GETTYSBURG: The Days of Destiny
A Novel of the Battle of Gettysburg
July 1, 1863; the Chambersburg Pike, two miles West of Gettysburg.
The early morning July sun beat down on the men marching in their tattered Grey uniforms. The bare feet dragged on the dirt roads through South-Central Pennsylvania. A Chestnut mare cantered along gently. Her rider, Brigadier General Henry Heth watched his men file past happily. He was the lead element for Ambrose Hill's Corps of 15,000 men. The hot sun did nothing to dry his spirits. Heth, who was pushing thirty-eight, had salt and pepper hair and mustache, and his blue eyes gazed eagerly East. General Robert E. Lee, as the rendezvous for the Army of Northern Virginia, had selected the town of Gettysburg. It had ten roads radiating from the town, a perfect spot. Heth's men had engaged Militia the day before, but they had fled quickly.
A brass band was perched on a hill nearby. The instruments belting out the popular marching air "The Bonnie Blue Flag" as Heth's mud splattered, war weary, and exhausted troops moved resolutely past. Heth heard jingling behind him, and a very familiar flag rose over the hill, chants of "Marse Robert! Marse Robert!" echoed from his rear. The Stars and Bars, the Headquarters flag of General Robert E. Lee streamed towards him. Several men were clustered beneath it. He recognized a fiery red crop of hair in an instant, A.P. Hill, his Corps commander. Next to Hill rode a burly man with a cigar, and a brown, bushy beard, James Longstreet, commander of the First Corps of the army. Finally, just at the head of the group, was a man on a snow white horse. This man's white hair and beard were shaded by a light gray, wide-brimmed hat. General Lee saluted Heth.
"General Heth, have your advance units reached the town yet, sir?" His commander asked in his Virginian drawl.
"No, sir, General Lee." Heth saluted his senior officer. "But I anticipate their arrival at the ridges outside of town within the hour. It is," Heth drew a pocket watch, "9:00 now, I estimate they will arrive at about 9:30, sir." Lee nodded as Heth stuffed his watch back in his waistcoat.
"General Heth, we have received reports of a possible strong Militia presence on those ridges, I advise you to keep your men alert." Hill barked, his Virginian Bass a strong contrast to Lee's tenor. Longstreet rolled his eyes.
"A.P. it's not that bad." Longstreet said irritated. "Heth, Ewell's coming from the north, link with him at the town, and form a strong wall. We have received intelligence of Federal forces, possibly the full Union army, on the march north after us." Richard Ewell, the new commander of the Second Corps, who suffered from Dementia and a cork leg, insisted on riding in a carriage. He had once called "Stonewall" Jackson, the Southern hero, insane for remarking that he refused to eat pepper because it gave him leg pains. Heth nodded, and rode up to the head of his lines. Little did anyone know it, but as they rode and marched, the Union army was arriving in Gettysburg.
July 1, 1863; McPherson's Ridge, ½ mile West of Gettysburg
John Buford sat on his brown Stallion. His officers, Colonel Devin, and Colonel Gimbol sat astride their mounts behind him. A star spangled guidion flaps freely behind them.
"Roll up the flag." Buford growls. "Damn Rebs will blast it when they see her." The middle aged cavalryman wore a mud stained uniform. His black, brimmed hat contrasted strongly with his light gray hair. Buford and his two brigades of Cavalry were the advance element for the Army of the Potomac. General John Reynolds' Corps of 25,000 men was double-quicking from Taneytown Maryland 11 miles away. Howard's Corps of 15,000 were making the same speed from Union Mills, 20 miles away. The men crouch low behind split rail fences, their Spencer Carbines glittering in the 9:20 am sun. Buford sat and waited. Within minutes, a dust cloud rose ahead of them.
"Ready" Buford growled. The Confederate troops rolled into view, four abreast. "Aim." The guns slid through the rails.
"FIRE!" Buford yelled in fury. The sharp crack of the repeaters slammed into Heth's division. The first ten fell like stones, their flag dropping with them. Calef's battery opened, six 6-pound howitzers screeching as shells tore into the Confederates. "So it begins," Buford muttered, "Now, how long does it last. Colonel Devin! Send a courier back to Reynolds; tell him I need support now, that I have engaged the Reb infantry." The courier saluted, and rode quickly southwards. Buford stared Westward, A.P. Hill's corps was engaged, now where was the rest of the Army of Northern Virginia?
July 1, 1863; Chambersburg Pike; 1 ½ Mile West of Gettysburg
"Major Taylor, is that our artillery?" General Lee asked from Traveler's back.
"Yes sir, Heth's division has engaged Federal Cavalry near the town." Taylor said over the dull roar of field pieces. Lee scowled.
"My orders were to avoid conflict with the enemy until the army was together."
"Sir, General Heth was taken by surprise, and his men got their dander up. They thought it was just a few dismounted cavalry, now they're dueling with a battery and two brigades of dismounted Federals." Taylor sighed wearily.
"Major Taylor, go on ahead and find General Heth. I wish to speak to him. I am issuing new orders, if Ewell is where he should be, my order to all commanders; attack." Lee said jauntily. Taylor saluted, and rode off eastwards.
