Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [24]
Longstreet sat with his back against a tree, waiting. His fame as a poker player was legendary but he had not played in a long time, not since the deaths of his children, and he did not feel like it now; but he liked to sit in the darkness and watch, passing the time silently, a small distance away, a member of it all warmed by the fire but still not involved in it, not having to talk.
What bothered him most was the blindness. Jeb Stuart had not returned. The army had moved all day in enemy country and they had not even known what was around the next bend. Harrison's news was growing old: the Union Army was on the move. Longstreet had sent the spy back into Gettysburg to see what he could find, but Gettysburg was almost thirty miles away and he had not yet returned.
Longstreet dreamed, storing up energy, knowing the fight was coming and resting deliberately, relaxing the muscles, feeling himself loose upon the earth and filling with strength slowly, as the lungs fill with clean air. He was a patient man; he could outwait the dawn. He saw a star fall: a pale cold spark in the eastern sky. Lovely sight. He remembered, counting stars at midnight in a pasture: a girl. The girl thought they were messages from God.
Longstreet grinned: she loves me, she loves me not.
"Sir?"
He looked up-a slender, haughty face: G. Moxley Sorrel, Longstreet's chief of staff. Longstreet said, "Major."
"I'm just back from General Lee's headquarters, sir. The General has retired for the night. Everything going nicely, sir. General Lee says we should all be concentrated around Gettysburg tomorrow evening."
"Nothing from Stuart?"
"No, sir. But some of General Hill's troops went into Gettysburg this afternoon and claim they saw Union cavalry there."
Longstreet looked up sharply. Sorrel went on: "They had orders not to engage, so they withdrew. General Hill thinks they were mistaken. He says it must be militia. He's going back in force in the morning."
"Who saw cavalry? What officer?"
"Ah, Johnston Pettigrew, I believe, sir."
"The scholar? Fella from North Carolina?"
"Ah, yes, sir. I think so, sir."
"Blue cavalry?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why doesn't Hill believe him? Does Hill have other information?"
"No, sir. Ah, I would say, sir, judging from what I heard, that General Hill thinks that, ah, Pettigrew is not a professional and tends to be overexcited and perhaps to exaggerate a bit."
"Urn." Longstreet rubbed his face. If there was infantry coming, as Harrison had said, there would be cavalry in front of it.
"What does General Lee say?"
"The General, ah, defers to General Hill's judgment, I believe."
Longstreet grimaced. He thought: we have other cavalry.
Why doesn't the old man send for a look? Tell you why: he can't believe Stuart would let him down.
"Have you any orders, sir?" Sorrel was gazing longingly toward the poker game.
"No."
"The men are anxious to have you join the game, sir. As you once did."
"Not tonight. Major."
Sorrel bowed. "Yes, sir. Oh, by the way, sir, General Pickett sends his compliments and states that he will be dropping by later this evening for a chat."
Longstreet nodded. There'll be a complaint from old George. But good to see him. Sorrel moved off into a burst of laughter, a cloud of lovely tobacco.
Longstreet sat brooding.
There was an odor of trouble, an indefinable wrong. It was like playing chess and making a bad move and not knowing why but knowing instinctively that it was a bad move. The instincts were yelling. As they used to do long ago at night in Indian