Traveller (18 page)

I went up to the tent and pushed my nose through the flap; and there was Marse Robert on his knees, with his hands together, same's them soldiers ‘fore the battle, and he ‘peared to be talking to hisself, like I've heared a groom do in stables sometimes. He had his back to me, and it took him a moment or two to realize I was there. When he did, he gave a little start, but then he got up straightaway and came out of the tent.

“Why, Traveller,” he says, “come to look for me, have you? I should have come to look for you.” Then he said some more I couldn't understand, but he was stroking my nose and speaking real kind and quiet all the time. I guess I must ‘a been trailing my rope, ‘cause I recall he led me back to the picket lines hisself, and I believe he'd have fastened me up with his own hands, only they was still bandaged up and splintered. He called a sentry, and I was picketed back in my place ‘longside Lucy. Lucy never asked where'd I'd been nor nothing, but that was jest like her—she was never ‘quisitive—and anyways she was so new to the Army that I reckon maybe she thought it was ordinary for headquarters horses to go wandering ‘bout on the loose at night. So no one knowed, ‘cepting for me and Marse Robert and the sentry.

I don't think it was the next day—maybe it was the day after— that Dave came down to the picket lines with my girth over his arm, and carrying my saddle. I thought he must have made a mistake and in a minute he'd go back for Lucy's, but he didn't. He saddled me up and ‘fore I knowed what was happening I found myself up at the headquarters tents. There was Perry lecturing Marse Robert and giving him his hat and things, like he always did. He never gave him his big gloves, though. They put some kind of special gloves, made of sacking, over his bad hands. I was still wondering whether they'd made a mistake when Marse Robert spoke to me a moment and then got up into the saddle. He looked around, said something to Major Talcott and then, jest like he always did last thing before we started out in the mornings, he gave the order: “Strike the tent!” That meant that Bryan and Perry and the rest was to get packed up and moving.

Old Pete joined us directly. “You're back then, Traveller?” says Hero. ‘“Reckoned you would be.” I was still too much surprised to answer him, ‘cepting for a friendly nicker. What was holding my attention was the change in the whole feel of Marse Robert. He warn't using his hands on the reins—well, not hardly at all. We was on a pretty smooth track to begin with and then we went out onto the road, so ‘twarn't difficult for me to know where we was s'posed to be going. After a while, though, we came to some rough ground where the road was in bad repair, and I realized right away that Marse Robert couldn't use his hands to guide me. Dave rode up ‘longside and took the bridle for a spell, and this worked well ‘nuff—we warn't going no faster'n a walk. I didn't get no encouragement to break into my usual trot.

We hadn't gone more'n three-four mile—I remember the sun was right in our eyes as we went down the road—when I heared the guns in front of us. We was going straight toward them guns; they was up in the hills. And I knowed then—picking my way acrost that rough ground, with Dave's hand on my bridle—I knowed that I'd somehow changed. Not that I'd stopped being afeared—I'd always be afeared; no horse could help that—but I knowed I'd rather be with Marse Robert and do jest what he wanted me to do—I'd rather be with him than even save my life. I realized, too, that this was the way Skylark felt and Sorrel felt—only, they hadn't told me as much, ‘cause it was something they couldn't.

Well, I'm not really explaining very well, Tom. I guess I'm not managing to make you understand that this was a mighty big change in me—bigger'n anything before or since. I'd thought before that I was Marse Robert's horse and real close to him, understanding jest what he wanted and all the rest. But I
hadn't
been—I was jest a good, strong horse that suited him better'n any other, and I'd thought that was all there was to it. Now I realized ‘twarn't hardly a mouthful of it. The reason Marse Robert didn't ‘pear to care ‘bout the bangs was that he cared more for the Army—for our soldiers—than he did for his own life. I don't know whether I can put this to you jest rightly, Tom. I'll tell you something I remember. Once, when me and a couple of other horses was jest browsing round in some long grass, tearing it out in mouthfuls, you know, I came on a bird's nest in among the brush and undergrowth—one o' them flycatchers, maybe. The fledglings had hatched: the nest was full o' them. And the mother bird went for me— she sure ‘nuff did. She jest went for my nose and pecked me for fare-you-well, and a-chattering with rage all the time. She'd have done the same to you, Tom, or to anything else that threatened her young ‘uns. She didn't care ‘bout herself at all. ‘Course I jest backed off and left her. I warn't aiming to hurt no nest.

