When he'd finished speaking, Marse Robert started in on him sharp--told him he'd come 'long the wrong side of the hill, and he'd acted bad in exposing hisself unnecessarily to enemy fire. The officer replied that he'd be 'shamed to shelter hisself when his general was sitting there in full view of those people.
"It's my duty to be here, sir!" answers Marse Robert, real blunt. "I have to see what's going on. Go back the way I told you!"
"Thank goodness for that!" mutters his horse as his master salutes and sets off without another word. "Rather you than me, Traveller!"
I don't remember a lot more 'bout that night. But I can recall thinking that if'n we didn't finish the Blue men soon, I reckoned we was going to have a job to do it at all. A lot of the fellas hardly looked like soldiers no more--no muskets, no knapsacks, clothes all in shreds and covered in mud, eyes jest sunk in and mouths a-hanging open. There was plenty a-laying there on the ground that couldn't be shook to their feet. There was broke-down wagons that hadn't even been pulled off the road before they was abandoned and set fire to. There was horses and mules in the mud that had struggled to get out till they couldn't struggle no longer, nostrils bunged up with mud, jest staring up at you as you went by. You never seed the like.
But jest the same, next morning--'twas bright sunshine, too--we was still a-marching, and the Blue men was still plenty scairt of us, that was plain 'nuff. They was holding right off.
That was the quietest day we'd had since we left the city. There warn't no attacks. We marched on best as we could. Come evening, our headquarters was pitched 'longside Old Pete's lot, nice and snug in a clearing in some thick woods. It came on a fine, moonlit night. We hadn't ary tents nor tables nor anything--they'd all got lost somewhere 'long the road--and Marse Robert and the rest, they sat theirselves down round a fire on the ground.
Suddenly the guns began, 'way off in front. I knowed they was ours. I knowed it must be the beginning of an attack--I could sense it; and I warn't wrong, neither--though I reckoned the actual fighting probably wouldn't start till next morning.
Any which way you looked, there was a red glow all acrost the sky. I knowed it must come from our own campfires. I'd seed the same thing before on campaign, of course, more'n once't, but never stretching so wide. There must 'a been an awful lot of fires. I knowed that could only mean that Marse Robert had concentrated his reinforcements-- that means got more fellas up, you know, Tom--for this here big battle. They'd be cooking whatever food they'd brung with 'em and preparing for the attack tomorrow. That was how we always done it.
From where I was picketed I seed General Gordon come up to jine Marse Robert; and then General Fitz Lee, our cavalry commander-- him that was son of Marse Robert's brother, so his horse once't told me.
That last meeting of our generals--for it was the last meeting, though I didn't know it at the time--I can rightly see it now: Marse Robert standing by the fire, Old Pete sitting on a log smoking his pipe, and General Gordon and General Fitz Lee settled nice and comfortable on a blanket on the ground. Marse Robert began talking quiet, like he always did, telling them the way he seed things. I couldn't understand what he was saying, of course, but sure 'nuff the bit I knowed so well warn't long in coming. "Well, gentlemen, what ought we to do?"
Natchrally, Marse Robert had got it all worked out already--our big attack--same as he always had. He gave out his orders and made sure they was understood; then the generals rode away, all 'ceptin' Old Pete, who bedded down where he was, with his head on his saddle.
I was afeared, like I always was afore a battle, but I felt kinda excited and lively, too. I'd picked up the tense feeling that always built up at these times. The campfires making the clouds smolder and then, after a while, the distant hum and murmur of fellas on the move. I thought of Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes riding away into the woods that morning two years before, and of Jine-the-Cavalry dashing up on Skylark, in the battle in the forest, to report to Marse Robert. I'm like them, I thought. I reckon I've earned the right now to feel that I'm like them. We was friends, we was comrades. Maybe--who knows?--one day people may talk about me and Marse Robert same's they will 'bout Little Sorrel and Cap-in-His-Eyes.
Before he went to sleep, Marse Robert came over and stroked me and spoke to me. He looked carefully at my hooves, too, and ran his hand long my back. Marse Robert was never too tired or busy to remember 'bout me. But this time I somehow felt he was more'n usually kind--more'n usually anxious that I should be jest right. "Tomorrow is in thy keeping, Lord God," he said, and then, "Goodnight, old friend." I thought, Well, I'll do my durnedest for him, starving or not.
