First Day Highlights
Death of Major-General Reynolds
Major-General John Fulton Reynolds, killed at Gettysburg while commanding the 1st Corps, was born in Lancaster, Pa., on the 21st day of September, 1820. His father, John Reynolds, also a native of Lancaster County, was the son of William Reynolds, who came to America in 1760 from Ireland. His mother’s maiden name was Lydia Moore, daughter of Samuel Moore, who held a commission in the Revolutionary Army. He had an elder brother, William, who served as Admiral in our Navy with great distinction, and also two other brothers who served in the war, one as paymaster, and the other, the youngest of the four, as Quartermaster-General of Pennsylvania.
William and John went first to an excellent school at Lititz, in Lancaster County, going thence to Long Green, Md., and from there they returned to the Lancaster Academy. Through the influence of James Buchanan, they received appointments, one as midshipman in the Navy, and the other as cadet at West Point. John was graduated from West Point on June 22nd, 1841, at the age of twenty-one. He served with distinction during the Mexican War, and at the outbreak of the Civil War entered the Union Army. At the battle of Gaines’ Mill, on June 28th, 1862, he was captured, and after a confinement of six weeks in Libby Prison, he was exchanged for General Barksdale.
General Reynolds was six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes. He was erect in carriage and a superb horseman, so much at ease in the saddle as to be able to pick a dime from the ground while riding at full speed. He was killed in the grove now known as Reynolds’ Grove on the morning of July 1st, between 10 and 11 o’clock, while directing the attack of Meredith’s brigade against Archer’s Confederate brigade. His body was first taken to the Seminary, and later to Lancaster, where it was interred in the family graveyard.
The 26th Emergency Regiment
The 26th Emergency Regiment met the advance of Gordon’s brigade of Early’s Division of Ewell’s Corps in their advance into Gettysburg. Company A consisted of students of the Lutheran Theological Seminary, Pennsylvania (now Gettysburg) College, and citizens of the town. H. M. M. Richards, of Company A gives the following sketch of the services of the regiment:
“Upon the first indication of an invasion of Pennsylvania, the 26th Regiment, P. V. M., was organized and mustered into the United States service at Harrisburg, under the command of Colonel W. W. Jennings of that city. Company A of this regiment, to which I belonged, was composed of students from the Lutheran Theological Seminary and the Pennsylvania College at Gettysburg, and of citizens of the town; one other company came from Hanover, but a few miles distant.
“On June 23rd we left Harrisburg for Gettysburg, to be used, I believe, as riflemen among the hills at or near Cashtown. A railroad accident prevented this plan from being carried out, and kept us from reaching Gettysburg until the 26th, by which time General Early had reached Cashtown. In accordance with orders received from Major Granville O. Haller, acting aide-de-camp to General Couch, commanding the Department of the Susquehanna, we were marched out on the Chambersburg Pike at 10 A.M., June 26th, for a distance of about three and a half miles, accompanied by Major Robert Bell, who commanded a troop of horse, also raised, I understand, in Gettysburg. Having halted, our colonel, accompanied by Major Bell, rode to the brow of an elevation and there saw General Early’s troops a few miles distant.
“We, a few hundred men at most, were in the toils; what should be done? We would gladly have marched to join the Army of the Potomac, under Meade, but where was it? Our colonel, left to his own resources, wisely decided to make an effort to return to Harrisburg, and immediately struck off from the pike, the Confederates capturing many of our rear-guard after a sharp skirmish, and sending their cavalry in pursuit of us. These later overtook us in the afternoon at Witmer’s house, about four and a half miles from Gettysburg on the Carlisle Road, where, after an engagement, they were repulsed with some loss. After many vicissitudes, we finally reached Harrisburg, having marched 54 out of 60 consecutive hours, with a loss of some 200 men.
“It should be added that Gettysburg, small town as it was, had already furnished its quota to the army. Moreover, on the first day of the battle, hundreds of the unfortunate men of Reynolds’s gallant corps were secreted, sheltered, fed, and aided in every way by the men and women of the town.”
