Traveller (22 page)

Then the Blue men began to advance to the attack. It was Red Shirt's fellas they started in on, ‘way over beyond me. From where we was, we could see ‘em plain as day. Red Shirt let ‘em come on, right up the slope, real close, and then all his guns fired on ‘em together. I don't remember ‘zackly what happened after that, ‘cause jest at that moment the big guns back of our hill began firing, too. They shook the ground, Tom, I'll tell you—and like to cut a hole right through your head from one side to t'other! And on top of that come the battle-smoke. I pranced here and there a little—I couldn't help it—and as I recovered myself I seed a teamster and his mules go dashing off to the rear.

The next thing I knowed there was masses of Blue men pouring out of the town and coming straight up the slope towards us. A little ways down below, on my nearside, was a lane with a stone wall running all ‘long in front of it. That lane was full of our fellas, and they was taking ‘vantage of that wall; yet that was ‘zackly where the Blue men seemed to be fixing to get to. The slope was steepest there, too. I jest couldn't believe what I seed, but on they came.

Our guns didn't fire till they was near'bouts up to the wall. Then they simply blowed ‘em into screaming, yelling, running crowds. They warn't soldiers no more! That was a terrible sight, Tom, but better'n if it had been our own fellas.

All day long the enemy kept attacking us where we stood tight on them hills. In the early afternoon they tried again, over where Cap-in-His-Eyes was. It looked bad for a while—we couldn't see ‘zackly what was going on. It was jest ‘bout that time that one of the enemy's shells buried itself in the ground right under the parapet where we was. I felt the thud when it hit, but it didn't explode. A minute or two later, when Marse Robert and Old Pete and some others was a-talking together, the big gun right next to us blowed up. It bust all to bits— fragments a-flying every which way—and yet nobody was hurt. Nobody at all! You wouldn't believe it, would you?

Well, Tom, if'n I was to try to tell you and Baxter everything that happened that day you'd fall asleep even quicker'n what you
are
doing. The Blue men kept on coming at us, but we kept on beating ‘em back every time. Now and then I'd hear our fellas raising the Yell, and then I knowed we was on top. The ground on the hillside below us was covered all over with Blue men. I couldn't imagine how them that was left could still keep a-coming on, but they did.

“Well, there's one good thing ‘bout all this,” mutters Joker to me, jest as he was fixing to set off on some errand Marse Robert had given to Major Talcott. “I don't feel so durned cold now, do you?”

Actually, it warn't so much a matter of not feeling cold as of forgetting ‘bout the cold. It stayed bitter cold all that day.

I don't reckon more'n a handful of the Blue men ever got close ‘nuff to that wall of ours to have been able to throw a rock over it, even. In places, the dead was laying in great heaps, so's you couldn't even see the snow. I began to feel sorry for ‘em—yes, I did. ‘Twarn't really fighting, Tom, it was jest killing. I never felt half the fear I'd felt that day when the Little General's poor Chieftain had his legs blowed off. Of all the battles we ever fought, that was the easiest won.

It was dark—it had been dark for an hour or two—by the time the Blue men's last attack failed. Our gunners couldn't even see; I reckon they was jest shooting at the flashes from the enemy's muskets down the hill. At last all firing died away on both sides and it growed quiet, ‘ceptin' for the crying of the wounded.

Now I'll tell you, Tom, ‘bout something real strange that happened that night, after all the guns and the yelling had stopped—something the likes of which I've never seed before nor since. It began with a sort of shining, right away on the horizon, and that jest growed and growed. It was like looking at the freezing cold all a-glowing in the night. And then that glow turned into great, separate beams rising up into the sky from far off. They was moving all the time, too—flashing bright, sort of twisting and then disappearing and coming back again. It was ‘nuff to frighten you—and nary a sound with it at all. Our soldiers was pointing up at the sky and calling out to one another. Some of ‘em was getting down on their knees, like they used to back in camp. But Marse Robert ‘parently didn't like ‘em doing that, not this time. Anyways, he didn't jine in.

Him and me rode round a good ways, down to that there sunken road our fellas had defended, and back along the hills. We hadn't many dead at all. Everywhere we went the soldiers cheered him. The plain truth was we'd whupped the Blue men again, and bad this time.

