by Rod Gragg
At a quarter before six on the morning of July 2d we arrived on the battlefield, and the Second Corps was placed in position on the line to the left of the cemetery, being joined on its left by Sickles’ Third Corps, which extended that line to the vicinity of the Little Round Top. For some reason the First Minnesota Regiment was not placed in this line, but apparently in reserve, a short distance to the rear. Early in the morning, just after we reached the battlefield, Col. Colvill was relieved from arrest, and assumed command of the regiment, and Company L (sharpshooters) was detailed to support Kirby’s Battery near the cemetery, and did not rejoin us during the battle. While lying here one man was killed, and Sergt. O. M. Knight of Company I was severely wounded by shells from the enemy.
Some time after noon Sickles advanced the Third Corps half a mile or more, to a slight ridge near the Emmitsburg road, his left extending to Devil’s Den, in front of and near the base of Little Round Top, and Company F (Capt. John Ball) was detached as skirmishers, and sent in that direction. Soon after, the remaining eight companies of the regiment, numbering two hundred and sixty-two men (Company C was also absent, being the provost guard of the division), were sent to the centre of the line just vacated by Sickles’ advance, to support Battery C of the Fourth United States Artillery. No other troops were then near us, and we stood by this battery, in full view of Sickles’ battle in the peach orchard half a mile to the front, and witnessed with eager anxiety the varying fortunes of that sanguinary conflict, until at length, with gravest apprehension, we saw Sickles’ men give way before the heavier forces of Longstreet and Hill, and come back, slowly, at first, and rallying at short intervals, but at length broken and in utter disorder, rushing down the slope, by the Trostle House, across the low ground, up the slope on our side, and past our position to the rear, followed by a strong force—the large brigades of Wilcox and Barksdale—in regular lines, moving steadily in the flush of victory, and firing on the fugitives. They had reached the low ground, and in a few minutes would be at our position, on the rear of the left flank of our line, which they could roll up, as Jackson did the Eleventh Corps at Chancellorsville.
Before the war, Confederate Brigadier General Cadmus Wilcox was a tactics instructor at West Point and author of a rifle training manual used by the U.S. Army. At Gettysburg, his brigade of Alabama troops appeared ready to break the Federal line—until stalled by a single regiment from Minnesota. Library of Congress
There was no organized force near to oppose them, except our handful of two hundred and sixty-two men. Most soldiers, in the face of the near advance of such an overpowering force, which had just defeated a considerable portion of an army corps, would have caught the panic and joined the retreating masses. But the First Minnesota had never yet deserted any post, had never retired without orders, and desperate as the situation seemed, and as it was, the regiment stood firm against whatever might come. Just then Hancock, with a single aid, rode up at full speed, and for a moment vainly endeavored to rally Sickles’ retreating forces. Reserves had been sent for, but were too far away to hope to reach the critical position until it would be occupied by the enemy, unless that enemy were stopped. Quickly leaving the fugitives, Hancock spurred to where we stood, calling out, as he reached us, “What regiment is this?” “First Minnesota,” replied Colvill. “Charge those lines!” commanded Hancock.
Colonel William Colvill, commander of the 1st Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, brought up his regiment just as the Federal line was breaking. “Advance, Colonel,” he was ordered, “and take those colors.”
Wikimedia Commons Images
Every man realized in an instant what that order meant,—death or wounds to us all; the sacrifice of the regiment to gain a few minutes’ time and save the position, and probably the battlefield,—and every man saw and accepted the necessity for the sacrifice, and, responding to Colvill’s rapid orders, the regiment, in perfect line, with arms at “right shoulder shift,” was n a moment sweeping down the slope directly upon the enemy’s centre. No hesitation, no stopping to fire, though the men fell fast at every stride before the concentrated fire of the whole Confederate force, directed upon us as soon as the movement was observed. Silently, without orders, and, almost from the start, double-quick had changed to utmost speed; for in utmost speed lay the only hope that any of us would pass through that storm of lead and strike the enemy.
