Well, I told you, Tom, didn't I, that I was uneasy and fretful in myself? And it was going to get a lot worse. Next morning we started going up into the hills. Everyone was glad to get up higher, into cooler air. It was mid-afternoon, and we'd come over the top and started to come down when I first heared firing ahead of us. It was coming out'n a kinda narrow, rocky place, very steep. That's what we call a defile, you know. I guess the rocks and the narrowness made the noise worse. There was guns firing as well as muskets, and the first roar made me like to jump acrost the road. I warn't the only horse, neither; one or two actually bolted. 'Course, I knowed at once't there must be Blue men down there. Well, I reckon so--that defile, with rocks all round, was a natural place for 'em, same as the swampy creek had been. But somehow we had to get through it, y'see.
Marse Robert pulled me round and we lit off straight to the top of a hill one side of the road. The deafening fire was still coming up from below. Marse Robert dismounted and gave my reins to the soldier that was with us. By this time, you know, Tom, I was beginning to understand more of what went on and what was likely to happen. On the top of that hill I felt the two of us was really taking a risk. The Blue men must be able to see us, and any moment there'd come a bang would tear me to bits, like I'd seed happen to other horses. But Marse Robert, he jest kept a-looking out nice and steady and taking his time--you'd 'a reckoned he was on a picnic. I'll tell you, I was more'n glad when we come down off'n that hill. Marse Robert couldn't have been much worried 'bout the defile, though. He jest gave out some orders and then we-all went off to another fine house for the night. It was mighty strange, Tom, you know, this dodging 'bout between horrible danger and what you'd call the lap of luxury. Y'see, I hadn't larnt yet that when you're a soldier you don't look ahead. You take whatever comes, and if it's good for the moment, then the moment's good 'nuff. But I kept thinking ahead, and for me that spoiled everything. Yet next morning the Blue men was gone--no one knowed why--and we-all jest went on down through the defile.
We'd gone 'long a little ways, and I was jest thinking that soon the heat and dust was going to be every bit as bad as before, when I smelt horses in the trees off to one side of the road. I remembered the enemy cavalry two days before, and I felt sure they must have come back-- more of 'em this time--'nuff to pitch into us. Y'see, Tom, the state I'd got myself in, every durned thing that happened seemed like 'nother sharp stone on a bad road. The flies and the dust and the hot sun was all part of a bad place, and the place was bad 'cause it was dangerous. It must be hard for you to realize how defenseless a horse is. Come right down to it, we're more defenseless'n cats. No one wants to take you into a battle, and anyways there's a lot less of you to offer a target, ain't there? I did a little dance, bucking acrost the road, and Joker had to rear back to get out'n my way. "Found a bees' nest?" he snorts, but I was too busy getting myself under orders to answer him back. Any man but Marse Robert would have gotten impatient, I reckon.
But they was our horses, as I could have smelt plain 'nuff if I'd had any sense. 'Sides, they was carrying the red-and-blue cloth on a stick, though until they come close you could hardly see it for the dust. In front was Jine-the-Cavalry hisself, and this time he was riding Skylark. They come up to us straight off, and Jine-the-Cavalry commenced to talking to Marse Robert.
Skylark, as I've told you, was one of them high-bred horses that's able to hide everything behind a bunch of polished manners. Those he certainly had. As we went 'long side by side, he asked me how I was getting on and whether we'd had a hard march and had the dust been this bad all along and had I met his friend Rollo the courier and a whole pile of politeness of that sort. After a while I asked him whether he knowed where we was a-going and what was likely to happen. I should have explained, Tom, that all the morning, while we'd been marching, there'd been on-and-off sounds of guns from far ahead, and I asked 'bout them, too.
Skylark said it was Cap-in-His-Eyes' guns we was hearing. He said the cavalry had come straight from Cap-in-His-Eyes, who was being attacked by the Blue men jest a few miles off.
"A battle?" I asked, trying not to show how I felt.
"I'm not sure," answers Skylark, kind of casual. I'd a felt better if he'd said he was sure, one way or the other. "How I understand it, we may disengage and go round behind the Blue men again. What's called maneuver, you know," he added, like he was talking to a foal.
