The Killer Angels (18 page)

“Did you get a chance to see anything?”

“Well, as a matter of fact I
did
. I found rather a large tree and Lawley and I sat out in the open and there was quite a show. Lovely, oh lovely.”

“You didn’t happen to see a cavalry charge?” Stuart: not yet returned.

“Not a one,” Fremantle gloomed. “Nor a hollow square. You know, sir, we really ought to discuss that at length on some occasion. Provided this war lasts long enough, which most people seem to think it won’t. You fellows seem to do well enough without it, I must say. But still, one likes to feel a certain
security
in these matters, which the square gives, do you see? One likes to know, that is, where everyone is, at given moments. Ah, but then—” he took a deep breath, tapped his
chest “—there’s always tomorrow. I gather you expect a bit of an adventure tomorrow.”

Longstreet nodded.

“Well, I shall try to find a position of advantage. I will appreciate your advice, although of course if I’m ever in the way at all, you must feel free, I mean, one must not hamper operations. Don’t spare my feelings, sir. But if you’ll tell me where to stand.”

“I will.”

Fremantle whacked a mosquito. “Another victory today. When I am clear about it all I shall write it down. Expect you chaps are getting rather used to victory, what? Damn!” He swatted another bug. “Must say, enormously impressive, this army. Yet the Federal fellas just keep on coming. Curious. I have a bit of difficulty, you know, understanding exactly
why
. Some time when there’s time … but the war is ending, of course. I can feel that myself. That is the message I shall transmit to my people. No doubt of it.”

He eyed Longstreet. Longstreet said nothing.

“Your General Lee is a wonder.”

“Yes,” Longstreet said.

“A thing one rarely sees.” Fremantle paused. “Remarkable,” he said. He was about to say something else but changed his mind.

“He holds this army together,” Longstreet said.

“Strordnry dignity.”

“Strordnry.”

“I mean, one does not expect it. No offense, sir? But your General Lee is an
English
general, sir. Strordnry. He has gained some reputation, sir, as of course you know, but there is a tendency in Europe to, ah, think of Americans as, ah, somewhat behind the times, sometimes what, ah, how do I say this? One is on tricky ground here, but, sir, of course you understand, there are these cultural differences, a new land and all that. Yet, what I mean to say is, one did not expect General Lee.”

“To be a gentleman,” Longstreet said.

Fremantle squinted. After a moment he nodded. Longstreet was not offended. Fremantle said wonderingly, “Sir, you cannot imagine the
surprise. One hears all these stories of Indians and massacres and lean backwoodsmen with ten-foot rifles and rain dances and what not, and yet here, your officers …” He shook his head. “Strordnry. Why, do you know, your General Lee is even a member of the Church of England?”

“True.”

“He has great forbears.”

“Yes,” Longstreet said.

“I have noticed, sir, that you are always in camp near him. I must say, sir, that I am touched.”

“Well,” Longstreet said.

“Ah.” Fremantle sighed. “We have so many things in common, your country and mine. I earnestly hope we shall become allies. Yet I feel you do not need us. But I must say, I am increasingly indebted to you for your hospitality.”

“Our pleasure.”

“Ah. Um.” Fremantle cocked his head again. “One thing I’m very glad to see. Your General Lee is a moralist, as are all true gentlemen, of course, but he respects minor vice, harmless vice, when he finds it in others. Now that’s the mark of the true gentleman. That is what distinguishes the man so to me, aside from his military prowess, of course. The
true
gentleman has no vices, but he allows you your own. Ah.” He patted a saddlebag. “By which I mean, sir, to get to the heart of the matter, that I have a flagon of brandy at your disposal, should the occasion arise.”

“It undoubtedly will.” Longstreet bowed. “Thank you.”

“You may call on me, sir.”

Longstreet smiled.

“A small weakness,” Fremantle went on cheerily, “of which I am not proud, you understand. But one sees so little whisky in this army. Amazing.”

“Lee’s example. Jackson didn’t drink either. Nor does Stuart.”

Fremantle shook his head in wonder. “Oh, by the way, there’s a story going around, do you know? They say that General Lee was asleep, and the army was marching by, and fifteen thousand men went by on tiptoe so as not to wake him. Is that true?”

“Might have been.” Longstreet chuckled. “I know one that I heard
myself. While ago we sat around a fire, talked on Darwin. Evolution. You read about it?”

