Traveller (31 page)

I don't know how long it went on. After what seemed a long time our guns stopped firing, and a minute or two later the enemy guns died down, too. And that was when I suddenly caught sight of General Ringlets, that I didn't recollect to have seed since that day when him and Romeo crossed the river with me and Marse Robert, and we met the ladies with the flowers.

General Ringlets was still riding Romeo, and I could see that though Romeo was doing all he could to keep steady under the fire, he warn't far off from panicking. Some of it, though, was coming to him from Ringlets hisself. Ringlets was dressed jest as smart as he had been at the river, and he was smiling and saluting other officers here and there as though he hadn't a care in the world. But even from where I was, I could tell he was feeling near as bad as the artillery horses. His breathing alone would be ‘nuff to signal that much to any horse that had him on its back, and so far as I knowed, this was Romeo's first battle. I felt sorry for him.

Ringlets pulled him in and held him steady while he looked along the lines of his fellas laying down in back of the guns. Then he drew his sword and shouted to them to form line and go forward. They was Virginians, Tom—fellas from round these here parts where we are now. I remember their commanders riding out in front of the lines to lead them. One of ‘em was on a big black horse I'd seed once't or twice't before—'never knowed his name. Another—a white-haired old chap— stuck his hat on the point of his sword and called up his fellas in a voice that carried like a bugle. The soldiers was shouting “Virginia! Virginia!” And as they come out into the open they formed ranks as neat as if it had been for Marse Robert on a parade ground. Soon's they got clear of the trees, all the regiments formed into a single, great line. You could see the red-and-blue cloths going in front, and the officers marching on foot with their companies. I was thinking I wouldn't like to be the Blue men on t'other end of that lot. But I remember thinking, too, they had an awful long way to go acrost the open ground ‘fore they could commence to fighting.

Marse Robert was sat real still and steady, watching as the line went off into the distance. Once't, I remember, he pointed and said something to Major Taylor ‘bout how many of the fellas had bandages on their heads or their arms—fellas that had been wounded, but warn't going to let that make no difference. I'd never seed so many cloths on sticks goin' forward together before. Behind the whole line came Ringlets and his staff. Once't or twice't I seed young Romeo jib and falter, and I hoped for his sake he'd come through it all right and do hisself credit. I wouldn't have liked his job.

They went on, Tom; they went on quite steady over that dry, sunbaked ground for two—maybe three hundred yards. And then the Blue men's guns opened up again. I'd thought our guns was s'posed to have blowed theirs to bits, but ‘twas plain ‘nuff now that they hadn't. ‘Twas terrible to hear the shells explode and see the smoke blot out whole parts of the line, and then great gaps where our fellas had been. There was men struggling on the ground, only you couldn't hear ‘em screaming, ‘cause of the guns. It put me in mind of the battle in the snow, only then it had been the Blue men, not ours, who'd come shoulder to shoulder up the slope into Red Shirt's guns.

Soon what was left of our fellas had got a long ways off—too far for me to be able to see what was going on. I could tell they must ‘a met the Blue men by now, ‘cause there was musketry crackling, and I could hear the Yell, and see the flashes ‘way off acrost the field.

‘Twas all smoke and noise and confusion, a long ways off. I never have rightly knowed jest what happened. I was expecting Marse Robert and headquarters to go forward any moment, but we didn't. I seed a riderless horse with a great gash in his shoulder come plunging back out of the smoke, and I seed plenty of wounded men crawling ‘long the ground—only, some of them didn't crawl far.

And then at last—after what seemed a terrible long time—Marse Robert and me, we did ride forward. Our men was beginning to come back—some by theirselves and some in little sort of broken-up groups. A lot was wounded. They came limping and staggering through the line of our guns, trying to get to the trees behind, where they'd started from. And ‘twas while this was going on that me and Marse Robert went out to meet ‘em. Old Pete was with us, and Major Taylor and quite a few more. Marse Robert put me into a walk, and we was going from one bunch to ‘nother. Marse Robert was encouraging them and cheering them up. “It'll all come right in the end,” he kept saying. “It'll all come right. We want all good and true men jest now.” Some of them was so badly hurt or so tuckered out that they jest staggered on past as if they couldn't hear, but there was a chance of others was mighty glad to see him, and any number who stopped to cheer. “It's Marse Robert!” calls out one young fella to his mates, who was carrying a wounded man ‘tween them. They all came a-crowding round me—I could smell the blood—and one of ‘em kept saying, “We ain't whupped, General! We ain't no ways whupped! Those Blue fellas have had ‘nuff to keep em quiet for a long while, no danger!”

