They Would Rather Die

While walking the fields of the Brawner Farm at the Manassas Battlefield, I came upon a narrow woodland trail, soggy with the recent heavy autumn rains. In the summer of 1862, just yards from this place, Union men marched east searching for the elusive Stonewall Jackson and his Corps of veterans. Jackson would remain out of site along the cut of an unfinished rail road, awaiting the opportunity to pounce on the prey that erroneously believed that they hunted him. As the blue coats passed along the road in his front, Jackson opened fire. Act one of the sanguinary drama had begun.

Looking to the wood line north of the road, Union Brigadier General John Gibbon ordered the 2nd Wisconsin Infantry forward to scatter what he mistakenly identified as Confederate horse artillery. Instead, he soon discovered his single regiment challenged Stonewall Jackson's entire command. Gibbon quickly ordered his brigade forward while the Virginians held firm, striving to obliterate their Federal foes.

Both sides shunned maneuver. Neither stood more than 80 yards apart, firing directly into each others' lines. Both endured incredible casualties. After several hours, the slug-fest ended with darkness appropriating the grimly contested ground. The men in blue withdrew to safer quarters and awaited tomorrow's fight.

In his official report, General Jackson would say only, "The loss on both sides was heavy..." John Gibbon's report more thoroughly underscored the reaper's ghastly harvest. "The total loss of the brigade is, killed, 133; wounded, 539; missing, 79. Total, 751." In just a few hours, he lost over one-third of his entire command.

Along the path on which I walked I found a small marker, faded, cracking, and seemingly forgotten. The lettering, light but readable, spoke to anyone who would hear of deeds some fourteen decades past. As the whispers of horror and heroism fade with time, this tiny sentinel cracks open a window into a time that violently forged our country's identity. The faded facade still bears the words of a nameless soldier, long since dead, who once more speaks of the events of that day.

"We soon found that we had to deal with General Ewell's whole division of picked men. We advanced within hailing distance of each other, then halted and laid down, and my God, what a slaughter! No one appeared to know the object of the fight, and there we stood one hour, the men falling all around; but we got no orders to fall back, and Wisconsin men would rather die than fall back without orders."

Many on both sides did.

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

Private George Warner, 20th Connecticut

On Friday, July 3, 1863, the third day of the Battle of Gettysburg, the 20th Connecticut Volunteer Infantry advanced stubbornly towards the Confederates who had taken their earthworks the previous night. Since before dawn, Union artillery had been shelling the Southern lines adding to the effort to drive the boys in gray off of Culp's Hill.

The 20th received orders not just to dislodge their foes but to relay back to the Union artillery the position of their Southern adversaries. As the fire increased and men in blue began to fall, the 20th's Colonel William Wooster grew increasingly angry. His blood boiled not because of the stubbornly resisting Confederates but due to the Union shells that began to strike his own men. When an exploding round slammed into Private George Warner, Colonel Wooster sent word to the artillery that if they again harmed anyone in his care, he would order the 20th to turn about and charge the batteries.

The commander of the Brigade to which the Connecticut regiment belonged, Archibald L. McDougall described what the 20th endured. "Lieutenant-Colonel Wooster, who was in command of this regiment, had a difficult and responsible duty to perform. He was not only required to keep the enemy in check, but encountered great difficulty, while resisting the enemy, in protecting himself against the fire of our own artillery, aimed partly over his command at the enemy in and near our intrenchments. His greatest embarrassment was, the farther he pushed the enemy the more directly he was placed under the fire of our own guns. Some of his men became severely wounded by our artillery fire. "

In his own official report, Colonel Wooster would expand upon the trials his men faced. "...The enemy were endeavoring to advance through the woods, so as to turn the right flank of the Second Division, and were met and successfully resisted by my regiment. In this position I was enabled to repeatedly communicate to the colonel commanding the brigade and the general commanding the division the movements of the enemy in our immediate front, thereby enabling our artillery to more accurately obtain the range of the enemy and to greatly increase the effectiveness of our shells. At times it became necessary to advance my left wing to successfully repulse the advancing column of the enemy, and again to retire my whole command to save it from being destroyed by our own artillery."

In his official report, Colonel McDougall would ensure that the stalwart New Englanders received the praise they had so rightfully earned on this trying and historic day. "It is also my duty to acknowledge the brave and gallant manner with which Lieutenant-Colonel Wooster, commanding the Twentieth Connecticut Volunteers, as well as the officers and men under his command, while in action on the 3d instant, aided in the recovery of our intrenchments. For several hours, without flinching, they maintained a steady contest with the enemy, enduring part of the time an afflictive and discouraging, though accidental, fire of our own batteries."

Twenty years later, the men from Connecticut would erect a modest monument on the portion of Culp's Hill that they had helped to secure. Private Warner, who miraculously survived his grievous wounding, received the high honor of unveiling the 20th's monument. The task was not a simple one given that the Union artillery's misfires had cost him both of his arms. Still, the Connecticut veterans would not allow this to stand in the way of honoring Pvt. Warner. A rope tied around his waist and a specially rigged pulley allowed the hardy veteran, by simply walking backwards, to raise the veil on the monument honoring the sacrifices of Connecticut's sons.

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

Sources:
Gettysburg: Stories of Men and Monuments
The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies.

Captain Henry T. Owen, CSA

On July 3, 1863, Captain Henry T. Owen of Company C, 18th Virginia, marched with his men into the face of death. As players in Pickett's Charge, they stepped away from Seminary Ridge and, along with over 12,000 others, surged forward into a storm of artillery fire and the roar of several thousand muskets. Surviving the assault, Captain Owen would take command of the 18th after most of the regiment's other officers died or received disabling wounds. Some time later, he wrote to his wife of a dream that haunted him as the horror of that battle lingered on.

"Far away to the front, I saw the dim outlines of lofty hills, broken rocks, and frightful precepts which resembled Gettysburg. As we advanced further, I found we were fighting that great battle over again and I saw something before me like a thin shadow which I tried to get around and go by. But it kept in front of me and whichever way I turned, it still appeared between me and the enemy. Nobody else seemed to see or notice the shadow which looked as thin as smoke and did not prevent my seeing the enemy distinctly through it. I felt troubled and oppressed but still the shadow went on before me. I pushed forward in the thickest of the fray trying to lose sight of it and went all through the battle of Gettysburg again with this shadow forever before me and between me and the enemy.

And when I came out behind the danger of shot, it spoke to me and said, "I am the angel that protected you. I will never leave nor forsake you."

The surprise was so great, that I awoke and burst into tears. What had I done that should entitle me to such favor beyond the hundreds of brave and reputed men who had fallen on that day leaving widowed mothers and widowed wives, orphaned children and disconsolate families to mourn their fates?"

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

Source:
The War of Confederate Captain Henry T. Owen

Walt Whitman and the Wounded Soldiers

I thought I might post a few excerpts from Walt Whitman's wonderful work "Specimen Days" about his time spent helping wounded soldiers during the war.

"Fifty Hours Left Wounded on the Field

HERE is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the Patent-office. He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will listen to him. He got badly hit in his leg and side at Fredericksburgh that eventful Saturday, 13th of December. He lay the succeeding two days and nights helpless on the field, between the city and those grim terraces of batteries; his company and regiment had been compell’d to leave him to his fate. To make matters worse, it happen’d he lay with his head slightly down hill, and could not help himself. At the end of some fifty hours he was brought off, with other wounded, under a flag of truce. I ask him how the rebels treated him as he lay during those two days and nights within reach of them—whether they came to him—whether they abused him? He answers that several of the rebels, soldiers and others, came to him at one time and another. A couple of them, who were together, spoke roughly and sarcastically, but nothing worse. One middle-aged man, however, who seem’d to be moving around the field, among the dead and wounded, for benevolent purposes, came to him in a way he will never forget; treated our soldier kindly, bound up his wounds, cheer’d him, gave him a couple of biscuits and a drink of whiskey and water; asked him if he could eat some beef. This good secesh, however, did not change our soldier’s position, for it might have caused the blood to burst from the wounds, clotted and stagnated. Our soldier is from Pennsylvania; has had a pretty severe time; the wounds proved to be bad ones. But he retains a good heart, and is at present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men to remain on the field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.)

