Traveller (10 page)

“The Blue men?” I says. “Who are they?”

Even that didn't shake him out of his manners: “Why, the enemy,” he says.

I didn't even rightly know what
that
meant, Tom, any more'n you do. But before he could go on, Marse Robert and “Jine-the-Cavalry” came back, and Marse Robert called out to two soldiers to lead us over into the shade and give Skylark a feed. We fetched up in different places, so that was all I seed of him that time. But he was right. We
did
come to see a lot of each other, and I got to know Jine-the-Cavalry very well, too.

I had my own names for the people Marse Robert seed the most of: it come easier. For one thing, as far as I could make out they was mostly called General Hill. Well, leastways, two of ‘em was. Don't ask me why. How can we understand half the crazy things men do? Anyways, I came to think of them two Hills as “Red Shirt” and “the Little General.” I say I had my own names; like one of ‘em, General Pickett— a youngish fella—I called “Ringlets,” on account of his long, scented hair—but there was one that all the soldiers called the same's I did, an' that was “Old Pete”—General Longstreet. I never entirely liked Old Pete. Hard to say ‘zackly why, but somehow I got the notion that he didn't really respect Marse Robert or like the idea of Marse Robert being his boss. ‘Course, I couldn't understand a lot of their talk, but very often, as we went along, I could tell jest from the sound of their voices that he was argufying with Marse Robert and kinda telling him what he ought to do. And Marse Robert, Tom, you see, he was always so kind and gentlemanly to everybody, he never could bring hisself to tell this here Pete to go and jump in the ditch, like he oughta. I knowed Marse Robert jest couldn't do that to save his life, but quite often I used to feel like kicking Old Pete myself. Jest the sound of his voice worried me. Still, he was a soldier sure ‘nuff, and a lot braver under fire'n what I was, as I found out later on. But in them days I'm speaking of now, I didn't know what we was in for n'more'n if I'd been old Miss Dabbs's cat.

I knowed there was something in the wind, though. Us horses are always sensitive to any kind of uneasiness or tenseness, Tom, you know, and that time I could feel the stress kinda building up all over, day by day. One day, ‘stead of ‘tending to the digging, Marse Robert and Colonel Long—Ginger, his horse was called; nice fella—rode us out five or six mile north and acrost a bit of a river. Marse Robert and me stopped on a slope t'other side of this here river, and he held up a pair of bottles to his eyes. What? No, ‘course I don't understand why. But he was forever holding up them bottles.

“Now, Colonel Long,” he says, pointing out over the country, “how can we
get
at those people? What ought we to do?”

I wonder how many times I've heared Marse Robert say that since. I come to know jest rightly what it meant—trouble, always. When he said that to someone, like it might be Jine-the-Cavalry or Red Shirt or Colonel Long, he didn't really want them to answer him back. Sometimes they did and sometimes they didn't. It was a kind of game with Marse Robert. He already knowed what he was going to do. Colonel Long knowed that, so he didn't say nothing.

The two of em rode round a while, Marse Robert sometimes talking and pointing, and then again holding them bottles up to his eyes. The reason it puzzled me was that there was no soldiers digging—no one there at all ‘cepting him and Marse Long.

When we got back to old Miss Dabbs's, first person we seed outside was Old Pete. “Ah, General Longstreet,” says Marse Robert; and him and Old Pete got to talking right there in the yard. Marse Robert was scratching in the dust with a stick, and pointing here and there. They was at it a long time.

Over the next few days lots of people came and went—Red Shirt, the Little General—yeah, and the President, too. And somehow I got the idea they was all in some kind of secret together. I couldn't bottom it out; and you see, there warn't no other horse I could ask. I'd never ask Richmond nothing, and all Brown-Roan knowed was that he didn't like the mounting feeling of strain. Well, neither did I—and yet, Tom, do you know? I felt, too, that I didn't want to be left out of it, whatever it was.