In the middle of the night I heared a bunch of our men marching 'long the road close by. Somehow, I don't know why, I figured they must be Texans. I wondered whether there might be any chickens around, roostin' mighty high. I remembered how the Texans had told Marse Robert, in the wilderness, they'd drive back the Blue men on their own if'n only he'd go back. They'd done it, too. The Blue men had never liked feeling there was Texans around. They warn't going to like it no better tomorrow.
Not long after, the headquarters officers was up and dressing by the light of the fire. Marse Robert, he dressed hisself up to the nines--best uniform, red silk sash, smartest sword--the lot. He meant business for sure. When we set off, the guns was beginning again, up ahead.
'Twarn't far we had to go to the front. Our fellas--our poor, ragged fellas--had started the attack already. There was plenty of musket fire, but even though he rode me up onto the highest ground he could find we couldn't see a single thing, Marse Robert and me, on 'count of the early morning fog covering everything all over.
We waited round a considerable while, listening to the sound of the battle up ahead. Finally, Major Venable came riding back to report. I asked his horse how things was going, but Leopard had always been a durned fool--if Brigand thought I was stupid, he should have knowed Leopard--and he hadn't no real idea.
Well, I could always put one thing and 'nother together as well as any horse, and I could tell, from the kind of solemn way Marse Robert replied to Major Venable, that this must be important news all right. Once't, while they was a-talking, Marse Robert broke out with a kind of a burst, like he couldn't hardly control his feelings--something 'bout "I've only to ride down the lines..." He was real stirred, no question of that, but still I didn't know rightly what to make of it. Only, I reckoned something strange was going on--something altogether outside my experience--something that'd never happened afore now.
Pretty soon Old Pete rode up, and Marse Robert seemed to be telling him whatever 'twas he'd heared from Major Venable. General Mahone was round, too, I remember. They was all as solemn as could be, and I could jest sense a kind of--well, I'd guess you'd say a kind of graveness in all the officers and soldiers who was there with us on that little hill as the fog began lifting. General Alexander arrived, him that was chief of the guns, and Marse Robert dismounted and talked to him for quite a time, walking up and down.
After a while Marse Robert mounted again and we rode off along the road with Marse Taylor and Colonel Marshall. Sergeant Tucker, he was there, too, riding Champ, that he'd kept hisself ever since Red Shirt was killed,
'Twas now I began to feel real puzzled, 'cause when we came up to our front line, where our fellas had set up a barricade of logs acrost the road, they shifted it, and we went straight on through. I couldn't form no idea what we was s'posed to be doing, but it all 'peared to be in order, 'cause Marse Robert hisself was in charge, and the fellas gave us a cheer as we went past. There was only the four of us. In front went Champ, with Sergeant Tucker carrying a white cloth on a stick. I couldn't understand why it warn't the old red-and-blue, but I s'posed there must be some special reason. The whole business was so durned queer anyways that by this time I don't think I'd have been surprised at anything he was carrying. Then came Major Taylor and Colonel Marshall, and then me and Marse Robert a bit behind. We've never done nothing like this before, I kept a-thinking to mysel
f. For goodness' sake, what's it all about?
Pretty soon we spotted some Blue men a ways off. And would you believe it? Colonel Marshall rode off and began talking to them! There warn't one of 'em even looked like he was going to shoot, but jest then I heared the bangs start up again. And those, Tom--though o' course I never guessed it at the time--those was the very last bangs I was ever to hear from that day to this.
Jest at that moment an officer I knowed by sight--one of Old Pete's staff officers, a man with only one arm--came dashing towards us on his horse from round the bend in the road behind. And I've never, before or since, seed a horse rode so desperate hard as that. She was a real beautiful mare, and she was going sech a lick that she went on a considerable ways past us before she could be pulled up at all. Poor thing, she looked half-dead as they turned and come back to us. I reckon it may very likely have injured her for life.
