The Complete Short Stories and Sketches of Stephen Crane by Stephen Crane

The Complete Short Stories and Sketches of Stephen Crane by Stephen Crane

Author:Stephen Crane [Crane, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-81658-0
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2012-12-11T16:00:00+00:00


VI

Peza, as he ran along the crest of the mountain, believed that his action was receiving the wrathful attention of the hosts of the foe. To him, then, it was incredible foolhardiness thus to call to himself the stares of thousands of hateful eyes. He was like a lad induced by playmates to commit some indiscretion in a cathedral. He was abashed; perhaps he even blushed as he ran. It seemed to him that the whole solemn ceremony of war had paused during this commission. So he scrambled wildly over the rocks in his haste to end the embarrassing ordeal. When he came among the crowning rifle pits, filled with eager soldiers, he wanted to yell with joy. None noticed him, save a young officer of infantry, who said: “Sir, what do you want?” It was obvious that people had devoted some attention to their own affairs.

Peza asserted, in Greek, that he wished above everything to battle for the fatherland. The officer nodded. With a smile he pointed to some dead men, covered with blankets, from which were thrust upturned dusty shoes.

“Yes; I know, I know,” cried Peza. He thought the officer was poetically alluding to the danger.

“No,” said the officer, at once. “I mean cartridges—a bandoleer. Take a bandoleer from one of them.”

Peza went cautiously toward a body. He moved a hand toward a corner of a blanket. There he hesitated, stuck, as if his arm had turned to plaster. Hearing a rustle behind him, he spun quickly. Three soldiers of the close rank in the trench were regarding him. The officer came again, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Have you any tobacco?” Peza looked at him in bewilderment. His hand was still extended toward the blanket which covered the dead soldier.

“Yes,” he said; “I have some tobacco.” He gave the officer his pouch. As if in compensation, the other directed a soldier to strip the bandoleer from the corpse. Peza, having crossed the long cartridge belt on his breast, felt that the dead man had flung his two arms around him.

A soldier, with a polite nod and smile, gave Peza a rifle—a relic of another dead man. Thus he felt, besides the clutch of a corpse about his neck, that the rifle was as unhumanly horrible as a snake that lives in a tomb. He heard at his ear something that was in effect like the voices of those two dead men, their low voices speaking to him of bloody death, mutilation. The bandoleer gripped him tighter; he wished to raise his hands to his throat, like a man who is choking. The rifle was clumsy; upon his palms he felt the movement of the sluggish currents of a serpent’s life; it was crawling and frightful.

All about him were these peasants, with their interested countenances, gibbering of the fight. From time to time a soldier cried out in semi-humorous lamentations descriptive of his thirst. One bearded man sat munching a great bit of hard bread. Fat, greasy, squat, he was like an idol made of tallow.



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