Traveller (28 page)

All the time we was marching upcountry—long beside the mountains—I could feel Marse Robert was out of spirits, though whenever he was talking to the other generals he pretended he warn't. I remember, the day before we crossed the big river again, he rode right up the column from rear to front, stopping off whenever we came to anyone he wanted to speak with. We rode beside General Ringlets for a while, and he was full of high spirits and fight. He was always one for show, was Ringlets. There was a man with him, an officer he called “Eppa,” and Marse Robert and this here Eppa was riding ‘long and talking together for a goodish while. His horse, Sovereign, seemed in a sort of a gloomy mood, and after a while I asked him whether he was finding the flies troublesome or what.

“Flies are bad ‘nuff,” answers Sovereign, “but I can tell my man figures we're in for a whole heap of trouble. He's got a notion we may get beat, and if we do, we'll have a job to get back all this way.”

“Beat by the Blue men?” I said. “Us? When was we ever? Anyways, wherever we're going there'll be plenty of grass, for a change. Look at them poor old mules over there—see their ribs sticking out? They need to eat. I wouldn't wonder if'n we didn't finish the Blue men for fare-you-well this time. Then maybe you'll have a real rest and let yourself feel more cheerful.”

“Well, Traveller,” he says, “I s'pose you ought to know. You must ‘a seed a deal more'n I have.”

The truth was, I felt I probably didn't know all that much more'n he did. He looked a real old veteran, but I reckoned ‘twas my job to act cheerful, jest like Marse Robert was doing. By the time we parted, I'd got him into better spirits—better'n my own, really, ‘cause I knowed Marse Robert jest couldn't help thinking all the time how much better off we'd be if'n only we had Cap-in-His-Eyes ‘long with us.

The summer before when we'd crossed the big river, ‘twas by moonlight, and I hadn't really seed the size of it. This time it was a wet morning—jest pouring down rain and all the men and horses soaked through before they got to wading at all. You could see the whole length of the column splashing ahead, stretching out quite a ways even before it started going up the bank on the far side. I remember watching one old fella with a wagon and a pair of mules climbing down to fix the drag on his wheel and then taking a-holt of the bridles and backing down the slope into the water as he led the mules in. There was a band a-playing on the bank, and all the surface of the river, ‘far's you could see either way, was kind of speckled and glinting under the rain. There was a little town on the further bank, all the roofs glistening, and the folks all out of doors, never mind the rain, to watch us as we came acrost.

Marse Robert and me, we crossed the river with Old Pete and General Ringlets, us three horses splashing acrost side by side. Ringlets was riding a young horse, a black gelding called Romeo. He hadn't been long with the general and had almost no experience, but he'd struck me as a good-natured sort of beast, anxious to please his master and show he had as much spunk as any horse in the Army. As we come up the further bank, he jibbed and backed off for jest a moment before getting hisself pulled together. What had startled him was a little crowd of ladies, all standing together in the rain under a flock of umbrellas. ‘Course, anything strange or unusual'll startle a young horse, and I could guess that Romeo had never seed no umbrellas till then—'specially bright green and blue ones like these. Ringlets held him in as one of the ladies stepped up and asked Marse Robert if'n he was General Lee.

Marse Robert said he was. Then she went into a whole long speech, introducing each o' the other ladies and telling him they was all mighty glad to see him and his Army come acrost the river. She said we was saviors of freedom and a whole lot more that I couldn't understand. Marse Robert listened to all this real polite, while the rain jest ran off'n us in streams and Romeo fidgeted from side to side. And then, if you please, when at last she'd done talking, this lady up with a big wreath of flowers, which she figured she was going to hang round
my
neck! A lot of horses would have shied, I reckon, when she suddenly lifted up this big, colored thing—for a moment I didn't know what ‘twas—right in front of my nose, but I jest stood steady—well, maybe I tossed my head; I couldn't say—and waited. Marse Robert tells her he reckons she's mighty kind, but he don't think the flowers would look quite right, seeing as how we was soldiers on campaign.

Then these ladies started pressing Marse Robert that he really ought to accept the flowers; they was all on our side, they said. But Marse Robert, he stuck to it that there was jest no way a commanding general's horse could go around with a great wreath of flowers round his neck. I was glad, ‘cause I felt the same. A fine fool I'd look, coming into the headquarters picket lines all covered over with red and blue flowers! I'd never hear the last o' that! In the end Marse Robert won. He accepted the flowers and said how much he ‘preciated the ladies' kindness and all the trouble they'd took, and then he gave them to one of our soldiers to carry.

