, they returned to caution. 
 They were become men again. 
 
 The youth had a vague belief that he had run 
 miles, and he thought, in a way, that he was now in 
 some new and unknown land. 
 
 The moment the regiment ceased its advance the 
 protesting splutter of musketry became a steadied 
 roar. Long and accurate fringes of smoke spread 
 out. From the top of a small hill came level 
 belchings of yellow flame that caused an inhuman 
 whistling in the air. 
 
 The men, halted, had opportunity to see some of 
 their comrades dropping with moans and shrieks. 
 A few lay under foot, still or wailing. And now 
 for an instant the men stood, their rifles slack in 
 their hands, and watched the regiment dwindle. 
 They appeared dazed and stupid. This spectacle 
 seemed to paralyse them, overcome them with a 
 fatal fascination. They stared woodenly at the 
 sights, and, lowering their eyes, looked from face to 
 face. It was a strange pause, and a strange silence. 
 
 Then, above the sounds of the outside commotion 
 arose the roar of the lieutenant. He strode suddenly 
 forth, his infantile features black with rage. 
 
 " Come on, yeh fools ! " he bellowed. " Come 
 on! Yeh can't t stay here. Yeh must come on." 
 He said more, but much of it could not be under- 
 stood. 
 
 He started rapidly forward, with his head turned 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 155 
 
 toward the men. " Come on," he was shouting. 
 The men stared with blank and yokel-like eyes at 
 him. He was obliged to halt and retrace his steps. 
 He stood then with his back to the enemy and de- 
 livered gigantic curses into the faces of the men. 
 His body vibrated from the weight and force of his 
 imprecations. And he could string oaths with the 
 facility of a maiden who strings beads. 
 
 The friend of the youth aroused. Lurching 
 suddenly forward and dropping to his knees, he 
 fired an angry shot at the persistent woods. This 
 action awakened the men. They huddled no more 
 like sheep. They seemed suddenly to bethink them 
 of their weapons, and at once commenced firing. 
 Belaboured by their officers, they began to move 
 forward. The regiment, involved like a cart in- 
 volved in mud and muddle, started unevenly with 
 many jolts and jerks. The men stopped now every 
 few paces to fire and load, and in this manner 
 moved slowly on from trees to trees. 
 
 The flaming opposition in their front grew with 
 their advance until it seemed that all forward ways 
 were barred by the thin leaping tongues, and off to 
 the right an ominous demonstration could some- 
 times be dimly discerned. The smoke lately gene- 
 rated was in confusing clouds that made it difficult 
 for the regiment to proceed with intelligence. As 
 he passed through each curling mass the youth 
 wondered what would confront him on the farther 
 
 The command went painfully forward until an 
 open space interposed between them and the lurid 
 
i$6 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 lines. Here, crouching and cowering behind some 
 trees, the men clung with desperation, as if 
 threatened by a wave. They looked wild-eyed, and 
 as if amazed at this furious disturbance they had 
 stirred. In the storm there was an ironical expres- 
 sion of their importance. The faces of the men, 
 too, showed a lack of a certain feeling of responsi- 
 bility for being there. It was as if they had been 
 driven. It was the dominant animal failing to 
 remember in the supreme moments the forceful 
 causes of various superficial qualities. The whole 
 affair seemed incomprehensible to many of them. 
 
 As they halted thus the lieutenant again began 
 to bellow profanely. Kegardless of the vindictive 
 threats of the bullets, he went about coaxing, berat- 
 ing, and bedamning. His lips, that were habitually 
 in a soft and child-like curve, were now writhed into 
 unholy contortions. He swore by all possible deities. 
 
 Once he grabbed the youth by the arm. " Come 
 on, yeh lunkhead ! " he roared. " Come on ! We'll 
 all git killed if we stay here. We've on'y got t' go 
 across that lot. ^ An' then" the remainder of his 
 idea disappeared in a blue haze of curses. 
 
 The youth stretched forth his arm. "Cross 
 there?" His mouth was puckered in doubt and 
 awe. 
 
 " Certainly. Jest 'cross th' lot ! We can't stay 
 here," screamed the lieutenant. He poked his face 
 close to the youth and waved his bandaged hand. 
 " Come on ! " Presently he grappled with him as 
 if for a wrestling bout. It was as if he planned to 
 drag the youth by the ear on to the assault. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 157 
 
 The private felt a sudden unspeakable indignation 
 against his officer. He wrenched fiercely and shook 
 him off. 
 
 " Come on yerself, then," he yelled. There was a 
 bitter challenge in his voice. 
 
 They galloped together down the regimental 
 front. The friend scrambled after them. In 
 front of the colours the three men began to bawl, 
 " Come on ! come on ! " They danced and gyrated 
 like tortured savages. 
 
 The flag, obedient to these appeals, bended its 
 glittering form and swept toward them. The men 
 wavered in indecision for a moment, and then with 
 a long, wailful cry the dilapidated regiment surged 
 forward and began its new journey. 
 
 Over the field went the scurrying mass. It 
 was a handful of men splattered into the faces of 
 the enemy. Toward it instantly sprang the yellow 
 tongues. A vast quantity of blue smoke hung 
 before them. A mighty banging made ears value- 
 less. 
 
 The youth ran like a madman to reach the woods 
 before a bullet could discover him. He ducked his 
 head low, like a football player. In his haste his 
 eyes almost closed, and the scene was a wild blur. 
 Pulsating saliva stood at the corners of his mouth. 
 
 Within him, as he hurled himself forward, was 
 born a love, a despairing fondness for this flag 
 which was near him. It was a creation of beauty 
 and invulnerability. It was a goddess, radiant, 
 that bended its form with an imperious gesture to 
 him. It was a woman, red and white, hating and 
 
158 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 loving, that called him with the voice of his hopes. 
 Because no harm could come to it he endowed it 
 with power. He kept near, as if it could be a saver 
 of lives, and an imploring cry went from his mind. 
 
 In the mad scramble he was aware that the 
 colour-sergeant flinched suddenly, as if struck by a 
 bludgeon. He faltered, and then became motion- 
 less, save for his quivering knees. 
 
 He made a spring and a clutch at the pole. At 
 the same instant his friend grabbed it from the 
 other side. They jerked at it, stout and furious, 
 but the colour-sergeant was dead, and the corpse 
 would not relinquish its trust. For a moment 
 there was a grim encounter. The dead man, swing- 
 ing with bended back, seemed to be obstinately 
 tugging, in ludicrous and awful ways, for the pos- 
 session of the flag. 
 
 It was past in an instant of time. They wrenched 
 the flag furiously from the dead man, and, as they 
 turned again, the corpse swayed forward with bowed 
 head. One arm swung high, and the curved hand 
 fell with heavy protest on the friend's unheeding 
 shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 WHEN the two youths turned with the flag they 
 saw that much of the regiment had crumbled away, 
 and the dejected remnant was coming slowly back. 
 The men, having hurled themselves in projectile 
 fashion, had presently expended their forces. They 
 slowly retreated, with their faces still toward the 
 spluttering woods, and their hot rifles still replying 
 to the din. Several officers were giving orders, their 
 voices keyed to screams. 
 
 " Where in hell yeh goin' ? " the lieutenant was 
 asking in a sarcastic howl. And a red-bearded 
 officer, whose voice of triple brass could plainly be 
 heard, was commanding, "Shoot into 'em! Shoot 
 into 'em, Gawd damn their souls ! " There was a 
 m&Ue, of screeches, in which the men were ordered 
 to do conflicting and impossible things. 
 
 The youth and his friend had a small scuffle over 
 the flag. " Give it t' me ! " " No, let me keep it ! " 
 Each felt satisfied with the other's possession of it, 
 but each felt bound to declare, by an offer to carry 
 the emblem, his willingness to further risk himself. 
 The youth roughly pushed his friend away. 
 
 The regiment fell back to the stolid trees. There 
 it halted for a moment to blaze at some dark forms 
 
 that had begun to steal upon its track. Presently 
 
 159 
 
160 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 it resumed its march again, curving among the tree 
 trunks. By the time the depleted regiment had 
 again reached the first open space they were receiving 
 a fast and merciless fire. There seemed to be mobs 
 all about them. 
 
 The greater part of the men, discouraged, their 
 spirits worn by the turmoil, acted as if stunned. 
 They accepted the pelting of the bullets with bowed 
 and weary heads. It was of no purpose to strive 
 against walls. It was of no use to batter themselves 
 against granite. And from this consciousness that 
 they had attempted to conquer an unconquerable 
 thing there seemed to arise a feeling that they had 
 been betrayed. They glowered with bent brows, 
 but dangerously, upon some of the officers, more 
 particularly upon the red-bearded one with the voice 
 of triple brass. 
 
 However, the rear of the regiment was fringed 
 with men, who continued to shoot irritably at the 
 advancing foes. They seemed resolved to make 
 every trouble. The youthful lieutenant was per- 
 haps the last man in the disordered mass. His 
 forgotten back was toward the enemy. He had 
 been shot in the arm. It hung straight and rigid. 
 Occasionally he would cease to remember it, and be 
 about to emphasise an oath with a sweeping gesture. 
 The multiplied pain caused him to swear with in- 
 credible power. 
 
 The youth went along with slipping, uncertain 
 feet. He kept watchful eyes rearward. A scowl 
 of mortification and rage was upon his face. He 
 had thought of a fine revenge upon the officer who 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 161 
 
 had referred to him and his fellows as mule-drivers. 
 But he saw that it could not come to pass. His 
 dreams had collapsed when the mule-drivers, dwin- 
 dling rapidly, had wavered and hesitated on the 
 little clearing, and then had recoiled. And now the 
 retreat of the mule-drivers was a march of shame 
 to him. 
 
 A dagger-pointed gaze from without his blackened 
 face was held toward the enemy, but his greater 
 hatred was riveted upon the man who, not knowing 
 him, had called him a mule-driver. 
 
 When he knew that he and his comrades had 
 failed to do anything in successful ways that might 
 bring the little pangs of a kind of remorse upon 
 the officer, the youth allowed the rage of the baffled 
 to possess him. This cold officer upon a monument, 
 who dropped epithets unconcernedly down, would 
 be finer as a dead man, he thought. So grievous 
 did he think it, that he could never possess the secret 
 right to taunt truly in answer. 
 . He had pictured red letters of curious revenge. 
 " We are mule-drivers, are we ? " And now he was 
 compelled to throw them away. 
 
 He presently wrapped his heart in the cloak of 
 his pride and kept the flag erect. He harangued 
 his fellows, pushing against their chests with his 
 free hand. To those he knew well he made frantic 
 appeals, beseeching them by name. Between him 
 and the lieutenant, scolding and near to loosing his 
 mind with rage, there was felt a subtle fellowship 
 and equality. They supported each other in all 
 manner of hoarse, howling protests. 
 
162 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 But the regiment was a machine run down. The 
 two men babbled at a forceless thing. The soldiers 
 who had heart to go slowly were continually shaken 
 in their resolves by a knowledge that comrades were 
 slipping with speed back to the lines. It was diffi- 
 cult to think of reputation when others were think- 
 ing of skins. Wounded men were left crying on 
 this black journey. 
 
 The smoke fringes and flames blustered always. 
 The youth, peering once through a sudden rift in a 
 cloud, saw a brown mass of troops, interwoven and 
 magnified until they appeared to be thousands. A 
 fierce-hued flag flashed before his vision. 
 
 Immediately, as if the uplifting of the smoke had 
 been prearranged, the discovered troops burst into 
 a rasping yell, and a hundred flames jetted toward 
 the retreating band. A rolling grey cloud again 
 interposed as the regiment doggedly replied. The 
 youth had to depend again upon his misused ears, 
 which were trembling and buzzing from the m&Ue 
 of musketry and yells. 
 
 The way seemed eternal. In the clouded haze 
 men became panic-stricken with the thought that 
 the regiment had lost its path, and was proceeding 
 in a perilous direction. Once the men who headed 
 the wild procession turned and came pushing back 
 against their comrades, screaming that they were 
 being fired upon from points which they had con- 
 sidered to be toward their own lines. At this cry 
 a hysterical fear and dismay beset the troops. A 
 soldier, who heretofore had been ambitious to make 
 the regiment into a wise little band that would 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 163 
 
 proceed calmly amid the huge-appearing difficulties, 
 suddenly sank down and buried his face in his arms 
 with an air of bowing to a doom. From another a 
 shrill lamentation rang out filled with profane allu- 
 sions to a general. Men ran hither and thither, 
 seeking with their eyes roads of escape. With 
 serene regularity, as if controlled by a schedule, 
 bullets buffed into men. 
 
 The youth walked stolidly into the midst of the 
 mob, and with his flag in his hands took a stand as 
 if he expected an attempt to push him to the ground. 
 He unconsciously assumed the attitude of the colour- 
 bearer in the fight of the preceding day. He passed 
 over his brow a hand that trembled. His breath did 
 not come freely. He was choking during this small 
 wait for the crisis. 
 
 His friend came to him. " Well, Henry, I guess 
 this is good-bye John." 
 
 " Oh, shut up, you damned fool ! " replied the 
 youth, and he would not look at the other. 
 
 The officers laboured like politicians to beat the 
 mass into a proper circle to face the menaces. The 
 ground was uneven and torn. The men curled into 
 depressions and fitted themselves snugly behind 
 whatever would frustrate a bullet. 
 
 The youth noted with vague surprise that the 
 lieutenant was standing mutely with his legs far 
 apart, and his sword held in the manner of a cane. 
 The youth wondered what had happened to his vocal 
 organs that he no more cursed. 
 
 There was something curious in this little intent 
 pause of the lieutenant. He was like a babe which, 
 
164 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 having wept its fill, raises its eyes and fixes upon a 
 distant toy. He was engrossed in this contemplation, 
 and the soft under-lip quivered from self- whispered 
 words. 
 
 Some lazy and ignorant smoke curled slowly. The 
 men, hiding from the bullets, waited anxiously for it 
 to lift and disclose the plight of the regiment. 
 
 The silent ranks were suddenly thrilled by the 
 eager voice of the youthful lieutenant bawling out, 
 " Here they come ! Eight onto us, b'Gawd ! " His 
 further words were lost in a roar of wicked thunder 
 from the men's rifles. 
 
 The youth's eyes had instantly turned in the 
 direction indicated by the awakened and agitated 
 lieutenant, and he had seen the haze of treachery 
 disclosing a body of soldiers of the enemy. They 
 were so near that he could see their features. There 
 was a recognition as he looked at the types of faces. 
 Also he perceived with dim amazement that their 
 uniforms were rather gay in effect, being light 
 grey, accented with a brilliant-hued facing. Too, 
 the clothes seemed new. 
 
 These troops had apparently been going forward 
 with caution, their rifles held in readiness, when the 
 youthful lieutenant had discovered them, and their 
 movement had been interrupted by the volley from 
 the blue regiment. From the moment's glimpse, 
 it was derived that they had been unaware of the 
 proximity of their dark-suited foes, or had mistaken 
 the direction. Almost instantly they were shut 
 utterly from the youth's sight by the smoke from 
 the energetic rifles of his companions He strained 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 165 
 
 his vision to learn the accomplishment of the volley, 
 but the smoke hung before him. 
 
 The two bodies of troops exchanged blows in the 
 manner of a pair of boxers. The fast, angry firings 
 went back and forth. The men in blue were intent 
 with the despair of their circumstances, and they 
 seized upon the revenge to be had at close range. 
 Their thunder swelled loud and valiant. Their 
 curving front bristled with flashes, and the place 
 resounded with the clangour of their ramrods. The 
 youth ducked and dodged for a time and achieved 
 a few unsatisfactory views of the enemy. There 
 appeared to be many of them, and they were reply- 
 ing swiftly. They seemed moving toward the blue 
 regiment, step by step. He seated himself gloomily 
 on the ground with his flag between his knees. 
 
 As he noted the vicious, wolf -like temper of his 
 comrades he had a sweet thought that if the enemy 
 was about to swallow the regimental broom as a 
 large prisoner, it could at least have the consolation 
 of going down with bristles forward. 
 
 But the blows of the antagonist began to grow 
 more weak. Fewer bullets ripped the air, and finally, 
 when the men slackened to learn of the fight, they 
 could see only dark, floating smoke. The regiment 
 lay still and gazed. Presently some chance whim 
 came to the pestering blur, and it began to coil 
 heavily away. The men saw a ground vacant of 
 fighters. It would have been an empty stage if it 
 were not for a few corpses that lay thrown and 
 twisted into fantastic shapes upon the sward. 
 
 At sight of this tableau, many of the men in blue 
 
166 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 sprang from behind their covers and made an un- 
 gainly dance of joy. Their eyes burned, and a 
 hoarse cheer of elation broke from their dry lips. 
 
 It had begun to seem to them that events were 
 trying to prove that they were impotent. These 
 little battles had evidently endeavoured to demon- 
 strate that the men could not fight well. When on 
 the verge of submission to these opinions, the small 
 duel had showed them that the proportions were not 
 impossible, and by it they had revenged themselves 
 upon their misgivings and upon the foe. 
 
 The impetus of enthusiasm was theirs again. They 
 gazed about them with looks of uplifted pride, feel- 
 ing new trust in the grim, always confident, weapons 
 in their hands. And they were men. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PKESENTLY they knew that no firing threatened 
 them. All ways seemed once more opened to them. 
 The dusty blue lines of their friends were disclosed 
 a short distance away. In the distance there were 
 many colossal noises, but in all this part of the field 
 there was a sudden stillness. 
 
 They perceived that they were free. The depleted 
 band drew a long breath of relief and gathered itself 
 into a bunch to complete its trip. 
 
 In this last length of journey the men began to 
 show strange emotions. They hurried with nervous 
 fear. Some who had been dark and unfaltering in 
 the grimmest moments now could not conceal an 
 anxiety that made them frantic. It was, perhaps, 
 that they dreaded to be killed in insignificant ways 
 after the times for proper military death had passed. 
 Or, perhaps, they thought it would be too ironical to 
 get killed at the portals of safety. With backward 
 looks of perturbation they hastened. 
 
 As they approached their own lines there was some 
 sarcasm exhibited on the part of a gaunt and bronzed 
 regiment that lay resting in the shade of trees. 
 Questions were wafted to them. 
 
 " Where th' hell yeh been ?" 
 167 
 
168 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " What yeh comin' back fer ? " 
 
 " Why didn't yeh stay there ? " 
 
 " Was it warm out there, sonny ? " 
 
 " Goin' home now, boys ? " 
 
 One shouted in taunting mimicry, " Oh, mother, 
 come quick an' look at th' sodgers ! " 
 
 There was no reply from the bruised and battered 
 regiment, save that one man made broadcast chal- 
 lenges to fist fights and the red-bearded officer walked 
 rather near and glared in great swashbuckler style 
 at a tall captain in the other regiment. But the 
 lieutenant suppressed the man who wished to fist 
 fight, and the tall captain, flushing at the little fan- 
 fare of the red-bearded one, was obliged to look 
 intently at some trees. 
 
 The youth's tender flesh was deeply stung by those 
 remarks. From under his creased brows he glowered 
 with hate at the mockers. He meditated upon a few 
 revenges. Still, many in the regiment hung their 
 heads in criminal fashion, so that it came to pass that 
 the men trudged with sudden heaviness, as if they 
 bore upon their bended shoulders the coffin of their 
 honour. And the youthful lieutenant, recollecting 
 himself, began to mutter softly in black curses. 
 
 They turned when they arrived at their old 
 position to regard the ground over which they had 
 charged. 
 
 The youth in this contemplation was smitten 
 with a large astonishment. He discovered that the 
 distances, as compared with the brilliant measurings 
 of his mind, were trivial and ridiculous. The stolid 
 trees, where much had taken place, seemed incre- 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 169 
 
 dibly near. The time, too, now that he reflected, 
 he saw to have been short. He wondered at the 
 number of emotions and events that had been 
 crowded into such little spaces. Elfin thoughts 
 must have exaggerated and enlarged everything, 
 he said. 
 
 It seemed, then, that there was bitter justice in 
 the speeches of the gaunt and bronzed veterans. 
 He veiled a glance of disdain at his fellows who 
 strewed the ground, choking with dust, red from 
 perspiration, misty-eyed, dishevelled. 
 
 They were gulping at their canteens, fierce to 
 wring every mite of water from them, and they 
 polished at their swollen and watery features with 
 coat-sleeves and bunches of grass. 
 
 However, to the youth there was a considerable 
 joy in musing upon his performances during the 
 charge. He had had very little time previously 
 in which to appreciate himself, so that there was 
 now much satisfaction in quietly thinking of his 
 actions. He recalled bits of colour that in the 
 flurry had stamped themselves unawares upon his 
 engaged senses. 
 
 As the regiment lay heaving from its hot exer- 
 tions the officer who had named them as mule- 
 drivers came galloping along the line. He had 
 lost his cap. His tousled hair streamed wildly, 
 and his face was dark with vexation and wrath. 
 His temper was displayed with more clearness 
 by the way in which he managed his horse. He 
 jerked and wrenched savagely at his bridle, stop- 
 ping the hard-breathing animal with a furious pull 
 
170 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 near the colonel of the regiment. He immediately 
 exploded in reproaches which came unbidden to 
 the ears of the men. They were suddenly alert, 
 being always curious about black words between 
 officers. 
 
 "Oh, thunder, MacChesnay, what an awful bull 
 you made of this thing ! " began the officer. He 
 attempted low tones, but his indignation caused 
 certain of the men to learn the sense of his words. 
 "What an awful mess you made! Good Lord, 
 man, you stopped about a hundred feet this side 
 of a very pretty success! If your men had gone 
 a hundred feet farther you would have made a great 
 charge, but as it is what a lot of mud-diggers 
 youVe got anyway ! " 
 
 The men, listening with bated breath, now turned 
 their curious eyes upon the colonel. They had a 
 ragamuffin interest in this affair. 
 
 The colonel was seen to straighten his form and 
 put one hand forth in oratorical fashion. He wore 
 an injured air; it was as if a deacon had been 
 accused of stealing. The men were wiggling in an 
 ecstasy of excitement. 
 
 But of a sudden the colonePs manner changed 
 from that of a deacon to that of a Frenchman. He 
 shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well, general, we 
 went as far as we could," he said calmly. 
 
 "As far as you could? Did you, b'Gawd?" 
 snorted the other. "Well, that wasn't very far, 
 was it ? " he added, with a glance of cold contempt 
 into the other's eyes. "Not very far, I think, 
 You were intended to make a diversion in favour 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 171 
 
 of Whiterside. How well you succeeded your own 
 ears can now tell you." He wheeled his horse and 
 rode stiffly away. 
 
 The colonel, bidden to hear the jarring noises of 
 an engagement in the woods to the left, broke out 
 in vague damnations. 
 
 The lieutenant, who had listened with an air of 
 impotent rage to the interview, spoke suddenly in 
 firm and undaunted tones. "I don't care what a 
 man is whether he is a general or what if he 
 says th' boys didn't put up a good fight out there 
 he's a damned fool." 
 
 "Lieutenant," began the colonel severely, "this 
 is my own affair, and I'll trouble you " 
 
 The lieutenant made an obedient gesture. "All 
 right, colonel, all right," he said. He sat down with 
 an air of being content with himself. 
 
 The news that the regiment had been reproached 
 went along the line. For a time the men were be- 
 wildered by it. " Good thunder ! " they ejaculated, 
 staring at the vanishing form of the general. They 
 conceived it to be a huge mistake. 
 
 Presently, however, they began to believe that in 
 truth their efforts had been called light. The youth 
 could see this conviction weigh upon the entire 
 regiment until the men were like cuffed and cursed 
 animals, but withal rebellious. 
 
 The friend, with a grievance in his eye, went to 
 the youth. " I wonder what he does want," he said. 
 "He must think we went out there an' played 
 marbles! I never see sech a man!" 
 
 The youth developed a tranquil philosophy for 
 
172 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 these moments of irritation. " Oh, well," ne re- 
 joined, "he probably didn't see nothing of it at 
 all and got mad as blazes, and concluded we were 
 a lot of sheep, just because we didn't do what he 
 wanted done. It's a pity old Grandpa Henderson 
 got killed yestirday he'd have known that we did 
 our best and fought good. It's just our awful luck, 
 that's what." 
 
 " I should say so," replied the friend. He seemed 
 to be deeply wounded at an injustice. "I should 
 say we did have awful luck ! There's no fun in 
 fightin' fer people when everything yeh do no 
 matter what ain't done right. I have a notion 
 t' stay behind next time an' let 'em take their ol' 
 charge an' go t' th' devil with it." 
 
 The youth spoke soothingly to his comrade. 
 "Well, we both did good. I'd like to see the 
 fool what'd say we both didn't do as good as we 
 could!" 
 
 " Of course we did/' declared the friend stoutly. 
 " An' I'd break th' feller's neck if he was as big as 
 a church. But we're all right, anyhow, for I heard 
 one feller say that we two fit th' best in th' reg'ment, 
 an' they had a great argument 'bout it. Another 
 feller, 'a course, he had t' up an' say it was a lie 
 he seen all what was goin' on an' he never seen 
 us from th' beginnin' t' th' end. An' a lot more 
 struck in an' ses it wasn't a lie we did fight like 
 thunder, an' they give us quite a send-off. But 
 this is what I can't stand these eyerlastin' ol' 
 soldiers, titterin' an laughin', an' then that general, 
 he's crazy." 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 173 
 
 The youth exclaimed with sudden exasperation, 
 "He's a lunkhead! He makes me mad. I wish 
 he'd come along next time. We'd show 'im 
 what " 
 
 He ceased because several men had come hurrying 
 up. Their faces expressed a bringing of great news. 
 
 "0 Mem, yeh jest oughta heard!" cried one 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Heard what ? " said the youth. 
 
 "Ye jest oughta heard!" repeated the other, 
 and he arranged himself to tell his tidings. The 
 others made an excited circle. " Well, sir, th' 
 colonel met your lieutenant right by us it was 
 damnedest thing I ever heard an' he ses : ' Ahem ! 
 ahem ! ' he ses. ' Mr. Hasbrouck ! ' he ses, * by th' 
 way, who was that lad what carried th' flag?' he 
 ses. There, Flemin', what d' yeh think 'a that? 
 'Who was th' lad what carried th' flag?' he ses, 
 an' th' lieutenant, he speaks up right away : ' That's 
 Flemin', an' he's a jimhickey/ he ses, right away. 
 What? I say he did. 'A jimhickey,' he ses 
 those 'r his words. He did, too. I say he did. If 
 you kin tell this story better than I kin, go ahead 
 an' tell it. Well, then, keep yer mouth shet. Th' 
 lieutenant, he ses : ' He's a jimhickey,' an' th' colonel, 
 he ses : ' Ahem ! ahem ! he is, indeed, a very good 
 man t' have, ahem ! He kep' th' flag 'way t' th' 
 front. I saw 'im. He's a good un,' ses th' colonel. 
 * You bet,' ses th' lieutenant, ' he an' a feller named 
 Wilson was at 'th' head 'a th' charge, an' howlin' like 
 Indians all th' time,' he ses. ' Head 'a th' charge all 
 th' time/ he ses. * A feller named Wilson,' he ses. 
 
174 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 There, Wilson, m' boy, put that in a letter an* send 
 it hum t' yer mother, hay? 'A feller named Wilson,' 
 he ses. An' th' colonel, he ses : ' Were they, indeed? 
 Ahem ! ahem ! My sakes ! ' he ses. * At th' head 
 'a th' reg'ment ? ' he ses. ' They were,' says th' 
 lieutenant. ' My sakes ! ' ses th' colonel. He ses : 
 < Well, well, well,' he ses, ' those two babies ? ' ' They 
 were/ ses th' lieutenant. ' Well, well,' ses th' colonel, 
 'they deserve t' be major-generals,' he ses. 'They 
 deserve t' be major-generals.' " 
 
 The youth and his friend had said, " Huh ! " 
 " Yer lyin', Thompson." " Oh, go t' blazes ! " " He 
 never sed it." " Oh, what a lie ! " " Huh ! " But 
 despite these youthful scoffings and embarrassments, 
 they knew that their faces were deeply flushing 
 from thrills of pleasure. They exchanged a secret 
 glance of joy and congratulation. 
 
