During them warm days down south, we used to see hundreds of horses. Like I was saying, we often rode alone and Marse Robert would go into any stables where we fetched up, jest to look at the horses and make sure they was being prop'ly cared for. But he did it all so quiet and homey--none of this here "I'm the General: jest you stand up straight!" stuff--that a lot of the soldiers never even knowed who he was. One day he stopped to talk to two fellas driving a team of horses, but one of 'em was deaf, and as we was moving on, this deaf fella said to the other, real loud, "Who is that durned ol' fool? He's always a-pokin' round my horses as if he meant to steal one of 'em!"
VI
'Seems like quite a while since you been in here to see me, Tom. You killed that many rats early on this summer, I s'pose you've no particular reason to come and sit in here nights. 'Met the goat, have you? That's Sandy. Marse Robert's put him in here for company, seeing as how Ajax is down in the other shed. And powerful good company he is, too. Sandy, this is Tom the Nipper, Marse Robert's commander of ratcatchers. He has the most refined manners of any cat I've met.
Y'know, one thing I like 'bout this here place is that even though we're pretty far on with summer now, the flies ain't all that bad. Why, I've knowed 'em worse this time of year when we was up north. But 'course, any Army draws flies--the crowds of men and horses natcherly breed 'em. It's different here. Well, for one thing it's cooler, an' 'tain't a lot o' horses, neither. S'afternoon, when me and Marse Robert was riding over to Rockbridge, he stopped off once't or twice't, like he gen'rally does, to talk with folks 'long the way. He's that friendly, they've all got to know him real well. He was talking to this old fella quite a spell--'bout his corn crop, I figure, from the way they was both looking at the plants. I was hitched to the gate an' hardly a fly come round. Jest had to twitch my skin and stamp some; that was 'nuff to fix 'em.
That was what set me to remembering 'bout the time I was telling you, Tom, when we was down south and doing all that digging round the creeks and swamps. Now down there it's skeeters pretty well round the year, but the time we was there was the best time of year for losing 'em, so this horse told me--nearest it ever gets to winter, he said. It was jest getting to early spring, and I was dreading what a full crop of skeeters would be like--worse'n flies, I 'spect--when one day we-all lit out and headed north on the railroad. I was a-feared it was back to the dad-burn mountain, but Marse Robert, I reckon he knowed I was worried, 'cause he came several times to have a word with me and make sure I was all right on the journey.
What we came to warn't the mountain, though. It was a city-- the biggest city in the world. Leastways, I've never seed or heared tell of a bigger one. I can't really describe it, Tom. It's a thousand times bigger'n this here little town--lots more houses, more people, more noise. When we got off the railroad--why, it was like the whole world was a city--streets and streets, an' all full of horses and carts, crowds of people pushing up and down the sidewalks and everywhere men shouting to each other over the noise of wheels on the cobblestones. And that's not all, neither. There was them kind of long wagons with flat tops; carriages like, and full of men and women, with horses to pull 'em on rails, running up and down the streets. Don't they jest 'bout rattle and bang, too? I was being ridden by one of Marse Robert's soldiers, and I s'pect I was kinda hard to handle, 'cause I was feeling a mite nervous and skittish then. But Brown-Roan was a lot of help; he'd seed all o' this truck before, and his acting manageable made me feel quieter, too. 'Sides, there was plenty more horses round and they warn't letting things faze them one bit.
What really fazed me, when we got to Marse Robert's place in this here city, was there was that durned Richmond in the stable, his loose box right next to mine. I hadn't figured on meeting him ever again, not never; and there he was. When he seed me, he jest wrinkled his nose and laid his ears back. It was evidently jest as nasty a surprise for him as it was for me. What I know now is that Richmond knowed real well, even then, that Marse Robert found him a troublesome fella and was looking out for a better horse. He didn't know--but he was going to-- that I was that better horse. Well, maybe he did know, for he never really troubled to make an enemy of Brown-Roan. It was me in particular he didn't like.
