”It couldn’t have worked better if we had planned it.”

Longstreet nodded. Lee explained the position that Ewell had orders to move to the left and take that hill. Longstreet studied the hill [1] while Lee spoke. After a moment he said, “Fine. But this is fine. This is almost perfect.” He turned to Lee. “They’re right where we want them. All we have to do is swing around that way-“ he pointed toward Washington-“and get between them and Lincoln and find some good high ground, and they’ll have to hit us, they’ll have to, and we’ll have them. General, we’ll have them!”

His eyes were flashing; he was as excited as Lee had ever seen him. Lee said, amazed, “You mean you want me to disengage?”

”Of course.” Longstreet seemed surprised. “You certainly don’t mean-sir, I have been under the impression that it would be our strategy to conduct a defensive campaign, wherever possible, in order to keep this army intact.”

”Granted. But the situation has changed.”

”In what way?”

”We cannot disengage. We have already pushed them back. How can we move off in the face of the enemy?”

Longstreet pointed. “Very simply. Around to the right. He will occupy those heights and wait to see what we are going to do. He always has. Meade is new to the command. He will not move quickly.”

Lee put his hand to his face. He looked toward the hill and saw the broken Union corps falling back up the slope.

He felt only one urge: to press on and get it done. He said nothing, turning away. There was a messenger from General Ewell. Lee recognized the man. Captain James Power Smith, Ewell’s aide. The Captain was delighted to see the Commanding General.

Ewell’s message was cautious: “General Ewell says he will direct Early and Rodes to move forward, but he requests support of General Hill on his right. He says that there is a strong Union position south of the town which should be taken at once.”

Lee asked which position Ewell meant. He handed Smith the glasses. Smith said the position was beyond the one in front, at the top of which there was a cemetery.

Lee looked at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. Still two hours of daylight. He said to Longstreet, “General, how far way is your lead division?”

”McLaws. About six miles. He is beyond Johnson’s train of wagons.”

Lee shook his head. To Smith he said, “I have no force to attack the hill. General Hill’s Corps has had hard fighting.

Tell General Ewell to take that hill if at all possible. Have you seen Major Taylor?”

”No, sir.”

”You must just have passed him.”

Lee sent Smith away. He remembered: he had ordered artillery to fire on the hill, but none was firing. He sent to find out why. He began to realize he was really very tired.

But if a strong Union force was on a hill to the south…

but without Longstreet’s Corps a general assault was impossible. Where was the artillery? Where was Hill? Why had Early and Rodes stopped their attacks? He could see the town below choked with soldiers, horses, but there was no advance.

He turned, saw Longstreet watching him. He had the look of a man suppressing his thoughts. Lee said, “Say it, General.”

”We shouldn’t have attacked here, General. Heth had his orders.”

Lee waved a hand. “I know that. But we have pushed them back.”

”In the morning we will be outnumbered.”

Lee shrugged. Numbers were meaningless. “Had I paid attention to numbers, General…” Lee left the rest unsaid.

Longstreet said, “If we moved south, toward Washington, we could fight on ground of our choosing.”

”The enemy is here. General. We did not want the fight, but the fight is here. What if I ask this army to retreat?”

”They will do as you order.”

Lee shook his head again. He was growing weary of this.

Why didn’t Ewell’s assault begin? A cautious commander, new to his command. And A.P. Hill is sick. Yet we won.

The soldiers won. Lee pointed toward the hill.

”They will probably retreat. Or Ewell will push them off.

But if Meade is there tomorrow, I will attack him.”

”If Meade is there,” Longstreet said implacably, “it is because he wants you to attack him.”

That was enough. Lee thought: docile men do not make good soldiers. He said nothing. Longstreet could see the conversation was at an end. He said, “I’ll bring my boys up as soon as I can.”

Lee nodded. As Longstreet was going. Lee said, “General.”

”Yes, sir?”

”Your spy was correct in his reports. Had it not been for that report, this army might have been destroyed in detail. I thank you.”

Longstreet nodded. If the compliment pleased him, he did not show it. He moved off.

Lee stood alone, troubled. He had had enough of defensive war. The King of Spades. Let us attack, and let it be done. I am extraordinarily tired. You are an old man. And if something happens to you?

He picked up the glasses, waiting for Ewell’s attack. No attack began.

4. CHAMBERLAIN.

Chamberlain rode slowly forward, into the western sun. It was soft green country, a land of orchards and good big barns. Here and there along the road people came out to see the troops go by and there were a few cheers, but most of the people were silent and glum, not hostile, apprehensive. The sight was depressing. Some of them were selling food to the troops. One farmer had a stand offering cold milk for sale, at outrageous prices, and after Chamberlain was past there was a scuffle and some of the men requisitioned the milk and told him to charge it to the U.S. Guvmint. Chamberlain heard but did not look back. It was beginning to be very hot, and Chamberlain closed his eyes to let the salt sweat gather in the comer of his eyelids and wiped it away and rode with his eyes closed, himself tucked away back in the dark under his hat. When he opened his eyes again the day was violently bright and very dusty, and so he rode half asleep, eyes partly closed, dreaming.

At noon they reached the Pennsylvania border. Now there were more people and they were much more friendly and the band behind struck up “Yankee Doodle.” Now the farmers began to hand out free food; Chamberlain smelled fresh bread baking. A very pretty young girl with long blond hair rushed up to him and pressed a warm cake into his hand and he was embarrassed. The regiment greeted the girl with cheers. It was good to be first in line. No dust ahead. Chamberlain swiveled in the saddle and looked back down the road, and there down in the dust like a huge blue snake came the whole Fifth Corps along the winding road, some men on horses riding high in black hats, among the tilting flags. More bands were playing. Chamberlain wiped sweat from his eyes.

It was time to dismount. A good officer rode as little as possible. He got down from the horse and began to march along in the dust, in the heat. Near him he could hear Tom Chamberlain talking to one of the new men from the Second Maine, explaining the ways of this regiment. Tom was proud but not too proud. The Second Maine had seen more action. Chamberlain thought of Tom and his mind wandered back to Maine: young Tom lost, in the dark of the winter, a long search. Mother crying, we never found him, he survived out there and came back himself, a grinning kid with a bright red nose, never once afraid…

”One of the things you get to know,” Tom Chamberlain was saying, “is that this here brigade has got its own special bugle call. You ever hear tell of Dan Butterfield?”

”General Butterfield what was with Hooker?”

”Right. Same man. Well, he used to be our brigade commander.”

”They say he was a pistol. No man like him for having a good time.” He gave a lewd wink, suggestion of coarseness.

”Well, I don’t know about that, but he liked to write bugle calls. Trouble with this army is too many bugle calls.