 They speedily forgot many things. The past 
 held no pictures of error and disappointment. They 
 were very happy, and their hearts swelled with 
 grateful affection for the colonel and the youthful 
 lieutenant. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHEN the woods again began to ponr forth the 
 dark-hued masses of the enemy the youth felt 
 serene self-confidence. He smiled briefly when he 
 saw men dodge and duck at the long screechings 
 of shells that were thrown in giant handfuls over 
 them. He stood, erect and tranquil, watching the 
 attack begin against a part of the line that made 
 a blue curve along the side of an adjacent hill. His 
 vision being unmolested by smoke from the rifles of 
 his companions, he had opportunities to see parts 
 of the hard fight. It was a relief to perceive at 
 last from whence came some of these noises which 
 had been roared into his ears. 
 
 Off a short way he saw two regiments fighting 
 a little separate battle with two other regiments. 
 It was in a cleared space, wearing a set-apart look. 
 They were blazing as if upon a wager, giving 
 and taking tremendous blows. The firings were 
 incredibly fierce and rapid. These intent regiments 
 apparently were oblivious of all larger purposes of 
 war, and were slugging each other as if at a matched 
 game. 
 
 In another direction he saw a magnificent brigade 
 going with the evident intention of driving the 
 
176 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 enemy from a wood. They passed in out of sight, 
 and presently there was a most awe-inspiring racket 
 in the wood. The noise was unspeakable. Having 
 stirred this prodigious uproar, and, apparently, find- 
 ing it too prodigious, the brigade, after a little time, 
 came marching airily out again with its fine forma- 
 tion in nowise disturbed. There were no traces of 
 speed in its movements. The brigade was jaunty, 
 and seemed to point a proud thumb at the yelling 
 wood. 
 
 On a slope to the left there was a long row of 
 guns, gruff and maddened, denouncing the enemy, 
 who, down through the woods, were forming for 
 another attack in the pitiless monotony of conflicts. 
 The round red discharges from the guns made a 
 crimson flare and a high, thick smoke. Occasional 
 glimpses could be caught of groups of the toiling 
 artillerymen. In the rear of this row of guns stood 
 a house, calm and white, amid bursting shells. A 
 congregation of horses, tied to a long railing, were 
 tugging frenziedly at their bridles. Men were run- 
 ning hither and thither. 
 
 The detached battle between the four regiments 
 lasted for some time. There chanced to be no inter- 
 ference, and they settled their dispute by themselves. 
 They struck savagely and powerfully at each other 
 for a period of minutes, and then the lighter-hued 
 regiments faltered and drew back, leaving the dark- 
 blue lines shouting. The youth could see the two 
 flags shaking with laughter amid the smoke rem- 
 nants. 
 
 Presently there was a stillness, pregnant with 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 177 
 
 meaning. The blue lines shifted and changed a 
 trifle and stared expectantly at the silent woods 
 and fields before them. The hush was solemn and 
 church-like, save for a distant battery that, evidently 
 unable to remain quiet, sent a faint rolling thunder 
 over the ground. It irritated, like the noises of un- 
 impressed boys. The men imagined that it would 
 prevent their perched ears from hearing the first 
 words of the new battle. 
 
 Of a sudden the guns on the slope roared out 
 a message of warning. A spluttering sound had 
 begun in the woods. It swelled with amazing 
 speed to a profound clamour that involved the 
 earth in noises. The splitting crashes swept along 
 the lines until an interminable roar was developed. 
 To those in the midst of it, it became a din fitted 
 to the universe. It was the whirring and thump- 
 ing of gigantic machinery, complications among the 
 smaller stars. The youth's ears were filled up. 
 They were incapable of hearing more. 
 
 On an incline over which a road wound he saw 
 wild and desperate rushes of men perpetually back- 
 ward and forward in riotous surges. These parts 
 of the opposing armies were two long waves that 
 pitched upon each other madly at dictated points. 
 To and fro they swelled. Sometimes, one side by 
 its yells and cheers would proclaim decisive blows, 
 but: a moment later the other side would be all yells 
 and cheers. Once the youth saw a spray of light 
 forms go in hound-like leaps toward the waving 
 blue lines. There was much howling, and presently 
 it went away with a vast mouthful of prisoners. 
 
 M 
 
178 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Again, he saw a blue wave dash with such thun- 
 derous force against a grey obstruction, that it seemed 
 to clear the earth of it and leave nothing but 
 trampled sod. And always in their swift and 
 deadly rushes to and fro the men screamed and 
 yelled like maniacs. 
 
 Particular pieces of fence or secure positions 
 behind collections of trees were wrangled over, 
 as gold thrones or pearl bedsteads. There were 
 desperate lunges at these chosen spots seemingly 
 every instant, and most of them were bandied like 
 light toys between the contending forces. The 
 youth could not tell from the battle-flags flying 
 like crimson foam in many directions which colour 
 of cloth was winning. 
 
 His emaciated regiment bustled forth with undi- 
 minished fierceness when its time came. When 
 assaulted again by bullets, the men burst out in a 
 barbaric cry of rage and pain. They bent their 
 heads in aims of intent hatred behind the projected 
 hammers of their guns. Their ramrods clanged loud 
 with fury as their eager arms pounded the cart- 
 ridges into the rifle barrels. The front of the regi- 
 ment was a smoke-wall penetrated by the flashing 
 points of yellow and red. 
 
 Wallowing in the fight, they were in an astonish- 
 ingly short time resmudged. They surpassed in 
 stain and dirt all their previous appearances. Mov- 
 ing to and fro with strained exertion, jabbering the 
 while, they were, with their swaying bodies, black 
 faces, and glowing eyes, like strange and ugly fiends 
 jigging heavily in the smoke. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 179 
 
 The lieutenant, returning from a tour after a 
 bandage, produced from a hidden receptacle of his 
 mind new and portentous oaths suited to the emer- 
 gency. Strings of expletives he swung lash-like 
 over the backs of his men, and it was evident that 
 his previous efforts had in nowise impaired his 
 resources. 
 
 The youth, still the bearer of the colours, did not 
 feel his idleness. He was deeply absorbed as a 
 spectator. The crash and swing of the great drama 
 made him lean forward, intent-eyed, his face work- 
 ing in small contortions. Sometimes he prattled, 
 words coming unconsciously from him in grotesque 
 exclamations. He did not know that he breathed, 
 that the flag hung silently over him, so absorbed 
 was he. 
 
 A formidable line of the enemy came within 
 dangerous range. They could be seen plainly tall, 
 gaunt men with excited faces running with long 
 strides toward a wandering fence. 
 
 At sight of this danger the men suddenly ceased 
 their cursing monotone. There was an instant of 
 strained silence before they threw up their rifles 
 and fired a plumping volley at the foes. There 
 had been no order given; the men, upon recog- 
 nising the menace, had immediately let drive 
 their flock of bullets without waiting for word of 
 command. 
 
 But the enemy were quick to gain the protection 
 of the wandering line of fence. They slid down 
 behind it with remarkable celerity, and from this 
 position they began briskly to slice up the blue men. 
 
i8o PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 These latter braced their energies for a great 
 struggle. Often, white clinched teeth shone from 
 the dusky faces. Many heads surged to and fro, 
 floating upon a pale sea of smobe. Those behind 
 the fence frequently shouted and yelped in taunts 
 and gibe-like cries, but the regiment maintained a 
 stressed silence. Perhaps at this new assault the 
 men recalled the fact that they had been named 
 mud -diggers, and it made their situation thrice 
 bitter. They were breathlessly intent upon keeping 
 the ground, and thrusting away the rejoicing body 
 of the enemy. They fought swiftly, and with a 
 despairing savageness denoted in their expressions. 
 
 The youth had resolved not to budge whatever 
 should happen. Some arrows of scorn that had 
 buried themselves in his heart had generated 
 strange and unspeakable hatred. It was clear to 
 him that his final and absolute revenge was to be 
 achieved by his dead body lying, torn and glutter- 
 ing, upon the field. This was to be a poignant 
 retaliation upon the officer who had said " mule- 
 drivers," and later "mud- diggers," for in all the wild 
 graspings of his mind for a unit responsible for his 
 sufferings and commotions he always seized upon 
 the man who had dubbed him wrongly. And it was 
 his idea, vaguely formulated, that his corpse would 
 be for those eyes a great and salt reproach. 
 
 The regiment bled extravagantly. Grunting 
 bundles of blue began to drop. The orderly ser- 
 geant of the youth's company was shot through the 
 cheeks. Its supports being injured, his jaw hung 
 afar down, disclosing in the wide cavern of his 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 181 
 
 mouth a pulsing mass of blood and teeth. And 
 with it all he made attempts to cry out. In his 
 endeavour there was a dreadful earnestness, as if 
 he conceived that one great shriek would make 
 him well. 
 
 The youth saw him presently go rearward. His 
 strength seemed in nowise impaired. He ran 
 swiftly, casting wild glances for succour. 
 
 Others fell down about the feet of their com- 
 panions. Some of the wounded crawled out and 
 away, but many lay still, their bodies twisted into 
 impossible shapes. 
 
 The youth looked once for his friend. He saw a 
 vehement young man, powder- smeared and frowzled, 
 whom he knew to be him. The lieutenant, also, was 
 unscathed in his position at the rear. He had con- 
 tinued to curse, but it was now with the air of a man 
 who was using his last box of oaths. 
 
 For the fire of the regiment had begun to wane 
 and drip. The robust voice, that had come strangely 
 from the thin ranks, was growing rapidly weak. 
 
CHAPTEK XXIII 
 
 THE colonel came running along back of the line. 
 There were other officers following him. " We must 
 charge 'm ! " they shouted. " We must charge 'm ! " 
 they cried with resentful voices, as if anticipating a 
 rebellion against this plan by the men. 
 
 The youth, upon hearing the shouts, began to 
 study the distance between him and the enemy. 
 He made vague calculations. He saw that to be 
 firm soldiers they must go forward. It would be 
 death to stay in the present place, and with all the 
 circumstances to go backward would exalt too many 
 others. Their hope was to push the galling foes 
 away from the fence. 
 
 He expected that his companions, weary and stif- 
 fened, would have to be driven to this assault, but as 
 he turned toward them he perceived with a certain 
 surprise that they were giving quick and unqualified 
 expressions of assent. There was an ominous, clang- 
 ing overture to the charge when the shafts of the 
 bayonets rattled upon the rifle barrels. At the 
 yelled words of command the soldiers sprang for- 
 ward in eager leaps. There was new and unex- 
 pected force in the movement of the regiment. A 
 knowledge of its faded and jaded condition made 
 
 182 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 183 
 
 the charge appear like a paroxysm, a display of the 
 strength that comes before a final feebleness. The 
 men scampered in insane fever of haste, racing as if 
 to achieve a sudden success before an exhilarating 
 fluid should leave them. It was a blind and de- 
 spairing rush by the collection of men in dusty and 
 tattered blue, over a green sward and under a 
 sapphire sky, toward a fence, dimly outlined in 
 smoke, from behind which spluttered the fierce rifles 
 of enemies. 
 
 The youth kept the bright colours to the front. 
 He was waving his free arm in furious circles, the 
 while shrieking mad calls and appeals, urging on 
 those that did not need to be urged, for it seemed 
 that the mob of blue men hurling themselves on the 
 dangerous group of rifles were again grown suddenly 
 wild with an enthusiasm of unselfishness. From the 
 many firings starting toward them, it looked as if 
 they would merely succeed in making a great sprink- 
 ling of corpses on the grass between their former 
 position and the fence. But they were in a state of 
 frenzy, perhaps because of forgotten vanities, and it 
 made an exhibition of sublime recklessness. There 
 was no obvious questioning, nor figurings, nor dia- 
 grams. There was, apparently, no considered loop- 
 holes. It appeared that the swift wings of their 
 desires would have shattered against the iron gates 
 of the impossible. 
 
 He himself felt the daring spirit of a savage 
 religion mad. He was capable of profound sacri- 
 fices, a tremendous death. He had no time for 
 dissections, but he knew that he thought of the 
 
184 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 bullets only as things that could prevent him from 
 reaching the place of his endeavour. There were 
 subtle flashings of joy within him that thus should 
 be his mind. 
 
 He strained all his strength. His eyesight was 
 shaken and dazzled by the tension of thought and 
 muscle. He did not see anything excepting the 
 mist of smoke gashed by the little knives of fire, 
 but he knew that in it lay the aged fence of a 
 vanished farmer protecting the snuggled bodies of 
 the grey men. 
 
 As he ran, a thought of the shock of contact 
 gleamed in his mind. He expected a great con- 
 cussion when the two bodies of troops crashed 
 together. This became a part of his wild battle 
 madness. He could feel the onward swing of the 
 regiment about him, and he conceived of a thun- 
 derous, crushing blow, that would prostrate the 
 resistance, and spread consternation and amaze- 
 ment for miles. The flying regiment was going to 
 have a catapultian effect. This dream made him 
 run faster among his comrades, who were giving 
 vent to hoarse and frantic cheers. 
 
 But presently he could see that many of the men 
 in grey did not intend to abide the blow. The 
 smoke, rolling, disclosed men who ran, their faces 
 still turned. These grew to a crowd, who retired 
 stubbornly. Individuals wheeled frequently to send 
 a bullet at the blue wave. 
 
 But at one part of the line there was a grim and 
 obdurate group that made no movement. They were 
 settled firmly down behind posts and rails. A flag, 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 185 
 
 ruffled and fierce, waved over them, and their rifles 
 dinned fiercely. 
 
 The blue whirl of men got very near, until it 
 seemed that in truth there would be a close and 
 frightful scuffle. There was an expressed disdain in 
 the opposition of the little group that changed the 
 meaning of the cheers of the men in blue. They 
 became yells of wrath, directed, personal. The cries 
 of the two parties were now in sound an interchange 
 of scathing insults. 
 
 They in blue showed their teeth ; their eyes shone 
 all white. They launched themselves as at the 
 throats of those who stood resisting. The space 
 between dwindled to an insignificant distance. 
 
 The youth had centred the gaze of his soul upon 
 that other flag. Its possession would be high pride. 
 It would express bloody minglings, near blows. He 
 had a gigantic hatred for those who made great 
 difficulties and complications. They caused it to 
 be as a craved treasure of mythology, hung amid 
 tasks and contrivances of danger. 
 
 He plunged like a mad horse at it. He was 
 resolved it should not escape if wild blows and 
 darings of blows could seize it. His own emblem, 
 quivering and aflare, was winging toward the other. 
 It seemed there would shortly be an encounter of 
 strange beaks and claws, as of eagles. 
 
 The swirling body of blue men came to a sudden 
 halt at close and disastrous range, and roared a 
 swift volley. The group in grey was split and 
 broken by this fire, but its riddled body still fought 
 The men in blue yelled again, and rushed in upon it 
 
i86 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The youth, in his leapings, saw, as through a mist, 
 a picture of four or five men stretched upon the 
 ground, or writhing upon their knees with bowed 
 heads, as if they had been stricken by bolts from 
 the sky. Tottering among them was the rival 
 colour-bearer, whom the youth saw had been bitten 
 vitally by the bullets of the last formidable volley. 
 He perceived this man fighting a last struggle, the 
 struggle of one whose legs are grasped by demons. 
 It was a ghastly battle. Over his face was the 
 bleach of death, but set upon it was the dark and 
 hard lines of desperate purpose. With this terrible 
 grin of resolution he hugged his precious flag to him, 
 and was stumbling and staggering in his design to 
 go the way that led to safety for it. 
 
 But his wounds always made it seem that his feet 
 were retarded, held, and he fought a grim fight, as 
 with invisible ghouls fastened greedily upon his 
 limbs. Those in advance of the scampering blue 
 men, howling cheers, leaped at the fence. The 
 despair of the lost was in his eyes as he glanced 
 back at them. 
 
 The youth's friend went over the obstruction in a 
 tumbling heap, and sprang at the flag as a panther 
 at prey. He pulled at it, and, wrenching it free, 
 swung up its red brilliancy with a mad cry of exul- 
 tation, even as the colour-bearer, gasping, lurched 
 over in a final throe, and, stiffening convulsively, 
 turned his dead face to the ground. There was 
 much blood upon the grass blades. 
 
 At the place of success there began more wild 
 clamourings of cheers. The men gesticulated and 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 187 
 
 bellowed in an ecstacy. When they spoke, it was as 
 if they considered their listener to be a mile away. 
 What hats and caps were left to them they often 
 slung high in the air. 
 
 At one part of the line four men had been swooped 
 upon, and they now sat as prisoners. Some blue 
 men were about them in an eager and curious circle. 
 The soldiers had trapped strange birds, and there 
 was an examination. A flurry of fast questions was 
 in the air. 
 
 One of the prisoners was nursing a superficial 
 wound in the foot. He cuddled it, baby-wise, but 
 he looked up from it often to curse with an astonish- 
 ing utter abandon straight at the noses of his captors. 
 He consigned them to red regions; he called upon 
 the pestilential wrath of strange gods. And with 
 it all he was singularly free from recognition of the 
 finer points of the conduct of prisoners of war. It 
 was as if a clumsy clod had trod upon his toe, and 
 he conceived it to be his privilege, his duty, to use 
 deep, resentful oaths. 
 
 Another, who was a boy in years, took his plight 
 with great calmness and apparent good-nature. He 
 conversed with the men in blue, studying their faces 
 with his bright and keen eyes. They spoke of 
 battles and conditions. There was an acute interest 
 in all their faces during this exchange of view 
 points. It seemed a great satisfaction to hear 
 voices from where all had been darkness and specu- 
 lation. 
 
 The third captive sat with a morose countenance. 
 He preserved a stoical and cold attitude. To al] 
 
i88 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 advances he made one reply without variation, " Ah, 
 got' hell!" 
 
 The last of the four was always silent, and, for 
 the most part, kept his face turned in unmolested 
 directions. From the views the youth received he 
 seemed to be in a state of absolute dejection. Shame 
 was upon him, and with it profound regret that he 
 was, perhaps, no more to be counted in the ranks of 
 his fellows. The youth could detect no expression 
 that would allow him to believe that the other was 
 giving a thought to his narrowed future, the pictured 
 dungeons, perhaps, and starvations and brutalities, 
 liable to the imagination. All to be seen was shame 
 for captivity, and regret for the right to antagonise. 
 
 After the men had celebrated sufficiently they 
 settled down behind the old rail fence, on the 
 opposite side to the one from which their foes had 
 been driven. A few shot perfunctorily at distant 
 marks. 
 
 There was some long grass. The youth nestled 
 in it and rested, making a convenient rail support 
 the flag. His friend, jubilant and glorified, holding 
 his treasure with vanity, came to him there. They 
 sat side by side and congratulated each other. 
 
OHAPTEE XXIV 
 
 THE roarings that had stretched in a long line of 
 sound across the face of the forest began to grow 
 intermittent and weaker. The stentorian speeches 
 of the artillery continued in some distant encounter, 
 but the crashes of the musketry had almost ceased. 
 The youth and his friend of a sudden looked up, 
 feeling a deadened form of distress at the waning of 
 these noises, which had become a part of life. They 
 could see changes going on among the troops. There 
 were marchings this way and that way. A battery 
 wheeled leisurely. On the crest of a small hill was 
 the thick gleam of many departing muskets. 
 
 The youth arose. " Well, what now, I wonder ? " 
 he said. By his tone he seemed to be preparing to 
 resent some new monstrosity in the way of dins and 
 smashes. He shaded his eyes with his grimy hand 
 and gazed over the field. 
 
 His friend also arose and stared. " I bet we're 
 goin' t' git along out of this an' back over th' river/' 
 said he. 
 
 " Well, T swan ! " said the youth. 
 
 They waited, watching. Within a little while the 
 regiment received orders to retrace its way. The 
 
 men got up grunting from the grass, regretting the 
 
 189 
 
igo PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 soft repose. They jerked their stiffened legs, and 
 stretched their arms over their heads. One man 
 swore as he rubbed his eyes. They all groaned " 
 Lord ! " They had as many objections to this change 
 as they would have had to a proposal for a new 
 battle. 
 
 They trampled slowly back over the field across 
 which they had run in a mad scamper. 
 
 The regiment marched until it had joined its 
 fellows. The reformed brigade, in column, aimed 
 through a wood at the road. Directly they were in 
 a mass of dust- covered troops, and were trudging 
 along in a way parallel to the enemy's lines as these 
 had been denned by the previous turmoil. 
 
 They passed within view of a stolid white house, 
 and saw in front of it groups of their comrades lying 
 in wait behind a neat breastwork. A row of guns 
 were booming at a distant enemy. Shells thrown 
 in reply were raising clouds of dust and splinters. 
 Horsemen dashed along the line of intrenchments. 
 
 At this point of its march the division curved 
 away from the field and went winding off in the 
 direction of the river. When the significance of this 
 movement had impressed itself upon the youth he 
 turned his head and looked over his shoulder toward 
 the trampled and debris - strewed ground. He 
 breathed a breath of new satisfaction. He finally 
 nudged his friend. " Well, it's all over," he said to 
 him. 
 
 His friend gazed backward. "B'Gawd, it is," he 
 assented. They mused. 
 
 For a time the youth was obliged to reflect in a 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 191 
 
 puzzled and uncertain way. His mind was under- 
 going a subtle change. It took moments for it to 
 cast off its battleful ways and resume its accustomed 
 course of thought. Gradually his brain emerged 
 from the clogged clouds, and at last he was enabled to 
 more closely comprehend himself and circumstance. 
 
 He understood then that the existence of shot and 
 counter-shot was in the past. He had dwelt in a 
 land of strange, squalling upheavals and had come 
 forth. He had been where there was red of blood 
 and black of passion, and he was escaped. His first 
 thoughts were given to rejoicings at this fact. 
 
 Later, he began to study his deeds, his failures, 
 and his achievements. Thus, fresh from scenes 
 where many of his usual machines of reflection had 
 been idle, from where he had proceeded sheep-like, 
 he struggled to marshal all his acts. 
 
 At last they marched before him clearly. From 
 this present view-point he was enabled to look upon 
 them in spectator fashion and to criticise them with 
 some correctness, for his new condition had already 
 defeated certain sympathies. 
 
 Eegarding his procession of memory he felt 
 gleeful and unregretting, for in it his public deeds 
 were paraded in great and shining prominence. 
 Those performances which had been witnessed by 
 his fellows marched now in wide purple and gold 
 having various deflections. They went gaily with 
 music. It was pleasure to watch these things. He 
 spent delightful minutes viewing the gilded images 
 of memory. 
 
 He saw that he was good. He recalled with a 
 
192 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 thrill of joy the respectful comments of his fellows 
 upon his conduct. 
 
 Nevertheless, the ghost of his "flight from the 
 first engagement appeared to him and danced. 
 There were small shoutings in his brain about these 
 matters. For a moment he blushed, and the light 
 of his soul flickered with shame. 
 
 A spectre of reproach came to him. There 
 loomed the dogging memory of the tattered soldier 
 he who, gored by bullets and faint for blood, had 
 fretted concerning an imagined wound in another; 
 he who had loaned his last of strength and intellect 
 for the tall soldier; he who, blind with weariness 
 and pain, had been deserted in the field. 
 
 For an instant a wretched chill of sweat was upon 
 him at the thought that he might be detected in the 
 thing. As he stood persistently before his vision, 
 he gave vent to a cry of sharp irritation and agony. 
 
 His friend turned. " What's the matter, Henry?" 
 he demanded. The youth's reply was an outburst 
 of crimson oaths. 
 
 As he marched along the little branch-hung 
 roadway among his prattling companions this vision 
 of cruelty brooded over him. It clung near him 
 always and darkened his view of these deeds in 
 purple and gold. Whichever way his thoughts 
 turned, they were followed by the sombre phantom 
 of the desertion in the fields. He looked stealthily 
 at his companions, feeling sure that they must dis- 
 cern in his face evidences of this pursuit. But they 
 were plodding in ragged array, discussing with quick 
 tongues the accomplishments of the late battle. 
 
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE 193 
 
 " Oh, if a man should come up an' ask me, I'd 
 say we got a dum good lickin'." 
 
 "Lickin' in yer eye! We ain't licked, sonny. 
 We're goin' down here aways, swing aroun', an' 
 come in behint 'em." 
 
 " Oh, hush, with your comin' in behint 'em. I've 
 seen all 'a that I wanta. Don't tell me about 
 comin' in behint " 
 
 " Bill Smithers, he ses he'd rather been in ten 
 hundred battles than been in that heluva hospital. 
 He ses they got shootin' in th' night-time, an' shells 
 dropped plum among 'em in th' hospital. He ses 
 sech hollerin' he never see." 
 
 "Hasbrouck? He's th' best off'cer in this here 
 reg'ment. He's a whale." 
 
 "Didn't I tell yeh we'd come aroun' in behint 
 em ? Didn't I tell yeh so ? We " 
 
 " Oh, shet yeh mouth ! " 
 
 For a time this pursuing recollection of the 
 tattered man took all elation from the youth's veins. 
 He saw his vivid error, and he was afraid that it would 
 stand before him all his life. He took no share in 
 the chatter of his comrades, nor did he look at them 
 or know them, save when he felt sudden suspicion 
 that they were seeing his thoughts and scrutinising 
 each detail of the scene with the tattered soldier. 
 
 Yet gradually he mustered force to put the sin 
 at a distance. And at last his eyes seemed to open 
 to some new ways. He found that he could look 
 back upon the brass and bombast of his earlier 
 gospels and see them truly. He was gleeful when 
 he discovered that he now despised them. 
 
 * N 
 
194 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 With this conviction came a store of assurance. 
 He felt a quiet manhood, non-assertive, but of 
 sturdy and strong blood. He knew that he would 
 no more quail before his guides wherever they 
 should point. He had been to touch the great 
 death, and found that, after all, it was but the 
 great death. He was a man. 
 
 So it came to pass that as he trudged from the 
 place of blood and wrath his soul changed. He 
 came from hot ploughshares to prospects of clover 
 tranquilly, and it was as if hot ploughshares were 
 not. Scars faded as flowers. 
 
 It rained. The procession of weary soldiers be- 
 came a bedraggled train, despondent and muttering, 
 marching with churning effort in a trough of liquid 
 brown mud under a low, wretched sky. Yet the 
 youth smiled, for he saw that the world was a 
 world for him, though many discovered it to be 
 made of oaths and walking-sticks. He had rid 
 himself of the red sickness of battle. The sultry 
 nightmare was in the past. He had been an ani- 
 mal blistered and sweating in the heat and pain of 
 war. He turned now with a lover's thirst to images 
 of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks an 
 existence of soft and eternal peace. 
 
 Over the river a golden ray of sun came through 
 the hosts of leaden rain-clouds. 
 
The Little Regiment 
 
The Little Regiment 
 
 THE fog made the clothes of the men of the 
 column in the roadway seem of a luminous 
 quality. It imparted to the heavy infantry over- 
 coats a new colour, a kind of blue which was so 
 pale that a regiment might have been merely 
 a long, low shadow in the mist. However, a 
 muttering, one part grumble, three parts joke, 
 hovered in the air above the thick ranks, and 
 blended in an undertoned roar, which was the 
 voice of the column. 
 
 The town on the southern shore of the little 
 river loomed spectrally, a faint etching upon the 
 grey cloud-masses which were shifting with oily 
 languor. A long row of guns upon the northern 
 bank had been pitiless in their hatred, but a 
 little battered belfry could be dimly seen still 
 pointing with invincible resolution toward the 
 heavens. 
 
 The enclouded air vibrated with noises made 
 by hidden colossal things. The infantry tramp- 
 
 197 
 
198 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 lings, the heavy rumbling of the artillery, made 
 the earth speak of gigantic preparation. Guns 
 on distant heights thundered from time to time 
 with sudden, nervous roar, as if unable to endure 
 in silence a knowledge of hostile troops massing, 
 other guns going to position. These sounds, near 
 and remote, defined an immense battle-ground, 
 described the tremendous width of the stage of 
 the prospective drama. The voices of the guns, 
 slightly casual, unexcited in their challenges and 
 warnings, could not destroy the unutterable 
 eloquence of the word in the air, a meaning of 
 impending struggle which made the breath halt 
 at the lips. 
 
 The column in the roadway was ankle-deep in 
 mud. The men swore piously at the rain which 
 drizzled upon them, compelling them to stand 
 always very erect in fear of the drops that would 
 sweep in under their coat-collars. The fog was 
 as cold as wet cloths. The men stuffed their 
 hands deep in their pockets, and huddled their 
 muskets in their arms. The machinery of orders 
 had rooted these soldiers deeply into the mud, 
 precisely as almighty nature roots mullein stalks. 
 
