"A wonderful thought" John sighed.
"I'm going to get a little sleep, sir," Hazner announced. "You should, too."
"First you wake me up, and now you go to sleep. Thank you."
"Well, my curiosity got satisfied, sir, and now I can rest easy. You heard them talking. Longstreet is off on a flanking march. He'll go slow as he usually does, and that means we can skip getting killed this morning." Without waiting for a reply, Hazner went back to his fire, tossed a few sticks on, and then flopped down on a ground cloth, oblivious to the dead mule that was lying on its back only a few feet away.
If only I could be like him, John thought enviously, to put aside all thought, to sleep next to a dead animal without concern, and awake with a smile, in fact eager for what he calls "the mischief ahead." Whether Longstreet moves slow or not, another fight is still ahead. It's never going to end. It may be mischief for Hazner, for me it's pure terror.
As he rode west Lee's gaze lingered for a moment on an overturned caisson, dead horses collapsed around it One was still alive, forelegs shattered, its lungs working like a bellows. The earth was torn up from the previous day's battle where Pegram had massed over thirty guns to support the assault… dead horses, plowed furrows of dirt from incoming solid shot tearing in, an abandoned limber wagon with shattered wheels. And more dead horses. Poor beasts. The dying horse cried piteously.
"Lieutenant Jenson," Lee sighed, "please put that creature out of its misery."
Jenson angled away from the group, passing through the shattered fence. Lee did not look back as a pistol shot broke the silence.
The regiments that had fought the previous day's battle were camped in the fields to either side of the road, exhausted men, lost in oblivion. Let them rest; it won't be till later in the day that their time will come. A few, unable to sleep, lined the road, watching as he passed… but none spoke. A barn and house to his left were aswarm with activity, hundreds of men lying in the farmyard, around the house, on the porch. Most were silent a few crying; a knot of men were on their knees, hats off, praying over a comrade. Lee took his hat off, holding it to his breast as he rode past
He pressed down the road, moving aside to let a train of ambulances pass, followed by several dozen stretcher bearers, Union prisoners who looked up at him curiously. He nodded and continued on. A cluster of tents, pitched next to the road, was ahead; atop the crest of the next hill, the ridge top poked above the fog like an island in a sea of white moon glow. He rode into the mist flanking the hill, the cool dampness soothing, cloaking him for a moment He entertained a passing fantasy, that he could somehow stay here, let the burden drop away.
I let raw emotion take control The last assault never should have gone in. And I could see it in the eyes of those around me, the staff meeting at the train station in that accursed town. No one would say it, but I know they were thinking it. I pushed Ewell's men forward, and now thousands are gone from the ranks.
When I stand before God, will those who fell be in judgment? How do 1 answer for all the blood upon my hands? John Reynolds died near here, supposedly just beyond the hospital barn, a godly man Reynolds.
Out on the frontier, Texas, he remembered how the natives believed that the spirits of the slain lingered at the place where they had fallen.
Does John now linger here? Is his spirit drifting with this fog? The men, Reynolds's valiant men who so manfully held us throughout yesterday morning and afternoon… was this mist not a mist at all, but rather their souls?
He shivered. Pagan superstition, don't let it haunt you now.
John, I'm sorry. This war never should have divided us. Duty, you and I lived for duty. We learned that at the Point, taught it to our cadets in turn. We were trained for this, believed it to be our sacred trust. A soldier must not ask why once he has drawn his sword for his nation. He takes his orders and carries them out unflinchingly; thus it was with the Roman Republic, with the Crusaders, with my own father who rode with Washington.
But… ami now responsible for all this death? For John, for the bodies that are swelling in the fields around me?
He slowed, suppressing a gag as they edged around a dead horse that had been nearly cut in half by a bursting shell, the broken body of a man twisted up in the offal.
"Lieutenant Jenson, find some men, get that poor man out
of that mess, and have them drag the horse off the road. I don't want troops seeing that"
If I start thinking of this now, dwelling on all that this means, it will slow me, make me hesitate. One gets lost in it, the sight of a column of men, buoyant, filled with youthful zeal, marching along the road on a spring morning, their voices rising with the wind, a vast ocean sweeping toward victory, or the lines going forward, the first shock of battle joined, the air splitting with thunder… those are the moments we give ourselves over to the dark god
The duality of man is so apparent then, men like myself who kneel in prayer to the Prince of Peace, who then rise up and go forth, open-eyed, into the red field, filled with mad passion for war and glorying in the moment. It is now, though, that we see the truth in what we do in this darkness before dawn.
No.
And he visibly shook himself, as if trying to cast off a weight upon his shoulders.
Not now. Long after this day is over I can dwell on my sins. I must stay the course with all my strength; to do otherwise is a betrayal of all who have already lost their lives, leading us to this moment.
Traveler's pace slowed as they went up the slope, the mist thinning. He stopped and lowered his head and took his hat off.
"John, old comrade, rest in peace. You did your duty as I must do mine. Forgive me if I have wronged you.
"God, give me strength and Your guidance for this.day ahead. Lead me to what is right so that this struggle might come to the end that You decree. Thy will be done.’
"Amen."
Startled, he looked to his left, where voices had echoed "amen" in response to his prayer. Several men stood by the side of the road, infantry, staring at him, all with hats off.
"Good morning to you," Lee said self-consciously.
"General, sir. Heard we were marching south. Are we giving up here and headin' home?"
"Just do your duty, men, and all will be well."
The men, ladened down with dozens of canteens dripping with moisture, saluted.
"We was out fetching water for our company," a corporal announced. "Full canteens, haversacks, and eighty rounds per man. Sounds to me, sir, like a fight coming, sir."
"Return to your company, Corporal. You'll be moving shortly."
The men saluted gravely. The crest ahead was a beehive of activity, lanterns casting dim circles of light. But the sky was brightening; and looking back to the east he could see a band of violet and gold tracing the horizon, the shoulder of Orion, hovering in the morning sky.
"General Longstreet sir." It was Walter, back at his side, nodding toward the tents.
Longstreet was up, standing over a table, map spread out men gathered around him. Lee rode up and all came to attention, formally saluting.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
An orderly took Traveler's reins as Lee dismounted, another man bringing up a cup of tea, which he gratefully took, blowing on the rim before taking a sip.
"Another scout just came in," Longstreet reported. "Jed Hotchkiss reconnoitered down to a hill that overlooks Emmitsburg. He reports campfires along the pike road south of town."
"How many?"
"Not many, a couple of regiments, infantry or cavalry, not sure, sir. Lots of signs, though, of heavy troop movements from yesterday."
As Longstreet talked, he nodded to a copy of Jed Hotchkiss's map spread out on the table. John Hood and a couple of his brigade commanders were on the far side of the table.