Did Lucy Long tell you ‘bout her accident yesterday, Tom? She didn’t? I’m surprised. It could ‘a been pretty bad. She’s lucky it was no worse, and ‘far as I can make out, it’s entirely due to Marse Robert that it warn’t. She could have choked to death.
You know that little carriage, don’t you, that the old lady has for going out on fine afternoons? Marse Robert got it ‘specially, a while back. Sure, I figured it was a good idea, but I figured too that I’d be durned if’n I was going to pull it. ‘Course, I’d do anything for Marse Robert—anything within reason, I mean, like shells, bullets, starving, forty mile a day—but a horse in my position, he jest can’t be seed out in public doing work the like o’ that. ‘Twas bad ‘nuff having to go through town ‘longside that old Frisky. Marse Robert evidently feels the same, ‘cause I’ve never been called upon to go in shafts. If I had, I guess I’d have been ‘bliged to object, but fortunately the situation’s never arisen. No, pulling the old lady out in the little carriage has always been a job for Lucy.
Well, seems that yesterday, when Lucy was harnessed up for the afternoon outing, she could feel right away that her collar was way too tight. Personally, I’d have showed my feelings, but of course Lucy’s a gentle, docile kind of creature, and she told me she reckoned she’d jest put up with it. Marse Robert was driving, as usual, but this time he warn’t carrying the old lady. ‘Seems it was Marse Rooney’s wife and the baby. Marse Robert didn’t notice nothing wrong with Lucy’s collar— and that ain’t like him, you know. I’ve often told you how he’s always paid attention to every last little thing ‘bout us—shoes, harness and all the rest-even under fire. It only goes to show—I’ve been feeling it for a while now—that he’s not altogether in top shape.
Anyhow, off they went to call on some friends in town, and Lucy told me that while she was waiting round, the collar seemed less uncomfortable. But then, coming back—up that stiff slope round to the front of the house—it suddenly caught her—choked her—and she stumbled and passed right out. When she came to, she was a-laying in the road with Marse Robert kneeling beside her. He’d got the collar off and was calling hisself all manner of fool for not spotting the trouble earlier. He kept stroking her and telling her he felt real ‘shamed of hisself after all she’d done for him. She was right ‘nuff in a while, but it left her shaky and glad to be back in stables. ‘Course, Lucy never was what you’d really call a sturdy mare—nice, quiet horse was what Jine-the-Cavalry was after for Marse Robert—but jest the same I don’t blame her over this. Must ‘a been a nasty shock.
It’s strange, though, that Marse Robert didn’t spot it earlier. I always spot things ‘bout him earlier’n any of the human beings he has to do with. You recollect I told you how he was took sick a while before our great victory in the forest; how Perry made him go to bed and then they was ‘bliged to move him out of camp for a time? Well, right now he strikes me as having the beginnings of something like that there all over again. He’s older, of course; he feels older, I mean. I can tell it from the way he rides. He finds my old buck-trot harder’n he used to, and he seems to get tired quicker. Jest the same, I know he still feels closer to me than he does to anyone else. When we get out together on one of these fine fall afternoons, it always perks his spirits up and after a while he’s a different man. I wish we could light out on another good, long trip together—you know, for several days, like in the past—but I guess there must be too much to do, what with him having to command the country an’ all.
I never did finish telling you, did I, how we came away from that last camp and what happened after the Blue men quit? Well, I jest recall one thing and another. For instance, the morning after their surrender, when every one of us, man and horse, was feeling the better for a few good feeds, one of our officers comes riding up to Marse Robert’s headquarters to bring him a message. His horse was tethered near me, so I asked him what was doing.
“Why,” says this horse, “it seems the enemy’s commander in chief’s ridden over to pay his respects to Marse Robert. ‘Course, he’s been stopped on our picket lines and told to cool his heels till Marse Robert’s been informed and decided whether he can be bothered to see him or not.”
He’d hardly told me this when out comes Marse Robert in a great hurry, has me saddled up and off we go real quick. ‘Way I seed it, Marse Robert wanted to act generous and be polite to this here Blue general. We finally came up with him waiting on a little hill between the lines. Both generals raised their hats, shook hands and started in talking. No doubt the fella had come to get some further orders from Marse Robert, ‘cause they was talking a goodish while—maybe as long as it takes to groom a horse. That black horse—that Cincinnati—he was there, but we didn’t hardly converse none. Not that I was out to show any ill-feeling, any more’n Marse Robert was; ‘twas jest that we warn’t hitched near ‘nuff each other.
Marse Robert and me was on our way back to camp when we met another Blue general, with some of his officers, and he offs with his hat to Marse Robert, too, real respectful, and says him howdy.
