With all the madness yesterday time to reflect on the date was utterly unavailable. July 1, 140 years post-bellum.
In the sweltering July heat men in faded blue and mottled brown uniforms marched endlessly through the dust and dirt. Around 9 AM two rifle shots rang out on the mountain road west of the town of Gettysburg and two cavalry pickets came scrambling back from their post with breathless reports of large bodies of enemy infantry advancing in column from the west. By mid-morning both sides were heavily engaged on the hills outside of town within sight of the imposing bulk of a Lutheran seminary. By midday, one Federal corps commander had already been mortally wounded and additional enemy forces were advancing now from the north by way of Harrisburg and Carlisle.
Before nightfall the Federal lines north and west of the town had collapsed and the loyal town of Gettysburg was entirely in the hands of the secessionist army. One Federal general, left behind in the retreat concealed himself in a pig shed. Citizens hid themselves in the basement as the fighting raged outside their doors and in their streets, cannon were even deployed and fired in the town square to chase the retreating Federals on to new – and better – positions on a low ridge and crowning hills south of the town.
By morning today, the second of July, the Federal army was nearly all together, entrenching on their hilltops. Orders flew from both armies’ headquarters in all directions, ordering exhausted and overheated men to speed their pace to Gettysburg. Command in the Federal army had passed to the commanding general, new on the scene Wednesday night, and he had in consultation with those commanders now present determined to stand and fight in the hills surrounding.
All day troops moved into position, skirmishes erupted along the line and a stiff battle was fought amongst the entangling growth on Culp’s Hill. Finally, late in the afternoon, the main effort began with a developing attack on detached Federal positions in a peach orchard along the Emmitsburg Road. Men fell in windrows as succeeding Confederate brigades crashed methodically against stiff Federal resistance. There are too many viginettes of this days fighting to comment on them all: the Catholic boys of the famed Irish Brigade kneeling to take a Crusader’s absolution while the roar of battle grew to their rear, the resort to timeworn hand to hand combat to end the best Confederate attempt to take the little rocky hill, the gallant stand of the tiny First Minnesota Regiment that struck and halted a charge by enemy units roughly ten times their strength, generals falling while rallying their men – one even being carried from the field, absent a leg but cooly encouraging his men while puffing on a fine cigar.
By the end of the day Thursday all the units on both sides were up. The fighting subsided in most places along the line but a terrible, almost guerrilla, war continued to flare in the darkening woods of Culp’s and Cemetary Hills. The battles that day had been more than severe but nothing had been determined. Some progress had been made by the Confederates but the Federals had been stubborn and had preserved the most essential parts of their line unbroken.
All knew there was more to come but none, perhaps, perceived the shape the next day’s combat was to take.