The Wounded from Chancellorsville

May, ’63.—AS I write this, the wounded have begun to arrive from Hooker’s command from bloody Chancellorsville. I was down among the first arrivals. The men in charge told me the bad cases were yet to come. If that is so I pity them, for these are bad enough. You ought to see the scene of the wounded arriving at the landing here at the foot of Sixth street, at night. Two boat loads came about half-past seven last night. A little after eight it rain’d a long and violent shower. The pale, helpless soldiers had been debark’d, and lay around on the wharf and neighborhood anywhere. The rain was, probably, grateful to them; at any rate they were exposed to it. The few torches light up the spectacle. All around—on the wharf, on the ground, out on side places—the men are lying on blankets, old quilts, &c., with bloody rags bound round heads, arms, and legs. The attendants are few, and at night few outsiders also—only a few hard-work’d transportation men and drivers. (The wounded are getting to be common, and people grow callous.) The men, whatever their condition, lie there, and patiently wait till their turn comes to be taken up. Near by, the ambulances are now arriving in clusters, and one after another is call’d to back up and take its load. Extreme cases are sent off on stretchers. The men generally make little or no ado, whatever their sufferings. A few groans that cannot be suppress’d, and occasionally a scream of pain as they lift a man into the ambulance. To-day, as I write, hundreds more are expected, and to-morrow and the next day more, and so on for many days. Quite often they arrive at the rate of 1000 a day.

Bad Wounds—The Young

THE SOLDIERS are nearly all young men, and far more American than is generally supposed—I should say nine-tenths are native-born. Among the arrivals from Chancellorsville I find a large proportion of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois men. As usual, there are all sorts of wounds. Some of the men fearfully burnt from the explosions of artillery caissons. One ward has a long row of officers, some with ugly hurts. Yesterday was perhaps worse than usual. Amputations are going on—the attendants are dressing wounds. As you pass by, you must be on your guard where you look. I saw the other day a gentleman, a visitor apparently from curiosity, in one of the wards, stop and turn a moment to look at an awful wound they were probing. He turn’d pale, and in a moment more he had fainted away and fallen on the floor.

Death of a Hero

I WONDER if I could ever convey to another—to you, for instance, reader dear—the tender and terrible realities of such cases, (many, many happen’d,) as the one I am now going to mention. Stewart C. Glover, company E, 5th Wisconsin—was wounded May 5, in one of those fierce tussles of the Wilderness—died May 21—aged about 20. He was a small and beardless young man—a splendid soldier—in fact almost an ideal American, of his age. He had serv’d nearly three years, and would have been entitled to his discharge in a few days. He was in Hancock’s corps. The fighting had about ceas’d for the day, and the general commanding the brigade rode by and call’d for volunteers to bring in the wounded. Glover responded among the first—went out gayly—but while in the act of bearing in a wounded sergeant to our lines, was shot in the knee by a rebel sharpshooter; consequence, amputation and death. He had resided with his father, John Glover, an aged and feeble man, in Batavia, Genesee country, N. but was at school in Wisconsin, after the war broke out, and there enlisted—soon took to soldier-life, liked it, was very manly, was belov’d by officers and comrades. He kept a little diary, like so many of the soldiers. On the day of his death he wrote the following in it, to-day the doctor says I must die—all is over with me—ah, so young to die. On another blank leaf he pencill’d to his brother, dear brother Thomas, I have been brave but wicked—pray for me.

Unnamed Remains the Bravest Soldier

OF scenes like these, I say, who writes—whoe’er can write the story? Of many a score—aye, thousands, north and south, of unwrit heroes, unknown heroisms, incredible, impromptu, first-class desperations—who tells? No history ever—no poem sings, no music sounds, those bravest men of all—those deeds. No formal general’s report, nor book in the library, nor column in the paper, embalms the bravest, north or south, east or west. Unnamed, unknown, remain, and still remain, the bravest soldiers. Our manliest—our boys—our hardy darlings; no picture gives them. Likely, the typic one of them (standing, no doubt, for hundreds, thousands,) crawls aside to some bush-clump, or ferny tuft, on receiving his death-shot—there sheltering a little while, soaking roots, grass and soil, with red blood—the battle advances, retreats, flits from the scene, sweeps by—and there, haply with pain and suffering (yet less, far less, than is supposed,) the last lethargy winds like a serpent round him—the eyes glaze in death—none recks—perhaps the burial-squads, in truce, a week afterwards, search not the secluded spot—and there, at last, the Bravest Soldier crumbles in mother earth, unburied and unknown."

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

Source: Walt Whitman: Specimen Days

Such is War

20th Connecticut Monument on Culp's Hill
Gettysburg National Military Park
After the fighting ended on July 3, 1863, the grim task of caring for the wounded and of burying the dead occupied the time of the soldiers until ordered to move from the battlefield. Corporal Horatio Chapman, 20th Connecticut, described it thus.

"We built fires all over the battle field and the dead of the blue and gray were being buried all night, and the wounded carried to the hospital. We made no distinction between our own and the confederate wounded, but treated them both alike, and although we had been engaged in fierce and deadly combat all day and weary and all begrimed with smoke and powder and dust, many of us went around among the wounded and gave cooling water or hot coffee to drink. The confederates were surprised and so expressed themselves that they received such kind treatment at our hands, and some of the slightly wounded were glad they were wounded and our prisoners. But in front of our breastworks, where the confederates were massed in large numbers, the sight was truly awful and appalling. The shells from our batteries had told with fearful and terrible effect upon them and the dead in some places were piled upon each other, and the groans and moans of the wounded were truly saddening to hear. Some were just alive and gasping, but unconscious. Others were mortally wounded and were conscious of the f act that they could not live long; and there were others wounded, how bad they could not tell, whether mortal or otherwise, and so it was they would linger on some longer and some for a shorter time-without the sight or consolation of wife, mother, sister or friend.

I saw a letter sticking out of the breast pocket of one of the confederate dead, a young man apparently about twenty-four. Curiosity prompted me to read it. It was from his young wife away down in the state of Louisiana. She was hoping and longing that this cruel war would end and he could come home, and she says, "Our little boy gets into my lap and says, `Now, Mama, I will give you a kiss for Papa.' But oh how I wish you could come home and kiss me for yourself." But this is only one in a thousand. But such is war and we are getting used to it and can look on scenes of war, carnage and suffering with but very little feeling and without a shudder."

Respectfully,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

More of this quote and further information on the 20th Connecticut can be found at 20th Connecticut Infantry Volunteers

A Soldier's Grim Remembrance

Oft times, the glory of war fades when confronted with a soldier's grim reality.

"The hoarse and indistinguishable orders of commanding officers, the screaming and bursting of shells, canister and shrapnel as they tore through the struggling masses of humanity, the death screams of wounded animals, the groans of their human companions, wounded and dying and trampled underfoot by hurrying batteries, riderless horses and the moving lines of battle-a perfect Hell on earth, never, perhaps to be equaled, certainly not to be surpassed, nor ever to be forgotten in a man's lifetime. It has never been effaced from my memory, day or night, for fifty years."

Reminiscences of the Rebellion - William Archibald Waugh

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

History's Familiar Ring

Occasionally, I receive a strange look or awkward glance when I mention my passion for the American Civil War. The inevitable question soon follows concerning the relevance of events some 140 years past. That history forgotten repeats itself may appear too trite a response. Yet, consider this comment by Frank Haskell, an Army of the Potomac veteran and soldier at the Battle of Gettysburg. His sentiments possess a very familiar ring.



Cemetery Ridge south of the Copse of Trees,
part of the ground Lt. Frank Haskell helped to defend.
"But men there are who think that nothing was gained or done well in this battle, because some other general did not have the command, or because any portion of the army of the enemy was permitted to escape capture or destruction. As if one army of a hundred thousand men could encounter another of the same number of as good troops and annihilate it! Military men do not claim or expect this; but the McClellan destroyers do, the doughty knights of purchasable newspaper quills; the formidable warriors from the brothels of politics, men of much warlike experience against honesty and honor, of profound attainments in ignorance, who have the maxims of Napoleon, whose spirit they as little understand as they most things, to quote, to prove all things; but who, unfortunately, have much influence in the country and with the Government, and so over the army. It is very pleasant for these people, no doubt, at safe distances from guns, in the enjoyment of a lucrative office, or of a fraudulently obtained government contract, surrounded by the luxuries of their own firesides, where mud and flooding storms, and utter weariness never penetrate, to discourse of battles and how campaigns should be conducted and armies of the enemy destroyed. But it should be enough, perhaps, to say that men here, or elsewhere, who have knowledge enough of military affairs to entitle them to express an opinion on such matters, and accurate information enough to realize the nature and the means of this desired destruction of Lee's army before it crossed the Potomac into Virginia, will be most likely to vindicate the Pennsylvania campaign of Gen. Meade, and to see that he accomplished all that could have been reasonably expected of any general of any army."

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

About the Trees

This last Wednesday, I found myself once again happily tramping across the fields of the Gettysburg Battlefield, eager to see the National Park Service’s most recent restorative efforts. Their unrelenting determination continuously moves the park’s sacred grounds towards their 1863 appearance. Having read of the most recent works, I enthusiastically moved from Seminary Ridge towards a particular point of interest. The Peach Orchard, for years reliably home to a small collection of fruit trees, revealed the most dramatic changes. The fields, meticulously plowed and tilled, now housed not one tree.


