The military operations of the American Civil War were carried on for the
most part south of the Mason and Dixon line; but the greatest and most
famous of the battles was fought on the soil of the old Keystone State,
which had given birth to the Declaration of Independence and to the
Constitution of the United States.
Gettysburg is a quiet hamlet, nestling among the hills of Adams County,
and in 1863 contained about fifteen hundred inhabitants. It had been
founded in 1780 by James Gettys, who probably never dreamed that his name
thus given to the village would, through apparently accidental
circumstances, become famous in history for all time.
The hills immediately around Gettysburg are not rugged or precipitous;
they are little more than gentle swells of ground, and many of them were
covered with timber when the hosts of the North and the legions of the
South fought out the destiny of the American republic on those memorable
July days in 1863.
Lee's army was flushed with victory after Chancellorsville and was
strengthened by the memory of Fredericksburg. Southern hopes were high
after Hooker's defeat on the Rappahannock, in May, 1863, and public
opinion was unanimous in demanding an invasion of Northern soil. On the
other hand, the Army of the Potomac, under its several leaders, had met
with continual discouragement, and, with all its patriotism and valor, its
two years' warfare showed but few bright pages to cheer the heart of the
war-broken soldier, and to inspire the hopes of the anxious public in the
North.
Leaving General Stuart with ten thousand cavalry and a part of Hill's
corps to prevent Hooker from pursuing, Lee crossed the Potomac early in
June, 1863, concentrated his army at Hagerstown, Maryland, and prepared
for a campaign in Pennsylvania, with Harrisburg as the objective. His army
was organized in three corps, under the respective commands of Longstreet,
Ewell, and A. P. Hill. Lee had divided his army so as to approach
Harrisburg by different routes and to assess the towns along the way for
large sums of money. Late in June, he was startled by the intelligence
that Stuart had failed to detain Hooker, and that the Federals had crossed
the Potomac and were in hot pursuit.
Lee was quick to see that his plans must be changed. He knew that to
continue his march he must keep his army together to watch his pursuing
antagonist, and that such a course in this hostile country would mean
starvation, while the willing hands of the surrounding populace would
minister to the wants of his foe. Again, if he should scatter his forces
that they might secure the necessary supplies, the parts would be attacked
singly and destroyed. Lee saw, therefore, that he must abandon his
invasion of the North or turn upon his pursuing foe and disable him in
order to continue his march. But that foe was a giant of strength and
courage, more than equal to his own; and the coming together of two such
forces in a mighty death-struggle meant that a great battle must be
fought, a greater battle than this Western world had hitherto known.
The Army of the Potomac had again changed leaders, and George Gordon Meade
was now its commander. Hooker, after a dispute with Halleck, resigned his
leadership, and Meade, the strongest of the corps commanders, was
appointed in his place, succeeding him on June 28th. The two great
armies--Union and Confederate--were scattered over portions of Maryland
and southern Pennsylvania. Both were marching northward, along almost
parallel lines. The Confederates were gradually pressing toward the east,
while the Federals were marching along a line eastward of that followed by
the Confederates. The new commander of the Army of the Potomac was keeping
his forces interposed between the legions of Lee and the Federal capital,
and watching for an opportunity to force the Confederates to battle where
the Federals would have the advantage of position. It was plain that they
must soon come together in a gigantic contest; but just where the shock of
battle would take place was yet unknown. Meade had ordered a general
movement toward Harrisburg, and General Buford was sent with four thousand
cavalry to intercept the Confederate advance guard.
On the night of June 30th Buford encamped on a low hill, a mile west of
Gettysburg, and here on the following morning the famous battle had its
beginning.
On the morning of July 1st the two armies were still scattered, the
extremes being forty miles apart. But General Reynolds, with two corps of
the Union army, was but a few miles away, and was hastening to Gettysburg,
while Longstreet and Hill were approaching from the west. Buford opened
the battle against Heth's division of Hill's corps. Reynolds soon joined
Buford, and three hours before noon the battle was in progress on Seminary
Ridge. Reynolds rode out to his fighting-lines on the ridge, and while
placing his troops, a little after ten o'clock in the morning, he received
a sharpshooter's bullet in the brain. The gallant Federal leader fell
dead. John F. Reynolds, who had been promoted for gallantry at Buena Vista
in the Mexican War, was one of the bravest and ablest generals of the
Union army. No casualty of the war brought more widespread mourning to the
North than the death of Reynolds.
