The Blue men--you should jest have seed 'em a-coming on! More Blue men than you'd think there was in the world. They kep' a-coming down through the woods like leaves blowing in the wind. I know Marse Robert hisself was wondering how it was going to turn out. I could tell that--though I don't think anyone else in the Army knowed it, horse nor man neither.
Now I recollect it, I'll tell you 'bout the pig, Tom! It's the pig that comes back to me now. It was quite early in the day, and 'far as I could make out things was going badly for us. There'd been a lot of firing-- a big battle, by the sound of it--acrost the other side of the ridge from where we was, and thousands of our fellas had been sent over that way. Finally, Marse Robert must 'a figured he'd better go and see for hisself. So there we-all was, Marse Robert and Major Taylor and the rest of the staff, riding over the ridge towards the firing. Marse Robert had been speakin' to an officer we met 'bout bringing his guns forward, and then, jest as we was a-going on, we come upon this soldier all by hisself. He was a big black-bearded fella with a scar acrost his chin, I remember, and he was carrying the carcass of a pig. It was right acrost his shoulders and he was pretty well bent double under it, so he didn't see us until we'd got right up to him. It was plain 'nuff he must have shot it and taken it from some farm, and now he was heading back to camp, 'way from all the fighting. I don't reckon he'd been in the fighting at all. He was what we call a straggler, Tom, you know. A straggler's a fella who leaves the others, either on the march or in camp, and then lights out and looks after hisself best way he can. 'Course, them kind always made Marse Robert real angry, and now here was one of 'em carrying off a stolen pig, right before his very eyes!
Like I was saying, Tom, 'twas a bad time. I reckon every man we'd got had been sent to stop those people, and maybe even that warn't going to be 'nuff. So Marse Robert unloaded everything he was feeling onto this here fella. "Put him under arrest!" he shouted. "Stealing a pig--at a time like this, too! Take him to General Jackson! Tell him to have him shot!"
They took the man away. The pig was jest left laying on the ground. But later on, when we was riding back that way, it warn't there, so I reckon someone else must have finished off that bit of work after we'd gone.
It was later on that day that I seed something else I've never forgotten--something I still dream 'bout, Tom. The Blue men was still forever attacking us. Marse Robert had come back a mile or so to another part of the battlefield and he was talking to the other General Hill-- the Little General, as I called him. They rode together all down the lines of the soldiers, and Marse Robert was encouraging them like he always did and telling 'em they was the greatest in the world and he knowed they was going to smash the Blue men all to pieces if they tried any more attacks. I hadn't met the Little General's horse before. He was called Chieftain, and he struck me as a real sensible sort--the kind of horse I could easily take to if we'd happened to be out in a field together.
"Does your man ever dismount?" he asked me as we was going through a bit of a wood and the enemy fire seemed to have slackened some.
I told him Marse Robert dismounted real often, either to talk to soldiers or else to go forward to get to places that'd be awkward for a horse; or jest to spare me.
"My man hardly ever dismounts, wherever we are," said Chieftain. "I guess it's 'cause he's sech a small man. He feels he looks better on a horse and the soldiers'll feel more respect for him. It's often bad and risky, some of the places we go. We're often exposed, and I get to feeling the Blue men are aiming straight at us."
I told him I knowed how he felt, and I'd often felt the same way myself. There warn't much more I could say, seeing as how the whole place all round was covered with dead and wounded.
After a while Old Pete jined us, riding Hero as usual. Old Pete had somehow or 'nother hurt his foot a while before, and he was wearing a carpet slipper on it. I recollect thinking we must have looked real strange, three generals riding 'long, one with bandaged hands and another with only one boot. Anyways, all of us rode up towards a little hump in the ground, I s'pose to catch a better sight of the Blue men and larn what was a-going on. I seed then what Chieftain had meant. Marse Robert took a look at the top of the hump, where there was a few trees and no cover, and then he nodded to Old Pete and dismounted. Old Pete did the same, and me and Hero was held by Dave and another soldier near the bottom of the hump. I thought the Little General would dismount, too, but 'stead of that he rides straight up to the top. Old Pete calls out to him and says it was dangerous. If he was going to do that, he said, he'd better keep away from him and Marse Robert, 'cause they didn't favor getting shot. The Little General didn't take no notice, though. He jest kept right on a-looking out at the Blue men from where he was sitting.
