prompt:
Chapter: WHEN another night came the columns, changed to purple streaks, filed
across two pontoon bridges.  A glaring fire wine-tinted the waters of
the river.  Its rays, shining upon the moving masses of troops, brought
forth here and there sudden gleams of silver or gold.  Upon the other
shore a dark and mysterious range of hills was curved against the sky.
The insect voices of the night sang solemnly.

After this crossing the youth assured himself that at any moment they
might be suddenly and fearfully assaulted from the caves of the
lowering woods.  He kept his eyes watchfully upon the darkness.

But his regiment went unmolested to a camping place, and its soldiers
slept the brave sleep of wearied men.  In the morning they were routed
out with early energy, and hustled along a narrow road that led deep
into the forest.

It was during this rapid march that the regiment lost many of the marks
of a new command.

The men had begun to count the miles upon their fingers, and they grew
tired.  "Sore feet an' damned short rations, that's all," said the loud
soldier.  There was perspiration and grumblings.  After a time they
began to shed their knapsacks.  Some tossed them unconcernedly down;
others hid them carefully, asserting their plans to return for them at
some convenient time.  Men extricated themselves from thick shirts.
Presently few carried anything but their necessary clothing, blankets,
haversacks, canteens, and arms and ammunition.  "You can now eat and
shoot," said the tall soldier to the youth. "That's all you want to do."

There was sudden change from the ponderous infantry of theory to the
light and speedy infantry of practice.  The regiment, relieved of a
burden, received a new impetus.  But there was much loss of valuable
knapsacks, and, on the whole, very good shirts.

But the regiment was not yet veteranlike in appearance.  Veteran
regiments in the army were likely to be very small aggregations of men.
Once, when the command had first come to the field, some perambulating
veterans, noting the length of their column, had accosted them thus:
"Hey, fellers, what brigade is that?"  And when the men had replied
that they formed a regiment and not a brigade, the older soldiers had
laughed, and said, "O Gawd!"

Also, there was too great a similarity in the hats.  The hats of a
regiment should properly represent the history of headgear for a period
of years.  And, moreover, there were no letters of faded gold speaking
from the colors.  They were new and beautiful, and the color bearer
habitually oiled the pole.

Presently the army again sat down to think. The odor of the peaceful
pines was in the men's nostrils.  The sound of monotonous axe blows
rang through the forest, and the insects, nodding upon their perches,
crooned like old women. The youth returned to his theory of a blue
demonstration.

One gray dawn, however, he was kicked in the leg by the tall soldier,
and then, before he was entirely awake, he found himself running down a
wood road in the midst of men who were panting from the first effects
of speed.  His canteen banged rhythmically upon his thigh, and his
haversack bobbed softly.  His musket bounced a trifle from his shoulder
at each stride and made his cap feel uncertain upon his head.

He could hear the men whisper jerky sentences: "Say--what's all
this--about?"  "What th' thunder--we--skedaddlin' this way fer?"
"Billie--keep off m' feet.  Yeh run--like a cow." And the loud
soldier's shrill voice could be heard: "What th' devil they in sich a
hurry for?"

The youth thought the damp fog of early morning moved from the rush of
a great body of troops.  From the distance came a sudden spatter of
firing.

He was bewildered.  As he ran with his comrades he strenuously tried to
think, but all he knew was that if he fell down those coming behind
would tread upon him.  All his faculties seemed to be needed to guide
him over and past obstructions.  He felt carried along by a mob.

The sun spread disclosing rays, and, one by one, regiments burst into
view like armed men just born of the earth.  The youth perceived that
the time had come.  He was about to be measured.  For a moment he felt
in the face of his great trial like a babe, and the flesh over his
heart seemed very thin.  He seized time to look about him calculatingly.

But he instantly saw that it would be impossible for him to escape from
the regiment.  It inclosed him.  And there were iron laws of tradition
and law on four sides.  He was in a moving box.

As he perceived this fact it occurred to him that he had never wished
to come to the war. He had not enlisted of his free will.  He had been
dragged by the merciless government.  And now they were taking him out
to be slaughtered.

The regiment slid down a bank and wallowed across a little stream.  The
mournful current moved slowly on, and from the water, shaded black,
some white bubble eyes looked at the men.

As they climbed the hill on the farther side artillery began to boom.
Here the youth forgot many things as he felt a sudden impulse of
curiosity.  He scrambled up the bank with a speed that could not be
exceeded by a bloodthirsty man.

He expected a battle scene.

There were some little fields girted and squeezed by a forest.  Spread
over the grass and in among the tree trunks, he could see knots and
waving lines of skirmishers who were running hither and thither and
firing at the landscape. A dark battle line lay upon a sunstruck
clearing that gleamed orange color.  A flag fluttered.

Other regiments floundered up the bank.  The brigade was formed in line
of battle, and after a pause started slowly through the woods in the
rear of the receding skirmishers, who were continually melting into the
scene to appear again farther on.  They were always busy as bees,
deeply absorbed in their little combats.

The youth tried to observe everything.  He did not use care to avoid
trees and branches, and his forgotten feet were constantly knocking
against stones or getting entangled in briers. He was aware that these
battalions with their commotions were woven red and startling into the
gentle fabric of softened greens and browns. It looked to be a wrong
place for a battle field.

The skirmishers in advance fascinated him. Their shots into thickets
and at distant and prominent trees spoke to him of tragedies--hidden,
mysterious, solemn.

Once the line encountered the body of a dead soldier.  He lay upon his
back staring at the sky. He was dressed in an awkward suit of yellowish
brown.  The youth could see that the soles of his shoes had been worn
to the thinness of writing paper, and from a great rent in one the dead
foot projected piteously.  And it was as if fate had betrayed the
soldier.  In death it exposed to his enemies that poverty which in life
he had perhaps concealed from his friends.

The ranks opened covertly to avoid the corpse. The invulnerable dead
man forced a way for himself.  The youth looked keenly at the ashen
face. The wind raised the tawny beard.  It moved as if a hand were
stroking it.  He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and
stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer
to the Question.

During the march the ardor which the youth had acquired when out of
view of the field rapidly faded to nothing.  His curiosity was quite
easily satisfied.  If an intense scene had caught him with its wild
swing as he came to the top of the bank, he might have gone roaring on.
This advance upon Nature was too calm.  He had opportunity to reflect.
He had time in which to wonder about himself and to attempt to probe
his sensations.

Absurd ideas took hold upon him.  He thought that he did not relish the
landscape. It threatened him.  A coldness swept over his back, and it
is true that his trousers felt to him that they were no fit for his
legs at all.

A house standing placidly in distant fields had to him an ominous look.
The shadows of the woods were formidable.  He was certain that in this
vista there lurked fierce-eyed hosts.  The swift thought came to him
that the generals did not know what they were about.  It was all a
trap.  Suddenly those close forests would bristle with rifle barrels.
Ironlike brigades would appear in the rear.  They were all going to be
sacrificed.  The generals were stupids.  The enemy would presently
swallow the whole command.  He glared about him, expecting to see the
stealthy approach of his death.

He thought that he must break from the ranks and harangue his comrades.
They must not all be killed like pigs; and he was sure it would come to
pass unless they were informed of these dangers.  The generals were
idiots to send them marching into a regular pen.  There was but one
pair of eyes in the corps.  He would step forth and make a speech.
Shrill and passionate words came to his lips.

The line, broken into moving fragments by the ground, went calmly on
through fields and woods. The youth looked at the men nearest him, and
saw, for the most part, expressions of deep interest, as if they were
investigating something that had fascinated them.  One or two stepped
with overvaliant airs as if they were already plunged into war.  Others
walked as upon thin ice.  The greater part of the untested men appeared
quiet and absorbed.  They were going to look at war, the red
animal--war, the blood-swollen god.  And they were deeply engrossed in
this march.

As he looked the youth gripped his outcry at his throat.  He saw that
even if the men were tottering with fear they would laugh at his
warning.  They would jeer him, and, if practicable, pelt him with
missiles.  Admitting that he might be wrong, a frenzied declamation of
the kind would turn him into a worm.

He assumed, then, the demeanor of one who knows that he is doomed alone
to unwritten responsibilities.  He lagged, with tragic glances at the
sky.

He was surprised presently by the young lieutenant of his company, who
began heartily to beat him with a sword, calling out in a loud and
insolent voice: "Come, young man, get up into ranks there.  No
skulking'll do here."  He mended his pace with suitable haste.  And he
hated the lieutenant, who had no appreciation of fine minds.  He was a
mere brute.

After a time the brigade was halted in the cathedral light of a forest.
The busy skirmishers were still popping.  Through the aisles of the
wood could be seen the floating smoke from their rifles.  Sometimes it
went up in little balls, white and compact.

During this halt many men in the regiment began erecting tiny hills in
front of them.  They used stones, sticks, earth, and anything they
thought might turn a bullet.  Some built comparatively large ones,
while others seemed content with little ones.

