They were within a few hundred yards of the hill, when suddenly a rapid cannon-fire thundered on their right, and shell and canister from nearly fifty pieces of artillery swept the Southern line, enfilading it, and for an instant throwing the right into some disorder.  This disappeared at once, however.  The column closed up, and continued to advance, unmoved, toward the height.  At last the moment came.  The steady “common-time” step had become “quick time;” this had changed to “double-quick;” then the column rushed headlong at the enemy’s breastworks on the slope of the hill.  As they did so, the real thunder began.  A fearful fire of musketry burst forth, and struck them in the face, and this hurricane scattered the raw troops of Pettigrew as leaves are scattered by a wind.  That whole portion of the line gave way in disorder, and fled from the field, which was strewed with their dead; and, as the other supports had not kept up, the Virginians under Pickett were left alone to breast the tempest which had now burst upon them in all its fury.

They returned the fire from the breastworks in their front with a heavy volley, and then, with loud cheers, dashed at the enemy’s works, which they reached, stormed, and took possession of at the point of the bayonet.  Their loss, however, was frightful.  Garnett was killed; Armistead fell, mortally wounded, as he leaped on the breastworks, cheering and waving his hat; Kemper was shot and disabled, and the ranks of the Virginians were thinned to a handful.  The men did not, however, pause.  The enemy had partially retreated, from their first line of breastworks, to a second and stronger one about sixty yards beyond, and near the crest; and here the Federal reserve, as Northern writers state, was drawn up “four deep.”  This line, bristling with bayonets and cannon, the Virginians now charged, in the desperate attempt to storm it with the bayonet, and pierce, in a decisive manner, the centre of the Federal army.  But the work was too great for their powers.  As they made their brave rush they were met by a concentrated fire full in their faces, and on both flanks at the same moment.  This fire did not so much cause them to lose heart, as literally hurl them back.  Before it the whole charging column seemed to melt and disappear.  The bravest saw now that further fighting was useless—­that the works in their front could not be stormed—­and, with the frightful fire of the enemy still tearing their lines to pieces, the poor remnants of the brave division retreated from the hill.  As they fell back, sullenly, like bull-dogs from whom their prey had been snatched just as it was in their grasp, the enemy pursued them with a destructive fire both of cannon and musketry, which mowed down large numbers, if large numbers, indeed, can be said to have been left.  The command had been nearly annihilated.  Three generals, fourteen field-officers, and three-fourths of the men, were dead, wounded, or prisoners.  The Virginians had done all that could be done by soldiers.  They had advanced undismayed into the focus of a fire unsurpassed, perhaps, in the annals of war; had fought bayonet to bayonet; had left the ground strewed with their dead; and the small remnant who survived were now sullenly retiring, unsubdued; and, if repulsed, not “whipped.”