Monument to the 68th Pennsylvania Infantry
framed by the now empty Peach Orchard
Captivated by the vegetative vacuum, I walked slowly around the edges of the barren field, careful to avoid stepping on what seemed a still tender portion of the now wounded battlefield. With anticipatory delight, each step inspired visions of how these same grounds would appear just two years hence when fresh, healthy trees reached again towards the sun. Strong, healthy peach trees would soon proudly take the place of those which had so steadily adorned these fields for decades. Camera in hand, I snapped as many pictures from as many angles as the evasive, cloud shrouded sunlight would allow. After collecting a sufficient number of photos, I walked back towards my car expecting no further surprises.

Then I walked out onto the Emmitsburg Road. Stopping to investigate an old isolated marble obelisk, I took the time to read the fading inscription worn by a century of snow, wind, and rain. The sounds of the highway behind me, the bite of the still chilling spring winds, and the visions of the surrounding fields melted away. The marble carved words held my complete attention.

ERECTED BY THE SURVIVORS
OF THE 68TH REGT. P. V.
SCOTT LEGION
COL. A. H. TIPPIN COMMANDING
1ST BRIGADE 1ST DIVISION
3RD ARMY CORPS
IN MEMORY OF
183 OF OUR COMRADES
WHO FELL ON THIS FIELD
JULY 2ND AND 3RD 1863.
This silent stone sentry spoke clearly of what I should have known all along. I came here to see the restorations as the grounds steadily regressed to their condition 142 years past. But neither the stark changes to the landscape nor the crisp, nurtured beauty of the battlefield could ease the gut wrenching feeling produced by a few small words. The inscription said, “183 of our Comrades”. The men of this battle still spoke. They say to those who would pause to listen, “It never was about the trees“.

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

A Mangled Heap of Carnage

With his 35th birthday a few weeks away, Frank Aretas Haskell marched north with the Army of the Potomac. The blue-clad men picked up the gauntlet General Robert E. Lee had thrown down and now covered 20 to 30 miles a day in search of their familiar adversaries. The Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, somewhere in the vast mountainous countryside, had broken away from their lines near Fredericksburg, Virginia. The oft victorious Rebels pushed forward onto northern soil, their aims and goals entirely unknown. As the Union Army fanned out in pursuit, Frank Haskell noted, "The people of the country, I suppose, shared the anxieties of the army, somewhat in common with us, but they could not have felt them as keenly as we did. We were upon the immediate theatre of events, as they occurred from day to day, and were of them. We were the army whose province it should be to meet this invasion and repel it; on us was the immediate responsibility for results, most momentous for good or ill, as yet in the future. And so in addition to the solicitude of all good patriots, we felt that our own honor as men and as an army, as well as the safety of the Capitol and the country, were at stake."

He could not know that in a few short days, after colliding with their elusive foe, thousands would lay dead aside the tens of thousands wounded like so many ashes born of this sanguinary, windswept conflagration. In a description of events that Haskell penned for his brother, he conveyed the grim visage presented in the aftermath of the bloodshed of July 2, 1863, the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg.

"The fight done, the sudden revulsions of sense and feeling follow, which more or less characterize all similar occasions. How strange the stillness seems! The whole air roared with the conflict but a moment since-now all is silent; not a gunshot sound is heard, and the silence comes distinctly, almost painfully to the senses. And the sun purples the clouds in the West, and the sultry evening steals on as if there had been no battle, and the furious shout and the cannon’s roar had never shaken the earth. And how look these fields? We may see them before dark-the ripening grain, the luxuriant corn, the orchards, the grassy meadows, and in their midst the rural cottage of brick or wood. They were beautiful this morning. They are desolate now-trampled by the countless feet of the combatants, plowed and scored by the shot and shell, the orchards splinted, the fences prostrate, the harvest trodden in the mud. And more dreadful than the sight of all this, thickly strewn over all their length and breadth, are the habiliments of the soldiers, the knapsacks cast aside in the stress of the fight, or after the fatal lead had struck; haversacks yawning with the rations the owner will never call for; canteens of cedar of the Rebel men of Jackson, and of cloth-covered tin of the men of the Union; blankets and trowsers, and coats, and caps, and some are blue and some are gray; muskets and ramrods, and bayonets, and swords, and scabbards and belts, some bent and cut by the shot or shell; broken wheels, exploded caissons, and limber-boxes, and dismantled guns, and all these are sprinkled with blood; horses, some dead, a mangled heap of carnage, some alive, with a leg shot clear off, or other frightful wounds, appealing to you with almost more than brute gaze as you pass; and last, but not least numerous, many thousands of men-and there was no rebellion here now-the men of South Carolina were quiet by the side of those of Massachusetts, some composed, with upturned faces, sleeping the last sleep, some mutilated and frightful, some wretched fallen, bathed in blood, survivors still and unwilling witnesses of the rage of Gettysburg."

Respectfully,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved

***************

References for this article:

The Harvard Classics, American Historical Documents, P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, New York 1969

The One “Real” Hero of Gettysburg

Early this morning, I received a curious e-mail from a very pleasant visitor which, in part, read as follows:

“I just read the book “The Killer Angels” for my US History class and it was great! My teacher asked us a question in class the other day:

According to historians, who is the real Union hero at Gettysburg?

I’ve done a lot of research and have not found a concise answer. My personal feeling, based on the book, is that it’s Chamberlain. When I asked my teacher if it was Chamberlain, he said no. He said it’s someone that I wouldn’t expect - someone from the first day in battle.”

Needless to say, I found myself befuddled that historians as a whole had allegedly agreed upon the identity of the one true or “Real” Hero of Gettysburg. My mind scanned familiar and lesser known names seeking the possible identity of this singularly exceptional individual. The teacher’s words hinted that this one true hero, as agreed upon by historians, would prove to have been present July 1st but would not be an entirely obvious choice. The guardian of this valued tidbit of 19th Century trivia tactfully added that, although he wasn’t present July 1st, the mantle of real hero would not rest on Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. Conveniently ignoring the impression that few historians seem to hold consensus on much of anything, and instead of attempting to discern the mysterious person’s name, I wanted to consider the list of undeserving men these clues would necessarily eliminate.

The noted qualifications immediately exclude Union Major General Winfield Scott Hancock from contention. Although present on Day 1, he certainly would not pass as “someone that I wouldn’t expect”. General Hancock would, at the behest of General George Gordon Meade, take command of the field towards the end of July 1st, 1863, notwithstanding the presence of an officer of greater seniority and despite currently heading only a division which had not yet reached the town. That evening he would write to Meade “General: When I arrived here an hour since, I found that our troops had given up the front of Gettysburg and the town. We have now taken up a position in the cemetery….The battle is quiet now. I think we will be all right until night. I have sent all the trains back. When night comes it can be told better what had best be done. I think we can retire; if not, we can fight here, as the ground appears not unfavorable with good troops.”


General Winfield Scott Hancock Monument
Cemetery Hill, Gettysburg, PA
On July 2nd, after General Sickle’s grievous wounding, Meade would again direct General Hancock to assume command of both his and the crumbling 3rd Corps. Among other acts that day, the ubiquitous Hancock would separately send the 1st Minnesota and Colonel George Willard's Brigade into the fray at the expense of countless brave men to maintain the center of the Union lines. On Day 3, Hancock's 2nd Corps would play the primary role in repulsing the Confederates’ grand charge. While actively moving along the northern lines, he would suffer a painful thigh wound which would plague him until his death several decades later.

The details given eliminate Union Generals Buford and Reynolds from consideration as “Real” heroes since again, they might be “expected” to reside on the list of deserving contenders. Brigadier General John Buford’s defense in depth and the fighting of his cavalry as infantry to delay the Rebel advance would not qualify him for real hero status. Major General John Fulton Reynolds, commander of the left wing of the venerable Army of the Potomac would not pass the heroism test, despite assuming the responsibility for committing his Corps to stopping the Confederate advance and surrendering his life to preserve the opportunity for eventual Union possession of the crucial heights south of town. Before the deadly bullet struck, General Reynolds would commit to General Meade “…we will hold the heights to the south of the town” adding “I will barricade the streets of the town if necessary.” Possession of this high ground combined with tremendous northern sacrifice would two days hence win the field for the men in blue.

By the parameters given, the stalwart soldiers of the Iron Brigade could not bear the label “real heroes”, despite sacrificing 1,153 of 1,885 (61%) men defending the Federals' claim to the high ground. During their later withdrawal, in the midst of a leaden hailstorm, these men of iron would repeatedly, stubbornly reform their lines to contest the Confederate advance. Wounds and death served as the immediate reward most often received for the performing of their duties.