This procedure caused a discussion among the men.  Some wished to fight
like duelists, believing it to be correct to stand erect and be, from
their feet to their foreheads, a mark.  They said they scorned the
devices of the cautious.  But the others scoffed in reply, and pointed
to the veterans on the flanks who were digging at the ground like
terriers.  In a short time there was quite a barricade along the
regimental fronts. Directly, however, they were ordered to withdraw
from that place.

This astounded the youth.  He forgot his stewing over the advance
movement.  "Well, then, what did they march us out here for?" he
demanded of the tall soldier.  The latter with calm faith began a heavy
explanation, although he had been compelled to leave a little
protection of stones and dirt to which he had devoted much care and
skill.

When the regiment was aligned in another position each man's regard for
his safety caused another line of small intrenchments.  They ate their
noon meal behind a third one.  They were moved from this one also. They
were marched from place to place with apparent aimlessness.

The youth had been taught that a man became another thing in a battle.
He saw his salvation in such a change.  Hence this waiting was an
ordeal to him.  He was in a fever of impatience.  He considered that
there was denoted a lack of purpose on the part of the generals. He
began to complain to the tall soldier.  "I can't stand this much
longer," he cried.  "I don't see what good it does to make us wear out
our legs for nothin'."  He wished to return to camp, knowing that this
affair was a blue demonstration; or else to go into a battle and
discover that he had been a fool in his doubts, and was, in truth, a
man of traditional courage. The strain of present circumstances he felt
to be intolerable.

The philosophical tall soldier measured a sandwich of cracker and pork
and swallowed it in a nonchalant manner.  "Oh, I suppose we must go
reconnoitering around the country jest to keep 'em from getting too
close, or to develop 'em, or something."

"Huh!" said the loud soldier.

"Well," cried the youth, still fidgeting, "I'd rather do anything 'most
than go tramping 'round the country all day doing no good to nobody and
jest tiring ourselves out."

"So would I," said the loud soldier.  "It ain't right.  I tell you if
anybody with any sense was a-runnin' this army it--"

"Oh, shut up!" roared the tall private.  "You little fool.  You little
damn' cuss.  You ain't had that there coat and them pants on for six
months, and yet you talk as if--"

"Well, I wanta do some fighting anyway," interrupted the other.  "I
didn't come here to walk.  I could 'ave walked to home--'round an'
'round the barn, if I jest wanted to walk."

The tall one, red-faced, swallowed another sandwich as if taking poison
in despair.

But gradually, as he chewed, his face became again quiet and contented.
He could not rage in fierce argument in the presence of such
sandwiches.  During his meals he always wore an air of blissful
contemplation of the food he had swallowed.  His spirit seemed then to
be communing with the viands.

He accepted new environment and circumstance with great coolness,
eating from his haversack at every opportunity.  On the march he went
along with the stride of a hunter, objecting to neither gait nor
distance.  And he had not raised his voice when he had been ordered
away from three little protective piles of earth and stone, each of
which had been an engineering feat worthy of being made sacred to the
name of his grandmother.

In the afternoon the regiment went out over the same ground it had
taken in the morning.  The landscape then ceased to threaten the youth.
He had been close to it and become familiar with it.

When, however, they began to pass into a new region, his old fears of
stupidity and incompetence reassailed him, but this time he doggedly
let them babble.  He was occupied with his problem, and in his
desperation he concluded that the stupidity did not greatly matter.

Once he thought he had concluded that it would be better to get killed
directly and end his troubles.  Regarding death thus out of the corner
of his eye, he conceived it to be nothing but rest, and he was filled
with a momentary astonishment that he should have made an extraordinary
commotion over the mere matter of getting killed.  He would die; he
would go to some place where he would be understood. It was useless to
expect appreciation of his profound and fine senses from such men as
the lieutenant.  He must look to the grave for comprehension.

The skirmish fire increased to a long chattering sound.  With it was
mingled far-away cheering.  A battery spoke.

Directly the youth would see the skirmishers running.  They were
pursued by the sound of musketry fire.  After a time the hot, dangerous
flashes of the rifles were visible.  Smoke clouds went slowly and
insolently across the fields like observant phantoms.  The din became
crescendo, like the roar of an oncoming train.

A brigade ahead of them and on the right went into action with a
rending roar.  It was as if it had exploded.  And thereafter it lay
stretched in the distance behind a long gray wall, that one was obliged
to look twice at to make sure that it was smoke.

The youth, forgetting his neat plan of getting killed, gazed spell
bound.  His eyes grew wide and busy with the action of the scene.  His
mouth was a little ways open.

Of a sudden he felt a heavy and sad hand laid upon his shoulder.
Awakening from his trance of observation he turned and beheld the loud
soldier.

"It's my first and last battle, old boy," said the latter, with intense
gloom.  He was quite pale and his girlish lip was trembling.

"Eh?" murmured the youth in great astonishment.

"It's my first and last battle, old boy," continued the loud soldier.
"Something tells me--"

"What?"

"I'm a gone coon this first time and--and I w-want you to take these
here things--to--my--folks."  He ended in a quavering sob of pity for
himself.  He handed the youth a little packet done up in a yellow
envelope.

"Why, what the devil--" began the youth again.

But the other gave him a glance as from the depths of a tomb, and
raised his limp hand in a prophetic manner and turned away.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The regiment marches for another two days, picking up their pace on the last day. The men become tired, hot, and cranky. They leave some of their supplies behind, trying to lighten their load. They move quickly like veterans, but they still do not have the look of veterans, as their uniforms are too bright and new. One morning the tall soldier kicks Henry awake. The men are suddenly running in the fog. They hear the distant sounds of firing. Regiments and other men become gradually visible, as the sun rises and the fog begins to melt away. The regiment eventually climbs a hill. As they get to its crest, Henry expects to see a battle scene. Below a skirmish is in progress. There are lines of fighters spread across the field, and a flag flutters. The skirmishers melt into the scene only to appear later on. Henry is engrossed, trying to observe everything. His own regiment is still in a wooded area. They eventually pass the body of a dead soldier. His uniform is yellow-brown and his shoe soles are paper-thin. The body enraptures Henry. Henry continues to think as the regiment marches. He feels threatened by the landscape. He sees it as full of fierce-eyed enemies. All of a sudden, he is full of distrust of his commanders. He is sure they have led the men into a trap. He must get out; he must be the sole eyes and ears aware of this danger. The overall mood of the troops is now very serious. They are facing a true test of their mettle very soon, and it affects them in different ways. Primarily, though, the untried men are quiet and absorbed, waiting to finally face war. They are first ordered to dig in, but are then ordered to pull back. The soldiers become annoyed, asking why they were marched this much if they are not going to face the enemy. They are then moved to another position, then another. The anticipation starts to irk Henry, who wants to return to camp or go in a battle. The men eat their lunches and talk about their irritation. The loud soldier, Wilson, and the tall soldier, Jim, argue more about whether or not they are truly eager to fight. In the afternoon, the regiment goes over the land they took, the same land Henry looked at that morning. It no longer threatens the youth; he feels familiar with it. However, he keeps changing his mind about the upcoming battle. He begins to think that it is just better to be killed directly and end his troubles. Out of the corner of his eye, death seems like rest and appreciation, much better than the present circumstances of fear and uncertainty. As gray smoke rises above the regiment, Wilson prophetically lays his hand on Henry's shoulder and says, with a trembling lip, that this will be his first and last battle. He gives Henry a packet of letters to send to his family and then, in tears, turns away


prompt:
Chapter: The brigade was halted in the fringe of a grove.  The men crouched
among the trees and pointed their restless guns out at the fields. They
tried to look beyond the smoke.

Out of this haze they could see running men. Some shouted information
and gestured as they hurried.

The men of the new regiment watched and listened eagerly, while their
tongues ran on in gossip of the battle.  They mouthed rumors that had
flown like birds out of the unknown.

"They say Perry has been driven in with big loss."

"Yes, Carrott went t' th' hospital.  He said he was sick.  That smart
lieutenant is commanding 'G' Company.  Th' boys say they won't be under
Carrott no more if they all have t' desert. They allus knew he was a--"

"Hannises' batt'ry is took."

"It ain't either.  I saw Hannises' batt'ry off on th' left not more'n
fifteen minutes ago."

"Well--"

"Th' general, he ses he is goin' t' take th' hull cammand of th' 304th
when we go inteh action, an' then he ses we'll do sech fightin' as
never another one reg'ment done."

"They say we're catchin' it over on th' left. They say th' enemy driv'
our line inteh a devil of a swamp an' took Hannises' batt'ry."

"No sech thing.  Hannises' batt'ry was 'long here 'bout a minute ago."

"That young Hasbrouck, he makes a good off'cer.  He ain't afraid 'a
nothin'."

"I met one of th' 148th Maine boys an' he ses his brigade fit th' hull
rebel army fer four hours over on th' turnpike road an' killed about
five thousand of 'em.  He ses one more sech fight as that an' th' war
'll be over."

