The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [28]
“It aint gentlemanly, George,” Armistead corrected.
“Nor that either,” Pickett agreed.
“He finished last in his class,” Longstreet explained. “Dead last. Which is quite a feat, if you consider his classmates.”
“The Yankees got all the smart ones,” Pickett said placidly, “and look where it got them.”
Fremantle stood grinning vaguely, not quite sure how to take all this. Lew Armistead came forward and bowed slightly, delicately, old courtly Lo, giving it a touch of elegance. He did not extend a hand, knowing the British custom. He said, “Good evening, Colonel. Lo Armistead. The ‘Lo’ is short for Lothario. Let me welcome you to ‘Lee’s Miserables.’ The Coldstream Guards? Weren’t you fellas over here in the discussion betwixt us of 1812? I seem to remember my daddy telling me about … No, it was the Black Watch. The kilted fellas, that’s who it was.”
Fremantle said, “Lee’s Miserables?”
“A joke,” Longstreet said patiently. “Somebody read Victor Hugo—believe it or not I have officers who read—and ever since then we’ve been Lee’s Miserables.”
Fremantle was still in the dark. Longstreet said, “Victor Hugo. French writer. Novel. Les Misérables.”
Fremantle brightened. Then he smiled. Then he chuckled. “Oh that’s very good. Oh, I say that’s very good indeed. Haw.”
Pickett said formally, “Allow me to introduce my commanders. The elderly one here is Lewis Armistead. The ‘Lothario’ is a bit of a joke, as you can see. But we are democratic. We do not hold his great age against him. We carry him to the battle, and we aim him and turn him loose. His is what we in this country call an ‘Old Family’—” Armistead said briefly, “Oh God” “—although doubtless you English would consider him still an immigrant. There have been Armisteads in all our wars, and maybe we better change the subject, because it is likely that old Lo’s grandaddy took a potshot at your grandaddy, but anyway, we had to let him in this war to keep the string going, do you see? Age and all.”
“Creak,” Armistead said.
“The next one here is Dick Garnett. Ah, Richard Brooke Garnett.”
Garnett bowed. Pickett said, “Old Dick is a good lad, but sickly. Ah well—” Pickett made a sad face “—some of us are born puny, and others are blessed with great natural strength. It is all God’s will. Sit down, Dick. Now this next one here—” he indicated stoic Jim Kemper “—this one is not even a soldier, so watch him. Note the shifty beady eye? He’s a politician. Only reason he’s here is to gather votes come next election.”
Kemper stepped forward, hand extended warily. He had been speaker of the Virginia House and he was not fond of foreigners. Fremantle took the hand with forced good will. Kemper said brusquely, “Look here now, Colonel. Been wondering when you people were going to get out and break that damned Yankee blockade. How about that?”
Fremantle apologized, grinning foolishly. Now the Prussian was here and the Austrian, Ross. A crowd was forming. Pickett went on to introduce some of his staff: Beau Harrison, his IG, and Jim Crocker. Crocker was moodily sentimental, already a bit drunk. He was returning now after an absence of thirteen years to his old alma mater, Pennsylvania College, in Gettysburg. Someone suggested they drink to that, but Pickett reminded one and all soulfully of his oath to Sallie, schoolgirl Sallie, who was half his age, and that brought up a round of ribald kidding that should have insulted Pickett but didn’t. He glowed in the midst of it, hairy, happy. Fremantle looked on, never quite certain what was kidding and what wasn’t. He produced some brandy; Armistead came up with a flask; Kemper had a bottle of his own. Longstreet thought: Careful. He sat off to one side, withdrawing, had one long hot swig from Armistead’s flask, disciplined himself not to take another, withdrew against the trunk of a cool tree, letting the night come over him, listening to them talk, reminiscing. He knew enough to stay out of it. The presence of the commander always a damper. But after a few moments Pickett detached himself from the group and came to Longstreet.
“General? A few