Jest the same, the ladies' welcome seemed to have lifted Marse Robert's spirits and cheered his mood. Headquarters had jest been set up, in a hickory grove a mile or so outside the town, when we had another visit—this time from a little boy I remembered to have come into camp and spoken to Marse Robert the summer before. Marse Robert made quite a fuss over this young man and had him sit down to eat with Major Taylor and General Red Shirt and hisself. Then Old Pete jined in, and said how would the boy like to become a soldier and ride ‘long with him and his fellas? When me and Hero and the rest was led up for the generals, Red Shirt told one of the soldiers to bring a horse for the boy. I forget which of us ‘twas, but anyways the boy was jest a little fella and he couldn't mount him up. Marse Robert lifted him into the saddle and said by and by he'd be ready for the cavalry. They was all full of jokes when we rode off to inspect the camps.

Next morning, when we struck the tent and set out on the march, it was still raining. We only had a few miles to go to the next town. I remembered it from the summer before, when Marse Robert had been riding round with his hands all bandaged up and a soldier to lead me. That had been a real bad time for me, Tom, as I've told you, and I didn't much relish seeing that town again. But everyone was friendly and ‘peared glad to see us, and a lot o' people was cheering Marse Robert and me as we rode through town.

Next thing was, another bunch of ladies come up and regular surrounded us. One of them had a pair of scissors, and it turned out that what she wanted was a lock of Marse Robert's hair. Marse Robert, he says no, he needed all the hair he'd got left, and why didn't she have some of Ringlets', seeing as how he'd got more to spare. But she didn't care for that notion. In the end we-all jest told them good-day and rode on.

We went maybe twenty mile that afternoon, and when we got to the next town Red Shirt come to meet us; he must ‘a gone ahead, I reckon, that same morning. “Ah, General Hill,” says Marse Robert, riding up to him, “I'm mighty glad to see you again, and your fellas all in sech fine order.” Marse Robert never missed a chance of praising and encouraging. There was another big hullabaloo, with folks gathering in the square, but soon's he could Marse Robert took us out of town and ‘stablished headquarters near some woods, ‘longside a little stream. I remember what a nice, quiet evening's grazing that was, with the sun coming out after the rain and everything fresh and green. Smelt real good. Me and Joker stood head to tail, swished the flies and loafed around. Everything ‘bout headquarters was jest like it always was on campaign: the tents, the baggage wagons and ambulances, the old mules stamping round under the trees, couple of red-and-blue cloths on sticks to show where we was; messengers a-coming and a-going, Bryan and Meredith getting everything ready for Marse Robert's supper and Perry a-setting on a log and whistling while he cleaned his boots. It was mighty peaceful. I was expecting Skylark and Jine-the-Cavalry to ride up any minute, or maybe Vot-you-voz. I hadn't seed nothing of Jine-the-Cavalry for several days now, and it seemed kind of queer, ‘cause I'd come to understand, from talking to Skylark, that Marse Robert relied on him to tell him where the Blue men was and what they was up to.

Still, if'n I didn't see Skylark or Star of the East or any of their cavalry friends, I certainly seed some unusual horses come into the Army during them few days. Looking back now, Tom, I can see we was getting jest about desperate for horses. We'd lost a lot in the fighting, and others had wasted away to nothing during the winter, and I guess there warn't ‘nuff left back home to replace them. Anyway, wherever we went on this campaign, we took up horses—any horses a-tall, whatever we could get. It was that evening or the next, while I was grazing and thinking ‘bout nothing in particular, that I suddenly seed a little group of our soldiers—artillerymen—coming down the nearby track with three of the biggest horses I'd ever seed in all my born days. They was huge. They warn't jest cart horses, they was cart horses and then some. I jest stood and stared at ‘em. I'd never seed nothing like ‘em before, and I'm sure they'd never seed nor heared nor smelt nothing like our camp. They was acting real nervous, and ‘cause they was so big the men was having some trouble with them. As I watched, one of them shied at the sun flashing on a tin bucket or some sech, and fairly dragged the two fellas who was leading him acrost the track and back.

“The three of ‘em together's too much,” says one of these soldiers. “Let's hitch this one here and come back for him when we've got t'other two to battery headquarters.”