"Bill wasn't scared either.  No, sir!  It wasn't that.  Bill ain't
a-gittin' scared easy.  He was jest mad, that's what he was.  When that
feller trod on his hand, he up an' sed that he was willin' t' give his
hand t' his country, but he be dumbed if he was goin' t' have every
dumb bushwhacker in th' kentry walkin' 'round on it.  Se he went t' th'
hospital disregardless of th' fight.  Three fingers was crunched.  Th'
dern doctor wanted t' amputate 'm, an' Bill, he raised a heluva row, I
hear.  He's a funny feller."

The din in front swelled to a tremendous chorus.  The youth and his
fellows were frozen to silence.  They could see a flag that tossed in
the smoke angrily.  Near it were the blurred and agitated forms of
troops.  There came a turbulent stream of men across the fields.  A
battery changing position at a frantic gallop scattered the stragglers
right and left.

A shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads of
the reserves.  It landed in the grove, and exploding redly flung the
brown earth.  There was a little shower of pine needles.

Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees. Twigs
and leaves came sailing down.  It was as if a thousand axes, wee and
invisible, were being wielded.  Many of the men were constantly dodging
and ducking their heads.

The lieutenant of the youth's company was shot in the hand.  He began
to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the regimental
line.  The officer's profanity sounded conventional.  It relieved the
tightened senses of the new men.  It was as if he had hit his fingers
with a tack hammer at home.

He held the wounded member carefully away from his side so that the
blood would not drip upon his trousers.

The captain of the company, tucking his sword under his arm, produced a
handkerchief and began to bind with it the lieutenant's wound. And they
disputed as to how the binding should be done.

The battle flag in the distance jerked about madly.  It seemed to be
struggling to free itself from an agony.  The billowing smoke was
filled with horizontal flashes.

Men running swiftly emerged from it.  They grew in numbers until it was
seen that the whole command was fleeing.  The flag suddenly sank down
as if dying.  Its motion as it fell was a gesture of despair.

Wild yells came from behind the walls of smoke.  A sketch in gray and
red dissolved into a moblike body of men who galloped like wild horses.

The veteran regiments on the right and left of the 304th immediately
began to jeer.  With the passionate song of the bullets and the banshee
shrieks of shells were mingled loud catcalls and bits of facetious
advice concerning places of safety.

But the new regiment was breathless with horror.  "Gawd!  Saunders's
got crushed!" whispered the man at the youth's elbow.  They shrank back
and crouched as if compelled to await a flood.

The youth shot a swift glance along the blue ranks of the regiment. The
profiles were motionless, carven; and afterward he remembered that the
color sergeant was standing with his legs apart, as if he expected to
be pushed to the ground.

The following throng went whirling around the flank.  Here and there
were officers carried along on the stream like exasperated chips.  They
were striking about them with their swords and with their left fists,
punching every head they could reach.  They cursed like highwaymen.

A mounted officer displayed the furious anger of a spoiled child.  He
raged with his head, his arms, and his legs.

Another, the commander of the brigade, was galloping about bawling. His
hat was gone and his clothes were awry.  He resembled a man who has
come from bed to go to a fire.  The hoofs of his horse often threatened
the heads of the running men, but they scampered with singular fortune.
In this rush they were apparently all deaf and blind.  They heeded not
the largest and longest of the oaths that were thrown at them from all
directions.

Frequently over this tumult could be heard the grim jokes of the
critical veterans; but the retreating men apparently were not even
conscious of the presence of an audience.

The battle reflection that shone for an instant in the faces on the mad
current made the youth feel that forceful hands from heaven would not
have been able to have held him in place if he could have got
intelligent control of his legs.

There was an appalling imprint upon these faces.  The struggle in the
smoke had pictured an exaggeration of itself on the bleached cheeks and
in the eyes wild with one desire.

The sight of this stampede exerted a floodlike force that seemed able
to drag sticks and stones and men from the ground.  They of the
reserves had to hold on.  They grew pale and firm, and red and quaking.

The youth achieved one little thought in the midst of this chaos.  The
composite monster which had caused the other troops to flee had not
then appeared.  He resolved to get a view of it, and then, he thought
he might very likely run better than the best of them.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The new regiment is now halted just inside a grove of trees, facing out into a field covered in smoke. They talk about rumors and reports from battles, who has lost what and moved where. As always, there is a disagreement about what has actually happened, this time to a Union battery. Then the noise and altercation in the field in front of them grows louder, and the new troops grow silent. The Union troops in the field of smoke begin to run. A shell screams overhead the new regiment, landing in the grove and throwing up a shower of pine needles. Bullets begin to fly towards them as well. The lieutenant of the youth's company is then shot in the hand. He curses as if he had hit his finger with a hammer, which sounds quite funny to the rest of the troops. Curiously, the lieutenant holds his wound away from his uniform so as not to stain it. The Union troops in the field begin to run away and the battle flag falls. The veteran regiments flanking the new troops catcall and jeer the fleeing men. Henry Fleming's regiment is dumbstruck with horror; they witnessed a regiment's defeat right before they are called to fight. The officers try to get the running men to stop, using their swords, fists, and cursing to keep them back. They rage with fury at the retreating regiment. The commander of that brigade gallops about on his horse, weeping. He looks like "a man who has come from bed to go to a fire. The fleeing troops pay no attention to any of these officers as they run. This makes Henry sure he will run. Seeing the "mad current" of retreat swallow up the men's conscience, he is sure that he too will be driven wild and panic with battle. Yet, as the chapter ends, Henry resolves that now is the time he must see the "monster" that made them run, regardless if he runs himself


prompt:
Chapter: There were moments of waiting.  The youth thought of the village street
at home before the arrival of the circus parade on a day in the spring.
He remembered how he had stood, a small, thrillful boy, prepared to
follow the dingy lady upon the white horse, or the band in its faded
chariot.  He saw the yellow road, the lines of expectant people, and
the sober houses. He particularly remembered an old fellow who used to
sit upon a cracker box in front of the store and feign to despise such
exhibitions.  A thousand details of color and form surged in his mind.
The old fellow upon the cracker box appeared in middle prominence.

Some one cried, "Here they come!"

There was rustling and muttering among the men.  They displayed a
feverish desire to have every possible cartridge ready to their hands.
The boxes were pulled around into various positions, and adjusted with
great care.  It was as if seven hundred new bonnets were being tried on.

The tall soldier, having prepared his rifle, produced a red
handkerchief of some kind.  He was engaged in knitting it about his
throat with exquisite attention to its position, when the cry was
repeated up and down the line in a muffled roar of sound.

"Here they come!  Here they come!"  Gun locks clicked.

Across the smoke-infested fields came a brown swarm of running men who
were giving shrill yells.  They came on, stooping and swinging their
rifles at all angles.  A flag, tilted forward, sped near the front.

As he caught sight of them the youth was momentarily startled by a
thought that perhaps his gun was not loaded.  He stood trying to rally
his faltering intellect so that he might recollect the moment when he
had loaded, but he could not.

A hatless general pulled his dripping horse to a stand near the colonel
of the 304th.  He shook his fist in the other's face.  "You 've got to
hold 'em back!" he shouted, savagely; "you 've got to hold 'em back!"

In his agitation the colonel began to stammer. "A-all r-right, General,
all right, by Gawd!  We--we'll do our--we-we'll d-d-do--do our best,
General."  The general made a passionate gesture and galloped away. The
colonel, perchance to relieve his feelings, began to scold like a wet
parrot.  The youth, turning swiftly to make sure that the rear was
unmolested, saw the commander regarding his men in a highly regretful
manner, as if he regretted above everything his association with them.

The man at the youth's elbow was mumbling, as if to himself: "Oh, we
're in for it now! oh, we 're in for it now!"

The captain of the company had been pacing excitedly to and fro in the
rear.  He coaxed in schoolmistress fashion, as to a congregation of
boys with primers.  His talk was an endless repetition.  "Reserve your
fire, boys--don't shoot till I tell you--save your fire--wait till they
get close up--don't be damned fools--"

Perspiration streamed down the youth's face, which was soiled like that
of a weeping urchin. He frequently, with a nervous movement, wiped his
eyes with his coat sleeve.  His mouth was still a little ways open.

He got the one glance at the foe-swarming field in front of him, and
instantly ceased to debate the question of his piece being loaded.
Before he was ready to begin--before he had announced to himself that
he was about to fight--he threw the obedient, well-balanced rifle into
position and fired a first wild shot.  Directly he was working at his
weapon like an automatic affair.

He suddenly lost concern for himself, and forgot to look at a menacing
fate.  He became not a man but a member.  He felt that something of
which he was a part--a regiment, an army, a cause, or a country--was in
a crisis.  He was welded into a common personality which was dominated
by a single desire.  For some moments he could not flee no more than a
little finger can commit a revolution from a hand.

If he had thought the regiment was about to be annihilated perhaps he
could have amputated himself from it.  But its noise gave him
assurance.  The regiment was like a firework that, once ignited,
proceeds superior to circumstances until its blazing vitality fades. It
wheezed and banged with a mighty power.  He pictured the ground before
it as strewn with the discomfited.

