The Red Badge of Courage Stephen Crane (books to read to improve english txt) š
- Author: Stephen Crane
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He had, of course, dreamed of battles all his lifeā āof vague and bloody conflicts that had thrilled him with their sweep and fire. In visions he had seen himself in many struggles. He had imagined peoples secure in the shadow of his eagle-eyed prowess. But awake he had regarded battles as crimson blotches on the pages of the past. He had put them as things of the bygone with his thought-images of heavy crowns and high castles. There was a portion of the worldās history which he had regarded as the time of wars, but it, he thought, had been long gone over the horizon and had disappeared forever.
From his home his youthful eyes had looked upon the war in his own country with distrust. It must be some sort of a play affair. He had long despaired of witnessing a Greeklike struggle. Such would be no more, he had said. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had burned several times to enlist. Tales of great movements shook the land. They might not be distinctly Homeric, but there seemed to be much glory in them. He had read of marches, sieges, conflicts, and he had longed to see it all. His busy mind had drawn for him large pictures extravagant in color, lurid with breathless deeds.
But his mother had discouraged him. She had affected to look with some contempt upon the quality of his war ardor and patriotism. She could calmly seat herself and with no apparent difficulty give him many hundreds of reasons why he was of vastly more importance on the farm than on the field of battle. She had had certain ways of expression that told him that her statements on the subject came from a deep conviction. Moreover, on her side, was his belief that her ethical motive in the argument was impregnable.
At last, however, he had made firm rebellion against this yellow light thrown upon the color of his ambitions. The newspapers, the gossip of the village, his own picturings, had aroused him to an uncheckable degree. They were in truth fighting finely down there. Almost every day the newspaper printed accounts of a decisive victory.
One night, as he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him the clangoring of the church bell as some enthusiast jerked the rope frantically to tell the twisted news of a great battle. This voice of the people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged ecstasy of excitement. Later, he had gone down to his motherās room and had spoken thus: āMa, Iām going to enlist.ā
āHenry, donāt you be a fool,ā his mother had replied. She had then covered her face with the quilt. There was an end to the matter for that night.
Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a town that was near his motherās farm and had enlisted in a company that was forming there. When he had returned home his mother was milking the brindle cow. Four others stood waiting. āMa, Iāve enlisted,ā he had said to her diffidently. There was a short silence. āThe Lordās will be done, Henry,ā she had finally replied, and had then continued to milk the brindle cow.
When he had stood in the doorway with his soldierās clothes on his back, and with the light of excitement and expectancy in his eyes almost defeating the glow of regret for the home bonds, he had seen two tears leaving their trails on his motherās scarred cheeks.
Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing whatever about returning with his shield or on it. He had privately primed himself for a beautiful scene. He had prepared certain sentences which he thought could be used with touching effect. But her words destroyed his plans. She had doggedly peeled potatoes and addressed him as follows: āYou watch out, Henry, anā take good care of yerself in this here fighting businessā āyou watch, anā take good care of yerself. Donāt go a-thinkinā you can lick the hull rebel army at the start, because yeh canāt. Yer jest one little feller amongst a hull lot of others, and yehāve got to keep quiet anā do what they tell yeh. I know how you are, Henry.
āIāve knet yeh eight pair of socks, Henry, and Iāve put in all yer best shirts, because I want my boy to be jest as warm and comfāable as anybody in the army. Whenever they get holes in āem, I want yeh to send āem right-away back to me, soās I kin dern āem.
āAnā allus be careful anā choose yer compāny. Thereās lots of bad men in the army, Henry. The army makes āem wild, and they like nothing better than the job of leading off a young feller like you, as aināt never been away from home much and has allus had a mother, anā a-learning āem to drink and swear. Keep clear of them folks, Henry. I donāt want yeh to ever do anything, Henry, that yeh would be āshamed to let me know about. Jest think as if I was a-watchinā yeh. If yeh keep that in yer mind allus, I guess yehāll come out about right.
āYeh must allus remember yer father, too, child, anā remember he never drunk a drop of licker in his life, and seldom swore a cross oath.
āI donāt know what else to tell yeh, Henry, excepting that yeh must never do no shirking, child, on my account. If so be a time comes when yeh have to be kilt or do a mean thing, why, Henry, donāt
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