But even this calamity could not stay the fury of the battle. By one
o'clock both sides had been greatly reënforced, and the battle-line
extended north of the town from Seminary Ridge to the bank of Rock Creek.
Here for hours the roar of the battle was unceasing. About the middle of
the afternoon a breeze lifted the smoke that had enveloped the whole
battle-line in darkness, and revealed the fact that the Federals were
being pressed back toward Gettysburg. General Carl Schurz, who after
Reynolds' death directed the extreme right near Rock Creek, leaving nearly
half of his men dead or wounded on the field, retreated toward Cemetery
Hill, and in passing through the town the Confederates pursued and
captured a large number of the remainder. The left wing, now unable to
hold its position owing to the retreat of the right, was also forced back,
and it, too, took refuge on Cemetery Hill, which had been selected by
General O. O. Howard; and the first day's fight was over. It was several
hours before night, and had the Southerners known of the disorganized
condition of the Union troops, they might have pursued and captured a
large part of the army. Meade, who was still some miles from the field,
hearing of the death of Reynolds, had sent Hancock to take general command
until he himself should arrive.
Hancock had ridden at full speed and arrived on the field between three
and four o'clock in the afternoon. His presence soon brought order out of
chaos. His superb bearing, his air of confidence, his promise of heavy
reënforcements during the night, all tended to inspire confidence and to
renew hope in the ranks of the discouraged army. Had this day ended the
affair at Gettysburg, the usual story of the defeat of the Army of the
Potomac would have gone forth to the world. Only the advance portions of
both armies had been engaged; and yet the battle had been a formidable
one. The Union loss was severe. A great commander had fallen, and the rank
and file had suffered the fearful loss of ten thousand men.
Meade reached the scene late in the night, and chose to make this field,
on which the advance of both armies had accidentally met, the place of a
general engagement. Lee had come to the same decision, and both called on
their outlying legions to make all possible speed to Gettysburg. Before
morning, nearly all the troops of both armies had reached the field. The
Union army rested with its center on Cemetery Ridge, with its right thrown
around to Culp's Hill and its left extended southward toward the rocky
peak called Round Top. The Confederate army, with its center on Seminary
Ridge, its wings extending from beyond Rock Creek on the north to a point
opposite Round Top on the south, lay in a great semi-circle, half
surrounding the Army of the Potomac. But Lee was at a disadvantage. First,
"Stonewall" Jackson was gone, and second, Stuart was absent with his ten
thousand cavalry. Furthermore, Meade was on the defensive, and had the
advantage of occupying the inner ring of the huge half circle. Thus lay
the two mighty hosts, awaiting the morning, and the carnage that the day
was to bring. It seemed that the fate of the Republic was here to be
decided, and the people of the North and the South watched with breathless
eagerness for the decision about to be made at Gettysburg.
The dawn of July 2d betokened a beautiful summer day in southern
Pennsylvania. The hours of the night had been spent by the two armies in
marshaling of battalions and maneuvering of corps and divisions, getting
into position for the mighty combat of the coming day. But, when morning
dawned, both armies hesitated, as if unwilling to begin the task of
bloodshed. They remained inactive, except for a stray shot here and there,
until nearly four o'clock in the afternoon.
The fighting on this second day was chiefly confined to the two extremes,
the centers remaining comparatively inactive. Longstreet commanded the
Confederate right, and opposite him on the Union left was General Daniel
E. Sickles. The Confederate left wing, under Ewell, was opposite Slocum
and the Union right stationed on Culp's Hill.
The plan of General Meade had been to have the corps commanded by General
Sickles connect with that of Hancock and extend southward near the base of
the Round Tops. Sickles found this ground low and disadvantageous as a
fighting-place. In his front he saw the high ground along the ridge on the
side of which the peach orchard was situated, and advanced his men to this
position, placing them along the Emmitsburg road, and back toward the
Trostle farm and the wheat-field, thus forming an angle at the peach
orchard. The left flank of Hancock's line now rested far behind the right
flank of Sickles' forces. The Third Corps was alone in its position in
advance of the Federal line. The Confederate troops later marched along
Sickles' front so that Longstreet's corps overlapped the left wing of the
Union army. The Northerners grimly watched the bristling cannon and the
files of men that faced them across the valley, as they waited for the
battle to commence.
