The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) đ
- Author: Stephen Crane
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Presently, men were running hither and thither in all ways. The artillery booming, forward, rearward, and on the flanks made jumble of ideas of direction. Landmarks had vanished into the gathered gloom. The youth began to imagine that he had got into the center of the tremendous quarrel, and he could perceive no way out of it. From the mouths of the fleeing men came a thousand wild questions, but no one made answers.
The youth, after rushing about and throwing interrogations at the heedless bands of retreating infantry, finally clutched a man by the arm. They swung around face to face.
âWhyâwhyââ stammered the youth struggling with his balking tongue.
The man screamed: âLet go me! Let go me!â His face was livid and his eyes were rolling uncontrolled. He was heaving and panting. He still grasped his rifle, perhaps having forgotten to release his hold upon it. He tugged frantically, and the youth being compelled to lean forward was dragged several paces.
âLet go me! Let go me!â
âWhyâwhyââ stuttered the youth.
âWell, then!â bawled the man in a lurid rage. He adroitly and fiercely swung his rifle. It crushed upon the youthâs head. The man ran on.
The youthâs fingers had turned to paste upon the otherâs arm. The energy was smitten from his muscles. He saw the flaming wings of lightning flash before his vision. There was a deafening rumble of thunder within his head.
Suddenly his legs seemed to die. He sank writhing to the ground. He tried to arise. In his efforts against the numbing pain he was like a man wrestling with a creature of the air.
There was a sinister struggle.
Sometimes he would achieve a position half erect, battle with the air for a moment, and then fall again, grabbing at the grass. His face was of a clammy pallor. Deep groans were wrenched from him.
At last, with a twisting movement, he got upon his hands and knees, and from thence, like a babe trying to walk, to his feet. Pressing his hands to his temples he went lurching over the grass.
He fought an intense battle with his body. His dulled senses wished him to swoon and he opposed them stubbornly, his mind portraying unknown dangers and mutilations if he should fall upon the field. He went tall soldier fashion. He imagined secluded spots where he could fall and be unmolested. To search for one he strove against the tide of pain.
Once he put his hand to the top of his head and timidly touched the wound. The scratching pain of the contact made him draw a long breath through his clinched teeth. His fingers were dabbled with blood. He regarded them with a fixed stare.
Around him he could hear the grumble of jolted cannon as the scurrying horses were lashed toward the front. Once, a young officer on a besplashed charger nearly ran him down. He turned and watched the mass of guns, men, and horses sweeping in a wide curve toward a gap in a fence. The officer was making excited motions with a gauntleted hand. The guns followed the teams with an air of unwillingness, of being dragged by the heels.
Some officers of the scattered infantry were cursing and railing like fishwives. Their scolding voices could be heard above the din. Into the unspeakable jumble in the roadway rode a squadron of cavalry. The faded yellow of their facings shone bravely. There was a mighty altercation.
The artillery were assembling as if for a conference.
The blue haze of evening was upon the field. The lines of forest were long purple shadows. One cloud lay along the western sky partly smothering the red.
As the youth left the scene behind him, he heard the guns suddenly roar out. He imagined them shaking in black rage. They belched and howled like brass devils guarding a gate. The soft air was filled with the tremendous remonstrance. With it came the shattering peal of opposing infantry. Turning to look behind him, he could see sheets of orange light illumine the shadowy distance. There were subtle and sudden lightnings in the far air. At times he thought he could see heaving masses of men.
He hurried on in the dusk. The day had faded until he could barely distinguish place for his feet. The purple darkness was filled with men who lectured and jabbered. Sometimes he could see them gesticulating against the blue and somber sky. There seemed to be a great ruck of men and munitions spread about in the forest and in the fields.
The little narrow roadway now lay lifeless. There were overturned wagons like sun-dried bowlders. The bed of the former torrent was choked with the bodies of horses and splintered parts of war machines.
It had come to pass that his wound pained him but little. He was afraid to move rapidly, however, for a dread of disturbing it. He held his head very still and took many precautions against stumbling. He was filled with anxiety, and his face was pinched and drawn in anticipation of the pain of any sudden mistake of his feet in the gloom.
His thoughts, as he walked, fixed intently upon his hurt. There was a cool, liquid feeling about it and he imagined blood moving slowly down under his hair. His head seemed swollen to a size that made him think his neck to be inadequate.
The new silence of his wound made much worriment. The little blistering voices of pain that had called out from his scalp were, he thought, definite in their expression of danger. By them he believed he could measure his plight. But when they remained ominously silent he became frightened and imagined terrible fingers that clutched into his brain.