‘Course, it wouldn't have been like Marse Robert not to make folks dig. All ‘long the hills we'd been holding there was men digging all night—hard work in the frost. I guessed Marse Robert was expecting another attack next day, but he reckoned that if only we was dug in, we could stop anything. Our fellas had so much faith in Marse Robert, there warn't hardly no grumbling—'spite of everyone being wore out with the cold and the fighting all day.

Next morning the air was clear, and jest a little warmer, though not much. Marse Robert rode ‘long the hills again, ‘bout three mile, and him and Cap-in-His-Eyes talked for a good long while. There was still huge numbers of Blue men camped down below us, but ‘far as I could see they didn't want no fight. They was busy burying the dead and bringing in the wounded. And as it turned out nothing happened all that day—hardly a gun fired, even.

That same night, soon as it got dark, a whole lot of our fellas went creeping out to get theirselves boots and warm clothes. You couldn't see a thing—the moon was clouded over—but you could hear ‘em crawling and stumbling ‘bout in the dark an' cussing up a storm. The dead Blue men warn't all that far away from us, you see—and every now and then there'd be screaming and crying from some poor fella as warn't dead, that felt his coat or his boots being pulled off'n him.

Jest the same, all us horses was getting ‘long easy ‘nuff. The strain and tightness was far less—the stress had eased up considerable—and old Dave had somehow found a good feed both for me and Lucy. I had these two blankets, so I was as warm as any horse could expect to be that night.

Next day, ‘far as I could make out, there ‘peared to be some sort of agreement ‘tween our fellas and the Blue men to stop fighting while things was cleaned up. It sure was needed, too. Marse Robert and me, we went down the hill to where our men was working at burying the dead and fetching in any wounded still left alive. In spite of the cold, I could smell that same nasty smell I'd gotten used to back in the summer. There was Blue men laying dead by the hundreds. Close up, they looked lots worse—all swollen up and puffy, lot of ‘em turned black as niggers, with big, bulging eyes a-staring up at the sky. Yeah, and some with no heads, no legs, all tore to pieces, pools of blood frozen on the ground. You could see the holes where the bullets had gone in. I remembered what the President's horse had said to me before that battle I was in, back in the summer. “Killin' each other? That's what men do. You might as well ask why the sun goes crost the sky.” Well, I thought, I guess I've come to take it for granted now. But I'm still durned if'n I can see why they do it. You wouldn't find horses or any other animals doing that to each other. I can't see no sense to it. All the same, my feeling mostly was ‘bout Marse Robert and me, how we was still doing fine together—better'n any horse and man in the Army— so I jest settled for thinking he likely knowed more ‘bout it than what I did. Anyway, I thought, seeing as how you ain't got much choice, you might's well be content with a good master. Yet I still wished, somehow, that Jim and me could have got to that there War he'd told me we was going to when we started out.

‘Course, there was plenty of pulling off'n enemy boots and stripping off'n coats and breeches and everything. I seed piles of Blue men left naked on the ground, frozen stiff and all turned black. They didn't get much burying, neither. In that hard ground the fellas didn't want to dig no more'n they had to. I seed a power of dead men shoveled under in heaps, hardly covered at all, arms and legs left sticking out. Well, arms and legs turn that stiff, Tom, you see, they won't go under. Wherever there was a shed or an old barn, they throwed ‘em inside, jest to get ‘em out of the way.

That night was warmer, and it began to rain. Next morning it was still raining, and the mist was so heavy that no one could make out what the Blue men was up to. But later on, when Marse Robert was out ‘long the railroad talking to Red Shirt and Cap-in-His-Eyes, they told him that all the Blue men had snuck back acrost the river in the night. Marse Robert couldn't hardly believe it, but it turned out to be true. He was disappointed, I could tell. He'd been hoping to do ‘em a lot more damage—kill a sight more, maybe even finish ‘em off for good this time. He was kinda disheartened all day. But me, Tom, I'll tell you, I was jest tickled we hadn't got to do no more fighting for a while. Not till next time, I thought, and that's good ‘nuff for me. So you see, I was beginning to turn into some sort of a soldier, after all. That's how us soldiers reckon things: day to day, and a day alive's a good ‘un.

Now why don't you take what's left of that rat out of here, and let's get some sleep?

