"Writing in that book again, sir?"
John nervously looked up. It was Hazner, half sitting up, looking over at him. John hurriedly closed the book.
"Yeah."
"Ruin your eyes, John, writing by moonlight" John laughed shyly but said nothing.
'Writing to her?" 'Wot really."
"Why don't you get some rest, Major. We're goin' to need it come morning."
"Can't get to sleep." George sat up, stretched, and looked around. "Everything – quiet?" "Yup."
"John, you shouldn't think so much." "Can't help it"
"Like I always said, if your name's on the bullet, your name's on the bullet Nothing can change that" "Wish I had your Presbyterian view of life." 'What? You know I'm Baptist." John laughed softly and shook his head. George grinned softly.
"Do you think we'll ever get home?" John asked, and then instantly regretted the question. Though they had been friends since childhood, still, out here the social division between officer and sergeant should have stopped him from ever asking that And yet, though surrounded by these thousands of men, never had he felt so lonely and haunted.
"I guess most soldiers wonder that," George offered. "Even them fellas that marched with Pharoah against Moses, as you read about in the Bible. Just before they got to the Red Sea, I bet one of them asked the man next to him, "
'Hey, think we'll get home for dinner tonight after killing that Moses?"
George laughed softly at his own joke. "Worrying ain't gonna change it"
John said nothing, but he could not help but wonder, were they indeed like Pharoah's army? Was God, and dare he think it, if there is a God, does He stand against us or with us. John stuffed the book back into his haversack and slid down, resting his head against a root of the oak tree.
"Something changed today. I could've sworn we'd go straight into that town," John whispered. "I wonder about that How a general looks at a map, ponders on it, then says,
'No, let us go here rather than there.' You could sense that from Walter Taylor. I wonder if that means that you and I will now live, or…" His question trailed off.
"We're here, John. Just let it go at that You did good yesterday. I heard the men talking about it"
'About what?"
"How you led that charge. They believe in you." "Do your
George chuckled. "Course J do; otherwise I wouldn't scrounge up coffee and borrow money from you. Of course I do. Just that you think too much at times."
John was silent for a moment "George, if something does happen to me."
‘I know," George whispered, "but it won't. I got a feeling
for these things. You'll go home when this is done. Be a judge like your poppa, maybe even a congressman someday, and have lots of children."
John looked at the cold, uncaring heavens. To think of that dream was too painful to bear, and he pushed it away. He wanted to say more, but a moment later he heard Hazner snoring. His friend had drifted back off*.
Alone, John looked at the low-hanging moon as it crossed the midnight sky.
Chapter twelve
"General Longstreet." A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment It was Alexander, his artillery chief.
"General Lee is awake. He wants you, sir."
Pete sat up on the blanket that he had spread out on the floor and stood up, stockinged feet hitting the cool, polished wood. All was quiet in the house, the pale glow of moonlight shining in through the high windows, casting soft blue shadows across the room.
Alexander motioned toward the parlor, across the hallway, where the gentle glow of a coal-oil lamp flickered. Whispered voices echoed. Leaving his comer of the dining room, where he had fallen asleep on the floor, Longstreet stepped out into the main corridor that ran down the length of the house. A dozen or more men were sprawled out several snoring loudly. A private quietly tiptoed down the hallway, carrying an empty coffeepot heading to the kitchen.
The old man had a firm and fast rule. If they occupied a house, try not to intrude too much. The upstairs was off-limits, the fine feathered beds being used even now by the owner and his family. It was amazing the number of men in the house, the hundred or more camped outside, and how quiet it was. The sleep of exhaustion, Pete realized. How the old man had the energy to be up now was beyond him. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. By the reflected moonlight, he saw it was a little after four. Lee had grabbed only three or four hours at most.
He ran a hand through his hair and half buttoned his uniform jacket His mouth felt gummy, sour tasting. How long since I bathed? He couldn't remember. A cool stream, a bar of soap, how nice that would be right now. And fresh clothes, a white boiled shirt, clean socks. God, how I must smell. He had left his boots back in the room, thought about putting them on, and then decided not to.
He crossed over to the parlor.
Lee, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, was leaning over a table, map spread out Walter Taylor was with him and several staff. They looked up at Pete, and he could see the exhaustion in their eyes.
"You sent for me, General?" Pete asked. "What is it? Problems with Ewell?" and he looked over at Taylor. The young man was obviously on the point of collapse, and Pete sensed he had just come in from Gettysburg.
"No, sir," Taylor replied. "I left Gettysburg a little after ten at night. The last of Ewell's divisions, Johnson's, was starting to file onto the road. Stuart was demonstrating hard, and the Yankees still seemed to be in place."
"Then what is it?"
"A courier just came in from McLaws," Lee announced. "They've yet to take Westminster. He's stopped on the outskirts."
Pete said nothing.
"I understand you ordered him to take the town by dawn."
"Yes, sir, I did. If he stopped, there must be a reason."
"The courier from McLaws reports that a civilian came into McLaws's lines from Union Mills" As he spoke, he pointed to the map, and Pete leaned over to study the position.
"This civilians report, we have to give it the most serious consideration," Lee reported. "He claimed Stuart slept in his house on June thirtieth and agreed to stay in our camp, under guard, until Stuart would verify his veracity. He claims
Sedgwick's entire corps force-marched through, heading to Gettysburg on the morning of the second."
"That's good news at least," Pete offered. "It means Sedgwick must have marched twenty, maybe even thirty miles yesterday. His men are exhausted and now in Gettysburg. That accounts for all their corps."
"But Hancock is moving back down the road to Westminster," Lee replied.
Pete nodded.
"We had to expect they'd move sometime."
"I was hoping for eight to twelve more hours, but then again we were lucky to get this far without interference."
"Meade is no Burnside or McClellan," Pete said. "He's cautious, but he will react correctly once he's sure of the threat"
"This civilian reports that a courier came into Union Mills shortly after one in the morning. He reined in, asked for directions, and this civilian claims that he overhead the courier saying that the Union army was pulling back from Gettysburg, with Hancock in the lead, heading toward Westminster."
Pete nodded. It usually wasn't like Lee to kick up a fuss over the report of a lone civilian, especially one who was not a Virginian. But at this moment it had to be accepted.