The First Soldier Killed at Gettysburg
George W. Sandoe, the first Union soldier killed at Gettysburg, was a member of Company B Independent 21st Pennsylvania Cavalry. Upon arriving at Gettysburg, June 26th, 1863, General Gordon sent out a picket line on the Baltimore Pike. As these pickets reached the Nathaniel Lightner property, George W. Sandoe and William Lightner, also a member of Company B, approached the pike, coming across the McAllister field from the direction of Rock Creek. Owing to a growth of bushes and trees along the fence, they did not discover the Confederate pickets until they were ordered to halt. Lightner at once jumped his horse across the fence and escaped by riding rapidly down the pike. Sandoe’s horse fell in making the leap, and in attempting to escape by riding back in the direction from which he came, Sandoe was shot. He lies buried at Mount Joy Church, in Mount Joy, Adams County.
A Mysterious Letter
Having passed through Gettysburg on June 28th, General John B. Gordon, of Lee’s army, went on to York and Wrightsville before returning on July 1st. In his “Reminiscences of the Gettysburg Campaign” he tells the following story:
“We entered the city of York on Sunday morning. Halting on the main street, where the sidewalks were densely packed, I rode a few rods in advance of my troops, in order to speak to the people from my horse. As I checked him and turned my full dust-begrimed face upon a bevy of ladies very near me, a cry of alarm came from their midst; but after a few words of assurance from me, quiet and apparent confidence were restored. I assured these ladies that the troops behind me, though ill-clad and travel-stained, were good men and brave; that beneath their rough exteriors were hearts as loyal to women as ever beat in the breasts of honorable men; that their own experience and the experience of their mothers, wives, and sisters at home had taught them how painful must be the sight of a hostile army in their town; that under the orders of the Confederate commander-in-chief both private property and non-combatants were safe; that the spirit of vengeance and of rapine had no place in the bosoms of these dust-covered but knightly men; and I closed by pledging to York the head of any soldier under my command who destroyed private property, disturbed the repose of a single home, or insulted a woman.
“As we moved along the street after this episode, a little girl, probably twelve years of age, ran up to my horse and handed me a large bouquet of flowers in the center of which was a note in delicate handwriting, purporting to give the numbers and describe the position of the Union forces of Wrightsville, toward which I was advancing. I carefully read and reread this strange note. It bore no signature and contained no assurance of sympathy for the Southern cause, but it was so terse and explicit in its terms as to compel my confidence. The second day we were in front of Wrightsville, and from the high ridge on which this note suggested that I halt and examine the position of the Union troops, I eagerly scanned the prospect with my field-glasses, in order to verify the truth of the mysterious communication or detect its misrepresentations.
“There, in full view of us, was the town, just as described, nestling on the banks of the Susquehanna. There was the blue line of soldiers guarding the approach, drawn up, as indicated, along an intervening ridge and across the pike. There was the long bridge spanning the Susquehanna and connecting the town with Columbia on the other bank. Most important of all, there was the deep gorge or ravine running off to the right and extending around the left bank of the Federal line and to the river below the bridge. Not an inaccurate detail in that note could be discovered. I did not hesitate, therefore, to adopt its suggestion of moving down the gorge in order to throw my command on the flank, or possibly in the rear of the Union troops, and force them to a rapid retreat or surrender. The result of this movement vindicated the strategic wisdom of my unknown and—judging by the handwriting—woman correspondent, whose note was none the less martial because embedded in roses, and whose evident genius for war, had occasion offered, might have made her a captain equal to Catherine.”
The Flag of the 16th Maine
A marker showing the position of the 16th Maine Infantry Regiment on the afternoon of the first day’s battle stands at the intersection of Doubleday Avenue and the Mummasburg Road, and contains the following inscription:
Position Held July 1, 1863, at 4 o’Clock P.M.
by the 16th Maine Infantry
1st Brig., 2nd Div., 1st Corps
WHILE THE REST OF THE DIVISION WAS RETIRING, THE REGIMENT HAVING MOVED FROM THE POSITION AT THE LEFT WHERE ITS MONUMENT STANDS, UNDER ORDERS TO HOLD THIS POSITION AT ANY COST.
It Lost on This Field
Killed 11, Wounded 62, Captured 159
Out of 275 Engaged.
When almost surrounded, the regiment withdrew to the left of the railroad cut to help cover the withdrawal of Stewart’s battery, which was also almost surrounded. The regiment had two flags, the Stars and Stripes and the flag of Maine.
