The Battle of Gettysburg: Picket’s Charge
The sun beats down on my blue uniform as I eat my lunch. I have been waiting two days for this meal; as I marched through the town, a little girl handed me a boiled egg, and I have saved it in my pocket since then. I also have an apple that I have saved; the day before we had gone to the battle field, some of my buddies and I had seen an apple tree. I, being the smallest, was very quickly voted to be the one to climb it. I found a few ripe, transparent apples, knocked some down to my pals and filled my own pockets. Now I am eating my last one. Dehydrated, I stop a passing water boy and ladle some water out of the bucket. “I hope this battle is over by tomorrow. It would sure be nice to be just about anywhere else on Independence Day,” the man beside me comments. I sort of agree with him, we’ve been on this battle field for two and one half days now. I look over and see Esau, a Negro slave with a very interesting background who joined the union side in fighting for his freedom. I step over to him and ask him what the time is.
Esau looks up in the sky and after a while says, “about 12:30 I reckon.” Esau is one of the only people in our division who can tell time by looking at the sun; he learned it from his dad when he worked in the cotton fields.
I thank him and go back to eating my lunch. I am starting to get worried about the outcome of the battle. We are fighting the rebels at Gettysburg, and the year is 1863. All totaled, our side started out with a few thousand more men than Lee’s army, but I still am nervous. It might be that I’m just afraid that I’ll get shot or something. At any rate, there’s nothing I can really do about it except shoot faster than any of the rebels, and be really good at dodging cannon balls. So far I’ve been pretty lucky at doing both for an eighteen-year-old.
I’m probably one of the youngest in my division; I just joined two months ago right after I turned old enough to enlist. As a rookie, I don’t mind a little pause in the action between battles, but just about everyone else always gets anxious.
“I don’t like it,” the man beside me pipes up again, “every time they stop firing like this, it means they’re going to attack again.”
“Well, duh,” I thought, “if they didn’t attack after a long pause it would mean the war was over.” I didn’t say anything though; usually when I comment on someone’s complete stupidity they come up with some reason why they were right and I was wrong. It’s really annoying that way.
Esau was fairly accurate when he told me the time; I can now hear the Gettysburg town bell strike 1:00. Lieutenant Colonel Webb, Our commanding officer, walks up a few steps in front of me and lights a cigar. I am finished with my lunch, so I decide to clean my gun because there isn’t really much else to do. Suddenly, the sound of artillery firing rings through the air. Cannon balls hit our ranks and I can hear men yelling all around me. Dropping my cleaning supplies, I start frantically loading my rifle. Looking up, I see a large line of about twelve thousand men charging toward our ranks. There are a lot more of our divisions defending against this large attack, but it all seems to center around us. The enemy is now about six hundred yards away and charging rapidly towards us. Webb hasn’t given the order to fire yet, and I’m starting to get really nervous. I estimate that they’re about five hundred yards away now. I have my gun centered on one of the gray uniforms; all Webb has to do is say the word and that guy is going down.
“Fire!” yells Webb. It’s about time; they’re now about four hundred yards away. Grape shot flies through the air towards the enemy ranks. One ball hits the man I was aiming for, so I randomly fire into the ranks. The rebels return fire, and many men around me are getting shot down. I take a few steps back and reload my gun. I turn around and realize that the enemy is almost on us, so I fix my bayonet before firing again. Suddenly they are on us, and my bayonet is very helpful.
Three men cross over the wall in my area, and one brings up a revolver to shoot. Quickly, I thrust my bayonet into his chest and grab his pistol as he falls. A six-shooter is very handy in a scrape like this, and with three shots the other two men are lying on the ground. I have no time to gloat at my own miniature victory; more soldiers are coming over the stone fence. I fire the remaining three shots at them, and then reload my rifle and newly acquired pistol.
As I am reloading, I look over and see Webb, puffing away at his cigar in full view of the enemy. I yelled at him to take cover, but he just stood there puffing away. I turned to someone next to me and said, “He’s going to get himself shot!”
