I reached it on the morning of July 2, 1863.
The immense drama was in full progress. The adversaries had clashed
together. Riding across the extensive fields north of the town, I saw
the traces of the combat of the preceding day--and among the dying I
remember still a poor Federal soldier, who looked at me with his stony
and half-glazed eye as I passed; he was an enemy, but he was dying and
I pitied him.
A few words will describe the situation of affairs at that moment.
Lee had pressed on northward through the valley of the Cumberland, when
news came that General Meade, who had succeeded Hooker, was advancing
to deliver battle to the invaders.
At that intelligence Lee arrested his march. Meade menaced his
communications, and it was necessary to check him. Hill's corps was,
therefore, sent across the South Mountain, toward Gettysburg; Ewell,
who had reached York, was ordered back; and Lee made his preparations
to fight his adversary as soon as he appeared.
The columns encountered each other in the neighborhood of
Gettysburg--a great centre toward which a number of roads converge,
like the spokes of a wheel toward the hub.
The head of Hill's column struck the head of Reynolds's--then the
thunder began.
The day and scene were lovely. On the waving wheat-fields and the
forests in full foliage, the light of a summer sun fell in flashing
splendor.
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