Gettysburg Revisited

I marched with steadiness in common time into position for an outcome so catastrophic it would reshape world history, and I was part of it.

It was a sultry day in July; the temperature was in the 90’s. The air was flat without a breeze; whisks of clouds were higher than birds fly. Dust in my mouth from the Union army moving forward made my teeth grind the grit into a paste. The padding of marching feet over the fields of Gettysburg sounded like a running gaggle of geese to the tenth power.

First I heard clashing cavalry sabers, the metal clinking and slashing, thrust in a fashion to take life away. The whoosh of air made by a roundhouse of steel so close I could hear the groans of horses being spurred. The horses engulfed huge buckets of air through flared nostrils and every place expected was covered with white lather from expended energy.

General Meade and his assembly of staff rode past to view the battleground. The cannonade began against the opposite woodland. I could feel the concussion of air pound my jacket. Twenty guns firing as fast as they could load. The smoke giving away their position. Booming, booming, the noise is deafening. Exploding shells seen blasting pockets of emptiness where soldiers closed ranks just minutes before.

The enemy’s Corps advanced shoulder to shoulder across open fields for a quarter mile before getting close enough to returning fire effectively. Half way across the field they momentarily paused to climb a fence in the face of grapeshot and Minnie balls, then briefly halt to form ranks. Sergeants were yelling as drillmasters only could. I watch as they continue their charge towards me. The brave died first. Their wounded and dead scattered on the field. When we repulsed their charge, they had to retreat past their fallen friends. They reformed and did it again. Such conviction to the Cause!

As I watched the battle unfold, I wondered what a person thought when charging across open fields, unable to stop and fire, hearing the whistling zings of near misses, while seeing comrades drop in the panic of battle.

The size of a bullet was as big as your thumb and if hit; it probably would shatter a bone, resulting in amputation. The medical profession was in its early stages. Doctors did not know about sterilization and unwittingly killed more men on the cutting table than bullets on the field, to say nothing of the diseases of camp life. Generals were trained in the Napoleon-style warfare of lines abreast when weapons evolved from smooth bore muskets to repeating rifles.

The soldiers must know of the high rate of casualties and tragic loss of life; carrying the flag for glory was a short life bound for heaven. Surely he couldn’t turn and run. His whole division was mustered and enrolled from the same county. His cowardice would certainly reach back home.

I tried to place myself into the shoes of these soldiers. The tightened muscles would shrink my stiff neck into my shirt collar like a turtle withdrawing into his protective shell, each step I take, my chin tipping lower to the ground. I think, "If I ever get home I’ll buy that piece of bottomland and marry the freckle faced Rosette Hoosier. Build some fences and raise some heifers and go to Sunday meeting picnics."

I thought, "If I am struck down and my side loses the battle, my army will retreat. I’d be left with no one to help me, no one to give me food or water or bandage my wounds for days or maybe weeks. The flies would be mercifulness and stench of the dead overwhelming. If I am killed and we lose the battle; my body would remain in the hot July sun to swell and contort. I’ve seen that before. It’s a sight not easily forgotten. Bodies are collected for burial in mass graves and I could spend eternity sandwiched between strangers forever."

I was in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania for the 139^th reenactment celebration of the famous battle. I arrived a week before the reenactment and toured the actual battlefield. It was very busy being the 4^th of July. I snuck on the battlefield grounds after hours and watched the fireworks from the observation tower on Little Round Top. I purchased a shirt of the period and adorned it with a replica of a Camp Letterman badge, a requirement for the nightly dances to the tunes of ’O Johnny O’ and the Virginia Reel.

Impersonators fell into character. The acting generals told informative stories about the battle and camp life. Presenters modeled the styles of clothing of the time. They got their information on clothing styles by looking at old photographs of the time period. Park Rangers and book authors scheduled evening lectures. Multi-leveled museums were filled with civil war memorabilia of all kinds. I especially enjoyed the cannon competition. The Sergeant aliened the sights using a string and plum bob. The crew follows a set procedure in loading. The target of large hay bales was two hundred yards off. I can see the cannon ball blasted into the air and landing within yards of the target.

The Civil War interests me for any reasons. It was the first "modern war and the last "chivalrous" one. It was the largest war ever waged in North America. It resulted in more casualties than all the other wars Americans fought in combined. It involved wartime developments such as the first battle between ironclad ships, the first national income tax, the first land mines, the new "total war" concept and the introduction of inventions from instant coffee to aerial reconnaissance.

Northwest Civil War Council, http://www.proaxis.com/~cavalrylin/ncwc.htm