GETTYSBURG.
God send us peace! And where for aye the loved and lost recline,
Let fall, O South, your leaves of palm, O North, your sprigs of pine!
But when with every ripened year, we keep the harvest home,
And to the dear Thanksgiving feast our sons and daughters come,
When children’s children throng the board in the old homestead spread,
And the bent soldier of these wars is seated at the head,
Long, long the lads shall listen to hear the graybeard tell,
Of those who fought at Gettysburg, and stood their ground so well;
“’Twas for the Union and the flag!” the veteran shall say,
“Our grand old army held the ridge, and won that glorious day!”
_Edmund Clarence Stedman._
We arrived on the field of Gettysburg at nine o’clock A. M., July 2nd,
and without rest were ordered into the front line of battle. Our
brigade consisted of the 9th and 32nd Massachusetts, 4th Michigan, and
62nd Pennsylvania. We had hardly got into line, when the enemy advanced
directly upon us, and for an hour we had it hot and heavy.
Here our regimental loss was heavy, but we finally repulsed them,
and soon after changed position to a piece of woods bordering on the
wheatfield. Here a line was engaged in the wheatfield, and the ground
was covered with the wounded and dead. We advanced and relieved them,
when the enemy charged us with such overwhelming fury that we were
obliged to fall back.
Here Colonel Jeffers of the 4th Michigan and a color sergeant of the
same regiment were killed, trying to save their flag, but it was
captured, and a part of the regiment were taken prisoners.
We could not stand the terrible storm of leaden hail, and were
retreating when our brigade commander halted us and ordered us to face
the charging enemy. It was a fatal act for many of the Thirty-second!
We fought our way back inch by inch, union and confederate men
inextricably mingled; so we fought until we gained the shelter of
the woods. I had lost my regiment, but saw the Pennsylvania Bucktails
fixing bayonets for another charge, so I stepped into their ranks to
charge with them, when I saw my regimental colors, with four of the
color guard near by, so joined them and waited for the boys to rally
under the old flag, when we again advanced into the bloody fray.
I look back with pride upon the valor shown that day by my brave
comrades; at Little Roundtop, the Wheatfield, in the Loop, many a
brave boy of the 32nd gave up his life, in that terrible struggle. Our
regiment carried into the fight 227 men, and we lost 81 killed and
wounded. My tentmate, Dwight D. Graves, went down severely wounded in
the foot, and another comrade, Calvin P. Lawrence, was left on the
field with a broken leg when we fell back. As the rebs charged over
him, one of them turned to bayonet him, but his lieutenant prevented
him, and asked the wounded man,
“Where’s your men now?”
“You just keep on, you’ll find them!” was the reply, as the men
swept over him. Soon they rushed back in full retreat, and our brave
comrade shouted after them, “I say, leftenant, I guess you found
them.” We kept the field, and all that night I spent looking over
the battle ground for wounded comrades, giving to one a drink of
water from my canteen, placing a knapsack under the head of another,
covering another from the chilly air with a blanket picked up on the
field, and doing what I could to relieve their suffering.
Morning came, and our brigade remained near Little Round Top, receiving
our full share of the storm of iron hail, throughout the artillery
duel of the third day. Then came Pickett’s desperate charge, the final
effort of the enemy, who never got further north than here. Then came
the retreat of the enemy, and our pursuit of them back into Virginia.
During the battle, my cousin, James A. Shepard, of the 18th
Massachusetts received his death wound, while going to a spring to
fill several canteens for his comrades. I saw him the day before the
battle bright and cheerful. I heard he was wounded, but did not learn
of his death until some days after, when a letter from home gave me the
following account of his death and burial.
He was shot in the shoulder, severing an artery, and died in a
Philadelphia hospital a few days after the battle, but lived to see his
widowed mother, who was telegraphed for, at his request.
When she arrived at the hospital, she stood a moment at the door of the
ward where her boy lay on his deathbed, and where the long rows of beds
and their occupants all looked alike to her; she heard his voice at
the further end of the room, saying “Oh mother, mother! here I am come
quick!” and soon the heartbroken mother knelt by his bedside, while he,
happy in her presence, talked of the battle and tried to comfort her.
“I know I’ve got to die,” he said, “But never mind, mother dear, it
is in a glorious cause, and we whipped the rebels good!” Poor boy, he
was only twenty, yet was willing to die for his country!
As he grew weaker, he talked of the dear ones at home, and wished he
could have bade them goodbye.
“Kiss them for me, mother,” he said, “And take me home, and lay me
beside my father, and put some flowers on my grave from the dear old
home garden, that I have so longed to see!”
His mother remained with him until he died, and through untold
difficulties, she brought his body home, being obliged to smuggle
it part of the way, and now, in the family lot, he lies beside his
father and mother. Two of his brothers also lie buried there, Charles,
who served in the Massachusetts heavy artillery, and George, who was
badly wounded in the head while serving in the navy; he never fully
recovered, and died soon after the war ended.
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