Gettysburg

  John C. Ropes, the future Civil War historian who carefully inspected Gettysburg in the fall of 1863, described it as lying at the center of “a beautiful basin surrounded some ten to twenty miles off by mountains of say 500 to 1000 feet in height…. There is a great deal of open country. The hills are not sharp, bold, well-defined hills, at least these are rare, but long rather low table lands, with meadows and pasture grounds between.” To Ropes it seemed to resemble an English countryside, with woodlands “composed of fine tall trees.”

  Ropes’s long low tablelands lay off to the west, forming a series of modest north-south ridgelines. The first, three-quarters of a mile from town, was Seminary Ridge, well wooded, taking its name from the Lutheran Theological Seminary that was situated in a pleasant grove just south of the Chambersburg Pike. Next came McPherson’s Ridge, some half-mile farther west. Generally open and rolling, with patches of woods, it merged north of the pike into more sharply featured Oak Ridge. The most westerly of these three ridgelines, Herr’s Ridge, was the most pronounced, lying some two miles from Gettysburg. Running north of and paralleling the Chambersburg Pike was the roadbed of an unfinished, abandoned railroad line, its course marked by grading and by excavated cuts through the ridgelines.

  Immediately south of Gettysburg the topography was considerably more striking. As John Ropes put it, “Round Top Hill is quite an anomaly, and looks as if dropped down from New England.” This distinctive and soon-to-be-famous topography actually contained what could be regarded as four anomalies for that region. Jutting up at the northern end of the formation likened in shape to a giant fishhook were rugged Culp’s Hill and Cemetery Hill, three-quarters and one-half mile respectively from Gettysburg. From Evergreen Cemetery atop 100-foot-high Cemetery Hill the terrain sloped southward and downward forming Cemetery Ridge—the mile-and-a-half shank of the fishhook—to reach almost ground level. At this point, rising up abruptly to form the fishhook’s eye, were the two other anomalies, Little Round Top and the taller Round Top. Militarily speaking, in addition to its road network, Gettysburg offered the sort of high ground much sought after by generals.2

  Just then the one Union general who knew the most about Gettysburg—and also knew the most about the Confederates’ immediate proximity to Gettysburg—was John Buford. As such, Buford was the only general in either army to be certain beyond any doubt that the next day, Wednesday, July 1, 1863, was going to bring fighting down upon Gettysburg.

  Ever since he and his troopers rode into the town late on the morning of June 30, cavalryman Buford had been carefully reconnoitering the nearby terrain and pondering the reports of his scouts. It became evident that A. P. Hill’s corps was on his immediate front to the west, at Cashtown, and that perhaps Ewell’s corps was not too distant to the

  Above: Gettysburg, looking eastward from Seminary Ridge along the axis of the Hagerstown Road. Below: The Chambersburg Pike, looking westward toward Seminary Ridge. The Lutheran Seminary is at left, the railroad cut at right. (Gettysburg National Military Park)

  north. As yet Buford had precious little guidance from headquarters. At day’s end on June 30 his operative orders were still those from cavalry chief Pleasonton, on the 29th, to “cover and protect the front” at Gettysburg.

  John Buford was a hard man and a hard fighter, and with Pleasonton’s instructions in mind he determined not to give up the town without a fight. At the least, he could promise a vigorous delaying action by his horse soldiers. At the most, should Reynolds or Meade choose to support him with infantry, there was the promise of a battle. General Buford’s experienced soldier’s eye told him if it came to that, Gettysburg would not be a bad place to make a fight.

  He commanded some 2,950 troopers, in two brigades, with which to make whatever kind of fight there was to be. Buford planned a defense in depth, fighting his men dismounted, using the series of ridgelines west of Gettysburg to hamper and delay the Rebel infantry he was certain would “come booming” down the Chambersburg Pike in the morning. That night, to gain early warning, he set picket outposts three miles and more from town in a wide arc from the Hagerstown Road on the southwest to the Harrisburg Road on the northeast. His outermost posts on the Chambersburg Pike reported seeing the campfires of Rebel picket posts opposite them. Buford’s troopers slept that night on their arms.

