Chapter 13

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.

The youth moved slowly toward the fire his friend had pointed out before leaving. As he staggered, he thought about how his comrades would welcome him. He was sure their barbed ridicule would soon pierce his aching heart. He had no strength to make up a story. He would be an easy 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, clamoring, forced him to seek the place of food and rest, at whatever cost.

He made vague plans to go deeper into the darkness and hide. But his body cried out with exhaustion and pain, destroying all those plans. His suffering forced him to seek food and rest, whatever the 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.

He staggered toward the fire. He could see the shapes of men casting black shadows in the red light. As he drew closer, he somehow realized that sleeping men lay scattered across the ground.

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 recognized the nervous voice. As he stood tottering before the rifle barrel, he called out: “Why, hello, Wilson, you—you here?”

Suddenly, he came face to face with a huge, dark figure. A rifle barrel caught a few glints of light. “Halt! Halt!” For a moment, he was frightened. But soon he thought he recognized the nervous voice. Swaying in front of the rifle barrel, he called out: “Why, hello, Wilson, you, you here?”

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?”

The rifle was lowered cautiously, and the loud soldier slowly came forward. He looked closely at the young man’s face. “Is that you, Henry?”

“Yes, it’s—it’s me.”

“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 yeh was dead sure enough.” There was husky emotion in his voice.

“Well, well, old boy,” said the other, “I’m so glad to see you! I’d given you up for dead. I was sure you were dead.” His voice was husky with emotion.

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 on 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.”

The young man found that he could barely stand. His strength suddenly gave way. He thought he had to tell his story quickly to protect himself from the insults his formidable comrades were ready to hurl at him. 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 the right. Terrible fighting over there. I had an awful time. I got separated from the regiment. Over on the right, I got shot. In the head. I never saw such fighting. Awful time. I don’t see how I could have gotten separated from the regiment. 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—hol’ on a minnit; what am I doin’. I’ll call Simpson.”

His friend quickly stepped forward. “What? You got shot? Why didn’t you say so first? Poor old boy, we must... Hold on a minute. What am I doing? 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 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?”

Another figure appeared in the darkness. They could see that it was the corporal. “Who are you talking to, Wilson?” he demanded angrily. “Who are you talking to? You’re the darnedest sentry. Why, hello, Henry, you’re here? I thought you were dead four hours ago! Great Jerusalem, they keep turning up every ten minutes or so! We counted forty-two men lost, but if they keep coming back like this, we’ll have the whole company back by morning yet. Where were you?”

“Over on th’ right. I got separated”—began the youth with considerable glibness.

“Over on the right. I got separated,” the young man began, speaking quite smoothly.

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.

But his friend quickly interrupted. “Yes, and he got shot in the head, and he’s in bad shape. We must take care of him right away.” He rested his rifle in the crook of his left arm and put his right arm around the youth’s shoulder.

“Gee, it must hurt like thunder!” he said.

“Wow, that must hurt like crazy!” 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.

The young man leaned heavily on his friend. “Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot,” he replied. His voice faltered.

“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.”

“Oh,” said the corporal. He linked his arm with the young man’s and drew him forward. “Come on, Henry. I’ll take care of you.”

As they went on together the loud private called out after them: “Put ’im t’ sleep in my blanket, Simpson. An’—hol’ 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.”

As they went on together, the loud private called after them: “Put him to sleep in my blanket, Simpson. And hold on a minute. Here’s my canteen. It’s full of coffee. Look at his head by the fire and see how it looks. Maybe it’s a pretty bad wound. When I’m relieved in a couple of minutes, I’ll come over and see to 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 hanging forward upon his breast. His knees wobbled.

The youth’s senses were so dulled that his friend’s voice sounded far away. He could hardly feel the corporal’s arm pressing against him. He let the corporal guide him without resistance. As before, his head hung forward against his chest. His knees wobbled.

The corporal led him into the glare of the fire. “Now, Henry,” he said, “let’s have look at yer ol’ head.”

The corporal led him into the bright light of the fire. “Now, Henry,” he said, “let’s have a look at your head.”

The youth sat 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.

The young man sat obediently as the corporal laid aside his rifle and began feeling through his comrade’s thick hair. He had to turn the young man’s head so the full light of the fire would shine on it. He pursed his lips as he examined it. When his fingers touched the splattered blood and the raw wound, he pulled back his lips and whistled through his teeth.

“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 fell that a number ten hat wouldn’t fit yeh. An’ your head’ll 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, an’ 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.”

“Ah, here we are!” he said. He examined the wound further, fumbling as he did so. “Just as I thought,” he added after a moment. “A bullet grazed you. It raised a strange lump, just as if some fellow had hit you on the head with a club. It stopped bleeding a long time ago. The main thing is, by morning you’ll feel like a size ten hat wouldn’t fit you. Your head will be hot and feel as dry as burnt pork. And you may have a lot of other ailments by morning, too. You never can tell. Still, I don’t really think so. It’s just a damn good blow to the head, nothing more. Now, just sit here and don’t move while I go find the relief. Then I’ll send Wilson to take care of you.”

The corporal went away. The youth remained on the ground like a parcel. He stared with a vacant look into the fire.

The corporal left. The young man stayed on the ground like a package. He stared blankly 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. 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 a scene of the result of some frightful debauch.

