Traveller (32 page)

It came on the darkest night you ever seed. Jest here and there we had some pine torches burning, but most of ‘em went out in the rain. Some of the teamsters was leading a mule with one hand and holding on to the wagon in front with t'other.

‘Twas well after the middle of the night before the last of the Army was able to leave the battlefield. A lot of our wagons was lost for good, and as for the march—well, near as I'm any judge, it took us all night and half the next day to go ‘bout ten miles. And it never stopped raining—not once't all that next day and night. We bivouacked, but ‘twas so cold and wretched we was glad to get on again. ‘Twas awful bad—bad as could be—but the further we got away, and on through the mountains, the quicker we was able to go, or so it ‘peared to me. I don't recall whereabouts I was on the march; there was that much confusion and rain, I couldn't even have told you whether I was still with headquarters or not. Marse Robert took Lucy and didn't call for me again till we'd been going more'n two days. ‘Twas fine and sunny again by then, and I remember the roofs, and the leaves and grass glittering and sparkling as we rode down to take a look at the river.

I remembered that river like it'd been when we'd forded it with Ringlets and Old Pete and met the ladies. This warn't the same place as where we'd crossed, but wherever we was now, upstream or down, it didn't seem the same river neither. ‘Twas ‘nuff to scare you—a great brown, rolling flood, lapping over the banks and frothing white all along the shore. The banks was slippery and treacherous and several of us horses pulled hard back from them.

“It's the Blue men,” muttered Joker. “Pissing in it upstream— thousands of ‘em, standing in rows.”

There couldn't be no notion of fording that. I know we'd had a pontoon bridge somewhere in them parts, but later in the day I heared from one of the cavalry horses that it had been swept away.

All the same, as the sun went on shining and the enemy—who was round somewhere—still didn't dare attack us, I got to feeling that the whole Army, horse and man, was still in good heart. Well, we was real tough, Tom, you know. Our bands began playing, and fellas was a-joking and skylarking. We didn't feel so bad. After all, the Blue men was plumb scared of us; we'd hit ‘em real hard, and now we was on our way home. Our only trouble was the one that never seemed to leave us—shortage of food. Forage was awful scarce, and even good old Dave didn't seem able to find any. Us horses was living on grass and standing corn. I remember one day me and Joker and some more of the headquarters horses was turned loose in a field of grain. I ate it real slow; I warn't goin' to get the colic, like Richmond had. But ‘fore we was done, we'd jest about ate it bare to the stubble.

We stayed several days camping on the banks of the river, waiting for it to go down so we could get acrost. I heared tell from my cavalry friend, next time he came to headquarters with a message, that the enemy had tried to attack our outposts once't or twice't, but only kind of half-hearted. Jest the same, I could tell Marse Robert was jumpy— well, ‘much as he ever was. ‘Course, we was ready to fight if we had to, but he didn't want to fight with our backs up agin a river. He knowed the Blue men had a chance more fellas than we did, and even if they didn't cotton to our bay'nets, we didn't want to stick around any longer'n what we had to.

Well, in the end what we did was our fellas went out and tore up railroads, tore down old barns and sheds, cut down trees, got together a passel of old boats—anything at all we could make use of—laid down an approach track on the bank and made a bridge. And when ‘twas done, it sure was a swaying, crazy sort of affair—I wondered whether it would hold up as long as it was going to take the Army to cross. The Bald General and his ‘uns—so his horse told me one day when he come to headquarters—they'd been told to ford higher upstream, where ‘parently the water was lower. But even without em, I didn't figure that bridge—if'n you could call it a bridge—was a-going to last out. Yeah, and it might likely get shelled, too. That did cross my mind. Marse Robert's, too, I ‘spect.

We was set to cross at night, so natcherly, the afternoon before, it commenced to raining again—yeah, heavy. By nightfall everything was soaking wet, all the ground was half-flooded, but we still went ahead. We couldn't afford to wait no longer, you see.