 They listened and speculated when a tumult 
 of fighting came from the dim town across the 
 river. When the noise lulled for a time they 
 resumed their descriptions of the mud and 
 graphically exaggerated the number of hours 
 they had been kept waiting. The general com- 
 manding their division rode along the ranks, and 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 199 
 
 they cheered admiringly, affectionately, crying 
 out to him gleeful prophecies of the coming 
 battle. Each man scanned him with a peculiarly 
 keen personal interest, and afterward spoke of 
 him with unquestioning devotion and confidence, 
 narrating anecdotes which were mainly untrue. 
 
 When the jokers lifted the shrill voices which 
 invariably belonged to them, flinging witticisms 
 at their comrades, a loud laugh would sweep 
 from rank to rank, and soldiers who had not 
 heard would lean forward and demand repetition. 
 When were borne past them some wounded men 
 with grey and blood- smeared faces, and eyes that 
 rolled in that helpless beseeching for assistance 
 from the sky which comes with supreme pain, 
 the soldiers in the mud watched intently, and 
 from time to time asked of the bearers an 
 account of the affair. Frequently they bragged 
 of their corps, their division, their brigade, their 
 regiment. Anon they referred to the mud and 
 the cold drizzle. Upon this threshold of a wild 
 scene of death they, in short, defied the pro- 
 portion of events with that splendour of heed- 
 lessness which belongs only to veterans. 
 
 "Like a lot of wooden soldiers," swore Billie 
 Dempster, moving his feet in the thick mass, and 
 casting a vindictive glance indefinitely : " standing 
 in the mud for a hundred years." 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! " murmured his brother Dan. 
 The manner of his words implied that this fraternal 
 voice near him was an indescribable bore. 
 
200 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Why should I shut up ? " demanded Billie. 
 
 " Because you're a fool," cried Dan, taking 
 no time to debate it; "the biggest fool in the 
 regiment." 
 
 There was but one man between them, and he 
 was habituated. These insults from brother to 
 brother had swept across his chest, flown past 
 his face, many times during two long campaigns. 
 Upon this occasion he simply grinned first at one, 
 then at the other. 
 
 The way of these brothers was not an unknown 
 topic in regimental gossip. They had enlisted 
 simultaneously, with each sneering loudly at the 
 other for doing it. They left their little town, 
 and went forward with the flag, exchanging pro- 
 testations of undying suspicion. In the camp life 
 they so openly despised each other that, when 
 entertaining quarrels were lacking, their com- 
 panions often contrived situations calculated to 
 bring forth display of this fraternal dislike. 
 
 Both were large-limbed, strong young men, 
 and often fought with friends in camp unless 
 one was near to interfere with the other. This 
 latter happened rather frequently, because Dan, 
 preposterously willing for any manner of combat, 
 had a very great horror of seeing Billie in a fight ; 
 and Billie, almost odiously ready himself, simply 
 refused to see Dan stripped to his shirt and with 
 his fists aloft. This sat queerly upon them, and 
 made them the objects of plots. 
 
 When Dan jumped through a ring of eager 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 201 
 
 soldiers and dragged forth his raving brother by 
 the arm, a thing often predicted would almost 
 come to pass. When Billie performed the same 
 office for Dan, the prediction would again miss 
 fulfilment by an inch. But indeed they never 
 fought together, although they were perpetually 
 upon the verge. 
 
 They expressed longing for such conflict. As 
 a matter of truth, they had at one time made 
 full arrangement for it, but even with the en- 
 couragement and interest of half of the regiment 
 they somehow failed to achieve collision. 
 
 If Dan became a victim of police duty, no 
 jeering was so destructive to the feelings as 
 Billie's comment. If Billie got a call to appear 
 at the headquarters, none would so genially pro- 
 phesy his complete undoing as Dan. Small mis- 
 fortunes to one were, in truth, invariably greeted 
 with hilarity by the other, who seemed to see in 
 them great re-enforcement of his opinion. 
 
 As soldiers, they expressed each for each a 
 scorn intense and blasting. After a certain 
 battle, Billie was promoted to corporal. When 
 Dan was told of it, he seemed smitten dumb 
 with astonishment and patriotic indignation. He 
 stared in silence, while the dark blood rushed to 
 Billie's forehead, and he shifted his weight from 
 foot to foot. Dan at last found his tongue, and 
 said: "Well, I'm durned!" If he had heard 
 that an army mule had been appointed to the 
 post of corps commander, his tone could not 
 
202 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 have had more derision in it. Afterward, he 
 adopted a fervid insubordination, an almost re- 
 ligious reluctance to obey the new corporal's 
 orders, which came near to developing the desired 
 strife. 
 
 It is here finally to be recorded also that Dan, 
 most ferociously profane in speech, very rarely 
 swore in the presence of his brother; and that 
 Billie, whose oaths came from his lips with the 
 grace of falling pebbles, was seldom known to 
 express himself in this manner when near his 
 brother Dan. 
 
 At last the afternoon contained a suggestion of 
 evening. Metallic cries rang suddenly from end 
 to end of the column. They inspired at once a 
 quick, business-like adjustment. The long thing 
 stirred in the mud. The men had hushed, and 
 were looking across the river. A moment later 
 the shadowy mass of pale blue figures was mov- 
 ing steadily toward the stream. There could be 
 heard from the town a clash of swift fighting 
 and cheering. The noise of the shooting coming 
 through the heavy air had its sharpness taken 
 from it, and sounded in thuds. 
 
 There was a halt upon the bank above the 
 pontoons. When the column went winding 
 down the incline, and streamed out upon the 
 bridge, the fog had faded to a great degree, 
 and in the clearer dusk the guns on a distant 
 ridge were enabled to perceive the crossing. 
 The long whirling outcries of the shells came 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 203 
 
 into the air above the men. An occasional solid 
 shot struck the surface of the river, and dashed 
 into view a sudden vertical jet. The distance 
 was subtly illuminated by the lightning from the 
 deep-booming guns. One by one the batteries on 
 the northern shore aroused, the innumerable guns 
 bellowing in angry oration at the distant ridge. 
 The rolling thunder crashed and reverberated as 
 a wild surf sounds on a still night, and to this 
 music the column marched across the pontoons. 
 
 The waters of the grim river curled away in a 
 smile from the ends of the great boats, and slid 
 swiftly beneath the planking. The dark, riddled 
 walls of the town upreared before the troops, and 
 from a region hidden by these hammered and 
 tumbled houses came incessantly the yells and 
 firings of a prolonged and close skirmish. 
 
 When Dan had called his brother a fool, his 
 voice had been so decisive, so brightly assured, 
 that many men had laughed, considering it to 
 be great humour under the circumstances. The 
 incident happened to rankle deep in Billie. It 
 was not any strange thing that his brother had 
 called him a fool. In fact, he often called him 
 a fool with exactly the same amount of cheerful 
 and prompt conviction, and before large audiences, 
 too. Billie wondered in his own mind why he 
 took such profound offence in this case ; but, at 
 any rate, as he slid down the bank and on to the 
 bridge with his regiment, he was searching his 
 knowledge for something that would pierce Dan's 
 
204 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 blithesome spirit. But he could contrive nothing 
 at this time, and his impotency made the glance 
 which he was once able to give his brother still 
 more malignant. 
 
 The guns far and near were roaring a fearful 
 and grand introduction for this column which 
 was marching upon the stage of death. Billie 
 felt it, but only in a numb way. His heart was 
 cased in that curious dissonant metal which 
 covers a man's emotions at such times. The 
 terrible voices from the hills told him that in 
 this wide conflict his life was an insignificant 
 fact, and that his death would be an insignificant 
 fact. They portended the whirlwind to which 
 he would be as necessary as a butterfly's waved 
 wing. The solemnity, the sadness of it came 
 near enough to make him wonder why he was 
 neither solemn nor sad. When his mind vaguely 
 adjusted events according to their importance to 
 him, it appeared that the uppermost thing was 
 the fact that upon the eve of battle, and before 
 many comrades, his brother had called him a 
 fool. 
 
 Dan was in a particularly happy mood. 
 " Hurray ! Look at 'em shoot," he said, when 
 the long witches' croon of the shells came into 
 the air. It enraged Billie when he felt the little 
 thorn in him, and saw at the same time that 
 his brother had completely forgotten it. 
 
 The column went from the bridge into more 
 mud. At this southern end there was a chaos 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 205 
 
 of hoarse directions and commands. Darkness 
 was coming upon the earth, and regiments were 
 being hurried up the slippery bank. As Billie 
 floundered in the black mud, amid the swearing, 
 sliding crowd, he suddenly resolved that, in the 
 absence of other means of hurting Dan, he would 
 avoid looking at him, refrain from speaking to 
 him, pay absolutely no heed to his existence; 
 and this done skilfully would, he imagined, soon 
 reduce his brother to a poignant sensitiveness. 
 
 At the top of the bank the column again halted 
 and rearranged itself, as a man after a climb 
 rearranges his clothing. Presently the great steel- 
 backed brigade, an infinitely graceful thing in 
 the rhythm and ease of its veteran movement, 
 swung up a little narrow, slanting street. 
 
 Evening had come so swiftly that the fighting 
 on the remote borders of the town was indicated 
 by thin flashes of flame. Some building was 
 on fire, and its reflection upon the clouds was 
 an oval of delicate pink. 
 
 II 
 
 All demeanour of rural serenity had been 
 wrenched violently from the little town by the 
 guns and by the waves of men which had surged 
 through it. The hand of war laid upon this 
 village had in an instant changed it to a thing of 
 remnants. It resembled the place of a monstrous 
 
206 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 shaking of the earth itself. The windows, now 
 mere unsightly holes, made the tumbled and 
 blackened dwellings seem skeletons. Doors lay 
 splintered to fragments. Chimneys had flung 
 their bricks everywhere. The artillery fire had 
 not neglected the rows of gentle shade-trees which 
 had lined the streets. Branches and heavy trunks 
 cluttered the mud in driftwood tangles, while a 
 few shattered forms had contrived to remain de- 
 jectedly, mournfully upright. They expressed an 
 innocence, a helplessness, which perforce created 
 a pity for their happening into this caldron of 
 battle. Furthermore, there was under foot a 
 vast collection of odd things reminiscent of the 
 charge, the fight, the retreat. There were boxes 
 and barrels filled with earth, behind which rifle- 
 men had lain snugly, and in these little trenches 
 were the dead in blue with the dead in grey, the 
 poses eloquent of the struggles for possession of 
 the town, until the history of the whole conflict 
 was written plainly in the streets. 
 
 And yet the spirit of this little city, its quaint 
 individuality, poised in the air above the ruins, 
 defying the guns, the sweeping volleys; holding 
 in contempt those avaricious blazes which had 
 attacked many dwellings. The hard earthen 
 sidewalks proclaimed the games that had been 
 played there during long lazy days, in the careful 
 shadows of the trees. "General Merchandise," 
 in faint letters upon a long board, had to be read 
 with a slanted glance, for the sign dangled by one 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 207 
 
 end; but the porch of the old store was a pal- 
 pable legend of wide-hatted men, smoking. 
 
 This subtle essence, this soul of the life that 
 had been, brushed like invisible wings the 
 thoughts of the men in the swift columns that 
 came up from the river. 
 
 In the darkness a loud and endless humming 
 arose from the great blue crowds bivouacked in 
 the streets. From time to time a sharp spatter 
 of firing from far picket lines entered this bass 
 chorus. The smell from the smouldering ruins 
 floated on the cold night breeze. 
 
 Dan, seated ruefully upon the doorstep of a 
 shot-pierced house, was proclaiming the campaign 
 badly managed. Orders had been issued for- 
 bidding camp-fires. 
 
 Suddenly he ceased his oration, and scanning 
 the group of his comrades, said: "Where's 
 Billie ? Do you know ? " 
 
 " Gone on picket." 
 
 " Get out ! Has he ? " said Dan. " No business 
 to go on picket. Why don't some of them other 
 corporals take their turn ? " 
 
 A bearded private was smoking his pipe of 
 confiscated tobacco, seated comfortably upon a 
 horse-hair trunk which he had dragged from the 
 house. He observed : " Was his turn." 
 
 " No such thing," cried Dan. He and the man 
 on the horse-hair trunk held discussion in which 
 Dan stoutly maintained that if his brother had 
 been sent on picket it was an injustica He 
 
208 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 ceased his argument when another soldier, upon 
 whose arms could faintly be seen the two stripes 
 of a corporal, entered the circle. " Humph," said 
 Dan, " where you been ? " 
 
 The corporal made no answer. Presently Dan 
 said : " Billie, where you been ? " 
 
 His brother did not seem to hear these in- 
 quiries. He glanced at the house which towered 
 above them, and remarked casually to the man 
 on the horse-hair trunk : " Funny, ain't it ? After 
 the pelting this town got, you'd think there 
 wouldn't be one brick left on another." 
 
 " Oh," said Dan, glowering at his brother's 
 back. " Getting mighty smart, ain't you ? " 
 
 The absence of camp-fires allowed the evening 
 to make apparent its quality of faint silver light 
 in which the blue clothes of the throng became 
 black, and the faces became white expanses, void 
 of expression. There was considerable excite- 
 ment a short distance from the group around 
 the doorstep. A soldier had chanced upon a 
 hoop-skirt, and arrayed in it he was performing 
 a dance amid the applause of his companions. 
 Billie and a greater part of the men immediately 
 poured over there to witness the exhibition. 
 
 "What's the matter with Billie?" demanded 
 Dan of the man upon the horse-hair trunk. 
 
 " How do I know ? " rejoined the other in mild 
 resentment. He arose and walked away. When 
 he returned he said briefly, in a weather-wise 
 tone, that it would rain during the night. 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 209 
 
 Dan took a seat upon one end of the horse-hair 
 trunk. He was facing the crowd around the 
 dancer, which in its hilarity swung this way and 
 that way. At times he imagined that he could 
 recognise his brother's face. 
 
 He and the man on the other end of the trunk 
 thoughtfully talked of the army's position. To 
 their minds, infantry and artillery were in a most 
 precarious jumble in the streets of the town ; but 
 they did not grow nervous over it, for they were 
 used to having the army appear in a precarious 
 jumble to their minds. They had learned to 
 accept such puzzling situations as a consequence 
 of their position in the ranks, and were now 
 usually in possession of a simple but perfectly 
 immovable faith that somebody understood the 
 jumble. Even if they had been convinced that 
 the army was a headless monster, they would 
 merely have nodded with the veteran's singular 
 cynicism. It was none of their business as 
 soldiers. Their duty was to grab sleep and food 
 when occasion permitted, and cheerfully fight 
 wherever their feet were planted until more 
 orders came. This was a task sufficiently ab- 
 sorbing. 
 
 They spoke of other corps, and this talk 
 being confidential, their voices dropped to tones 
 of awe. "The Ninth" "The First" " The 
 Fifth " " The Sixth " " The Third "the simple 
 numerals rang with eloquence, each having 
 a meaning which was to float through many 
 
210 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 years as no intangible arithmetical mist, but 
 as pregnant with individuality as the names 
 of cities. 
 
 Of their own corps they spoke with a deep 
 veneration, an idolatry, a supreme confidence 
 which apparently would not blanch to see it 
 match against everything. 
 
 It was as if their respect for other corps was 
 due partly to a wonder that organisations not 
 blessed with their own famous numeral could 
 take such an interest in war. They could prove 
 that their division was the best in the corps, and 
 that their brigade was the best in the division. 
 And their regiment it was plain that no fortune 
 of life was equal to the chance which caused a 
 man to be born, so to speak, into this command, 
 the keystone of the defending arch. 
 
 At times Dan covered with insults the character 
 of a vague, unnamed general to whose petulance 
 and busy-body spirit he ascribed the order which 
 made hot coffee impossible. 
 
 Dan said that victory was certain in the coming 
 battle. The other man seemed rather dubious. 
 He remarked upon the fortified line of hills, 
 which had impressed him even from the other 
 side of the river. " Shucks," said Dan. " Why, 
 
 we " He pictured a splendid overflowing of 
 
 these hills by the sea of men in blue. During 
 the period of this conversation Dan's glance 
 searched the merry throng about the dancer. 
 Above the babble of voices in the street a 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 211 
 
 far-away thunder could sometimes be heard 
 evidently from the very edge of the horizon 
 the boom-boom of restless guns. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ultimately the night deepened to the tone of 
 black velvet. The outlines of the fireless camp 
 were like the faint drawings upon ancient tapestry. 
 The glint of a rifle, the shine of a button, might 
 have been of threads of silver and gold sewn upon 
 the fabric of the night. There was little presented 
 to the vision, but to a sense more subtle there 
 was discernible in the atmosphere something like 
 a pulse; a mystic beating which would have 
 told a stranger of the presence of a giant thing 
 the slumbering mass of regiments and batteries. 
 
 With tires forbidden, the Hoor of a dry old 
 kitchen was thought to be a good exchange for 
 the cold earth of December, even if a shell had 
 exploded in it, and knocked it so out of shape 
 that when a man lay curled in his blanket his 
 last waking thought was likely to be of the wall 
 that bellied out above him, as if strongly anxious 
 to topple upon the score of soldiers. 
 
 Billie looked at the bricks ever about to descend 
 in a shower upon his face, listened to the indus- 
 trious pickets plying their rifles on the border of 
 the town, imagined some measure of the din of 
 the coming battle, thought of Dan and Dan's 
 
212 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 chagrin, and rolling over in his blanket went to 
 sleep with satisfaction. 
 
 At an unknown hour he was aroused by the 
 creaking of boards. Lifting himself upon his 
 elbow, he saw a sergeant prowling among the 
 sleeping forms. The sergeant carried a candle 
 in an old brass candlestick. He would have 
 resembled some old farmer on an unusual mid- 
 night tour if it were not for the significance of 
 his gleaming buttons and striped sleeves. 
 
 Billie blinked stupidly at the light until his 
 mind returned from the journeys of slumber. 
 The sergeant stooped among the unconscious 
 soldiers, holding the candle close, and peering 
 into each face. 
 
 " HeUo Haines," said Billie. " Belief ? " 
 
 " Hello7 Billie," said the sergeant. " Special 
 duty." 
 
 " Dan got to go ? " 
 
 "Jameson, Hunter, McCormack, D. Dempster. 
 Yes. Where is he ? " 
 
 "Over there by the winder," said Billie, ges- 
 turing. " What is it for, Haines ? " 
 
 " You don't think I know, do you ? " demanded 
 the sergeant. He began to pipe sharply but 
 cheerily at men upon the floor. " Come, Mac, 
 get up here. Here's a special for you. Wake 
 up, Jameson. Come along, Dannie, me boy." 
 
 Each man at once took this call to duty as 
 a personal affront. They pulled themselves out 
 of their blankets, rubbed their eyes, and swore 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 213 
 
 at whoever was responsible. "Them's orders,' 
 cried the sergeant. " Come ! Get out of here." 
 An undetailed head with dishevelled hair thrust 
 out from a blanket, and a sleepy voice said : " Shut 
 up, Haines, and go home." 
 
 When the detail clanked out of the kitchen, 
 all but one of the remaining men seemed to be 
 again asleep. Billie, leaning on his elbow, was 
 gazing into darkness. When the footsteps died 
 to silence, he curled himself into his blanket. 
 
 At the first cool lavender lights of daybreak 
 he aroused again, and scanned his recumbent 
 companions. Seeing a wakeful one he asked : " Is 
 Dan back yet ? " 
 
 The man said : " Hain't seen 'im." 
 
 Billie put both hands behind his head, and 
 scowled into the air. " Can't see the use of these 
 cussed details in the night-time," he muttered in 
 his most unreasonable tones. "Darn nuisances. 
 
 Why can't they " He grumbled at length and 
 
 graphically. 
 
 When Dan entered with the squad, however, 
 Billie was convincingly asleep. 
 
 IV 
 
 The regiment trotted in double time along the 
 street, and the colonel seemed to quarrel over 
 the right of way with many artillery officers. 
 Batteries were waiting in the mud, and the men 
 
214 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 of them, exasperated by the bustle of this am- 
 bitious infantry, shook their fists from saddle and 
 caisson, exchanging all manner of taunts and 
 jests. The slanted guns continued to look reflec- 
 tively at the ground. 
 
 On the outskirts of the crumbled town a fringe 
 of blue figures were firing into the fog. The 
 regiment swung out into skirmish lines, and the 
 fringe of blue figures departed, turning their 
 backs and going joyfully around the flank. 
 
 The bullets began a low moan off toward a 
 ridge which loomed faintly in the heavy mist. 
 When the swift crescendo had reached its climax, 
 the missiles zipped just overhead, as if piercing 
 an invisible curtain. A battery on the hill was 
 crashing with such tumult that it was as if the 
 guns had quarrelled and had fallen pell-mell and 
 snarling upon each other. The shells howled on 
 their journey toward the town. From short- 
 range distance there came a spatter of musketry, 
 sweeping along an invisible line, and making faint 
 sheets of orange light. 
 
 Some in the new skirmish lines were beginning 
 to fire at various shadows discerned in the vapour, 
 forms of men suddenly revealed by some humour 
 of the laggard masses of clouds. The crackle of 
 musketry began to dominate the purring of the 
 hostile bullets. Dan, in the front rank, held his 
 rifle poised, and looked into the fog keenly, coldly, 
 with the air of a sportsman. His nerves were so 
 steady that it was as if they had been drawn from 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 215 
 
 his body, leaving him merely a muscular machine ; 
 but his numb heart was somehow beating to the 
 pealing march of the fight. 
 
 The waving skirmish line went backward and 
 forward, ran this way and that way. Men got 
 lost in the fog, and men were found again. Once 
 they got too close to the formidable ridge, and 
 the thing burst out as if repulsing a general 
 attack. Once another blue regiment was appre- 
 hended on the very edge of firing into them. 
 Once a friendly battery began an elaborate and 
 scientific process of extermination. Always as 
 busy as brokers, the men slid here and there over 
 the plain, fighting their foes, escaping from their 
 friends, leaving a history of many movements 
 in the wet yellow turf, cursing the atmosphere, 
 blazing away every time they could identify the 
 enemy. 
 
 In one mystic changing of the fog, as if the 
 fingers of spirits were drawing aside these 
 draperies, a small group of the grey skirmishers, 
 silent, statuesque, were suddenly disclosed to 
 Dan and those about him. So vivid and near 
 were they that there was something uncanny in 
 the revelation. 
 
 There might have been a second of mutual 
 staring. Then each rifle in each group was at 
 the shoulder. As Dan's glance flashed along the 
 barrel of his weapon, the figure of a man suddenly 
 loomed as if the musket had been a telescope. 
 The short black beard, the slouch hat, the pose 
 
216 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 of the man as he sighted to shoot, made a quick 
 picture in Dan's mind. The same moment, it 
 would seem, he pulled his own trigger, and the 
 man, smitten, lurched forward, while his exploding 
 rifle made a slanting crimson streak in the air, 
 and the slouch hat fell before the body. The 
 billows of the fog, governed -by singular impulses, 
 rolled between. 
 
 "You got that feller sure enough," said a 
 comrade to Dan. Dan looked at him absent- 
 mindedly. 
 
 When the next morning calmly displayed 
 another fog, the men of the regiment exchanged 
 eloquent comments ; but they did not abuse it 
 at length, because the streets of the town now 
 contained enough galloping aides to make three 
 troops of cavalry, and they knew that they had 
 come to the verge of the great fight. 
 
 Dan conversed with the man who had once 
 possessed a horse-hair trunk; but they did not 
 mention the line of hills which had furnished 
 them in more careless moments with an agree- 
 able topic. They avoided it now as condemned 
 men do the subject of death, and yet the thought 
 of it stayed in their eyes as they looked at each 
 other and talked gravely of other things. 
 
 The expectant regiment heaved a long sigh 
 of relief when the sharp call : " Fall in," repeated 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 217 
 
 indefinitely, arose in the streets. It was inevi- 
 table that a bloody battle was to be fought, and 
 they wanted to get it off their minds. They 
 were, however, doomed again to spend a long 
 period planted firmly in the mud. They craned 
 their necks, and wondered where some of the 
 other regiments were going. 
 
 At last the mists rolled carelessly away. 
 Nature made at this time all provisions to enable 
 foes to see each other, and immediately the roar 
 of guns resounded from every hill. The endless 
 cracking of the skirmishers swelled to rolling 
 crashes of musketry. Shells screamed with pan- 
 ther-like noises at the houses. Dan looked at 
 the man of the horse-hair trunk, and the man 
 said : " Well, here she comes ! " 
 
 The tenor voices of younger officers and the 
 deep and hoarse voices of the older ones rang 
 in the streets. These cries pricked like spurs. 
 The masses of men vibrated from the sudden- 
 ness with which they were plunged into the 
 situation of troops about to fight. That the 
 orders were long-expected did not concern the 
 emotion. 
 
 Simultaneous movement was imparted to all 
 these thick bodies of men and horses that lay 
 in the town. Eegiment after regiment swung 
 rapidly into the streets that faced the sinister 
 ridge. 
 
 This exodus was theatrical. The little sober- 
 hued village had been like the cloak which 
 
218 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 disguises the king of drama. It was now put 
 aside, and an army, splendid thing of steel and 
 blue, stood forth in the sunlight. 
 
 Even the soldiers in the heavy columns drew 
 deep breaths at the sight, more majestic than 
 they had dreamed. The heights of the enemy's 
 position were crowded with men who resembled 
 people come to witness some mighty pageant. 
 But as the column moved steadily to their posi- 
 tions, the guns, matter-of-fact warriors, doubled 
 their number, and shells burst with red thril- 
 ling tumult on the crowded plain. One came 
 into the ranks of the regiment, and after the 
 smoke and the wrath of it had faded, leaving 
 motionless figures, every one stormed according 
 to the limits of his vocabulary, for veterans detest 
 being killed when they are not busy. 
 
 The regiment sometimes looked sideways at 
 its brigade companions composed of men who had 
 never been in battle ; but no frozen blood could 
 withstand the heat of the splendour of this army 
 before the eyes on the plain, these lines so long 
 that the flanks were little streaks, this mass of 
 men of one intention. The recruits carried 
 themselves heedlessly. At the rear was an idle 
 battery, and three artillerymen in a foolish row 
 on a caisson nudged each other and grinned at 
 the recruits. " You'll catch it pretty soon," they 
 called out. They were impersonally gleeful, as 
 if they themselves were not also likely to catch 
 it pretty soon. But with this picture of an army 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 219 
 
 in their hearts, the new men perhaps felt the 
 devotion which the drops may feel for the wave ; 
 they were of its power and glory; they smiled 
 jauntily at the foolish row of gunners, and told 
 them to go to blazes. 
 
 The column trotted across some little bridges, 
 and spread quickly into lines of battle. Before 
 them was a bit of plain, and back of the plain 
 was the ridge. There was no time left for con- 
 siderations. The men were staring at the plain, 
 mightily wondering how it would feel to be out 
 there, when a brigade in advance yelled and 
 charged. The hill was all grey smoke and fire- 
 points. 
 
 That fierce elation in the terrors of war, 
 catching a man's heart and making it burn with 
 such ardour that he becomes capable of dying, 
 flashed in the faces of the men like coloured lights, 
 and made them resemble leashed animals, eager, 
 ferocious, daunting at nothing. The line was 
 really in its first leap before the wild, hoarse 
 crying of the orders. 
 
 The greed for close quarters, which is the 
 emotion of a bayonet charge, came then into the 
 minds of the men and developed until it was a 
 madness. The field, with its faded grass of a 
 Southern winter, seemed to this fury miles in 
 width. 
 
 High, slow-moving masses of smoke, with an 
 odour of burning cotton, engulfed the line until 
 the men might have been swimmers. Before 
 
220 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 them the ridge, the shore of this grey sea, was 
 outlined, crossed, and recrossed by sheets of 
 flame. The howl of the battle arose to the noise 
 of innumerable wind demons. 
 
 The line, galloping, scrambling, plunging like a 
 herd of wounded horses, went over a field that was 
 sown with corpses, the records of other charges. 
 
