Traveller (19 page)

All of a sudden Old Pete calls out “There's a shot!” or something o' the sort. The Little General turned in his saddle and looked like he was going to reply. But right then the shell came. You could hear the howl of it. It jest missed Marse Robert, who was standing close to the Little General and a-talking to him. It hit poor Chieftain. It clean cut off both his forelegs. Then it went whistling on down over the other side of the hump and I seed it burst in among a pack of our fellas.

Chieftain fell on his knees—he fell on the stumps of his legs—and buried his nose in the grass. He never made a sound—only struggled, kicking as best he could with his hind legs. The whole thing was horrible, ‘cause Chieftain couldn't move and the Little General couldn't dismount—couldn't get his offside leg over the cantle of the saddle. In the end he managed to scramble off somehow or ‘nother, and a soldier shot Chieftain through the head. We left him laying there.

It was a dreadful day of righting, and it went on till nightfall. I seed men staggering out of the lines black as niggers and walking like they was drunk or crazy. Some of ‘em as Marse Robert spoke to either couldn't hear him or couldn't answer. I seed an ambulance dragged by two mules, jolting along with the blood running out of it like water, Tom. As I looked, one of the mules fell dead in the shafts and nary a scratch on him. I seed men hollering and crying, too. ‘Seed a man holding a dead soldier acrost his knees and crying like a child. ‘Seed men building a bank out'n dead bodies, so they could lie behind it and go on firing. I seed every dreadful thing you can imagine, and the ground shook worse'n ever I'd knowed it. And still the Blue men couldn't break through or lick us. Hero told me later that Old Pete, riding round, had come on one of our guns and all the gunners was dead. So him and some of his staff fellas dismounted and got to firing the gun theirselves. Old Pete always used to go around with a cigar stuck in his mouth—never lit it. Hero said he kep' chompin' on that cigar while he was helping to fire this here gun.

I remember the Blue men a-coming on so's you couldn't see the ground for ‘em. But Marse Robert, he never moves a muscle. He jest points away up the hill and asks some officer to tell him who was them soldiers coming acrost the top. He couldn't always make things out so good as the younger fellas, you see. The officer says they was ours, so we-all rode straight off towards them. It was Red Shirt and a whole crowd of his ‘uns, come late to the battle. They piled straight into those people—druv ‘em right off. I reckon if they hadn't come along when they did, we'd likely been done for.

Soon after that it got dark. The Blue men had all had ‘nuff, or so it ‘peared. Marse Robert rode back to the headquarters tents on t'other side of that there town. Lucy was with us; she was badly shook up. I recollect another of the headquarters horses—Blacksmith, he was called—telling her she could relax, ‘cause the fighting was over and done with and we was sure to hightail it out that night. I don't think Lucy really took it in, though. She was shaking from mane to tail— hardly knowed where she was.

The generals come around, one by one, jest as they left the field, to talk to Marse Robert: Cap-in-His-Eyes, the Little General, Red Shirt, the Texas fella, Jine-the-Cavalry—they was all there. Old Pete was the last to come. Marse Robert was walking here and there, a-talking to ‘em. ‘Far as I could make out, all of ‘em was saying we was in a mighty bad way and we ought to retreat.

But we didn't retreat, Tom. I couldn't believe it when I seed Marse Robert telling the staff to post sentries and calling Perry and Meredith to get supper ready. Dave had somehow found some oats for me and Lucy, and we was jest standing by for nose bags when Marse Robert walked acrost and began petting us and talking to us.

“Well done, Lucy, well done!” he says, stroking her nose. Poor Lucy couldn't hardly stand on her feet, but she nuzzled him best she could. “Traveller,” he says to me, “no other horse—no other horse at all—could do what you've done today. I'm real thankful for a horse like you. Tomorrow we'll see ‘em licked to a frazzle!”

Tomorrow! I thought. We're going to stay here tomorrow? If'n the Blue men can still fight, I figure they'll walk straight through us like a stallion through a broken fence, Marse Robert or no Marse Robert. I was jest too wore out to worry, though. I couldn't even feel scairt. I jest lay down and slept.

But Marse Robert was right, same's he always was. At dawn he took Lucy out for a look-see but they come back right soon. Lucy said he'd been talking to Cap-in-His-Eyes ‘bout attacking—yeah, attacking!—but ‘far as she knowed nothing had come of it. And nothing happened all that day. ‘Peared the Blue men had had ‘nuff. And come the middle of that night we began to move—the whole Army. We came to the river—that same river we'd crossed afore, I reckon, but ‘twarn't the same spot; had been, I'd ‘a recognized it. Marse Robert reined me in on the bank and there we stayed, watching while the men and wagons went past us in the dark. As each general came up, he reported to Marse Robert, and Marse Robert had a good word for all of ‘em.

