From the instant we mounted up, Allbright was calling out comments. “Caldwell,” he yelled. “You’re not walking a tightrope! Get your hands down!”
“Greene! Your stirrups are too short. Dismount and let them out.”
“Vikers! Relax, man, relax! You trying to ride that horse. Not choke him to death! Let up on the reins. Better. Better.”
Throughout all this, I had been maintaining a death grip on Bunny’s reins for, to my surprise, actually being atop a horse was nothing like I’d dreamed it’d be. In fact, it was flat-out terrifying. I didn’t mind heights and wasn’t particular about being knocked about, but the idea of another creature being in control had me in a state. Plus Bunny had a terrible gait. She threw me high with every step and I came down so hard I feared my tailbone would break. Luckily, Sergeant Allbright wasn’t paying any attention to me flopping about in the saddle.
He was focused on my friend Lem. “Gentlemen,” he shouted out, “look at Powdrell! That is how you ride a horse! Watch his posture. He’s sitting deep in the saddle but not mashed up against the cantle like too many of you are doing. That might make you feel safer, but your mount hates it. Scoot forward toward the horn, all of you!
“Notice Powdrell’s arm position. He’s carrying them about lap height and he’s got the reins in one hand. That is imperative! You are fighting soldiers. You will need a free hand. If we were as good as the redskins, we’d ride bareback, control our mounts with our knees, and have both hands free. But we’re not, so keep your shooting hand free! Powdrell, turn to your left!”
Seemed like Lem’s horse did just that before the words were even out of the Sergeant’s mouth.
“Excellent! These are trained mounts and, clearly, Powdrell is a trained rider. You should only need a slight touch of the rein, a nudge, to get the job done. Think of it as a gentle push, not a pull. I don’t want to see any more tugging or sawing on the reins. If you want your horse to turn left, gently, gently, touch the right rein to the horse’s neck. Many of your horses have been through the Rebellion. They know a hell of a lot more about mounted warfare than any of you ever will. Let them do their job. Thank you, Powdrell. Back in line.”
Lem, busting with pride, showed out, grinning at us big.
“Eyes forward, Private!” Allbright ordered.
Lem snapped his head back around, and the Sergeant turned his attention to the rest of us. When he gazed my way, I came completely unscrewed, got my left and right twisted around, and steered poor Bunny straight at him. Bunny’s ears flopped up and down with every step and I flopped along with them. Sad to say, neither of our flops was timed up together and I was a big, dumb rag doll atop the goofiest-looking horse in the U.S Cavalry. I didn’t need the jackass hee-haws to alert me to the comical sight we presented. Allbright took one step to the side, reached out, grabbed the reins, brought Bunny to a smooth halt, and ordered, “Trooper, dismount!”
My foot got tangled up in the stirrup and the first part of me to touch the ground was my butt end. You think Vikers and his crew didn’t have themselves a jubilee of sneering about that?
“Rest of you men, keep circling!” Allbright hollered. “Not a one of you doesn’t need the practice!”
When they were all in motion again, Allbright asked me in a low voice, so as to keep the shaming between us, “You haven’t been horseback before, have you, Cathay?”
“No, sir,” I answered, my eyes straight forward.
“You’re not a natural, Cathay.”
“No, sir.”
“You weren’t a barn foreman, were you?”
“No, sir.”
He heaved a breath or two as he considered mustering me out then and there. At last, he said, “Show me your riding position.” I went to mount up again, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “No, let’s give your mount a rest. Just show me right here.”
“Here, sir?”
“Here, Cathay.”
I glanced around.
“Don’t mind them.”
I squatted down.
“Let’s see your hand position. Just let your hands drop. Nice and relaxed.”
My hands were as relaxed as a couple of cast-iron frying pans dangling at the end of each wrist. Allbright guided them into position. “You’re nervous, Cathay. Hands feel like you’ve been using them for ice tongs.”
“Yessir.”
