OVER AGAIN, TO GETTYSBURG.
The campaign of the Rappahannock had shown brilliant flashes of
strategy and valor. It had proved that a badly-provided army of less
than 50,000 Confederates--barefooted, blanketless and half-fed, but
properly led--could, even when surrounded and out-flanked, defeat and
set at naught 120,000 of the best-appointed troops ever sent against
them. It revived, in some degree, the drooping spirits of the people;
but a sorrow that rose to agony wrung the heart of the South, when what
was earth of her peerless, pure and idolized Jackson was laid in the
Capitol, wrapped in the flag he had made immortal.
Shattered and emaciated veterans, noble-browed matrons and pale,
delicate maidens gathered around that sacred bier, in the awed hush of
a common sorrow, too deep for words. Tears coursed over cheeks that had
been bronzed in the fire of battle; sobs rose from hearts that had lost
their dearest and nearest without a murmur, save--_Thy will be done!_
And little children were lifted up to look upon what was left of him
who would ever be the greatest one of earth to them. And through the
coffin-lid, that calm, still face seemed hourly to grow more holy and
more radiant; the light of battle faded out from its softening lines
and the seal of the God of Peace rested in plain token upon the
glorified brow.
Truly did every one who looked upon it feel:
"O, gracious God! not gainless is the loss!
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown--
For, while his country staggers 'neath the Cross,
He rises with the Crown!"
And when the funeral procession passed the streets of the Capital, the
whole people stood bareheaded and mute. Following the wailing notes of
the dirge with unsteady feet, moved the escort of ragged and war-worn
soldiers--their tattered banners furled--and every torn dress and
dented gun-carriage speaking eloquently of the right they had earned to
sorrow for him. It was no mocking pageant. No holiday soldiery, spruce
and gay, followed that precious bier--no chattering crowds pointed out
the beauties of the sight. Solemn and mourning the escort passed; sad
and almost voiceless the people turned away and, going to their homes,
sat with their sorrow.
After the Rappahannock fights came a lull of several weeks; and it was
early in June when General Lee advanced to force the enemy out of the
state. His army had been reorganized and strengthened as much as possible;
General R. S. Ewell was chosen successor to Jackson; and to him, Longstreet
and A. P. Hill--raised now to a full lieutenant-general--was given command
of the three corps.
Diverging from the main line, after some little coquetting for
position, Ewell charged Jackson's "foot cavalry" upon Winchester,
capturing the town with its heavy depots of stores and munitions; while
Hill kept Hooker amused, and Longstreet slowly forged his way toward
the river.
Great was the joy of the poor town when it once more welcomed the
gray-jackets. From the beginning it had been battle-ground and billet
of both armies a dozen times. Tossed from Federal to Confederate
possession--a very shuttlecock of war--it had been harassed, robbed and
pillaged by the one; drained of the very dregs by free gifts to the
other. But the people of Winchester never faltered in their faith; and
to-day her noble women go down the roll of heroism and steadfast truth,
hand in hand with the noblest ones of our history.
And the joy in Winchester was somewhat reflected at the harassed and
eager-watching Capital. Undiminished by the sorrows of the last fall,
undimmed by its reverses, still burned the southern desire to plant its
victorious flag on hostile soil. It was neither a thirst for vengeance
nor an empty boast; rather a yearning for relief--a craving for the
rest from blood and battle-shocks that such a campaign would give.
It was with deep satisfaction, then, that Richmond heard that Ewell had
crossed the Potomac at Williamsport, pushed on through Hagerstown and,
leaving Early at York, had passed to Carlisle; that Longstreet had
followed him at Williamsport; and that A. P. Hill had crossed at
Shepherdstown and pushed for Chambersburg, reaching there on the 27th
of June.
Hooker, falling rapidly back upon Washington--at which point he
believed the movement aimed--had been sacrificed, and with more justice
than usual, to popular clamor. General Geo. G. Meade replaced him in
command, and strained every nerve to collect numbers of men,
irrespective of quality--seeming to desire to crush the invasion by
weight alone.
