[July 1, 1863]. We arrived at Cemetary Ridge early in the afternoon of the first day, having been detained during the morning at Two Taverns. We had the news of terrific fighting, but hearing wasn’t enough for me. Kid like, I wanted to see it, so I started on to find the First Corps because my uncle was with it. If I was stopped once, I was stopped a dozen times. I surely thought that I was in God’s own land. I met so many familiar faces, among the first of them William Briggs of the 75th regiment [William J. Briggs, 2 lt. Co. C, 75 PA]. I asked him where the 11th regiment was, and he told me it was on the left of his division. I started on. I was soon halted again and told that, if I didn’t get further down the ridge, I would go down a-flying. Everybody seemed to be worrying about me and warning me about getting more buttonholes let into my clothes than I needed. Many of those who stopped me were old friends, and I even met some Massachussetts men, who had fought with us at Boliver Heights. They were good fellows, too, those Yanks.

I finally found Fighting Dick Coulter’s 11th [PA] regiment hugging up against a wall. The first one I met was the chief bugler, Louis Berhard [Lewis Bernhart, Pvt, Co. H, 11 PA], who was an old pal of mine. He greeted me with: “Hello, Billy! Sit down quick, or you’ll get a buttonhole in you.” That was the first time I obeyed the warning. I sat against a tree and I heard the exciting story of the 11th’s important part in the first day’s fight. Next thing I knew, a ball struck the tree over my head. Well, you should have seen me move. I was listening to the news of the fighting when my uncle, William Simpson [William H. Simpson, Cpt., Co. H, 11 PA], came up to me and said: “Bill, what are you doing here?” I told him I came to see him. “Well,” he said,” this is a mighty poor place for visiting.” And it was.  Bullets were flying all about us. I had my 4th of July dinner with him. He cooked the coffee and a couple of pieces of pork on a stick. He had a good supply of hardtack with him, so we had a first-rate meal. My life was saved by a shoestring while I was on the knoll there. As I stooped to tie my shoe, a bulled whizzed by me and struck a man named Gillizin [James Gillian, Pvt, Co. F, 11 PA] in the fleshy part of the thigh. He went over to a corner; had the wound tied up and went along as if nothing bothered him. He was grit, that fellow.

I had a good night’s fun that evening. Dr. William Altman, surgeon of the regiment [Assistant Surgeon, 28 PA], gathered the drummer boys together to establish a field hospital. We went over to the Spangler’s house and camped in the barn  all night [this was the Henry Spangler house and barn located on the south side of the Baltimore Pike between Evergreen Cemetery and Powers’ Hill]. You can bet when a bunch of boys like that get together there is going to be some fun, especially when George McFetridge [pvt., Co. K, 28 PA] was around. He acquired his life-long nickname of “Fish” McFetridge that night. The Spangler house was unoccupied and McFetridge, nosing about, went down into the cellar. He found a kit of mackeral. He passed it to me through the cellar window and we opened it. We were in for a feast, but we soon found that hardtack and salt mackeral didn’t go well together. So Mac took the kit over to Company K. If any of those Co. K boys are living today, they will remember it, for they were all hungry and enjoyed it. I was in Gettysburg several years later at a reunion, and hunted up the Spangler house. McFetridge was with me. We met the old man at the house and asked him if he missed a kit of mackeral during the battle. “By jiminy,” he says, “was you the fellers got the mackeral out of my house? Come in and see my wife.” All excited, he says to his wife: “Mom, this is the men that got the mackeral we forgot. Me and my wife, “ he continued, “had just come from town with the groceries, when Jim Steigerwald – he belonged to the militia company – comes up the pike, and he says, “Quick, get out! They’re coming.” We thought we put everything back in the wagon again, but, by jiminy, we didn’t. On the way to Carlisle, the old woman remembered that she forgot the mackeral. It was too late then to turn back, so we lost our mackeral.” Mac and I offered to pay them for it, but they said that they had been reimbursed by the War Department. They put in a claim for that one kit of mackeral.