Now I'm one horse that can surely tell you something ‘bout this here crossing, Tom, ‘cause if you'll believe me, Marse Robert and me was there the whole night in the rain and dark, watching as the Army tottered and shuffled and seesawed acrost that bridge. The rain kept on right till morning. Like I said, we'd made a new track down to the end of the bridge on our side, but the wagons—which was the first to cross— cut so deep into the mud that they kept stalling on the slope, and then two-three of our guns stalled, too. The only standing points anyone could pull on ‘em from was deep in mud—some of it near up to men's knees—and getting worse all the time. There was only three-four pine torches for light, and they kept a-dimming and sizzling in the rain. I seed a wagon full of wounded come down, miss the end of the bridge and go straight into the water. ‘Twas a swift current, too, and deep. I thought they sure was goners, but every man round rushed down there and somehow they was got out and the wagon was righted and shoved back onto the bridge.

On the bank, at the approach, they'd laid lines of willow poles to stop the wheels cutting into the mud, but the ground underneath was so wet and soggy that most of them bent to cracking, or else they'd slip to one side far ‘nuff to spring up and catch a horse's hoof and throw him down.

Getting the wagons acrost took all night. Hours went by while Old Pete's men stood in the rain, waiting till it come their turn. And still Marse Robert sat there where everyone could see us both—'much as anyone could see anything. Now and then he'd walk me forward through the mud to speak to an officer or cheer up a bunch of the men. I don't believe anyone could have guessed he was tired—not to look at him or talk to him. The only one who knowed that was me; I could feel him on my back. There was times I thought he was likely to fall, he was so wore out. He only let up once't the whole night, and that was jest for a short while when he went to his tent.

When morning finally came, we'd jest got the last of the wagon train over. I don't know why the bridge hadn't busted. Marse Robert left Old Pete where we'd been and led me acrost the bridge. That was as frightening as anything I've ever done in my life. If I hadn't had Marse Robert leading me I couldn't never have done it at all. As you might s'pose, when we got t'other side we found a considerable mess, but at least it was daylight, and pretty soon Old Pete's men was a-crossing in tolerable good order.

I knowed Marse Robert had never ‘spected an attack at any time more'n he did now, with the Army half one side and half t'other. I recollect he sent a messenger back to Red Shirt to tell him to bring his fellas on as fast as he could. But there warn't no attack. As Red Shirt's last lot came over, with the bridge swaying one way and t'other and the current fashing and dragging at it, I felt Marse Robert give a huge sigh of relief. Jine-the-Cavalry was with us (even Skylark warn't his usual jaunty self that morning), and he disappeared somewhere and come back with a cup of hot coffee. Marse Robert fairly gulped it down and told Jine-the-Cavalry he'd never tasted anything so good in his whole life.

All the same, Tom, I wouldn't like you to start thinking that the ruckus that night—all the hours and hours of it—knocked any least bit o' the stuffing out of Marse Robert or changed him at all from hisself. All that night, when the Blue men might have attacked us at any moment, he was jest the same old Marse Robert. And everyone believed the crossing was going ahead real fine, ‘cause there we was, him and me, watching every single minute of it and as good as saying so, jest by being there and acting the way we did. But ‘twarn't only that, even. ‘Twas—'twas—well, I'll tell you ‘bout something else I recollect—one of the things Marse Robert did that night.

Before we crossed the river—while we was watching the wagons onto the bridge—every now and then Marse Robert would tell some officer to ride off to one place or ‘nother to see how things was going elsewhere, and come back and let him know. ‘Twas usually one of the four majors, or it might be Colonel Long or some sech. Well, ‘bout the middle of the night he sent Major Venable off on one of these here errands. I got a notion ‘twas to see how the Bald General was getting on up at his ford. Anyway, when Major Venable come back he was real feisty. He was talking pretty near at the top of his voice and saying how everything where he'd been was ‘bout as bad as it could be. So then Marse Robert, he jest gave him back as good. He said he ought to be ‘shamed of hisself to speak like that ‘bout senior officers, loud ‘nuff for all the soldiers and teamsters round about to overhear him and likely get downhearted from it. ‘Fact, he scolded him good and proper. Now, you see, Major Venable was older'n the other three majors and he had quite a feeling—so it always struck me—of his own dignity and his position on Marse Robert's staff. You could see he didn't like this telling-off at all. But he took it without a word; he jest saluted and rode off, all covered in rain and mud. I remember his horse, Leopard, splashing me as he turned in the great puddle we was all a-standing in.