The 147th New York Infantry, who fought just to the north of the Midwesterners, would also be excluded despite remaining alone on the field in a brutal slugfest with several Confederate regiments of Brigadier General Joseph R. Davis’ Brigade. Believing they had no orders to retreat, the New Yorkers continued to stand firm even after all other Union troops on that section withdrew to safer ground. Union Brigadier General Lysander Culter would report “The loss of this gallant regiment was fearful at this point, being officers 2 killed and 10 wounded, 42 men killed and 153 wounded--207 out of 380 men and officers within half an hour.”

The men of the 6th Wisconsin, the 95th New York, and the 14th Brooklyn would apparently qualify as also-rans despite their sacrifice as they charged the Butternuts sheltered in the Railroad Cut. In Steven W. Sears excellent book simply entitled “Gettysburg” he relates what Colonel Rufus Dawes, commanding the 6th Wisconsin, wrote to his fiancée concerning their “victory” at the Cut. “Our bravest and best are cold in the ground or suffering on beds of anguish. One young man, Corporal James Kelley of Company B, shot through the breast came staggering up to me before he fell and, opening his shirt, to show the wound said, Colonel, won't you write to my folks that I died a soldier?"


Little Round Top, Gettysburg, PA
Since the real hero had to have been present on Day 1, this would also immediately disqualify Colonels Joshua L. Chamberlain, Strong Vincent, and Patrick O’Rorke, General Stephen Weed and Lieutenant Charles Hazlett. All but Colonel Chamberlain died on these grounds as they fought to preserve their fragile hold on Little Round Top, the far left of the entire Union line. Colonels Vincent and O'Rorke would fall leading their men in battle. Lieutenant Hazlett would receive his death blow as he bent over to hear the words of his dying friend, General Stephen Weed.

None of the Union’s decimated 3rd Corps would be so honored, nor would any of the Brigades who battered themselves against tenacious Confederate attackers coming to their defense. Colonel Cross’ brigade, the Irish Brigade, and those of General Zook, and Colonel Brooke would allegedly not qualify as real Gettysburg heroes.

The men of the 1st Minnesota who obeyed General Hancock’s desperate, near suicidal order to advance against an entire Southern brigade, seemingly do not qualify. Despite this slight in awarding heroic status, Lieutenant Lochren of Minnesota’s 1st Regiment would report sadly but with pride, “What Hancock had given us to do was done thoroughly. The regiment had stopped the enemy, held back its mighty force, and saved the position, and probably that battle-field. But at what a sacrifice! Nearly every officer was dead, or lay weltering with bloody wounds--our gallant colonel and every field-officer among them. Of the two hundred and sixty-two men who made the charge, two hundred and fifteen lay upon the field, struck down by Rebel bullets; forty-seven men were still in line, and not a man was missing.”

Colonel Willard’s men, who blunted the devastating onslaught of General William Barksdale’s Mississippians, would find themselves blacklisted despite the comments of their division commander. Brigadier General Alexander Hayes later would say, “The history of this brigade’s operations is written in blood...The loss of this brigade amounts to one-half the casualties in the division.” Just as his men achieved success, part of Colonel Willard’s head would be torn off by a Confederate shell as he strove to lead his men forward.

Brigadier General George Sears Greene could not serve as the ever elusive real hero. While commanding a line of men stretched precariously thin, he ordered them to build substantial earthworks and defend Culp's Hill to the last. His foresight and bold generalship allowed his 1,500 men, the only remaining on a hill held just hours before by the Union 12th Corps, to fend off repeated assaults from an entire Confederate Division some 4 times their number. But, since one might anticipate his candidacy, he would not fit the guidelines supplied.


69th Pennsylvania Monument, Gettysburg, PA
The rules set by the equally anonymous teacher would preclude from contention Generals Alexander Web, John Gibbon, and Alexander Hayes, each of whom displayed active, effective generalship during the repulse of Pickett’s Charge. The Ohioans and Vermonters, who flanked each end of the Confederate assault wreaking havoc on the unprotected Southerners, do not qualify. The men of the 69th New York, their ranks decimated as the offensive progressed while they dutifully held their ground at the swirling vortex of the leaden storm, do not qualify.

Since, by definition, only one “real” hero of Gettysburg exists, and since this paragon wore a uniform of blue, this would bar from consideration any of the butternuts contending from the other side of the field. None of the 23,000 to 28,000 killed, wounded, and missing apparently deserve status above that of “Gettysburg casualties”.

CSA Lieutenant General Longstreet, General Lee’s senior Corp commander and most trusted subordinate, would then find himself on the list of those excluded, despite the thoughts of Brigadier General James Kemper, a brigade commander in Pickett’s Division. He would later state of Longstreet’s conduct during the violent cannonade on July 3rd, “Longstreet rode slowly and alone immediately in front of our entire line. He sat his large charger with a magnificent grace and composure I never before beheld. His bearing was to me the grandest moral spectacle of the war. I expected to see him fall every instant. Still he moved on, slowly and majestically, with an inspiring confidence, composure, self-possession and repressed power in every movement and look that fascinated me."

Even General Robert Edward Lee would apparently prove lacking in spite of his leadership on Day 3. A British military observer, Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Freemantle of Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards, walked the Confederate lines as Pickett’s Charge advanced and ultimately failed. Watching General Lee move among the shattered remnants of the once formidable command, he would offer, "If Longstreet’s conduct was admirable, that of Lee was perfectly sublime. He was engaged in rallying and in encouraging the broken troops and was riding about a little in front of the wood, quite alone, the whole of his staff being engaged in a similar manner farther to the rear. His face, which was always placid and cheerful, did no show signs of the slightest disappointment, care, or annoyance; and he was addressing to every soldier he met a few words of encouragement, such as: ‘All this will come right in the end; we’ll talk it over afterwards; but in the meantime, all good men must rally. We want all good and true men just now,’ etc. He spoke to all the wounded men that passed him, and the slightly wounded he exhorted to ‘bind up their hurts and take up a musket’ in this emergency. Very few failed to answer his appeal, and I saw many badly wounded men take off their hats and cheer him.

I saw General Wilcox come up to him, and explain, almost crying, the state of his brigade. General Lee immediately shook hands with him and said cheerfully, 'Never mind, General, all this has been my fault. It is I that have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it in the best way you can.' In this manner I saw General Lee encourage and reanimate his dispirited troops and magnanimously take upon his own shoulders the whole weight of the repulse."

And so the list could continue of those perhaps deserving of a better fate than relegation to the status of mock heroism. Yet after this somewhat cathartic writing, the hope remains that this unknown teacher had in actuality posed a misleading question to encourage reflection concerning the qualities of heroism. Perhaps also he intended to lend understanding of the potential impact and limitations of one person’s actions in such great and tragic events. Certainly, in the quest for those who behaved heroically, the three days at Gettysburg provided countless examples and candidates.


A Union & Confederate Veteran at the 1913 Gettysburg Reunion
(Courtesy of the National Park Service)
If I may be so bold as to offer my opinion on this question, to me, along with the men named above and those who would forever sleep on the now sacred bloodstained fields, the greatest heroes of the Battle of Gettysburg will for all eternity remain those who lost fathers, husbands, sons, friends, comrades, limbs, sight, and other capacities only to then reconcile with their former adversaries with an eye towards mending the broken and bleeding country. A stroll along the Seminary Ridge wood line near where Pickett’s men weathered the cannonade reveals an example of this magnanimity noted on a National Park Service interpretive marker.

The placard notes that, from the cover of the woods along Seminary Ridge, Confederate Lieutenant Thomas C. Holland of the 28th Virginia waited with the men of his regiment. He and the soldiers of the 28th would endure the tremendous cannonade and then weather the swirling storm of iron and lead to cross the open fields and face their enemy. During the eventual determined surge of Pickett's Charge, a bullet slammed into Lieutenant Holland's face exiting through the back of his head.

Of the 88 men of the 28th Virginia to begin the charge, Lieutenant Holland found himself among the 81 noted casualties. Despite his grave wounding, he miraculously survived both the battle and the war. Half a century later, during one of Gettysburg’s Grand Reunions, on those same fields, he faced the Union soldier who had shot him. This time, as each beheld the other, they extended their now weaponless hands in mutual respect and friendship.

