The news that Grant was slowly, but surely, tightening his grip upon
Vicksburg, and that nothing but an accident could prevent its capture,
was known to the whole country for fully a week before the surrender
occurred, but it neither encouraged the North nor discouraged the South.
To the minds of many people no victory in the West could save the
Union, for Lee was already in Pennsylvania, sweeping northward toward
Harrisburg and Philadelphia, and even threatening New York. Hooker, in
the field, and Halleck, in Washington, were squabbling as to what should
be done, and the Union army was groping blindly after the invaders
without any leadership worthy of the name.
It was certainly a critical moment demanding absolute harmony on the
part of the Union leaders; but while the fate of the Union trembled in
the balance, Hooker and Halleck wrangled and contradicted each
other, apparently regardless of consequences, and the climax of this
disgraceful exhibition was a petulant telegram from Hooker (June 27,
1863) resigning his command. Had "Fighting Joe" been the greatest
general in the world this resignation, in the presence of the enemy,
would have ruined his reputation, and the moment President Lincoln
accepted it Hooker was a discredited man.
To change commanders at such a crisis was a desperately perilous move,
but the President knew that the army had lost confidence in its leader
since the battle of Chancellorsville and the fact that he could even
think of resigning on the eve of a battle demonstrated his utter
unfitness for the task at hand. It was, therefore, with something of
relief that Lincoln ordered General Meade to take immediate charge
of all the troops in the field, and the new commander assumed the
responsibility in these words, "As a soldier I obey the order placing
me in command of this army and to the utmost of my ability will execute
it."
At the moment he dispatched this manly and modest response to the
unexpected call to duty, Meade knew little of Hooker's plans and had
only a vague idea of where his troops were posted. Under such conditions
success in the coming battle was almost impossible, but he wasted no
time in complaints or excuses, but instantly began to move his forces
northward to incept the line of Lee's advance. Even up to this time,
however, the exact position of the Confederate army had not been
ascertained, for Lee had concealed his infantry behind his cavalry,
which effectually prevented his adversaries from getting near enough to
discover the direction of his march.
Another "cavalry screen," however, covered the Union forces and though
Lee dispatched Stuart to break through and discover what lay behind it,
the daring officer for once failed to accomplish his purpose and Lee had
to proceed without the information he usually possessed. This was highly
advantageous to Meade, for his forces were badly scattered and had Lee
known that fact he might have crushed the various parts of the army
before they united, or at least have prevented some of them from
reaching the field in time. He soon learned, of course, that Meade had
taken Hooker's place, but if he had not heard the news directly,
he would have guessed that some great change had occurred in the
generalship of his opponents, for within twenty-four hours of his
appointment Meade had his army well in hand, and two days later the
rapid and skillful concentration of his force was clear to Lee's
experienced eyes. By this time both armies had passed beyond their
cavalry screens, and on the 30th of June, 1863, the advance of the
Confederate troops neared the little town of Gettysburg.
But Lee was not yet ready to fight, for, although he was better prepared
than his adversary, he wanted to select the best possible ground before
joining battle. By a strange chance, however, it was not Lee but his
bare-footed followers who decided where the battle should be fought, for
as his advance-guard approached Gettysburg one of the brigade commanders
asked and received permission from his superior to enter the town and
procure shoes for his men. But Gettysburg was found to be occupied by
Union cavalry and the next day (July 1st) a larger force was ordered
forward to drive them away and "get the shoes." Meanwhile, the Union
cavalry had been reënforced and, to offset this, more Confederates were
ordered to the support of their comrades. Once more Union reënforcements
were hurried to the front, and again the Confederates responded to the
challenge, until over 50,000 men were engaged in a savage conflict, and
before noon the battle of Gettysburg, one of the greatest battles of
history, had begun.
