Traveller (44 page)

I often think I must be the luckiest horse alive. Sure, I've seed some rough times—there's no denying that. Oh, I've seed terrible things, Tom, and no one can say I ain't seed hardships, too. But for near nine years I've had the greatest General in the world for a master, and if'n there's anyone, horse or man, who's served him better, I'd like to know who ‘tis.

I've only one regret, even though it's maybe kind of a fool one. I often wish we'd managed to get to that War place, Jim and me—that there War we started out for, you know. I've been to The White, sure ‘nuff, and that was a real fine place. But I never did get to the War, on ‘count of I was handed over to Captain Joe and the major in them there mountains full of rain. I guess maybe it's stupid of me to have any regrets at all, considerin' how lucky I've been, but in my imagination I can jest see that War—all green grass and oats and friends—horses from whom you never have to part. I'd like to have seed it, jest once't, but of course I wouldn't stay. No Marse Robert—no, I wouldn't like that.

Come in, Tom, come in! I'm real glad to see you. I'll be glad of some company. Settle yourself down. It's a sharpish night, ain't it? Soon be winter now. Leaves have turned—started falling, too.

Can you kindly listen to me for a while? I need to talk. ‘Truth is, I'm puzzled. I'm a mighty puzzled horse. It's being without Marse Robert, really. ‘Course, I'm used to him going off on these here commanding trips. He's been away a heap this last spring and summer. Must be a deal of commanding to be done, all up and down the country. All spring he was away and then again best part of a month during the hot weather. But when he came back, ‘bout a month ago, I was ‘specting he'd be settled in for the fall and the winter. Yeah, I was really looking forward to plenty of good rides over the hills and all round and ‘bout— even if'n they usually are shorter nowadays.

We was doing pretty well for that till a short while back. But of course the heavy rain and the flooding round town has been all agin getting out for riding. The whole town's been surrounded by floodwaters. That's what's kept him out of the saddle, for sure.

Well, but ‘tell you the truth, I can't for the life of me make out whether he's here'bouts or not. He ain't been down to the stable—not for days—and that ain't like him, you know, without he's away on this commanding business. Perhaps he
has
had to make another trip—only somehow it jest don't feel like it usually does when he's not here to home.

Another thing: I'm seriously wondering whether we-all may not be going off on another campaign soon. Yeah, a real campaign! You could see things that way. And do you know, Tom, I reckon I wouldn't altogether mind if we was? Well, ‘course I don't want to do forty mile a day in the mud and live on half-rations—'don't know whether I could do it no more, anyway. And yet—well, to hear the bangs again, to see horses and fellas I'd remember from the soldiering days—I guess this last day or two's kind of stirred up my memories. If'n Marse Robert's going, then
I'm
going—I'm sure ‘nuff of that. He'd never dream of campaigning without me. If those people are up to their mean tricks again, then he's going to need me right ‘nuff.

This last couple of days, you see, it's kind of ‘peared like we was getting ready for ‘nother campaign. Well, it does and yet it don't. Some ways it don't feel jest ‘zackly right. But—well, I can't make it out, and that's the truth. No more can't Lucy. We was talking ‘bout it in the field only s'afternoon.

It all started yesterday—early afternoon. I was in here as usual, hoping the rain had finally let up and maybe Marse Robert would be coming ‘long for one of our rides. Like I told you, I've been missing ‘em. And then in come the stableman, Isaiah, ‘long with two other fellas. I called to mind the smell of them two right away, but I didn't recognize them directly, ‘cause they warn't dressed like soldiers. But then I recollected who they was. They'd been in our Army sure ‘nuff. One of ‘em I didn't recall—not where I'd seed him, I mean—although I knowed he must ‘a been one of our soldiers. But t'other I could mind: he was one of General Ringlets' men. I remembered Marse Robert speaking to him after the attack that bad afternoon in the big battle up north—when we was down among the fellas coming back out of it, and cheering them up.

One of these fellas says to t'other, “For gosh sakes, ain't he gone real white!” T'other one didn't say nothing. They both jest stood staring at me a while, and then they commenced to stroking me and talking to me like they was real happy to see me again. But the queer thing was I could tell they was feeling sad, too. There was something awful down-hearted ‘bout how they talked and the way they set about their business. Well, you know, Tom, soldiers generally laugh and joke, and sometimes cuss too. But there was none o' that. These fellas conducted theirselves what you'd call mighty solemn.

They put on my bridle and saddled me up, and then they covered the saddle and bridle all over with black cloth. I've never knowed that to be done before, and I'll be durned if I can tell what manner of use it was, neither. Still, ‘twarn't uncomfortable and didn't make no difference that I could tell. Then they led me outside. I reckoned either Marse Robert—or someone—would be going to ride me, but it didn't turn out that way. Truth to tell, ‘twas altogether different from anything I've ever knowed round these here parts or anywheres else.

Outside Marse Robert's house was a whole crowd of folks. They was all mighty quiet, and that was queer for a start, don't you reckon? The fella in charge seemed to be Captain White. You know him, Tom, don't you? He lives around here: talks to Marse Robert, advises him, helps him with the business of commanding and all that. He's always been a great friend of the family—went with us on that trip to The White a year or two back—the trip when I met Ruffian again up in the hills. Well, he was getting all these folks formed up in a kind of line, pretty much as though we was going soldiering again. In fact, the ones up front
was
soldiers, in uniform, lined up real military-looking. They couldn't have looked more serious if'n we was going off to do some fighting. For a while I thought we was; only then I seed they hadn't ary muskets or bayonets, so I figured that whatever ‘twas going to be, it warn't no battle.

