THE youth went slowly toward
the fire in- dicated 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 in- vent a tale; he would
be a soft 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 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.
Of a sudden
he confronted a black and monstrous
figure. A
rifle barrel caught some glinting
beams. "Halt! halt!" He was dis-
129 mayed 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?"
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?"
"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.
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 pro- duce his tale
to protect him from the missiles
already at 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 th' 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." 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."
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?"
"Over on th' right. I got separated"--began
the youth with considerable glibness.
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.
"Gee, it must hurt like thunder!" 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.
"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."
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."
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 hang- ing forward
upon his breast. 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 youth sat down obediently
and the cor- poral, 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.
"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 feel 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."
The corporal went away. The
youth re- mained on the ground
like a parcel. He stared with
a vacant look 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 con- ceivable 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.
On the other side of the fire
the youth observed an officer
asleep, seated bolt upright,
with his back against a tree.
There was some- thing 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.
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.
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.
The fire crackled 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.
Occasionally, in this low-arched
hall, a soldier would arouse
and turn his body to a new posi-
tion, 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.
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."
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 caress- ingly
down his blistered throat. Having
finished, he sighed with comfortable
delight.
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.
"There," he said, moving off
and surveying his deed, "yeh
look like th' devil, but I bet
yeh feel better."
The youth contemplated his
friend with grate- ful eyes.
Upon his aching and swelling
head the cold cloth was like
a tender woman's hand.
"Yeh don't holler ner say nothin'," remarked
his friend approvingly. "I know
I'm a black- smith 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."
The youth made no reply, but
began to fumble with the buttons
of 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."
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.
"There now," he said, "lie
down an' git some sleep."
The youth, with his manner
of doglike obe- dience, got carefully
down like a crone stoop- ing.
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?"
His friend
waved his hand impatiently. "Right
down there by yeh."
"Well, but hol' on a minnit," continued
the youth. "What yeh goin' t'
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.
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 languor.
His head fell for- ward 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 com- rades.
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