 Directly in front of the black-faced, whooping 
 Dan, carousing in this onward sweep like a new 
 kind of fiend, a wounded man appeared, raising 
 his shattered body, and staring at this rush of 
 men down upon him. It seemed to occur to 
 him that he was to be trampled; he made a 
 desperate, piteous effort to escape; then finally 
 huddled in a waiting heap. Dan and the soldier 
 near him widened the interval between them 
 without looking down, without appearing to 
 heed the wounded man. This little clump of 
 blue seemed to reel past them as boulders reel 
 past a train. 
 
 Bursting through a smoke-wave, the scamper- 
 ing, unformed bunches came upon the wreck of 
 the brigade that had preceded them, a floundering 
 mass stopped afar from the hill by the swirling 
 volleys. 
 
 It was as if a necromancer had suddenly shown 
 them a picture of the fate which awaited them ; 
 but the line with muscular spasm hurled itself 
 over this wreckage and onward, until men were 
 stumbling amid the relics of other assaults, the 
 point where the fire from the ridge consumed. 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 221 
 
 The men, panting, perspiring, with crazed faces, 
 tried to push against it ; but it was as if they had 
 come to a wall. The wave halted, shuddered in 
 an agony from the quick struggle of its two de- 
 sires, then toppled, and broke into a fragmentary 
 thing which has no name. 
 
 Veterans could now at last be distinguished 
 from recruits. The new regiments were instantly 
 gone, lost, scattered, as if they never had been. 
 But the sweeping failure of the [charge, the 
 battle, could not make the veterans forget their 
 business. With a last throe, the band of maniacs 
 drew itself up and blazed a volley at the hill, 
 insignificant to those iron entrenchments, but 
 nevertheless expressing that singular final de- 
 spair which enables men coolly to defy the walls 
 of a city of death. 
 
 After this episode the men renamed their com- 
 mand. They called it the Little Kegiment. 
 
 VI 
 
 " I seen Dan shoot a feller yesterday. Yes, sir. 
 I'm sure it was him that done it. And maybe 
 he thinks about that feller now, and wonders if 
 he tumbled down just about the same way. Them 
 things come up in a man's mind." 
 
 Bivouac fires upon the sidewalks, in the streets, 
 in the yards, threw high their wavering reflec- 
 tions, which examined, like slim, red fingers, the 
 
222 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 dingy, scarred walls and the piles of tumbled 
 brick. The droning of voices again arose from 
 great blue crowds. 
 
 The odour of frying bacon, the fragrance from 
 countless little coffee -pails floated among the 
 ruins. The rifles, stacked in the shadows, emitted 
 flashes of steely light. Wherever a flag lay hori- 
 zontally from one stack to another was the bed 
 of an eagle which had led men into the mystic 
 smoke. 
 
 The men about a particular fire were engaged 
 in holding in check their jovial spirits. They 
 moved whispering around the blaze, although 
 they looked at it with a certain fine contentment, 
 like labourers after a day's hard work. 
 
 There was one who sat apart. They did not 
 address him save in tones suddenly changed. 
 They did not regard him directly, but always in 
 little sidelong glances. 
 
 At last a soldier from a distant fire came into 
 this circle of light. He studied for a time the 
 man who sat apart. Then he hesitatingly stepped 
 closer, and said : " Got any news, Dan ? " 
 
 " No," said Dan. 
 
 The new-comer shifted his feet. He looked 
 at the fire, at the sky, at the other men, at Dan. 
 His face expressed a curious despair ; his tongue 
 was plainly in rebellion. Finally, however, he 
 contrived to say: "Well, there's some chance 
 yet, Dan. Lots of the wounded are still lying 
 out there, you know. There's some chance yet." 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 223 
 
 " Yes," said Dan. 
 
 The soldier shifted his feet again, and looked 
 miserably into the air. After another struggle 
 he said: "Well, there's some chance yet, Dan." 
 He moved hastily away. 
 
 One of the men of the squad, perhaps encou- 
 raged by this example, now approached the still 
 figure. "No news yet, hey?" he said, after 
 coughing behind his hand. 
 
 "No," said Dan. 
 
 " Well," said the man, " I've been thinking of 
 how he was fretting about you the night you 
 went on special duty. You recollect? Well, 
 sir, I was surprised. He couldn't say enough 
 about it. I swan, I don't believe he slep' a wink 
 after you left, but just lay awake cussing special 
 duty and worrying. I was surprised. But there 
 he lay cussing. He " 
 
 Dan made a curious sound, as if a stone had 
 wedged in his throat. He said : " Shut up, will 
 you?" 
 
 Afterward the men would not allow this 
 moody contemplation of the fire to be inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " Oh, let him alone, can't you ? " 
 
 " Come away from there, Casey ! " 
 
 " Say, can't you leave him be ? " 
 
 They moved with reverence about the immov- 
 able figure, with its countenance of mask-like 
 invulnerability. 
 
224 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 VII 
 
 After the red round eye of the sun had stared 
 long at the little plain and its burden, darkness, 
 a sable mercy, came heavily upon it, and the wan 
 hands of the dead were no longer seen in strange 
 frozen gestures. 
 
 The heights in front of the plain shone with 
 tiny camp-fires, and from the town in the rear, 
 small shimmerings ascended from the blazes of 
 the bivouac. The plain was a black expanse 
 upon which, from time to time, dots of light, 
 lanterns, floated slowly here and there. These 
 fields were long steeped in grim mystery. 
 
 Suddenly, upon one dark spot, there was a 
 resurrection. A strange thing had been groaning 
 there, prostrate. Then it suddenly dragged itself 
 to a sitting posture, and became a man. 
 
 The man stared stupidly for a moment at the 
 lights on the hill, then turned and contemplated 
 the faint colouring over the town. For some 
 moments he remained thus, staring with dull 
 eyes, his face unemotional, wooden. 
 
 Finally he looked around him at the corpses 
 dimly to be seen. No change flashed into his 
 face upon viewing these men. They seemed to 
 suggest merely that his information concerning 
 himself was not too complete. He ran his 
 fingers over his arms and chest, bearing always the 
 air of an idiot upon a bench at an alnishouse door. 
 
THE LITTLE REGIMENT 22$ 
 
 Finding no wound in his arms nor in his chest, 
 he raised his hand to his head, and the fingers 
 came away with some dark liquid upon them. 
 Holding these fingers close to his eyes, he scanned 
 them in the same stupid fashion, while his body 
 gently swayed. 
 
 The soldier rolled his eyes again toward the 
 town. When he arose, his clothing peeled from 
 the frozen ground like wet paper. Hearing the 
 sound of it, he seemed to see reason for delibera- 
 tion. He paused and looked at the ground, then 
 at his trousers, then at the ground. 
 
 Finally he went slowly off toward the faint 
 reflection, holding his hands palm outward before 
 him, and walking in the manner of a blind man. 
 
 VIII 
 
 The immovable Dan again sat unaddressed in 
 the midst of comrades, who did not joke aloud. 
 The dampness of the usual morning fog seemed 
 to make the little camp-fires furious. 
 
 Suddenly a cry arose in the streets, a shout of 
 amazement and delight. The men making break- 
 fast at the fire looked up quickly. They broke 
 forth in clamorous exclamation : " Well ! Of all 
 things! Dan! Dan! Look who's coming! Oh, 
 Dan!" 
 
 Dan the silent raised his eyes and saw a man, 
 with a bandage of the size of a helmet about his 
 
226 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 head, receiving a furious demonstration from the 
 company. He was shaking hands, and explaining, 
 and haranguing to a high degree. 
 
 Dan started. His face of bronze flushed to his 
 temples. He seemed about to leap from the 
 ground, but then suddenly he sank back, and 
 resumed his impassive gazing. 
 
 The men were in a flurry. They looked from 
 one to the other. "Dan! Look! See who's 
 coming ! " some cried again. " Dan ! Look ! " 
 
 He scowled at last, and moved his shoulders 
 sullenly. " Well, don't I know it ? " 
 
 But they could not be convinced that his eyes 
 were in service. " Dan, why can't you look ! 
 See who's coming ! " 
 
 He made a gesture then of irritation and rage. 
 " Curse it ! Don't I know it ? " 
 
 The man with a bandage of the size of a helmet 
 moved forward, always shaking hands and ex- 
 plaining. At times his glance wandered to Dan, 
 who saw with his eyes riveted. 
 
 After a series of shif tings, it occurred naturally 
 that the man with the bandage was very near 
 to the man who saw the flames. He paused, 
 and there was a little silence. Finally he said : 
 "Hello, Dan." 
 
 " Hello, Billie." 
 
Three Miraculous Soldiers 
 
Three Miraculous Soldiers 
 
 i 
 
 THE girl was in the front room on the second 
 floor, peering through the blinds. It was the 
 "best room." There was a very new rag carpet 
 on the floor. The edges of it had been dyed with 
 alternate stripes of red and green. Upon the 
 wooden mantel there were two little puffy figures 
 in clay a shepherd and a shepherdess probably. 
 A triangle of pink and white wool hung carefully 
 over the edge of this shelf. Upon the bureau 
 there was nothing at all save a spread newspaper, 
 with edges folded to make it into a mat. The 
 quilts and sheets had been removed from the 
 bed and were stacked upon a chair. The pillows 
 and the great feather mattress were muffled and 
 tumbled until they resembled great dumplings. 
 The picture of a man terribly leaden in com- 
 plexion hung in an oval frame on one white wall 
 and steadily confronted the bureau. 
 
 From between the slats of the blinds she had a 
 
 view of the road as it wended across the meadow 
 
 229 
 
230 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 to the woods, and again where it reappeared 
 crossing the hill, half a mile away. It lay yellow 
 and warm in the summer sunshine. From the 
 long grasses of the meadow came the rhythmic 
 click of the insects. Occasional frogs in the 
 hidden brook made a peculiar chug-chug sound, 
 as if somebody throttled them. The leaves of 
 the wood swung in gentle winds. Through the 
 dark -green branches of the pines that grew in 
 the front yard could be seen the mountains, far 
 to the south-east, and inexpressibly blue. 
 
 Mary's eyes were fastened upon the little 
 streak of road that appeared on the distant hill. 
 Her face was flushed with excitement, and the 
 hand which stretched in a strained pose on the 
 sill trembled because of the nervous shaking of 
 the wrist. The pines whisked their green 
 needles with a soft, hissing sound against the 
 house. 
 
 At last the girl turned from the window and 
 went to the head of the stairs. "Well, I just 
 know they're coming, anyhow," she cried argu- 
 mentatively to the depths. 
 
 A voice from below called to her angrily : 
 " They ain't. We've never seen one yet. They 
 never come into this neighbourhood. You just 
 come down here and 'tend to your work insteader 
 watching for soldiers." 
 
 "Well, ma, I just know they're coming." 
 
 A voice retorted with the shrillness and 
 mechanical violence of occasional housewives. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 231 
 
 The girl swished her skirts defiantly and re- 
 turned to the window. 
 
 Upon the yellow streak of road that lay across 
 the hillside there now was a handful of black 
 dots horsemen. A cloud of dust floated away. 
 The girl flew to the head of the stairs and whirled 
 down into the kitchen. 
 
 " They're coming ! They're coming ! " 
 
 It was as if she had cried " Fire ! " Her mother 
 had been peeling potatoes while seated comfortably 
 at the table. She sprang to her feet. " No it 
 can't be how you know it's them where ? " 
 The stubby knife fell from her hand, and two 
 or three curls of potato skin dropped from her 
 apron to the floor. 
 
 The girl turned and dashed upstairs. Her 
 mother followed, gasping for breath, and yet 
 contriving to fill the air with questions, reproach, 
 and remonstrance. The girl was already at the 
 window, eagerly pointing. "There! There! 
 See 'em ! See 'em ! " 
 
 Eushing to the window, the mother scanned 
 for an instant the road on the hill. She crouched 
 back with a groan. "It's them, sure as the 
 world! It's them!" She waved her hands in 
 despairing gestures. 
 
 The black dots vanished into the wood. The 
 girl at the window was quivering and her eyes 
 were shining like water when the sun flashes. 
 "Hush! They're in the woods! They'll be 
 here directly." She bent down and intently 
 
232 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 watched the green archway whence the road 
 emerged. "Hush! I hear 'em coming," she 
 swiftly whispered to her mother, for the elder 
 woman had dropped dolefully upon the mattress 
 and was sobbing. And, indeed, the girl could 
 hear the quick, dull trample of horses. She 
 stepped aside with sudden apprehension, but she 
 bent her head forward in order to still scan the 
 road. 
 
 "Here they are!" 
 
 There was something very theatrical in the 
 sudden appearance of these men to the eyes of 
 the girl. It was as if a scene had been shifted. 
 The forest suddenly disclosed them a dozen 
 brown-faced troopers in blue galloping. 
 
 "Oh, look!" breathed the girl. Her mouth 
 was puckered into an expression of strange 
 fascination, as if she had expected to see the 
 troopers change into demons and gloat at her. 
 She was at last looking upon those curious beings 
 who rode down from the North those men of 
 legend and colossal tale they who were possessed 
 of such marvellous hallucinations. 
 
 The little troop rode in silence. At its head 
 was a youthful fellow with some dim yellow 
 stripes upon his arm. In his right hand he held 
 his carbine, slanting upward, with the stock resting 
 upon his knee. He was absorbed in a scrutiny of 
 the country before him. 
 
 At the heels of the sergeant the rest of the 
 squad rode in thin column, with creak of leather 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 233 
 
 and tinkle of steel and tin. The girl scanned the 
 faces of the horsemen, seeming astonished vaguely 
 to find them of the type she knew. 
 
 The lad at the head of the troop comprehended 
 the house and its environments in two glances. 
 He did not check the long, swinging stride of his 
 horse. The troopers glanced for a moment like 
 casual tourists, and then returned to their study 
 of the region in front. The heavy thudding of 
 the hoofs became a small noise. The dust, hanging 
 in sheets, slowly sank. 
 
 The sobs of the woman on the bed took form 
 in words which, while strong in their note of 
 calamity, yet expressed a querulous mental 
 reaching for some near thing to blame. "And 
 it'll be lucky fer us if we ain't both butchered 
 in our sleep plundering and running off horses 
 old Santo's gone you see if he ain't plun- 
 dering " 
 
 " But, ma/' said the girl, perplexed and terrified 
 in the same moment, " they've gone." 
 
 " Oh, but they'll come back ! " cried the mother, 
 without pausing her wail. " They'll come back 
 trust them for that running off horses. John, 
 John ! why did you, why did you?" She suddenly 
 lifted herself and sat rigid, staring at her daughter. 
 "Mary," she said in tragic whisper, "the kitchen 
 door isn't locked ! " Already she was bended for- 
 ward to listen, her mouth agape, her eyes fixed 
 upon her daughter. 
 
 " Mother," faltered the girl. 
 
234 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Her mother again whispered, " The kitchen door 
 isn't locked." 
 
 Motionless and mute they stared into each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 At last the girl quavered, " We better we 
 better go and lock it." The mother nodded. 
 Hanging arm in arm they stole across the floor 
 toward the head of the stairs. A board of the 
 floor creaked. They halted and exchanged a look 
 of dumb agony. 
 
 At last they reached the head of the stairs. 
 From the kitchen came the bass humming of the 
 kettle and frequent sputterings and cracklings 
 from the fire. These sounds were sinister. The 
 mother and the girl stood incapable of movement. 
 " There's somebody down there ! " whispered the 
 elder woman. 
 
 Finally, the girl made a gesture of resolution. 
 She twisted her arm from her mother's hands and 
 went two steps downward. She addressed the 
 kitchen : " Who's there ? " Her tone was intended 
 to be dauntless. It rang so dramatically in the 
 silence that a sudden new panic seized them as if 
 the suspected presence in the kitchen had cried 
 out to them. But the girl ventured again : " Is 
 there anybody there ? " No reply was made save 
 by the kettle and the fire. 
 
 With a stealthy tread the girl continued her 
 journey. As she neared the last step the fire 
 crackled explosively and the girl screamed. But 
 the mystic presence had not swept around the 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 235 
 
 corner to grab her, so she dropped to a seat on 
 the step and laughed. "It was was only the 
 the fire," she said, stammering hysterically. 
 
 Then she arose with sudden fortitude and 
 cried : " Why, there isn't anybody there ! I 
 know there isn't." She marched down into the 
 kitchen. In her face was dread, as if she half 
 expected to confront something, but the room 
 was empty. She cried joyously: There's no- 
 body here ! Come on down, ma." She ran to 
 the kitchen door and locked it. 
 
 The mother came down to the kitchen. " Oh, 
 dear, what a fright I've had ! It's given me the 
 sick headache. I know it has." 
 
 " Oh, ma," said the girl. 
 
 "I know it has I know it. Oh, if your 
 father was only here ! He'd settle those Yankees 
 mighty quick he'd settle 'em ! Two poor help- 
 less women " 
 
 "Why, ma, what makes you act so? The 
 Yankees haven't " 
 
 " Oh, they'll be back they'll be back. Two 
 poor helpless women ! Your father and your 
 uncle Asa and Bill off galavanting around and 
 fighting when they ought to be protecting their 
 home ! That's the kind of men they are. Didn't 
 I say to your father just before he left " 
 
 " Ma," said the girl, coming suddenly from the 
 window, "the barn door is open. I wonder if 
 they took old Santo ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course they have of course Mary 
 
236 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 I don't see what we are going to do I don't see 
 what we are going to do." 
 
 The girl said, "Ma, I'm going to see if they 
 took old Santo." 
 
 " Mary," cried the mother, " don't you dare ! " 
 
 " But think of poor old Sant, ma." 
 
 " Never you mind old Santo. We're lucky to 
 be safe ourselves, I tell you. Never mind old 
 Santo. Don't you dare to go out there, Mary 
 Mary ! " 
 
 The girl had unlocked the door and stepped 
 out upon the porch. The mother cried in despair, 
 "Mary!" 
 
 "Why, there isn't anybody out here," the girl 
 called in response. She stood for a moment with 
 a curious smile upon her face as of gleeful satis- 
 faction at her daring. 
 
 The breeze was waving the boughs of the 
 apple trees. A rooster with an air importantly 
 courteous was conducting three hens upon a 
 foraging tour. On the hillside at the rear of 
 the grey old barn the red leaves of a creeper 
 flamed amid the summer foliage. High in the 
 sky clouds rolled toward the north. The girl 
 swung impulsively from the little stoop and ran 
 toward the barn. 
 
 The great door was open, and the carved peg 
 which usually performed the office of a catch lay 
 on the ground. The girl could not see into the 
 barn because of the heavy shadows. She paused 
 in a listening attitude and heard a horse munching 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 237 
 
 placidly. She gave a cry of delight and sprang 
 across the threshold. Then she suddenly shrank 
 back and gasped. She had confronted three men 
 in grey seated upon the floor with their legs 
 stretched out and their backs against Santo's 
 manger. Their dust-covered countenances were 
 expanded in grins. 
 
 II 
 
 As Mary sprang backward and screamed, one 
 of the calm men in grey, still grinning, announced, 
 " I knowed you'd holler." Sitting there comfort- 
 ably the three surveyed her with amusement. 
 
 Mary caught her breath, throwing her hand 
 up to her throat. " Oh ! " she said, " you you 
 frightened me ! " 
 
 "We're sorry, lady, but couldn't help it no 
 way," cheerfully responded another. " I knowed 
 you'd holler when I seen you coming yere, but I 
 raikoned we couldn't help it no way. We hain't 
 a-troubling this yere barn, I don't guess. We 
 been doing some mighty tall sleeping yere. We 
 done woke when them Yanks loped past." 
 
 " Where did you come from ? Did did you 
 escape from the the Yankees ? " -The girl still 
 stammered and trembled. 
 
 The three soldiers laughed. " No, m'm. No, 
 m'm. They never cotch us. We was in a muss 
 down the road yere about two mile. And Bill 
 
238 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 yere they gin it to him in the arm, kehplunk. 
 And they pasted me thar, too. Curious. And 
 Sim yere, he didn't get nothing, but they chased 
 us all quite a little piece, and we done lose track 
 of our boys." 
 
 "Was it was it those who passed here just 
 now ? Did they chase you ? " 
 
 The men in grey laughed again. "What 
 them ? No, indeedee ! There was a mighty big 
 swarm of Yanks and a mighty big swarm of 
 our boys, too. What that little passel ? No, 
 in'm." 
 
 She became calm enough to scan them more 
 attentively. They were much begrimed and 
 very dusty. Their grey clothes were tattered. 
 Splashed mud had dried upon them in reddish 
 spots. It appeared, too, that the men had not 
 shaved in many days. In the hats there was a 
 singular diversity. One soldier wore the little 
 blue cap of the Northern infantry, with corps 
 emblem and regimental number; one wore a 
 great slouch hat with a wide hole in the crown ; 
 and the other wore no hat at all. The left sleeve 
 of one man and the right sleeve of another had 
 been slit, and the arms were neatly bandaged with 
 clean cloths. "These hain't no more than two 
 little cuts," explained one. "We stopped up 
 yere to Mis' Leavitts she said her name was 
 and she bind them for us. Bill yere, he had 
 the thirst come on him. And the fever too. 
 We " 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 239 
 
 "Did you ever see my father in the army?" 
 asked Mary. " John Hinckson his name is." 
 
 The three soldiers grinned again, but they 
 replied kindly : " No, m'm. No, m'm, we hain't 
 never. What is he in the cavalry ? " 
 
 "No," said the girl. "He and my uncle Asa 
 and my cousin his name is Bill Parker they 
 are all with Longs treet they call him." 
 
 "Oh," said the soldiers. "Longstreet? Oh, 
 they're a good smart ways from yere. 'Way off 
 up nawtheast. There hain't nothing but cavalry 
 down yere. They're in the infantry, probably." 
 
 "We haven't heard anything from them for 
 days and days," said Mary. 
 
 "Oh, they're all right in the infantry," said 
 one man, to be consoling. "The infantry don't 
 do much fighting. They go bellering out in a 
 big swarm and only a few of 'em get hurt. But 
 if they was in the cavalry the cavalry " 
 
 Mary interrupted him without intention. " Are 
 you hungry ? " she asked. 
 
 The soldiers looked at each other, struck by 
 some sudden and singular shame. They hung 
 their heads. " No, m'm," replied one at last. 
 
 Santo, in his stall, was tranquilly chewing and 
 chewing. Sometimes he looked benevolently 
 over at them. He was an old horse, and there 
 was something about his eyes and his forelock 
 which created the impression that he wore spec- 
 tacles. Mary went and patted his nose. "Well, 
 if you are hungry, I can get you something," 
 
240 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 she told the men. " Or you might come to the 
 house." 
 
 "We wouldn't dast go to the house," said 
 one. "That passel of Yanks was only a scout- 
 ing crowd, most like. Just an advance. More 
 coming, likely." 
 
 " Well, I can bring you something," cried the 
 girl eagerly. "Won't you let me bring you 
 something ? " 
 
 "Well," said a soldier with embarrassment, 
 " we hain't had much. If you could bring us a 
 little snack-like just a snack we'd " 
 
 Without waiting for him to cease, the girl 
 turned toward the door. But before she had 
 reached it she stopped abruptly. " Listen ! " she 
 whispered. Her form was bent forward, her head 
 turned and lowered, her hand extended toward 
 the men, in a command for silence. 
 
 They could faintly hear the thudding of many 
 hoofs, the clank of arms, and frequent calling 
 voices. 
 
 " By cracky, it's the Yanks ! " The soldiers 
 scrambled to their feet and came toward the door. 
 " I knowed that first crowd was only an advance." 
 
 The girl and the three men peered from the 
 shadows of the barn. The view of the road was 
 intersected by tree trunks and a little henhouse. 
 However, they could see many horsemen stream- 
 ing down the road. The horsemen were in blue. 
 " Oh, hide hide hide ! " cried the girl, with a 
 sob in her voice. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 241 
 
 "Wait a minute," whispered a grey soldier 
 excitedly. " Maybe they're going along by. No, 
 by thunder, they hain't ! They're halting. Scoot, 
 boys ! " 
 
 They made a noiseless dash into the dark 
 end of the barn. The girl, standing by the 
 door, heard them break forth an instant later 
 in clamorous whispers. "Where'll we hide? 
 Where'll we hide ? There hain't a place to 
 hide ! " The girl turned and glanced wildly 
 about the barn. It seemed true. The stock of 
 hay had grown low under Santo's endless munch- 
 ing, and from occasional levyings by passing 
 troopers in grey. The poles of the mow were 
 barely covered, save in one corner where there 
 was a little bunch. 
 
 The girl espied the great feed-box. She ran to 
 it and lifted the lid. " Here ! here ! " she called. 
 " Get in here." 
 
 They had been tearing noiselessly around the 
 rear part of the barn. At her low call they came 
 and plunged at the box. They did not all get in 
 at the same moment without a good deal of a 
 tangle. The wounded men gasped and muttered, 
 but they at last were flopped down on the layer 
 of feed which covered the bottom. Swiftly and 
 softly the girl lowered the lid and then turned 
 like a flash toward the door. 
 
 No one appeared there, so she went close to 
 survey the situation. The troopers had dis- 
 mounted, and stood in silence by their horses. 
 
 Q 
 
242 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 A grey-bearded man, whose red cheeks and nose 
 shone vividly above the whiskers, was strolling 
 about with two or three others. They wore 
 double-breasted coats, and faded yellow sashes 
 were wound under their black leather sword- 
 belts. The grey- bearded soldier was apparently 
 giving orders, pointing here and there. 
 
 Mary tiptoed to the feed-box. "They've all 
 got off their horses," she said to it. A finger 
 projected from a knot-hole near the top, and said 
 to her very plainly, " Come closer." She obeyed, 
 and then a muffled voice could be heard : " Scoot 
 for the house, lady, and if we don't see you again, 
 why, much obliged for what you done." 
 
 " Good-bye," she said to the feed-box. 
 
 She made two attempts to walk dauntlessly 
 from the barn, but each time she faltered and 
 failed just before she reached the point where she 
 could have been seen by the blue-coated troopers. 
 At last, however, she made a sort of a rush for- 
 ward and went out into the bright sunshine. 
 
 The group of men in double-breasted coats 
 wheeled in her direction at the instant. The 
 grey-bearded officer forgot to lower his arm which 
 had been stretched forth in giving an order. 
 
 She felt that her feet were touching the 
 ground in a most unnatural manner. Her bear- 
 ing, she believed, was suddenly grown awkward 
 and ungainly. Upon her face she thought that 
 this sentence was plainly written : " There are 
 three men hidden in the feed-box." 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 243 
 
 The grey-bearded soldier came toward her. 
 She stopped; she seemed about to run away. 
 But the soldier doffed his little blue cap and 
 looked amiable. "You live here, I presume?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 "Well, we are obliged to camp here for the 
 night, and as we've got two wounded men with 
 us I don't suppose you'd mind if we put them 
 in the barn." 
 
 " In in the barn ? " 
 
 He became aware that she was agitated. He 
 smiled assuringly. "You needn't be frightened. 
 We won't hurt anything around here. You'll 
 all be safe enough." 
 
 The girl balanced on one foot and swung the 
 other to and fro in the grass. She was looking 
 down at it. " But but I don't think ma would 
 like it if if you took the barn." 
 
 The old officer laughed. "Wouldn't she?" 
 said he. "That's so. Maybe she wouldn't." 
 He reflected for a time and then decided cheer- 
 fully : " Well, we will have to go ask her, any- 
 how. Where is she ? In the house ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied the girl, "she's in the house. 
 She she'll be scared to death when she sees 
 you ! " 
 
 "Well, you go and ask her then," said the 
 soldier, always wearing a benign smile. "You 
 go ask her and then come and tell me." 
 
 When the girl pushed open the door and 
 
244 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 entered the kitchen, she found it empty. "Ma ! " 
 she called softly. There was no answer. The 
 kettle still was humming its low song. The 
 knife and the curl of potato-skin lay on the floor. 
 
 She went to her mother's room and entered 
 timidly. The new, lonely aspect of the house 
 shook her nerves. Upon the bed was a con- 
 fusion of coverings. " Ma ! " called the girl, 
 quaking in fear that her mother was not there 
 to reply. But there was a sudden turmoil of 
 the quilts, and her mother's head was thrust 
 forth. " Mary ! " she cried, in what seemed 
 to be a supreme astonishment, " I thought I 
 thought " 
 
 "Oh, ma," blurted the girl, "there's over a 
 thousand Yankees in the yard, and I've hidden 
 three of our men in the feed-box ! " 
 
 The elder woman, however, upon the appearance 
 of her daughter had begun to thrash hysterically 
 about on the bed and wail. 
 
