Chapter 8

The trees began softly to sing a hymn of twilight. The sun sank until slanted bronze rays struck the forest. There was a lull in the noises of insects as if they had bowed their beaks and were making a devotional pause. There was silence save for the chanted chorus of the trees.

The trees began to sing a soft hymn to twilight. The sun sank, casting slanted bronze rays across the forest. The insects fell quiet, as if they had bowed their beaks for a moment of prayer. Nothing could be heard but the chanting chorus of the trees.

Then, upon this stillness, there suddenly broke a tremendous clangor of sounds. A crimson roar came from the distance.

Then the stillness was suddenly broken by a tremendous clamor. 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.

The young man stopped. He was frozen by the terrifying mix of all the sounds. It was as if worlds were being torn apart. Musket fire ripped through the air, and artillery crashed.

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.

His thoughts raced in every direction. He imagined the two armies fighting like panthers. He listened for a while. Then he began to run toward the battle. He saw the irony in running toward what he had taken such pains to avoid. But he thought to himself that if the earth and moon were about to collide, many people would surely plan to climb onto rooftops to watch.

As he ran, he became aware that the forest had stopped its music, as if at last becoming capable of hearing the foreign sounds. The trees hushed and stood motionless. Everything seemed to be listening to the crackle and clatter and earthshaking thunder. The chorus peaked over the still earth.

As he ran, he noticed that the forest had stopped its music. It was as if the forest could finally hear the strange sounds. The trees fell silent and stood still. Everything seemed to be listening to the crackling, clattering, and earthshaking thunder. The chorus rose to its peak 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.

The young man suddenly realized that the fight he had been in was, after all, just a routine exchange of gunfire. Hearing the noise around him now, he doubted he had seen a real battle. The uproar suggested a battle in heaven, with hordes tumbling and fighting in the air.

Reflecting, he saw a sort of a humor in the point of view of himself and his fellows during the late encounter. They had taken themselves and the enemy very seriously and had imagined that they were deciding the war. Individuals must have supposed that they were cutting the letters of their names deep into everlasting tablets of brass, or enshrining their reputations forever in the hearts of their countrymen, while, as to fact, the affair would appear in printed reports under a meek and immaterial title. But he saw that it was good, else, he said, in battle every one would surely run save forlorn hopes and their ilk.

Looking back, he saw some humor in how he and his fellow soldiers had viewed the recent battle. They had taken themselves and the enemy very seriously. They had imagined that they were deciding the war. Each man must have thought he was carving his name deep into lasting tablets of brass. Or perhaps he thought his reputation would live forever in the hearts of his countrymen. In fact, the battle would appear in printed reports under a modest, unimportant title. But he saw that this way of thinking was a good thing. Otherwise, he said, everyone would surely run from battle except those in forlorn hopes and others like them.

He went rapidly on. He wished to come to the edge of the forest that he might peer out.

He hurried on. He wanted to reach the edge of the forest so he could look 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.

As he hurried, images of enormous battles passed through his mind. He used everything he had thought about such things to form scenes. The noise was like the voice of a gifted speaker describing them.

Sometimes the brambles formed chains and tried to hold him back. Trees, confronting him, stretched out their arms and forbade him to pass. After its previous hostility this new resistance of the forest filled him with a fine bitterness. It seemed that Nature could not be quite ready to kill him.

Sometimes the brambles formed chains and tried to hold him back. Trees stood in his way, stretching out their arms and forbidding him to pass. After the forest’s earlier hostility, this new resistance filled him with deep bitterness. It seemed that Nature was not quite ready to kill him.

But he obstinately took roundabout ways, and presently he was where he could see long gray walls of vapor where lay battle lines. The voices of cannon shook him. The musketry sounded in long irregular surges that played havoc with his ears. He stood regardant for a moment. His eyes had an awestruck expression. He gawked in the direction of the fight.

But he stubbornly took roundabout paths. Soon he could see long gray walls of smoke where the battle lines stood. The roar of the cannons shook him. Musket fire came in long, irregular bursts that battered his ears. He stood watching for a moment. His eyes were filled with awe. He stared toward the fighting.

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.