“Ah?”

“Charles Darwin. Theory of Evolution.”

“Can’t say that I have. There are so many of these things rattling about.”

“Theory that claims that men are descended from apes.”

“Oh
that
. Oh yes. Well, I’ve heard—distastefully—of that.”

“Well, we were talking on that. Finally agreed that Darwin was probably right. Then one fella said, with great dignity he said, ‘Well, maybe
you
are come from an ape, and maybe
I
am come from an ape, but General Lee,
he
didn’t come from no ape.’ ”

“Well, of course.” Fremantle did not quite see the humor. Longstreet grinned into the dark.

“It is a Christian army,” Longstreet said. “You did not know Jackson.”

“No. It was my great misfortune to arrive after his death. They tell great things of him.”

“He was colorful,” Longstreet said. “He was Christian.”

“His reputation exceeds that of Lee.”

“Well, pay no attention to that. But he was a good soldier. He could move troops. He knew how to hate.” Longstreet thought: a good Christian. He remembered suddenly the day Jackson had come upon some of his troops letting a valiant Yankee color sergeant withdraw after a great fight. The men refused to fire at him, that man had been brave, he deserved to live. Jackson said, “
I don’t want them brave, I want them dead.
”

“They tell many stories of the man. I regret not having known him.”

“He loved to chew lemons,” Longstreet said.

“Lemons?”

“Don’t know where he got them. He loved them. I remember him that way, sitting on a fence, chewing a lemon, his finger in the air.”

Fremantle stared.

“He had a finger shot away,” Longstreet explained. “When he held it down the blood would get into it and hurt him, so he would hold it
up in the air and ride or talk with his arm held up, not noticing it. It was a sight, until you got used to it. Dick Ewell thought he was crazy. Ewell is rather odd himself. He told me Jackson told him that he never ate pepper because it weakened his left leg.”

Fremantle’s mouth was open.

“I’m serious,” Longstreet said amiably. “A little eccentricity is a help to a general. It helps with the newspapers. The women love it too. Southern women like their men religious and a little mad. That’s why they fall in love with preachers.”

Fremantle was not following. Longstreet said, “He knew how to fight, Jackson did. A. P. Hill is good too. He wears a red shirt when he’s going into battle. It’s an interesting army. You’ve met George Pickett?”

“Oh yes.”

“Perfume and all.” Longstreet chuckled. “It’s a hell of an army.” But thinking of Pickett, last in line, reminded him of Pickett’s two brigade commanders: Garnett and Armistead. Old Armistead, torn by the war away from his beloved friend Win Hancock, who was undoubtedly waiting ahead on that black hill beyond Gettysburg. Armistead would be thinking of that tonight. And then there was Dick Garnett.

“Pickett’s men are extraordinary men,” Fremantle said. “The Virginians seem different, quite, from the Texans, or the soldiers from Mississippi. Is that true, do you think, sir?”

“Yes. Have you met Dick Garnett?”

“Ah, yes. Tall fella, rather dark. Wounded leg. Odd that …”

“Jackson tried to court-martial him. For cowardice in the face of the enemy. I’ve known Garnett for twenty years. No coward. But his honor is gone. You will hear bad things from people who know nothing. I want you to know the truth. Jackson was … a hard man.”

Fremantle nodded silently.

“He also court-martialed A. P. Hill once. And Lee simply overlooked it. Well, come to think of it, I had some trouble with old Powell myself once; he wanted to fight me a duel. Matter of honor. I ignored him. It’s an interesting army. Only Lee could hold it together. But the thing about Garnett troubles me. He thinks his honor is gone.”

“A tragic thing,” Fremantle said. There was tact there, a tone of caution.

“The papers, of course, all side with Jackson.” Longstreet blew out a breath. “And Jackson is dead. So now Garnett will have to die bravely to erase the stain.”

And he saw that Fremantle agreed. Only thing for a gentleman to do. Longstreet shook his head. A weary bitterness fogged his brain. He knew Garnett would die, no help for it now, unturnable, ridiculous, doomed with a festering, unseen wound.

Fremantle said, “You are not, ah, Virginia born, sir?”

“South Carolina,” Longstreet said.

“Ah. That’s in the far south isn’t it, sir?”

“True,” Longstreet said. He was weary of talk. “Honor,” he said. “Honor without intelligence is a disaster. Honor could lose the war.”

