Traveller (15 page)

At last he really got to me with all this carrying-on, and I said I ‘lowed how it was jest ‘bout time to go to sleep.

“You're scairt, ain't you?” says Rollo. There still come a bang every now and again, ‘way off in the dark, and he tosses his head to show what he meant.

“What reason you got to say that?” I answers him.

“You smell like it, anyways,” he says. “You smell like a real headquarters horse—”

“I'll go further'n you any day,” I says, “and
all
day, too, come to that.”

“No one's talking ‘bout going further,” says Rollo. “It's a battle I'm a-talking ‘bout—”

Jest at that moment Little Sorrel, kinda slow and meditating-like, as if he hardly knowed what was in his own mind, says, “Any—horse— that wants a battle's a plain fool—'cause Marse Robert hisself don't want a battle right now.” He stopped. Then, after a few moments, he added, “But he's going to get one, jest the same.”

“What in the world you talking ‘bout?” asks Rollo, raising one of his forelegs and lifting his tail.

I don't say he warn't a good horse, Tom, but he was like a lot of them there cavalry horses, you know—setting out to be a hell-raiser and a wildcat. There's more to soldiering ‘n that, even if'n I didn't know it yet.

“Marse Robert ain't
looking
for a battle,” says Sorrel again. “But— soon—a long ways from here—” And then he stopped again, like he'd never said nothing at all, and laid down on the straw.

“Well, what?” asks Rollo, kinda contemptuous-like.

Sorrel seemed like he was half-asleep. His eyes was closed. “Men marching. Marching hard and far. Smoke burning, up to the sky. Soldiers—soldiers throwing stones at the Blue men—no bullets left. Jest another hour, men—must hold on another hour—Marse Robert's coming—”

And then, Tom, dad burn my hooves, he went right off to sleep and even Rollo couldn't get no more out'n him! It stopped Rollo's carrying-on a sight better'n anything I could have said. There was something—well, almost scary ‘bout it, like it had been some other horse talking all the time—some other horse that warn't there.

‘Twas midday next morning ‘fore the bangs began again—ours an' theirs together, it sounded—but I still didn't see nothing, ‘cause Marse Robert had moved headquarters back a mile or two to a little village. Early that afternoon I was standing round in a patch of shade when one of the sentries nearby points and says to his mate, “Look yonder. Ain't that General Jackson a-coming?”

Sure ‘nuff, Cap-in-His-Eyes come riding up and goes straight into the house to talk to Marse Robert. They took Sorrel and hitched him ‘longside o' me.

First thing Sorrel said was he was glad we'd got rid of Rollo. Then, after we'd stood and swished each other's flies a while (it was real hot), he said, “I won't be seeing you again, Traveller. Not until the battle. Me and my general, we're in for a real long haul.”

“How do you know?” I said. “If'n I've understood it rightly, Marse Robert's only jest now telling Cap-in-His-Eyes what we's going to do.”

“Well, I
do
know,” he said. “I jest do. A good horse always knows what's back of his man's mind. Often knows it better'n the man hisself. I mean, he can feel what's
in
the man. That's why I hadn't got no time for that there Rollo—he knowed nothing. The reason you're scairt, Traveller—oh, yes, you are—is that Marse Robert's scairt, too. Oh, he ain't afeared for his own skin—I don't mean that. He's afeared for the Army, on account of he can't rightly make up his mind what we-all ought to be fixing to do. And ‘cordingly, being a good horse,
you're
scairt.”

“But Cap-in-His-Eyes—” I began.

“Cap-in-His-Eyes—that's different. He's
determined
to have a battle,” says Sorrel. “That's how I know there's gonna be one. You should jest ‘a been with us in the Valley. You still got plenty to larn, Traveller, but one of these days you'll be same as me—you'll find you jest do know things. All you need is experience.”

“I don't want that sort of experience,” I said.

“Who does?” says Sorrel. “What you goin' to do ‘bout it?”

I was still chewing on that when Cap-in-His-Eyes come out with two or three of his officers, and him and Sorrel was off and gone.

We stayed put right where we was, in the village. Best as I remember, ‘twarn't till evening the next day that Jine-the-Cavalry rode up. This time he hadn't got Skylark—it was Star of the East, but the two of us hardly got no talk, ‘cause they didn't stop long, neither. I remember Marse Robert come out of the house with Jine-the-Cavalry, and they stayed around talking a while, till finally Jine-the-Cavalry saluted and rode off. Marse Robert always had a special liking for Jine-the-Cavalry, you know, Tom—like he was his own son, I reckon.

