in that division was a repetition of
the scenes immediately about us. In that moment the judgment almost
refused to credit the senses. Are these abject wretches about us,
whom our men are now disarming and driving together in flocks, the
jaunty men of Pickett's Division, whose steady lines and flashing arms
but a few moment's since came sweeping up the slope to destroy us? Are
these red cloths that our men toss about in derision the "fiery Southern
crosses," thrice ardent, the battle flags of the rebellion that waved
defiance at the wall? We know, but so sudden has been the transition, we
yet can scarce believe.

[Illustration: Battle of Gettysburg--Final attack, July 3

(Compiled by C E. Estabrook)]

Just as the fight was over, and the first outburst of victory had a
little subsided, when all in front of the crest was noise and
confusion--prisoners being collected, small parties in pursuit of them
far down into the fields, flags waving, officers giving quick, sharp
commands to their men--I stood apart for a few moments upon the crest,
by that group of trees which ought to be historic forever, a spectator
of the thrilling scene around. Some few musket shots were still heard in
the Third Division; and the enemy's guns, almost silent since the
advance of his infantry until the moment of his defeat, were dropping a
few sullen shells among friend and foe upon the crest. Rebellion
fosters such humanity. Near me, saddest sight of the many of such a
field and not in keeping with all this noise, were mingled alone the
thick dead of Maine and Minnesota, and Michigan and Massachusetts, and
the Empire and Keystone States, who, not yet cold, with the blood still
oozing from their death-wounds, had given their lives to the country
upon that stormy field. So mingled upon that crest let their honored
graves be. Look with me about us. These dead have been avenged already.
Where the long lines of the enemy's thousands so proudly advanced, see
how thick the silent men of gray are scattered. It is not an hour since
these legions were sweeping along so grandly; now sixteen hundred of
that fiery mass are strewn among the trampled grass, dead as the clods
they load; more than seven thousand, probably eight thousand, are
wounded, some there with the dead, in our hands, some fugitive far
towards the woods, among them Generals Pettigrew, Garnett, Kemper and
Armstead, the last three mortally, and the last one in our hands. "Tell
General