Free Gallant Boys of Gettysburg by Gilbert L. Morris Page A

opinion, no fifteen thousand men who ever marched can take that hill.”
    But for once General Lee was not able to make the correct decision. Perhaps it was because he was accustomed to having Stonewall Jackson present to carry out his commands. Other officers seemed unable to accomplish the tasks he ordered.
    Even now the attack had not gone as Lee had planned. Longstreet had moved slowly, and Jeff and the men of his squad had been crouching in a stand of trees all morning while the sun beat down in hot waves.
    Jeff took off his hat and mopped his brow. He was thinking about having to march up that hill when he heard footsteps and saw Jed Hawkins approach.
    Jed had a strained look on his face as he plopped down beside Jeff. “Well,” he said, “bad news.”
    “What is it?”
    “Pete Simmons—he died last night.”
    The news of Pete’s death depressed the squad even more. They had lost many men, and Simmons had been one of their best—a little hard to get along with at times but a good soldier. Now he was gone.
    Jeff clamped his lips tightly together, saying nothing. But he was thinking,
Poor Pete. He had his whole life before him, and now he’s gone
. Then a second thought came.
I sure am glad Tom and I talked to him about the Lord. He was saved before he died, and that means a lot
.
    Ten minutes after Hawkins returned, a terrific roar of guns suddenly rent the afternoon air. It caught Jeff and Tom off guard, and both of them flinched.
    Jeff looked down at the Confederate artillery, which was belching smoke and fire. They were shooting as fast as the gunners could reload, and then, looking upward, Jeff saw the shot and shell strike among the Union troops at the top of the ridge.
    “They won’t be able to keep that up for long. We don’t have that much ammunition,” Tom shouted over the roar.
    He had no sooner spoken than shells began to explode around the Confederates. Although the Southerners were hidden by the line of trees, the Yankee gunners on the ridge began shooting at will. Explosions rocked the earth. One struck so close that dirt was thrown all over Jeff and Tom.
    It would be the greatest artillery duel that had ever taken place in America. Cannon roared, shells exploded, and men on both sides were killed and maimed as the exchange went on.
    Behind them the officers were running about, getting their orders, when Maj. Nelson Majors came striding through the trees. “Get ready, boys!” he said. “General Lee says we’re gonna take that hill! We’ll file in with General Pickett’s men.”
    Nelson Majors, like most of the other officers assigned to make the charge, was unhappy. All of them could see that they would have to cross at least a half mile of open field under the guns of the enemy. But orders were orders, and the generals began to step out, calling for their men to fall into battle positions.
    The long lines formed. The Confederate guns were quiet.
Out of ammunition
, Nelson Majors supposed. He looked up and down the lines, waiting for the command to go forward. He felt a moment’s heart-wrenching fear, for he knew what was coming. Many of these fine young men under his command would be dead in less than half an hour, but there was no turning back. He drew his sword, lifted it, and, when the command came, shouted, “Forward, men. Be good soldiers now.”
    Jeff advanced, beating his drum slowly, and he heard its drumbeat echoed as drummers on the far end of the company did the same.
    Battle flags fluttered in the slight breeze, and unit flags whipped as the soldiers marched. There was a pride in them that caused them to keep their lines dressed and trim, and up on the ridge the Federals looked down with admiration.
    “You gotta give it to those Rebs,” a Yankee lieutenant breathed softly. “Look at ’em! Coming like they’re on a parade ground.”
    “They won’t keep those ranks long,” another officer said. “But they do look great, don’t they? Never doubted that the Rebs had