 " Ma ! " the girl exclaimed, " and now they want 
 to use the barn and our men in the feed-box ! 
 What shall I do, ma ? What shall I do ? " 
 
 Her mother did not seem to hear, so absorbed 
 was she in her grievous flounderings and tears. 
 " Ma ! " appealed the girl. " Ma ! " 
 
 For a moment Mary stood silently debating, 
 her lips apart, her eyes fixed. Then she went 
 to the kitchen window and peeked. 
 
 The old officer and the others were staring up 
 the road. She went to another window in order 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 245 
 
 to get a proper view of the road, and saw that 
 they were gazing at a small body of horsemen 
 approaching at a trot and raising much dust. 
 Presently she recognised them as the squad that 
 had passed the house earlier, for the young man 
 with the dim yellow chevron still rode at their 
 head. An unarmed horseman in grey was re- 
 ceiving their close attention. 
 
 As they came very near to the house she darted 
 to the first window again. The grey- bearded 
 officer was smiling a fine broad smile of satis- 
 faction. " So you got him ? " he called out. 
 The young sergeant sprang from his horse and 
 his brown hand moved in a salute. The girl 
 could not hear his reply. She saw the unarmed 
 horseman in grey stroking a very black moustache 
 and looking about him coolly and with an in- 
 terested air. He appeared so indifferent that 
 she did not understand he was a prisoner until 
 she heard the grey-beard call out : " "Well, put 
 him in the barn. He'll be safe there, I guess." 
 A party of troopers moved with the prisoner 
 toward the barn. 
 
 The girl made a sudden gesture of horror, 
 remembering the three men in the feed-box. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The busy troopers in blue scurried about the 
 long lines of stamping horses. Men crooked their 
 
246 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 backs and perspired in order to rub with cloths 
 or bunches of grass these slim equine legs, 
 upon whose splendid machinery they depended 
 so greatly. The lips of the horses were still 
 wet and frothy from the steel bars which had 
 wrenched at their mouths all day. Over their 
 backs and about their noses sped the talk of the 
 men. 
 
 "Moind where yer plug is steppiri', Finerty! 
 Keep 'im aff me ! " 
 
 " An ould elephant ! He shtrides like a school- 
 house." 
 
 " Bill's little mar' she was plum beat when she 
 come in with Crawford's crowd." 
 
 "Crawford's the hardest-ridin' cavalryman in 
 the army. An' he don't use up a horse, neither 
 much. They stay fresh when the others are 
 most a-droppin'." 
 
 " Finerty, will yeh moind that cow a yours ? " 
 
 Amid a bustle of gossip and banter, the horses 
 retained their air of solemn rumination, twisting 
 their lower jaws from side to side and sometimes 
 rubbing noses dreamfully. 
 
 Over in front of the barn three troopers sat 
 talking comfortably. Their carbines \\ ere leaned 
 against the wall. At their side and outlined in 
 the black of the open door stood a sentry, his 
 weapon resting in the hollow of his arm. Four 
 horses, saddled and accoutred, were conferring 
 with their heads close together. The four bridle- 
 reins were flung over a post. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 247 
 
 Upon the calm green of the land, typical in 
 every way of peace, the hues of war brought 
 thither by the troops shone strangely. Mary, 
 gazing curiously, did not feel that she was con- 
 templating a familiar scene. It was no longer 
 the home acres. The new blue, steel, and faded 
 yellow thoroughly dominated the old green and 
 brown. She could hear the voices of the men, 
 and it seemed from their tone that they had 
 camped there for years. Everything with them 
 was usual. They had taken possession of the 
 landscape in such a way that even the old marks 
 appeared strange and formidable to the girl. 
 
 Mary had intended to go and tell the com- 
 mander in blue that her mother did not wish 
 his men to use the barn at all, but she paused 
 when she heard him speak to the sergeant. She 
 thought she perceived then that it mattered little 
 to him what her mother wished, and that an 
 objection by her or by anybody would be futile. 
 She saw the soldiers conduct the prisoner in grey 
 into the barn, and for a long time she watched 
 the three chatting guards and the pondering 
 sentry. Upon her mind in desolate weight was 
 the recollection of the three men in the feed-box. 
 
 It seemed to her that in a case of this descrip- 
 tion it was her duty to be a heroine. In all the 
 stories she had read when at boarding-school 
 in Pennsylvania, the girl characters, confronted 
 with such difficulties, invariably did hair-breadth 
 things. True, they were usually bent upon rescu- 
 
248 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 ing and recovering their lovers, and neither the 
 calm man in grey, nor any of the three in the 
 feed-box, was lover of hers, but then a real 
 heroine would not pause over this minor ques- 
 tion. Plainly a heroine would take measures 
 to rescue the four men. If she did not at least 
 make the attempt, she would be false to those 
 carefully constructed ideals which were the ac- 
 cumulation of years of dreaming. 
 
 But the situation puzzled her. There was the 
 barn with only one door, and .with four armed 
 troopers in front of this door, one of them with 
 his back to the rest of the world, engaged, no 
 doubt, in a steadfast contemplation of the calm 
 man, and incidentally, of the feed-box. She knew, 
 too, that even if she should open the kitchen 
 door, three heads, and perhaps four, would turn 
 casually in her direction. Their ears were real 
 ears. 
 
 Heroines, she knew, conducted these matters 
 with infinite precision and despatch. They 
 severed the hero's bonds, cried a dramatic sen- 
 tence, and stood between him and his enemies 
 until he had run far enough away. She saw 
 well, however, that even should she achieve all 
 things up to the point where she might take 
 glorious stand between the escaping and the 
 pursuers, those grim troopers in blue would not 
 pause. They would run around her, make a 
 circuit. One by one she saw the gorgeous con- 
 trivances and expedients of fiction fall before the 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 249 
 
 plain, homely difficulties of this situation. They 
 were of no service. Sadly, ruefully, she thought 
 of the calm man and of the contents of the feed- 
 box. 
 
 The sum of her invention was that she could 
 sally forth to the commander of the blue cavalry, 
 and confessing to him that there were three of 
 her friends and his enemies secreted in the feed- 
 box, pray him to let them depart unmolested. 
 But she was beginning to believe the old grey- 
 beard to be a bear. It was hardly probable that 
 he would give this plan his support. It was 
 more probable that he and some of his men 
 would at once descend upon the feed-box and 
 confiscate her three friends. The difficulty with 
 her idea was that she could not learn its value 
 without trying it, and then in case of failure it 
 would be too late for remedies and other plans. 
 She reflected that war made men very un- 
 reasonable. 
 
 All that she could do was to stand at the 
 window and mournfully regard the barn. She 
 admitted this to herself with a sense of deep 
 humiliation. She was not, then, made of that 
 fine stuff, that mental satin, which enabled some 
 other beings to be of such mighty service to the 
 distressed. She was defeated by a barn with 
 one door, by four men with eight eyes and eight 
 ears trivialities that would not impede the real 
 heroine. 
 
 The vivid white light of broad day began 
 
250 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 slowly to fade. Tones of grey came upon the 
 fields, and the shadows were of lead. In this 
 more sombre atmosphere the fires built by the 
 troops down in the far end of the orchard grew 
 more brilliant, becoming spots of crimson colour 
 in the dark grove. 
 
 The girl heard a fretting voice from her 
 mother's room. "Mary!" She hastily obeyed 
 the call. She perceived that she had quite for- 
 gotten her mother's existence in this time of 
 excitement. 
 
 The elder woman still lay upon the bed. Her 
 face was flushed and perspiration stood amid new 
 wrinkles upon her forehead. Weaving wild 
 glances from side to side, she began to whimper. 
 " Oh, I'm just sick I'm just sick ! Have those 
 men gone yet ? Have they gone ? " 
 
 The girl smoothed a pillow carefully for her 
 mother's head. "No, ma. They're here yet. 
 But they haven't hurt anything it doesn't seem. 
 Will I get you something to eat ? " 
 
 Her mother gestured her away with the im- 
 patience of the ill. "No no just don't bother 
 me. My head is splitting, and you know very 
 well that nothing can be done for me when I get 
 one of these spells. It's trouble that's what 
 makes them. When are those men going ? Look 
 here, don't you go 'way. You stick close to the 
 house now." 
 
 " I'll stay right here," said the girl. She sat 
 in the gloom and listened to her mother's in- 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 251 
 
 cessant moaning. When she attempted to move, 
 her mother cried out at her. When she desired 
 to ask if she might try to alleviate the pain, she 
 was interrupted shortly. Somehow her sitting 
 in passive silence within hearing of this illness 
 seemed to contribute to her mother's relief. She 
 assumed a posture of submission. Sometimes her 
 mother projected questions concerning the local 
 condition, and although she laboured to be 
 graphic and at the same time soothing, un- 
 alarming, her form of reply was always dis- 
 pleasing to the sick woman, and brought forth 
 ejaculations of angry impatience. 
 
 Eventually the woman slept in the manner of 
 one worn from terrible labour. The girl went 
 slowly and softly to the kitchen. When she 
 looked from the window, she saw the four soldiers 
 still at the barn door. In the west, the sky was 
 yellow. Some tree-trunks intersecting it ap- 
 peared black as streaks of ink. Soldiers hovered 
 in blue clouds about the bright splendour of the 
 fires in the orchard. There were glimmers of 
 steel. 
 
 The girl sat in the new gloom of the kitchen 
 and watched. The soldiers lit a lantern and 
 hung it in the barn. Its rays made the form 
 of the sentry seem gigantic. Horses whinnied 
 from the orchard. There was a low hum of 
 human voices. Sometimes small detachments 
 of troopers rode past the front of the house. 
 The girl heard the abrupt calls of sentries. She 
 
252 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 fetched some food and ate it from her hand, 
 standing by the window. She was so afraid 
 that something would occur that she barely left 
 her post for an instant. 
 
 A picture of the interior of the barn hung 
 vividly in her mind. She recalled the knot-holes 
 in the boards at the rear, but she admitted that 
 the prisoners could not escape through them. 
 She remembered some inadequacies of the roof, 
 but these also counted for nothing. When con- 
 fronting the problem, she felt her ambitions, her 
 ideals tumbling headlong like cottages of straw. 
 
 Once she felt that she had decided to recon- 
 noitre at any rate. It was night; the lantern 
 at the barn and the camp fires made everything 
 without their circle into masses of heavy mystic 
 blackness. She took two steps toward the door. 
 But there she paused. Innumerable possibilities 
 of danger had assailed her mind. She returned 
 to the window and stood wavering. At last, 
 she went swiftly to the door, opened it, and slid 
 noiselessly into the darkness. 
 
 For a moment she regarded the shadows. Down 
 in the orchard the camp fires of the troops ap- 
 peared precisely like a great painting, all in reds 
 upon a black cloth. The voices of the troopers 
 still hummed. The girl started slowly off in the 
 opposite direction. Her eyes were fixed in a 
 stare; she studied the darkness in front for a 
 moment, before she ventured upon a forward 
 step. Unconsciously, her throat was arranged 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 253 
 
 for a sudden shrill scream. High in the tree- 
 branches she could hear the voice of the wind, 
 a melody of the night, low and sad, the plaint 
 of an endless, incommunicable sorrow. Her own 
 distress, the plight of the men in greythese 
 near matters as well as all she had known or 
 imagined of grief everything was expressed 
 in this soft mourning of the wind in the trees. 
 At first she felt like weeping. This sound told 
 her of human impotency and doom. Then later 
 the trees and the wind breathed strength to her, 
 sang of sacrifice, of dauntless effort, of hard carven 
 faces that did not blanch when Duty came at 
 midnight or at noon. 
 
 She turned often to scan the shadowy figures 
 that moved from time to time in the light at 
 the barn door. Once she trod upon a stick, and 
 it flopped, crackling in the intolerable manner 
 of all sticks. At this noise, however, the guards 
 at the barn made no sign. Finally, she was 
 where she could see the knot-holes in the rear 
 of the structure gleaming like pieces of metal 
 from the effect of the light within. Scarcely 
 breathing in her excitement she glided close and 
 applied an eye to a knot-hole. She had barely 
 achieved one glance at the interior before she 
 sprang back shuddering. 
 
 For the unconscious and cheerful sentry at the 
 door was swearing away in flaming sentences, 
 heaping one gorgeous oath upon another, making a 
 conflagration of his description of his troop-horse. 
 
254 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Why," he was declaring to the calm prisoner 
 
 in grey, " you ain't got a horse in your hull 
 
 army that can run forty rod with that there 
 little mar'!" 
 
 As in the outer darkness Mary cautiously re- 
 turned to the knot-hole, the three guards in front 
 suddenly called in low tones : " S-s-s-h ! " " Quit, 
 Pete; here comes the lieutenant." The sentry 
 had apparently been about to resume his de- 
 clamation, but at these warnings he suddenly 
 posed in a soldierly manner. 
 
 A tall and lean officer with a smooth face 
 entered the barn. The sentry saluted primly. 
 The officer flashed a comprehensive glance about 
 him. " Everything all right ? " 
 
 " All right, sir." 
 
 This officer had eyes like the points of stilettos. 
 The lines from his nose to the corners of his 
 mouth were deep, and gave him a slightly dis- 
 agreeable aspect, but somewhere in his face there 
 was a quality of singular though tfulness, as of 
 the absorbed student dealing in generalities, which 
 was utterly in opposition to the rapacious keen- 
 ness of the eyes which saw everything. 
 
 Suddenly he lifted a long finger and pointed. 
 "What's that ?" 
 
 " That ? That's a feed-box, I suppose." 
 
 "What's in it?" 
 
 " I don't know. I " 
 
 " You ought to know," said the officer sharply. 
 He walked over to the feed-box and flung up the 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 255 
 
 lid. With a sweeping gesture he reached down 
 and scooped a handful of feed. "You ought 
 to know what's in everything when you have 
 prisoners in your care," he added, scowling. 
 
 During the time of this incident, the girl had 
 nearly swooned. Her hands searched weakly 
 over the boards for something to which to cling. 
 With the pallor of the dying she had watched 
 the downward sweep of the officer's arm, which 
 after all had only brought forth a handful of 
 feed. The result was a stupefaction of her mind. 
 She was astonished out of her senses at this 
 spectacle of three large men metamorphosed into 
 a handful of feed. 
 
 IV 
 
 It is perhaps a singular thing that this absence 
 of the three men from the feed-box at the time 
 of the sharp lieutenant's investigation should 
 terrify the girl more than it should joy her. 
 That for which she had prayed had come to pass. 
 Apparently the escape of these men in the face 
 of every improbability had been granted her, but 
 her dominating emotion was fright. The feed- 
 box was a mystic and terrible machine, like some 
 dark magician's trap. She felt it almost possible 
 that she should see the three weird men floating 
 spectrally away through the air. She glanced 
 with swift apprehension behind her, and when 
 
256 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 the dazzle from the lantern's light had left her 
 eyes, saw only the dim hillside stretched in 
 solemn silence. 
 
 The interior of the barn possessed for her 
 another fascination because it was now uncanny. 
 It contained that extraordinary feed-box. When 
 she peeped again at the knot-hole, the calm, 
 grey prisoner was seated upon the feed-box, 
 thumping it with his dangling, careless heels as 
 if it were in nowise his conception of a remark- 
 able feed-box. The sentry also stood facing it. 
 His carbine he held in the hollow of his arm. 
 His legs were spread apart, and he mused. 
 From without came the low mumble of the three 
 other troopers. The sharp lieutenant had van- 
 ished. 
 
 The trembling yellow light of the lantern 
 caused the figures of the men to cast monstrous 
 wavering shadows. There were spaces of gloom 
 which shrouded ordinary things in impressive 
 garb. The roof presented an inscrutable black- 
 ness, save where small rifts in the shingles 
 glowed phosphorescently. Frequently old Santo 
 put down a thunderous hoof. The heels of the 
 prisoner made a sound like the booming of a 
 wild kind of drum. When the men moved their 
 heads, their eyes shone with ghoulish whiteness, 
 and their complexions were always waxen and 
 unreal. And there was that profoundly strange 
 feed-box, imperturbable with its burden of fan- 
 tastic mystery. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 257 
 
 Suddenly from down near her feet the girl 
 heard a crunching sound, a sort of a nibbling, as 
 if some silent and very discreet terrier was at 
 work upon the turf. She faltered back; here 
 was no doubt another grotesque detail of this 
 most unnatural episode. She did not run, be- 
 cause physically she was in the power of these 
 events. Her feet chained her to the ground in 
 submission to this march of terror after terror. 
 As she stared at the spot from which this 
 sound seemed to come, there floated through 
 her mind a vague, sweet vision a vision of her 
 safe little room, in which at this hour she usually 
 was sleeping. 
 
 The scratching continued faintly and with fre- 
 quent pauses, as if the terrier was then listening. 
 When the girl first removed her eyes from the 
 knot-hole the scene appeared of one velvet black- 
 ness ; then gradually objects loomed with a dim 
 lustre. She could see now where the tops of the 
 trees joined the sky and the form of the barn was 
 before her dyed in heavy purple. She was ever 
 about to shriek, but no sound came from her 
 constricted throat. She gazed at the ground 
 with the expression of countenance of one who 
 watches the sinister-moving grass where a serpent 
 approaches. 
 
 Dimly she saw a piece of sod wrenched free 
 and drawn under the great foundation-beam of 
 the barn. Once she imagined that she saw 
 human hands, not outlined at all, but sufficient, 
 
258 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 in colour, form, or movement to make subtle 
 suggestion. 
 
 Then suddenly a thought that illuminated the 
 entire situation flashed in her mind like a light. 
 The three men, late of the feed-box, were beneath 
 the floor of the barn and were now scraping their 
 way under this beam. She did not consider for 
 a moment how they could come there. They 
 were marvellous creatures. The supernatural was 
 to be expected of them. She no longer trembled, 
 for she was possessed upon this instant of the 
 most unchangeable species of conviction. The 
 evidence before her amounted to no evidence at 
 all, but nevertheless her opinion grew in an 
 instant from an irresponsible acorn to a rooted 
 and immovable tree. It was as if she was on 
 a jury. 
 
 She stooped down hastily and scanned the 
 ground. There she indeed saw a pair of hands 
 hauling at the dirt where the sod had been dis- 
 placed. Softly, in a whisper like a breath, she 
 said, "Hey!" 
 
 The dim hands were drawn hastily under the 
 barn. The girl reflected for a moment. Then she 
 stooped and whispered : " Hey ! It's me ! " 
 
 After a time there was a resumption of the 
 digging. The ghostly hands began once more 
 their cautious mining. She waited. In hollow re- 
 verberations from the interior of the barn came 
 the frequent sounds of old Santo's lazy move- 
 ments. The sentry conversed with the prisoner. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 259 
 
 At last the girl saw a head thrust slowly from 
 under the beam. She perceived the face of one 
 of the miraculous soldiers from the feed-box. A 
 pair of eyes glintered and wavered, then finally 
 settled upon her, a pale statue of a girl. The eyes 
 became lit with a kind of humorous greeting. An 
 arm gestured at her. 
 
 Stooping, she breathed, " All right." The man 
 drew himself silently back under the beam. A 
 moment later the pair of hands resumed their 
 cautious task. Ultimately the head and arms of 
 the man were thrust strangely from the earth. 
 He was lying on his back. The girl thought of 
 the dirt in his hair. Wriggling slowly and pushing 
 at the beam above him he forced his way out of 
 the curious little passage. He twisted his body 
 and raised himself upon his hands. He grinned 
 at the girl and drew his feet carefully from under 
 the beam. When he at last stood erect beside 
 her, he at once began mechanically to brush the 
 dirt from his clothes with his hands. In the barn 
 the sentry and his prisoner were evidently engaged 
 in an argument. 
 
 The girl and the first miraculous soldier sig- 
 nalled warily. It seemed that they feared that their 
 arms would make noises in passing through the 
 air. Their lips moved, conveying dim meanings. 
 
 In this sign-language the girl described the 
 situation in the barn. With guarded motions, 
 she told him of the importance of absolute still- 
 ness. He nodded, and then in the same manner 
 
260 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 he told her of his two companions under the barn 
 floor. He informed her again of their wounded 
 state, and wagged his head to express his despair. 
 He contorted his face, to tell how sore were their 
 arms ; and jabbed the air mournfully, to express 
 their remote geographical position. 
 
 This signalling was interrupted by the sound 
 of a body being dragged or dragging itself with 
 slow, swishing sound under the barn. The sound 
 was too loud for safety. They rushed to the 
 hole and began to semaphore until a shaggy head 
 appeared with rolling eyes and quick grin. 
 
 With frantic downward motions of their arms 
 they suppressed this grin and with it the swishing 
 noise. In dramatic pantomime they informed this 
 head of the terrible consequences of so much noise. 
 The head nodded, and painfully, but with extreme 
 care, the second man pushed and pulled himself 
 from the hole. 
 
 In a faint whisper the first man said, " Where's 
 Sim ? " 
 
 The second man made low reply : " He's right 
 here." He motioned reassuringly toward the 
 hole. 
 
 When the third head appeared, a soft smile of 
 glee came upon each face, and the mute group 
 exchanged expressive glances. 
 
 When they all stood together, free from this 
 tragic barn, they breathed a long sigh that was 
 contemporaneous with another smile and another 
 exchange of glances. 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 261 
 
 One of the men tiptoed to a knot-hole and 
 peered into the barn. The sentry was at that 
 moment speaking. " Yes, we know 'em all. There 
 isn't a house in this region that we don't know 
 who is in it most of the time. We collar 'em 
 once in a while like we did you. Now, that 
 house out yonder, we " 
 
 The man suddenly left the knot-hole and re- 
 turned to the others. Upon his face, dimly dis- 
 cerned, there was an indication that he had made 
 an astonishing discovery. The others questioned 
 him with their eyes, but he simply waved an arm 
 to express his inability to speak at that spot. He 
 led them back toward the hill, prowling care- 
 fully. At a safe distance from the barn he halted, 
 and as they grouped eagerly about him, he ex- 
 ploded in an intense undertone : " Why, that 
 that's Cap'n Sawyer they got in yonder." 
 
 " Cap'n Sawyer ! " incredulously whispered the 
 other men. 
 
 But the girl had something to ask. " How did 
 you get out of that feed-box?" He smiled. 
 " Well, when you put us in there, we was just 
 in a minute when we allowed it wasn't a mighty 
 safe place, and we allowed we'd get out. And 
 we did. We skedaddled 'round and 'round until 
 it 'peared like we was going to get cotched, and 
 then we flung ourselves down in the cow-stalls 
 where it's low-like just dirt floor and then we 
 just naturally went a-whooping under the barn 
 floor when the Yanks come. And we didn't know 
 
262 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Cap'n Sawyer by his voice nohow. We heard 
 'im discoursing, and we allowed it was a mighty 
 pert man, but we didn't know that it was him. 
 No, m'm." 
 
 These three men, so recently from a situation 
 of peril, seemed suddenly to have dropped all 
 thought of it. They stood with sad fa/ es looking 
 at the barn. They seemed to be making no plans 
 at all to reach a place of more complete safety. 
 They were halted and stupefied by some unknown 
 calamity. 
 
 " How do you raikon they cotch him, Sim ? " 
 one whispered mournfully. 
 
 "I don't know," replied another in the same 
 tone. 
 
 Another with a low snarl expressed in two 
 words his opinion of the methods of Fate : "Oh, 
 hell!" 
 
 The three men started then as if simultaneously 
 stung, and gazed at the young girl who stood 
 silently near them. The man who had sworn 
 began to make agitated apology: "Pardon, miss! 
 Ton my soul, I clean forgot you was by. 'Deed, 
 and I wouldn't swear like that if I had knowed. 
 'Deed, I wouldn't." 
 
 The girl did not seem to hear him. She was 
 staring at the barn. Suddenly she turned and 
 whispered, "Who is he?" 
 
 "He's Cap'n Sawyer, m'm," they told her 
 sorrowfully. "He's our own cap'n. He's been 
 in command of us yere since a long time. He's 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 263 
 
 got folks about yere. Kaikon they cotch him 
 while he was a-visiting." 
 
 She was still for a time, and then, awed, she 
 said : " Will they will they hang him ? " 
 
 "No, m'm. Oh no, m'm. Don't raikon no 
 such thing. No, m'm." 
 
 The group became absorbed in a contemplation 
 of the barn. For a time no one moved nor spoke. 
 At last the girl was aroused by slight sounds, 
 and turning, she perceived that the three men 
 who had so recently escaped from the barn were 
 now advancing toward it. 
 
 The girl, waiting in the darkness, expected to 
 hear the sudden crash and uproar of a fight as 
 soon as the three creeping men should reach the 
 barn. She reflected in an agony upon the swift 
 disaster that would befall any enterprise so 
 desperate. She had an impulse to beg them to 
 come away. The grass rustled in silken move- 
 ments as she sped toward the barn. 
 
 When she arrived, however, she gazed about 
 her bewildered. The men were gone. She 
 searched with her eyes, trying to detect some 
 moving thing, but she could see nothing. 
 
 Left alone again, she began to be afraid of the 
 night. The great stretches of darkness could 
 hide crawling dangers. From sheer desire to see 
 
264 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 a human, she was obliged to peep again at the 
 knot-hole. The sentry had apparently wearied 
 of talking. Instead, he was reflecting. The 
 prisoner still sat on the feed-box, moodily staring 
 at the floor. The girl felt in one way that she 
 was looking at a ghastly group in wax. She 
 started when the old horse put down an echoing 
 Jioof. She wished the men would speak; their 
 silence re -enforced the strange aspect. They 
 might have been two dead men. 
 
 The girl felt impelled to look at the corner of 
 the interior where were the cow-stalls. There 
 was no light there save the appearance of peculiar 
 grey haze which marked the track of the dimming 
 rays of the lantern. All else was sombre shadow. 
 At last she saw something move there. It might 
 have been as small as a rat, or it might have 
 been a part of something as large as a man. At 
 any rate, it proclaimed that something in that 
 spot was alive. At one time she saw it plainly, 
 and at other times it vanished, because her fix- 
 ture of gaze caused her occasionally to greatly 
 tangle and blur those peculiar shadows and faint 
 lights. At last, however, she perceived a human 
 head. It was monstrously dishevelled and wild. 
 It moved slowly forward until its glance could 
 fall upon the prisoner and then upon the sentry. 
 The wandering rays caused the eyes to glitter 
 like silver. The girl's heart pounded so that she 
 put her hand over it. 
 
 The sentry and the prisoner remained immov- 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 265 
 
 ably waxen, and over in the gloom the head thrust 
 from the floor watched them with its silver eyes. 
 
 Finally, the prisoner slipped from the feed- 
 box, and raising his arms, yawned at great 
 length. "Oh, well," he remarked, "you boys 
 will get a good licking if you fool around here 
 much longer. That's some satisfaction, anyhow, 
 even if you did bag me. You'll get a good 
 walloping." He reflected for a moment, and 
 decided: "I'm sort of willing to be captured if 
 
 you fellows only get a d d good licking for 
 
 being so smart." 
 
 The sentry looked up and smiled a superior 
 smile. " Licking, hey? Nixey!" He winked 
 exasperatingly at the prisoner. " You fellows 
 are not fast enough, my boy. Why didn't you 
 
 lick us at ? and at ? and at ? " 
 
 He named some of the great battles. 
 
 To this the captive officer blurted in angry 
 astonishment : " Why, we did ! " 
 
 The sentry winked again in profound irony. 
 " Yes, I know you did. Of course. You whipped 
 us, didn't you ? Fine kind of whipping that was ! 
 Why, we " 
 
 He suddenly ceased, smitten mute by a sound 
 that broke the stillness of the night. It was 
 the sharp crack of a distant shot that made wild 
 echoes among the hills. It was instantly followed 
 by the hoarse cry of a human voice, a far-away 
 yell of warning, singing of surprise, peril, fear of 
 death. A moment later there was a distant, fierce 
 
266 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 spattering of shots. The sentry and the prisoner 
 stood facing each other, their lips apart, listening. 
 