Marse Robert, who was always real considerate for horses, as I've often told you, he shouts out to the officer, good and strong, that he shouldn't never have ridden his mare that way. And 'twas while the officer was replying to Marse Robert that it suddenly came over me what must 'a happened--why he'd ridden his mare that way and what his news must be. There could be only one reason. The Blue men had finally quit! That was why we was out 'tween the lines with no one firing at us! We'd done it! The Blue men was beat! Marse Robert had knowed it, of course, but now they'd sent, theirselves, to say so, and this officer had brung Marse Robert the message! That was what the white cloth on a stick was for--to show we knowed we'd won. And sure 'nuff, there was Colonel Marshall up ahead, telling some of 'em what they had to do.
For a start I couldn't rightly take it in. I felt dazed. As we stood there, I could see more of those people--quite a crowd--a-coming up the road. I guess they must a wanted to be took prisoner, but Marse Robert, he wouldn't have nothing to do with 'em. He jest turned and rode me back, quite slow and easy, to where Old Pete was waiting with our fellas on the line of battle.
Well, 'course, after all this time I don't remember all the details, Tom, and you wouldn't want to be hearing 'em anyways. But I do remember Marse Robert hitching me up in an orchard a little ways back, and then laying down hisself to take a rest on a pile of fence rails. He must 'a felt jest like I did, I reckon--kind of dumbfounded with what had happened.
After a while Major Talcott and Joker came up to where we was at.
"Ain't this jolly, Traveller?" says Joker when he was hitched beside me. "'Won't be nothing to do, will there? We'll have to go and pull cabs in the big city."
"I'd never thought of that!" I said. "You mean the Army'll be disbanded? Oh, I'm going to miss you, Joker! I really am."
"You want to thank your stars the Blue men missed you," said Joker.
Jest then Major Talcott came back for him, and off they went to organize a ring of soldiers round the orchard so Marse Robert and me could have some peace and quiet. Only you see, Tom, the big news seemed to be spreading fast and there was all sorts of fellas hanging around who evidently wanted to come and talk to Marse Robert 'bout it. But natcherly he didn't want to be disturbed. We was going to have work to do later on.
There warn't no noise, no commotion at all. News like this was plainly beyond all cheering. Me, I felt sort of subdued. After a while a Blue man--an officer--came riding up--everyone let him alone--with one of our fellas 'longside him to make sure he didn't get up to no tricks. Old Pete asked Marse Robert should he kick his arse--at least, I think that's what he must 'a said--but Marse Robert, he says no, he'll hear whatever it is he wants to tell him. And so he did, and I have to say that the man spoke and acted civil 'nuff.
So then we set off again, Tom, jest three of us this time--Colonel Marshall, Sergeant Tucker and Marse Robert. I couldn't imagine where we was a-going to; but not to no fighting, that was plain 'nuff. This Blue fella, he rode 'long with us. I talked a while with his horse on the way and he seemed a nice 'nuff animal. He told me he hadn't been long with the Army, 'didn't understand much 'bout it at all, but if'n it really was finished, like I said, he hisself would be only too glad.
Colonel Marshall, he'd gone on up ahead. We came to a stream, and soon as I smelt the water I realized I was as thirsty as a whole pack of mules after a day's march. Now would you credit it, Tom? At a time like this, when we was off to larn those people their manners and he had everything else in the world to be thinking 'bout, Marse Robert drew rein and waited till I'd drunk all I wanted. Yes, he did. After that we went on.
We came to a house--jest an ordinary house, like plenty of others, with a flight of steps, some pillars and a verandah with a balcony above. Marse Robert dismounted in the yard and walked up the steps, while Tucker took me and Champ off round the side. He found a place in the shade and settled hisself there, long with the two of us and Colonel Marshall's horse, Mercury. Everything was quite quiet and peaceful-- 'twas a fine afternoon--and soon I'd near'bouts forgot what we was there for. A good horse never has no problem loafing, you know.
After some considerable time we heared a whole bunch of horsemen coming. They was all Blue men--you could smell that as they came close. The officers must 'a dismounted in front of the house, 'cause the soldiers--some of 'em--led the horses round to where we was at. I noticed that Tucker didn't talk to the soldiers, so I took my lead from him, and didn't set out to talk to the horses neither. There was one black horse, I remember, pulled up 'longside me; he told me his name was Cincinnati. He acted quite easy and sociable--you couldn't dislike him. I acted the same, which was what I felt Marse Robert would want. But pretty soon his soldier led him off a ways, so we was left by ourselves again. We was free to graze, and I remember the dratted flies was a nuisance. 'Twas coming on to summer, you see.