Marse Robert shook hands with ‘em all, real grave and dignified, and then we-all rode back to our headquarters together. As we came past our boys, they commenced to cheering, like they always did. The Blue general, he had the impudence to tell his orderly to unroll one of their cloths on a stick—the one with stripes on. One of our fellas shouts out, “Damn your old rag! We-all are cheering General Lee!” The Blue general, I figure he looked pretty small, but jest the same Marse Robert invited him into his tent for a talk and to make sure he understood his orders. They parted quite friendly. Yeah, I thought, you’re civil ‘nuff now you’re licked. But you know, Tom, I don’t think Marse Robert felt bitter towards him at all. He was polite and kind to him, like he always was to everyone—humans and animals, too.
‘Twas two days later, if’n I remember rightly, that we lit out for home. All our fellas and horses was setting out to home, this way and that, south, east and west. There was jest Colonel Marshall and Marse Taylor with me and Marse Robert, and another officer, who was sick, in an ambulance. The Blue men gave us a mounted guard of honor to company us long the road out of camp a good ways.
‘Twas a four-day trip, taking it easy, back to the big city. We camped one night, but t’other two we stopped off at gentlemen’s homes.
There warn’t a great deal happened. One day I cast a shoe, but that was soon put right. Marse Robert seed to it that I had feeds of oats— and mighty good they was, too. ‘Twas raining heavy, I remember, the afternoon we finally rode into the city, and I was plenty muddy—tired, too, and showing it, I ‘spect. The place looked pretty knocked-about, and you could see and smell there’d been a lot of burning. Still, I thought, that’s not surprising after all the fighting. Marse Robert’ll soon change all that, now he’s in full command. And in fact I did spot quite a passel of Blue men around. They’d evidently been brung in to start cleaning up the mess they’d made and get down to putting things to rights.
We can’t have looked all that smart, you know, Tom, what with the campaign we’d jest fought, the rain and the mud and the journey, and our rickety old wagons coming ‘long behind. But that didn’t stop whole crowds of people turning out to cheer us. If’n you’ll believe it, even some of the Blue men was jining in the cheering. Knowed what was good for em, I reckon.
We came to the house they’d got ready for Marse Robert. There was people a-crowding all round, cheering and crying, and he shook hands and spoke to as many of ‘em as he could. Finally he went indoors and I went off to stables.
Well, after that I got a real good rest, Tom. I can’t tell you how ‘greeable it was after all we’d been through—no more bugles, no more night marches, no more bangs to drive you crazy; easy exercise and plenty to eat. Marse Robert, he had a good rest, too. For quite some days, in fact, he didn’t leave the house at all. But I guess that now he knowed he was going to become commander of the country—soon’s everything was ready, that is—he had a whole lot to be thinking ‘bout. Well, ‘stands to reason, don’t it?
When I was taken out for exercise, I noticed there was often a Blue man standing sentry outside the front door. Yeah, I thought, good idea—let one of them stand about in the wind and rain, ‘stead of our fellas. That really gave me satisfaction.
Then, one day—I s’pose it must ‘a been ‘bout a month later, or maybe a little more—Marse Robert had me saddled up and off we hightailed, jest us two and no one with us, acrost town and out into the country. And would you believe it, Tom, we rode past that same village where I’d been in my very first battle three years before, and then right by the diggings where we fought those people the previous year. It all seemed so strange—the empty trenches, the silence, the greenness—you know? It felt—it smelt— like another place, but I remembered it all right. So did Marse Robert; he showed that. Well, ‘course, it’s bound to make him feel sad, I thought, but leastways we don’t have to feel ‘twas for nothing. If I could talk, I’d tell him that— I’d remind him of all that them poor men and horses made happen.
Anyways, we soon left it behind. I wondered where we could be going—somehow it didn’t feel like more soldiering; and it warn’t. Turned out we was off for a holiday at a country house—nice old-fashioned kind of a place ‘twas; belonged to one of our artillery officers. Soon’s I seed him, I remembered him well.
Gee, Tom, that was fine, that holiday! When we arrived, they didn’t ‘pear to be ‘specting Marse Robert, but jest the same they was delighted to see him, same as people are everywhere.
“And of course Traveller’s going to have a holiday,” he said. “He’s earned it more’n anyone. Traveller’s going to have hisself a real holiday!”