I didn't care for the stables in the city. There warn't 'nuff for a horse to do. 'Fact, there was nothing to do, 'cause of Marse Robert seemed to have quit riding. I couldn't make it out. 'Course, he used to come into the stable to look us over and talk to us, but it was jest only for a few minutes mostly, and then he always seemed to have something else uppermost in his mind. The stablemen used to take us out for exercise, and they'd ride us 'longside the big river, but I couldn't never really get to liking it, 'cause I knowed I warn't working for Marse Robert. And anyway, like I was telling you, Tom, 'far as I was concerned Marse Robert had become the center of things. He was my whole world. I know I was difficult once't or twice't. I couldn't relax, and there warn't one of the soldiers looking after us that I really took to. 'Sides, they kept a-changing, and that didn't help none neither. 'Nother thing that didn't help was the few times Marse Robert did take me out hisself, I could tell--a good horse can always tell, Tom, you know--that he was out o' sorts and discontented. Whatever 'twas he had to do in that city, he didn't like it. What it come down to was he was fretting and so was I.
'Twarn't really surprising, though, that I felt strung up tight. You could feel the same thing all over the city--in the men and women, I mean: the way they stood, the way they moved and held theirselves, the sound of their voices. They didn't know it, maybe, but I felt it whenever I was out of my stable. I noticed it most particular in the soldiers. The whole place was filling up with more and more soldiers. They'd come marching through the streets, sometimes, when we was a-riding out--bands playing, and always a fella out in front carrying one of these here colored cloths on sticks. You see, they're real important, Tom--them colored cloths on sticks. Soldiers can't be soldiers unless they've got one of 'em going on in front. What? Oh, never mind why. I do know, mind you, but I can't tell you, 'cause it's a military secret. They control the weather, an' make sick men better an' a whole lot of other things--never you mind. The cloth I particularly got to know was red, with blue crisscross stripes and sort of spiky white spots on, but each bunch of soldiers had their own kind, you see. The noises the bands made was different, too, but they had their favorites, and I got so's I could recognize the particular sorta beat of some of them noises.
It was real spring--a perfect day, sunny and warm--more'n a month after we'd come, when a big crowd of soldiers--horse and foot-- come marching into the city. The fella who was riding me out turned back to watch. The people on the sidewalks was all a-cheering and a-waving their hats. It made them forget their troubles and look real happy. The gardens was all full of flowers, I 'member, and the women was running out of their houses and giving the soldiers cakes and flowers as they marched 'long the street. After a bit you could smell the flowers better'n what you could the soldiers--and that's saying something. The soldiers stuck the flowers in their caps, in their guns, round their necks. I 'spect that was the best day of their lives, a lot of 'em.
Twice't, 'long 'bout that time, Marse Robert took me out hisself and rode me out of the city and down the river--some four mile, I guess. All I 'member 'bout it is men digging and working everywhere. Mud and high water, and Marse Robert calling out to 'em and urging 'em on. But that was when I first heared guns, Tom: the real big guns-- the bangs! When they began, we was crossing the river flats. The noise-- oh, you can't describe it! And the ground shook. To a horse, that's even more frightening than the noise. You never lose the fear of that. I was rarin' up and dancing about, and Marse Robert had his hands full to calm me down. What did finally calm me was the sight of one of Marse Robert's soldiers on Richmond. Richmond was really making trouble, an' I didn't nohow want to be like him. All the same, we warn't in a battle that day. I hadn't been in one yet, and I'd no idea what was going on. What I guess now is that the Blue men--I hadn'
t even seed any Blue men then--was trying to get up the river, but we stopped 'em with our banging away.
I'll tell you 'bout the next time I was in the bangs, Tom, 'cause that really was an important time--for Marse Robert and for me and for everybody.
It was early summer, only not so's you could tell it. The weather had turned real bad. It had been raining and raining for days. Marse Robert had been riding Brown-Roan mostly--Richmond once't or twice't. This particular morning, though, he rode me out of the city and we headed east. Marse Taylor was with us, I remember, and one or two more. That day was dull and cloudy, but no rain. I could hear some bangs, but they was a long ways off. The road was soft and muddy, and there was plenty of trees either side, and a wooden plank house or two in the clearings. What you'd call sheltered, really. Marse Robert seemed sort of dejected and restless. He rode along without a word, but I could feel he was on edge. I felt on edge, too. I reckon I knowed we was aheading for trouble, but I didn't know 'zackly what sort.
