Soldier's Stories

[thea_447]

Thomas Jonathan Jackson,writing to his nephew, T.J. Arnold, in Western Virginia, before the coming whirlwind:

"...I am in favor of making a thorough trial for peace, and if we fail in this, and the state is invaded, to defend it with a terrific resistance...

I desire to see the state use every influence...to procure an honorable adjustment of our troubles but..if the free states, instead of permitting us to enjoy the rights guaranteed to us by the Constitution...should endeavor to subjugate us, and thus excite our slaves to servile insurrection in which our families would be murdered without quarter or mercy, it becomes us to wage such a war as will bring hostilities to a speedy close.

People who are anxious to bring on war don't know what they are bargaining for; they don't see all the horrors that must accompany such an event.

For myself I have never as yet been induced to believe that Virginia will even have to leave the Union. I feel pretty well satisfied that the Northern people love the Union more than they do their peculiar notions of slavery, and that they will prove it to us when satisfied that we are in earnest about leaving the Confederacy unless they do us justice."

He wrote later to another coorespondent: "If I know myself, all I am and have is at the service of my country." He meant Virginia, not the United States.


(<u>They Called Him Stonewall</u>, Burke Davis,Burford Books,North Carolina Press, pg. 133-134)

[thea_447]

Before Virginia's Secession Convention, an incident threatened bloodshed in Lexington. In the absence of officers, a group of cadets fired on a United States flag. The town's volunteer militiamen drove off the cadet guard and went about restoring the American flag. Drums beat the alarm on the Institute campus, and most of the corps poured out the gates, ready for a skirmish. Only the sudden arrival of Colonel Smith halted it. The cadets were marched back to their barracks, where, in an exciting scene, they were harangued by their officers on the nation's crisis.

After several men had spoken, cadets began to call for Jackson, and the tradition is that, this time, with all traces of his customary shyness gone, he shouted:

"I admire the spirit you have shown in rushing to the defence of your comrades; and I commend the way in which you obeyed the commands of your superior officer. The time may come young gentlemen, when your state will need your services, and if that time comes, draw your swords and throw away your scabbards."

(They Called Him Stonewall, Burke Davis,Burford Books,North Carolina Press, pg. 133-134)

[hawglips]

Royal Henry (Rile) Jennings was born in 1835, in the county of Scott, located deep in the hills of southwestern Virginia. His father was a fairly typical Appalachian dirt farmer, scratching a living out of the hollows the best he could. Royal was raised to be independent minded, with toughness indicative of his mountain upbringing.

Royal grew up in an area with plenty of Union sentiment. As the war heated up in the spring of 1862, he left his wife of 9 years and two young sons at home, and headed north to Cumberland Ford, Kentucky where he enlisted as a private in company "A" of the 7th KY Infantry.

This particular regiment consisted largely of Southerners, particularly eastern Kentuckians, Tennesseans and western Virginians. These men volunteered in the Union army to "preserve the Union," with little personal interest in the issues fueling the sectional discontent that led to secession.

By 1863 Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation was the topic de jour, resulting in no small amount of discontent in the 7th KY, as it did in many others.

The 7th's wide-spread discontent over now fighting "to free slaves," was enough to result in some serious altercations. The 7th was involved in Grant's Vicksburg campaign around this time. (It is at this point where we are left to rely solely on family lore for the rest of the story, as passed down from Pearl Jennings Gilliam, my grandmother -- Royal's, great granddaughter.) Sometime in the spring of '63, probably in late March, the men of Company "A" were accused of secesh sentiments, and were challenged to make it known which of the men "were for Jeff Davis."

At this point, Royal stood up, tucked his hands under his armpits, flapped like a rooster and crowed -- thereby letting the challengers know where he stood on the issue.

This show of cocky defiance resulted in a prolonged run for his life, and after several days, Royal had barely escaped from his pursuers with life and limb intact.

However, the toll was a heavy one to pay. As a result of the exposure and stress of the chase, Royal soon took quite ill and died in hospital at St. Louis, MO, on April 2, 1863 -- of complications brought on by the incident with his fellow wearers of Union blue.

