Traveller (20 page)

Stables was good that night, at a big house up in a gap ‘tween the hills. And then next day we-all rode up a mountain—what they call the Peaks of Otter, Tom, you know—real high up. There's two of ‘em, side by side, and a big lake below—it's mighty pretty. I was half-expecting Old Pete to be waiting for us at the top, but there warn't no Pete, and no Blue men in the distance, neither. ‘Course there wouldn't be—not no more. Lucy and me kept right on up through the woods, ‘far's a horse could get. There was them little white lilies everywhere—reminded me of the woods beside the big field at Andy's, when I was a foal. Marse Robert and Miss Life left us hitched and climbed on—right up to the top, I reckon. When Marse Robert come back down, though, he seemed sad. He never said a word at all. Coming back down, I could feel he was real melancholy in his spirits. It's thinking of all our dead soldiers, Tom, you know. I reckon he never forgets ‘em for long—the dead soldiers. Nor the dead horses, neither.

In the afternoon it come on to raining real heavy. We stopped off so Marse Robert and Miss Life could take shelter in another cabin where the hill folks live. I somehow felt the lady warn't what you'd call ‘thusiastic ‘bout our visit. We was muddy, and she didn't know it was Marse Robert, you see—leastways, not until we was jest fixing to leave. I think Miss Life must ‘a told her while Marse Robert was gone to fetch me and Lucy out'n the shed. She seemed all a-flustered when we rode off—wondering what her husband would say when he come home, I reckon. She hadn't recognized General Lee!

We stopped off a couple of nights at one place and then another— friends o' Marse Robert's. Lucy and me was treated real good. I couldn't help remembering all the nights in the past when things hadn't been so good. It's a great thing, Tom, to feel that times are changed for the better—gives a real sense of satisfaction. The day we rode home I was feeling grand; so was Lucy. We did forty miles back yesterday, and I could have done a durned sight more, too.

Hush, Tom! Listen! Hear that? That gnawing? That's no mouse. That's a rat, if'n I'm any judge. Tom, that rat must be suppressed. Go and get a-holt of Baxter. He'd best make a flank movement outside, round behind the straw stack, and then you can move forward soon as he's distracted the rat's attention. That'll fix the varmint. Try to live off'n our supplies, would he?

Good work, Tom! Well done! Big ‘un, ain't he? He made the mistake of coming on and walked right into you. It's not the first time I've seed it. The Blue men in the snow—that there little town in the snow! Marse Robert and the children in the mud! They was dirty right ‘nuff, poor little critters. You want to hear ‘bout it? Settle down, then, You can both chew up your rat whiles I tell you what happened.

It took a long time for Marse Robert's hands to recover from the hurt. The reason he rode me in the battle—even though I had to be led—and then back acrost the river was he figured I'd be steadier under fire than Lucy. You see, Tom, a horse has to have—what can you say?— he has to have
faith
in his man ‘fore he can be brave hisself. Marse Robert knowed I had faith in him and I'd stand the guns, and that was what he valued, even though he couldn't use his own hands to guide me. Lucy, she was fine, ‘long as there warn't too many guns.

I don't reckon she ever did larn entirely to trust Marse Robert under fire, and I don't know's how I altogether blame her. Lucy's a sensitive kind o' horse, you know. There's a durned sight of horses I've seed ‘sides her that's showed theirselves mortally afeared of artillery fire. I've seed ‘em lots o' times—where's the horse alive that's been under fire more'n me?—when the shells was flying low, close to their backs; they'd squat down, a-shivering, till their bellies jest ‘bout touched the ground. Strange thing is, there's a power of horses perfectly quiet in battle, jest so's their drivers or riders are staying with ‘em. Horses are best in battle when they're mounted. ‘Makes you feel a sight better to have a steady, unexcited man on your back. I've seed men that had to leave their horses—gunners, you know, or wagon drivers—and when they come back you'd hear the horses whinnying out loud to say how pleased they was. I've seed wagon horses under fire rubbing their heads agin their driver's shoulders. Gives ‘em reassurance, you see. They feel the bangs can't hurt ‘em as long as their own men are there.

Horses love each other, too. Well, I've told you over and over, Tom, ain't I, how much horses depend on friendship? I've seed more'n one horse whose mate was killed go off into fits, neighing—terrified—gone mad. I remember one of our headquarters wagon horses—Martlet, he was called. His mate was knocked over by a shell—jest laid low and deader'n mutton. After that, poor Martlet jest refused to eat—he pined away and died.

