Traveller (11 page)

Jest then a horse come a-tearing out ‘tween two of the shacks. His ears was laid back and his eyes was rolling all white. Anybody'd know he was terrified—bolting. The man on his back was terrified, too. He couldn't stop his horse, and he was leaning right over its neck, which of course didn't help him none. They'd frightened each other to pieces, that was what it come to. I'd no sooner seed them than they was gone, but I could hear the man shouting still—he was making ‘nuff noise to frighten a whole pack of horses.

Reckon I don't want to be a horse like that, I thought. A fine sight that'd be—the General's horse bolting off with him. I tried to stand entirely still, but I jest couldn't help pawing the ground some. What really fixed me was that there was no alarm or excitement at all in what Marse Robert was doing or saying. If I'd ‘a been stone-deaf, and able to go by nothing ‘cept the feel of his hands and knees, I wouldn't have knowed when there was a bang and when there warn't.

Not far off, standing in all the wreckage, I could see the President and a whole crowd of other fellas—they warn't soldiers—'long with him. Marse Robert kept looking acrost to them, and after a bit he rode me over to where they was.

“Mr. President,” says he, real chilly-like, “who is this army of people and what are they doing here?” (Bang! Bang!)

The President, he looked real taken aback.

“Er—well—er, General,” he says. “It's not
my
Army.”

“Well, it cert'nly ain't
mine,”
answers Marse Robert, “and this is no place for it.”

And do you know, Tom, at that the President jest touched his hat and took the whole crowd off down the hill? I nickered after Thunder— I couldn't help it— “
Who
did you say was boss of this whole durned outfit?” He didn't answer me back, neither.

We stayed where we was, and the guns from beyond the village, out by the trees, they went on until well after sunset and for quite a while after that, even in the dark. Marse Robert kept right on a-riding up and down; we went everywhere. We went and talked to Old Pete, and then to Red Shirt and to the Little General. Everyone struck me as being in pretty low spirits. ‘Far as I could understand it, we'd been ‘specting to beat the Blue men all hollow and drive ‘em off, but we hadn't managed to do it. We'd only druv ‘em out of the village, and they was still fighting out by the creek ‘mong the trees. And top o' that, a whole lot of our fellas had been shot—more'n what theirs had. That was what it come down to.

It was getting on to the middle of the night when Marse Robert rode me back acrost the river, and up to the farm on the hill. When he got down, Tom, he stood by my head a while and petted me. “That's my brave Traveller,” he says. “Well done! Well done, Traveller; you're the greatest horse in the world! Thank you!”

I was jest a-shaking all over, and when I got in to stable I couldn't even have told you whether Richmond said anything spiteful or not. If he did, I didn't hear it. I had a drink and a feed and went to sleep as tired as I'd ary been in my whole life.

It was a short night—real short. It was jest coming on daylight when all three of us was saddled up and led out into the farmyard. There warn't a cloud in the sky, but jest a purple rim to the horizon; it was going to be a real scorching day. Marse Robert came out and Perry gave him his hat and his gloves, as usual. He jest hesitated a moment, and then he spoke to Marse Taylor, mounted Brown-Roan and rode out into the lane. Two soldiers followed behind, riding me and Richmond, and there was the usual little bunch of Marse Robert's officers.

We went back acrost the river and out t'other side of that little village; and there we waited, with Marse Robert watching the crowds of soldiers going forward. There was still bangs, and a few bullets, too, like the day before, but pretty soon it seemed like the Blue men was gone out o' the trees, and Marse Robert jined up with Old Pete and rode down into the bottom and acrost the creek. There was dead fellas— ours and the enemy's, too—laying around everywhere, but I never took no notice—didn't shy—jest went right on through ‘em. Once't or twice't it seemed like Brown-Roan was kinda fumbling in his tracks, and coming over the bridge I seed him falter and jib at the hollow noise of his own hooves on the planks. Marse Robert jest spoke to him, gentle-likc, coaxed him up t'other side, and we went up through the brush. It was pretty thick, and there was big ditches and barricades of felled trees that the Blue men must ‘a made while they was holding the line of that creek. There was a mill, I remember, jest ‘bout there, but ‘course it was all smashed to pieces—jest a lot o' rubble. Marse Robert kept pulling up to talk to the soldiers, and every time he did, I seed Brown-Roan sort of peering round and hesitating. His mouth was very tight and he kept bobbing his head and then jerking it back, like he felt uneasy. ‘Course, I thought, he hasn't come under fire before, poor fella. I sure hoped for his sake he'd be all right, on account of I liked him. Anyways, Marse Robert didn't seem bothered, so I jest turned back to watching where I put my own hooves down in all that mess.

