There was a dull, weight like feeling in his stom-ach, and, when he tried to walk, his head swayed and he tottered.He could not see with distinct-ness.Small patches of green mist floated before his vision.
While he had been tossed by many emotions, he had not been aware of ailments.Now they beset him and made clamor.As he was at last compelled to pay attention to them, his capacity for self-hate was multiplied.In despair, he declared that he was not like those others.He now conceded it to be impossible that he should ever become a hero.He was a craven loon.
Those pictures of glory were piteous things.He groaned from his heart and went staggering off.
A certain mothlike quality within him kept him in the vicinity of the battle.He had a great desire to see, and to get news.He wished to know who was winning.
He told himself that, despite his unprecedented suffering, he had never lost his greed for a victory, yet, he said, in a half-apologetic manner to his conscience, he could not but know that a defeat for the army this time might mean many favor-able things for him.The blows of the enemy would splinter regiments into fragments.Thus, many men of courage, he considered, would be obliged to desert the colors and scurry like chickens.He would appear as one of them.
They would be sullen brothers in distress, and he could then easily believe he had not run any farther or faster than they.And if he himself could believe in his virtuous perfection, he con-ceived that there would be small trouble in con-vincing all others.
He said, as if in excuse for this hope, that previously the army had encountered great defeats and in a few months had shaken off all blood and tradition of them, emerging as bright and valiant as a new one; thrusting out of sight the memory of disaster, and appearing with the valor and confidence of unconquered legions.
The shrilling voices of the people at home would pipe dismally for a time, but various generals were usually compelled to listen to these ditties.
He of course felt no compunctions for proposing a general as a sacrifice.He could not tell who the chosen for the barbs might be, so he could center no direct sympathy upon him.The people were afar and he did not conceive public opinion to be accurate at long range.It was quite probable they would hit the wrong man who, after he had recovered from his amazement would perhaps spend the rest of his days in writ-ing replies to the songs of his alleged failure.It would be very unfortunate, no doubt, but in this case a general was of no consequence to the youth.
In a defeat there would be a roundabout vindication of himself.He thought it would prove, in a manner, that he had fled early because of his superior powers of perception.A serious prophet upon predicting a flood should be the first man to climb a tree.This would demon-strate that he was indeed a seer.
A moral vindication was regarded by the youth as a very important thing.Without salve, he could not, he thought, wear the sore badge of his dishonor through life.With his heart con-tinually assuring him that he was despicable, he could not exist without making it, through his actions, apparent to all men.
If the army had gone gloriously on he would be lost.If the din meant that now his army's flags were tilted forward he was a condemned wretch.He would be compelled to doom himself to isolation.If the men were advancing, their indifferent feet were trampling upon his chances for a successful life.
As these thoughts went rapidly through his mind, he turned upon them and tried to thrust them away.He denounced himself as a villain.
He said that he was the most unutterably selfish man in existence.His mind pictured the soldiers who would place their defiant bodies before the spear of the yelling battle fiend, and as he saw their dripping corpses on an imagined field, he said that he was their murderer.
Again he thought that he wished he was dead.
He believed that he envied a corpse.Thinking of the slain, he achieved a great contempt for some of them, as if they were guilty for thus becoming lifeless.They might have been killed by lucky chances, he said, before they had had opportunities to flee or before they had been really tested.Yet they would receive laurels from tradition.He cried out bitterly that their crowns were stolen and their robes of glori-ous memories were shams.However, he still said that it was a great pity he was not as they.
A defeat of the army had suggested itself to him as a means of escape from the consequences of his fall.He considered, now, however, that it was useless to think of such a possibility.His education had been that success for that mighty blue machine was certain; that it would make victories as a contrivance turns out buttons.He presently discarded all his speculations in the other direction.He returned to the creed of soldiers.
When he perceived again that it was not possible for the army to be defeated, he tried to bethink him of a fine tale which he could take back to his regiment, and with it turn the expected shafts of derision.
But, as he mortally feared these shafts, it became impossible for him to invent a tale he felt he could trust.He experimented with many schemes, but threw them aside one by one as flimsy.He was quick to see vulnerable places in them all.
Furthermore, he was much afraid that some arrow of scorn might lay him mentally low before he could raise his protecting tale.
He imagined the whole regiment saying:
"Where's Henry Fleming? He run, didn't 'e?
Oh, my!" He recalled various persons who would be quite sure to leave him no peace about it.They would doubtless question him with sneers, and laugh at his stammering hesi-tation.In the next engagement they would try to keep watch of him to discover when he would run.
Wherever he went in camp, he would en-
counter insolent and lingeringly cruel stares.As he imagined himself passing near a crowd of comrades, he could hear some one say, "There he goes!"Then, as if the heads were moved by one muscle, all the faces were turned toward him with wide, derisive grins.He seemed to hear some one make a humorous remark in a low tone.
At it the others all crowed and cackled.He was a slang phrase.