And then again I've knowed some horses seemed to be thrilled rather'n terrified by the guns. Major Talcott's horse, Joker, was like that. You couldn't help admiring Joker. However tired he was, under fire he was like a railroad engine on springs. Any man could become a hero riding Joker—an orderly, a nigger—anyone at all. Even wounds didn't worry him. In that battle I've been telling you ‘bout, Joker was wounded two-three times. ‘Didn't seem to make the least difference to him, and it warn't like he was stodgy, like good old Ajax. Joker was a bright, sensible horse, who knowed very well what was going on.

Anyway, it must have been—yeah, all of two months after that battle, the time I'm going to tell you ‘bout now. There'd been a few changes of horses in headquarters—not many, though. We was a good bunch on the whole—got on well together. Even the mules warn't a bad crowd. Everyone was cheerful and most was feeling fresh as daisies—plenty to eat, not a lot of work, and our men in good spirits, too. The Army had marched back to camp by easy stages, and jest for once we'd been lucky with the weather. That was a nice, sunny fall. I remember the smell of the leaves and the little brown toadstools everywhere—mostly on branches and chunks of dead wood long the roads— and the spiders' webs shining on the hedges. Farriers was plenty busy: most of us was reshod. Needed it, too. Marse Robert was always mighty particular ‘bout shoes. D'you know, Tom, I remember once in the middle of a real bad battle—shells dropping everywhere—we was getting ready to attack—and jest then along comes three-four mules pulling a wagon. “Some of them mules ain't got shoes,” says Marse Robert. “Please see they're all shod right away.”

Our Army was in pretty good shape by the time winter commenced to come on. Headquarters was in a pine thicket—nice, soft ground and very little mud as yet. All I had to do was daily exercise with Dave— not ‘nuff for me, neither. Marse Robert used to take Lucy when he went round the camps. Sometimes, in the evenings, he'd take me a ways ‘long the tracks here and there, and we'd stop and talk with the men off duty. Like as not we'd come on a crowd of ‘em going in for that kneeling and singing and all the rest, an' then Marse Robert'd usually dismount and off with his hat and jine in. It pleased ‘em heaps when he did that.

Well, there come a morning—a dark, stormy morning ‘twas; the first of winter, I reckoned—when Marse Robert called for Lucy and soon's he was up in the saddle, he looks round like he always did, and orders, “Strike the tent!” Oh, thinks I, so we're moving at last, are we? Next moment it struck me: He's on Lucy! We're off on the march, and he's on
Lucy
! I felt real put out. Maybe his hands warn't right yet (and whose fault was that?), but jest the same I felt if he'd ridden me as a led horse in the battle and then through the big river, he could be riding me now. I began fidgeting and pawing round where Dave was holding me. “Don't worry, Traveller,” says Joker as Major Talcott came up to jine us. “Didn't you know? They're keeping you for a Blue general they've took.”

Next minute up comes—who d'you think, Tom? I'll tell you: it was young Marse Rob! He was a soldier then, and Marse Robert must ‘a sent for him to come to headquarters. He saluted Marse Robert, they talked a few moments and next thing I knowed
he
was getting up on my back! What's more, he had his whole load of soldier's tackle strapped up with him—pack, blankets, the lot—so wherever we was going he was evidently reckoning on riding me all the way. He'd probably asked for me.

I'll give him a ride! I thought. He'll be sorry!

Well, the long and short of it was, Tom, that he couldn't ride me. I warn't aiming to throw him, ‘course, nor he didn't fall off. But he jest didn't have the same control—the horsemanship—that Marse Robert had. Come right down to it, there's precious few can ride me comfortable. Well, I thought, I'll jest please myself and he can lump it. So I lit off, with everyone cheering and wishing him a nice ride.

We rode out of camp by ourselves. ‘Parently we was to go on our own and not ride ‘long of headquarters. Well, I hadn't had a lot of exercise for quite a few days past and I was feeling fretful. I reckon I real hammered young Marse Rob that day, Tom. I refused to walk one single durned step of the way. I went straight into my famous bucktrot, and I kept it up for thirty mile! I tell you, Marse Rob was real glad when that journey come to an end! I figure he could ‘a walked the whole way and felt more comfortable. Add to all the rest, a real nasty storm come up, an' by the time we reached the little town beside the river—that's where we-all was bound for—it was jest pelting down as heavy as you please. Lots o' wind, too—not a leaf left on the trees.