  The troopers had been warmly welcomed on the 30th by the citizens of Gettysburg. As their column trotted through the streets there was much cheering and handkerchief-waving and singing of patriotic songs. A trooper in the 8th Illinois wrote that “some brought out baskets of eatables which caused our ranks to be broken for a moment in spite of our prompt officers,…but their only chance was to join us heart and hand until said baskets were empty.” That evening the particularly fortunate among them were invited into private homes for hearty suppers. But at first light on July 1, as the troopers took their posts with a “blood red sunrise” at their backs, it was all business again.3

  Buford’s signal officer, Lieutenant Aaron Jerome, remembered the general cautioning his lookouts to “watch everything,” to watch for campfires at night and for dust clouds in the morning. “He seemed anxious, more so than I ever saw him,” Jerome remarked. At about first light on July 1 Buford’s anxiety was somewhat lessened by the arrival of a dispatch from army headquarters. It was General Meade’s circular with the orders of march for July 1. Buford read—no doubt with relief—that Reynolds’s First Corps had orders to march to Gettysburg that morning, and that Howard’s Eleventh Corps was to follow to at least a supporting position. With that, Buford’s decision of yesterday to offer a fight for Gettysburg took on real weight, although to be sure a final decision on that score would now depend on Major General Reynolds. “By daylight on July 1,” Buford wrote laconically, “I had gained positive information of the enemy’s position and movements, and my arrangements were made for entertaining him until General Reynolds could reach the scene.” 4

  Like Buford, John Reynolds went to sleep on the night of June 30 lacking any orders for the next day. His orders only reached him at Moritz’s tavern at 4:00 A.M. on July 1, by way of his aide William Riddle, just back from headquarters at Taneytown. After being awakened, Reynolds had Major Riddle read the orders to him three times, apparently to be certain he was not missing something. Meade’s circular specified each corps’ march destination for the day, and directed the cavalry to advance “well out in all directions” to give notice of the enemy. As he listened, it was clear enough that on July 1 Reynolds was to march the First Corps to Gettysburg, with the Eleventh Corps in close support. What was not made clear was what he was supposed to do when he got there.

  Since nothing in Meade’s circular spoke of further details or explanations to come, Reynolds treated the assignment as a routine short march of five or six miles to reach Gettysburg. But being a conscientious soldier, and knowing from Buford the likely proximity of the enemy, he determined to waste not a moment. Normal routine called for rotating the divisions’ order of march, to even out the choices of campgrounds and to make sure no one ate more dust than necessary. James Wadsworth’s division had led yesterday’s march and was camped in the most advanced position. Today, to save time getting under way, Reynolds canceled the usual rotation and told Wadsworth to take the lead once again. Issuing a flurry of orders as left wing commander, Reynolds had Abner Doubleday bring up the rest of the First Corps, ordered Otis Howard with his Eleventh Corps to come along behind the First, and directed Dan Sickles to move the Third Corps up through Emmitsburg.

  It was 8:00 A.M. when Wadsworth’s men set off along the Emmitsburg Road for Gettysburg. General Reynolds rode with the advance. Colonel Charles Wainwright, First Corps artillery chief, entered in his diary, “I rode on ahead to learn what I could as to the prospects of a fight. I saw General Reynolds, who said that he did not expect any: that we were only moving up so as to be within supporting distance to Buford, who was to push out farther.” Thus John Reynolds’s expectations for a quiet day.5

/>   General Meade fully intended to better inform Reynolds with a dispatch supplementing his circular’s bare-bones order to march to Gettysburg. Morning on July 1 finally brought him General Couch’s reports of Ewell’s pullback from Harrisburg and turn to the south, probably to reunite with Lee. As apparent confirmation, Meade now had Buford’s intelligence from Gettysburg. Consequently, thanks to the well-organized Federal intelligence network, the general commanding knew a great deal about the Confederate army and where it was and where it was headed that morning of July 1.