There was a consciousness always of the presence of his comrades about
him.  He felt the subtle battle brotherhood more potent even than the
cause for which they were fighting.  It was a mysterious fraternity
born of the smoke and danger of death.

He was at a task.  He was like a carpenter who has made many boxes,
making still another box, only there was furious haste in his
movements.  He, in his thought, was careering off in other places, even
as the carpenter who as he works whistles and thinks of his friend or
his enemy, his home or a saloon.  And these jolted dreams were never
perfect to him afterward, but remained a mass of blurred shapes.

Presently he began to feel the effects of the war atmosphere--a
blistering sweat, a sensation that his eyeballs were about to crack
like hot stones.  A burning roar filled his ears.

Following this came a red rage.  He developed the acute exasperation of
a pestered animal, a well-meaning cow worried by dogs.  He had a mad
feeling against his rifle, which could only be used against one life at
a time.  He wished to rush forward and strangle with his fingers.  He
craved a power that would enable him to make a world-sweeping gesture
and brush all back.  His impotency appeared to him, and made his rage
into that of a driven beast.

Buried in the smoke of many rifles his anger was directed not so much
against the men whom he knew were rushing toward him as against the
swirling battle phantoms which were choking him, stuffing their smoke
robes down his parched throat.  He fought frantically for respite for
his senses, for air, as a babe being smothered attacks the deadly
blankets.

There was a blare of heated rage mingled with a certain expression of
intentness on all faces. Many of the men were making low-toned noises
with their mouths, and these subdued cheers, snarls, imprecations,
prayers, made a wild, barbaric song that went as an undercurrent of
sound, strange and chantlike with the resounding chords of the war
march.  The man at the youth's elbow was babbling.  In it there was
something soft and tender like the monologue of a babe.  The tall
soldier was swearing in a loud voice.  From his lips came a black
procession of curious oaths.  Of a sudden another broke out in a
querulous way like a man who has mislaid his hat.  "Well, why don't
they support us?  Why don't they send supports?  Do they think--"

The youth in his battle sleep heard this as one who dozes hears.

There was a singular absence of heroic poses. The men bending and
surging in their haste and rage were in every impossible attitude.  The
steel ramrods clanked and clanged with incessant din as the men pounded
them furiously into the hot rifle barrels.  The flaps of the cartridge
boxes were all unfastened, and bobbed idiotically with each movement.
The rifles, once loaded, were jerked to the shoulder and fired without
apparent aim into the smoke or at one of the blurred and shifting forms
which upon the field before the regiment had been growing larger and
larger like puppets under a magician's hand.

The officers, at their intervals, rearward, neglected to stand in
picturesque attitudes.  They were bobbing to and fro roaring directions
and encouragements.  The dimensions of their howls were extraordinary.
They expended their lungs with prodigal wills.  And often they nearly
stood upon their heads in their anxiety to observe the enemy on the
other side of the tumbling smoke.

The lieutenant of the youth's company had encountered a soldier who had
fled screaming at the first volley of his comrades.  Behind the lines
these two were acting a little isolated scene.  The man was blubbering
and staring with sheeplike eyes at the lieutenant, who had seized him
by the collar and was pommeling him.  He drove him back into the ranks
with many blows.  The soldier went mechanically, dully, with his
animal-like eyes upon the officer.  Perhaps there was to him a divinity
expressed in the voice of the other--stern, hard, with no reflection of
fear in it.  He tried to reload his gun, but his shaking hands
prevented.  The lieutenant was obliged to assist him.

The men dropped here and there like bundles. The captain of the youth's
company had been killed in an early part of the action.  His body lay
stretched out in the position of a tired man resting, but upon his face
there was an astonished and sorrowful look, as if he thought some
friend had done him an ill turn.  The babbling man was grazed by a shot
that made the blood stream widely down his face.  He clapped both hands
to his head.  "Oh!" he said, and ran.  Another grunted suddenly as if
he had been struck by a club in the stomach.  He sat down and gazed
ruefully.  In his eyes there was mute, indefinite reproach.  Farther up
the line a man, standing behind a tree, had had his knee joint
splintered by a ball.  Immediately he had dropped his rifle and gripped
the tree with both arms.  And there he remained, clinging desperately
and crying for assistance that he might withdraw his hold upon the tree.

At last an exultant yell went along the quivering line.  The firing
dwindled from an uproar to a last vindictive popping.  As the smoke
slowly eddied away, the youth saw that the charge had been repulsed.
The enemy were scattered into reluctant groups.  He saw a man climb to
the top of the fence, straddle the rail, and fire a parting shot.  The
waves had receded, leaving bits of dark debris upon the ground.

Some in the regiment began to whoop frenziedly.  Many were silent.
Apparently they were trying to contemplate themselves.

After the fever had left his veins, the youth thought that at last he
was going to suffocate. He became aware of the foul atmosphere in which
he had been struggling.  He was grimy and dripping like a laborer in a
foundry.  He grasped his canteen and took a long swallow of the warmed
water.

A sentence with variations went up and down the line.  "Well, we 've
helt 'em back.  We 've helt 'em back; derned if we haven't."  The men
said it blissfully, leering at each other with dirty smiles.

The youth turned to look behind him and off to the right and off to the
left.  He experienced the joy of a man who at last finds leisure in
which to look about him.

Under foot there were a few ghastly forms motionless.  They lay twisted
in fantastic contortions.  Arms were bent and heads were turned in
incredible ways.  It seemed that the dead men must have fallen from
some great height to get into such positions.  They looked to be dumped
out upon the ground from the sky.

From a position in the rear of the grove a battery was throwing shells
over it.  The flash of the guns startled the youth at first.  He
thought they were aimed directly at him.  Through the trees he watched
the black figures of the gunners as they worked swiftly and intently.
Their labor seemed a complicated thing.  He wondered how they could
remember its formula in the midst of confusion.

The guns squatted in a row like savage chiefs. They argued with abrupt
violence.  It was a grim pow-wow.  Their busy servants ran hither and
thither.

A small procession of wounded men were going drearily toward the rear.
It was a flow of blood from the torn body of the brigade.

To the right and to the left were the dark lines of other troops.  Far
in front he thought he could see lighter masses protruding in points
from the forest.  They were suggestive of unnumbered thousands.

Once he saw a tiny battery go dashing along the line of the horizon.
The tiny riders were beating the tiny horses.

From a sloping hill came the sound of cheerings and clashes.  Smoke
welled slowly through the leaves.

Batteries were speaking with thunderous oratorical effort.  Here and
there were flags, the red in the stripes dominating.  They splashed
bits of warm color upon the dark lines of troops.

The youth felt the old thrill at the sight of the emblem.  They were
like beautiful birds strangely undaunted in a storm.

As he listened to the din from the hillside, to a deep pulsating
thunder that came from afar to the left, and to the lesser clamors
which came from many directions, it occurred to him that they were
fighting, too, over there, and over there, and over there.  Heretofore
he had supposed that all the battle was directly under his nose.

As he gazed around him the youth felt a flash of astonishment at the
blue, pure sky and the sun gleamings on the trees and fields.  It was
surprising that Nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process
in the midst of so much devilment.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The waiting makes Henry think of his home and the images he once despised take on a warm glow of nostalgia. Suddenly, someone cries, "Here they come. Beyond the smoke, a brown swarm of men begins running down the hill. A general comes up on his horse, yelling to a colonel that the men have to hold them back. Henry sees the colonel regarding his men with resentment after the general gallops away. The captain of Henry's company coaxes the troops to reserve their fire and not shoot wildly. Henry sweats out of pure nervousness. The fight is about to begin, and before he is ready or can consciously decide, he lowers his rifle and fires the first shot of the battle. Henry then loses concern for himself, and becomes "not a man but a member. Whatever he was part of, it was in a critical state, and he was part of its desire. The noise of the firing reassures Henry in his actions. The furious haste and noise make the atmosphere even more confusing: sweat blisters, his eyes are hot, and the blasts burn in his ears. He is not fighting the enemy of men so much as the swirling battle phantoms that surround him. He hears men speak around him as if he were sleeping. No one has a heroic pose. They are moving as fast as they can, reloading and then firing almost at random in the smoke in front of them. The lieutenant of the company encounters a soldier fleeing in terror and beats him back into the ranks. Men occasionally drop from being hit. Eventually the firing recedes, and the men rejoice. They have driven back the enemy. They attempt to recollect themselves. It takes Henry some moments to come back to his senses. He realizes the grime and smoke makes him choke. He looks at the men still standing and simply enjoys being able to look around. On the ground there lay a few contorted bodies. A battery still throws shells over the troops towards the enemy. Henry looks around and takes in the whole scene, moving horses, wounded men, and flags. Henry feels these flags look like beautiful birds that have outlasted a storm. Then he looks and notices the beautiful blue of the sky


prompt:
Chapter: The youth awakened slowly.  He came gradually back to a position from
which he could regard himself.  For moments he had been scrutinizing
his person in a dazed way as if he had never before seen himself.  Then
he picked up his cap from the ground.  He wriggled in his jacket to
make a more comfortable fit, and kneeling relaced his shoe.  He
thoughtfully mopped his reeking features.