“Who, him?” replied the soldier, “nah, he doesn’t get shot very often.”
If I had been in the appropriate environment, I would have probably gone into hysterics, but instead I began firing my weapons.
Unsurprisingly, the confederates now start to fall back. Some of them stay behind to hold the retreat, but soon they are also fleeing the battle. Many men lay dead or wounded, and a bunch of the enemies were captured. I carry my empty guns back to my tent and pass by Webb, who was still in good condition, despite his bravery (or idiocy) on the field. I request permission to rest, which is granted. I put my guns away and take a well deserved nap; some soldiers who were in the back of the line and didn’t get much action take over as guard. As I drift off to sleep, I hear the town bell strike two; the bell seemed oblivious to what had just taken place.
When I wake up about an hour later, the soldiers are burying their fellow comrades and also the dead rebels. I learn from other soldiers that our men had fired on the enemy from the side, which caused them to retreat hopelessly. I also learn that the main leader of the charge was Major General Pickett and that he now had almost no army now. Evidently the confederates in general don’t have many men left, for they don’t attack for the rest of the day. The next day, July fourth, the confederate army retreats. It also rains like the dickens, probably because of all the smoke caused by the gun firing. All totaled, the confederates lost over 6500 men in Pickett’s charge. It wasn’t a very smart move on Lee’s part; I think that skirmish was what decided the fate of the whole battle.
* * *
Four and one half months later, I am in Gettysburg again on a patrolling mission. As I stroll through town off duty, I come to a place where there is a large crowd gathered. Even though I was behind quite a few people, I could see the tall figure of our president, delivering a speech of some sort.
“-that this nation,” I heard him say, “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.” I didn’t get to hear the whole speech, but soon it was in the newspaper, and I got to read the whole thing. It sort of made me feel funny, because I was fighting in that battle he was talking about.
The sun beats down on my blue uniform as I eat my lunch. I have been waiting two days for this meal; as I marched through the town, a little girl handed me a boiled egg, and I have saved it in my pocket since then. I also have an apple that I have saved; the day before we had gone to the battle field, some of my buddies and I had seen an apple tree. I, being the smallest, was very quickly voted to be the one to climb it. I found a few ripe, transparent apples, knocked some down to my pals and filled my own pockets. Now I am eating my last one. Dehydrated, I stop a passing water boy and ladle some water out of the bucket. “I hope this battle is over by tomorrow. It would sure be nice to be just about anywhere else on Independence Day,” the man beside me comments. I sort of agree with him, we’ve been on this battle field for two and one half days now. I look over and see Esau, a Negro slave with a very interesting background who joined the union side in fighting for his freedom. I step over to him and ask him what the time is.
Esau looks up in the sky and after a while says, “about 12:30 I reckon.” Esau is one of the only people in our division who can tell time by looking at the sun; he learned it from his dad when he worked in the cotton fields.
I thank him and go back to eating my lunch. I am starting to get worried about the outcome of the battle. We are fighting the rebels at Gettysburg, and the year is 1863. All totaled, our side started out with a few thousand more men than Lee’s army, but I still am nervous. It might be that I’m just afraid that I’ll get shot or something. At any rate, there’s nothing I can really do about it except shoot faster than any of the rebels, and be really good at dodging cannon balls. So far I’ve been pretty lucky at doing both for an eighteen-year-old.
I’m probably one of the youngest in my division; I just joined two months ago right after I turned old enough to enlist. As a rookie, I don’t mind a little pause in the action between battles, but just about everyone else always gets anxious.
“I don’t like it,” the man beside me pipes up again, “every time they stop firing like this, it means they’re going to attack again.”
“Well, duh,” I thought, “if they didn’t attack after a long pause it would mean the war was over.” I didn’t say anything though; usually when I comment on someone’s complete stupidity they come up with some reason why they were right and I was wrong. It’s really annoying that way.