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved

******************
References for this article:

1. NPS: Voices of Battle
   
2. Home of the American Civil War: Buford’s Defense
   
3. Wikipedia: The Iron Brigade
   
4. eHistory: Official Records of the Rebellion
   
5. The Longstreet Chronicles
   
6. NPS: The Courage to Face Consequences
   
7. Gettysburg. Stephen W. Sears, Houghton Mifflin, 2003
   
8. The Generals of Gettysburg: The Leaders of America's Greatest Battle. Larry Tagg, DaCapo Press; July 1998
   

Manhood

During the winter of 1862-63, the Corbin family offered Confederate Lieutenant General Thomas J. Jackson the hospitality of Moss Neck Manor, their magnificent home along the Rappahannock River in Eastern Virginia. Perhaps the most feared Southern warrior, Jackson's formidable reputation had spread throughout the fiercely divided nation. In the spring of 1862, he had mystified Northern Generals in the Shenandoah Valley, crushing all forces unfortunate enough to make his acquaintance. He pushed his men to the brink of exhaustion and beyond while severely dealing with even mild infractions of discipline. Old Jack became the General who could change the fate of the young nation. Yet during his time at Moss Neck, he spent much time with six year old Janie, one of the Corbin's young daughters. As a staff officer would note, “Her pretty face and winsome ways were so charming that he requested her mother that she might visit him every afternoon, when the day’s labours were over. He had always some little treat in store for her—an orange or an apple—but one afternoon he found that his supply of good things was exhausted. Glancing round the room his eye fell on a new uniform cap, ornamented with a gold band. Taking his knife, he ripped off the braid, and fastened it among the curls of his little playfellow.”

When the spring campaigning season slipped away from winter's cold grasp, Jackson returned to the field leaving his little friend behind. Janie would not see her famous playmate again, but not because of his accidental wounding at Chancellorsville. Little Janie would die that spring of an illness 19th century medicine could neither prevent nor cure. When the General learned of the sad news, the stern warrior's heart shattered and he wept openly with some reporting that he fell to his knees in prayer. However, none interpreted the fearsome General's emotional display at the death of a child as a sign of potential weakness. This man who had to maintain razor sharp focus on the battlefield regardless of the human devastation enveloping him, cried at the loss of a little girl.

At some point in my education, I recall a professor discussing the genesis of the perceived lack of emotional expression in men, especially those throughout our country's founding days. This purveyor of psychosocial wisdom offered that, due to the many hardships encountered, men by necessity had to bury their feelings in order to set a steely example for the family. This no-nonsense pragmatic approach to a life fraught with danger would ensure the family's survival, or so the explanation continued, by concentrating only on the essentials of existence. Without grand, romantic sentimentality, the inevitable disasters and tragedies would neither overwhelm the intensely focused father nor distract him from providing for those depending upon his labors. The head of the household needed to be hard as nails, ready to fight the animals, hostiles, diseases or elements that may threaten his household. This attitude, this way of being, would allow the young family and the nation within which they lived to survive.

Certainly, the people of the 19th century placed value on the ability to endure hardship without complaint. General Ulysses S. Grant implied as much in his memoirs when discussing General Lee's surrender. Grant recalled, "What General Lee's feelings were I do not know. As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible face, it was impossible to say whether he felt inwardly glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the result, and was too manly to show it. Whatever his feelings, they were entirely concealed from my observation…"

One southern diarist, Mary Polk Branch, documented a Southern Colonel's account of the death of her uncle, Confederate General Leonidas Polk. Colonel Hopkins, a member of the General's staff, wrote admirably of the stoic passing. "In an instant I was at his side, but, alas! too late, for at that very instant a solid shot was tearing its murderous way, with a hissing sound, through his chest, carrying his heart, and shattering both his arms. Without a groan his great manly form, so full of honor and of love, tottered and fell, with his feet to the foe, and his face upturned to the sky above."

Despite the chasmal prejudicial divides during this era, even race proved insufficient to consistently temper admiration when considering manly virtues. Ohio Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood spoke with high honor of the US Colored Troops at the Battle of Milliken's Bend. "I thought that by the help of these blacks the enemy had been prevented from boasting a victory for rebel arms, and I thanked God that they had the manliness and the bravery to come forward and help us. I thought it made little difference whether men were white or black or what color they were. Let men be pea green or sky blue, or any other color under the heavens, if they have the manliness and the courage to come up and fight for the old flag, I am ready to say Godspeed to them."

A Union private offered a glimpse into his view of masculinity when discussing how wounded soldiers typically responded to their fate. "The enlisted men were exceedingly accurate judges of the probable result which would ensue from any wound they saw. They had seen hundreds of soldiers wounded, and they had noticed that certain wounds always resulted in death. After the shock of discovery had passed, they generally braced themselves and died in a manly manner." Manhood meant a lack of self-pity or unnecessary emotional expression.

The alleged denial of such expression and attention to duty allowed the man to focus on the crucial tasks at hand without distraction, or so the theory went. His status, his needs, became secondary to those depending upon his works. Some 19th century accounts seemed to support this contention. Another diarist, Mrs. Burton Harrison, wrote of Private Randolph Fairfax, her 18-year-old cousin, and his death at the Battle of Fredericksburg. She lamented, "This youth, handsome and gifted, serious and purposeful beyond his years, the flower of his school and college, in all things worthy the traditions of his warlike ancestry, was killed by a piece of shell entering the brain, as he stood by his gun at sunset under a hot fire from the enemy's batteries." General Robert E. Lee would later write to Private Randolph's father, "I have grieved most deeply at the death of your noble son. I have watched his conduct from the commencement of the war and have pointed with pride to the patriotism, self-denial and manliness of character he has exhibited." Both emphasize the sacrifice and forbearance that contributed in their eyes to the essence of manhood.

The early American male also had to be ready to fight when necessary to protect his family, community, and honor, allegedly further burying any thought of egocentric self-expression or emotional gratification. Soldiers respected this willingness to face peril and fight, even when present in their adversaries. Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain wrote with admiration of his Alabamian protagonists at Gettysburg, "Ranks were broken; some retired before us somewhat hastily; some threw their muskets to the ground- even loaded; sunk on their knees, threw up their hands calling out, 'We surrender. Don't kill us!' As if we wanted to do that! We kill only to resist killing. And these were manly men, whom we could befriend and by no means kill, if they came our way in peace and good will." If deemed not sufficiently manly, the male would resist fighting, lest he strain his sense of honor. Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest's well-documented insubordinate altercation with General Braxton Bragg displays this clearly. "I have stood your meanness as long as I intend to. You have played the part of a damned scoundrel, and are a coward, and if you were any part of a man I would slap your jaws and force you to resent it."

Overcoming hardship to prosper indicated the finest attributes of manhood. Frederick Douglas would honor his martyred President with such sentiment. At the dedication of the Freedman's Memorial, he would offer to the crowd gathered, "Born and reared among the lowly, a stranger to wealth and luxury, compelled to grapple single-handed with the flintiest hardships of life, from tender youth to sturdy manhood, he grew strong in the manly and heroic qualities demanded by the great mission to which he was called by the votes of his countrymen. The hard condition of his early life, which would have depressed and broken down weaker men, only gave greater life, vigor, and buoyancy to the heroic spirit of Abraham Lincoln. He was ready for any kind and any quality of work. What other young men dreaded in the shape of toil, he took hold of with the utmost cheerfulness."

Although these incidents include only a minute portion of those occurring during the war, they provide some support to the contention that men needed to suppress emotion to overcome challenges and survive. Those successful at obtaining this emotional void, earned the respect of others, thus reinforcing the ideal. Based on the above, perhaps the original thesis may prove true. However, these same battle-hardened men who provided examples to support this presumption likewise furnished similar instances that both contradict and inspire. The men of this age did not hesitate to express emotion. Love, affection, sadness, and a host of other emotional outpourings flowed as comfortably as the harder, more familiar sentiments already noted.

Perhaps the most well know examples include the letters men wrote to their wives. Major Sullivan Ballou, in preparation for the coming Battle of First Manassas, wrote an emotionally gripping letter just days before he died. Opening his heart to his beloved wife, the Major offered, "Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready.…But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by."

In a letter to the woman he dearly loved, Confederate Major General George E. Pickett would speak of his fervent desire that she become his wedded wife. "Now, my darling, may angels guide my pen and help me to write—help me to voice this longing desire of my heart and intercede for me with you for a speedy fulfillment of your promise to be my wife. As you know, it is imperative that I should remain at my post and absolutely impossible for me to come for you. So you will have to come to me. Will you, dear? Will you come? Can't your beautiful eyes see beyond the mist of my eagerness and anxiety that in the bewilderment of my worship—worshiping, as I do, one so divinely right, and feeling that my love is returned - how hard it is for me to ask you to overlook old-time customs, remembering only that you are to be a soldier's wife? A week, a day, an hour as your husband would engulf in its great joy all my past woes and ameliorate all future fears. So, my Sally, don't let's wait; send me a line back by Jackerie saying you will come. Come at once, my darling, into this valley of the shadow of uncertainty, and make certain the comfort that if I should fall I shall fall as your husband. You know that I love you with a devotion that absorbs all else—a devotion so divine that when in dreams I see you it is as something too pure and sacred for mortal touch."

