From Cemetery Heights eighty pieces reply
to them; and for more than an hour these two hundred and twenty-five
cannon tear the air with their harsh roar, hurled back in crash after
crash from the rocky ramparts. That thunder is the most terrible yet
heard in the war. It stirs the coolest veterans. General Hancock, the
composed and unexcitable soldier, is going to say of it, "Their
artillery fire was most terrific...it was the most terrific cannonade
I ever witnessed, and the most prolonged.... It was a most terrific and
appalling cannonade, one possibly hardly ever equalled."
For nearly two hours Lee continues this "terrific" fire. The Federal
guns reply--shot and shell crossing each other; racing across the blue
sky; battering the rocks; or bursting in showers of iron fragments.
Suddenly the Federal fire slackens, and then ceases. Their ammunition
has run low,[1] or they are silenced by the Southern fire. Lee's guns
also cease firing. The hour has come.
[Footnote: This was the real reason.]
The Virginians, under Pickett, form in double line in the edge of the
woods, where Lee's centre is posted. These men are ragged and
travel-worn, but their bayonets and gun-barrels shine like silver. From
the steel hedge, as the men move, dart lightnings.
From the Cemetery Heights the enemy watch that ominous apparition--the
gray line of Virginians drawn up for the charge.
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