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High Tide at Gettysburg

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
For starters: What was this all about:
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Lobato1
Are you talking about my signature page??
 

bdtex

Administrator
Staff member
I know this a serious thread,but this is too good not to post somewhere and too good to waste in a political sub-forum. I laughed for a whole day when I saw this:

gettysburg meme.JPG
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
I know this a serious thread,but this is too good not to post somewhere and too good to waste in a political sub-forum. I laughed for a whole day when I saw this:

View attachment 40281
Alexander was a much respected artillery commander in the Army of Northern Virginia, but he was shooting at a very thin blue line a mile away. He killed a lot of horses that day but not too many Yankees.
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
And many of them were hunkered down behind a low wall.
I've stood behind that wall (yes, it's still there, or at least it was in the late 90s) and, in my historical mind's eye, watched the lines of grays coming across that field toward me. 6,500 Rebels were killed or wounded in the charge, almost half of all who started it. Those who retreated, walked backward all the way back to the ridge to keep from being shot in the back.
 

trapdoor

Governor
Alexander was a much respected artillery commander in the Army of Northern Virginia, but he was shooting at a very thin blue line a mile away. He killed a lot of horses that day but not too many Yankees.
There is also some information that indicates Alexander's fuses let him down. It was the first major battle where they were using primarily fuses (on exploding shells) that were of CSA manufacture. This is apparently what led to the carnage in the Union rear, the shells detonating just seconds or even fractions of seconds after the artillery crews had set their fuses to detonate -- meaning the detonated among those horses in the rear instead of the men in the front. I dont' know why they didn't use some sort of walking barrage.
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
There is also some information that indicates Alexander's fuses let him down. It was the first major battle where they were using primarily fuses (on exploding shells) that were of CSA manufacture. This is apparently what led to the carnage in the Union rear, the shells detonating just seconds or even fractions of seconds after the artillery crews had set their fuses to detonate -- meaning the detonated among those horses in the rear instead of the men in the front. I dont' know why they didn't use some sort of walking barrage.
You're right, there was much devastation around Meade's headquarters. The building was damaged badly and lots of horses were killed. I wasn't aware of the different fuse issue. I just thought the Confederate cannons overshot the union line.
 
Did the Wolverine Brigade ever give up the field, the entire war? I don't think so. Michigan sharp shooters were feared.
Weak Little Men Created Little Big Man

Custer, who became a general at the age of 23, led the Wolverine Brigade in its finest hours. No other American could have won at Little Big Horn, which was why they let him try to do the impossible.
 
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JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
Weak Little Men Created Little Big Man

Custer, who became a general at the age of 23, led the Wolverine Brigade in its finest hours. No other American could have won at Little Big Horn, which was why they led him try to do the impossible.
Custer was too courageous for his own good. I believe he had come to believe that he was immortal.
Below is an excerpt from one of my historical fiction books, on the Battle of Little Bighorn.
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
Custer was too courageous for his own good. I believe he had come to believe that he was immortal.
Below is an excerpt from one of my historical fiction books, on the Battle of Little Bighorn.
Adventures in Time
The American West
Custer was making quite a name for himself. The general consensus was that, ‘making a name for himself,’ always seemed to be the General’s primary interest.

In 1876, with Colorado statehood rapidly approaching, the ‘Indian Problem’ again became a problem. After some impressive victories over American Army forces in 1875, many tribes, mainly the Sioux and Cheyenne, under Chief Sitting Bull, bolted from the reservations and were riding in defiance of the White man’s authority. A campaign was being organized to deal with the crises and Custer was slated to take part in the expedition to bring the Indians back in line and put down the insurrection once and for all.

Custer was almost denied the opportunity, however, because his testimony regarding Indian Service Corruption had so angered President Grant that Grant relieved him of command and replaced him with General Alfred Terry. Public outcry, however, and Custer’s popularity forced Grant to reconsider and subsequently reinstate ‘Colonel’ Custer.