Well, later on that night, while Marse Robert was dismounting to go into his tent for a little rest, he told Perry to ask the major to come and see him. The major came, and I guess Marse Robert was hoping he'd be feeling better ‘bout it. But when he come out of the tent I could see—anyone could see—that he was still all in a huff. What with everything that was going on, I thought well, if'n he was going to give Marse Robert a hard time on top of all the rest! it was jest too bad. Anyways, as I told you, we crossed the river ourselves soon after, and by dawn we was on t'other bank, watching Old Pete's men come over. By this time there warn't no one at headquarters warn't jest ‘bout ready to keel over—including me. Several did. I seed a soldier holding Leopard's bridle, and then, not far off, I seed Major Venable laid down in the mud, sound asleep, and the rain fair belting down on him. A minute or two later Marse Robert seed him, too. He got off'n my back, went acrost to where the major was laying, took off his own poncho and covered him with it. Then he come back and mounted up again.

I don't know what happened when the major woke up—we warn't there—but next day, when he came to report to Marse Robert again, you could see that they was back on good terms sure ‘nuff. I guess he must ‘a felt pretty small. Well, he wouldn't forget it in a hurry, would he? I haven't, no ways.

I reckon that coming back from the battlefield, and then the river crossing, was ‘bout the hardest march I ever made. And yet we-all come through it—them that did, I mean. A day or two later we was back on old ground I remembered well, and feeling fine—if'n only there'd been something near ‘nuff to eat. We warn't no ways demoralized, Tom. We was the grandest Army ever.

Talking of things Marse Robert did ‘long ‘bout that time, I'll tell you something else while it's on my mind. ‘Twas on a hot day's march after we'd crossed the river. The sun was jest scorching and our fellas was going by pretty wearily—a long column, kicking up a lot of dust and everyone suffering from the heat. Marse Robert and Old Pete and some of the staff had stopped off in a little grove jest above the road, where there was a spring of water to go with the feed. I was hitched up with Joker and Leopard and one or two more, tossing my head and swishing at the durned flies, when I seed one of the soldiers leave the ranks and come acrost towards Marse Robert. He was a handy-looking fella, too, strong and well set-up, and he was a-pouring with sweat— ‘twas running off him reg'lar like rain, poor man.

He made straight for where Marse Robert was sitting on the grass. He came right past my nose. Someone tried to stop him, but Marse Robert said no, let him come. So then this here soldier comes up and salutes, all covered in dust like he was, ‘ceptin' where the sweat had made streaks down his face and neck. Marse Robert asks him what he wants. “I don't want much, General,” says the man, “but it's powerful wet marching this weather and I can't see for the water in my eyes. I came aside to get a rag or somethin' to wipe the sweat off of me.”

Marse Robert takes out his own handkerchief. “Will this do?” he says.

“Oh, my Lordy, that indeed!” cries the fella.

“Well, then, take it with you,” says Marse Robert, “and get back quick into ranks. No straggling this march, you know, my man.” ‘Wonder whether he's still got it?

Things like that was always liable to be goin' on anywhere we was around. I'll tell you something real funny that happened the very day after we'd crossed the river. ‘Twas misty weather, and for some reason I don't jest remember now, me and Marse Robert had gone forward on our own, a ways off from the rest of headquarters, and we was walking easy on the grass right ‘longside part of an artillery battery on the move. As we rounded a turn in the road, we came on a wagon unhitched, shafts down, standing on the verge—no mules, no teamster. Marse Robert, he looks around, and there was an old fella out in the field alongside, t'other side of the drawbars. He must ‘a took them down hisself. He'd unhitched his pair of mules, but he had them by the halter reins, and he was letting ‘em feed on the grass—mighty fine grass it smelt, too, in the damp of that mist.

“My man,” calls out Marse Robert, “I like that. I'm glad to see you taking sech good care of your mules. Fine mules they are, too! What's their names?”

You could see the old fella was real pleased, but he'd plainly got no notion of who we was. He says the mules are called Dragon and Logan. “And Dragon,” he says, “he's rayther the better of the two, maybe.”