“A casualty of field work,” I thought, knowing that our technician would be less than pleased about the soaking of his equipment.
I carefully collected everything and handed it off to a fellow field investigator, who promptly took the equipment to the comfort of our heated car. We hoped the rain hadn’t destroyed whatever anomalies we may have captured on tape.
Confederate General James Longstreet, who led the Confederate assault on the second day of battle. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.
I lagged behind, savoring the dreamlike atmosphere. I walked back up toward the wooden gate, thinking how great it felt to be on the battlefield without the usual hordes of tourists and busloads of noisy school kids. It was perfectly quiet, almost surreal. As peaceful as this felt, it was hard to believe that hell had once unleashed itself here.
And then I heard them …
The voices emanated from the bottom part of the Triangular Field by its northwest tree line. I initially deduced that I must have been hearing animals. I stopped in my tracks about thirty yards from the car in order to listen more carefully.
Did the wailing battle cries of Confederate infantrymen imprint themselves onto the battleground? Courtesy of the Library of Congress.
“Yip!”
“Hey!”
Silence for a few seconds and then more …
Muddled voices? Men screaming …
… coming up from the tree line toward where the Union line would have been holding ground …
“Yep!”
“Whoop!” “Whoop!”
Cows?
No way—maybe an angry farmer, but not cows.
School kids role-playing on the battlefield?
Not this early, and not in this weather.
I became unnerved.
I waited a few seconds to see if I could distinguish these sounds and pinpoint exactly where they were coming from.
They were getting closer, yet I couldn’t see anything. Once more I heard distant screams …
“Yep!” “Yip!”
And then silence.
I waited a few minutes to make sure the sounds had subsided. At this point, my fellow investigator opened the car window and stuck his head out.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Did you hear something?”
“Yes. I think I did,” I responded. “You’re not going to believe this, but I think I just heard rebel yells.”
The phantom sounds I heard that morning seemed to originate from the very landscape on which I was standing. Since my strange auditory encounter, I’ve become fascinated with the Triangular Field, an area of the Gettysburg battlefield that seems to retain a great deal of residual energy. Ringed in by stone walls and woods at the base and up the slope on the right, the field saw a lot of action because Confederate forces had to charge through it in order to take Houck’s Ridge and Devil’s Den.
There are several historical facts that support what I may have heard on that misty morning. The Triangular Field has become synonymous with the death and destruction associated with the whole of the Battle of Gettysburg. On the morning of the second day of fighting, Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee believed that if he could simultaneously attack the Union flanks, he could drive the enemy from the field. Part of his plan was to send Gen. James Longstreet’s First Army Corps southward to overrun the Union left flank anchored on Little Round Top. In order to even reach Little Round Top, the Confederates had to endure some of the bloodiest fighting of the battle in terrain now referred to as the Triangular Field and Devil’s Den. Within just a few hours, thousands would be left either dead or wounded on these blood-soaked grounds.
As confederate brigades under the command of Gen. John Bell Hood made their way southward, they came upon a sloping, triangular field. Waves of Confederate troops from Texas, Arkansas, Alabama, and Georgia crossed this field, clashing with Union regiments from New York, Maine, and Pennsylvania. The Confederate forces were initially cut down by Union artillery posted on top of a small ridge adjacent to the large boulders of Devil’s Den, but the Confederates continued to push forward with repeated charges by the Fifteenth Georgia and the First Texas Infantry. Shouting the famous rebel yell, the First Texas charged up the Triangular Field to finally take the summit. The Georgians and Texans proceeded to overrun Devil’s Den and took three Union cannons as prizes.
Alexander Hunter, a member of Longstreet’s staff, later recalled in his memoirs how the rebel yell would adversely affect the enemy:
When our reserve, led by Hood’s Texas Brigade, the pride and glory of the Army of Northern Virginia, came on a run, gathering up all the fragments of other commands in their front, and this second line clashed straight at the enemy, then I heard the rebel yell with all its appalling significance. I never in my life heard such a fearsome, awful sound … I have often dreamed of it; above the uproar of a great battle it dominated. On those charging columns of blue it had a decided effect, for it portended capture, mutilation or death and brought eternity very near.
Indeed, the rebel yell was a battle cry used by Confederate soldiers during charges to intimidate the enemy and boost their own morale. Union soldiers, upon hearing the yell from afar, would guess that it was either the Confederates about to attack or rabbits in distress, suggesting a similarity between the sound of the rebel yell and a rabbit’s scream. The yell has also been likened to the scream of a wild cat, as well as similar to Native American war cries. One description says it was a cross between an “Indian whoop and wolf-howl.” Although nobody has ever actually heard the cries of the fabled banshees from Greek mythology, the rebel yell has often been compared to these blood-curdling wails simply based on their disconcerting effects on those who hear them.
Given the differences in descriptions of the yell, there may have been several distinctive yells associated with the different regiments and their respective geographical areas. Another plausible source of the rebel yell is that it derived from the screams traditionally made by Scottish Highlanders when making a Highland charge during battle. This was a distinctive war cry of the Gael—a high, savage whooping sound.
