It was a short night—real short. It was jest coming on daylight when all three of us was saddled up and led out into the farmyard. There warn’t a cloud in the sky, but jest a purple rim to the horizon; it was going to be a real scorching day. Marse Robert came out and Perry gave him his hat and his gloves, as usual. He jest hesitated a moment, and then he spoke to Marse Taylor, mounted Brown-Roan and rode out into the lane. Two soldiers followed behind, riding me and Richmond, and there was the usual little bunch of Marse Robert’s officers.
We went back acrost the river and out t’other side of that little village; and there we waited, with Marse Robert watching the crowds of soldiers going forward. There was still bangs, and a few bullets, too, like the day before, but pretty soon it seemed like the Blue men was gone out o’ the trees, and Marse Robert jined up with Old Pete and rode down into the bottom and acrost the creek. There was dead fellas— ours and the enemy’s, too—laying around everywhere, but I never took no notice—didn’t shy—jest went right on through ‘em. Once’t or twice’t it seemed like Brown-Roan was kinda fumbling in his tracks, and coming over the bridge I seed him falter and jib at the hollow noise of his own hooves on the planks. Marse Robert jest spoke to him, gentle-likc, coaxed him up t’other side, and we went up through the brush. It was pretty thick, and there was big ditches and barricades of felled trees that the Blue men must ‘a made while they was holding the line of that creek. There was a mill, I remember, jest ‘bout there, but ‘course it was all smashed to pieces—jest a lot o’ rubble. Marse Robert kept pulling up to talk to the soldiers, and every time he did, I seed Brown-Roan sort of peering round and hesitating. His mouth was very tight and he kept bobbing his head and then jerking it back, like he felt uneasy. ‘Course, I thought, he hasn’t come under fire before, poor fella. I sure hoped for his sake he’d be all right, on account of I liked him. Anyways, Marse Robert didn’t seem bothered, so I jest turned back to watching where I put my own hooves down in all that mess.
Soon after, Marse Robert left us behind and rode off somewhere or other on his own account, with Major Taylor. He was always doing that on the field of battle. You never knowed where he’d be going next. Me and Richmond was taken on down the lane, closer to the few bangs that was still a-comin’ over, After maybe two mile we turned off and went down to a biggish house in a grove of trees ‘bove the river. I remember there was bonfires—piles of stuff—boots, boxes of food, all sorts of things—all a-burning. I reckoned the Blue men must have set them afire before they skedaddled, so our fellas wouldn’t get ‘em.
We had a feed, but they wouldn’t put us out to grass—on ‘count o’ the bangs, I reckon. We stood around in the front courtyard. I tried to act friendly to Richmond—it’s my nature, Tom—but he warn’t having none of that. Once’t, when I moved up close, he tried to kick out at me, so after that I jest let him be. After a while Marse Robert came back on Brown-Roan, and then Old Pete an’ Red Shirt arrived and they all went in the house—to get to consulting ‘bout the fighting, I reckon.
And that was when I got a chance to listen to Brown-Roan. There warn’t a lot of shade around by this time of day, and it was sweltering hot. We was all given a drink and picketed together in what little shade there was.
Brown-Roan was shaking all over and sweating real bad.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is it the bangs? You don’t have to be scairt of the bangs when you’re with Marse Robert. They can’t hurt him, you know.”
He didn’t answer right away—jest sorta dropped his head and swung it from side to side. At last he said, “Traveller, what’ll I do? I’m going blind!”
“Never in the world!” I told him. “‘Course you’re not going blind!”
I laid my head ‘longside his neck and nibbled and groomed him, friendly-like, and he switched his tail acrost my withers.
“I am!” he says. “It kinda comes and goes, but more’n once’t or twice’t this morning I couldn’t rightly see at all—only this sorta swirling gray, like clouds moving, and the real things coming and going in between.”
“Can you see all right now?” I asked.
“More or less,” he answered, “but not so clear as I used to. I’ve felt it coming on before, but never so bad as today.”
“I’d try to forget ‘bout it if I was you,” I said. “Have a rest and cool down—it’ll pass.”
“He’s scairt!” snorted Richmond. “The dad-burn—”
“Oh, hush up!” I told him. “Ain’t we all scairt, for goodness’ sake?”
Brown-Roan didn’t say no more—jest dropped his head and swished the flies. It was quiet in the shade—real sultry—but you could still hear the bangs, every minute or so, coming from a distance.
