"The better part of one's life consists of his friendships."
- Abraham Lincoln
Outside Gettysburg, the Confederate lines, July 1863
Lew Armistead thought that Pete had not really meant for him to find Win. He thought perhaps it had been a momentary whimsical notion so at odds for a man many thought dour. Yet it played on his mind to the point he could see it happening in some idealistic manner that had no function in that place and time. Dreams had no place in war.
The notion of how to do it kept on popping up, the point where he thought…why not. It is likely I will be dead in a day or two, why not have a dream come true just once more before I die.
He sent for an aide and while he waited he sat beneath a tree in the shade and wrote the letter. When the aide cantered up he handed up the letter and gave his orders.
"Take this letter under flag of truce to the Union lines. Deliver it to General Winfield Hancock. Tell him that General Lewis Armistead wishes to meet with him."
The Union lines, late morning
It was a hot day, as hot as any July day Win Hancock could recall. He itched inside his clothes, stank of perspiration and wondered when he would ever get the chance to be clean again. He'd stripped down to his underwear and washed himself that morning in his tent and it had felt good. For all of an hour, until he'd clothed himself once more in shirt, vest and coat, until the sun had risen to cook him like a potato in its jacket.
Still, he was better off than most of his men, forced to stand or sit out in the sun unprotected, swatting at flies and scratching at fleas, a rank, dirty, swearing mass of misery. In other words, a typical army.
"Sir, can I get you anything, you had no breakfast. I have some coffee fresh made, and the butter and bread are still good."
Win squinted up at his aide, an easy going young lieutenant from Wisconsin. "I'll say yes to the bread and butter, John, but I'd surrender to Lee for a cold glass of something." He sighed. "Lemonade, fresh squeezed, ice clinking in the glass."
The young man groaned. "Lord sir, me too. Now I shall be thinking of nought else all day." The lieutenant took off his glasses and wiped them on a grimy kerchief. "In place of that, I can offer water, milk that is only slightly sour, or coffee."
"Coffee then, thank you John."
He was breaking his fast and downing the last of the coffee when a rider approached, swinging down out of the saddle to salute his aide. They spoke for a few moments and John approached, looking puzzled.
"Sir, a very odd thing. There is a rebel courier at the wall with a note for you."
Something suddenly buzzed in Win's stomach, unsettling his breakfast. "From?"
"A reb General, someone called General Ermastid?"
"Armistead!" He leapt to his feet, grabbing his boots that he'd kicked off to better enjoy his breakfast. "Lord God and all his angels! Yes, yes, bring the courier up to me."
The confederate officer walked up the slope, the makeshift white flag still tied to the end of his sabre, looking totally unconcerned at the suspicious glances of the blue coated troops around him. He stopped in front of Win and saluted briskly.
"Sir, if you are General Hancock, I bear a message from my division Commander, General Armistead."
Win returned the salute and held out his hand. "I am Hancock, give it to me."
He tore the letter open, hand shaking a little, and ran his eyes over the few neatly written lines. "You may tell the General that I agree. My aide shall be at the place you entered our lines in one hour."
The rebel officer saluted again. "Very well sir."
Win watched the officer being escorted back down the hill, hardly even aware of doing so, eyes unfocused as he tried to stop himself from showing an improper glee. Calmly, he turned to his aide. "John, make yourself available as I have just said in an hour."
John blinked, puzzled. "For what, sir?"
"To greet my guest. General Armistead is coming to pay me a visit."
It was a long ride across the grassy slope towards the hill, taken at a slow pace, accompanied by aides bearing white flags, to give the enemy plenty of time to see them. Such things were not done in haste, even though Lew wanted to grind his spurs into horse and gallop full pelt up the hill. The only good thing was the anticipation. Like a child expecting a treat, he allowed himself to enjoy the slow ride for what it would give him at its end.
Lew had taken particular care of his appearance. He was wearing his best uniform, the gold sash with its flamboyant tassles around his waist beneath is sword belt, boots shined to an unusual gloss, hair and beard trimmed, uniform brushed. Somehow it felt proper to look his best, for this one special time.
Oddly, he felt no fear. Even under a flag of truce it was dangerous to ride openly towards the enemy lines. Many fingers were on many triggers, and one angry or tired or unhappy man could tighten that finger and blow his life away. Yet somehow he knew that would not happen. The day that had started stinking hot was suddenly sweet and fresh, the sun kind, the air rich with promise. He was riding to meet his oldest friend, to touch his hand and see his face, and surely God in his Heaven could not deny him that small bliss.
