The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [78]
Longstreet sat gazing at the map, fixing it in his mind. Johnston and Clarke had scouted the Union position and it was drawn now on the map in blue ink. Longstreet looked down at the map and then up at the hazy blue ridge in the east, trying to orient himself.
There were two hills beyond Gettysburg: first Cemetery Hill and beyond that Culp’s Hill. The Union Army had dug in along the crest of both hills, in a crescent. From the two hills ran a long ridge, like the shaft of a fishhook, Cemetery Ridge, sloping gradually down to the south to two more hills, one rocky and bare, the other high and thickly wooded. Meade had put troops along the ridge so that his position was shaped like the fishhook, but there were no troops yet on the rocky hills.
Longstreet sat alone, a forbidding figure. He was thinking: Lee has made up his mind; there’s nothing you can do. Well. Then there will be a scrap. He took a deep breath. Ought to get something to eat.
“General?”
He looked down, saw the handsome face of Taylor, Lee’s aide.
“General Lee wishes to speak to you, sir.”
Lee was up on the rise by the seminary, walking back and forth under the shade trees. Officers sat quietly by, joking softly, respectfully with each other, keeping an eye on the old man walking back and forth, back and forth, stopping to stare at the eastern hills, the eastern haze. Longstreet came up.
“General,” Lee said.
Longstreet grunted. There was bright heat in Lee’s eyes, like fever. Longstreet felt a shudder of alarm.
Lee said, “I like to go into battle with the agreement of my commanders, as far as possible, as you know. We are all members of this army, in a common cause.”
Longstreet waited.
“I understand your position,” Lee said. “I did not want this fight, but I think it was forced upon us. As the war was.” He added, “As the war was.” He stopped and frowned, put up his fingers and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well,” he said. He gestured toward the north, toward Ewell. “General Ewell has changed his mind about attacking to the left. He insists the enemy is too firmly entrenched and has been heavily reinforced in the night. I’ve been over there personally. I tend to agree with him. There are elements of at least three Union corps occupying those hills.”
Longstreet waited. Lee had been over to the left, through Gettysburg, to inspect Ewell’s position, but he had not been to the right to check on Longstreet. It was a measure of his trust, and Longstreet knew it.
“I spoke to Ewell of your suggestion that he move around to the right. Both he and Early were opposed.”
“Early.” Longstreet grimaced, spat.
“Yes.” Lee nodded. “Both generals were of the opinion that an attack on the right would draw off Union forces and that they would then be able to take the hills. They insist that withdrawing from Gettysburg, giving it back to the enemy, would be bad for morale, is unnecessary, and might be dangerous.”
Lee looked at him, the deep-set eyes still bright, still hot, still questing. Longstreet said nothing.
“You disagree,” Lee said.
Longstreet shrugged. He had disagreed last night, had argued all morning, but now he was setting his mind to it. The attack would come.
“We must attack,” General Lee said forcefully. “We must attack. I would rather not have done it upon this ground, but every moment we delay the enemy uses to reinforce himself. We cannot support ourselves in this country. We cannot let him work around behind us and cut us off from home. We must hit him now. We pushed him yesterday; he will remember it. The men are ready. I see no alternative.”
“Yes, sir,” Longstreet said. He wants me to agree. But I cannot agree. Let’s get on with it.
Lee waited for a moment, but Longstreet said nothing, and the silence lengthened until at last Lee said, “You will attack