Hal



(Message edited by hawglips on February 26, 2004)

[thea_447]

From: http://docsouth.unc.edu/gordon/gordon.html#gord70
GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON'S last work : "Reminiscences of the Civil War."
John B. Gordon,CSA
BATTLE OF MALVERN HILL
Continuous fighting between McClellan's and Lee's armies--Hurried burial of the dead--How "Stonewall" Jackson got his name--The secret of his wonderful power--The predicament of my command at Malvern Hill--A fruitless wait for reënforcements-- Character the basis of true courage-- Anecdote of General Polk.

AFTER the bloody encounter at Seven Pines, or Fair Oaks, the dead of both armies were gathered, under a flag of truce, for burial. An inspection of the field revealed a scene sickening and shocking to those whose sensibilities were not yet blunted by almost constant contact with such sights. It would not require a very vivid imagination to write of Chickahominy's flooded swamps as "incarnadined waters," in which floated side by side the dead bodies clad in blue and in gray. All over the field near the swamp were scattered in indiscriminate confusion the motionless forms and ghastly faces of fellow-countrymen who had fallen bravely fighting each other in a battle for principles-- enemies the day before, but brothers then in the cold embrace of an honorable death. Dying at each other's hands in support of profoundly cherished convictions, their released spirits had ascended together on the battle's flame to receive the reward of the unerring tribunal of last appeal.

The fighting between the armies of McClellan and Lee was so nearly continuous, and engagement succeeded engagement so rapidly, that at some points the killed were hurriedly and imperfectly buried. I myself had a most disagreeable reminder of this fact. The losses in Rodes's brigade, which I was then commanding, had been so heavy that it was held with other troops as a reserved corps. Our experiences, however, on the particular day of which I now speak had been most trying, and after nightfall I was directed to move to a portion of the field where the fighting had been desperate on the preceding day, and to halt for the night in a woodland. Overcome with excessive fatigue, as soon as the designated point was reached I delivered my horse to a courier and dropped down on the ground for a much-needed rest. In a few moments I was sound asleep. A slightly elevated mound of earth served for a pillow. Frequently during the night I attempted to brush away from my head what I thought in my slumber was a twig or limb ,of the underbrush in which I was lying. My horror can be imagined when I discovered, the next morning, that it was the hand of a dead soldier sticking out above the shallow grave which had been my pillow and in which he had been only partly covered.

Up to this period my association with General Jackson (Stonewall) had not been sufficiently close for me clearly to comprehend the secret of his wonderful success, but I learned it a few days later at Malvern Hill. The sobriquet "Stonewall" was applied to him during the first great engagement of the war at Manassas, or Bull Run. His brigade was making a superb stand against General McDowell's column, which had been thrown with such momentum upon the Southern flank as to threaten the destruction of the whole army. General Bee, of South Carolina, whose blood was almost the earliest sprinkled on the Southern altar, determined to lead his own brigade to another charge, and looking across the field, he saw Jackson's men firmly, stubbornly resisting the Federal advance. General Bee, in order to kindle in the breasts of his men the ardor that glowed in his own, pointed to Jackson's line and exclaimed: "See, there stands Jackson like a stone wall!" Bee himself fell in the charge, but he had christened Jackson and his brigade by attaching to them a peculiar and distinctive name which will live while the history of our Civil War lives.

I have said that at Malvern Hill I learned the secret of Jackson's wonderful power and success as a soldier. It was due not only to his keen and quick perception of the situation in which he found himself at each moment in the rapidly changing scenes as the battle progressed or before it began, but notably to an implicit faith in his own judgment when once made up. He would formulate that judgment, risk his last man upon its correctness, and deliver the stunning blow, while others less gifted were hesitating and debating as to its wisdom and safety. Whatever this peculiar power may be called, this mental or moral gift, whether inspiration or intuition, it was in him a profound conviction that he was not mistaken, that the result would demonstrate that the means he employed must necessarily attain the end which he thought to accomplish. The incident to which I refer was trivial in itself, but it threw a flood of light upon his marvellous endowment. I sat on my horse, facing him and receiving instructions from him, when Major-General Whiting, himself an officer of high capacity, rode up in great haste and interrupted Jackson as he was giving to me a message to General Hill. With some agitation, Whiting said: "General Jackson, I find, sir, that I cannot accomplish what you have directed unless you send me some additional infantry and another battery"; and he then proceeded to give the reasons why the order could not be executed with the forces at his disposal. All this time, while Whiting explained and argued, Jackson sat on his horse like a stone statue. He looked neither to the right nor the left. He made no comment and asked no questions; but when Whiting had finished, Jackson turned his flashing eyes upon him and used these words, and only these: "I have told you what I wanted done, General Whiting"; and planting his spurs in his horse's sides, he dashed away at a furious speed to another part of the field. Whiting gazed at Jackson's disappearing figure in amazement, if not in anger, and then rode back to his command. The result indicated the accuracy of Jackson's judgment and the infallibility of his genius, for Whiting did accomplish precisely what Jackson intended, and he did it with the force which Jackson had placed in his hands.

