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missiles—cannister, shrapnel and rifle shot.
Still the column advances steadily and onward, without pause or confusion.
Well might
Count de Paris describe it as an irresistible machine moving forward which nothing could stop.
The dead and wounded—officers and men—mark each step of advance.
Yet under the pitiless rain of missiles the brave men move on, and then with a rush and cheering yell they reach the stone wall.
Our flags are planted on the defenses.
Victory seems within grasp, but more is to be done.
Brave
Armistead, coming up, overleaps the wall and calls on all to follow.
Brave men follow his lead.
Armistead is now among the abandoned cannon, making ready to turn them against their former friends.
Our men are widening the breach of the penetrated and broken lines of the
Federals.
But, now the enemy has made a stand, and are rallying.
It is a critical moment.
That side must win which can command instant reinforcements.
They come not to
Armistead, but they come to
Webb, and they come to him from every side in overwhelming numbers in our front and with enclosing lines on either flank.
They are pushed forward.
Armistead is shot down with mortal wounds and heavy slaughter is made of those around him. The final moment has come when there must be instant flight, instant surrender, or instant death.
Each alternative is shared.
Less than 1,000 escape of all that noble division which in the morning numbered 4,700; all the rest either killed, wounded or captured.
All is over.
As far as possible for mortals they approached the accomplishment of the impossible.
Their great feat of arms has closed.
The charge of
Pickett's division has been proudly, gallantly and right royally delivered.
And then, at once, before our dead are counted, there arose from that bloody immortalized field, Fame, the Mystic Goddess, and from her trumpet in clarion notes there rang out upon the ear of the world the story of Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.
All over this country, equally North and South, millions listened and returned applause.
Over ocean Fame wings her way. Along the crowded population and cities of Europe she rings out the story.
The people of every brave race intently listen and are thrilled.
Over the famous battlefields of modern and ancient times she sweeps.
Over the ruins and dust of Rome the story is heralded.
Thermopylae hears and applauds.
The ancient pyramids catch the sound, and summing up the records of their hoary centuries, searching, find therein no story of equal courage.
Away over the mounds of buried
