Traveller (17 page)

It was only later in the day that I realized jest how bad Marse Robert's hands was hurt. They was all tied up in bandages and splinters of wood—both of ‘em. He couldn't ride—not me nor any other horse. But the Army still had to get on, hands or no hands, mud or no mud. They got an ambulance wagon for Marse Robert to ride in. I was brung along behind, on a leading rein; nobody wanted to ride me, so it ‘peared. That was the very worst day of my life, Tom. I knowed I'd let Marse Robert down real bad. I was the one that had hurt him. Maybe— how could I tell?—with his hands that bad, he wouldn't be able to go on commanding the Army. And what was going to become of me then? Likely ‘nuff Marse Robert wouldn't want me. He didn't come near me the rest of that day. Was that ‘cause he was too busy, I wondered, or was he goin' to send me to the rear as soon as anyone had time to see to it? I didn't know, but I didn't reckon he'd be needin' a horse like me no more.

On top of everything else, the rain kept on all day—what you'd call relentless. Every horse was in mud up to the fetlocks or worse, and the wagons couldn't hardly move. Everyone was starving, and near ‘nuff exhausted after the battle. Where were we-all a-going, and was I going, too? I don't like to think ‘bout that time. The fear before had been bad ‘nuff, but the feeling of bein' in disgrace was worse. No one said nothing; they jest acted like ‘twas an unfortunate accident—the sort of thing that might have happened to any horse. But I couldn't see it that way. So I didn't sleep much that night, neither.

Next day there was a real bad thunderstorm. You couldn't tell which was guns and which was thunder. There was nothing for me to do but stand around in the rain and think my own thoughts. What was going to happen to me without Marse Robert? I'd come to be his horse in every way. I couldn't imagine life without him. Now, I s'posed, I'd be sold off to anyone who'd have me. I'd be lucky if it was someone half as good as Captain Broun.

A day or two later we was still marching ‘long best as we could. No more fighting, but more'n ‘nuff mud to make any road bad going. But that warn't the worst of it for me. One of them days, as I was standing ‘bout at headquarters, up comes Jine-the-Cavalry, riding Skylark and leading a mare. And do you know who that was, Tom? No? Well, it was Lucy Long. Marse Robert come out to look at her, with his hands still wrapped up.

“She looks fine, Stuart,” says he.

“She'll be plenty quiet ‘nuff for you, sir,” says Jine-the-Cavalry, stroking her nose. “She'll jest suit you until you get your hands back.”

So Marse Robert, he has her saddled up and rides her up and down a piece. You could see she was quiet ‘nuff for anyone—quiet ‘nuff for a lady to ride. She jined us that evening, but I warn't picketed near ‘nuff to speak to her. You can jest imagine how I felt.
All
animals can get jealous—I know that—cats and dogs as well as horses. I felt real lonely, on top of feeling ‘shamed.

‘Twas ‘bout that time that Ajax arrived, too. When I seed Ajax come in—some stranger was a-riding him—I felt plumb certain I was going to be sent away. Only, Ajax—well, you know him, ‘course—he's big and powerful, ain't he? ‘Twas plain ‘nuff to me that he was going to take my place as soon as Marse Robert's hands was all right again.

But ‘nother day or two went by and I was still at headquarters. We'd come to a town, and at least it was better to be out of the mud and in good, warm stables. They was the stables of a gentleman's house where Marse Robert was fixed up. There ‘peared to be a whole raft of people—soldiers and others, too—a-coming and going, and I s'posed he'd forgotten ‘bout me, or else he was too busy to give any orders. Dave used to take me out and ride me for exercise. I talked some to Lucy when we had the chance. I had to admit there was no harm in her. She was completely bewildered by the Army and all the shouting and carrying-on of the soldiers. She'd never knowed nothing like that before. I couldn't help wondering how she'd take the guns; that's to say, if'n there
was
any more guns. You see, Tom, after every battle all us horses used to hope there wouldn't be no more guns.

Ajax struck me right off as a stolid, rather dull sort of fella. ‘Twarn't so much that he didn't ‘pear friendly as that he didn't seem capable of taking a lot of interest in anything much. Whatever come along, sun or storm, Ajax could take it—that was how I figured him out. No doubt, I thought, that would suit Marse Robert better'n a nervous, cowardly horse that had knocked him over and broke his hands. The only thing was, Ajax was sech a great big fella, a lot taller'n me, and I wondered whether that would altogether suit Marse Robert. Well, it wouldn't make no nevermind to me, I thought bitterly. Likely ‘nuff I'd soon be pulling a wagon.