Returning, after my interview with Jackson, to my position on the extreme right, I found General Hill in a fever of impatience for the advance upon McClellan's troops, who were massed, with their batteries, on the heights in our front. The hour for the general assault which was to be made in the afternoon by the whole Confederate army had come and passed. There had been, however, the delays usual in all such concerted movements. Some of the divisions had not arrived upon the field; others, from presumably unavoidable causes, had not taken their places in line: and the few remaining hours of daylight were passing. Finally a characteristic Confederate yell was heard far down the line. It was supposed to be the beginning of the proposed general assault. General Hill ordered me to lead the movement on the right, stating that he would hurry in the supports to take their places on both my flanks and in rear of my brigade. I made the advance, but the supports did not come. Indeed, with the exception of one other brigade, which was knocked to pieces in a few minutes, no troops came in view. Isolated from the rest of the army and alone, my brigade moved across this shell-ploughed plain toward the heights, which were perhaps more than half a mile away. Within fifteen or twenty minutes the centre regiment (Third Alabama), with which I moved, had left more than half of its number dead and wounded along its track, and the other regiments had suffered almost as severely. One shell had killed six or seven men in my immediate presence. My pistol, on one side, had the handle torn off; my canteen, on the other, was pierced, emptying its contents--water merely--on my trousers; and my coat was ruined by having a portion of the front torn away: but, with the exception of this damage, I was still unhurt. At the foot of the last steep ascent, near the batteries, I found that McClellan's guns were firing over us, and as any further advance by this unsupported brigade would have been not only futile but foolhardy, I halted my men and ordered them to lie down and fire upon McClellan's standing lines of infantry. I stood upon slightly elevated ground in order to watch for the reënforcements, or for any advance from the heights upon my command. In vain I looked behind us for the promised support. Anxiously I looked forward, fearing an assault upon my exposed position. No reënforcements came until it was too late. As a retreat in daylight promised to be almost or quite as deadly as had been the charge, my desire for the relief which nothing but darkness could now bring can well be imagined. In this state of extreme anxiety a darkness which was unexpected and terrible came to me alone. A great shell fell, buried itself in the ground, and exploded near where I stood. It heaved the dirt over me, filling my face and ears and eyes with sand. I was literally blinded. Not an inch before my face could I see; but I could think, and thoughts never ran more swiftly through a perplexed mortal brain. Blind! Blind in battle! Was this to be permanent? Suppose reënforcements now came, what was I to do? Suppose there should be an assault upon my command from the front?

Such were the unspoken but agonizing questions which throbbed in my brain with terrible swiftness and intensity. The blindness, however, was of short duration. The delicate and perfect machinery of the eye soon did its work. At last came, also, the darkness for which I longed, and under its thick veil this splendid brigade was safely withdrawn.

Large bodies of troops had been sent forward, or rather led forward, by that intrepid commander, General Hill; but the unavoidable delay in reaching the locality, and other intervening difficulties, prevented them from ever reaching the advanced position from which my men withdrew. In the hurry and bustle of trying to get them forward, coming as they did from different directions, there was necessarily much confusion, and they were subjected to the same destructive fire through which my troops had previously passed. In the darkness, even after the firing had ceased, there occurred, in the confusion, among these mixed up bodies of men, many amusing mistakes as to identity, and some altercations between officers which were not so amusing and not altogether complimentary. One of my men ran to me and asked, "Did you hear - - - say to - - - that he and his men," etc.--I forbear to quote the remaining part of the question. I replied that I had not heard it, but if it had occurred as reported to me we would probably hear of it again--and we did. Early the next morning a challenge was sent, but the officer who had given the offence was in a playful mood when the challenge reached him; so, instead of accepting it, or answering it in the formal style required by the duelling code, he replied in about these words:

MY DEAR - - -: I did not volunteer to fight you or any other Confederate, but if you and your men will do better in the next battle I will take back all I said to you last night. In the meantime, I am,

Very truly yours,

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


These officers are both dead now, and I give this incomplete account of the incident to show how easy it was to get up a fight along in the sixties, if one were so disposed, either in a general mêlée with the blue-coated lines, or single-handed with a gray-clad comrade.

