August 19, 1862. It is now seven weeks since General Lee, in the remarkable campaign known as the Seven Days, drove General McClellan’s army back from the eastern outskirts of Richmond, by one engagement after another forcing them into retreat through the marshy, wooded country bordering the Chickahominy and finally into ignominious refuge under the protection of Federal gunboats along the northern shore of the James River. Had it not been for faulty staff-work and uncertain coordination of the conglomerate and as yet inexperienced Army of Northern Virginia, the Federals might well have been reduced to surrender. As matters stand, the hitherto unregarded General Lee has won the adulation of every officer and man under his command and the respect and confidence of the entire Confederacy. Now—so is the common feeling throughout the South—there is every prospect of such a victory as will bring about recognition by the European powers and a negotiated peace acknowledging independence.
Yet the cost in casualties, to a nation with less than half the manpower of its enemy, has been fearful. During the Seven Days’ campaign, the flower of the South has perished. In particular the loss of junior officers—the fulcrum of any army and the reservoir of future senior command—has been grave. Such losses cannot be made good and the Confederacy cannot afford their continuance. As with material resources, so with manpower; already, with courage and determination still high, the South has begun to feel the pinch.
General Lee is in no position to follow up or exploit his brilliant victory. He is like a man swimming against the sea. As fast as he breasts the waves, they close again. McClellan has evacuated his army to the area of Fredericksburg. The Federal forces so skillfully defeated by Stonewall Jackson in his Valley campaign of June have been reorganized under the command of General Pope on the upper Rappahannock. Here they have been joined by reinforcements under General Burnside.
There has been no time for the full period of rest, refit and reinforcement that General Lee would have wished for his men. The weaker side cannot afford to wait. He must take the offensive—if possible, threaten Washington, for Richmond is never so safe as when its defenders are absent. If General Pope—a bombastic and truculent character, regarded by Lee with contempt—is to be suppressed, it must be quickly, before McClellan’s army can join him. Piecemeal and secretly, the Army of Northern Virginia has been transported from Richmond to the area of Gordonsville in the Piedmont, near the eastern foot of the Blue Ridge. Until two days ago Pope was known to be lying some twenty miles to the north, beyond the Rapidan. Now, however, there is news that he has taken alarm and begun a retreat northward towards the Rappahannock. General Lee, accompanied by his subordinate General Longstreet, has ridden to the top of Clark’s Mountain to see for himself.
Gets cold these midwinter nights, Tom, don’t it? Been pretty cold today, particular late afternoon. It’s fine in here, though. I guess you got to’ve been out cold nights in the open ‘fore you can really ‘preciate a warm stable like this ‘un. That’s it—rake round the straw close up agin me and settle yourself in comfortable.
What’s that? A new horse? You seed a new mare come with Marse Robert’s son today? Tom, that was no new mare. My shoes and ears, give me the shock of my life! For a moment I thought I seed a ghost! That’s Lucy Long, Tom—her as first soldiered with me four year ago and more. No, well, ‘course you wouldn’t know. Soon’s ever I seed her coming round the corner with young Marse Rob, I recognized the blaze on her forehead and her white hind legs. ‘Made me start all over, but then she nickered to me, jest like she used to, so I knowed it was Lucy all right. I ‘membered her at once—that light brown color and the square build of her. Well, so I ought, after all we was through together.
‘Course, there was a time once’t when I didn’t like Lucy. ‘Twarn’t no fault of her’n. I was jest plain mean, that was what it come down to: jealousy—that, and knowing well ‘nuff why Marse Robert had felt ‘bliged to get her. Yeah, well, I’ll tell you all ‘bout it sometime. But you couldn’t dislike Lucy for long. For one thing, she’s a shade older’n me, with real nice manners. Quiet kinda horse—no bad habits at all. Not half the trouble I can be. We got the same fast walk, but Lucy never cared for a trot. She liked an easy pace and a short canter. I got to admit she was what Marse Robert needed at the time. And it was all my fault—all my fault! Worst thing I ever done in my life. I hate to think of it even now.
Jine-the-Cavalry got her for Marse Robert, you know. ‘Far’s I can remember, I think Ajax must have come ‘bout the same time. He came from somewhere down near Andy’s, I believe. Ajax never suited Marse Robert, though—too tall. Well, he is kinda big and awkward, Tom, don’t you reckon? And not all that much vigor, neither. Got him a reg’lar easy life, hasn’t it? Warn’t many bangs for Ajax—he never come much under fire, and he’s sure comfortable ‘nuff here.
What was it I was going to tell you, though? Oh, ‘bout when me and Hero was up on Clark’s Mountain, they calls it. It was a fine, clear morning in late summer—pretty hot day coming on. I knowed something was fixing to happen, jest from the general feel of the whole place. The mood of the soldiers—all strung up, y’know.
This was a different kinda country; we’d come up on the railroad, and it was—oh, yeah, a month and more’n a month—after the Blue men had run away off the hill in the fog and our headquarters had gone back to ol’ Miss Dabbs’s. No more swamps; jest nice, clear streams. Open country; no underbrush and hardly no forests—not as I seed. The roads was pretty good, too—more certain for my hooves. It was all long, low ridges, with fields of standing grass and crops, and here and there a high hill. The real mountains was far off. You could see ‘em black agin the evening sky.
