Traveller (40 page)

I had a good rest that night. Headquarters was pitched in a big yard outside a house. ‘Twas quiet, with plenty of trees and grass. Us horses was tethered there and left to graze. That raised my spirits quite some, but by morning it had commenced to rain and come on a real nasty day.

April 5, 1865. General Lee's intention in leaving the lines at Richmond and Petersburg has been to march westward, join General Johnston in North Carolina and engage the Union forces under Sherman. To achieve this, however, he must outstrip pursuit by General Grant. After a forced march of some forty miles, including a confused and stressful night crossing of the Appomattox River, the famished army has reached Amelia Court House to find that the food expected to be delivered by railroad has not arrived. Efforts to commandeer provisions in the surrounding countryside have wasted a vital day and produced almost nothing. The army is now literally starving. During the early afternoon, General Lee, riding southward with Longstreet, has come upon the enemy strongly entrenched across his intended line of march to Danville. For his exhausted troops to attack is out of the question. The only possible course is a further night march to Farmville, some twenty-five miles west. It is not long before signs of disintegration begin to appear
.

There was some mighty tired horses when we set out that night, and I have to say that I hadn't exactly been counting on another night march myself. Still, I thought, it'll be worth it to finish those people off. Anyway, I'm the General's horse. I've got to set an example.

Well, you know, Tom, any night march is bound to be full of stops and confusions and no one knowing rightly what's going on—and goodness knows I've been in ‘nuff of ‘em—but this was one to beat the band. First of all, ‘twas a real mean little track. I seed that much ‘fore it got dark. And I guess more men and animals must ‘a gone over it that one night than all its other nights put together. Pretty soon it was a mass of mud, full of soldiers and wagons jammed spang together like flies on a dead mule. Somewhere up ahead of where me and Marse Robert was, the enemy's cavalry had made a sudden attack and the road was blocked with smashed-up wagons. We had to wait I dunno how long ‘fore the way was cleared and things got sorted out.

Some time later, Marse Robert had stopped off for supper at a gentleman's house, and I was having a bit of a feed myself, when a courier came dashing up. I guessed something else must ‘a gone wrong, and I warn't mistaken neither. Marse Robert came straight out and we set off up the road. We hadn't gone more'n a mile or two ‘fore we came up with the trouble, right by a little creek. Our guns had been too heavy for the bridge—if'n you could call it a bridge. ‘Twas jest smashed to matchsticks. Marse Robert stuck around a considerable time, till he was satisfied the engineers had got down to fixing it, and then on we went, him and me, in and out through the biggest mess you can imagine: foundered horses, lost soldiers; false alarms and shouting in the dark; fellas so jumpy they was ready to loose off at anything—and me with not the least idea what was under my hooves from one moment t' the next. Marse Robert, he was jest like the moon on a windy night—the only calm thing in the whole durned welter. His hands, his voice—they was all that kept me steady. Else I'd have bolted. Lot of horses did.

As it growed light, what was puzzling me—although I was that tuckered out I was nigh on past being puzzled ‘bout anything—was that ‘parently we was fighting a battle while both armies was on the march. Usually, Tom, you see, when you fight a battle, at least one side's standing where they mean to stay put. Well, I thought, Marse Robert's up to all the tricks; I guess he's trying some new sort of plan to catch up with the Blue men and beat ‘em while they're trying to get away. But foals and mares! don't it jest bout take it out of you? I felt ready to fall down, and I don't quit easy, Tom, you know.

‘Twas jest at that moment, while we was stood still, that I suddenly noticed a horse almost under my hooves—a horse laying abandoned in the ditch. There was nothing so very remarkable in that—there was horses a-laying in ditches all along the road. But then I recognized him—and at the same moment he recognized me. ‘Twas Ruffian, the sorrel that had been my very first friend when we was colts together, back in the big meadow where we was foaled and Jim trained me. He was laying there in the mud, his sides heaving and ragged strips of harness still sticking to him where he'd been cut loose.

“Jeff,” he gasped, best as he could. “Jeff Davis, is that you?”

‘Course, I'd forgotten that name—I hadn't been called Jeff Davis for years. I dropped my nose down towards his.

