Traveller (13 page)

So then the President kinda grins, making a joke of it, and says they'll go, and the two of ‘em rides off jest a little ways. But Red Shirt warn't having none of that—he follows ‘em. “Didn't I tell you to get to the rear?” he yells. “‘Nother one o' them bangs and we'll be clean out of bosses forever!”

So then Marse Robert and the President, they both went back outen the way. I don't know ‘bout Thunder, but I've never been so glad of anything in my life. That night Dave found two bleeding scratches acrost my withers. I hadn't felt em at the time. That's often the way, you know, Tom.

Well, jest ‘bout then Marse Robert changed horses and I can't say I was all that sorry. He set off on Richmond, and he hadn't been gone more'n a little while when the bangs got even louder, and more of ‘em. Well, I thought, Richmond's welcome to ‘em; I reckon I done plenty for one day. I had a drink from a little creek and waited with Dave in the shade. You couldn't see a thing that was going on round there; it was all woodland and brush, creeks and swamp.

There was terrible fighting all the rest of that afternoon and evening, but I hardly seed none of it—jest waited, and kept listening to the bangs; and they went right on into the darkness. Goodness knows where we spent that night. I only know it was out in the open and we was picketed. Marse Robert and Richmond came back to headquarters in the dark, and I could see right away that Marse Robert was in a real bad humor. He had a hot temper, you know, Tom, in them days. I could often feel it, but nearly always he kept it close-reined, and he never took it out on me—not once't. That night he was in real low spirits. I figure we hadn't killed as many Blue men as he'd been a-hoping for. He was gloomy and out of sorts. He didn't even have a word for me, the way he usually did.

Still, I had something else to think about that night. Richmond came in sweating, and it warn't long before I realized he was one sick horse. Well, I hadn't been feeling none too good myself, so I could tell what the trouble was. It's what they call colic, Tom, you know, and horses are liable to get it when they're living the way we was. Horses, y'see—we-all got a terrible big gut—bigger'n any other animal, I guess— and there's a lot can go wrong with it. If'n you're a horse, you gotta keep your gut full and you got to dung reg'lar. A horse that gets his gut blocked can find hisself in real bad trouble. Overwork—unwholesome food—irregular feeding; yeah, and shock, too—they can all go to the gut. And that there wind-sucking some horses do—that's no durned good neither.

I've told you, haven't I, that Richmond was a jumpy, nervy kind of a horse—a squealer and a bad-tempered sort? ‘Course, we'd all been under a lot of strain, and Richmond had been under fire's much as I had. He was a wind-sucker, all right, but ‘sides that he always used to pitch into his feed like he reckoned he was never going to get another. Well, that afternoon—the afternoon I got the splinters acrost my withers—Marse Robert and Richmond, they come under some real bad fire, so he told me that night. It ‘pears Marse Robert actually rode out through our lines, right out in front, ‘cause he wanted to see for hisself what the Blue men was up to. Richmond hadn't ‘zackly cared for that, and I don't know as I blame him. Anyways, when he got back that night he was shaking all over—shocked by the bangs as much as anything. By golly! He even
smelt
o' the battle smoke—and then he set to and bolted his feed fast as he could.

“You'll do yourself a mischief,” I says to him. “Ease up!”

“Oh, go jump in the creek, Greenbrier!” says Richmond. “You think you can tell me anything? Jest hush up! I was carrying a man when you was sucking your dam.”

That warn't true, of course, but I jest let him be. There was ‘nuff to worry ‘bout without quarreling with
him
. He bolted his feed, and it was a poor feed we both had that night. The bran was sour. I let young Dave know plain ‘nuff I didn't jest ‘zackly relish it, and he come and looked it over. Then he emptied out my nose bag and fetched some more. ‘Warn't his fault, I guess. When you're on campaign, you see, Tom, things is apt to get kind o' wrong side up, and we'd been going so hard we was in what they call short supply. ‘Sides, like I said, it was dark—jest lanterns. Anyways, it was too late for Richmond—he'd eat it all and wanted more.

