To my consternation, I discovered, from the musketry and confusion, that the Rebels were going it lively over toward our extreme right, in the direction of what is now known as Culp's Hill.
I was satisfied that the Rebels would get around to the road I had come down on, and capture the entire force then at Gettysburg.
For obvious reasons, I did not intend to be made prisoner, if my horse's legs could keep me out of the grip of the encircling Rebs.
While I was making my way back to the road I ran against General Hancock, who had just come up in search of Howard. Hancock—brilliant, dashing, glorious Hancock—rode across the way to Howard, who had been standing silently biting his finger-nails, evidently as much rattled as it was possible for a good soldier to be.
"Howard," said Hancock, in a voice and with an emphasis that attracted the attention of the crowd that had gathered there, "let's get them behind that stone fence; they can never get us out of that."
Howard looked surprised, and said something in a low voice, trembling with excitement, which I took to be an acquiescence with Hancock's suggestion. There were some other words between them that were not heard, but we all knew that Hancock, from his fiery, almost blustering manner, was urging Howard to the importance of this step. Hancock's very presence seemed to inspire the men, who had now begun to gather on the hill in great crowds, attracted by the excitable manner of the General.
Just then Doubleday reached this point. Hancock, upon seeing this fighting General, abruptly leaving Howard, turned to Doubleday and began to explain with excited gestures the importance of securing this position. Doubleday, at a glance, seemed to take in the importance of this step. He and Hancock talked together for a moment only, when Hancock, without again referring to Howard (who still sat silently in his saddle, looking over toward Culp's Hill, his back now turned to the crowd), said to Doubleday:
"Now, you put your men behind that fence, and don't let another man go back of it." Then, turning to the Staff of assembled officers that were there, he said: "Don't allow another —— man to go over that hill; drive them all up behind that stone wall."
Some one asked if they—the Staff—should use force indiscriminately. Doubleday retorted, violently: "Yes; shoot any —— man that refuses to obey."
Some officer whom I can not locate turned to all of us, took command, and ordered every officer and soldier to draw his pistol and saber and prevent another man from going down the hill. For the first and only time during the four years of the war I used a saber on our own men of the Eleventh Corps. No more men went back, thanks to Hancock. Howard and Hancock, standing together, were having some further animated conversation. I was close enough to hear only these words, spoken petulantly by Howard in answer to something that had been said to him: "Hancock, you cannot command here to-day."