Pickett's Charge ~by Sean

JULY 3 1863

Dear Dad,
I am in Gettysburg. It is twelve p.m. We start our biggest charge in an hour. About twelve thousand men will charge towards the center of the Union line. It is going to be amazing. When we win, we will have a clear path to Washington, and win the right to keep our slaves.
How is my brother doing? Is he still fighting for those evil Yankees? How stupid can he get? He was raised in the south why would he fight for the North? Still I always wonder what general he is fighting under? There is only one that I've heard of near us; his name is General Chamberlain. He is one of the high generals here in Gettysburg leading the Yankees. Another confederate troop of ours was slaughtered in battle. They say he is a brilliant general, but no matter, we will win this charge and have the war in the bag.

Sincerely,
Joe
56 Regiment Confederate side


July 3, 1863

Dear Diary,

I shudder as I write this, but this is my story and if I die, you must tell it.

At 1p.m.:

I heard "FIRE," and our cannons exploded in an earsplitting eruption . Aiming for the union line, we tried to weaken them. Splinters of wood flew into the air as wagons and barns exploded. Yet there was no damage being dealt blood did not rain down only splinters of wood. I had to get to General Lee and tell him. At that moment, I knew it was up to me to save the confederacy. I ran with all my might towards General Lee, musket in hand. I saluted and started yelling, "We're aiming too high. We're aiming too high. The union line has not been damaged. There is no hope!!"

"At ease, soldier," General Lee shouted at me.” "I know what I'm doing. The line has been damaged, and I know it."

I shut my mouth knowing there was no way to change his mind. I sulked back to my regiment feeling unimportant, angry and desperate . I was a failure to my country. So many people would die because of me. I couldn't convince General Lee. I should have continued to push him, implored him change his mind, so the confederacy could have been saved. Now I just hoped that General Lee would notice his mistake before it was too late.

3 p.m.:
The confederates would charge towards the center of the Union line soon . General Lee rode his horse along the line of soldiers, and everyone was cheering, holding their hands out wanting the great leader to touch them or to even glance at them. No one payed any attention to the cannon fire. They thought since the great confederate leader made the plan it had to work. However, I knew that most of the people ,melting over him like butter, won't survive this charge. They won't open there eyes to what is in front of them.

"Charge," General Pickett screamed. We ran with all our might into the open field like a bunch of sitting ducks. Twelve thousand men were either in front, beside, or behind me. The only thing that would save me from the brutal way of war was my musket and the luck of God. I hoped it was enough. In the first hundred yards nothing happened. Maybe I was wrong, maybe it was... cannon fire erupted from the union line. It shredded a soldier next to me. I was splattered with the blood of my comrade; I looked around to already see bodies scattered across the ground. "Damn you General Lee," I shouted. Blood was like rain, constantly falling. There was so much it seemed only James Henry Morris and I could be alive, but I knew it was not true. It can't be true.


This charge seemed to be the merchant of death. Yet through the fog of battle, I could see the the stainless steel musket aiming at my head. The person who held the weapon of war looked like my brother but mud and sweat covered his face. It can't be my brother, I thought. I had to convince myself time was running short. If I didn't react soon I'd be shot dead, so using all my will power, I raised my musket and fired. The bullet flew through the air, and time froze as it hit the man in between the eyes. His skull split in two, and blood spurted from his forehead. He died then and there; he was like a rag doll limp and cold. I hear screaming as a union solider ran towards the limp body, "FRED NO," he shouted. He picks him up and wipes his face. my mouth dropped open in surprise. His face was an exact watch to my brother . It was my brother I just killed. My brother is dead I will never see him again. I tried to find anything good in this situation but there was nothing. My brother was dead and I was the cause.

I turned around and dropped my musket. I ran. I ran with all my might through cannon fire and gunshot hoping I could escape the brutality of war. Hoping to escape the blood that my brother and so many other people shed. I went into the town of Gettysburg and begged to stay in someone's house. Most people glared at me. But finally someone let me stay. I tried to sleep but nightmares filled my head. I woke up the next morning only getting a few hours of sleep and start the journey home.
I do not stop to tell the general I am leaving I just walk away as cannon fire continues to erupt in the background picking off the last of my friends. I walked. I walked to my house to tell my parents what I have done and how they will never see their son again. All because I shot him. How would I tell them? " Hey mom I shot your son." I thought hoping I could think of something. I wasn't afraid of my dad; he would understand. But my mom would never forgive me.

August 10, 1863:
I sit crying. This is the day that would have been Fred's 21st birthday, but he will not be able to celebrate it because of me. I stole his life. Nobody else blames me for what I did. They say, "It is the way of war: shoot or get shot." But I don't believe it. I believe that my brother is left on a field in Gettysburg, with a bullet hole through his head. While he is there, I am here.
To keep me sane, I am on drugs. I try to keep myself from insanity due to the dreadful haunting of the ghost they call war. I have nightmares constantly. Always of the same thing. My brother and I have switched shoes; he kills me. I feel the pain of the bullet splitting my skull and the betrayal of my brother shooting me. I scream, "How could you shoot me, Joe?" And then, I wake up.

While Fred is left on a field in Gettysburg, I am left with a guilt that digs at my soul daily until I am desperate and insane. Who got the better end of this deal?

August 10, 1864, one year later:

I am at my parents' house. Scarred for life by war. I was not physically scarred; I was not shot our cut. But my soul is scarred. It was like I am only half a man. The other half is stuck, left in a field with tens of thousands of other young men who will not again see the light of day or the darkness of night. Fred will not see the happiness of another birthday. He will not see his nieces or nephews. He will not learn the feeling of love; he will not see true beauty. This is the result of war. It is a merchant of death. It is people fighting people because they disagree with the powers above them. I will never forgive myself for what I did to my brother. But I also will never forgive General Lee for sending us into a worthless charge. He has caused this brutality, but is he evil? What evilness creates war? Is it from the generals or are we all a part of this evil?

by ~ Sean