The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

Through it's dramatic content, portrayed in the the heart of a young, inexperienced Civil War soldier, The Red Badge of Courage, has captured the hearts of countless readers throughout the decades who face battles in their life, similar to that of Henry Flemming; both in and outside of war. Not only does the novel display the true essence of courage in the life of Flemming, but Crane also stamps out his ideals behind true glory and honor in those battles of life, which turns him into the mature soldier he wants to be. This is something all of us can relate to. For these very reasons and more, I found the novel to be a favorite, and chose to look at it from a different angle outside of the main character. 

Crane writes the story in the third person, from the perspective of a youth, who is trying to "find himself" as a new soldier, in which he seeks the encouragement and advice from his comrades in his journey. Though there is much incite that we can learn from through his friends, and their viewpoints of the war, we are never really given that chance to totally understand their perspectives. Though it is obvious that his friends are young and inexperienced soldiers like he is, we know for sure that they saw the war differently then Henry. By looking through the eyes of Henry's friend, Wilson, we gain something about the concepts of glory and honor in manhood, that Henry eventually learns himself. (The dialogue is taken from the end of the thirteenth chapter, and the beginning of chapter fourteenth in the book). 

Finally Wilson bent and picked up his blankets. He spread the rubber one upon the ground and placed the woolen one upon the youth's shoulders.  
"There now, " he said, "lie down and get some sleep."
The youth, obeying quietly, got carefully down. He stretched out with a murmur of relief and comfort. The ground felt like the softest bed. 
But suddenly he said, "Wait a minute. Where are you going to sleep?"
His friend waved his hand impatiently. "Right down there next to you."
"Well, but wait--" continued the youth. "What are you going to sleep on? I've got your--"
The young soldier answered: "Be quiet and go to sleep. Don't be making a fool of yourself," he said firmly. 
A long gaze of concern crossed the young soldiers face at Wilson, but he silently turned to lay down, and started resting peacefully. Wilson continued to look at his friend with tender eyes, and wished he could have been with him when he got shot. He felt great sympathy for the poor fellow, and was glad he had not further argued with him. Besides, he did not feel much like sleeping anyway, though he was dead tired, and felt that Henry needed it more. Stretching his legs out, and propping his torso up with his hands behind his back, his gray face lifted to the sky, and Wilson looked up into the shining black, and thought about the past events. The hot and sweaty men all standing behind the forest trees, firing their guns so heavily, turning out fire and smoke as if the whole place was red in flames, came back to him in a clear exuberant picture. He really thought they had them. He was sure of it. He remember the silence that came and went as if a storm was rolling in, and became angry at himself for ever thinking he could somehow conquer it. He saw the boys run at the second attack, and found himself too plastered behind a dead gunman at the foot of the run, where he stayed until the the firing had stopped. "Only God can control the storm," he thought, "all I can hope is that I don't end up blasted to smithereens!" Something inside of him seemed to take a second look at his wounded friend. He didn't know why, but he had a deep concern for his countenance, and contemplated a fact. "If I could have been there... I would have taken it for him." 

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