Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [34]
Lee sighed. "A blind horse?"
"Yes, sir. I didn't want to trouble you, sir, but your orders were strict on this point."
"Give him the horse. Major."
"Yes, sir." Taylor nodded.
"We must be charitable with these people. Major. We have enough enemies."
"Oh yes, sir." Taylor made a slight bow. "The men have the strictest orders.
But I must say, sir, that those orders would be easier to follow had the Yankees shown charity when they were back in Virginia."
"Major," Lee said slowly, "we will behave ourselves."
Taylor recognized the tone. "Yes, sir," he said.
Lee rested against the rail fence. He noticed at last a struggling band:
"Bonny Blue Rag." A brave but tinny sound. He bowed in that direction, raised his coffee cup in tribute. A tall thin soldier waved a feathered hat: the music bounced away. Lee said, "I would like to see General Longstreet. My compliments, and ask him to ride with me this morning, if he is not otherwise occupied."
"Breakfast, sir?"
"In a moment, Major."
Taylor saluted formally, moved off. Lee sat for a moment alone, gazing eastward. Cavalry. If Longstreet's spy was right, then there could truly be cavalry in Gettysburg and masses of infantry right behind. We drift blindly toward a great collision. Peace, until night. He rubbed the left arm.
Must show no pain, no weakness here. The strength now is in Longstreet. Trust to him.
He saw the old gentleman, who thanked him with tears for the return of the blind horse. A Pennsylvania woman flirted, asked for his autograph. He gave it, amazed, wondering what good it would do her in this country. He met with his aides: angry Marshall, gray-bearded Venable. Marshall was furious with the absent Stuart, was ready to draw up court-martial papers. Lee said nothing.
The courteous Venable drew him politely away.
"Sir, I have a request to make."
"Yes."
Venable: a courtly man, a man of patience. He said, "Could you speak to Dorsey Pender, sir? He's had a letter from his wife."
Lee remembered: beautiful woman on a golden horse, riding with Pender on the banks of the Rappahannock. Lovely sight, a sunset sky.
"Mrs. Pender is, ah, a pious woman, and she believes that now that we have invaded Pennsylvania we are in the wrong, and God has forsaken us-you know how these people reason, sir-and she says she cannot pray for him."
Lee shook his head. God protect us from our loving friends. He saw for one small moment the tragic face of his own frail wife, that unhappy woman, the stone strong face of his mother. Venable said, "I think a talk might help Pender, sir. Another man would shake it off, but he's... taken it badly. Says he cannot pray himself." Venable paused. "I know there are others who feel that way."
Lee nodded. Venable said, "It was easier in Virginia, sir. On our home ground."
"I know."
"Will you speak to him, sir?"
"Yes," Lee said.
"Very good, sir. I know it will help him, sir."
Lee said, "I once swore to defend this ground." He looked out across the misty grove. "No matter. No matter. We end the war as best we can." He put his hand to his chest. "Napoleon once said, 'The logical end to defensive warfare is surrender.' You might tell him that."
"Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir."
Venable went away. Lee felt a deeper spasm, like a black stain. I swore to defend. Now I invade. A soldier, no theologian. God, let it be over soon.
While there's time to play with grandchildren. It came too late. Fame came too late. I would have enjoyed it, if I were a younger man.
He moved back to the map table. The guilt stayed with him, ineradicable, like the silent alarm in the fragile chest. Swore to defend. Misty matters. Get on with the fight. He looked down at the map. The roads all converged, weblike, to Gettysburg. And where's the spider? Nine roads in all. Message from Ewell: his troops were on the move, would be coming down into Gettysburg from the north. Lee looked