m. The men do not cheer or shout; they
growl, and over that uneasy sea, heard with the roar of musketry, sweeps
the muttered thunder of a storm of growls. Webb, Hall, Devereux, Mallon,
Abbott among the men where all are heroes, are doing deeds of note. Now
the loyal wave rolls up as if it would overleap its barrier, the crest.
Pistols flash with the muskets. My "Forward to the wall" is answered by
the Rebel counter-command, "Steady, men!" and the wave swings back.
Again it surges, and again it sinks. These men of Pennsylvania, on the
soil of their own homesteads, the first and only to flee the wall, must
be the first to storm it. "Major--, _lead_ your men over the crest, they
will follow." "By the tactics I understand my place is in rear of the
men." "Your pardon, sir; I see _your_ place is in rear of the men. I
thought you were fit to lead." "Capt. Sapler, come on with your men."
"Let me first stop this fire in the rear, or we shall be hit by our own
men." "Never mind the fire in the rear; let us take care of this in
front first." "Sergeant, forward with your color. Let the Rebels see it
close to their eyes once before they die." The color sergeant of the 72d
Pa., grasping the stump of the severed lance in both his hands, waved
the flag above his head and rushed towards the wall. "Will you see your
color storm the wall alone?" One man only starts to follow. Almost half
way to the wall, down go color bearer and color to the ground--the
gallant sergeant is dead. The line springs--the crest of the solid
ground with a great roar, heaves forward its maddened load, men, arms,
smoke, fire, a fighting mass. It rolls to the wall--flash meets flash,
the wall is crossed--a moment ensues of thrusts, yells, blows, shots,
and undistinguishable conflict, followed by a shout universal that makes
the welkin ring again, and the last and bloodiest fight of the great
battle of Gettysburg is ended and won.

Many things cannot be described by pen or pencil--such a fight is one.
Some hints and incidents may be given, but a description or picture
never. From what is told the imagination may for itself construct the
scene; otherwise he who never saw can have no adequate idea of what such
a battle is.

When the vortex of battle passion had subsided, hopes, fears, rage, joy,
of which the maddest and the noisiest was the last, and we were calm
enough to look about us, we saw that, as with us, the fight with the
Third Division was ended, and that