Hand to hand, and foot to foot;
Nothing there, save death, was mute;
Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
For quarter, or for victory,
Mingled with the volleying thunder.
--BYRON.
I come now to relate my experience of the disastrous invasion of
Pennsylvania.
The first week in June the commands of Longstreet and Ewell began the
northward movement, but Hill's corps remained at Fredericksburg to
deceive the Federal commander and watch his movements. It was not until
the middle of the month that Hooker divined Lee's purpose and withdrew
his army from our front, leaving us free to follow the rest of the army.
Marching through Culpeper, we crossed the mountains through Chester's
Gap and struck out for the ford of the Potomac at Williamsport. I had
four times waded the river, but this time, being on horseback, I escaped
a wetting by holding my feet high on the saddle. My spirits would not
have been so light and gay, if I could have foreknown that I should not
lay eyes on the river again until the war should be over. Nothing of
moment occurred while we passed across Maryland into Pennsylvania.
Tuesday night, June 30, our division bivouacked near Cashtown, about
eight miles northwest of Gettysburg. The next morning Colonel
Brockenbrough was informed that Pettigrew's brigade was on the way to
Gettysburg to obtain shoes for the men, and was ordered to follow as a
support in the contingency of need, none of us knowing that the advance
of Meade's army occupied a strong position between us and the town. I
was riding with Colonel Brockenbrough at the head of the column when we
met Pettigrew and his men returning. He informed us that the enemy was
ahead and that as he had not received orders to bring on an engagement
he was coming back, to report. As to the source of his information I
had no doubt, for by his side was a man on horseback, bearing an
umbrella, and dressed in a suit of civil clothes. After a brief
consultation between the commanders of the two brigades I was ordered to
ride back quickly to Heth's headquarters, report the condition of
affairs, and bring back his instructions. With a brusque manner, he
said, "Tell General Pettigrew not to butt too hard, or he'll butt his
brains out." I translated his command into politer terms, and we started
again toward Gettysburg, knowing that Heth would follow with the other
four brigades of the division.
We found the enemy posted on a ridge just beyond Willoughby's Run, and
deploying on both sides of the road we went into the engagement. We had
the honor,--if honor it may be called,--of losing and shedding the first
blood in one of the most famous battles of the world. In war things
sometimes just happen: the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Northern
Virginia came into collision at a place where neither commander
designed a general engagement. Pender's division formed on the right of
Heth's and both pressed forward in the face of volleying musketry and
thundering cannon. We found out afterward that the opposing force
consisted of the three divisions of the First Corps under the command of
General Reynolds. Right bravely did they fight, and being driven from
the ridge they formed again on Seminary Ridge, determined to hold it. As
our men, on the other hand, were no less determined to take it, the
contest became furious and slaughterous. Our loss was heavy, but did not
equal that which we inflicted. At last they gave way, and we pursued
them to the edge of the town, through the streets of which they hastened
until they lodged among the rocky fastness of Cemetery Ridge. I was in
all the great battles, from Seven Pines to Chancellorsville, but never
had I witnessed a fight so hot and stubborn. On a field of battle the
dead and mortally wounded are usually scattered promiscuously on the
ground, but here I counted more than fifty fallen heroes lying in a
straight line. They belonged, as well as I now remember, to the 150th
Pennsylvania. When a regiment stands its ground until it suffers so
great a loss, it deserves honor for its courage, for the wounded must
have numbered as many as two hundred and fifty. It is a rare thing that
a regiment loses so many men in one engagement.
At the same time that we were struggling with the First Corps of Meade's
army the divisions of Rhodes and Early on our left were driving the
Eleventh Corps before them. But of the gallant part they bore in the
battle I make no mention, inasmuch as I am not writing a general
history, but only jotting down the things I saw, a small part of which I
was.
When the battle had ended and the brigade was standing in line close to
the town, Colonel Brockenbrough and I occupied positions in rear of the
line; and near us were Capt. Austin Brockenbrough and Lt. Addison Hall
Crittenden. First one and then the other of these two gallant officers
fell mortally wounded, although no Yankee was in sight. It was the work
of sharpshooters concealed in a large wooden building on our left. I
took the liberty of causing a company to fire a volley into the house
and that put a stop to the murderous villainy.
It was nearly midnight when the brigade fell back a short distance to
seek some rest after the severe toils of the day; but notwithstanding
the lateness of the hour and our tired condition I proposed to Colonel
Brockenbrough that we should look up these two men who were especially
dear to us, for Austin was his cousin and Addison was mine. We knew that
they had been carried on stretchers from the place where they had been
wounded. Our only guides as we slowly rode along in the dark were the
fires that indicated the location of the improvised hospitals of the
numerous brigades. Inquiring our way, we at last came to the hospital of
our brigade where Mr. Meredith, chaplain of the 47th, conducted us to
our friends who were lying upon pallets of straw. They knew that their
wounds were mortal, but they faced "the last enemy" with the same
intrepidity they had manifested on many a sanguinary field. If I had
yielded to my emotions, I would have wept over Addison even as a woman
weeps. He was named for my mother's only brother; he was pure in heart;
and while he was gentle and sweet in manners and disposition, he was as
brave as any man who followed Lee across the Potomac.
