CHAPTER XIII.
The youth went slowly toward the fire indicated by his departed friend.As he reeled, he bethought him of the welcome his comrades would givehim. He had a conviction that he would soon feel in his sore heart thebarbed missiles of ridicule. He had no strength to invent a tale; hewould be a soft target.
He made vague plans to go off into the deeper darkness and hide, butthey were all destroyed by the voices of exhaustion and pain from hisbody. His ailments, clamoring, forced him to seek the place of foodand rest, at whatever cost.
He swung unsteadily toward the fire. He could see the forms of menthrowing black shadows in the red light, and as he went nearer itbecame known to him in some way that the ground was strewn withsleeping men.
Of a sudden he confronted a black and monstrous figure. A rifle barrelcaught some glinting beams. "Halt! halt!" He was dismayed for amoment, 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 soldiercame 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." Therewas husky emotion in his voice.
The youth found that now he could barely stand upon his feet. Therewas a sudden sinking of his forces. He thought he must hasten toproduce his tale to protect him from the missiles already at the lipsof his redoubtable comrades. So, staggering before the loud soldier, hebegan: "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 awfultime. I got separated from th' reg'ment. Over on th' right, I gotshot. In th' head. I never see sech fightin'. Awful time. I don'tsee 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'tyeh say so first? Poor ol' boy, we must--hol' on a minnit; what am Idoin'. I'll call Simpson."
Another figure at that moment loomed in the gloom. They could see thatit was the corporal. "Who yeh talkin' to, Wilson?" he demanded. Hisvoice was anger-toned. "Who yeh talkin' to? Yeh th' derndestsentinel--why--hello, Henry, you here? Why, I thought you was deadfour hours ago! Great Jerusalem, they keep turnin' up every tenminutes 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 backby mornin' yit. Where was yeh?"
"Over on th' right. I got separated"--began the youth withconsiderable 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 restedhis rifle in the hollow of his left arm and his right around theyouth's shoulder.
"Gee, it must hurt like thunder!" he said.
The youth leaned heavily upon his friend. "Yes, it hurts--hurts a gooddeal," he replied. There was a faltering in his voice.
"Oh," said the corporal. He linked his arm in the youth's and drew himforward. "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 mycanteen. It's full 'a coffee. Look at his head by th' fire an' seehow it looks. Maybe it's a pretty bad un. When I git relieved in acouple 'a minnits, I'll be over an' see t' him."
The youth's senses were so deadened that his friend's voice soundedfrom afar and he could scarcely feel the pressure of the corporal'sarm. He submitted passively to the latter's directing strength. Hishead was in the old manner hanging forward upon his breast. His kneeswobbled.
The corporal led him into the glare of the fire. "Now, Henry," hesaid, "let's have look at yer ol' head."
The youth sat down obediently and the corporal, laying aside his rifle,began to fumble in the bushy hair of his comrade. He was obliged toturn the other's head so that the full flush of the fire light wouldbeam upon it. He puckered his mouth with a critical air. He drew backhis lips and whistled through his teeth when his fingers came incontact 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 aball. It's raised a queer lump jest as if some feller had lammed yehon th' head with a club. It stopped a-bleedin' long time ago. Th' mostabout it is that in th' mornin' yeh'll feel that a number ten hatwouldn't fit yeh. An' your head'll be all het up an' feel as dry asburnt 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 remained on the ground like aparcel. He stared with a vacant look into the fire.
After a time he aroused, for some part, and the things about him beganto take form. He saw that the ground in the deep shadows was clutteredwith men, sprawling in every conceivable posture. Glancing narrowlyinto the more distant darkness, he caught occasional glimpses ofvisages that loomed pallid and ghostly, lit with a phosphorescent glow.These faces expressed in their lines the deep stupor of the tiredsoldiers. They made them appear like men drunk with wine. This bit offorest might have appeared to an ethereal wanderer as a scene of theresult 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 somethingperilous in his position. Badgered by dreams, perhaps, he swayed withlittle bounces and starts, like an old toddy-stricken grandfather in achimney corner. Dust and stains were upon his face. His lower jawhung down as if lacking strength to assume its normal position. He wasthe picture of an exhausted soldier after a feast of war.
He had evidently gone to sleep with his sword in his arms. These twohad slumbered in an embrace, but the weapon had been allowed in time tofall unheeded to the ground. The brass-mounted hilt lay in contactwith some parts of the fire.
Within the gleam of rose and orange light from the burning sticks wereother soldiers, snoring and heaving, or lying deathlike in slumber. Afew pairs of legs were stuck forth, rigid and straight. The shoesdisplayed the mud or dust of marches and bits of rounded trousers,protruding from the blankets, showed rents and tears from hurriedpitchings through the dense brambles.
The fire crackled musically. From it swelled light smoke. Overheadthe foliage moved softly. The leaves, with their faces turned towardthe 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 ahandful of stars lying, like glittering pebbles, on the black level ofthe night.
Occasionally, in this low-arched hall, a soldier would arouse and turnhis body to a new position, the experience of his sleep having taughthim of uneven and objectionable places upon the ground under him. Or,perhaps, he would lift himself to a sitting posture, blink at the firefor an unintelligent moment, throw a swift glance at his prostratecompanion, and then cuddle down again with a grunt of sleepy content.
The youth sat in a forlorn heap until his friend the loud young soldiercame, swinging two canteens by their light strings. "Well, now, Henry,ol' boy," said the latter, "we'll have yeh fixed up in jest about aminnit."
He had the bustling ways of an amateur nurse. He fussed around thefire and stirred the sticks to brilliant exertions. He made hispatient drink largely from the canteen that contained the coffee. Itwas to the youth a delicious draught. He tilted his head afar back andheld the canteen long to his lips. The cool mixture went caressinglydown his blistered throat. Having finished, he sighed with comfortabledelight.
The loud young soldier watched his comrade with an air of satisfaction.He later produced an extensive handkerchief from his p
ocket. He foldedit into a manner of bandage and soused water from the other canteenupon the middle of it. This crude arrangement he bound over theyouth'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 grateful eyes. Upon his achingand swelling head the cold cloth was like a tender woman's hand.
"Yeh don't holler ner say nothin'," remarked his friend approvingly. "Iknow I'm a blacksmith at takin' keer 'a sick folks, an' yeh neversqueaked. 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 hisjacket.
"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 amongthe sleeping forms lying in groups and rows. Presently he stooped andpicked up his blankets. He spread the rubber one upon the ground andplaced 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 obedience, got carefully downlike a crone stooping. He stretched out with a murmur of relief andcomfort. 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 bemakin' a damn' fool 'a yerself," he said severely.
After the reproof the youth said no more. An exquisite drowsiness hadspread through him. The warm comfort of the blanket enveloped him andmade a gentle languor. His head fell forward on his crooked arm andhis weighted lids went softly down over his eyes. Hearing a splatterof musketry from the distance, he wondered indifferently if those mensometimes slept. He gave a long sigh, snuggled down into his blanket,and in a moment was like his comrades.