Soon after, Marse Robert left us behind and rode off somewhere or other on his own account, with Major Taylor. He was always doing that on the field of battle. You never knowed where he'd be going next. Me and Richmond was taken on down the lane, closer to the few bangs that was still a-comin' over, After maybe two mile we turned off and went down to a biggish house in a grove of trees ‘bove the river. I remember there was bonfires—piles of stuff—boots, boxes of food, all sorts of things—all a-burning. I reckoned the Blue men must have set them afire before they skedaddled, so our fellas wouldn't get ‘em.

We had a feed, but they wouldn't put us out to grass—on ‘count o' the bangs, I reckon. We stood around in the front courtyard. I tried to act friendly to Richmond—it's my nature, Tom—but he warn't having none of that. Once't, when I moved up close, he tried to kick out at me, so after that I jest let him be. After a while Marse Robert came back on Brown-Roan, and then Old Pete an' Red Shirt arrived and they all went in the house—to get to consulting ‘bout the fighting, I reckon.

And that was when I got a chance to listen to Brown-Roan. There warn't a lot of shade around by this time of day, and it was sweltering hot. We was all given a drink and picketed together in what little shade there was.

Brown-Roan was shaking all over and sweating real bad.

“What's the matter?” I asked. “Is it the bangs? You don't have to be scairt of the bangs when you're with Marse Robert. They can't hurt him, you know.”

He didn't answer right away—jest sorta dropped his head and swung it from side to side. At last he said, “Traveller, what'll I do? I'm going blind!”

“Never in the world!” I told him. “‘Course you're not going blind!”

I laid my head ‘longside his neck and nibbled and groomed him, friendly-like, and he switched his tail acrost my withers.

“I am!” he says. “It kinda comes and goes, but more'n once't or twice't this morning I couldn't rightly see at all—only this sorta swirling gray, like clouds moving, and the real things coming and going in between.”

“Can you see all right now?” I asked.

“More or less,” he answered, “but not so clear as I used to. I've felt it coming on before, but never so bad as today.”

“I'd try to forget ‘bout it if I was you,” I said. “Have a rest and cool down—it'll pass.”

“He's scairt!” snorted Richmond. “The dad-burn—”

“Oh, hush up!” I told him. “Ain't we all scairt, for goodness' sake?”

Brown-Roan didn't say no more—jest dropped his head and swished the flies. It was quiet in the shade—real sultry—but you could still hear the bangs, every minute or so, coming from a distance.

Then, suddenly, there come the crackling noise of muskets—a whole passel of it—what us soldiers call “furious fire,” Tom, y'know. Marse Robert and the rest came out in a hurry, and he jest grabbed Brown-Roan's bridle and galloped off up the lane. Richmond and me was brought on behind.

After maybe a mile—it was pretty thick country, all trees and brush—we came to another steep creek and another smashed-up mill-house. There was some of the Blue men—yeah, I seed ‘em, up t'other side—but they was soon gone, and we went acrost and up into open fields—corn and grain, all tromped down. And now the bullets began a-flying all round. They really do scare you, Tom, you know. They come past—zip! zip!—and you don't hear ‘em come till they've gone, and every now and then there's a kind of a
“y-ooow”
noise when one of ‘em bounces off of a stone. I seed some of our officers pointing and asking Marse Robert to go back out of the way, but ‘course he didn't. He was riding round ‘mong the soldiers, cheering ‘em up and telling ‘em to go on and fight those people—he always used to call the Blue men “those people”— for all they was worth.

Well, soon after that we come up near to where the Blue men had fixed theirselves—the place where they meant to stick and fight us. We was on a sort of a road by now—the air all full of dust—and the Blue men's lines was way off to the right.