‘Twarn't only the soldiers Marse Robert had time to spare for, neither. I'll tell you something, Tom, that I've never forgotten—never will. In the middle of all our riding ‘bout among the men and talking to ‘em, there suddenly come some sort of a commotion, ‘way off in the distance. Marse Robert tells one of the gunnery officers who happened to be nearby to ride off and find out what ‘twas. Well, as it happened, I knowed this officer's horse—I'd been picketed with him more'n once't since the spring. He was a nice, easygoing gray called Misty, and he'd always been close friends with the artillery general's horse, Buckthorn. They'd been paired all the way on the march up, and I'd often seed them together. They was standing together now, while Misty's master went acrost to mount him and get on with what Marse Robert wanted done. Well, as I've told you, Tom, horses set a heap of store by friendship. Take a horse away from his friend and he's likely to feel it bad. And now here was Misty being unhitched and taken away from Buckthorn almost by force, at a time when every horse and man had been strained to the limit. You could see he didn't like it at all, but there was no time for his master to be bothering ‘bout that. He jumped up and spurred him to get going. But Misty warn't minded jest then to be all that obedient. He simply wouldn't go, so this officer began beating him with a stick. ‘Soon ‘s Marse Robert seed that, he called out, “Don't whip him, Captain! Don't whip him! I've got jest sech another foolish horse myself, and whipping does no good!”

Well, maybe I am a foolish horse. I've always knowed I warn't a genius like Skylark, but jest the same, I don't figure Marse Robert and me would've been together all these years if'n that was what he really thought of me, do you? He was certainly right ‘bout whipping does no good. He's never had no need to take a whip or a spur to me, not one time since the day we met.

Then General Ringlets came up to us on Romeo, who was all in a lather of sweat and rolling his eyes white. Marse Robert hurried acrost to meet him. “General Pickett,” he says, “please get your division behind this hill and be ready to meet the enemy if they come.”

Ringlets was looking jest ‘bout frantic, almost like he was going to cry. I can't remember ever to have seed any commander look worse. When he answered, ‘twas in a kind of sob. “General Lee,” he said, “I have no division now. They're all dead”—or something like that.

“This has been my fight, General Pickett,” replies Marse Robert. “The blame's all mine.” And then, near as I could understand, he said something ‘bout Ringlets' Virginians being the greatest soldiers he'd ever seed.

There was all sorts of people, soldiers and officers, crowding round us, and Marse Robert says again that ‘twas all his fault and they'd done everything that brave soldiers could do. And jest then he seed some stretcher-bearers coming; so he walked me over to them to see who ‘twas.

It was one of Ringlets' commanders. I knowed him by sight. He'd been hit terrible—the blood was soaking the stretcher—and he looked real bad to me. Marse Robert took his hand and said he hoped he'd be all right, but the commander said he reckoned he was finished. He asked Marse Robert to tell everyone how well his soldiers had fought, but after that he couldn't go on talking, and they took him away.

It's all real confused, Tom, the way I recall that bad time. Marse Robert was speaking to everyone he could—soldiers, officers, ambulance men—to cheer ‘em up. But I'll tell you another thing I ain't forgotten. We come to a place where some Blue prisoners was a-waiting by the road. ‘Course, as you'd s'pose, no one had much time to spare for ‘em jest then. One of them had been wounded, and he was laying stretched out on the grass. As we was going by, this fella began yelling out something like “Hurrah for the Union! Hurrah for the Union!” I knowed he meant his own fellas. Marse Robert pulls me up, dismounts, walks acrost to this soldier and takes his hand. “My son,” he says, “I hope you'll soon be well.”

‘Far as I could make out, we must a given the Blue men a hiding, ‘cause we stayed where we was all that night and all the next morning, and they never dared to up and attack us. But it hadn't been a good ‘nuff hiding to make ‘em skedaddle, like they had in the forest. The trouble was always the same. However many Blue men we killed or captured, they always had plenty more—and plenty more guns and horses, too.

