Traveller (21 page)

Marse Robert and me, we was watching the folks go by when ‘long come a bunch of kids on their own, getting by best they could. The biggest one yells out “Hurrah for General Lee!” and they was all a-waving to us. Marse Robert calls up the nearest cavalrymen—I remember the wind blowing the horses' manes—and tells ‘em to pick up the young ‘uns and carry ‘em wherever they was going. “I never seed no finer folks,” he says to Major Taylor. “They're an example to us all. Those people”—he points acrost the river— “those people should be ‘shamed to cause sech suffering to women and children.” “Yes, sir,” says Major Taylor. It was ‘bout all he could say, his teeth was a-chattering so with the cold.

Well, a few days after that, Tom, it began to snow. I recollect a bitter cold night with the snow driving hard in the dark. Like I said, our headquarters warn't in the town. We was downstream, ‘longside a railroad at the foot of the hills ‘bout a mile from the river, and most of us horses had been got into some old sheds. It was poor shelter—the walls had planks missing everywhere and the wind was driving the snow through in drifts. I was a-blowing and stamping to try and keep warm, when all of a sudden in comes Dave with a storm lantern, and another soldier leading Little Sorrel. I was surprised to see Sorrel, ‘cause I hadn't seed Cap-in-His-Eyes nor any of his men since before that thirty-mile ride of mine with young Marse Rob.

Sorrel was rubbed down and given a bit of a feed. You could see he was as cold as the rest of us. After a while he looked round in a cloud of his own breath and recognized me.

“Howdy, Traveller,” he said, “Is this the best they can do for headquarters horses?”

“‘Pears so,” I said. “There's a lot of others in the open, I believe. Where's your man?”

Stonewall's talking to Marse Robert,” says Sorrel. “We rode ahead of our soldiers—to get some orders, I s'pose.”

After a little he went on, “Our fellas are putting up with the cold better'n you'd figure. Well, they know it's to our advantage, after all.”

“To our advantage?” I said. “How's that?”

Why, the Blue men have got to attack us,” said Sorrel,
“and
they've got to cross that river first. They're not going to find it easy in this weather.”

And so it seemed, ‘cause the days went by and still the Blue men stayed where they was on t'other side of the river. Marse Robert and me, we was out every day, getting things ready to give ‘em a hot reception. Several mile of the railroad track was tore up and the wood come in useful for fires. Marse Robert spent a good deal of time up on the hills, a mile or so our side of the river, mostly saying where he wanted the guns put. In spite of the cold, our fellas was in fine spirits. There was a lot of snowball fighting and tobacco-spittin' contests, jest to pass the time. We certainly was a tough crowd. I seed plenty of men in the snow with no boots—'didn't ‘pear to bother ‘em none. But since the Blue men warn't in no hurry, we had time to get more boots and warm clothes up by the railroad. I remember going with Marse Robert to watch ‘em being given out, right off'n the railroad cars.

And then, in the very middle of one night—a dark ‘un, too—Marse Robert called for me to be saddled up, and off we went, stumbling through a thick mist. I remember Major Taylor and Major Talcott was with us, but I don't recall who else. I could hear muskets firing from the town ahead of us, but we didn't go down there. We went along a ways and then up a little hill, so that when it come light Marse Robert could see what was happening way out by the river.

Sorrel had been right, as usual. I'd s'posed those people, when they started, would come acrost in boats, but ‘stead they was doing their best to build bridges by laying flat timber on top of boats, one behind t'other. This was what all the musket fire was about. We had fellas down in the town, Tom, you see, doing their best to stop ‘em. After a while Marse Robert rode me down towards the town, but what with the mist and the battle smoke, it was hard to see ‘zackly what was going on, ‘ceptin' that the Blue men seemed to be in plenty of trouble from our fellas holed up in the houses.

During the morning the haze lifted some, and pretty soon the enemy's guns was firing into the town. I could see ‘em a-blazing away all along the hills on t'other side of the river—jest one thick mass of smoke and flame. The houses was still covered with mist, but you could see the spires sticking up and the shells bursting down there. I was hoping to goodness Marse Robert wouldn't take it into his head to go right down into the town. It was jest the sort o' thing he'd be likely to do. The noise of the guns was as bad as I'd ever heared, and pretty soon you could see that a lot of the houses was on fire. Nothing come near us, though, and after a time Marse Robert rode me back to the hilltop.

