The Killer Angels

Lee said, “They will break.”

He said it very softly. Longstreet barely heard him. “Sir? Sir?”

”They will break,” Lee repeated. “In any case, there is no alternative.”

”Sir, I do not think so.”

I am making him angry. Lee turned and looked at him, but there was a difference in the face now; the weariness was suddenly apparent. The old man had lost control for a moment and the pain was there; the exhaustion dulled the eyes. Longstreet felt a surge of emotion. He wanted to reach out and touch the old man, but that was impossible. You could not show affection here, no place for it here, too many men will die, must think clearly, but all the while he felt an icy despair, a cold dead place like dead skin. And then the guns began, ca

”What is Ewell up to? In God’s name, can he follow no order at all?”

Lee galloped off to the left. Longstreet remained behind. Pickett came up, good cheer in his eye, babbling that his boys had been up for hours, and what was the plan? Longstreet said: nothing, and they recognized the mood and left him alone. Fits of weariness began to pass over Longstreet, as clouds pass over and dull the heat.

Colonel Marshall came back, from Lee. The word was that the Federals had opened an attack on Ewell, just as he was getting set. So. At least Ewell hadn’t gone off half-cocked. No. But what does Lee expect? How can we coordinate across all these miles? And now Meade is attacking. Good, very good. Meade begins to stir himself. Now that’s excellent indeed. Given a bit of luck now, we can lure him down out of those damned bloody rocks. He’s moving on my flank now. Good, very good. Let him come, let him come, and then when his arm is out far enough, when his nose is extended, I will chop it off with a chop they’ll feel in London.

Lee was coming back. The sun was begi

Lee said, “No need for hurry now. General Ewell is engaged. General Meade has made a move. I must confess; I did not expect it.” He pointed. “We’ll ride forward.”

They moved out toward the lines. Lee was thinking; Longstreet kept silent. The heat came slowly, steadily. They rode down to the Emmitsburg Road, in clear view of the Union lines. There were smells flowing up from the hospital. Out in the fields the dead lay everywhere in the litter of war. Here and there surgeons were moving, burial parties. Above them, on the Union lines, a ca

Wofford’s Brigade had pushed up the ridge almost to the top the day before. Lee listened to him tell of it, then Lee said, “General, you went up there yesterday. Surely you can do it again.”

”No, General, I think not,” Wofford said. He seemed embarrassed to say it.

Lee said, “Why not?”

”Because yesterday we were chasing a broken enemy. They’ve been heavily reinforced. They’ve had all night to entrench. And my boys… lost many friends yesterday.”

Lee said nothing. Longstreet saw him clamp his jaw. He was walking slowly, hands clasped behind him. He said suddenly, “Well, but Pickett is here. And Stuart. Don’t forget Stuart.”

A sharpshooter’s bullet shirred by overhead. Longstreet looked for it curiously. Shooting downhill, snipers always overshoot. They were moving into the front of the line, the bloody wheat field. Longstreet saw a battery being moved, guns being pulled back. He saw young Porter Alexander, his chief of artillery, in personal supervision. Good, he thought absently, very good, Alexander is seeing to it himself. The technical commander was Parson Pendleton, but Pendleton was a fool. There was high ground at the peach orchard. Alexander was posting some Napoleons there, waved as he rode by. Lee saw, approved wordlessly.

He took his hat off, gazing upward at the long rise toward Cemetery Ridge. The sun gleamed on his white hair, the dark ridge along the brow line where the hat had pressed the hair down. Longstreet thought: he was not all that white-haired a year ago. He remembered yesterday: “I’ll tell you a secret: I’m an old man.”

I wish we could take the hill. Could flood right on over it and end the war, wipe them all away in one great motion. But we can’t. No matter how much I wish… or trust in God…

Lee turned back. His face was again composed; he put the soft black hat back on his head. He called an aide: Venable, then Taylor. Longstreet waited to the side. Soldiers were drifting up to stand happily by, gazing with paternal affection at Lee, at Longstreet.

”Momin’ to ya. General. You look pert this mornin’, sir.”

”General, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, I’d like to complain about the food, sir.”

”We’s back in the Union now. General.”

They were ready. That superb morale. Lee touched his hat to the men. They moved away from the line. The sun broke through at last and poured heat on the roadway; the mist was gone. A rider came up from Hood’s division, commanded now by General Law. Law reported Union cavalry moving in force across his flank, suggested strengthening his line with Robertson’s Brigade. Longstreet agreed. Lee listening silently. Then they rode back toward the ridge where Pickett’s men waited.

Ewell’s fight was going on. They could see smoke blowing now across the top of the hill. Ewell reported that Johnson was being compelled to fall back from the trenches he had won the night before. Lee sat alone for a while, Longstreet a small way away. A slowly growing swarm of aides and other officers, reporters, foreigners, musicians, began gathering a respectful distance away. A band began playing “That Bo

At last Lee turned, summoned Longstreet. Longstreet came up. Lee said, “General, we will attack the center.”

He paused. Longstreet took a long breath, let it go.

”You will have Pickett’s Division. But I think you are right about the flank. Leave Hood and McLaws where they are. I will give you Heth’s Division. It was not engaged yesterday. And Pender’s.”

Longstreet nodded.

”You will have three divisions. Your objective will be that clump of trees… there.”

He pointed. The center of the Union line, the center of the ridge. The clump of trees was clear, isolated. In the center of the clump was one large tree shaped like an umbrella. Unmistakable. Longstreet nodded, listened, tried not to think.