My Memories of the Events of the Battle
June 30th - July 3rd, 1863
A fictional diary entry from a sixteen-year-old resident of Gettysburg
Copyright by Elyse Cregar
Dearest Reader,
You may wonder at my waiting these two years to write about what happened during the Confederate invasion of our little town. When I made a decision that could have killed my little brother. When I thought I was in love with a rebel soldier and did everything wrong because of him. When my mother and I almost became enemies, like the soldiers dressed in blue or gray or brown who appeared outside our front door, one color replacing the other within hours.
You may wonder as you read my words, as well I did, where my pa was during these terrible days. He had joined the local militia as news of the southern army’s movements through Maryland caused widespread preparations, for what we did not know. The Confederates had first galloped through our town during late June, looking for supplies of all kinds. They did head east but we remained uneasy, as we feared the larger army was not far behind. Pa was missing, perhaps a prisoner, and his absence was sorely felt.
Rattlesnake dens often had to be cleared prior to setting up camps. In rocky terrain, soldiers sometimes missed the frequent presence of these snakes.
The Confederates had invited themselves in for dinner on the night of July 1st. With no small effort, I kept my head up as I entered the center hallway where many rebels had gathered. Several of these musty, dusty creatures sat leaning against the walls discussing rattlesnakes while they drank from their canteens, most likely filled at our dying well. I started up the stairs, then paused.
“That was in Virginee, wasn’t it, Leonidas, when we camped next to a whole den o’ rattlers? I believe you shot six o’ the rascals that night.”
A blond-haired fellow reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a snake’s tail, making a great show of counting the rattles.
“Why, seems he had sixteen rattles.”
The soldier handed the serpent’s tail to the man next to him.
“That’s what killin’ them Yankees puts me in mind of,” a third soldier added. “Killin’ snakes. Reptiles!” He spat out the word as he tossed the rattles back to the blond-haired young man.
My shivering, shuddering response must have been seen by all those men leaning against the walls of my home. Why I did not rush up the rest of the stairs at that moment, I cannot say.
The tail landed in a dark corner. The blond-haired soldier reached along the molding for the rattles, then paused. As he lifted the appendage, he glanced up, locking his eyes with my own. Drops of fresh blood dripped from the snake’s tail; I could see a scrap of my own blue ribbon wrapped around the rattles as if the ribbon had become the snake. I looked down and saw spatters of blood on the newel post: Union blood that had escaped my rag in the earlier flurry of cleaning.
The young man stared hard at me. He lowered his eyelids partway. His veiled expression felt like a warning to me, and with some ceremony, he wiped the blood from the snake’s extensive tail on his jacket. He pulled the scrap of cloth from the rattles and enfolded the blood smeared ribbon into his left fist.
The soldier’s dramatic performance was not over, Using the rattles as a comb he brushed his long hair off his forehead. The intensity of his stare continued to challenge me, to what I did not know. I felt my face flush as though a hot draft had blown through the hall.
Forcing myself to regain my composure, I turned stiffly from the scrutiny of the blond-haired fellow and made my way up the rest of the hall stairs, wondering if the soldier would question my mother about the blood; perhaps the Union soldier’s blood from the bucket I had thrown hours earlier, an amount that would have been slow to congeal in that dark corner. I berated myself for not scrubbing more thoroughly. Would this rebel tell his captain? Would these invaders search our house for Union wounded?
You may wonder how I am able to recollect the story I put before you. The details, the people, the sounds, the sights, my own dreadful imaginings. I tell you that these memories are seared into my brain. They live within my heart and soul as I hold my little brother close and, trembling, remember what was nearly lost.
Yours humbly,
Abigail Daniels
July of 1865
Vintage photo of an unidentified woman holding a cased image of an unknown soldier. Smithsonian Archives.
There are thousands of Civil War stories to be told . . .
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, the site of the turning point battle of the Civil War, is such a place that one can be drawn to explore. Rolling hills, strange coincidences, tragic decisions, brilliant decisions, human foibles, errors in judgment, moments of triumph and more are all a part of the history of this great battlefield. As I studied the strategies, the very human stories of soldiers, commanders and townspeople, and as I led park visitors on the typical two-hour Battlefield Guide tours, I was constantly humbled by the events that took place across some twenty-five square miles. Even the word "Gettysburg" evokes images of bloody triumph and profoundly terrible loss.
Below is an account of the sacrifices made by men of the 16th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment on July 1st, 1863. The history of this shredded flag leads us to a greater understanding of the significance of this great battle. More links to great resources, a virtual tour, and more can be found at my Study Guide page. Scroll down to Websites.
The many facets in the story of the Battle of Gettysburg can be of value to students as our society continues to be rocked by daily examples of social injustice. A recent study by the Southern Poverty Law Center reveals that “Only 8 percent of high school seniors surveyed could identify slavery as the central cause of the Civil War . . . While nearly all teachers (97 percent) surveyed agreed that teaching and learning about slavery are essential to understanding American history, there was a lack of deep coverage of the subject in the classroom, according to the report.”
With these pages I hope to share a sense of the immensity of the battle and its implications for freedom.
Source: The Southern Poverty Law Center Features and Stories www.splc.org
"SPLC report: U.S. education on American slavery sorely lacking." January 31, 2018
Materials on this page may be freely shared for discussion.
The Story of the 16th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment
Morning of July 1st, 1863
On July 1, 1863, the 16th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment fought desperately to hold back the attacking Confederates. The Regiment, part of the Union First Corps, engaged with elements of Confederate Major General Rodes' Division on Oak Ridge, northwest of the town. Driven back to a railroad cut and ordered to "hold at all costs" as a rearguard to allow time for the rest of the division to withdraw, men of the 16th Maine tore their flags to shreds rather than have them captured. The regiment suffered casualties of over eighty percent: men killed, wounded, missing, or captured, including the capture of Colonel Tilden. The sacrifice of the 16th Maine troops allowed time for Union forces to withdraw to the heights east of Gettysburg.
Of the two flags carried into battle, only a handful of these remnants of the 16th Maine Regimental Flag and National Standard still exist. There are no known surviving images of these flags as they appeared prior to the battle on July 1.The few remnants we know of today are in the Maine State Museum collections or are treasured mementoes to families whose ancestors were in one of the last regiments to give way before the Confederate invasion of Gettysburg on July 1, 1863.
Illustration of shredded 16th Maine Reg. flag, by Elyse Cregar
Photo Credits:
Stock image of rattlesnake in public domain.
Vintage photo of an unidentified woman holding a cased image of an unknown soldier. Smithsonian Archives.
Illustration of shredded 16th Maine Reg. flag, by Elyse Cregar
Logo: "Civil War Flags". Original painting by Tamara Clark. www.tamaraclark.com