Well, that morning—getting on for mid-morning, ‘twas—I was cropping some fresh grass, nice and easy, in the meadow near a farm where Marse Robert had set up headquarters, when up comes Old Pete and Hero. I was glad to see Hero, cause to tell you the truth I was still missing Brown-Roan, though ‘course there was plenty of other horses round headquarters. Marse Robert and Old Pete, they got to talking together, leaning on the rail by the meadow; but I knowed they wouldn’t be long, ‘cause Old Pete had left Hero’s saddle on. Sure ‘nuff, the two of ‘em, and Marse Taylor and a few more, we-all set off for a nice ride. We must’a gone maybe six or seven mile when we come to this here Clark’s Mountain, and up we went on the open grass. Some of our soldiers was round, and they saluted Marse Robert. When we got to the top, out came everybody’s two bottles up to their eyes. I was used to that by now.
“What’re we all a-doing, d’you figure?” I asked Hero.
“Looking for Blue men, ‘course,” he says. “What else?”
Now you gotta know, Tom, that ever since that morning when Richmond died, I’d s’posed we was through with the Blue men. Don’t ask me why I’d thought that, with soldiers and tents and guns all around, but I had. Well, ‘cause I’d wanted to, I reckon. Y’see, Marse Robert had told Dave that the Blue men was gone right ‘nuff, and I’d s’posed that meant for good. But Hero, he knowed better. When he told me that, I had a horrible sinking feeling in my gut. Again? I thought. Bangs, battles, horses squealing and bullets smacking up the dust? I was going to ask him how he knowed, but then I reckoned that wouldn’t look right for Marse Robert’s horse. So I jest turned my head and looked out over the country from up top there.
You could see a long ways. Jest below us, at the foot of the hill, was a real pretty river, all open, shining and glittering in the sunshine. Beyond that, on our left, ran a railroad, but I couldn’t see no smoke, and no trains. And then, far off, after a bit I could make out some of them cloths on sticks fluttering in the distance, and white things moving.
“See?” says Hero. “See their wagons out there? They’re retreating. They’ve got wind of us. Keep watching them camps down yonder.”
Hero always understood so much more’n me—well, in them days he did—that I jest waited, puzzling. Everything seemed real quiet in the midday sun. The generals sat watching. I dropped my head for a mouthful or two of grass. Marse Robert, he didn’t make no objection, so I jest went on browsing. Other horses began to do the same. I wished there was some water around.
The wagons vanished into the far distance; and then, nearer, but still a long ways off, beyond the river, I seed the camps. They was all alive with little clouds of dust—Blue men on the march. Like Hero said, they was going away from us, and as they met up into columns the clouds of dust jined together in long trails. They drifted away in the bright haze of the afternoon sun. They got thinner and thinner and finally disappeared. Still no one spoke.
At last Marse Robert said to Old Pete something ‘bout he’d never thought they’d turn their backs on us so soon. We-all went down off’n the hill, an’ I had the drink I’d been wanting. Marse Robert never overlooked things like that, no matter how much he had on his mind. Well, like I said, it was always him and me, Tom, y’see.
Next thing I remember is very late that same night—almost morning. The moon was waning—jest a little light, but ‘nuff for us. Our Army was fording that river I’d seed from the top of the hill; I could see the hill behind us, agin the night sky.
We was going after the Blue men—I knowed that. I remember how I come a-splashing up the far bank, and Marse Robert reined me in and waited to watch the men go past—boots and boots, and muskets a-sticking up every which way, and the cloths on sticks going by, and the fellas a-laughing and joking like they was sure of theirselves. Yes, they was in good spirits, rightly—blamed if’n I knowed why.
Myself, I was feeling bad. What Hero’d told me had sunk in and given me a shock. I didn’t want no more battles—I hadn’t reckoned on that. Jest thinking ‘bout what I remembered made me feel bad ‘nuff. Maybe the Blue men would keep on running away, I thought. Yeah, and maybe they wouldn’t. I knowed the bangs couldn’t hurt Marse Robert, but if you’d ever heared jest one bang, Tom, you’d know how I felt all the same. The bangs had driven Brown-Roan blind, and they’d as good as killed Richmond. I felt sure o’ that. Without the bangs he wouldn’t have got that there colic or whatever ‘twas as finished him off.
Our headquarters was advancing along with Cap-in-His-Eyes an’ his ‘uns, but we didn’t go far that day—maybe twelve mile—’fore we pitched tents for the night by the railroad we’d seed from the high hill the day before. We spent the next two-three days working along, on and off the bank of a pretty big river—bigger’n the one we’d crossed in the dark. There was no fighting—none that I seed, anyways—but bangs in the distance all day; and that was ‘nuff to scare me, though I did all I could to keep Marse Robert from seeing anything was the matter.
I’ll tell you one thing, Tom, as I remember jest ‘bout that time. We was a-marching near the bank of that river, along a pretty good road, when all of a sudden we come round a bend and there was a man’s body hanging from the branch of a tree, right ‘side the road. The bend was so sharp that I ‘most ran agin it, and I nearly shied. “Easy, Traveller, easy!” But I figured that jest then even Marse Robert warn’t all that easy. I felt him start in the saddle. Then he calls out to some man ‘side the road there. “What’s this, Sergeant?” he says.
“Spy, sir,” answers the fella, saluting. “Executed by court-martial this morning, sir.”