Then, suddenly, there come the crackling noise of muskets—a whole passel of it—what us soldiers call “furious fire,” Tom, y’know. Marse Robert and the rest came out in a hurry, and he jest grabbed Brown-Roan’s bridle and galloped off up the lane. Richmond and me was brought on behind.
After maybe a mile—it was pretty thick country, all trees and brush—we came to another steep creek and another smashed-up mill-house. There was some of the Blue men—yeah, I seed ‘em, up t’other side—but they was soon gone, and we went acrost and up into open fields—corn and grain, all tromped down. And now the bullets began a-flying all round. They really do scare you, Tom, you know. They come past—zip! zip!—and you don’t hear ‘em come till they’ve gone, and every now and then there’s a kind of a “y-ooow” noise when one of ‘em bounces off of a stone. I seed some of our officers pointing and asking Marse Robert to go back out of the way, but ‘course he didn’t. He was riding round ‘mong the soldiers, cheering ‘em up and telling ‘em to go on and fight those people—he always used to call the Blue men “those people”— for all they was worth.
Well, soon after that we come up near to where the Blue men had fixed theirselves—the place where they meant to stick and fight us. We was on a sort of a road by now—the air all full of dust—and the Blue men’s lines was way off to the right.
Oh, Tom, you never seed sech a terrible place in all your life! I’ve often dreamed ‘bout it since. I reckon now that maybe of all the dreadful places where our fellas fought the Blue men, that was the very worst. It began with a whole passel of trees and bushes, mighty thick. Then a little ways off they all went sloping down out of sight, steep, and I could smell there was a creek down there, and a nasty, marshy one at that—real wide and muddy. T’other side went up jest as steep, and this was where the Blue men had got to—you could see ‘em—they was stood waiting for us, guns and all.
Oh, beans an’ clover, I thought, even Marse Robert’ll never go sending soldiers down there! Then I thought of what that horse had said: “That’s what men do—kill each other.” And jest then there come a flash and a bang, real close—my soldier jumped in the saddle—and I thought, That General Johnston that was wounded so bad—did he have a horse? I wonder what happened to it.
Marse Robert called for General Hill, and pretty soon Red Shirt rode up to him and began talking and pointing down towards the creek. All the while he was a-talking, Marse Robert kept nodding his head. I couldn’t believe it. I felt as though everything that had gone before had been quiet and homey compared to this.
Our side of the creek was some fields, right in front of where our fellas—thousands of ‘em—was all strung out in long lines; and acrost them fields they went, Tom, like they was a-walking down the street, and the enemy firing right in among ‘em all the time. I was thinking, Men are crazy! They’re all crazy! Leastways, much as I could think at all. We was drenched in noise and uproar like over your ears in water.
They went out of sight, over the edge and down towards the creek, and a moment later there came sech a crash of guns as I’ve never heared since—no, not in no fight we was ever in later. Our fellas had gone straight down into that.
It was blazing hot by now, and the battle smoke was a-laying so thick that even without the trees you couldn’t ‘a seed anything. But when I heared those bangs and felt the ground shake like I never had before—well, it was all jest one entire bang, really—I knowed our fellas must be done for.
And so they was. Jest a few came back up out of that creek, running and stumbling and crawling, and some of them was wounded so bad they needn’t have bothered. Well, I thought, I reckon now everyone’ll have done ‘nuff killing for one day. Even Marse Robert’ll have had ‘nuff now.
I jest recollect one thing an’ another, y’know, out of that bad afternoon. I remember Cap-in-His-Eyes, all covered in dust and sucking a lemon, riding up to talk to Marse Robert on what looked to me like a dirty little scrap of a horse. That was the first time I ever seed Little Sorrel—him as later on I got to respect more’n any horse I’ve ever knowed. “Ah, General Jackson,” says Marse Robert, “I’m very glad to see you. I’d hoped to be with you before.” He said a lot more, but you couldn’t hear for the row.
It was jest at that moment that Brown-Roan stumbled again and nearly fell down. Marse Robert dismounted, and waved acrost towards us for another horse. ‘Twas Richmond was taken to him, not me. The soldier led Brown-Roan back to where I was stood waiting, and he came ‘longside of me and stopped.
“It’s worse’n ever, Traveller,” says Brown-Roan, shivering. “I can’t see—I can’t see a thing!”
I knowed now what it must have been. I’ve seed it happen two-three times since then. He’d been scared blind with the bangs and the ground shaking. That happens, sometimes, you know. It can happen to horses and it can even happen to men. A horse won’t quit, but it’s jest like his sight or his legs or something was ‘bliged to quit on his account. I’ve even seed a horse drop dead and nary a mark on him.
