A rather fat soldier attempted to pilfer a horse from a dooryard.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 his downfall. Loud and vociferous congratulations were showered upon the maiden,who stood panting and regarding the troops with defiance.
At nightfall the column broke into regimental pieces,and the fragments went into the fields to camp. Tents sprang up like strange plants. Camp fires,like red, peculiar blossoms, dotted the night.
The youth kept from intercourse with his companions as much as circumstances would allow him.In the evening he wandered a few paces into the gloom. From this little distance the many fires,with the black forms of men passing to and fro before the crimson rays, made weird and satanic effects.
He lay down in the grass. The blades pressed tenderly against his cheek.The moon had been lighted and was hung in a treetop.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 remembered he had so 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 between himself and those men who were dodging implike around the fires.
As he mused thus he heard the rustle of grass, and, upon turning his head,discovered the loud soldier. He called out, “Oh, Wilson!”
The latter approached and looked down. “Why, hello, Henry; is it you?What are you doing here?”
“Oh, thinking,” said the youth.
The other sat down and carefully lighted his pipe. “You’re getting blue my boy.You’re looking thundering peek-ed. 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 gleeful 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 plenty of fighting this time.”
“He’s right for once, I guess, though I can’t see how it come. This time we’re in for a big battle,and we’ve got the best end of it, certain 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 remarked 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.
“Run?” 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.
“Oh, shucks!” said the youth. “You ain’t the bravest man in the world, are you?”
“No, I ain’t,” exclaimed the loud soldier indignantly;“and I didn’t say I was the bravest man in the world, neither.I said I was going to do my share of fighting—that’s what I said. And I am, too. Who are you, anyhow?You 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 viewpoints made him more miserable than before.No one seemed to be wrestling with such a terrific personal problem. He was a mental outcast.
He went slowly to his tent and stretched himself on a blanket by the side of the snoring tall soldier.In the darkness he saw visions of a thousand-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.“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.
Chapter 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 fearfully assaulted from the caves of the lowering woods.He kept his eyes watchfully upon the darkness.
But his regiment went unmolested to a camping place,and 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.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 veteranlike 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, “O Gawd!”
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 speaking from the colors.They were new and beautiful, and the color bearer habitually oiled the pole.
Presently the army again sat down to think.The odor of the peaceful pines was in the men’s 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 gray dawn, however, he was kicked in the leg by the tall soldier, and then,before he was entirely awake, he found himself running down a wood road in the midst of men who were panting from the first effects of speed.His canteen banged rythmically 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 comrades he strenuously tried to think,but all he knew was that if he fell down those coming behind would tread upon him.All his faculties seemed to be needed to guide him over and past obstructions. He felt carried along by a mob.
The sun spread disclosing rays, and, one by one,regiments burst into view like armed men just born of the earth.The youth perceived that the time had come. He was about to be measured.For a moment he felt in the face of his great trial like a babe,and the flesh over his heart seemed very thin. He seized time to look about him 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 color. A flag fluttered.
Other regiments floundered up the bank. The brigade was formed in line of battle,and after a pause started slowly through the woods in the rear of the receding skirmishers,who were continually melting into the scene to appear again 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 battle field.
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 himself.The youth looked keenly at the ashen face. The wind raised the tawny beard.It moved as if a hand were stroking it.He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare;the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.
During the march the ardor 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 sensations.
Absurd ideas took hold upon him. He thought that he did not relish the landscape. It threatened him.A coldness swept over his back, and 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.Ironlike brigades would appear 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 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 interest,as if they were investigating something that had fascinated them.One or two stepped with overvaliant airs as if they were already plunged into war.Others walked as upon thin ice. The greater part of the untested men appeared quiet and absorbed.They were going to look at war, the red animal—war, the blood-swollen god.And they were deeply engrossed in this march.
As he looked the youth gripped his outcry at his throat.He saw that even if the men were tottering with fear they would laugh at his warning.They would 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 demeanor of one who knows that he is doomed alone to unwritten responsibilities.He lagged, with tragic glances at the sky.
