Gettysburg: "The Soldier on the Battlefield who is Doing His Duty"

Thomas Francis Galwey served in the 8th Ohio Infantry and fought at Gettysburg on July 2 and 3, 1863. Later, he wrote about what he experienced and witnessed near Cemetery Ridge during that battle.

On Thursday July 2 we are up at four. The artillery on both sides have begun to fire already. Daylight shows us a little stream where we find water to wash ourselves and to make coffee. We are only allowed a few minutes for this, when we fall in and march off to the left. As soon as we reach the turnpike from Baltimore to Gettysburg, we take it and continue until we have reached the long ridge which extends for a mile and a half or so from the cemetery towards Little Round Top Hill….

Our brigade—Carroll’s—is formed behind a grove (Ziegler’s), our right resting on the Baltimore turnpike, across which, to our right, is the cemetery. It is a pretty sight. We can see for miles around to the right and left…. In the middle of the valley to our right lies the pleasant town of Gettysburg. Behind it on the ridge we can see the Seminary, with the Confederates’ yellow hospital flag floating from it, and still farther to the right on the same ridge, Gettysburg College, which appears to us to be rather an imposing edifice. But the college and seminary are now doing work which their founders little dreamt of.

While we are waiting, some of us are writing letters to our loved ones, which might be found in our haversacks if we lose our lives in this coming battle. I am making little pencil sketches and jotting down notes of my feelings. The clouds are scarcely yet lifted from the mountains, but already puffs of smoke issue from the windows of any house in the town which is advantageously placed for sharpshooters. Our line is fast extending to the left, where all attention seems at the present to be directed. In our front we can see the enemy’s skirmishers descend the slope of Seminary Ridge and advance out to the middle of the valley, where there is a slight rise of ground. Our skirmishers receive them with a warm fire, which they return. And so it goes on towards noon, as the fighting to our left becomes hot.

It is about a mile and a half to the south, where the action is warming up. A peach orchard and a clump of farm houses near the Emmitsburg turnpike are shrouded in the thick white smoke. From the foot of Round Top Hill our artillery is now at work, and by the middle of the afternoon it has become a very desperate battle out there. From our position we can see it all very plainly.

About four in the afternoon orders come for our regiment to skirmish. The fire in the meantime has become hot. Our batteries had taken position under a galling fire from the enemy’s artillery and from his skirmishers out in the cornfields in front of us. It was to dislodge these last for our artillery’s sake, that we were ordered to advance. We moved down the hill in line of battle in fine style, our colors flying and the artillery as well as the rest of our brigade cheering us. Arrived at the Emmitsburg pike, which ran at the foot of the ridge where our artillery was posted, we halted. Our two companies were deployed to advance into the corn in skirmishing order. This soon woke up the Johnnies. Now the bullets flew. The batteries on the hill behind us gave us good help, exploding their shells right in front of our skirmishers, but amongst the Confederates. We drove them back from the turnpike and across the fields to a fence and a group of farm houses, where they turned about and checked our further advance.

Night soon came on and put a stop to any more serious fighting. But the crack of the rifle, the boom of cannon, along with the singing of the bullets and the roar of the shells passing over one’s head like a train of cars crossing a bridge, continued throughout the night. As we lay on our backs courting sleep, we could at any time, if we opened our eyes, see the skies crossed with a network of the fiery traces of shells going and coming, like shooting stars, between the artillery of both sides. Shortly after eight o’clock it became quiet. Then towards nine o’clock—I was with my company on the skirmish line—the artillery opened quite vigorously again…. It required all our experience in the vicissitudes of battle and knowledge of the strange contours of battlefields, to keep from retreating back to the grove from which we had come, and where we supposed the rest of our brigade remained. 

The soldier on the battlefield who is doing his duty knows but little of the general movements of the battle. These he is anxious to know, of course, but only finds them out or begins to understand them when the battle is over, or he has a chance to talk to men or officers of other regiments, or to prisoners captured. I was fortunate to know a few staff officers who repeated what they knew, which helped me to make simple sketches showing how the battlefield looked to me at the time. The soldier advances or retreats, or marches by the flank to the right or left, as his command goes. To him, his regiment or at least his brigade, is the whole army. And generally he cannot see far even when he has time to look. He fights in a cornfield where the tall stalks wave above, or where hedge fences and clumps of trees, houses, barns, and even chicken coops limit his view. If he is with his regiment he has no opportunity to go to some high ground where he can take in the whole field at a glance; and the number of men whose position allows them to do it, and who are sufficiently free of other more important duties, is very small....