  Yet, as it happened, this advantage did not allow Meade to dictate the choice of giving or accepting battle. These reports came too late to bridge the time gap between the intelligence-gathering and its delivery. Meade’s July 1 supplementary dispatch never reached Reynolds. Like the Pipe Creek circular, this effort by General Meade to shape and manage the anticipated battle became moot, overtaken by events.

  This aborted dispatch of Meade’s reveals a general struggling to gain a grip on his new command and to evaluate his men and their prospects. Thus far, he wrote—July 1 started his fourth day of command—he had had “with the position of affairs … no time to learn the condition of the army as to morale. …” Should the enemy be concentrating “in front of Gettysburg or to the left of it,” he knew nothing of the nature of the country there and whether it was best suited to offense or defense. The commanding general “cannot decide whether it is his best policy to move to attack” until he knew more of the enemy. That he hoped to learn during the course of the day. Consequently, General Meade was depending on General Reynolds on the scene to form an opinion of the case, and “would like to have your views.”

  George Meade and John Reynolds enjoyed a longtime friendship marked by shared respect and mutual trust. On the day of Meade’s appointment, Reynolds had called on him to offer his support, and the two discussed events at length. Having inherited Reynolds as left wing commander of one-third of the army, Meade reappointed him to that position without a second thought. For his part, Reynolds knew Meade well enough to sense the breadth of that role. Even though Reynolds never saw Meade’s July 1 dispatch seeking his views, as wing commander in this situation he understood he was entrusted to act on the scene at Gettysburg in Meade’s stead—to exercise the responsibility for fighting, if it came to that, or withdrawing to another line. It was not in John Reynolds’s character to shun such responsibility. Just a month before, he had been offered command of the Army of the Potomac, and he refused it not because of any doubt of his own abilities. Now, at this time and in this place, he would act for the army commander. 6

  It was nearly 9 o’clock that morning and the advance of Wadsworth’s division had closed to within three miles of Gettysburg when from the west came the growing muttering sound of gunfire. At that moment a horseman came pelting up to the column from the direction of the town. Reynolds rode out to meet him. Breathlessly the man presented the compliments of General Buford and handed Reynolds a note from the cavalryman. It announced that Rebels in force were advancing along the Chambersburg Pike toward Gettysburg. His cavalry, said Buford, was fully engaged. “Immediately,” wrote a staff man, “General Reynolds went into the town on a fast gallop….“7

  WHEN DICK EWELL reached Heidlersburg on the evening of June 30 he found the message from General Lee directing him to march his two divisions the next day to either Cashtown or Gettysburg, “as circumstances might dictate.” There was also a note from A. P. Hill saying his corps was at Cashtown. Ewell talked this over with his generals, trying to puzzle out what the circumstances actually dictated he should do. Old Bald Head probably had never seen a single discretionary order while serving under Stonewall Jackson, and this one apparently bothered him. He was heard to grumble that General Lee needed someone on his staff who could write an intelligible order. He finally determined he would move westerly toward Hill at Cashtown, but by routes that would allow him to turn south toward Gettysburg—as circumstances might dictate. As the circumstances unfolded, it developed that Dick Ewell handled his first discretionary order very well indeed.8

  This order of Lee’s for Ewell to join the rest of the army on July 1 at either Cashtown or Gettysburg was surely written with Harry Heth’s planned expedition to Gettysburg in mind. Should Heth occupy Gettysburg, gaining a new concentration point for the army—or should he run into trouble there—either circumstance would direct Ewell to the scene. However that might be, Lee took it for granted that his generals understood that their instructions for June 30 to not bring on a general battle were still in force for July 1 as well. Lee wanted his entire army within easy reach before he went looking for a fight.

  However, nothing in the record suggests that Lee reminded A. P. Hill (or Harry Heth) of this caution. Nor, apparently, did Lee make any response to Hill’s Tuesday evening dispatch announcing his intention “to advance the next morning and discover what was in my front.” By thus leaving the opening moves on July 1 entirely to the discretion of his two new corps commanders, General Lee once again displayed a strangely passive frame of mind. He evidently saw no reason for concern. As he emphasized in a postwar conversation, he “did not know the Federal army was at Gettysburg, could not believe it….”