Esau was fairly accurate when he told me the time; I can now hear the Gettysburg town bell strike 1:00. Lieutenant Colonel Webb, Our commanding officer, walks up a few steps in front of me and lights a cigar. I am finished with my lunch, so I decide to clean my gun because there isn’t really much else to do. Suddenly, the sound of artillery firing rings through the air. Cannon balls hit our ranks and I can hear men yelling all around me. Dropping my cleaning supplies, I start frantically loading my rifle. Looking up, I see a large line of about twelve thousand men charging toward our ranks. There are a lot more of our divisions defending against this large attack, but it all seems to center around us. The enemy is now about six hundred yards away and charging rapidly towards us. Webb hasn’t given the order to fire yet, and I’m starting to get really nervous. I estimate that they’re about five hundred yards away now. I have my gun centered on one of the gray uniforms; all Webb has to do is say the word and that guy is going down.
“Fire!” yells Webb. It’s about time; they’re now about four hundred yards away. Grape shot flies through the air towards the enemy ranks. One ball hits the man I was aiming for, so I randomly fire into the ranks. The rebels return fire, and many men around me are getting shot down. I take a few steps back and reload my gun. I turn around and realize that the enemy is almost on us, so I fix my bayonet before firing again. Suddenly they are on us, and my bayonet is very helpful.
Three men cross over the wall in my area, and one brings up a revolver to shoot. Quickly, I thrust my bayonet into his chest and grab his pistol as he falls. A six-shooter is very handy in a scrape like this, and with three shots the other two men are lying on the ground. I have no time to gloat at my own miniature victory; more soldiers are coming over the stone fence. I fire the remaining three shots at them, and then reload my rifle and newly acquired pistol.
As I am reloading, I look over and see Webb, puffing away at his cigar in full view of the enemy. I yelled at him to take cover, but he just stood there puffing away. I turned to someone next to me and said, “He’s going to get himself shot!”
“Who, him?” replied the soldier, “nah, he doesn’t get shot very often.”
If I had been in the appropriate environment, I would have probably gone into hysterics, but instead I began firing my weapons.
Unsurprisingly, the confederates now start to fall back. Some of them stay behind to hold the retreat, but soon they are also fleeing the battle. Many men lay dead or wounded, and a bunch of the enemies were captured. I carry my empty guns back to my tent and pass by Webb, who was still in good condition, despite his bravery (or idiocy) on the field. I request permission to rest, which is granted. I put my guns away and take a well deserved nap; some soldiers who were in the back of the line and didn’t get much action take over as guard. As I drift off to sleep, I hear the town bell strike two; the bell seemed oblivious to what had just taken place.
When I wake up about an hour later, the soldiers are burying their fellow comrades and also the dead rebels. I learn from other soldiers that our men had fired on the enemy from the side, which caused them to retreat hopelessly. I also learn that the main leader of the charge was Major General Pickett and that he now had almost no army now. Evidently the confederates in general don’t have many men left, for they don’t attack for the rest of the day. The next day, July fourth, the confederate army retreats. It also rains like the dickens, probably because of all the smoke caused by the gun firing. All totaled, the confederates lost over 6500 men in Pickett’s charge. It wasn’t a very smart move on Lee’s part; I think that skirmish was what decided the fate of the whole battle.
* * *
Four and one half months later, I am in Gettysburg again on a patrolling mission. As I stroll through town off duty, I come to a place where there is a large crowd gathered. Even though I was behind quite a few people, I could see the tall figure of our president, delivering a speech of some sort.
“-that this nation,” I heard him say, “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.” I didn’t get to hear the whole speech, but soon it was in the newspaper, and I got to read the whole thing. It sort of made me feel funny, because I was fighting in that battle he was talking about.
Wow~ you actually do write quite well. =) I liked reading through this and it was actually quite interesting!
ReplyDeleteGood, this was the only one I liked :).
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