“Charge!” shouted Colvill, as we neared their first line; and with leveled bayonets, at full speed, we rushed upon it; fortunately, as it was slightly disordered in crossing a dry brook at the foot of a slope. The men were never made who will stand against leveled bayonets coming with such momentum and evident desperation. The first line broke in our front as we reached it, and rushed back through the second line, stopping the whole advance. We then poured in our first fire, and availing ourselves of such shelter as the low banks of the dry brook afforded, held the entire force at bay for a considerable time, and until our reserves appeared on the ridge we had left.
Had the enemy rallied quickly to a counter charge, its great numbers would have crushed us in a moment, and we would have made but a slight pause in its advance. But the ferocity of our onset seemed to paralyze them for the time, and although they poured upon us a terrible and continuous fire from the front and enveloping flanks, they kept at respectful distance from our bayonets, until, before the added fire of our fresh reserves, they began to retire, and we were ordered back.
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“Nearly Every Officer Was Dead or Lay Weltering with Bloody Wounds”
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What Hancock had given us to do was done thoroughly. The regiment had stopped the enemy, and held back its mighty force and saved the position. But at what sacrifice! Nearly every officer was dead or lay weltering with bloody wounds, our gallant colonel and every field officer among them. Of the two hundred and sixty-two men who made the charge, two hundred and fifteen lay upon the field, stricken down by rebel bullets, forty-seven were still in line, and not a man was missing. The annals of war contain no parallel to this charge.... The wounded were gathered in the darkness by their surviving comrades and sent to field hospitals, and the fragment of the regiment lay down for the night....6
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It Was a Close and Bloody Struggle”
Late in the day on July 2, after Lee’s army failed to break the left side of the Federal line, the fighting shifted to the Federal right. General Ewell had three divisions posted around the town of Gettysburg: General Jubal Early’s division was posted immediately south of town, General Robert Rodes’s division to the west, and General Edward Johnson’s division on Gettysburg’s east side. According to some, General Early was stung by the questions surrounding his decision not to make a follow-up attack on the defeated Federal army the evening before, and was now eager to make a good showing for himself. Yet throughout the day on July 2, he had little opportunity. Lee had ordered Ewell to make a demonstration against the Federal right flank whenever Longstreet launched his attack on the Federal left, in order to keep the Federals from shifting reinforcements from the right side of their line to their left. Again, as he had the day before, Lee gave Ewell discretion—if his demonstration against the Federal right looked promising, he could expand it into a full-scale attack on Culp’s Hill and on Cemetery Hill. Ewell decided it was promising: he, too, would attack.
He positioned his three divisions to attack the Federal line that was deployed on Culp’s Hill and on Cemetery Hill, around which the northern “hook” of the Federal fishhook line curved. All day he waited for the sound of Longstreet’s attack, so he could launch his own. Finally, at four o’clock in the afternoon, when he heard Longstreet’s cannonade, Ewell ordered his artillery to open fire against the Federal positions on Culp’s Hill and Cemetery Hill. He had some eighty pieces of field artillery in his corps, but he could not find suitable locations within range of the Federal targets, and thus posted less than half his guns. Kicking off his attack were six batteries of artil
lery commanded by Major J. W. Latimer.1
General Richard Ewell was reportedly stung by suggestions he should have attacked the defeated Federal army on Gettysburg’s first day of battle. On the second day, he did attack. Library of Congress
“Simply a Hell Infernal”
A Deadly Beginning for the Southern Attack on the Federal Right
Twenty-year-old Major Joseph White Latimer was the seventh son of a Virginia family. He had a baby face and stood small in stature, but nobody laughed at him: he was too good of an artillery commander. At VMI, where he first demonstrated his knack for handling the big guns and their crews, the other cadets called him “Little Latimer,” but on the training field they gave him unquestioned respect and obeyed his orders promptly. In Confederate service, he quickly demonstrated his gifts as an artilleryman. In the 1862 Valley Campaign, “Stonewall” Jackson cited him for “coolness, judgment and skill.” In the spring of 1863, Latimer, not yet twenty-one, was promoted to the rank of major in Lee’s army, quickly becoming known as the “Boy Major.”