‘Fore first light next morning I heared him a-stamping round, and every now and then he'd pass wind something terrible. He was in pain all right. The way he was carrying on, I reckon his gut must ‘a been blocked. I asked him how he was feeling, but all I got for my trouble was more cussing. Young Dave was up well before first light—the sentry woke him—and it didn't take him long to see Richmond was a sick horse. ‘Course, as far as I was concerned, that meant jest one thing. I was saddled up for Marse Robert; it was my turn, anyway.

It was a terrible bad battle that day—worse'n I can tell you, Tom. The Blue men had got ‘emselves up atop a big green hill, all open and plain, and our fellas was stuck down in the woods and swamps at the bottom. It was nothing but guns, guns all that day. The Blue men had more guns'n we did, and they was firing down the open hillside. I was lucky, ‘cause for some reason Marse Robert didn't go acting crazy the way he'd done the day before. Early afternoon, him and Old Pete rode out a ways to one side o' that hill, looking round, I reckon, for the best chance of an attack. But then he came back again. Well, ‘tell the truth, Tom, I figure that day no one knowed what they was a-doing at all— it was having no sleep for days, as much as anything else—and even Marse Robert wasn't jest rightly hisself. I could tell from how he felt on my back and the way he was acting and speaking. He wanted to drive the Blue men off'n that there hill like he'd druv them out of the swamp with the Texans, but he didn't rightly know how to go ‘bout it. And in fact it never got done. When it came dark, our Army was still down to the bottom of that hill, ‘ceptin' for a whole chance of our poor fellas laying dead and wounded on the open slope.

I never heared the wounded cry worse'n they did that night.

Headquarters had been set up at a house a ways back, and that was where I found Richmond that night, in the stable. He'd plainly been took worse and worse all day, and now there warn't no doubt he was very bad off. He was sweating real hard, breathing fast and blowing. Even from where I was, I could tell his pulse was too quick. He kept a-walking round and round his box, and every so often he'd throw hisself down and roll about real wild. Then he'd get up and stretch as if he wanted to pass water, but he couldn't do it. Every time the pain came on, he'd kick at his belly.

I figured young Dave had been with him all day, but there'd been no help to be had on ‘count of the battle. Marse Robert and me, we'd been riding through the bivouacs long after dark, Marse Robert talking to this general and that ‘un. We was still out when Jine-the-Cavalry rode up to talk to Marse Robert and find out what he wanted him to do. And when we got back to headquarters, Tom, ‘twas all Marse Robert could do jest to get off'n my back, he was that tired, and Dave had no chance at all to talk to him ‘bout Richmond.

Getting on towards the middle of the night, a fog come up and covered everything. You could feel it creeping and thickening all around the stable, round the house and out over the fields beyond, thick as blankets. You could hear the sentries coughing, and cussing to each other, up and down outside. I wondered whether it'd be laying high as the hill, soaking into the dead and wounded, the dead horses laid stiff alongside the guns they'd dragged up there. After a while the air in the stable turned kind of moist and cloudy, and all you could see outside was jest thick gray.

I couldn't sleep. It got hard, in that air, to draw your breath, and Richmond was forever shambling round and round his box, crouching down, getting up again and panting. Somehow I could sense that our soldiers was down at heart. You could tell from the tread of the sentries and the heavy kind of way they was a-speaking and acting. We'd thought we was going to drive the Blue men off of that hill, and we hadn't— and what was worse, there was a passel of our fellas laying out there dead as flies.

First light, when it come at last, was thin and gray, sort of filtering through a damp mist wet as rain. I'd been ‘specting Dave to saddle me up for Marse Robert, but nothing happened—nothing at all. It seemed a long time ‘fore finally Dave and two-three other soldiers came in. I thought they'd have ‘tended to Richmond, but ‘stead of that they started putting dry litter in the empty stalls. That was a fair-sized stable, and best I could make out they was getting it ready for more horses. After they'd been working a while, Dave broke off to have a look at Richmond. He spoke to the other soldiers, and then he went away and came back with some sort of warm drink he'd made up for him. I could smell it from where I was stood. It had a kind of heady, herb-like smell. I guess there was some drug in it. Richmond drank some, but ‘far as I could see he didn't drink it all, and I could tell Dave was flustered and felt he couldn't give Richmond all of his time.

By now the rain was jest streaming down. The yard outside was like a duckpond, and in one part of the roof, where there was a fair old hole, the water was pouring through like a creek a-running. Every man who came into the stable was drenched and cussing, and dripping all over the floor.

