A Companion to the American Short Story
Page 32
This hope, however, is quickly undercut, for they soon realize that rather than living
in an orderly world that can assure salvation, they are isolated victims fl oating in an
irrational cosmos. Angry at his fate, the correspondent complains that “ [t]he whole
142
Paul Sorrentino
affair is absurd ” (894). In an indifferent universe symbolized by a “ high cold star ” and
a tower looking like “ a giant, standing with its back to the plight of the ants, ” there
is no spiritual court of appeals to lodge a complaint about unfair treatment, about
“ the struggles of the individual, ” about life itself (902, 905).
Despite their bleak existence, the men develop a “ subtle brotherhood ” (890) of
trust and concern. The correspondent recalls a poem about a dying soldier that he was
forced to memorize in school. At the time it meant nothing to him; but now, possibly
facing his own death, he realizes that literature, here in the form of a poem about
comradeship, can help him fi nd meaning in an indifferent universe. As the dinghy
fi nally gets close to shore, this comradeship is augmented by a bystander who, “ like
a saint ” with “ a halo about his head, ” pulls the exhausted men from the breakers and
by a community of people with blankets, clothing, coffee, “ and all the remedies sacred
to their minds ” (909). Ironically, the oiler, the best swimmer, dies before getting to
shore. The story ends with peaceful imagery of the night and ocean and a realization
that now the four men “ felt that they could then be interpreters ” (909). Despite their
own insignifi cance in an indifferent universe, they have learned the value of solidarity
and compassion.
Like “ The Open Boat, ” in “ Flanagan and His Short Filibustering Adventure ” a fi li-
bustering boat develops engine trouble before sinking, insurgents get seasick, and a
crewman drowns in the breakers. Flanagan ’ s assignment as captain is an initiation
into fi libustering. He is successful in getting the insurgents and munitions to Cuba
and in avoiding getting captured by the Spanish; but when his crew is forced to
abandon ship, people on shore view the sudden appearance of lifeboats on the horizon
as an entertaining spectacle rather than an occasion for rescue and comfort. Like
other Crane stories – e.g., “ The Five White Mice, ” “ An Episode of War, ” and “ War
Memories ” – an ironic ending defl ates a character ’ s attempt to understand his experi-
ence. When Flanagan ’ s corpse washes ashore, indifferent spectators avoid it for fear of
getting their shoes and clothing wet in the surf. As the narrator laments in the last
line of the story, Flanagan ’ s heroic effort will remain forgotten in the annals of history:
“
[t]he expedition of the
Foundling
will never be historic
”
(
Prose and Poetry 925).
Despite Crane ’ s effort to make sense of the Commodore incident in three ways – as his
“ Own Story, ” as the “ Experience of Four Men, ” and as an “ Adventure ” – the harrow-
ing nightmare remained with him for the rest of his life. On his deathbed, as Cora
Crane recalled, “ My husbands [ sic ] brain is never at rest. He lives over everything in
dreams & talks aloud constantly. It is too awful to hear him try to change places in
the ‘ open boat ’ ! ” ( Correspondence II. 655 – 6).
Crane explored the “ rage of confl ict ” ( Correspondence I. 228) not only in the city,
out West, and on the sea but also on the battlefi eld. His war fi ction falls into three
chronological periods: stories written loosely about the Civil War before he had wit-
nessed combat, those written after having experienced it in Greece and Cuba, and
those written about an imaginary war between two countries. 7
To capitalize on the success of The Red Badge of Courage , S. S. McClure sent Crane
to Virginia in late January 1896 to tour Civil War battlefi elds for a series of sketches
Stephen
Crane
143
about major battles for McClure ’ s literary syndicate, but nothing came of the project.
Instead, Crane wrote short stories about the war but soon realized that he could not
sustain the narrative intensity of the novel. Fearing he had “ used [himself] up in
the accursed ‘ Red Badge, ’ ” he wrote, “ [p]eople may just as well discover now that
the high dramatic key of The Red Badge cannot be sustained ( Correspondence I. 161,
191). Most of the stories, which comprise Crane
’
s fi rst period of war fi ction and
appear in The Little Regiment and Other Episodes of the American Civil War (1896), lack
the imaginative quality often found in his great fi ction. In “ The Veteran, ” a sequel
to
The Red Badge of Courage
, Henry Fleming dies trying to rescue animals in a
burning barn. “ An Indiana Campaign, ” a humorous account of mistaken identity
concerning the theft of chickens, was rejected by the Atlantic Monthly because “ in
substance it is somewhat too slight for our more or less serious pages ” ( Correspondence
I. 226). In
“
A Grey Sleeve,
”
which capitalized on the popularity of sentimental
wartime love stories, a nascent romance develops between a dashing Union offi cer
and a Southern belle. Although Crane once characterized their behavior “ charming
in their childish faith in each other,
”
they were
“
a pair of idiots,
”
and
“
A Grey
Sleeve ” was “ not in any sense a good story ” (I. 180, 171). In “ Three Miraculous
Soldiers ” another Southern heroine helps three Confederate soldiers escape from the
enemy. Despite its sentimentality, its treatment of the theme of limited perception
– at one point the heroine ’ s vision is literally restricted to what she can see through
a knothole – is what James Nagel has called “ one of the most remarkably limited
narrative perspectives in American literature ” (Nagel 48). The title story, “ The Little
Regiment, ”
lacks plot and character development, but its use of color, contrasts
between art and nature, and blurring of fact and fi ction are reminiscent of Crane ’ s
best literary impressionism.
