General Sherman against General Grant's circuitous march around Vicksburg, and by which he cut himself off from his base of supplies; General Sherman's direction that the protest be forwarded to Washington, and General Grant's never so forwarding it; and afterward, when Vicksburg was about to surrender, the tearing up of said protest, by General Grant, in General Sherman's presence, much to the satisfaction of the latter.

A more humorous incident, and which will bear to be repeated, was that which transpired in the presence of President

Lincoln, to whom complaint had been made that General Grant was in the habit of using intoxicating drinks to excess. "So I understand Grant drinks whiskey to excess?" interrogatively remarked the president. "Yes," was the reply. "What whiskey does he drink?" inquired Mr. Lincoln. "What whiskey?" doubtfully queried his hearers. "Yes. Is it Bourbon or Monongahela?" "Why do you ask, Mr. President?" "Because, if it makes him win victories like this at Vicksburg, I will send a demijohn of the same kind to every general in the army."

On the first of July, the advanced corps of the union army, led by Reynolds and Howard, engaged the confederate forces near Gettysburg. General Reynolds approached the town from the south-east, the confederates evacuating it on his arrival. He passed through and out (says the account of a writer in the Philadelphia Age) on the west side toward Chambersburg. He marched several miles, was met by the enemy in stronger force, and after a slight contest was compelled to retire. The confederates pushed him very hard, and he came into the town on a run, his troops going along every available road, and rushing out on the east side, closely pursued. One of his brigades with a confederate brigade on each side of it. All three were abreast, running as hard as they could, the two outside ones pouring a heavy fire into the center, out of which men dropped, killed or wounded, at almost every footstep. This federal brigade, in running that terrible gauntlet, lost half its

men.

General Reynolds was killed, and Gettysburg was lost; but the federal troops succeeded in mounting the Cemetery Hill, and the confederates ceased pursuing. At night, the latter encamped in the town, and the union troops on the hill. During Wednesday night and Thursday morning, the two armies were concentrating on the two ridges, which were to be the next day's line of battle, and by noon on Thursday each general had a force of eighty thousand men at his disposal. Then began the great artillery contest, the infantry on both sides crouching behind fences and trees and in riflepits. The federal soldiers in the cemetery

to prevent injury, so that many escaped. There was but little infantry fighting on Thursday, and neither party made much impression on the other. The confederates in the other town erected barricades, and had their sharpshooters posted in every available spot, picking off federal soldiers on the hills to the north of the cemetery. The cannonade was fierce and incessant, and shells from both sides flew over and into the devoted town. Beyond killing and wounding, breaking trees and shattering houses, and making an awful noise, however, this cannonade had but little effect on the result of the battle. Both sides fought with great ferocity, and neither could drive the other out of position.

On Thursday night, fearing that the enemy had flank parties which might turn

his

rear, General Meade had serious intentions of a change in his plan of movements, and he called a council of war. The advice of some of his generals, however, and the capture of a courier with dispatches from Richmond, from which it was learned that the confederates could receive no re-enforcements, made him decide not to alter his programme. On Friday morning, General Lee did not desire to make the attack. He saw the superiority of the federal position, and wished to entice them out of it, and down into the valley. With this design in view, he withdrew all his sharpshooters and infantry from Gettysburg. The deserted town lay there a very tempting bait, but General Meade's men hid quietly behind the fences and trees, and the banks upon the hills. They could look down into the streets and see everything that was in progress. They saw the confederates march out and retire to the seminary, but made no advance, and the confederates gained nothing by the movement. A parting salute of musketry, however, from a knoll north of the cemetery, accelerated the confederate retreat. For some time the town had scarcely a soldier in it. Scores of dead and wounded men and horses, with broken wagons, bricks, stones, timber, torn clothing, and

abandoned accoutrements, lay there. The frightened inhabitants peered out of their windows to see what the armies were doing to cause such a lull, and, almost afraid of their own shadows, they hastened away and crouched in corners and cellars at the sound of every shot or shell.

Of the stirring scenes that so soon followed, the same correspondent says: General Lee's evacuation, however, had no effect. Meade was neither to be enticed into the town nor into the valley. Enough dead bodies lay in the fields and streets to give him warning of what happened to poor Reynolds two days before, and he wisely determined to stay where he was and let events shape themselves. confederates soon became impatient. They could wait no longer; and after much solicitation from his subordinates, General

