Free Traveller by Richard Adams Page B

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 a-heading for trouble, but I didn’t know ‘zackly what sort.
    We came to a