I had a decision to make. The Army was making plans to go after, engage, and put down, the Indian insurrection and force the tribes to return to the reservations. It was a story that could not be covered from the home office. All my Field Correspondents were chafing to ride off with the Cavalry in pursuit of glory. I called into my office, my old friends, Jim McCrea and Charles White, along with Donovan Cargile, one of the aggressive new reporters on my staff. My announcement would leave them only a little dejected and disappointed.

“Gentlemen,” I told them, “I must apologize for what I am about to tell you and for what I am about to do. Three Campaigns are being planned against the Sioux and Cheyenne Alliance. We will draw cards and pick two of you, my confidence in each of you being equal. Then I want the two who are chosen to take the field. One of you will go with General Crook’s Army, the other with General Gibbon (General Gibbon had been reduced in rank after the war and was now serving in the rank of Colonel). The third, I will ask to mind the paper while we are gone for I intend to ride with Custer.”

Again I apologize, Gentlemen, but I suppose you can write it off to pride or wanderlust, or perhaps just a foolhardy heart, but my spirit is up and I am afraid I must leave home and hearth and ride to destiny with The 7th Cavalry. I don’t mean to sound overly flamboyant, perhaps I am simply waxing nostalgic, but I must do what I must do.” They assured me one and all that they understood my intentions.

The original Army plan for defeating the ‘Hostiles’ called for the three forces, under the command of General George Crook, General John Gibbon, and Custer, to trap the bulk of the Lakota Sioux and Cheyenne population between them and deal them a crushing defeat. General Gibbon would approach from the West, from the Yellowstone, up the Big Horn River, General Crook from the South, and Custer from the East and the Dakota Territory.

And so it was. Lots were cast and the lot fell upon Charles White to stay in Denver. I was pleased with the outcome of the drawing, Mister White having more experience than the other two in running a newspaper. I knew I would not have to worry about who was ‘minding the store’ while I was gone. Jim McCrea would go with General Gibbon and Mister Cargile with General Crook.

Travel arrangements were made. I packed as lightly as I felt I could, taking just the bare essentials. I cleaned and checked my Henry Rifle and my 1874 Smith & Wesson Revolver. I didn’t know just how long it would be before I was home again. For that matter I didn’t know for certain that I would ever be home again.

I rode the Union Pacific Railroad from Denver to Cheyenne, and from Cheyenne the Overland Stage took me on a rough and painful, harrowing ride through some very desolate country to Sheridan, in the Wyoming Territory, near the Montana border, where I purchased a horse and saddle and a packhorse. After loading my gear and provisions I set out, covering the last fifty miles or so in two days, traveling up the Tongue River about fifty miles, and then cutting west over to the Rosebud River. I arrived on June 22, at a pre-determined point on the Rosebud that had been designated by General Crook along Custer’s line of advance.

The 7th Cavalry arrived on the 23rd, and an impressive force it was. The column numbered 31 officers and almost 600 enlisted men, 40 Indian scouts, and nearly 20 packers, guides, and other civilian employees. Each trooper carried 100 cartridges for his carbine and 24 for his pistol, and a mule pack train carried another 50 rounds of carbine ammunition per man together with rations and forage for 15 days. *

I had not seen such an assemblage of fighting men since the war and it brought back memories, both fond and terrible. I thought of General Sherman’s words, “The only good Indian is a dead Indian,” and I’d also heard of the many atrocities committed against settlers who came west seeking only a better way of life. And yet I still had not shaken the feeling that we were interlopers, to some extent, in this land. I knew that there was plenty of land here, this was a big land and there was indeed enough to go around, but I could understand the Indian’s resentment towards the white man. We were slowly pushing him, and his way of life, off the land. The natural inclination for a man, any man, is to fight back. That seemed to me to be all they were doing. The white man had made it a sacred cause and now the army was here, with St. George at its head, to contend for the faith. My Virginia upbringing, and sense of ‘right and wrong’, caused me to question the validity of the action which I had come to chronicle for posterity.