That night—the last night of the battle, as it turned out—I thought I'd surely be given a rest now. I'd been more or less in steady action for three days. But come to that, so had a lot of fellas, and Marse Robert had everything in the world to be seeing to. He stayed a good while talking with the gunnery general behind the ridge—soon as it got dark, he was going to have to get our guns out from the road at the bottom— and then we went back to headquarters. As I understood it, now we'd hammered the enemy, they wouldn't be giving us no more trouble for quite a while—I guess it must ‘a been as much as they could do to stay where they was—and our job was to get the Army back home acrost that there river—the flower ladies' river. We had to find food, apart from anything else; and we had a power of wounded.

After dark, Marse Robert rode me back ‘long the ridge to talk to Red Shirt. They warn't finished till real late—well into the middle of the night—and I remember how we came back—jest me and Marse Robert—all through the camps in the moonlight. I was going at a walk— I couldn't have done nothing more. I was so tired I hardly knowed where I was putting my hooves. Now and then we'd be challenged by some sentry who ‘peared as exhausted as we was. The mess of battle was lying all round: everything from ammunition boxes and spent shells to dead bodies—yes, and wounded, too. I jest stumbled along best I could and Marse Robert as good as left me to find my own way. Once't I thought I heared an owl in the trees nearby, but ‘twas a wounded man piping out, sort of high and thin, for water. And there
was
some wounded, too, Tom, I'll tell you. Every ditch, every furrow, every old shed and barn was crammed with wounded—wherever they'd crawled. But the dead horses, they was still laying in the open, with their legs sticking up stiff and white balloons blowed out of their mouths and rumps.

When we got to headquarters, everyone was asleep ‘cept Dave and the sentry and one of our cavalry generals who'd been waiting up. Marse Robert couldn't hardly get hisself off'n my hack. He had to struggle down. Fin'lly he kind of half-fell off and stood leaning agin me to get his breath. The cavalryman said, “General, this has been a hard day on you.”

“Yes,” answers Marse Robert, “it's been a sad, sad day for us.” But then, after a minute, he speaks up louder. “I never saw troops fight braver'n Pickett's did today”—or some sech. I was so tired I couldn't rightly take it in; but then he said, “And we'd have held the position—”

Dave had come up to take my bridle, and jest as we was turning away Marse Robert broke out, real loud, “Too bad! Oh, too bad!” Dave led me away quick. I guess he wanted to get to sleep.

You'd have ‘spected the enemy might try to attack us the next morning—I think Marse Robert was ‘specting it—but they didn't, so we was left undisturbed to get ready to move. I didn't see much of what was going on, ‘cause Marse Robert was riding first Lucy and then Ajax. ‘Twas jest as well, ‘cause I couldn't have done no more. I was afeared of even the chance of more gunfire—I guess jest that alone would ‘a been ‘nuff to finish me—but there warn't none. The lines stayed entirely silent.

But there was almost worse'n gunfire to come. ‘Bout the middle of the day it begun to rain like you can't hardly imagine. It came down in sheets—torrents—with a howling wind that blowed it right through you. Pretty soon everything and everybody was wringing wet from head to foot, and as cold as the wind. After an hour or two the whole place was deep in mud as a pigsty. Everyone was cussing, everyone slipping, wagons jest about down to the hub and men pushing till they slid and fell their length, horses over the fetlocks—what was the use of whupping ‘em, poor beasts? They nigh on whupped their ribs raw, some of ‘em— and no one could see further'n the wagon in front.

The roads—well, you couldn't tell what was meant to
be
a road, ‘ceptin' for the fellas laid out beside it, and them you didn't know which was dead from the day before and which was jest all in. Half of ‘em looked more mud than clothes. I seed wagon wheels go over some of ‘em.

Marse Robert sent the wagons full of wounded first. He'd called for me again by that time, and we stood in the open a long while a-watching the ambulances go by. I'd guess most of those men was dying. You could hear them inside, rolling and pitching around like tent poles. Mostly they warn't cryin' like men—more like cats a-courtin'— kinda high, wailing and thin. We seed mules go down in the mud and lay there on their sides. One pair went over together an' turned the wagon over behind ‘em, and that nearly sank in the mud, wounded and all.