The men in gray, who thus unwittingly forced the fighting, were veterans
of many campaigns and they attacked with a fury that carried all before
them. The Union troops fought with courage, but General Reynolds, their
commander, one of the ablest officers in the army, was soon shot through
the head and instantly killed, and from that moment the Confederates
crowded them to the point of panic. Indeed, two of Meade's most
effective fighting corps were practically annihilated and the shattered
remnants of the defenders of Gettysburg were hurled through the town in
headlong flight toward what was known as Cemetery Hill, where their new
commander, General Hancock, found them huddled in confusion.
Meade had displayed good judgment in selecting Hancock to take Reynolds'
place, for he was just the man to inspire confidence in the disheartened
soldiers and rise to the emergency that confronted him. But, though he
performed wonders in the way of restoring order and encouraging his
men to make a desperate resistance, it is more than probable that
the Confederates would have swept the field and gained the important
position of Cemetery Hill had they followed up their victory.
Fortunately for the Union cause, however, the pursuit was not continued
much beyond the limits of Gettysburg and, as though well satisfied to
have got the shoes they came for, the victors contented themselves with
the undisputed possession of the town.
Neither Lee nor Meade took any part in this unexpected battle, but Lee
arrived during the afternoon while the Union troops were in full flight
for the hills and, seeing the opportunity of delivering a crushing
blow, advised Ewell, the commanding General, to pursue. His suggestion,
however, was disregarded, and being unwilling to interfere with another
officer in the midst of an engagement, he did not give a positive order,
with the result that Cemetery Hill was left in possession of the Federal
troops. Meanwhile Meade, having learned of the situation, was hurrying
to the scene of action, where he arrived late at night, half dead
with exhaustion and on the verge of nervous collapse from the fearful
responsibilities which had been heaped upon him during the previous
days. But the spirit of the man rose superior to his physical weakness
and, keeping his head in the whirlwind of hurry and confusion, he
issued orders rushing every available man to the front, made a careful
examination of the ground and chose an admirable position for defense.
To this inspiring example the whole army made a magnificent response,
and before the 2nd of July dawned the widely scattered troops began
pouring in and silently moving into position for the desperate work
confronting them. Meade had determined to await an attack from Lee and
he had accordingly selected Cemetery Ridge as the position best adapted
for defense. This line of hills not only provided a natural breastwork,
but at the left and a little in front lay two hillocks knows as Round
Top and Little Round Top, which, when crowned by artillery, were perfect
fortresses of strength. Strange as it may seem, however, Round Top was
not immediately occupied by the Union troops and had it not been for the
quick eye and prompt action of General Warren, Little Round Top, the key
to the entire Union position, would have been similarly neglected.
Lee was reasonably assured, at the end of the first day's fighting, that
his adversary had not succeeded in getting all his troops upon the field
and, realizing what an advantage this gave him, he determined to begin
the battle at daylight, before the Union reënforcements could arrive.
But for once, at least, the great commander received more objections
than obedience from his subordinates, General Longstreet, one of his
most trusted lieutenants, being the principal offender. Longstreet had,
up to this moment, made a splendid record in the campaigns and Lee had
such confidence in his skill that he seldom gave him a peremptory order,
finding that a suggestion carried all the weight of a command. But, on
this occasion, Longstreet did not agree with the Chief's plan of battle
and he accordingly took advantage of the discretion reposed in him to
postpone making an attack until he received a sharp and positive order
to put his force in action. By this time, the whole morning had passed
and every hour had brought more and more Union troops into the field,
so that by the afternoon Meade had over 90,000 men opposing Lee's 70,000
veterans.
