How Few Remain by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page A

the presidential mansion.
    G. Moxley Sorrel, Longstreet’s chief of staff, greeted him just inside the door. “Good morning, General Jackson,” he said, his tone almost as wary as Hay’s had been.
    “Good morning.” Jackson tried to keep all expression from his own voice.
    “The president will see you in a moment.” Sorrel put what Jackson reckoned undue stress on the second word. The chief of staff had served Longstreet since the early days of the War of Secession, and had served through the time when Longstreet and Jackson, as corps commanders under Lee, were to some degree rivals as well as comrades. Over the years, Jackson had seen that Longstreet never forgot a rivalry—and what Longstreet remembered, Moxley Sorrel remembered, too.
    Having little small talk in him, Jackson simply stood silent till Sorrel led him into President Longstreet’s office. “Mr. President,” Jackson said then, saluting.
    “Sit down, General; sit down, please.” James Longstreet waved him into an overstuffed armchair upholstered in flowered maroon velvet. Despite the soft cushions, Jackson sat as rigidly erect as if on a stool. Longstreet was used to that, and did not remark on it. He did ask, “Shall I have a nigger fetch you some coffee?”
    “No, thank you, sir.” As was his way, Jackson came straight to the point: “I met Mr. Hay as I was arriving here. If his manner be of any moment, the United States will take a hard line toward our new Mexican acquisitions.”
    “I believe you are correct in that,” Longstreet answered. He scratched his chin. His salt-and-pepper beard spilled halfway down his chest. He was a few years older than Jackson. Though he had put on more flesh than the general-in-chief of the Confederate States, he also remained strong and vigorous. “The Black Republicans continue to resent us merely for existing; that we thrive is a burr under their tails. I wish Tilden had been reelected—he would have raised no unseemly fuss. But the world is as we find it, not as we wish it.”
    “The world is as God wills.” Jackson declared what was to him obvious.
    “Of course—but understanding His will is our province,” Longstreet said. That could have been contradiction in the guiseof agreement, at which the president was adept. Before Jackson could be sure, Longstreet went on, “And Chihuahua and Sonora are
our
provinces, by God, and by God we shall keep them whether the United States approve or not.”
    “Very good, Mr. President!” Having no compromise in his own soul, Jackson admired steadfastness in others.
    “I have also sent communications to this effect to our friends in London and Paris,” Longstreet said.
    “That was excellently done, I am sure,” Jackson said. “Their assistance was welcome during the War of Secession, and I trust they shall be as eager to see the United States taken down a peg now as they were then.”
    “General, their assistance during the war was more than merely necessary,” Longstreet said heavily. “It was the
sine qua non
without which the Confederate States should not be a free and independent republic today.”
    Jackson frowned. “I don’t know about that, Your Excellency. I am of the opinion that the Army of Northern Virginia had a certain small something to do with that independence.” He paused a moment, a
tableau vivant
of animated thought. “The battle of Camp Hill for some reason comes to mind.”
    Longstreet smiled at Jackson’s seldom-shown playfulness. “Camp Hill was necessary, General, necessary, but, I believe, not sufficient. Without the brave work our soldiers did, England and France should never have been in position to recognize our independence and force acceptance of that independence on the Lincoln regime.”
    “Which is what I said, is it not?” Jackson rumbled.
    But the president of the CSA shook his head. “No, not quite. You will remember, sir, I had rather more to do with the military commissioners of the United States than did