We came to a bend in the road, and up ahead, in the scrubland, there was a whole passel of our soldiers, all in long lines stretching jest 'bout as far as you could see. They was on edge, too. Everybody was waiting for something. Marse Robert got off and began talking to another man I figured was a general like hisself. This other man was giving orders, and round where we was people kept a-coming and a-going. A long ways off there was everlasting bangs, but still nothing 'peared to happen. The soldiers didn't move. We must have stuck round there for the best part of three-four hours.
Then the other general called for his horse and rode away, and jest as he did, a man in ordinary clothes--not a soldier--came riding up to us. Marse Robert walked forward to meet him.
I liked the look of this other man's horse. As he came up, he nickered to me real friendly, and I nickered back. His man dismounts and hitches him 'longside me.
"You're Traveller, ain't you?" this horse asks me straight off. "I've heared o' you. My name's Thunder. Is that General Lee, your man?"
"Sure," I says. "He's the boss round here."
"That's where you're wrong," says this other horse, but still very friendly. "My man's the boss. He's the President, and he's the boss of the whole shooting match. You stick around and you'll see for yourself."
"What's he doing here?" I says.
"There's going to be a battle," says Thunder. "A bad one, too, if'n I know anything 'bout it. I'm scairt. I only hope to goodness we get out of it all right."
"How do you know?" I says.
"Can't you hear the guns and the muskets?" he says, looking real nervous and rolling his eye. "Our fellas must be attacking the enemy right this minute."
So then Marse Robert and this here President mounts us again and we set off on the road. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon now and the sun was a-dropping down towards the top of the woods behind us. It had turned out a finer evening than what the day had been.
Suddenly, 'fore I knowed what was happening, there commenced an infernal row and all round us confusion sech as you never seed, Tom, and can't imagine. I could see whole lines of our gray soldiers going forward--or trying to--'mong the trees and scrub, shouting and yelling. Every second or so there'd be a great bang--smoke and flame-- and some of 'em would fall down, screaming and cussing, over in the logs and the bushes. There was smoke everywhere, and that was the first time, Tom, that I smelt that smell--what they call battle-smoke. Two fellas come limping back past us, one holding t'other up. You could see they was both hurt real bad. One was as good as blind, and the blood was streaming down his face. The other kept on kind o' crying, "Ah! Ah!" There was horsemen everywhere, galloping 'bout in the smoke and shouting to each other. No one could tell what they was meant to be doing.
Then I knowed that this other horse had been right: his man was the boss. He had to be, 'cause Marse Robert was jest sitting still and letting him take care of things. To tell the truth, Marse Robert had plenty of work keeping me quiet, 'cause I was all over the road. "Easy, Traveller, easy!" I wonder how often since then I've heared them same words? The other horse was calm as you like, and his man, this here President, he was giving orders, pointing up the road and shouting, and two soldiers on horses lit out like crazy the way we'd come, to see to whatever he'd said had got to be done.
It was getting on to twilight now, and more and more of our soldiers was streaming back out of the thickets. A whole lot of 'em was wounded and they all 'peared to be frightened. A man rode up and tried to tell the President to mind hisself and clear out o' there, but he jest shook him off and kept on a-giving out his orders.
I'd become hysterical near 'bouts, and it was only Marse Robert's voice and hands that kept me from charging away through the soldiers, jest knocking 'em over. And then, all of a sudden, Marse Robert grabbed the President's arm and pointed up the road. Two men was carrying a stretcher and shouting to the soldiers to get out o' the way. They came right up to us. Laying on the stretcher was the other general--the man Marse Robert had been talking to when we first got there. Anyone could see he was shot to blazes--hurt real bad. He was groaning with pain and his gray uniform was all soaked in blood. The President bent down and spoke to him and so did Marse Robert, but he could hardly say a word. You could tell they was both real upset to see him that way. They hadn't expected nothing like that. "Why, durn it!" says the President's horse to me. "General Johnston! Now that's terrible bad! Anything can happen now."