Finally, assaulted by the flank and rear, they determined not to surrender their colors, but tore them from their staffs and into small bits, each man taking a star or a bit of silk which he placed in his pocket. Some of these fragments were carried through the southern prisons and finally home to Maine, where they are still treasured as precious relics by the relatives and friends of the brave men of the regiment.
The Barlow-Gordon Incident
Barlow’s Knoll, a short distance northeast of Gettysburg, is named in honor of Brigadier-General Francis C. Barlow, in command of the 1st Division of the 11th Corps. In his “Reminiscences of the Civil War,” General Gordon describes his meeting with Barlow:
“Returning from the banks of the Susquehanna, and meeting at Gettysburg, July 1, 1863, the advance of Lee’s forces, my command was thrown quickly and squarely on the right flank of the Union Army. A more timely arrival never occurred. The battle had been raging for four or five hours. The Confederate General Archer, with a large part of his brigade, had been captured. Heth and Scales, Confederate generals, had been wounded. The ranking Union officer on the field, General Reynolds, had been killed, and General Hancock was assigned to command. The battle, upon the issue of which hung, perhaps, the fate of the Confederacy, was in full blast. The Union forces, at first driven back, now reënforced, were again advancing and pressing back Lee’s left and threatening to envelop it. The Confederates were stubbornly contesting every foot of ground, but the Southern left was slowly yielding. A few moments more and the day’s battle might have been ended by a complete turning of Lee’s flank. I was ordered to move at once to the aid of the heavily pressed Confederates. With a ringing yell, my command rushed upon the line posted to protect the Union right. Here occurred a hand-to-hand struggle. That protecting Union line, once broken, left my command not only on the right flank, but obliquely in rear of it.
“Any troops that were ever marshalled would, under like conditions, have been as surely and swiftly shattered. Under the concentrated fire from front and flank, the marvel is that they escaped. In the midst of the wild disorder in his ranks, and through a storm of bullets, a Union officer was seeking to rally his men for a final stand. He, too, went down pierced by a minie ball. Riding forward with my rapidly advancing lines, I discovered that brave officer lying upon his back, with the July sun pouring its rays into his pale face. He was surrounded by the Union dead, and his own life seemed to be rapidly ebbing out. Quickly I dismounted and lifted his head. I gave him water from my canteen, and asked his name and the character of his wounds. He was Major-General Francis C. Barlow, of New York, and of Howard’s Corps. The ball had entered his body in front and passed out near the spinal cord, paralyzing him in legs and arms. Neither of us had the remotest thought that he could survive many hours. I summoned several soldiers who were looking after the wounded, and directed them to place him upon a litter and carry him to the shade in the rear. Before parting, he asked me to take from his pocket a package of letters and destroy them. They were from his wife. He had one request to make of me. That request was that, if I lived to the end of the war and ever met Mrs. Barlow, I would tell her of our meeting on the field of Gettysburg and his thoughts of her in his last moments. He wished to assure me that he died doing his duty at the front, that he was willing to give his life for his country, and that his deepest regret was that he must die without looking upon her face again. I learned that Mrs. Barlow was with the Union Army, and near the battlefield. When it is remembered how closely Mrs. Gordon followed me, it will not be difficult to realize that my sympathies were especially stirred by the announcement that his wife was so near to him. Passing through the day’s battle unhurt, I despatched, at its close, under a flag of truce, the promised message to Mrs. Barlow. I assured her that she should have safe escort to her husband’s side.