And yet, such sentiments did not pass only between man and wife or those wishing to be. After the war, Robert E. Lee wrote to his old war-horse, James Longstreet about the latter's business ventures. In this letter, he did not hide his feelings concerning his old friend. "If you become as good a merchant as you were a soldier, I shall be content. No one will then excel you, and no one can wish you more success and more happiness than I. My interest and affection for you will never cease, and my prayers are always offered for your prosperity."

The expression of emotion towards old comrades occurred in other settings as well. Also after the war, George Pickett would have his former officers to his home for breakfast before they left for their own families in other parts of the battle-scarred country. His wife Sally wrote of their sad goodbyes. "He gave his staff a farewell breakfast at our home. They did not once refer to the past, but each wore a blue strip tied like a sash around his waist. It was the old headquarters' flag, which they had saved from the surrender and torn into strips, that each might keep one in sad memory. After breakfast he went to the door, and from a white rose-bush which his mother had planted cut a bud for each. He put one in my hair and pinned one to the coat of each of his officers. Then for the first time the tears came, and the men who had been closer than brothers for four fearful years, clasped hands in silence and parted."

A few years earlier, on the fateful day that George Pickett's name would burn into historical immortality, the General spoke to his fiancee of his commander's heart-wrenching decision to send men forward in what would become the heroic tragedy of Pickett's Charge. "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 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."

So it was then that the men of our earlier years did not reside in the silent chasms of emotional void. No surprise then stems from what occurred when General Stonewall Jackson met his own storied end, surrounded by his closest friends. The Reverend James Power Smith, formerly Captain Smith of Jackson's Corps, would describe the last minutes. "And here, against our hopes, notwithstanding the skill and care of wise and watchful surgeons, attended day and night by wife and friends, amid the prayers and tears of all the Southern land, thinking not of himself, but of the cause he loved, and for the troops who had followed him so well and given him so great a name, our chief sank, day by day, with symptoms of pneumonia and some pains of pleurisy, until, 3:15 P.M. on the quiet of the Sabbath afternoon, May 10th, 1863, he raised himself from his bed, saying, " No, no, let us pass over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees"; and, falling again to his pillow, he passed away, over the river, where, in a land where warfare is not known or feared, he rests forever 'under the trees." As Jackson's now widowed wife would later note, "Tears were shed over that dying bed by strong men who were unused to weep."

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved

******************
References for this article:

1. The Project Gutenberg: Stonewall Jackson and The American Civil War
   
2. The United States National Park Service: The Story of the Battle of Gettysburg
   
3. History 101: Oration in Memory of Abraham Lincoln
   
4. Bartleby.com: Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant
   
5. The Forrest Preserve
   
6. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill: Documenting the American South
   
7. Spartacus Educational: The American Civil War
   
8. African Americans and the Civil War
   

This Dreadful War

After the Southern victory at Chancellorsville, Confederate General Robert E. Lee decided to again take the war to the north. In June, his columns moved north through the Shenandoah Valley using the ridges to their east, and Major General Stuart's Cavalry, to screen their movements from the pursuing Union Army of the Potomac.

Colonel David Wyatt Aiken commanded the 7th South Carolina of Brigadier General Joseph Kershaw's famous South Carolina Brigade during the movement. As they progressed through the Valley, he took the time to write his wife a letter that briefly encapsulates much of the experience of the civil war soldier while on the move.

"Shenandoah River June 22nd

I wrote to you a few days ago my darling wife from my tent then on the top of a mountain and beyond the river. I told you some little of the beautiful scenery which should have been seen to have been appreciated. That night, there came up a very hard rain and the next morning until noon we were enveloped in the clouds though we heard that the view was clearing in the valley.

The next morning we were proceeding on our march when a courier arrived from the rear saying Stuart's cavalry was heavily pressed by the enemy. We were put under arms and by 3pm ordered hurriedly back across this river, marched 3 miles, drew up in line of battle across the turnpike, each flank reaching upon the mountain. Here we allowed the cavalry to pass to our rear and we waited for the enemy. The fight progressed all day and was very severe. Our men stood there trembling, wet up to their arms and the wind blowing from the mountains as cold as October. Poor fellows. I sympathized with them. After all, we could see the thousands of Yankee campfires in the valley about three miles in our front. We watched them until morning and then advanced upon them when lo they had gone. As soon as they discovered we had infantry, they turned towards Manassas.

It is now after 10pm and we have not yet received any orders about moving tomorrow so I can tell you nothing of our future movements. Where we go, none of us knows, but must certainly meet the foe before many more days and when we do we intend to whup certain regardless of what he intends to do with us. I may be among the number to be sacrificed. God grant I may not be. But if I should I believe I'll die with the full assurance of someday meeting you in heaven. I will have fought too in a noble cause and leave to my beloved wife and dear little children the future consolation that I fell battling for the liberty they may live to enjoy. Kiss our dear little pets for me. Oh for a short sojourn with you and them. But for this dreadful war, how happy would we be.

Colonel David W. Aiken"

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

The text above was transcribed from the Time-Life "Voices of the Civil War: Gettysburg" Audio Book. If new to the Civil War, this series serves as an excellent introduction, offering items of interest even to those who consider themselves seasoned enthusiasts. Any errors in the transcription are entirely my own although, after several reviews, I believe this to be accurate. The format is obviously my own.

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved
Text of the letter is copyright TIme Warner Audiobooks © 1997

A Brothers War

While recently enjoying a three-day trip to some of the battlefields in Virginia, I decided to stop by Chatham Manor which overlooks the Rappahannock River and the town of Fredericksburg, Virginia. Part of the Fredericksburg and Spotsylvania National Military Park, Chatham served as headquarters to Major General Edwin Vose "Bull" Sumner, commander of the Army of the Potomac's Right Grand Division, during the battle of First Fredericksburg in December of 1862. Although certainly looking forward to my visit, having walked the grounds there many times previously, I thought not much new would likely present itself.

However, one of the new National Park Service volunteers, stationed at the Manor for just over one month, made my visit much more meaningful than anticipated. Eager to provide a tour of the grounds, she enthusiastically instructed me concerning the history of the property. While enjoying her presentation, I waited somewhat impatiently for her to address the mid-19th century and the era that has become my consuming passion.

Moving throughout the old manor, we made our way to the northern most room. Void of furnishings, the somewhat small room had a solid, dark wood floor, white walls, a painting of George Washington, and a tattered Federal Division flag. As her discussion progressed to the battle's aftermath, she mentioned the building's use as a hospital, somewhat reverently mentioning that the room in which we stood served as the main center for surgery. Now thoroughly riveted to her words, she relayed that Walt Whitman had come to Chatham after learning that his brother, serving with the 51st New York, had been wounded during the fighting. At some point, he sought him here.

What Whitman saw horrified him. From this very room, a steady stream of lifeless severed limbs flew towards the yard from the open westerly-facing window. Fragments of shattered humanity piled under the two still present catalpa trees just outside the room.

Wounded soldiers experienced immense suffering on a sustained and grand scale. Many of those treated on these grounds would be buried here, resting under its sod until re-interred at the National Cemetery on Marye's Heights. Ironically, the ground no Union soldier could take, the ground whose attempts to storm would destroy thousands of lives, now served as the hallowed resting place for over fifteen thousand.

One of the included displays at the manor housed the grim instruments of Civil War medicine that earned the physicians of the time the epithet "Sawbones". Bone saws, scalpels, and needles now harmlessly encased in glass meant pain and misery to the men who obeyed their orders and braved the fields east of the solid Confederate lines. All around lurked reminders of what these men endured, underscoring the degree of valor and bravery each displayed as they, knowing what could be their fate, advanced forward as volunteers for the Union Army.

But this day, one other scene surprisingly lacking in horror would singularly capture the imagination. Also housed safely behind glass sat a sword scabbard with fading, chipped paint, obviously not of the original form. A closer look revealed the word "Fredericksburg" and several scenes painted on its sides. To my astonishment, the display's interpretive note reported that a convalescing soldier painted the vastly incongruous images on this instrument of war. Towards the top of the scabbard, clear for all to see, a Union and Confederate officer shook hands in reconciled friendship. Just beneath it, hands labeled "US" and "CS" embraced with similar sentiments.

This soldier, this man, surrounded by suffering, misery, and death, wounded during one of the Union's most tragic bloodbaths, thought only of rekindled friendship. While his body strove to again become whole, as many of his comrades slept eternally under Virginia's sod, this man dreamed of peace. Never did the label of "The Brothers War" fit so well.