The man’s head was covered and his hands was roped behind him. He warn’t dressed like a soldier—jest ordinary—but his boots was gone—well, with our Army boots never stayed long on dead bodies, you know, Tom. There was jest ‘nuff wind to swing him gentle-like. Marse Robert nodded to the sergeant and we rode on. But a ways further we stopped off—us and Marse Taylor and Cap-in-His-Eyes and a few more—and back down the road I could see the man hanging there, while company after company rounded the bend and come up agin him jest like we had.
It rained torrents that night, and I recollect, next day, all the creeks and ditches boiling brown and chattering bubbles. Still no fighting, jest bangs all day long and nothin’ to be seed. Come night-time, an officer rode up to headquarters on a sweating horse pretty near done up. After they’d fed and watered the horse and rubbed him down, he was picketed ‘longside me and Little Sorrel. He told us how him and his man had been sent back by General Stuart, who was playin’ hell with the Blue men, he said, miles away acrost the river. ‘Peared Jine-the-Cavalry and his fellas had been trying to burn a railroad bridge behind the Blue men, but the heavy rain had put an end to that. This horse, Rollo, kept on talking mighty big ‘bout how fine it was to be out behind the Blue men with Jine-the-Cavalry. He said it was the greatest life in the world for a horse, and then he was laying it on that Skylark was a personal friend o’ his, and the real reason his man had been sent back twenty-five mile to Marse Robert was ‘cause he hisself was reckoned to be jest about the best horse in the whole durned outfit.
“Any officer would ‘a done,” he said, “but not any horse.”
At last he really got to me with all this carrying-on, and I said I ‘lowed how it was jest ‘bout time to go to sleep.
“You’re scairt, ain’t you?” says Rollo. There still come a bang every now and again, ‘way off in the dark, and he tosses his head to show what he meant.
“What reason you got to say that?” I answers him.
“You smell like it, anyways,” he says. “You smell like a real headquarters horse—”
“I’ll go further’n you any day,” I says, “and all day, too, come to that.”
“No one’s talking ‘bout going further,” says Rollo. “It’s a battle I’m a-talking ‘bout—”
Jest at that moment Little Sorrel, kinda slow and meditating-like, as if he hardly knowed what was in his own mind, says, “Any—horse— that wants a battle’s a plain fool—’cause Marse Robert hisself don’t want a battle right now.” He stopped. Then, after a few moments, he added, “But he’s going to get one, jest the same.”
“What in the world you talking ‘bout?” asks Rollo, raising one of his forelegs and lifting his tail.
I don’t say he warn’t a good horse, Tom, but he was like a lot of them there cavalry horses, you know—setting out to be a hell-raiser and a wildcat. There’s more to soldiering ‘n that, even if’n I didn’t know it yet.
“Marse Robert ain’t looking for a battle,” says Sorrel again. “But— soon—a long ways from here—” And then he stopped again, like he’d never said nothing at all, and laid down on the straw.
“Well, what?” asks Rollo, kinda contemptuous-like.
Sorrel seemed like he was half-asleep. His eyes was closed. “Men marching. Marching hard and far. Smoke burning, up to the sky. Soldiers—soldiers throwing stones at the Blue men—no bullets left. Jest another hour, men—must hold on another hour—Marse Robert’s coming—”
And then, Tom, dad burn my hooves, he went right off to sleep and even Rollo couldn’t get no more out’n him! It stopped Rollo’s carrying-on a sight better’n anything I could have said. There was something—well, almost scary ‘bout it, like it had been some other horse talking all the time—some other horse that warn’t there.
‘Twas midday next morning ‘fore the bangs began again—ours an’ theirs together, it sounded—but I still didn’t see nothing, ‘cause Marse Robert had moved headquarters back a mile or two to a little village. Early that afternoon I was standing round in a patch of shade when one of the sentries nearby points and says to his mate, “Look yonder. Ain’t that General Jackson a-coming?”
Sure ‘nuff, Cap-in-His-Eyes come riding up and goes straight into the house to talk to Marse Robert. They took Sorrel and hitched him ‘longside o’ me.
First thing Sorrel said was he was glad we’d got rid of Rollo. Then, after we’d stood and swished each other’s flies a while (it was real hot), he said, “I won’t be seeing you again, Traveller. Not until the battle. Me and my general, we’re in for a real long haul.”
“How do you know?” I said. “If’n I’ve understood it rightly, Marse Robert’s only jest now telling Cap-in-His-Eyes what we’s going to do.”
“Well, I do know,” he said. “I jest do. A good horse always knows what’s back of his man’s mind. Often knows it better’n the man hisself. I mean, he can feel what’s in the man. That’s why I hadn’t got no time for that there Rollo—he knowed nothing. The reason you’re scairt, Traveller—oh, yes, you are—is that Marse Robert’s scairt, too. Oh, he ain’t afeared for his own skin—I don’t mean that. He’s afeared for the Army, on account of he can’t rightly make up his mind what we-all ought to be fixing to do. And ‘cordingly, being a good horse, you’re scairt.”
“But Cap-in-His-Eyes—” I began.
“Cap-in-His-Eyes—that’s different. He’s determined to have a battle,” says Sorrel. “That’s how I know there’s gonna be one. You should jest ‘a been with us in the Valley. You still got plenty to larn, Traveller, but one of these days you’ll be same as me—you’ll find you jest do know things. All you need is experience.”
“I don’t want that sort of experience,” I said.
“Who does?” says Sorrel. “What you goin’ to do ‘bout it?”
I was still chewing on that when Cap-in-His-Eyes come out with two or three of his officers, and him and Sorrel was off and gone.
