Chapter 17

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 adventures. For to-day he felt that he had earned opportunities for contemplative repose. He could have enjoyed portraying to uninitiated listeners various scenes at which he had been a witness or ably discussing 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.

The enemy’s advance seemed to the young man like a ruthless hunt. He began to seethe with rage and frustration. He stamped his foot and glared with hatred at the swirling smoke. It was approaching like a ghostly flood. The enemy seemed determined to give him no rest and no time to sit and think. The thought drove him mad. Yesterday he had fought and quickly fled. He had been through many adventures. Today he felt he had earned some time to rest and reflect. He could have enjoyed describing scenes he had witnessed to listeners who knew nothing of war. He could also have enjoyed discussing the ways of war with other men who had proved themselves. He also needed time to recover physically. He was sore and stiff from everything he had been through. He had had enough of all that exertion, and he wanted 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 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.

But the other men never seemed to grow tired. They were fighting as fast as ever. He felt a wild hatred for the relentless enemy. Yesterday, when he had imagined that the universe was against him, he had hated it, its little gods and big gods alike. Today, he hated the enemy army with the same great hatred. He told himself he would not be hounded to death like a kitten chased by boys. It was dangerous to drive men into a final corner. At such moments, they could all grow 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.”

He leaned over and spoke into his friend’s ear. He made a threatening gesture toward the woods. “If they keep chasing us, by God, they’d better watch out. I can’t take 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 friend turned his head and replied calmly. “If they keep chasing us, they’ll drive us all into the river.”

The youth cried out savagely at this statement. He crouched behind a little tree, with his eyes burning 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 gulpings at his throat.

The young man cried out savagely at the statement. He crouched behind a small tree, his eyes burning with hate and his teeth bared in a doglike snarl. The awkward bandage was still wrapped around his head. A spot of dried blood marked the bandage over his wound. His hair was terribly tousled, and a few loose strands moved over the bandage toward his forehead. His jacket and shirt were open at the throat, exposing his young, bronzed neck. His throat jerked as he swallowed.

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 specter, 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 given his life for a revenge of seeing their faces in pitiful plights.

His fingers twisted nervously around his rifle. He wished it were a weapon powerful enough to destroy everything. He felt that his tormentors mocked him and his companions because they truly believed the soldiers were weak and insignificant. He knew he could not take revenge. This turned his rage into a dark, stormy ghost that took possession of him and filled his mind with dreams of terrible cruelty. His tormentors were flies, boldly sucking his blood. He thought he would have given his life for the revenge of seeing their faces in moments of pitiful distress.

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 down. It was furiously slit and slashed by the knifelike fire from the rifles.

The winds of battle had swept all around the regiment. Then a rifle flashed in front of them, instantly followed by others. A moment later, the regiment roared back with a sudden, brave response. A dense wall of smoke settled over the scene. Rifle fire furiously cut and slashed through the smoke like knives.

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 crimson 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.

To the young soldier, the fighters looked like animals thrown into a dark pit to fight to the death. He felt that he and his comrades were cornered, always pushing back against fierce attacks by slippery creatures. Their crimson beams seemed unable to strike the bodies of their enemies. The enemies seemed to dodge them easily, moving through, between, around, and about with skill that no one could stop.

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.

As if in a dream, the young man realized his rifle was a useless stick. He lost all sense of everything except his hatred and his desire to smash his enemies’ gleaming smiles of victory into pulp. He could feel those smiles on their faces.

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 blue line, swallowed by smoke, twisted and writhed like a snake that had been stepped on. Its ends swung back and forth 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 he 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 if he had fallen because he had been shot. But the suspicion flew away at once. He did not think more of it.

The young man was not aware that he was standing. He could not tell which way the ground lay. Once, he even lost his balance and fell hard. He got up again immediately. One thought passed through the chaos in his mind. He wondered if he had fallen because he had been shot. But the suspicion vanished at once. He thought no more about 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 directions and locations, save that he knew where lay the enemy.

He first took a position behind the little tree, determined to hold it against the world. He did not believe his army could win that day. This made him feel able to fight harder. But the crowd surged in every direction until he lost his bearings. He knew only where the enemy was.

The flames bit him, and the hot smoke broiled his skin. His rifle barrel grew so hot that ordinarily he could not have borne it upon his palms; but he kept on stuffing cartridges into it, and pounding them with his clanking, bending ramrod. If he aimed at some changing form through the smoke, he pulled the trigger with a fierce grunt, as if he were dealing a blow of the fist with all his strength.