“Ruffian!” I said. “What's happened? Where's your man?”

“I couldn't—couldn't pull the gun no more, Jeff,” he said. “They cut me loose and left me. I figure I'm on the way out.”

“‘Course you're not,” I said. “You're going to be all right.” But looking at him, I couldn't believe it.

“I'm glad to have seed you again, Jeff,” he said. He was panting for air. “Them was good days with Jim and Andy, warn't they?”

Marse Robert had been holding me steady all this time. Do you know, I'm sure that somehow or other he'd guessed we knowed each other? No other man would have seed as much—and at sech a time as that, too—but
he
did.

After a few seconds he looked all round us and called to a couple of teamsters who'd pulled off the track to fix a shifted load. They came over and saluted.

“This horse here,” says Marse Robert, pointing to Ruffian, “he only needs some care and attention to put him right. He's jest exhausted. Get him out of that ditch and see to him.”

“Sure will, General,” says one of them, and right away they set about heaving Ruffian out o' the mud.

Jest then an officer comes up at the gallop. Marse Robert hears him out; then he says, “Very well, Captain. Tell him I'm coming right away.” The captain rides off again. Marse Robert turned my head into the road and we was gone. Horses forever saying good-bye.

Now
you know, Tom, don't you, why I was so happy to meet Ruffian that morning in the hills two years back, when me and Marse Robert and the family was staying at that there big place, The White? That was the first I knowed that he'd survived. I hope he's still doing fine. No reason why he shouldn't be, I reckon.
You
are, ain't you? And I sure am.

When it came full daylight, we stopped off a while at a little village where Old Pete's lot was marching in. I got a rest and some grazing while Marse Robert talked a long while with Old Pete. Then we set out—jest Marse Robert and me; I can't remember that we took any escort at all—to ride round and have a look at the neighboring country. Personally, I didn't like the look of it—real bad ground, I figured. For a start, ‘twas all wild hills. Some of ‘em was close above the creek below, kinda dropping down near'bouts sheer, while others was stood further back. The bottom, what I could see looking down at it, was swampy. There warn't hardly no tracks and they was shocking bad. From the hills down to the creek the going was mostly steep—nasty for guns and wagons—for soldiers, too, come to that. And second of all, everywhere was these thick, piney woods, so you couldn't see far in any direction. I couldn't make out jest what Marse Robert meant to happen. I couldn't see where the Blue men could be planning to take up a defensive position, or how we might be aimin' to attack them in that rolling country. Still, I knowed Marse Robert must have it all figured out, jest like he always did.

‘Twas getting on to afternoon when he rode me along a ridge until we was right spang above a big river, jest where the creek ran into it, and there we jined up with a bunch of our cavalry. They warn't engaged with the enemy; they was jest stood a-waiting. But we could see fighting going on now all right, ‘way over on t'other side of the creek. Marse Robert dismounted, held me by the bridle and stood a while, taking a good, long look.

“What do you figure those are?” he asks a young officer, pointing into the distance. “Sheep?”

“No, General,” says the officer. “Those are enemy wagons.”

I could tell Marse Robert didn't like this at all. He remounted at once't and we set off back the way we'd come. Near the little village we'd left, the first soldiers we met up with was General Mahone and his ‘uns. Marse Robert rode up and spoke to him. Then we turned back together, ‘long the ridge, with his fellas following us.

I knowed General Mahone's horse, of course—a stallion name of Brigand. You could see he'd had quite a time. He was all in a lather and ‘peared jumpy and nervous. Once't, when some reflection caught him in the eye, he shied and the general had to pull him up short. You could hear the guns going hard now, over t'other side of the ridge, and ‘twas plain ‘nuff there must be heavy fighting over there. ‘Twarn't the same fighting we'd seed earlier, though—'twas much nearer. We hadn't gone back as far as the mouth of the creek.

“I don't like this at all, Traveller,” says Brigand, when he'd collected hisself together. “I reckon we're in trouble, don't you?”

“I'm blest if I know,” I answered. “I thought we-all was aimin' to attack and start a battle, but now I'm not so sure.”

“I figure
they're
the ones have started this here battle,” says Brigand, “and I don't figure it's going any too well, neither.”

