Chapter 9

Chapter 9

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 gray, 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

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 forward he laid a quivering

hand upon the man's arm. As the latter slowly turned his

waxlike features toward him the youth screamed:

"Gawd! Jim Conklin!"

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 monotonous 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, but the tall

soldier went firmly 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 tremor. His face turned to a semblance of gray paste.

He clutched the youth's arm and looked all about him, as if dreading

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' them yeh know -

them damned artillery wagons--they like as not 'll 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 beseeched.

"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

babelike 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?"

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 forget all those

fears. He became again the grim, stalking specter 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' helitywhoop

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 hi 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 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 tattered 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 way--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 be--"

The youth, aghast and filled with wonder at the tall soldier,

began quaveringly to question him. "Where yeh 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 for a minnit."

The youth recoiled. "Why, Jim," he said, in a dazed way, "what

's the matter with you?"

The tall soldier turned and, lurching dangerously, 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 rendezvous. 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 wailing to the ground. He raised his voice in

a last supreme call.

"Jim--Jim--Jim--"

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 implike 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 ceremony 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

pastelike 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.

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.