It was afternoon ‘fore the Blue men began crossing—in boats, after all; they couldn't finish no bridges. The fighting went on all day. In the end they took the town and finished building their boat-bridges, but not before our fellas had given them a whole passel o' trouble.

We stayed where we was all night; and I'll tell you, Tom,
that
was cold. No one could sleep and the horses was ridden every hour or so, jest to try to keep ‘em warm. It was thick fog again the next morning; plenty of gunfire from t'other side the river, but nothing more'n that— no Blue men moving out of the town. It must ‘a been nigh on to midday when Marse Robert rode me off along the hills and we met Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes. There was another man with us: one of Jine-the-Cavalry's officers—they called him Bork or Pork or something. He was a huge great fella—one of the biggest men I've ever seed—and all dressed up, with a big horse to match. I'd come acrost him before, ‘cause he often used to bring messages to Marse Robert from Jine-the-Cavalry. I always used to call him “Vot-you-voz,” from the funny way he had of talking.

Vot-you-voz ‘peared very excited. He kept pointing down towards the river, and after a while Marse Robert and Cap-in-His-Eyes rode with him down the hillside till we come to a barn. Then they dismounted and left us with Dave and another soldier, while the three of them went creeping real cautious downhill in the fog.

Sorrel an' me—all the horses, in fact—we could tell there must be a lot of Blue men nearby, this side of the river. We could smell ‘em through the fog and we could hear ‘em, too—the hollow noise of boots on bridges and all the racket of hooves on planks, and guns and wagons rumbling up. You could hear picks and shovels going, too.

“There must be a powerful lot of ‘em coming acrost the river, says Sorrel. “All sorts—men, horses, guns. Jest listen! What in the world d'you s'pose your man and mine think they're up to?”

“I reckon they want to have a look at ‘em close up,” I said. “Let's hope none o' the Blue men spot ‘em. I don't want to lose Marse Robert after all this.”

“You won't,” replied Sorrel. “It all feels safe ‘nuff to me. What I figure is, he jest wants to see whether the most of ‘em are crossing here or back in the town. He wants to find out where their attack's coming from.”

Sorrel always knowed so much more ‘bout soldiering'n I did. I'd never have thought o' that, but once't he'd said it I could see it was plain sense. After a while the three of ‘em come creeping back jest the way they'd gone. As Marse Robert was mounting up, he said to Cap-in-His-Eyes, real quiet, “I shall try to do them all the damage in our power when they come on.” Cap-in-His-Eyes jest nodded and we-all rode off.

It was even colder that night—the coldest night I've ever knowed in all my born days. I was wondering all night whether there mightn't be men—and horses, too—a-dying of the cold. There was no fires on our lines for fear of the Blue men ranging their guns on ‘em. Good old Dave had somehow found me an extra blanket or I'd ‘a come near dying myself. Cold's not really a question of courage, Tom, you see. A horse can bear only so much cold and no more. Our picket lines was real silent—not a nicker to be heared, only jest the blowing and stamping of hooves in the snow. The wind was terrible keen, and whichever way on you tried to stand, it only seemed worse. After what ‘peared like about three days of darkness it died away, and with the first light of morning there come back the thick, freezing fog.

That
was
a thick fog, too—thicker'n anything you can imagine. You couldn't hardly see no distance at all and every sound—harness, hooves, men's voices—was muffled and soft. Marse Robert took me out onto the lines and ‘cepting for the cussin' everywhere they was jest like ghost lines. The fellas was almost too cold to cuss, even. But a lot of ‘em had lit fires, now that it was getting light—or next thing to light in the fog—and they was cooking. Marse Robert, he kept talking to ‘em, cheering them up and telling them we was going to win a great victory. Everyone was slapping theirselves to keep warm, seeing to their guns and ammunition and getting into place. The Blue men must be doing the same, we knowed that. You couldn't see ‘em ‘way off in the mist, but you could hear ‘em—their voices, their drums, their bugles. D'you know, Tom, I heared a band playing that morning, too? Jest plain's could be, a band coming up out of that thick mist ‘tween us and the river.

