A Moment from Pickett's Charge

The horses of the lead officers were galloping to the front. The red battle flags rippled lazily as the color guard marched ahead of the infantry. As some of the smoke finally began to clear, the infantry’s bayonets glimmered brightly in the afternoon sun. They were in perfect alignment. It was the best I had seen this division march in the three days I had been with them. I was almost proud of them. And there was still no noise yet coming from the Union front. 

          We marched slowly down the shallow slope and onto the valley floor. With the smoke fading away by this point and we could now see how difficult this mission was going to be. The Federals wouldn’t fire until we were within range, but when they did we had nowhere to run and nowhere to take cover. In addition to Pickett’s Division, two additional Divisions were marching along just to our left under Major Generals Pettigrew and Trimble.

The drummers had been told to stay close to Armistead because once the attack would begin he would need to communicate orders to us. We would then translate those orders to the soldiers through certain drum calls. He was easy to keep tabs on because he continued to hold his felt hat on the tip of his sabre high above his head as he marched out in front of us. He made for an easy target if I ever saw one.

       

   Just when I was beginning to wonder how long we would be able to march until the Federals began shooting again, I heard cannons firing off from our right near the hill called Little Round Top. They had a near flanking position on us since we were marching east and they were pointed due north. The enfilade fire would take out as many as ten men with a single round. Kemper’s brigade was taking most of the punishment. The guns would roar in a puff of smoke, then a whistling projectile could be heard speeding through the air, squealing like a tea kettle, and then an explosion would erupt in the midst of the brigade lines sending chunks of dirt and flesh flying in all directions. The men looked like rag-dolls being tossed around. Many of the men died instantly, but many did not. Some were even hobbling or crawling back towards Confederate lines leaving trails of blood and guts behind them.

          The ordnance rifle cannon had been developed just a few years earlier. It delivered shells that would explode on impact. The muzzle of these cannons had been built with a three inch spiral groove bore along the inside. This groove created a similar effect to the rifled muskets: improved accuracy and better range.

The 3-inch rifled cannon normally fired Hotchkiss or Schenkel shells that looked like bullets and weighed between 9 and 14 pounds. They could also be used to fire canister but, as a rifle, they were not as effective with that sort of ammo. Canister was best when fired from the older smoothbore Howitzers or Napoleon cannons. The timed shells that were fired would burst in the air with devastating effect, shooting out shards of jagged iron shrapnel that would tear men to pieces.  

          “Left oblique!” commanded Armistead. We began to march at a slight angle towards the north where we would soon merge with the Pettigrew and Trimble Divisions. We reached another of the low swales in the land about halfway across the valley where we were ordered to halt.

          “Dress the line!” came the command.

          “Outrageous!” fumed Sgt. Maddox. “We’re open targets out here!”

          It was bad enough to be marching across an open field with guns free to rain down on us from above, but having paused in the open to realign and fill in the gaps that fallen soldiers had left made us an even easier target. Men slid together to fill in the open spaces but as they were doing so more men continued to be blown to bits by the Union barrage. The smell of blood and screams of pain made my stomach flip. I wanted to puke again, but I hadn’t eaten anything in so long I had nothing to vomit up.

          Union cannons were firing from our left as well. Atop Cemetery Hill was another battery of guns laying waste to Pettigrew’s Division. If the Rebels were to have any chance at all of breaking this line they had better pick up their pace. If they delayed much longer there would be no one left to take the hill.

"Boy Colonel"

By Don Troiani, this painting captures the moment when Henry Burgwyn of the 26th North Carolina regiment seized the unit's battle flag to lead the charge up McPherson's Ridge. He died moments later.

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 4

KILLING FOR COUNTRY  

Available at Amazon.com!

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 1

THE JOURNEY TO ANCIENT GREECE 

Available at Amazon.com!

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 2

A RIDE ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD

Available at Amazon.com!

TIME TRIP ADVENTURE 3

WITNESS TO THE FIRST THANKSGIVING 

Available at Amazon.com!