The boom of cannon from Longstreet's batteries announced the beginning of
the second day's battle. Lee had ordered Longstreet to attack Sickles in
full force. The fire was quickly answered by the Union troops, and before
long the fight extended from the peach orchard through the wheatfield and
along the whole line to the base of Little Round Top. The musketry
commenced with stray volleys here and there--then more and faster, until
there was one continuous roar, and no ear could distinguish one shot from
another. Longstreet swept forward in a magnificent line of battle, a mile
and a half long. He pressed back the Union infantry, and was seriously
threatening the artillery.
At the extreme left, close to the Trostle house, Captain John Bigelow
commanded the Ninth Battery, Massachusetts Light Artillery. He was ordered
to hold his position at all hazards until reënforced. With double charges
of grape and canister, again and again he tore great gaps in the advancing
line, but it re-formed and pressed onward until the men in gray reached
the muzzles of the Federal guns. Again Bigelow fired, but the heroic band
had at last to give way to the increased numbers of the attack, which
finally resulted in a hand-to-hand struggle with a Mississippi regiment.
Bigelow was wounded, and twenty-eight of his hundred and four men were
left on the bloody field, while he lost sixty-five out of eighty-eight
horses, and four of six guns. Such was one of many deeds of heroism
enacted at Gettysburg.
But the most desperate struggle of the day was the fight for the
possession of Little Round Top. Just before the action began General Meade
sent his chief engineer, General G. K. Warren, to examine conditions on
the Union left. The battle was raging in the peach orchard when he came to
Little Round Top. It was unoccupied at the time, and Warren quickly saw
the great importance of preventing its occupation by the Confederates, for
the hill was the key to the whole battle-ground west and south of Cemetery
Ridge. Before long, the engineer saw Hood's division of Longstreet's corps
moving steadily toward the hill, evidently determined to occupy it. Had
Hood succeeded, the result would have been most disastrous to the Union
army, for the Confederates could then have subjected the entire Union
lines on the western edge of Cemetery Ridge to an enfilading fire. Warren
and a signal officer seized flags and waved them, to deceive the
Confederates as to the occupation of the height. Sykes' corps, marching to
the support of the left, soon came along, and Warren, dashing down the
side of the hill to meet it, caused the brigade under Colonel Vincent and
a part of that under General Weed to be detached, and these occupied the
coveted position. Hazlett's battery was dragged by hand up the rugged
slope and planted on the summit.
Meantime Hood's forces had come up the hill, and were striving at the very
summit; and now occurred one of the most desperate hand-to-hand conflicts
of the war--in which men forgot that they were human and tore at each
other like wild beasts. The opposing forces, not having time to reload,
charged each other with bayonets--men assaulted each other with clubbed
muskets--the Blue and the Gray grappled in mortal combat and fell dead,
side by side. The privates in the front ranks fought their way onward
until they fell, the officers sprang forward, seized the muskets from the
hands of the dying and the dead, and continued the combat. The furious
struggle continued for half an hour, when Hood's forces gave way and were
pressed down the hillside. But they rallied and advanced again by way of a
ravine on the left, and finally, after a most valiant charge, were driven
back at the point of the bayonet.
Little Round Top was saved to the Union army, but the cost was appalling.
The hill was covered with hundreds of the slain. Scores of the Confederate
sharpshooters had taken position among the crevasses in the Devil's Den,
where they could overlook the position on Little Round Top, and their
unerring aim spread death among the Federal officers and gunners. Colonel
O'Rourke and General Vincent were dead. General Weed was dying; and, as
Hazlett was stooping to receive Weed's last message, a sharpshooter's
bullet laid him--dead--across the body of his chief.
During this attack, and for some hours thereafter, the battle continued in
the valley below on a grander scale and with demon-like fury. Here many
thousands were engaged. Sickles' whole line was pressed back to the base
of the hill from which it had advanced in the morning. Sickles' leg was
shattered by a shell, necessitating amputation, while scores of his brave
officers, and thousands of his men, lay on the field of battle when the
struggle ceased at nightfall. This valley has been appropriately named the
"Valley of Death."
Before the close of this main part of the second day's battle, there was
another clash of arms, fierce but of short duration, at the other extreme
of the line. Lee had ordered Ewell to attack Cemetery Hill and Culp's Hill
on the north, held by Slocum, who had been weakened by the sending of a
large portion of the Twelfth Corps to the assistance of the left wing.