I remember the horses—horse after horse—stopping to drink, and Marse Robert posting a fella to warn the men of a deep place—a place they wouldn't ‘a knowed else. I can see the water splashing in the dim light. I can hear the wounded men a-crying in the ambulances as they pitched and jolted down into the water. We warn't the same Army that had crossed over that river before. That's how I felt that night. We'd lost a terrible number.

But we'd licked the Blue men! Oh, yeah, there was none of ‘em round to try to bother us that night. They'd had a gutful. And I won't say I hadn't, neither. I remember the last commander finally coming up to report to Marse Robert. General Walker, ‘twas—one of the Little General's fellas. He told Marse Robert there was no one left behind him. “Thank goodness!” says Marse Robert out loud, and down into the river we went. Old Pete was waiting on t'other side. ‘Twas so dark I could smell the unlit cigar before I seed him. He had his men ready ‘long the bank in case of trouble, but everything stayed quiet. Yeah, you bet.

November 20, 1862. General Lee, riding through a rising storm— the first of winter—has arrived at the little city of Fredericksburg, at the fall line of the Rappahannock. His decision to concentrate his army here to meet the Federal advance exemplifies yet again his remarkable ability to foresee and anticipate the intentions of the enemy
.

During the past two months, since the savage battle of Sharpsburg and the return from Maryland across the Potomac, the Army of Northern Virginia has taken full advantage of the enemy's dilatory caution to rest, refit, reorganize and make up lost numbers. Although Lee's grand design to march to Harrisburg and threaten Washington from the Susquehanna was perforce abandoned as a result of sheer misfortune (McClellan's chance acquisition of a copy of a general order setting out Lee's dispositions and intentions), nevertheless the morale of his troops (most of whom felt little enthusiasm for the Maryland campaign, reckoning it to be nothing to do with the defense of their homeland) remains very high. Two months of fine fall weather have not only made easy their march back to the Rapidan, but also done much for the business of rest and re-equipment. At Sharpsburg, the army numbered fewer than 35,000. Now, thanks to recruitment and the rounding up of the large number of stragglers lacking enthusiasm for the Maryland campaign, it has increased to twice that size. There is, however, a serious shortage of horses—a deficiency that will continue until the end of the war
.

During the mainly fine and sunny weather of late September, of October and early November, General Lee's strategy has been to avoid any further engagement with the enemy and await the arrival of his ally, winter. Yet Richmond is still never so safe as when its defenders are absent, and there is no retreat from the Rapidan and Rappahannock. As the late October leaves fall in windblown golden showers from the birches, sycamores and maples of the Blue Ridge and the Shenandoah, General McClellan, ever wary and deliberate, crosses the Potomac and heads slowly south, under vigilant observation by Stuart's cavalry. A week into November and his army is at Warrenton, a few miles north of the Rappahannock. Then follows an unexpected pause, shortly explained by the news that McClellan has been superseded by a newcomer, General Ambrose Burnside. What will he make of the Federal initiative, and how does he propose to set about attacking Lee's army, which at Sharpsburg showed itself able to daunt, if not defeat, more than twice its numbers?

Studying reports of the enemy's movements and weighing one factor with another, General Lee has concluded that the Federal army will move southeastward down the Rappahannock towards Fredericksburg
.

For him personally this is a sad and difficult time. His hands, badly damaged by the accident on August 31
^st
, are still painful and of little use. Although he can now dress himself with his left hand and sign his name with his right, he is obliged to dictate all correspondence, and for a horse he must rely for the most part on the quiet, manageable mare Lucy Long. He has received news of a bitter bereavement—the death from illness of his beloved twenty-three-year-old daughter, Annie. The hardship and strain of active campaigning upon a man nearly fifty-six years old are beginning to tell. Yet his greatest achievements still lie ahead. Like leader, like army. “I never saw an army,” wrote the visiting British General Sir Garnet Wolseley, “composed of finer men, or one that looked more like work.”

Well, all the young fellas gone away for the rest of the summer, Tom; guess Marse Robert's told ‘em what they got to do ‘tween now and fall. They'll be mighty busy, I ‘spect, up and down on his affairs. As for me, I'm taking it easy and cool in stables and out on the lawn. This is the life, ain't it? Seems quite a while since you and I was settled down together in the straw. It's a good time of year for horses, and for cats, too, I reckon. Sassafras leaves all green on the trees. Did y'ever try sassafras? No, neither did I. No manner of good—you can smell that.

