ad the markets of the world to draw
supplies from.

In the morning of the third day of the battle of Gettysburg there had
been a terrible artillery duel that made the earth tremble for miles
around, and was heard far and wide.

When the guns got too hot for safety the firing ceased, the noise died
away and the soldiers lay down to rest.

During this interval Gen. Lee called his generals together for counsel.
They discussed the situation for some time, which had grown serious.
Lee's losses had been heavy in killed and wounded, and his stock of
ammunition was growing low.

After considerable discussion Lee mounted his gray horse, rode off a
few paces to a slight elevation, and lifting his field glass to his eyes
looked intently at the long lines of blue that stretched along the
slopes, in the hope of finding some weak point which he might attack.
Then returning to his officers he said in a firm voice: "We will attack
the enemy's center, cut through, roll back their wings on either side
and crush or rout their army." Then he said: "Gen. Pickett will lead the
attack."

Pickett was a handsome young Virginian, a splendid rider, a brave
commander, and one of the most picturesque figures in the Confederate
army. Bowing his head in submission, he mounted his horse, and tossing
back his long auburn locks, rode off and disappeared among the trees.
The other officers soon joined their several commands, and Gen. Lee was
left alone with his staff.

There was ominous silence everywhere; even the winds had gone away, and
the banners hung limp on their staffs. The birds had all left the trees,
the cattle had left the fields, and the small squadrons of cavalry that
had been scouting between the two armies retired and took position on
either flank. Yonder in front, stretching along the slopes, lay the blue
lines of the enemy, like a huge monster asleep, while behind were the
hilltops, all frowning with wide-mouthed cannon loaded to the lips.

Soon long lines of gray came stealing out of the woods like waves out of
the sea. Long lines of gray moved over the fields like waves over the
sea. These were Pickett's men; and Pickett, handsome Pickett, was at
their head riding in silence.

The polished steel of the guns, as the lines rose and fell over the
uneven ground, caught the rays of the bright July sun, developing a
picture of dazzling splendor.

I wonder what was passing through the minds of those boys (their average
age perhap