All of a sudden Old Pete calls out "There's a shot!" or something o' the sort. The Little General turned in his saddle and looked like he was going to reply. But right then the shell came. You could hear the howl of it. It jest missed Marse Robert, who was standing close to the Little General and a-talking to him. It hit poor Chieftain. It clean cut off both his forelegs. Then it went whistling on down over the other side of the hump and I seed it burst in among a pack of our fellas.
Chieftain fell on his knees--he fell on the stumps of his legs--and buried his nose in the grass. He never made a sound--only struggled, kicking as best he could with his hind legs. The whole thing was horrible, 'cause Chieftain couldn't move and the Little General couldn't dismount--couldn't get his offside leg over the cantle of the saddle. In the end he managed to scramble off somehow or 'nother, and a soldier shot Chieftain through the head. We left him laying there.
It was a dreadful day of righting, and it went on till nightfall. I seed men staggering out of the lines black as niggers and walking like they was drunk or crazy. Some of 'em as Marse Robert spoke to either couldn't hear him or couldn't answer. I seed an ambulance dragged by two mules, jolting along with the blood running out of it like water, Tom. As I looked, one of the mules fell dead in the shafts and nary a scratch on him. I seed men hollering and crying, too. 'Seed a man holding a dead soldier acrost his knees and crying like a child. 'Seed men building a bank out'n dead bodies, so they could lie behind it and go on firing. I seed every dreadful thing you can imagine, and the ground shook worse'n ever I'd knowed it. And still the Blue men couldn't break through or lick us. Hero told me later that Old Pete, riding round, had come on one of our guns and all the gunners was dead. So him and some of his staff fellas dismounted and got to firing the gun theirselves. Old Pete always used to go around with a cigar stuck in his mouth--never lit it. Hero said he kep' chompin' on that cigar while he was helping to fire this here gun.
I remember the Blue men a-coming on so's you couldn't see the ground for 'em. But Marse Robert, he never moves a muscle. He jest points away up the hill and asks some officer to tell him who was them soldiers coming acrost the top. He couldn't always make things out so good as the younger fellas, you see. The officer says they was ours, so we-all rode straight off towards them. It was Red Shirt and a whole crowd of his 'uns, come late to the battle. They piled straight into those people--druv 'em right off. I reckon if they hadn't come along when they did, we'd likely been done for.
Soon after that it got dark. The Blue men had all had 'nuff, or so it 'peared. Marse Robert rode back to the headquarters tents on t'other side of that there town. Lucy was with us; she was badly shook up. I recollect another of the headquarters horses--Blacksmith, he was called--telling her she could relax, 'cause the fighting was over and done with and we was sure to hightail it out that night. I don't think Lucy really took it in, though. She was shaking from mane to tail-- hardly knowed where she was.
The generals come around, one by one, jest as they left the field, to talk to Marse Robert: Cap-in-His-Eyes, the Little General, Red Shirt, the Texas fella, Jine-the-Cavalry--they was all there. Old Pete was the last to come. Marse Robert was walking here and there, a-talking to 'em. 'Far as I could make out, all of 'em was saying we was in a mighty b
ad way and we ought to retreat.
But we didn't retreat, Tom. I couldn't believe it when I seed Marse Robert telling the staff to post sentries and calling Perry and Meredith to get supper ready. Dave had somehow found some oats for me and Lucy, and we was jest standing by for nose bags when Marse Robert walked acrost and began petting us and talking to us.
"Well done, Lucy, well done!" he says, stroking her nose. Poor Lucy couldn't hardly stand on her feet, but she nuzzled him best she could. "Traveller," he says to me, "no other horse--no other horse at all--could do what you've done today. I'm real thankful for a horse like you. Tomorrow we'll see 'em licked to a frazzle!"
Tomorrow! I thought. We're going to stay here tomorrow? If'n the Blue men can still fight, I figure they'll walk straight through us like a stallion through a broken fence, Marse Robert or no Marse Robert. I was jest too wore out to worry, though. I couldn't even feel scairt. I jest lay down and slept.