Directly behind the soldiers was a kind of a long cart, all glass, with a box in it. They warn't fixing to put me in the shafts, though—the horses was already hitched. I'd never seed them horses before, and

I didn't get a chance to talk to ‘em, ‘cause my two old soldiers led me straight round behind the cart and held me there steady. I hadn't nothing to do. Back of me was this great, long line of people. Some I knowed and some I didn't: friends and helpers of Marse Robert, fellas I'd seed round the place, people from downtown, quite a few rough fellas who looked like they'd been our soldiers. And a heap of ladies, too—a lot of ‘em crying. ‘Tell you the truth, Tom, I felt real confused. I couldn't make it out at all. To begin with, I was stamping my hooves and jerking my head around, but the two old soldiers calmed me down, stroking me and talking quiet, and pretty soon I steadied down.

Well, after a bit we-all moved off, but we didn't go that far. We jest went a ways up the road and through the grounds, from Marse Robert's house as far as that house with the pointed tower on it—you know, the one nobody lives in, where they sometimes have meetings and singing and the rest of it. There was fellas walking alongside this glass cart in front of me—spaced out regular all around it—and they got together and lifted the box out and carried it in. Most of the people went in after them, but I didn't hear ary singing nor anything of that. I jest stood around some more, and then my old soldiers brung me back here.

Well, then, this morning they did it all again, only this time there was a whole lot more to it—more people, further to go and it took a lot longer. I was led along behind that there cart jest like before, only this time there was nothing inside. They had a band for music, jest like the old Army days, and there was— Oh, you heared them, did you, Tom? ‘Scared you silly, did it? Well, now you know what the guns sound like. Sure, I guess them bangs
are
‘nuff to scare you silly till you've got used to them. Yes, those was guns right ‘nuff, Tom—firing steady—but I couldn't make out where the fighting could be. ‘Twas somewhere real close, though. Those guns was right here in town. I was ‘specting to see Marse Robert any moment, or maybe Old Pete, but they warn't around. Marse Taylor was there, though, and Major Venable and a whole crowd of our officers and soldiers. Smelt pretty much the same as the Army always used to, only cleaner. But they warn't dressed like soldiers, and ‘sides there was a whole passel of ladies as well—Miss Life and Miss Agnes I seed, and a lot more—friends of Marse Robert as well as strangers.

There warn't no cloths on sticks, though, nor none of that. Everything ‘peared to be black—black clothes, black ribbons, all the houses hung with black, and I had this black stuff hung all over my saddle and bridle again. We set off real ceremonious and marched all round town, with the music playing, bells ringing and guns banging. Whatever ‘twas all ‘bout, I could tell it was something mighty serious and grand. The whole town was out, and crowds of people—strangers—had come in from out of town, too. ‘Twas a real nice morning, and I kept hoping it might end with a ride out into the country, but all I got was this here slow walking along behind the long cart.

‘Twarn't a good column of march. It didn't feel right at all. In fact, it was real terrible. I sure hoped the Blue men warn't nowhere around to start an attack. It all felt mighty chancy to me. Marse Robert warn't with us, we hadn't no cavalry that I could see, and our soldiers hadn't ary muskets. It's like I've always told you, Tom: if Marse Robert ain't there to see to it, none of ‘em can't never get nothing right by theirselves. ‘Twas a real mess, and we was lucky not to be attacked.

When we finally got back again to the pointed tower house, there was a huge crowd of people stood there, and not a musket or a horse between the lot of ‘em! No one raised a cheer or a yell and no one gave ary orders. Some of ‘em went inside and some stayed outside. Talk ‘bout disorder! Me, I stood quiet and steady ‘nuff, but I was jest wishing I could see Joker again, or any of the old headquarters horses. I felt real perplexed with all this soldiering that warn't soldiering, and in the end I was glad ‘nuff, I can tell you, when I was led back here and things ‘parently finished without no trouble. Blest if'n I know what it can all have been ‘bout.

‘Course, you and me—well, all of us animals, really—we can't always understand what human beings are up to, can we? I sometimes wonder whether
they
do. I guess all this carrying-on must ‘a made some sort of sense, but I'll tell you, I'll feel a whole lot happier when Marse Robert gets back and things start being properly managed again. I mean, imagine having ladies round when there's guns a-firing! Did you ever hear of anything the likes of that? Well, I guess you wouldn't know, Tom, not being a soldier, but you can take it from me that that's blame nonsense for a start. And then, marching all round town as slow as that—no cavalry, no wagons, no ambulances—and ending up by coming back to the same place. I reckon it's lucky for us Marse Robert put those people down good and proper when he did—finished their tricks once't and for all. Else they'd surely have taken advantage of us today.

I'll tell you, I can't wait for Marse Robert to come back. The floods are pretty well down now, I reckon. It's turning out a nice fall—sunny days—good for riding. Yeah, I tell you what he'll do. He'll come in, maybe saddle me up hisself, see to the girth and that—you know I've often told you how considerate and particular he is—and then off we'll go through the woods. “General Lee, I feel mighty like cheering you!” Oh, that was dead funny, that old fella all alone up in the woods! Or maybe we'll go off on the trail for three-four days, like we have before. Now that really would be something!

Say, Tom, I'll tell you what. You jump up there on the manger—that's right!—and act like you was Marse Robert. It's early morning on campaign. You look all round camp to see that everything's been tidied up and fixed right for starting off. And I'm waiting here, saddled up, with Joker and the others. That's it—fine! Now you turn around this way, and what do you say? You don't remember? I'll tell you. You say, “Strike the tent!”