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Armistead gri
A circle had gathered at a respectful distance. One of these was Fremantle, of Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards, wide-hatted. Adam’s-appled. Pickett was regarding him with curiosity.
Longstreet remembered his ma
Pickett bowed low in the classic fashion, sweeping the ground with the plumed hat.
”The fame of your regiment, sir, has preceded you.”
”General Pickett is our ranking strategist,” Longstreet said. “We refer all the deeper questions to George.”
”They do,” Pickett admitted, nodding. “They do indeed.”
”General Pickett’s record at West Point is still the talk of the army.”
Armistead hawed.
”It is unbecoming to a soldier, all this book-learning,” Pickett said haughtily.
”It aint gentlemanly, George,” Armistead corrected.
”Nor that either,” Pickett agreed.
”He finished last in his class,” Longstreet explained.
”Dead last. Which is quite a feat, if you consider his classmates.”
”The Yankees got all the smart ones,” Pickett said placidly, “and look where it got them.”
Fremantle stood gri
The ‘Lo’ is short for Lothario. Let me welcome you to ‘Lee’s Miserables.’ The Coldstream Guards? Weren’t you fellas over here in the discussion betwixt us of 1812? I seem to remember my daddy telling me about… No, it was the Black Watch. The kilted fellas, that’s who it was.”
Fremantle said, “Lee’s Miserables?”
”A joke,” Longstreet said patiently. “Somebody read Victor Hugo-believe it or not I have officers who read and ever since then we’ve been Lee’s Miserables.”
Fremantle was still in the dark. Longstreet said, “Victor Hugo. French writer. Novel. Les Miserables.”
Fremantle brightened. Then he smiled. Then he chuckled. “Oh that’s very good. Oh, I say that’s very good indeed, Haw.”
Pickett said formally. “Allow me to introduce my commanders. The elderly one here is Lewis Armistead. The ‘Lothario’ is a bit of a joke, as you can see. But we are democratic. We do not hold his great age against him. We carry him to the battle, and we aim him and turn him loose. “ His is what we in this country call an ‘Old Family’-“
Armistead said briefly, “Oh God”-“although doubtless you English would consider him still an immigrant. There have been Armisteads in all our wars, and maybe we better change the subject, because it is likely that old Lo’s grandaddy took a pot-shot at your grandaddy, but anyway, we had to let him in this war to keep the string going, do you see? Age and all.”
”Creak,” Armistead said.
”The next on here is Dick Garnett. Ah, Richard Brooke Garnett.”
Garnett bowed. Pickett said, “Old Dick is a good lad, but sickly. Ah well-“ Pickett made a sad face-“some of us are born puny, and others are blessed with great natural strength. It is all God’s will. Sit down, Dick. Now this next one here-“ he indicated stoic Jim Kemper-“this one is not even a soldier, so watch him. Note the shifty beady eye?
He’s a politician. Only reason he’s here is to gather votes come next election.”
Kemper stepped forward, hand extended warily. He had been speaker of the Virginia House and he was not fond of foreigners. Fremantle took the hand with forced good will.
Kemper said brusquely, “Look here now, Colonel. Been | wondering when you people were going to get out and break than damned Yankee blockade. How about that?”
Fremantle apologized, gri
”General? A few words?”
”Sure, George. Fire.”
”By George you’re looking well, sir. Must say, never saw you looking better.” “You look lovely too, George.” Longstreet liked this man. He was not overwhelmingly bright, but he was a fighter. Longstreet was always careful to give him exact instructions and to follow him to make sure he knew what to do, but once pointed, George could be relied on. A lovely adventurous boy, thirty-eight years old and never to grow older, fond of adventure and romance and all the bright sparkles of youth. Longstreet said happily, “What can I do for you, George?”
”Well, sir, now I don’t mean this as a reflection upon you, sir. But well, you know, sir, my Division, my Virginia boys, we weren’t at Chancellorsville.”
”No.”
”Well, you know we were assigned away on some piddling affair, and we weren’t at Fredericksburg either; we were off again doing some other piddling thing, and now they’ve taken two of my brigades, Corse and Jenkins, and sent them off to guard Richmond-Richmond, for the love of God-and now, General, do you know where I’m placed in line of march? Last, sir, that’s where. Exactly last. I bring up the damned rear. Beg pardon.”
Longstreet sighed.
Pickett said, “Well, I tell you, sir, frankly, my boys are begi
”George,” Longstreet said.
”Sir, I must-“ Pickett noted Longstreet’s face. “Now, I don’t mean to imply this command. Not you, sir. I was just hoping you would talk to somebody.”
”George.” Longstreet paused, then he said patiently, “Would you like us to move the whole army out of the way and let you go first?”
Pickett brightened. That seemed a good idea. Another look at Longstreet’s face.
”I only meant, sir, that we haven’t-“
”I know, George. Listen, there’s no plot. It’s just the way things fell out. I have three divisions, right? There’s you, and there’s Hood and McLaws. And where I go you go.
Right? And my HQ is near the Old Man, and the Old Man chooses to be here, and that’s the way it is. We sent your two brigades to Richmond because we figured they were Virginia boys and that was proper. But look at it this way: if the army has to turn and fight its way out of here, you’ll be exactly first in line.”
Pickett thought on that.
”That’s possible?”
”Yup.”
”Well,” Pickett mused. At that moment Lew Armistead came up. Pickett said wistfully, “Well, I had to speak on it, sir. You understand. No offense?”
”None.”
”Well then. But I mean, the whole war could be damn well over soon, beg pardon, and my boys would have missed it. And these are Virginians, sir, and have a certain pride.” It occurred to him that Longstreet not being a Virginian, he might have given another insult.