Respectfully,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

Also, today especially, please take a moment to remember those who lost their lives and loved ones during the September 11, 2001 attacks. Pray for their families and all who remain to carry on.

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved

The Voice of God

Often romanticized, those who fought in the American Civil War understood intimately the carnage and human wreckage wrought by great battles. Major General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, who wrote prolifically about the American Civil War, offered a glimpse of the personal internal conflict still raging after the guns ceased.

"With the declining day I slowly rode over the stricken field. Around the breastworks lay a hundred and fifty of the enemy's dead and desperately wounded. We had taken also in the counter-charges and eddies of the strife nearly two hundred prisoners - happier than they knew. These we sent away for safe keeping. But we had with us, to keep and to care for, more than five hundred bruised bodies of men, - men made in the image of God, marred by the hand of man, and must we say in the name of God? And where is the reckoning for such things? And who is answerable? One might almost shrink from the sound of his own voice, which had launched into the palpitating air words of order - do we call it? - fraught with such ruin. Was it God's command we heard, or His forgiveness we must forever implore?" - Major General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, "The Passing of the Armies" Describing a battlefield outside of Petersburg towards war's end.

As we consider this period in our history, we would do well to answer these questions so long ago posed and to honor the memory of men who, knowing these risks, fought to forge the foundations of our country.

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved

Just Another Monument

Recently while blissfully wandering over the fields of the Battlefield at Gettysburg, I watched a father and his two daughters approach a monument of which I was about to take a picture. I paused and backed away as the girls' youthful energy brought them bounding forward, outpacing their more cautious escort. One of the two peered up at a stranger in bronze casting a hard shadow across her path. Puzzled, she queried innocently, "Daddy, who's that?" My delight at her question, coming from one so young, evaporated when the dismissive reply of "just another monument" raked across my ears.

Just another monument. Indignation supplanted my original happiness. "That Sir", I thought, "is Colonel Strong Vincent, former commander of the 83rd Pennsylvania." As a brigade commander in the 5th Corps of the Army of the Potomac, without orders he shouldered the responsibility of answering the call of a fellow officer, risking court martial and his potentially brilliant military career by doing so. Leading his men to the defense of Little Round Top, the unprotected far left of the Union line, his life would be torn away while he tried to rally his men. The 26-year-old Pennsylvania native, Harvard graduate, lawyer, husband, and soon-to-be father, would die fighting for his country. Dedicated in September of 1889, his likeness atop the stone memorial to the men of the 83rd Pennsylvania is most certainly not just another monument.

Walking away in minor disgust, I wondered how frequently the monuments on these fields endure the indignity of similar yet perhaps unintended disrespect. Just north of the 83rd memorial is the monument to the 140th New York. Newly married and a year older than Vincent, Colonel Patrick O'Rorke would respond to a similar request for help and surge forward at the head of his men. On that same hill, striving to hold back the obstinate onrushing Texans, the former first-in-his-class graduate of West Point, would fall and die. His is not just another monument.

I recalled then that just to the west near the Devil's Den stands a monument with an officer crossing his arms looking out over the slopes to the south. On July 2, 1863, in response to pleas to not proceed mounted into battle, Colonel Augustus Van Horn Ellis said bravely, "The men must see us today." He would die that day, casting his own safety aside to lead and inspire his men.

In the Wheatfield, an unassuming monument stands just north of the stone wall. On the western face of the monument is a relief of an officer proudly waving his regiment's colors in the direction of the approaching enemy. Given a new flag while in his home state of Michigan, Colonel Harrison Jeffords swore to protect the banner with his life. True to his word, as Southerners swarmed on his men, the valiant colonel sacrificed himself to save these same colors from falling into others' hands. Forever standing defiantly with his cherished colors, that to the 4th Michigan is not just another monument.

Further north, a descendent of a Revolutionary War General, On July 2, 1863, Colonel George Willard would also heed the call of his country. Commanding the 3rd Brigade in General Hays' 3rd Division of the 2nd Corps, Colonel Willard would lead his men towards Confederate General William Barksdale's surging Mississippians. The Union line mid-Cemetery Ridge was painfully thin offering little hope of stopping Barksdale's veteran, driving soldiers. Pulled from the more secure Federal right, Colonel Willard led his brigade forward, blunting the Southerners' assault. Victory would come at a high cost however as the 35-year-old Colonel paid with his life when a Confederate shell removed part of his head. His second in command, Colonel Eliakim Sherrill would suffer a mortal stomach wound the next day while leading his men in the repulse of Pickett's Charge. Colonel Willard's small marker rests in the thicket were he gave his life to the Union. Colonel Sherrill's likeness graces one side of the monument to the 126th New York, his regiment prior to taking command of the brigade. Neither is just another monument.

The likeness of color bearer Benjamin Crippen of the 143rd Pennsylvania stands against the northern face of his regiments' monument. Yet few stop to visit the monument which now rests at the intersection of Route 30 and Reynolds Avenue. The defiant guardian of his regiment's standard gave ground grudgingly as he occasionally turned and shook his fist at the oncoming tide of gray. He would also suffer a mortal wound and offer up his life to his cause.

Other examples came to mind. The 66th New York Monument in the Wheatfield holds a bronze relief of a Union soldier shaking hands and offering a canteen to his wounded Southern counterpart. The grand monument to the men of New York in the national cemetery displays a similar scene of former enemies taking each other's hand. Adorning the apex of the memorial, the figure of Liberty stands weeping over the graves of her dead. The magnificent Pennsylvania Monument contains the names of the over 34,000 men from that state who served at Gettysburg. Three monuments to Major General John Reynolds honor the man who lost his life leading his men forward to "drive those fellows out of the woods" on day 1 of the battle. Culp's Hill is home to the marker to the 137th New York who, like the more famous 20th Maine on the Union left, held the far right against superior forces, refusing to give way.

Owing to the disproportionate number of Union monuments, there are fewer markers to the brave men from the South. They do exist however. The monument to the men of North Carolina, by Gutzon Borglum who also sculpted the figures on Mount Rushmore, is not just another monument. As the inscription on its companion marker reads, "One Confederate soldier in every four who fell here was a North Carolinian." The monument to the Virginians in the Army of Northern Virginia honors the men from all walks of life who gave up their homes to fight for their state. Atop this memorial, Robert E. Lee and Traveler watch over the fields that they strove so desperately to take. One of the few Southern regimental monuments, that to the 2nd Maryland on Culp's Hill honors the men of a Confederate regiment who fought against friends and neighbors when they clashed with Maryland men fighting for the Union. A Marylander himself, Union Colonel Wallace would lament, "We sorrowfully gathered up many of our old friends and acquaintances and had them carefully and tenderly cared for."

Not all of the monuments note human valor. The 11th Pennsylvania chose to honor their faithful mascot who, on day one, went into battle with the men she loved. The men of the 11th lost Sallie, a brindle bull terrier, when they retreated through the town after the reverses of July 1st. Weak and struggling for life, she refused to leave the side of the 11th's fallen and was found by their sides three days later. Nursed back to health, she would stand with her regiment until the Battle of Hatcher's Run when, just before war's end, she would be struck by a Confederate bullet and die on the field.

There are so many others with similar stories. Each marker, monument, and memorial stands for men, memories, and deeds we must not forget. The men who fought on the sacred fields of, in, and around Gettysburg forged the nation whose liberty we now enjoy. Holding their memory sacred is a comparably small sacrifice considering those of the men that their monuments will eternally honor.

"It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth." - President Abraham Lincoln, A portion of the Gettysburg Address.

Respectfully,

Randy

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved

Sources:
The Monuments on the Gettysburg Battlefield
Gettysburg. Steven W. Sears
Gettysburg: Stories of Men and Monuments. Frederick W. Hawthorne
National Park Service markers and interpretive signs
Wikipedia

Taking the hard right instead of the easy wrong.

Having never served in the military, I cannot approach understanding how it feels to withstand enemy fire or to order others into harms way. Perhaps because of this, I struggle with the concept of "Moral Courage" as applied to military figures in American Civil War literature.

With the mention of 19th century moral courage, Abraham Lincoln easily comes to mind. His desire towards war's end to "let 'em up easy" certainly contradicted the fate many wished for the defeated Rebels. Had he lived, proposing this stance risked his own political harm as he sought to better the future of the Southerners in his care.

General Robert E. Lee's choice to serve Virginia and sacrifice the status and reputation gained through decades of United States military service certainly qualifies, doing so to avoid the prospect of taking arms against his own family. The opposite approach, taken by Major General George H. Thomas, a Virginian who chose Union but lost his Southern family, fits too. Confederate General Patrick Cleburne's proposal to free and arm slaves, the first from a major Confederate commander, also applies. General Lee's choice to surrender his command at Appomattox and seek peace, thus avoiding the brutality of guerrilla warfare, certainly deserves its place on the list as well.

