The Killer Angels (11 page)

Longstreet thought: don’t be so damn motherly.

“Well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

They said their good nights. Armistead waved farewell.

“If you happen to run across Jubal Early, Pete, tell him for me to go to hell.”

They rode off into the dark. The moon was down; the night sky was filled with stars. Longstreet stood for a moment alone. Some good men there. Lo had said, “Best defensive soldier.” From Lewis, a compliment. And yet, is it really my nature? Or is it only the simple reality?

Might as well argue with stars.

The fires were dying one by one. Longstreet went back to his place by the camp table. The tall silent aide from Texas, T. J. Goree, had curled up in a bedroll, always near, to be used at a moment’s notice. For “The Cause.” So many good men. Longstreet waited alone, saw one falling star, reminding him once more of the girl in a field a long time ago.

Harrison came back long after midnight. He brought the news of Union cavalry in Gettysburg. Longstreet sent the word to Lee’s headquarters, but the Old Man had gone to sleep and Major Taylor did not think it important enough to wake him. General Hill had insisted, after all, that the reports of cavalry in Gettysburg were foolish.

Longstreet waited for an answer, but no answer came. He lay for a long while awake, but there was gathering cloud and he saw no more falling stars.

Just before dawn the rain began: fine misty rain blowing cold and clean in soft mountain air. Buford’s pickets saw the dawn come high in
the sky, a gray blush, a bleak rose. A boy from Illinois climbed a tree. There was mist across Marsh Creek, ever whiter in the growing light. The boy from Illinois stared and felt his heart beating and saw movement. A blur in the mist, an unfurled flag. Then the dark figures, row on row: skirmishers. Long, long rows, like walking trees, coming up toward him out of the mist. He had a long paralyzed moment which he would remember until the end of his life. Then he raised the rifle and laid it across the limb of the tree and aimed generally toward the breast of a tall figure in the front of the line, waited, let the cold rain fall, misting his vision, cleared his eyes, waited, prayed, and pressed the trigger.

He came out of the tent into a fine cold rain. The troops were already up and moving out on the misty road beyond the trees. Some of them saw the white head and came to the fence to stare at him. The ground rocked. Lee floated, clutched the tent. Got up too quickly. Must move slowly, with care. Bryan came out of the mist, bearing steaming coffee in a metal cup. Lee took it in pained hands, drank, felt the heat soak down through him like hot liquid sunshine. The dizziness passed. There was fog flat and low in the treetops, like a soft roof. The rain was clean on his face. He walked slowly to the rail where the horses were tethered: gentle Traveler, skittish Lucy Long. Stuart had not come back in the night. If Stuart had come they would have wakened him. He said good morning to the beautiful gray horse, the great soft eyes, said a silent prayer. He thought: Tonight we’ll all be together.

Troops were gathering along the rail fence, looking in at him. He heard a man cry a raucous greeting. Another man shushed him in anger. Lee turned, bowed slightly, waved a stiff arm. There was a cluster of sloppy salutes, broad wet grins under dripping hats. A bareheaded boy stood in reverent silence, black hat clutched to his breast. An officer moved down the fence, hustling the men away.

Lee took a deep breath, testing his chest: a windblown vacancy, a breathless pain. He had a sense of enormous unnatural fragility, like
hollow glass. He sat silently on a rail, letting the velvet nose nuzzle him. Not much pain this morning. Praise God. He had fallen from his horse on his hands and the hands still hurt him but the pain in the chest was not bad at all. But it was not the pain that troubled him; it was a sick gray emptiness he knew too well, that sense of a hole clear through him like the blasted vacancy in the air behind a shell burst, an enormous emptiness. The thing about the heart was that you could not coax it or force it, as you could any other disease. Willpower meant nothing. The great cold message had come in the spring, and Lee carried it inside him every moment of every day and all through the nights—that endless, breathless, inconsolable alarm:
there is not much time, beware, prepare
.

“Sir?”

