Traveller (41 page)

April 7, 1865. The previous day's action—known as Sayler's Creek, where Federal troops attacked in strength the worn-out and attenuated Confederate column of march, cut it in two and destroyed virtually the entire forces of Generals Ewell and Anderson, as well as a division of cavalry—is to prove fatal. General Lee has lost in all some 8,000 men, and now has left, under Longstreet, Gordon and Fitz Lee, a force of about 12,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry, though this is melting gradually hour by hour, since many men have nothing left to give. The tiny force, opposed to 80,000 well-equipped Federal troops, has reached Farmville, where some, though not all, have been issued with rations. Since there is still a realistic possibility of joining General Johnston, Lee orders the march to continue. The army crosses the Appomattox to the north bank (which the Federals have already gained downstream), burns the bridges and once more turns westward
.

First thing after he'd left the house where we'd slept, Marse Robert walks me acrost the road, hitches me to the rail of another house and walks up to the door. While I was stood waiting there, a dog came acrost the garden and we kinda fell into conversation.

“We're awful poor now, you know,” says this dog to me. “There's only my mistress and one or two darkies left on the place. The master— he was a soldier, like your master—he went away to the fighting and I heared he'd been killed—oh, more'n two years ago now. Mistress, she cried and cried for days. Somewhere up north ‘twas, near as I can understand.”

We went on talking, and after a bit I guessed, from what this dog was able to tell me, that his master must a been a pretty high-up cavalry officer and he'd been killed round about the same time as I hurt Marse Robert's hands.

Jest then Marse Robert came out, and the lady with him. She was crying. “I'm sorry I haven't time to stay longer,” says Marse Robert, “but I couldn't pass without stopping to pay my respects.” The lady did her best to stop crying. She blessed him for his kindness and petted me for a few moments while he unhitched me and got in the saddle. She was still a-standing at the gate while we rode away.

A lot of the fellas we passed now was staggering ‘long like they was dead to the world. I figure some of ‘em was asleep on their feet. Jest the same, I somehow felt it was going to be a lucky day for us, and that was how it turned out. It was a
great
day!

We started by crossing the river—a real big ‘un, Tom, ‘twas—on a bridge longer'n you'd believe. ‘Twas longer'n the entire high street here in town. A whole chance of our fellas had got over t'other side already, and ‘far as I could understand Marse Robert wanted everyone over quick as possible. There was two bridges—a railroad bridge and another—close together, and soon's he could Marse Robert had them both set afire, to stop the Blue men coming over behind us.

All the same, some of them
had
got acrost—don't ask me how. I often think the Blue men used to come out o' the ground, like maggots. I mean, even if you
could
stop one lot of maggots crossing a river, there'd only be another lot hatch out t'other side, wouldn't there? Anyway, there they was—cavalry, doing their best to smash up Old Pete's wagons along the road.

At the time they attacked, Marse Robert was dismounted and resting, with his back agin a tree, and I was snatching a few mouthfuls of grass. Soon's we heared the shooting, Marse Robert got up and rode me forward, with all the fellas cheering as we went past.

I seed the fight, Tom—I seed the whole thing. Our cavalry—our poor, tired-out cavalry—they smashed those people all to bits, so they ended up a-running for their lives. They was as glad to get away as chipmunks from a bobcat. In fact, a whole lot of ‘em didn't get away at all; they was took prisoner. Their general hisself was took prisoner— I seed him brung in. You never knowed sech a brilliant action in all your born days. ‘Twas one of our greatest ever.

“That'll stop ‘em farting in our oats for a while,” says Joker as the last of them disappeared through the bushes.

“If we
had
any oats,” I said. “I've forgotten what they taste like.”

“You can't taste dream oats,” said Joker. “You don't reckon it's all a dream, do you? Only I've been asleep for about two days now, Traveller, haven't you?”

He ‘peared ready to fall down, but that was how everyone felt. Jest at that very moment I seed a cavalry horse ahead of us collapse and roll over, with his man right there on his back.

And still we was beating the Blue men, all day. That same afternoon they tried to attack us again—infantry, this time—and General Mahone gave ‘em another good licking. Marse Robert and me was right there, Marse Robert telling our fellas, like he always did, what grand soldiers they was and how each one of ‘em was worth ten Blue men any day.

