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Chapter 29: Gettysburg.
July 3, 1863.
Darkness settled like a pall upon the blood-stained sod of
Gettysburg.
Many prisoners were brought in from the left during the evening, and there were numbers of the Nineteenth who went to ‘bed’ supperless, but they slept as soundly as though there was no such thing as a battle, fought or to be fought.
When the distant clock of
Gettysburg tolled the hour of three, aides and orderlies began to hustle about, the sleeping warriors were silently awakened and each addressed himself to the preparation of a repast,—mayhap his last.
From about the centre of the famous ‘
Horse-Shoe’ occupied by
Meade's forces, immediately to left the of the cemetery a knoll projected a little from the general direction of the
Union lines.
The knoll was crowned with a growth of small oaks constituting a prominent feature of the landscape.
The slope of this knoll toward the enemy, and for a little distance to both left and right, was held by the Second Division, Second Corps, under command of
Gen. John Gibbon.
In it were three brigades, that of
Gen. Webb on the right,
Col. Hall in the centre and
Gen. Harrow on the left.
There was but one line of infantry from the left up to
Webb's position where one of his regiments had retired a few paces.
One spirited writer has fixed the immortal stamp upon that ‘Single Line of Blue.’
After early morning,
Lee's artillery could be seen massing in front.
Conjecture easily anticipated the object: a tremendous cannonade on some point of the
Union line, and an infantry assault ensuing.
What point more likely than this conspicuous and central one?
Events proved that
Lee regarded it as the ‘
Key Point’ of the position.
His policy of a fierce assault
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immediately following a heavy firing of guns with the purpose of piercing his enemy's centre declared his belief in the weakness of that point and his confidence in the successful issue.
He had tried the left and been repulsed.
He had tried the right and been thrown back.
History must record the soundness of his judgment, and how victory barely escaped his grasp.
Although the busy preparations of
Lee's lines were evident, the morning was spent in absolute inaction on the part of the Second Corps.
A brooding silence hung over all with a pall of dread anticipation.
The period before a conflict which is plainly inevitable, impresses a solemn sense upon all, with greater force the higher the organization.
The division lay there, resting on its arms, scarcely a movement making itself apparent to disturb the universal hush.
The Nineteenth regiment lay to the left and a little to the rear of the grove on the westerly side of the ridge, which was very low at that point.
The Forty-Second New York was in line with it, the Twentieth Massachusetts was directly in front in the first line, lying behind a slight breastwork made by throwing some earth up against a low stone fence, topped with rails.
On the crest of the ridge, in front of the spot where the Nineteenth Massachusetts and the Forty-Second New York regiments were in line was
Rorty's battery.
The day was extremely hot and many of the men improvised shelters by inverting their muskets, with the bayonets stuck in the ground, thus making posts of them, to which, by means of the hammers, pieces of shelter tents or blankets were fastened.
Some of the officers had been fortunate enough to secure something to eat and were enjoying it, spread upon a blanket just in the rear of the line of stacks.
Just at one o'clock the sharp report of a shotted gun within the enemy's lines, broke the oppressive stillness.
It was plainly a signal.
In an instant a round shot came bounding diagonally over the ridge, like a rubber ball.
Instantly there was another report and a second shot came over from the same direction and following the same course.
Lieut. Sherman Robinson, of Co. A was among the group of officers and had leaped to his feet at the sound of the
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first gun. He was in the act of wiping his mouth with his handkerchief when the second shot struck him on the left side, just below the shoulder, passing through his body and bearing him to the ground, literally torn to pieces.
He was a man very much liked and respected.
He had ‘won his spurs’ in the ranks and was wearing his reward of merit on his shoulders in the badge of his hard earned commission, just acquired.
The report from the second gun had not died away before another shot came over the ridge, striking among the gun stacks of the Nineteenth Massachusetts, and then every rebel gun on
Seminary Ridge opened in one grand salvo, with concentric fire on
Gibbon's Division.
From this time on, for an hour and thirty minutes, the roaring of cannon and the bursting of shells from both sides was so incessant that the ear could not distinguish individual explosions.
It was one grand raging clash of ceaseless sound,—the most terrific cannonading of the war. The woods in front seemed lined with flame and smoke.
Pandemonium broken loose was zephyr to a cyclone in comparison.
Each man fell prostrate upon the level summit of the flat, low ridge.