One afternoon, not long after that ride acrost the river, I was grazing in the meadow, right ‘longside the yard outside the house. I knowed Marse Robert was inside, and I couldn't help wondering what he could be a-doing all that time. You see, Tom, we'd growed that close I sometimes used to feel a mite jealous and grudging on days when he was a long time indoors and we warn't together. It was fine weather for a change, and suddenly I seed the dust of horsemen quite a ways off. Turned out there was two of ‘em, riding up to the house. First thing, I could see the horses was all tuckered out. They was sweating, frothing at their bits and panting. I didn't envy them. Wherever they'd come from, they'd come far and they'd come fast. One of the men dismounted very slow and stiff, and gave his horse to the other. Then he walked up to the door, and Perry came and spoke with him a piece. Then he came back and jest leant over agin the fence, with his head dropped down on his chest and his cap pulled right down over his eyes like he didn't want no one to know who he was. I could smell his sweat from where I was standing. And that was the first time I ever seed Cap-in-His-Eyes—General Stonewall Jackson, to give him his right name.

T'other man who'd come in with him had taken the horses round to the stable yard back o' the house, and so there was no one around ‘cepting me and this man leaning hard on the fence, with his head down on his chest. He was covered with dust, and the sweat had made long streaks on his face. I figured he must be some soldier who'd been sent to deliver a message. But what struck me most ‘bout him, jest at that moment, was the way he seemed perfectly content to do nothing at all. I mean, Tom, you know what men are like, don't you? ‘Cepting when they're asleep, they're very seldom doing nothing at all. Either they're talking, or they're eating or drinking, or mending this or cleaning that. This man jest simply stayed put, like now he'd got his journey over he warn't aiming to do nothing else. He put me in mind of a tree; that's to say, he ‘peared like he was doing all he had to do jest standing there and nothing was going to shift him. And yet somehow he made me feel he was friendly. I sorta sidled along the fence till I was close up to him, and at that he looked round and spoke to me and stroked my nose, but all the time ‘twas plain he was a-thinking ‘bout something else. He was a tall, gaunt, awkward-looking kind of a fella, and his clothes worn all anyhow. I wondered why he didn't go and ask for somethin' to eat and drink. I remember, too, that as I went back to grazing, he suddenly throwed both his hands up in the air. ‘Looked real strange. I couldn't make him out at all.

Jest then who should come riding up the road but the Little General, and when he seed Cap-in-His-Eyes leaning on the fence, he called out to him like he was real s'prised. “Why, Jackson,” he says, “what the devil are you doing here?” “Ah, Hill!” answers the other fella. And then the Little General got down and shook hands jest like Cap-in-His-Eyes was his oldest friend. As they stood there talking together, I realized that this awkward-looking soldier must be another general, and a pretty important one, too. Well, actually I only reckoned this a bit later on, ‘cause what happened then was they both went in the house together, and soon after, Red Shirt and Old Pete turned up. So then I knowed that all these here generals must ‘a come to hear what Marse Robert had got to say to em. They stayed a long time, too, ‘cause they hadn't come out by sunset, when I was taken back to stables. I felt Marse Robert had left me real flat, that time.

Well, ‘course I don't recollect everything, Tom, not day by day. What I recall next is maybe two-three days later, and Marse Robert riding me out at early morning through great crowds of soldiers and guns and wagons on the road, till we stopped at another farm, up top a long slope. Beyond us, the road went down the other side to a river—'cepting the bridge was all smashed—and from there back up to a little village—if'n you could call it a village; a few houses, that's all. It was clear, open ground—more'n a mile, I'd say—nice and green after the rain, and some trees down beside the river. It all looked real peaceful.

We stayed there most of the day, and the President came, riding Thunder, and a whole lot of other important-looking people, some of ‘em soldiers and some not. Mid-afternoon, when I was reckoning it must be ‘bout time we was going home, all of a sudden I got the shock of my life. It was so durned unexpected. The bangs began, over on t'other side of the river. It was fighting, like that other evening by the road in the woods. The whole valley, all round, was full of firing, echoing up and down. Everywhere bugles was blowing, men getting on their horses. The soldiers—hundreds of ‘em—who'd been lying down beside the road in the sunshine, all jumped up and got into lines. People was calling out orders, harness jingling, hooves thudding, messengers dashing here and there—you never seed such a commotion all in a minute. Far off, over the river, there was big guns firing, and I could see that there battle-smoke. Pretty soon I could smell it, too.