I believe it was in this battle that was first perpetrated that rustic witticism which afterward became so famous in the army. Through one of the wide gaps made in the Confederate lines by McClellan's big guns as they sent their death-dealing missiles from hill and river, there ran a panic-stricken rabbit, flying in terror to the rear. A stalwart mountaineer noticed the speed and the direction which the rabbit took to escape from his disagreeable surroundings. He was impressed by the rabbit's prudence, and shouted, so that his voice was heard above the din of the battle: "Go it, Molly Cottontail! I wish I could go with you!" One of his comrades near by caught up the refrain, and answered: "Yes, and, 'y golly, Jim, I 'd go with Molly, too, if it wasn't for my character."

"Character." What a centre shot this rough soldier had fired in that short sentence! He had analyzed unconsciously but completely the loftiest type of courage. He felt like flying to the rear, as "Molly" was flying, but his character carried him forward. His sense of the awful dangers, the ominous hissing of the deadly Minié balls, and the whizzing of the whirling shells tearing through the ranks and scattering the severed limbs of his falling comrades around him, all conspired to bid him fly to the rear; but his character, that noblest of human endowments, commanded, "Forward!" and forward he went.

In this connection I am reminded of the commonplace but important truth that the aggregate character of a people of any country depends upon the personal character of its individual citizens; and that the stability of popular government depends far more upon the character, the individual personal character of its people, than it does upon any constitution that could be adopted or statutes that could be enacted. What would safeguards be worth if the character of the people did not sustain and enforce them? The constitution would be broken, the laws defied; riot and anarchy would destroy both, and with them the government itself. I am not assuming or suggesting that this country is in any present danger of such an experience; but of all the countries on earth this one, with its universal suffrage, its divergent and conflicting interests, its immense expanse of territory, and its large population, made up from every class and clime, and still to be increased in the coming years, is far more dependent than any other upon the character of its people. It is a great support to our hope for the future and to our confidence in the stability of this government to recall now and then some illustration of the combination of virtues which make up character, as they gleam with peculiar lustre through the darkest hours of our Civil War period. That war not only gave the occasion for its exhibition, but furnished the food upon which character fed and grew strong. There were many thousands of men in both armies who did not say in words, but said by deeds, that "character" would not let them consult their fears or obey the impulse of their heels. I could fill this book with such cases, and yet confine myself to either one of the armies.

[bill_torrens]

It is not at all uncommon for ACW reminiscences or published diaries to contain an informal unit roster. But I have never, ever seen anything remotely resembling the one which John W. Haley compiled for Co.I, 17th Maine Infantry. Here are a few extracts:



Cyrus Buker “Company cook, generally. Fell over a shadow and was disabled.”

James M. Brown “Away much. Loved rum more than country.”

J.C. Blaisdell “Present most of the time. Had an uncommonly brave appetite.”

Thomas C. Clark “Hostler, also great facial contortionist and whisky guzzler.”

James S. Clark “Noted only for gluttony. Could eat four men’s rations.”

T.W. Emerson “A bloodthirsty brave…in his mind.”

Isaac Grant “Strong aversion to fighting. Face indicated conviviality.”

A.J. Hodge “Transferred to battery. A notoriously coarse person. Good riddance.”

H.G. Holmes “Away about half the time. Always had a spasm of virtue under fire.”

Mell Irish “Rupture and varicose veins. Better mimic than soldier. Clever person. The poor farms are filled with them.”

Ed Jacques “Very free and easy at expense of others.”

J.W. Kendrick “Wounded twice. Promoted twice. A great sufferer, in his mind.”

M. McGrath “Teamster, with all the instincts of the craft, including great piety when near the front.”

J. McKenny “Played out years ‘before the war, sah.’ Put in Ambulance Corps and hit in the toe.”

William Lamberton “If he was good for anything but lying and swearing, there is a gross omission in the records.”

Moses Moody “Died of smallpox and came near to scaring another man to death with it.”

Hiram Patterson “Varicose veins. Promoted to corporal, for reasons best known to officers.”