Finally they topped the rise and stopped before the low stone wall that ran the full length of the hill. His soldier's eye noted the Union strength there, the masses of men moving around, camped in regiments, behind the massed dark iron of the artillery. God help us, he thought, if we are to attack this line. With Hancock holding the centre, there will be no weakness here. Their very best commands the army's backbone.
He waited as a young officer approached to salute. "General Armistead, I am General Hancock's aide. Would you come with me, please?"
He nodded, resisting a childish urge to say "Well, that is why am here!" He swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to his aide, maintaining a stately demeanour. "Stay here, George. No, I will be fine. Wait for me."
He followed the lieutenant, looking straight ahead, aware of the curious observation of the blue-coated troops. Parleys between the armies were rare, rarer still were meetings between ranking officers where a surrender was not involved. Surrounded by Third Corp, Lew could almost imagine himself back in California when he too had worn a blue coat, serving together with Win and Pete Longstreet and George Pickett. The aide led him up a rough path, past a series of what looked to be headquarters tents and onto a small farmhouse situated near a grove of trees. The lieutenant stopped at the doorway, opened it and stood aside for Lew to enter.
He blinked in the dimmer light and then heard an achingly familiar voice speak.
"Thank you John, that will be all."
"But sir…"
"Trust me John, I am perfectly safe with the General."
The door closed behind him and Lew looked across the room and into the face of the man he cared for most in the world.
He hadn't changed at all. Still the trim, tall figure, the handsome face framed by its neat short beard and moustache, the bright intelligent eyes. Right now those eyes were shining and that face was split by a broad, toothy grin.
Hardly aware of what he was doing, Lew crossed the room in a wide stride and threw his arms around Hancock. He felt Win's arms circle him, hugging him as strongly as he held Win. His senses were full of the man, of his warm perspiration, the faint smell of his cologne, the feel of woollen cloth on his face, of hair brushing his.
"Not sure…" he said, voice rough, "..what Old Pete would think, me holding a Federal general like this. Most unseemly."
Win's body vibrated with sudden laughter. "I think my people would faint fair away if they saw me."
After a few wonderful moments they parted and Lew noted that Win's eyes were damp, just as his were. "Lord Win, it's good to see you. I never thought I would again."
Win dragged out a chair for him and he sat, as Hancock took the other to sit next to him. They studied each other, soaking in the image as if they could imprint it on their minds and memories. "I was delighted to get your letter. I never thought General Lee would let you do this, never even imagined it."
Lew laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "General Lee doesn't know, not sure what he'd think of it, to be truthful. Pete let me come."
Win nodded, eyes never leaving Lew's face. "Good old Pete. I heard about his children, please tell him how sorry I am for his loss. But what of everyone else? How goes George Pickett, still as mad as ever?"
They shared stories over the afternoon, telling of friends gone and friends alive, family and home. The war seemed very far away as the afternoon drifted towards evening, and only the sound of the evening taps brought them back to earth.
Finally, unwillingly, Lew finally stood. "I have to go, been here too long by rights. We both have duties to see to that won't wait."
Win nodded, and held out his hand. "Lew, take care of yourself. I want to see you after this is over."
Grasping it for one last touch, Lew smiled. "I shall do my best to obey your orders, sir. And I shall be very angry if you do not do the same. You have a bad habit of putting yourself forward."
"You should talk, you old war horse!" Win went to the door and opened it, to stand sillouetted by the warm evening light. "I prey to God that this will be over soon. I am so tired of seeing my friends die."
Lew stood beside him, tugging on his gloves and looking across the grassy hill. "Too many friends, too many sad letters to write." He turned, straightened and made a brisk salute. "General."
Win returned the salute, smile fading but eyes still brightly watching. "General."
There was no more they could say and no more they could do before the watching eyes of the army. Lew mounted, gave a small half wave, half salute, and turned his horse's head back towards his men.
Win Hancock watched him go until the tall mounted figure was lost in the fading day's shadows.
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This meeting never took place, although it should have. Hancock and Armistead were indeed extremely close friends and they faced each other in battle at Gettysburg. Sadly Lew was shot during that epic, dreadful charge and died of his wounds in a Union hospital without, as far as we know, ever seeing his dear friend again. Hancock was also wounded but survived and went on to become a politician and almost ran for President. Hancock was a superb officer, liked by his men and respected by his peers. He did indeed hold the centre together when the Army of Northern Virginia threw itself at the Union forces at Gettysburg.
But I like to think that if there had been a moment for them, it might have been like that.