Early September, 1862. The Army of Northern Virginia, having seized the opportunity to win a brilliant victory near Manassas, no more than twenty-five miles west of Washington, the Federal capital, has once again been unable to reap any true reward. Torrential rain has denied all chance of effective pursuit. The blustering General Pope, though duly suppressed, has been able to withdraw his army to defensive works between Manassas and Washington, too strong for the Confederate force to assail. Indeed, the victory was won only in the nick of time, for now strong Federal reinforcements under General McClellan have united with General Pope. Yet the greatest hindrance has been sheer exhaustion. The Confederate army is consumed by fatigue, by disease, by hunger and lack of supplies. The men are in rags, many lacking even boots, let alone protection against the weather. Only their supreme esprit de corps and above all their unbounded confidence in General Lee have held them together under hardships as severe as few armies have undergone
.

Whither shall they go now and what should they do? They cannot remain where they are—a little south of the Potomac, at Leesburg in Loudoun County. That would court disaster. General McClellan is coming. To go south would take them into country already stripped of provisions. To go westward would be to retreat, to admit failure. General Lee (who has a broken bone in one hand and the other painfully sprained), considering the situation at his headquarters at the home of Mr. Harrison at Leesburg, has determined on the bold step of crossing the Potomac and advancing into Maryland. Whatever the risk, the effect of this will be to draw the Federals away from their Washington defenses and relieve, during the harvest season, their threat to Virginia and to Richmond. There may even, perhaps, be a chance to harass the enemy further. At all events it will be possible to subsist off the country. The army must eat
.

To cross the Potomac; to invade Maryland? There is reason to believe in strong sympathy in that state with the Confederate cause; sympathy controlled only by the power of the Federal government and ready to show itself, given the opportunity. The Army of Northern Virginia includes many Marylanders—volunteers. It is even conceivable that Maryland may join the Confederacy
.

Northward, then, from Leesburg to White's Ford and across the Potomac—a state boundary indeed, 500 yards wide—the long, stumbling columns splashing and wading through the river, watched in the distance by the ever-present Federal cavalry. But is the Confederate army indeed victorious or fugitive? They cannot hope to take Washington: they cannot hope for gain from another pitched battle. At Manassas they have already lost 9000 dead and wounded. What, then, is their hope? As always, it is for recognition of the Confederacy by the European powers and that the Federals, discouraged by Southern valor, will decide that the price is too high, give up and negotiate a peace conceding independence
.

But the army! Ah, the army that passes over that river! You can smell them coming. Many of the local people stare incredulously—and fearfully, too—at these stranger vagabonds, scarecrows such as they could never have imagined in rumor, fancy or tales. Look, there is a boy, Leighton Parks, who has watched them crossing. “They were the dirtiest men I ever saw, a most ragged, lean and hungry set of wolves. They were profane beyond belief. Many of them spoke a thick dialect that I could scarcely understand.” The lank, rib-cage horses with their ragged riders; the filthy, unshaven, cadaverous foot soldiers, blistered feet showing through broken boots; the artillerymen fearful for their jolting, tilting guns, for the rickety axles and unsteady wheels of their caissons. Whither are you marching, soldiers, in your squalor, your tatters and your spirits that nothing can subdue? You are marching toward the zenith of the Confederate cause. Never again will the world watch so closely and weigh the odds on your victory. Never again will these men, these horses and above all this spirit and hope press onward against the Northern enemy. Or if they do, the enemy will have grown too strong
.

Come on out, Tom Nipper! Come on out o' that there fur! No use saying you ain't in thar! I see your eyes sticking out, see your paws hanging down!

Aw, Tom, you needn't get that huffy, start walking off. It's only my old soldier's joke. We had all kinds of jokes in the Army, y'know. “Come on out o' that hat!” and so on. Fellas got to have something to laugh at in hard times. An' for gosh sakes, warn't them hard times, too?

I guess you must be feeling times are kinda hard for you, Tom, huh? With Miss Life staying away so long? She's been away two months and more now—ain't it?—and likely to be as long again, or maybe more. But bless you, that don't amount to hard times. She'll be back one of these here days, and that's more'n can be said for lots I've knowed, horse and man.