At Gettysburg, he commanded the artillery attached to Major General Edward Johnson’s division in Ewell’s Second Corps. As Ewell struggled to find workable locations to post his artillery, Latimer suggested putting his batteries atop Benner’s Hill, which lay about a quarter-mile northeast of Cemetery Hill and close to Culp’s Hill. Ewell agreed, and General Johnson, Latimer’s division commander, ordered the “Boy Major” to put his guns in place on Benner’s Hill. Its elevation was lower than both Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill, where Federal artillery was posted in strength. It had also been timbered, making Latimer’s sixteen guns and their crews vulnerable to Federal fire from the higher elevations.
When he opened fire at 4:00 p.m., Latimer delivered his typical precise and remarkably accurate fire, which ripped into the Federal artillery on Cemetery Hill. Latimer’s carefully delivered, deadly fire sent “a mighty storm of iron hail” into his Federal targets, according to a Northern officer who was on the receiving end of it. “The shots of the enemy came thick and fast, bursting, crushing and plowing,” he would later recall. “One of their shells struck and exploded at our No. 3 gun, killing and wounding every man at that piece....” Latimer inflicted serious damage on the enemy, but he remained severely outgunned and his assignment verged on the suicidal. For unexplained reasons, General Ewell’s attack on the Federal right flank was delayed, leaving young Latimer and his men exposed to incessant pounding by Federal artillery. From Culp’s Hill, East Cemetery Hill, and other locations, more than forty Federal cannon blanketed Benner’s Hill with hellish incoming fire.
At a gallop, Confederate field artillery races into position. From Benner’s Hill, Confederate artillery opened fire on the Federal extreme right flank—but with dire results.
Battles and Leaders of the Civil War
Latimer received permission to withdraw some of his artillery, but when he returned to Benner’s Hill to direct its remnants, he, too, fell under the deadly barrage. He and his horse were hit by an exploding Federal shell, which killed the horse and pinned Latimer underneath it with a shattered arm. His surviving soldiers managed to get the horse off of him and helped him leave the field. As he was carried away, he waved his bloody stump at his men, urging them to keep fighting. His arm had to be amputated, and as with many Civil War amputations, he developed complications, contracted gangrene, and died. Cheerful to the end, he told a deathbed visitor that he was ready to go and was hopeful regarding what lay ahead. “Major Latimer,” the visitor asked, “on what do you base your hopes for the future?” Replied the young officer: “Not on good works, but on the merits of Jesus Christ alone.” A gun crew member from one of Latimer’s batteries, the Chesapeake Artillery, would later describe the inferno that consumed Benner’s Hill.
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“He Fell, Dreadfully Mangled by a Solid Shot”
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Benner’s Hill was simply a hell infernal. Our position was well calculated to drive confidence from the stoutest heart. We were directly opposed by some of the finest batteries in the regular service of the enemy, which batteries, moreover, held a position to which ours was but a molehill. Our shells ricochetted over them, whilst theirs plunged into the devoted battalion, carrying death and destruction everywhere.
The Chesapeake received the most deadly evidence of that terrible duel. Our gallant Captain, William D. Brown, was the first to fall. Riding to the front of his battery, he enjoined us, for the honor of our native State, to stand manfully to our guns. The words were still upon his lips when he fell, dreadfully mangled by a solid shot. No braver or more unselfish patriot fell upon that blood-soaked field, and none were more beloved by their commands. There were many deeds of heroism on that field that day, and of these the Chesapeake had its share.
Three of our pieces were silenced, and sadly and with moist eye Sergeant Crowley stood meditatively looking at the wreck around him. Approaching the veteran he pointed, with a trembling voice, to his dead and wounded comrades. There were Doctor Jack Brian, and Daniel Dougherty, and brave little Cusick. They belonged to his detachment. And even while he was deploring their loss, a solid shot struck Thaddeus Parker and literally disemboweled him and killed the two lead horses he was holding.
