This is an extract from “Four Years with the Army of the Potomac,” by
Brigadier-General Regis de Trobriand, who commanded a brigade of
Birney’s Division of the 3rd Corps during the battle of Gettysburg:
“Between eight and nine o’clock in the evening of the 3rd, as the last
glimmers of daylight disappeared behind us, I received an order to go
down into the flat, and occupy the field of battle with two brigades in
line. That of Colonel Madill was added to mine for that purpose. General
Ward, who temporarily commanded the Division, remained in reserve with
the 3rd.
“The most profound calm reigned now, where a few hours before so furious
a tempest had raged. The moon, with her smiling face, mounted up in the
starry heavens as at Chancellorsville. Her pale light shone equally upon
the living and the dead, the little flowers blooming in the grass as
well as upon the torn bodies lying in the pools of clotted blood. Dead
bodies were everywhere. On no field of battle have I ever seen them in
such numbers. The greater part of my line was strewn with them, and,
when the arms were stacked and the men asleep, one was unable to say, in
that mingling of living and dead, which would awake the next morning and
which would not.
“Beyond the line of advanced sentinels, the wounded still lay where they
had fallen, calling for assistance or asking for water. Their cries died
away without any reply in the silence of the night, for the enemy was
close by, and it was a dangerous undertaking to risk advancing into the
space which separated us. In making an attempt, an officer of my staff
drew three shots, which whistled unpleasantly near his ears. All labors
of charity were necessarily put off till the next morning. It is sad to
think that this was a sentence of death to numbers of the unfortunate.
Mournful thoughts did not hinder the tired soldiers from sleeping.
Everything was soon forgotten in a dreamless slumber.
“At dawn of day, when I awakened, the first object which struck my eyes
was a young sergeant stretched out on his back, his head resting on a
flat stone, serving for a pillow. His position was natural, even
graceful. One knee slightly raised, his hands crossed on his breast, a
smile on his lips, caused by a dream, perhaps, of her who awaited his
return in the distant Green Mountains. He was dead. Wounded, he had
sought out this spot in which to die. His haversack was near him. He had
taken out of it a little book on which his last looks had been cast, for
the book was still open in his stiffened fingers. It was the New
Testament; on the first leaf a light hand had traced in pencil, some
letters, rubbed out, which one might think were a name. I have kept the
volume, and on the white space, to the unknown name I have added, ‘Died
at Gettysburg, July 3, 1863.’
“During the night, the enemy had drawn back his pickets to the other
side of the Emmitsburg Road, and left us free access to assist the
wounded. The appearance of litters and ambulance wagons strengthened
them, by giving them hope. They related their engagements of the evening
before, and their sufferings during the night. One of them, pointing out
the dead lying around him, said: ‘This one lived only till sundown; that
one lasted until about midnight. There is one who was still groaning but
an hour ago.’
“Continuing my walk, I came near a large isolated rock. It might have
been eight or ten feet high, and fifteen or twenty feet broad. Rounding
on the side towards the enemy, but flat as a wall on the opposite side,
it had served as an advanced post for one of our companies, probably
belonging to Stannard’s brigade. What had happened there? Had they been
surprised by the rapid advance of the enemy? Had they tried to shelter
themselves behind that stone during the fight? Had the firing of
canister by our guns rendered retreat impossible? Had they refused to
surrender? No one, to my knowledge, escaped to tell. Whatever was the
cause, there were twenty lying there cut down by lead and steel, and
amongst the pile I recognized the uniform of an officer and the chevrons
of a sergeant.
“When I returned to the center of my line, the ambulances were at work,
and squads detailed from each regiment picked up the arms which were
scattered by thousands over the field. A little later my command was
relieved, and again took its position of the evening before.
“Some reconnaissances sent out to look for the enemy had not far to go
to find him. His pickets were still on the edge of the woods in front of
the Seminary Heights. We afterwards learned that he expected, during the
whole day, that we would attack, hoping to get revenge. But General
Meade, content with his victory, would not take the risk of compromising
it by leaving his position before Lee had abandoned his, in which he
acted wisely, whatever may have been said to the contrary.
“The afternoon was thus spent in first picking up our wounded and
afterwards those of the enemy. The ambulance wagons were hardly enough
for the work. The litter-bearers placed the wounded along our lines,
where they had to await their turn to be taken to the rear. We did what
we could to make the delay as short as possible, for many of them were
brave Southern boys, some having enlisted because they honestly believed
it was their duty, others torn by force from their families, to be
embodied in the Rebel army by the inexorable conscription. After the
defeat, they were resigned, without boasting, and expressed but one
wish: that the war would terminate as soon as possible, since the
triumph of the North appeared to be but a question of time.
“I recall to mind a young man from Florida who told me his history. His
name was Perkins, and he was scarcely twenty years old. The only son of
aged parents, he had in vain endeavored to escape service. Tracked
everywhere by the agents of the Richmond government, he had been forced
to take up the musket, and had done his duty so well that he had been
rapidly promoted to sergeant. In the last charge of the day before, he
had had his left heel carried away by a piece of shell, and his right
hand shattered by a canister shot. One amputation, at least, probably
two, was what he had to expect; and yet he did not complain. But when he
spoke of his aged parents awaiting his return, and of the sad condition
in which he would re-enter the paternal home, his smile was more
heart-breaking than any complaint. In order that his wounds might be
sooner dressed, one of my aids, Lieutenant Houghton, let him have his
horse, at the risk of marching on foot if we moved before he was
returned.
“The next night we passed in the rain. It always rains on the day after
a great battle. On the morning following we discovered the enemy to be
in full retreat. Seeing that the attack he expected did not come off,
and fearing for the safety of his communications with the Potomac,
General Lee could do nothing else but retire through the mountains,
which he did during the night of the 4th and 5th of July. Then only
began that disorder in his columns, and that confusion, the picture of
which has been somewhat exaggerated; an almost inevitable consequence,
besides, to that kind of a movement. Our cavalry began to harass him on
the flanks, while the 6th Corps, having remained intact, pressed on his
rear-guard.
“The difficulties that General Sedgwick met in the Fairfield pass, where
the enemy had intrenched, probably made General Meade fear that a direct
pursuit would entail too great loss of time in the mountains. So,
instead of following Lee in the valley of the Cumberland, he decided to
march on a parallel line, to the east of the South Mountains.”