“Take it easy,” I says. “Take it easy. It’ll pass, you’ll see.”
It didn’t get much chance to pass, though, because jest then, as Cap-in-His-Eyes rode off, the bangs and bullets growed even worse. One of our men, standing near me, was hit in the shoulder and fell down a-crying. Marse Robert rode a little ways off, and waved for me and my soldier to follow him.
It was evening now. We-all rode along the road a piece, through all the confusion, with the sun sinking behind us. I could see Marse Robert was having some trouble with Richmond, but he was able to hold him more or less steady while he gave out orders. By this time I was feeling pretty shook up myself, and kinda losing my grip on things in all the noise, when I seed a really fine-looking young man—a tall, kinda loose-jointed fella, with a long sort of a face and a yellowish beard—ride up to Marse Robert and salute him.
“General Hood!” says Marse Robert, and with that there come another bang that blowed a great cloud of dust all over us, so you couldn’t see or think. When it cleared, neither Marse Robert nor this General Hood had moved a hair; they was still sat a-talking. Marse Robert was pointing acrost at the trees down in the bottom.
“This must be done,” he said. “Can you break the line?”
“I’ll try,” answers the big young fella. He had a strong, powerful voice and sounded very confident.
Marse Robert was jest backing Richmond away when he stopped and lifted his hat. Then he said something I didn’t catch—sounded like “Good-bye to you.” I reckoned he s’posed he’d never see this here general again.
And that was the very first time, Tom, that I ever seed General Hood and his Texans. Oh, we was a rough, tough Army sure ‘nuff, but I’m here to tell you there warn’t a tougher bunch in the whole outfit than them Texans. I larned that later—yeah, larned it over and over. But they never—no, they never went through worse nor druv the Blue men harder’n what they did on that dreadful evening. Marse Robert never forgot it—I know that. Always, after that, it was like the Texans was the fellas he relied on most of all to beat the Blue men when we was in a tight spot.
I’d figured out that it couldn’t be done—pushing those people out of t’other side of that swamp; it jest couldn’t be done. But them Texans did it. ‘Course, where we was, you couldn’t see what was happening down the bottom, ‘ceptin’ there was an awful lot o’ heavy firing and smoke. And then, jest as the sun was dropping behind the woods, by golly! there was those people all a-scrambling out and running away, and the Texans after ‘em, and all the rest of our fellas strung out—oh, a mile acrost, I reckon—yelling and chasing after ‘em for all they was worth! I couldn’t see no more, on account of it had got too dark. I jest knowed a fearful lot of soldiers, both sides, must ‘a been shot and wounded, ‘cause you could hear ‘em all crying and calling out in the dark.
But we didn’t stick around that swamp. We-all went back to the big house among the trees, and there we had a feed and was stabled up for the night. Brown-Roan was led in after me, and I seed the poor fella walk right into the doorpost and fetch up trembling and turning his head from side to side.
“Are you there, Traveller?”
I nickered acrost to him. It was meant to be reassuring, but I was feeling pretty shook up myself.
He sort of fell into his stall and only jest seemed to keep on his feet. I could hear his hooves clattering on the bricks.
“Blind, Traveller, I’m blind!”
Jest then Marse Robert came in, and the groom—nice young lad, name of Dave—told him something was wrong with Brown-Roan. Marse Robert went over and stroked his nose, talked to him a few moments and passed his hand acrost his eyes once’t or twice’t. Then he says to Dave, “I’m sorry, I can’t spare the time now. One of you had better find some farmer or sechlike round here to take the horse. Both the others I shall need at first light tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir,” says Dave. “Will two be ‘nuff?”
Marse Robert only nodded. Then, jest as he went out, he smiled and said, “‘Long as we’ve got Traveller.”
That was the last night I ever seed poor ol’ Brown-Roan, because we was up and off first thing in the morning. He was well out of it. I guess they put him on one of the farms round ‘bout, and maybe his blindness passed off. I missed him; he was the nearest thing I had to a friend in them days, but I never larned n’more ‘bout where he might ‘a fetched up. Like Zeb said, horses are forever saying good-bye.