So it was all over at last!  The supreme trial had been passed.  The
red, formidable difficulties of war had been vanquished.

He went into an ecstasy of self-satisfaction. He had the most
delightful sensations of his life. Standing as if apart from himself,
he viewed that last scene.  He perceived that the man who had fought
thus was magnificent.

He felt that he was a fine fellow.  He saw himself even with those
ideals which he had considered as far beyond him.  He smiled in deep
gratification.

Upon his fellows he beamed tenderness and good will.  "Gee! ain't it
hot, hey?" he said affably to a man who was polishing his streaming
face with his coat sleeves.

"You bet!" said the other, grinning sociably. "I never seen sech dumb
hotness."  He sprawled out luxuriously on the ground.  "Gee, yes!  An'
I hope we don't have no more fightin' till a week from Monday."

There were some handshakings and deep speeches with men whose features
were familiar, but with whom the youth now felt the bonds of tied
hearts.  He helped a cursing comrade to bind up a wound of the shin.

But, of a sudden, cries of amazement broke out along the ranks of the
new regiment.  "Here they come ag'in!  Here they come ag'in!"  The man
who had sprawled upon the ground started up and said, "Gosh!"

The youth turned quick eyes upon the field. He discerned forms begin to
swell in masses out of a distant wood.  He again saw the tilted flag
speeding forward.

The shells, which had ceased to trouble the regiment for a time, came
swirling again, and exploded in the grass or among the leaves of the
trees.  They looked to be strange war flowers bursting into fierce
bloom.

The men groaned.  The luster faded from their eyes.  Their smudged
countenances now expressed a profound dejection.  They moved their
stiffened bodies slowly, and watched in sullen mood the frantic
approach of the enemy.  The slaves toiling in the temple of this god
began to feel rebellion at his harsh tasks.

They fretted and complained each to each. "Oh, say, this is too much of
a good thing!  Why can't somebody send us supports?"

"We ain't never goin' to stand this second banging.  I didn't come here
to fight the hull damn' rebel army."

There was one who raised a doleful cry.  "I wish Bill Smithers had trod
on my hand, insteader me treddin' on his'n."  The sore joints of the
regiment creaked as it painfully floundered into position to repulse.

The youth stared.  Surely, he thought, this impossible thing was not
about to happen.  He waited as if he expected the enemy to suddenly
stop, apologize, and retire bowing.  It was all a mistake.

But the firing began somewhere on the regimental line and ripped along
in both directions. The level sheets of flame developed great clouds of
smoke that tumbled and tossed in the mild wind near the ground for a
moment, and then rolled through the ranks as through a gate.  The
clouds were tinged an earthlike yellow in the sunrays and in the shadow
were a sorry blue. The flag was sometimes eaten and lost in this mass
of vapor, but more often it projected, sun-touched, resplendent.

Into the youth's eyes there came a look that one can see in the orbs of
a jaded horse.  His neck was quivering with nervous weakness and the
muscles of his arms felt numb and bloodless. His hands, too, seemed
large and awkward as if he was wearing invisible mittens.  And there
was a great uncertainty about his knee joints.

The words that comrades had uttered previous to the firing began to
recur to him.  "Oh, say, this is too much of a good thing!  What do
they take us for--why don't they send supports?  I didn't come here to
fight the hull damned rebel army."

He began to exaggerate the endurance, the skill, and the valor of those
who were coming. Himself reeling from exhaustion, he was astonished
beyond measure at such persistency.  They must be machines of steel. It
was very gloomy struggling against such affairs, wound up perhaps to
fight until sundown.

He slowly lifted his rifle and catching a glimpse of the thickspread
field he blazed at a cantering cluster.  He stopped then and began to
peer as best he could through the smoke.  He caught changing views of
the ground covered with men who were all running like pursued imps, and
yelling.

To the youth it was an onslaught of redoubtable dragons.  He became
like the man who lost his legs at the approach of the red and green
monster.  He waited in a sort of a horrified, listening attitude.  He
seemed to shut his eyes and wait to be gobbled.

A man near him who up to this time had been working feverishly at his
rifle suddenly stopped and ran with howls.  A lad whose face had borne
an expression of exalted courage, the majesty of he who dares give his
life, was, at an instant, smitten abject.  He blanched like one who has
come to the edge of a cliff at midnight and is suddenly made aware.
There was a revelation.  He, too, threw down his gun and fled.  There
was no shame in his face.  He ran like a rabbit.

Others began to scamper away through the smoke.  The youth turned his
head, shaken from his trance by this movement as if the regiment was
leaving him behind.  He saw the few fleeting forms.

He yelled then with fright and swung about. For a moment, in the great
clamor, he was like a proverbial chicken.  He lost the direction of
safety.  Destruction threatened him from all points.

Directly he began to speed toward the rear in great leaps.  His rifle
and cap were gone.  His unbuttoned coat bulged in the wind.  The flap
of his cartridge box bobbed wildly, and his canteen, by its slender
cord, swung out behind.  On his face was all the horror of those things
which he imagined.

The lieutenant sprang forward bawling.  The youth saw his features
wrathfully red, and saw him make a dab with his sword.  His one thought
of the incident was that the lieutenant was a peculiar creature to feel
interested in such matters upon this occasion.

He ran like a blind man.  Two or three times he fell down.  Once he
knocked his shoulder so heavily against a tree that he went headlong.

Since he had turned his back upon the fight his fears had been
wondrously magnified.  Death about to thrust him between the shoulder
blades was far more dreadful than death about to smite him between the
eyes.  When he thought of it later, he conceived the impression that it
is better to view the appalling than to be merely within hearing.  The
noises of the battle were like stones; he believed himself liable to be
crushed.

As he ran he mingled with others.  He dimly saw men on his right and on
his left, and he heard footsteps behind him.  He thought that all the
regiment was fleeing, pursued by these ominous crashes.

In his flight the sound of these following footsteps gave him his one
meager relief.  He felt vaguely that death must make a first choice of
the men who were nearest; the initial morsels for the dragons would be
then those who were following him.  So he displayed the zeal of an
insane sprinter in his purpose to keep them in the rear. There was a
race.

As he, leading, went across a little field, he found himself in a
region of shells.  They hurtled over his head with long wild screams.
As he listened he imagined them to have rows of cruel teeth that
grinned at him.  Once one lit before him and the livid lightning of the
explosion effectually barred the way in his chosen direction.  He
groveled on the ground and then springing up went careering off through
some bushes.

He experienced a thrill of amazement when he came within view of a
battery in action.  The men there seemed to be in conventional moods,
altogether unaware of the impending annihilation.  The battery was
disputing with a distant antagonist and the gunners were wrapped in
admiration of their shooting.  They were continually bending in coaxing
postures over the guns.  They seemed to be patting them on the back and
encouraging them with words.  The guns, stolid and undaunted, spoke
with dogged valor.

The precise gunners were coolly enthusiastic. They lifted their eyes
every chance to the smoke-wreathed hillock from whence the hostile
battery addressed them.  The youth pitied them as he ran.  Methodical
idiots!  Machine-like fools!  The refined joy of planting shells in the
midst of the other battery's formation would appear a little thing when
the infantry came swooping out of the woods.

The face of a youthful rider, who was jerking his frantic horse with an
abandon of temper he might display in a placid barnyard, was impressed
deeply upon his mind.  He knew that he looked upon a man who would
presently be dead.

Too, he felt a pity for the guns, standing, six good comrades, in a
bold row.

He saw a brigade going to the relief of its pestered fellows.  He
scrambled upon a wee hill and watched it sweeping finely, keeping
formation in difficult places.  The blue of the line was crusted with
steel color, and the brilliant flags projected. Officers were shouting.

This sight also filled him with wonder.  The brigade was hurrying
briskly to be gulped into the infernal mouths of the war god.  What
manner of men were they, anyhow?  Ah, it was some wondrous breed!  Or
else they didn't comprehend--the fools.

A furious order caused commotion in the artillery.  An officer on a
bounding horse made maniacal motions with his arms.  The teams went
swinging up from the rear, the guns were whirled about, and the battery
scampered away.  The cannon with their noses poked slantingly at the
ground grunted and grumbled like stout men, brave but with objections
to hurry.

The youth went on, moderating his pace since he had left the place of
noises.

Later he came upon a general of division seated upon a horse that
pricked its ears in an interested way at the battle.  There was a great
gleaming of yellow and patent leather about the saddle and bridle.  The
quiet man astride looked mouse-colored upon such a splendid charger.

A jingling staff was galloping hither and thither.  Sometimes the
general was surrounded by horsemen and at other times he was quite
alone.  He looked to be much harassed.  He had the appearance of a
business man whose market is swinging up and down.