 The orchard at that instant awoke to sudden 
 tumult. There were the thud and scramble and 
 scamper of feet, the mellow, swift clash of arms, 
 men's voices in question, oath, command, hurried 
 and unhurried, resolute and frantic. A horse 
 sped along the road at a raging gallop. A loud 
 voice shouted, " What is it, Ferguson ? " An- 
 other voice yelled something incoherent. There 
 was a sharp, discordant chorus of command. An 
 uproarious volley suddenly rang from the orchard. 
 The prisoner in grey moved from his intent, 
 listening attitude. Instantly the eyes of the 
 sentry blazed, and he said with a new and terrible 
 sternness : " Stand where you are ! " 
 
 The prisoner trembled in his excitement. 
 Expressions of delight and triumph bubbled to 
 his lips. " A surprise, by Gawd ! Now now, 
 you'll see ! " 
 
 The sentry stolidly swung his carbine to his 
 shoulder. He sighted carefully along the barrel 
 until it pointed at the prisoner's head, about at 
 his nose. "Well, I've got you, anyhow. Ee- 
 m ember that ! Don't move ! " 
 
 The prisoner could not keep his arms from 
 nervously gesturing. " I won't ; but " 
 
 " And shut your mouth ! " 
 
 The three comrades of the sentry flung them- 
 selves into view. " Pete devil of a row ! can 
 you " 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 267 
 
 " I've got him," said the sentry calmly and 
 without moving. It was as if the barrel of the 
 carbine rested on piers of stone. The three 
 comrades turned and plunged into the darkness. 
 
 In the orchard it seemed as if two gigantic 
 animals were engaged in a mad, floundering 
 encounter, snarling, howling in a whirling chaos 
 of noise and motion. In the barn the prisoner 
 and his guard faced each other in silence. 
 
 As for the girl at the knot-hole, the sky had 
 fallen at the beginning of this clamour. She 
 would not have been astonished to see the stars 
 swinging from their abodes, and the vegetation, 
 the barn, all blow away. It was the end of 
 everything, the grand universal murder. When 
 two of the three miraculous soldiers who formed 
 the original feed-box corps emerged in detail 
 from the hole under the beam, and slid away 
 into the darkness, she did no more than glance 
 at them. 
 
 Suddenly she recollected the head with silver 
 eyes. She started forward and again applied her 
 eyes to the knot-hole. Even with the din re- 
 sounding from the orchard, from up the road 
 and down the road, from the heavens and from 
 the deep earth, the central fascination was this 
 mystic head. There, to her, was the dark god 
 of the tragedy. 
 
 The prisoner in grey at this moment burst 
 into a laugh that was no more than a hys- 
 terical gurgle. " Well, you can't hold that 
 
268 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 gun out for ever! Pretty soon you'll have to 
 lower it." 
 
 The sentry's voice sounded slightly muffled 
 for his cheek was pressed against the weapon. 
 " I won't be tired for some time yet." 
 
 The girl saw the head slowly rise, the eyes 
 fixed upon the sentry's face. A tall, black 
 figure slunk across the cow-stalls and vanished 
 back of old Santo's quarters. She knew what 
 was to come to pass. She knew this grim 
 thing was upon a terrible mission, and that it 
 would reappear again at the head of the little 
 passage between Santo's stall and the wall, 
 almost at -the sentry's elbow; and yet when 
 she saw a faint indication as of a form crouch- 
 ing there, a scream from an utterly new alarm 
 almost escaped her. 
 
 The sentry's arms, after all, were not of granite. 
 He moved restively. At last he spoke in his 
 even, unchanging tone: "Well, I guess you'll 
 have to climb into that feed-box. Step back 
 and lift the lid." 
 
 " Why, you don't mean " 
 
 "Step back!" 
 
 The girl felt a cry of warning arising to her 
 lips as she gazed at this sentry. She noted 
 every detail of his facial expression. She saw, 
 moreover, his mass of brown hair bunching dis- 
 gracefully about his ears, his clear eyes lit now 
 with a hard, cold light, his forehead puckered in 
 a mighty scowl, the ring upon the third finger 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 269 
 
 of the left hand. "Oh, they won't kill him! 
 Surely they won't kill him ! " The noise of 
 the fight in the orchard was the loud music, 
 the thunder and lightning, the rioting of the 
 tempest which people love during the critical 
 scene of a tragedy. 
 
 When the prisoner moved back in reluctant 
 obedience, he faced for an instant the entrance 
 of the little passage, and what he saw there 
 must have been written swiftly, graphically in 
 his eyes. And the sentry read it and knew then 
 that he was upon the threshold of his death. In 
 a fraction of time, certain information went from 
 the grim thing in the passage to the prisoner, 
 and from the prisoner to the sentry. But at 
 that instant the black formidable figure arose, 
 towered, and made its leap. A new shadow flashed 
 across the floor when the blow was struck. 
 
 As for the girl at the knot-hole, when she 
 returned to sense she found herself standing with 
 clenched hands and screaming with her might. 
 
 As if her reason had again departed from 
 her, she ran around the barn, in at the door, 
 and flung herself sobbing beside the body of 
 the soldier in blue. 
 
 The uproar of the fight became at last co- 
 herent, inasmuch as one party was giving shouts 
 of supreme exultation. The firing no longer 
 sounded in crashes ; it was now expressed in 
 spiteful crackles, the last words of the combat, 
 spoken with feminine vindictiveness. 
 
270 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Presently there was a thud of flying feet. 
 A grimy, panting, red- faced mob of troopers in 
 blue plunged into the barn, became instantly 
 frozen to attitudes of amazement and rage, 
 and then roared in one great chorus : " He's 
 gone ! " 
 
 The girl who knelt beside the body upon the 
 floor turned toward them her lamenting eyes 
 and cried: "He's not dead, is he? He can't 
 be dead ? " 
 
 They thronged forward. The sharp lieutenant 
 who had been so particular about the feed-box 
 knelt by the side of the girl, and laid his head 
 against the chest of the prostrate soldier. " Why, 
 no," he said, rising and looking at the man. 
 " He's all right. Some of you boys throw some 
 water on him." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " demanded the girl feverishly. 
 
 " Of course ! He'll be better after awhile." 
 
 " Oh ! " said she softly, and then looked down 
 at the sentry. She started to arise, and the 
 lieutenant reached down and hoisted rather 
 awkwardly at her arm. 
 
 " Don't you worry about him. He's all right." 
 
 She turned her face with its curving lips and 
 shining eyes once more toward the unconscious 
 soldier upon the floor. The troopers made a 
 lane to the door, the lieutenant bowed, the girl 
 vanished. 
 
 "Queer," said a young officer. "Girl very 
 clearly worst kind of rebel, and yet she falls to 
 
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS 271 
 
 weeping and wailing like mad over one of her 
 enemies. Be around in the morning with all 
 sorts of doctoring you see if she ain't. Queer." 
 The sharp lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. 
 After reflection he shrugged his shoulders again. 
 He said : " War changes many things ; but it 
 doesn't change everything, thank God ! " 
 
A Mystery of Heroism 
 
A Mystery of Heroism 
 
 THE dark uniforms of the men were so coated 
 with dust from the incessant wrestling of the 
 two armies that the regiment almost seemed a 
 part of the clay bank which shielded them from 
 the shells. On the top of the hill a battery was 
 arguing in tremendous roars with some other 
 guns, and to the eye of the infantry, the artillery- 
 men, the guns, the caissons, the horses, were 
 distinctly outlined upon the blue sky. When a 
 piece was fired, a red streak as round as a log 
 flashed low in the heavens, like a monstrous bolt 
 of lightning. The men of the battery wore white 
 duck trousers, which somehow emphasised their 
 legs: and when they ran and crowded in little 
 groups at the bidding of the shouting officers, it 
 was more impressive than usual to the infantry. 
 
 Fred Collins, of A Company, was saying: 
 " Thunder, I wisht I had a drink. Ain't there 
 any water round here ? " Then, somebody 
 yelled : " There goes th' bugler ! " 
 
 As the eyes of half the regiment swept in one 
 machine-like movement, there was an instant's 
 
 275 
 
276 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 picture of a horse in a great convulsive leap of 
 a death-wound and a rider leaning back with a 
 crooked arm and spread fingers before his face. 
 On the ground was the crimson terror of an 
 exploding shell, with fibres of flame that seemed 
 like lances. A glittering bugle swung clear of 
 the rider's back as fell headlong the horse and 
 the man. In the air was an odour as from a 
 conflagration. 
 
 Sometimes they of the infantry looked down 
 at a fair little meadow which spread at their 
 feet. Its long, green grass was rippling gently 
 in a breeze. Beyond it was the grey form of a 
 house half torn to pieces by shells and by the busy 
 axes of soldiers who had pursued firewood. The 
 line of an old fence was now dimly marked by 
 long weeds and by an occasional post. A shell had 
 blown the well-house to fragments. Little lines 
 of grey smoke ribboning upward from some embers 
 indicated the place where had stood the barn. 
 
 From beyond a curtain of green woods there 
 came the sound of some stupendous scuffle, as if 
 two animals of the size of islands were fighting. 
 At a distance there were occasional appearances 
 of swift-moving men, horses, batteries, flags, and, 
 vith the crashing of infantry volleys were heard, 
 often, wild and frenzied cheers. In the midst of 
 it all Smith and Ferguson, two privates of A 
 Company, were engaged in a heated discussion, 
 which involved the greatest questions of the 
 national existence. 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 277 
 
 The battery on the hill presently engaged in a 
 frightful duel. The white legs of the gunners 
 scampered this way and that way, and the 
 officers redoubled their shouts. The guns, with 
 their demeanours of stolidity and courage, were 
 typical of something infinitely self-possessed in 
 this clamour of death that swirled around the 
 hill. 
 
 One of a "swing" team was suddenly smitten 
 quivering to the ground, and his maddened 
 brethren dragged his torn body in their struggle 
 to escape from this turmoil and danger. A 
 young soldier astride one of the leaders swore 
 and fumed in his saddle, and furiously jerked 
 at the bridle. An officer screamed out an order 
 so violently that his voice broke and ended the 
 sentence in a falsetto shriek. 
 
 The leading company of the infantry regiment 
 was somewhat exposed, and the colonel ordered 
 it moved more fully under the shelter of the hill. 
 There was the clank of steel against steel. 
 
 A lieutenant of the battery rode down and 
 passed them, holding his right arm carefully in 
 his left hand. And it was as if this arm was 
 not at all a part of him, but belonged to another 
 man. His sober and reflective charger went 
 slowly. The officer's face was grimy and per- 
 spiring, and his uniform was tousled as if he 
 had been in direct grapple with an enemy. He 
 smiled grimly when the men stared at him. He 
 turned his horse toward the meadow. 
 
278 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Collins, of A Company, said : " I wisht I had 
 a drink. I bet there's water in that there ol' 
 well yonder ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but how you goin' to git it ? " 
 
 For the little meadow which intervened was 
 now suffering a terrible onslaught of shells. Its 
 green and beautiful calm had vanished utterly. 
 Brown earth was being flung in monstrous 
 handfuls. And there was a massacre of the 
 young blades of grass. They were being torn, 
 burned, obliterated. Some curious fortune of 
 the battle had made this gentle little meadow 
 the object of the red hate of the shells, and 
 each one as it exploded seemed like an impreca- 
 tion in the face of a maiden. 
 
 The wounded officer who was riding across 
 this expanse said to himself : " Why, they couldn't 
 shoot any harder if the whole army was massed 
 here!" 
 
 A shell struck the grey ruins of the house, 
 and as, after the roar, the shattered wall fell 
 in fragments, there was a noise which resembled 
 the flapping of shutters during a wild gale of 
 winter. Indeed, the infantry paused in the 
 shelter of the bank appeared as men standing 
 upon a shore contemplating a madness of the 
 sea. The angel of calamity had under its glance 
 the battery upon the hill. Fewer white-legged 
 men laboured about the guns. A shell had 
 smitten one of the pieces, and after the flare, 
 the smoke, the dust, the wrath of this blow were 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 279 
 
 gone, it was possible to see white legs stretched 
 horizontally upon the ground. And at that 
 interval to the rear, where it is the business of 
 battery horses to stand with their noses to the 
 fight awaiting the command to drag their guns 
 out of the destruction, or into it, or wheresoever 
 these incomprehensible humans demanded with 
 whip and spur in this line of passive and dumb 
 spectators, whose fluttering hearts yet would 
 not let them forget the iron laws of man's con- 
 trol of them in this rank of brute-soldiers there 
 had been relentless and hideous carnage. From 
 the ruck of bleeding and prostrate horses, the 
 men of the infantry could see one animal raising 
 its stricken body with its fore legs, and turning 
 its nose with mystic and profound eloquence 
 toward the sky. 
 
 Some comrades joked Collins about his thirst. 
 "Well, if yeh want a drink so bad, why don't 
 yeh go git it ? " 
 
 "Well, I will in a minnet, if yeh don't shut 
 up!" 
 
 A lieutenant of artillery floundered his horse 
 straight down the hill with as little concern as 
 if it were level ground. As he galloped past 
 the colonel of the infantry, he threw up his hand 
 in swift salute. " We've got to get out of that," 
 he roared angrily. He was a black-bearded officer, 
 and his eyes, which resembled beads, sparkled like 
 those of an insane man. His jumping horse sped 
 along the column of infantry. 
 
28o PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The fat major, standing carelessly with his 
 sword held horizontally behind him and with 
 his legs far apart, looked after the receding horse- 
 man and laughed. " He wants to get back with 
 orders pretty quick, or there'll be no batt'ry left," 
 he observed. 
 
 The wise young captain of the second com- 
 pany hazarded to the lieutenant -colonel that 
 the enemy's infantry would probably soon attack 
 the hill, and the lieutenant -colonel snubbed 
 him. 
 
 A private in one of the rear companies looked 
 out over the meadow, and then turned to a com- 
 panion and said, " Look there, Jim ! " It was the 
 wounded officer from the battery, who some time 
 before had started to ride across the meadow, 
 supporting his right arm carefully with his left 
 hand. This man had encountered a shell ap- 
 parently at a time when no one perceived him, and 
 he could now be seen lying face downward with 
 a stirruped foot stretched across the body of 
 his dead horse. A leg of the charger extended 
 slantingly upward precisely as stiff as a stake. 
 Around this motionless pair the shells still 
 howled. 
 
 There was a quarrel in A Company. Collins 
 was shaking his fist in the faces of some laughing 
 comrades. " Dern yeh ! I ain't afraid t' go. If 
 yeh say much, I will go ! " 
 
 " Of course, yeh will ! You'll run through that 
 there medder, won't yeh ? " 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 281 
 
 Collins said, in a terrible voice : " You see now ! " 
 At this ominous threat his comrades broke into 
 renewed jeers. 
 
 Collins gave them a dark scowl, and went to 
 find his captain. The latter was conversing with 
 the colonel of the regiment. 
 
 "Captain," said Collins, saluting and standing 
 at attention in those days all trousers bagged 
 at the knees " Captain, I wan't t' get permission 
 to go git some water from that there well over 
 yonder!" 
 
 The colonel and the captain swung about 
 simultaneously and stared across the meadow. 
 The captain laughed. "You must be pretty 
 thirsty, Collins ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am." 
 
 " Well ah," said the captain. After a moment, 
 he asked, " Can't you wait ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 The colonel was watching Collins' s face. " Look 
 here, my lad," he said, in a pious sort of a voice 
 "Look here, my lad" Collins was not a lad 
 " don't you think that's taking pretty big risks for 
 a little drink of water." 
 
 " I dunno," said Collins uncomfortably. Some 
 of the resentment toward his companions, which 
 perhaps had forced him into this affair, was be- 
 ginning to fade. " I dunno wether 'tis." 
 
 The colonel and the captain contemplated him 
 for a time. 
 
 " Well," said the captain finally. 
 
282 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "Well," said the colonel, "if you want to go, 
 why, go." 
 
 Collins saluted. " Much obliged t' yeh." 
 
 As he moved away the colonel called after him. 
 " Take some of the other boys' canteens with you 
 an' hurry back now." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I will." 
 
 The colonel and the captain looked at each othei 
 then, for it had suddenly occurred that they could 
 not for the life of them tell whether Collins wanted 
 to go or whether he did not. 
 
 They turned to regard Collins, and as they per- 
 ceived him surrounded by gesticulating comrades, 
 the colonel said : " Well, by thunder ! I guess he's 
 going." 
 
 Collins appeared as a man dreaming. In the 
 midst of the questions, the advice, the warnings, 
 all the excited talk of his company mates, he 
 maintained a curious silence. 
 
 They were very busy in preparing him for his 
 ordeal. When they inspected him carefully, it 
 was somewhat like the examination that grooms 
 give a horse before a race ; and they were amazed, 
 staggered by the whole affair. Their astonishment 
 found vent in strange repetitions. 
 
 " Are yeh sure a-goin' ? " they demanded again 
 and again. 
 
 "Certainly I am," cried Collins at last furi- 
 ously. 
 
 He strode sullenly away from them. He was 
 swinging five or six canteens by their cords. It 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 283 
 
 seemed that his cap would not remain firmly on 
 his head, and often he reached and pulled it down 
 over his brow. 
 
 There was a general movement in the compact 
 column. The long animal-like thing moved 
 slightly. Its four hundred eyes were turned 
 upon the figure of Collins. 
 
 " Well, sir, if that ain't th' derndest thing ! I 
 never thought Fred Collins had the blood in him 
 for that kind of business." 
 
 " What's he goin' to do, anyhow ? " 
 
 "He's goin' to that well there after water." 
 
 "We ain't dyin' of thirst, are we? That's 
 foolishness." 
 
 "Well, somebody put him up to it, an' he's 
 doin' it." 
 
 " Say, he must be a desperate cuss." 
 
 When Collins faced the meadow and walked 
 away from the regiment, he was vaguely con- 
 scious that a chasm, the deep valley of all prides, 
 was suddenly between him and his comrades. It 
 was provisional, but the provision was that he 
 return as a victor. He had blindly been led by 
 quaint emotions, and laid himself under an obli- 
 gation to walk squarely up to the face of death. 
 
 But he was not sure that he wished to make a 
 retraction, even if he could do so without shame. 
 As a matter of truth, he was sure of very little. 
 He was mainly surprised. 
 
 It seemed to him supernaturally strange that 
 he had allowed his mind to manoeuvre his body 
 
284 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 into such a situation. He understood that it 
 might be called dramatically great. 
 
 However, he had no full appreciation of any- 
 thing, excepting that he was actually conscious 
 of being dazed. He could feel his dulled mind 
 groping after the form and colour of this incident. 
 He wondered why he did not feel some keen 
 agony of fear cutting his sense like a knife. He 
 wondered at this, because human expression had 
 said loudly for centuries that men should feel 
 afraid of certain things, and that all men who 
 did not feel this fear were phenomena heroes. 
 
 He was, then, a hero. He suffered that dis- 
 appointment which we would all have if we 
 discovered that we were ourselves capable of 
 those deeds which we most admire in history and 
 legend. This, then, was a hero. After all, heroes 
 were not much. 
 
 No, it could not be true. He was not a hero. 
 Heroes had no shames in their lives, and, as for 
 him, he remembered borrowing fifteen dollars 
 from a friend and promising to pay it back the 
 next day, and then avoiding that friend for ten 
 months. When at home his mother had aroused 
 him for the early labour of his life on the farm, 
 it had often been his fashion to be irritable, 
 childish, diabolical; and his mother had died 
 since he had come to the war. 
 
 He saw that, in this matter of the well, the 
 canteens, the shells, he was an intruder in the 
 land of fine deeds. 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 285 
 
 He was now about thirty paces from his com- 
 rades. The regiment had just turned its many 
 faces toward him. 
 
 From the forest of terrific noises there suddenly 
 emerged a little uneven line of men. They fired 
 fiercely and rapidly at distant foliage on which 
 appeared little puffs of white smoke. The spatter 
 of skirmish firing was added to the thunder of 
 the guns on the hill. The little line of men ran 
 forward. A colour-sergeant fell flat with his flag 
 as if he had slipped on ice. There was hoarse 
 cheering from this distant field. 
 
 Collins suddenly felt that two demon fingers 
 were pressed into his ears. He could see nothing 
 but flying arrows, flaming red. He lurched from 
 the shock of this explosion, but he made a mad 
 rush for the house, which he viewed as a man 
 submerged to the neck in a boiling surf might 
 view the shore. In the air, little pieces of shell 
 howled and the earthquake explosions drove him 
 insane with the menace of their roar. As he ran 
 the canteens knocked together with a rhythmical 
 tinkling. 
 
 As he neared the house, each detail of the scene 
 became vivid to him. He was aware of some 
 bricks of the vanished chimney lying on the sod. 
 There was a door which hung by one hinge. 
 
 Eifle bullets called forth by the insistent skir- 
 mishers came from the far-off bank of foliage. 
 They mingled with the shells and the pieces of 
 shells until the air was torn in all directions by 
 
286 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 hootings, yells, howls. The sky was full of fiends 
 who directed all their wild rage at his head. 
 
 When he came to the well, he flung himself 
 face downward and peered into its darkness. 
 There were furtive silver glintings some feet 
 from the surface. He grabbed one of the can- 
 teens, and, unfastening its cap, swung it down 
 by the cord. The water flowed slowly in with 
 an indolent gurgle. 
 
 And now as he lay with his face turned away 
 he was suddenly smitten with the terror. It 
 came upon his heart like the grasp of claws. All 
 the power faded from his muscles. For an instant 
 he was no more than a dead man. 
 
 The canteen filled with a maddening slowness, 
 in the manner of all bottles. Presently he re- 
 covered his strength and addressed a screaming 
 oath to it. He leaned over until it seemed as 
 if he intended to try to push water into it 
 with his hands. His eyes as he gazed down into 
 the well shone like two pieces of metal, and in 
 their expression was a great appeal and a great 
 curse. The stupid water derided him. 
 
 There was the blaring thunder of a shell. 
 Crimson light shone through the swift-boiling 
 smoke, and made a pink reflection on part of the 
 wall of the well. Collins jerked out his arm and 
 canteen with the same motion that a man would 
 use in withdrawing his head from a furnace. 
 
 He scrambled erect and glared and hesitated. 
 On the ground near him lay the old well bucke f 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 287 
 
 with a length of rusty chain. He lowered it 
 swiftly into the well. The bucket struck the 
 water and then, turning lazily over, sank. When, 
 with hand reaching tremblingly over hand, he 
 hauled it out, it knocked often against the walls 
 of the well and spilled some of its contents. 
 
 In running with a filled bucket, a man can 
 adopt but one kind of gait. So through this 
 terrible field, over which screamed practical 
 angels of death, Collins ran in the manner of a 
 farmer chased out of a dairy by a bull. 
 
 His face went staring white with anticipation 
 anticipation of a blow that would whirl him 
 around and down. He would fall as he had seen 
 other men fall, the life knocked out of them so 
 suddenly that their knees were no more quick 
 to touch the ground than their heads. He saw 
 the long blue line of the regiment, but his com- 
 rades were standing looking at him from the 
 edge of an impossible star. He was aware of 
 some deep wheel-ruts and hoof-prints in the sod 
 beneath his feet. 
 
 The artillery officer who had fallen in this 
 meadow had been making groans in the teeth 
 of the tempest of sound. These futile cries, 
 wrenched from him by his agony, were heard 
 only by shells, bullets. When wild-eyed Collins 
 came running, this officer raised himself. His 
 face contorted and blanched from pain, he was 
 about to utter some great beseeching cry. But 
 suddenly his face straightened and he called : 
 
288 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Say, young man, give me a drink of water, 
 will you ? " 
 
 Collins had no room amid his emotions for 
 surprise. He was mad from the threats of 
 destruction. 
 
 " I can't ! " he screamed, and in his reply was 
 a full description of his quaking apprehension. 
 His cap was gone and his hair was riotous. His 
 clothes made it appear that he had been dragged 
 over the ground by the heels. He ran on. 
 
 The officer's head sank down, and one elbow 
 crooked. His foot in its brass-bound stirrup 
 still stretched over the body of his horse, and the 
 other leg was under the steed. 
 
 But Collins turned. He came dashing back. 
 His face had now turned grey, and in his eyes 
 was all terror. " Here it is ! here it is ! " 
 
 The officer was as a man gone in drink. His 
 arm bent like a twig. His head drooped as if 
 his neck were of willow. He was sinking to 
 the ground, to lie face downward. 
 
 Collins grabbed him by the shoulder. " Here 
 it is. Here's your drink. Turn over. Turn 
 over, man, for God's sake ! " 
 
 With Collins hauling at his shoulder, the 
 officer twisted his body and fell with his face 
 turned toward that region where lived the un- 
 speakable noises of the swirling missiles. There 
 was the faintest shadow of a smile on his lips as 
 he looked at Collins. He gave a sigh, a little 
 primitive breath like that from a child. 
 
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM 289 
 
 Collins tried to hold the bucket steadily, but 
 his shaking hands caused the water to splash all 
 over the face of the dying man. Then he jerked 
 it away and ran on. 
 
 The regiment gave him a welcoming roar. 
 The grimed faces were wrinkled in laughter. 
 
 His captain waved the bucket away. * Give it 
 to the men ! " 
 
 The two genial, skylarking young lieutenants 
 were the first to gain possession of it. They 
 played over it in their fashion. 
 
 When one tried to drink the other teasingly 
 knocked his elbow. " Don't, Billie ! You'll make 
 me spill it," said the one. The other laughed. 
 
 Suddenly there was an oath, the thud of wood 
 on the ground, and a swift murmur of astonish- 
 ment among the ranks. The two lieutenants 
 glared at each other. The bucket lay on the 
 ground empty. 
 
An Indiana Campaign 
 
An Indiana Campaign 
 
 WHEN the able-bodied citizens of the village 
 formed a company and marched away to the war, 
 Major Tom Boldin assumed in a manner the 
 harden of the village cares. Everybody ran to 
 him when they felt obliged to discuss their 
 affairs. The sorrows of the town were dragged 
 before him. His little bench at the sunny side 
 of Migglesville tavern became a sort of an open 
 court where people came to speak resentfully of 
 their grievances. He accepted his position and 
 struggled manfully under the load. It behoved 
 him, as a man who had seen the sky red over 
 the quaint, low cities of Mexico, and the com- 
 pact Northern bayonets gleaming on the narrow 
 roads. 
 
 One warm summer day the major sat asleep on 
 his little bench. There was a lull in the tempest 
 of discussion which usually enveloped him. His 
 cane, by use of which he could make the most 
 tremendous and impressive gestures, reposed 
 
294 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 beside him. His hat lay upon the bench, and 
 his old bald head had swung far forward until 
 his nose actually touched the first button of his 
 waistcoat. 
 
 The sparrows wrangled desperately in the road, 
 defying perspiration. Once a team went jangling 
 and creaking past, raising a yellow blur of dust 
 before the soft tones of the field and sky. In 
 the long grass of the meadow across the road the 
 insects chirped and clacked eternally. 
 
 Suddenly a frouzy-headed boy appeared in the 
 roadway, his bare feet pattering rapidly. He was 
 extremely excited. He gave a shrill whoop as he 
 discovered the sleeping major and rushed toward 
 him. He created a terrific panic among some 
 chickens who had been scratching intently near 
 the major's feet. They clamoured in an insanity 
 of fear, and rushed hither and thither seeking a 
 way of escape, whereas in reality all ways lay 
 plainly open to them. 
 
 This tumult caused the major to arouse with a 
 sudden little jump of amazement and apprehen- 
 sion. He rubbed his eyes and gazed about him. 
 Meanwhile, some clever chicken had discovered a 
 passage to safety, and led the flock into the garden, 
 where they squawked in sustained alarm. 
 
 Panting from his run and choked with terror, the 
 little boy stood before the major, struggling with 
 a tale that was ever upon the tip of his tongue. 
 
 " Major now major " 
 
 The old man, roused from a delicious slumber, 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 295 
 
 glared impatiently at the little boy. * Come, 
 come! What's th' matter with yeh?" he de- 
 manded. "What's th' matter? Don't stand 
 there shaking ! Speak up !" 
 
 "Lots is th' matter!" the little boy shouted 
 valiantly, with a courage born of the importance 
 of his tale. " My ma's chickens 'uz all stole, an' 
 now he's over in th' woods ! " 
 
 "Who is? Who is over in the woods? Go 
 ahead ! " 
 
 "Now th' rebel is!" 
 
 " What ? " roared the major. 
 
 " Th' rebel ! " cried the little boy, with the last 
 of his breath. 
 
