Traveller Page 10

  'Fore first light next morning I heared him a-stamping round, and every now and then he'd pass wind something terrible. He was in pain all right. The way he was carrying on, I reckon his gut must 'a been blocked. I asked him how he was feeling, but all I got for my trouble was more cussing. Young Dave was up well before first light--the sentry woke him--and it didn't take him long to see Richmond was a sick horse. 'Course, as far as I was concerned, that meant jest one thing. I was saddled up for Marse Robert; it was my turn, anyway.

  It was a terrible bad battle that day--worse'n I can tell you, Tom. The Blue men had got 'emselves up atop a big green hill, all open and plain, and our fellas was stuck down in the woods and swamps at the bottom. It was nothing but guns, guns all that day. The Blue men had more guns'n we did, and they was firing down the open hillside. I was lucky, 'cause for some reason Marse Robert didn't go acting crazy the way he'd done the day before. Early afternoon, him and Old Pete rode out a ways to one side o' that hill, looking round, I reckon, for the best chance of an attack. But then he came back again. Well, 'tell the truth, Tom, I figure that day no one knowed what they was a-doing at all-- it was having no sleep for days, as much as anything else--and even Marse Robert wasn't jest rightly hisself. I could tell from how he felt on my back and the way he was acting and speaking. He wanted to drive the Blue men off'n that there hill like he'd druv them out of the swamp with the Texans, but he didn't rightly know how to go 'bout it. And in fact it never got done. When it came dark, our Army was still down to the bottom of that hill, 'ceptin' for a whole chance of our poor fellas laying dead and wounded on the open slope.

  I never heared the wounded cry worse'n they did that night.

  Headquarters had been set up at a house a ways back, and that was where I found Richmond that night, in the stable. He'd plainly been took worse and worse all day, and now there warn't no doubt he was very bad off. He was sweating real hard, breathing fast and blowing. Even from where I was, I could tell his pulse was too quick. He kept a-walking round and round his box, and every so often he'd throw hisself down and roll about real wild. Then he'd get up and stretch as if he wanted to pass water, but he couldn't do it. Every time the pain came on, he'd kick at his belly.

  I figured young Dave had been with him all day, but there'd been no help to be had on 'count of the battle. Marse Robert and me, we'd been riding through the bivouacs long after dark, Marse Robert talking to this general and that 'un. We was still out when Jine-the-Cavalry rode up to talk to Marse Robert and find out what he wanted him to do. And when we got back to headquarters, Tom, 'twas all Marse Robert could do jest to get off'n my back, he was that tired, and Dave had no chance at all to talk to him 'bout Richmond.

  Getting on towards the middle of the night, a fog come up and covered everything. You could feel it creeping and thickening all around the stable, round the house and out over the fields beyond, thick as blankets. You could hear the sentries coughing, and cussing to each other, up and down outside. I wondered whether it'd be laying high as the hill, soaking into the dead and wounded, the dead horses laid stiff alongside the guns they'd dragged up there. After a while the air in the stable turned kind of moist and cloudy, and all you could see outside was jest thick gray.

  I couldn't sleep. It got hard, in that air, to draw your breath, and Richmond was forever shambling round and round his box, crouching down, getting up again and panting. Somehow I could sense that our soldiers was down at heart. You could tell from the tread of the sentries and the heavy kind of way they was a-speaking and acting. We'd thought we was going to drive the Blue men off of that hill, and we hadn't-- and what was worse, there was a passel of our fellas laying out there dead as flies.

  First light, when it come at last, was thin and gray, sort of filtering through a damp mist wet as rain. I'd been 'specting Dave to saddle me up for Marse Robert, but nothing happened--nothing at all. It seemed a long time 'fore finally Dave and two-three other soldiers came in. I thought they'd have 'tended to Richmond, but 'stead of that they started putting dry litter in the empty stalls. That was a fair-sized stable, and best I could make out they was getting it ready for more horses. After they'd been working a while, Dave broke off to have a look at Richmond. He spoke to the other soldiers, and then he went away and came back with some sort of warm drink he'd made up for him. I could smell it from where I was stood. It had a kind of heady, herb-like smell. I guess there was some drug in it. Richmond drank some, but 'far as I could see he didn't drink it all, and I could tell Dave was flustered and felt he couldn't give Richmond all of his time.