The youth went slinking around this spot. He went as near as he dared
trying to overhear words.  Perhaps the general, unable to comprehend
chaos, might call upon him for information. And he could tell him.  He
knew all concerning it.  Of a surety the force was in a fix, and any
fool could see that if they did not retreat while they had
opportunity--why--

He felt that he would like to thrash the general, or at least approach
and tell him in plain words exactly what he thought him to be.  It was
criminal to stay calmly in one spot and make no effort to stay
destruction.  He loitered in a fever of eagerness for the division
commander to apply to him.

As he warily moved about, he heard the general call out irritably:
"Tompkins, go over an' see Taylor, an' tell him not t' be in such an
all-fired hurry; tell him t' halt his brigade in th' edge of th' woods;
tell him t' detach a reg'ment--say I think th' center 'll break if we
don't help it out some; tell him t' hurry up."

A slim youth on a fine chestnut horse caught these swift words from the
mouth of his superior. He made his horse bound into a gallop almost
from a walk in his haste to go upon his mission. There was a cloud of
dust.

A moment later the youth saw the general bounce excitedly in his saddle.

"Yes, by heavens, they have!"  The officer leaned forward.  His face
was aflame with excitement.  "Yes, by heavens, they 've held 'im! They
've held 'im!"

He began to blithely roar at his staff: "We 'll wallop 'im now.  We 'll
wallop 'im now.  We 've got 'em sure."  He turned suddenly upon an aid:
"Here--you--Jones--quick--ride after Tompkins--see Taylor--tell him t'
go in--everlastingly--like blazes--anything."

As another officer sped his horse after the first messenger, the
general beamed upon the earth like a sun.  In his eyes was a desire to
chant a paean.  He kept repeating, "They 've held 'em, by heavens!"

His excitement made his horse plunge, and he merrily kicked and swore
at it.  He held a little carnival of joy on horseback.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: As Henry becomes more and more aware, he is relieved. The trial has been passed and the difficulties of war have been vanquished. He feels good about himself. He and the other men exchange pleasantries about the weather and shake hands. But this good feeling does not last for long - the enemy attacks again. Masses of troops begin to swell out of the grove on the opposite side of the field. Shells from enemy cannons begin to explode in the grass and trees. The glow fades from the men's eyes. They complain about not having replacements; they groan about aching joints. Henry is convinced that this is a mistake, and the advancing troops will stop, apologize, and turn around. He is wrong. The battle starts again as the Union troops open fire on the field. Henry begins to quiver. He feels numb and is convinced that his foes are machines of steel. He stops firing to peer through the smoke. All he can see is faint views of the ground, covered with men running like imps and yelling. He waits horrified, feeling as if he could shut his eyes and be eaten. A man near him, who had been working on his rifle, suddenly stops and runs screaming. Others begin to run as well. Henry then yells with fright, swings about, and charges for the rear. He loses his rifle and cap, and his open coat sways in the breeze as he runs. He loses all direction of safety. The lieutenant suddenly jumps, red-faced, in front of Henry, attempting to keep him there. He swings with his sword. Henry simply continues to run blindly. He falls a few times. As he runs, he sees others running alongside him and hears more fleeing footsteps behind him. He is convinced the regiment is fleeing, chased by the crashing shells. He continues to run up to the Union battery. Cannon shots go overhead as he speeds through them. The men working the guns seem calm and collected, unaware of their impending doom. They stand on a smoke-ringed hill. Henry feels pity for the poor, unaware fools as he runs. He sees other troops running into battle. Henry is filled with wonder at these fools, speeding to feed the war god. He runs so far he comes up to a hill where the general and his staff are standing on their horses. Henry considers telling him of the carnage and terror. He also considers thrashing him for his poor judgment and behavior. How could he stay still while such destruction was going on. The general then calls on an assistant to direct a brigade to send a regiment to the center, where Henry was, for it is in danger of breaking. The assistant returns in a moment with news that the regiment has held. Henry's feeling that doom was imminent turned out not to be true. The general jostles excitedly on his horse


prompt:
Chapter: 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 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
once had 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 a 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 a sight of the 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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Henry recoils in horror upon hearing that his regiment is victorious. He looks in the direction of the battle and sees a yellow fog along the treetops. He feels wronged. He fled, he tells himself, because annihilation was approaching. As a little piece of the army, he did a good job in saving himself. He thinks his actions to be wise, given the situation. He thinks of his comrades, dressed in blue. They won. The thought makes him bitter. He, the enlightened one, had fled because of his greater perception. They would not see it like that, however. He thinks about the derisions and insults he will have to bear upon returning to his regiment. He pities himself, as if an injustice against him was committed. The guilt of having run away overwhelms Henry. He plods along, his brain in a fit of agony and despair. He goes into a thick wood, trying to hide himself. The underbrush is thick, and he travels slowly. He keeps moving forward into the darkness. Soon the sound of the guns grows faint. He notices more things of the forest - the sun, insects, and birds. Nature seems to not hear the rumble of death. Henry is relieved and relaxed by the landscape. It carries a sense of peace. He throws a pinecone at a squirrel, which runs away in fear. This also settles Henry's mind. The squirrel did not stand still in front of the thrown object; like him, it ran away, trying to preserve itself. Henry continues walking until he gets to a swamp. The sounds of the battle are barely audible. He goes into a small clearing with light streaming down from above, as in a church. What he sees horrifies him. A corpse sits against a tree, his blue uniform faded to green. His eyes are dull and like those of a dead fish. His mouth hangs open and small ants run across his face. Henry shrieks but stands still, looking at it for a long time. Then, the youth puts one hand behind him and backs away slowly. As he goes, he still faces the corpse, afraid that if he turns on it, it will chase him stealthily. As he goes through the branches, he gets small suggestions to touch the corpse. The thought makes him shudder. At last he turns around and runs, thinking of the small ants. After a bit, he pauses, imagining a voice coming from the dead man's throat yelling at him. Silence dominates the small chapel of the forest


prompt:
Chapter: The trees began softly to sing a hymn of twilight.  The sun sank until
slanted bronze rays struck the forest.  There was a lull in the noises
of insects as if they had bowed their beaks and were making a
devotional pause.  There was silence save for the chanted chorus of the
trees.

Then, upon this stillness, there suddenly broke a tremendous clangor of
sounds.  A crimson roar came from the distance.

The youth stopped.  He was transfixed by this terrific medley of all
noises.  It was as if worlds were being rended.  There was the ripping
sound of musketry and the breaking crash of the artillery.

His mind flew in all directions.  He conceived the two armies to be at
each other panther fashion.  He listened for a time.  Then he began to
run in the direction of the battle.  He saw that it was an ironical
thing for him to be running thus toward that which he had been at such
pains to avoid.  But he said, in substance, to himself that if the
earth and the moon were about to clash, many persons would doubtless
plan to get upon the roofs to witness the collision.

As he ran, he became aware that the forest had stopped its music, as if
at last becoming capable of hearing the foreign sounds.  The trees
hushed and stood motionless.  Everything seemed to be listening to the
crackle and clatter and earshaking thunder.  The chorus pealed over the
still earth.

It suddenly occurred to the youth that the fight in which he had been
was, after all, but perfunctory popping.  In the hearing of this
present din he was doubtful if he had seen real battle scenes.  This
uproar explained a celestial battle; it was tumbling hordes a-struggle
in the air.

Reflecting, he saw a sort of a humor in the point of view of himself
and his fellows during the late encounter.  They had taken themselves
and the enemy very seriously and had imagined that they were deciding
the war.  Individuals must have supposed that they were cutting the
letters of their names deep into everlasting tablets of brass, or
enshrining their reputations forever in the hearts of their countrymen,
while, as to fact, the affair would appear in printed reports under a
meek and immaterial title.  But he saw that it was good, else, he said,
in battle every one would surely run save forlorn hopes and their ilk.

He went rapidly on.  He wished to come to the edge of the forest that
he might peer out.

As he hastened, there passed through his mind pictures of stupendous
conflicts.  His accumulated thought upon such subjects was used to form
scenes.  The noise was as the voice of an eloquent being, describing.

Sometimes the brambles formed chains and tried to hold him back. Trees,
confronting him, stretched out their arms and forbade him to pass.
After its previous hostility this new resistance of the forest filled
him with a fine bitterness.  It seemed that Nature could not be quite
ready to kill him.

But he obstinately took roundabout ways, and presently he was where he
could see long gray walls of vapor where lay battle lines.  The voices
of cannon shook him.  The musketry sounded in long irregular surges
that played havoc with his ears.  He stood regardant for a moment.  His
eyes had an awestruck expression.  He gawked in the direction of the
fight.

Presently he proceeded again on his forward way.  The battle was like
the grinding of an immense and terrible machine to him.  Its
complexities and powers, its grim processes, fascinated him.  He must
go close and see it produce corpses.