We stayed put right where we was, in the village. Best as I remember, ‘twarn’t till evening the next day that Jine-the-Cavalry rode up. This time he hadn’t got Skylark—it was Star of the East, but the two of us hardly got no talk, ‘cause they didn’t stop long, neither. I remember Marse Robert come out of the house with Jine-the-Cavalry, and they stayed around talking a while, till finally Jine-the-Cavalry saluted and rode off. Marse Robert always had a special liking for Jine-the-Cavalry, you know, Tom—like he was his own son, I reckon.
But let me go right on telling you what happened to me, ‘cause the way things turned out, the next few days was pretty near the most important in my life—a kind of turning point, you might say.
‘Twas all bang! bang! for another couple of days, and still no real fighting; only, I was feeling more and more jittery on ‘count of what Sorrel had said. But then we-all set off to marching, and that night I plumb forgot ‘bout being jittery, on account of we fetched up at a real fine house—long avenue of trees—darkies singing and dancing—all the air smelling o’ gardenia and white jasmine—a fine gentleman meeting Marse Robert, saying him howdy and taking off his hat—clean, warm stables and a hot bran mash for every horse in headquarters—why, for a time I really got to wondering whether this mightn’t be that there War that Jim said we was going off to. ‘Course, I knowed better’n that, but I liked pretending ‘twas, ‘cause it made me forget for a while ‘bout the battle. Marse Robert, Old Pete and Marse Taylor and the others, they was all feeding and sleeping up at the big house, you see, Tom. So that was where we-all stayed that night. We was off real early in the morning, but everyone was up to see us go.
Marching, Tom; marching in the cool of the early morning, in summertime, ‘fore it gets to be a real hot day. Mockingbirds singing, maybe one of them orioles, maybe a flicker or two, red-wing blackbirds in the trees; dew still shining on the grass; the soldiers singing behind you; hooves falling steady on a good, firm road, easy going, other horses all round—that’s the life for a horse, for what I’d call a valued horse. I often think back to them early morning marches, but I remember that one ‘specially, ‘count of what happened in the middle of all my high spirits.
We was up at the front of the column—’fact, we was well ahead of it—Marse Robert, Major Taylor, Major Talcott and some more. That was jest fine, ‘cause there’s no dust, Tom, you see, when you’re out like that in front of the line o’ march. You can look out in front of you, breathing the air fresh and easy, and take an interest in whatever there is to be seed—people running to their gates to watch you go by, kids cheering and all the rest of it. Best part of soldiering.
I remember the place we’d got to real well. Up ahead I could see a little town we was coming to, beyond a turn in the road. One side was open woodland; t’other was a nice, neat timber house, all freshly whitewashed—looked good in the sunshine—an’ a tolerable big patch of corn with all the cobs smellin’ ripe. A mockingbird was singing up in a birch tree—oh, it was all jest as pretty and peaceful as it is right here in summer. And then, suddenly, in a cloud o’ dust, round the bend ahead come one of our fellas, driving his horse for all he was worth. You couldn’t tell which of them was in more of a lather, the horse or the man.
“The Blue men! The Blue men!” he was shouting, and pointing up the road behind him. “Cavalry! They’re right here!”
Well, there was jest the few of us, Tom, you see—what’s knowed as the staff—not ‘nuff to fight at all. Marse Robert calls out to the fella as he pulls up, “How far off are those people?” But ‘fore he could answer, there they come, riding round the bend after him, a whole passel of Blue men, and they sure ‘nuff looked like they meant business.
I’d never been so close to the Blue men before. One of their horses neighed to ours; I can hear it now. There’s a lot of difference in neighing, Tom, you see. I mean, whether it’s friends or strangers. This was a neigh to strangers— “Who the heck are you?”—and you could tell it was a stallion, ‘cause he put in a kind of extra grunt at the end. As they come still closer, Major Talcott’s horse answered him, sorta noncommittal.
“Go back, General Lee, go back!” shouts one of our officers. It was the first time I’d ever heared that, but I can tell you it warn’t to be the last.
Marse Robert reined me in, looking up the road at the Blue men. They was so close I could see their eyes moving and smell their sweat. “Steady, Traveller!” But jest the same, he turned me around. And as he did so the whole staff—the majors, the couriers, everyone—formed a line acrost the road.
“Go back, General Lee! We’ll hold ‘em! Only go back!”
The Blue men pulled up. I figure they was wondering how many of us there was. I seed one of ‘em ride acrost to another, and they started talking together and pointing at us. And then, all of a sudden, like they didn’t care for the look of us, and even before Marse Robert had had time to get going—I could tell from the whole feel of him that he didn’t care for the notion—they’d turned their horses round without firing a shot and ridden back the way they’d come.
Nobody, horse nor man, really had time to be scairt or reckon how much danger we was in. That’s the kinda thing that only hits you afterwards, Tom, you see. I reckon most of our horses didn’t even know jest what had happened. But I did. So it don’t have to be a battle, I was thinking. The Blue men can appear any time, jest when you’re on the road, and maybe shoot you down like a rabbit. Yeah, even when you’re the General’s horse. It didn’t make me feel no better, I can tell you, ‘bout the job we was doing. I recollected, too, what Sorrel had said ‘bout Marse Robert not wanting a battle but getting one jest the same. To be honest, I wished I warn’t in the Army.