Wild was the alarm in the North when the rebel advance had penetrated
the heart of Pennsylvania; when York was held by Early and laid under
contribution and Harrisburg was threatened by Ewell. The whole North
rose in its might. Governors Seymour, of New York, Andrew, of
Massachusetts, and Curtin, of Pennsylvania, put their whole militia at
the service of the President; the energy at Washington, momentarily
paralyzed, soon recovered; and by the last day of the month, Meade had
collected an army of near 200,000 men. Many of these were, of course,
new levies and raw militia; but near one-half were the veterans of the
armies of McClellan, Burnside and Hooker; men who had fought gallantly
on southern soil and might be expected to do so on their own.
It seems that Lee's intention was to flank Meade; and leaving him in
Maryland, to pass into Pennsylvania, occupy Harrisburg, destroy
communications between Washington and the North and reduce
Philadelphia.
Such, at least, was the universal belief of the southern people; and so
rapidly did their mercurial temperament rise under it, and so great was
their reliance in the army that was to accomplish the brilliant
campaign, that they looked upon it already as a fixed fact. Now, at
last, they felt, we will teach the Yankees what invasion really means.
With their Capital leaguered, their President and Cabinet fugitives by
water, and their great thoroughfare and second city in our hands, we
will dictate our own terms, and end the war.
Such _might_ have been the case, had Gettysburg been won, or had that
battle never been fought.
If Lee's intention was to flank Meade and avoid a fight at the outset
of the campaign, it was thwarted by the rapid concentration of troops
in his front, near Gettysburg. To prevent being struck in detail and
secure his communications, Lee was forced to recall Ewell and to
concentrate his army. Hill and Longstreet were ordered up from
Chambersburg; and by July 1st the opposing armies faced each other;
each feeling its way cautiously and knowing that the result of this
grapple of the giants must in a great measure decide the war. Meade's
defeat would lose Washington, leave the heart of the North open, and
demoralize the only army in that section. Lee's defeat, on the other
hand, would jeopardy his very existence and probably leave Richmond an
easy prey to fresh advance.
But in Richmond none of this was felt; for all that was known of the
army was its victorious entry into Pennsylvania; and absurdly
exaggerated stories of the dire panic and demoralization of the enemy
received perfect credence.
Then the shock came.
On the 1st of July, Hill's advance encountered the enemy under
Reynolds; and--after a fierce struggle, in which their general was
killed--drove them back into and through the town. Here they were
reformed on a semi-circular crest of hills; massing their artillery and
holding their position until dark. Their loss was heavier far than
Hill's, and the men not in as good fighting trim; but it was very late,
and General Lee feared pressing their reserve. Had he known that it was
only the advance of Meade, broken and demoralized, that held the crest,
he could undoubtedly have carried and occupied it. The fearful battles
of the next two days, with their terrific loss of life, doubtless hung
on this lost opportunity.
By next morning the enemy had massed the remainder of his army behind
these hills, now frowning with two hundred guns and blue with one dense
line of soldiery. Under a fearful cannonade, through a hail of bullets
that nothing living might stand, Stewart works his way slowly and
steadily forward on the enemy's left; driving him from line after line
of works and holding every inch gained, by dogged valor and
perseverance. Hays and Hoke (of Early's) advance into the ploughing
fire of the rifled guns--march steadily on and charge over their own
dead and dying, straight for Cemetery Heights. This is the key of the
enemy's position. That once gained the day is won; and on the brave
fellows go, great gaps tearing through their ranks--answering every
fresh shock with a savage yell. Line after line of the enemy gives way
before that terrible charge. The breastwork is occupied--they are
driven out! Melting under the horrid fire, unfaltering still--the
gray-jackets reach the very hill!