He came to a fence and clambered over it. On the far side, the ground
was littered with clothes and guns.  A newspaper, folded up, lay in the
dirt.  A dead soldier was stretched with his face hidden in his arm.
Farther off there was a group of four or five corpses keeping mournful
company.  A hot sun had blazed upon the spot.

In this place the youth felt that he was an invader.  This forgotten
part of the battle ground was owned by the dead men, and he hurried, in
the vague apprehension that one of the swollen forms would rise and
tell him to begone.

He came finally to a road from which he could see in the distance dark
and agitated bodies of troops, smoke-fringed.  In the lane was a
blood-stained crowd streaming to the rear. The wounded men were
cursing, groaning, and wailing.  In the air, always, was a mighty swell
of sound that it seemed could sway the earth. With the courageous words
of the artillery and the spiteful sentences of the musketry mingled red
cheers.  And from this region of noises came the steady current of the
maimed.

One of the wounded men had a shoeful of blood.  He hopped like a
schoolboy in a game. He was laughing hysterically.

One was swearing that he had been shot in the arm through the
commanding general's mismanagement of the army.  One was marching with
an air imitative of some sublime drum major. Upon his features was an
unholy mixture of merriment and agony.  As he marched he sang a bit of
doggerel in a high and quavering voice:

  "Sing a song 'a vic'try,
    A pocketful 'a bullets,
  Five an' twenty dead men
    Baked in a--pie."

Parts of the procession limped and staggered to this tune.

Another had the gray seal of death already upon his face.  His lips
were curled in hard lines and his teeth were clinched.  His hands were
bloody from where he had pressed them upon his wound.  He seemed to be
awaiting the moment when he should pitch headlong.  He stalked like the
specter of a soldier, his eyes burning with the power of a stare into
the unknown.

There were some who proceeded sullenly, full of anger at their wounds,
and ready to turn upon anything as an obscure cause.

An officer was carried along by two privates. He was peevish.  "Don't
joggle so, Johnson, yeh fool," he cried.  "Think m' leg is made of
iron? If yeh can't carry me decent, put me down an' let some one else
do it."

He bellowed at the tottering crowd who blocked the quick march of his
bearers.  "Say, make way there, can't yeh?  Make way, dickens take it
all."

They sulkily parted and went to the roadsides.  As he was carried past
they made pert remarks to him.  When he raged in reply and threatened
them, they told him to be damned.

The shoulder of one of the tramping bearers knocked heavily against the
spectral soldier who was staring into the unknown.

The youth joined this crowd and marched along with it.  The torn bodies
expressed the awful machinery in which the men had been entangled.

Orderlies and couriers occasionally broke through the throng in the
roadway, scattering wounded men right and left, galloping on followed
by howls.  The melancholy march was continually disturbed by the
messengers, and sometimes by bustling batteries that came swinging and
thumping down upon them, the officers shouting orders to clear the way.

There was a tattered man, fouled with dust, blood and powder stain from
hair to shoes, who trudged quietly at the youth's side.  He was
listening with eagerness and much humility to the lurid descriptions of
a bearded sergeant.  His lean features wore an expression of awe and
admiration.  He was like a listener in a country store to wondrous
tales told among the sugar barrels.  He eyed the story-teller with
unspeakable wonder.  His mouth was agape in yokel fashion.

The sergeant, taking note of this, gave pause to his elaborate history
while he administered a sardonic comment.  "Be keerful, honey, you 'll
be a-ketchin' flies," he said.

The tattered man shrank back abashed.

After a time he began to sidle near to the youth, and in a different
way try to make him a friend.  His voice was gentle as a girl's voice
and his eyes were pleading.  The youth saw with surprise that the
soldier had two wounds, one in the head, bound with a blood-soaked rag,
and the other in the arm, making that member dangle like a broken bough.

After they had walked together for some time the tattered man mustered
sufficient courage to speak.  "Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?" he
timidly said.  The youth, deep in thought, glanced up at the bloody and
grim figure with its lamblike eyes.  "What?"

"Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?

"Yes," said the youth shortly.  He quickened his pace.

But the other hobbled industriously after him. There was an air of
apology in his manner, but he evidently thought that he needed only to
talk for a time, and the youth would perceive that he was a good fellow.

"Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?" he began in a small voice, and then
he achieved the fortitude to continue.  "Dern me if I ever see fellers
fight so.  Laws, how they did fight!  I knowed th' boys 'd like when
they onct got square at it. Th' boys ain't had no fair chanct up t'
now, but this time they showed what they was.  I knowed it 'd turn out
this way.  Yeh can't lick them boys. No, sir!  They're fighters, they
be."

He breathed a deep breath of humble admiration.  He had looked at the
youth for encouragement several times.  He received none, but gradually
he seemed to get absorbed in his subject.

"I was talkin' 'cross pickets with a boy from Georgie, onct, an' that
boy, he ses, 'Your fellers 'll all run like hell when they onct hearn a
gun,' he ses.  'Mebbe they will,' I ses, 'but I don't b'lieve none of
it,' I ses; 'an' b'jiminey,' I ses back t' 'um, 'mebbe your fellers 'll
all run like hell when they onct hearn a gun,' I ses.  He larfed. Well,
they didn't run t' day, did they, hey?  No, sir!  They fit, an' fit,
an' fit."

His homely face was suffused with a light of love for the army which
was to him all things beautiful and powerful.

After a time he turned to the youth.  "Where yeh hit, ol' boy?" he
asked in a brotherly tone.

The youth felt instant panic at this question, although at first its
full import was not borne in upon him.

"What?" he asked.

"Where yeh hit?" repeated the tattered man.

"Why," began the youth, "I--I--that is--why--I--"

He turned away suddenly and slid through the crowd.  His brow was
heavily flushed, and his fingers were picking nervously at one of his
buttons.  He bent his head and fastened his eyes studiously upon the
button as if it were a little problem.

The tattered man looked after him in astonishment.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Henry continues on through the forest. He hears loud crashes and roars through the darkening sky. It seems as if the world is being rent asunder. Henry's mind is going in all directions at once. He feels that the two armies are going at each other in a panther-like fashion. He then runs, ironically, in the direction of the battle, more to witness the collision of the armies than to participate. As he runs, the forest becomes silent and still. Henry feels that the fight he had fled from was not a struggle, but instead a small skirmish. He doubts that he has seen a real battle. He feels silly for having taken the situation so seriously. He was not carving his name in the tablet of history. The noises still describe a large battle. The brambles of the forest grab him as he runs. Eventually he sees the long gray walls of the battle lines. He stands awestruck by the fight. He then proceeds along his way, but the complexity of the fight fascinates him and he decides to go close to the machine of war and see it produce corpses. He climbs a fence. Five corpses lie on the other side in a road. He scampers away, afraid to disturb them. He soon encounters a procession of wounded soldiers making their way down the road. They are cursing and moaning. One with a wound in his foot hops and laughs hysterically. One swears he has been shot because of the general's mismanagement. Another sings nonsense lyrics to old nursery rhymes. A tattered soldier, wounded in his head and arm, comes up to the youth. He wants to converse about the battle. Henry can barely say anything as the man babbles on. Soon the tattered man asks him where he has been hit. The question makes Henry panic. Embarrassed, he stutters to the man; then he turns his head away and picks at his uniform


prompt:
Chapter: The youth fell back in the procession until the tattered soldier was
not in sight.  Then he started to walk on with the others.

But he was amid wounds.  The mob of men was bleeding.  Because of the
tattered soldier's question he now felt that his shame could be viewed.
He was continually casting sidelong glances to see if the men were
contemplating the letters of guilt he felt burned into his brow.

At times he regarded the wounded soldiers in an envious way.  He
conceived persons with torn bodies to be peculiarly happy.  He wished
that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.

The spectral soldier was at his side like a stalking reproach.  The
man's eyes were still fixed in a stare into the unknown.  His gray,
appalling face had attracted attention in the crowd, and men, slowing
to his dreary pace, were walking with him.  They were discussing his
plight, questioning him and giving him advice.

In a dogged way he repelled them, signing to them to go on and leave
him alone.  The shadows of his face were deepening and his tight lips
seemed holding in check the moan of great despair. There could be seen
a certain stiffness in the movements of his body, as if he were taking
infinite care not to arouse the passion of his wounds.  As he went on,
he seemed always looking for a place, like one who goes to choose a
grave.

Something in the gesture of the man as he waved the bloody and pitying
soldiers away made the youth start as if bitten.  He yelled in horror.
Tottering forward he laid a quivering hand upon the man's arm.  As the
latter slowly turned his waxlike features toward him, the youth
screamed:

"Gawd!  Jim Conklin!"

The tall soldier made a little commonplace smile.  "Hello, Henry," he
said.

The youth swayed on his legs and glared strangely.  He stuttered and
stammered.  "Oh, Jim--oh, Jim--oh, Jim--"

The tall soldier held out his gory hand.  There was a curious red and
black combination of new blood and old blood upon it.  "Where yeh been,
Henry?" he asked.  He continued in a monotonous voice, "I thought mebbe
yeh got keeled over.  There 's been thunder t' pay t'-day.  I was
worryin' about it a good deal."