T. Perkins “Very shaky in action. At some other times very drunk. Wasn’t built right inside for a soldier.”

Ben Ross “Teamster. Not violent as a patriot, except at the mess table.”

G.S. Richardson “Piles. A great wit, and aggravator of simple ones. Would make a mule whicker.”

T.B. Sanders “Fought two battles and then hunted a soft place for the rest of his term.”

Josh W. Small “Most always sick. Suspected of eating soap and other choice edibles.”

W.A. Small “Last and least of the Smalls. Liver all bleached out. Had ‘left his girl behind him.’ ”

John Wildes “Consumptive. A scrawny old maid. Looked like an Egyptian mummy. Tough as a boiled fowl. Discharged.”

[thea_447]

Lieutenant James Carman writes to his father Martin W. Carman about the Battle of Fredericksburg, the lateness of his pay, and his desire to resign from the army.

Camp on the Rappahannock Va
Wednesday Dec 17th 1862
Dear ****her


I received Your letter of the 23rd of Nov. I was glad to hear from You, and that You were all well. But ****her Since I received Your letter there has been another great battle over the river I was in it and came out unhurt in deed I have escaped Wonderfully. Although there was but one Officer in our regiment Wounded Oour Brigade was in the fight all day until 3 Oclock . I think it was the greatest Battle of the war, there was two hundred thousand troop on each Side, our loss is heavy, about twelve thousand in Killed wounded and missing. Our line of Battle was 7 miles in lenght . "Just to think of it."

****her , I never want to get into another battle it is terrible Persons falling all around me. if I ever trusted in God I did that time the fight was on last Saturday the 13rd" inst We went over the river the 12th. The rebels have too Strong a point there to rout them as they have all the hills and have breastworks thrown up, so it is impossible to whip them behind their works consequently we have fell back on this side of the river. The 107th" done its duty like men it has great praise for its gallantry.

****her , I Saw the Safe Harbor boys Pickel &amp; Cline Young's son Just a few days before the Battle. it is Said the reserves lost greatly in the fight I have not seen them since. The Weather is now getting very cold the army is Suffering on account of the cold We layed out in the open fields and woods without tents or eny other Shelter for nearly one week before the Battle on frost and snow Whilst the Stay at home party were enjoyin their goodwarm beds. I wish we had them down here with us for one week they would be Satisfied.

****her if my resignation would be exceped I would resign right away but there has been some half dozen Sent in from our regiment but they were all sent back but one. therefore it is no use for me to try it. My hopes we will go into winter quarters about the first of the Year. our Paymaster has never Shown his face Yet. it is two bad on the first of January there will be six months pay due me ($600.63.) I think the next muster we will get it which is on the 1st of January.

I am enjoying good health but I would Sooner be at home I feel now that I have done my duty and would like to See Some others do theirs.

I received a letter from Margaret with her likeness a week or two ago. also one from William &amp; Sarah. I have not received none from Francis Since You wrote I will write to him again prehaps he does not get my letters. I direct them as I did always.

Give my love to Susan Cornelius &amp; all the rest and if I can get home I assure You I will come. Hoping You all are well



I remain ever
your son


J. A. Harman, Lieut, Co. E. 107th" Regt, P Vols

[thea_447]

From General George Pickett to his wife Sally:
XVIII
Written While He Awaited the Order to
Charge at Gettysburg
CAN my prettice do patchwork? If she can, she must piece together these penciled scraps of soiled paper and make out of them, not a log-cabin quilt, but a wren's nest, cement it with love and fill it with blue and golden and speckled eggs of faith and hope, to hatch out greater love yet for us.
Well, the long, wearying march from Chambersburg, through dust and heat beyond compare, brought us here yesterday (a few miles from Gettysburg). Though my poor men were almost exhausted by the march in the intense heat, I felt that the exigencies demanded my assuring Marse Robert that we had arrived and that, with a few hours' rest, my men would be equal to anything he might require of them. I sent Walter with my message and rode on myself to Little Round Top


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to see Old Peter, who, I tell you, dearest, was mighty glad to see me. And now, just think of it, though the old war-horse was watching A. P. Hill's attack upon the center and Hood and McLaws of his own corps, who had struck Sickles, he turned and before referring to the fighting or asking about the march inquired after you, my darling! While we were watching the fight Walter came back with Marse Robert's reply to my message, which was in part: "Tell Pickett I'm glad that he has come, that I can always depend upon him and his men, but that I shall not want him this evening."