Marse Robert and the rest of headquarters was drawn up on that same little hill—Marse Robert's hill, I called it—with the whole Army stretching away on either side. All our guns was ready. There was two extra big guns in position jest behind us, and some smaller ones, too. I could imagine how much noise they'd make when they began firing and I remember thinking, Well, at least they'll make it warmer where we are. All the usual headquarters comings and goings began. Vot-you-voz come up—I s'pose with a report from Jine-the-Cavalry—and then Old Pete come a-riding out of the fog on Hero. We nuzzled each other's necks as our men saluted.

“Colder'n I've ever knowed,” says I to Hero, blowing hard.

Hero was seldom what you'd call talkative. “It'll get a lot warmer soon.”

Then all of a sudden up come Cap-in-His-Eyes on a new horse— a stranger to me. My goodness, you never seed sech a change in a man! I reckon I've given you a pretty good idea, Tom, haven't I, of jest how drab and kinda dingy Cap-in-His-Eyes looked in the usual way? He'd never ‘peared to anybody in the Army as what you'd call a smart soldier. I can see him now—stiff, gaunt figure, real sharp way of looking at you; big, firm mouth, hardly ever smiled. Often there'd be something loose ‘bout him somewhere—a bootstrap undone, maybe, or some buttons adrift—something Marse Robert would have corrected sure ‘nuff if he'd seed it on someone else. But this morning, here he comes turned out almost smarter'n Jine-the-Cavalry hisself. He was wearing a new coat with bright buttons, gold braid all round his new black hat, creases in his pants, shining boots and a fine, new sword. And that horse, whoever he was—I wisht it had been Sorrel—he was all got up in tackle picked out in red and silver. You never seed sech a sight! As Cap-in-His-Eyes dismounted, all the officers, from Marse Robert downwards—well, they commenced to laughing; but all the same, they told him he looked jest fine. As for Cap-in-His-Eyes, he said that ‘twarn't none o' his doing at all. It had all been fixed by Jine-the-Cavalry, he said. That explained everything, for as I've told you, Tom, Jine-the-Cavalry was always dressed up so fine hisself you'd think he was off to dinner at some big house.

“You'll be afraid of getting them clothes dirty!” shouts Old Pete. “You'll never get down to any work today!” He waved his hand down the hill, towards the Blue men in the fog. “What you going to do with those people over there?” “Sir,” answers Cap-in-His-Eyes, “we will give ‘em the
bayonet
!
”
Cap-in-His-Eyes always loved talking ‘bout bayonets.

Soon after that Marse Robert rode all along the hills, together with Cap-in-His-Eyes, Vot-you-voz and Jine-the-Cavalry. Our fellas was in high spirits, and everywhere we went they was laughing, and cheering Cap-in-His-Eyes. “Come on, General—come on down out'n that hat! No use sayin you ain't in thar! See your legs a-hanging down!” I wonder how often I've heared that joke, one way or t'other?

‘Course, knowing Marse Robert, ‘twarn't long ‘fore we come under fire. He rode out a long ways beyond our downstream flank, and by that time the fog was jest starting in to lift. You could make out there was a lot of Blue men out there. I began to hear the bullets dropping, but this time I felt like I was a new horse. I jest didn't care. I could feel Marse Robert's hands still warn't right, and I thought, I'll show him! I'll show Skylark, too—him and his fancy ways! When a bullet hit a rock and went whizzing off to one side, it was Skylark who jumped— only a fraction, but he
did
—and not me. I felt completely at one with Marse Robert, ready to do whatever he wanted before he even gave me a signal.

We galloped back four mile to headquarters at Marse Robert's hill; the fellas was a-cheering us all the way. They knowed we was going to win and so did I. The fog was burning off now, and pretty soon the enemy's guns opened up—jest a few here and there. First you could see the spires sticking up out of the mist in the town and then the long line of the hills on t'other side of the river. Still we stood waiting around, and then suddenly there come a little wind and blowed away the last of the fog.

Oh, my, Tom! You never seed sech a sight in all your born days! All ‘long below us, down on the flatland ‘tween the hills and the river, there was the Blue men—thousands and thousands of ‘em—I've never seed an Army like it! It stretched from the town on one side, all ‘long our side of the river as far as you could see—men, horses and guns. There come a kind of gasp from the fellas nearest to where we was, but Marse Robert, he never moved a muscle. I could feel him entirely still, where he was a-sitting on my back.