Fremantle was vaguely shocked.

“Sir?”

“Listen. Let me tell you something. I appreciate honor and bravery and courage. Before God … but the point of the war is not to show how brave you are and how you can die in a manly fashion, face to the enemy. God knows it’s easy to die. Anybody can die.”

In the darkness he could not see Fremantle’s face. He talked to darkness.

“Let me explain this. Try to see this. When we were all young, they fought in a simple way. They faced each other out in the open, usually across a field. One side came running. The other got one shot in, from a close distance, because the rifle wasn’t very good at a distance, because it wasn’t a rifle. Then after that one shot they hit together hand to hand, or sword to sword, and the cavalry would ride in from one angle or another. That’s the truth, isn’t it? In the old days they fought from a distance with bows and arrows and ran at each other, man to man, with swords. But now, listen, now it’s quite a bit different, and quite a few people don’t seem to know that yet. But we’re learning. Look. Right now, take a man with a good rifle, a good man with a good rifle which has a good range and may even be a repeater. He can kill at, oh, conservatively, two, three hundred yards shooting into the crowd attacking him. Forget the cannon. Just put one man behind a tree. You can hardly see him from two hundred yards away, but he can see you. And shoot. And shoot again. How many men do you think it
will take to get to that man behind a tree, in a ditch, defended by cannon, if you have to cross an open field to get him? How many men? Well, I’ve figured it. At least three. And he’ll kill at least two. The way you do it is this: one man fires while one man is moving, and the other is loading and getting ready to move. That’s how the three men attack. There’s always one moving and one firing. That way you can do it. If you forget the cannon. But you’ll lose one man most probably on the way across the field, at least one, probably two, against a cannon you’ll lose all three, no matter what you do, and that’s across the field. Now. If you are attacking uphill …”

He broke it off. No point in talking this way to a foreigner. Might have to fight him sometime. But the man would not see. Longstreet had spoken to his own officers. They found what he said vaguely shameful. Defense? When Lee dug trenches around Richmond they called him, derisively, the King of Spades. Longstreet took a deep breath and let it go, remembering again that damned black hill, fires like eyes.

Fremantle said, bewildered, “But, sir, there is the example of Solferino. And of course the Charge of the Light Brigade.”

“Yes,” Longstreet said. Like all Englishmen, and most Southerners, Fremantle would rather lose the war than his dignity. Dick Garnett would die and die smiling. “Had he his hurts before?” Aye, then he died like a man. Longstreet, who had invented a transverse trench which no one would use, filed the matter forcefully in the dark cavern of his swelling brain and rode into camp.

That night, at supper, someone remarked casually that since the army needed ammunition, wouldn’t it be proper for the ammunition factories to stay open on Sunday? Most of the officers agreed that it had not yet come to
that
.

Longstreet stayed up talking, as long as there was company, as long as there was a fire. Because when the fire was gone and the dark had truly come there was no way he could avoid the dead faces of his children.

Lee rode north through the town and out the Heidlersburg Road. There was a joy in the night all around him. The men yelled and whooped as he passed by. Many stopped and just smiled and some took off their hats. They had won again. The joy on their faces, the look of incredible pride, the way so many of them looked at him going by as if waiting for some sign of his approval of a job well done, another fight so nobly fought, lights in all the starry young eyes, and beyond that the way some of them had tears in their eyes as he went by, tears for him, for the cause, for the dead of the day; the sight of it was something very nearly unbearable, and he set his face and rode through saying nothing, nodding, touching his hat. Then he was out the other side of town, and there were piles of stacked Union muskets, blankets and canteens and wagons, the abandoned implements of war.

Ewell had made his headquarters in a farmhouse. He was there, along with Early and Rodes. They were all standing at a white gate as Lee rode up at the beginning of the night, enough light still in the sky so that the black mass of the hill to the east, the untaken hill, could still be seen against the evening sky. Lee thought: why did you not attack? Why? But he said nothing.

Ewell had the look of a great-beaked, hopping bird. He was bald and scrawny; his voice piped and squeaked like cracking eggshells. He
had lost a leg at Manassas and had just recently returned to the army, and he was standing awkwardly balancing himself against the unfamiliar leg and scratching his head and swaying nervously, clutching a fencepost. Early stood beside him, dark, formal, composed. Rodes off to the side bowed formally at Lee’s approach.