 The major pounced from his bench in tempes- 
 tuous excitement. He seized the little boy by 
 the collar and gave him a great jerk. " Where ? 
 Are yeh sure ? Who saw 'im ? How long ago ? 
 Where is he now ? Did you see 'im ? " 
 
 The little boy, frightened at the major's fury, 
 began to sob. After a moment he managed to 
 stammer : " He now he's in the woods. I 
 saw 'im. He looks uglier'n any thin'." 
 
 The major released his hold upon the boy, and 
 pausing for a time, indulged in a glorious dream. 
 Then he said : " By thunder ! we'll ketch th' cuss. 
 You wait here," he told the boy, " and don't say a 
 word t' anybody. Do you hear ? " 
 
 The boy, still weeping, nodded, and the major 
 hurriedly entered the inn. He took down from 
 its pegs an awkward smooth-bore ritie and care- 
 
296 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 fully examined the enormous percussion cap that 
 was fitted over the nipple. Mistrusting the cap, 
 he removed it and replaced it with a new one. 
 He scrutinised the gun keenly, as if he could 
 judge in this manner of the condition of the load. 
 All his movements were deliberate and deadly. 
 
 When he arrived upon the porch of the tavern 
 he beheld the yard filled with people. Peter 
 Witheby, sooty-faced and grinning, was in the 
 van. He looked at the major. "Well?" he 
 said. 
 
 " Well ? " returned the major, bridling. 
 
 "Well, what's 'che got ? " said old Peter. 
 
 "'Got?' Got a rebel over in th' woods!" 
 roared the major. 
 
 At this sentence the women and boys, who 
 had gathered eagerly about him, gave vent to 
 startled cries. The women had come from 
 adjacent houses, but the little boys represented 
 the entire village. They had miraculously heard 
 the first whisper of rumour, and they performed 
 wonders in getting to the spot. They clustered 
 around the important figure of the major and 
 gazed in silent awe. The women, however, burst 
 forth. At the word " rebel," which represented 
 to them all terrible things, they deluged the 
 major with questions which were obviously un- 
 answerable. 
 
 He shook them off with violent impatience. 
 Meanwhile Peter Witheby was trying to force 
 exasperating interrogations through the tumult 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 297 
 
 to the major's ears. " What ? No ! Yes ! How 
 d' I know ? " the maddened veteran snarled as he 
 struggled with his friends. " No! Yes! What ? 
 How in thunder d' I know ? " Upon the steps of 
 the tavern the landlady sat, weeping forlornly. 
 
 At last the major burst through the crowd, 
 and went to the roadway. There, as they all 
 streamed after him, he turned and faced them. 
 "Now, look a' here, I don't know any more 
 about this than you do," he told them forcibly. 
 "All that I know is that there's a rebel over 
 in Smith's woods, an' all I know is that I'm 
 agoin' after 'im." 
 
 " But hoi' on a minnet," said old Peter. " How 
 do yeh know he's a rebel ? " 
 
 " I know he is ! " cried the major. " Don't yeh 
 think I know what a rebel is ? " 
 
 Then, with a gesture of disdain at the babbling 
 crowd, he marched determinedly away, his rifle 
 held in the hollow of his arm. At this heroic 
 moment a new clamour arose, half admiration, 
 half dismay. Old Peter hobbled after the major, 
 continually repeating, " Hoi' on a minnet." 
 
 The little boy who had given the alarm was 
 the centre of a throng of lads who gazed with 
 envy and awe, discovering in him a new quality. 
 He held forth to them eloquently. The women 
 stared after the figure of the major and old Peter, 
 his pursuer. Jerozel Bronson, a half-witted lad 
 who comprehended nothing save an occasional 
 genial word, leaned against the fence and grinned 
 
298 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 like a skull. The major and the pursuer passed 
 out of view around the turn in the road where 
 the great maples lazily shook the dust that lay 
 on their leaves. 
 
 For a moment the little group of women 
 listened intently as if they expected to hear a 
 sudden shot and cries from the distance. They 
 looked at each other, their lips a little way 
 apart. The trees sighed softly in the heat of 
 the summer sun. The insects in the meadow 
 continued their monotonous humming, and, some- 
 where, a hen had been stricken with fear and 
 was cackling loudly. 
 
 Finally, Mrs. Goodwin said : " Well, I'm goin' 
 up to th' turn a' th' road, anyhow." Mrs. Willets 
 and Mrs. Joe Peterson, her particular friends, 
 cried out at this temerity, but she said : " Well, 
 I'm goin', anyhow." 
 
 She called Bronson. "Come on, Jerozel. 
 You're a man, an' if he should chase us, why, 
 you mus' pitch inteh 'im. Hey ? " 
 
 Bronson always obeyed everybody. He grinned 
 an assent, and went with her down the road. 
 
 A little boy attempted to follow them, but a 
 shrill scream from his mother made him halt. 
 
 The remaining women stood motionless, their 
 eyes fixed upon Mrs. Goodwin and Jerozel. 
 Then at last one gave a laugh of triumph at her 
 conquest of caution and fear, and cried : " Well, 
 I'm goin' too ! " 
 
 Another instantly said, "So am I." There 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 299 
 
 began a general movement. Some of the little 
 boys had already ventured a hundred feet away 
 from the main body, and at this unanimous 
 advance they spread out ahead in little groups. 
 Some recounted terrible stories of rebel ferocity. 
 Their eyes were large with excitement. The 
 whole thing, with its possible dangers, had for 
 them a delicious element. Johnnie Peterson, 
 who could whip any boy present, explained what 
 he would do in case the enemy should happen to 
 pounce out at him. 
 
 The familiar scene suddenly assumed a new 
 aspect. The field of corn, which met the road 
 upon the left, was no longer a mere field of corn. 
 It was a darkly mystic place whose recesses could 
 contain all manner of dangers. The long green 
 leaves, waving in the breeze, rustled from the 
 passing of men. In the song of the insects there 
 were now omens, threats. 
 
 There was a warning in the enamel blue of the 
 sky, in the stretch of yellow road, in the very 
 atmosphere. Above the tops of the corn loomed 
 the distant foliage of Smith's woods, curtaining 
 the silent action of a tragedy whose horrors they 
 imagined. 
 
 The women and the little boys came to a halt, 
 overwhelmed by the impressiveness of the land- 
 scape. They waited silently. 
 
 Mrs. Goodwin suddenly said: " I'm goin' back." 
 The others, who all wished to return, cried at once 
 disdainfully : 
 
300 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Well, go back, if yeh want to ! " 
 
 A cricket at the roadside exploded suddenly 
 in his shrill song, and a woman, who had been 
 standing near, shrieked in startled terror. An 
 electric movement went through the group of 
 women. They jumped and gave vent to sudden 
 screams. With the fears still upon their agitated 
 faces, they turned to berate the one who had 
 shrieked. "My! what a goose you are, Sallie! 
 Why, it took my breath away. Goodness sakes 
 don't holler like that again ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 " Hoi' on a minnet !" Peter Witheby was crying 
 to the major, as the latter, full of the importance 
 and dignity of his position as protector of Miggles- 
 ville, paced forward swiftly. The veteran already 
 felt upon his brow a wreath formed of the flowers 
 of gratitude, and as he strode he was absorbed in 
 planning a calm and self-contained manner of 
 wearing it. " Hoi' on a minnet ! " piped old Peter 
 in the rear. 
 
 At last the major, aroused from his dream 
 of triumph, turned about wrathfully. "Well, 
 what?" 
 
 " Now, look a' here," said Peter. " What 'che 
 goin't'do?" 
 
 The major, with a gesture of supreme exaspera- 
 tion, wheeled again and went on. When he arrived 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 301 
 
 at the cornfield he halted and waited for Peter. 
 He had suddenly felt that indefinable menace in 
 the landscape. 
 
 " Well ? " demanded Peter, panting. 
 
 The major's eyes wavered a trifle. " Well," he 
 repeated " well, I'm goin' in there an' bring out 
 that there rebel." 
 
 They both paused and studied the gently sway- 
 ing masses of corn, and behind them the looming 
 woods, sinister with possible secrets. 
 
 "Well," said old Peter. 
 
 The major moved uneasily and put his hand to 
 his brow. Peter waited in obvious expectation. 
 
 The major crossed through the grass at the 
 roadside and climbed the fence. He put both legs 
 over the topmost rail and then sat perched there, 
 facing the woods. Once he turned his head and 
 asked, "What?" 
 
 " I hain't said anything" answered Peter. 
 
 The major clambered down from the fence and 
 went slowly into the corn, his gun held in readi- 
 ness. Peter stood in the road. 
 
 Presently the major returned and said, in a 
 cautious whisper : " If yeh hear anythin', you come 
 a-runnin', will yeh ? " 
 
 " Well, I hain't got no gun nor nuthin'," said 
 Peter, in the same low tone ; " what good 'ud 
 I do?" 
 
 "Well, yeh might come along with me an' 
 watch," said the major. " Four eyes is better'n 
 
3 02 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " If I had a gun > " began Peter. 
 
 " Oh, yeh don't need no gun," interrupted the 
 major, waving his hand. "All I'm afraid of is 
 that I won't find 'im. My eyes ain't so good as 
 they -was." 
 
 Well " 
 
 " Come along," whispered the major. " Yeh 
 hain't afraid, are yeh ? " 
 
 " No, but " 
 
 " Well, coine along, then. What's th' matter 
 with yeh ? " 
 
 Peter climbed the fence. He paused on the 
 top rail and took a prolonged stare at the in- 
 scrutable woods. When he joined the major in 
 the cornfield he said, with a touch of anger : 
 
 "Well, you got the gun. Eemember that. 
 If he comes for me, I hain't got a blame thing ! " 
 
 " Shucks ! " answered the major. " He ain't 
 agoin' t' come for yeh." 
 
 The two then began a wary journey through 
 the corn. One by one the long aisles between 
 the rows appeared. As they glanced along each 
 of them it seemed as if some gruesome thing 
 had just previously vacated it. Old Peter halted 
 once and whispered : " Say, look a' here ; sup- 
 posin' supposin' " 
 
 " Supposin' what ? " demanded the major. 
 
 " Supposin' " said Peter. " Well, remember 
 
 you got th' gun, an' I hain't got anythin'." 
 
 " Thunder ! " said the major. 
 
 When they got to where the stalks were very 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 303 
 
 short because of the shade cast by the trees of 
 the wood, they halted again. The leaves were 
 gently swishing in the breeze. Before them 
 stretched the mystic green wall of the forest, 
 and there seemed to be in it eyes which followed 
 each of their movements. 
 
 Peter at last said, "I don't believe there's 
 anybody in there." 
 
 "Yes, there is, too," said the major. " I'll bet 
 any thin 7 he's in there." 
 
 " How d' y eh know ? " asked Peter. " I'll bet 
 he ain't within a mile o' here." 
 
 The major suddenly ejaculated, " Listen!" 
 
 They bent forward, scarce breathing, their 
 mouths agape, their eyes glinting. Finally, the 
 major turned his head. " Did yeh hear that ? " 
 he said hoarsely. 
 
 " No," said Peter in a low voice. " What 
 was it ? " 
 
 The major listened for a moment. Then he 
 turned again. "I thought I heerd somebody 
 holler ! " he explained cautiously. 
 
 They both bent forward and listened once more. 
 Peter, in the intentness of his attitude, lost his 
 balance, and was obliged to lift his foot hastily 
 and with noise. "S-s-sh!" hissed the major. 
 
 After a minute Peter spoke quite loudly : " Oh, 
 shucks ! I don't believe yeh heerd anythin'." 
 
 The major made a frantic downward gesture 
 with his hand. " Shet up, will yeh ! " he said in 
 an angry undertone. 
 
304 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Peter became silent for a moment, but pre- 
 sently he said again : " Oh, yeh didn't hear 
 anythin'." 
 
 The major turned to glare at his companion 
 in despair and wrath. 
 
 "What's th' matter with yeh? Can't yeh 
 shet up ? " 
 
 " Oh, this here ain't no use. If you're goin' 
 in after 'im, why don't yeh go in after 'im ? " 
 
 " Well, gimme time, can't yeh ? " said the 
 major in a growl. And, as if to add more to 
 this reproach, he climbed the fence that com- 
 passed the woods, looking resentfully back at his 
 companion. 
 
 " Well," said Peter, when the major paused. 
 
 The major stepped down upon the thick carpet 
 of brown leaves that stretched under the trees. 
 He turned then to whisper: "You wait here, 
 will yeh ? " His face was red with determina- 
 tion. 
 
 "Well, hol j on a minnet!" said Peter. "You 
 
 _I_ we 'd better " 
 
 No," said the major. " You wait here." 
 
 He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter 
 watched him until he grew to be a vague, slow- 
 moving shadow. From time to time he could 
 hear the leaves crackle and twigs snap under 
 the major's awkward tread. Peter, intent, breath- 
 less, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. 
 Finally, the woods grew silent in a solemn and 
 impressive hush that caused Peter to feel the 
 
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN 305 
 
 thumping of his heart. He began to look about 
 him to make sure that nothing should spring 
 upon him from the sombre shadows. He scruti- 
 nised this cool gloom before him, and at times 
 he thought he could perceive the moving of swift 
 silent shapes. He concluded that he had better 
 go back and try to muster some assistance to the 
 major. 
 
 As Peter came through the corn, the women 
 in the road caught sight of the glittering figure 
 and screamed. Many of them began to run. 
 The little boys, with all their valour, scurried 
 away in clouds. Mrs. Joe Peterson, however, 
 cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with her 
 skirts gathered up, was running as best she 
 could. She instantly stopped and, in tones of 
 deepest scorn, called out to the others, "Why, 
 it's on'y Pete Witheby!" They came faltering 
 back then, those who had been naturally swiftest 
 in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbs 
 had enabled them to flee a short distance. 
 
 Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances 
 of vivid interest in the eyes of the women. To 
 their lightning-like questions, which hit all sides 
 of the episode, he opposed a new tranquillity, 
 gained from his sudden ascent in importance. 
 He made no answer to their clamour. When 
 he had reached the top of the fence he called 
 out commandingly : "Here you, Johnnie, you 
 and George, run an' git my gun ! It's hangin' on 
 th' pegs over th' bench in th' shop." 
 
306 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 At this terrible sentence, a shuddering cry 
 broke from the women. The boys named sped 
 down the road, accompanied by a retinue of 
 envious companions. 
 
 Peter swung his legs over the rail and faced 
 the woods again. He twisted his head once 
 to say: "Keep still, can't yeh ? Quit scufflin' 
 aroun'!" They could see by his manner that 
 this was a supreme moment. The group be- 
 came motionless and still. Later, Peter turned 
 to say, " S-s-sh ! " to a restless boy, and the air 
 with which he said it smote them all with awe. 
 
 The little boys who had gone after the gun 
 came pattering along hurriedly, the weapon borne 
 in the midst of them. Each was anxious to 
 share in the honour. The one who had been 
 delegated to bring it was bullying and directing 
 his comrades. 
 
 Peter said, "S-s-sh!" He took the gun and 
 poised it in readiness to sweep the cornfield. 
 He scowled at the boys and whispered angrily: 
 " Why didn't yeh bring th' powder-horn an' th' 
 thing with th' bullets in ? I told yeh t' bring 
 'em. I'll send somebody else next time." 
 
 "Yeh didn't tell us!" cried the two boys 
 shrilly. 
 
 " S-s-sh ! Quit yeh noise," said Peter, with a 
 violent gesture. 
 
 However, this reproof enabled other boys to 
 recover that peace of rnind which they had lost 
 when seeing their friends loaded with honours. 
 
AN, INDIANA CAMPAIGN 307 
 
 The women had cautiously approached the 
 fence, and, from time to time, whispered feverish 
 questions; but Peter repulsed them savagely, 
 with an air of being infinitely bothered by their 
 interference in his intent watch. They were 
 forced to listen again in silence to the weird 
 and prophetic chanting of the insects and the 
 mystic silken rustling of the corn. 
 
 At last the thud of hurrying feet in the soft 
 soil of the field came to their ears. A dark form 
 sped toward them. A wave of a mighty fear 
 swept over the group, and the screams of the 
 women came hoarsely from their choked throats. 
 Peter swung madly from his perch, and turned 
 to use the fence as a rampart. 
 
 But it was the major. His face was inflamed 
 and his eyes were glaring. He clutched his rifle 
 by the middle and swung it wildly. He was bound- 
 ing at a great speed for his fat, short body. 
 
 " It's all right ! it's all right ! " he began to yell 
 some distance away. "It's all right! It's on'y 
 ol' Milt' Jacoby!" 
 
 When he arrived at the top of the fence he 
 paused, and mopped his brow. 
 
 " What ? " they thundered, in an agony of sud- 
 den, unreasoning disappointment. 
 
 Mrs. Joe Peterson, who was a distant connection 
 of Milton Jacoby, thought to forestall any damage 
 to her social position by saying at once disdain- 
 fully, " Drunk, Is'pose!" 
 
 " Yep," said the major, still on the fence, and 
 
308 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 mopping his brow. " Drunk as a fool. Thunder ! 
 I was surprised. I I thought it was a rebel, 
 sure." 
 
 The thoughts of all these women wavered for a 
 time. They were at a loss for precise expression 
 of their emotion. At last, however, they hurled 
 this superior sentence at the major : 
 
 " Well, yeh might have known." 
 
A Grey Sleeve 
 
A Grey Sleeve 
 
 "!T looks as if it might rain this afternoon," 
 remarked the lieutenant of artillery. 
 
 "So it does," the infantry captain assented. 
 He glanced casually at the sky. When his eyes 
 had lowered to the green-shadowed landscape 
 before him, he said fretfully: "I wish those 
 fellows out yonder would quit pelting at us. 
 They've been at it since noon." 
 
 At the edge of a grove of maples, across wide 
 fields, there occasionally appeared little puffs of 
 smoke of a dull hue in this gloom of sky which 
 expressed an impending rain. The long wave of 
 blue and steel in the field moved uneasily at the 
 eternal barking of the far-away sharpshooters, 
 and the men, leaning upon their rifles, stared at 
 the grove of maples. Once a private turned to 
 borrow some tobacco from a comrade in the 
 rear rank, but, with his hand still stretched 
 out, he continued to twist his head and glance 
 at the distant trees. He was afraid the enemy 
 
 3" 
 
312 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 would shoot him at a time when he was not 
 looking. 
 
 Suddenly the artillery officer said : " See what's 
 coming ! " 
 
 Along the rear of the brigade of infantry a 
 column of cavalry was sweeping at a hard 
 gallop. A lieutenant, riding some yards to the 
 right of the column, bawled furiously at the four 
 troopers just at the rear of the colours. They had 
 lost distance and made a little gap, but at the 
 shouts of the lieutenant they urged their horses 
 forward. The bugler, careering along behind the 
 captain of the troop, fought and tugged like a 
 wrestler to keep his frantic animal from bolting 
 far ahead of the column. 
 
 On the springy turf the innumerable hoofs 
 thundered in a swift storm of sound. In the 
 brown faces of the troopers their eyes were set 
 like bits of flashing steel. 
 
 The long line of the infantry regiments standing 
 at ease underwent a sudden movement at the rush 
 of the passing squadron. The foot soldiers turned 
 their heads to gaze at the torrent of horses and 
 men. 
 
 The yellow folds of the flag fluttered back 
 in silken, shuddering waves, as if it were a re- 
 luctant thing. Occasionally a giant spring of 
 a charger would rear the firm and sturdy figure 
 of a soldier suddenly head and shoulders above 
 his comrades. Over the noise of the scudding 
 hoofs could be heard the creaking of leather 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 313 
 
 trappings, the jingle and clank of steel, and the 
 tense, low-toned commands or appeals of the 
 men to their horses; and the horses were 
 mad with the headlong sweep of this move- 
 ment. Powerful under jaws bent back and 
 straightened, so that the bits were clamped as 
 rigidly as vices upon the teeth, and glistening 
 necks arched in desperate resistance to the hands 
 at the bridles. Swinging their heads in rage at 
 the granite laws of their lives, which compelled 
 even their angers and their ardours to chosen 
 directions and chosen faces, their flight was as 
 a flight of harnessed demons. 
 
 The captain's bay kept its pace at the head of 
 the squadron with the lithe bounds of a thorough- 
 bred, and this horse was proud as a chief at the 
 roaring trample of his fellows behind him. The 
 captain's glance was calmly upon the grove of 
 maples whence the sharpshooters of the enemy 
 had been picking at the blue line. He seemed 
 to be reflecting. He stolidly rose and fell with 
 the plunges of his horse in all the indifference 
 of a deacon's figure seated plumply in church. 
 And it occurred to many of the watching in- 
 fantry to wonder why this officer could remain 
 imperturbable and reflective when his squadron 
 was thundering and swarming behind him like 
 the rushing of a flood. 
 
 The column swung in a sabre- curve toward a 
 break in a fence, and dashed into a roadway. 
 Once a little plank bridge was encountered, and 
 
314 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 the sound of the hoofs upon it was like the long 
 roll of many drums. An old captain in the 
 infantry turned to his first lieutenant and made 
 a remark, which was a compound of bitter dis- 
 paragement of cavalry in general and soldierly 
 admiration of this particular troop. 
 
 Suddenly the bugle sounded, and the column 
 halted with a jolting upheaval amid sharp, brief 
 cries. A moment later the men had tumbled 
 from their horses, and, carbines in hand, were 
 running in a swarm toward the grove of maples. 
 In the road one of every four of the troopers 
 was standing with braced legs, and pulling and 
 hauling at the bridles of four frenzied horses. 
 
 The captain was running awkwardly in his 
 boots. He held his sabre low, so that the point 
 often threatened to catch in the turf. His yellow 
 hair ruffled out from under his faded cap. " Go 
 in hard now ! " he roared, in a voice of hoarse 
 fury. His face was violently red. 
 
 The troopers threw themselves upon the grove 
 like wolves upon a great animal. Along the whole 
 front of woods there was the dry crackling of 
 musketry, with bitter, swift flashes and smoke 
 that writhed like stung phantoms. The troopers 
 yelled shrilly and spanged bullets low into the 
 foliage. 
 
 For a moment, when near the woods, the line 
 almost halted. The men struggled and fought for 
 a time like swimmers encountering a powerful 
 current. Then with a supreme effort they went 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 315 
 
 on again. They dashed madly at the grove, 
 whose foliage from the high light of the field 
 was as inscrutable as a wall. 
 
 Then suddenly each detail of the calm trees 
 became apparent, and with a few more frantic 
 leaps the men were in the cool gloom of the 
 woods. There was a heavy odour as from burned 
 paper. Wisps of grey smoke wound upward. 
 The men halted and, grimy, perspiring, and 
 puffing, they searched the recesses of the woods 
 with eager, fierce glances. Figures could be seen 
 flitting afar off. A dozen carbines rattled at 
 them in an angry volley. 
 
 During this pause the captain strode along the 
 line, his face lit with a broad smile of content- 
 ment. " When he sends this crowd to do anything, 
 I guess he'll find we do it pretty sharp," he said 
 to the grinning lieutenant. 
 
 " Say, they didn't stand that rush a minute, did 
 they?" said the subaltern. Both officers were 
 profoundly dusty in their uniforms, and their faces 
 were soiled like those of two urchins. 
 
 Out in the grass behind them were three tumbled 
 and silent forms. 
 
 Presently the line moved forward again. The 
 men went from tree to tree like hunters stalking 
 game. Some at the left of the line fired occasion- 
 ally, and those at the right gazed curiously in that 
 direction. The men still breathed heavily from 
 their scramble across the field. 
 
 Of a sudden a trooper halted and said : " Hello ! 
 
316 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 there's a house ! " Every one paused. The men 
 turned to look at their leader. 
 
 The captain stretched his neck and swung his 
 head from side to side. " By George, it is a house ! " 
 he said. 
 
 Through the wealth of leaves there vaguely 
 loomed the form of a large white house. These 
 troopers, brown-faced from many days of cam- 
 paigning, each feature of them telling of their 
 placid confidence and courage, were stopped 
 abruptly by the appearance of this house. There 
 was some subtle suggestion some tale of an 
 unknown thing which watched them from they 
 knew not what part of it. 
 
 A rail fence girded a wide lawn of tangled 
 grass. Seven pines stood along a drive-way which 
 led from two distant posts of a vanished gate. The 
 blue-clothed troopers moved forward until they 
 stood at the fence peering over it. 
 
 The captain put one hand on the top rail and 
 seemed to be about to climb the fence, when 
 suddenly he hesitated, and said in a low voice : 
 " Watson, what do you think of it ? " 
 
 The lieutenant stared at the house. " Derned 
 if I know ! " he replied. 
 
 The captain pondered. It happened that the 
 whole company had turned a gaze of profound awe 
 and doubt upon this edifice which confronted them. 
 The men were very silent. 
 
 At last the captain swore and said: "We are 
 certainly a pack of fools. Derned old deserted 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 317 
 
 house halting a company of Union cavalry, and 
 making us gape like babies ! " 
 
 " Yes, but there's something something " 
 
 insisted the subaltern in a half stammer. 
 
 "Well, if there's 'something something' in 
 there, I'll get it out," said the captain. " Send 
 Sharpe clean around to the other side with about 
 twelve men, so we will sure bag your ' something 
 something/ and I'll take a few of the boys and 
 find out what's in the d d old thing ! " 
 
 He chose the nearest eight men for his " storming 
 party," as the lieutenant called it. After he had 
 waited some minutes for the others to get into 
 position, he said " Come ahead " to his eight men, 
 and climbed the fence. 
 
 The brighter light of the tangled lawn made 
 him suddenly feel tremendously apparent, and he 
 wondered if there could be some mystic thing in 
 the house which was regarding this approach. 
 His men trudged silently at his back. They stared 
 at the windows and lost themselves in deep 
 speculations as to the probability of there being, 
 perhaps, eyes behind the blinds malignant eyes, 
 piercing eyes. 
 
 Suddenly a corporal in the party gave vent to 
 a startled exclamation, and half threw his carbine 
 into position. The captain turned quickly, and 
 the corporal said : "I saw an arm move the 
 blinds an arm with a grey sleeve ! " 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Jones, now," said the captain 
 sharply. 
 
3i8 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 "I swear t' " began the corporal, but the 
 
 captain silenced him. 
 
 When they arrived at the front of the house, 
 the troopers paused, while the captain went softly 
 up the front steps. He stood before the large 
 front door and studied it. Some crickets chirped 
 in the long grass, and the nearest pine could be 
 heard in its endless sighs. One of the privates 
 moved uneasily, and his foot crunched the gravel. 
 Suddenly the captain swore angrily and kicked 
 the door with a loud crash. It flew open. 
 
 II 
 
 The bright lights of the day flashed into the 
 old house when the captain angrily kicked open 
 the door. He was aware of a wide hallway, 
 carpeted with matting and extending deep into 
 the dwelling. There was also an old walnut 
 hat-rack and a little marble-topped table with a 
 vase and two books upon it. Farther back was 
 a great, venerable fireplace containing dreary 
 ashes. 
 
 But directly in front of the captain was a 
 young girl. The flying open of the door had 
 obviously been an utter astonishment to her, and 
 she remained transfixed there in the middle of 
 the floor, staring at the captain with wide eyes. 
 
 She was like a child caught at the time of a 
 raid upon the cake. She wavered to and fro 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 319 
 
 upon her feet, and held her hands behind her. 
 There were two little points of terror in her eyes, 
 as she gazed up at the young captain in dusty 
 blue, with his reddish, bronze complexion, his 
 yellow hair, his bright sabre held threateningly. 
 
 These two remained motionless and silent, 
 simply staring at each other for some moments. 
 
 The captain felt his rage fade out of him and 
 leave his mind limp. He had been violently angry, 
 because this house had made him feel hesitant, 
 wary. He did not like to be wary. He liked to 
 feel confident, sure. So he had kicked the door 
 open, and had been prepared to march in like a 
 soldier of wrath. 
 
 But now he began, for one thing, to wonder if 
 his uniform was so dusty and old in appearance. 
 Moreover, he had a feeling that his face was 
 covered with a compound of dust, grime, and 
 perspiration. He took a step forward and said : 
 " I didn't mean to frighten you." But his voice 
 was coarse from his battle-howling. It seemed 
 to him to have hempen fibres in it. 
 
