Cain at Gettysburg Read Online Free PDF Page B

surprise, the other captives had laughed, one singing out, “You ain’t freeborn no more, boy, no you ain’t.”
    Longstreet had ridden on, only to regret it. He would have whipped the man who treated a dog like that. Instead, he had cantered away from the bloody-faced nigger. War hardened the heart.
    He had no right to spend his anger on Lee, though. The old man had troubles enough.
    Longstreet went to work to improve the mood he had worsened. “Porter Alexander told me a howler this morning, sir. And young Porter’s the man to tell a joke. Happened in Chambersburg. Brigade of Hood’s boys come marching along, the whole wild pack of ’em, and the good citizens are watching this fine parade from their porches and windows, some of them waving Yankee flags, defiant as all get-out, and all of them sour as pickles.… Well, the boys come marching up past this big yellow dog in a front yard, and it’s leaping and barking to beat the band, just growling and snapping away. And this little, bitty girl runs back to her porch, crying, ‘Pappy, Pappy, don’t let Beave bite the army!’”
    Lee laughed. It was a soft sound. “Have your men been comporting themselves well, General? We will not behave as those people have done in our own country.”
    â€œThey’ve followed your orders. Better than I expected, to tell the truth. Plenty of temptation around here.”
    â€œHood’s men? The Texans?”
    Longstreet grinned through his beard. “I told Hood to keep his men out of the Pennsylvania whiskey. And he told me that wasn’t a problem at all, that the trick was keeping the whiskey out of his men.” With Lee’s spirits revived, Longstreet decided to raise another subject. “Sir, I’d be obliged if someone could take that high-toned Englishman off my hands. The one who turned up yesterday.”
    â€œI thought he and your people were getting on,” Lee said.
    â€œOh, the boys get a laugh or two out of him. Moxley stands him well enough. But he won’t give me any peace. The man has more questions than a drunken newspaperman at a fire. And he looks at my men like he’s gawking at native troops somewhere in India.”
    â€œI’ll make time for him tomorrow,” Lee said. “Perhaps that will satisfy the man.”
    Longstreet waved away a fly. “No, sir. He intends to see a battle.” He laughed. “He’s a proud fellow, the way they are. Tries to be affable, but it feels like a counterfeit bill.” Lofting his beard and remembering, he went on, “Got more than a little put out last night, after he made sure to let us know he’s a lieutenant colonel in their Coldstream Guards at the ripe old age of twenty-seven years. Well, Tom Goree’s all Texas and won’t put up with much, so he mentioned to Fremantle that we have a passel of full colonels younger than that, including that boy-colonel over in Pettigrew’s dancing school. Our English friend was crushed like the belle nobody asked to dance at the cotillion.”
    â€œBear with him a while longer,” the old man said. “Tolerate him a little yet. If we win the coming battle and do so on Federal soil … England may come in for us at last.”
    Longstreet didn’t believe that, but kept his opinion to himself. He judged that, had Britain meant to back the Confederacy, it would have done it the year before. But a great defeat, a Fredericksburg writ large, might be enough to bring the Union to ask for a peace without English interference.
    Longstreet did not trust his own hope. But there it was. All men hoped for something.
    Above the line of high hills, thunder boomed.
    The old man’s thoughts had moved along to the battlefield that would be. “I’ll beat General Hooker again,” he confided. His tone expressed uncharacteristic disdain. “And if God is with us, this time it may be less costly.”