There was nothing half-hearted about Longstreet once he was in motion
and the struggle for the possession of Little Round Top was as desperate
a conflict as was ever waged on any field. Again and again the gray
regiments hurled themselves into the very jaws of death to gain the
coveted vantage ground, and again and again the blue lines, torn,
battered and well-nigh crushed to earth, re-formed and hurled back
the assault. Dash and daring were met by courage and firmness, and
at nightfall, though the Confederates had gained some ground, their
opponents still held their original position. Both sides had paid
dearly, however, for whatever successes they had gained, the Union army
alone having lost at least 20,000 men [Note from Brett: While this is
possible, it is highly unlikely as the total casualties for the three
day battle from the Unionist side were 23,053 according to official
records. Current (circa 2000) estimates are that both sides lost about
9,000 soldiers on this day.]. Indeed, the Confederate attack had been
so formidable that Meade called a council of war at night to determine
whether the army should remain where it was for another day or retreat
to a still stronger position. The council, however, voted unanimously
to "stay and fight it out," and the next morning (July 3rd) saw the two
armies facing each other in much the same positions as they had occupied
the day before, the Unionists crowding the heights of Cemetery Ridge and
the Confederates holding the hills known as Seminary Ridge and clinging
to the bases of Round Top and Little Round Top, to which point the tide
of valor had carried them.
A mile of valley and undulating slopes separated Cemetery Hill from
Seminary Ridge, and their crests were crowded with artillery when the
sun rose on July 3, 1863. But for a time the battle was confined to the
infantry, the Confederates continuing fierce assaults of the previous
evening. Then, suddenly, all their troops were withdrawn, firing ceased
and absolute silence ensued along their whole lines. At an utter loss to
understand this complete disappearance of the foe, the Union commanders
peered through their glasses at the silent and apparently deserted
heights of Seminary Ridge, growing more and more nervous as time wore
on. What was the explanation of this ominous silence? Was it possible
that Lee had retreated? Was he trying to lure them out of their position
and catch them in some giant ambuscade? Was he engaged in a flanking
movement such as had crumpled them to pieces at Chancellorsville?
Doubtless, more than one soldier shot an apprehensive glance toward the
rear during the strange hush as he remembered the terrifying appearance
of Jackson on that fearful day.
But no Jackson stood at Lee's right hand, and suddenly two sharp reports
rang out from the opposing height. Then, in answer to this signal, came
the crash of a hundred and thirty cannon and instantly eighty Union guns
responded to the challenge with a roar which shook the earth, while
the air was filled with exploding shells and the ground was literally
ploughed with shot. For an hour and a half this terrific duel continued;
and then the Union chief of artillery, seeing that his supply of
ammunition was sinking, ordered the guns to cease firing and the
Confederates, believing that they had completely demolished the opposing
batteries, soon followed their example. Another awful silence ensued and
when the Union troops peered cautiously from behind the stone walls and
slopes which had completely protected them from the wild storm of shot
and shell, they saw a sight which filled them with admiration and awe.
From the woods fringing the opposing heights 15,000 men [Note from
Brett: (circa 2000) just under 12,000 men] were sweeping in perfect
order with battle flags flying, bayonets glistening and guidons
fluttering as though on dress parade. Well to the front rode a gallant
officer with a cap perched jauntily over his right ear and his long
auburn hair hanging almost to his shoulders flying in the wind. This was
General Pickett, and he and the men behind him had almost a mile of open
ground to cross in the charge which was to bring them immortal fame.
For half the distance they moved triumphantly forward, unscathed by
the already thundering artillery, and then the Union cannon which had
apparently been silenced by the Confederate fire began to pour death and
destruction into their ranks. Whole rows of men were mowed down by the
awful cannonade, but their comrades pressed forward undismayed, halting
for a moment under cover of a ravine to re-form their ranks and then
springing on again with a heroism unsurpassed in the history of war. A
hail of bullets from the Union trenches fairly staggered them, yet
on and on they charged. Once they actually halted in the face of the
blazing breastworks, deliberately fired a volley and came on again
with a rush, seized some of the still smoking guns that had sought
to annihilate them and, beating back the gunners in a hand-to-hand
conflict, actually planted their battle flags on the crest of Cemetery
Ridge. Then the whole Union army seemed to leap from the ground and hurl
itself upon them. They reeled, turned, broke into fragments and fled,
leaving 5,000 dead and wounded in their trail.
Such was Pickett's charge--a wave of human courage which recorded "the
high-water mark of the Rebellion."