The Red Badge of Courage | Page 5

drink and swear. Keep clear of them folks, Henry. I don't want
yeh to ever do anything, Henry, that yeh would be 'shamed to let me
know about. Jest think as if I was a-watchin' yeh. If yeh keep that in yer
mind allus, I guess yeh'll come out about right.
"Yeh must allus remember yer father, too, child, an' remember he never
drunk a drop of licker in his life, and seldom swore a cross oath.
"I don't 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 of do a mean thing, why, Henry, don't think of

anything 'cept what's right, because there's many a woman has to bear
up 'ginst sech things these times, and the Lord 'll take keer of us all.
"Don't forgit about the socks and the shirts, child; and I've put a cup of
blackberry jam with yer bundle, because I know yeh like it above all
things. Good-by, Henry. Watch out, and be a good boy."
He had, of course, been impatient under the ordeal of this speech. It had
not been quite what he expected, and he had borne it with an air of
irritation. He departed feeling vague relief.
Still, when he had looked back from the gate, he had seen his mother
kneeling among the potato parings. Her brown face, upraised, was
stained with tears, and her spare form was quivering. He bowed his
head and went on, feeling suddenly ashamed of his purposes.
From his home he had gone to the seminary to bid adieu to many
schoolmates. They had thronged about him with wonder and
admiration. He had felt the gulf now between them and had swelled
with calm pride. He and some of his fellows who had donned blue were
quite overwhelmed with privileges for all of one afternoon, and it had
been a very delicious thing. They had strutted.
A certain light-haired girl had made vivacious fun at his martial spirit,
but there was another and darker girl whom he had gazed at steadfastly,
and he thought she grew demure and sad at sight of his blue and brass.
As he had walked down the path between the rows of oaks, he had
turned his head and detected her at a window watching his departure.
As he perceived her, she had immediately begun to stare up through the
high tree branches at the sky. He had seen a good deal of flurry and
haste in her movement as she changed her attitude. He often thought of
it.
On the way to Washington his spirit had soared. The regiment was fed
and caressed at station after station until the youth had believed that he
must be a hero. There was a lavish expenditure of bread and cold meats,
coffee, and pickles and cheese. As he basked in the smiles of the girls
and was patted and complimented by the old men, he had felt growing

within him the strength to do mighty deeds of arms.
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come
months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real
war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep
and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had
done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greeklike
struggles would be no more. 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 grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue
demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his
personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and
speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals.
Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled
and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank.
They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot
reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward,
they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns
had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one
night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly
ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a
great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him
personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This
sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily
regret