Getting back to that night, we drummer boys had a high old time, for we were a jolly lot! They were Freder Spoon, Co. A [Frederick Spohn, Chief Musician, 28 PA]; George W. Gibbs [Pvt.] of Co. B; Michael McCallister [McAllister, Pvt.], and Billy Laird [William Laird, Pvt.], of Co. E; Albert Kolter [Coulter, Pvt.] of Co. F; Aleck Graham [Alexander Ingram, Pvt.] of Co. G; John “Woodpecker” Craddick [Craddock, Pvt.], and Henry Gage of Co. H; Michael H. Rahn and John [A.] Doyle and George McFetridge [all Pvts.] of Co. I. They weren’t afraid of anything, although McAllister, whose brother James was killed at Kellysville shortly before, was always depressed and worried. During the battle, the drummer boys’ place was to assist the physician, carry water to the wounded, and help load the ambulances with those who were being taken to the hospitals. Our men didn’t have any real fighting on the first or second day, but they got all that was coming to them on the third.

You see, our regiment was in Candy’s [1st] Brigade of Geary’s [2nd] Division, in Slocum’s Twelfth Corps. On the second day [July 2], our men were put to work bright and early digging intrenchments at Culp’s Hill, and they worked on till about noon, when they finished. I wasn’t with our boys all the time. I was generally in the thickets of the fighting and was only too glad when I was sent on an errand by the doctor. I saw part of Sickles’ fight, and those boys certainly did nobly. Late in the afternoon, Geary’s division was given orders to move on to the left flank to strengthen that position. But somehow or another, we went the wrong way and started to march back toward the Two Taverns. It was not until 9 o’clock at night that the mistake was learned. Orders were given to countermarch, and we reached Culp’s Hill around nightfall [midnight]. We didn’t go into our intrenchments; instead, we went into the woods in the rear. While we were away,  Johnson’s men [Gen. Richard Ewell’s II Corps CSA] got into our intrenchments. While our men were in their stronghold, we had a number of skirmishers on the lookout and the enemy had skirmishers on the same line. When our men were withdrawn and ordered into the ranks [that afternoon], the rebel skirmishers were quick to notice that something important was happening. Report was made to Johnson and Ewell, with the result that Johnson’s men took their places in our intrenchments during the night. Now, can you imagine anything like that? Think what the consequences would have been if we hadn’t found it out. All that night, our boys were drinking at the same spring, Spangler’s, with the Johnnie Rebs, and what’s more they were helping one another to sip water. Did they know it? Well, you can bet your shirt that they didn’t. One or the other would have gone the voyage. There were times when we helped them with a drink, swapped tobacco, but we weren’t after their scalps at Gettysburg, and weren’t thinking of any Good Samaritan act. The first news that came that the rebs were near us was when Sgt. Benny Hoff [Aaron Bennyhoff, Cpl.] of Co. E [28 PA] brought word that the Johnnies wee thicker than bees around Spangler’s spring, and orders were given for none of our men to go there.

[July 3] It was a flash of lightening that identified the rebels in our intrenchments. Our men were instructed to get ready to move on as quietly as possible. Even tin cans and canteens were muffled, and we started to advance about 2 o’clock in the morning. There was no loud talking, and every breaking stick sounded to us like an exploding shell. We moved on stealthily until we could see the hats with the feathers in them, and we knew darn well that they belonged to the Johnnies. I was ordered to find our company commanders and inform them of the presence of the enemy.

I had a royal time of it. I trod on the hands and feet of the men in my way, and I was called all kinds of names in the most sincere whispers I ever heard. The entire brigade advanced 100 yards and then waited until about 4  o’clock. The order was given: “Attention – fix bayonets.” And the circus commenced. A more surprised lot of men were never seen than those Johnnies. They didn’t know where in the world we came from. I asked one of them afterward – a man we had captured – what his impressions wee and he said: “Doggone if we didn’t just think you fellows come right out of the ground.” It didn’t take us long to get into our stronghold, but a fierce fight raged about that position for a long time. For seven hours, there was an unremitting roar, of rifles in front of the corps. As fast as the regiments expended their ammunition, they were relieved and went to the rear; cleaned their rifles; refilled the cartridge boxes and, with loud cheers, resumed their place in the ranks. It was the longest continuous fight of any at Gettysburg.

