The years after the end of the Civil War in 1865 witnessed a steady production of regimental histories, personal reminiscences, and official histories about the war. Generals and privates alike recounted the battle at Gettysburg years after it ended. One such account came from Confederate General James Longstreet, Lee’s right-hand man during the Gettysburg campaign. Privy to the details of the Confederate plans in a way that few others were, Longstreet’s memoir is in one sense an unparalleled source for students of the battle. Unlike northern journalists, forced to deduce Confederate intentions from the scattered reports they received from participants much further down the chain of command, Longstreet witnessed firsthand many of the critical decisions made by the Confederates at Gettysburg. But Longstreet’s 1895 memoir is subject to its own limitations, as he wrote it more than thirty years after the battle.
Pickett said, “General, shall I advance?”
The effort to speak the order failed, and I could only indicate it by an affirmative bow. He accepted the duty with seeming confidence of success, leaped on his horse, and rode gayly to his command. I mounted and spurred for Alexander’s post. He reported that the batteries he had reserved for the charge with the infantry had been spirited away by General Lee’s chief of artillery; that the ammunition of the batteries of position was so reduced that he could not use them in proper support of the infantry. He was ordered to stop the march at once and fill up his ammunition-chests. But, alas! there was no more ammunition to be had.
The order was imperative. The Confederate commander had fixed his heart upon the work. Just then a number of the enemy’s batteries hitched up and hauled off, which gave a glimpse of unexpected hope. Encouraging messages were sent for the columns to hurry on, and they were then on elastic springing step. General Pickett, a graceful horseman, sat lightly in the saddle, his brown locks flowing quite over his shoulders. Pettigrew’s division spread their steps and quickly rectified the alignment, and the grand march moved bravely on. General Trimble mounted, adjusting his seat and reins as if setting out on a pleasant afternoon ride. When aligned to their places solid march was made down the slope and past our batteries of position.
Confederate batteries put their fire over the heads of the men as they moved down the slope, and continued to draw the fire of the enemy until the smoke lifted and drifted to the rear, when every gun was turned upon the infantry columns. The batteries that had been drawn off were replaced by others that were fresh. Soldiers and officers began to fall, some to rise no more, others to find their way to the hospital tents. Single files were cut here and there, then the gaps increased, and an occasional shot tore wider openings, but, closing the gaps as quickly as made, the march moved on. The divisions of McLaws and Hood were ordered to move to closer lines for the enemy on their front, to spring to the charge as soon as the breach at the centre could be made. The enemy’s right overreached my left and gave serious trouble. Brockenbrough’s brigade went down and Davis’s in impetuous charge. The general order required further assistance from the Third Corps if needed, but no support appeared. General Lee and the corps commander were there, but failed to order help. . . .
General Armistead, of the second line, spread his steps to supply the places of fallen comrades. His colors cut down, with a volley against the bristling line of bayonets, he put his cap on his sword to guide the storm. The enemy’s massing, enveloping numbers held the struggle until the noble Armistead fell beside the wheels of the enemy’s battery. Pettigrew was wounded, but held his command.
General Pickett, finding the battle broken, while the enemy was still reinforcing, called the troops off. There was no indication of panic. The broken files marched back in steady step. The effort was nobly made, and failed from blows that could not be fended. Some of the files were cut off from retreat by fire that swept the field in their rear. Officers of my staff, sent forward with orders, came back with their saddles and bridles in their arms. Latrobe’s horse was twice shot.
Looking confidently for advance of the enemy through our open field, I rode to the line of batteries, resolved to hold it until the last gun was lost. As I rode, the shells screaming over my head and ploughing the ground under my horse, an involuntary appeal went up that one of them might take me from scenes of such awful responsibility; but the storm to be met left no time to think of one’s self. The battery officers were prepared to meet the crisis, no move had been made for leaving the field. My old acquaintance of Sharpsburg experience, Captain Miller, was walking up and down behind his guns, smoking his pipe, directing his fire over the heads of our men as fast as they were inside of the danger-line; the other officers equally firm and ready to defend to the last. A body of skirmishers put out from the enemy’s lines and advanced some distance, but the batteries opened severe fire and drove it back. Our men passed the batteries in quiet walk, and would rally, I knew, when they reached the ridge from which they started.
Source: James Longstreet, From Manassas to Appomattox: Memoirs of the Civil War in America, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1903), 392–95.
Evaluating the Evidence