But Marse Robert was right, same's he always was. At dawn he took Lucy out for a look-see but they come back right soon. Lucy said he'd been talking to Cap-in-His-Eyes 'bout attacking--yeah, attacking!--but 'far as she knowed nothing had come of it. And nothing happened all that day. 'Peared the Blue men had had 'nuff. And come the middle of that night we began to move--the whole Army. We came to the river--that same river we'd crossed afore, I reckon, but 'twarn't the same spot; had been, I'd 'a recognized it. Marse Robert reined me in on the bank and there we stayed, watching while the men and wagons went past us in the dark. As each general came up, he reported to Marse Robert, and Marse Robert had a good word for all of 'em.
I remember the horses--horse after horse--stopping to drink, and Marse Robert posting a fella to warn the men of a deep place--a place they wouldn't 'a knowed else. I can see the water splashing in the dim light. I can hear the wounded men a-crying in the ambulances as they pitched and jolted down into the water. We warn't the same Army that had crossed over that river before. That's how I felt that night. We'd lost a terrible number.
But we'd licked the Blue men! Oh, yeah, there was none of 'em round to try to bother us that night. They'd had a gutful. And I won't say I hadn't, neither. I remember the last commander finally coming up to report to Marse Robert. General Walker, 'twas--one of the Little General's fellas. He told Marse Robert there was no one left behind him. "Thank goodness!" says Marse Robert out loud, and down into the river we went. Old Pete was waiting on t'other side. 'Twas so dark I could smell the unlit cigar before I seed him. He had his men ready 'long the bank in case of trouble, but everything stayed quiet. Yeah, you bet.
X
November 20, 1862. General Lee, riding through a rising storm-- the first of winter--has arrived at the little city of Fredericksburg, at the fall line of the Rappahannock. His decision to concentrate his army here to meet the Federal advance exemplifies yet again his remarkable ability to foresee and anticipate the intentions of the enemy.
During the past two months, since the savage battle of Sharpsburg and the return from Maryland across the Potomac, the Army of Northern Virginia has taken full advantage of the enemy's dilatory caution to rest, refit, reorganize and make up lost numbers. Although Lee's grand design to march to Harrisburg and threaten Washington from the Susquehanna was perforce abandoned as a result of sheer misfortune (McClellan's chance acquisition of a copy of a general order setting out Lee's dispositions and intentions), nevertheless the morale of his troops (most of whom felt little enthusiasm for the Maryland campaign, reckoning it to be nothing to do with the defense of their homeland) remains very high. Two months of fine fall weather have not only made easy their march back to the Rapidan, but also done much for the business of rest and re-equipment. At Sharpsburg, the army numbered fewer than 35,000. Now, thanks to recruitment and the rounding up of the large number of stragglers lacking enthusiasm for the Maryland campaign, it has increased to twice that size. There is, however, a serious shortage of horses--a deficiency that will continue until the end of the war.
During the mainly fine and sunny weather of late September, of October and early November, General Lee's strategy has been to avoid any further engagement with the enemy and await the arrival of his ally, winter. Yet Richmond is still never so safe as when its defenders are absent, and there is no retreat from the Rapidan and Rappahannock. As the late October leaves fall in windblown golden showers from the birches, sycamores and maples of the Blue Ridge and the Shenandoah, General McClellan, ever wary and deliberate, crosses the Potomac and heads slowly south, under vigilant observation by Stuart's cavalry. A week into November and his army is at Warrenton, a few miles north of the Rappahannock. Then follows an unexpected pause, shortly explained by the news that McClellan has been superseded by a newcomer, General Ambrose Burnside. What will he make of the Federal initiative, and how does he propose to set about attacking Lee's army, which at Sharpsburg showed itself able to daunt, if not defeat, more than twice its numbers?
Studying reports of the enemy's movements and weighing one factor with another, General Lee has concluded that the Federal army will move southeastward down the Rappahannock towards Fredericksburg.