There was hardly light in the sky when Marse Robert rode me back to the battlefield. It seemed strange: everything was that quiet—not a Blue man anywheres, only jest the dead ‘uns. It was quiet all that day and pretty quiet the next, too. Jest big bangs—very big—far off, and great clouds of dust in the sky. It was the Blue men, blowing up their own things and running away for all they was worth. What I mostly remember is the terrible hot sun, and the choking dust along the roads full of our soldiers, and the clouds of flies and skeeters in them woods and swamps. Everywhere was broken carts and burning haystacks and barns; yeah, and laying round there was bay’nets and guns and belts—all sorts o’ things—’coutrements as the Blue men had throwed away when they was skedaddling. You never seed sech a mess. And on through it all we went, soldiers and horses and wagons, and Marse Robert and me forever riding here and there ‘mong the woods and clearings and acrost the little bits o’ fields. It was all that mixed-up, you’d wonder the Army didn’t run itself astray. It’s my belief that’s what happened, ‘cause no one rightly knowed where they was meant to be heading for.
What I mostly recollect, Tom, is the way we was all so short of sleep. That was the very middle of summer, and I guess Marse Robert figured we had to be after those people every hour of daylight there was. A lot of them last days of the fighting I was as good as beat—sleeping on my feet—but I was jiggered if I was going to give up, long’s Marse Robert wanted to keep a-moving. It was him that kept me going. I couldn’t ‘a done it for nobody else.
One evening, when it seemed jest like we’d been up and down in the heat forever, I was feeling like I was going to cave in right that very moment. I pulled up and stood panting, head hanging down, jest like an old donkey under two grain sacks. And then, Tom, if’n you can follow me, I realized that although I thought I’d stopped on my own ‘count, the fact was Marse Robert, he’d reined me in. We always understood each other through and through, you see, and he’d knowed I was beat before I knowed it myself. We was like that, him and me, I could sense what he wanted without him having to give me no signal like another rider would, and ‘course that made his life a lot easier, considering all he’d got to think about from morning till night. But that there was the first time I got to know it worked both ways.
It was almost dark, and we jest happened to be some little ways off from the nearest soldiers. Marse Robert dismounted, patted my neck and spoke to me real soft. “Easy, Traveller, easy! Been a long day. Soon be done now. We’ll both rest a spell, you and me together.” And with that he hitched me to the branch of a tree, sat down under it hisself and closed his eyes.
We didn’t get long, though. We’d only been resting there for jest a few minutes in the dusk when all of a sudden up comes an officer on his horse, all in a sweat and a hurry.
“Come on, old man!” calls out this officer to Marse Robert. “I need that there tree for a hospital. There’s wounded men I got to look after. Out of the way, now!”
Marse Robert told him, near as I could understand, that he’d be leaving right away, soon’s the wounded came, but he figured till then there was room for both of ‘em.
I thought the officer was going to bust, but afore he could start in yelling at Marse Robert, up rides Major Taylor, dismounts and salutes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, General Lee, sir,” he says, “but I have a dispatch here from General Hill.”
I reckon that there hospital officer didn’t know which way to turn. He went red from the neck up. Then he began stammering something ‘bout he was real sorry, he hadn’t recognized Marse Robert in the bad light.
“It’s no matter, Doctor,” says Marse Robert, smiling. “There’s plenty o’ room for both of us.”
Soon after, I let him know I was ready to go on, and we rode back to headquarters with Major Taylor.
I can’t recall whether it was next morning, but anyways it was very early some morning soon after, we rode down to a little railroad station jest as the sun was coming up. Usual weather, all calm and nary a cloud. There was several officers with Marse Robert, but he told ‘em to stop and wait for him; and then him and me, we went on a ways with nobody else but young Dave riding Richmond. I could see somebody was coming the other way to meet us. Whoever he was, he’d done like Marse Robert and left a bunch of his own people behind to wait. He was sitting up very stiff in the saddle. I recognized the horse before I recognized the man. It was that scrubby little horse I’d seed the afternoon of the big battle at the creek. That same moment Marse Robert, he dismounted, gave my bridle to Dave and went forward to meet Cap-in-His-Eyes, who’d dismounted too. Well, Tom, you better believe that them last few days I’d seed a plenty of wore-out and dusty-looking soldiers, but I never in my life seed nothing to come nigh Cap-in-His-Eyes that early morning. He looked like he was half-starved and hadn’t slept for days. I ‘spect he hadn’t, too. I could see the skin stretched tight acrost all the bones of his face. He was covered in dust from his boots to his head—hair, beard, face, clothes jest one heap o’ gray-white dust; and his buttons, too. And that dirty little peaked cap was pulled even lower down over his eyes—’fact, the peak was down so low you couldn’t see his eyes at all.
