”To be a gentleman,” Longstreet said.
Fremantle squinted. After a moment he nodded. Longstreet was not offended. Fremantle said wonderingly, “Sir, you cannot imagine the surprise. One hears all these stories of Indians and massacres and lean backwoodsmen with ten-foot rifles and rain dances and what not, and yet here, your officers…”He shook his head. “Strordnry. Why, do you know, your General Lee is even a member of the Church of England?”
”True.”
”He has great forebears.”
”Yes,” Longstreet said.
”I have noticed, sir, that you are always in camp near him. I must say, sir, that I am touched.”
”Well,” Longstreet said.
”Ah.” Fremantle sighed. “We have so many things in common, your country and mine. I earnestly hope we shall become allies. Yet I feel you do not need us. But I must say, I am increasingly indebted to you for your hospitality.”
”Our pleasure.”
”Ah. Um.” Fremantle cocked his head again. “One thing I’m very glad to see. Your General Lee is a moralist, as are all true gentlemen, of course, but he respects minor vice, harmless vice, when he finds it in others. Now that’s the mark of the true gentleman. That is what distinguishes the man so to me, aside from his military prowess, of course. The true gentleman has no vices, but he allows you your own. Ah.” He patted a saddlebag. “By which I mean, sir, to get to the heart of the matter, that I have a flagon of brandy at your disposal, should the occasion arise.”
”It undoubtedly will.” Longstreet bowed. “Thank you.”
”You may call on me, sir.”
Longstreet smiled.
”A small weakness,” Fremantle went on cheerily, “of which I am not proud, you understand. But one sees so little whisky in this army. Amazing.”
”Lee’s example. Jackson didn’t drink either. Nor does Stuart.”
Fremantle shook his head in wonder. “Oh, by the way, there’s a story going around, do you know? They say that General Lee was asleep, and the army was marching by, and fifteen thousand men went by on tiptoe so as not to wake him. Is that true?”
”Might have been.” Longstreet chuckled. “I know one that I heard myself. While ago we sat around a fire, talked on Darwin. Evolution. You read about it?”
”Ah?”
”Charles Darwin. Theory of Evolution.”
”Can’t say that I have. There are so many of these things rattling about.”
”Theory that claims that men are descended from apes.”
”Oh that. Oh yes. Well, I’ve heard-distastefully-of that.”
”Well, we were talking on that. Finally agreed that Darwin was probably right. Then one fella said, with great dignity he said, ‘Well, maybe you are come from an ape, and maybe I am come from an ape, but General Lee, he didn’t come from no ape.’”
”Well, of course.” Fremantle did not quite see the humor. Longstreet grinned into the dark.
”It is a Christian army,” Longstreet said. “You did not know Jackson.”
”No. It was my great misfortune to arrive after his death. They tell great things of him.”
”He was colorful,” Longstreet said. “He was Christian.”
”His reputation exceeds that of Lee.”
”Well, pay no attention to that. But he was a good soldier. He could move troops. He knew how to hate.”
Longstreet thought: a good Christian. He remembered suddenly the day Jackson had come upon some of his troops letting a valiant Yankee color sergeant withdraw after a great fight. The men refused to fire at him, that man had been brave, he deserved to live. Jackson said, “I don’t want them brave, I want them dead.”
”They tell many stories of the man. I regret not having known him.”
”He loved to chew lemons,” Longstreet said.
”Lemons?”
”Don’t know where he got them. He loved them. I remember him that way, sitting on a fence, chewing a lemon, his finger in the air.”
Fremantle stared.
”He had a finger shot away,” Longstreet explained.
”When he held it down the blood would get into it and hurt him, so he would hold it up in the air and ride or talk with his arm held up, not noticing it. It was a sight, until you got used to it. Dick Ewell thought he was crazy Ewell is rather odd himself. He told me Jackson told him that he never ate pepper because it weakened his left leg.”
Fremantle’s mouth was open.
”I’m serious,” Longstreet said amiably “A little eccentricity is a help to a general. It helps with the newspapers.
The women love it too. Southern women like their men religious and a little mad. That’s why they fall in love with preachers.”
Premantle was not following. Longstreet said, “He knew how to fight, Jackson did. A. P. Hill is good too. He wears a red shirt when he’s going into battle. It’s an interesting army. You’ve met George Pickett?”
”Oh yes.”
”Perfume and all.” Longstreet chuckled. “It’s a hell of an army” But thinking of Pickett, last in line, reminded him of Pickett’s two brigade commanders: Garnett and Armistead. Old Armistead, torn by the war away from his beloved friend Win Hancock, who was undoubtedly waiting ahead on that black hill beyond Gettysburg. Armistead would be thinking of that tonight. And then there was Dick Garnett.
”Pickett’s men are extraordinary men,” Fremantle said.
”The Virginians seem different, quite, from the Texans, or the soldiers from Mississippi. Is that true, do you think, sir?”
”Yes. Have you met Dick Garnett?”
”Ah, yes. Tall fella, rather dark. Wounded leg Odd that…”
”Jackson tried to court-martial him. For cowardice in the face of the enemy I’ve known Garnett for twenty years. No coward. But his honor is gone. You will hear bad things from people who know nothing. I want you to know the truth. Jackson was… a hard man.”
Fremantle nodded silently.
”He also court-martialed A. P. Hill once. And Lee simply overlooked it. Well, come to think of it, I had some trouble with old Powell myself once; he wanted to fight me a duel. Matter of honor. I ignored him. It’s an interesting army. Only Lee could hold it together. But the thing about Garnett troubles me. He thinks his honor is gone.”
”A tragic thing,” Fremantle said. There was tact there, a tone of caution.
”The papers, of course, all side with Jackson.” Longstreet blew out a breath. “And Jackson is dead. So now Garnett will have to die bravely to erase the stain.”
And he saw that Fremantle agreed. Only thing for a gentleman to do. Longstreet shook his head. A weary bitterness fogged his brain. He knew Garnett would die, no help for it now, unturnable, ridiculous, doomed with a festering, unseen wound.
Fremantle said, “You are not, ah, Virginia born, sir?”
”South Carolina,” Longstreet said.
”Ah. That’s in the far south isn’t it, sir?”
”True,” Longstreet said. He was weary of talk. “Honor,” he said. “Honor without intelligence is a disaster. Honor could lose the war.”
Fremantle was vaguely shocked.
”Sir?”
”Listen. Let me tell you something. I appreciate honor and bravery and courage. Before God… but the point of the war is not to show how brave you are and how you can die in a manly fashion, face to the enemy. God knows it’s easy to die. Anybody can die.”
In the darkness he could not see Fremantle’s face. He talked to darkness.
”Let me explain this. Try to see this. When we were all young, they fought in a simple way. They faced each other out in the open, usually across a field. One side came running. The other got one shot in, from a close distance, because the rifle wasn’t very good at distance, because it wasn’t a rifle. Then after that one shot they hit together hand to hand, or sword to sword, and the cavalry would ride in from one angle or another. That’s the truth, isn’t it? In the old days they fought from a distance with bows and arrows and ran at each other, man to man, with swords. But now, listen, now it’s quite a bit different, and quite a few people don’t seem to know that yet. But we’re learning. Look.