”Well, sir-“ the spy chuckled, teeth chattering-“you see, I was able to find you after all.”
Longstreet sat at the camp table on a wet seat, extracted a cigar, lighted it. The spy sat floppily, mouth still open, breathing deeply.
”It has been a long day. I’ve ridden hard all this day.”
”What have you got?”
”I came through the pickets at night, you know. That can be very touchy.”
Longstreet nodded. He watched, he waited. Sorrel came with steaming coffee; the cup burned Longstreet’s fingers.
Sorrel sat, gazing curiously, distastefully at the spy.
The spy guzzled, then sniffed Longstreet’s fragrant smoke. Wistfully: “I say. General, I don’t suppose you’ve got another of those? Good Southern tobacco?”
”Directly,” Longstreet said. “What have you got?”
”I’ve got the position of the Union Army.”
Longstreet nodded, showing nothing. He had not known the Union Army was on the move, was within two hundred miles, was even this side of the Potomac, but he nodded and said nothing. The spy asked for a map and began pointing out the positions of the corps.
”They’re coming in seven corps. I figure at least eighty thousand men, possibly as much as a hundred thousand.
When they’re all together they’ll outnumber you, but they’re not as strong as they were; the two-year enlistments are running out. The First Corps is here. The Eleventh is right behind it. John Reynolds is in command of the lead elements. I saw him at Taneytown this morning.”
”Reynolds,” Longstreet said.
”Yes, sir.”
”You saw him yourself?”
The spy grinned, nodded, rubbed his nose, chuckled.
”So close I could touch him. It was Reynolds all right.”
”This morning. At Taneytown.”
”Exactly. You didn’t know any of that, now did you, General?” The spy bobbed his head with delight. “You didn’t even know they was on the move, did ye? I thought not. You wouldn’t be spread out so thin if you knowed they was comin’.”
Longstreet looked at Sorrel. The aide shrugged silently If this was true, there would have been some word. Longstreet’s mind moved over it slowly He said: “How did you know we were spread out?”
”I smelled it out.” The spy grinned, fox-like, toothy “Listen, General, I’m good at this business.”
”Tell me what you know of our position.”
”Well, now I can’t be too exact on this, ‘cause I aint scouted you myself, but I gather that you’re spread from York up to Harrisburg and then back to Chambersburg, with the main body around Chambersburg and General Lee just ‘round the bend.”
It was exact. Longstreet thought: if this one knows it, they will know it. He said slowly, “We’ve had no word of Union movement.”
The spy bobbed with joy “I knew it. Thass why I hurried. Came through that picket line in the dark and all. I don’t know if you realize, General-“ Sorrell said coldly, “Sir, don’t you think, if this man’s story was true, that we would have heard something?”
Sorrel did not approve of spies. The spy grimaced, blew.
”You aint exactly on friendly ground no more. Major. This aint Virginia no more.”
True, Longstreet thought. But there would have been something. Stuart? Longstreet said, “General Stuart’s cavalry went out a few days back. He hasn’t reported any movement.”
The spy shrugged, exasperated, glooming at Sorrel.
Sorrel turned his back, looked at his fingernails.
Longstreet said, “What have you heard of Stuart?”
”Not much. He’s riding in the north somewhere. Stirring up headlines and fuss, but I never heard him do any real damage.”
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, sir. I think.”
”You’re sure?”
”Well, it was Meade the newspaper said, but you know them damn newspapers.”