I'd acted up like I did ‘cause the terrible thought had come to me that
this
was how I was to be got rid of, after all. To be given to young Marse Rob! Thank goodness that turned out to be wrong! What happened was that, later on, Marse Rob was given one of Grace Darling's fillies for hisself. I'd only been lent to him for that one day—it was a long ride and I reckon Marse Robert figured it would still be too much for his hands.

One more thing ‘bout that day: I'd forgot the difference ‘tween Marse Robert and every other rider you like. Well, you know yourself, Tom, that Marse Robert respects every living critter. He'd even respect that rat if'n he warn't no thief; and this feeling comes out in riding. It's real surprising how few horsemen ever bother to encourage a horse or give him praise. They jest stick to using hard words when he's done something wrong. They never realize a horse likes praise and responds to it jest like he responds to being found fault with. A horse that feels his man's really his friend'll work hard for praise and take pleasure in deserving it. I seed horses might's well be handcarts—you push ‘em, they go—but that's not riding. Now Marse Robert—right from when we started together, he was always ready with a word of praise when you'd done what he wanted. That made you relax, Tom, you see. I've felt relaxed even under fire ‘fore now, jest ‘cause Marse Robert scratched my neck and praised me for doing nothing but standin' still.

Anyways, I was mighty glad to be ridden to headquarters that night and handed over to Dave.

Now I'd best give you an idea of this place we come to that winter day, Tom, ‘cause we was to do a lot there ‘fore we was through. There was a mighty wide river—broader'n most I'd seed and no bridges neither, ‘ceptin' for them the Blue men built later on. The town was on our side o' the river and it looked like a nice place, what I seed of it; neat, clean houses and a spire or two sticking up in the middle. But what I really noticed was the other side of the river. It was hilly—ground sloping up to the hills. And on them hills, Tom, was a whole power of Blue men. You could see their camps, see their fires, see ‘em ridin' round and setting up their guns and wagons. For goodness' sake! I thought, no matter how many we kill there's always lots more. How're we going to get at ‘em this time, though, without a bridge to cross?

Headquarters was jest the same—nothing you'd call grand. It was a ways out of town: a bunch of tents on the edge of a field, next to a patch of piney woods. There was plenty of timber for fires, and ‘sides that, our soldiers rigged up pine branches to make shelters for the horses. We had blankets, ‘course, but jest the same we was all feeling the cold. I remember some fella come ‘long and give Marse Robert a whole mess of chickens as a present, so we had them cackling and squawking round for a while. Not long, though—they was soon eaten, all but one. That one went everywhere with us best part of a year, on ‘count of she laid eggs so good.

The first thing that happened, a day or two after we got there, was that all the townspeople had to leave their homes. I reckon they must ‘a knowed the Blue men was going to fire on the town. That was a sad sight, Tom. I reckon you'd ‘a been sorry to see it yourself, for there was cats, dogs, ponies—all manner of critters mixed up in it; any critters at all as belonged to the town folks. The worst was the bad weather. That storm was still blowing—terrible wind and rain; bitter cold—and everywhere deep in mud on ‘count of the soldiers an' all the wagons and horses. Marse Robert rode me as far as the edge of the town, where the crowds was stumbling and trudging along. He kept telling the people how sorry he was for all their troubles, and how much he hoped they'd be able to come back soon. Some of ‘em was able to leave by the railroad, but there was still a chance of ‘em couldn't do nothing but walk in the rain. You should jest ‘a seed it, Tom—old folks leaning on people's arms; a few lame folks and blind folks; and women a-carrying babies in their arms, with the young ‘uns tagging along best they could; and all the wind and the mud. There was one or two carriages, but all the horses there was to pull ‘em was jest poor old nags that could hardly stagger. Every horse worth a handful of bran was gone to the guns or the wagons, you see.

Marse Robert—he was almost in tears to see the folks suffering so. He give orders to the teamsters—all our wagons and ambulances— to pick people up and take ‘em out of town easy. I seed our soldiers giving their own food to the old folks and the young ‘uns and goodness knows they had none to spare. The mud was so bad I had trouble myself—over the fetlocks and deeper. Anyways, I don't believe a lot of them people was headed anywhere special. They'd got nowheres to go, ‘cepting out of town. ‘Had to camp in the woods and fields. I ‘spect some died.