The flames bit him, and the hot smoke scorched his skin. His rifle barrel grew so hot that he normally could not have held it in his hands. But he kept stuffing cartridges into the rifle and pounding them with his clanking, bending ramrod. If he aimed at a shifting shape through the smoke, he pulled the trigger with a fierce grunt. It was as if he were punching 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 compelled to retire again, he did it slowly, sullenly, taking steps of wrathful despair.

When the enemy seemed to be falling back before him and his comrades, he immediately moved forward. He was like a dog that turns when its enemies fall behind and insists they keep chasing it. And when he was forced to retreat again, he moved slowly and sullenly, each step full of angry 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.

Once, absorbed in hatred, he kept firing almost alone after everyone near him had stopped. He was so focused on firing that he did not notice the lull.

He was recalled by a hoarse laugh and a sentence that came to his ears in a voice of contempt and amazement. “Yeh infernal fool, don’t yeh know enough t’ quit when there ain’t anything t’ shoot at? Good Gawd!”

A hoarse laugh brought him back to his senses. Then he heard a voice filled with contempt and amazement. “You damn fool, don’t you know enough to quit when there’s nothing to shoot at? Good God!”

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 astonishment at him. They had become spectators. Turning to the front again he saw, under the lifted smoke, a deserted ground.

He turned and paused, his rifle half raised, and looked at the blue line of his comrades. In that brief pause, they all seemed to be staring at him in astonishment. They had become spectators. He turned to face front again and saw empty ground beneath the lifted smoke.

He looked bewildered for a moment. Then there appeared upon the glazed vacancy of his eyes a diamond point of intelligence. “Oh,” he said, comprehending.

He looked confused for a moment. Then a bright spark of understanding appeared in his blank, glazed eyes. “Oh,” he said, understanding.

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.

He returned to his comrades and threw himself on the ground. He sprawled there like a man who had been beaten. His skin felt strangely as if it were on fire, and he could still hear the sounds of battle. He reached 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.

The lieutenant was boasting. He seemed drunk on fighting. He called out to the young man: “By heavens, if I had ten thousand wildcats like you, I could tear the stomach out of this war in less than a week!” He puffed out his chest with great dignity as he spoke.

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 proper intermission, they had found time to regard him. And they now looked upon him as a war devil.

Some of the men muttered and looked at the youth in awe. Clearly, they had found time to watch him as he kept loading, firing, and cursing without a proper pause. Now they saw him as a war devil.

The friend came staggering to him. There was 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?”

The friend staggered over to him. His voice held some fear and dismay. “Are you all right, Fleming? Do you feel all right? There’s nothing wrong with you, Henry, is there?”

“No,” said the youth with difficulty. His throat seemed full of knobs and burrs.

“No,” the young man said with difficulty. His throat felt full of lumps and prickles.

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.

These events made the young man think. He realized he had been a barbarian, a beast. He had fought like a pagan defending his religion. Looking back, he saw that the fighting was splendid, wild, and, in some ways, easy. He had been an impressive figure, no doubt. In the struggle, he had overcome obstacles he had believed were mountains. They had fallen like paper peaks, and now he was what he called a hero. Yet he had not been aware of how it happened. He had slept and woken to find 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 perspiration, and their breaths came hard and wheezing. And from these soiled expanses they peered at him.

He lay there, enjoying the occasional stares from his comrades. Their faces were blackened to varying degrees by burned gunpowder. Some were completely smudged. They smelled of sweat and breathed hard and wheezed. They peered at him from their dirty faces.

“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.

“Hot work! Hot work!” the lieutenant cried deliriously. He paced up and down, restless and eager. Sometimes he could be heard laughing wildly and incoherently.

When he had a particularly profound thought upon the science of war he always unconsciously addressed himself to the youth.

Whenever he had a particularly deep thought about the science of war, he always shared it with the young man without realizing it.

There was some grim rejoicing by the men. “By thunder, I bet this army’ll never see another new reg’ment like us!”

Some of the men celebrated grimly. “By thunder, I bet this army will never see another new regiment like us!”

“You bet!”

“You bet!”

That’s like us.”

That’s like us.”

“Lost a piler men, they did. If an ol’ woman swep’ up th’ woods she’d git a dustpanful.”

“They lost a pile of men. If an old woman swept the woods, she’d fill a dustpan with them.”

“Yes, an’ if she’ll come around ag’in in ’bout an hour she’ll get a pile more.”

“Yes, and if she comes around again in about an hour, she’ll get a lot more.”

The forest still bore its burden of clamor. 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 smoldering ruins, went up toward the sun now bright and gay in the blue, enameled sky.

The forest was still filled with noise. The rolling clatter of musket fire came from beneath the trees. Each distant thicket looked like a strange porcupine with quills of flame. A cloud of dark smoke rose toward the sun, as if from smoldering ruins. The sun was bright and cheerful in the glossy blue sky.