Little Sorrel, he went trotting back on his own to the officers that was waiting, and Dave followed, leading me beside Richmond. Well, that was when I got another turn, Tom—one I winded ‘fore I actually seed it. Laying right beside the road was dead fellas—our poor fellas— rows and rows all laid out the same, hands acrost their chests, and their eyes staring up to the sky. It had rained in the night, and they was all bleached white and streaked with the rain. Lots, their foreheads was marked with trickles of dried blood from the bullets. And there was other soldiers—living ones—going up and down and peering ‘mong ‘em— trying to recognize their friends, I reckon.
I seed Cap-in-His-Eyes look jest a moment towards them rows of dead men; then he turned away as if he’d something better to do. I was stood right beside Little Sorrel. I nuzzled his neck and passed him the time of day. I could tell right off that for all he looked like a midget, him and his Stonewall Jackson felt the same way ‘bout each other as me and Marse Robert. He told me they’d been up north, a-going for days on end—hardly a wink o’ sleep—never stopped. He said Cap-in-His-Eyes had gone night and day, beating the Blue men to kingdom come, one bunch after t’other. Then they’d come straight here to jine us. He felt fit to drop, he said, but he was durned if he was quitting. He said Cap-in-His-Eyes was the greatest master in the world.
Well, I could tell, from the way Marse Robert and Cap-in-His-Eyes was talking together, that he was the general Marse Robert must respect and trust maybe most of all. For a start, Cap-in-His-Eyes was doing the talking and Marse Robert was doing the listening. Cap-in-His-Eyes was talking kind of quick and excited, and he kept pushing the toe of his boot around in the dust of the road and then looking up at Marse Robert. Then all of a sudden he stamped his boot down hard. “We’ve got him!” he says, and with that he waved his hand for Little Sorrel.
“I’ll see you again, Traveller,” says Little Sorrel as he started forward. “Don’t forget me! Today’s going to work out bad—I don’t know ‘zactly how—but don’t worry, you’ll be all right.”
Right till then I’d felt the equal of any horse I’d met, ‘ceptin’ maybe for Skylark. But somehow Little Sorrel was different. ‘Fact, I ain’t bottomed it out yet. Cap-in-His-Eyes must ‘a been a real smart judge o’ horses, cause most men would have jest walked past Little Sorrel and not reckoned him worth a handful o’ damp hay. It took another horse, really, to catch on to the real spirit that was in him. But there was something else, too—something strange ‘bout Sorrel; I could sense it. He was the sorta horse that gets hunches ‘bout what’s going to happen. I’ve knowed maybe two-three like that in my time—very few. I even did it myself once’t—only jest the once’t. But I’ve never knowed any horse that could feel things coming on like Sorrel could. I figure maybe that kind of horse can sense what’s in his master’s fate that the master don’t know hisself. To do that, you gotta be real close to your man.
I don’t recall jest what we did after Cap-in-His-Eyes and his ‘uns had rode off. But I sure remember something that happened that afternoon, cause it scairt me real bad; bad as I’d been scairt any time them last few days o’ fighting ‘Twas ‘bout the middle of the day, and so hot the ground was a-rippling acrost my eyes. It was all forest and underbrush we was in and they was dancing in the heat. There was guns started firing up way ahead, and soon as he heared them, Marse Robert rode me forward through the trees. We came to a little clearing ‘mong some pines, and there was Old Pete, riding Hero, and the President on Thunder. Thunder was pawing round in the dirt an’ didn’t look happy at all.
Right off, ‘fore Marse Robert could say a word, the President speaks up. “Why, General Lee,” he says, “what are you a-doing here? It’s too dangerous, and you the boss of this here Army.”
“Well,” says Marse Robert, very civil, “I’m trying to find out something ‘bout those people,” he says, “and what they’re up to. But come to that,” he says, “what do you reckon you’re a-doing here, and you s’posed to be my boss and everybody else’s?’
Me and Thunder looks at each other.
“Oh,” says the President, very airy-Iike, “I’m a-doing jest the same as you’re a-doing,” he says—like what he meant was “If you figure on sending me away a second time, you’ve made a mistake.” So then they gets to talking, and jest then the Blue men, ‘way down through the trees, opens up with their guns and the bangs started in a-bursting all round us. They was busting this side and that side—there was horses squealing and shying and bucking all over the clearing—and them two, Marse Robert and the President, jest a-sitting there like they was waiting for the mail cart. I’ll say that for Thunder: he never moved a hoof.
“Here’s General Hill,” says the President, peering into the smoke. And with that up comes Red Shirt, full gallop. “Gentlemen!” he shouts through all the noise, “this is no place for either of you! I’m in command here, and I order you both to the rear!”