But let me go right on telling you what happened to
me
, ‘cause the way things turned out, the next few days was pretty near the most important in my life—a kind of turning point, you might say.

‘Twas all bang! bang! for another couple of days, and still no real fighting; only, I was feeling more and more jittery on ‘count of what Sorrel had said. But then we-all set off to marching, and that night I plumb forgot ‘bout being jittery, on account of we fetched up at a real fine house—long avenue of trees—darkies singing and dancing—all the air smelling o' gardenia and white jasmine—a fine gentleman meeting Marse Robert, saying him howdy and taking off his hat—clean, warm stables and a hot bran mash for every horse in headquarters—why, for a time I really got to wondering whether this mightn't be that there War that Jim said we was going off to. ‘Course, I knowed better'n that, but I liked pretending ‘twas, ‘cause it made me forget for a while ‘bout the battle. Marse Robert, Old Pete and Marse Taylor and the others, they was all feeding and sleeping up at the big house, you see, Tom. So that was where we-all stayed that night. We was off real early in the morning, but everyone was up to see us go.

Marching, Tom; marching in the cool of the early morning, in summertime, ‘fore it gets to be a real hot day. Mockingbirds singing, maybe one of them orioles, maybe a flicker or two, red-wing blackbirds in the trees; dew still shining on the grass; the soldiers singing behind you; hooves falling steady on a good, firm road, easy going, other horses all round—that's the life for a horse, for what I'd call a
valued
horse. I often think back to them early morning marches, but I remember that one ‘specially, ‘count of what happened in the middle of all my high spirits.

We was up at the front of the column—'fact, we was well ahead of it—Marse Robert, Major Taylor, Major Talcott and some more. That was jest fine, ‘cause there's no dust, Tom, you see, when you're out like that in front of the line o' march. You can look out in front of you, breathing the air fresh and easy, and take an interest in whatever there is to be seed—people running to their gates to watch you go by, kids cheering and all the rest of it. Best part of soldiering.

I remember the place we'd got to real well. Up ahead I could see a little town we was coming to, beyond a turn in the road. One side was open woodland; t'other was a nice, neat timber house, all freshly whitewashed—looked good in the sunshine—an' a tolerable big patch of corn with all the cobs smellin' ripe. A mockingbird was singing up in a birch tree—oh, it was all jest as pretty and peaceful as it is right here in summer. And then, suddenly, in a cloud o' dust, round the bend ahead come one of our fellas, driving his horse for all he was worth. You couldn't tell which of them was in more of a lather, the horse or the man.

“The Blue men! The Blue men!” he was shouting, and pointing up the road behind him. “Cavalry! They're right here!”

Well, there was jest the few of us, Tom, you see—what's knowed as the staff—not ‘nuff to fight at all. Marse Robert calls out to the fella as he pulls up, “How far off are those people?” But ‘fore he could answer, there they come, riding round the bend after him, a whole passel of Blue men, and they sure ‘nuff looked like they meant business.

I'd never been so close to the Blue men before. One of their horses neighed to ours; I can hear it now. There's a lot of difference in neighing, Tom, you see. I mean, whether it's friends or strangers. This was a neigh to strangers— “Who the heck are you?”—and you could tell it was a stallion, ‘cause he put in a kind of extra grunt at the end. As they come still closer, Major Talcott's horse answered him, sorta noncommittal.

“Go back, General Lee, go back!” shouts one of our officers. It was the first time I'd ever heared that, but I can tell you it warn't to be the last.

Marse Robert reined me in, looking up the road at the Blue men. They was so close I could see their eyes moving and smell their sweat. “Steady, Traveller!” But jest the same, he turned me around. And as he did so the whole staff—the majors, the couriers, everyone—formed a line acrost the road.

“Go back, General Lee! We'll hold ‘em! Only go back!”

The Blue men pulled up. I figure they was wondering how many of us there was. I seed one of ‘em ride acrost to another, and they started talking together and pointing at us. And then, all of a sudden, like they didn't care for the look of us, and even before Marse Robert had had time to get going—I could tell from the whole feel of him that he didn't care for the notion—they'd turned their horses round without firing a shot and ridden back the way they'd come.

Nobody, horse nor man, really had time to be scairt or reckon how much danger we was in. That's the kinda thing that only hits you afterwards, Tom, you see. I reckon most of our horses didn't even know jest what had happened. But I did. So it don't have to be a battle, I was thinking. The Blue men can appear any time, jest when you're on the road, and maybe shoot you down like a rabbit. Yeah, even when you're the General's horse. It didn't make me feel no better, I can tell you, ‘bout the job we was doing. I recollected, too, what Sorrel had said ‘bout Marse Robert not wanting a battle but getting one jest the same. To be honest, I wished I warn't in the Army.