We on the skirmish line lay very close to the ground because though it was dark we yet could make out the enemy figures, just as they could see ours. The fighting beyond the cemetery served still more to put us on the alert, as we knew not the moment that we might have to sustain a charge from heavy lines. The regiment, that is, nine of its companies, lay in the ditch of the Emmitsburg turnpike. This being broad and deep, gave very good shelter. One company was kept at all times on the skirmish line, seventy-five yards or so in advance, along a fence. The skirmishers who had preceded us had pulled down the fence, so that it was a continuous pile of rails and a fair protection for men shooting while lying down. I had been on the line with my company until about nine o’clock, when I was relieved by another company, but at midnight we were again sent out to that fatal fence....

Again everything became quiet, terrifically so considering the storm which we all knew had been brewing for the morrow. My orders were to preserve the utmost vigilance amongst my men; an order difficult to execute as we were all exhausted and, moreover, I could scarcely keep my eyes open during the watch. The information gradually seeped down to us that our regiment had lost, before dusk, 44 killed and wounded. After that rumor had served to keep us busy commenting on it, sleep again became difficult to overcome. Two or three times it seemed to me that I had dozed off, and I would rouse myself and whisper something to one of my men, who would also appear to have been nodding....

At four in the morning (Friday, July 3) I was relieved, and took my company back to the ditch of the road, where we stretched out and slept. How we slept! At a few minutes before six I was awakened by the adjutant and ordered to take my company out again. I deployed in the ditch of the road, and then we went forward at a run to the fence, where we relieved Captain Pierce’s Company K; they going back to the road also at a run. All this drew a brisk fire from the enemy’s skirmish line in our front, which continued ceaselessly from then out. The rails of the fence had been torn away from the posts and laid upon one another, making a sort of protection for the heads of men lying down behind them. Well, when we reached the fence at six in the morning we saw what work Death had done since the afternoon before. Our dead skirmishers lay so thick where they had been killed in the line that it was difficult for us to find a place to stretch ourselves.

About a hundred and fifty yards to our left front was a large barn, such as are common throughout this rich part of Pennsylvania, where the barns are finer than the houses. Ever since daylight an incessant fire of sharpshooters had been kept up from its windows upon our artillery on the ridge behind us. This fire became at last so annoying that a battalion with its colors moved out from our left and with a good cheer charged the barn. For some time before this charge, we ourselves had been so frequently the target for the shots from it that we had made many guesses amongst ourselves as to the number of men it sheltered. But we were not prepared for such a sight as we beheld when the New York regiment (I do not know its number) got to it. Certainly it was no exaggeration to say that two hundred Confederates issued from that barn and its surroundings, flying in confusion. The New Yorkers applied the torch and, as the flames burst through the thrifty farmer’s barn-roof, we gave a cheer. Fired by the example of the men on our left, although as far as I know, without any orders, we charged straight ahead. We drove the enemy back down the other face of the low ridge on which he was posted, and up the slope to where we could plainly descry the masses of his line of battle, in all about two hundred yards. Here, however, we were met by successive discharges of canister from the batteries right ahead and by shells from their reserve artillery on Seminary Ridge beyond. This checked our advance and, while we were reforming, the rallied enemy skirmishers turned upon us again. We fell back slowly, firing, to our old position at the fence. All this happened between seven and eight in the morning. 

The skirmish fire now became murderous.... The skirmishing was of that steady nature that comes from acquaintance with the ground and with the enemy’s manner of fighting. The firing was rapid enough, and yet there was not much random work. It was almost as much as a man’s life was worth to rise to his height from the ground. The advance of our line in the early morning had strewn the ground with our wounded, who, in our retreat to the fence, were necessarily left where they fell, now between the two fires.... About the middle of the forenoon a cry of, “Don’t fire, Yanks!” rang out, and we all got up to see what was coming. A man with his gun slung across his shoulder came out from the tree. Several of our fellows aimed at him but the others checked them, to see what would follow. The man had a canteen in his hand and, when he had come about half-way to us, we saw him (God bless him) kneel down and give a drink to one of our wounded who lay there beyond us. Of course we cheered the Reb, and someone shouted, “Bully for you! Johnny!” Whilst this was going on, we had all risen to our feet. The enemy too, having ceased to fire, were also standing. As soon as the sharpshooter had finished his generous work, he turned around and went back to the tree, and then at the top of his voice shouted, “Down Yanks, we’re going to fire.” And down we lay again….

