CHAPTER FOURTEEN When the youth awoke it seemed to him that he had been asleep for a thousand years, and he felt sure that he opened his eyes upon an unexpected world. Gray mists were slowly shifting before the first efforts of the sunrays. An impending splendor could be seen in the eastern sky. An icy dew had chilled his face, and immediately upon arousing he curled farther down into his blankets. He stared for a while at the leaves overhead, moving in a heraldic wind of the day. The distance was splintering and blaring with the noise of fighting. There was in the sound an expression of a deadly persistency, as if it had not begun and was not to cease. About him were the rows and groups of men that he had dimly seen the previous night. They were getting a last draught of sleep before the awakening. The gaunt, careworn features and dusty figures were made plain by this quaint light at the dawning, but it dressed the skin of the men in corpse-like hues and made the tangled limbs appear pulseless and dead. The youth started up with a little cry when his eyes first swept over this motionless mass of men, thick-spread upon the ground, pallid, and in strange postures. His disordered mind interpreted the hall of the forest as a charnel place. He believed for an instant that he was in the house of the dead, and he did not dare to move lest these corpses start up, squalling and squawking. In a second, however, he achieved his proper mind. He swore a complicated oath at himself. He saw that this somber picture was not a fact of the present, but a mere prophecy. He heard then the noise of a fire crackling briskly in the cold air, and, turning his head, he saw his friend pottering busily about a small blaze. A few other figures moved in the fog, and he heard the hard cracking of axe blows. Suddenly there was a hollow rumble of drums. A distant bugle sang faintly. Similar sounds, varying in strength, came from near and far over the forest. The bugles called to each other like brazen gamecocks. The near thunder of the regimental drums rolled. The body of men in the woods rustled. There was a general uplifting of heads. A murmuring of voices broke upon the air. In it there was much bass of grumbling oaths. Strange gods were addressed in condemnation of the early hours necessary to correct war. An officer's peremptory tenor rang out and quickened the stiffened movement of the men. The tangled limbs unraveled. The corpse-hued faces were hidden behind fists that twisted slowly in the eye sockets. The youth sat up and gave vent to an enormous yawn. "Thunder!" he remarked petulantly. He rubbed his eyes, and then putting up his hand felt carefully of the bandage over his wound. His friend, perceiving him to be awake, came from the fire. "Well, Henry, old man, how do you feel this morning?" he demanded. The youth yawned again. Then he puckered his mouth to a little pucker. His head, in truth, felt precisely like a melon, and there was an unpleasant sensation at his stomach. "Oh, Lord, I feel pretty bad," he said. "Thunder!" exclaimed the other. "I hoped you'd feel all right this morning. Let's see the bandage---guess it's slipped." He began to tinker at the wound in rather a clumsy way until the youth exploded. "Gosh-darn it!" he said in sharp irritation; "you're the hangdest man I ever saw! You wear muffs on your hands. Why in good thunderation can't you be more easy? I'd rather you'd stand off and throw guns at it. Now, go slow, and don't act as if you was nailing down carpet." He glared with insolent command at his friend, but the latter answered soothingly. "Well, well, come now, and get some grub," he said. "Then, maybe, you'll feel better." At the fireside the loud young soldier watched over his comrade's wants with tenderness and care. He was very busy marshaling the little black vagabonds of tin cups and pouring into them the steaming, iron colored mixture from a small and sooty tin pail. He had some fresh meat, which he roasted hurriedly upon a stick. He sat down then and contemplated the youth's appetite with glee. The youth took note of a remarkable change in his comrade since those days of camp life upon the river bank. He seemed no more to be continually regarding the proportions of his personal prowess. He was not furious at small words that pricked his conceits. He was no more a loud young soldier. There was about him now a fine reliance. He showed a quiet belief in his purposes and his abilities. And this inward confidence evidently enabled him to be indifferent to little words of other men aimed at him. The youth reflected. He had been used to regarding his comrade as a