Nothing mortal can stand the enfilading fire. They give way--again they
charge--they are at the very works! But the fire is too heavy for their
thinned ranks to stand; and night falls over the field, illumined by
the red flash of cannon--drenched with blood and horrid with carnage of
friend and foe. But there is no advantage gained, save a slight advance
of Stewart's position on their left.
With the morning of the third day came the conviction that the vital
struggle must be made for Cemetery Heights. Lee _must_ win them--and
then for victory!
All the artillery was massed upon this point. Then awoke the infernal
echoes of such an artillery duel as the war was never to see again. The
air was black with flying shot and shell, and their wild _whoo!_ made
one continuous song through the sultry noon. Forth from the canopy of
smoke and their screen of trees, comes the chosen storming
party--Pickett's division of Virginians; supported on the right by
Wilcox and on the left by Heth's division under Pettigrew, its own
general having been wounded in the head the day before.
Unmindful of the fire-sheeted storm into which they march--down into
the Valley of the Shadow of Death stride that devoted band. Now, they
emerge into the Emmetsburg road, straight on for the coveted heights.
On! never blenching, never faltering--with great gaps crashing through
them--filling the places of the dead with the living next to die--On!
into the jaws of death goes the forlorn hope! They are at the
rise--they reach the crest; and then _their batteries are suddenly
silent_!
Behind them is the ghastly road, furrowed and ploughed by ceaseless
shot, slippery with blood and dotted thick with their writhing,
bleeding brothers. Behind them is death--defeat! Before them a hundred
belching cannon--a dense, dark mass of blue, relieved only by the
volleying flash that shakes and rolls along their shattered line! Still
up they go! on--ever on! That small Virginia division, shattered,
bleeding--_and alone_ reaches the works--fights for one moment and
then--_has won them_!
But there are no supports--Pettigrew has not come up; and the decimated
Virginians are literally overwhelmed by the fresh masses poured upon
them. Broken, torn, exhausted, they fall back--scattered into terrible
death-dealing knots, that fight their way sullenly and terribly home to
their own lines!
That charge--unequaled in history--has fearfully crippled the enemy. He
can not pursue. But it has failed, and the battle of Gettysburg is
over!
That night General Lee fell back toward Hagerstown, turning in his
retreat to show front to the enemy that dared not attack. Nine days he
stayed on the Maryland shore, waiting the advance that never came; then
he recrossed the river, on the night of the 13th, and again fell back
to the Rappahannock lines.
The second Maryland campaign had failed!
Into the midst of the general elation in Richmond crashed the wild
rumors from the fight. We had driven the enemy through the town; we
held the height; we had captured Meade and 40,000 prisoners. Washington
was at our mercy; and Lee would dictate terms of peace from
Philadelphia!
These were the first wild rumors; eagerly sought and readily credited
by the people. They were determined to believe and would see no change
of plan in General Lee's forced battle at Gettysburg, instead of on the
plains at Harrisburg.
Then over the general joy, creeping none knew whence nor how, but
rapidly gaining shape and substance, came a shadow of doubt. Crowds
besieged the War Department, anxious, excited, but still hopeful. Then
the truth came; tempered by the Government, but wildly exaggerated by
northern sources.
Down to zero dropped the spirits of the people; down to a depth of
despairing gloom, only the deeper from the height of their previous
exultation. The dark cloud from Gettysburg rolled back over Richmond,
darkened and made dense a hundred fold in the transit.
The terrible carnage of that field was exaggerated by rumor. Pickett's
gallant division was declared annihilated; it was believed that the
army had lost 20,000 men; and it was known that such priceless blood as
that of Garnett, Pettigrew, Armistead, Pender, Kemper, Semmes and
Barksdale had sealed the dreadful defeat.
It only needed what came the next day, to dash the last drop from the
cup of hope the people still tried to hold to their lips; and that was
the news of the fall of Vicksburg, on the 4th of July.
