The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara

mean, it’s as if we all joined a gentlemen’s club, and then the members of the club started sticking their noses into our private lives, and then we up and resigned, and then they tell us we don’t have the right to resign. I think that’s a fair analogy, hey, Pete?”
    Longstreet shrugged. They all stood for a moment agreeing with each other, Longstreet saying nothing. After a while they were mounted, still chatting about what a shame it was that so many people seemed to think it was slavery that brought on the war, when all it was really was a question of the Constitution. Longstreet took the reins of Pickett’s horse.
    “George, the army is concentrating toward Gettysburg. Hill is going in in the morning and we’ll follow, and Ewell is coming down from the north. Tomorrow night we’ll all be together.”
    “Oh, very good.” Pickett was delighted. He was looking forward to parties and music.

    Longstreet said, “I think that sometime in the next few days there’s going to be a big fight. I want you to do everything necessary to get your boys ready.”
    “Sir, they’re ready now.”
    “Well, do what you can. The little things. See to the water. Once the army is gathered in one place all the wells will run dry. See to it, George.”
    “I will, I will.”
    Longstreet thought: don’t be so damn motherly.
    “Well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
    They said their good nights. Armistead waved farewell.
    “If you happen to run across Jubal Early, Pete, tell him for me to go to hell.”
    They rode off into the dark. The moon was down; the night sky was filled with stars. Longstreet stood for a moment alone. Some good men there. Lo had said, “Best defensive soldier.” From Lewis, a compliment. And yet, is it really my nature? Or is it only the simple reality?
    Might as well argue with stars.
    The fires were dying one by one. Longstreet went back to his place by the camp table. The tall silent aide from Texas, T. J. Goree, had curled up in a bedroll, always near, to be used at a moment’s notice. For “The Cause.” So many good men. Longstreet waited alone, saw one falling star, reminding him once more of the girl in a field a long time ago.
    Harrison came back long after midnight. He brought the news of Union cavalry in Gettysburg. Longstreet sent the word to Lee’s headquarters, but the Old Man had gone to sleep and Major Taylor did not think it important enough to wake him. General Hill had insisted, after all, that the reports of cavalry in Gettysburg were foolish.
    Longstreet waited for an answer, but no answer came. He lay for a long while awake, but there was gathering cloud and he saw no more falling stars.
    Just before dawn the rain began: fine misty rain blowing cold and clean in soft mountain air. Buford’s pickets saw the dawn come high inthe sky, a gray blush, a bleak rose. A boy from Illinois climbed a tree. There was mist across Marsh Creek, ever whiter in the growing light. The boy from Illinois stared and felt his heart beating and saw movement. A blur in the mist, an unfurled flag. Then the dark figures, row on row: skirmishers. Long, long rows, like walking trees, coming up toward him out of the mist. He had a long paralyzed moment which he would remember until the end of his life. Then he raised the rifle and laid it across the limb of the tree and aimed generally toward the breast of a tall figure in the front of the line, waited, let the cold rain fall, misting his vision, cleared his eyes, waited, prayed, and pressed the trigger.

W EDNESDAY ,
J ULY 1, 1863
T HE F IRST D AY
    … of the coming of the Lord

1.
L EE
    He came out of the tent into a fine cold rain. The troops were already up and moving out on the misty road beyond the trees. Some of them saw the white head and came to the fence to stare at him. The ground rocked. Lee floated, clutched the tent. Got up too quickly. Must move slowly, with care. Bryan came out of the mist, bearing steaming coffee in a metal cup. Lee