The Killer Angels

”Yes,” Longstreet said. There was a moment of dusty silence. He grumbled to himself: why did you start that? Why talk about that now? Damn fool.

Then Lee said, “There was a higher duty to Virginia. That was the first duty. There was never any doubt about that.”

”Guess not,” Longstreet said. But we broke the vow.

Lee said, “The issue is in God’s hands. We will live with His decision, whichever way it goes.”

Longstreet glanced at the dusty face, saw a shadow cross the eyes like a passing wing. Lee said, “I pray it will be over soon.”

”Amen,” Longstreet said.

They rode for a while in silence, a tiny island in the smoky stream of marching men. Then Lee said slowly, in a strange, soft, slow tone of voice, “Soldiering has one great trap.”

Longstreet turned to see his face. Lee was riding slowly ahead, without expression. He spoke in that same slow voice.

”To be a good soldier you must love the army. But to be a good officer you must be willing to order the death of the thing you love. This is… a very hard thing to do. No other profession requires it. That if one reason why there are so very few good officers. Although there are many good men.”

Lee rarely lectured. Longstreet sensed a message beyond it. He waited. Lee said, “We don’t fear our own deaths, you and I.” He smiled slightly, then glanced away. “We protect ourselves out of military necessity, not fear. You, sir, do not protect yourself enough and must give thought to it. I need you. But the point is, we are afraid to die. We are prepared for our own deaths and for the deaths of comrades. We learn that at the Point. But I have seen this happen: We are not prepared for as many deaths as we have to face, inevitably as the war goes on. There comes a time…”

He paused. He had been gazing straight ahead, away from Longstreet. Now, black-eyed, he turned back, glanced once quickly into Longstreet’s eyes, then looked away.

”We are never prepared for so many to die. So you understand? No one is. We expect some chosen few. We expect an occasional empty chair, a toast to dear departed comrades. Victory celebrations for most of us, a hallowed death for a few. But the war goes on. And the men die. The price gets ever higher. Some officers… can pay no longer. We are prepared to lose some of us.” He paused again. “But never all of us. Surely not all of us. But… that is the trap. You can hold nothing back when you attack. You must commit yourself totally. And yet, if they all die, a man must ask himself, will it have been worth it?”

Longstreet felt a coldness down his spine. He had never heard Lee speak this way. He had not known Lee thought of this kind of thing. He said, “You think I feel too much for the men.”

”Oh no,” Lee shook his head quickly. “Not too much. I did not say ‘too much’.” But I… was just speaking.”

Longstreet thought: Possibly? But his mind said: No. It is not that. That’s the trap all right, but it’s not my trap. Not yet. But he thinks I love the men too much. He thinks that’s where all the talk of defense comes from. My God… But there’s no time.

Lee said, “General, you know, I’ve not been well lately.”

That was so unlike him that Longstreet turned to stare. But the face was calm, composed, watchful. Longstreet felt a rumble of unexpected affection. Lee said, “I hope my illness has not affected my judgment. I rely on you always to tell me the truth as you see it.”

”Of course.”

”No matter how much I disagree.”

Longstreet shrugged.

”I want this to be the last battle,” Lee said. He took a deep breath. He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, as if to confide something terribly important. “You know, General, under this beard I’m not a young man.”

Longstreet chuckled, grumbled, rubbed his nose.

A courier came toiling down the dusty lane, pushing his horse through the crowded troops. The man rode to Lee. In this army Lee was always easy to find. The courier, whom Longstreet did not recognize, saluted, then for some unaccountable reason took off his hat, stood bareheaded in the sun, yellow hair plastered wetly all over his scalp.

”Message from General Hood, sir.”

”Yes.” Politely, Lee waited.

”The General says to tell you that the Yankees are moving troops up on the high Rocky Hill, the one to the right. And there’s a signal team up there.” Lee nodded, gave his compliments.

”That was to be expected. Tell General Hood that General Meade might have saved himself the trouble. We’ll have that hill before night.”

The courier put his hat back on and rode off. They rode on for a while in silence. Then Lee halted abruptly in the center of the road. He said, “I suppose I should be getting back. I’ll only be in your way.”

”Not at all,” Longstreet said. But it was Lee’s practice to back off, once the fight had begun, and let the commanders handle it. He could see that Lee was reluctant to go. Gradually it dawned on him that Lee was worried for him.

”You know,” Lee said slowly, looking eastward again, toward the heights, “when I awoke this morning I half thought he’d be gone, General Meade, that he would not want to fight here. When I woke up I thought, yes, Meade will be gone, and Longstreet will be happy, and then I can please Old Pete, my war-horse.”

”We’ll make him sorry he stayed.” Longstreet gri

”They fought well yesterday. Meredith’s brigade put up a fine fight. They will fight well again today.”

Longstreet smiled. “We’ll see,” he said.

Lee put out a hand. Longstreet took it. The grip no longer quite so firm, the hand no longer quite so large.

”God go with you,” Lee said. It was like a blessing from a minister. Longstreet nodded. Lee rode off.

Now Longstreet was alone. And now he felt a cold depression. He did not know why. He chewed another cigar.

The army ahead halted. He rode past waiting men, gradually began to become a

”General,” Johnston said, “I’m sorry, but if we go on down this road the enemy will view us.”

Longstreet swore. He began to ride ahead, saw Joe Kershaw ahead, on horseback, waiting with his South Carolina Brigade. Longstreet said, “Come on, Joe, let’s see what’s up.”

They rode together, Johnston following, across a road crossing from east to west. On the north comer there was a tavern, deserted, the door open into a black interior. Beyond the tavern was a rise-Herr Ridge, Johnston said, a continuation of the ridge leading out from town, facing Seminary Ridge about a mile away, not two miles from the Rocky Hill. Longstreet rode up from under a clump of trees into the open. In front of him was a broad green field at least half a mile wide, spreading eastward. To the south loomed the Rocky Hill, gray boulders clearly visible along the top, and beyond it the higher eminence of the Round Hill. Any march along here would be clearly visible to troops on that hill. Longstreet swore again.

”Damn!” he roared, then abruptly shut his mouth.

Johnston said worriedly, “General, I’m sorry.”

Longstreet said, “But you’re dead right. We’ll have to find another road.” He turned to Kershaw. “Joe, we’re turning around. I’m taking over as guide. Send somebody for my staff.”

Sorrel and Goree were coming up, then Osmun Latrobe.

Longstreet outlined the change: both Divisions would have to stop where they were and turn around. Longstreet rode gloomily back along the line. God, how long a delay would there be? It was after one now. Lee’s attack was en echelon.

That took a long time. Well, we’ll get this right in a hurry.

He sent Sorrel to Lee with word of the change of direction.

Then he scouted for a new path. He rode all the way back to the Cashtown Road, getting madder and madder as he rode.

If Stuart had appeared at that moment Longstreet would have arrested him.