So then they hitched this huge great mountain of a horse to a rail not far from where I was, and went long with the others. The horse looked quiet ‘nuff now, only fretting and upset, like he didn't know what was going to happen next. I felt sorry for him, so I gave him a neigh from where I was, and then I strolled acrost and gave him a nice, friendly nicker. He answered nervously, like he didn't know whether I was a friend or not.

“Jest come in?” I asked, sniffing him over. He smelt of hay and oats, mighty well fed. “Cheer up. It's not so bad once't you get used to it.”

“Oh, dey joost take me avay,” he said. “Dey take me avay! Master's angry, missus she's crying, very bad. Hardly finished de hay—”

“You come from a farm?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, alvays on de farm,” he said. “Never been off de farm. Dose soldiers take me—master's very angry, says he'll be ruint.”

Well, you know, Tom, I could see what he meant. I mean, if'n some fellas was to come in here now, and say they was requisitioning cats and took you away with ‘em to some strange, noisy place, like nothing you'd ever seed or smelt, I reckon you'd be tolerable scairt, too. I tried to think how I could cheer him up.

“You pull heavy loads on the farm?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he answered. “All us Percherons pull, ve pull vagons, ve pull plows, ve pull big carts—pull any t'ing.”

“Well, all you'll have to pull here'll be a gun,” I said.

“Vot's a gun?” he asks, rolling his eyes white.

Jest then I seed the men a-coming back for him.

“Oh, it'll be nothing for the likes of you,” I says. “A great big fella like you. You'd pull a hundred guns—you'll find it easy after the farm.”

I didn't believe it, mind you. I was jest trying to cheer him up. In spite of his size, I couldn't help thinking he looked clumsy and flabby. If he'd never been off the farm where he was born, it was going to take him a long while to get used to the artillery—and the artillery horses, too. They was real mean, most of ‘em. The life was ‘nuff to make any horse mean—the noise and the danger and all the limbering and unlimbering in the smoke and dust. He'd soon thin down on that.

Come to think of it now, after all this time I don't know whether we ever really got much out of all the horses we took up in them parts. They was nearly all great clumsy Percherons, or else some as called theirselves Conestogas. They needed a big feed—more'n twice what our horses could live on—and yet they couldn't do half the work. And as for standing up to the hardship and exposure of campaigning—well, there jest warn't no comparison to us. They warn't made for it. Later on, when things got real bad, it was a shame to see how they suffered. I mean, can you imagine—well, of course, Tom, you've never seed a Percheron, but I was going to say can you imagine one of them Percherons being driven to dash off at full gallop with a gun? And what their daily ration with us was, was mostly dry broom sedge and maybe a quarter of a feed of weevily corn.

Still, we warn't forever taking horses and supplies from the country folk. Marse Robert was always very particular ‘bout treating people right. “You jest remember, all of you,” he said one day to a bunch of soldiers he was talking to in camp, “you jest remember that we only make war on armed men. The biggest disgrace you can bring on the Army is harming anything that belongs to ordinary folk.” And it was that same day that he got down off my back, right there on the road opposite a pasture, and put up some rails with his own hands. One of our fellas had left ‘em down and the cattle could have strayed. He didn't have no chance, though, when it come to pinching hats. It was desperate hot jest then, Tom, you see, and a lot of our fellas had no hats. So whenever we was marching through crowds, usually one or two of ‘em'd snatch a man's hat off'n his head and run back into the ranks faster'n a dog on a scent. ‘Twarn't no use the man complaining to an officer. No one could tell which soldier had done it, and we warn't a-going to halt the march nohow jest for that.

There was still no sign of Jine-the-Cavalry or any of his ‘uns, and after a day or so I realized that this was worrying Marse Robert. “Where can General Stuart be?” I heared him say more'n once to Major Taylor. I remembered how Skylark had told me that most of their work was riding around behind the Blue men and finding out what they was up to, and I couldn't help wondering whether maybe they'd run into the Blue men and got into a passel of trouble, or maybe lost their way back. One thing was for sure, and that was that Marse Robert was feeling the lack of them. “What can we do without cavalry?” he said to Colonel Long as we was riding out of camp one morning. “I've never known this to happen before. It's like being blind.” Jest the same, I couldn't remember when I'd seed our Army in better spirits; and better off, horse an' man, than the time when we'd crossed the river the year before.