The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories

The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories

Stephen Crane

Language: English

Pages: 0


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

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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

over his ears his hands trembled. In fact, Johnnie and old Scully were the only ones who displayed no agitation. These preliminaries were conducted without words. Scully threw open the door. “Well, come on,” he said. Instantly a terrific wind caused the flame of the lamp to struggle at its wick, while a puff of black smoke sprang from the chimney-top. The stove was in mid-current of the blast, and its voice swelled to equal the roar of the storm. Some of the scarred and bedabbled cards were

stories / Stephen Crane ; edited with an introduction and notes by Gary Scharnhorst. p. cm. Contents: The red badge of courage—The veteran—The bride comes to Yellow Sky—The blue hotel— A self-made man—The open boat. Selected poetry. The black riders—Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind—A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices—The trees in the garden rained flowers. eISBN : 978-1-101-09835-6 1. Chancellorsville, Battle of, Chancellorsville, Va., 1863—Fiction. 2. Virginia—History—

had calloused the bartender. He merely grew sulky. “I hear you,” he answered. “Well,” cried the Swede, “listen hard then. See those men over there? Well, they’re going to drink with me, and don’t you forget it. Now you watch.” “Hi!” yelled the barkeeper, “this won’t do!” “Why won’t it?” demanded the Swede. He stalked over to the table, and by chance laid his hand upon the shoulder of the gambler. “How about this?” he asked, wrathfully. “I asked you to drink with me.” The gambler simply

wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die The unexplained glory flies above them Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom— A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift,

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