Scott Memoirs: Part 10

-- Bradford Ripley Alden Scott: Memoirs of the Civil War

The March to Gettysburg

Later in that month, June 1863, I recall seeing Pickett's Virginia Division on their way to Gettysburg, the last march on earth for so many of their brave officers and men. One morning, Major Albert C. Smith of Armistead's Brigade, an old friend of my brother John and associated with him in ante-bellum Kansas troubles, rode in to Belair for a brief call of courtesy and told us their command of Pickett's Division was passing north on the main road within a mile of us. We hitched up a conveyance with tubs of ice water, buttermilk, and whatever else we could think of welcome to a marching column of infantry in that weather, and went up to the "road-gate" to see the troops pass, feeling specially interested in friends or acquaintances we knew of among them. This Division had been on detached service somewhere and were in a hurry to catch up with our army then headed into Pennsylvania.

I remember the quiet, orderly, quick step of the men as the column passed. They were fresh from their night's bivouac and not very hungry or thirsty at first, but before long our supplies were all taken as, one after another, a young fellow would step out of ranks, get a cool drink or sandwich and hurry back in line after a word or bow of thanks. One of them carried perched on his rifle barrel a young crow he had picked up somewhere and, on noticing our youngest sister, Green, in the party, came up to us and lowering his gun offered her the bird as a pet that she took with hesitating childish delight (being a born humane society manager and friend of all dumb creatures). We named the young raven "Pickett", tho' not for bad luck, and he became a general pet and pest at home. I have often wondered what became of that polite soldier boy at the end of his march to Gettysburg.