I do not pretend to write much of a letter. You know under what circumstances I am writing.
Just after writing those we were called up to defend a new position on the left, where the terrible storming of the bridge over the Antietam took place.
I long to be in the Field again, doing my part to keep the old flag up, with all its stars.
But we can hold our spirits and our bodies so pure and high, we may cherish such thoughts and such ideals, and dream such dreams of lofty purpose, that we can determine and know what manner of men we will be, whenever and wherever the hour strikes and calls to noble action.
Rations were scarcely issued, and the men about preparing supper, when rumors that the enemy had been encountered that day near Gettysburg absorbed every other interest, and very soon orders came to march forthwith to Gettysburg.
We fought no better, perhaps, than they. We exhibited, perhaps, no higher individual qualities.
Every pioneer and musician who could carry a musket went into the ranks. Even the sick and foot-sore, who could not keep up in the march, came up as soon as they could find their regiments, and took their places in line of battle, while it was battle, indeed.
Our loss had been severe. One-half of my left wing had fallen, and a third of my regiment lay just behind us, dead or badly wounded.
My men moved out with a promptitude and spirit extraordinary, the cheers and welcome they received on the road adding to their enthusiasm.
Mounting a large rock, I was able to see a considerable body of the enemy moving by the flank in rear of their line engaged, and passing from the direction of the foot of Great Round Top through the valley toward the front of my left.