  Discretion, however, was not characteristic of the aggressive Powell Hill. Lacking any cavalry, his would have to be an all-infantry reconnaissance. Instead of directing Heth to mount a simple reconnoiter, with just enough force behind it to brush aside the home guards he was expected to encounter, Hill put two-thirds of his corps—two full divisions, some 13,500 infantrymen, supported by two battalions of artillery—on the road to Gettysburg that morning. It was too large a force for a reconnaissance mission … and too large a force to back away from any Yankee challenge.

  Moreover, corps commander Hill would not be riding with the advance to make any decisions his aggressiveness might require. Describing himself to Colonel Fremantle as “very unwell,” Hill remained behind in his Cashtown camp. This left the expedition, vaguely defined to begin with, in the hands of Harry Heth, the least experienced divisional commander in the Third Corps. The one significant action Hill took that morning was a matter of routine—he sent notice to Dick Ewell of the impending advance on Gettysburg. 9

  At 5:00 A.M. that Wednesday, July 1, General Heth set off for Gettysburg along the Chambersburg Pike. At the head of the column he put James J. Archer’s brigade, followed in order by the brigades of Joseph R. Davis, Johnston Pettigrew, and John Brockenbrough. Behind them, in support, came Dorsey Pender’s division. The march began amidst scattered showers, but then it cleared and warmed rapidly, promising the oppressive, sultry heat of a typical Pennsylvania summer’s day. Right up with the advance guard was William “Willie” Pegram’s artillery battalion, with the battery of the Fredericksburg Artillery leading. Expecting to encounter nothing more dangerous than Yankee militia, Heth intended to scatter them with a cannon shot or two. “We moved forward leisurely smoking and chatting as we rode along, not dreaming of the proximity of the enemy,” one of Pegram’s gunners recalled. Harry Heth, in talking after the war to an Army of the Potomac officer, said rather rhetorically, “I did not know that any of your people were north of the Potomac.“10

  Some few minutes after 7:00 A.M. brought a mutual sighting. The advanced picket post of the 8th Illinois cavalry spotted a dust cloud over the Chambersburg Pike just west of Marsh Creek. The Yankee horse soldiers were spotted in their turn by Colonel Birkett D. Fry’s 13th Alabama, marching at the point of the Confederate advance. Colonel Fry ordered the colors uncased and shook out a skirmish line. Lieutenant Marcellus E. Jones, 8th Illinois, after passing back word of the enemy’s approach, gathered matters in his own hands. As one of his men described the scene, Lieutenant Jones “took Serg’t Shafer’s carbine, rested it across a fence-rail and fired at the commanding officer as the column of rebel infantry came across the Marsh Creek bridge….”

  Thus the storied first shot of the Battle of Gettysburg. It would be remembered so
faithfully by Lieutenant Jones and his comrades that twenty-three years later they returned to the spot and erected a memorial marker, suitably inscribed with the heading, “First Shot at Gettysburg, July 1, 1863, 7:30 A.M.” To be sure, the first shot found no target and triggered only a scattering of picket-line firing. As the Rebel skirmishers pushed forward, gunners of the Fredericksburg Artillery opened fire with a 3-inch rifle in the expectation of seeing the Yankee militiamen turn and run. But no one turned and ran. Nor did they after eight or ten more rounds from Pegram’s guns. General Heth soon enough realized that he was in for more than he—or General Hill or General Lee—had bargained for that morning. 11

  Heth saw his task, nevertheless, as straightforward: “Archer and Davis were now directed to advance, the object being to feel the enemy; to make a forced reconnaissance….“At first sighting, the Federals were made out to be a cavalry picket, but as the horsemen slowly gave way they appeared to be replaced by infantry skirmishers. This was a deception by design. The picket line troopers had dismounted, with every fourth man designated as horse holder, and formed an advanced skirmish line spread out along Herr’s Ridge. As Lieutenant Amasa Dana, 8th Illinois, put it, “Scattering my men to the left and right at intervals of thirty feet and behind posts and rail fences … we gave the enemy the benefit of long range practice.”