I spent the better part of the day getting acquainted with some of the officers and men of the 7th Cavalry. A heartier bunch of soldiers I had never seen before. They were ready for a fight, that much was obvious, just from their swagger and their demeanor. Captain Miles Moylan told me that I was now riding with the very best the United States Army had to offer. He said I should keep my pencil sharp for I would witness history being made in the next few days. I assured him that I was up to the task.

Custer sought me out before I could go looking for him. He rode up quickly, flamboyantly, and dismounted just as quickly, and offered me his hand. “You are Mister Dallas, I presume,” Custer said.

“I am Sir, John Dallas, but I go by Jack, if you please, and you are right on schedule, just as General Crook said you would be. I am pleased to meet you. I saw you from a distance at Appomattox, General, but never had the opportunity to speak with you.” I had decided to address Custer as ‘General’ although his rank was Lt. Colonel. I was not sure why I thought this might be appropriate, I suppose it was because his men addressed him that way in the field. Perhaps also it was because our two histories went back to the war or possibly it was just out of deference but in either case, Custer did not correct me.

“That is my regret, Jack. Your reputation is known far and wide in Washington, even still. The President speaks very highly of you.”

“I have not seen President Grant since Petersburg,” I said, “except briefly at Appomattox, of course. I found him to be a very intense and purposeful man.”

“That he is,” Custer said. “I thought much more of him as my General than I do as my President, but we must not speak ill of our Commander In Chief. He has seen fit to allow me to settle this Hostile situation for him, and for that I am indebted to him.”

“What is your plan for this engagement, General?” I asked him, as I reached into my side bag to retrieve my writing tablet. “I mean how do you intend to confront the Indians?”

“I plan to strike the enemy hard and fast,” he said. “If Gibbon shows up in time he will block the Indians retreat to the West, and General Crook will prevent them from running south, while I attack and destroy them with the 7th.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear the scouts just before you rode up. They said there may be several thousand Indians. Does that seem right to you?” I asked. “That’s a sizable force.”

“That is most likely an exaggeration,” he said. “These scouts are running a little scared. Bad medicine, I am told. They claim that both Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse are leading the Indians. It’s got them a bit skittish.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you, General,” I said, “at least not as far as I can see.”

Custer ‘posed’ before every statement he made, almost like an actor on stage. He would shift his body position each time he spoke and look alternately this way and that, thrusting out his chin one moment then lowering his head the next to peer out from under his hat. He was very animated, gesturing continually with his hands, as he spoke and was somewhat amusing to watch. I found that if I did not pay very close attention to him, while he was talking, I could easily become distracted by watching the General’s mannerisms and not hear what he had just said.

“The only thing that worries me, Jack,” Custer continued, “is that the Indians might get away. They are no match for the United States Army. I alone with my 7th Regiment could ride at will through the entire Sioux Nation, and that is what I intend to do. It is most fortunate for you, and for me, that you are here to record it for history.”
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
“Well Sir,” I said. “That is certainly why I am here. It is much more comfortable in Denver than it is camped along the Rosebud, and history is waiting for Colorado to become a state in the Union, but I believe my destiny as well as yours is here with the 7th Cavalry. If the trail or the Indians do not kill me, I will be home in time for statehood.”

“Rest assured my friend,” Custer said, pointing his finger at me, for emphasis, I assumed, “I will not let any misfortune befall you. You will have my legacy there in your notebook.”

The column immediately began a steady advance. We rode hard, 30 miles on the 23rd, and again on the 24th. At evening on the 24th, the 7th Cavalry arrived at the South Fork of the Little Bighorn River. We were one day ahead of the designated arrival time of General Gibbon’s troops coming from the West. There was no sign of General Crook and his contingent approaching from the South. We would learn later that Crook had been attacked on the 17th by Crazy Horse leading a sizable force of ‘Hostiles.’ Crook had suffered about thirty casualties and loss of heart, apparently, for he withdrew his troops to Goose Creek, Wyoming to reorganize. *

The morning of the battle at Little Bighorn started early on the 25th. The troops were up and ready even before I awoke. I hustled to get ready as well. As the dawn broke I could see Custer, resplendent in his buckskin coat. His hair was shorter than as I remembered it at Appomattox and not as yellow. He rode out to the front of the column and then back again. He repeated the action several times. Two Indian Scouts returned and gave him news of the Hostile camp. They were waving their hands wildly, as if trying to make Custer understand something that he was not willing to understand. At one point the General drew his pistol and appeared ready to shoot one of the scouts and the man backed down immediately.