I was jest going to ask some more when the whole column, as far as I could see ahead for the dust, pulled up and halted. This 'peared to be so that Jine-the-Cavalry could take his horsemen acrost the road and away on the other side.
"Ah, we're going to cover the flank," says Skylark. "Good luck, Traveller! See you later on today, I 'spect." And with that he and Jine-the-Cavalry was off up the road.
The whole day became more and more like some kind of disagreeable, troublesome dream. I kept blowing out dust and breathing in more that other horses had blowed out. Whenever it was possible, Marse Robert took us off'n the road, but that was only now and again, 'cause of all the brush and trees alongside. Anyways, the flies followed wherever we was and there was no standing head-to-tail to get rid of the critters. The horses was getting jumpy with each other-- "Can't you keep outa my dad-burn way?" "D'you want the whole durned road?" and all that kind o' talk. I'd have given my mane for a drink, but I could tell that the way things was now, Marse Robert was in a real hurry to get everyone forward. "Close up, men! Close up!" he kept saying wherever we went, up and down the column. "Keep moving!" But I could tell it was jest like Sorrel had said: Marse Robert was really uncertain in hisself and wondering what to do. I reckoned he was figuring he couldn't decide till we'd caught up with Cap-in-His-Eyes.
We come through a town and jined another road. I guess 'twas getting on to midday when Marse Robert took us off'n to one side and up a little hill, where we stopped. You could see the whole Army separating out for miles acrost the country--what they call deploying, Tom, you know--that's what they do when they're fixing for to fight. There was tramping and shouting everywhere, and teams of horses a-dragging guns up and down the slopes every which way. Marse Robert dismounted and sat down on a tree stump, and good old Dave come up and led me away to a little creek for a drink. The water was thick and muddy with all the horses--yeah, and the men, too--who'd drunk from it, but I'd 'a drunk harness oil then, I'll tell you. Then our guns started up real close by--'nuff to worry any horse--and me and the others was brung back to wait. You see, Tom, when there's a battle any horse at headquarters is likely to be sent on an errand any moment. If'n he's blowed to bits, that's jest too bad.
All the men round Marse Robert was real edgy, and the horses caught the feeling, like they always do. Jest a ways off to one side was a regiment a-singing, all solemn-Iike, and some of 'em was kneeling down on the ground with their eyes shut and their hands together. I often used to see our soldiers doing this, but I never could make out jest rightly why they did it. I reckon maybe 'twas like horses stamping. Horses'll pick a spot in the open for stamping, you know, Tom, and stamp it flat and bare in less'n a month. It does something for you, does stamping. So does rolling, of course; we have favorite rolling places, same as you choose trees and posts to clean your claws on.
All I recollect 'bout the rest of the day is the guns making a racket and the generals a-coming and going all afternoon. Cap-in-His-Eyes came, but I didn't get the chance to talk to Sorrel. Finally, Marse Robert called for me and rode out over the battlefield. But when we came back no one 'peared any better agreed 'bout what to do. All I could tell was that there must be a terrible battle going on somewhere else, where Cap-in-His-Eyes had come from, 'cause the guns never stopped. It was jest one long roar. I wondered when it was going to be our turn. But still nothing happened. It was getting pretty dark when the young Texas general--him as Marse Robert had told to fight his way acrost the swampy creek--come up to headquarters. Whatever he had to say to Marse Robert, I figured, from the way he kept shaking his head, it warn't much good.
/> There was nowhere for us to go that night. We jest went back a ways, to a little wooden hut. All us horses was picketed out in the open.
