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passed through each curling mass the youth wondered what
would confront him on the farther side.
The command went painfully forward until an open
space interposed between them and the lurid lines. Here,
crouching and cowering behind some trees, the men clung
with desperation, as if threatened by a wave. They looked
wild-eyed, and as if amazed at this furious disturbance they
had stirred. In the storm there was an ironical expression of
their importance. The faces of the men, too, showed a lack of
a certain feeling of responsibility for being there. It was as if
they had been driven. It was the dominant animal failing to
remember in the supreme moments the forceful causes of
various superficial qualities. The whole affair seemed
incomprehensible to many of them.
As they halted thus the lieutenant again began to bellow
profanely. Regardless of the vindictive threats of the bullets,
he went about coaxing, berating, and bedamning. His lips,
that were habitually in a soft and childlike curve, were now
writhed into unholy contortions. He swore by all possible
deities.
Once he grabbed the youth by the arm. "Come on, yeh
lunkhead!" he roared. "Come one! We'll all git killed if we
stay here. We've on'y got t' go across that lot. An' then"--the
remainder of his idea disappeared in a blue haze of curses.
The youth stretched forth his arm. "Cross there?" His
mouth was puckered in doubt and awe.
"Certainly. Jest 'cross th' lot! We can't stay here,"
screamed the lieutenant. He poked his face close to the
youth and waved his bandaged hand. "Come on!" Presently
he grappled with him as if for a wrestling bout. It was as if
he planned to drag the youth by the ear on to the assault.
The private felt a sudden unspeakable indignation
against his officer. He wrenched fiercely and shook him off.
"Come on yerself, then," he yelled. There was a bitter
challenge in his voice.
They galloped together down the regimental front. The
friend scrambled after them. In front of the colors the three
men began to bawl: "Come on! come on!" They danced and
gyrated like tortured savages.
The flag, obedient to these appeals, bended its glittering
form and swept toward them. The men wavered in indecision
for a moment, and then with a long, wailful cry the
dilapidated regiment surged forward and began its new
journey.
Over the field went the scurrying mass. It was a handful
of men splattered into the faces of the enemy. Toward it
instantly sprang the yellow tongues. A vast quantity of blue
smoke hung before them. A mighty banging made ears
valueless.
The youth ran like a madman to reach the woods before
a bullet could discover him. He ducked his head low, like a
football player. In his haste his eyes almost closed, and the
scene was a wild blur. Pulsating saliva stood at the corners
of his mouth.
Within him, as he hurled himself forward, was born a
love, a despairing fondness for this flag which was near him.
It was a creation of beauty and invulnerability. It was a
goddess, radiant, that bended its form with an imperious
gesture to him. It was a woman, red and white, hating and
loving, that called him with the voice of his hopes. Because
no harm could come to it he endowed it with power. He kept
near, as if it could be a saver of lives, and an imploring cry
went from his mind.
In the mad scramble he was aware that the color
sergeant flinched suddenly, as if struck by a bludgeon. He
faltered, and then became motionless, save for his quivering
knees. He made a spring and a clutch at the pole. At the
same instant his friend grabbed it from the other side. They
jerked at it, stout and furious, but the color sergeant was
dead, and the corpse would not relinquish its trust. For a
moment there was a grim encounter. The dead man,
swinging with bended back, seemed to be obstinately
tugging, in ludicrous and awful ways, for the possession of
the flag.
It was past in an instant of time. They wrenched the flag
furiously from the dead man, and, as they turned again, the
corpse swayed forward with bowed head. One arm swung
high, and the curved hand fell with heavy protest on the
friend's unheeding shoulder.
Ebd
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Chapter 20
When the two youths turned with the flag they saw that
much of the regiment had crumbled away, and the dejected
remnant was coming slowly back. The men, having hurled
themselves in projectile fashion, had presently expended
their forces. They slowly retreated, with their faces still
toward the spluttering woods, and their hot rifles still
replying to the din. Several officers were giving orders, their
voices keyed to screams.
"Where in hell yeh goin'?" the lieutenant was asking in a
sarcastic howl. And a red-bearded officer, whose voice of
triple brass could plainly be heard, was commanding: "Shoot
into 'em! Shoot into 'em, Gawd damn their souls!" There was
a melee of screeches, in which the men were ordered to do
conflicting and impossible things.
The youth and his friend had a small scuffle over the
flag. "Give it t' me!" "No, let me keep it!" Each felt satisfied
with the other's possession of it, but each felt bound to
declare, by an offer to carry the emblem, his willingness to
further risk himself. The youth roughly pushed his friend
away.
The regiment fell back to the stolid trees. There it halted
for a moment to blaze at some dark forms that had begun to
steal upon its track. Presently it resumed its march again,
curving among the tree trunks. By the time the depleted
regiment had again reached the first open space they were
receiving a fast and merciless fire. There seemed to be mobs
all about them.
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