I really should say something about Gettysburg National
Military Park, but I am not sure what.
It is certainly scenic on a beautiful late summer’s day, perhaps one of
the prettiest places in the country.
But in early July less than 150 years ago it was hell on earth.
You see, Gettysburg then as now was at the intersection
of ten roads, not much of strategic value to the Confederate army or the Grand
Army of the Republic. The
three-day battle occurred because it was inevitable that they meet somewhere
and this was the place. Robert E.
Lee was spoiling for a fight and George Meade was willing to give him one.
I am not a fan of the “War Between the States.” My brother, the Civil War buff, could
tell you the roles of the various units, who attacked whom and the outcome of
their fight. The private guides,
who seem to dwell forever in the mid-19th Century, will explain
exactly what happened minute by minute from day to day at Little Round Top, Wheat Field, Peach Orchard, and Pickett's Charge. Certainly there were many
individual acts of heroism by ordinary soldiers and displays of tactical genius
by the generals and many civilians showed remarkable compassion for the wounded on both sides. But mostly what
happened was men and boys and non-combatants died.
Fifty-some thousand of them.
Many lie nameless in mass graves in the Gettysburg National Cemetery,
eulogized by Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.
To keep things in perspective, more Americans were killed at Gettysburg than in the whole Korean War, more were lost in Pickett's Charge than Washington lost in the entire American Revolution.
It is generally agreed Gettysburg was the turning point of
the war. Some historians call it
perhaps the most important battle ever fought. General Lee accepted blame for the terrible defeat. General Pickett sobbed, “My poor men.” I don’t know what I feel. I guess every American should visit
Gettysburg to learn the lesson for himself.