Gen. Meade, after listening to the incessant musketry around Culp’s Hill, thought that Geary was expending ammunition unnecessarily, and notified Slocum to that effect. But Meade was satisfied when the situation was explained. Some of the regiments fired 160 rounds of ammunition, and in no place on the field were the rebel dead thicker than in front of Geary’s division. [Note: the quantity of rifle ammunition expended here was staggering for the American Civil War era. A typical regiment numbering 300 present for  duty, when firing 160 rounds per man, would send 48,000 bullets toward the enemy lines]. In the fight, brother fought brother in the literal sense of the word. The First Maryland regiment of Steuart’s [Johnson’s Division, Ewell’s Corps CSA] brigade, and the First Maryland regiment of Lockwood’s [2nd Brigade, 1st Div., XII Corps US] brigade, were directly opposed to each other, and many kinsmen were mingled among the dead strewn thickly over the ground. It was a battle of father against son, brother against brother, cousin against cousin, and friend against friend. There were few men in those regiments who at least did not know one another. Our men showed what they were worth in that fight. I saw many examples of pure courage. One of the first fellows I helped to remove to the ambulance was Sgt. Douglas McClain [McLean, Co. E, 28 PA]. He was a tall fellow, who, when his men were retiring to refill their cartridge boxes, said: “I want to get one more shot.” As he uttered the word “shot”, he got a bullet right in his mouth. I went over to him and lifted his head to see whether he was dead. He asked me for a drink of water and then I helped to lift him into the ambulance. He lived for many years, but he always had trouble with his throat. As we got him in the wagon, two other men were brought up. There was Sgt. Shadle [Henry Shadel, Cpl. Co. D, 28 PA] and Cpl. Shinkle [Cyrus Shenkle, Pvt, Co. D, 28 PA]. Both were badly wounded. Shindle had been hit in the head and Shadle in the shoulder. But it didn’t worry them. As soon as they met, Shadle held out his hand and said to Shinkle: “Shake! We’re good for Philadelphia [recuperation in a Philadelphia hospital].” Many years later, Shinkel had an X-ray operation performed on his head and the bullet was extracted. He met me on the street one day and said: “Wait a minute. I’ve got something for you.” He put his hand down in his pocket and pulled out the bullet.

When I returned after putting McClain in the ambulance, I saw Capt. Tourance [A.S.Tourison] of Co. E, of the 147th [PA] following four boys with a man in a blanket, who, I thought was wounded. Capt. Tourance formerly belonged to our regiment, and he was good to us drummer boys. We loved him. He was an old Mexican War fighter, had been in Geary’s division, and was a drummer boy himself in earlier years. I went up to him with a laugh, for I was glad to see him and expected a happy greeting in return. But he just looked at me, and said: “My poor boy is dead.” I was thunderstruck. It took all the ginger out of me. It was Will Tourance, who was the second lieutenant in his father’s company [William L. Tourison, 1 Lt., Co. E, 147 PA]. We boys were so accustomed to see the men about us killed and wounded that it hardly fazed us, but I did feel sorry for Capt. Tourance. I felt as though I had met with a personal loss and I stood and watched him following the body of his boy until he was out of sight. It was the last time I saw of the dear old man.

We had another old-time warrior with us. He was Gen. Thomas L. Kane, and he was the bravest little man that ever lived. He was the original colonel of the old Bucktails [42 PA]. He had been wounded and always accompanied his regiment in an ambulance, but, when the fight grew thickest, the old enthusiasm took a strong grip on the old man and he crawled out of his ambulance and urged his men on. They owed much to the encouraging words of Col. Kane. He was out of the ambulance the greater part of the third day. They couldn’t keep him in it.

