A Short History of the Civil War by Fletcher Pratt

Author:Fletcher Pratt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 1976-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Gettysburg—The Second Day

The fire was intense; Sickles’ men suffered severely, his own batteries were smothered, he himself hurled from his horse with a leg smashed by a cannonball. Birney replaced him; at three-thirty Longstreet sent his column of assault, the division of McLaws, against the peach orchard ridge of the salient. The attackers carried it, broke in the point of the III Corps formation in a bitter struggle and slowly pushed the Federal flanks in both directions.

Brigadier Kershaw of McLaws had turned the other way to roll up the Union line north toward Cemetery along the road. The tyranny of time; he had almost made it when Sykes and the Union V Corps appeared and the battle was stabilized once more. Longstreet sent Hood’s division to get around Humphreys’ flank then, where the ground was low. Hood was a tall, thin Texan, tawny, awkward and strong, a “wild man” and fierce fighter. His quick eye caught a steep, rocky eminence, the Little Round Top, higher than Cemetery Ridge and just south of it, from whence guns would flank not only Humphreys in one direction, but Sykes, Birney, the whole Army of the Potomac in the other. He turned half his command toward it.

Meade, busy at the north end of his long line, where Hill’s activity seemed to portend attack, sent Chief of Engineers Warren to see how matters were going on the left. Warren could make nothing of the melee he saw; for better vision rode onto where Little Round Top thrust its pillar above the battle. He saw the III Corps retiring slowly under slanting lines of fire, saw Sykes’ fresh men muster for the charge, and then caught the sheen of Hood’s bayonets as his men began to climb Round Top.

In a flash Warren recognized the crisis; if the rebels got that hill, the Union flank was crushed and the army gone. He leaped his horse down the slope, on his own authority snatched two of Sykes’ brigades out of formation and took them to Little Round Top. The 20th Maine reached the summit, breathless, just before the first of Hood’s brigades, which had stopped for a rest on the way up, and plunged into a terrific nightmare of a battle. A New York regiment joined them, then the rest of Warren’s chance-met men, and a battery, pulled up the precipices by hand. The defenders lost brigadiers Vincent and Weed, Hood put in three times their force, the ammunition all went, and they struggled hand to hand, stabbing, throwing stones and growling like wolves. Warren was the soul of the defense, an enchanted figure, his clothes tattered by bullets, his ceremonial sword dripping blood.

McLaws had now finished with the III Corps and was hammering at the cut between Round Top and Cemetery. Sykes’ V Corps met him in front; the battle swayed and hung with charge and countercharge to and fro across the bloody ground. Hancock came onto the field, steadying the swaying line with fragments of regiments gathered from everywhere.

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