The Killer Angels

Armistead looked up. He looked at Longstreet and then quickly away. Out in the glade they were sitting motionless, and then Pickett got up suddenly and stalked, face wet with tears, rubbing his cheeks, grumbling, then he said stiffly, “Good cheer, boys, good cheer tonight.” The faces looked up at him. Pickett moved to the rail fence and sat there and said, “Let me tell you the story of old Tangent, which is Dick Ewell’s horse, which as God is my final judge is not only the slowest and orneriest piece of horseflesh in all this here army, but possibly also the slowest horse in this hemisphere, or even in the history of all slow horses.”

The faces began to lighten. A bottle began to move.

Pickett sat on the rail fence like old Baldy Ewell riding the horse. The laughter began again, and in the background they played something fast and light and the tenor did not sing. In a few moments Pickett was doing a hornpipe with Fremantle, and the momentary sadness had passed like a small mist. Longstreet wanted to move over there and sit down. But he did not belong there.

Armistead said, “You hear anything of Win Hancock?”

”Ran in to him today.” Longstreet gestured. “He’s over that way, mile or so.”

”That a fact?” Armistead gri

”He was.”

”Ha,” Armistead chuckled. “He’s the best they’ve got, and that’s a fact.”

”Yep.”

”Like to go on over and see him, soon’s I can, if it’s all right.”

”Sure. Maybe tomorrow.”

”Well, that’ll be fine.” Armistead looked up at the moon. “That song there, ‘Kathleen Mavoumeen’?” He shrugged. Longstreet looked at him. He was rubbing his face. Armistead said slowly, “Last time I saw old Win, we played that, ‘round the piano.” He glanced at Longstreet, gri

”Mira Hancock had us over. One more evening together. You remember Mira. Beautiful woman. Sweet woman. They were a beautiful couple, you know that? Most beautiful couple I ever saw. He sure looks like a soldier, now, and that’s a fact.”

Longstreet waited. Something was coming.

”Garnett was there, that last night. And Sydney Johnston. Lot of fellas from the old outfit. We were leaving the next day, some goin’ North, some comin’ South. Splitting up. God! You remember.”

Longstreet remembered: a bright cold day. A cold, cold day. A soldier’s farewell: goodbye, good luck, and see you in Hell. Armistead said, “We sat around the piano, toward the end of the evening. You know how it was. Mary was playing. We sang all the good songs. That was one of them, ‘Kathleen Mavoumeen,’ and there was ‘Mary of Argyle,’ and… ah. It may be for years, and it may be forever.

Never forget that.”

He stopped, paused, looked down into the whisky glass, looked up at Longstreet. “You know how it was, Pete.”

Longstreet nodded.

”Well, the man was a brother to me. You remember.

Toward the end of the evening… it got rough. We all began, well, you know, there were a lot of tears.”

Armistead’s voice wavered; he took a deep breath. “Well, I was crying, and I went up to Win and I took him by the shoulder and I said, ‘Win, so help me, if I ever lift a hand against you, may God strike me dead.’”

Longstreet felt a cold shudder. He looked down at the ground. There was nothing to say. Armistead said, shaken, “I’ve not seen him since. I haven’t been on the same field with him, thank God. It… troubles me to think on it.”

Longstreet wanted to reach out and touch him. But he went on looking at the dark ground.

”Can’t leave the fight, of course,” Armistead said. “But I think about it. I meant it as a vow, you see. You understand, Pete?”

”Sure.”

”I thought about sitting this one out. But… I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think that would be right either.”

”Guess not.”

Armistead sighed. He drank the last of the whisky in a swift single motion. He took off the soft black hat and held it in his hand and the gray hair glistened wetly, and the band of white skin at the forehead shone in the light. With the hat off he was older, much older, old courtly Lo. Had been a fiery young man. Lothario grown old.

”Thank you, Pete.” Armistead’s voice was steady, “Had to talk about that.”

”Course.”

”I sent Mira Hancock a package to be opened in the event of my death. I… you’ll drop by and see her, after this is done?”

Longstreet nodded. He said, “I was just thinking. Of the time you hit Early with the plate.”

Armistead gri

Longstreet smiled. Then was able to reach out and touch him. He just tapped him once lightly, one touch, on the shoulder, and pulled back his hand.

Out in the camp in the light of the fire Pickett was winding down. He was telling the story about the time during a ca

Armistead said, “Wonder if these cherry trees will grow at home. You think they’ll grow at home?”

In a moment Armistead said, “Let’s go join the party. Pete? Why not? Before they drink up all the whisky.”

”No thanks. You go on.”

”Pete, tomorrow could be a long day.”

”Work to do.” But Longstreet felt himself yielding, softening, bending like a young tree in the wind.

”Come on, Pete. One time. Do you good.”

Longstreet looked out at all the bright apple faces. He saw again in his mind the steady face of Lee. He thought: I don’t belong. But he wanted to join them. Not even to say anything. Just to sit there and listen to the jokes up close, sit inside the warm ring, because off here at this distance with the deafness you never heard what they said; you were out of it. But… if he joined there would be a stiffness. He did not want to spoil their night. And yet suddenly, terribly, he wanted it again, the way it used to be, arms linked together, all drunk and singing beautifully into the night, with visions of death from the afternoon, and dreams of death in the coming dawn, the night filled with a monstrous and temporary glittering joy, fat moments, thick seconds dropping like warm rain, jewel after jewel.

”Pete?”

Longstreet stood up. He let go the reins of command. He thought of the three Union corps, one of them Hancock, dug in on the hill, and he let them all go. He did not want to lead any more. He wanted to sit and drink and listen to stories.

He said, “I guess one drink, if it’s all right.”

Armistead took him by the arm with a broad grin, and it was genuine; he took Longstreet by the arm and pulled him toward the circle.

”Hey, fellas,” Armistead bawled, “look what I got. Make way for the Old Man.”

They all stood to greet him. He sat down and took a drink and he did not think any more about the war.