About 1:00 o’clock in the afternoon, according to my timepiece, General Pickett rode by the guns. The artillerymen in our front raced to their guns, opened their caisson chest and pulled off their jackets. The drivers hid in the holes they had previously dug. Our officers commanded us to lie down. Suddenly there was the boom of a Napoleon gun and then another by the Washington Artillery from New Orleans near the Emmitsburg Road. It was the signal the bombardment from our artillery should commence. Then along our lines, every artillery gun began to fire. The roar was intense. The sound of not a single gun could be distinguished. The Federal artillery’s response was immediate and vigorous to our first barrage. No sooner had the smoke cleared from our guns than Federal artillery shells began to fall among our regiment. The ground shook after the first barrage as if we were in the throes of an earthquake. The shells were howling, shrieking, and exploding. Grass and dirt sprayed the air as the ground was torn up. I recall how trees and fencing were splintered, sending fragments through the ranks to pierce flesh. Rocks and stones were sent flying when the ground was constantly hit by iron shot. I buried my head into the earth and gritted my teeth. A shell exploded in front of me, throwing dirt over my back and neck. When I looked up, it was no more than three feet from me where the shell had exploded. I glanced around and noticed a horrified expression on a soldier’s face to my right. He was dead. As I was lying on the ground, I heard another shell explode nearby. I felt warm drops on the side of my face. I raised up and looked several feet in another direction. An artillery shell had ploughed through the bodies of two of my comrades, privates Ben Jackson and Albert Morris, cutting their bodies in two. Their blood was the warm feeling I had experienced against my face. Blood was splattered all over my clothing. Privates Jackson and Morris were friends and messmates, serving together on other fields of battle. I guess it was only appropriate that they should die together. Another soldier crawled over to help remove their remains when a shell struck the blanket he had recently occupied. Nearly every minute the cry of mortal agony was heard above the roar and rumble of cannon. In our midst and through our ranks poured solid shot and bursting shells dealing out death on every hand. A single shell went bounding madly across the field through a line of prostrated men and rushed on with a wail to the rear leaving a wide track of blood behind. Yet the men remained at their post. I looked off to my right and noticed some of General Kemper’s men were exposed in a field and did not have as much shelter as we did. I thought the Third and Seventh Virginia Infantry regiments must be taking a pounding from the Federal artillery. Some men had been mangled beyond recognition, disintegrated by artillery explosion, and torn apart. Men’s nerves in General Garnett’s brigade were being tested. Tree limbs came tumbling on some of us. The thudding sound of shell fragments constantly hitting tree trunks sounded like hail. It caused us to feel quite helpless and nervous. A few soldiers fled, but returned later. But still there was bravery among the ranks. Major Dearing rode among his artillery guns waving a flag and encouraging his artillerist to continue the fight. General Garnett did likewise among our brigade. Five men from the Eighth Virginia became casualties from the Federal bombardment. General Armistead’s brigade was behind our brigade. I don’t know how they did under the bombardment. I did notice General Armistead pacing back and forward among his men. I was sure he was encouraging them. He was a Regular Army soldier before the War of Northern Aggression and was a steady man of steel nerves. Not everyone stayed in their place. Some of the men of the Eighth became restless and were willing to defy danger. Richard Mattocks of Company C, the Blue Mountain Boys from Loudoun County, was one of those individuals. He took several canteens to a nearby house behind the ridge to fill them with water. I noticed him about fifteen minutes later returning to his company. Strange enough, Richard had discarded his cap for a straw hat that he must have taken from the house. Not knowing what was in store for us, men began to prepare for the here-after in many ways. I noticed Major Berkeley of our regiment removing his pack of playing cards from his possession and placing them in a hole under a rock. It was considered a sin by some of the religions for a man to indulge in such sport. Another man was praying and reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Even in the midst all of the confusion and battle, I briefly opened my Testament and glanced at the Gospel of John where I read “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believed in him should have everlasting life.” Even though I believed, it was still a comfort and reassurance to my personal faith. I thought of Sarah and the boys. I did not know by the end of this fight if I would find favor with God and be given the chance to see them another day. Like everyone else in this army, I hoped it would be the end and that all of us, both blue and gray could return home to be with our families. I only wished I could have sent Sarah a few lines in a correspondence and told her I loved her and the boys.
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