After a while, he partly woke, and the things around him began to take shape. He saw men scattered across the deeply shadowed ground, sprawled in every imaginable position. Peering into the darkness farther away, he caught glimpses of faces looming pale and ghostly in a phosphorescent glow. Their features showed the deep stupor of exhausted soldiers. They looked like men drunk on wine. To a spirit wandering through, this patch of forest might have looked like the aftermath of some terrible drunken revel.

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.

On the other side of the fire, the youth saw an officer sleeping, sitting bolt upright against a tree. His position looked precarious. Perhaps troubled by dreams, he swayed, bouncing and jerking slightly, like an old grandfather drunk on toddy by the fireplace. His face was dusty and stained. His lower jaw hung down, as if he lacked the strength to hold it in place. He was the picture of a soldier exhausted 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.

He had apparently fallen asleep holding his sword. He and the sword had slept in an embrace, but eventually the sword had fallen unnoticed to the ground. Its brass-mounted hilt lay against part of the fire.

Within the gleam of rose and orange light from the burning sticks were other soldiers, snoring and heaving, or lying deathlike 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.

In the pink and orange glow of the burning sticks, other soldiers snored and breathed heavily or slept like the dead. A few pairs of legs stuck out, rigid and straight. Their shoes were covered in mud or dust from marching. Rounded bits of trousers poked out from under the blankets. The trousers were ripped and torn from hurried plunges through thick brambles.

The fire cackled musically. From it swelled light smoke. Overhead the foliage moved softly. The leaves, with their faces turned toward the blaze, were colored 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.

The fire crackled musically. Light smoke rose from it. Overhead, the leaves moved gently. Facing the fire, they shimmered in shades of silver, often edged with red. Far off to the right, a handful of stars could be seen through an opening in the forest. They lay like glittering pebbles on the flat black surface 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 companion, and then cuddle down again with a grunt of sleepy content.

Occasionally, a soldier in the low-arched hall would wake and shift his body. As he slept, he had felt the uneven, uncomfortable spots on the ground beneath him. Or perhaps he would sit up and blink blankly at the fire for a moment. He would glance quickly at his companion lying nearby, then settle down again with a grunt of sleepy contentment.

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.”

The young man sat in a miserable heap until his friend, the loud young soldier, came along. His friend swung two canteens by their thin strings. “Well, Henry, old boy,” he said, “we’ll have you fixed up in about a minute.”

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.

He bustled about like an inexperienced nurse. He fussed over the fire, stirring the sticks until they burned brightly. He made his patient drink plenty of coffee from the canteen. To the youth, the coffee tasted delicious. He tipped his head far back and held the canteen to his lips for a long time. The cool liquid flowed gently down his blistered throat. When he finished, he sighed with relief and pleasure.

The loud young soldier watched his comrade with an air of satisfaction. He later produced an extensive 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.

The loud young soldier watched his comrade with satisfaction. Later, he pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket. He folded it into a bandage and poured water from the other canteen onto the middle. He tied the crude bandage over the youth’s head, knotting the ends oddly at the back of his neck.

“There,” he said, moving off and surveying his deed, “yeh look like th’ devil, but I bet yeh feel better.”

“There,” he said, stepping back and looking at his work, “you look like the devil, but I bet you 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.

The young man looked at his friend with gratitude. The cold cloth on his aching, swollen head felt like a woman’s gentle 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.”

“You don’t shout or complain,” his friend remarked approvingly. “I know I’m as clumsy as a blacksmith when I take care of sick people, and you never made a peep. You’re a good one, Henry. Most men would have been in the hospital long ago. A shot in the head is no small matter.”

The youth made no reply, but began to fumble with the buttons of his jacket.

The young man said nothing but began to fumble with the buttons on 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.”

“Well, come on now,” his friend continued. “Come on. I need to put you to bed and make sure you get 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 woolen one about the youth’s shoulders.

The other soldier carefully stood up. The loud young soldier led him among the sleeping men, who lay in groups and rows. Soon he bent down and picked up his blankets. He spread the rubber blanket on the ground and put the woolen one around the youth’s shoulders.

“There now,” he said, “lie down an’ git some sleep.”

“There now,” he said, “lie down and get some sleep.”

The youth, with his manner of doglike obedience, got carefully down like a crone stooping. He stretched out with a murmur of relief and comfort. The ground felt like the softest couch.

The young man, obedient like a dog, carefully lowered himself like a stooping old woman. He stretched out with a murmur of relief and comfort. The ground felt like the softest couch.

But of a sudden he ejaculated: “Hol’ on a minnit! Where you goin’ t’ sleep?”

But suddenly he exclaimed, “Hold on a minute! Where are you going to sleep?”

His friend waved his hand impatiently. “Right down there by yeh.”

His friend waved his hand impatiently. “Right down there by you.”

“Well, but hol’ on a minnit,” continued the youth. “What yeh goin’ t’ sleep in? I’ve got your—”

“Well, but hold on a minute,” the youth continued. “What are you going to 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.

The loud young soldier snarled: “Shut up and go to sleep. Don’t make a damn fool of yourself,” he said sternly.

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 langour. 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.

After the scolding, the young man said nothing more. A blissful drowsiness spread through him. The warm blanket wrapped around him, making him feel pleasantly languid. His head fell forward onto his bent arm, and his heavy eyelids closed softly. He heard a burst of musket fire in the distance and wondered idly if those men ever slept. He gave a long sigh and snuggled into his blanket. A moment later, he was asleep like his comrades.