A great deal of documented eyewitness testimony supports the existence of paranormal activity in the Triangular Field. Confederate sharpshooters have been sighted on the rocks down at the bottom of the field, at the end of the woods, as if preparing to shoot. Strange sounds have been heard, including screams described as rebel yells, emanating from either the wooded area to the right of the wooden gate or down at the bottom end of the field. Artillery blasts have also been heard, as well as the screaming and moaning of wounded and dying soldiers. Union soldiers have been spotted at the left of the gate entrance of the field and have even been known to approach visitors.
Suffice to say, the Triangular Field remains a focal point in our research at Gettysburg. Although perhaps no more haunted than any other part of the battlefield, the smaller, more enclosed nature of the field makes it an ideal place in which to set up a triangulation (no pun intended) of recording equipment, thus making full coverage of the field plausible. In the end, the range and frequency of paranormal activity experienced in this small field cannot be ignored.
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Chapter Fourteen
There’s the
Devil to Pay
Devil’s Den is a maze of boulders and rocks that represents one of the most famous landmarks at Gettysburg. On the second day of the battle, this area saw fierce hand-to-hand fighting. Although historians and visitors alike focus mainly on the action in and around the Den, there’s a modest elevation located at its northern end known as Houck’s Ridge that saw the heaviest fighting of the day. The Confederate juggernaut had to fight through the Triangular Field, over the wall at the top of the field and then up this ridge just in order to first get to the hazardous, jagged-edged ground of Devil’s Den.
Capt. James E. Smith’s Fourth Battery,
New York Light Artillery, consisting of three twenty-pound parrot guns, stationed on the back side of Devil’s Den and positioned toward the Triangular Field to aid the 124th New York Volunteer Infantry Regiment, known as the Orange Blossom Boys. The 124th New York was to hold the extreme left flank of the Union defenses on Houck’s Ridge. Coming at them were the Fourth and Fifth Texas Brigades of Confederate Gen. John Bell Hood’s division with three regiments of Gen. Henry L. Benning’s Georgia Brigade in support directly behind them. To make things worse for the Orange Blossom Boys, these particular Confederate soldiers had marched all day and were itching for a fight.
The fighting between the 124th New York and the Texans went back and forth over the top wall three times. The first charge by the New Yorkers ended with the death of their beloved commander, Col. Augustus Van Horne Ellis, who was shot in the forehead and fell dead off his horse. Ironically, on the march to Gettysburg, Ellis prophesied that he would not survive the battle. Maj. James Cromwell rallied the men of the 124th and bravely rode through a storm of bullets in order to retrieve the body of his colonel. According to eyewitness testimony, Cromwell was so gallant that some of the Texans shouted, “Don’t shoot at him … don’t kill him,” but to no avail. He and his gray horse were both shot and killed at the bottom of the field.
The New Yorkers charged a third and final time to retrieve both of their officers’ bodies, which they did. However, the Texans gained the wall, and as the Georgians moved up beside them, the Texans jumped up and fired a volley at Smith’s Battery, causing horses and men to tumble to the ground. As the Georgians jumped over the wall, Smith was able to save only one of his artillery guns from being captured by the enemy. Eventually, the 124th New York was overrun by fresh Confederate troops, who secured Devil’s Den and the southern part of Houck’s Ridge. These assaults by Hood’s brigades left hundreds of men on both sides killed and more than 1,500 seriously wounded.
Over the years, we’ve interviewed many eyewitnesses while investigating this area of the battlefield. Once, while filming near Smith’s Battery, two women shared a fascinating story with us. Apparently, their husbands were Union reenactors, and they had come to Gettysburg as part of a living-history event during the anniversary of the battle. One evening, the two men (dressed in full reenactment gear) were having a casual conversation while leaning on one of the boulders between Smith’s Battery and the 124th New York monuments. As they discussed the day’s events, they heard a group of people walking off to their right. When they turned to look, four Union soldiers came into view, their muskets casually slung over their shoulders. They looked tired, drawn, and dusty, and they crossed the road toward the wall at the top of the Triangular Field, which is adjacent to Devil’s Den. One of the soldiers looked over, gave them an approving nod with his head, and continued on.
One of the husbands commented that something about those men was odd. He couldn’t explain why, but he thought they were out of place. The four soldiers certainly looked the part, but it seemed almost too real. He tapped his buddy and said, “Let’s go talk to those guys, they really fit the part.”
Only a few seconds had passed since they saw the four “reenactors,” allowing them plenty of time to catch up to them, but when they reached the wall of Triangular Field, they couldn’t find the uniformed men anywhere. In fact, only one other person was there—a man standing at the wall looking into the field. They asked him if he had seen any other re-enactors walk by. He replied that he had been standing there for about ten minutes, and they were the first people he had seen since he arrived.