Soon he moved forward again. To him, the battle was like the grinding of a huge, terrifying machine. Its complexity, power, and grim workings fascinated him. He had to get close and watch 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 this spot.

He came to a fence and climbed over it. On the other side, clothes and guns littered the ground. A folded newspaper lay in the dirt. A dead soldier lay stretched out, his face hidden in his arm. Farther away, four or five bodies lay together in a mournful group. The hot sun had beaten down on 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.

Here, the young man felt like an intruder. This forgotten part of the battlefield belonged to the dead men. He hurried on, vaguely afraid that one of the swollen bodies would rise and tell him to leave.

He came finally to a road from which he could see in the distance dark and agitated bodies of troops, smoke-fringed. In the lane was a blood-stained crowd streaming to the rear. The wounded men were cursing, groaning, and wailing. In the air, always, was a mighty swell of sound that it seemed could sway the earth. With the courageous words of the artillery and the spiteful sentences of the musketry mingled red cheers. And from this region of noises came the steady current of the maimed.

At last, he came to a road where he could see dark, restless masses of troops in the distance, surrounded by smoke. A bloodstained crowd was streaming down the road toward the rear. The wounded men cursed, groaned, and wailed. A great swell of sound always filled the air, seeming powerful enough to shake the earth. Fierce cheers mingled with the bold voices of the artillery and the spiteful words of the musket fire. From this noisy region came a steady stream of maimed men.

One of the wounded men had a shoeful of blood. He hopped like a schoolboy in a game. He was laughing hysterically.

One of the wounded men had a shoe full of blood. He hopped like a schoolboy playing a game. He was laughing hysterically.

One was swearing that he had been shot in the arm through the commanding general’s mismanagement of the army. One was marching with an air imitative of some sublime drum major. Upon his features was an unholy mixture of merriment and agony. As he marched he sang a bit of doggerel in a high and quavering voice:

One man swore that he had been shot in the arm because the commanding general had mismanaged the army. Another marched like a magnificent drum major. His face showed a strange mix of amusement and agony. As he marched, he sang a bit of silly verse in a high, trembling voice:

Parts of the procession limped and staggered to this tune.

Some people in the procession limped and staggered to this tune.

Another had the gray seal of death already upon his face. His lips were curled in hard lines and his teeth were 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 specter of a soldier, his eyes burning with the power of a stare into the unknown.

Another already had the gray mark of death on his face. His lips were drawn into hard lines, and his teeth were clenched. His hands were bloody where he had pressed them against his wound. He seemed to be waiting for the moment when he would fall headlong. He walked like the ghost of a soldier, his eyes burning as he stared into the unknown.

There were some who proceeded sullenly, full of anger at their wounds, and ready to turn upon anything as an obscure cause.

Some moved on sullenly, angry about their wounds and ready to lash out at anything they vaguely blamed.

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.”

Two privates were carrying an officer. He was irritable. “Don’t jostle me so much, Johnson, you fool,” he cried. “Do you think my leg is made of iron? If you can’t carry me properly, put me down and let someone else do it.”

He bellowed at the tottering crowd who blocked the quick march of his bearers. “Say, make way there, can’t yeh? Make way, dickens take it all.”

He shouted at the stumbling crowd blocking the people carrying him. They were trying to move quickly. “Hey, make way, can’t you? Make way, damn 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.

They moved apart reluctantly and went to the sides of the road. As he was carried past, they made cheeky remarks to him. He shouted angrily back and threatened them, and they told him to go to hell.

The shoulder of one of the tramping bearers knocked heavily against the spectral soldier who was staring into the unknown.

The shoulder of one of the marching bearers struck the ghostly soldier hard. The soldier 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.

The young man joined the crowd and marched with them. Their torn bodies showed the terrible machinery that had caught the men up in it.

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.

Orderlies and couriers occasionally pushed through the crowd on the road, scattering wounded men to either side. They galloped on as the men howled behind them. The messengers kept disrupting the mournful march. Sometimes batteries of artillery came rumbling and swinging toward the men, while officers shouted orders to clear the way.