 The girl's breath came in little, quick gasps, 
 and she looked at him as she would have looked 
 at a serpent. 
 
 "I didn't mean to frighten you," he said again. 
 
 The girl, still with her hands behind her, began 
 to back away. 
 
 " Is there any one else in the house ? " he went 
 on, while slowly following her. "I don't wish 
 to disturb you, but we had a fight with some 
 
320 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 rebel skirmishers in the woods, and I thought 
 maybe some of them might have come in here. 
 In fact, I was pretty sure of it. Are there any 
 of them here ? " 
 
 The girl looked at him and said, " No ! " He 
 wondered why extreme agitation made the eyes 
 of some women so limpid and bright. 
 
 " Who is here besides yourself ? " 
 
 By this time his pursuit had driven her to the 
 end of the hall, and she remained there with her 
 back to the wall and her hands still behind her. 
 When she answered this question, she did not 
 look at him but down at the floor. She cleared 
 her voice and then said : " There is no one here." 
 
 "No one?" 
 
 She lifted her eyes to him in that appeal that 
 the human being must make even to falling 
 trees, crashing boulders, the sea in a storm, and 
 said, " No, no, there is no one here." He could 
 plainly see her tremble. 
 
 Of a sudden he bethought him that she con- 
 tinually kept her hands behind her. As he 
 recalled her air when first discovered, he re- 
 membered she appeared precisely as a child 
 detected at one of the crimes of childhood. 
 Moreover, she had always backed away from 
 him. He thought now that she was concealing 
 something which was an evidence of the presence 
 of the enemy in the house. 
 
 " What are you holding behind you ? " he said 
 suddenly. 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 321 
 
 She gave a little quick moan, as if some grim 
 hand had throttled her. 
 
 " What are you holding behind you ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing please. I am not holding any- 
 thing behind me ; indeed I'm not." 
 
 "Very well. Hold your hands out in front 
 of you, then." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, I'm not holding anything behind 
 me. Indeed I'm not." 
 
 "Well," he began. Then he paused, and re- 
 mained for a moment dubious. Finally, he 
 laughed. "Well, I shall have my men search 
 the house, anyhow. I'm sorry to trouble you, 
 but I feel sure that there is some one here whom 
 we want." He turned to the corporal, who with 
 the other men was gaping quietly in at the door, 
 and said : "Jones, go through the house." 
 
 As for himself, he remained planted in front 
 of the girl, for she evidently did not dare to 
 move and allow him to see what she held so 
 carefully behind her back. So she was his 
 prisoner. 
 
 The men rummaged around on the ground 
 floor of the house. Sometimes the captain 
 called to them, " Try that closet," " Is there any 
 cellar?" But they found no one, and at last 
 they went trooping toward the stairs which led 
 to the second floor. 
 
 But at this movement on the part of the men 
 the girl uttered a cry a cry of such fright and 
 appeal that the men paused. " Oh, don't go up 
 
322 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 there !' Please don't go up there! pie -ease ! 
 There is no one there! Indeed- indeed there 
 is not ! Oh, pie ease ! " 
 
 "Go on, Jones," said the captain calmly. 
 
 The obedient corporal made a preliminary 
 step, and the girl bounded toward the stairs with 
 another cry. 
 
 As she passed him, the captain caught sight 
 of that which she had concealed behind her back, 
 and which she had forgotten in this supreme 
 moment. It was a pistol. 
 
 She ran to the first step, and standing there, 
 faced the men, one hand extended with per- 
 pendicular palm, and the other holding the pistol 
 at her side. " Oh, please, don't go up there ! No- 
 body is there indeed, there is not ! P-1-e-a-s-e ! " 
 Then suddenly she sank swiftly down upon the 
 step, and, huddling forlornly, began to weep in 
 the agony and with the convulsive tremors of 
 an infant. The pistol fell from her fingers and 
 rattled down to the floor. 
 
 The astonished troopers looked at their aston- 
 ished captain. There was a short silence. 
 
 Finally, the captain stooped and picked up 
 the pistol. It was a heavy weapon of the army 
 pattern. He ascertained that it was empty. 
 
 He leaned toward the shaking girl, and said 
 gently : " Will you tell me what you were going 
 to do with this pistol ? " 
 
 He had to repeat the question a number of 
 times, but at last a muffled voice said, " Nothing." 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 323 
 
 " Nothing ! " He insisted quietly upon a further 
 answer. At the tender tones of the captain's 
 voice, the phlegmatic corporal turned and winked 
 gravely at the man next to him. 
 
 " Won't you tell me ? " 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 "Please tell me!" 
 
 The silent privates were moving their feet 
 uneasily and wondering how long they were to 
 wait. 
 
 The captain said: "Please, won't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 Then this girl's voice began in stricken tones 
 half coherent, and amid violent sobbing: "It 
 was grandpa's. He he he said he was going 
 to shoot anybody who came in here he didn't 
 care if there were thousands of 'em. And and 
 I know he would, and I was afraid they'd kill 
 him. And so and so I stole away his pistol 
 and I was going to hide it when you you 
 you kicked open the door." 
 
 The men straightened up and looked at each 
 other. The girl began to weep again. 
 
 The captain mopped his brow. He peered 
 down at the girl He mopped his brow again. 
 Suddenly he said: "Ah, don't cry like that." 
 
 He moved restlessly and looked down at his 
 boots. He mopped his brow again. 
 
 Then he gripped the corporal by the arm and 
 dragged him some yards back from the others. 
 "Jones," he said, in an intensely earnest voice, 
 
324 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " will you tell me what in the devil I am going 
 to do?" 
 
 The corporal's countenance became illuminated 
 with satisfaction at being thus requested to ad- 
 vise his superior officer. He adopted an air of 
 great thought, and finally said : " Well, of course, 
 the feller with the grey sleeve must be upstairs, 
 and we must get past the girl and up there some- 
 how. Suppose I take her by the arm and lead 
 her " 
 
 " What ! " interrupted the captain from be- 
 tween his clinched teeth. As he turned away 
 from the corporal, he said fiercely over his 
 shoulder : " You touch that girl and I'll split your 
 skull!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 The corporal looked after his captain with an 
 expression of mingled amazement, grief, and 
 philosophy. He seemed to be saying to himself 
 that there unfortunately were times, after all, 
 when one could not rely upon the most reliable 
 of men. When he returned to the group he 
 found the captain bending over the girl and 
 saying: "Why is it that you don't want us to 
 search upstairs ? " 
 
 The girl's head was buried in her crossed arms. 
 Locks of her hair had escaped from their fas- 
 tenings, and these fell upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Won't you tell me?" 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 325 
 
 The corporal here winked again at the man 
 next to him. 
 
 " Because," the girl moaned " because there 
 isn't anybody up there." 
 
 The captain at last said timidly : " Well, I'm 
 afraid I'm afraid well have to -" 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet again, and implored 
 him with her hands. She looked deep into his 
 eyes with her glance, which was at this time 
 like that of the fawn when it says to the hunter, 
 ." Have mercy upon me !" 
 
 These two stood regarding each other. The 
 captain's foot was on the bottom step, but he 
 seemed to be shrinking. He wore an air of 
 being deeply wretched and ashamed. There was 
 a silence. 
 
 Suddenly the .corporal said in a quick, low 
 tone : " Look out, captain ! " 
 
 All turned their eyes swiftly toward the head 
 of the stairs. There had appeared there a youth 
 in a grey uniform. He stood looking coolly down 
 at them. No word was said by the troopers. 
 The. girl gave vent to a little wail of desolation, 
 "0 Harry!" 
 
 He began slowly to descend the stairs. His 
 right arm was in a white sling, and there were 
 some fresh blood-stains upon the cloth. His 
 face was rigid and deathly pale, but his eyes 
 flashed like lights. The girl was again moaning 
 in an utterly dreary fashion, as the youth came 
 slowly down toward the silent men in blue. 
 
326 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 Six steps from the bottom of the flight he 
 halted and said : " I reckon it's me you're looking 
 for." 
 
 The troopers had crowded forward a trifle and, 
 posed in lithe, nervous attitudes, were watching 
 him like cats. The captain remained unmoved. 
 At the youth's question he merely nodded his 
 head and said, " Yes." 
 
 The young man in grey looked down at the 
 girl, and then, in the same even tone which now, 
 however, seemed to vibrate with suppressed fury, 
 he said : " And is that any reason why you should 
 insult my sister ? " 
 
 At this sentence, the girl intervened, despe- 
 rately, between the young man in grey and the 
 officer in blue. " Oh, don't, Harry, don't ! He 
 was good to me ! He was good to me, Harry 
 indeed he was ! " 
 
 The youth came on in his quiet, erect fashion, 
 until the girl could have touched either of the 
 men with her hand, for the captain still re- 
 mained with his foot upon the first step. She 
 continually repeated : " Harry ! Harry ! " 
 
 The youth in grey manoeuvred to glare into 
 the captain's face, first over one shoulder of the 
 girl and then over the other. In a voice that 
 rang like metal, he said: "You are armed and 
 unwounded, while I have no weapons and am 
 wounded ; but " 
 
 The captain had stepped back and sheathed his 
 sabre. The eyes of these two men were gleaming 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 327 
 
 fire, but otherwise the captain's countenance was 
 imperturbable. He said: "You are mistaken. 
 You have no reason to " 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 All save the captain and the youth in grey 
 started in an electric movement. These two 
 words crackled in the air like shattered glass. 
 There was a breathless silence. 
 
 The captain cleared his throat. His look at 
 the youth contained a quality of singular and 
 terrible ferocity, but he said in his stolid tone : 
 " I don't suppose you mean what you say now." 
 
 Upon his arm he had felt the pressure of some 
 unconscious little fingers. The girl was leaning 
 against the wall as if she no longer knew how to 
 keep her balance, but those fingers he held his 
 arm very still. She murmured : " O Harry, 
 don't ! He was good to me indeed he was ! " 
 
 The corporal had come forward until he in a 
 measure confronted the youth in grey, for he 
 saw those fingers upon the captain's arm, and 
 he knew that sometimes very strong men were 
 not able to move hand nor foot under such 
 conditions. 
 
 The youth had suddenly seemed to become 
 weak. He breathed heavily and clung to the 
 rail. He was glaring at the captain, and ap- 
 parently summoning all his will power to combat 
 his weakness. The corporal addressed him with 
 profound straightforwardness: "Don't you be a 
 derned fool! " The youth turned toward him 
 
328 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 so fiercely that the corporal threw up a knee 
 and an elbow like a boy who expects to be 
 cuffed. 
 
 The girl pleaded with the captain. "You 
 won't hurt him, will you ? He don't know 
 what he's saying. He's wounded, you know. 
 Please don't mind him ! " 
 
 "I won't touch him," said the captain, with 
 rather extraordinary earnestness; "don't you 
 worry about him at all. I won't touch him!" 
 
 Then he looked at her, and the girl suddenly 
 withdrew her fingers from his arm. 
 
 The corporal contemplated the top of the stairs, 
 and remarked without surprise : " There's another 
 of 'em coming ! " 
 
 An old man was clambering down the stairs 
 with much speed. He waved a cane wildly. 
 "Get out of my house, you thieves! Get out! 
 I won't have you cross my threshold ! Get out ! " 
 He mumbled and wagged his head in an old 
 man's fury. It was plainly his intention to 
 assault them. 
 
 And so it occurred that a young girl became 
 engaged in protecting a stalwart captain, fully 
 armed, and with eight grim troopers at his back, 
 from the attack of an old man with a walking- 
 stick ! 
 
 A blush passed over the temples and brow of 
 the captain, and he looked particularly savage and 
 weary. Despite the girl's efforts, he suddenly 
 faced the old man. 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 329 
 
 " Look here," he said distinctly, " we came in 
 because we had been fighting in the woods 
 yonder, and we concluded that some of the 
 enemy were in this house, especially when we 
 saw a grey sleeve at the window. But this young 
 man is wounded, and I have nothing to say to 
 him. I will even take it for granted that there 
 are no others like him upstairs. We will go 
 
 away, leaving your d d old house just as we 
 
 found it ! And we are no more thieves and 
 rascals than you are ! " 
 
 The old man simply roared: "I haven't got 
 a cow nor a pig nor a chicken on the place ! 
 Your soldiers have stolen everything they could 
 carry away. They have torn down half my 
 fences for firewood. This afternoon some of 
 your accursed bullets even broke my window 
 panes ! " 
 
 The gh-1 had been faltering : " Grandpa ! 
 grandpa ! " 
 
 The captain looked at the girl. She returned 
 his glance from the shadow of the old man's 
 shoulder. After studying her face a moment, 
 he said : " Well, we will go now." He strode 
 toward the door, and his men clanked docilely 
 after him. 
 
 At this time there was the sound of harsh 
 cries and rushing footsteps from without. The 
 door flew open, and a whirlwind composed of 
 blue-coated troopers came in with a swoop. It 
 was headed by the lieutenant. " Oh, here you 
 
330 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 are ! " he cried, catching his breath. " We 
 thought Oh, look at the girl ! " 
 
 The captain said intensely : " Shut up, you 
 fool!" 
 
 The men settled to a halt with a clash and a 
 bang. There could be heard the dulled sound 
 of many hoofs outside of the house. 
 
 "Did you order up the horses?" inquired the 
 captain. 
 
 "Yes. We thought " 
 
 " Well, then, let's get out of here," interrupted 
 the captain morosely. 
 
 The men began to filter out into the open air. 
 The youth in grey had been hanging dismally 
 to the railing of the stairway. He now was 
 climbing slowly up to the second floor. The old 
 man was addressing himself directly to the serene 
 corporal. 
 
 " Not a chicken on the place ! " he cried. 
 
 "Well, I didn't take your chickens, did I?" 
 
 "No, maybe you didn't, but " 
 
 The captain crossed the hall and stood before 
 the girl in rather a culprit's fashion. " You are 
 not angry at me, are you ? " he asked timidly. 
 
 " No," she said. She hesitated a moment, and 
 then suddenly held out her hand. "You were 
 good to me and I'm much obliged." 
 
 The captain took her hand, and then he 
 blushed, for he found himself unable to formu- 
 late a sentence that applied in any way to the 
 situation. 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 331 
 
 She did not seem to heed that hand for a 
 time. 
 
 He loosened his grasp presently, for he was 
 ashamed to hold it so long without saying any- 
 thing clever. At last, with an air of charging 
 an intrenched brigade, he contrived to say: "I 
 would rather do anything than frighten or 
 trouble you." 
 
 His brow was warmly perspiring. He had a 
 sense of being hideous in his dusty uniform and 
 with his grimy face. 
 
 She said, " Oh, I'm so glad it was you instead 
 of somebody who might have might have hurt 
 brother Harry and grandpa ! " 
 
 He told her, " I wouldn't have hurt 'em for 
 anything ! " 
 
 There was a little silence. 
 
 " Well, good-bye ! " he said at last. 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 He walked toward the door past the old man, 
 who was scolding at the vanishing figure of the 
 corporal. The captain looked back. She had 
 remained there watching him. 
 
 At the bugle's order, the troopers standing 
 beside their horses swung briskly into the saddle. 
 The lieutenant said to the first sergeant : 
 
 " Williams, did they ever meet before ? " 
 
 ' Hanged if I know ! " 
 
 "Well, say " 
 
 The captain saw a curtain move at one of the 
 windows. He cantered from his position at the 
 
332 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 head of the column and steered his horse be- 
 tween two flower-beds. 
 
 "Well, good-bye!" 
 
 The squadron trampled slowly past. 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 He evidently had something enormously im- 
 portant to say to her, but it seems that he could 
 not manage it. He struggled heroically. The 
 bay charger, with his great mystically solemn 
 eyes, looked around the corner of his shoulder 
 at the girl 
 
 The captain studied a pine tree. The girl in- 
 spected the grass beneath the window. The 
 captain said hoarsely:. "I don't suppose- I don't 
 suppose 111 ever see you again ! " 
 
 She looked at him affrightedly and shrank 
 back from the window. He seemed to have 
 woefully expected a reception of .this kind for 
 his question. He gave her instantly a glance 
 of appeal. 
 
 She said: "Why, no, I don't suppose you 
 will." 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 "Why, no, 'tain't possible. You you are a 
 Yankee ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know it, but " Eventually he con- 
 tinued : " Well, some day, you know, when there's 
 
 no more fighting, we might " He observed 
 
 that she had again withdrawn suddenly into the 
 shadow, so he said : " Well, good-bye ! " 
 
A GREY SLEEVE 333 
 
 When he held her fingers she bowed her head, 
 and he saw a pink blush steal over the curves 
 of her cheek and neck. 
 
 "Am I never going to see you again ?" 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 " Never ? " he repeated. 
 
 After a long time, he bent over to hear a faint 
 reply: "Sometimes when there are no troops 
 in the neighbourhood grandpa don't mind if I 
 walk over as far as that old oak tree yonder 
 in the afternoons." 
 
 It appeared that the captain's grip was very 
 strong, for she uttered an exclamation and looked 
 at her fingers as if she expected to find them 
 mere fragments. He rode away. 
 
 The bay horse leaped a flower-bed. They 
 were almost to the drive, when the girl uttered 
 a panic-stricken cry. 
 
 The captain wheeled his horse violently, and 
 upon his return journey went straight through 
 a flower-bed. 
 
 The girl had clasped her hands. She be- 
 seeched him wildly with her eyes. " Oh, please, 
 don't believe it! I never walk to the old oak 
 tree. Indeed I don't ! I never never never 
 walk there." 
 
 The bridle drooped on the bay charger's neck. 
 The captain's figure seemed limp. With an ex- 
 pression of profound dejection and gloom he 
 stared off at where the leaden sky met the dark 
 green line of the woods. The long-impending 
 
334 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 rain began to fall with a mournful patter, drop 
 and drop. There was a silence. 
 
 At last a low voice said, "Well I might 
 sometimes I might perhaps but only once in 
 a great while I might walk to the old tree in 
 the afternoons." 
 
The Veteran 
 
The Veteran 
 
 OUT of the low window could be seen three 
 hickory trees placed irregularly in a meadow that 
 was resplendent in spring-time green. Farther 
 away, the old, dismal belfry of the village church 
 loomed over the pines. A horse, meditating in 
 the shade of one of the hickories, lazily swished 
 his tail. The warm sunshine made an oblong of 
 vivid yellow on the floor of the grocery. 
 
 " Could you see the whites of their eyes ? " said 
 the man, who was seated on a soap box. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind," replied old Henry 
 warmly. "Just a lot of flitting figures, and I 
 let go at where they 'peared to be the thickest. 
 Bang ! " 
 
 " Mr. Fleming," said the grocer his deferential 
 voice expressed somehow the old man's exact 
 social weight "Mr. Fleming, you never was fright- 
 ened much in them battles, was you ? " 
 
 The veteran looked down and grinned. Observ- 
 ing his manner, the entire group tittered. " Well, 
 I guess I was," he answered finally. " Pretty well 
 scared, sometimes. Why, in my first battle I 
 
 337 y * 
 
338 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 thought the sky was falling down. I thought 
 the world was coming to an end. You bet I 
 was scared." 
 
 Every one laughed. Perhaps it seemed strange 
 and rather wonderful to them that a man should 
 admit the thing, and in the tone of their laughter 
 there was probably more admiration than if old 
 Fleming had declared that he had always been 
 a lion. Moreover, they knew that he had ranked 
 as an orderly sergeant, and so their opinion of his 
 heroism was fixed. None, to be sure, knew how 
 an orderly sergeant ranked, but then it was under- 
 stood to be somewhere just shy of a major-general's 
 stars. So, when old Henry admitted that he had 
 been frightened, there was a laugh. 
 
 "The trouble was," said the old man, "I 
 thought they were all shooting at me. Yes, sir, I 
 thought every man in the other army was aiming 
 at me in particular, and only me. And it seemed 
 so darned unreasonable, you know. I wanted to 
 explain to 'em what an almighty good fellow I 
 was, because I thought then they might quit all 
 trying to hit me. But I couldn't explain, and 
 they kept on being unreasonable blim ! blam ! 
 bang ! So I run ! " 
 
 Two little triangles of wrinkles appeared at 
 the corners of his eyes. Evidently he appre- 
 ciated some comedy in this recital. Down near 
 his feet, however, little Jim, his grandson, was 
 visibly horror-stricken. His hands were clasped 
 nervously, and his eyes were wide with astonish- 
 
THE VETERAN 339 
 
 ment at this terrible scandal, his most magnificent 
 grandfather telling such a thing. 
 
 "That was at Chancellorsville. Of course, 
 afterward I got kind of used to it. A man does. 
 Lots of men, though, seem to feel all right from 
 the start. I did, as soon as I 'got on to it,' as 
 they say now; but at first I was pretty well 
 flustered. Now, there was young Jim Conklin, 
 old Si Conklin's son that used to keep the 
 tannery you none of you recollect him well, 
 he went into it from the start just as if he was 
 born to it. But with me it was different. I had 
 to get used to it." 
 
 When little Jim walked with his grandfather 
 he was in the habit of skipping along on the 
 stone pavement, in front of the three stores and 
 the hotel of the town, and betting that he could 
 avoid the cracks. But upon this day he walked 
 soberly, with his hand gripping two of his grand- 
 father's fingers. Sometimes he kicked abstractedly 
 at dandelions that curved over the walk. Any one 
 could see that he was much troubled. 
 
 "There's Sickles's colt over in the medder, 
 Jimmie," said the old man. "Don't you wish 
 you owned one like him ? " 
 
 "Um," said the boy, with a strange lack of 
 interest. He continued his reflections. Then 
 finally he ventured: "Grandpa now was that 
 true what you was telling those men ? " 
 
 " What ? " asked the grandfather. " What was 
 I telling them ? " 
 
340 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 " Oh, about your running." 
 
 "Why, yes, that was true enough, Jimmie. It 
 was my first fight, and there was an awful lot 
 of noise, you know." 
 
 Jimmie seemed dazed that this idol, of its own 
 will, should so totter. His stout boyish idealism 
 was injured. 
 
 Presently the grandfather said : " Sickles 's colt 
 is going for a drink. Don't you wish you owned 
 Sickles's colt, Jimmie ? " 
 
 The boy merely answered: "He ain't as nice 
 as our'n." He lapsed then into another moody 
 silence. 
 
 One of the hired men, a Swede, desired to 
 drive to the county seat for purposes of his own. 
 The old man loaned a horse and an unwashed 
 buggy. It appeared later that one of the pur- 
 poses of the Swede was to get drunk. 
 
 After quelling some boisterous frolic of the 
 farm hands and boys in the garret, the old man 
 had that night gone peacefully to sleep, when he 
 was aroused by clamouring at the kitchen door. 
 He grabbed his trousers, and they waved out 
 behind as he dashed forward. He could hear the 
 voice of the Swede, screaming and blubbering. 
 He pushed the wooden button, and, as the door 
 flew open, the Swede, a maniac, stumbled inward, 
 chattering, weeping, still screaming: "De barn 
 fire ! Fire ! Fire ! De barn fire ! Fire ! Fire ! 
 Fire!" 
 
THE VETERAN 341 
 
 There was a swift and indescribable change in 
 the old man. His face ceased instantly to be a 
 face ; it became a mask, a grey thing, with horror 
 written about the mouth and eyes. He hoarsely 
 shouted at the foot of the little rickety stairs, 
 and immediately, it seemed, there came down an 
 avalanche of men. No one knew that during 
 this time the old lady had been standing in 
 her night-clothes at the bedroom door, yelling: 
 " What's th' matter ? What's th' matter ? What's 
 th' matter ? " 
 
 When they dashed toward the barn it pre- 
 sented to their eyes its usual appearance, solemn, 
 rather mystic in the black night. The Swede's 
 lantern was overturned at a point some yards in 
 front of the barn doors. It contained a wild 
 little conflagration of its own, and even in their 
 excitement some of those who ran felt a gentle 
 secondary vibration of the thrifty part of their 
 minds at sight of this overturned lantern. Under 
 ordinary circumstances it would have been a 
 calamity. 
 
 But the cattle in the barn were trampling, 
 trampling, trampling, and above this noise could 
 be heard a humming like the song of innumer- 
 able bees. The old man hurled aside the great 
 doors, and a yellow flame leaped out at one 
 corner and sped and wavered frantically up the 
 old grey wall. It was glad, terrible, this single 
 flame, like the wild banner of deadly and 
 triumphant foes. 
 
342 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 The motley crowd from the garret had come 
 with all the pails of the farm. They flung 
 themselves upon the well. It was a leisurely 
 old machine, long dwelling in indolence. It was 
 in the habit of giving out water with a sort of 
 reluctance. The men stormed at it, cursed it ; 
 but it continued to allow the buckets to be filled 
 only after the wheezy windlass had howled many 
 protests at the mad-handed men. 
 
 With his opened knife in his hand old Fleming 
 himself had gone headlong into the barn, where 
 the stifling smoke swirled with the air currents, 
 and where could be heard in its fulness the 
 terrible chorus of the flames, laden with tones of 
 hate and death, a hymn of wonderful ferocity. 
 
 He flung a blanket over an old mare's head, 
 cut the halfcer close to the manger, led the mare 
 to the door, and fairly kicked her out to safety. 
 He returned with the same blanket, and rescued 
 one of the work horses. He took five horses out, 
 and then came out himself, with his clothes 
 bravely on fire. He had no whiskers, and very 
 little hair on his head. They soused five pailfuls 
 of water on him. His eldest son made a clean 
 miss with the sixth pailful, because the old man 
 had turned and was running down the decline 
 and around to the basement of the barn, where 
 were the stanchions of the cows. Some one noticed 
 at the time that he ran very lamely, as if one of 
 the frenzied horses had smashed his hip. 
 
 The cows, with their heads held in the heavy 
 
THE VETERAN 343 
 
 stanchions, had thrown themselves, strangled 
 themselves, tangled themselves done everything 
 which the ingenuity of their exuberant fear could 
 suggest to them. 
 
 Here, as at the well, the same thing happened 
 to every man save one. Their hands went mad. 
 They became incapable of everything save the 
 power to rush into dangerous situations. 
 
 The old man released the cow nearest the 
 door, and she, blind drunk with terror, crashed 
 into the Swede. The Swede had been running to 
 and fro babbling. He carried an empty milk- 
 pail, to which he clung with an unconscious, 
 fierce enthusiasm. He shrieked like one lost as 
 he went under the cow's hoofs, and the milk-pail, 
 rolling across the floor, made a flash of silver in 
 the gloom. 
 
 Old Fleming took a fork, beat off the cow, and 
 dragged the paralysed Swede to the open air. 
 When they had rescued all the cows save one, 
 which had so fastened herself that she could not 
 be moved an inch, they returned to the front of 
 the barn, and stood sadly, breathing like men 
 who had reached the final point of human effort. 
 
 Many people had come running. Some one 
 had even gone to the church, and now, from 
 the distance, rang the tocsin note of the old 
 bell. There was a long flare of crimson on the 
 sky, which made remote people speculate as to 
 the whereabouts of the fire. 
 
 The long flames sang their drumming chorus 
 
344 PICTURES OF WAR 
 
 in voices of the heaviest bass. The wind whirled 
 clouds of smoke and cinders into the faces of the 
 spectators. The form of the old barn was out- 
 lined in black amid these masses of orange-hued 
 flames. 
 
 And then came this Swede again, crying as one 
 who is the weapon of the sinister fates : " De 
 colts ! De colts ! You have forgot de colts ! " 
 
 Old Fleming staggered. It was true: they 
 had forgotten the two colts in the box-stalls at 
 the back of the barn. " Boys," he said, " I must 
 try to get 'em out." They clamoured about him 
 then, afraid for him, afraid of what they should 
 see. Then they talked wildly each to each. 
 " Why, it's sure death ! " " He would never 
 get out ! " " Why, it's suicide for a man to go 
 in there ! " Old Fleming stared absent-mindedly 
 at the open doors. " The poor little things ! " he 
 said. He rushed into the barn. 
 
 When the roof fell in, a great funnel of smoke 
 swarmed toward the sky, as if the old man's 
 mighty spirit, released from its body a little 
 bottle had swelled like the genie of fable. 
 The smoke was tinted rose-hue from the flames, 
 and perhaps the unutterable midnights of the 
 universe will have no power to daunt the colour 
 of this soul. 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNK, HANSON & Co. 
 Edinburgh & London 
 
MR. WILLIAM HEINBMANN'S LIST 
 
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