Late March, 1865. The tattered, starving Army of Northern Virginia, reduced to some 50,000 effectives and those irreplaceable, with no lack of men ailing from prolonged exposure to mud and rain, of men carrying in their pockets letters from wives or parents telling of conditions at home grown desperate on account of their long absence, continues to hold forty miles of half-flooded earthworks against the overwhelming numbers of General Grant. With the irretrievable loss of the Shenandoah Valley in early March, General Sheridan’s cavalry have perforce become free—spreading destruction on their way—to join the Union forces besieging Richmond and Petersburg. The Confederate troops are so thin on the ground and so short of ammunition that if it were not for the dread with which their past fighting power has filled the hearts of the enemy, the line would long ago have been broken. General Lee, whose courage and endurance continue to inspire his men as no other general’s since Alexander, has far too much military discernment to be under any delusion. Both his men and his horses are worn out and he has no reserves whatever. With the ending of winter, either the breaking of his line or the turning of his flank— most probably, he thinks, the southern, Petersburg flank—is inevitable. “You must not be surprised if calamity befalls us,” he wrote in early February to the Secretary of War. His advice that he should withdraw the army westward into mountain terrain, where it could subsist indefinitely as a fighting force, having been rejected by President Davis with the insistence that at all costs Richmond must be held to the last, what can he do but put his trust in God, set a daily example of staunchness and valor to officers and men and await what his young aide, Colonel Taylor, has termed “the dread contingency”?
My goodness, Tom, I never ‘spected anything like this, did you? ‘Course, I’d seed they was building a new house for Marse Robert, but I never dreamt part of it was going to be this big new stable for me. I can’t get over it! Marse Robert led me in hisself s’afternoon and made sure everything was jest the way it ought to be. Ain’t it mighty fine? Not a draft in the place, and Marse Robert’s quarters right ‘longside! I’ve never been so well stabled in all my born days, and all I can say is I hope Marse Robert feels the same. Do you know what he said when he brung me in here this evening? He said it was going to be real fine to be under the same roof with his old friend. ‘Going to make a lot of difference to both of us, these new quarters are, ‘cause the truth is we’re neither of us as young as we was and we can both do with some extra comfort. Why don’t you settle down there in the straw and make yourself at home? This is a sight better’n them lines I was telling you ‘bout—the lines we was holding opposite the Blue men in the siege, with next to nothing to eat and shells likely to start dropping any time of the day or night. Yes, we’ve certainly seed some hard times, me and Marse Robert, so maybe we’re entitled to feel we’ve earned a home even as good as this ‘un.
I promised to tell you, didn’t I, ‘bout our very last campaign, after the siege ended? Well, an’ that sure was a bad time—’bout the worst I can remember, but the way it finally ended was jest bout the most surprising thing that happened in all the years me and Marse Robert’s been together. You see, Marse Robert had decided—I knowed he had—that by this time we’d all done more’n ‘nuff of this here fighting, and that now the spring was coming we had to finish those people off once and for all. Yeah, but that warn’t so easy done—no, not even by Marse Robert hisself. You see, first of all ‘twas a question of picking the best place—where to go about it. That’s what us soldiers call strategy, you know, Tom—picking the right time and place to fight. Well, you’ve done it yourself, han’t you? And that spring we had to try a whole lot of times, and a whole lot of places, looking for the right one.
I remember—oh, yeah, I remember this all right—being woke up in the pitch dark at that there Turnbull headquarters of ours and being saddled up by Dave. What the heck’s coming now, I thought; some shenanigans, I’ll lay. Well, if’n I’m not used to that by now I don’t know a horse in the Army that is. I could make out Marse Robert standing outside the door, all dressed and ready, with Marse Taylor and a lot more. I was led up, he mounted me and off we rode in the dark.
We didn’t go all that far, though; we went jest acrost to a hill behind our lines, where another of our commanders, General Gordon, was stood waiting for Marse Robert. Down in front of us the trenches was crowded with our fellas, getting ready to attack. I could feel it. Before an attack, you see, Tom, there’s always something—well, real uneasy—in the air, and the horses can feel it as much as the men. But this was the most silent thing I’d ever knowed. ‘Twas all along of doing it at night, I guess; the Blue men didn’t know what we was up to and we didn’t want em to find out.
Then, away off in the dark, some fella fired a gun, and that was the signal for our men to advance. There was plenty of yelling and firing started up then all right, but me and Marse Robert, we jest stood and waited where we was at, As it growed light, you could make out the fighting, way out at a kind of fort on the Blue men’s line, but as Marse Robert still didn’t move, I figured it couldn’t be going too well. I could feel as much, too, from the look of the officers coming back to report to Marse Robert, and the way they spoke. We stayed where we was about four hours, I guess, till finally Marse Robert, he give the order to stop the fighting and come back. But my land! Tom, coming back, there was a power of our poor fellas knocked over by musket fire. The Blue men had brung up reinforcements, you see, and they was jest too many for us. Oh, yeah, they was fine and dandy as long as we was going t’other way. ‘Parently this was one time when we hadn’t been able to beat ‘em like we usually did.
So that was the first time. Natcherly, Marse Robert was disappointed and I could tell, like I always could, that he felt sad and upset. I remember how we rode back, him and me, almost by ourselves, and how we met young Marse Rob and Marse Rooney coming to meet us. Soon as he seed them, he smiled and showed how glad he was. He did his best to act like there was nothing gone wrong; thanked them for coming so quick, and said he was sorry to have to tell them their cavalry wouldn’t be needed after all. It didn’t fool Marse Rob’s horse none, though. “My stars, Traveller!” he says to me when we was side by side. What the heck’s gone wrong?” I told him I reckoned our attack must a failed. Oh, well,” he says, “then 1 guess we shan’t have to be killed jest yet, shall we?”
