Chapter VII.

The youth cringed as if discovered in a crime. By heavens, they had won

after all! The imbecile line had remained and become victors. He could

hear cheering.

He lifted himself upon his toes and looked in the direction of the

fight. A yellow fog lay wallowing on the treetops. From beneath it came

the clatter of musketry. Hoarse cries told of an advance.

He turned away amazed and angry. He felt that he had been wronged.

He had fled, he told himself, because annihilation approached. He had

done a good part in saving himself, who was a little piece of the army.

He had considered the time, he said, to be one in which it was the duty

of every little piece to rescue itself if possible. Later the officers

could fit the little pieces together again, and make a battle front. If

none of the little pieces were wise enough to save themselves from the

flurry of death at such a time, why, then, where would be the army? It

was all plain that he had proceeded according to very correct and

commendable rules. His actions had been sagacious things. They had been

full of strategy. They were the work of a master’s legs.

Thoughts of his comrades came to him. The brittle blue line had

withstood the blows and won. He grew bitter over it. It seemed that the

blind ignorance and stupidity of those little pieces had betrayed him.

He had been overturned and crushed by their lack of sense in holding

the position, when intelligent deliberation would have convinced them

that it was impossible. He, the enlightened man who looks afar in the

dark, had fled because of his superior perceptions and knowledge. He

felt a great anger against his comrades. He knew it could be proved

that they had been fools.

He wondered what they would remark when later he appeared in camp. His

mind heard howls of derision. Their density would not enable them to

understand his sharper point of view.

He began to pity himself acutely. He was ill used. He was trodden

beneath the feet of an iron injustice. He had proceeded with wisdom and

from the most righteous motives under heaven’s blue only to be

frustrated by hateful circumstances.

A dull, animal-like rebellion against his fellows, war in the abstract,

and fate grew within him. He shambled along with bowed head, his brain

in a tumult of agony and despair. When he looked loweringly up,

quivering at each sound, his eyes had the expression of those of a

criminal who thinks his guilt little and his punishment great, and

knows that he can find no words.

He went from the fields into a thick woods, as if resolved to bury

himself. He wished to get out of hearing of the crackling shots which

were to him like voices.

The ground was cluttered with vines and bushes, and the trees grew

close and spread out like bouquets. He was obliged to force his way

with much noise. The creepers, catching against his legs, cried out

harshly as their sprays were torn from the barks of trees. The swishing

saplings tried to make known his presence to the world. He could not

conciliate the forest. As he made his way, it was always calling out

protestations. When he separated embraces of trees and vines the

disturbed foliages waved their arms and turned their face leaves toward

him. He dreaded lest these noisy motions and cries should bring men to

look at him. So he went far, seeking dark and intricate places.

After a time the sound of musketry grew faint and the cannon boomed in

the distance. The sun, suddenly apparent, blazed among the trees. The

insects were making rhythmical noises. They seemed to be grinding their

teeth in unison. A woodpecker stuck his impudent head around the side

of a tree. A bird flew on lighthearted wing.

Off was the rumble of death. It seemed now that Nature had no ears.

This landscape gave him assurance. A fair field holding life. It was

the religion of peace. It would die if its timid eyes were compelled to

see blood. He conceived Nature to be a woman with a deep aversion to

tragedy.

He threw a pine cone at a jovial squirrel, and he ran with chattering

fear. High in a treetop he stopped, and, poking his head cautiously

from behind a branch, looked down with an air of trepidation.

The youth felt triumphant at this exhibition. There was the law, he

said. Nature had given him a sign. The squirrel, immediately upon

recognizing danger, had taken to his legs without ado. He did not stand

stolidly baring his furry belly to the missile, and die with an upward

glance at the sympathetic heavens. On the contrary, he had fled as fast

as his legs could carry him; and he was but an ordinary squirrel,

too—doubtless no philosopher of his race. The youth wended, feeling

that Nature was of his mind. She re-enforced his argument with proofs

that lived where the sun shone.

Once he found himself almost into a swamp. He was obliged to walk upon

bog tufts and watch his feet to keep from the oily mire. Pausing at one

time to look about him he saw, out at some black water, a small animal

pounce in and emerge directly with a gleaming fish.

The youth went again into the deep thickets. The brushed branches made

a noise that drowned the sounds of cannon. He walked on, going from

obscurity into promises of a greater obscurity.

At length he reached a place where the high, arching boughs made a

chapel. He softly pushed the green doors aside and entered. Pine

needles were a gentle brown carpet. There was a religious half light.

Near the threshold he stopped, horror-stricken at the sight of a thing.

He was being looked at by a dead man who was seated with his back

against a columnlike tree. The corpse was dressed in a uniform that had

once been blue, but was now faded to a melancholy shade of green. The

eyes, staring at the youth, had changed to the dull hue to be seen on

the side of a dead fish. The mouth was open. Its red had changed to an

appalling yellow. Over the gray skin of the face ran little ants. One

was trundling some sort of bundle along the upper lip.

The youth gave a shriek as he confronted the thing. He was for moments

turned to stone before it. He remained staring into the liquid-looking

eyes. The dead man and the living man exchanged a long look. Then the

youth cautiously put one hand behind him and brought it against a tree.

Leaning upon this he retreated, step by step, with his face still

toward the thing. He feared that if he turned his back the body might

spring up and stealthily pursue him.

The branches, pushing against him, threatened to throw him over upon

it. His unguided feet, too, caught aggravatingly in brambles; and with

it all he received a subtle suggestion to touch the corpse. As he

thought of his hand upon it he shuddered profoundly.

At last he burst the bonds which had fastened him to the spot and fled,

unheeding the underbrush. He was pursued by the sight of black ants

swarming greedily upon the gray face and venturing horribly near to the

eyes.

After a time he paused, and, breathless and panting, listened. He

imagined some strange voice would come from the dead throat and squawk

after him in horrible menaces.

The trees about the portal of the chapel moved soughingly in a soft

wind. A sad silence was upon the little guarding edifice.