At ten minutes to one precisely, by my watch, after a lull in the cannonade, a heavy gun was heard from the enemy’s line. Instinct told us at once that that gun had fired a signal. Yesterday afternoon a desperate fight had been waged on our left, which resulted in nothing except carnage. Last night Ewell, with Jackson’s old corps, had assaulted our right, with like result. We all felt that now they would make a last effort against us, who were at the center. So when the heavy gun had boomed its signal to the enemy’s line, a general bucking up could be seen along ours. We had just received fresh ammunition, and our men at once began to arrange their cartridges and caps for the coming “trouble.” A pause of a few seconds followed the firing of the signal gun, when there broke out on the still air so terrific a cannonade as I had not heard since the morning when our guns bombarded Fredericksburg. From ten minutes to one until half-past two this cannonade made those Pennsylvania hills vibrate again with its awful sound. We lay on our backs in the ditch, our heads to the enemy. We could see our artillerymen with their jackets off and their sleeves rolled up, at work at their guns. And an inspiring sight it was. 

The enemy’s artillery fire soon became destructive enough. Now and again a shell would strike one of our battery ammunition chests, blowing it up with a tremendous detonation. Still our artillery kept at their work, giving out Indian yells whenever they saw that their shots had taken good effect. We were between the fires, but beneath the paths of the shells. The infantry on both sides seemed to be letting artillery do the work, knowing that their own more desperate efforts would soon be called for. After a while so monotonous became the roar of the artillery that it produced drowsiness amongst us, and I went to sleep, as I was told later. Most of my regiment did as I did. Several of our men were hit in the meantime, amongst them Charley Gallagher, who had crossed the road and laid down in the shade of a tree. He was severely wounded while fast asleep. 

I slept for about ten minutes, then awoke. Shortly afterwards I was struck in the foot by a spent shell fragment. After recovering from the pain of the impact, and whilst laughing at the matter, I was slapped in the thigh by a fragment of an enemy shell. This knocked me over, but I picked myself up, to hear the same melancholy man whom I had helped off at Antietam, tell me that the next hit would, he feared, be a fatal one. Prophets of evil are always to be found.

This terrible cannonade had now lasted about forty minutes, when a sharp musketry fire started, beginning on our skirmish line in front. We sprang to our feet.... Then came a distant murmur from the front, followed by a renewal of our artillery fire, which had slackened for a few minutes. All at once the murmur increased into a prolonged yell, and we saw the enemy with colors flying advancing in columns in mass, to the left of where the barn had been burnt in the morning. 

I had often read of battles and of charges; had been in not a few myself; but until this moment I had not gazed upon so grand a sight as was presented by that beautiful mass of gray, with its small, square colors, as it came on in serried array, cheering their peculiar cheer, right towards the crest of the hill which we and our batteries were to defend.

We went forward to the fence line at a run; and now against us moved a large force of the enemy who were formed to the north of the column in mass. Later in the day I learned that the massed column was Pickett’s division of Longstreet’s corps; the troops north of them, who were assaulting us, were Pender’s and Pettigrew’s divisions of Hill’s corps. They were in two lines of battle, with their batteries in the intervals of the line, advancing at a gallop. 

Our artillery fire that now opened upon the advancing Confederates was such as nothing but the heroic could endure. Before the lines moving against us were come within close range, we watched and very anxiously too, that beautiful, terrible mass coming toward our left shoulders.... We stood all alone out in that open field, waving our colors; in spite of all the threatening advance we took time to praise the valor of that Confederate officer who rode ahead, a conspicuous mark for sixty cannon and thousands of muskets. 

A few seconds, and a cheer rises to the west of us. Now Pender’s line, with colors flying, issues from the trees that cover the crest of the low ridge to our front, and comes right towards us. But from the first it was easy to see the difference between the mettle of these men and those of Pickett’s glorious column. Two or three times Pender’s line hesitated, whether obliged to reform, because of the irregularity of the ground, or whether owing to a disposition to give way before the effect of our artillery shells exploding right in front of them. These bursts, which occasionally hid them in smoke from us, were now actually tearing their ranks to pieces. The enemy came as far as the fence opposite us, where the Confederate skirmishers had been from the first of the battle, and here they lay down.... But down they lay, though only for a few minutes. We so galled them with our fire that a panic soon took hold of them and they fled, back to the low ridge….

Pender’s advance being so soon checked, every shot was turned on Pickett. On and on came his column, the mounted officer still conspicuous at its head. From time to time the smoke of bursting shells would envelop them for a few seconds, but when the smoke lifted, the gray mass was still coming on, still compact, still orderly, ever and anon raising one of those piercing yelps which had been so terrifying for our new troops to hear. 

