The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [121]
He drank coffee alone, dreaming. Scheibert, the Prussian, chatted with him about the Battle of Solferino. Longstreet could hear the laughter from Pickett’s boys; some of them had been up all night. They were moving into line in the fields behind Seminary Ridge, out of sight of the Union guns. He was curt with Scheibert. The Prussian was not a fool; he bowed, departed. Longstreet studied the map. Rain would be a great blessing. Rain would screen our movements.
Lee came out of the mists. He was tall and gray on that marvelous horse, riding majestically forward in the gray light of morning outlined against the sky, the staff all around him and behind him, Lee alone in the center, larger than them all, erect, soldierly, gazing eastward toward the enemy line. He rode up, saluted grandly. Longstreet rose. Lee rested both hands on the pommel of his saddle. The mist thickened and blew between them; there was a ghostly quality in the look of him, of all his staff, ghost riders out of the past, sabers clanking, horses breathing thick and heavy in thick dank air.
Lee said, “General, good morning.”
Longstreet offered him coffee. Lee declined. He said, “If you will mount up, General, I would like to ride over in that direction—” he gestured eastward “—some little way.”
Longstreet called for his horse, mounted. He said, “I’ve had scouts out all night, General. I know the terrain now.”
Lee said nothing. They rode toward the high ground, an opening in the trees. Longstreet looked out across a flat field of mist, fence posts, a ridge of stone black against the soft white flow of mist, then across the road and up the long rise toward the Union defenses, high out of the mist, fires burning, black cannon in plain view.
Longstreet said again, “Sir, I’ve discovered a way south that seems promising. If we would move—”
“General, the enemy is there—” Lee lifted his arm, pointed up the ridge in a massive gesture “—and there’s where I’m going to strike him.”
He turned and looked back at Longstreet for one long moment, straight into his eyes, fixing Longstreet with the black stare, the eyes of the General, and then turned away. Longstreet drew his head in, like a turtle.
Lee said slowly, face to the east, “The situation is basically unchanged. But you have Pickett now, and he is fresh. I want you to move your corps forward and take those heights, in the center, and split the Union line.”
Longstreet took a deep breath. Lee said, “I have sent word to Ewell. He is to attack when you do, keeping the enemy pinned on that flank. Yours will be the main effort. Hill will be the reserve. You will have all our artillery preceding you, fixed on that one point. A pont au feu.”
He was watching Longstreet’s face, gazing at him without expression, the eyes set far back under white brows, dark, touched with the cool light of the morning. Longstreet said, “Sir.” He shook his head, groping for words. Lee waited.
“Sir, there are some things I must say.”
Lee nodded, again without expression, immobile. The staff had moved back; the two generals were alone. Longstreet said, “Sir. My two divisions, Hood and McLaws, lost almost half their strength yesterday. Do you expect me to attack again that same high ground which they could not take yesterday at full strength? With so many officers lost? Including Sam Hood?”
Lee was expressionless. The eyes were black and still.
Longstreet said, “Sir, there are now three Union corps on those rocky hills, on our flank. If I move my people forward we’ll have no flank at all; they’ll simply swing around and crush us. There are thirty thousand men on those heights to our right. Cavalry is moving out on my flank now. If I move Hood and McLaws, the whole rear of this army is open.”
Lee’s head shifted slightly, imperceptibly; his eyes shifted. He had been set, now he turned, looked away, looked down at the ground, then east again.
After a moment he said, “You say there is cavalry moving on your right? In what force?”
“Two brigades, at least.”
“You have that