And out of the thick darkness that settled on the souls of all, came up
the groan of inquiry and blame. Why had the campaign failed? they
asked. Why had General Lee been forced into battle on ground of the
enemy's choosing? Why had he attacked works that only an army like his
would have made an effort to take, when he could have flanked the enemy
and forced him to fight him on his own terms? Why had the
Government--as was alleged--allowed the crucial test of liberty--the
crisis campaign of the war--to be undertaken without proper
transportation and supplies of ammunition?
And why, above all, had the general they still loved and trusted, spite
of their doubts--why had he sent their beloved Virginians unsupported
to the shambles? Why had he fought the whole Yankee army with one
division?
Such were the murmurs on every side. And though they gradually died
away, after the first shock of surprise and grief had passed; still
they left a vague feeling behind that all was not well; that grave
errors had been committed somewhere. For the southern people could not
get over the feeling that there were no odds of numbers and position
that could cause defeat to a southern army, properly supplied and
properly handled. So, although the murmurs ceased, the conviction did
not die with them that the battle of Gettysburg was a grave error; that
there had been a useless waste of priceless lives; and that the
campaign had been nullified, which else had ended the war.
And unlike other post-disaster conclusions of the southern people, this
did not die out. It only became strengthened and fixed, the more light
was thrown on the vexed questions and the more they were canvassed. The
excuses of the War Department that ammunition had given out, were
scornfully rejected. Then, said the people, that was your fault.
General Lee could not depend--in a campaign in the heart of an enemy's
country and far away from his base--upon his captures. And as to his
not intending to fight a pitched battle, how could he calculate upon
that, or why then did he fight it; and upon ground of the enemy's
choice?
And with the other objections to the conduct of the campaign, came that
of the general's treatment of the people of Pennsylvania. It was felt
to be an excess of moderation to a people whose armies had not spared
the sword, the torch and insult to our unprotected tracts; and it was
argued--without a shadow of foundation--that Lee's knightly courtesy to
the Dutch dames of Pennsylvania had disgusted his troops.
Those starving and barefooted heroes would have thought it right if
their beloved chief had fallen down and worshiped the makers of
apple-butter! They felt he could do no wrong; and it was indirect
injustice to the gallant dead that dotted Cemetery Hill--and to the no
less gallant living ready to march up to those frowning heights
again--to intimate that any action of their general would, or _could_,
have made them fight better.
Excessive as was that moderation--ill advised as it might have proved,
in case of a long campaign--it could have had no possible effect on the
fortunes of the disastrous and brief one just ended.
Equally unjust as that popular folly, was the aspersion upon southern
sympathizers in Maryland, that they did not come forth to aid their
friends. The part of Maryland through which southern armies passed in
both campaigns were sparsely settled, and that with strong Union
population. The Marylander of Baltimore and the lower counties--whatever
may have been his wishes, was gagged and bound too closely to express,
far less carry them out. Baltimore was filled with an armed guard and
was, moreover, the passage-way of thousands of troops; the lower
counties were watched and guarded. And, moreover, the Confederate army
was not _practically_ in Maryland, but from the 20th of June to the 1st
of July.
The taunt to the down-trodden Marylanders--oppressed and suffering
bravely for conscience sake--we must in justice to ourselves believe
only the result of grief and disappointment. Men, like goods, can only
be judged "by sample;" and, from the beginning to the end of the war,
Maryland may point to Archer, Winder, Elzey, Johnson and many another
noble son--unhonored now, or filling, perhaps, a nameless grave--and
ask if such men came from among a people who talked but would not act!
And so in sorrow, disappointment and bitterness ended the second
Maryland campaign.
And with it ended all hopes of carrying the war beyond our own gates in
future; happy could we beat it thence, baffled and crushed as ever
before.
For the short, sharp raid of General Early--penetrating to the gates of
the Capital and with possible capabilities of even entering them--can
hardly be considered an organized scheme of invasion. It was rather the
spasmodic effort by a sharp, hard blow to loosen the tightening and
death-dealing grip upon our throat, and give us time for one long, deep
breath before the final tug for life.