As many of the folks reading this might know, I am a staff member at the Gettysburg Seminary Ridge Museum, where every Saturday and Sunday from spring until fall, we lead guided walking tours to interpret the history of the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, and the desperate fighting that occurred behind the museum building—a structure which has stood since 1832, and served as a field hospital during and after the fateful Battle of Gettysburg in 1863.
 In his Gettysburg Address, President Lincoln reasoned that those who did not fight at Gettysburg "cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men…who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract." In all, some 24,000 United States soldiers became casualties of Gettysburg, including nearly 3,000 who died during and directly following the three-day battle. Lincoln vowed to "never forget what they did here" and challenged the nation to take up "the unfinished work which they…have thus far so nobly advanced." Photo: Soldiers' National Cemetery, Gettysburg. (Codie Eash, 2013) | Being that Monday is Memorial Day, I decided to amend my walking tour on Sunday morning. My emendation was slight, but noticeable enough, in that I chose to focus not exclusively on the Seminary’s history, and not solely on tactical movements of the armies on July 1, 1863. Rather, I chose to provide a somewhat-extensive narration on the sheer numbers of casualties and losses—particularly deaths—incurred by the units that fought there. My tour group consisted of four people, one of whom was a Vietnam War veteran, and they all really seemed to appreciate this specific focus. As a result I can honestly say that interpreting what happened west of Gettysburg on July 1, 1863, in that fashion was a transcending experience. Reading quotations from men who fought at the places where I and my group stand any given day, and interpreting the experiences through which the soldiers suffered, is always emotional. But, taking into consideration—on the eve of our nation’s collective day of mourning for those who gave what President Abraham Lincoln called “the last full measure of devotion”—is perhaps as close as one can come to feeling the loss "hit home" without actually losing a known family member or friend. |
Please take one moment to think about the following numbers that I shared with the folks on my tour, and bear in mind that many of the men from these units were from the same states, many from the same counties, some even from the same towns. When these units lost significant portions of men—as they did behind the Lutheran Seminary—the locales these men called home often lost entire generations:
The three main brigades which fought behind the Seminary were Col. Chapman Biddle’s Pennsylvanians and New Yorkers; Brig. Gen. Solomon Meredith’s Iron Brigade; and Col. Roy Stone’s Pennsylvania Bucktails.
At Gettysburg, 124 of Biddle’s men were killed, and a total of 71.2 percent were casualties of some sort (killed, wounded, captured, or missing). Meredith lost 178 men killed, and a total of 65.2 percent were casualties. Stone lost 100 men killed, and a total of 65 percent were casualties.
That’s a total of 402 United States soldiers killed in just three brigades at one single battle—not to mention the more than 3,000 compatriots they lost in the entirety of the three days at Gettysburg.
The Union Army of the Potomac marched into Pennsylvania in late-June 1863 with 94,954 able-bodied soldiers, but left several days later 25 percent leaner, having suffered 23,501 physical casualties in some form. This does not even include the tens of thousands of veterans stricken with mental destruction with which they certainly agonized for the rest of their days on Earth, men who would never be properly diagnosed with nor treated for post-traumatic afflictions.
The three main brigades which fought behind the Seminary were Col. Chapman Biddle’s Pennsylvanians and New Yorkers; Brig. Gen. Solomon Meredith’s Iron Brigade; and Col. Roy Stone’s Pennsylvania Bucktails.
At Gettysburg, 124 of Biddle’s men were killed, and a total of 71.2 percent were casualties of some sort (killed, wounded, captured, or missing). Meredith lost 178 men killed, and a total of 65.2 percent were casualties. Stone lost 100 men killed, and a total of 65 percent were casualties.
That’s a total of 402 United States soldiers killed in just three brigades at one single battle—not to mention the more than 3,000 compatriots they lost in the entirety of the three days at Gettysburg.
The Union Army of the Potomac marched into Pennsylvania in late-June 1863 with 94,954 able-bodied soldiers, but left several days later 25 percent leaner, having suffered 23,501 physical casualties in some form. This does not even include the tens of thousands of veterans stricken with mental destruction with which they certainly agonized for the rest of their days on Earth, men who would never be properly diagnosed with nor treated for post-traumatic afflictions.
At the Seminary Ridge Museum, our staff members describe the stories of these men, the townspeople who nursed them to health and buried their corpses, and what happened to the men and women involved in the aftermath of the battle itself. In the halls and rooms of the Seminary building (also known as Schmucker Hall or Old Dorm throughout its now-183-year history), no less than 67 men who fought in defense of the United States flag paid the ultimate price, and breathed their last in the building that now houses the museum where I have the privilege to work, teach and learn.
To be able to tell the stories of the individuals who made this building what it is, and who fought on the western slopes of the ridge named for the Seminary is one thing—to read (at the very locations they stood and fell) the words of the men who died there, and those words spoken and written by those with whom they fought and suffered, is quite another.
To be able to tell the stories of the individuals who made this building what it is, and who fought on the western slopes of the ridge named for the Seminary is one thing—to read (at the very locations they stood and fell) the words of the men who died there, and those words spoken and written by those with whom they fought and suffered, is quite another.