  By now the rain was jest streaming down. The yard outside was like a duckpond, and in one part of the roof, where there was a fair old hole, the water was pouring through like a creek a-running. Every man who came into the stable was drenched and cussing, and dripping all over the floor.

  All of a sudden a soldier comes in leading Little Sorrel. He was put into the box next to mine. He was wetter'n a frog in a ditch, and they began rubbing him down. I asked him what was going on. He told me Cap-in-His-Eyes had ridden him over from his outfit to talk to Marse Robert.

  "The Blue men have all gone off the hill," he said. "Vamoosed in the night. Stonewall's crazy to get after 'em and blow 'em to bits, but with this durned rain it's jest about impossible to move. You oughta see it, Traveller. Everything this side of the hill's turning into a lake miles wide, and all the wounded fellas crawling 'bout 'mong the dead 'uns, crying for the ambulances to come and pick 'em up. Our soldiers are trying to get fires going to dry theirselves out and dry their muskets."

  "Where's Cap-in-His-Eyes now?" I asked.

  "Inside," says Sorrel, "talking to Marse Robert. 'Far as I can make out, Marse Robert's none too pleased with him. That day I last seed you--day before yesterday--it seems he let the Blue men get away when he oughta've been pitching into 'em. I knowed how it would be. I told you, didn't I, that it'd work out bad--remember? He was so tired he jest couldn't think no more. I seed him actually falling asleep with the food between his teeth."

  Jest then Hero--Old Pete's horse--was led in, and the rain a-pouring off'n him in streams. He told us that him and Old Pete had been riding all over the place, everywhere there was fighting the day before, checking things out.

  "Even Old Pete's had 'nuff for a while," says Hero. "They's bodies laying everywhere--the Blue men and our fellas all mixed up together. I don't know who won--everyone seems shook up and real downhearted but one thing--the Blue men's gone, that's for sure."

  Hero warn't in the stable long. They'd hardly had a chance to rub him down when we heared Old Pete outside, callin' for him. When Hero warn't brung out quick 'nuff, he started in a-cussing real savage.

  "I figure this is all the fighting there's likely to be," says Sorrel. "For a good while, anyways."

  "How d'you know?" I asked.

  "There's nowhere left for the Blue men to go," he answered. "But we ain't able to fight 'em no more. We're dead beat ourselves, and anyway they've got too many guns. Some of them guns yesterday was the heaviest I've ever heared."

  "So what do you think'll happen?" I asked him.

  "They'll go away," he said, "and leave us be--for now, that is."

  The next horse that come in was Thunder, so I knowed without asking that the President must have come to see Marse Robert, too.

  "What's the matter with Richmond?" asked Thunder at once. Richmond had been pretty quiet for a while, but now he was blowing again, tossing his head and walking his stall.

  I said I reckoned it was his gut, and told Thunder bout the sour bran.

  "He'll die," said Thunder, watching him. "Gut's blocked. I seed it afore now."

  We stood around in the foggy air, stamping hooves and listening to the noise of the rain on the roof. Presently Dave came in to see what more he could do for Richmond, but by this time Richmond was in spasms and didn't even 'pear to feel it when he hit his head agin the wall in his tossing and turning.

  It was early afternoon when Thunder wa
s taken out for the President. I heared his hooves splashing out of the yard, and as they died away Marse Robert come in, a-talking to Dave. They went straight over to Richmond's box. When he seed Marse Robert, Richmond quieted down and let Marse Robert run his hand over him. The pain seemed to have left him and he began drinking from his water-trough.

  "How long has he been like this?" says Marse Robert to Dave.

  Before Dave could reply, Richmond staggered and set his four legs wide apart. 'Seemed like he was trying to stand, but then he give a quick lurch forward and fell over on his knees. He commenced to get up, but fell again. He was jerking and shaking all over, teeth bare, frothing at the mouth. It didn't go on very long, though: he went over on one side, kicked out, shuddered from head to foot and went still. I knowed he was dead.

