The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [8]
Longstreet said, “If the Union Army were as close as you say, one would think—”
“Well, I’m damned,” the spy said, a small rage flaming. “I come through that picket line in the dark and all. Listen, General, I tell you this: I don’t know what old Stuart is doing and I don’t care, but I done my job and this is a fact. This here same afternoon of this here day I come on the tracks of Union cavalry thick as fleas, one whole brigade and maybe two, and them bluebellies weren’t no four hours hard ride from this here now spot, and that, by God, is the Lord’s truth.” He blew again, meditating. Then he added, by way of amendment, “Buford’s column, I think it was. To be exact.”
Longstreet thought: can’t be true. But he was an instinctive man, and suddenly his brain knew and his own temper boiled. Jeb Stuart … was joyriding. God damn him. Longstreet turned to Sorrel.
“All right, Major. Send to General Lee. I guess we’ll have to wake him up. Get my horse.”
Sorrel started to say something, but he knew that you did not argue with Longstreet. He moved.
The spy said delightedly, “General Lee? Do I get to see General Lee? Well now.” He stood up and took off the ridiculous hat and smoothed wet plastered hair across a balding skull. He glowed. Longstreet got the rest of the information and went back to his tent and dressed quickly.
If the spy was right the army was in great danger. They could be cut apart and cut off from home and destroyed in detail, piece by piece. If the spy was right, then Lee would have to turn, but the old man did not believe in spies nor in any information you had to pay for, had not approved of the money spent or even the idea behind it. And the old man had faith in Stuart, and why in God’s name had Stuart sent nothing, not even a courier, because even Stuart wasn’t fool enough to let the whole damned Army of the Potomac get this close without word, not one damned lonesome word. Longstreet went back out into the light. He had never believed in this invasion. Lee and Davis together had overruled him. He did not believe in offensive warfare when the enemy outnumbered you and outgunned you and would come looking for you anyway if you waited somewhere on your own ground. He had not argued since leaving home, but the invasion did not sit right in his craw; the whole scheme lay edgewise and raspy in his brain, and treading here on alien ground, he felt a cold wind blowing, a distant alarm. Only instinct. No facts as yet. The spy reminded him about the cigar. It was a short way through the night to Lee’s headquarters, and they rode past low sputtering campfires with the spy puffing exuberant blue smoke like a happy furnace.
“ ’Tis a happy army you’ve got here, General,” the spy chatted with approval. “I felt it the moment I crossed the picket line. A happy army, eager for the fight. Singing and all. You can feel it in the air. Not like them bluebellies. A desperate tired lot. I tell you, General, this will be a factor. The bluebellies is almost done. Why, do you know what I see everywhere I go? Disgraceful, it is. On every street in every town, able-bodied men. Just standing there, by the thousands, reading them poor squeaky pitiful newspapers about this here mighty invasion and the last gasp of the Union and how every man must take up arms, haw.” The spy guffawed. “Like a bunch of fat women at church. The war’s almost over. You can feel it, General. The end is in the air.”
Longstreet said nothing. He was beginning to think of what to do if the spy was right. If he could not get Lee to turn now there could be disaster. And yet if the Union Army was truly out in the open at last there was a great opportunity: a sudden move south, between Hooker and Washington, cut them off from Lincoln. Yes. Longstreet said, “What do you hear of Hooker? Where is he?”
The spy stopped, mouth sagging. “Oh by Jesus. Forgive me.” He grimaced, shook his head. “I done forgot. There was an item in the newspaper this morning. Saying that Hooker was replaced. They gave the command to Meade, I think it was.”
“George Meade?”
“Yes,