The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [32]
“And it is to me?”
Armistead cocked his head to one side. Then he smiled, shook his head, and reached out abruptly to slap Longstreet’s knee.
“Well, might’s well be blunt, old soul, and to hell with the social graces. Truth is, Peter, that you are by nature the stubbornest human being, nor mule either, nor even army mule, that I personally have ever known, or ever hope to know, and my hat is off to you for it, because you are also the best damn defensive soldier I ever saw, by miles and miles and miles, and that’s a fact. Now—” he started to rise “—I’ll get a-movin’, back to my virtuous bed.”
Longstreet grunted, found himself blushing. He rose, went silently with Armistead toward the crowd around Pickett. Moxley Sorrel was on his feet, pounding his palm with a clenched fist. The Englishman, Fremantle, was listening openmouthed. The Prussian, Scheibert, was smiling in a nasty sort of way. Longstreet caught the conclusion of Sorrel’s sentence.
“… know that government derives its power from the consent of the governed. Every government, everywhere. And, Sir, let me make this plain: We do not consent. We will never consent.”
They stood up as Longstreet approached. Sorrel’s face was flushed. Jim Kemper was not finished with argument, Longstreet or no. To Fremantle he went on: “You must tell them, and make it plain, that what we are fighting for is our freedom from the rule of what is to us a foreign government. That’s all we want and that’s what this war is all about. We established this country in the first place with strong state governments just for that reason, to avoid a central tyranny—”
“Oh Lord,” Armistead said, “the Cause.”
Fremantle rose, trying to face Longstreet and continue to listen politely to Kemper at the same moment. Pickett suggested with authority that it was growing quite late and that his officers should get back to their separate commands. There were polite farewells and kind words, and Longstreet walked Pickett and Armistead to their horses. Kemper was still saying firm, hard, noble things to Sorrel and Sorrel was agreeing absolutely—mongrelizing, money-grubbing Yankees—and Longstreet said, “What happened?”
Pickett answered obligingly, unconcerned, “Well, Jim Kemper kept needling our English friend about why they didn’t come and join in with us, it being in their interest and all, and the Englishman said that it was a very touchy subject, since most Englishmen figured the war was all about, ah, slavery, and then old Kemper got a bit outraged and had to explain to him how wrong he was, and Sorrel and some others joined in, but no harm done.”
“Damn fool,” Kemper said. “He still thinks it’s about slavery.”
“Actually,” Pickett said gravely, “I think my analogy of the club was best. I mean, it’s as if we all joined a gentlemen’s club, and then the members of the club started sticking their noses into our private lives, and then we up and resigned, and then they tell us we don’t have the right to resign. I think that’s a fair analogy, hey, Pete?”
Longstreet shrugged. They all stood for a moment agreeing with each other, Longstreet saying nothing. After a while they were mounted, still chatting about what a shame it was that so many people seemed to think it was slavery that brought on the war, when all it was really was a question of the Constitution. Longstreet took the reins of Pickett’s horse.
“George, the army is concentrating toward Gettysburg. Hill is going in in the morning and we’ll follow, and Ewell is coming down from the north. Tomorrow night we’ll all be together.”
“Oh, very good.” Pickett was delighted. He was looking forward to parties and music.
Longstreet said, “I think that sometime in the next few days there’s going to be a big fight. I want you to do everything necessary to get your boys ready.”
“Sir, they’re ready now.”
“Well, do what you can. The little things. See to the water. Once the army is gathered in one place all the wells will run dry. See to it, George.”
“I will, I will.”
Longstreet thought: don’t be so damn motherly.