I watched him ride over to Major Reno and then to Captain Benteen, giving orders and apparently laying out a plan of attack. Men and horses began to divide and separate. Custer was dividing his force. I thought of the old military rule about not dividing your forces in the face of the enemy. Only Robert E. Lee ever got away with that. But this was a different war and a different enemy. I had to assume for the moment that Custer knew what he was doing.


There was some precedent for Custer’s apparent disdain for the Sioux. Back in ‘73, he and the 7th Cavalry were assigned to protect a company of surveyors in Montana who were laying out the new route for the Northern Pacific Railroad. The Indians left them alone, for the most part, seeming either not to care what the white men were doing or not willing to get into a fight with the army. Custer spent his time hunting Elk and Buffalo and riding off from the group with his Cavalry in search of whatever he might find.


One particular day Custer had ridden far ahead of his Regiment, with just a few troops, and was camped along the Tongue River when a band of Sioux under Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse attacked without warning. Custer reacted quickly and effectively, mounting a formidable defense and then counterattacking and the Indians withdrew. The battle was not significant as battles go but the easy victory may have led Custer to underestimate the willingness of the Sioux to engage the American Army. It may have set a trap for him that would have dire consequences later.


Custer rode up to me. “Jack,” he said, “I want you to stay with Major Reno. He will guard the South valley. Gibbon’s force has not arrived and if we wait for him any longer the Indians will get away and I cannot permit that. Leave your pack horse here.”


“Very well, General,” I said, “what ever you think is best.” I was a little relieved to be honest, not being all that anxious to ride into that Indian camp.


“You will be fine,” he said. “I am going to attack the camp and drive the Indians into the valley. Reno will be there waiting for them. I will see you on the other side.”


Those were the last words I heard him say. He raised his hand and led a third of the 7th Calvary North toward a hill overlooking the Indian village. Major Reno waved us out and I, along with 175 soldiers, proceeded down the valley towards the South. I was assigned by the Major to ride with 1st Sergeant John M. Ryan, a very intelligent man, whom I was certain had been instructed by Reno not to let anything happen to me. “Stay close to me, Mister Dallas, we will get through this together,” he told me.


“I shall do so, Sergeant, but keep in mind that I am not totally helpless. I would not want you to place yourself in danger for trying to look out for me. I will be fine”. The Sergeant smiled at this and nodded.


We moved down the valley, first at a trot then at a gallop, in columns of twos. We forded the Little Bighorn and made a short stop on the other side to tighten our saddles, then remounted, and formed a moving skirmish line. Captain French’s Company M was on the right, Sergeant Ryan informed me, Lieutenant McIntosh on the left, and Captain Moylan in the rear. Things were moving too fast to even think of taking down any thoughts I might be having. I would have to rely solely on memory when this was all over.


“Can you shoot an Indian, Mister Dallas?” The Sergeant asked me.


I thought quickly and answered him. “If they run, and we chase them, I will not fire at them, Sergeant, but if they close on us then I will help you defend the Troop, and myself as well of course.”


“That is fair enough, Sir,” he said. “Thank you, Mister Dallas. Now understand if I tell you to turn and run, I want you to do as I say immediately without hesitation. I don’t want to have to say it twice.”


“Be assured, Sergeant,” I said, “if you issue a second admonition, you will be speaking to yourself.” He tipped his hat and motioned me forward.


We came to a stand of timber partially blocking the view of the Indian camp but not so much that we could not make out some activity within it. We dismounted quickly, with the fourth man of each set of four holding the horses. We came upon higher ground and formed a skirmish line, waiting for the anticipated ‘rout’ of the Indians by Custer’s troops.