Later that afternoon, I remember, he rode me out to the edge of a hill, and we was stood near a bunch of our guns that was firing jest as fast as they could go. ‘Course, I'd long ago larned to stand steady by the guns—I wish you could hear ‘em, Tom; that'd be a real education for you—but I confess I didn't enjoy it. The enemy counterfire was heavy all round, but Marse Robert warn't taking a blind bit of notice— he was jest sat there watching the front and our shells bursting ‘mong the enemy. That takes some doing, you know.

Well, while we was there, up comes an officer to bring Marse Robert a message, and he reached us riding ‘long the side of the hill facing the enemy. Yeah, and warn't his horse happy, too? I felt real sorry for that poor animal, standing there a-trembling all over while the young officer was making his report to Marse Robert.

When he'd finished speaking, Marse Robert started in on him sharp—told him he'd come ‘long the wrong side of the hill, and he'd acted bad in exposing hisself unnecessarily to enemy fire. The officer replied that he'd be ‘shamed to shelter hisself when his general was sitting there in full view of those people.

“It's my duty to be here, sir!” answers Marse Robert, real blunt. “I have to see what's going on. Go back the way I told you!”

“Thank goodness for that!” mutters his horse as his master salutes and sets off without another word. “Rather you than me, Traveller!”

I don't remember a lot more ‘bout that night. But I
can
recall thinking that if'n we didn't finish the Blue men soon, I reckoned we was going to have a job to do it at all. A lot of the fellas hardly looked like soldiers no more—no muskets, no knapsacks, clothes all in shreds and covered in mud, eyes jest sunk in and mouths a-hanging open. There was plenty a-laying there on the ground that couldn't be shook to their feet. There was broke-down wagons that hadn't even been pulled off the road before they was abandoned and set fire to. There was horses and mules in the mud that had struggled to get out till they couldn't struggle no longer, nostrils bunged up with mud, jest staring up at you as you went by. You never seed the like.

But jest the same, next morning—'twas bright sunshine, too—we was still a-marching, and the Blue men was still plenty scairt of us, that was plain ‘nuff. They was holding right off.

That was the quietest day we'd had since we left the city. There warn't no attacks. We marched on best as we could. Come evening, our headquarters was pitched ‘longside Old Pete's lot, nice and snug in a clearing in some thick woods. It came on a fine, moonlit night. We hadn't ary tents nor tables nor anything—they'd all got lost somewhere ‘long the road—and Marse Robert and the rest, they sat theirselves down round a fire on the ground.

Suddenly the guns began, ‘way off in front. I knowed they was ours. I knowed it must be the beginning of an attack—I could sense it; and I warn't wrong, neither—though I reckoned the actual fighting probably wouldn't start till next morning.

Any which way you looked, there was a red glow all acrost the sky. I knowed it must come from our own campfires. I'd seed the same thing before on campaign, of course, more'n once't, but never stretching so wide. There must ‘a been an awful lot of fires. I knowed that could only mean that Marse Robert had concentrated his reinforcements— that means got more fellas up, you know, Tom—for this here big battle. They'd be cooking whatever food they'd brung with ‘em and preparing for the attack tomorrow. That was how we always done it.

From where I was picketed I seed General Gordon come up to jine Marse Robert; and then General Fitz Lee, our cavalry commander— him that was son of Marse Robert's brother, so his horse once't told me.

That last meeting of our generals—for it
was
the last meeting, though I didn't know it at the time—I can rightly see it now: Marse Robert standing by the fire, Old Pete sitting on a log smoking his pipe, and General Gordon and General Fitz Lee settled nice and comfortable on a blanket on the ground. Marse Robert began talking quiet, like he always did, telling them the way he seed things. I couldn't understand what he was saying, of course, but sure ‘nuff the bit I knowed so well warn't long in coming. “Well, gentlemen, what ought we to do?”

Natchrally, Marse Robert had got it all worked out already—our big attack—same as he always had. He gave out his orders and made sure they was understood; then the generals rode away, all ‘ceptin' Old Pete, who bedded down where he was, with his head on his saddle.

