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6 Death before Dishonor: Seasoned Soldiers and the Burden of Heroism It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it. —Robert E. Lee n the aftermath of the transition in which green recruits, if they survive without dying or deserting, are transformed into seasoned warriors, the dreamland imagery of enchantment disappears from Bierce’s Civil War writing. His fiction nevertheless remains focused on notions of courage and cowardice in depictingindividualsoldierswhocontinuetobattlefearof deathastheystruggle both physically and psychically to adhere to the demands of the culture’s herosystem . Society’s code of “[c]ourage had for Civil War soldiers a narrow, rigid, and powerful meaning: heroic action undertaken without fear” (Linderman 17). Writing about his own Civil War experiences, Bierce’s contemporary John William De Forest encapsulates the impossibility of adhering to such a standard when he explains that “[t]he man who does not dread to die or to be mutilated is a lunatic. The man who, dreading these things, still faces them for the sake of duty and honor is a hero” (124). In stories such as “Killed at Resaca” and “Parker Adderson, Philosopher,” Bierce presents portraits of soldiers who are severely tested as they strive to bear the burden of heroism by facing possible death or dismemberment without revealing or succumbing to their fears. First published in 1887, “Killed at Resaca” recounts the death of First Lieutenant Herman Brayle at Resaca, Georgia, where Bierce himself fought under General William B. Hazen’s command on 13–15 May 1864. The narrator of the story, in opening the tale, identifies Brayle as an aide-de-camp and “[t]he best soldier of our staff.” In describing the officer further, he uses an abundance of Death before Dishonor 70 physical details that creates an ideal image of manhood: “Lieutenant Brayle was more than six feet in height and of splendid proportions, with the light hair and gray-blue eyes which men so gifted usually find associated with a high order of courage. As he was commonly in full uniform, especially in action . . . , he was a very striking and conspicuous figure. As to the rest, he had a gentleman’s manners , a scholar’s head and a lion’s heart.” No callow youth, Brayle is a mature adult of “about thirty,” whose dashing looks, modest demeanor, and apparent strength of character make him a favorite with his comrades despite his “one most objectionable and unsoldierly quality: he was vain of his courage.” Since joining the brigade at Stones River, Tennessee, and repeatedly since that deadly battle of 31 December 1862 to 2 January 1863, Brayle has refused to take cover under fire “except when sternly commanded to do so by the general” (SF 507). Inexplicably and without fail in such engagements, the lieutenant would “sit his horse like an equestrian statue, in a storm of bullets and grape, in the most exposed places,” or “stand like a rock in the open when officers and men alike had taken to cover” (508). His comrades know nothing of Brayle’s past, but although they are unable to explain the lieutenant’s disregard for his own safety by immaturity, lack of experience, or ignorance, they find themselves at times spellbound by his daring displays of what they interpret as valor. When sent on a “perilous errand,” Brayle never stooped, always instead cutting a “splendid figure, accentuated by his uniform, holding the eye with a strange fascination.” As the narrator explains, “We watched him with suspended breath, our hearts in our mouths” (SF 508). In an attempt to justify their emotional response to such reckless behavior, the speaker retrospectively seeks to “do justice to a brave man’s memory” by clarifying that in Brayle’s “needless exposures of life there was no visible bravado nor subsequent narration” (508). Further, Brayle’s failure to value his own life does not mean that he failed to care about the lives of others. When the captain, who had warned him to be more careful, was “shot to rags from an ambuscade Brayle remained by the body for some time, adjusting the limbs with needless care— there in the middle of a road swept by gusts of grape and canister!” Using this act as his most compelling defense of Brayle’s character, the narrator concludes, “It is easy to condemn this kind of thing, and not very difficult to refrain from imitation , but it is impossible not to respect, and Brayle was liked none the...

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