Lee looked up. Young Walter Taylor. Lee came slowly awake, back to the misty world. Taylor stood in the rain with inky papers—a cool boy of twenty-four, already a major.

“Good morning, sir. Trust you slept well?”

The clear black eyes were concerned. Lee nodded. Taylor was a slim and cocky boy. Behind Lee’s back he called him “The Great Tycoon.” He did not know that Lee knew it. He had a delicate face, sensitive nostrils. He said cheerily, “Nothing from General Stuart, sir.”

Lee nodded.

“Not a thing, sir. We can’t even pick up any rumors. But we mustn’t fret now, sir.” A consoling tone. “They haven’t got anybody can catch General Stuart.”

Lee turned to the beautiful horse. He had a sudden rushing sensation of human frailty, death like a blowing wind: Jackson was gone, Stuart would go, like leaves from autumn trees. Matter of time.

Taylor said airily, “Sir, I would assume that if we haven’t heard from the general it is obviously because he has nothing to report.”

“Perhaps,” Lee said.

“After all, sir, Longstreet’s man is a paid spy. And an
actor
to boot.” Taylor pursed his lips primly, flicked water from a gray cuff.

Lee said, “If I do not hear from General Stuart by this evening I will have to send for him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll send the Maryland people. They’ll be familiar with the ground.”

“Very good, sir.” Taylor shifted wet papers. “Message here from General Hill, sir.”

“Yes.”

“The General wishes to inform you that he is going into Gettysburg this morning with his lead division.” Taylor squinted upward at a lightening sky. “I expect he’s already under way. He advises me that there is a shoe factory in the town and his men intend to, ah, requisition some footgear.” Taylor grinned.

“General Ewell is moving down from the north?”

“Yes, sir. The rain may slow things somewhat. But General Ewell expects to be in the Cashtown area by noon.”

Lee nodded. Taylor peered distastefully at another paper.

“Ah, there is a report here, sir, of Union cavalry in Gettysburg, but General Hill discounts it.”

“Cavalry?”

“Yes, sir. General Pettigrew claims he saw them yesterday afternoon. General Hill says he was, ah, overeager. General Hill says he expects no opposition but perhaps some local militia, with shotguns and such.”

Taylor grinned cheerily. Lee remembered Longstreet’s spy. If it is Union cavalry, there will be infantry close behind it. Lee said, “Who is Hill’s lead commander?”

“Ah, that will be General Heth, sir.”

Harry Heth. Studious. Reliable. Lee said, “General Hill knows I want no fight until this army is concentrated.”

“Sir, he does.”

“That must be clear.”

“I believe it is, sir.”

Lee felt a thump, a flutter in his chest. It was as if the heart was turning over. He put his hand there, passed one small breathless moment. It happened often: no pain, just a soft deep flutter. Taylor was eyeing him placidly. He had no fear of the Army of the Potomac.

“Will the General have breakfast?”

Lee shook his head.

“We have flapjacks in small mountains, sir. You must try them, sir. Fresh butter and bacon and wagons of hams, apple butter, ripe cherries. Never seen anything like it, sir. You really ought to pitch in. Courtesy of mine host, the great state of Pennsylvania. Nothing like it since the war began. Marvelous what it does for morale. Never saw the men happier. Napoleon knew a thing or two, what? For a Frenchman?”

Lee said, “Later.” There was no hunger in the glassy chest. Want to see Longstreet. Up ahead, in the mist, A. P. Hill probes toward Gettysburg like a blind hand. Hill was new to command. One-legged Ewell was new to command. Both had replaced Stonewall Jackson, who was perhaps irreplaceable. Now there was only Longstreet, and a thumping heart. Lee said, “We will move the headquarters forward today, this morning.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, ah, there are a number of civilians to see you.”

Lee turned sharply. “Trouble with our soldiers?”