They have ascended the last slope and now have nothing between them and the crest of the heights but the blue-clad men who, at one part of the line, are behind a stone wall. Now they are almost at the turnpike, to the left of our regiment. The blood goes fast through the veins now; the light of battle shines in the eye; the heart becomes, for the time, steeled; goodness and mercy and all the softer emotions that, at other times, influence a man’s action, are dormant. This is the moment and the circumstance of which poets have sung, which historians have narrated, which even painters have endeavored to depict; but which none can understand, who have not seen, heard, or felt the crisis of a great battle. 

The enemy column has now approached the turnpike just to the south of us. They seem to pay no attention to us, who are a mere handful. Yet the fire which we pour into their left flank is a deadly one and tells visibly upon them. They are now over the turnpike and begin to ascend the rise to the stone wall. We have entirely recovered from the momentary doubt that had seized us and, with the fresh ammunition which a short time ago was issued us, play havoc with them. Still brave and cheering, they ascend the stone wall. Our men up there break and disappear beyond the crest of the ridge which at that point is not as high as it is just behind us. For a few seconds things look dubious; the enemy has taken Griffin’s battery and are beginning to train its guns on our own line. Then in the nick of time Major Rorty of Hancock’s staff, rallying a portion of the 29th New York, charges them and recovers the battery. The enemy, now broken and disorganized and far from any support, begin to retire. The retreat is, almost at once, turned into a flight! 

From our position on their flank we and other troops off on the Confederate right (south) flank, have not ceased to pour a devastating fire into their masses. Now at last they begin to melt. They had gained the crest of the ridge, almost had victory in their grasp, when now, unfortunate men, they are forced to turn their charge into a disastrous flight.

They threw away everything—cartridge boxes, waist-belts, and haversacks—in their stampede. We dashed in amongst them, taking prisoners by droves. One man of my company, a corporal, took fifteen prisoners including two officers as well as a stand of colors. As far the eye could reach, the ground was covered with flying Confederates. They all seemed to extend their arms in their flight, as if to assist their speed. From the time when the enemy’s signal gun was fired, at ten minutes to one, until the moment when the magnificent troops of Pickett’s column had disappeared over the low ridge, a mere mass of fugitives, was about seventy minutes. 

Our own loss was severe. I myself was hit three times between the opening of the cannonade and the rout of the enemy. The First and Second Sergeants of my company each lost a leg. Old John Burke, who had served twenty-one years in the 18th Royal Irish, of the British Army, before entering ours, also lost the use of a leg. Lelievre, who was an old French sailor, was also crippled in the leg. Wilson was killed outright, as was Corporal Barney McGuire, a brave, humorous fellow; and Private William Brown died before dark. Out of the two hundred and sixteen men that our regiment took into battle, we lost one hundred and three in killed and severely wounded. As for the slightly wounded, almost every man was hit. In other words, we suffered nearly 100 percent casualties. 

As Pickett’s column was running we had dashed amongst them, and our one hundred and fifty men captured about the same number of prisoners. When we had reached the ditch of the Emmitsburg Pike on our way back, we beheld a sorry sight. Many of the wounded had been carried back to it during the fight. Others had hobbled and crawled into it, some dying after reaching it. It was full of pools of blood, and the grass for some distance in front was saturated with blood. In the ditch along with many others in like condition, lay two of our sergeants, Fairchild (Orderly) and Kelly (Second) Sergeant; each with the lower part of the leg hanging by a piece of flesh to the rest of the limb. This brought the tears to my eyes, for they were both good men, brave soldiers, and favorites with everyone. 

But we were only allowed to remain a few minutes with our poor wounded fellows, when we re-formed our badly shattered line, and as we ascended the hill down which we had come yesterday in gallant array, the artillery, who had seen us through all the fight, cheered us and spoke flattering words to us as we passed them. The battle was now virtually over. We passed on, back over the Baltimore pike, down into a hollow, where we stretched ourselves out on the grass to rest. A detachment of the Provost Guards soon came up and relieved us of our prisoners and captured colors….

Both armies were now utterly exhausted. The one defeated and taking breath before beginning a general retreat; the other now confident, yet compelled by reasons of humanity to nurse the thousands of wounded and to bury the numberless dead of both armies that now strewed the ground in all directions. Every house, every barn, was made into a hospital. Men ran about everywhere seeking wounded comrades, not forgetting in their solicitude to do many kindnesses to the enemy’s wounded, who everywhere lay mixed with ours. Night came on, and then the only sounds to be heard were the groans of the wounded, the prayers of the dying, and the strident noise of shelter tents and clothes of all sorts being torn up for bandages. After doing all I could for such of my own wounded as I could find, I lay down and slept.

Source:

Thomas Francis Galwey, The Valiant Hours: Narrative of "Captain Brevet," An Irish American in the Army of the Potomac (Stackpole, 1961).