There warn’t very long to wait till the second time. Best as I can recall, it come ‘bout four days later, and it happened a good way to the west, outside the city. ‘Twas a real nasty morning, pouring with rain, and Marse Robert rode me out—I remember the mud over my fetlocks; jiminy, how I hate deep mud!—to meet General Ringlets. ‘Course, I couldn’t understand all they said to each other, but ‘fore Marse Robert and me rode back to headquarters, I’d got it that General Ringlets had been ordered to attack those people. So this’ll be it, I thought. Ringlets’ll hammer them to bits, like he did with his charge that time in the big battle up north.
All the same, Marse Robert didn’t seem in a very good humor. I couldn’t tell why; but ‘course, he always knowed everything, and maybe he’d already figured it out that we might not be able to finish the Blue men off this time—’cause the way things turned out, we didn’t.
Next morning it was still raining, and out we went, Marse Robert and me—I remember how hungry I was, and wondering whether Marse Robert felt the same; there was never more’n half of nothing to eat, you know, Tom—to see how Ringlets was getting on. There was a whole chance of fighting going on up ahead, but I couldn’t make things out all that clearly. We didn’t meet Ringlets, but Marse Robert told some of the other generals they was to go on and attack. He was jest finishing the talking when our fellas started in on their own account—that’s how keen they was! This time we did go forward, Marse Robert and me, ‘cause we could see the Blue men dashing away like crazy acrost a little creek. We came up to the creek and I remember we come on a whole crowd of enemy prisoners there. Marse Robert walks me over to ‘em. There was one officer bleeding something terrible; he couldn’t hardly stand. “Are you badly wounded, Major? “asks Marse Robert. “Yes, sir,” answers the major, “I figure I am.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I am sorry, Major,” says Marse Robert. Then he turns to the fellas in charge of the prisoners and says, “Be sure and take good care of him, gentlemen.” It reminded me of that time after the battle up north, when that other enemy fella had been shouting out, “Hurrah for the Union!”
‘Twarn’t long after that when General Eppa came riding back to us out of the fighting. You remember, Tom, don’t you, I told you ‘bout General Eppa, and how me and Marse Robert rode along with him and Ringlets one of the days when we was marching up north to the big river? I told you how his horse, Sovereign, said he’d got a notion we might get beat and I told him he was talking hogwash.
General Eppa was riding this same Sovereign now. They came up to us looking like they’d both been dragged through a hedge backwards. Sovereign was limping, and bleeding plenty from a great, ragged gash ‘long his flank. General Eppa’s scabbard was bent almost double and he had three separate bullet holes through his jacket.
“Thunder and lightning, Traveller,” says Sovereign, “we’ve had a time, I’ll tell you! There’s ‘nuff Blue men out there to start a town, and you’d think the air was made of bullets. We’re lucky to be alive. Our fellas are going to have to retreat—nothin’ else for it.”
What with the way things was going, Marse Robert warn’t in a very good temper, and he spoke sharp to General Eppa. “I wish you’d sew those places up,” he says, pointing to the bullet holes. “I don’t like to see them.”
Well, natcherly, that annoyed General Eppa, after all he’d jest been through. ‘Course, he couldn’t talk back to Marse Robert, but all the same he found something to say. “General Lee,” he answered, “allow me to go back home and see my wife and I will have them sewed up.”
Well, come down to it, Marse Robert had always liked Eppa, and this tickled him. “The idea,” he says, “the idea of talking about going to see wives! It’s perfectly ridiculous, sir.”
I can’t remember jest how we finished up, that day. But that was the second time, and it hadn’t worked out any better’n the first.
But there was worse to come, if’n only I knowed. Let me see, it warn’t that night—no, ‘twas the night after—when heavy enemy firing and shelling started up in the dark. Marse Robert was in bed at headquarters, and Old Pete and Red Shirt was there talking to him. All us horses was wide awake, of course—you couldn’t be nothing else. All of a sudden Marse Robert and the others came hurrying out of the house and stood around trying to make out what was going on. ‘Twas still awful dark and no one could see much, but after a minute Red Shirt said something to Marse Robert and went dashing for his horse. I knowed his horse well, of course. He was the same one he’d had all along—old Champ. Champ was even more of a veteran ‘n what I was. He’d been with Red Shirt longer’n I’d been with Marse Robert, carried him through ‘nuff bangs and bullets for fifty horses and never seemed no different any time you met him, day or night—always very easy and friendly in his ways. I’d always cottoned to him and respected him. As Red Shirt mounted, I gave him a quick, friendly nicker, and jest at the same moment I heared Major Venable call out to Red Shirt to take care and not go risking hisself. Then they was gone. Red Shirt was off to jine his men.
By this time you could see a bit more, and as Dave was saddling me up I could make out soldiers—long lines of ‘em—way off acrost the fields in the distance. I had a horrible feeling they must be those people. Marse Robert hadn’t even been dressed when all the trouble started, but didn’t take him long. He came out in full uniform and wearing his sword, mounted me and off we went, out into those fields.
Well, they was Blue men, all right—a whole passel. You could see ‘em coming on quite steady, and nothing at all to stop ‘em, ‘far as I could see. I wondered what in tarnation we was a-goin’ to do, but Marse Robert, he jest sat there watching them and talking quietly to Major Venable and some of the others was with us.
Suddenly a little bunch of officers came galloping back to us. They was Red Shirt’s people. Champ was in the middle of ‘em, but Red Shirt warn’t riding him. The soldier riding him was a fella called Sergeant Tucker. This Sergeant Tucker was well knowed for a real wildcat. He was Red Shirt’s special man, who always stuck right ‘longside him in any fighting, to do what he wanted. Champ had told me more’n once’t that Tucker was one fella who didn’t give a damn for nothing and was always ready to eat twenty Blue men before breakfast. ‘Peared that one time, when he’d wanted a new horse, he’d jest rode out and shot a Blue cavalryman, helped hisself and rode back. Leastways, so Champ told me.
“Champ!” I said as they came up to us. “Champ! For land’s sake, what’s happened? Where’s Red Shirt?”
“Red Shirt’s dead,” said Champ. I could see now that for once’t he was shook up real bad.
“Can’t be!” I said. “What d’you mean?”