Well, 'twas next afternoon when our battle really began. Every regiment round us seemed to be going forward into the attack. You couldn't see nothing for the smoke nor hear nothing for the noise. I seed Old Pete and Hero galloping 'long our lines, urging the men on. An awful lot of 'em went down, but 'didn't seem to make no difference to the rest. Everything was all confused. Marse Robert rode me forward and it scared me stiff. There was bullets zipping past and shells a-bursting all round us, but we might jest as well have been back home for all the notice Marse Robert took of 'em. I believe he'd have ridden straight on into the Blue men--I could see 'em plain, lines of 'em, all firing--if Old Pete hadn't stopped him. But for all Old Pete could say, Marse Robert wouldn't go back, and finally Old Pete leaned over and took my bridle so we-all could get in under cover of some low-lying ground. Even then Marse Robert wouldn't stay there long. As the sun was setting, he rode me up and down them open ridges until I reckoned we must be as far forward as any soldier in the Army. I still don't know why nothing hit us. The ground was covered with dead and wounded men--ours and theirs. You could smell the blood and shit reg'lar filling the air. Marse Robert kept pulling up to talk to one soldier and 'nother. They was all a-busting now with a kind of crazy excitement. We'd beaten the Blue men and druv 'em off. Well, we always did, Tom, you know--always. But I jest felt wore out and ready to drop.
That night we was still out in the open. Dave and some o' the other soldiers lit a fire and kept it going, bringing in brush and branches. I was trembling--jest a-shaking all over. I ate my feed--sech as it was-- but I couldn't sleep for the coming and going, and the continual noise and disturbance. 'Sides, it commenced to rain--it got pretty cold--and that kept up all night and on into the next morning, with a sharp wind a-nipping at us.
There was any amount of mud--bad going; and I warn't the only horse was hungry. Marse Robert had covered hisself all over in some sort of rubber stuff for to keep off the rain, and this bothered me 'cause he didn't smell like hisself--not like what I was used to. We rode out early, along with Cap-in-His-Eyes and Sorrel. Sorrel told me they'd had terrible fighting for two days past--jest as he'd said they would--and he was expecting more soon. We was both shivering with the wind and rain, though we felt a bit warmer as we got going. I reckoned we was looking for the Blue men, and it might easily be as bad as the day before.
We went acrost a river that was so high it seemed likely to carry the bridge away any moment, and pretty soon we come under fire again-- bullets, too, not just the big guns. A bullet jest whizzed past my ear-- I felt the wind of it. When we'd come back, Marse Robert took some time telling Old Pete and Cap-in-His-Eyes what he wanted 'em to do. Then we-all went forward again--everyone in headquarters. I 'member we come down a track into some thick woods, and Marse Robert pulled me up while he spoke to a soldier who was taking the boots off'n a dead Blue man. Oh, our fellas was forever doin' that, you know, Tom. Anything that was worth taking off'n a dead man, our fellas'd take it, cause we was always short of everything. But this time, for some reason, Marse Robert spoke sharply to the man--told him he shouldn't be there. The man didn't know 'twas Marse Robert and he sassed him back pretty strong. Marse Robert jest laughed and rode on. He never let on who he was, but then that was jest like him.
Now this is the bad part, Tom, and I'd only tell it to you. Even Lucy don't know this. I never told her, nor yet Ajax neither. And I don't want you telling that there Baxter, nor any other cat on the place, d'ye see? Mind what I say, now. Well, 'twas later on that same day, in the rain. We was still in the woods--quite a lot of men and horses. All the officers had dismounted, near'bouts to a great high kind of a bank-- part of a railroad. There was all sorts of people crowded round me and Marse Robert, and he was stood there jest loosely a-holding my bridle while he talked to 'em. All of a sudden I seed a whole passel of Blue men come a-swarming over that bank and running towards us. They was prisoners, and they was running on 'count of being afraid of the bullets flying round up there. But how the heck was I to know that? There was a plenty of others 'sides me didn't realize the rights of it, and a commotion commenced. Everyone was dashing for their horses. Someone stumbled almost up agin me, yelling right in my ear. It was 'nuff to startle any horse, let alone a horse that had been through what I had them last few days. Oh, I say that, Tom. I still say it after all these years, but I feel mighty 'shamed. I gave a real bad start. I didn't bolt, though--I didn't! I guess I might have, but Marse Robert took a quick step to grab my bridle with both hands--and then it happened. He tripped in that durned rubber thing he was wearing, and down he went on the ground. He fell real heavy, Tom. He fell full length right beside me, and he fell hard on his hands. Somebody caught my bridle, though I'd already recovered myself. But Marse Robert, he was hurt bad. Anyone could see that. He lay there, where he was, until Major Taylor holp him up. "It's nothing, Major. It's jest my hands," he says, biting his lip with the pain.