Captain French rode up to our position and addressed me. “You are a civilian, Mister Dallas, not in the hire of the Army. If you wish to withdraw to safety back across the river, no man here will fault you for it.”


A stab of pain shot through me. “You insult me, Sir,” I shot back at him. “Have I done anything that would indicate to you that I am a coward?”


“You have not, Sir, my apologies,” he said. Then he saluted me and rode off.


I realized for the first time what it was that kept men from running away in battle. I had rarely been afraid during the war. There were times when men on both sides thought that I might be a spy using the ‘correspondent’ title as a cover. The Yankees thought it because of my Virginia accent and the Confederates distrusted me because I was not fighting for the South, but neither side ever seriously considered shooting me, at least not as far as I knew. Here it was different, for there was danger here, real danger. The Indians didn’t know a War Correspondent from a Mule Skinner. We were all Soldiers this day. As afraid as I was, I preferred death to leaving these men here while I scurried to safety. I would not have been able to live with that.


The ensuing charge, by several hundred Indians, appeared to be anything but a rout. They came upon us quickly, well mounted and well armed, and right at our line. The troopers reacted immediately and opened fire, bringing down a number of them. I fired as well, several times, but do not know to this day whether or not I hit any Indian. My hope is now that I did not. The noise of the firing, and the screaming of both Indians and Soldiers, was deafening. A Lieutenant, I never did learn his name, walked up and down the line encouraging the men to remain calm and to shoot low. The first man killed was Sergeant Miles O’Hara of M Troop. His death brought the brutal reality of the moment quickly upon us.


Our line held and the Indians receded, then, strung out in a single line, hanging on the opposite side of their ponies from us, they began circling. They circumvented our skirmish line and were closing rapidly on our rear. The firing continued with Indians and Soldiers alike falling to the ground.
 

bdtex

Administrator
Staff member
The Sage Of Main Street has been reply banned for off-topic/thread derailment. Please don't reply to his/her existing posts. We now return to the topic of this thread.
 

JackDallas

Senator
Supporting Member
As the sun begins to set over the lush Pennsylvania countryside the smell of violence permeates the air. Two Confederate Brigades, under the command of General Henry Heth, have been held to a stalemate by the Union Cavalry of General John Buford. Caught by surprise, the Yankee soldiers rallied and threw themselves into the fray and held the line until General Reynolds could arrive with reinforcements.
At least a thousand men are lying dead or wounded on the soft green fields outside Gettysburg. General Reynolds is killed and General Winfield Hancock, on the orders of General Meade, has taken overall command of the Union Army at Cemetery Hill and along Cemetery Ridge.
At the end of the day Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia is arriving on Seminary Ridge and consolidating its position. In the morning, Thursday the 2nd of July, hell would break loose and by Friday, the 3rd. Lee's dream of forcing Abraham Lincoln to sue for peace, was dead, along with 10-12,000 men on both sides..
I was there….149 years ago.

http://adventures-in-time.blogspot.com/2007/12/adventures-in-time-gettysburg.html

Jack Dallas

The High Tide at Gettysburg
Will Henry Thompson is the author of this poem. He took part in Pickett’s Charge on July 3, 1863. He also served in the Fourth Georgia. His poem, " The High Tide at Gettysburg," describes the battle at Gettysburg from the perspective of a Southern soldier.

A cloud possessed the hollow field,
The gathering battle's smoky shield:
Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed,
And through the cloud some horsemen dashed,
And from the heights the thunder pealed.

Then, at the brief command of Lee,
Moved out that matchless infantry,
With Pickett leading grandly down,
To rush against the roaring crown
Of those dread heights of destiny.

Far heard above the angry guns
A cry across the tumult runs,--
The voice that rang from Shilo's woods
And Chickamauga's solitudes,
The fierce South cheering on her sons!

Ah, how the withering tempest blew
Against the front of Pettigrew!
A Khamsin wind that scorched and singed
Like that infernal flame that fringed
The British squares at Waterloo!