That warn't the only thing that happened that morning, neither. We'd gone back closer to the head of the column, of course, and we was jogging along the road, kinda getting over the shock—well, I mean, Tom, jest s'pose me and Marse Robert had a' been taken prisoner by the Blue men!—when we come up with two-three ladies—
real
ladies; you could smell their rosewater and their gloves and all the rest— a-sitting outside a house by the road and looking at their nice, shiny carriage. It had polished silver fittings, lilac cushions, darky coachman in a top hat—the whole shebang. Well, near the whole shebang. The only thing missing was the horses. They'd gone, and the carriage was right square acrost the road, with the ends of the shafts down on the grass one side. Two of the ladies was a-crying, handkerchiefs up to their eyes.

‘Course, Marse Robert rides up to them at once—you know how he always likes the ladies—and offs with his hat. And what it come down to was that the Blue men—them same Blue men, I reckon—had held the ladies up and taken their two horses. ‘Course, they'd ‘a been good ‘uns, Tom, you see. This old lady said she'd come out with her daughters in the carriage on purpose to see Marse Robert go by and to say howdy.

“Well, I guess she's done that,” mutters Major Talcott's horse to me while Marse Robert was telling her how sorry he was. That was Joker—he was jest right for a soldier; later on, when we was starving, he could still find some fun in ‘most anything. But I'd been shook up bad already that morning and I didn't feel the same way. I was thinking ‘bout them two fine horses, jest taking it easy along the road and likely thinking ‘bout getting back to stables, when along comes the Blue men. So now they could look forward to bangs and exhaustion and cold nights and wind and rain and more bangs, until the bang that tore ‘em to pieces, like all those artillery horses on the green hill the time Richmond died.

But I reckon I was the only one thinking that way. When we stopped off that night, camping in the open, you could tell the whole Army was in good spirits, and Marse Robert along with ‘em. He took me for a little walk through the camp, the way he liked to when we was on the march, to talk to the soldiers and let them talk to him. Me, I helped out by nuzzling up and letting the men stroke me. By this time, you see, Tom, any man in the Army would ‘a given Marse Robert the shirt off'n his back if he'd ‘a wanted it. I ‘spect no other general's ever had his men with him like Marse Robert. We was going here and there among the campfires, the fellas cooking or maybe picking the lice off'n each other, and calling out “Hey, there, General!” or “When we going to get at ‘em, General?” Marse Robert was jest the same with everyone, quiet and friendly. He never dressed up, you know, Tom. He jest looked like any of our officers, ‘cepting Perry and Meredith always kept his clothes and his boots real clean and tidy. I remember—yeah, it was that very same night, while we was finishing that little tour round the camp—one of the brigadiers—I don't recall rightly which one ‘twas—asks him why he didn't dress like a general. “Oh,” says Marse Robert, “I don't care to. I figure colonel's ‘bout as high as I ought to have gotten—or maybe a cavalry brigade.” He meant it, too. Well, that's all changed now right ‘nuff, ain't it?

Next day, though—oh, Tom, that was a hard march! The heat and the dust on the road was ‘nuff to drive you mad, horse or man. Marse Robert stopped several times to see different regiments go by, and it was like they was groping through a fog. Men had old scarves, pieces of sacking, rags—anything they could find—tied over their mouths and noses to try and keep the dust out. It got in your eyes and your ears. It got down your throat. It was ‘nuff to blind and choke you. And the heat—everyone was sweating; and nothing to drink all day. They warn't gray men; they was
white
men—white with dust from head to foot, ‘cepting where the sweat ran down. I seed men tear off their jackets and fall down by the roadside, coughing up spittle that was like gumbo, jest thick with dust. Pretty soon the Army was jest a-stumbling ‘long, and seemed like Marse Robert hadn't the heart to push ‘em faster. Maybe he
couldn't
. There's a limit to everything. But we kept on marching till the middle of the night, and when Marse Robert rode back along the column I seed crowds of soldiers that'd jest laid down and gone to sleep where they was halted—no fires, no food, nothing. I seed a boy that must ‘a carried one of the cloths on sticks all day—it was an honor to do that, you know. He'd jest rolled hisself up in the cloth and gone to sleep so sound the sergeant couldn't wake him. “Let him be,” says Marse Robert. “He's done his duty. No one can do more.”