"This old building, plain and unpretending though it is, is more truly a monument of the great battle than are the hundreds of costly structures scattered over this historic field," declared the Rev. Dr. Henry Eyster Jacobs in May 1914. "[I]t was then that these walls wall received their baptism of fire and the scars of honorable wounds." Jacobs was a seminarian in 1863, and reflected upon returning to his beloved school that fall: "Its floors were mottled with indelible blood-stains. Its rooms were crowed with sufferers and continued to be abodes of agony and death for weeks thereafter." Photo: Third-floor hallway containing an exhibit titled "Steeped in Sorrow and Death" at the Gettysburg Seminary Ridge Museum. (Codie Eash, 2015)
On March 15, 1864, Lt. Col. George McFarland reflected on July 1, 1863, when at Gettysburg—“perhaps 20 paces from the seminary”—he “was hit by a flank fire in both legs at the same instant.” On Sept. 16, 1863, he became the final patient to leave the hospital at the Lutheran Seminary, a hospital which over the course of two-and-a-half months contained an estimated 600 to 700 patients. McFarland lost one of his legs to amputation, and the other was rendered all but useless for the remainder of his life.
“I regret the loss of the many gallant patriots who lost their lives or received honorable scars in its ranks,” wrote McFarland, “but I rejoice it was in the battle of Gettysburg and in defense of human freedom and republican institutions.”
That is the quote that I chose to conclude my walking tour on Sunday morning. It encapsulates the meaning of Memorial Day, and the meaning of the loss incurred not only at Gettysburg, but on fields across the country and around the globe where members of the American armed services have fallen, never to return home.
“The past rises before us; we hear the roar and shriek of the bursting shell; the broken fetters fall; these heroes died,” wrote Civil War veteran and orator Robert G. Ingersoll in the late-19th century. “We look, instead of slaves we see men, women, and children. The wand of progress touches the auction block, the slave pen, the whipping post, and see homes and firesides, and schoolhouses and books, and where all was want and crime and cruelty and fetters, we see the faces of the free.”
“I regret the loss of the many gallant patriots who lost their lives or received honorable scars in its ranks,” wrote McFarland, “but I rejoice it was in the battle of Gettysburg and in defense of human freedom and republican institutions.”
That is the quote that I chose to conclude my walking tour on Sunday morning. It encapsulates the meaning of Memorial Day, and the meaning of the loss incurred not only at Gettysburg, but on fields across the country and around the globe where members of the American armed services have fallen, never to return home.
“The past rises before us; we hear the roar and shriek of the bursting shell; the broken fetters fall; these heroes died,” wrote Civil War veteran and orator Robert G. Ingersoll in the late-19th century. “We look, instead of slaves we see men, women, and children. The wand of progress touches the auction block, the slave pen, the whipping post, and see homes and firesides, and schoolhouses and books, and where all was want and crime and cruelty and fetters, we see the faces of the free.”
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Photographs like those found in Timothy O'Sullivan's "Harvest of Death" series are rarities because they depict Union dead, which were mostly buried by the time photographers got to the battlefield at Gettysburg. Though several theories persist, the location where these photos were taken has never been proven (Library of Congress)
“These heroes are dead,” Ingersoll poetically continued. “They died for liberty,—they died for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made free, under the flag they rendered stainless, under the solemn pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows, and the embracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike of sunshine or of storm, each in the windowless place of rest.”
“Earth may run red with other wars; they are at peace,” he concluded. “In the midst of battle, in the roar of conflict, they found the serenity of death.”
To all veterans who at any point fought on behalf of the United States, and whose purpose on the battlefield it was—and is—to preserve the ideals for which the nation was founded, I say, “Thank you.”
But today, my greatest sense of gratitude is dedicated to the veterans who have no means by which to read my words, or those of any other writer, for they did not live; their duty was completed, to the fullest means possible, and all they had to offer was left on the battlefield, memorialized today by monuments, headstones, and—for the most unfortunate souls—the moniker of “UNKNOWN.”
They “found the serenity of death,” and we must all remember on this day, and every day, “They died for liberty,—they died for us.”
“Earth may run red with other wars; they are at peace,” he concluded. “In the midst of battle, in the roar of conflict, they found the serenity of death.”
To all veterans who at any point fought on behalf of the United States, and whose purpose on the battlefield it was—and is—to preserve the ideals for which the nation was founded, I say, “Thank you.”
But today, my greatest sense of gratitude is dedicated to the veterans who have no means by which to read my words, or those of any other writer, for they did not live; their duty was completed, to the fullest means possible, and all they had to offer was left on the battlefield, memorialized today by monuments, headstones, and—for the most unfortunate souls—the moniker of “UNKNOWN.”
They “found the serenity of death,” and we must all remember on this day, and every day, “They died for liberty,—they died for us.”
Further Reading:
The Gettysburg Campaign in Numbers and Losses: Synopses, Orders of Battle, Strengths, Casualties, and Maps, June 9-July 14, 1863 - J. David Petruzzi and Steven A. Stanley. This was the main source for casualty figures provided in this blog.
The Hospital on Seminary Ridge at the Battle of Gettysburg - Michael A. Dreese
Regimental Strengths and Losses at Gettysburg - John W. Busey and David G. Martin
Those Damned Black Hats!: The Iron Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign - Lance J. Herdegen
The Gettysburg Campaign in Numbers and Losses: Synopses, Orders of Battle, Strengths, Casualties, and Maps, June 9-July 14, 1863 - J. David Petruzzi and Steven A. Stanley. This was the main source for casualty figures provided in this blog.
The Hospital on Seminary Ridge at the Battle of Gettysburg - Michael A. Dreese
Regimental Strengths and Losses at Gettysburg - John W. Busey and David G. Martin
Those Damned Black Hats!: The Iron Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign - Lance J. Herdegen
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