So then the President kinda grins, making a joke of it, and says they’ll go, and the two of ‘em rides off jest a little ways. But Red Shirt warn’t having none of that—he follows ‘em. “Didn’t I tell you to get to the rear?” he yells. “‘Nother one o’ them bangs and we’ll be clean out of bosses forever!”
So then Marse Robert and the President, they both went back outen the way. I don’t know ‘bout Thunder, but I’ve never been so glad of anything in my life. That night Dave found two bleeding scratches acrost my withers. I hadn’t felt em at the time. That’s often the way, you know, Tom.
Well, jest ‘bout then Marse Robert changed horses and I can’t say I was all that sorry. He set off on Richmond, and he hadn’t been gone more’n a little while when the bangs got even louder, and more of ‘em. Well, I thought, Richmond’s welcome to ‘em; I reckon I done plenty for one day. I had a drink from a little creek and waited with Dave in the shade. You couldn’t see a thing that was going on round there; it was all woodland and brush, creeks and swamp.
There was terrible fighting all the rest of that afternoon and evening, but I hardly seed none of it—jest waited, and kept listening to the bangs; and they went right on into the darkness. Goodness knows where we spent that night. I only know it was out in the open and we was picketed. Marse Robert and Richmond came back to headquarters in the dark, and I could see right away that Marse Robert was in a real bad humor. He had a hot temper, you know, Tom, in them days. I could often feel it, but nearly always he kept it close-reined, and he never took it out on me—not once’t. That night he was in real low spirits. I figure we hadn’t killed as many Blue men as he’d been a-hoping for. He was gloomy and out of sorts. He didn’t even have a word for me, the way he usually did.
Still, I had something else to think about that night. Richmond came in sweating, and it warn’t long before I realized he was one sick horse. Well, I hadn’t been feeling none too good myself, so I could tell what the trouble was. It’s what they call colic, Tom, you know, and horses are liable to get it when they’re living the way we was. Horses, y’see—we-all got a terrible big gut—bigger’n any other animal, I guess— and there’s a lot can go wrong with it. If’n you’re a horse, you gotta keep your gut full and you got to dung reg’lar. A horse that gets his gut blocked can find hisself in real bad trouble. Overwork—unwholesome food—irregular feeding; yeah, and shock, too—they can all go to the gut. And that there wind-sucking some horses do—that’s no durned good neither.
I’ve told you, haven’t I, that Richmond was a jumpy, nervy kind of a horse—a squealer and a bad-tempered sort? ‘Course, we’d all been under a lot of strain, and Richmond had been under fire’s much as I had. He was a wind-sucker, all right, but ‘sides that he always used to pitch into his feed like he reckoned he was never going to get another. Well, that afternoon—the afternoon I got the splinters acrost my withers—Marse Robert and Richmond, they come under some real bad fire, so he told me that night. It ‘pears Marse Robert actually rode out through our lines, right out in front, ‘cause he wanted to see for hisself what the Blue men was up to. Richmond hadn’t ‘zackly cared for that, and I don’t know as I blame him. Anyways, when he got back that night he was shaking all over—shocked by the bangs as much as anything. By golly! He even smelt o’ the battle smoke—and then he set to and bolted his feed fast as he could.
“You’ll do yourself a mischief,” I says to him. “Ease up!”
“Oh, go jump in the creek, Greenbrier!” says Richmond. “You think you can tell me anything? Jest hush up! I was carrying a man when you was sucking your dam.”
That warn’t true, of course, but I jest let him be. There was ‘nuff to worry ‘bout without quarreling with him. He bolted his feed, and it was a poor feed we both had that night. The bran was sour. I let young Dave know plain ‘nuff I didn’t jest ‘zackly relish it, and he come and looked it over. Then he emptied out my nose bag and fetched some more. ‘Warn’t his fault, I guess. When you’re on campaign, you see, Tom, things is apt to get kind o’ wrong side up, and we’d been going so hard we was in what they call short supply. ‘Sides, like I said, it was dark—jest lanterns. Anyways, it was too late for Richmond—he’d eat it all and wanted more.
‘Fore first light next morning I heared him a-stamping round, and every now and then he’d pass wind something terrible. He was in pain all right. The way he was carrying on, I reckon his gut must ‘a been blocked. I asked him how he was feeling, but all I got for my trouble was more cussing. Young Dave was up well before first light—the sentry woke him—and it didn’t take him long to see Richmond was a sick horse. ‘Course, as far as I was concerned, that meant jest one thing. I was saddled up for Marse Robert; it was my turn, anyway.