Two stories during Crane ’ s fi rst period of war fi ction, “ A Mystery of Heroism: A
Detail of an American Battle ” (1895) and “ An Episode of War ” (1899), deserve special
attention. In “ A Mystery of Heroism, ” the sixth story in The Little Regiment , Fred
Collins risks his life during an artillery battle to try to bring back a bucket of water
for his comrades; but when one lieutenant tries to take a drink, another playfully
jostles his elbow and knocks the bucket to the ground, spilling the water. Given the
ending of the story, is Collins a hero for risking his life to get water for his comrades,
or is he a fool carelessly motivated by pride? One might argue that his decision to
comfort a dying offi cer suggests his empathy for fellow humans, but his action, what-
ever motivates it, is for naug
ht. Perhaps the emptiness of the bucket symbolizes the
emptiness of his action – and by extension, if actions have no meaning, abstractions
such as courage and bravery seem ultimately meaningless as well. Hemingway would
later echo the same sentiment when Frederic Henry, wearied from the ultimate use-
lessness of war in A Farewell to Arms , says, “ I was always embarrassed by the words
sacred, glorious, and sacrifi ce and the expression in vain. … Abstract words such as
glory, honor, courage, or hallow were obscene ” ( A Farewell to Arms 184, 185). For
many of Crane ’ s and Hemingway ’ s characters, the fi nal question is: what is the proper
mode of conduct in a chaotic universe?
144
Paul Sorrentino
Like “ A Mystery of Heroism, ” “ An Episode of War ” is one of Crane ’ s fi nest war
stories. A lieutenant is shot in the arm while apportioning coffee beans for his troops.
As he heads for the fi eld hospital, an increasingly widened perspective of “ many things
which as a participant in the fi ght were unknown to him ” ( Prose and Poetry 672) rep-
resents metaphorically the shift in his attitude towards battle and life in general.
When he reaches the hospital – appropriately located in a schoolhouse, a place where
one goes to learn – he sees a wounded man, resigned to his condition, calmly smoking
a pipe. After the lieutenant ’ s arm is amputated, he returns home to his family griev-
ing “ at the sight of the fl at sleeve ” (675); however, like the pipe smoker, he recognizes
a wound as a badge of mortality and stoically accepts his own insignifi cance in the
universe.
Whereas Crane ’ s war fi ction before 1897 consists mostly of impressionistic studies
of fear and isolation or sentimental treatments of war, during his second period, which
is marked by his fi rst experience of combat, he soon learned that “ the ‘ Red Badge ’
[was] all right
”
(Conrad 11).
8 Out of the Greco - Turkish War came Active Service
(1899), a novel that uses war primarily as the setting for a domestic comedy of
manners, and “ Death and the Child ” (1898), a superb short story that explores the
nature of confl ict and heroism.
Peza, a young Italian correspondent of Greek descent, has been assigned to report
the war. Like Henry Fleming in The Red Badge of Courage , Peza ’ s view of war is based
on his na ï ve imagination and an infl ated sense of self - importance. The immediacy of
war and the sight of dead and wounded, however, force him to confront his illusions
about combat. Even though Peza tries to defend his actions or ignore the consequences
of his behavior, the narrator constantly undercuts him. When Peza deserts the spectral
soldier, the narrator quickly chastises him for being “ surely craven in the movement
of refusal ” ( Prose and Poetry 957); and when he attempts to get a better viewpoint of
the battle by standing on “ a pillar ” “ surveying mankind, the world ” (958) – an image
in which he ironically resembles a statue commemorating some military hero – dust
gets into Peza ’ s eyes, literally and fi guratively suggesting his own limited point of
view. In contrast are the perspectives of experienced soldiers, who accept the drudgery
of war as essential to its outcome, and a deserted child, whose confused parents, in
the terrifying rush of innocent peasants to fl ee the battle, have forgotten their son and
left him in a hut on a hill. Like Peza, the boy misreads the reality of war and interprets
it only from the limited perspective of a child familiar with games and the actions of
shepherds tending to a fl ock of animals. In the fi nal section of the story, which jux-
taposes the perspectives of Peza and the child, Peza fi nally acknowledges the illusion
of an infl ated ego and accepts his own insignifi cance in the grand scheme of the
universe.