The

Lee permitted General Longstreet to send his grand division on a charge upon the cemetery. The federal soldiers were on the alert. They were hid behind their embankments, some kneeling, and some flat on the ground. The confederate artillery opened. It was as fierce a cannonade as the one the day before, but instead of being spread all over the line, every shell was thrown at the cemetery. Experienced soldiers soon divined what was coming, and, in every portion of the federal line, the cannon were directed toward the valley in front of the cemetery. All were ready. Amidst the furious fire from the confeder

ate cannon scarcely a federal shot was heard. The artillerists, implements in hand, crouched in the little ditches dug behind their cannon. With arms loaded, the infantry awaited the charge. It soon came. From the woods of short, scrubby timber and the rocks near the seminary, there rose a yell. It was a long, loud, unremitting, hideous screech, from thousands of voices. At the yell, the federal cannon opened. Soon the confederate columns emerged from the woods. They came on a rush down the hill, waving their arms and still screeching. They climbed the fences and rushed along, each one bent upon getting first into the cemetery. The cannon roared, and grape and canister and spherical case fell thick among them. Still they rushed onward, hundreds falling out of the line. They came within musketshot of the federal troops. Then the small arms began to rattle. The confederates approached the outer line of works. They were laboring up the hill. As they

mounted the low bank in front of the riflepits, the federal soldiers retreated out of the ditch behind, turning and firing as they went along. It was a hand-to-hand conflict. Every man fought for himself and by himself. Myriads of confederates pushed forward down the hill, across into the works, and up to the cemetery. All were shouting, and screaming, and swearing, clashing their arms and firing their pieces. The confederate shells flew over the field upon the federal artillerists on the hills above. These, almost disregarding the storm which raged around them, directed all their fire upon the surging columns of the enemy's charge. Every available cannon on Cemetery Hill, and to the right and left, threw its shells and shot in the valley. The fight was terrible; but, despite every effort, the confederates pushed up the hill and across the second line of works. The fire became hotter. The fight swayed back and forth. One moment the confederates would beat the railings of the cemetery; then a rush from the federal side would drive them down into the valley. down into the valley. Then, with one of

their horrid screeches, they would fiercely run up the hill again into the cemetery, and have a fierce battle among the tombstones. It was the hardest fight of the day, and hundreds were slain there. Several attempts were made to take the place, but they were not successful, and late in the afternoon, leaving dead and wounded behind them, the confederate forces retreated upon their own hill and into their woods again. They were not routed. They can scarcely be said to have been driven. They made an attack and were repulsed, and, after renewed attempts, feeling that it was useless to try any more, they retreated. It was now General Meade's turn to make an attack. Though they had lost heavily they felt elated. They saw hopes of a victory, and were ready to do almost anything to secure it. Although there had been a battle in the valley below Gettysburg, yet the town was as quiet and as much deserted as ever. Shells flew over it, and now and then one of its houses would have a wall cracked or a roof broken, but neither force possessed General Meade turned his attention

it.

there.

The day was waning and the battle had lulled, and Meade determined, if possible, to drive the confederates out of the seminary. This was done, according to the writer already quoted, as follows: His troops were placed in order, and charged down the hill and into the town. They ran along every street, chasing a few of the enemy still hid there, before them. They came out upon the west side, along the Emmettsburg and Chambersburg roads, and ascended the enemy's hills amidst a storm of grape and shell. At the seminary the confederates were not very strong. They had weakened that portion of the line to make their attack further to the south upon the cemetery. They had but few cannon; and though they resisted some time, they finally retreated from the edge of the hill and abandoned the seminary. The federal troops did not chase them. The land back of the seminary was rather flat and cut up into

grain fields, with here and there a patch of woods. The rifle-pits on the brow of the hill proved an effectual aid to the federal soldiers in maintaining their ground; and as they lay behind the bank, with the ditch in front, they could pick off the stragglers from the retreating enemy. There was but little serious fighting after that, and night put an end to Friday's struggle, the confederates having retired about a mile on the north, near the seminary, and half a mile on the south, at a little stream. During the night, the dead in the streets of Gettysburg were buried, and the wounded on all parts of the field were collected and carried to the rear. On the next morning, General Meade expected another attack; but, instead of making it, the confederates retreated further, abandoning their entire line of battle, and the pickets reported that they were intrenching at the foot of South Mountain. The federal army was terribly crippled and sadly in need of rest, and no advance was made, although pickets were thrown across the enemy's old line of battle, and toward the place where they were building intrenchments. All the day was spent in feeding and resting the men. Gettysburg was turned into a vast hospital, and impromptu ones were made at a dozen places on the field. The rain came, too, and with it cool air and refreshment both from wind and rain. No one could tell what the con. federates were doing; every picket reported that they were intrenching, and the night of the fourth of July closed upon the field, the federal army being in full possession.

The gallant charge made by the division under Crawford's command, contributed very materially to saving the left of the federal army. The confederates had

massed their troops on Crawford's left. The third corps, Sickles's, had been engaging the enemy, but were overpowered, and several guns had been lost. Two divisions, of the fifth corps, Sykes's, had been also engaged, but nothing could withstand the confederate pressure, and their troops gave way. Several thousand arms had been lost. On came the