Oh, Tom, you never seed sech a terrible place in all your life! I've often dreamed ‘bout it since. I reckon now that maybe of all the dreadful places where our fellas fought the Blue men, that was the very worst. It began with a whole passel of trees and bushes, mighty thick. Then a little ways off they all went sloping down out of sight, steep, and I could smell there was a creek down there, and a nasty, marshy one at that—real wide and muddy. T'other side went up jest as steep, and this was where the Blue men had got to—you could see ‘em—they was stood waiting for us, guns and all.

Oh, beans an' clover, I thought, even Marse Robert'll never go sending soldiers down there! Then I thought of what that horse had said: “That's what men do—kill each other.” And jest then there come a flash and a bang, real close—my soldier jumped in the saddle—and I thought, That General Johnston that was wounded so bad—did
he
have a horse? I wonder what happened to it.

Marse Robert called for General Hill, and pretty soon Red Shirt rode up to him and began talking and pointing down towards the creek. All the while he was a-talking, Marse Robert kept nodding his head. I couldn't believe it. I felt as though everything that had gone before had been quiet and homey compared to this.

Our side of the creek was some fields, right in front of where our fellas—thousands of ‘em—was all strung out in long lines; and acrost them fields they went, Tom, like they was a-walking down the street, and the enemy firing right in among ‘em all the time. I was thinking, Men are crazy! They're all crazy! Leastways, much as I could think at all. We was drenched in noise and uproar like over your ears in water.

They went out of sight, over the edge and down towards the creek, and a moment later there came sech a crash of guns as I've never heared since—no, not in no fight we was ever in later. Our fellas had gone straight down into that.

It was blazing hot by now, and the battle smoke was a-laying so thick that even without the trees you couldn't ‘a seed anything. But when I heared those bangs and felt the ground shake like I never had before—well, it was all jest one entire bang, really—I knowed our fellas must be done for.

And so they was. Jest a few came back up out of that creek, running and stumbling and crawling, and some of them was wounded so bad they needn't have bothered. Well, I thought, I reckon now everyone'll have done ‘nuff killing for one day. Even Marse Robert'll have had ‘nuff now.

I jest recollect one thing an' another, y'know, out of that bad afternoon. I remember Cap-in-His-Eyes, all covered in dust and sucking a lemon, riding up to talk to Marse Robert on what looked to me like a dirty little scrap of a horse. That was the first time I ever seed Little Sorrel—him as later on I got to respect more'n any horse I've ever knowed. “Ah, General Jackson,” says Marse Robert, “I'm very glad to see you. I'd hoped to be with you before.” He said a lot more, but you couldn't hear for the row.

It was jest at that moment that Brown-Roan stumbled again and nearly fell down. Marse Robert dismounted, and waved acrost towards us for another horse. ‘Twas Richmond was taken to him, not me. The soldier led Brown-Roan back to where I was stood waiting, and he came ‘longside of me and stopped.

“It's worse'n ever, Traveller,” says Brown-Roan, shivering. “I can't see—I can't see a thing!”

I knowed now what it must have been. I've seed it happen two-three times since then. He'd been scared blind with the bangs and the ground shaking. That happens, sometimes, you know. It can happen to horses and it can even happen to men. A horse won't quit, but it's jest like his sight or his legs or something was ‘bliged to quit on his account. I've even seed a horse drop dead and nary a mark on him.

“Take it easy,” I says. “Take it easy. It'll pass, you'll see.”

It didn't get much chance to pass, though, because jest then, as Cap-in-His-Eyes rode off, the bangs and bullets growed even worse. One of our men, standing near me, was hit in the shoulder and fell down a-crying. Marse Robert rode a little ways off, and waved for me and my soldier to follow him.

It was evening now. We-all rode along the road a piece, through all the confusion, with the sun sinking behind us. I could see Marse Robert was having some trouble with Richmond, but he was able to hold him more or less steady while he gave out orders. By this time I was feeling pretty shook up myself, and kinda losing my grip on things in all the noise, when I seed a really fine-looking young man—a tall, kinda loose-jointed fella, with a long sort of a face and a yellowish beard—ride up to Marse Robert and salute him.