“In the desperate encounters of the two succeeding days, and the retreat of Lee’s army, I thought no more of Barlow, except to number him with the noble dead of the two armies who have so gloriously met their fate. The ball, however, had struck no vital point, and Barlow slowly recovered, though his fate was unknown to me. The following summer, in battles near Richmond, my kinsman with the same initials, General J. B. Gordon of North Carolina, was killed. Barlow, who had recovered, saw the announcement of his death, and entertained no doubt that he was the Gordon whom he had met on the field of Gettysburg. To me, therefore, Barlow was dead; to Barlow I was dead. Nearly fifteen years passed before either of us was undeceived. During my second term in the United States Senate, the Hon. Clarkson Potter of New York was the member of the House of Representatives. He invited me to dinner in Washington to meet a General Barlow who had served in the Union Army. Potter knew nothing of the Gettysburg incident. I had heard that there was another Barlow in the Union Army, and supposed of course, that it was this Barlow with whom I was to dine. Barlow had a similar reflection as to the Gordon he was to meet. Seated at Clarkson Potter’s table, I asked Barlow: ‘General, are you related to the Barlow who was killed at Gettysburg?’ He replied: ‘Why, I am the man, sir. Are you related to the Gordon who killed me?’ ‘I am the man, sir,’ I responded. No words of mine can convey any conception of the emotions awakened by these startling announcements. Nothing short of an actual resurrection of the dead could have amazed either of us more. Thenceforward, until his untimely death in 1896, the friendship between us which was born amidst the thunders of Gettysburg was cherished by both.”
General Ewell Is Hit by a Bullet
General Gordon gives an account of an amusing incident of the first day:
“Late in the afternoon of this first day’s battle, when the firing had greatly decreased along most of the lines, General Ewell and I were riding through the streets of Gettysburg. In a previous battle he had lost one of his legs, but prided himself on the efficiency of the wooden one which he used in its place. As we rode together, a body of Union soldiers, posted behind some dwellings and fences on the outskirts of the town, suddenly opened a brisk fire. A number of Confederates were killed or wounded, and I heard the ominous thud of a minie ball as it struck General Ewell at my side. I quickly asked: ‘Are you hurt, sir?’ ‘No, no,’ he replied; ‘I’m not hurt. But suppose that ball had struck you: we would have had the trouble of carrying you off the field, sir. You see how much better fixed I am for a fight than you are. It don’t hurt a bit to be shot in a wooden leg.’
“Ewell was a most interesting and eccentric character. It is said that in his early manhood he had been disappointed in a love affair, and had never fully recovered from its effects. The fair maiden to whom he had given his affections had married another man; but Ewell, like the truest of knights, carried her image in his heart through long years. When he was promoted to the rank of brigadier or major-general, he evidenced the constancy of his affections by placing upon his staff the son of the woman whom he had loved in his youth. The meddlesome Fates, who seem to revel in the romances of lovers, had decreed that Ewell should be shot in battle and become the object of solicitude and tender nursing by this lady, Mrs. Brown, who had been for many years a widow. Her gentle ministrations soothed his weary weeks of suffering, a marriage ensued, and with it came the realization of Ewell’s long-deferred hope. He was a most devoted husband. He never seemed to realize, however, that marriage had changed her name, for he proudly presented her to his friends as ‘My wife, Mrs. Brown, sir.’”
The School Teachers’ Regiment
The 151st Pennsylvania Infantry, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel George F. McFarland, included Company D, made up mainly of the instructors and students of the Lost Creek Academy, of McAlisterville, Juniata County, of which Colonel McFarland was principal. For this reason it was called the “Schoolteachers’ Regiment.” The material throughout was excellent, many of the men being experienced marksmen. The regiment went into battle with 21 officers and 446 men, and sustained a loss in killed, wounded, and missing of 337, or over 75 per cent.
The casualties of the 26th North Carolina Regiment, against which they were engaged, were 588 out of 800, just about the same percentage.
Colonel McFarland lost his right leg and had the left permanently disabled, but survived until 1891. On the twenty-fifth anniversary of the battle, he delivered the dedicatory address at the unveiling of the regimental monument, exactly twenty-five years to the hour after his engagement in battle.
An Incident of the First Day
An incident, similar to that described by Browning in his poem “An Incident of the French Camp,” occurred at the railroad cut early on the first day.
An officer of the 6th Wisconsin Regiment, active in the capture of the Mississippians belonging to the 2nd and 42nd Regiments, who had taken shelter in the railroad cut after turning the right of Cutler’s line, approached Colonel Rufus R. Dawes after the engagement was over. Colonel Dawes supposed, from the erect appearance of the man, that he had come for further orders, but his compressed lips told a different story. With great effort the officer said: “Tell them at home I died like a man and a soldier.” He then opened his coat, showed a ghastly wound on his breast, and dropped dead.