Traveller (12 page)

“General Hood!” says Marse Robert, and with that there come another bang that blowed a great cloud of dust all over us, so you couldn't see or think. When it cleared, neither Marse Robert nor this General Hood had moved a hair; they was still sat a-talking. Marse Robert was pointing acrost at the trees down in the bottom.

“This must be done,” he said. “Can you break the line?”

“I'll try,” answers the big young fella. He had a strong, powerful voice and sounded very confident.

Marse Robert was jest backing Richmond away when he stopped and lifted his hat. Then he said something I didn't catch—sounded like “Good-bye to you.” I reckoned he s'posed he'd never see this here general again.

And that was the very first time, Tom, that I ever seed General Hood and his Texans. Oh, we was a rough, tough Army sure ‘nuff, but I'm here to tell you there warn't a tougher bunch in the whole outfit than them Texans. I larned that later—yeah, larned it over and over. But they never—no, they never went through worse nor druv the Blue men harder'n what they did on that dreadful evening. Marse Robert never forgot it—I know that. Always, after that, it was like the Texans was the fellas he relied on most of all to beat the Blue men when we was in a tight spot.

I'd figured out that it couldn't be done—pushing those people out of t'other side of that swamp; it jest couldn't be done. But them Texans did it. ‘Course, where we was, you couldn't see what was happening down the bottom, ‘ceptin' there was an awful lot o' heavy firing and smoke. And then, jest as the sun was dropping behind the woods, by golly! there was those people all a-scrambling out and running away, and the Texans after ‘em, and all the rest of our fellas strung out—oh, a mile acrost, I reckon—yelling and chasing after ‘em for all they was worth! I couldn't see no more, on account of it had got too dark. I jest knowed a fearful lot of soldiers, both sides, must ‘a been shot and wounded, ‘cause you could hear ‘em all crying and calling out in the dark.

But we didn't stick around that swamp. We-all went back to the big house among the trees, and there we had a feed and was stabled up for the night. Brown-Roan was led in after me, and I seed the poor fella walk right into the doorpost and fetch up trembling and turning his head from side to side.

“Are you there, Traveller?”

I nickered acrost to him. It was meant to be reassuring, but I was feeling pretty shook up myself.

He sort of fell into his stall and only jest seemed to keep on his feet. I could hear his hooves clattering on the bricks.

“Blind, Traveller, I'm blind!”

Jest then Marse Robert came in, and the groom—nice young lad, name of Dave—told him something was wrong with Brown-Roan. Marse Robert went over and stroked his nose, talked to him a few moments and passed his hand acrost his eyes once't or twice't. Then he says to Dave, “I'm sorry, I can't spare the time now. One of you had better find some farmer or sechlike round here to take the horse. Both the others I shall need at first light tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir,” says Dave. “Will two be ‘nuff?”

Marse Robert only nodded. Then, jest as he went out, he smiled and said, “‘Long as we've got Traveller.”

That was the last night I ever seed poor ol' Brown-Roan, because we was up and off first thing in the morning. He was well out of it. I guess they put him on one of the farms round ‘bout, and maybe his blindness passed off. I missed him; he was the nearest thing I had to a friend in them days, but I never larned n'more ‘bout where he might ‘a fetched up. Like Zeb said, horses are forever saying good-bye.

There was hardly light in the sky when Marse Robert rode me back to the battlefield. It seemed strange: everything was that quiet—not a Blue man anywheres, only jest the dead ‘uns. It was quiet all that day and pretty quiet the next, too. Jest big bangs—very big—far off, and great clouds of dust in the sky. It was the Blue men, blowing up their own things and running away for all they was worth. What I mostly remember is the terrible hot sun, and the choking dust along the roads full of our soldiers, and the clouds of flies and skeeters in them woods and swamps. Everywhere was broken carts and burning haystacks and barns; yeah, and laying round there was bay'nets and guns and belts—all sorts o' things—'coutrements as the Blue men had throwed away when they was skedaddling. You never seed sech a mess. And on through it all we went, soldiers and horses and wagons, and Marse Robert and me forever riding here and there ‘mong the woods and clearings and acrost the little bits o' fields. It was all that mixed-up, you'd wonder the Army didn't run itself astray. It's my belief that's what happened, ‘cause no one rightly knowed where they was meant to be heading for.