The youth still lamented.  "Oh, Jim--oh, Jim--oh, Jim--"

"Yeh know," said the tall soldier, "I was out there."  He made a
careful gesture.  "An', Lord, what a circus!  An', b'jiminey, I got
shot--I got shot.  Yes, b'jiminey, I got shot."  He reiterated this
fact in a bewildered way, as if he did not know how it came about.

The youth put forth anxious arms to assist him, but the tall soldier
went firmly on as if propelled.  Since the youth's arrival as a
guardian for his friend, the other wounded men had ceased to display
much interest.  They occupied themselves again in dragging their own
tragedies toward the rear.

Suddenly, as the two friends marched on, the tall soldier seemed to be
overcome by a terror. His face turned to a semblance of gray paste. He
clutched the youth's arm and looked all about him, as if dreading to be
overheard.  Then he began to speak in a shaking whisper:

"I tell yeh what I'm 'fraid of, Henry--I 'll tell yeh what I 'm 'fraid
of.  I 'm 'fraid I 'll fall down--an' then yeh know--them damned
artillery wagons--they like as not 'll run over me.  That 's what I 'm
'fraid of--"

The youth cried out to him hysterically: "I 'll take care of yeh, Jim!
I'll take care of yeh!  I swear t' Gawd I will!"

"Sure--will yeh, Henry?" the tall soldier beseeched.

"Yes--yes--I tell yeh--I'll take care of yeh, Jim!" protested the
youth.  He could not speak accurately because of the gulpings in his
throat.

But the tall soldier continued to beg in a lowly way.  He now hung
babelike to the youth's arm.  His eyes rolled in the wildness of his
terror.  "I was allus a good friend t' yeh, wa'n't I, Henry?  I 've
allus been a pretty good feller, ain't I?  An' it ain't much t' ask, is
it?  Jest t' pull me along outer th' road?  I 'd do it fer you,
Wouldn't I, Henry?"

He paused in piteous anxiety to await his friend's reply.

The youth had reached an anguish where the sobs scorched him.  He
strove to express his loyalty, but he could only make fantastic
gestures.

However, the tall soldier seemed suddenly to forget all those fears. He
became again the grim, stalking specter of a soldier.  He went stonily
forward.  The youth wished his friend to lean upon him, but the other
always shook his head and strangely protested. "No--no--no--leave me
be--leave me be--"

His look was fixed again upon the unknown. He moved with mysterious
purpose, and all of the youth's offers he brushed aside. "No--no--leave
me be--leave me be--"

The youth had to follow.

Presently the latter heard a voice talking softly near his shoulders.
Turning he saw that it belonged to the tattered soldier.  "Ye 'd better
take 'im outa th' road, pardner.  There 's a batt'ry comin' helitywhoop
down th' road an' he 'll git runned over.  He 's a goner anyhow in
about five minutes--yeh kin see that.  Ye 'd better take 'im outa th'
road.  Where th' blazes does he git his stren'th from?"

"Lord knows!" cried the youth.  He was shaking his hands helplessly.

He ran forward presently and grasped the tall soldier by the arm. "Jim!
Jim!" he coaxed, "come with me."

The tall soldier weakly tried to wrench himself free.  "Huh," he said
vacantly.  He stared at the youth for a moment.  At last he spoke as if
dimly comprehending.  "Oh!  Inteh th' fields?  Oh!"

He started blindly through the grass.

The youth turned once to look at the lashing riders and jouncing guns
of the battery.  He was startled from this view by a shrill outcry from
the tattered man.

"Gawd!  He's runnin'!"

Turning his head swiftly, the youth saw his friend running in a
staggering and stumbling way toward a little clump of bushes.  His
heart seemed to wrench itself almost free from his body at this sight.
He made a noise of pain. He and the tattered man began a pursuit. There
was a singular race.

When he overtook the tall soldier he began to plead with all the words
he could find. "Jim--Jim--what are you doing--what makes you do this
way--you 'll hurt yerself."

The same purpose was in the tall soldier's face. He protested in a
dulled way, keeping his eyes fastened on the mystic place of his
intentions. "No--no--don't tech me--leave me be--leave me be--"

The youth, aghast and filled with wonder at the tall soldier, began
quaveringly to question him. "Where yeh goin', Jim?  What you thinking
about?  Where you going?  Tell me, won't you, Jim?"

The tall soldier faced about as upon relentless pursuers.  In his eyes
there was a great appeal. "Leave me be, can't yeh?  Leave me be fer a
minnit."

The youth recoiled.  "Why, Jim," he said, in a dazed way, "what's the
matter with you?"

The tall soldier turned and, lurching dangerously, went on.  The youth
and the tattered soldier followed, sneaking as if whipped, feeling
unable to face the stricken man if he should again confront them.  They
began to have thoughts of a solemn ceremony.  There was something
rite-like in these movements of the doomed soldier. And there was a
resemblance in him to a devotee of a mad religion, blood-sucking,
muscle-wrenching, bone-crushing.  They were awed and afraid. They hung
back lest he have at command a dreadful weapon.

At last, they saw him stop and stand motionless.  Hastening up, they
perceived that his face wore an expression telling that he had at last
found the place for which he had struggled.  His spare figure was
erect; his bloody hands were quietly at his side.  He was waiting with
patience for something that he had come to meet.  He was at the
rendezvous.  They paused and stood, expectant.

There was a silence.

Finally, the chest of the doomed soldier began to heave with a strained
motion.  It increased in violence until it was as if an animal was
within and was kicking and tumbling furiously to be free.

This spectacle of gradual strangulation made the youth writhe, and once
as his friend rolled his eyes, he saw something in them that made him
sink wailing to the ground.  He raised his voice in a last supreme call.

"Jim--Jim--Jim--"

The tall soldier opened his lips and spoke. He made a gesture.  "Leave
me be--don't tech me--leave me be--"

There was another silence while he waited.

Suddenly, his form stiffened and straightened. Then it was shaken by a
prolonged ague.  He stared into space.  To the two watchers there was a
curious and profound dignity in the firm lines of his awful face.

He was invaded by a creeping strangeness that slowly enveloped him. For
a moment the tremor of his legs caused him to dance a sort of hideous
hornpipe.  His arms beat wildly about his head in expression of implike
enthusiasm.

His tall figure stretched itself to its full height. There was a slight
rending sound.  Then it began to swing forward, slow and straight, in
the manner of a falling tree.  A swift muscular contortion made the
left shoulder strike the ground first.

The body seemed to bounce a little way from the earth.  "God!" said the
tattered soldier.

The youth had watched, spellbound, this ceremony at the place of
meeting.  His face had been twisted into an expression of every agony
he had imagined for his friend.

He now sprang to his feet and, going closer, gazed upon the pastelike
face.  The mouth was open and the teeth showed in a laugh.

As the flap of the blue jacket fell away from the body, he could see
that the side looked as if it had been chewed by wolves.

The youth turned, with sudden, livid rage, toward the battlefield.  He
shook his fist.  He seemed about to deliver a philippic.

"Hell--"

The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Henry falls back in the procession of wounded men in order to get away from the tattered soldier. Everyone around him is wounded and bleeding. He perceives these men to be happy, and he wishes now that he too had a red badge of courage. One soldier by his side looks like a specter. He moves stiffly, as if looking for his grave. Henry looks and realizes who it is - Jim Conklin, the tall soldier. Jim holds out his hand to shake; it is a gory combination of red new blood and black old blood. Jim first tells Henry that he was worried the youth had been killed. He then tells him the obvious fact that he was shot. Henry tries to help the tall soldier along the way. The other soldiers are preoccupied in their own wounds. Suddenly, along their march, the tall soldier is overcome by terror. His face turns into a "gray paste. Jim then tells Henry he is afraid of being overrun by an artillery wagon as it speeds down the road. Henry swears to his friend that he will take care of him. Jim, however, forgets those fears and goes forward steadily. He keeps repeating "leave me be -leave me be -" Henry follows him, knowing he must lead Jim out of the road because a battery of cannons threatens to run them over. Henry directs Jim to the fields. He turns to watch the guns go by, then hears a cry from the tattered soldier that Jim is running. Henry turns to see his friend running clumsily through the field. The youth and the tattered soldier pursue him. They catch up to him, and Henry implores Jim to stop moving and rest. Jim can only repeat to leave him alone. He lurches forward, with Henry and the tattered soldier following slowly. Then Jim pauses. His chest heaves. Jim still insists Henry should leave him alone. There is another silence. Then Jim stiffens. His legs shake and his arms flail slightly. He stretches upward and then falls to the ground, dead. Henry watches this display in horror and sadness. He rushes up to Jim, whose mouth is frozen open, blue-lipped, in a smile. Henry turns towards the battlefield with rage, as if to deliver a speech. All he can say is "Hell" as the red sun sits on the horizon