Without another word, he put one hand under my butt and the other on the inside of my thigh, far enough from my crotch that there was no danger of him discovering what wasn’t there. “Here! Cathay,” he said, pressing against those tender spots. “You’ve got to feel your mount here!” He pressed up on the cleft of my arse. “And here!” He pressed hard against the inside of my thigh, spots no man had ever touched before, and he moved my hips back and forth in a slow rock. “You feel that?”
I tried to answer but couldn’t work up the spit to get a word out and nodded my head instead.
“Don’t fight it, Cathay.” He kept up the motion until my joints unfroze and followed where he was pushing them. “I’ve been watching you, Cathay. No one better on the marching field than you, but off it you keep your guard up all the time. And the others don’t like you.”
My lips trembled from stuffing the hot words I had to say on that topic back down my throat.
“I’m not saying they’re right,” he went on. “Just that it makes you a divisive element. And I can’t have divisive elements. Can’t have a soldier who’s not pulling this unit together. You don’t have to like everybody. They don’t have to like you. The fact is, you can hate every single man here, but you have to unite with them. Do you understand me?”
I nodded stiffly as he continued guiding my hips.
“All right, better. You’re getting the rhythm of it. Thing to remember is that riding a horse is like being with a woman. You know that feeling, Cathay? With the woman next to you, your body and her body making one body? Her smell all up in your head? You know that feeling, Cathay?”
I nodded, for words had slipped even further beyond my power now.
“Smooth, Cathay. Don’t fight her. Don’t fight us. I’ll be watching you. You might be meant for an infantryman instead of the cavalry. No shame in that. I just can’t have a man who’s not committed, heart and soul, to making this the best goddamn unit in the army. They’re watching us. They want us to fail. We will not fail. You got that?” I gave a feeble nod.
“I’ll give you until end of the week, Friday, before I decide. You’ve got the next four days to make me believe you’re fit to ride in the U.S. Cavalry. If you don’t…” He stood and shrugged. “I guess you can just keep on walking to St. Louie like you were the day I rode in.”
I reddened, as I realized that he knew I’d been deserting.
“Caldwell!” the Sergeant yelled, walking away. “You look like a duck. Get your ass down, man!”
That evening at mess, in spite of not eating all day, I couldn’t choke down a single spoonful of the slum. Or even the special treat they put out for us: real bread with butter. I was happy to pass mine on to Lem, saying my stomach wasn’t right. Which it most definitely had not been since the instant Allbright laid his hands on me.
That night, sleep would not come. I lay awake listening to the sounds a hundred men make at night. Snores, groans, creaks, whimpers, the senseless babbling of someone talking back to his dreams, shrieks when the nightmares came. Crying. Lots of them cried softly at night.
“You awake?” Lem whispered from the next bunk. Though I never made the tiniest sound, Lem always sensed when I was awake.
“Yeah,” I answered, my voice extra deep to cover up the girlish spell I had fallen under.
“Pretty exciting day, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Special, huh?”
“First day I ever sat a horse,” I said, laying off my giddiness on Bunny.
The snores rose to a crescendo loud as an August noon in a field of cicadas. “Seems we’re the only ones in the outfit feels that specialness.”
I saw then what kind of special the day had been for Lem, country boy up out of Alabama, nobody’d ever made over him before.
“Sergeant made you an example, Lem. Singled you out.”
“Well, you too, Bill.”
I snorted for, kind as Lem was, it wasn’t any use in pretending why I’d been singled out. “The Sergeant told me I have four days to shape up or I am for the infantry.”
“Aw, Bill. I hate to hear that. Can you? Shape up?”
“Like a steer, I can try,” I joked, trying to sound game.
Lem chuckled. “I hope you do. Sure would be lonesome without you. Good night, Bill.”
“Good night, Lem.”
He was snoring by the time I finished pronouncing his name, but I laid there the whole night, so fluttery I thought I’d take flight.