CHAPTER XVII.
This advance of the enemy had seemed to the youth like a ruthlesshunting. He began to fume with rage and exasperation. He beat hisfoot upon the ground, and scowled with hate at the swirling smoke thatwas approaching like a phantom flood. There was a maddening quality inthis seeming resolution of the foe to give him no rest, to give him notime to sit down and think. Yesterday he had fought and had fledrapidly. There had been many adventures. For to-day he felt that hehad earned opportunities for contemplative repose. He could haveenjoyed portraying to uninitiated listeners various scenes at which hehad been a witness or ably discussing the processes of war with otherproved men. Too it was important that he should have time for physicalrecuperation. He was sore and stiff from his experiences. He hadreceived his fill of all exertions, and he wished to rest.
But those other men seemed never to grow weary; they were fighting withtheir old speed.
He had a wild hate for the relentless foe. Yesterday, when he hadimagined the universe to be against him, he had hated it, little godsand big gods; to-day he hated the army of the foe with the same greathatred. He was not going to be badgered of his life, like a kittenchased by boys, he said. It was not well to drive men into finalcorners; at those moments they could all develop teeth and claws.
He leaned and spoke into his friend's ear. He menaced the woods with agesture. "If they keep on chasing us, by Gawd, they'd better watchout. Can't stand TOO much."
The friend twisted his head and made a calm reply. "If they keep ona-chasin' us they'll drive us all inteh th' river."
The youth cried out savagely at this statement. He crouched behind alittle tree, with his eyes burning hatefully and his teeth set in acurlike snarl. The awkward bandage was still about his head, and uponit, over his wound, there was a spot of dry blood. His hair waswondrously tousled, and some straggling, moving locks hung over thecloth of the bandage down toward his forehead. His jacket and shirtwere open at the throat, and exposed his young bronzed neck. Therecould be seen spasmodic gulpings at his throat.
His fingers twined nervously about his rifle. He wished that it was anengine of annihilating power. He felt that he and his companions werebeing taunted and derided from sincere convictions that they were poorand puny. His knowledge of his inability to take vengeance for it madehis rage into a dark and stormy specter, that possessed him and madehim dream of abominable cruelties. The tormentors were flies suckinginsolently at his blood, and he thought that he would have given hislife for a revenge of seeing their faces in pitiful plights.
The winds of battle had swept all about the regiment, until the onerifle, instantly followed by others, flashed in its front. A momentlater the regiment roared forth its sudden and valiant retort. A densewall of smoke settled slowly down. It was furiously slit and slashed bythe knifelike fire from the rifles.
To the youth the fighters resembled animals tossed for a death struggleinto a dark pit. There was a sensation that he and his fellows, atbay, were pushing back, always pushing fierce onslaughts of creatureswho were slippery. Their beams of crimson seemed to get no purchaseupon the bodies of their foes; the latter seemed to evade them withease, and come through, between, around, and about with unopposed skill.
When, in a dream, it occurred to the youth that his rifle was animpotent stick, he lost sense of everything but his hate, his desire tosmash into pulp the glittering smile of victory which he could feelupon the faces of his enemies.
The blue smoke-swallowed line curled and writhed like a snake steppedupon. It swung its ends to and fro in an agony of fear and rage.
The youth was not conscious that he was erect upon his feet. He didnot know the direction of the ground. Indeed, once he even lost thehabit of balance and fell heavily. He was up again immediately. Onethought went through the chaos of his brain at the time. He wonderedif he had fallen because he had been shot. But the suspicion flew awayat once. He did not think more of it.
He had taken up a first position behind the little tree, with a directdetermination to hold it against the world. He had not deemed itpossible that his army could that day succeed, and from this he feltthe ability to fight harder. But the throng had surged in all ways,until he lost directions and locations, save that he knew where lay theenemy.
The flames bit him, and the hot smoke broiled his skin. His riflebarrel grew so hot that ordinarily he could not have borne it upon hispalms; but he kept on stuffing cartridges into it, and pounding themwith his clanking, bending ramrod. If he aimed at some changing formthrough the smoke, he pulled his trigger with a fierce grunt, as if hewere dealing a blow of the fist with all his strength.
When the enemy seemed falling back before him and his fellows, he wentinstantly forward, like a dog who, seeing his foes lagging, turns andinsists upon being pursued. And when he was compelled to retire again,he did it slowly, sullenly, taking steps of wrathful despair.
Once he, in his intent hate, was almost alone, and was firing, when allthose near him had ceased. He was so engrossed in his occupation thathe was not aware of a lull.
He was recalled by a hoarse laugh and a sentence that came to his earsin a voice of contempt and amazement. "Yeh infernal fool, don't yehknow enough t' quit when there ain't anything t' shoot at? Good Gawd!"
He turned then and, pausing with his rifle thrown half into position,looked at the blue line of his comrades. During this moment of leisurethey seemed all to be engaged in staring with astonishment at him. Theyhad become spectators. Turning to the front again he saw, under thelifted smoke, a deserted ground.
He looked bewildered for a moment. Then there appeared upon the glazedvacancy of his eyes a diamond point of intelligence. "Oh," he said,comprehending.
He returned to his comrades and threw himself upon the ground. Hesprawled like a man who had been thrashed. His flesh seemed strangelyon fire, and the sounds of the battle continued in his ears. He gropedblindly for his canteen.
The lieutenant was crowing. He seemed drunk with fighting. He calledout to the youth: "By heavens, if I had ten thousand wild cats like youI could tear th' stomach outa this war in less'n a week!" He puffedout his chest with large dignity as he said it.
Some of the men muttered and looked at the youth in awe-struck ways. Itwas plain that as he had gone on loading and firing and cursing withoutthe proper intermission, they had found time to regard him. And theynow looked upon him as a war devil.
The friend came staggering to him. There was some fright and dismay inhis voice. "Are yeh all right, Fleming? Do yeh feel all right? Thereain't nothin' th' matter with yeh, Henry, is there?"
"No," said the youth with difficulty. His throat seemed full of knobsand burs.
These incidents made the youth ponder. It was revealed to him that hehad been a barbarian, a beast. He had fought like a pagan who defendshis religion. Regarding it, he saw that it was fine, wild, and, insome ways, easy. He had been a tremendous figure, no doubt. By thisstruggle he had overcome obstacles which he had admitted to bemountains. They had fallen like paper peaks, and he was now what hecalled a hero. And he had not been aware of the process. He had sleptand, awakening, found himself a knight.
He lay and basked in the occasional stares of his comrades. Theirfaces were varied in degrees of blackness from the burned powder. Somewere utterly smudged. They were reeking with perspiration, and theirbreaths came hard and wheezing. And from these soiled expanses theypeered at him.
"Hot work! Hot work!" cried the lieutenant deliriously. He walked upand down, restless and eager. Sometimes his voice could be heard in awild, incomprehensible laugh.
When he had a particularly profound thought upon the science of war healways unconsciously addressed himself to the youth.
There was some grim rejoicing by the men.
"By thunder, I bet this army'll never see another new reg'ment like us!"
"You bet!"
"A dog, a woman, an' a walnut tree, Th' more yeh beat 'em,
th' better they be!
That's like us."
"Lost a piler men, they did. If an' ol' woman swep' up th' woods she'dgit a dustpanful."
"Yes, an' if she'll come around ag'in in 'bout an' hour she'll git apile more."
The forest still bore its burden of clamor. From off under the treescame the rolling clatter of the musketry. Each distant thicket seemeda strange porcupine with quills of flame. A cloud of dark smoke, asfrom smoldering ruins, went up toward the sun now bright and gay in theblue, enameled sky.