What I mostly recollect, Tom, is the way we was all so short of sleep. That was the very middle of summer, and I guess Marse Robert figured we had to be after those people every hour of daylight there was. A lot of them last days of the fighting I was as good as beat—sleeping on my feet—but I was jiggered if I was going to give up, long's Marse Robert wanted to keep a-moving. It was him that kept me going. I couldn't ‘a done it for nobody else.

One evening, when it seemed jest like we'd been up and down in the heat forever, I was feeling like I was going to cave in right that very moment. I pulled up and stood panting, head hanging down, jest like an old donkey under two grain sacks. And then, Tom, if'n you can follow me, I realized that although I
thought
I'd stopped on my own ‘count, the fact was Marse Robert, he'd reined me in. We always understood each other through and through, you see, and he'd knowed I was beat before I knowed it myself. We was like that, him and me, I could sense what he wanted without him having to give me no signal like another rider would, and ‘course that made his life a lot easier, considering all he'd got to think about from morning till night. But that there was the first time I got to know it worked both ways.

It was almost dark, and we jest happened to be some little ways off from the nearest soldiers. Marse Robert dismounted, patted my neck and spoke to me real soft. “Easy, Traveller, easy! Been a long day. Soon be done now. We'll both rest a spell, you and me together.” And with that he hitched me to the branch of a tree, sat down under it hisself and closed his eyes.

We didn't get long, though. We'd only been resting there for jest a few minutes in the dusk when all of a sudden up comes an officer on his horse, all in a sweat and a hurry.

“Come on, old man!” calls out this officer to Marse Robert. “I need that there tree for a hospital. There's wounded men I got to look after. Out of the way, now!”

Marse Robert told him, near as I could understand, that he'd be leaving right away, soon's the wounded came, but he figured till then there was room for both of ‘em.

I thought the officer was going to bust, but afore he could start in yelling at Marse Robert, up rides Major Taylor, dismounts and salutes.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, General Lee, sir,” he says, “but I have a dispatch here from General Hill.”

I reckon that there hospital officer didn't know which way to turn. He went red from the neck up. Then he began stammering something ‘bout he was real sorry, he hadn't recognized Marse Robert in the bad light.

“It's no matter, Doctor,” says Marse Robert, smiling. “There's plenty o' room for both of us.”

Soon after, I let him know I was ready to go on, and we rode back to headquarters with Major Taylor.

I can't recall whether it was next morning, but anyways it was very early some morning soon after, we rode down to a little railroad station jest as the sun was coming up. Usual weather, all calm and nary a cloud. There was several officers with Marse Robert, but he told ‘em to stop and wait for him; and then him and me, we went on a ways with nobody else but young Dave riding Richmond. I could see somebody was coming the other way to meet us. Whoever he was, he'd done like Marse Robert and left a bunch of his own people behind to wait. He was sitting up very stiff in the saddle. I recognized the horse before I recognized the man. It was that scrubby little horse I'd seed the afternoon of the big battle at the creek. That same moment Marse Robert, he dismounted, gave my bridle to Dave and went forward to meet Cap-in-His-Eyes, who'd dismounted too. Well, Tom, you better believe that them last few days I'd seed a plenty of wore-out and dusty-looking soldiers, but I never in my life seed nothing to come nigh Cap-in-His-Eyes that early morning. He looked like he was half-starved and hadn't slept for days. I ‘spect he hadn't, too. I could see the skin stretched tight acrost all the bones of his face. He was covered in dust from his boots to his head—hair, beard, face, clothes jest one heap o' gray-white dust; and his buttons, too. And that dirty little peaked cap was pulled even lower down over his eyes—'fact, the peak was down so low you couldn't see his eyes at all.

Little Sorrel, he went trotting back on his own to the officers that was waiting, and Dave followed, leading me beside Richmond. Well, that was when I got another turn, Tom—one I winded ‘fore I actually seed it. Laying right beside the road was dead fellas—our poor fellas— rows and rows all laid out the same, hands acrost their chests, and their eyes staring up to the sky. It had rained in the night, and they was all bleached white and streaked with the rain. Lots, their foreheads was marked with trickles of dried blood from the bullets. And there was other soldiers—living ones—going up and down and peering ‘mong ‘em— trying to recognize their friends, I reckon.