Marse Robert needed me to feel ‘bout the soldiers the way he felt hisself. And what it really come down to was I had to do jest what he wanted, ‘cause I was the one critter in the whole Army closest to him— yeah, closer'n Perry, even if'n I didn't clean his boots. I knowed now that he'd never meant to send me away on account of I'd hurt his hands. That warn't why I'd changed—not the fear of bein' sent away. It was realizing that unless I could act like Marse Robert, I warn't his horse in the same way that Sorrel was Cap-in-His-Eyes' horse. And I'd been wrong: Marse Robert
could
be blowed to pieces, jest like anyone else. And if that happened, then I'd be blowed to pieces ‘long with him, and that'd be better'n not being entirely his horse. It hadn't been like that before, but ‘twas sure ‘nuff like that now. I had either to go on or go back. I went on. You might say I gave myself up for dead. But I knowed then what I hadn't knowed before—that most of the Army had done that anyways.

All the same, Marse Robert and me didn't come under fire that day. Marse Robert was urging the soldiers on, telling ‘em to keep moving through the dust and up towards the hills. In the afternoon, when we came close to the battle, he told Dave to pull me in to the side of the road, and we watched the men go by. I remember them Texans and their young General Hood. Marse Robert was talking to him real serious for some time, and when he finally rode off, all the Texans was a-cheering and yelling like crazy. I almost felt sorry for the Blue men they was fixing to fight. I wouldn't have cared to meet ‘em, I'll tell you.

I could tell that Marse Robert was strung-up and anxious ‘bout the battle, but his hands was so bad off that he didn't feel he could get forward and run it hisself, like he usually did. The firing went on until well after dark, and I knowed, from the way the horsemen who kept coming up to us was speaking to Marse Robert, that our fellas must be in a bad way and Marse Robert was worried.

Whatever else he had to worry ‘bout, I thought, ‘twarn't going to be me. Not no more.

We was on the march again in the dark. Everything I remember ‘bout that night's confused. We crossed a creek and came to a little town. All I recollect ‘bout the next day is the Blue men coming up, more and more of ‘em in the distance. ‘Peared like there was no end to ‘em. All that evening they was coming up and deploying, and yet they didn't try to fight us; nor the next day, neither. I reckon they was scared, although they was so many. They didn't like the look of us. I didn't like the look of them, neither.

Cap-in-His-Eyes came riding Sorrel into camp and Old Pete and him was talking with Marse Robert and riding up and down the lines. I remember the guns firing. Sometimes Marse Robert rode me and sometimes he rode Lucy. I guess he wanted to get the feel of Lucy and get her accustomed to the guns. I remember him leading me through that little town by the bridle. It was full of our guns, and Marse Robert went here and there, talking to the gunners. There was nothing to eat— no hay, no oats, no nose bags going—and Lucy and me and the rest had to grab what grass we could get. Mighty poor stuff, too. Oh, and that evening it rained. ‘Peared like it always rained when we was fixing to fight.

The fighting began before morning, in the dark. I could hear the muskets from where we was stationed, up on a hill outside the town. But ‘tell you the truth, Tom, I only recall things here and there out of that terrible day. ‘Pears to me now that Marse Robert spent the whole time riding up and down, over the ridges, out of one valley and down into the next. I jest see things in my mind's eye, you know. I recollect Cap-in-His-Eyes a-sitting on Little Sorrel with one leg acrost the saddle, taking not the least notice of the shells a-bursting everywhere round him and eating peaches out'n a paper sack. I felt sure Sorrel would be killed—the fields and brush everywhere was filled with dead horses— I seed more dead horses and mules that day than I ever knowed was in our Army. Yet he warn't, nor Cap-in-His-Eyes warn't neither.

The Blue men—you should jest have seed ‘em a-coming on! More Blue men than you'd think there was in the world. They kep' a-coming down through the woods like leaves blowing in the wind. I know Marse Robert hisself was wondering how it was going to turn out. I could tell that—though I don't think anyone else in the Army knowed it, horse nor man neither.