It was a terrible bad battle that day—worse’n I can tell you, Tom. The Blue men had got ‘emselves up atop a big green hill, all open and plain, and our fellas was stuck down in the woods and swamps at the bottom. It was nothing but guns, guns all that day. The Blue men had more guns’n we did, and they was firing down the open hillside. I was lucky, ‘cause for some reason Marse Robert didn’t go acting crazy the way he’d done the day before. Early afternoon, him and Old Pete rode out a ways to one side o’ that hill, looking round, I reckon, for the best chance of an attack. But then he came back again. Well, ‘tell the truth, Tom, I figure that day no one knowed what they was a-doing at all— it was having no sleep for days, as much as anything else—and even Marse Robert wasn’t jest rightly hisself. I could tell from how he felt on my back and the way he was acting and speaking. He wanted to drive the Blue men off’n that there hill like he’d druv them out of the swamp with the Texans, but he didn’t rightly know how to go ‘bout it. And in fact it never got done. When it came dark, our Army was still down to the bottom of that hill, ‘ceptin’ for a whole chance of our poor fellas laying dead and wounded on the open slope.
I never heared the wounded cry worse’n they did that night.
Headquarters had been set up at a house a ways back, and that was where I found Richmond that night, in the stable. He’d plainly been took worse and worse all day, and now there warn’t no doubt he was very bad off. He was sweating real hard, breathing fast and blowing. Even from where I was, I could tell his pulse was too quick. He kept a-walking round and round his box, and every so often he’d throw hisself down and roll about real wild. Then he’d get up and stretch as if he wanted to pass water, but he couldn’t do it. Every time the pain came on, he’d kick at his belly.
I figured young Dave had been with him all day, but there’d been no help to be had on ‘count of the battle. Marse Robert and me, we’d been riding through the bivouacs long after dark, Marse Robert talking to this general and that ‘un. We was still out when Jine-the-Cavalry rode up to talk to Marse Robert and find out what he wanted him to do. And when we got back to headquarters, Tom, ‘twas all Marse Robert could do jest to get off’n my back, he was that tired, and Dave had no chance at all to talk to him ‘bout Richmond.
Getting on towards the middle of the night, a fog come up and covered everything. You could feel it creeping and thickening all around the stable, round the house and out over the fields beyond, thick as blankets. You could hear the sentries coughing, and cussing to each other, up and down outside. I wondered whether it’d be laying high as the hill, soaking into the dead and wounded, the dead horses laid stiff alongside the guns they’d dragged up there. After a while the air in the stable turned kind of moist and cloudy, and all you could see outside was jest thick gray.
I couldn’t sleep. It got hard, in that air, to draw your breath, and Richmond was forever shambling round and round his box, crouching down, getting up again and panting. Somehow I could sense that our soldiers was down at heart. You could tell from the tread of the sentries and the heavy kind of way they was a-speaking and acting. We’d thought we was going to drive the Blue men off of that hill, and we hadn’t— and what was worse, there was a passel of our fellas laying out there dead as flies.
First light, when it come at last, was thin and gray, sort of filtering through a damp mist wet as rain. I’d been ‘specting Dave to saddle me up for Marse Robert, but nothing happened—nothing at all. It seemed a long time ‘fore finally Dave and two-three other soldiers came in. I thought they’d have ‘tended to Richmond, but ‘stead of that they started putting dry litter in the empty stalls. That was a fair-sized stable, and best I could make out they was getting it ready for more horses. After they’d been working a while, Dave broke off to have a look at Richmond. He spoke to the other soldiers, and then he went away and came back with some sort of warm drink he’d made up for him. I could smell it from where I was stood. It had a kind of heady, herb-like smell. I guess there was some drug in it. Richmond drank some, but ‘far as I could see he didn’t drink it all, and I could tell Dave was flustered and felt he couldn’t give Richmond all of his time.
By now the rain was jest streaming down. The yard outside was like a duckpond, and in one part of the roof, where there was a fair old hole, the water was pouring through like a creek a-running. Every man who came into the stable was drenched and cussing, and dripping all over the floor.
All of a sudden a soldier comes in leading Little Sorrel. He was put into the box next to mine. He was wetter’n a frog in a ditch, and they began rubbing him down. I asked him what was going on. He told me Cap-in-His-Eyes had ridden him over from his outfit to talk to Marse Robert.