A thousand fell where Kemper led;
A thousand died where Garnett bled:
In blinding flame and strangling smoke
Their remnant through the batteries broke
And crossed the works with Armistead.

"Once more in Glory's van with me!"
Virginia cried to Tennessee;
"We two together, come what may,
Shall stand upon these works to-day!"
(The reddest day in history.)

Brave Tennessee! In reckless way
Virginia heard her comrade say:
"Close round this rent and riddled rag!"
What time she set her battle-flag
Amid the guns of Doubleday.

But who shall break the guards that wait
Before the awful face of Fate?
The tattered standards of the South
Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth,
And all her hopes were desolate.

In vain the Tennessean set
His breast against the bayonet;
In vain Virginia charged and raged,
A tigress in her wrath uncaged,
Till all the hill was red and wet!

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed,
Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost
Receding through the battle-cloud,
And heard across the tempset loud
The death-cry of a nation lost!

The brave went down! Without disgrace
They leaped to Ruin's red embrace;
They heard Fame's thunders wake,
And saw the dazzling sun-burst break
In smiles on Glory's bloody face!

They fell, who lifted up a hand
And bade the sun in heaven to stand;
They smote and fell, who set the bars
Against the progress of the stars,
And stayed the march of Motherland!

They stood, who saw the future come
On through the fight's delirium;
They smote and stood, who held the hope
Of nations on that slippery slope
Amid the cheers of Christendom.

God lives! He forged the iron will
That clutched and held that trembling hill!
God lives and reigns! He built and lent
The heights for freedom's battlement
Where floats her flag in triumph still!

Fold up the banners! Smelt the guns!
Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs.
A mighty mother turns in tears
The pages of her battle years,
Lamenting all her fallen sons!
ANTIETAM


I walked today on hallowed ground

Reclaimed by passing years

Where shot and shell and musket round

Cut trees and corn and heroes down

And summoned mother's tears


I lingered near the old west wood

Where the Dunker Church still stands

There Jackson's army turned and stood

Relinquished precious southern blood

And challenged patriot's hands


When Hooker's men, before he fell

In double line array

Charged like demons o'er the swell

Rushing headlong into hell

They sought to win the day


But Jackson braced and held the line

Then called on rebel zeal

Hood's Texans ran into the whine

Where stands today their noble shrine

And died there on that field


The battle shifted, as did I

To the center of Lee's line

Where D.H. Hill blocked passage by

New Yorkers there, prepared to die

For recompense Divine


At the sunken road, McClellan thought

Swift victory might be won

But Gordon's Alabamans fought,

And havoc on the Union wrought

Beneath the midday sun


A haunting peace pervades that lane

And makes one stop and pause

Belies the suffering and the pain

Brings tears that fall like summer rain

For Country, Home and Cause


I lost myself, and wept inside

Within that furrowed way

Where ghosts in butternut abide

With honored Union, side by side,

And pass the time of day


'Neath Burnside's bridge

Still runs the flood

None left now can remember

Whoever shed such noble blood

As those brave souls who on it stood

That day in mid September


Determined Federal flesh and steel

Disdainful of defeat

Crossed the span by utter will

Drove the Georgians from the hill

And threatened Lee's retreat


But Little Mac on a distant lea

Still plagued by cautious doubt

Failed to give his troops decree

To take the fight to Bobby Lee

And denied to them the rout


Virginia's gallant sons subside

Through Sharpsburg, west, and then

Across Potomac, swift and wide

To sanctuary on the other side

And form to fight again


A stillness there invades the soul

And makes the senses weak

The guns are silent on the knoll

The drums have ceased their martial roll

Along Antietam Creek


I sat in silence, grieved, alone

I heard the soldiers speak

And welcome me as one they've known

No seeds of hatred there are sown

Beside Antietam Creek


When I return, as I'm wont to do

They greet me through the pall.

And every heart is brave and true

My brothers now in gray and blue

And God reigns o'er us all


Yes, God reigns over all




[c 1994 Jack Dallas 2-1-94]
 
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