I reckon we was awaiting round till pretty well halfway through the afternoon--quite a while--but still Marse Robert hadn't come out. I know what he's doing, I thought. He's giving them Blue men a real good piece of his mind. And I sure know one thing he ain't saying, this time. "Well, gentlemen, what ought we to do?"
'Twas well past the heat of the day, and me and Champ was stood head to tail, a-swishing away, when at last I heared Marse Robert's voice, from round the front, calling, "Orderly! Orderly!" I didn't recognize it for a moment--he sounded kinda gruff and a bit choky. I guess he must 'a been pretty tired after taking all that time to tell those Blue generals 'zackly what he thought of 'em. Tucker answered him quick as a flash, though. He led me round to the foot of the steps and put on my bridle. Marse Robert hisself drew my forelock out from under the browband, parted it and smoothed it down, so I looked as smart as I ought to. It reminded me of the young fella who'd left one of his trouser legs outside his boot. We warn't goin' to have none of that, not riding away from those people. Then Marse Robert mounted up, and Tucker and Colonel Marshall, too.
Jest at that moment one of the Blue men--somehow I got the feeling he must be an important fella--walked down the steps from the porch, stopped in his tracks and took off his hat to Marse Robert. As we set off, there was a whole chance of Blue men standing all around, and every single one of 'em took off his hat. And I should durned well think so, too! I thought. That'll be something for 'em all to remember when they get home. 'Twas the proudest moment of my life, Tom--and of Marse Robert's, too, I'm sure 'nuff.
I couldn't help wondering--and I've often wondered since--jest what Marse Robert could have been saying to those people for all that time. But I guess he told 'em straight out that if'n they didn't pack up and go home right away we'd be 'bliged to set to and blow 'em all into the middle of next winter, jest like we had in the snow and jest like we had in the forest; and they'd better get that and get it good. It took so long, I s'pose, 'cause they must 'a been trying to persuade him to alter some of the particulars and let 'em down easy. I've often imagined in my mind, since then, those Blue men sitting there, in that house, and dickering with Marse Robert, realizing their big mistake and that this was the reckoning come round at last; and Marse Robert jest sat
there, kind and quiet like he always was, telling 'em firmly that things had got to be jest like he said. Well, the job was done good and proper, that's for sure. When he came out, they hadn't 'nother word to say, an' that I seed for myself.
We rode along nice and steady, me and Marse Robert in front this time, and came up the hillside, through our pickets and back into our lines. Marse Robert plainly warn't fixing to be high an' mighty 'bout what he'd done--that warn't never his way. I could feel him sitting upright, not moving in the saddle, looking straight ahead and determined to avoid a lot of fuss. Me, I jest kept going, like he wanted.
But 'course our fellas, they warn't going to let us get away with that. They commenced to cheering. They cheered considerable--jest like they had after the battle in the woods, two years before. Then they broke ranks and come a-crowding round us. I tried to go on--that was what Marse Robert wanted--but they pressed round hard, shouting "General! General!" and grabbing at us from all sides.
Marse Robert took off his hat, and I tried some gentle pushing and shoving, but no way. I had to give it up--the road was jammed solid. Marse Robert reined me in and began talking to the fellas. I managed to get some of it. "Men, I have done the best I could for you.... You will all go home...."
At that, some of the fellas actually began crying for joy. Others seemed sort of dazed and bewildered. I remember one soldier shouting "Blow, Gabriel, blow!" and throwing his musket down on the ground. "Blow" means "go away," "go home," Tom, you know. Gabriel must 'a been his buddy, I s'pose. People was catching a-holt of Marse Robert's hands, his coat, his boots--anything at all. Those who couldn't do that grabbed at me, stroked my nose, patted my neck and my flanks. We was jest surrounded. I can smell them now. They smelt what you'd call pungent.
You'll reckon I must 'a been thinking how fine it all was--that this was the grand reward for all them hours hungry in the mud and snow, all them nights on the march, all those bullets zipping past your ears and shells bursting round your hooves. But 'tell you the truth, Tom, all I was thinking at the time was I could do with a feed and a rest. I'd had as much as I could take. I'd knowed since the morning that we'd won, and now I was suffering a kind of a letdown. I felt ready to fair go to pieces.