While the fight was at its hottest, Dr. Smith, of the 147th [Assistant Surgeon William F. Smith, 28 PA] told me to take his horse and go to Dr. Goodman [Surgeon H. Earnest Goodman, 28 PA] at the hospital to get spirits. He said that the supply was going fast. It was the fasted ride I ever had in my life. While I was going over Baltimore pike, I came across a strange sight, one that certainly looked odd in that war-torn country. An old couple were going along the road and from their dress I presumed that they were dunkards. He had on a stiff top hat and his dark blue coat had brass buttons; the old lady wore a blue furbelow and carried an umbrella. Two men who had been killed were brought along right in front of them. The old lady raised both hands and screamed, “isn’t it awful?” The old man was just as horrified. They looked out of place on that road of death.

Dr. Goodman called the steward as soon as I reached the hospital and my canteen was filled. I saw quite a few of our boys at the hospital. One especially I will always remember. He was a corporal and had been badly wounded. They wanted to amputate his leg. He said to me: “Will, they won’t do it, for I will shoot the first man who touches me. I am married and I won’t go home to be a burden on my wife.” He was certainly earnest in every word he said. When the surgeons went over to him the second time, intending to cut off his leg, he was dead.

They were fighting like demons when I was returning. The musketry and the artillery fire were terrific. The brigade of the Pennsylvania Reserves had halted, and I recognized Hen Zundle [Henry Ziline, Pvt, Co. K, 28 PA], the brigade bugler who was from Mauch Chunk [PA]. Just as I reached his side, he sounded the bugle and, with a yell, the men charged furiously. How proud  I was that I was a Pennsylvanian when boys like those were fighting her battle. I barely had time to a word from Hen about the fight, when he was off after his men, with a parting yell, “Good-bye, Bill! I hope we’ll meet in Mauch Chunk.” The artillery firing that preceded Pickett’s Charge was terrific. The concussion was so great that the ground shook. When it was over, the men just stopped and looked at one another. Then the loud yells of the rebs were heard, and the famous charge began. It was a wonderful sight: it can never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The scene on Cemetary Ridge after the battle was something that cannot be described. It was horrible to see the men of the artillery dead and dying against their guns; their dead horses were all about them. I witnessed another terrible incident on Baltimore pike during the artillery engagement. Two pieces of Battery K, of the Fifth U.S. Artillery, had been placed on the right of the pike. The firing was so rapid that there was a premature explosion and the man at the sponge staff has both his arms blown off, and he was flung into a ditch. He was a splendid looking fellow before the accident, but a sight to behold afterward. I often wondered what became of him; in all probability he died. The sight of the battlefield after the battle was something awful.

[July 4].  Such a storm was we had on the Fourth I had never witnessed since, and we were all drenched to the skin. I was mighty glad to get away from that field. I assisted in gathering some of the dead and the wounded, and it was anything but pleasant. The dead horses were burned and the odor from the burning horse flesh made our departure smell like an escape from a hateful charnal house.

************************************************************************
William T. Simpson was a drummer boy who enlisted in the 28th Pennsylvania Infantry Volunteers at the age of 15 in June 28, 1861, rose to the rank of 2nd Principal Musician in Co. A, 28th PA, and mustered out of the 28th PA in June 1865. In July 1863, he took part in the Battle of Gettysburg, and, on June 29, 1913, published his memory of the Battle under the title “The Drummer Boys of Gettysburg” in the Philadelphia paper, North American. A native of Mauch Chunk PA, Simpson years later served as the police chief of Scranton, PA. He was 67 at the time of the publication living in Olyphant near Scranton.

Special thanks are extended to Richard J. Sommers, Chief Archivist- Historian of the U.S. Army Military History Institute in Carlisle Barracks, PA who made the Robert L. Brake Collection, Box: Federal Units available to this researcher. The notes in brackets are those of Robert L. Brake; while it is assumed that Brake preserved the original spelling, grammar and punctuation, this researcher preserved Brake’s copy of Billy Simpson’s account only altering the paragraphing to allow for greater ease in reading the text.  Thomas M. Ricks, PhD, Band Historian and E-flat Alto musician, 28th PA Regimental Brass Band.

************************************************************************