We have been on the qui vive, sweetheart, since midnight and as early as three o'clock were on the march. About half past three, Gary's pistol signaled the Yankees' attack upon Culp's Hill, and with its echo a wail of regret went up from my very soul that the other two brigades of my old division had been left behind. Oh, God, if only I had them—a surety for the honor of Virginia, for I can depend upon them, little one. They know your Soldier and would follow him into


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the very jaws of death—and he will need them, right here, too, before he's through.

At early dawn, darkened by the threatening rain, Armistead, Garnett, Kemper and your Soldier held a heart-to-heart powwow.

All three sent regards to you, and Old Lewis pulled a ring from his little finger and making me take it, said, "Give this little token, George, please, to her of the sunset eyes, with my love, and tell her the 'old man' says since he could not be the lucky dog he's mighty glad that you are."

Dear old Lewis—dear old "Lo," as Magruder always called him, being short for Lothario. Well, my Sally, I'll keep the ring for you, and some day I'll take it to John Tyler and have it made into a breastpin and set around with rubies and diamonds and emeralds. You will be the pearl, the other jewel. Dear old Lewis!

Just as we three separated to go our different ways after silently clasping hands, our fears and prayers voiced in the "Good luck,


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old man," a summons came from Old Peter, and I immediately rode to the top of the ridge where he and Marse Robert were making a reconnaissance of Meade's position. "Great God!" said Old Peter as I came up. "Look, General Lee, at the insurmountable difficulties between our line and that of the Yankees—the steep hills, the tiers of artillery, the fences, the heavy skirmish line—and then we'll have to fight our infantry against their batteries. Look at the ground we'll have to charge over, nearly a mile of that open ground there under the rain of their canister and shrapnel."

"The enemy is there, General Longstreet, and I am going to strike him," said Marse Robert in his firm, quiet, determined voice.

About 8 o'clock I rode with them along our line of prostrate infantry. They had been told to lie down to prevent attracting attention, and though they had been forbidden to cheer they voluntarily arose and lifted in reverential adoration their caps to our beloved commander as we rode slowly along.


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Oh, the responsibility for the lives of such men as these! Well, my darling, their fate and that of our beloved Southland will be settled ere your glorious brown eyes rest on these scraps of penciled paper—your Soldier's last letter, perhaps.

Our line of battle faces Cemetery Ridge. Our detachments have been thrown forward to support our artillery which stretches over a mile along the crests of Oak Ridge and Seminary Ridge. The men are lying in the rear, my darling, and the hot July sun pours its scorching rays almost vertically down upon them. The suffering and waiting are almost unbearable.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Well, my sweetheart, at one o'clock the awful silence was broken by a cannon-shot and then another, and then more than a hundred guns shook the hills from crest to base, answered by more than another hundred—the whole world a blazing volcano, the whole of heaven a thunderbolt—then darkness and absolute silence—then the grim and gruesome, low-spoken commands—then the forming of


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the attacking columns. My brave Virginians are to attack in front. Oh, may God in mercy help me as He never helped before!

I have ridden up to report to Old Peter. I shall give him this letter to mail to you and a package to give you if—Oh, my darling, do you feel the love of my heart, the prayer, as I write that fatal word?

Now, I go; but remember always that I love you with all my heart and soul, with every fiber of my being; that now and forever I am yours—yours, my beloved. It is almost three o'clock. My soul reaches out to yours—my prayers. I'll keep up a skoo*** tumtum for Virginia and for you, my darling.

YOUR SOLDIER.

Gettysburg, July 3, 1863.

[thea_447]

General George Pickett to his wife Sally:
XIX
Relating Certain Incidents of the Great
Battle
MY letter of yesterday, my darling, written before the battle, was full of hope and cheer; even though it told you of the long hours of waiting from four in the morning, when Gary's pistol rang out from the Federal lines signaling the attack upon Culp's Hill, to the solemn eight-o'clock review of my men, who rose and stood silently lifting their hats in loving reverence as Marse Robert, Old Peter and your own Soldier reviewed them—on then to the deadly stillness of the five hours following, when the men lay in the tall grass in the rear of the artillery line, the July sun pouring its scorching rays almost vertically down upon them, till one o'clock when the awful silence of the vast battlefield was broken by a cannon-shot which opened the greatest artillery duel of the world. The
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firing lasted two hours. When it ceased we took advantage of the blackened field and in the glowering darkness formed our attacking column just before the brow of Seminary Ridge.