For him personally this is a sad and difficult time. His hands, badly damaged by the accident on August 31st, are still painful and of little use. Although he can now dress himself with his left hand and sign his name with his right, he is obliged to dictate all correspondence, and for a horse he must rely for the most part on the quiet, manageable mare Lucy Long. He has received news of a bitter bereavement--the death from illness of his beloved twenty-three-year-old daughter, Annie. The hardship and strain of active campaigning upon a man nearly fifty-six years old are beginning to tell. Yet his greatest achievements still lie ahead. Like leader, like army. "I never saw an army," wrote the visiting British General Sir Garnet Wolseley, "composed of finer men, or one that looked more like work."
Well, all the young fellas gone away for the rest of the summer, Tom; guess Marse Robert's told 'em what they got to do 'tween now and fall. They'll be mighty busy, I 'spect, up and down on his affairs. As for me, I'm taking it easy and cool in stables and out on the lawn. This is the life, ain't it? Seems quite a while since you and I was settled down together in the straw. It's a good time of year for horses, and for cats, too, I reckon. Sassafras leaves all green on the trees. Did y'ever try sassafras? No, neither did I. No manner of good--you can smell that.
I knowed you'd get a whole sight more chipper, you and Baxter, soon as Miss Life come back. That's a real nice girl--best out'n the three, I figure. This little jaunt we've been on--Marse Robert and me and her and Lucy--that was real good, all six days of it. Mostly fine weather, good roads, no hurry, plenty to eat, everyone mighty glad to see us--well, after all, what would you expect? But everyone taking it easy--no fuss, no bands, no folks crowding round Marse Robert. Yeah, sure, Tom, if you like I'll tell you something 'bout it. Curl up, make yourself comfortable.
The four of us started out--I reckon it's been a week now. It was real midsummer weather, warn't it? Not too hot, not too dusty neither. No flies, no soldiers, no wagons a-stirring up the dust: flowers 'longside the road, birds a-singing. I could have gone forever, and so could Lucy. Once or twice on the hills Marse Robert'd let me light out for a breather, and when we got to the top he'd turn in the saddle and call "Come along, Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy, Lucy Long!" It was jest his fun, you know, Tom. Miss Life'd catch up with us, face flushed, eyes bright; she was delighted to be out on her own with Marse Robert. I felt jest like we was a little headquarters on the march again. I wisht Jine-the-Cavalry could 'a showed up. He always had a way of showing up unexpectedly, you know.
It was lonely country we was riding through, and I could tell Marse Robert was pleased as punch to be out o' town and no business to 'tend to. As for me, I was prancing round like a colt in a hayfield. When Marse Robert stopped so's they could eat by the road, the grass I nibbled was fresh and sweet as a meadow in springtime. Aw, Tom, you cain't imagine what that's like--a beautiful march like that--
for an old soldier like me that's slogged through heat and thirst and flies, and dust so thick you couldn't see three lengths ahead of you.
In the afternoon we come to a river. There was a ferry to take folks acrost. And do you know who was there, Tom--who was the ferryman, I mean? It was the pig fella--yes, 'twas--the one Marse Robert had caught stealing the pig in the middle of that there battle! So he hadn't been shot after all! Cap-in-His-Eyes must 'a let him off-- well, to get on and fight, I guess. After all, Cap-in-His-Eyes must 'a realized Marse Robert had lost his temper, and after all, what's the use of shooting a fella when there's a passel o' soldiers falling all round and those people a-coming on like snow showers in midwinter? I knowed him all right--I remembered him the moment I spied him--but Marse Robert didn't. Natcherly, though, he knowed Marse Robert, and he knowed me, too.
"You still got Traveller, then, General?" he says. "There's a horse to go forever!"
Marse Robert said him howdy real friendly, and they chatted for a while. Then he says Miss Life and hisself was wishful to go acrost the river.
"I'll be mighty proud to take you over, General," says the fella, "but I ain't taking none of your money, not nohow."
Marse Robert, he outs with his money and tries to put it in the fella's hand, but the fella wouldn't have none o' that. Then he gets all teary-eyed and says, "I ain't taking no money from you, Marse Robert. I've followed you in many a battle. Never took no money for that, did we?"