By some critics General Lee has been censured because he did not
continue the battle and attempt to capture Cemetery Ridge on the evening
of the first day. I think that the criticism is unjust; for, in the
first place, the attempt would have been of doubtful issue, and then if
he had tried and succeeded, what advantage would have been gained? It
was clearly Meade's rôle to act on the defensive and select the arena
upon which the decisive contest must be waged. If Cemetery Ridge had
been taken, instead of hurrying his other corps to that position to
form a junction with the First and Eleventh, he would have retired
behind Pipe Creek, or chosen some other ground as easily tenable as
Cemetery Ridge. The state of things was such that Lee could not retreat
without a general engagement, and he could not enter upon it except upon
disadvantageous conditions. The tables were turned: as the Yankees had
fought at Fredericksburg, so the Rebels had to fight in Pennsylvania.
On the second day Heth's division was not engaged, but occupied the
ground near that on which it had fought the day before, close by the
seminary in which General Lee had his headquarters. In the afternoon
while Longstreet's corps was furiously fighting to wrest Little Round
Top from the enemy, he came unattended to where I was standing. Looking
down the valley of Plum Run, which separated the armies, there could be
seen the flashing of the guns under the pall of smoke that covered the
combatants. Now and then making a slight change of position he viewed
the scene through his field-glass. His noble face was not lit up with a
smile as it was when I saw it after the victory at Chancellorsville, but
bore the expression of painful anxiety. Ah, if only his men could seize
and hold that coveted elevation! It was the key to the situation, and
victory would have been assured. But that battle was lost, although the
divisions of Longstreet performed prodigies of valor. Then and there the
issue was decided.
That night Heth's division moved farther to the right. Being directed by
Colonel Brockenbrough to ride ahead and pick out a place for his
brigade, I went forward in the darkness, ignorant of the lay of the
land, until the command to halt was given to me in an undertone. I did
not see the man, but was informed that I was just about to ride through
the line of Confederate skirmishers, and was cautioned to ride back as
quietly as I could, because the Yankee skirmishers were not far in
front.
On the morning of the 3d of July, although Ewell's corps on the left
had waged a bloody but unsuccessful battle, not a shot was fired by
Hill's corps in the center, nor by Longstreet's on the right; but the
final struggle was yet to be made. More than a hundred cannon were
placed in position, along the line of which lay the eighteen thousand
men, who had been selected to make the assault upon Cemetery Ridge.
Before the firing began Colonel Brockenbrough told me that when the
cannonading should cease we should make the charge.
About one o'clock the guns opened, and for two dreadful hours pounded
the adversary's position, being answered by almost as many of his guns.
There has never been such a war of artillery on the American continent.
Surely this was an exhibition of the "Pride, pomp, and circumstance of
glorious War." It was hoped that so terrible a bombardment would
demoralize the enemy and thus prepare the way for a successful onslaught
of the infantry. During its continuance we lay among the guns, and as
soon as their clamor hushed sprang to our feet and began rushing toward
the enemy. We had to descend the slope of Seminary Ridge, cross a
valley, and ascend the steep slope of Cemetery Ridge, a distance of
nearly a mile. If while we were crossing the valley the artillery behind
us had been firing at the enemy over our heads, our task would have been
less dangerous and more hopeful, but unwisely and unfortunately the
caissons had become almost exhausted. As we were ascending the eminence,
where cannon thundered in our faces and infantry four lines deep stood
ready to deliver their volleys, I noticed that the line of the
Confederates resembled the arc of a circle; in other words, the right
and the left were more advanced than the center, and were, therefore,
the first to become engaged. Brockenbrough's brigade formed the extreme
left of the attacking column.
The fame of Pickett's charge on the right has resounded through the
world. The Virginians on the left achieved less glory, but they did
their best. We came so close to the serried ranks of the Yankees that I
emptied my revolver upon them, and we were still advancing when they
threw forward a column to attack our unprotected left flank. I feel no
shame in recording that out of this corner the men without waiting for
orders turned and fled, for the bravest soldiers cannot endure to be
shot at simultaneously from the front and side. They knew that to
remain, or to advance, meant wholesale death or captivity. The Yankees
had a fair opportunity to kill us all, and why they did not do it I
cannot tell. Our loss was less than it was in the first day's battle. As
in our orderly and sullen retreat we were ascending the ridge from which
we had set out, I heard the men saying mournfully, "If Old Jack had been
here, it wouldn't have been like this"; and though I said nothing I
entertained the same opinion.
Suppose he had been there to turn the enemy's left flank as he did at
Gaines' Mill, and again at Chancellorsville!
As I look back upon that final assault at Gettysburg, it seems strange
to me that General Lee should have sent eighteen thousand men to
dislodge a hundred thousand from a position much stronger than that
which Wellington occupied at Waterloo. Perhaps he miscalculated the
effect of the cannonade; perhaps he reposed too much confidence in his
soldiers. When all was over he found no fault with them, but most
magnanimously took the blame of defeat upon himself and endured great
mental suffering. Adverse criticism is swallowed up in sympathy for that
peerless man.
It was a drawn battle. The Army of Northern Virginia had not been
beaten, but it had failed in the attempt to beat the Army of the
Potomac. All day long on the 4th of July it remained in view of Meade's
army, but he dared not assail it.
There was nothing left but to return to Virginia. On the night of the
4th of July the army began to retreat, and on the 7th it halted near
Hagerstown and offered battle, which Meade refused. It seems to me that
he did not press the pursuit as closely and fiercely as he might have
done; perhaps he was respecting the valor that he had lately witnessed.