They searched the area in vain and left scratching their heads. What had they just witnessed? The four soldiers looked as solid as the rocks they were leaning on. The eerily authentic condition of their uniforms was certainly impressive, but they were almost too authentic. The tired looks, the dust-covered uniforms, the drawn, almost-sad faces. Did they witness a scene from the past—four Union soldiers walking across Houck’s Ridge after the battle had ended? Or maybe it was before the second day’s brutality began.
The brief interaction that occurred suggests a genuine spirit encounter. The four soldiers knew the two reenactors were there, and one of them apparently acknowledged that with a nod. This encounter could have been the result of a rip in the fabric of time, a rare moment when the veil between past, present, and future is lifted, leaving those who witness the anomaly with a very strange experience to recount to others. And maybe they were four spirits, bonded in death as they were in life, casualties of one of history’s most violent clashes.
Strangely enough, profound stories like this one abound within the reenactor community. Maybe the ghost soldiers see men dressed like them and are drawn to the familiar surroundings they knew while alive. Most reenactors feel a strong connection to the battles and soldiers they honor. Many are descendants whose great-great-great-grandfathers or uncles died in these battles. Others retain vivid and accurate memories as if they were actually participants in these battles, which suggest evidence of possible reincarnation. Whatever the case, reenactors represent ideal witnesses to all types of paranormal activity associated with historic events. In the case of Gettysburg, they are inexplicably drawn to the energy, and many times they offer unique insight regarding the mysterious nature of this most hallowed ground.
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Chapter Fifteen
Climbing the Walls
— By Patrick Burke —
At the western end of Devil’s Den lies the Triangular Field, into which the phantom soldiers described above seem to have disappeared. The stone wall at the top of this down-sloping field has changed little since local farmers built them in the days before the Civil War. When clearing this Pennsylvania field for crops, they hauled the stones to the side, forming the walls that soldiers later used for protection during the fierce fighting that took place. In retrospect, it did little to lessen the carnage.
On the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg, the Confederates routed Union troops and drove them back through town, but the Federals managed to keep hold of the high ground to the south and east. When the sun rose on the morning of July 2, both were entrenched, but the Army of the Potomac had formed its troops in a hook-like formation that ran from Culp’s Hill and Spangler’s Spring all the way to Little Round Top. Emboldened by his army’s success the previous day, Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee attached little importance to this topographical disadvantage and launched the Army of Northern Virginia in multiple attacks against the Union flanks.
After a lengthy delay to assemble his forces and avoid detection in his approach march, Lt. Gen. James Longstreet attacked with his First Corps against the Union left flank. As part of this en echelon (diagonal) style of attack, a division under the command of Maj. Gen. John Bell Hood was ordered to assault Devil’s Den and Little Round Top. In order to accomplish this, General Hood had to first maneuver several of his regiments through the Rose Woods and up the slope of the Triangular Field.
A seasoned soldier who understood that achieving his objective would play a key role in General Lee’s efforts to dislodge Union forces, Hood selected some of his best fighting men to lead the attack. At approximately four thirty p.m., the Third Arkansas and the First, Fourth, and Fifth Texas, as well as the Second, Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and Twentieth Georgia, began their advance. When lead elements of the First Texas reached the stone wall, a deadly onslaught of Union artillery and rifle fire awaited. The effect was devastating. Men screamed as each side fired their muskets at point-blank range. As thick smoke filled the air, their breathing and vision became limited. Those who had bayonets stabbed at fleeting shadows; others used their rifles as clubs. Smoke lay on the field like a blanket, but small eddies of air cleared the way for a brief view of the violence that had taken place just moments before.
A soldier who was there recalled the fighting: “Roaring cannons, crashing rifles, screeching shots, bursting shells, hissing bullets, cheers, shouts, sh
rieks, and groans were the notes of the song of death which greeted the grim reaper, as with mighty sweeps he leveled down the richest field of grain ever garnered on this continent.”
As one can only imagine, the Triangular Field is replete with encounters of ghost soldiers still fighting the good fight. Many battlefield visitors have experienced camera malfunctions while trying to take pictures of it. A few years ago, one man took some video footage near a grouping of rocks in the middle of the field. He said he was drawn to the spot and felt overwhelmed with sadness once he got there. When he returned home, he played the videotape and heard a loud, prolonged moan as if a man was writhing in agony. Impossible, he thought, remembering that he was alone in the field when he shot the video.
People have reported seeing Confederate sharpshooters crouched behind the rocks at the bottom of the field. To their utter dismay, some visitors have actually seen impressions in the grass actually moving toward them, and Union soldiers have been sighted and photographed at the gate entrance. Others have heard spectral sounds, including cannon fire, gunshots, screams, moans, and the galloping of horses.
In the fall of 2001, video cameras with infrared capability had just become available, and only a handful of paranormal investigators were using camcorder systems to capture images in the dark. After doing some research on Gettysburg, I decided that the Triangular Field would be an ideal place to shoot some infrared video. On this particular visit, two friends accompanied my family and me to the battlefield for a weekend campout. Both Dennis and Charles had served in the military, and I told them about my theory on capturing historical moments on film. After a nice campfire meal, we left our families and ventured out onto the battlefield.
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