“Ah, come on, when have we ever been beat?” I asked him.

“You're a good goer, Traveller,” he says. “None better in the Army. But you're real thick in the head—you always was that.”

Before I could answer, we came out ‘long the top of the ridge. You could see straight down into the creek and right acrost the valley. And there, Tom—there was a sight I'd never seed but the once't afore. ‘Twas our fellas—our fellas
running away
! Heaps and heaps of ‘em, all mixed up, no muskets, no cloths on sticks, no wagons—jest an every-which-way mob on the run, coming out o' the woods. And behind them was the Blue men—a whole power of ‘em, all advancing in good order.

Marse Robert pulls up short, staring. “My God!” he cries. “Has the Army been dissolved?”

What's the good of asking me? I thought. There was a horrible few moments' silence. Then General Mahone says, “No, General, here are troops ready to do their duty.”

Marse Robert had only let hisself go jest for an instant. He was his old self again right quick.

“General Mahone,” he says quietly, “will you please keep those people back?”

General Mahone put Brigand into a gallop and off they went to get his fellas into line of battle. And straightaway Marse Robert and me, we was going lickety-split down that hill—fast as you could on a slope like that. Somewhere ‘long the way Marse Robert grabbed up one of our cloths on a stick—the old red and blue. Then he reined me in and held it up. “Steady, Traveller, steady!” I stood like a rock, right in the way of the fellas was doin' the running. Actually, some of em was limping and some was wounded, but they was all a-going one way. A whole bunch went right on past us—took no notice of us at all. Then someone shouts out, “It's Marse Robert! It's Uncle Robert!” And a crowd started a-gathering round us.

Marse Robert begun calling out to them, telling them they was better'n all the Blue men in the world, that they was his best fellas, who'd never let him down, and all things like that. He told ‘em General Mahone and his lot was right there to back them up; they must form up again and turn round to stop the Blue men. That was something, I'll tell you, Tom, to see them poor men—shredded jackets, grimy-black faces; bleeding, a lot of ‘em—cheering as we rode ‘mong them and calling out to Marse Robert to lead them back hisself agin the enemy. Thank goodness he didn't, though. Down below I could see even more Blue men now, coming out o' the woods, and there was a whole lot too many for my liking.

Soon General Mahone comes back and takes the red-and-blue cloth from Marse Robert. Marse Robert left the reins loose on my neck and stayed where we was at, looking out acrost the valley. There was still a passel of our fellas coming back, but Marse Robert left them now to form under their own officers. After a while he said to General Mahone, like he always used to, “Well, General, what ought we to do?” They talked for a time and then Marse Robert called for Major Talcott, who was jest nearby.

“‘Hope you're enjoying yourself, Traveller,” says Joker as he came up. He hisself looked near beat—made me hope I didn't look the same.

“I ain't complaining,” I said.

“That's what I've always liked about you, Traveller,” replied Joker. “You've always got sech a real turn for enjoying yourself. I believe if'n they filled your nose bag with gravel you'd set to and fair tear into it.”

‘Truth was I was feeling so dismal I couldn't think of nothing to answer back with. I could guess what must ‘a happened. Some of our generals had set out to fight the Blue men on their own, without Marse Robert to tell ‘em what to do. How else could we have been beat like that? This was the fourth time we'd set out to finish the Blue men and still hadn't done it. ‘Course, I still knowed we would; it was jest that it was turning out to be so much harder'n I'd ever ‘spected. ‘Twas costing so much, and I warn't the only one, horse or man, ready to keel over. Marse Robert hisself was ready to drop in his tracks. I could feel he was; and sure ‘nuff, jest a little while later, once't it was plain that those people didn't care for the notion of attacking us where we was stood ready for ‘em on the ridge, he dismounted again and lay stretched out flat on the ground.

‘Twas getting pretty dark when we fin'lly rode back to Old Pete's outfit, where we'd been that morning. I couldn't believe it when we formed up to set out for another night march, but set out we did. We went ‘bout ten mile, Tom, if'n you can credit it, till we came to a little town; and there I was stabled for what was left of the night, while Marse Robert slept in some gentleman's house. ‘Course, I was saddled up again at first light. That was always the way ‘twas.