They carried the general away. The banging gradually died down and our own soldiers, in little groups, came back acrost the road and throwed theirselves down every which way among the trees. They was beat to a frazzle--jest plumb wore out. But I figure the enemy must have been beat, too, 'cause they didn't show. After a while, all I could hear in the near dark was voices giving orders and wounded men crying and cussing.
Then another man--'nother general--come up out of the trees and commenced to talking and explaining things to the President and Marse Robert. All I understood of this was that finally the President told this man to make the soldiers stay where they was for the night. Then him and Marse Robert turned us back the way we'd come, and off we went-- that's to say, best we could.
The road was all tromped to deep mush; it was bad going. We went through crowds of soldiers in the dark, and other horses pulling ambulances full of wounded men. I could smell blood everywhere--men and horses, too--but I warn't afraid now the bangs had stopped. I figured we was going home.
All along the road, Marse Robert and the President was talking, talking together--'bout the battle having gone so bad, I guess, and 'bout this here General Johnston being hurt so terrible. But after a while, there was a long silence 'tween them. And then at last the President says, "General Lee, I want you to take over command of the Army. You start tomorrow." Well, that's jest how I recall it, Tom, y'know. And I remember what his horse said to me, too. He said, "I sure hope you enjoy yourself."
June 1, 1862. The plight of the Confederacy is desperate. Despite all diplomatic efforts, not one of the European powers has acknowledged the independence of the South: they are waiting upon the event. The withholding of cotton exports has proved an ineffective blunder, for there is a glut of cotton on the world market, and now the Confederacy has lost incoming funds that might have bought the arms so urgently needed. The Federal naval blockade is beginning to bite. In the West, the war has gone badly. New Orleans is lost and so is the whole state of Missouri.
Worst of all, General McClellan, having landed a Federal army of more than 90,000 men on the southeastern tip of the Virginia Peninsula lying between the York and the James Rivers, has advanced sixty miles to the very outskirts of Richmond. Despite a brilliant diversionary campaign by Stonewall Jackson in the Shen-andoah Valley, the Confederate capital seems about to fall to McClellan. Two days ago, the Confederate army defending the city, commanded by General Joseph E. Johnston, launched a counterattack upon McClellan--the so-called battle of Seven Pines. Yesterday General Robert E. Lee, chafing and frustrate
d in his anomalous post as "conductor of military operations under the direction of the President," himself rode out of Richmond to view what he could of the battlefield. Arrived there, he was shortly joined by none other than President Davis. Under Federal fire, as darkness fell the two saw the mismanaged Confederate attack peter out into a drawn battle, in which General Johnston himself was seriously wounded.
General Lee, now aged fifty-five, has been appointed by the President to the command of the army. His reputation is not particularly high, and little enthusiasm attends the announcement. Lee is regarded by Johnston's lieutenants as a nonentity and the nearest thing to a mere staff officer. Richmond newspapers disparage him. Since last August he has conducted a small and unsuccessful campaign in western Virginia, and then spent four months of the winter strengthening the coastal defenses of South Carolina. Now, at no notice at all, the fate of Richmond itself has been laid upon his shoulders.
What use is a general in the field without a steady and reliable horse? About as much use as a shepherd without a dog.
That day--that day I was telling you 'bout, Tom--that's what they call "coming under fire." That was the first day I ever come under fire. I was scairt out o' my wits--dancing 'bout all over the place--and I don't reckon that there President's horse was no better, neither. Sometimes it seems like I've reg'lar lived under fire from that day to this. I mean, if it's not bangs right now, then it's going to be bangs, or else it has been bangs an' you're still shaking. And if it's not that, why then you can go to sleep and jest dream 'bout bangs instead. Only there's been no bangs now--no more ground shaking--for a long time--oh, two summers. Marse Robert, he put a stop to the bangs, you see, in the end. Well, I'll tell you all 'bout that some other time. For now, I'll-- Hey, stop batting my tail around, and jest listen, will ya? I've had 'nuff folks messing with my tail.
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