There was a tattered man, fouled with dust, blood and powder stain from hair to shoes, who trudged quietly at the youth’s side. He was listening with eagerness and much humility to the lurid descriptions of a bearded sergeant. His lean features wore an expression of awe and admiration. He was like a listener in a country store to wondrous tales told among the sugar barrels. He eyed the story-teller with unspeakable wonder. His mouth was agape in yokel fashion.

A ragged man trudged quietly beside the youth. He was covered from head to toe in dust, blood, and gunpowder stains. He listened eagerly and humbly to a bearded sergeant’s vivid descriptions. His thin face showed awe and admiration. He was like someone in a country store listening to wondrous tales told among the sugar barrels. He watched the storyteller with indescribable wonder. His mouth hung open like a country bumpkin’s.

The sergeant, taking note of this, gave pause to his elaborate history while he administered a sardonic comment. “Be keerful, honey, you’ll be a-ketchin’ flies,” he said.

The sergeant noticed this and paused in his elaborate story to make a sarcastic remark. “Be careful, honey, you’ll catch flies,” he said.

The tattered man shrank back abashed.

The ragged man shrank back, embarrassed.

After a time he began to sidle near to the youth, and in a diffident 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 a while, he began to edge closer to the youth, shyly trying to make friends with him. His voice was as gentle as a girl’s, and his eyes were pleading. The youth was surprised to see that the soldier had two wounds. A blood-soaked rag was wrapped around the wound in his head. The other wound was in his arm, making it dangle like a broken branch.

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 lamblike eyes. “What?”

After they had walked together for a while, the tattered man found the courage to speak. “That was a pretty good fight, wasn’t it?” he said timidly. Deep in thought, the youth glanced up at the bloody, grim figure with its gentle eyes. “What?”

“Was pretty good fight, wa’n’t it?”

“That was a pretty good fight, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said the youth shortly. He quickened his pace.

“Yes,” the young man said curtly. He walked faster.

But the other hobbled industriously after him. There was an air of apology in his manner, but he evidently thought that he needed only to talk for a time, and the youth would perceive that he was a good fellow.

But the other man hobbled steadily after him. He seemed apologetic, but he apparently thought he only needed to talk for a while. Then the youth would see 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.”

“That was a pretty good fight, wasn’t it?” he began in a quiet voice. Then he found the courage to continue. “Darn me if I ever saw men fight like that. Good Lord, how they fought! I knew the boys would fight like that once they got a fair chance. The boys haven’t had a fair chance until now, but this time they showed what they were made of. I knew it would turn out this way. You can’t beat those boys. No, sir! They’re fighters, they are.”

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.

He took a deep breath, filled with humble admiration. He had looked at the youth several times for encouragement. He received none, but gradually he seemed to become absorbed in his subject.

“I was talkin’ ’cross pickets with a boy from Georgie, onct, an’ that boy, he ses, ‘Your fellers ’ll 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 ’ll 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.”

“Once, I was talking across the picket lines with a boy from Georgia. He said, ‘Your fellows will all run like hell once they hear a gun.’ I said, ‘Maybe they will, but I don’t believe it.’ And I said back to him, ‘By God, maybe your fellows will all run like hell once they hear a gun.’ He laughed. Well, they didn’t run today, did they? No, sir! They fought and fought and fought.”

His homely face was suffused with a light of love for the army which was to him all things beautiful and powerful.

His plain face glowed with love for the army. To him, the army was everything beautiful and powerful.

After a time he turned to the youth. “Where yeh hit, ol’ boy?” he asked in a brotherly tone.

After a while, he turned to the young man. “Where were you hit, old boy?” he asked in a brotherly tone.

The youth felt instant panic at this question, although at first its full import was not borne in upon him.

The young man panicked at the question, although he did not fully understand its significance at first.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” he asked.

“Where yeh hit?” repeated the tattered man.

“Where were you hit?” the tattered man repeated.

“Why,” began the youth, “I—I—that is—why—I—”

“Why,” the young man began, “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.

He suddenly turned away and slipped through the crowd. His forehead was deeply flushed, and his fingers nervously picked at a button. He lowered his head and studied the button closely, as if it were a little problem.

The tattered man looked after him in astonishment.

The ragged man watched him go in amazement.