Ewell had three divisions, two of which were commanded by Generals Early
and Johnson. It was nearly sunset when he sent Early to attack Cemetery
Hill. Early was repulsed after an hour's bloody and desperate hand-to-hand
fight, in which muskets and bayonets, rammers, clubs, and stones were
used. Johnson's attack on Culp's Hill was more successful. After a severe
struggle of two or three hours General Greene, who alone of the Twelfth
Corps remained on the right, succeeded, after reënforcement, in driving
the right of Johnson's division away from its entrenchments, but the left
had no difficulty in taking possession of the abandoned works of Geary and
Ruger, now gone to Round Top and Rock Creek to assist the left wing.
Thus closed the second day's battle at Gettysburg. The harvest of death
had been frightful. The Union loss during the two days had exceeded twenty
thousand men; the Confederate loss was nearly equal. The Confederate army
had gained an apparent advantage in penetrating the Union breastworks on
Culp's Hill. But the Union lines, except on Culp's Hill, were unbroken. On
the night of July 2d, Lee and his generals held a council of war and
decided to make a grand final assault on Meade's center the following day.
Against this decision Longstreet protested in vain. His counsel was that
Lee withdraw to the mountains, compel Meade to follow, and then turn and
attack him. But Lee was encouraged by the arrival of Pickett's division
and of Stuart's cavalry, and Longstreet's objections were overruled. Meade
and his corps commanders had met and made a like decision--that there
should be a fight to the death at Gettysburg.
That night a brilliant July moon shed its luster upon the ghastly field on
which thousands of men lay, unable to rise. Many of them no longer needed
help. Their last battle was over, and their spirits had fled to the great
Beyond. But there were great numbers, torn and gashed with shot and shell,
who were still alive and calling for water or for the kindly touch of a
helping hand. Nor did they call wholly in vain. Here and there in the
moonlight little rescuing parties were seeking out whom they might succor.
They carried many to the improvised hospitals, where the surgeons worked
unceasingly and heroically, and many lives were saved.
All through the night the Confederates were massing artillery along the
crest of Seminary Ridge. The sound horses were carefully fed and watered,
while those killed or disabled were replaced by others. The ammunition was
replenished and the guns were placed in favorable positions and made ready
for their work of destruction.
On the other side, the Federals were diligently laboring in the moonlight,
and ere the coming of the day they had planted batteries on the brow of
the hill above the town as far as Little Round Top. The coming of the
morning revealed the two parallel lines of cannon, a mile apart, which
signified only too well the story of what the day would bring forth.
The people of Gettysburg, which lay almost between the armies, were
awakened on that fateful morning--July 3, 1863--by the roar of artillery
from Culp's Hill, around the bend toward Rock Creek. This knoll in the
woods had, as we have seen, been taken by Johnson's men the night before.
When Geary and Ruger returned and found their entrenchments occupied by
the Confederates they determined to recapture them in the morning, and
began firing their guns at daybreak. Seven hours of fierce bombardment and
daring charges were required to regain them. Every rod of space was
disputed at the cost of many a brave man's life. At eleven o'clock this
portion of the Twelfth Corps was again in its old position.
But the most desperate onset of the three days' battle was yet to
come--Pickett's charge on Cemetery Ridge--preceded by the heaviest
cannonading ever heard on the American continent.
With the exception of the contest at Culp's Hill and a cavalry fight east
of Rock Creek, the forenoon of July 3d passed with only an occasional
exchange of shots at irregular intervals. At noon there was a lull, almost
a deep silence, over the whole field. It was the ominous calm that
precedes the storm. At one o'clock signal guns were fired on Seminary
Ridge, and a few moments later there was a terrific outburst from one
hundred and fifty Confederate guns, and the whole crest of the ridge, for
two miles, was a line of flame. The scene was majestic beyond description.
The scores of batteries were soon enveloped in smoke, through which the
flashes of burning powder were incessant.
The long line of Federal guns withheld their fire for some minutes, when
they burst forth, answering the thunder of those on the opposite hill. An
eye-witness declares that the whole sky seemed filled with screaming
shells, whose sharp explosions, as they burst in mid-air, with the
hurtling of the fragments, formed a running accompaniment to the deep,
tremendous roar of the guns.