Sick and tired for much of the time, Crane produced little fi ction based on the
Greco - Turkish War. His experience in Cuba, however, was different. Of the more
than 200 reporters, photographers, and artists who covered the Cuban phase of the
Spanish - American War, Crane was among the two or three most famous – and argu-
ably the best. His experience led to a collection of eleven war stories, Wounds in the
Stephen
Crane
145
Rain (1900), in which he continued to develop innovative narrative techniques and
to explore the complex nature of courage and sacrifi ce; but unlike his earlier war
fi ction, these stories are more fi rmly grounded in current social and political issues
and reveal Crane ’ s admiration for seasoned, professional veterans who did their task
in combat dutifully and stoically.
In “ The Price of the Harness, ” Crane criticizes the constant attention paid in the
American press to colorful volunteer regiments such as Theodore Roosevelt ’ s Rough
Riders at the expense of the common regular soldiers, who, in “ Marines Signaling
under Fire at Guant á namo, ” calmly stand up in the line of fi re to call in artillery shells
from nearby ships. Similarly, “ The Second Generation ” criticizes nepotism and class
privilege as the basis for a military commission. War also produces absurdist humor
when a drunken soldier suddenly begins singing a medley of songs during combat in
“ The Sergeant ’ s Private Madhouse ” ; and in “ God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, ” “ This
Majestic Lie, ” and “ The Lone Charge of William B. Perkins, ” Crane satirizes incom-
petent correspondents and debunks yellow journalism.
Besides treating the war realistically and satirically, Crane experiments with inno-
vative narrative techniques in Wounds in the Rain . Certainly one of his most stylisti-
cally and thematically complex stories is “ The Clan of No - Name, ” which he called “ a
peach. I love it devotedly ” ( Correspondence II. 379). Its complex plot, frame structure,
shifting time schemes and points of view, and indeterminacy of meaning foreshadow
postmodernism. Equally as original is the little - known masterpiece “ War Memories, ”
which seamlessly blends journalistic dispatches with impressionistic glimpses of
combat. Unlike other autobiographical accounts of the Spanish - American War that
focus on factual summaries of military details and major events, Crane adopts the
persona of a correspondent named Vernall, who struggles with ontological and lin-
guistic questions about the nature of reality.
Throughout, Vernall acknowledges the inability to capture objective truth, “ the
real thing, ” because “ ‘ war is neither magnifi cent nor squalid; it is simply life, and an
expression of life can always evade us. We can never tell life, one to another, although
sometimes we think we can ’ ” ( Tales of War 222). Vernall struggles to control his own
story. Occasionally, he realizes that “ [he has] forgotten to tell you ” (247) an important
detail; at other times, in trying to recall simple details about his experience in Cuba,
he has only a “ vague sense ” or “ vague impression ” (248, 259) of his war memories
– certainly a contrast to Theodore Roosevelt ’ s autobiographical The Rough Riders , in
which the author appears to have tota
l recall of even the smallest detail. As a result,
the chronology in “ War Memories ” is complex. Vernall ’ s inability to control his nar-
rative is further complicated by his implied conversation with an unnamed voiceless
interlocutor who wants the narrator to tell heroic stories about Rough Riders and the
military details about the famous battles at Las Gu á simas and the San Juan hills – the
kind of narrative that Roosevelt and others wrote. This narrative battle between an
uncertain narrator and an audience demanding romantic accounts of glorious deeds
highlights the ontological and linguistic diffi culties in trying to capture “ the real
thing ” in the act of storytelling itself.
146
Paul Sorrentino
Vernall learns that language cannot ultimately articulate what is real about war
– or anything. By the end of the story, all he can say with certainty is that “ [t]he
episode was closed. And you can depend upon it that I have told you nothing at all,
nothing at all, nothing at all ” – and yet paradoxically he gives us a disturbing glimpse
at an “ overwhelming, crushing, monstrous ” reality so different from that in other
accounts of the Spanish - American War (263, 254). One of America ’ s greatest accounts
of war, “ War Memories ” foreshadows Hemingway ’ s artistic dictum in Death in the
Afternoon to get “ the real thing ” (2) in writing as well as postmodern narratives of the
Viet Nam War, most notably Michael Herr ’ s Dispatches (Robertson 174).
Crane ’ s fi nal set of war stories, ” The Spitzbergen Tales ” (1899), was written during
the last year of his life. The four stories depict an imaginary war between two fi cti-
tious countries, Spitzbergen and Rostina, and focus on an infantry regiment called
the “ Kicking Twelfth. ” Read together, the stories have a narrative progression, and
in three of them the main character is Lieutenant Timothy Lean. In “ The Kicking
Twelfth ” Lieutenant Lean defeats the enemy from Rostina despite suffering heavy
losses. In “ The Shrapnel of Their Friends, ” the regiment accidentally comes under
artillery fi re from one of its own batteries during a second engagement with the
enemy. In “ And If He Wills, We Must Die, ” the mood is more bleak, with a graphi-
cally described slaughter of a squad of Spitzbergen soldiers defending a house at the