Just in front of the Nineteenth's line, the summit swelled perhaps two feet above their backs.
From the ridge on which they lay, a hundred guns joined their clamor to the awful din. Their diverging fire had little power against that terrible concentric storm of crashing, whirring, bursting shell.
From right, from left and from the front poured the iron shower, above, around, among the men of the Second Corps.
Rorty's battery was in a position in front of the regiment.
Five horses and the drivers of the leading gun fell among the prostrate infantry men. Soon the third gun rolled helpless from its wheels.
With but two guns left, heroic
Rorty continued to fire.
Then a caisson burst.
Immediately his left piece was struck and shattered, and with one gun he continued.
In half an hour, of sixty men, he had but four remaining and still the hero plied that single gun. Another shot, and casting off sword and coat the officer grasped the rammer.
The heated gun would scarce receive the charge, and he called for water to cool his piece.
To the little spring in the rear of his line it was full four
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hundred yards. The air was full of grass and dirt cast from the soil by the jagged rebel iron.
Moses Shackley,
Second Lieutenant of Co. B, Nineteenth Massachusetts, sprang up, grasped the bucket, and, with a merry laugh, through dust and smoke, amid whizzing balls and bursting shells, which screeched down the path he was compelled to take, coolly walked down the slope toward
General Meade's Headquarters and stooped over the spring.
A round shot struck the ground between his feet, but did not harm him and he returned safely over the fireswept plain.
‘The water is cold enough, boys,’ he shouted, ‘but its devilish hot around the spring.’
The gallant deed and the merry jest drew cheers from those who, with bated breath, had watched the journey.
Lieut. Brown, bareheaded, again called out: ‘For God's sake,
Colonel, let me have twelve men to work my gun.’
The men heard it and looked into each other's eyes.
Can I?
Snellen, the sailor soldier from
Marblehead,—struck already by one spent ball,—limped to the front.
‘I'm one boys!
Who's the next?’
he said.
Then
Capt. Mahoney and
Sergeant ‘Billy’
McGinnis, of Co. K,
Sergeants Cornelius Linnehan and
Matthias Bixby, of Co. F, and twenty more immediately responded, and did excellent service.
They replaced the broken wheels, brought ammunition from the limbers, and fired the guns.
Lieut. Shackley had been lying by the side of
Sergt. Benjamin H. Jellison, who bore the colors.
‘Come,
Jellison, let's go and help,’ he said, ‘we might just as well get killed there as here,’ and in a moment he was conspicuously showing great courage and coolness, walking from piece to piece, encouraging and assisting the men.
Jellison was finally ordered back to the colors by
Col. Devereux.
During the cannonade, the Nineteenth and Forty-Second New York, composing the second line of men, suffered some loss, as did the first line, as the rebel gunners trained their pieces on the artillery along the top of the ridge, thus throwing most of their shells into these lines.
The headquarters of
Gen. Meade, which were directly in the rear of the location of the Nineteenth, were shelled so severely that they were removed to another position.
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The rain of shot and shell was continuous.
Fragments of bursting shell were flying everywhere.
There seemed to be no place where they did not strike and no spot from whence they did not come.
Officers and men alike, keeping their alignment, crawled to places of apparent cover.
Some got behind the few large boulders, others took advantage of depressions in the ground.
So thick did the missiles fly that in a few moments nearly all of the inverted muskets were knocked down or shot off; pieces of shell were plainly visible as they hissed by; limber boxes and caissons were hit and blew up with stunning reports; the battery horses were nearly all shot down.
Men, lying flat behind large boulders, were struck.
A shot would come over and strike a man in the back.
Men were constantly seen hobbling off, with blood streaming from their wounds.
During all this time, not a musket had been fired at the enemy.
About this time a company of the First Minnesota regiment came up from
Gen. Meade's headquarters, where it had been on duty.
When this company reached the left of the position of the Nineteenth Massachusetts, its captain said: ‘Here's the Nineteenth boys, now we are all right.
Fall right in here,’—and once again the boys of
Minnesota and
Massachusetts stood shoulder to shoulder, as at
Antietam.
After an hour and forty minutes of continuous firing, the cannonade ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun, and the men stood and ‘shook themselves’ until the lines were reformed.
The dense clouds of smoke obscured the field in front.
They settled and rolled along, and, meanwhile, fresh guns were hurried to the crest.
