My Dear Cousin Bennie,
I sincerely apologize for not having written you sooner, as I imagine that you have been quite anxious for my letter detailing the movements of the 44th over the past few weeks.
I have, in the last few days, taken the opportunity to wash away the Pennsylvania mud and dust, and have gathered my thoughts on what was indeed an epic battle, or rather a series of battles that occurred near and within the crossroads of Gettysburg.
Our rebel army advanced into Gettysburg from a variety of roads radiating from the town like spokes of a wheel.
We arrived on the field disbursing into a line of battle from the cover of a tree line, and there before us lay the Union Army, already engaged in battle with advance troops of the Confederacy. It was a scene to remember as the open ground to our front presented us with a panoramic view of the rolling fields being fought over as each opponent slugged it out under a hot summer sun. We joined the advance supported by rebel batteries of Napoleons and Parrots.
How glorious the field must have looked, with lines of infantry flanking unfurled battle flags, our leaders on horseback shouting commands as we pressed onward, stepping over and around our fallen foe, halting just long enough to unleash a volley then loading on the move. The Yankee lines in our front broke, retreating through the town of Gettysburg, with our Regiment ever on their heels, until we halted, having been fought out.
During the hours after noon we rested, given time to resupply and reform, and beneath threatening skies we answered the call to “take that hill if at all practicable”. “That Hill”, I am told, is known locally as Culp’s Hill, and the Regiment stepped off to confront it’s defenders. Our column snaked through the fields to it’s north, deploying into a line of battle and confronting a small group of skirmishers, easily driving them to the woodline at the base of the hill. We advanced into the woods, stepping over fallen limbs and trees of all sizes, just as the sun was setting. Our vision impaired by the loss of sunlight, and our footing compromised by the terrain, we were at a disadvantage when suddenly the military crest above us erupted in a volley, filling the air with black powder smoke. Over the next 20 minutes the most vicious firefight surrounded me, the Yankees protected by defenses they had prepared in anticipation of our efforts. Alas, we were not to take the hill this day, and were obliged to forfeit the ground to the enemy, returning to our lines to continue the fight another day.
Indeed, we were engaged in battle each of the next two days, and history will long remember names such as Devil’s Den, the Roundtops, the Wheatfield and the Peach Orchard. We battled the terrain as much as we battled our foes, and we gained great respect for the effects that Mother Nature takes upon a soldier and those brave souls that support us. It is days such as these that the canteen rivals the rifle as the soldiers most prized possession.
A great artillery barrage preceeded our final attack upon the Union line, and when the cannons ceased their relentless cannonade our boys stepped out from the woodline in what is being referred to as Pickett‘s charge (although, truth be told, Pettigrew and Trimble had as much or more to do with the charge than just Pickett’s men ). The anxiety and anticipation during our wait, huddled in the woods, gave us much time to consider the epic event that awaited us. To a man, we knew that a frontal attack upon the Yankees, protected by a stone wall, would result in many casualties. Nearly a mile of open field lay before us, and a fence along the road made the effort more difficult. Yet, I saw no one turn and run. A Southern victory now could end this war. To us, reaching that wall was the goal, for beyond that wall was home.
We advanced across that field, compacting our lines as holes opened in the lines where once a soldier marched. I cannot say that I heard the Union volleys, nor the Union cannon, as we were all focused on the task at hand, to keep our lines intact and continue forward. We passed through the fence, or what remained of it, and pressed onward. Just past a slight rise I fell to the ground, unable to continue the advance, my legs gone from under me, and witnessed the conclusion of our brave effort. I recall seeing the flag of the 5th Regiment being waved to and fro from this side of the wall, it’s advance halted. I can still see the riderless horse that moments before held our Colonel. Of nearly 30 men in our Company that began the march, only 4 made it to the wall. The faces of men and boys as they passed me on their return towards our line spoke volumes. Stopped short of their goal they showed the determination to fight another day, realizing that today was not our day to reach that wall, but that our fight shall continue.
We may have lost many names from the registers that began those three days, but youth and new recruits shall fill the ranks of those that will not answer a roll call again. The cause remains as strong today as it did just three weeks ago.
I am told that draft riots erupted in New York and several other Northern cities, evidence that the Copperheads are gaining in number. Northern States west of Pennsylvania may soon realize that Lincoln’s use of aggressiveness, sentencing their sons and husbands to death or a life of disability is senseless and inhumane. This is Lincoln’s war not theirs.
The fall of Vicksburg will change this war, more so than Gettysburg. The Great Armies of the East seem played out. It is best that we return south of the Potomac and prepare for the defense of southern soil, as our advances into Maryland and Pennsylvania have not delivered the results we all have wished so much for.
Perhaps, Cousin Benny, we will see you in our camp this fall, not as a soldier as your youth will prohibit enlistment, but perhaps to remind us of the reasons WE have taken up arms : to protect the way of life our forefathers have fought and died for, so that our families can live free, truly free and not under the power of political tyrants.
Please let all at home know that their support of us is much appreciated.
Until we can again meet face to face and share the fruits of our efforts,
Your Cousin, Corporal James Marshall, CSA