That warn’t the only thing that happened that morning, neither. We’d gone back closer to the head of the column, of course, and we was jogging along the road, kinda getting over the shock—well, I mean, Tom, jest s’pose me and Marse Robert had a’ been taken prisoner by the Blue men!—when we come up with two-three ladies— real ladies; you could smell their rosewater and their gloves and all the rest— a-sitting outside a house by the road and looking at their nice, shiny carriage. It had polished silver fittings, lilac cushions, darky coachman in a top hat—the whole shebang. Well, near the whole shebang. The only thing missing was the horses. They’d gone, and the carriage was right square acrost the road, with the ends of the shafts down on the grass one side. Two of the ladies was a-crying, handkerchiefs up to their eyes.
‘Course, Marse Robert rides up to them at once—you know how he always likes the ladies—and offs with his hat. And what it come down to was that the Blue men—them same Blue men, I reckon—had held the ladies up and taken their two horses. ‘Course, they’d ‘a been good ‘uns, Tom, you see. This old lady said she’d come out with her daughters in the carriage on purpose to see Marse Robert go by and to say howdy.
“Well, I guess she’s done that,” mutters Major Talcott’s horse to me while Marse Robert was telling her how sorry he was. That was Joker—he was jest right for a soldier; later on, when we was starving, he could still find some fun in ‘most anything. But I’d been shook up bad already that morning and I didn’t feel the same way. I was thinking ‘bout them two fine horses, jest taking it easy along the road and likely thinking ‘bout getting back to stables, when along comes the Blue men. So now they could look forward to bangs and exhaustion and cold nights and wind and rain and more bangs, until the bang that tore ‘em to pieces, like all those artillery horses on the green hill the time Richmond died.
But I reckon I was the only one thinking that way. When we stopped off that night, camping in the open, you could tell the whole Army was in good spirits, and Marse Robert along with ‘em. He took me for a little walk through the camp, the way he liked to when we was on the march, to talk to the soldiers and let them talk to him. Me, I helped out by nuzzling up and letting the men stroke me. By this time, you see, Tom, any man in the Army would ‘a given Marse Robert the shirt off’n his back if he’d ‘a wanted it. I ‘spect no other general’s ever had his men with him like Marse Robert. We was going here and there among the campfires, the fellas cooking or maybe picking the lice off’n each other, and calling out “Hey, there, General!” or “When we going to get at ‘em, General?” Marse Robert was jest the same with everyone, quiet and friendly. He never dressed up, you know, Tom. He jest looked like any of our officers, ‘cepting Perry and Meredith always kept his clothes and his boots real clean and tidy. I remember—yeah, it was that very same night, while we was finishing that little tour round the camp—one of the brigadiers—I don’t recall rightly which one ‘twas—asks him why he didn’t dress like a general. “Oh,” says Marse Robert, “I don’t care to. I figure colonel’s ‘bout as high as I ought to have gotten—or maybe a cavalry brigade.” He meant it, too. Well, that’s all changed now right ‘nuff, ain’t it?
Next day, though—oh, Tom, that was a hard march! The heat and the dust on the road was ‘nuff to drive you mad, horse or man. Marse Robert stopped several times to see different regiments go by, and it was like they was groping through a fog. Men had old scarves, pieces of sacking, rags—anything they could find—tied over their mouths and noses to try and keep the dust out. It got in your eyes and your ears. It got down your throat. It was ‘nuff to blind and choke you. And the heat—everyone was sweating; and nothing to drink all day. They warn’t gray men; they was white men—white with dust from head to foot, ‘cepting where the sweat ran down. I seed men tear off their jackets and fall down by the roadside, coughing up spittle that was like gumbo, jest thick with dust. Pretty soon the Army was jest a-stumbling ‘long, and seemed like Marse Robert hadn’t the heart to push ‘em faster. Maybe he couldn’t. There’s a limit to everything. But we kept on marching till the middle of the night, and when Marse Robert rode back along the column I seed crowds of soldiers that’d jest laid down and gone to sleep where they was halted—no fires, no food, nothing. I seed a boy that must ‘a carried one of the cloths on sticks all day—it was an honor to do that, you know. He’d jest rolled hisself up in the cloth and gone to sleep so sound the sergeant couldn’t wake him. “Let him be,” says Marse Robert. “He’s done his duty. No one can do more.”
Well, I told you, Tom, didn’t I, that I was uneasy and fretful in myself? And it was going to get a lot worse. Next morning we started going up into the hills. Everyone was glad to get up higher, into cooler air. It was mid-afternoon, and we’d come over the top and started to come down when I first heared firing ahead of us. It was coming out’n a kinda narrow, rocky place, very steep. That’s what we call a defile, you know. I guess the rocks and the narrowness made the noise worse. There was guns firing as well as muskets, and the first roar made me like to jump acrost the road. I warn’t the only horse, neither; one or two actually bolted. ‘Course, I knowed at once’t there must be Blue men down there. Well, I reckon so—that defile, with rocks all round, was a natural place for ‘em, same as the swampy creek had been. But somehow we had to get through it, y’see.
Marse Robert pulled me round and we lit off straight to the top of a hill one side of the road. The deafening fire was still coming up from below. Marse Robert dismounted and gave my reins to the soldier that was with us. By this time, you know, Tom, I was beginning to understand more of what went on and what was likely to happen. On the top of that hill I felt the two of us was really taking a risk. The Blue men must be able to see us, and any moment there’d come a bang would tear me to bits, like I’d seed happen to other horses. But Marse Robert, he jest kept a-looking out nice and steady and taking his time—you’d ‘a reckoned he was on a picnic. I’ll tell you, I was more’n glad when we come down off’n that hill. Marse Robert couldn’t have been much worried ‘bout the defile, though. He jest gave out some orders and then we-all went off to another fine house for the night. It was mighty strange, Tom, you know, this dodging ‘bout between horrible danger and what you’d call the lap of luxury. Y’see, I hadn’t larnt yet that when you’re a soldier you don’t look ahead. You take whatever comes, and if it’s good for the moment, then the moment’s good ‘nuff. But I kept thinking ahead, and for me that spoiled everything. Yet next morning the Blue men was gone—no one knowed why—and we-all jest went on down through the defile.
We’d gone ‘long a little ways, and I was jest thinking that soon the heat and dust was going to be every bit as bad as before, when I smelt horses in the trees off to one side of the road. I remembered the enemy cavalry two days before, and I felt sure they must have come back— more of ‘em this time—’nuff to pitch into us. Y’see, Tom, the state I’d got myself in, every durned thing that happened seemed like ‘nother sharp stone on a bad road. The flies and the dust and the hot sun was all part of a bad place, and the place was bad ‘cause it was dangerous. It must be hard for you to realize how defenseless a horse is. Come right down to it, we’re more defenseless’n cats. No one wants to take you into a battle, and anyways there’s a lot less of you to offer a target, ain’t there? I did a little dance, bucking acrost the road, and Joker had to rear back to get out’n my way. “Found a bees’ nest?” he snorts, but I was too busy getting myself under orders to answer him back. Any man but Marse Robert would have gotten impatient, I reckon.
But they was our horses, as I could have smelt plain ‘nuff if I’d had any sense. ‘Sides, they was carrying the red-and-blue cloth on a stick, though until they come close you could hardly see it for the dust. In front was Jine-the-Cavalry hisself, and this time he was riding Skylark. They come up to us straight off, and Jine-the-Cavalry commenced to talking to Marse Robert.
Skylark, as I’ve told you, was one of them high-bred horses that’s able to hide everything behind a bunch of polished manners. Those he certainly had. As we went ‘long side by side, he asked me how I was getting on and whether we’d had a hard march and had the dust been this bad all along and had I met his friend Rollo the courier and a whole pile of politeness of that sort. After a while I asked him whether he knowed where we was a-going and what was likely to happen. I should have explained, Tom, that all the morning, while we’d been marching, there’d been on-and-off sounds of guns from far ahead, and I asked ‘bout them, too.
Skylark said it was Cap-in-His-Eyes’ guns we was hearing. He said the cavalry had come straight from Cap-in-His-Eyes, who was being attacked by the Blue men jest a few miles off.
“A battle?” I asked, trying not to show how I felt.
“I’m not sure,” answers Skylark, kind of casual. I’d a felt better if he’d said he was sure, one way or the other. “How I understand it, we may disengage and go round behind the Blue men again. What’s called maneuver, you know,” he added, like he was talking to a foal.
I was jest going to ask some more when the whole column, as far as I could see ahead for the dust, pulled up and halted. This ‘peared to be so that Jine-the-Cavalry could take his horsemen acrost the road and away on the other side.
“Ah, we’re going to cover the flank,” says Skylark. “Good luck, Traveller! See you later on today, I ‘spect.” And with that he and Jine-the-Cavalry was off up the road.
The whole day became more and more like some kind of disagreeable, troublesome dream. I kept blowing out dust and breathing in more that other horses had blowed out. Whenever it was possible, Marse Robert took us off’n the road, but that was only now and again, ‘cause of all the brush and trees alongside. Anyways, the flies followed wherever we was and there was no standing head-to-tail to get rid of the critters. The horses was getting jumpy with each other— “Can’t you keep outa my dad-burn way?” “D’you want the whole durned road?” and all that kind o’ talk. I’d have given my mane for a drink, but I could tell that the way things was now, Marse Robert was in a real hurry to get everyone forward. “Close up, men! Close up!” he kept saying wherever we went, up and down the column. “Keep moving!” But I could tell it was jest like Sorrel had said: Marse Robert was really uncertain in hisself and wondering what to do. I reckoned he was figuring he couldn’t decide till we’d caught up with Cap-in-His-Eyes.
We come through a town and jined another road. I guess ‘twas getting on to midday when Marse Robert took us off’n to one side and up a little hill, where we stopped. You could see the whole Army separating out for miles acrost the country—what they call deploying, Tom, you know—that’s what they do when they’re fixing for to fight. There was tramping and shouting everywhere, and teams of horses a-dragging guns up and down the slopes every which way. Marse Robert dismounted and sat down on a tree stump, and good old Dave come up and led me away to a little creek for a drink. The water was thick and muddy with all the horses—yeah, and the men, too—who’d drunk from it, but I’d ‘a drunk harness oil then, I’ll tell you. Then our guns started up real close by—’nuff to worry any horse—and me and the others was brung back to wait. You see, Tom, when there’s a battle any horse at headquarters is likely to be sent on an errand any moment. If’n he’s blowed to bits, that’s jest too bad.
All the men round Marse Robert was real edgy, and the horses caught the feeling, like they always do. Jest a ways off to one side was a regiment a-singing, all solemn-Iike, and some of ‘em was kneeling down on the ground with their eyes shut and their hands together. I often used to see our soldiers doing this, but I never could make out jest rightly why they did it. I reckon maybe ‘twas like horses stamping. Horses’ll pick a spot in the open for stamping, you know, Tom, and stamp it flat and bare in less’n a month. It does something for you, does stamping. So does rolling, of course; we have favorite rolling places, same as you choose trees and posts to clean your claws on.
All I recollect ‘bout the rest of the day is the guns making a racket and the generals a-coming and going all afternoon. Cap-in-His-Eyes came, but I didn’t get the chance to talk to Sorrel. Finally, Marse Robert called for me and rode out over the battlefield. But when we came back no one ‘peared any better agreed ‘bout what to do. All I could tell was that there must be a terrible battle going on somewhere else, where Cap-in-His-Eyes had come from, ‘cause the guns never stopped. It was jest one long roar. I wondered when it was going to be our turn. But still nothing happened. It was getting pretty dark when the young Texas general—him as Marse Robert had told to fight his way acrost the swampy creek—come up to headquarters. Whatever he had to say to Marse Robert, I figured, from the way he kept shaking his head, it warn’t much good.
There was nowhere for us to go that night. We jest went back a ways, to a little wooden hut. All us horses was picketed out in the open.
Well, ‘twas next afternoon when our battle really began. Every regiment round us seemed to be going forward into the attack. You couldn’t see nothing for the smoke nor hear nothing for the noise. I seed Old Pete and Hero galloping ‘long our lines, urging the men on. An awful lot of ‘em went down, but ‘didn’t seem to make no difference to the rest. Everything was all confused. Marse Robert rode me forward and it scared me stiff. There was bullets zipping past and shells a-bursting all round us, but we might jest as well have been back home for all the notice Marse Robert took of ‘em. I believe he’d have ridden straight on into the Blue men—I could see ‘em plain, lines of ‘em, all firing—if Old Pete hadn’t stopped him. But for all Old Pete could say, Marse Robert wouldn’t go back, and finally Old Pete leaned over and took my bridle so we-all could get in under cover of some low-lying ground. Even then Marse Robert wouldn’t stay there long. As the sun was setting, he rode me up and down them open ridges until I reckoned we must be as far forward as any soldier in the Army. I still don’t know why nothing hit us. The ground was covered with dead and wounded men—ours and theirs. You could smell the blood and shit reg’lar filling the air. Marse Robert kept pulling up to talk to one soldier and ‘nother. They was all a-busting now with a kind of crazy excitement. We’d beaten the Blue men and druv ‘em off. Well, we always did, Tom, you know—always. But I jest felt wore out and ready to drop.
That night we was still out in the open. Dave and some o’ the other soldiers lit a fire and kept it going, bringing in brush and branches. I was trembling—jest a-shaking all over. I ate my feed—sech as it was— but I couldn’t sleep for the coming and going, and the continual noise and disturbance. ‘Sides, it commenced to rain—it got pretty cold—and that kept up all night and on into the next morning, with a sharp wind a-nipping at us.
There was any amount of mud—bad going; and I warn’t the only horse was hungry. Marse Robert had covered hisself all over in some sort of rubber stuff for to keep off the rain, and this bothered me ‘cause he didn’t smell like hisself—not like what I was used to. We rode out early, along with Cap-in-His-Eyes and Sorrel. Sorrel told me they’d had terrible fighting for two days past—jest as he’d said they would—and he was expecting more soon. We was both shivering with the wind and rain, though we felt a bit warmer as we got going. I reckoned we was looking for the Blue men, and it might easily be as bad as the day before.
We went acrost a river that was so high it seemed likely to carry the bridge away any moment, and pretty soon we come under fire again— bullets, too, not just the big guns. A bullet jest whizzed past my ear— I felt the wind of it. When we’d come back, Marse Robert took some time telling Old Pete and Cap-in-His-Eyes what he wanted ‘em to do. Then we-all went forward again—everyone in headquarters. I ‘member we come down a track into some thick woods, and Marse Robert pulled me up while he spoke to a soldier who was taking the boots off’n a dead Blue man. Oh, our fellas was forever doin’ that, you know, Tom. Anything that was worth taking off’n a dead man, our fellas’d take it, cause we was always short of everything. But this time, for some reason, Marse Robert spoke sharply to the man—told him he shouldn’t be there. The man didn’t know ‘twas Marse Robert and he sassed him back pretty strong. Marse Robert jest laughed and rode on. He never let on who he was, but then that was jest like him.
Now this is the bad part, Tom, and I’d only tell it to you. Even Lucy don’t know this. I never told her, nor yet Ajax neither. And I don’t want you telling that there Baxter, nor any other cat on the place, d’ye see? Mind what I say, now. Well, ‘twas later on that same day, in the rain. We was still in the woods—quite a lot of men and horses. All the officers had dismounted, near’bouts to a great high kind of a bank— part of a railroad. There was all sorts of people crowded round me and Marse Robert, and he was stood there jest loosely a-holding my bridle while he talked to ‘em. All of a sudden I seed a whole passel of Blue men come a-swarming over that bank and running towards us. They was prisoners, and they was running on ‘count of being afraid of the bullets flying round up there. But how the heck was I to know that? There was a plenty of others ‘sides me didn’t realize the rights of it, and a commotion commenced. Everyone was dashing for their horses. Someone stumbled almost up agin me, yelling right in my ear. It was ‘nuff to startle any horse, let alone a horse that had been through what I had them last few days. Oh, I say that, Tom. I still say it after all these years, but I feel mighty ‘shamed. I gave a real bad start. I didn’t bolt, though—I didn’t! I guess I might have, but Marse Robert took a quick step to grab my bridle with both hands—and then it happened. He tripped in that durned rubber thing he was wearing, and down he went on the ground. He fell real heavy, Tom. He fell full length right beside me, and he fell hard on his hands. Somebody caught my bridle, though I’d already recovered myself. But Marse Robert, he was hurt bad. Anyone could see that. He lay there, where he was, until Major Taylor holp him up. “It’s nothing, Major. It’s jest my hands,” he says, biting his lip with the pain.
The Blue men, they was taken away by our soldiers that was in charge of them. Some fella came up and looked at Marse Robert’s hands and shook his head. Then they holp him up onto another horse—a mare called Dewdrop, belonged to one of the orderlies—and a soldier led her back to camp. Marse Robert couldn’t use his hands, not at all. The orderly rode me, coming behind.
It was only later in the day that I realized jest how bad Marse Robert’s hands was hurt. They was all tied up in bandages and splinters of wood—both of ‘em. He couldn’t ride—not me nor any other horse. But the Army still had to get on, hands or no hands, mud or no mud. They got an ambulance wagon for Marse Robert to ride in. I was brung along behind, on a leading rein; nobody wanted to ride me, so it ‘peared. That was the very worst day of my life, Tom. I knowed I’d let Marse Robert down real bad. I was the one that had hurt him. Maybe— how could I tell?—with his hands that bad, he wouldn’t be able to go on commanding the Army. And what was going to become of me then? Likely ‘nuff Marse Robert wouldn’t want me. He didn’t come near me the rest of that day. Was that ‘cause he was too busy, I wondered, or was he goin’ to send me to the rear as soon as anyone had time to see to it? I didn’t know, but I didn’t reckon he’d be needin’ a horse like me no more.
On top of everything else, the rain kept on all day—what you’d call relentless. Every horse was in mud up to the fetlocks or worse, and the wagons couldn’t hardly move. Everyone was starving, and near ‘nuff exhausted after the battle. Where were we-all a-going, and was I going, too? I don’t like to think ‘bout that time. The fear before had been bad ‘nuff, but the feeling of bein’ in disgrace was worse. No one said nothing; they jest acted like ‘twas an unfortunate accident—the sort of thing that might have happened to any horse. But I couldn’t see it that way. So I didn’t sleep much that night, neither.
Next day there was a real bad thunderstorm. You couldn’t tell which was guns and which was thunder. There was nothing for me to do but stand around in the rain and think my own thoughts. What was going to happen to me without Marse Robert? I’d come to be his horse in every way. I couldn’t imagine life without him. Now, I s’posed, I’d be sold off to anyone who’d have me. I’d be lucky if it was someone half as good as Captain Broun.
A day or two later we was still marching ‘long best as we could. No more fighting, but more’n ‘nuff mud to make any road bad going. But that warn’t the worst of it for me. One of them days, as I was standing ‘bout at headquarters, up comes Jine-the-Cavalry, riding Skylark and leading a mare. And do you know who that was, Tom? No? Well, it was Lucy Long. Marse Robert come out to look at her, with his hands still wrapped up.
“She looks fine, Stuart,” says he.
“She’ll be plenty quiet ‘nuff for you, sir,” says Jine-the-Cavalry, stroking her nose. “She’ll jest suit you until you get your hands back.”
So Marse Robert, he has her saddled up and rides her up and down a piece. You could see she was quiet ‘nuff for anyone—quiet ‘nuff for a lady to ride. She jined us that evening, but I warn’t picketed near ‘nuff to speak to her. You can jest imagine how I felt. All animals can get jealous—I know that—cats and dogs as well as horses. I felt real lonely, on top of feeling ‘shamed.
‘Twas ‘bout that time that Ajax arrived, too. When I seed Ajax come in—some stranger was a-riding him—I felt plumb certain I was going to be sent away. Only, Ajax—well, you know him, ‘course—he’s big and powerful, ain’t he? ‘Twas plain ‘nuff to me that he was going to take my place as soon as Marse Robert’s hands was all right again.
But ‘nother day or two went by and I was still at headquarters. We’d come to a town, and at least it was better to be out of the mud and in good, warm stables. They was the stables of a gentleman’s house where Marse Robert was fixed up. There ‘peared to be a whole raft of people—soldiers and others, too—a-coming and going, and I s’posed he’d forgotten ‘bout me, or else he was too busy to give any orders. Dave used to take me out and ride me for exercise. I talked some to Lucy when we had the chance. I had to admit there was no harm in her. She was completely bewildered by the Army and all the shouting and carrying-on of the soldiers. She’d never knowed nothing like that before. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d take the guns; that’s to say, if’n there was any more guns. You see, Tom, after every battle all us horses used to hope there wouldn’t be no more guns.
Ajax struck me right off as a stolid, rather dull sort of fella. ‘Twarn’t so much that he didn’t ‘pear friendly as that he didn’t seem capable of taking a lot of interest in anything much. Whatever come along, sun or storm, Ajax could take it—that was how I figured him out. No doubt, I thought, that would suit Marse Robert better’n a nervous, cowardly horse that had knocked him over and broke his hands. The only thing was, Ajax was sech a great big fella, a lot taller’n me, and I wondered whether that would altogether suit Marse Robert. Well, it wouldn’t make no nevermind to me, I thought bitterly. Likely ‘nuff I’d soon be pulling a wagon.