The old horse had climbed the hill, and they were upon the Confederate battle-line of the third day's fight. Old Daggett's voice was lost for an instant in a recollection of his ancient oratorical glories. His speech had been learned from a guide-book, but there was a time when it had been part of his soul.
"Here two hundred cannons opened fire, ladies and gentlemen. From the Union side nearly a hundred guns replied, not because we had no more guns, ladies and gentlemen, but, owing to the contour of the ground, we could only get that many in position at one time. Then came the greatest artillery duel of the war—nearly three hundred cannons bleaching forth their deadly measles, shells bursting and screaming everywhere. The shrieks of the dying and wounded were mingled with the roar of the iron storm. The earth trembled for hours. It was fearful, ladies and gentlemen, fearful."
The visitors had been too deeply interested in what they were saying to hear.
"You said we were on the Confederate battle-line?" asked Brant absently.
"The Confederate battle-line," answered Daggett.
He had turned the horse's head toward Round Top, and he did not care whether they heard or not.
"Yonder in the distance is Round Top; to the left is Little Round Top. They are important strategic points. There the Unionists were attacked in force by the enemy. There—but here as we go by, notice the breech-loading guns to our right. They were rare. Most of the guns were muzzle-loaders."
Presently the visitors began to look about them. They said the field was larger than they expected; they asked whether the avenues had been there at the time of the battle; they asked whether Sherman fought at Gettysburg.
"Sherman!" said Daggett. "Here? No." He looked at them in scorn. "But here"—the old horse had stopped without a signal—"here is where Pickett's charge started."
He stepped down from the carriage into the dusty road. This story he could not tell as he sat at ease. He must have room to wave his arms, to point his whip.