Seminary Ridge, ¼ Mile West of Gettysburg, 10:27 AM
"Colonel Gimble, try and reform your line." Buford growled through his field glasses. The cavalry brigade was faltering on the ridge a quarter mile distant. "Colonel Devin, adjust your flank. I see dust to the North. I think its Ewell." Buford growled to his other subordinate. His headquarters flag, a red and white guidion flapped through the cupola. A captain was behind him, looking southwards for any sign of Reynolds' Corps.
"Sir! It's General Reynolds!" The captain cried eagerly. Buford spun around, and peered through his glasses. A blue flag with a white circle in the center flew merrily above a party of equestrians. A black '1' accented the center, indicating the Commanding General of the Union Army 1st Corps. The dark haired and bearded equestrian in the center, his brass buttons shining, was Major General John Fulton Reynolds.
"How goes it, John?" Reynolds bellowed up to Buford.
"There's the devil to pay, John." Buford bellowed back, and began the descent. He reached the ground, and shook hands with Reynolds, who clambered off his horse.
"You were right, John. It is beautiful ground." Reynolds smiled a crinkled grin at the aged cavalryman as the two walked towards McPherson Ridge. Behind them, the 22nd Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry of the Iron Brigade marched into view.
¾ miles from Gettysburg July 1, 1863 10:37 AM
"General Heth, what is the commotion? It should not have taken so long to break cavalry." Lee said sharply to his subordinate.
"Sir, I apologize, but they put up quite a scrap. Now, they have infantry support! The Iron Brigade, Meredith's Black Hats to boot, sir. It started out as a scrap against Cavalry, now I'm tangling with a Corps, or possibly half the Union Army!" Heth moaned, his skin whiter than Traveler's hide due to his nerves. Cannon boomed nearby, shells whistling into the Union lines.
"Is Archer's Division up yet?" Lee asked Hill, the latter of whom nodded. "Good, I want Archer to apply pressure with Heth, while Ewell hits the flank. I want that line turned." Lee said fiercely. The men nodded, and the couriers galloped off with the new orders.
McPherson's Ridge; 11:00 AM
"FINAL BRIGADE FORWARD!" Reynolds bellowed to the infantry. They emitted a roar, and swept forward to plug a hole in the wavering line. Reynolds followed, as the men formed on the edge of the woods. He paced his horse behind them. Over his shoulder, he saw another regiment. "Forward men, forward, for god's sake, forward!" BANG! Reynolds slumped in the saddle as the crack of a rifle echoed. Slowly, he dipped to his right, before tumbling down to the ground, his horse stampeding away in terror. A young captain rushed to him, and began cradling the fallen commander's head in his arms. Blood ran freely from Reynolds' neck.
"He… he's dead." The captain sobbed to the knot of soldiers who had clustered around them. The men removed their hats, and wailed audibly. The line wavered one last time, and Reynolds' corpse, on an improvised stretcher, led the retreat of the Union forces through Gettysburg.
Seminary Ridge, ¼ Mile from Gettysburg
As the news of Reynolds' death swept back, Major General Oliver Otis Howard and his newly arrived 11th Corps were the senior forces on the field. They had formed a tight defense on Seminary ridge, and were determined not to yield. The Corps of mostly immigrants and Pennsylvania Dutch were stalwart, until Chancellorsville a few months before, when, against Stonewall Jackson, they had led the retreat. Now, as Ewell closed on their right, they repeated the marvelous feat, timing it, so it seemed, that their 15,000 men would sweep with the remnants of Buford's cavalry, and Reynolds' corps.
Cemetery Hill, ½ mile South from Gettysburg
Major General Winfield Scott Hancock glared in disgust at the retreating masses through his field glasses.
"General Hunt, dig your guns in here. We will hold against Lee until judgment day here." Hancock growled menacingly as the 11th Corps began to arrive, again in full retreat. The second time in two months Hancock had witnessed the amazing feat of theirs. Henry Hunt began locating his 18 Napoleon 12-pound Howitzers. He recruited the fleeing masses as a pit crew, who dug gun pits in record time. Hancock's own Second Corps was forming along the adjacent ridge, to hold against a flanking attack. Hancock had been ordered by the Union commanding general, George Meade, to organize a defense of a position, and by god he intended to do so. As the last of the men came in, the Rebs could be seen in Gettysburg, but they made no effort to attack, and through the night, more troops arrived for both sides, and Hancock fortified the hill so thoroughly, that an attack was sheer suicide.
Gettysburg; Dusk, July 1st
"General Lee, I most respectfully request another assignment." Brigadier General Isaac Trimble grumbled heatedly.Trimble's mustache was twitching irately. "It is General Ewell, sir. You ordered him to take that hill if practicable, and he ignored you. Ask General Gordon, or Ewell himself. With a regiment, I could have swept that hill clean, sir. I told him 'General Ewell, give me a Division, and I will take that hill' he ignored me, so; 'General Ewell, give me a brigade, and I will take that hill'. He sits there and looks at me like I'm crazy. 'General Ewell, give me a regiment, and I will take that hill.' He ignores me, so I throw my sword at his feet and storm out."
Lee sat in brooding silence.
"General Trimble, it appears to me that you are a fighter. You must stay with General Ewell for now, but I will get you a different commander soon." Lee half smiled at the old railroader from Maryland, and dismissed him.