The Red Badge of Courage HTML version
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 of ridicule. He had no strength to
invent 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 dismayed 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 produce his tale to protect him from
the missiles already on 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 the
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?"