  Marse Robert dropped on one knee and felt his heart. Young Dave, beside him, was near'bouts to crying.

  "What a shame!" says Marse Robert, running his hand over Richmond's body with the rain a-dripping off all down his sleeve. "What a shame! Died o' the colic. No fault of yours, my boy--these things happen in war. We have to bear them like everything else. Some of you lads better set to and bury the poor beast. He was an awkward fella, but so are we all, I guess. He always did best as he could. I'm sorry to see him go."

  He waited a few moments. Then he turned away, came into my box and began stroking my nose and talking to me. "That jest leaves you and me now, Traveller," he says. "Jest the two of us. But I reckon you're all I'm going to be needing from now on. You and me, we'll make out jest fine."

  "Is that right, sir," asks Dave, "the enemy's gone?"

  "Yes, they're gone all right," answers Marse Robert. 'Peared like he was leaving, but then he spoke to me again, very low in my ear. "Oh, Traveller," he said, "by rights they should have been destroyed! They should have been destroyed!"

  VIII

  August 19, 1862. It is now seven weeks since General Lee, in the remarkable campaign known as the Seven Days, drove General McClellan's army back from the eastern outskirts of Richmond, by one engagement after another forcing them into retreat through the marshy, wooded country bordering the Chickahominy and finally into ignominious refuge under the protection of Federal gunboats along the northern shore of the James River. Had it not been for faulty staff-work and uncertain coordination of the conglomerate and as yet inexperienced Army of Northern Virginia, the Federals might well have been reduced to surrender. As matters stand, the hitherto unregarded General Lee has won the adulation of every officer and man under his command and the respect and confidence of the entire Confederacy. Now--so is the common feeling throughout the South--there is every prospect of such a victory as will bring about recognition by the European powers and a negotiated peace acknowledging independence.

  Yet the cost in casualties, to a nation with less than half the manpower of its enemy, has been fearful. During the Seven Days' campaign, the flower of the South has perished. In particular the loss of junior officers--the fulcrum of any army and the reservoir of future senior command--has been grave. Such losses cannot be made good and the Confederacy cannot afford their continuance. As with material resources, so with manpower; already, with courage and determination still high, the South has begun to feel the pinch.

  General Lee is in no position to follow up or exploit his brilliant victory. He is like a man swimming against the sea. As fast as he breasts the waves, they close again. McClellan has evacuated his army to the area of Fredericksburg. The Federal forces so skillfully defeated by Stonewall Jackson in his Valley campaign of June have been reorganized under the command of General Pope on the upper Rappahannock. Here they have been joined by reinforcements under General Burnside.

  There has been no time for the full period of rest, refit and reinforcement that General Lee would have wished for his men. The weaker side cannot afford to wait. He must take the offensive--if possible, threaten Washington, for Richmond is never so safe as when its defenders are absent. If General Pope--a bombastic and truculent character, regarded by Lee with contempt--is to be suppressed, it must be quickly, before McClellan's army can join him. Piecemeal and secretly, the Army of Northern Virginia has been transported from Richmond to the area of Gordonsville in the Piedmont, near the eastern foot of the Blue Ridge. Until two days ago Pope was known to be lying some twenty miles to the north, beyond the Rapidan. Now, however, there is news that he has taken alarm and begun a retreat northward towards the Rappahannock. General Lee, accompanied by his subordinate General Longstreet, has ridden to the top of Clark's Mountain to see for himself.

  Gets cold these midwinter nights, Tom, don't it? Been pretty cold today, particular late afternoon. It's fine in here, though. I guess you got to've been out cold nights in the open 'fore you can really 'preciate a warm stable like this 'un. That's it--rake round the straw close up agin me and settle yourself in comfortable.

  What's that? A new horse? You seed a new mare come with Marse Robert's son today? Tom, that was no new mare. My shoes and ears, give me the shock of my life! For a moment I thought I seed a ghost! That's Lucy Long, Tom--her as first soldiered with me four year ago and more. No, well, 'course you wouldn't know. Soon's ever I seed her coming round the corner with young Marse Rob, I recognized the blaze on her forehead and her white hind legs. 'Made me start all over, but then she nickered to me, jest like she used to, so I knowed it was Lucy all right. I 'membered her at once--that light brown color and the square build of her. Well, so I ought, after all we was through together.