The Blue men, they was taken away by our soldiers that was in charge of them. Some fella came up and looked at Marse Robert's hands and shook his head. Then they holp him up onto another horse--a mare called Dewdrop, belonged to one of the orderlies--and a soldier led her back to camp. Marse Robert couldn't use his hands, not at all. The orderly rode me, coming behind.
It was only later in the day that I realized jest how bad Marse Robert's hands was hurt. They was all tied up in bandages and splinters of wood--both of 'em. He couldn't ride--not me nor any other horse. But the Army still had to get on, hands or no hands, mud or no mud. They got an ambulance wagon for Marse Robert to ride in. I was brung along behind, on a leading rein; nobody wanted to ride me, so it 'peared. That was the very worst day of my life, Tom. I knowed I'd let Marse Robert down real bad. I was the one that had hurt him. Maybe-- how could I tell?--with his hands that bad, he wouldn't be able to go on commanding the Army. And what was going to become of me then? Likely 'nuff Marse Robert wouldn't want me. He didn't come near me the rest of that day. Was that 'cause he was too busy, I wondered, or was he goin' to send me to the rear as soon as anyone had time to see to it? I didn't know, but I didn't reckon he'd be needin' a horse like me no more.
On top of everything else, the rain kept on all day--what you'd call relentless. Every horse was in mud up to the fetlocks or worse, and the wagons couldn't hardly move. Everyone was starving, and near 'nuff exhausted after the battle. Where were we-all a-going, and was I going, too? I don't like to think 'bout that time. The fear before had been bad 'nuff, but the feeling of bein' in disgrace was worse. No one said nothing; they jest acted like 'twas an unfortunate accident--the sort of thing that might have happened to any horse. But I couldn't see it that way. So I didn't sleep much that night, neither.
Next day there was a real bad thunderstorm. You couldn't tell which was guns and which was thunder. There was nothing for me to do but stand around in the rain and think my own thoughts. What was going to happen to me without Marse Robert? I'd come to be his horse in every way. I couldn't imagine life without him. Now, I s'posed, I'd be sold off to anyone who'd have me. I'd be lucky if it was someone half as good as Captain Broun.
A day or two later we was still marching 'long best as we could. No more fighting, but more'n 'nuff mud to make any road bad going. But that warn't the worst of it for me. One of them days, as I was standing 'bout at headquarters, up comes Jine-the-Cavalry, riding Skylark and leading a mare. And do you know who that was, Tom? No? Well, it was Lucy Long. Marse Robert come out to look at her, with his hands still wrapped up.
"She looks fine, Stuart," says he.
"She'll be plenty quiet 'nuff for you, sir," says Jine-the-Cavalry, stroking her nose. "She'll jest suit you until you get your hands back."
So Marse Robert, he has her saddled up and rides her up and down a piece. You could see she was quiet 'nuff for anyone--quiet 'nuff for a lady to ride. She jined us that eveni
ng, but I warn't picketed near 'nuff to speak to her. You can jest imagine how I felt. All animals can get jealous--I know that--cats and dogs as well as horses. I felt real lonely, on top of feeling 'shamed.
'Twas 'bout that time that Ajax arrived, too. When I seed Ajax come in--some stranger was a-riding him--I felt plumb certain I was going to be sent away. Only, Ajax--well, you know him, 'course--he's big and powerful, ain't he? 'Twas plain 'nuff to me that he was going to take my place as soon as Marse Robert's hands was all right again.
But 'nother day or two went by and I was still at headquarters. We'd come to a town, and at least it was better to be out of the mud and in good, warm stables. They was the stables of a gentleman's house where Marse Robert was fixed up. There 'peared to be a whole raft of people--soldiers and others, too--a-coming and going, and I s'posed he'd forgotten 'bout me, or else he was too busy to give any orders. Dave used to take me out and ride me for exercise. I talked some to Lucy when we had the chance. I had to admit there was no harm in her. She was completely bewildered by the Army and all the shouting and carrying-on of the soldiers. She'd never knowed nothing like that before. I couldn't help wondering how she'd take the guns; that's to say, if'n there was any more guns. You see, Tom, after every battle all us horses used to hope there wouldn't be no more guns.