Did you hear how Lucy finished her journey here, when she came with young Marse Rob? I never seed her come, but Ajax did, and he told me. She was pulling a buggy, that's what! Yeah; Lucy, that's been in four big battles and been under fire with me! Pulling a buggy! She never told me herself—no fear! She jest told me that after she'd been sent to the rear, nearly three years ago, there was some mix-up and she got picked up by some ornery fella back there. She told me how young Marse Rob found her and brought her here, but she never said he druv her here from the railroad pulling a buggy. You wouldn't never see me pulling no buggy, that's for sure. I never been in shafts and I ain't reckoning on it. I don't figure Marse Robert would care for that, nohow.

Say, did you hear the callithumps the boys put on last night? You didn't? I could hear it from here. I seed a callithumps or two myself ‘fore now, when Marse Robert's ridden me downtown to keep an eye open for trouble. The boys march downtown blowing trumpets and banging away on any old thing they can find—drums, trays, old cans— anything'll do, ‘long as they make an infernal row. Put me in mind of old times, I declare it did. We had a band a-playing when we forded that there big river I was talking ‘bout, but it would have taken more'n a band to put any heart in me jest then. Like I said, I figured me and Marse Robert was going to part.

Not that there was much show to the river crossing, Tom. Bless you, we warn't in no state to put on a show! Our fellas jest came up to the river and went wading acrost it. But when they came out the other side, they was all a-cheering, regiment after regiment. And there was one or two bands playing. I heared ‘em.

Marse Robert was riding Lucy. Leastways, he was sitting in the saddle, but he couldn't use his hands on the reins. Dave was leading her, and Red Shirt was riding ‘longside him an' keeping an eye on him to see nothin' went wrong. I was being led behind, with the rest of headquarters. When we-all came up to the ford, there was a whole lot of men—Red Shirt's men—a-Iaying in the road, waiting to go in and wade acrost. Red Shirt rides up to ‘em and tells ‘em to move out of the way for General Lee.

Soon's he heared that, Marse Robert calls out, “No, no, General Hill! Never mind that! Stay where y'all are.” And then he told Dave to lead Lucy round the fellas, and we followed him over to t'other side.

‘Tell you the truth, I don't recollect all that much ‘bout the next two-three days, ‘cepting that the roads was hard—a lot harder'n I'd ever knowed or been used to. There was any amount a-goin' on, but there was no more marching—or very little—and none of the soldiers at headquarters seemed to have time to do more'n groom me. I got very little exercise. The way I seed it, I was jest waiting around to be sent back acrost the river. We was in a nice spot, a grove of oaks, pretty close to where Old Pete was pitched. The trees smelt good and fresh; it was shady and the weather warn't too hot, so the grazing was good. I made friends with one of our horses—Tempest, his name was. He reminded me, some ways, of Ruffian, him as was my friend in the old days back at Andy's, when we used to stand head-to-tail under the trees, groom each other and swish the durned flies. I've always been proud of my long, thick tail, y'know, and Marse Robert never would have it cut short.

Now I come to look back on it, that was a real good place, and I'd ‘a been happy ‘nuff and glad of the break if only I hadn't been so durned miserable wondering when I was going to be sent away. Yeah, I'd forgotten all bout Tempest. Wonder whatever become of him? Horses forever saying good-bye.

Headquarters was jest a bunch of tents, like it mostly was. Marse Robert didn't like to live in a house, even if'n he sometimes spent a night in one here and there, like I've been telling you. I could see his tent from the picket lines, and often I'd see his lamp burning away at night, and people a-coming and going, the light showing a long time after darkness had fallen.

One night a funny thing happened. I was jest rambling round where I was picketed, and either the peg up and pulled out or the rope come loose—I don't rightly know. Anyways, I found I was loose. I rambled round for a while, ate some grass in the moonlight and nickered to one or two other horses. Nary a sentry that I seed. And then, suddenly, I got the smell of Marse Robert, floating on the air from a little ways off. So I jest followed it, walking easy, and ‘course I was going towards that lighted tent. When I got quite close up, I could hear Marse Robert's voice, so I reckoned there must be someone else with him—Old Pete, maybe, or another general. But I couldn't smell anyone else, or hear anyone answering Marse Robert. His voice was real low—near'bouts to whispering—and didn't sound ‘zackly like he was talking to ‘nother fella at all.