I closed my letter to you a little before three o'clock and rode up to Old Peter for orders. I found him like a great lion at bay. I have never seen him so grave and troubled. For several minutes after I had saluted him he looked at me without speaking. Then in an agonized voice, the reserve all gone, he said:

"Pickett, I am being crucified at the thought of the sacrifice of life which this attack will make. I have instructed Alexander to watch the effect of our fire upon the enemy, and when it begins to tell he must take the responsibility and give you your orders, for I can't."

While he was yet speaking a note was brought to me from Alexander. After reading it I handed it to him, asking if I should obey and go forward. He looked at me for a moment, then held out his hand. Presently, clasping his other hand over mine without


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speaking he bowed his head upon his breast. I shall never forget the look in his face nor the clasp of his hand when I said:—"Then, General, I shall lead my Division on." I had ridden only a few paces when I remembered your letter and (forgive me) thoughtlessly scribbled in a corner of the envelope, "If Old Peter's nod means death then good-by and God bless you, little one," turned back and asked the dear old chief if he would be good enough to mail it for me. As he took your letter from me, my darling, I saw tears glistening on his cheeks and beard. The stern old war-horse, God bless him, was weeping for his men and, I know, praying too that this cup might pass from them. I obeyed the silent assent of his bowed head, an assent given against his own convictions,—given in anguish and with reluctance.

My brave boys were full of hope and confident of victory as I led them forth, forming them in column of attack, and though officers and men alike knew what was before them,—knew the odds against them,—they eagerly offered up their lives on the altar of duty, having absolute faith in their ultimate success.


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Over on Cemetery Ridge the Federals beheld a scene never before witnessed on this continent,—a scene which has never previously been enacted and can never take place again—an army forming in line of battle in full view, under their very eyes—charging across a space nearly a mile in length over fields of waving grain and anon of stubble and then a smooth expanse—moving with the steadiness of a dress parade, the pride and glory soon to be crushed by an overwhelming heartbreak. 1

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Well, it is all over now. The battle is lost, and many of us are prisoners, many are dead, many wounded, bleeding and dying. Your Soldier lives and mourns and but for you, my darling, he would rather, a million times rather, be back there with his dead, to sleep for all time in an unknown grave.

Your sorrowing

SOLDIER.

In Camp, July 4, 1863.



1. Here follows a detailed account of the battle, which is omitted from this volume for the reasons given in the note on page 211.


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XX
Written in Sorrow and Defeat, Three Days
After the Struggle
ON the Fourth—far from a glorious Fourth to us or to any with love for his fellow-men—I wrote you just a line of heartbreak. The sacrifice of life on that blood-soaked field on the fatal third was too awful for the heralding of victory, even for our victorious foe, who I think, believe as we do, that it decided the fate of our cause. No words can picture the anguish of that roll-call—the breathless waits between the responses. The "Here" of those who, by God's mercy, had miraculously escaped the awful rain of shot and shell was a sob—a gasp—a knell—for the unanswered name of his comrade. There was no tone of thankfulness for having been spared to answer to their names, but rather a toll, and an unvoiced wish that they, too, had been among the missing.


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Even now I can hear them cheering as I gave the order, "Forward!" I can feel the thrill of their joyous voices as they called out all along the line, "We'll follow you, Marse George. We'll follow you—we'll follow you." Oh, how faithfully they kept their word—following me on—on—to their death, and I, believing in the promised support, led them on—on—on—Oh, God!

I can't write you a love-letter to-day, my Sally, for with my great love for you and my gratitude to God for sparing my life to devote to you, comes the overpowering thought of those whose lives were sacrificed—of the broken-hearted widows and mothers and orphans. The moans of my wounded boys, the sight of the dead, upturned faces, flood my soul with grief—and here am I whom they trusted, whom they followed, leaving them on that field of carnage—and guarding four thousand prisoners across the river back to Winchester. Such a duty for men who a few hours ago covered themselves with glory eternal!

Well, my darling, I put the prisoners all on their honor and gave them equal liberties with


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my own soldier boys. My first command to them was to go and enjoy themselves the best they could, and they have obeyed my order. To-day a Dutchman and two of his comrades came up and told me that they were lost and besought me to help them find their comrades. They had been with my men and were separated from their own comrades. So I sent old Floyd off on St. Paul to find out where they belonged and deliver them.