Hey there, Tom! Did you hear ‘bout my little adventure s'afternoon? It was sort of comical, in a way. Well, anyhow, it showed everyone that me and Marse Robert's jest ‘bout as close as the bark is to the tree.

You know that young lady that's been visiting with Marse Robert's girls? Oh, you sat in her lap, did you? I wonder she let you. I guess that must ‘a been jest out of politeness to Miss Life. Well, you won't be sitting there no more, ‘cause this afternoon Marse Robert and me rode down to the canal-boat to see her on board for to go back home.

That was where this happened—down on the quay. Marse Robert dismounted and then, while he was a-talking to this young lady, he tied me up to a post. He was so taken up with his good manners, though, that he didn't do a proper job of it. Anyway, he gives the girl his arm onto the canal-boat and he keeps on a-talking. I was tossing my head some—the flies is awful bad down on the canal, you know—when all of a sudden I realized the reins had slipped and I was loose. I stepped back a ways, and jest then a young fella seed me and made a grab for the bridle. Well, that kind of upset me—reminded me, you know. The fella seemed all nervous and wound up—too snatchy—and I didn't like that. So I jest took off and lit out past him an' up the street. Then everything got worse. There seemed to be a whole passel of men and boys jumping out at me and chasing after me, all a-grabbing for the reins and shouting. ‘Didn't none of ‘em smell right to me, and the way they was carrying on was ‘nuff to bother any horse. So I jest kept on going right up the street, and in no time I'd covered a lot of ground. I figured I'd go home by myself and get out of all that mess. I didn't feel answerable to that bunch; they'd got me to feeling real mean.

And jest then, Tom, all of a sudden, back behind me, I heared Marse Robert's voice. He was asking this crowd of folks would they kin'ly keep still and don't give me no more trouble—and ‘course, seeing who he was, they did stop. Then, soon as things had quieted down some, he gives me our special, low whistle. That's a kind of a signal we have between us, him and me. It's jest for me, you know, Tom— ‘tain't for Lucy or Ajax or any other horse on the place. What it really says is “You're Traveller and I'm Marse Robert, remember? You can forget all the rest.”

Well, soon's I heared that whistle, I remembered where we was. And I remembered all I'd done for Marse Robert and how he couldn't never have taken charge of anything at all without me. I'll confess I thought there might be a piece of sugar in it somewheres, too. Anyway, I jest turned and trotted back to him nice and easy-Iike. All the folks standing around was saying “Oh, my!” and “Did you ever?” But me and Marse Robert, we didn't have no truck with none o' them. We jest picked up right where we'd left off. I gave him a bit of a whinny as I came up and he patted me and praised me and then he hitched me up again. Some fella standing by says, “Well, I'd never have believed that, sir, if'n I hadn't ‘a seed it myself!” All Marse Robert said was that he didn't see how any man could ride a horse for any length of time less'n a perfect understanding growed up between ‘em.

I spent the evening grazing out on the lawn. There's one thing to be said for having been a soldier, Tom, you know: when you've been hungry—no use saying
you've
ever been hungry, ‘cause you ain't, not really—it makes you ‘preciate a nice, steady feed on good, fresh grass. That cold spell I was telling you ‘bout—we was sure hungry then. Every horse in the Army was hungry. How can any horse work good when he's gone hungry for days? That cold spell, I seed plenty of artillery horses couldn't hardly pull the guns, a-slipping and sliding in the frozen mud. And it warn't scarcely no better for the men—there warn't much coming up on the railcars for horse nor man, neither. I remember riding down the whole length of the cars with Marse Robert one day, and he kept on saying, “Is that all? Is that all? Do they expect my soldiers to fight on that?'

‘Course, very often the soldiers used to take matters into their own hands. Warn't no use to leave a pig or a sheep on the loose—not if you was a farmer. That'd be gone and not a whisker to show where. That's why I'm always saying, Tom, as you should ‘a jined the Texans. Good cat's always a good thief, ain't he? You'd ‘a been right at home. I remember Marse Robert, one evening, talking to that young general— the one that cleared the Blue men out o' the swamp. “General Hood,” says he, “I ain't saying your men are thieves,” says he. “All I'm saying is that when you Texans come round, the chickens have to roost mighty high.”