“Red Shirt and Tucker—he was on Merlin—jest the two of us—we was riding ahead alone,” says Champ. “We come up with two of the enemy, and Red Shirt calls out to them to surrender. They fired at us. They hit Red Shirt—killed him stone dead, right there on my back. His body fell out o’ the saddle. When Tucker seed what had happened, he come ‘longside and grabbed my bridle. He pulled both of us—me and Merlin—round and got us away. But then he got off Merlin and left him loose. He rode me back.”
Sergeant Tucker had evidently been telling Marse Robert the same thing. I’d never knowed Marse Robert to cry before—although I think maybe he did that time when they told him Jine-the-Cavalry had been killed. Anyway, he shed tears now. I could feel him sob where he was a-sitting.
I was thinking, Where’s it going to end? How much more do we have to pay to beat those people? Cap-in-His-Eyes, Jine-the-Cavalry and now Red Shirt. Vot-you-voz, too—he’d been wounded real bad and out of it ever since the summer before; I’d heared that much from Skylark. It had been Old Pete, too, near as a touch; he’d never be like he was. I don’t mind telling you, Tom, I felt shook up bad. General Red Shirt— it didn’t seem possible he could be shot dead in the saddle like any soldier out on patrol!
Well, the Blue men was still a-coming on, and a minute or two later one of their shells went straight through our headquarters house. By this time we’d got our guns up and all round outside it, blazing away, and this was holding ‘em up considerable. Marse Robert—well, you could tell he was real angry now. He simply wouldn’t move from where we was at. The house caught fire, burning like a haystack, and enemy bullets began falling all round us; but still Marse Robert wouldn’t quit. He waited there, and he stuck there till the last moment. In the end he had to put me into a gallop so we could get away. He very soon pulled up, though. Marse Robert didn’t no ways care for running from the Blue men—he never did. He was still sitting looking back at ‘em when a shell burst only a few feet behind us. It killed one of the headquarters horses—a nice old gelding called Crockett; I’d knowed him a long time. I was actually spattered with his blood, poor fella. Marse Robert turned me again, but even then he still waited a few moments, looking back over his shoulder. I could hear him actually growling, he was that mad. I believe if’n he’d had his way he’d have turned me round and charged those people by hisself. But of course he was the General, warn’t he? He had to be thinking of the Army. So we come out of it, and back among our own fellas.
“This is a bad business, Colonel,” says Marse Robert to one of them. “The line’s been stretched till it’s broken.”
All morning the fighting went on something desperate. Marse Robert rode me back only as far as a bit of a hump standing up above a creek, and there he dismounted and stood looking out at what was happening to our fellas. Him an’ me, we was under sech heavy fire ourselves we might jest as well have been out there with ‘em. I was ‘specting to be blowed to bits any minute, like Crockett. Time and again horsemen’d come up to us. They was asking—beseeching Marse Robert—for reinforcements; I could tell that. Marse Robert has to tell ‘em he ain’t got none. I remember at last he says to some officer, real sharp, “I’ve received that message several times, and I’ve no troops to send!” The colonel, he jest salutes and says, “I can’t help it, General, how often you’ve heared it, I’ve got to give you General Longstreet’s message.” So then Marse Robert tells him he’s sorry he spoke sharp; but jest the same he hadn’t got no more fellas—nary a one.
Well, we held ‘em off, Tom, though to this day I don’t know how. I got sort of confused with all the bangs and the men and horses falling all around, but I recollect that in the afternoon me and Marse Robert come back out of it, and he rode me off to some house a little ways outside town. He’d got his plans, had Marse Robert—I knowed that— and he meant to spend the evening giving ‘em out to our generals and the rest.
So that was the third time that hadn’t worked. And ‘twas that same night that our Army marched out of the city to find a better place to beat the Blue men. And I’ll tell you, Tom, that looking around at what there was to be seed, I was honestly beginning to wonder whether we would find it. I mean, all our cavalry was close as dammit to exhaustion, and as for the guns—well, a lot of the carriages was dropping to pieces and being dragged along by wore-out old horses in rotten harness. I should have knowed better, shouldn’t I? Fancy the likes of me doubting Marse Robert! Still, I figure you’d have had your own doubts if you’d ‘a been there.
Our fellas marched real quiet out of the city, I guess so as not to let those people know we was going. Marse Robert rode me by one of the bridges acrost the river and drew up where the road forked. I soon got the general idea, ‘cause I recognized a lot o’ the horses—yeah, and some of the soldiers, too. Old Pete and his ‘uns was to go by one road and General Gordon’s outfit by the other—so they wouldn’t foul each other up, you see. Marse Robert and me, we waited there dead silent while they went by—no drums, no orders, no cussin’—they could have been ghosts in the dark; jest the wagons creaking and the Blue men’s guns way off in the distance. One lot after another—I knowed ‘em all— and the state they was in, Tom, it would have upset even you; rags an’ mud, skin an’bones. Some of the horses nickered to me—they all knowed me, you see—but I kept quiet, ‘cording to orders. When they’d all of them gone by, and not before, me and Marse Robert came on with headquarters.
By the time it got light, the Army was well out of town. The fellas was resting ‘long the roadsides, and ‘course Marse Robert and me was going round as usual, talking to them and cheering them up. They was in good spirits, mostly—glad to get out of them miserable trenches, I reckon, and be marching off somewhere, even if they didn’t know where. I figured the whole idea was real smart of Marse Robert. Now, you see, Tom, the Blue men would have to leave their own trenches and come out where we could fight them good and proper and give ‘em a real hammering.
Jest the same, the roads was awful muddy, and ‘course our Army using ‘em didn’t make things no better. I seed plenty of fellas caked in mud to the knees, and you simply couldn’t tell whether they had any boots or not. Evidently we warn’t getting on fast ‘nuff, and I could tell this was worrying Marse Robert. Although the enemy didn’t seem to be anywheres round this morning, he plainly wanted us to press on— maybe so’s we could catch them when they warn’t expecting us; I couldn’t say. All the same, he hadn’t the heart to speak sharp to them poor fellas scrabbling and crawling through the mud, although two-three times he stopped to tell drivers to have more patience with their mules. I never had much time for mules, Tom, as I’ve told you, but I felt real sorry for ‘em now. They jest warn’t in no state to shift the loads, and that was all ‘twas to it. The drivers had to call on any fellas that was around to come and push.