  'Course, there was a time once't when I didn't like Lucy. 'Twarn't no fault of her'n. I was jest plain mean, that was what it come down to: jealousy--that, and knowing well 'nuff why Marse Robert had felt 'bliged to get her. Yeah, well, I'll tell you all 'bout it sometime. But you couldn't dislike Lucy for long. For one thing, she's a shade older'n me, with real nice manners. Quiet kinda horse--no bad habits at all. Not half the trouble I can be. We got the same fast walk, but Lucy never cared for a trot. She liked an easy pace and a short canter. I got to admit she was what Marse Robert needed at the time. And it was all my fault--all my fault! Worst thing I ever done in my life. I hate to think of it even now.

  Jine-the-Cavalry got her for Marse Robert, you know. 'Far's I can remember, I think Ajax must have come 'bout the same time. He came from somewhere down near Andy's, I believe. Ajax never suited Marse Robert, though--too tall. Well, he is kinda big and awkward, Tom, don't you reckon? And not all that much vigor, neither. Got him a reg'lar easy life, hasn't it? Warn't many bangs for Ajax--he never come much under fire, and he's sure comfortable 'nuff here.

  What was it I was going to tell you, though? Oh, 'bout when me and Hero was up on Clark's Mountain, they calls it. It was a fine, clear morning in late summer--pretty hot day coming on. I knowed something was fixing to happen, jest from the general feel of the whole place. The mood of the soldiers--all strung up, y'know.

  This was a different kinda country; we'd come up on the railroad, and it was--oh, yeah, a month and more'n a month--after the Blue men had run away off the hill in the fog and our headquarters had gone back to ol' Miss Dabbs's. No more swamps; jest nice, clear streams. Open country; no underbrush and hardly no forests--not as I seed. The roads was pretty good, too--more certain for my hooves. It was all long, low ridges, with fields of standing grass and crops, and here and there a high hill. The real mountains was far off. You could see 'em black agin the evening sky.

  Well, that morning--getting on for mid-morning, 'twas--I was cropping some fresh grass, nice and easy, in the meadow near a farm where Marse Robert had set up headquarters, when up comes Old Pete and Hero. I was glad to see Hero, cause to tell you the truth I was still missing Brown-Roan, though 'course there was plenty of other horses round headquarters. Marse Robert and Old Pete, they got to talking together, leaning on the rail by the meadow; but I knowed they wouldn't be long, 'cause Old Pete had left Hero's saddle on. Sure 'nuff, the two of 'em, and Marse Taylor and a few more, we-all set off for a nice ride. We m
ust'a gone maybe six or seven mile when we come to this here Clark's Mountain, and up we went on the open grass. Some of our soldiers was round, and they saluted Marse Robert. When we got to the top, out came everybody's two bottles up to their eyes. I was used to that by now.

  "What're we all a-doing, d'you figure?" I asked Hero.

  "Looking for Blue men, 'course," he says. "What else?"

  Now you gotta know, Tom, that ever since that morning when Richmond died, I'd s'posed we was through with the Blue men. Don't ask me why I'd thought that, with soldiers and tents and guns all around, but I had. Well, 'cause I'd wanted to, I reckon. Y'see, Marse Robert had told Dave that the Blue men was gone right 'nuff, and I'd s'posed that meant for good. But Hero, he knowed better. When he told me that, I had a horrible sinking feeling in my gut. Again? I thought. Bangs, battles, horses squealing and bullets smacking up the dust? I was going to ask him how he knowed, but then I reckoned that wouldn't look right for Marse Robert's horse. So I jest turned my head and looked out over the country from up top there.

  You could see a long ways. Jest below us, at the foot of the hill, was a real pretty river, all open, shining and glittering in the sunshine. Beyond that, on our left, ran a railroad, but I couldn't see no smoke, and no trains. And then, far off, after a bit I could make out some of them cloths on sticks fluttering in the distance, and white things moving.

  "See?" says Hero. "See their wagons out there? They're retreating. They've got wind of us. Keep watching them camps down yonder."