I was afeared, like I always was afore a battle, but I felt kinda excited and lively, too. I'd picked up the tense feeling that always built up at these times. The campfires making the clouds smolder and then, after a while, the distant hum and murmur of fellas on the move. I thought of Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes riding away into the woods that morning two years before, and of Jine-the-Cavalry dashing up on Skylark, in the battle in the forest, to report to Marse Robert.
I'm
like them, I thought. I reckon I've earned the right now to feel that
I'm
like them. We was friends, we was comrades. Maybe—who knows?—one day people may talk about me and Marse Robert same's they will ‘bout Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes.

Before he went to sleep, Marse Robert came over and stroked me and spoke to me. He looked carefully at my hooves, too, and ran his hand long my back. Marse Robert was never too tired or busy to remember ‘bout me. But this time I somehow felt he was more'n usually kind—more'n usually anxious that I should be jest right. “Tomorrow is in thy keeping, Lord God,” he said, and then, “Goodnight, old friend.” I thought, Well, I'll do my durnedest for him, starving or not.

In the middle of the night I heared a bunch of our men marching ‘long the road close by. Somehow, I don't know why, I figured they must be Texans. I wondered whether there might be any chickens around, roostin' mighty high. I remembered how the Texans had told Marse Robert, in the wilderness, they'd drive back the Blue men on their own if'n only he'd go back. They'd done it, too. The Blue men had never liked feeling there was Texans around. They warn't going to like it no better tomorrow.

Not long after, the headquarters officers was up and dressing by the light of the fire. Marse Robert, he dressed hisself up to the nines—best uniform, red silk sash, smartest sword—the lot. He meant business for sure. When we set off, the guns was beginning again, up ahead.

‘Twarn't far we had to go to the front. Our fellas—our poor, ragged fellas—had started the attack already. There was plenty of musket fire, but even though he rode me up onto the highest ground he could find we couldn't see a single thing, Marse Robert and me, on ‘count of the early morning fog covering everything all over.

We waited round a considerable while, listening to the sound of the battle up ahead. Finally, Major Venable came riding back to report. I asked his horse how things was going, but Leopard had always been a durned fool—if Brigand thought I was stupid, he should have knowed Leopard—and he hadn't no real idea.

Well, I could always put one thing and ‘nother together as well as any horse, and I could tell, from the kind of solemn way Marse Robert replied to Major Venable, that this must be important news all right. Once't, while they was a-talking, Marse Robert broke out with a kind of a burst, like he couldn't hardly control his feelings—something ‘bout “I've only to ride down the lines…” He was real stirred, no question of that, but still I didn't know rightly what to make of it. Only, I reckoned something strange was going on—something altogether outside my experience—something that'd never happened afore now.

Pretty soon Old Pete rode up, and Marse Robert seemed to be telling him whatever ‘twas he'd heared from Major Venable. General Mahone was round, too, I remember. They was all as solemn as could be, and I could jest sense a kind of—well, I'd guess you'd say a kind of graveness in all the officers and soldiers who was there with us on that little hill as the fog began lifting. General Alexander arrived, him that was chief of the guns, and Marse Robert dismounted and talked to him for quite a time, walking up and down.

After a while Marse Robert mounted again and we rode off along the road with Marse Taylor and Colonel Marshall. Sergeant Tucker, he was there, too, riding Champ, that he'd kept hisself ever since Red Shirt was killed,

‘Twas now I began to feel real puzzled, ‘cause when we came up to our front line, where our fellas had set up a barricade of logs acrost the road, they shifted it, and we went straight on through. I couldn't form no idea what we was s'posed to be doing, but it all ‘peared to be in order, ‘cause Marse Robert hisself was in charge, and the fellas gave us a cheer as we went past. There was only the four of us. In front went Champ, with Sergeant Tucker carrying a white cloth on a stick. I couldn't understand why it warn't the old red-and-blue, but I s'posed there must be some special reason. The whole business was so durned queer anyways that by this time I don't think I'd have been surprised at anything he was carrying. Then came Major Taylor and Colonel Marshall, and then me and Marse Robert a bit behind. We've never done nothing like this before, I kept a-thinking to myself. For goodness' sake, what's it all about?