Right off he turned me loose on the lawn. The midsummer grass was long and jest prime, more’n ‘nuff for a whole power of horses. I ate it right down short. Marse Robert, he says no more corn for me— I’d had ‘nuff of that, campaigning. He’d sit comfortable in the shade and watch me enjoy myself. I used to roll in that grass, Tom. I very soon picked out my favorite rolling places. You know, I’d almost forgotten ‘bout rolling. I didn’t realize, till I had it back, how much I’d missed it. Soldier horses don’t get much chance to roll at leisure, let alone settle on favorite places. But on this holiday I made a proper job of it. I’d start by sniffing the ground and pawing at it. Then I’d put my nose to it and shake my tail. Then I’d go down forequarters first and rub my withers well into the grass. After that I’d lie on my back, squirm about and scratch the top of my head and neck—yeah, and my tail, too. In my best place there was a nice rock to scratch your rump on as well. Get up, shake myself all over and back to grazing. Think of it! I could take as long as I liked over a roll and do it as often as I pleased! And Marse Robert sat there watching, jest as happy as I felt myself!
We visited quite a few houses round about. Very light work. Plenty of friendly horses. Still, like all good things, that holiday came to an end, and back we rode to the city.
Somehow, though, I got the feeling that Marse Robert didn’t want to command the country and do all his judging and deciding and palavering from a headquarters in the city. I guess he had a problem. He wanted to live in a nice, quiet, countrified place, but of course it had to be somewheres he could have all his advisers and headquarters people round him, too. He wanted to combine his commanding with some peace and quiet. He needed to be out of the way of the people forever cheering and yelling and shaking hands; and of course now he could have it a whole lot more comfortable than them old tents. We warn’t going fighting no more—never again.
We tried this place and that. Nigh on a month after the holiday I’ve jest told you about, Marse Custis rode me ‘bout thirty mile out of the city. Marse Robert, the old lady and the rest, they came along on the boat. First of all we was a-visiting with a lady. Then we-all lived a while in a little wooden cottage, an’ that really was out in the country. I enjoyed it; Marse Robert and me used to ride round the neighborhood plenty. I thought at the time that he was looking out on his own count for the right place to take up this commanding business. But if only I’d knowed, all that was being took care of.
‘Twas early fall, five years ago now, when Marse Robert and me lit out on our journey to come here. We was four days altogether on the road. ‘Reckon we might have done twenty-five or thirty mile each day—jest the two of us. We took it easy; the weather was real sultry and the flies was jest as tiresome as usual. We stopped off at gentlemen’s homes along the way. ‘Twas the third day when we rode up high into the mountains—these mountains, Tom—and next afternoon we rode down into town here.
‘Twas jest like Marse Robert—the way he arrived where he was going to take up command. No show, no fuss. But of course we was expected—people recognized him right away. There was some of our old soldiers happened to be in the street at the time, and they welcomed him jest the way you’d reckon they would.
I remember for the first few days we lodged out at the Baths. Wonder how often we’ve ridden out there since? That was while they was finishing getting everything ready for him here, you see.
Some of his counselors and advisers nowadays are men who used to be our Army officers. For instance, one’s the chief of the guns, General Pendleton. I often see him around. I wonder what he does now there ain’t no guns?
Marse Robert—well, ‘course, Tom, you know yourself how busy he is all the time, talking and advising and giving out the orders. Commanding a whole country—gosh sakes! It must be an even bigger job than commanding the Army—’ceptin’ there’s no enemy to mess us around, of course. Important folks come to see him, and sometimes he has to go away, too, on ‘count of this here commanding—often for a good while. I never know when he’s coming back. Well, I ‘spect there’s still some Blue men left in back parts who need a good talking to now and then, to keep ‘em in line. But I always know the time’ll come when he’s back and we’re off again, jest the two of us, for a good, long ride through the fall woods, with the red and yellow leaves dropping; or maybe the spring woods, when the groundhogs are out and you can smell the new greenery. Not a commander, not a great general’s campaigning horse; jest a couple of friends who’ve seed a lot together and understand each other through and through.
I often think I must be the luckiest horse alive. Sure, I’ve seed some rough times—there’s no denying that. Oh, I’ve seed terrible things, Tom, and no one can say I ain’t seed hardships, too. But for near nine years I’ve had the greatest General in the world for a master, and if’n there’s anyone, horse or man, who’s served him better, I’d like to know who ‘tis.
I’ve only one regret, even though it’s maybe kind of a fool one. I often wish we’d managed to get to that War place, Jim and me—that there War we started out for, you know. I’ve been to The White, sure ‘nuff, and that was a real fine place. But I never did get to the War, on ‘count of I was handed over to Captain Joe and the major in them there mountains full of rain. I guess maybe it’s stupid of me to have any regrets at all, considerin’ how lucky I’ve been, but in my imagination I can jest see that War—all green grass and oats and friends—horses from whom you never have to part. I’d like to have seed it, jest once’t, but of course I wouldn’t stay. No Marse Robert—no, I wouldn’t like that.