All the same, ‘bout midday something happened which showed me Marse Robert still knowed we had the Blue men halfway up a tree. Him and Old Pete and some more of headquarters felt easy ‘nuff to stop off for dinner at a fine, smart house. ‘Twas jest like old times. We-all left the column and rode ‘bout a mile through the woods, and there was this real handsome place—white pillars, gardens, ladies and gentlemen walkin’ about and talking, darkies serving drinks and standing by to take the horses—after all we’d been through during the last months ‘twas like a dream. Marse Robert hadn’t slept all night, of course, but jest the same he offs with his hat and shakes hands like he was real fresh and we had nothing to do ‘cept enjoy ourselves.
A darky led me off to a fine, clean stable and I found myself ‘longside a pretty young mare, name of Emerald. This Emerald was in lovely condition, full of energy, coat groomed and shining like a meadow on a summer morning. I could tell she didn’t cotton much to me. She didn’t know nothing ‘bout the fighting—nothing at all—I don’t think she even knowed there was any fighting. She figured I must be some old courier horse dropped by with the mail, or something of that. When I asked her how she’d avoided being took for the Army she didn’t even know what I was talking ‘bout. But after a while, from her talk, I caught on that the house belonged to a big local fella, Judge Cox, and she was his wife’s horse. That was how she’d been able to dodge the column. I couldn’t dislike her, and anyway the darky stableman groomed me a real treat and gave me the best feed I’d had in months. I felt ready to bust.
But all too soon the time came to go on. I was led back round to the front and Marse Robert came out, talking with a pretty young lady and smelling like he’d had a real good meal for a change. I guess we-all felt in better spirits. The young lady, she petted me, stroked my nose and said she’d heared so much ‘bout the famous Traveller. Marse Robert told her I was worth as much to him as two regiments, and a lot more nonsense o’ that sort. They was funning around for quite a few minutes ‘fore we finally rode off through the woods and back to the column of march.
After the judge’s house, and being with that Emerald, you could see a lot plainer what we must look like to anyone as hadn’t seed us before: the broke-up lines of tattered fellas limping through the mud, and the starving teams, lot of ‘em collapsing as they tried to pull the rickety, broke-down wagons. There was stragglers, too, plenty of ‘em, all the way back long the road. We looked a real bunch of drifters, Tom, an’ that’s no more’n the truth. Rags and bones a-marching by packs.
That night we crossed another river—that’s to say, the Army did. You never seed sech a turmoil in all your life. There was too many at the one bridge, and all the roadway and the fields and banks was crammed up with soldiers and guns and horses waiting to get acrost. They was all night crossing. Me and Marse Robert waited, going from one place to another, talking to as many fellas as we could, cheering folks up. The Blue men had found out by this time what we-all was up to—leastways, I reckon they had, ‘cause every now and then I could hear firing away in the distance.
I guess it must ‘a been ‘bout two hours after sunrise ‘fore me and Marse Robert crossed that bridge. I remember a young officer riding up to report to Marse Robert. As he was speaking, Marse Robert looks him up and down and then he says, “Did those people surprise you this morning?” The young fella ‘pears kinda throwed for a loop, but he answers no, certainly not. Marse Robert says that by the look of him they must have. He points at his boots, one trouser leg in and t’other out. The lad felt ‘shamed—you could see that. He never said ‘nother word—jest saluted and turned his horse to ride off. Marse Robert calls him back and tells him, kind as you like, that it’s important he should take care and steer clear of anything that might make our fellas think the Blue men had scared him. He had to set an example.
Well, the Army went a-marching on. Marse Robert and me, we was along with Old Pete. It felt like old times, ‘ceptin’ I warn’t the only one could have eaten his own harness. Jest the same, everyone seemed in real fighting spirits. There was plenty of laughing and joking—singing, too. I knowed it was ‘cause we was on our way to beat the Blue men once’t and for all. ‘Fact, I couldn’t help wondering how those people had ever s’posed it would be any good trying to beat Marse Robert, The whole idea was jest plain crazy.
I can’t recollect everything after all this time, but I’ll tell you something, Tom, that I certainly do remember—something that happened that same evening. By this time the enemy cavalry had started feeling round us—kind of hanging ‘bout and watching for a chance; only they seemed a-scairt of us. Old Pete kept trying to get at ‘em, but ‘peared like he couldn’t make it, and after a while Marse Robert took me out to have a look around for hisself. I trotted a ways down the road towards the firing, and then, jest as we came up to where our cavalry was engaged, a passel of Blue men came galloping towards us. ‘Course, our fellas went straight for ‘em and Marse Robert, he natcherly jined in, ‘cause this time there warn’t nobody to stop him. The Blue men, they went riding off real fast—knowed what was good for ‘em—’ceptin’ for one fella, who come dashing straight on towards us. Four or five of our men was jest going to fire when Marse Robert, in his deep voice, calls out, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Someone caught the Blue man’s bridle and stopped him. He was wounded bad and hadn’t been able to control his horse, but Marse Robert had been the only one to see it.
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.
April 7, 1865. The previous day’s action—known as Sayler’s Creek, where Federal troops attacked in strength the worn-out and attenuated Confederate column of march, cut it in two and destroyed virtually the entire forces of Generals Ewell and Anderson, as well as a division of cavalry—is to prove fatal. General Lee has lost in all some 8,000 men, and now has left, under Longstreet, Gordon and Fitz Lee, a force of about 12,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry, though this is melting gradually hour by hour, since many men have nothing left to give. The tiny force, opposed to 80,000 well-equipped Federal troops, has reached Farmville, where some, though not all, have been issued with rations. Since there is still a realistic possibility of joining General Johnston, Lee orders the march to continue. The army crosses the Appomattox to the north bank (which the Federals have already gained downstream), burns the bridges and once more turns westward.
First thing after he’d left the house where we’d slept, Marse Robert walks me acrost the road, hitches me to the rail of another house and walks up to the door. While I was stood waiting there, a dog came acrost the garden and we kinda fell into conversation.