“The Blue men have all gone off the hill,” he said. “Vamoosed in the night. Stonewall’s crazy to get after ‘em and blow ‘em to bits, but with this durned rain it’s jest about impossible to move. You oughta see it, Traveller. Everything this side of the hill’s turning into a lake miles wide, and all the wounded fellas crawling ‘bout ‘mong the dead ‘uns, crying for the ambulances to come and pick ‘em up. Our soldiers are trying to get fires going to dry theirselves out and dry their muskets.”
“Where’s Cap-in-His-Eyes now?” I asked.
“Inside,” says Sorrel, “talking to Marse Robert. ‘Far as I can make out, Marse Robert’s none too pleased with him. That day I last seed you—day before yesterday—it seems he let the Blue men get away when he oughta’ve been pitching into ‘em. I knowed how it would be. I told you, didn’t I, that it’d work out bad—remember? He was so tired he jest couldn’t think no more. I seed him actually falling asleep with the food between his teeth.”
Jest then Hero—Old Pete’s horse—was led in, and the rain a-pouring off’n him in streams. He told us that him and Old Pete had been riding all over the place, everywhere there was fighting the day before, checking things out.
“Even Old Pete’s had ‘nuff for a while,” says Hero. “They’s bodies laying everywhere—the Blue men and our fellas all mixed up together. I don’t know who won—everyone seems shook up and real downhearted but one thing—the Blue men’s gone, that’s for sure.”
Hero warn’t in the stable long. They’d hardly had a chance to rub him down when we heared Old Pete outside, callin’ for him. When Hero warn’t brung out quick ‘nuff, he started in a-cussing real savage.
“I figure this is all the fighting there’s likely to be,” says Sorrel. “For a good while, anyways.”
“How d’you know?” I asked.
“There’s nowhere left for the Blue men to go,” he answered. “But we ain’t able to fight ‘em no more. We’re dead beat ourselves, and anyway they’ve got too many guns. Some of them guns yesterday was the heaviest I’ve ever heared.”
“So what do you think’ll happen?” I asked him.
“They’ll go away,” he said, “and leave us be—for now, that is.”
The next horse that come in was Thunder, so I knowed without asking that the President must have come to see Marse Robert, too.
“What’s the matter with Richmond?” asked Thunder at once. Richmond had been pretty quiet for a while, but now he was blowing again, tossing his head and walking his stall.
I said I reckoned it was his gut, and told Thunder bout the sour bran.
“He’ll die,” said Thunder, watching him. “Gut’s blocked. I seed it afore now.”
We stood around in the foggy air, stamping hooves and listening to the noise of the rain on the roof. Presently Dave came in to see what more he could do for Richmond, but by this time Richmond was in spasms and didn’t even ‘pear to feel it when he hit his head agin the wall in his tossing and turning.
It was early afternoon when Thunder was taken out for the President. I heared his hooves splashing out of the yard, and as they died away Marse Robert come in, a-talking to Dave. They went straight over to Richmond’s box. When he seed Marse Robert, Richmond quieted down and let Marse Robert run his hand over him. The pain seemed to have left him and he began drinking from his water-trough.
“How long has he been like this?” says Marse Robert to Dave.
Before Dave could reply, Richmond staggered and set his four legs wide apart. ‘Seemed like he was trying to stand, but then he give a quick lurch forward and fell over on his knees. He commenced to get up, but fell again. He was jerking and shaking all over, teeth bare, frothing at the mouth. It didn’t go on very long, though: he went over on one side, kicked out, shuddered from head to foot and went still. I knowed he was dead.
Marse Robert dropped on one knee and felt his heart. Young Dave, beside him, was near’bouts to crying.
“What a shame!” says Marse Robert, running his hand over Richmond’s body with the rain a-dripping off all down his sleeve. “What a shame! Died o’ the colic. No fault of yours, my boy—these things happen in war. We have to bear them like everything else. Some of you lads better set to and bury the poor beast. He was an awkward fella, but so are we all, I guess. He always did best as he could. I’m sorry to see him go.”
He waited a few moments. Then he turned away, came into my box and began stroking my nose and talking to me. “That jest leaves you and me now, Traveller,” he says. “Jest the two of us. But I reckon you’re all I’m going to be needing from now on. You and me, we’ll make out jest fine.”
“Is that right, sir,” asks Dave, “the enemy’s gone?”
“Yes, they’re gone all right,” answers Marse Robert. ‘Peared like he was leaving, but then he spoke to me again, very low in my ear. “Oh, Traveller,” he said, “by rights they should have been destroyed! They should have been destroyed!”