blatant child with an audacity grown from his inexperience, thoughtless, headstrong, jealous, and filled with a tinsel courage. A swaggering babe accustomed to strut in his own dooryard. The youth wondered where had been born these new eyes; when his comrade had made the great discovery that there were many men who would refuse to be subjected by him. Apparently, the other had now climbed a peak of wisdom from which he could perceive himself as a very wee thing. And the youth saw that ever after it would be easier to live in his friend's neighborhood. His comrade balanced his ebony coffee cup on his knee. "Well, Henry," he said, "what do you think the chances are? Do you think we'll wallop them?" The youth considered for a moment. "Day before yesterday," he finally replied, with boldness, "you would have bet you'd lick the whole kit-and-boodle all by yourself." His friend looked a trifle amazed. "Would l?" he asked. He pondered. "Well, perhaps I would," he decided at last. He stared humbly at the fire. The youth was quite disconcerted at this surprising reception of his remarks. "Oh, no, you wouldn't either," he said, hastily trying to retrace. But the other made a deprecating gesture. "Oh, you needn't mind, Henry," he said. "I believe I was a pretty big fool in those days." He spoke as after a lapse of years. There was a little pause. "All the officers say we've got the rebs in a pretty tight box," said the friend, clearing his throat in a commonplace way. "They all seem to think we've got them just where we want them." "I don't know about that," the youth replied. "What I seen over on the right makes me think it was the other way about. From where I was, it looked as if we was getting a good pounding yesterday." "Do you think so?" inquired the friend. "I thought we handled them pretty rough yesterday. " "Not a bit," said the youth. "Why, lord, man, you didn't see nothing of the fight. Why!" Then a sudden thought came to him. "Oh! Jim Conklin's dead." His friend started. "What? Is he? Jim Conklin?" The youth spoke slowly. "Yes. He's dead. Shot in the side." "You don't say so. Jim Conklin . . . poor cuss!" All about them were other small fires surrounded by men with their little black utensils. From one of these near came sudden sharp voices in a row. It appeared that two light-footed soldiers had been teasing a huge, bearded man, causing him to spill coffee upon his blue knees. The man had gone into a rage and had sworn comprehensively. Stung by his language, his tormentors had immediately bristled at him with a great show of resenting unjust oaths. Possibly there was going to be a fight. The friend arose and went over to them, making pacific motions with his arms. "Oh, here, now, boys, what's the use?" he said. "We'll be at the rebs in less than an hour. What's the good fighting among ourselves?" One of the light-footed soldiers turned upon him red-faced and violent. "'You needn't come around here with your preaching. I suppose you don't approve of fighting since Charley Morgan licked you; but I don't see what business this here is of yours or anybody else." "Well, it ain't," said the friend mildly. "Still I hate to see---" That was a tangled argument. "Well, he---" said the two, indicating their opponent with accusative forefingers. The huge soldier was quite purple with rage. He pointed at the two soldiers with his great hand, extended claw-like. "Well, they-- " But during this argumentative time the desire to deal blows seemed to pass, although they said much to each other. Finally the friend returned to his old seat. In a short while the three antagonists could be seen together in an amiable bunch. "Jimmie Rogers says I'll have to fight him after the battle today," announced the friend as he again seated himself. "He says he don't allow no interfering' in his business. I hate to see the boys fighting among themselves." The youth laughed. "You changed a good bit. You ain't at all like you was. I remember when you and that Irish fellow---" He stopped and laughed again. "No, I didn't use to be that way," said his friend thoughtfully. "That's true enough." "Well, I didn't mean---" began the youth. The friend made another deprecatory gesture. "Oh, you needn't mind, Henry. " There was another little pause. "The regiment lost over half the men yesterday," remarked the friend eventually. "I thought of course they was all dead, but, laws, they kept a-coming back last night until it seems, after all, we didn't lose but a few. They'd been scattered all over, wandering around in the woods, fighting with other regiments, and everything. Just like you done." "So?" said the youth.