Lee said, “You left this army without word of your movements, or of the movements of the enemy, for several days. We were forced into battle without adequate knowledge of the enemy’s position, or strength, without knowledge of the ground. It is only by God’s grace that we have escaped disaster.”
”General Lee.” Stuart was in pain, and the old man felt pity, but this was necessary; it had to be done as a bad tooth has to be pulled, and there was no turning away. Yet even now he felt the pity rise, and he wanted to say, it’s all right, boy, it’s all right; this is only a lesson, just one painful quick moment of learning, over in a moment, hold on, it’ll be all right. His voice began to soften. He could not help it.
”It is possible that you misunderstood my orders. It is possible I did not make myself clear. Yet this must be clear: you with your cavalry are the eyes of the army. Without your cavalry we are blind, and that has happened once but must never happen again.” There was a moment of silence. It was done. Lee wanted to reassure him, but he waited, giving it time to sink in, to take effect, like medicine. Stuart stood breathing audibly.
After a moment he reached down and unbuckled his sword, theatrically, and handed it over with high drama in his face.
Lee grimaced, annoyed, put his hands behind his back, half turned his face. Stuart was saying that since he no longer held the General’s trust, but Lee interrupted with acid vigor.
”I have told you that there is no time for that. There is a fight tomorrow, and we need you. We need every man. God knows. You must take what I have told you and learn from it, as a man does. There has been a mistake. It will not happen again. I know your quality. You are a good soldier.
You are as good a cavalry officer as I have known, and your service to this army has been invaluable. I have learned to rely on your information; all your reports are always accurate. But no report is useful if it does not reach us. And that is what I wanted you to know. Now.” He lifted a hand.
”Let us talk no more of this.” Stuart stood there, sword in hand. Lee felt a vast pity, yet at the same time he could feel the coming of a smile. Good thing it was dark. He said formally, “General, this matter is concluded. There will be no further discussion of it. Good night.” He turned away. Stuart stood holding the sword, but he had too much respect for Lee to speak. He began to move slowly away. Lee saw him stop before going back out into the night and put the sword back on. A good boy. If he is a man, he will learn. But now he will be reckless, to prove himself. Must beware of that. Longstreet would not approve. But court-martial would have destroyed him. And he is spirited, and that is a great part of his value. Keep him on rein, but on a loose rein. He has to be checked now and then. But he’s a fine boy. And I am sorry to have to do that.
Yet it was necessary.
He sat back on the fence. Another figure was coming. He sighed, wanting silence. But the man was Venable, back from Ewell’s camp. Like all of Lee’s aides he had too much to do and had slept little in the last two days and he was nearing exhaustion. He reported, speech blurred.
”Sir, I think I’ve, ah, pieced it together. I’ve been studying General Ewell’s, ah, operation. Regret to say, very strange. There is much confusion in that camp.”
”Is General Ewell in firm command?” They had discussed it. Venable, who was fond of Dick Ewell, paused before answering. Then he said slowly, “Sir, I think General Ewell defers too much to General Early. He is… uncertain. I regret the necessity for speaking, sir. I would have preferred not…”
”I know.” Lee bowed his head. So. The choice of Dick Ewell had been a mistake. But how was one to know?
Honest Old Baldy. Had been a fine soldier. But cannot command a corps. Could I have known? Who else was there? Dorsey Pender… is wounded, Venable said, “General Ewell could not set his corps in position for the attack this afternoon until some hours after Longstreet had already begun. General Rodes got his men bottled up in the streets of Gettysburg and never attacked at all.”
”Not at all?”
”No sir. General Early attacked at dusk-“
”At dusk. But that was hours late.”
”Yes, sir, Longstreet’s attack was virtually over before Early got into action. But Early made no progress and called off the attack very soon. General Johnson managed to capture some trenches. Casualties were, ah, light.” Lee said nothing. He thought: Jackson would have moved… no time for that. He stared at the bold moon.
”You gave General Ewell my orders for the morning?”
”Yes, sir. He understands he is to be in position to attack at first light.”
”He understands that sir.” “He will have all night to prepare. That should be nearly ample time.” There was in Lee’s voice a rare touch of bitterness.
Venable paused warily, then said, “Are there further orders, sir?”
”Not just yet.” Lee rested against the rail fence. Cannot depend on Ewell, nor on Hill. There is only Longstreet: Pickett is fresh. Longstreet has fresh men. Virginians. For whom we broke the vow. Lee shook his head. Well, one thing is sure, if we attack tomorrow, it will be with Longstreet. He meditated a moment, weariness flowing through him like a bleak slow wind. Think now, before you get too tired. He dismissed Venable and turned back to the night.
He sat down once more against the rail fence. The horse moved in over him; he had to move to keep from being stepped on. He sat on the far side of the fence and reviewed the facts and made the decision.
It did not take him very long. He was by nature a decisive man, and although this was one of the great decisions of his life and he knew it, he made it quickly and did not agonize over it. He did not think of the men who would die; he had learned long ago not to do that. The men came here ready to die for what they believed in, for their homes and their honor, and although it was often a terrible death it was always an honorable death, and no matter how bad the pain it was only temporary, and after death there was the reward.
The decision was clear. It had been there in the back of his mind all that night, as he worked, remembering every moment the sight of his blue Virginia flags going up that long slope to the top, almost to victory, so close he could feel the world over there beginning to give like a rotten brick wall. He could not retreat now. It might be the clever thing to do, but cleverness did not win victories; the bright combinations rarely worked. You won because the men thought they would win, attacked with courage, attacked with faith, and it was the faith more than anything else you had to protect; that was one thing that was in your hands, and so you could not ask them to leave the field to the enemy. And even if you could do that, cleverly, there was no certainty they would find better ground anywhere else, not even any certainty that they could extricate themselves without trouble, and so he had known all along that retreat was simply no longer an alternative, the way a man of honor knows that when he has faced an enemy and exchanged one round of blows and stands there bleeding, and sees the blood of the enemy, a man of honor can no longer turn away. So he would stay And therefore, he would attack.
The rest was clear as an engraving, so natural there seemed no alternative. There would be no surprise now; speed no longer mattered. So motion meant nothing. The enemy had been attacked on both wings; he had reinforced there and would be strongest there. So the weak point was the center.
The enemy had high ground on each wing, but in the center there was a long slope. So he would be softest there, and if you hit him there with everything you had, all the artillery firing to prepare the way in a pont au feu, if you sent Pickett’s fresh Virginians straight up the center with Longstreet’s hand the guiding force, the dominant force, you would drive a split in the center and cut Meade’s army in two, break the rotten wall and send the broken pieces flying in all directions, so that if you sent Stuart’s cavalry around to the rear he could complete the rout, in among the wagons to finish the wreckage, yes, Stuart raw with -wounded pride and so anxious to redeem himself that he would let nothing stop him, and neither would Pickett, who had come in that day so desperately eager for battle.