I knowed you'd get a whole sight more chipper, you and Baxter, soon as Miss Life come back. That's a real nice girl—best out'n the three, I figure. This little jaunt we've been on—Marse Robert and me and her and Lucy—that was real good, all six days of it. Mostly fine weather, good roads, no hurry, plenty to eat, everyone mighty glad to see us—well, after all, what would you expect? But everyone taking it easy—no fuss, no bands, no folks crowding round Marse Robert. Yeah, sure, Tom, if you like I'll tell you something ‘bout it. Curl up, make yourself comfortable.

The four of us started out—I reckon it's been a week now. It was real midsummer weather, warn't it? Not too hot, not too dusty neither. No flies, no soldiers, no wagons a-stirring up the dust: flowers ‘longside the road, birds a-singing. I could have gone forever, and so could Lucy. Once or twice on the hills Marse Robert'd let me light out for a breather, and when we got to the top he'd turn in the saddle and call “Come along, Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy, Lucy Long!” It was jest his fun, you know, Tom. Miss Life'd catch up with us, face flushed, eyes bright; she was delighted to be out on her own with Marse Robert. I felt jest like we was a little headquarters on the march again. I wisht Jine-the-Cavalry could ‘a showed up. He always had a way of showing up unexpectedly, you know.

It was lonely country we was riding through, and I could tell Marse Robert was pleased as punch to be out o' town and no business to ‘tend to. As for me, I was prancing round like a colt in a hayfield. When Marse Robert stopped so's they could eat by the road, the grass I nibbled was fresh and sweet as a meadow in springtime. Aw, Tom, you cain't imagine what that's like—a beautiful march like that—for an old soldier like me that's slogged through heat and thirst and flies, and dust so thick you couldn't see three lengths ahead of you.

In the afternoon we come to a river. There was a ferry to take folks acrost. And do you know who was there, Tom—who was the ferryman, I mean? It was the pig fella—yes, ‘twas—the one Marse Robert had caught stealing the pig in the middle of that there battle! So he hadn't been shot after all! Cap-in-His-Eyes must ‘a let him off— well, to get on and fight, I guess. After all, Cap-in-His-Eyes must ‘a realized Marse Robert had lost his temper, and after all, what's the use of shooting a fella when there's a passel o' soldiers falling all round and those people a-coming on like snow showers in midwinter? I knowed him all right—I remembered him the moment I spied him—but Marse Robert didn't. Natcherly, though,
he
knowed Marse Robert, and he knowed me, too.

“You still got Traveller, then, General?” he says. “There's a horse to go forever!”

Marse Robert said him howdy real friendly, and they chatted for a while. Then he says Miss Life and hisself was wishful to go acrost the river.

“I'll be mighty proud to take you over, General,” says the fella, “but I ain't taking none of your money, not nohow.”

Marse Robert, he outs with his money and tries to put it in the fella's hand, but the fella wouldn't have none o' that. Then he gets all teary-eyed and says, “I ain't taking no money from you, Marse Robert. I've followed you in many a battle. Never took no money for that, did we?”

He never said nothing bout the pig, though. No, no. In the end we went acrost on the ferry with the old soldier a-talking all the time. Did Marse Robert remember this and that and t'other thing? Natcherly, Marse Robert didn't want to show him no hurry-up, so we was a good while getting back on the road.

I remember something else that happened that afternoon, too. We was a-riding up through the mountains—there's mostly rough folks live up there, Tom, you know—and it was a real steep stretch o' road, and round a bend we come on a bunch of young ‘uns playing catch-me-if-you-can. They was jest as dirty an' ragged as soldiers after a day's march. ‘Course, like I've told you over and over, Marse Robert always stops to speak to young ‘uns he meets ‘long the roads; so he smiles at this lot and asks ‘em if'n they'd ever tried washing their faces. They jest stared a moment or two and then scampered off real quick. Well, Marse Robert, he shrugs his shoulders, says a word to Miss Life and off we go. But we hadn't gone more'n two hundred yards round the bend, walking easy, when we come to a little cabin and out come all these young ‘uns— clean aprons, faces washed, hair combed—you'd hardly knowed they was the same. “We know you're General Lee,” says one of the little girls. And there they stood, all waving and calling out, “General Lee! God bless General Lee!”