All of a sudden a soldier comes in leading Little Sorrel. He was put into the box next to mine. He was wetter'n a frog in a ditch, and they began rubbing him down. I asked him what was going on. He told me Cap-in-His-Eyes had ridden him over from his outfit to talk to Marse Robert.

“The Blue men have all gone off the hill,” he said. “Vamoosed in the night. Stonewall's crazy to get after ‘em and blow ‘em to bits, but with this durned rain it's jest about impossible to move. You oughta see it, Traveller. Everything this side of the hill's turning into a lake miles wide, and all the wounded fellas crawling ‘bout ‘mong the dead ‘uns, crying for the ambulances to come and pick ‘em up. Our soldiers are trying to get fires going to dry theirselves out and dry their muskets.”

“Where's Cap-in-His-Eyes now?” I asked.

“Inside,” says Sorrel, “talking to Marse Robert. ‘Far as I can make out, Marse Robert's none too pleased with him. That day I last seed you—day before yesterday—it seems he let the Blue men get away when he oughta've been pitching into ‘em. I knowed how it would be. I told you, didn't I, that it'd work out bad—remember? He was so tired he jest couldn't think no more. I seed him actually falling asleep with the food between his teeth.”

Jest then Hero—Old Pete's horse—was led in, and the rain a-pouring off'n him in streams. He told us that him and Old Pete had been riding all over the place, everywhere there was fighting the day before, checking things out.

“Even Old Pete's had ‘nuff for a while,” says Hero. “They's bodies laying everywhere—the Blue men and our fellas all mixed up together. I don't know who won—everyone seems shook up and real downhearted but one thing—the Blue men's gone, that's for sure.”

Hero warn't in the stable long. They'd hardly had a chance to rub him down when we heared Old Pete outside, callin' for him. When Hero warn't brung out quick ‘nuff, he started in a-cussing real savage.

“I figure this is all the fighting there's likely to be,” says Sorrel. “For a good while, anyways.”

“How d'you know?” I asked.

“There's nowhere left for the Blue men to go,” he answered. “But we ain't able to fight ‘em no more. We're dead beat ourselves, and anyway they've got too many guns. Some of them guns yesterday was the heaviest I've ever heared.”

“So what do you think'll happen?” I asked him.

“They'll go away,” he said, “and leave us be—for now, that is.”

The next horse that come in was Thunder, so I knowed without asking that the President must have come to see Marse Robert, too.

“What's the matter with Richmond?” asked Thunder at once. Richmond had been pretty quiet for a while, but now he was blowing again, tossing his head and walking his stall.

I said I reckoned it was his gut, and told Thunder bout the sour bran.

“He'll die,” said Thunder, watching him. “Gut's blocked. I seed it afore now.”

We stood around in the foggy air, stamping hooves and listening to the noise of the rain on the roof. Presently Dave came in to see what more he could do for Richmond, but by this time Richmond was in spasms and didn't even ‘pear to feel it when he hit his head agin the wall in his tossing and turning.

It was early afternoon when Thunder was taken out for the President. I heared his hooves splashing out of the yard, and as they died away Marse Robert come in, a-talking to Dave. They went straight over to Richmond's box. When he seed Marse Robert, Richmond quieted down and let Marse Robert run his hand over him. The pain seemed to have left him and he began drinking from his water-trough.

“How long has he been like this?” says Marse Robert to Dave.

Before Dave could reply, Richmond staggered and set his four legs wide apart. ‘Seemed like he was trying to stand, but then he give a quick lurch forward and fell over on his knees. He commenced to get up, but fell again. He was jerking and shaking all over, teeth bare, frothing at the mouth. It didn't go on very long, though: he went over on one side, kicked out, shuddered from head to foot and went still. I knowed he was dead.

Marse Robert dropped on one knee and felt his heart. Young Dave, beside him, was near'bouts to crying.

“What a shame!” says Marse Robert, running his hand over Richmond's body with the rain a-dripping off all down his sleeve. “What a shame! Died o' the colic. No fault of yours, my boy—these things happen in war. We have to bear them like everything else. Some of you lads better set to and bury the poor beast. He was an awkward fella, but so are we all, I guess. He always did best as he could. I'm sorry to see him go.”