What was happening was our soldiers was attacking, and that was the first time, Tom, that I actually seed the Blue men. There was crowds of ‘em on t'other side of the river, and all round that little village place—only they was all running away and our fellas was coming on acrost the fields, and shooting as they came.

Anyways, that was how it looked like to begin with. But pretty soon the smoke seemed to cover everything. I reckoned it must have got to real bad fighting, and our men might likely be in as much trouble as the Blue men.

That there President's horse, Thunder, was hitched nearabouts. “What's going on?” I asked him. “What are they doing?” I hadn't been expecting none of it, you see.

“Killing each other,” he said. “Best they can, I mean.”

“Killing each other?” I says to him. “For goodness' sake, why they doing that?”

He kinda looked me over for a bit without answering. At last he said, “You really the General's horse? You're real green, ain't you? Killing each other? That's what men do. You didn't know?”

“But why?” I said.

“Oh, for gosh sakes!” he snorted through his nose. “You might's well ask me why the sun goes acrost the sky. It's what they do, like flies bite. They always have and they always will.”

I thought ‘bout this, best as I could for all the noise and confusion. And it struck me that Jim and Andy and all the fellas back home hadn't gone in for killing each other. So there must be some sort of between-whiles now and then.

“Don't they sometimes stop?” I said. “Like flies in winter?”

“That's so,” he answered. “But if'n I've understood it rightly, they won't stop for good until either the Blue men or our men quit and say they've had ‘nuff. And that's a long time off, I reckon. You can forget it. Flies don't stop biting, do they?”

I was going to ask him some more, but jest then the President's man came up and took Thunder away. Next thing I knowed, the Little General was on his horse, too, and line after line of our soldiers was going down to the river. They throwed down some planks and got acrost, even without no bridge, and pretty soon I seed the President go acrost on his horse.

Then Marse Robert called for me, and we went down and over the river, too, and straight up the road on t'other side—straight up to that little village place. And when we got there—oh, my! It was lots worse'n I can tell you, Tom. ‘Course, I seed plenty worse since, but that was the first time. There was dead men—dead horses, too—laying round everywhere, and worse'n that was the wounded and the dying, all crying and hollering out something terrible. And all the time the bangs kept on, right in ‘mongst where we was. Suddenly there'd be a kinda howling noise in the air, coming closer, and then a great, bright flash and a bang that knocked all the sense out o' you. There was horses squealing and men running away and crawling under anything they could find— fences, bushes—anything. I couldn't see a lot for the smoke. I do remember a loose horse come charging down out of the smoke, straight towards us. He jest missed me. One of the flying stirrup irons hit me acrost the withers as he went by. Once't I actually had to step over two dead men on the ground. Oh, I seed things I couldn't tell you, Tom.

There warn't no Blue men left in the village—only dead ‘uns. We'd chased ‘em all out. But after a bit I realized what was happening. Them bangs can go an awful long way through the air, y'see. They can go as far as right acrost this town—further'n that, too. The Blue men had run off—retreated, as they call it—a mile or so to a lot of trees out t'other side of the village, and that's where the bangs was coming from. Some of our fellas had gone out to get ‘em there, too.

In the middle of all this ruckus, Marse Robert was sitting on my back jest as quiet and steady as if we was out watching the men a-digging. I could feel his pulse perfectly regular, and his breathing real easy—which was more'n mine was. After a bit I reckoned I understood. The way I figured it at that time, nothing could hurt Marse Robert. The bangs couldn't hit him, and he knowed this. I reckoned that's why the President had made him head of the Army. And if I was his horse, then maybe I couldn't be hurt neither. Well, I mean, I
hoped
this more'n I really believed it. I'd jest gone rigid—I couldn't move my mouth or my jaw or my neck, and my hindquarters felt like they was made of wood and didn't belong to me at all.

Then I realized that Marse Robert knowed jest how I was feeling. In the middle of all this, he was finding the time to reassure me. He kept talking to me, quiet and steady-like, and every now and then he'd lean forward and stroke my face or my neck. He wanted me to try'n relax, to trust him and believe that the two of us was on top of all this. I knowed
he
was, but I warn't so sure ‘bout me.