“We’re awful poor now, you know,” says this dog to me. “There’s only my mistress and one or two darkies left on the place. The master— he was a soldier, like your master—he went away to the fighting and I heared he’d been killed—oh, more’n two years ago now. Mistress, she cried and cried for days. Somewhere up north ‘twas, near as I can understand.”
We went on talking, and after a bit I guessed, from what this dog was able to tell me, that his master must a been a pretty high-up cavalry officer and he’d been killed round about the same time as I hurt Marse Robert’s hands.
Jest then Marse Robert came out, and the lady with him. She was crying. “I’m sorry I haven’t time to stay longer,” says Marse Robert, “but I couldn’t pass without stopping to pay my respects.” The lady did her best to stop crying. She blessed him for his kindness and petted me for a few moments while he unhitched me and got in the saddle. She was still a-standing at the gate while we rode away.
A lot of the fellas we passed now was staggering ‘long like they was dead to the world. I figure some of ‘em was asleep on their feet. Jest the same, I somehow felt it was going to be a lucky day for us, and that was how it turned out. It was a great day!
We started by crossing the river—a real big ‘un, Tom, ‘twas—on a bridge longer’n you’d believe. ‘Twas longer’n the entire high street here in town. A whole chance of our fellas had got over t’other side already, and ‘far as I could understand Marse Robert wanted everyone over quick as possible. There was two bridges—a railroad bridge and another—close together, and soon’s he could Marse Robert had them both set afire, to stop the Blue men coming over behind us.
All the same, some of them had got acrost—don’t ask me how. I often think the Blue men used to come out o’ the ground, like maggots. I mean, even if you could stop one lot of maggots crossing a river, there’d only be another lot hatch out t’other side, wouldn’t there? Anyway, there they was—cavalry, doing their best to smash up Old Pete’s wagons along the road.
At the time they attacked, Marse Robert was dismounted and resting, with his back agin a tree, and I was snatching a few mouthfuls of grass. Soon’s we heared the shooting, Marse Robert got up and rode me forward, with all the fellas cheering as we went past.
I seed the fight, Tom—I seed the whole thing. Our cavalry—our poor, tired-out cavalry—they smashed those people all to bits, so they ended up a-running for their lives. They was as glad to get away as chipmunks from a bobcat. In fact, a whole lot of ‘em didn’t get away at all; they was took prisoner. Their general hisself was took prisoner— I seed him brung in. You never knowed sech a brilliant action in all your born days. ‘Twas one of our greatest ever.
“That’ll stop ‘em farting in our oats for a while,” says Joker as the last of them disappeared through the bushes.
“If we had any oats,” I said. “I’ve forgotten what they taste like.”
“You can’t taste dream oats,” said Joker. “You don’t reckon it’s all a dream, do you? Only I’ve been asleep for about two days now, Traveller, haven’t you?”
He ‘peared ready to fall down, but that was how everyone felt. Jest at that very moment I seed a cavalry horse ahead of us collapse and roll over, with his man right there on his back.
And still we was beating the Blue men, all day. That same afternoon they tried to attack us again—infantry, this time—and General Mahone gave ‘em another good licking. Marse Robert and me was right there, Marse Robert telling our fellas, like he always did, what grand soldiers they was and how each one of ‘em was worth ten Blue men any day.
Later that afternoon, I remember, he rode me out to the edge of a hill, and we was stood near a bunch of our guns that was firing jest as fast as they could go. ‘Course, I’d long ago larned to stand steady by the guns—I wish you could hear ‘em, Tom; that’d be a real education for you—but I confess I didn’t enjoy it. The enemy counterfire was heavy all round, but Marse Robert warn’t taking a blind bit of notice— he was jest sat there watching the front and our shells bursting ‘mong the enemy. That takes some doing, you know.
Well, while we was there, up comes an officer to bring Marse Robert a message, and he reached us riding ‘long the side of the hill facing the enemy. Yeah, and warn’t his horse happy, too? I felt real sorry for that poor animal, standing there a-trembling all over while the young officer was making his report to Marse Robert.
When he’d finished speaking, Marse Robert started in on him sharp—told him he’d come ‘long the wrong side of the hill, and he’d acted bad in exposing hisself unnecessarily to enemy fire. The officer replied that he’d be ‘shamed to shelter hisself when his general was sitting there in full view of those people.
“It’s my duty to be here, sir!” answers Marse Robert, real blunt. “I have to see what’s going on. Go back the way I told you!”
“Thank goodness for that!” mutters his horse as his master salutes and sets off without another word. “Rather you than me, Traveller!”
I don’t remember a lot more ‘bout that night. But I can recall thinking that if’n we didn’t finish the Blue men soon, I reckoned we was going to have a job to do it at all. A lot of the fellas hardly looked like soldiers no more—no muskets, no knapsacks, clothes all in shreds and covered in mud, eyes jest sunk in and mouths a-hanging open. There was plenty a-laying there on the ground that couldn’t be shook to their feet. There was broke-down wagons that hadn’t even been pulled off the road before they was abandoned and set fire to. There was horses and mules in the mud that had struggled to get out till they couldn’t struggle no longer, nostrils bunged up with mud, jest staring up at you as you went by. You never seed the like.
But jest the same, next morning—’twas bright sunshine, too—we was still a-marching, and the Blue men was still plenty scairt of us, that was plain ‘nuff. They was holding right off.
That was the quietest day we’d had since we left the city. There warn’t no attacks. We marched on best as we could. Come evening, our headquarters was pitched ‘longside Old Pete’s lot, nice and snug in a clearing in some thick woods. It came on a fine, moonlit night. We hadn’t ary tents nor tables nor anything—they’d all got lost somewhere ‘long the road—and Marse Robert and the rest, they sat theirselves down round a fire on the ground.
Suddenly the guns began, ‘way off in front. I knowed they was ours. I knowed it must be the beginning of an attack—I could sense it; and I warn’t wrong, neither—though I reckoned the actual fighting probably wouldn’t start till next morning.
Any which way you looked, there was a red glow all acrost the sky. I knowed it must come from our own campfires. I’d seed the same thing before on campaign, of course, more’n once’t, but never stretching so wide. There must ‘a been an awful lot of fires. I knowed that could only mean that Marse Robert had concentrated his reinforcements— that means got more fellas up, you know, Tom—for this here big battle. They’d be cooking whatever food they’d brung with ‘em and preparing for the attack tomorrow. That was how we always done it.
From where I was picketed I seed General Gordon come up to jine Marse Robert; and then General Fitz Lee, our cavalry commander— him that was son of Marse Robert’s brother, so his horse once’t told me.
That last meeting of our generals—for it was the last meeting, though I didn’t know it at the time—I can rightly see it now: Marse Robert standing by the fire, Old Pete sitting on a log smoking his pipe, and General Gordon and General Fitz Lee settled nice and comfortable on a blanket on the ground. Marse Robert began talking quiet, like he always did, telling them the way he seed things. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, of course, but sure ‘nuff the bit I knowed so well warn’t long in coming. “Well, gentlemen, what ought we to do?”
Natchrally, Marse Robert had got it all worked out already—our big attack—same as he always had. He gave out his orders and made sure they was understood; then the generals rode away, all ‘ceptin’ Old Pete, who bedded down where he was, with his head on his saddle.
I was afeared, like I always was afore a battle, but I felt kinda excited and lively, too. I’d picked up the tense feeling that always built up at these times. The campfires making the clouds smolder and then, after a while, the distant hum and murmur of fellas on the move. I thought of Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes riding away into the woods that morning two years before, and of Jine-the-Cavalry dashing up on Skylark, in the battle in the forest, to report to Marse Robert. I’m like them, I thought. I reckon I’ve earned the right now to feel that I’m like them. We was friends, we was comrades. Maybe—who knows?—one day people may talk about me and Marse Robert same’s they will ‘bout Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes.
Before he went to sleep, Marse Robert came over and stroked me and spoke to me. He looked carefully at my hooves, too, and ran his hand long my back. Marse Robert was never too tired or busy to remember ‘bout me. But this time I somehow felt he was more’n usually kind—more’n usually anxious that I should be jest right. “Tomorrow is in thy keeping, Lord God,” he said, and then, “Goodnight, old friend.” I thought, Well, I’ll do my durnedest for him, starving or not.
In the middle of the night I heared a bunch of our men marching ‘long the road close by. Somehow, I don’t know why, I figured they must be Texans. I wondered whether there might be any chickens around, roostin’ mighty high. I remembered how the Texans had told Marse Robert, in the wilderness, they’d drive back the Blue men on their own if’n only he’d go back. They’d done it, too. The Blue men had never liked feeling there was Texans around. They warn’t going to like it no better tomorrow.
Not long after, the headquarters officers was up and dressing by the light of the fire. Marse Robert, he dressed hisself up to the nines—best uniform, red silk sash, smartest sword—the lot. He meant business for sure. When we set off, the guns was beginning again, up ahead.
‘Twarn’t far we had to go to the front. Our fellas—our poor, ragged fellas—had started the attack already. There was plenty of musket fire, but even though he rode me up onto the highest ground he could find we couldn’t see a single thing, Marse Robert and me, on ‘count of the early morning fog covering everything all over.
We waited round a considerable while, listening to the sound of the battle up ahead. Finally, Major Venable came riding back to report. I asked his horse how things was going, but Leopard had always been a durned fool—if Brigand thought I was stupid, he should have knowed Leopard—and he hadn’t no real idea.
Well, I could always put one thing and ‘nother together as well as any horse, and I could tell, from the kind of solemn way Marse Robert replied to Major Venable, that this must be important news all right. Once’t, while they was a-talking, Marse Robert broke out with a kind of a burst, like he couldn’t hardly control his feelings—something ‘bout “I’ve only to ride down the lines…” He was real stirred, no question of that, but still I didn’t know rightly what to make of it. Only, I reckoned something strange was going on—something altogether outside my experience—something that’d never happened afore now.
Pretty soon Old Pete rode up, and Marse Robert seemed to be telling him whatever ‘twas he’d heared from Major Venable. General Mahone was round, too, I remember. They was all as solemn as could be, and I could jest sense a kind of—well, I’d guess you’d say a kind of graveness in all the officers and soldiers who was there with us on that little hill as the fog began lifting. General Alexander arrived, him that was chief of the guns, and Marse Robert dismounted and talked to him for quite a time, walking up and down.
After a while Marse Robert mounted again and we rode off along the road with Marse Taylor and Colonel Marshall. Sergeant Tucker, he was there, too, riding Champ, that he’d kept hisself ever since Red Shirt was killed,
‘Twas now I began to feel real puzzled, ‘cause when we came up to our front line, where our fellas had set up a barricade of logs acrost the road, they shifted it, and we went straight on through. I couldn’t form no idea what we was s’posed to be doing, but it all ‘peared to be in order, ‘cause Marse Robert hisself was in charge, and the fellas gave us a cheer as we went past. There was only the four of us. In front went Champ, with Sergeant Tucker carrying a white cloth on a stick. I couldn’t understand why it warn’t the old red-and-blue, but I s’posed there must be some special reason. The whole business was so durned queer anyways that by this time I don’t think I’d have been surprised at anything he was carrying. Then came Major Taylor and Colonel Marshall, and then me and Marse Robert a bit behind. We’ve never done nothing like this before, I kept a-thinking to myself. For goodness’ sake, what’s it all about?
Pretty soon we spotted some Blue men a ways off. And would you believe it? Colonel Marshall rode off and began talking to them! There warn’t one of ‘em even looked like he was going to shoot, but jest then I heared the bangs start up again. And those, Tom—though o’ course I never guessed it at the time—those was the very last bangs I was ever to hear from that day to this.
Jest at that moment an officer I knowed by sight—one of Old Pete’s staff officers, a man with only one arm—came dashing towards us on his horse from round the bend in the road behind. And I’ve never, before or since, seed a horse rode so desperate hard as that. She was a real beautiful mare, and she was going sech a lick that she went on a considerable ways past us before she could be pulled up at all. Poor thing, she looked half-dead as they turned and come back to us. I reckon it may very likely have injured her for life.
