tion, General Alexander sent a
message to General Pickett, "If you are coming, come at once, or I
cannot give you proper support. Ammunition nearly exhausted; eighteen
guns yet firing from the cemetery." This speaks volumes for our
artillerist, who had silenced over one hundred and fifty guns, only
eighteen yet in action, but these eighteen directly in front of
Pickett. Under this deadly cannonade, Pickett sprang to the assault.
Kemper and Garnett advanced over the crest, closely followed by
Armstead. Wilcox, with his Alabamians, took up the step and marched
a short distance in rear of the right. The Alabamians, Tennesseeans,
North Carolinians, and Virginians under Pettigrew lined up on
Pickett's left, followed by Trimble, with his two North Carolina
Brigades and the columns were off. The batteries on the ridges in
front now turned all their attention to this dreaded column of gray,
as soon as they had passed over the crest that up to this time had
concealed them. To the enemy even this grand moving body of the best
material in the world must have looked imposing as it passed in solid
phalanx over this broad expanse without scarcely a bush or tree to
screen it. And what must have been the feelings of the troops that
were to receive this mighty shock of battle? The men marched with firm
step, with banners flying, the thunder of our guns in rear roaring and
echoing to cheer them on, while those of the enemy were sweeping wind
rows through their ranks. McLaws was moved up nearer the enemy's
lines to be ready to reap the benefit of the least signs of success.
Brockenborro and Davis were keeping an easy step with Kemper and
Garnett, but their ranks were being thinned at every advance. Great
gaps were mown out by the bursting of shells while the grape and
canister caused the soldiers to drop by ones, twos and sections along
the whole line. Men who were spectators of this carnage, held their
breath in horror, while others turned away from the sickening scene,
in pitying silence. General Trimble was ordered to close up and fill
the depleted ranks, which was done in splendid style, and on the
assaulting columns sped.

Trimble had fallen, Garnett was killed, with Kemper and Gibbon being
borne from the field more dead than alive. At last the expected crash
came, when infantry met infantry. Pickett's right strikes Hancock's
center, then a dull, sullen roar told too well that Greek had met
Greek. Next came Davis, then Brockenborro,