The Red Badge of Courage

The “tall soldier” who appears within the first page of the book, and who is prone to rumor, acts as Henry’s first sounding board concerning his fears of the battle to come. He says, “if a whole lot of boys started and run, why, I s’pose I’d start and run […] but if everybody was a-standing and a-fighting, why, I’d stand and fight” (11). This is as good an answer as Henry will get for the whole of the novel, but as the young protagonist remains untested, he is wholly unsatisfied with Jim Conklin’s answer to his question.

Later, Jim will sacrifice himself to teach Henry this lesson in a completely different way. Walking among the wounded, the mortally wounded Jim is exactly where he needs to be, among a crowd of his peers, held aloft even in his dying stagger by the assistance of his fellow wounded. When he dies, he dies with the vigor of someone who knows why he was alive. Throughout the story, Jim’s outward actions of solidarity and purpose serve to alienate Henry, who feels apart from his fellow soldiers.

The “loud soldier” who appears on the first page of the book arguing with Jim Conklin seems the more hotheaded of the two, and the more likely to meet his end in battle through sheer lack of wisdom. However, he ends as a guiding spirit to Henry, referred to most commonly as his “friend” rather than by an indifferent adjective or by his name.

Unlike Henry, the reader does not have access to Wilson’s thoughts, as we see him from Henry’s point of view. Instead, we see only his selfless actions, some of which benefit Henry, and toward which Henry slowly builds up a deficit that requires repayment. He cannot repay this debt through thought, but through emulation of Wilson’s better character.

In a world in which men are anonymous members of a larger host, the mysterious stranger who leads Henry out of the wilderness stands out for his self-assurance and his individuality but also for his near-total anonymity. Most soldiers have an attribute, such as tallness or youth, and a distinct physical or emotional profile that set them apart from their collective duty. Henry learns neither the name of his guide nor what he looks like.

This mystery opens this plot-critical character to interpretation. In his forgiving lack of curiosity as to the reasons Henry finds himself separated from the group, and by his selflessness in leading Henry home, the mysterious stranger resembles a Christlike figure. He mentions that he has found many others lost in the woods and that he will presumably continue leading men into the morning out of the darkness. At the same time, the figure resembles the novelist. His mode of address almost fits the notion a particularly self-satisfied storyteller has of his own powers, assisting Henry “with replies like one manipulating the mind of a child. Sometimes he interjected anecdotes” (58). Where patrols exist, he finds his way through them with narrative ease.

In either case, the mysterious stranger acts as a deus ex machina (or “god from a machine”), a plot device swiftly descending from the narrative architecture to set the story back on its course as if by magic. His is the least naturalistic role in the book, touched as it is by the magic of plot architecture.