Marse Robert, who was always real considerate for horses, as I’ve often told you, he shouts out to the officer, good and strong, that he shouldn’t never have ridden his mare that way. And ‘twas while the officer was replying to Marse Robert that it suddenly came over me what must ‘a happened—why he’d ridden his mare that way and what his news must be. There could be only one reason. The Blue men had finally quit! That was why we was out ‘tween the lines with no one firing at us! We’d done it! The Blue men was beat! Marse Robert had knowed it, of course, but now they’d sent, theirselves, to say so, and this officer had brung Marse Robert the message! That was what the white cloth on a stick was for—to show we knowed we’d won. And sure ‘nuff, there was Colonel Marshall up ahead, telling some of ‘em what they had to do.
For a start I couldn’t rightly take it in. I felt dazed. As we stood there, I could see more of those people—quite a crowd—a-coming up the road. I guess they must a wanted to be took prisoner, but Marse Robert, he wouldn’t have nothing to do with ‘em. He jest turned and rode me back, quite slow and easy, to where Old Pete was waiting with our fellas on the line of battle.
Well, ‘course, after all this time I don’t remember all the details, Tom, and you wouldn’t want to be hearing ‘em anyways. But I do remember Marse Robert hitching me up in an orchard a little ways back, and then laying down hisself to take a rest on a pile of fence rails. He must ‘a felt jest like I did, I reckon—kind of dumbfounded with what had happened.
After a while Major Talcott and Joker came up to where we was at.
“Ain’t this jolly, Traveller?” says Joker when he was hitched beside me. “‘Won’t be nothing to do, will there? We’ll have to go and pull cabs in the big city.”
“I’d never thought of that!” I said. “You mean the Army’ll be disbanded? Oh, I’m going to miss you, Joker! I really am.”
“You want to thank your stars the Blue men missed you,” said Joker.
Jest then Major Talcott came back for him, and off they went to organize a ring of soldiers round the orchard so Marse Robert and me could have some peace and quiet. Only you see, Tom, the big news seemed to be spreading fast and there was all sorts of fellas hanging around who evidently wanted to come and talk to Marse Robert ‘bout it. But natcherly he didn’t want to be disturbed. We was going to have work to do later on.
There warn’t no noise, no commotion at all. News like this was plainly beyond all cheering. Me, I felt sort of subdued. After a while a Blue man—an officer—came riding up—everyone let him alone—with one of our fellas ‘longside him to make sure he didn’t get up to no tricks. Old Pete asked Marse Robert should he kick his arse—at least, I think that’s what he must ‘a said—but Marse Robert, he says no, he’ll hear whatever it is he wants to tell him. And so he did, and I have to say that the man spoke and acted civil ‘nuff.
So then we set off again, Tom, jest three of us this time—Colonel Marshall, Sergeant Tucker and Marse Robert. I couldn’t imagine where we was a-going to; but not to no fighting, that was plain ‘nuff. This Blue fella, he rode ‘long with us. I talked a while with his horse on the way and he seemed a nice ‘nuff animal. He told me he hadn’t been long with the Army, ‘didn’t understand much ‘bout it at all, but if’n it really was finished, like I said, he hisself would be only too glad.
Colonel Marshall, he’d gone on up ahead. We came to a stream, and soon as I smelt the water I realized I was as thirsty as a whole pack of mules after a day’s march. Now would you credit it, Tom? At a time like this, when we was off to larn those people their manners and he had everything else in the world to be thinking ‘bout, Marse Robert drew rein and waited till I’d drunk all I wanted. Yes, he did. After that we went on.
We came to a house—jest an ordinary house, like plenty of others, with a flight of steps, some pillars and a verandah with a balcony above. Marse Robert dismounted in the yard and walked up the steps, while Tucker took me and Champ off round the side. He found a place in the shade and settled hisself there, long with the two of us and Colonel Marshall’s horse, Mercury. Everything was quite quiet and peaceful— ‘twas a fine afternoon—and soon I’d near’bouts forgot what we was there for. A good horse never has no problem loafing, you know.
After some considerable time we heared a whole bunch of horsemen coming. They was all Blue men—you could smell that as they came close. The officers must ‘a dismounted in front of the house, ‘cause the soldiers—some of ‘em—led the horses round to where we was at. I noticed that Tucker didn’t talk to the soldiers, so I took my lead from him, and didn’t set out to talk to the horses neither. There was one black horse, I remember, pulled up ‘longside me; he told me his name was Cincinnati. He acted quite easy and sociable—you couldn’t dislike him. I acted the same, which was what I felt Marse Robert would want. But pretty soon his soldier led him off a ways, so we was left by ourselves again. We was free to graze, and I remember the dratted flies was a nuisance. ‘Twas coming on to summer, you see.
I reckon we was a-waiting round till pretty well halfway through the afternoon—quite a while—but still Marse Robert hadn’t come out. I know what he’s doing, I thought. He’s giving them Blue men a real good piece of his mind. And I sure know one thing he ain’t saying, this time. “Well, gentlemen, what ought we to do?”
‘Twas well past the heat of the day, and me and Champ was stood head to tail, a-swishing away, when at last I heared Marse Robert’s voice, from round the front, calling, “Orderly! Orderly!” I didn’t recognize it for a moment—he sounded kinda gruff and a bit choky. I guess he must ‘a been pretty tired after taking all that time to tell those Blue generals ‘zackly what he thought of ‘em. Tucker answered him quick as a flash, though. He led me round to the foot of the steps and put on my bridle. Marse Robert hisself drew my forelock out from under the browband, parted it and smoothed it down, so I looked as smart as I ought to. It reminded me of the young fella who’d left one of his trouser legs outside his boot. We warn’t goin’ to have none of that, not riding away from those people. Then Marse Robert mounted up, and Tucker and Colonel Marshall, too.
Jest at that moment one of the Blue men—somehow I got the feeling he must be an important fella—walked down the steps from the porch, stopped in his tracks and took off his hat to Marse Robert. As we set off, there was a whole chance of Blue men standing all around, and every single one of ‘em took off his hat. And I should durned well think so, too! I thought. That’ll be something for ‘em all to remember when they get home. ‘Twas the proudest moment of my life, Tom—and of Marse Robert’s, too, I’m sure ‘nuff.
I couldn’t help wondering—and I’ve often wondered since—jest what Marse Robert could have been saying to those people for all that time. But I guess he told ‘em straight out that if’n they didn’t pack up and go home right away we’d be ‘bliged to set to and blow ‘em all into the middle of next winter, jest like we had in the snow and jest like we had in the forest; and they’d better get that and get it good. It took so long, I s’pose, ‘cause they must ‘a been trying to persuade him to alter some of the particulars and let ‘em down easy. I’ve often imagined in my mind, since then, those Blue men sitting there, in that house, and dickering with Marse Robert, realizing their big mistake and that this was the reckoning come round at last; and Marse Robert jest sat there, kind and quiet like he always was, telling ‘em firmly that things had got to be jest like he said. Well, the job was done good and proper, that’s for sure. When he came out, they hadn’t ‘nother word to say, an’ that I seed for myself.
We rode along nice and steady, me and Marse Robert in front this time, and came up the hillside, through our pickets and back into our lines. Marse Robert plainly warn’t fixing to be high an’ mighty ‘bout what he’d done—that warn’t never his way. I could feel him sitting upright, not moving in the saddle, looking straight ahead and determined to avoid a lot of fuss. Me, I jest kept going, like he wanted.
But ‘course our fellas, they warn’t going to let us get away with that. They commenced to cheering. They cheered considerable—jest like they had after the battle in the woods, two years before. Then they broke ranks and come a-crowding round us. I tried to go on—that was what Marse Robert wanted—but they pressed round hard, shouting “General! General!” and grabbing at us from all sides.
Marse Robert took off his hat, and I tried some gentle pushing and shoving, but no way. I had to give it up—the road was jammed solid. Marse Robert reined me in and began talking to the fellas. I managed to get some of it. “Men, I have done the best I could for you…. You will all go home….”
At that, some of the fellas actually began crying for joy. Others seemed sort of dazed and bewildered. I remember one soldier shouting “Blow, Gabriel, blow!” and throwing his musket down on the ground. “Blow” means “go away,” “go home,” Tom, you know. Gabriel must ‘a been his buddy, I s’pose. People was catching a-holt of Marse Robert’s hands, his coat, his boots—anything at all. Those who couldn’t do that grabbed at me, stroked my nose, patted my neck and my flanks. We was jest surrounded. I can smell them now. They smelt what you’d call pungent.
You’ll reckon I must ‘a been thinking how fine it all was—that this was the grand reward for all them hours hungry in the mud and snow, all them nights on the march, all those bullets zipping past your ears and shells bursting round your hooves. But ‘tell you the truth, Tom, all I was thinking at the time was I could do with a feed and a rest. I’d had as much as I could take. I’d knowed since the morning that we’d won, and now I was suffering a kind of a letdown. I felt ready to fair go to pieces.
We came back to the orchard at last. Marse Robert dismounted and commenced to walking up and down under the trees. He didn’t show it, but I guess he must ‘a been in such high cotton he couldn’t keep still. I was roped nearby, so I jest put in some more grazing. Pretty soon, little groups of Blue men began coming up and speaking mighty polite to the headquarters majors—’far as I could make out, begging to be ‘lowed to pay their respects to Marse Robert. Marse Robert, though, he wouldn’t have nothing to do with ‘em—what did they ‘spect, the durned fools? He simply drew hisself up and glared at them. Some of ‘em had the impudence to come up close and take off their hats. Marse Robert jest touched the rim of his hat back. ‘Course, he warn’t going to lower hisself to cuss at them. He jest wanted to get rid of ‘em quick as he could. I don’t know, maybe they wanted to make sure he knowed they’d hollered ‘nuff after the licking they’d had. Anyways, they was politely showed off.
Jest the same, they did do some good, those people. They carried out the orders Marse Robert must ‘a given that they was to hand us over an elegant sufficiency of their own rations. The rations arrived by the wagonload, and you should jest have seed those people handing them out to our fellas, polite and mannerly as you please! There was even some laughing and joking ‘tween ‘em! Looking at ‘em, I thought, That’s the difference between our outfit and theirs. We’d been ready to give all we had—to starve, to go sleepless for days, to march without boots, to lie in rags in the rain. The Blue men, they looked like they’d jest walked out of some fine lady’s house after a dinner party. Call those people soldiers? I thought. No wonder they’ve been beat.
It was nigh on sunset when Marse Robert bridled me up hisself and rode about a mile back to headquarters. All the way, as we went, there was folks rushing from each side of the road—two solid walls of our fellas, cheering and yelling. That Yell—I couldn’t believe I was hearing it for the last time. I did my best to live up to the occasion— to do Marse Robert credit, like I reckoned I always had. I kept tossing my head, looking to one side and t’other and picking up my hooves like we was on full-dress parade. The fellas was shouting, “Bless you! Bless you, General Lee!” And I even heared that special word they’d called out two years before, when the woods was on fire—”Surrendered, General! Surrendered!”
When we reached headquarters—someone seemed to have found our tents by now—even Marse Robert couldn’t entirely keep from tears. ‘Course, ‘twas the relief and the reaction. He spoke to as many of the fellas as he could, shook hands with ‘em and all that, but in the end he finally took off his hat one last time and went into his tent. Good old Dave led me away for the biggest feed of oats I’d had in months— they was Blue oats, I guess—’much as I could eat and more.
I slept pretty sound that night, Tom, I can tell you. But not as sound as we’ll sleep now, in this dry straw, under a roof; ‘cause before morning it commenced to rain, and by first light the rain was falling steady. Still, never mind ‘bout that for now. Let’s go to sleep. ‘Nother time I’ll tell you how we came away, and how we finally fetched up here.