Many of the Confederate shots went wild, passing over the Union army and
plowing up the earth on the other side of Cemetery Ridge. But others were
better aimed and burst among the Federal batteries, in one of which
twenty-seven out of thirty-six horses were killed in ten minutes. The
Confederate fire seemed to be concentrated upon one point between Cemetery
Ridge and Little Round Top, near a clump of scrub oaks. Here the batteries
were demolished and men and horses were slain by scores. The spot has been
called "Bloody Angle."
The Federal fire proved equally accurate and the destruction on Seminary
Ridge was appalling. For nearly two hours the hills shook with the
tremendous cannonading, when it gradually slackened and ceased. The Union
army now prepared for the more deadly charge of infantry which it felt was
sure to follow.
They had not long to wait. As the cannon smoke drifted away from between
the lines fifteen thousand of Longstreet's corps emerged in grand columns
from the wooded crest of Seminary Ridge under the command of General
Pickett on the right and General Pettigrew on the left. Longstreet had
planned the attack with a view to passing around Round Top, and gaining it
by flank and reverse attack, but Lee, when he came upon the scene a few
moments after the final orders had been given, directed the advance to be
made straight toward the Federal main position on Cemetery Ridge.
The charge was one of the most daring in warfare. The distance to the
Federal lines was a mile. For half the distance the troops marched gayly,
with flying banners and glittering bayonets. Then came the burst of
Federal cannon, and the Confederate ranks were torn with exploding shells.
Pettigrew's columns began to waver, but the lines re-formed and marched
on. When they came within musket-range, Hancock's infantry opened a
terrific fire, but the valiant band only quickened its pace and returned
the fire with volley after volley. Pettigrew's troops succumbed to the
storm. For now the lines in blue were fast converging. Federal troops from
all parts of the line now rushed to the aid of those in front of Pickett.
The batteries which had been sending shell and solid shot changed their
ammunition, and double charges of grape and canister were hurled into the
column as it bravely pressed into the sea of flame. The Confederates came
close to the Federal lines and paused to close their ranks. Each moment
the fury of the storm from the Federal guns increased.
"Forward," again rang the command along the line of the Confederate front,
and the Southerners dashed on. The first line of the Federals was driven
back. A stone wall behind them gave protection to the next Federal force.
Pickett's men rushed upon it. Riflemen rose from behind and hurled a
death-dealing volley into the Confederate ranks. A defiant cheer answered
the volley, and the Southerners placed their battle-flags on the ramparts.
General Armistead grasped the flag from the hand of a falling bearer, and
leaped upon the wall, waving it in triumph. Almost instantly he fell
among the Federal troops, mortally wounded. General Garnett, leading his
brigade, fell dead close to the Federal line. General Kemper sank,
wounded, into the arms of one of his men.
Pickett had entered a death-trap. Troops from all directions rushed upon
him. Clubbed muskets and barrel-staves now became weapons of warfare. The
Confederates began surrendering in masses and Pickett ordered a retreat.
Yet the energy of the indomitable Confederates was not spent. Several
supporting brigades moved forward, and only succumbed when they
encountered two regiments of Stannard's Vermont brigade, and the fire of
fresh batteries.
As the remnant of the gallant division returned to the works on Seminary
Ridge General Lee rode out to meet them. His demeanor was calm. His
features gave no evidence of his disappointment. With hat in hand he
greeted the men sympathetically. "It was all my fault," he said. "Now help
me to save that which remains."
The battle of Gettysburg was over. The cost in men was frightful. The
losses of the two armies reached fifty thousand, about half on either
side. More than seven thousand men had fallen dead on the field of battle.
The tide could rise no higher; from this point the ebb must begin. Not
only here, but in the West the Southern cause took a downward turn; for at
this very hour of Pickett's charge, Grant and Pemberton, a thousand miles
away, stood under an oak tree on the heights above the Mississippi and
arranged for the surrender of Vicksburg.
Lee could do nothing but lead his army back to Virginia. The Federals
pursued but feebly. The Union victory was not a very decisive one, but,
supported as it was by the fall of Vicksburg, the moral effect on the
nation and on the world was great. The period of uncertainty was ended. It
required but little prophetic vision to foresee that the Republic would
survive the dreadful shock of arms.
[Illustration: THE CRISIS BRINGS FORTH THE MAN