A Mystery of Heroism

By Stephen Crane Over this past weekend, I read the 4th in Crane’s collection of stories, A Mystery of Heroism. As the title implies, the story raises the question - “What is a hero? What is heroism?” It begins with the factual description of a nameless war, one that by the equipment used – “On the top of the hill a battery was arguing in tremendous roars with some other guns, and to the eye of the infantry the artillerymen, the guns, the caissons, the horses, were distinctly outlined upon the blue sky.” – would definitely imply that this story was set during the Civil War.

In said story, a union soldier called Fred Collins, of A Company, is shouting about wanting water. All the while, amidst his shouting, the regiment pauses to watch their comrades die on the field. “Our” side is strategically placed on a hill, while the opposing force is in the forest, and there is what used to be a quaint meadow between them. To the side of this meadow is a now-ruined gray house, that has been savaged by bullets and soldiers seeking firewood. The carnage continues around him, injuring specific nameless people, and scarring the meadow, as Collins natters on about needing water. His relative indifference to the dying around him leads me to believe he was either separating himself and fixating on the water as a means of clinging to the mundane in a dangerous circumstance – or, he was actually slightly delirious from dehydration.
Fred Collins is a simple man, with simple thoughts and desires. He is a proud man, a foolish man, and when teased by his comrades about how he would be afraid to fetch water from across the meadow, he is rapidly driven to breaking point. He rashly goes to his captain, who is talking to the colonel of the regiment, and states his desire to go fetch water. The Captain recognizes the seriousness and absurd nature of such a request, and asks “ ‘Well – ah,’ said the captain. After a moment, he asked. ‘Can’t you wait?’” After a resounding no, the captain allows him to go.
His companions badgering him with questions, advice, warnings, and excited talk, Collins is relatively indifferent. He takes five or six canteens to fill, and strides off into the field. No where in this is there any indication that he actually wants to go. It is almost as if he feels he must, as a matter of pride.
Collins begins to ponder what he is doing, and finds himself so far unafraid. He felt dazed and a little out of control, and begins to understand that what he is doing might be called “dramatically great.” He then ponders that all men who do not feel this human fear “were phenomena – heroes.” He considers himself a hero – and then almost instantly dismisses it on basis of not paying back a friend 15 dollars, and not writing to his mother before she died. He then calls himself “an intruder in the land of fine deeds.”
The battle continues, and he hurries toward the wrecked house, canteens empty and swinging. As soon as he reaches the well, he lets a canteen fill itself painfully slowly, and feels a sudden burst of terror. He gets more and more frantic, hearing the explosions and bullets around him, and eventually gives up on the canteens, opting for a fast-filling bucket.
There is a wonderful quote that represents how Collins himself feels about his own heroism. “So, through this terrible field over which screamed practical angels of death, Collins ran in the manner of a farmer chased out of a dairy by a bull.” This metaphor, using death angels and farm animals, shows the extreme contrast between Collins and the ideal hero. But still, Collins is a hero.
This is still questionable at this point, but as he runs frenziedly back to his regiment, he is very aware of his own mortality. He reaches an artillery officier who had fallen to the ground, horse and all, a few pages back. He is utterly alone, his suffering heard by only bullet after bullet. He is tormented by pain, yet calls out – “Say, young man, give me a drink of water, will you?”
Collins shrieks out, “I can’t!” and runs on, wild. The man, trapped under his horse and doomed, sinks back down to die.
But Collins turns. He is full of fear, consumed by it, but he runs back, and tries to give the officer his last drink. The man droops, falls, but Collins urges him. “Here’s your drink. Turn over. Turn over, man, for God’s sake!” The officer has the faintest smile on his lips as he looks at Collins, and he sighs, a small breath like that of a child. Wild with terror, Collins splashes the face of the dying man and runs on.
The regiment welcomes him back with laughter. Two young lieutenants gained possession of the bucket, and they rough-housed a little. “Don’t, Billie! You’ll make me spill it!” and they laughed. Suddenly, there is a thud on the ground, a gasp amidst the ranks, and the two glare at each other. The bucket is on the ground, empty.
The first thing about this story that strikes me as I read it over is how few characters have names, aside from our focal point, Fred Collins. At the very end, one of the lieutenants is called Billie by the other, and there is a Jim in there somewhere, but the no one is directly indicated to by name aside from Collins. This seems to reinforce Crane’s technique of not using names unless necessary for distinction, or for very specific reasons.
The dictionary defines a hero as:

  1. In mythology and legend, a man, often of divine ancestry, who is endowed with great courage and strength, celebrated for his bold exploits, and favored by the gods.
  2. A person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life: soldiers and nurses who were heroes in an unpopular war.
  3. A person noted for special achievement in a particular field: the heroes of medicine.
  4. The principal male character in a novel, poem, or dramatic presentation

Fred Collins risked his life for a silly, arrogant need to prove himself. That is not heroic. But his second risk of his life – not for himself, or the recognition from his comrades, but to grant a dying man his last wish – that is heroic. Even after realizing the terrible danger that he is in, he continues to proactively help someone. Collins has never before considered himself a hero, and in the end, may not. After all, what difference did his risk make? A spilt bucket of water?

Questions: Do you think Collins is a hero? That his risk was worth it? Do you think that the bucket was spilt even matters? 
Thanks all,Emma