Sorrel retreated to a distance. Longstreet would not be hurried. He placed Hood to the right, then McLaws before him. Anderson’s Division of Hill’s Corps should be next in line. The soldiers were still moving into line when McLaws was back. He was mildly confused.
”General, I understood General Lee to say that the enemy would be up on the ridge back there and we would attack across the road and up the ridge.”
Longstreet said, “That’s correct.”
McLaws hummed, scratched his face.
”Well?” Longstreet said ominously.
”Well, the enemy’s right in front of me. He’s dug in just across that road. He’s all over that peach orchard.”
Longstreet took out his glasses, rode that way, out into the open, looked. But this was a poor point, low ground; there was brush country ahead and he could not see clearly.
He began to ride forward. He heard the popping of rifle fire to the north. Nothing much, not yet. But then there was the whine of a bullet in the air, here and past, gone away, death sliding through the air a few feet above him, disappearing behind him. Longstreet grunted. Sniper? From where? He scanned the brush. God knows. Can’t worry now. He rode to a rail fence, stared down a slope, saw a battery a long way off, down in flat ground beyond the peach orchard.
Blue troops, speckled a long fence. He could see them moving rails.
Behind him, McLaws said, “Lot of them.”
Longstreet looked up toward the ridge. But he could make out nothing at all. You don’t suppose… they moved down here? Forward, off the ridge? How many? You don’t suppose a whole Corps?
He looked around, spied Fairfax, sent him off with word to Lee.
McLaws said, “What now?”
”Same plan. You hit them. Hood goes first. You key on his last Brigade. That will be G. T. Anderson.”
”Right.”
Longstreet was running low on aides. He found Goree, sent him off to Hood, telling him to send vedettes ahead to scout the ground. There was not a cavalryman near, not one horse. Longstreet swore. But he was feeling better. Any minute now it would all begin. All hell would break loose and then no more worrying and fretting and fuming; he’d hit straight up that road with everything he had. Never been afraid of that. Never been afraid to lose it all if necessary.
Longstreet knew himself. There was no fear there. The only fear was not of death, was not of the war, was of blind stupid human frailty, of blind proud foolishness that could lose it all. He was thinking very clearly now. Mind seemed to uncloud like washed glass. Everything cool and crystal.
He glanced at his watch. Getting on toward four o’clock.
Good God. Lee’s echelon plan would never work. Send messenger to Lee. Let’s all go in together. The hell with a plan.
But no messenger was available. A moment later one of Hood’s boys found him, riding slowly forward, watching McLaws moving into position.
”Sir, message from General Hood. He says his scouts have moved to the right, says there’s nothing there. Nothing between us and the Federal train. He suggests most urgently we move around the big hill there and take them from the rear.”
Longstreet sighed. “Sonny boy,” he said patiently, disgustedly, “you go back and tell Sam that I been telling General Lee that same damn thing for two days, move to the right, and there aint no point in bringing it up again. Tell him to attack as ordered.”
The young scout saluted and was gone. Longstreet sat alone. And there was happy-eyed Fremantle, dirty and cheery on a ragged horse. He seemed never to change his clothes.
”General, are things about to commence?”
”They are indeed.” Longstreet grinned. “I suggest you find a convenient tree.”
”I will, oh, I will indeed.” He turned, pulling the horse away, then turned back. “Oh, sir, I say, best of luck.”
”Charming,” Longstreet said.
Barksdale’s Brigade, Mississippians, was passing him, moving into line. He watched them place all extra baggage, all blankets, all kitbags, and post one lone guard-a frail young man who looked genuinely ill, who sagged against the fence. Longstreet approached and saw that the corn-silk hair was not young, not young at all. The frail young man was a gaunt man with white hair. And he was ill. He opened red eyes, stared vaguely upward.
”Howdy, General,” he said. He smiled feebly.
Longstreet said, “Can I get you anything?”
The old man shook his head. He gasped. “Aint nothin’ serious. Damn green apples. Damn Yankee apples.” He clutched his stomach. Longstreet grinned, moved on.
He saw Barksdale from a long way off. The famous politician had his hat off and was waving it wildly and his white hair was flowing and bobbing, conspicuous, distinguished. Longstreet was fond of this Brigade. Privately he thought it the best in McLaws’ whole Division, but of course he couldn’t say so. But everybody knew Mississippi was tough. What was it that old man said back in Chambersburg? “You men of Virginia are gentlemen. But those people from Mississippi.” Longstreet grinned. Another fella had said the same thing about Hood’s Texans.
The joke about breastworks. Oh God, let’s go.
The same officer, back from Hood. The face was wary, the voice was firm, “General Hood begs to report, sir, that the enemy has his left flank in the air. He requests your presence, sir, or that of General Lee. He begs to inform you that in his opinion it would be most unwise to attack up the Emmitsburg Road. The ground is very bad and heavily defended. Whereas if we move to the rear, sir, there is no defense all. The enemy has uncovered the Rocky Hill.”
Longstreet said, “Tell General Hood…” Then he thought: they uncovered the Rocky Hill. McLaws has troops in front of him. Good God. They aren’t back on the ridge at all; they’ve moved forward. He took out the map he had drawn of the position, tried to visualize it.
The Union Army was supposed to be up on the ridge. But it wasn’t. It was down in the peach orchard.
He stared at the map again.
So Hood had found an opening to the right. Of course.
Longstreet stared again at his watch. Almost four. Lee was miles away. If I go to him now… He saw again the grave gray face, the dark reproachful eyes. Too late.
Well, Longstreet thought. Lee wants a frontal assault. I guess he’ll have one. He turned to the messenger.
”Tell General Hood to attack as ordered.”
McLaws and Barksdale came up together. Barksdale was breathing deeply, face pale, ready for the fight. He said, “When do we go in?”
”In a while, in a while.”
There was a cannon to the right. The beginning? No. Hood was probing with his batteries. Longstreet extracted another cigar. The supply was low. Calmly he told Goree to go get some more. He looked up to see Harry Sellars. Hood’s AG. Longstreet thought: Sellars is a good man, the best he has. Hood’s trying to impress me. The cannon boomed. Sellars started talking. Longstreet said gently, “Harry, I’m sorry.”
Sellars said, his voice touched with desperation, “General, will you look at the ground? We can’t even mount artillery.”
”All right.” Longstreet decided to ride with him. Time was running out. Even now, if Lee attacked en echelon, some of the brigades could not attack before dark, unless everything went very smoothly, and it would not go smoothly, not today. Longstreet rode, listening to Sellars, thinking: when you study war it’s all so clear. Everybody knows all the movements. General So and So should have done such and such. God knows we all try. We none of us lose battles on purpose. But now on this field what can we do that’s undone?