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The Price of the HarnessVI
Cover his face," said Grierson, in a low and husky voice afterwards.
"What`ll I cover it with?" said Watkins.
They looked at themselves. They stood in their shirts, trousers, leggings, shoes; they had nothing.
"Oh," said Grierson, "here`s his hat." He brought it and laid it on the face of the dead man. They stood for a time. It was apparent that they thought it essential and decent to say or do something. Finally Watkins said in a broken voice, "Aw, it`s a dam shame." They moved slowly off toward the firing line.
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In the blue gloom of evening, in one of the fever-tents, the two rows of still figures became hideous, charnel. The languid movement of a hand was surrounded with spectral mystery, and the occasional painful twisting of a body under a blanket was terrifying, as if dead men were moving in their graves under the sod. A heavy odour of sickness and medicine hung in the air.
"What regiment are you in?" said a feeble voice.
"Twenty-ninth Infantry," answered another voice.
"Twenty-ninth! Why, the man on the other side of me is in the Twenty-ninth."
"He is? ... Hey, there, partner, are you in the Twenty-ninth?"
A third voice merely answered wearily. "Martin of C Company."
"What? Jack, is that you? "
"It`s part of me.... Who are you?"
"Grierson, you fat-head. I thought you were wounded."
There was the noise of a man gulping a great drink of water, and at its conclusion Martin said, "I am."
"Well, what you doin` in the fever-place, then?"
Martin replied with drowsy impatience. "Got the fever too."
"Gee!" said Grierson.
Thereafter there was silence in the fever-tent, save for the noise made by a men over in a corner -- a kind of man always found in an American crowd -- a heroic, implacable comedian and patriot, of a humour that has bitterness and ferocity and love in it, and he was wringing from the situation a grim meaning by singing the "Star-Spangled Banner" with all the ardour which could be procured from his fever-stricken body.
"Billie," called Martin in a low voice, "where`s Jimmy Nolan?"
"He`s dead," said Grierson.
A triangle of raw gold light shone on a side of the tent. Somewhere in the valley an engine`s bell was ringing, and it sounded of peace and home as if it hung on a cow`s neck.
"And where`s Ike Watkins?"
"Well, he ain`t dead, but he got shot through the lungs. They say he ain`t got much show."
Through the clouded odours of sickness and medicine rang the dauntless voice of the man in the corner.
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