This is too gloomy and too poor a letter for so beautiful a sweetheart, but it seems sacrilegious, almost, to say I love you, with the hearts that are stilled to love on the field of battle.

YOUR SOLDIER.

Headquarters, July 6, 1863.



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XXI
Containing Further Details of the Battle
I AM enclosing you a copy of General Lee's official letter of July 9th, in answer to mine of the 8th, the same day on which I wrote you (who deserved something brighter) that ghostly, woeful letter.
General Lee's letter has been published to the division in general orders and received with appreciative satisfaction. The soldiers, one and all, love and honor Lee, and his sympathy and praise are always very dear to them. Just after the order was published I heard one of the men, rather rough and uncouth and not, as are most of the men, to the manner born, say, as he wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, "Dag-gone him, dag-gone him, dag-gone his old soul, I'm blamed ef I wouldn't be dag-gone willin' to go right through it all and be killed again with them others to hear Marse Robert, dag-gone him,


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say over again as how he grieved bout'n we-all's losses and honored us for we-all's bravery! Darned ef I wouldn't." Isn't that reverential adoration, my darling, to be willing to be "killed again" for a word of praise?

It seems selfish and inhuman to speak of Love—haunted as I am with the unnecessary sacrifice of the lives of so many of my brave boys. I can't think of anything but the desolate homes in Virginia and the unknown dead in Pennsylvania. At the beginning of the fight I was so sanguine, so sure of success! Early in the morning I had been assured by Alexander that General Lee had ordered that every brigade in his command was to charge Cemetery Hill; so I had no fear of not being supported. Alexander also assured me of the support of his artillery which would move ahead of my division in the advance. He told me that he had borrowed seven twelve-pound howitzers from Pendleton, Lee's Chief of Artillery, which he had put in reserve to accompany me.

In the morning I rode with him while he, by Longstreet's orders, selected the salient


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angle of the wood in which my line was formed, which line was just on the left of his seventy-five guns. At about a quarter to three o'clock, when his written order to make the charge was handed to me, and dear Old Peter after reading it in sorrow and fear reluctantly bowed his head in assent, I obeyed, leading my three brigades straight on the enemy's front. You never saw anything like it. They moved across that field of death as a battalion marches forward in line of battle upon drill, each commander in front of his command leading and cheering on his men. Two lines of the enemy's infantry were driven back; two lines of guns were taken—and no support came. Pendleton, without Alexander's knowledge, had sent four of the guns which he had loaned him to some other part of the field, and the other three guns could not be found. The two brigades which were to have followed me had, poor fellows, been seriously engaged in the fights of the two previous days. Both of their commanding officers had been killed, and while they had been replaced by gallant, competent officers,

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these new leaders were unknown to the men.

Ah, if I had only had my other two brigades a different story would have been flashed to the world. It was too late to retreat, and to go on was death or capture. Poor old Dick Garnett did not dismount, as did the others of us, and he was killed instantly, falling from his horse. Kemper, desperately wounded, was brought from the field and subsequently, taken prisoner. Dear old Lewis Armistead, God bless him, was mortally wounded at the head of his command after planting the flag of Virginia within the enemy's lines. Seven of my colonels were killed, and one was mortally wounded. Nine of my lieutenant colonels were wounded, and three lieutenant colonels were killed. Only one field officer of my whole command, Colonel Cabell, was unhurt, and the loss of my company officers was in proportion.

I wonder, my dear, if in the light of the Great Eternity we shall any of us feel this was for the best and shall have learned to say, "Thy will be done."

No castles to-day, sweetheart. No, the


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bricks of happiness and the mortar of love must lie untouched in this lowering gloom. Pray, dear, for the sorrowing ones.

YOUR SOLDIER

[scone]

"It was really unpleasant to hear the cries and groans of the wounded, yet I think it would have been worse to see the field of slaughter the next morning.* At 12 M. we left for Nashville"*--Pvt. John K. King, Co. A, 80th Indiana Nov. 30th 1864

[cash]

I wouldn't put much stock in the idea that Pickett actually wrote those letters. It's been shown pretty conclusively that LaSalle Pickett fabricated many of the letters she claimed GEP sent her. The more flowery and romantic the letter, the greater the probability it's a LaSalle Pickett composition.

Regards,
Cash