I seed Cap-in-His-Eyes look jest a moment towards them rows of dead men; then he turned away as if he'd something better to do. I was stood right beside Little Sorrel. I nuzzled his neck and passed him the time of day. I could tell right off that for all he looked like a midget, him and his Stonewall Jackson felt the same way ‘bout each other as me and Marse Robert. He told me they'd been up north, a-going for days on end—hardly a wink o' sleep—never stopped. He said Cap-in-His-Eyes had gone night and day, beating the Blue men to kingdom come, one bunch after t'other. Then they'd come straight here to jine us. He felt fit to drop, he said, but he was durned if he was quitting. He said Cap-in-His-Eyes was the greatest master in the world.

Well, I could tell, from the way Marse Robert and Cap-in-His-Eyes was talking together, that he was the general Marse Robert must respect and trust maybe most of all. For a start, Cap-in-His-Eyes was doing the talking and Marse Robert was doing the listening. Cap-in-His-Eyes was talking kind of quick and excited, and he kept pushing the toe of his boot around in the dust of the road and then looking up at Marse Robert. Then all of a sudden he stamped his boot down hard. “We've got him!” he says, and with that he waved his hand for Little Sorrel.

“I'll see you again, Traveller,” says Little Sorrel as he started forward. “Don't forget me! Today's going to work out bad—I don't know ‘zactly how—but don't worry, you'll be all right.”

Right till then I'd felt the equal of any horse I'd met, ‘ceptin' maybe for Skylark. But somehow Little Sorrel was different. ‘Fact, I ain't bottomed it out yet. Cap-in-His-Eyes must ‘a been a real smart judge o' horses, cause most men would have jest walked past Little Sorrel and not reckoned him worth a handful o' damp hay. It took another horse, really, to catch on to the real spirit that was in him. But there was something else, too—something strange ‘bout Sorrel; I could sense it. He was the sorta horse that gets hunches ‘bout what's going to happen. I've knowed maybe two-three like that in my time—very few. I even did it myself once't—only jest the once't. But I've never knowed any horse that could feel things coming on like Sorrel could. I figure maybe that kind of horse can sense what's in his master's fate that the master don't know hisself. To do that, you gotta be real close to your man.

I don't recall jest what we did after Cap-in-His-Eyes and his ‘uns had rode off. But I sure remember something that happened that afternoon, cause it scairt me real bad; bad as I'd been scairt any time them last few days o' fighting ‘Twas ‘bout the middle of the day, and so hot the ground was a-rippling acrost my eyes. It was all forest and underbrush we was in and they was dancing in the heat. There was guns started firing up way ahead, and soon as he heared them, Marse Robert rode me forward through the trees. We came to a little clearing ‘mong some pines, and there was Old Pete, riding Hero, and the President on Thunder. Thunder was pawing round in the dirt an' didn't look happy at all.

Right off, ‘fore Marse Robert could say a word, the President speaks up. “Why, General Lee,” he says, “what are you a-doing here? It's too dangerous, and you the boss of this here Army.”

“Well,” says Marse Robert, very civil, “I'm trying to find out something ‘bout those people,” he says, “and what they're up to. But come to that,” he says, “what do you reckon
you're
a-doing here, and you s'posed to be
my
boss and everybody else's?'

Me and Thunder looks at each other.

“Oh,” says the President, very airy-Iike, “I'm a-doing jest the same as
you're
a-doing,” he says—like what he meant was “If you figure on sending me away a second time, you've made a mistake.” So then they gets to talking, and jest then the Blue men, ‘way down through the trees, opens up with their guns and the bangs started in a-bursting all round us. They was busting this side and that side—there was horses squealing and shying and bucking all over the clearing—and them two, Marse Robert and the President, jest a-sitting there like they was waiting for the mail cart. I'll say that for Thunder: he never moved a hoof.

“Here's General Hill,” says the President, peering into the smoke. And with that up comes Red Shirt, full gallop. “Gentlemen!” he shouts through all the noise, “this is no place for either of you! I'm in command here, and I order you both to the rear!”