The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [115]
Stuart stood there, sword in hand. Lee felt a vast pity, yet at the same time he could feel the coming of a smile. Good thing it was dark. He said formally, “General, this matter is concluded. There will be no further discussion of it. Good night.”
He turned away. Stuart stood holding the sword, but he had too much respect for Lee to speak. He began to move slowly away. Lee saw him stop before going back out into the night and put the sword back on. A good boy. If he is a man, he will learn. But now he will be reckless, to prove himself. Must beware of that. Longstreet would not approve. But court-martial would have destroyed him. And he is spirited, and that is a great part of his value. Keep him on rein, but on a loose rein. He has to be checked now and then. But he’s a fine boy. And I am sorry to have had to do that. Yet it was necessary.
He sat back on the fence. Another figure was coming. He sighed, wanting silence. But the man was Venable, back from Ewell’s camp. Like all of Lee’s aides he had too much to do and had slept little in the last two days and he was nearing exhaustion. He reported, speech blurred.
“Sir, I think I’ve, ah, pieced it together. I’ve been studying General Ewell’s, ah, operation. Regret to say, very strange. There is much confusion in that camp.”
“Is General Ewell in firm command?”
They had discussed it. Venable, who was fond of Dick Ewell, paused before answering. Then he said slowly, “Sir, I think General Ewell defers too much to General Early. He is … uncertain. I regret the necessity for speaking, sir. I would have preferred not …”
“I know.” Lee bowed his head. So. The choice of Dick Ewell had been a mistake. But how was one to know? Honest Old Baldy. Had been a fine soldier. But cannot command a corps. Could I have known? Who else was there? Dorsey Pender … is wounded.
Venable said, “General Ewell could not get his corps in position for the attack this afternoon until some hours after Longstreet had already begun. General Rodes got his men bottled up in the streets of Gettysburg and never attacked at all.”
“Not at all?”
“No, sir. General Early attacked at dusk—”
“At dusk. But that was hours late.”
“Yes, sir. Longstreet’s attack was virtually over before Early got into action. But Early made no progress and called off the attack very soon. General Johnson managed to capture some trenches. Casualties were, ah, light.”
Lee said nothing. He thought: Jackson would have moved … no time for that. He stared at the bold moon.
“You gave General Ewell my orders for the morning?”
“Yes, sir. He understands he is to be in position to attack at first light.”
“He understands that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He will have all night to prepare. That should be nearly ample time.” There was in Lee’s voice a rare touch of bitterness.
Venable paused warily, then said, “Are there further orders, sir?”
“Not just yet.” Lee rested against the rail fence. Cannot depend on Ewell. Nor on Hill. There is only Longstreet. Pickett is fresh. Longstreet has fresh men. Virginians. For whom we broke the vow. Lee shook his head. Well, one thing is sure, if we attack tomorrow, it will be with Longstreet. He meditated a moment, weariness flowing through him like a bleak slow wind. Think now, before you get too tired. He dismissed Venable and turned back to the night.
He sat down once more against the rail fence. The horse moved in over him; he had to move to keep from being stepped on. He sat on the far side of the fence and reviewed the facts and made the decision.
It did not take him very long. He was by nature a decisive man, and although this was one of the great decisions of his life and he knew it, he made it quickly and did not agonize over it. He did not think of the men who would die; he had learned long ago not to do that. The men came here ready to die for what they believed in, for their homes and their honor, and although it was often a terrible death it was always an honorable death, and no matter how bad the pain it was only temporary, and after death there was the reward.
The decision