“Oh no, sir. No problem there. The men are behaving very well, very well indeed. Oh yes, sir. But, ah, there are some local women who claim we’ve taken all their food, and although they don’t complain of our having paid for it all in the good dear coin of the mighty state of Virginia—” Taylor grinned “—they
do
object to starving. I must say that Ewell’s raiding parties seem to have been thorough. At any rate, the ladies seek your assistance. Rather massive ladies, most of them, but one or two have charm.”

“See to it, Major.”

“Of course, sir. Except, ah, sir, the old gentleman, he’s been waiting all night to see you.”

“Old gentleman?”

“Well, sir, we conscripted his horse. At your orders, as you know. I explained that to the old man, fortunes of war and all that, but the old gentleman insists that the horse is blind, and can be of no use to us, and is an old friend.”

Lee sighed. “A blind horse?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t want to trouble you, sir, but your orders were strict on this point.”

“Give him the horse, Major.”

“Yes sir.” Taylor nodded.

“We must be charitable with these people, Major. We have enough enemies.”

“Oh yes, sir.” Taylor made a slight bow. “The men have the strictest orders. But I must say, sir, that those orders would be easier to follow had the Yankees shown charity when they were back in Virginia.”

“Major,” Lee said slowly, “we will behave ourselves.”

Taylor recognized the tone. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Lee rested against the rail fence. He noticed at last a struggling band: “Bonny Blue Flag.” A brave but tinny sound. He bowed in that direction, raised his coffee cup in tribute. A tall thin soldier waved a feathered hat: the music bounced away. Lee said, “I would like to see General Longstreet. My compliments, and ask him to ride with me this morning, if he is not otherwise occupied.”

“Breakfast, sir?”

“In a moment, Major.”

Taylor saluted formally, moved off. Lee sat for a moment alone, gazing eastward. Cavalry. If Longstreet’s spy was right, then there could truly be cavalry in Gettysburg and masses of infantry right behind. We drift blindly toward a great collision. Peace, until night. He rubbed the left arm. Must show no pain, no weakness here. The strength now is in Longstreet. Trust to him.

He saw the old gentleman, who thanked him with tears for the return of the blind horse. A Pennsylvania woman flirted, asked for his autograph. He gave it, amazed, wondering what good it would do her in this country. He met with his aides: angry Marshall, gray-bearded Venable. Marshall was furious with the absent Stuart, was ready to draw up court-martial papers. Lee said nothing. The courteous Venable drew him politely away.

“Sir, I have a request to make.”

“Yes.”

Venable: a courtly man, a man of patience. He said, “Could you speak to Dorsey Pender, sir? He’s had a letter from his wife.”

Lee remembered: beautiful woman on a golden horse, riding with Pender on the banks of the Rappahannock. Lovely sight, a sunset sky.

“Mrs. Pender is, ah, a pious woman, and she believes that now that we have invaded Pennsylvania we are in the wrong, and God has forsaken us—you know how these people reason, sir—and she says she cannot pray for him.”

Lee shook his head. God protect us from our loving friends. He saw for one small moment the tragic face of his own frail wife, that unhappy woman, the stone strong face of his mother. Venable said, “I think a talk might help Pender, sir. Another man would shake it off, but he’s … taken it badly. Says he cannot pray himself.” Venable paused. “I know there are others who feel that way.”

Lee nodded. Venable said, “It was easier in Virginia, sir. On our home ground.”

“I know.”

“Will you speak to him, sir?”

“Yes,” Lee said.

“Very good, sir. I know it will help him, sir.”

Lee said, “I once swore to defend this ground.” He looked out across the misty grove. “No matter. No matter. We end the war as best we can.” He put his hand to his chest. “Napoleon once said, ‘The logical end to defensive warfare is surrender.’ You might tell him that.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.”

Venable went away. Lee felt a deeper spasm, like a black stain. I swore to defend. Now I invade. A soldier, no theologian. God, let it be over soon. While there’s time to play with grandchildren. It came too late. Fame came too late. I would have enjoyed it, if I were a younger man.