He was surprised presently by the young lieutenant of his company,who began heartily to beat him with a sword, calling out in a loud and insolent voice: “Come,young man, get up into ranks there. No skulking’ll 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 comparatively large ones, while others seemed content with little ones.
This procedure caused a discussion among the men. Some wished to fight like duelists,believing it to be correct to stand erect and be, from their feet to their foreheads, a mark.They said they scorned the devices of the cautious. But the others scoffed 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 heavy explanation,although he had been compelled to leave a little protection of stones and dirt to which he had devoted much care and skill.
When the regiment was aligned in another position each man’s regard for his safety caused another line of small 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 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 considered that there was denoted a lack of purpose on the part of the generals.He began to complain to the tall soldier. “I can’t stand this much longer,” he cried.“I don’t see what good it does to make us wear out our legs for nothin’.” He wished to return to camp, knowing that this affair was a blue demonstration;or else to go into a battle and discover that he had been a fool in his doubts, and was, in truth,a man of traditional courage. The strain of present circumstances he felt to be intolerable.
The philosophical tall soldier measured a sandwich of cracker and pork and swallowed it in a nonchalant manner.“Oh, I suppose we must go reconnoitering 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 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,” interrupted 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 sandwich 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 sandwiches.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 protective piles of earth and stone,each of which had been an engineering feat worthy of being made sacred to the name of his grandmother.
In the afternoon, the regiment went out over the same ground it had taken in the morning.The landscape then ceased to threaten the youth.He had been close to it and 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 understood.It was useless to expect appreciation of his profound and fine sense from such men as the lieutenant.He must look to the grave for comprehension.
The skirmish fire increased to a long clattering sound. With it was mingled far-away cheering. A battery spoke.
Directly the youth could see the skirmishers running.They were pursued by the sound of musketry fire. After a time the hot,dangerous flashes of the rifles were visible.Smoke clouds went slowly and insolently across the fields like observant phantoms.The din became crescendo, like the roar of an oncoming train.
A brigade ahead of them and on the right went into action with a rending roar.It was as if it had exploded. And thereafter it lay stretched in the distance behind a long gray wall,that one was obliged to look twice at to make sure that it was smoke.
The youth, forgetting his neat plan of getting killed, gazed spell bound.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 astonishment.
“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 rumors 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 allus 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’ 304th when we go inteh action,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 ’bout a minute ago.”
“That young Hasbrouck, he makes a good off’cer. He ain’t afraid ’a nothin’.”
“I met one of th’ 148th 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’ll 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.
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 invisible,were being wielded. Many of the men were constantly dodging and ducking their heads.
The lieutenant of the youth’s company was shot in the hand.He began to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the regimental line.The officer’s profanity sounded conventional. It relieved the tightened senses of the new men.It was as if he had hit his fingers with a tack hammer at home.
He held the wounded member carefully away from his side so that the blood would not drip upon his trousers.
The captain of the company, tucking his sword under his arm,produced a handkerchief and began to bind with it the lieutenant’s wound.And they disputed as to how the binding should be done.
The battle flag in the distance jerked about madly.It seemed to be struggling to free itself from an agony.The billowing smoke was filled with horizontal flashes.
Men rushing swiftly emerged from it. They grew in numbers until it was seen that the whole command was fleeing.The flag suddenly sank down as if dying. Its motion as it fell was a gesture of despair.
Wild yells came from behind the walls of smoke.A sketch in gray and red dissolved into a moblike body of men who galloped like wild horses.The veteran regiments on the right and left of the 304th immediately began to jeer.With the passionate song of the bullets and the banshee shrieks 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 motionless,carven; and afterward he remembered that the color sergeant was standing with his legs apart,as if he expected to be pushed to the ground.
The following throng went whirling around the flank.Here and there were officers carried along on the stream like exasperated chips.They were striking about them with their swords and with their left 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 this rush they were apparently all deaf and blind.They heeded not the largest and longest of the oaths that were thrown at them from all directions.
Frequently over this tumult could be heard the grim jokes of the critical veterans;but the retreating men apparently were not even conscious of the presence of an audience.
The battle reflection that 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 exaggeration of itself on the bleached cheeks and in the eyes wild with one desire.
The sight of this stampede exerted a floodlike 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.