Now I recollect it, I'll tell you ‘bout the pig, Tom! It's the pig that comes back to me now. It was quite early in the day, and ‘far as I could make out things was going badly for us. There'd been a lot of firing— a big battle, by the sound of it—acrost the other side of the ridge from where we was, and thousands of our fellas had been sent over that way. Finally, Marse Robert must ‘a figured he'd better go and see for hisself. So there we-all was, Marse Robert and Major Taylor and the rest of the staff, riding over the ridge towards the firing. Marse Robert had been speakin' to an officer we met ‘bout bringing his guns forward, and then, jest as we was a-going on, we come upon this soldier all by hisself. He was a big black-bearded fella with a scar acrost his chin, I remember, and he was carrying the carcass of a pig. It was right acrost his shoulders and he was pretty well bent double under it, so he didn't see us until we'd got right up to him. It was plain ‘nuff he must have shot it and taken it from some farm, and now he was heading back to camp, ‘way from all the fighting. I don't reckon he'd been in the fighting at all. He was what we call a straggler, Tom, you know. A straggler's a fella who leaves the others, either on the march or in camp, and then lights out and looks after hisself best way he can. ‘Course, them kind always made Marse Robert real angry, and now here was one of ‘em carrying off a stolen pig, right before his very eyes!

Like I was saying, Tom, ‘twas a bad time. I reckon every man we'd got had been sent to stop those people, and maybe even that warn't going to be ‘nuff. So Marse Robert unloaded everything he was feeling onto this here fella. “Put him under arrest!” he shouted. “Stealing a pig—at a time like this, too! Take him to General Jackson! Tell him to have him shot!”

They took the man away. The pig was jest left laying on the ground. But later on, when we was riding back that way, it warn't there, so I reckon someone else must have finished off that bit of work after we'd gone.

It was later on that day that I seed something else I've never forgotten—something I still dream ‘bout, Tom. The Blue men was still forever attacking us. Marse Robert had come back a mile or so to another part of the battlefield and he was talking to the other General Hill— the Little General, as I called him. They rode together all down the lines of the soldiers, and Marse Robert was encouraging them like he always did and telling ‘em they was the greatest in the world and he knowed they was going to smash the Blue men all to pieces if they tried any more attacks. I hadn't met the Little General's horse before. He was called Chieftain, and he struck me as a real sensible sort—the kind of horse I could easily take to if we'd happened to be out in a field together.

“Does your man ever dismount?” he asked me as we was going through a bit of a wood and the enemy fire seemed to have slackened some.

I told him Marse Robert dismounted real often, either to talk to soldiers or else to go forward to get to places that'd be awkward for a horse; or jest to spare me.

“My man hardly ever dismounts, wherever we are,” said Chieftain. “I guess it's ‘cause he's sech a small man. He feels he looks better on a horse and the soldiers'll feel more respect for him. It's often bad and risky, some of the places we go. We're often exposed, and I get to feeling the Blue men are aiming straight at us.”

I told him I knowed how he felt, and I'd often felt the same way myself. There warn't much more I could say, seeing as how the whole place all round was covered with dead and wounded.

After a while Old Pete jined us, riding Hero as usual. Old Pete had somehow or ‘nother hurt his foot a while before, and he was wearing a carpet slipper on it. I recollect thinking we must have looked real strange, three generals riding ‘long, one with bandaged hands and another with only one boot. Anyways, all of us rode up towards a little hump in the ground, I s'pose to catch a better sight of the Blue men and larn what was a-going on. I seed then what Chieftain had meant. Marse Robert took a look at the top of the hump, where there was a few trees and no cover, and then he nodded to Old Pete and dismounted. Old Pete did the same, and me and Hero was held by Dave and another soldier near the bottom of the hump. I thought the Little General would dismount, too, but ‘stead of that he rides straight up to the top. Old Pete calls out to him and says it was dangerous. If he was going to do that, he said, he'd better keep away from him and Marse Robert, ‘cause they didn't favor getting shot. The Little General didn't take no notice, though. He jest kept right on a-looking out at the Blue men from where he was sitting.