The fourth detachment was now all that was serviceable of the battery, and it continued to fire. His own piece being disabled, Jacob F. Cook was assigned as No. 2 to Sergeant Phil Brown’s detachment, and while inserting a charge in the piece the wheel on the odd number side was hard hit. Sergeant Brown, Smith Warrington, Phil Oldner and Henry Wilson were each severely wounded by this shot. The Sergeant stepped down to Rock Creek, close to our position, bound up his wound, and returned to jack up his gun, put on a spare wheel, and resumed firing. Oldner was suffering at the time from a wound but recently received, and the fresh hurt was more than his system could overcome, and in a short while he was laid in a soldier’s grave. And then we lost Lieutenant Ben Roberts and Richard Hardesty, both mortally wounded.
Twenty-year-old Major Joseph Latimer—the “Boy Major”—commanded the Confederate artillery on Benner’s Hill, which Federal return fire quickly transformed into “a hell infernal.”
The Long Arm of Lee
A mounted Confederate staff officer, Robert Stiles, carrying a dispatch for General Johnson, rode through Latimer’s artillery position at the height of the Federal artillery bombardment, and would never forget the horrors he witnessed.
Never, before or after, did I see fifteen or twenty guns in such a condition of wreck and destruction as this battalion was. It had been hurled backward, as it were, by the very weight and impact of metal, from the position it had occupied on the crest of a little ridge, into a saucer-shaped depression behind it; and such a scene as it presented—guns dismounted and disabled, carriages splintered and crushed, ammunition chests exploded, limbers upset, wounded horses plunging and kicking, dashing out the brains of men tangled in the harness; while cannoneers with pistols were crawling around through the wreck shooting the struggling horses to save the lives of the wounded men.2
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“Cannoneers with Pistols Were Crawling Around through the Wreck Shooting the Struggling Horses”
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“The Woods Were Flecked with Flashes from the Muskets”
Depleted Federal Troops Mount a Mighty Defense Atop Culp’s Hill
Despite the Federal show of strength against Benner’s Hill, General Ewell ordered the infantry assaults on Culp’s Hill and Cemetery Hill to go forward. All three of Ewell’s divisions—Early’s, Rodes’s, and Johnson’s—might have been shattered like Latimer’s gun crews if the Federal line had been at full strength on its right flank—but it was not. Despite Ewell’s demonstration, General Meade had shifted large numbers of troops from the Federal right flank to shore up the left side of his line against Longstreet’s en echelon attack. Left behind on the northern side of Culp’s Hill were some of the battered First Corps troops of Wadsworth’s division
. Defending the hill’s eastern side was a single brigade of the Federal Twelfth Corps—five regiments of New Yorkers under Brigadier General George S. Greene. Meanwhile, Cemetery Hill remained defended by three divisions of the battle-weary, humiliated Eleventh Corps, which had been driven through town by Ewell’s Confederates the day before. General Ewell ordered Johnson’s division, newly arrived on the field late the day before, to attack the eastern side of Culp’s Hill, while Early’s and Rodes’s divisions assaulted Cemetery Hill.
Leading the way, Johnson’s Brigade began the assault on Culp’s Hill at about seven o’clock at night. Known as “Old Clubby” and “Straight Rail” Johnson because of a long, heavy hickory walking stick he preferred to a sword, Johnson had been brevetted twice for bravery while serving in the U.S. Army during the Mexican War. Now he confidently advanced his troops—four brigades of Virginians and Louisianans—who were all known as tough fighters. Their attack encountered problems immediately, however. A force of Federal cavalry appeared and began firing on Johnson’s troops from the rear, forcing him to hold one brigade in reserve. It was Jackson’s old Stonewall Brigade, which held off the Yankee horse soldiers, and then stood by as reserves if needed. When Johnson finally moved his remaining three brigades forward, sunset was only about a half-hour away. By the time his troops waded through a deep stream—Rock Creek—and began to ascend Culp’s Hill, it was almost dark.