Other examples include Colonels Strong Vincent and Patrick O'Rorke at Gettysburg, who risked possible court martial when they opted to defend Little Round Top without approval from their immediate superiors. Both paid with their lives. Saying "Damn your orders", Lieutenant Stephen F. Brown of the 13th Vermont, defied his commander and filled canteens of water for his parched men as they marched the hot, dusty roads towards Gettysburg. For his defiance, he was put in arrest. On varying scales, these are instances of such courage.

Other examples are less clear. Do Lieutenant General James Longstreet's protests against Lee's plans at Gettysburg fit? If not, perhaps his generalship once the fighting began on Day 2 was such an example. Putting aside his own objections, he did his duty.

What about Sherman's March to the Sea? Would the label of moral courage have been applied had his tactics been used against Northern cities? Had a Southern commander replicated Sherman's ruthlessly efficiency, Northerners who viewed Uncle Billy as heroic would now have demanded retribution.

The absence of moral courage allegedly contributed to Union Major General George B. McClellan's failings at Antietam. On the single bloodiest day of the war, critics state that McClellan lacked the moral courage to commit even more men to potentially end the war. Having the courage then, the explanation goes, may have avoided the long lists of casualties which necessarily stem from prolonged conflicts. His opposite in determination and temperament, General Ulysses S. Grant allegedly had the requisite degree of moral courage to pursue necessary ends. Grant's supporters valued his willingness to take the responsibility of ordering others to into harms way for a cause bigger than any one soldier. Sometimes described as butchery, his single-mindedness contributed immeasurably to the formation of the Union as it continues to exist today. Slavery, which may have died a slower more lingering death, would have continued with millions more paying the price. Instead of these millions, thousands bought their freedom with human currency, committed to this effort by those with the courage to do so.

Lincoln and Lee may provide the most accepted and comfortable examples of moral courage because of the ease with which many agree with the sentiments behind their actions. Federals and Confederates alike can respect them in spite of their divided loyalties. Debatably fewer accept Grant's and Sherman's actions. But that may perhaps say more about our own discomfort with accepting the gift of the re-United States which we know to have been purchased at such a high and bloody price. Yet how many who argue that the cost was too high would today have the moral courage to consider returning this gift already given?

Respectfully,

Randy

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Remembering the Union 3rd Corps

On Day 2 of the Battle of Gettysburg, Union Major General Daniel Edgar Sickles was not happy. His friend, Major General Joseph "Fighting Joe" Hooker had been relieved of command just 5 days earlier. During the Federals' movement into Pennsylvania, the new commanding general, George Gordon Meade, had rebuked Sickles for his slowness in marching his men to where General Meade wished them to be. Now, on July 2nd 1863, Meade ordered Sickles to position his Corps on the ground to the left of Major General Winfield Scott Hancock's Second Corps, extending the Union line down to Little Round Top.

Gazing over the fields, the dissatisfied Sickles wanted his men elsewhere. His orders would place his Corps along the section of Cemetery Ridge lowest in elevation of any in their line, forty or so feet lower than a ridge he could see out to his front. The position he preferred would follow the Emmitsburg Road south, bend back through a peach orchard, and end at a cluster of boulders known as the Devil's Den, just southwest of Little Round Top. Without the authorization to do so, he would move his men forward.

During what Confederate General James Longstreet would later call "the best three hours' fighting ever done by any troops on any battle-field", Sickles' Corps would be savaged by the Southern assault to come later that day. As the Confederates surged forward, Major General Sickles would have his right leg blown apart by a Confederate artillery round as he strove to save his crumbling line. Game to the end, Sickles' men carried him from the field smoking a cigar in part to maintain the morale of his retreating men.

For his actions that day, Sickles has received much criticism. Perhaps this is justified. His men however, often seem relegated to the status of also-rans during each re-telling of this epic battle. With talk of the Wheatfield, the Irish Brigade often takes center stage. Colonel Strong Vincent, Lieutenant Hazlett, Brigadier General Weed, Colonel Patrick O'Rourke, and Colonel Joshua L. Chamberlain, occupy much time when discussing the Union left. Consideration of the ground further up Cemetery Ridge elicits glorious discussions of Colonel Willard's charge against Confederate Brigadier General William Barksdale or of the 1st Minnesota's grand display of valor, courage, and supreme sacrifice. All rightfully so.

But what of the men of the 3rd Corps? What of their contribution to the Union cause on this most destructive of these three days of battle? The 3rd Corps' 141st Pennsylvania would suffer horrendous losses during the struggle to hold their ground. In his official report, the regiment's commander, Colonel Henry Madill, would claim the loss of 72% of his men. His comment that, "Among the severely wounded, and who have since died, were the color-bearers and all of the color guard" underscored the savagery. In all, they would suffer 149 casualties of their original 209 men.

Although the 141st PA would endure perhaps the highest percentage of casualties, other regiments would tally greater numbers. Suffering the greatest loss, the 26th Pennsylvania, fighting near the Codori Farm would go into battle with 365 men. When the mantle of night decended, they would count 30 men killed, 176 wounded and 7 missing, or a total of 213 casualties (58% of their men).

Other regiments sacrificed likewise. The 20th Indiana counted 156 casualties. The 68th Pennsylvania suffered 152. The 40th New York lost 150 and the 11th New Jersey, 153. This grim ledger would go on as no 3rd Corps regiment was spared. The 115th Pennsylvania claimed the lowest total loss at 24 men.

The 3rd Corps Artillery similarly bore the weight of battle. Battery B, 1st New Jersey Light notes on their monument near the Peach Orchard that they "Fought here from 2 until 7 o'clock, on July 2, 1863, firing 1,300 rounds of ammunition." This was no quick rout. The men of the 3rd Corps fought and fought hard.

According to the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, during the three days that became the Battle of Gettysburg, the Union 3rd Corps would suffer 593 men killed, 3,029 injured, and 589 missing or captured. As Colonel Madill correctly noted, some initially counted as injured would later die from their wounds. Some of the missing also certainly rested with the dead. The 3rd Corps did not fight on Day 1 and few of their men were in harms way on July 3rd. Therefore, most of the loss represented in these figures, some 4,000+ casualties, resulted from hard, determined fighting on that one day, July 2, 1863. The men of the 3rd Corps did their duty, striving to hold their ground. Over 600 would die; thousands would never again be whole. The men of the 3rd Corps earned their place at the Table of Honor.

Respectfully,

Randy

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The Suffering of Pickett's Charge

Months ago, I received an e-mail asking about the experiences of the men who were stationed along Seminary Ridge on July 3, 1863 waiting to embark upon their immortal assault. The writer expressed specific interest in what the Southern men endured to make the charge. With some changes, here is how I responded.

On July 3, 1863, the suffering on these fields would be horrendous. Confederate Soldiers from Mississippi, North Carolina, Tennessee, Florida, and Virginia would first endure a 1 to 2 hour cannonade. With no real cover, chance alone would determine if the Federal shells found them or passed harmlessly by in search of another. When the artillery's roar ended, the men in butternut and gray would then of course advance in what would be called Pickett's Charge. About 12,500 Southern men would do their duty, venturing out from the woods and marching about a mile across open, undulating fields towards some 7,000 waiting veteran Union muskets and numerous cannon. Southern casualty estimates usually settle around or slightly above 50%, which include those men who were killed, wounded, and captured.

The suffering here was indescribable. Owing to the Southern Army's inability to recover all of their fallen brothers, nearly 7,000 wounded would be left on the field. Many in severe pain and in desperate need of water, some would lay in the sun and rain for days until Union surgeons could tend to their wounds. Those men that the Army of Northern Virginia could recover traveled in an ambulance train that would stretch on for some 17 miles as they moved towards the relative safety of Virginia soil. The ride was agonizing as the maimed bounced over rough roads in comfortless wagons.

Not all of the suffering here was physical however. Confederate Lieutenant General James Longstreet, who was not wounded at Gettysburg, wept as he reluctantly obeyed General Lee's orders and initiated the charge he believed would prove catastrophic. Major General George Pickett later remarked that General Longstreet said to him, "Pickett, I am being crucified at the thought of the sacrifice of life which this attack will make." General Pickett also described how General Longstreet gave the orders he did not wish to give. "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."

General Pickett, who was also not physically harmed during the assault, was devastated as he watched thousands of his men being cut down. He wrote to his fiancée of how his men trusted him to lead them and how in horror he watched them die. He held General Lee accountable for what occurred and apparently never completely forgave him. Years later, as the pain remained, he would lament bitterly, "That old man had my division slaughtered at Gettysburg."

Respectfully,

Randy

All original material Copyright © 2005. All Rights Reserved