Amid it he began to reflect upon various incidents and conditions of the past. He bethought him of certain meals his mother had cooked at home, in which those dishes of which he was particularly fond had occupied prominent positions. He saw the spread table. The pine walls of the kitchen were glowing in the warm light from the stove. Too, he remembered how he and his companions used to go from the school-house to the bank of a shaded pool. He saw his clothes in disorderly array upon the grass of the bank. He felt the swash of the fragrant water upon his body. The leaves of the overhanging maple rustled with melody in the wind of youthful summer.
He was overcome presently by a dragging weariness. His head hung forward and his shoulders were stooped as if he were bearing a great bundle. His feet shuffled along the ground.
He held continuous arguments as to whether he should lie down and sleep at some near spot, or force himself on until he reached a certain haven. He often tried to dismiss the question, but his body persisted in rebellion and his senses nagged at him like pampered babies.
At last he heard a cheery voice near his shoulder: âYeh seem tâ be in a pretty bad way, boy?â
The youth did not look up, but he assented with thick tongue. âUh!â
The owner of the cheery voice took him firmly by the arm. âWell,â he said, with a round laugh, âIâm goinâ your way. âThâ hull gang is goinâ your way. Anâ I guess I kin give yeh a lift.â They began to walk like a drunken man and his friend.
As they went along, the man questioned the youth and assisted him with the replies like one manipulating the mind of a child. Sometimes he interjected anecdotes. âWhat regâment do yeh bâlong teh? Eh? What âs that? Thâ 304th Nâ York? Why, what corps is that in? Oh, it is? Why, I thought they wasnât engaged tâ-day - they âre âway over in thâ center. Oh, they was, eh? Well pretty nearly everybody got their share âa fightinâ tâ-day. By dad, I give myself up fer dead any number âa times. There was shootinâ here anâ shootinâ there, anâ hollerinâ here anâ hollerinâ there, in thâ damnâ darkness, until I couldnât tell tâ save mâ soul which side I was on. Sometimes I thought I was sure ânough from Ohier, anâ other times I could âa swore I was from thâ bitter end of Florida. It was thâ most mixed up dern thing I ever see. Anâ these here hull woods is a regâlar mess. It âll be a miracle if we find our regâments tâ-night. Pretty soon, though, we âll meet a-plenty of guards anâ provost-guards, anâ one thing anâ another. Ho! there they go with an offâcer, I guess. Look at his hand a-dragginâ. He âs got all thâ war he wants, I bet. He wonât be talkinâ so big about his reputation anâ all when they go tâ sawinâ off his leg. Poor feller! My brother âs got whiskers jest like that. How did yeh git âway over here, anyhow? Your regâment is a long way from here, ainât it? Well, I guess we can find it. Yeh know there was a boy killed in my compâny tâ-day that I thought thâ world anâ all of. Jack was a nice feller. By ginger, it hurt like thunder tâ see olâ Jack jest git knocked flat. We was a-standinâ purty peaceable fer a spell, âthough there was men runninâ evâry way all âround us, anâ while we was a-standinâ like that, âlong come a big fat feller. He began tâ peck at Jackâs elbow, anâ he ses: âSay, where âs thâ road tâ thâ river?â Anâ Jack, he never paid no attention, anâ thâ feller kept on a-peckinâ at his elbow anâ sayinâ: âSay, where âs thâ road tâ thâ river?â Jack was a-lookinâ ahead all thâ time tryinâ tâ see thâ Johnnies cominâ through thâ woods, anâ he never paid no attention tâ this big fat feller fer a long time, but at last he turned âround anâ he ses: âAh, go tâ hell anâ find thâ road tâ thâ river!â Anâ jest then a shot slapped him bang on thâ side thâ head. He was a sergeant, too. Them was his last words. Thunder, I wish we was sure âa findinâ our regâments tâ-night. It âs goinâ tâ be long huntinâ. But I guess we kin do it.â
In the search which followed, the man of the cheery voice seemed to the youth to possess a wand of a magic kind. He threaded the mazes of the tangled forest with a strange fortune. In encounters with guards and patrols he displayed the keenness of a detective and the valor of a gamin. Obstacles fell before him and became of assistance. The youth, with his chin still on his breast, stood woodenly by while his companion beat ways and means out of sullen things.
The forest seemed a vast hive of men buzzing about in frantic circles, but the cheery man conducted the youth without mistakes, until at last he began to chuckle with glee and self-satisfaction. âAh, there yeh are! See that fire?â
The youth nodded stupidly.
âWell, there âs where your regâment is. Anâ now, good-by, olâ boy, good luck tâ yeh.â
A warm and strong hand clasped the youthâs languid fingers for an instant, and then he heard a cheerful and audacious whistling as the man strode away. As he who had so befriended him was thus passing out of his life, it suddenly occurred to the youth that he had not once seen his face.
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
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