On February 23, 1836, the Alamo was invested by four thousand Mexican soldiers and the final reckoning began. On March 6, after a gallant defense, it was taken by storm, its garrison having been slaughtered to a man. “Thermopylæ had its messenger of defeat—the Alamo had none,” so runs the epitaph which stands upon the monument of these heroes of liberty.
But the blood-avenger was at hand. A few weeks later Sam Houston, standing with bared head before his little army of Texas patriots, gathered at San Jacinto, gave the watchword, “Remember the Alamo!” and within twenty minutes the army of Santa Anna was scattered “like the chaff which the wind driveth away.” Texas was free.
GETTYSBURG
But I have mentioned one other battlefield, and one which in numbers and in the military skill of those engaged, as well as in the principles at stake, stands among the great battles of the world. Gettysburg is a name which is justly mentioned with pride by Americans of all sections; for when its aged veterans, North and South, can clasp hands and declare themselves brothers, it would be presumptuous for others to display the rancor of partizanship.
The settings of the battle were dramatic. Robert E. Lee, the ablest commander of the Confederacy, had crossed into Pennsylvania with his main column. The Federal army of the Potomac was close behind, intent upon pressing northward after Lee to protect Baltimore should it be endangered. Gettysburg lies in a fruitful valley of Pennsylvania, just north of the Maryland borderline. It is walled in by low mountain ranges studded with peaks—Culp’s Hill, Round Top, and Little Round Top—whose names rouse thrilling memories. Here on July 1, 2, and 3, 1863, the two armies fought the most fearful and significant open battle of the whole Civil War.
For the first two days fate favored the Confederate army, and “these partial successes,” writes General Lee, “determined me to continue the assault next day.” A movement was planned in which Pickett’s division of Longstreet’s corps was to strike the Federal line in the center, while Stuart with his cavalry attacked it in the rear. It was a desperate venture, and Longstreet declared that when the moment came for ordering Pickett and his gallant five thousand to advance, his lips refused to form the words, and to the calm inquiry, “General, shall I advance?” he could only reply by an affirmative bow. Within thirty minutes two thousand of the detachment had fallen, and of the officers who had headed this desperate venture, only Pickett and one lieutenant came out unharmed.
Stuart had failed to reach the Federal rear in time to aid the attack which, unsustained, had ended in disaster. “It was all my fault,” generously commented Lee, when the whole tragic result was understood, “Let us do the best we can toward saving that which is left us.” Meade made no attempt at pursuit. Lee led his army back to Virginia and was safe.
In an order of July 4, Meade had used the expression, “driving the invader from our soil,” which, when the great, sad-eyed Lincoln read, he heaved a deep sigh and remarked, “Will our generals never get that idea out of their heads? The whole country is our soil.”
THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG