Appendix

Selected Civil War Books by Bruce Catton

Bruce Catton published several books on the Civil War, among them:

Mr. Lincoln’s Army, Fairfax Press, 1984

Glory Road, Fairfax Press, 1984

A Stillness at Appomattox, Fairfax Press, 1984

The Coming Fury, Phoenix Press, 2001

Terrible Swift Sword, Phoenix Press, 2001

Never Call Retreat, Phoenix Press, 2001

www.americanheritage.com/users/bruce-catton

Selected Civil War Books by Shelby Foote

The Civil War: A Narrative, Vintage Press 1986

Volume 1: Fort Sumter to Perryville

Volume 2: Fredericksburg to Meridian

Volume 3: Red River to Appomattox

Stars in Their Courses: The Gettysburg Campaign, The Modern Library 1994

The Diary of Sarah Broadhead

In 1864 Sarah Broadhead had two hundred copies of her diary printed for her family and friends. Moved by the work of the United States Sanitary Commission in providing aid for Civil War hospitals, Mrs. Broadhead donated seventy-five copies of the diary to raise funds for the commission. The original title of the booklet was The Diary of a Lady of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and did not include her byline. The diary is in the public domain and I have reprinted it here in its entirety. Ken Burns quoted from Sarah Broadhead’s diary extensively for his documentary on the Civil War. And of course, Shelby Foote was an integral part of the PBS series.

June 15, 1863

To-day(sic) we heard that the Rebels were crossing the river in heavy force, and advancing on this State. No alarm was felt until Governor Curtin sent a telegram directing the people to move their stores as quickly as possible. This made us begin to realize that we were in some danger from the enemy, and some persons, thinking the Rebels were near, became very much frightened, though the report was a mistake.

June 16–

Our town had a great fright last night between 12 and 1 o’clock. I had retired, and was soundly asleep, when my daughter Mary cried for a drink of water. When I got up to get it, I heard so great a noise in the street that I went to the window, and the first thing I saw was a large fire, seemingly not far off, and the people were hallooing, “The Rebels are coming, and burning as they go.” Many left town, but, having waited for the fire to go down a little, I returned to bed and slept until morning. Then I learned that the fire was in Emmettsburg (sic), ten miles from here just over the Maryland line, and the buildings were fired by one of their townsmen. Twenty-seven houses were burned, and thirty-six families made homeless, all effort to stop the flames being useless, as, owing to everything being so dry, they spread with great rapidity.

June 19–

Another excitement to-day. The 87th Pennsylvania Volunteers is composed of men from this and adjacent counties, one company from our town being of the number. Word came that the captain, both lieutenants, and all the officers and men had been killed or captured. Such a time as we had with those friends in the regiment! At 10 o’clock it was rumored that some of the men were coming in on the Chambersburg pike, and not long after about one dozen of those who lived in town came in, and their report and presence relieved some and agonized others. Those whose friends were not of the party, were in a heart-rendering plight, for these returned ones could not tell of the others, some would say, This one was killed or taken prisoner, and others, We saw him at such a place, and the Rebels may have taken him, and so they were kept in the dark.

June 22–

The report now is that a large force is in the mountains about eighteen miles away, and a call is made for a party of men to go out and cut down trees to obstruct the passages of the mountains. About fifty, among them my husband, started. I was very uneasy lest they be captured, but, they had not gone half way, when the discovery was made that it was too late; that the Rebels were on this side of the mountain, and coming this way. Our men turned back, uninjured, though their advance, composed of a few men, was fired upon. About seventy of the Rebels came within eight miles, and then returned by another road to their main force. They stole all the horses and cattle they could find, and drove them back to their encampments. We did not know but that the whole body would be down upon us, until 11 o’clock, when a man came in and said that he had seen them, and that they had recrossed. I shall now retire, and sleep much better than I had expected an hour since.

June 23–

This has been the most quiet day since the excitement began. I expect news to-morrow, for it has been too quiet to last long.

June 24–

As I expected, the Rebels have, several times, been within two or three miles, but have not yet reached here. Two cavalry companies are here on scouting duty, but they can be of little use, as they have never seen service. Deserters come in every little while, who report the enemy near in large force. This morning early a dispatch was received, saying that a regiment of infantry was coming from Harrisburg. We do not feel much safer, for they are only raw militia. The train bringing them came within ten miles, when it ran over a cow, which threw the car off the track. No one was hurt, and they are now encamped near the place of the accident. The town is a little quieter than yesterday. We are getting used to the excitement, and many think the enemy, having been so long in the vicinity without visiting us, will not favor us with their presence. They have carried off many horses. Some, who had taken their stock away, returned, supposing the Rebels had left the neighborhood, and lost their teams.

June 26–

Our militia passed through town this morning about 10 o’clock, and encamped about three miles to the west. Before they had unpacked their baggage, a scout came in with a report, which proved true, that the enemy were very near. Our men then had to retreat and get off the best way they could. About two hundred were captured. The town was quiet after our men retreated, until about 2 p.m., when a report spread that the Rebels were only two miles from town. No one believed this, for they had so often been reported as just coming, and had as often failed to appear, and little attention was now paid to the rumor. When, however, the wagons of the militia came thundering through the streets, and the guard stated that they had been chased back, we began to realize that the report was a fact. In about a half an hour the entrance of Jenkins’ Rebel cavalry began, and they came with such horrid yells that it was enough to frighten us all to death. They came on three roads, and we soon were surrounded by them. We all stood in the doors whilst the cavalry passed, but when the infantry came we closed them, for the fear that they would run into our houses and carry off everything we had, and went upstairs and looked out the windows. They went along very orderly, only asking every now and then how many Yankee soldiers we had in town. I answered one that I did not know. He replied: “You are a funny woman; if I lived in town I would know that much.” The last regiment stacked arms, on both sides of the street in front of our door, and remained for an hour. They were a miserable-looking set. They wore all kinds of hats and caps, even to heavy fur ones, and some were barefooted. The Rebel band were playing Southern tunes in the Diamond. I cannot tell how bad I felt to hear them, and to see the traitors’ flag floating overhead. My humiliation was complete when I saw our men marching behind them surrounded by a guard. Last of all came an officer, and behind him a negro on a fine a horse as I ever saw. One, looking up and noticing my admiration of the animal, said: “We captured this horse from General Milroy, and do you see the wagons up there? We captured them, too. How did we whip those Yankees, and we intend to do it again soon.” I hope they may not.

June 30–

My husband came home last night at 1 o’clock, having walked from Harrisburg, thirty-six miles, since 9 o’clock of yesterday morning. His return has put me in good spirits. I wonder that he escaped the Rebels, who are scouring the country between here and there. Fatigue is all the ill that befell him. This morning the Rebels came to the top of the hill overlooking the town on Chambersburg pike, and looked over at our place. We had a good view of them from our house, and every moment we expected to hear the booming of cannon, and thought they might shell the town. As it turned out, they were only reconnoitering the town preparatory to an advance if no force opposed them. We were told that a heavy force of our soldiers was within five miles, and the Rebels, learning that a body of cavalry from our town was quite near, retraced their steps, and encamped some distance from town. It begins to look as though we will have a battle soon, and we are in great fear. I see by the papers that General Hooker has been relieved, and the change of commanders I fear may give great advantage to the enemy, and our army may be repulsed.

July 1–

I got up early this morning to get my baking done before any fighting would begin. I had just put my bread in the pans when the cannons began to fire, and true enough the battle had begun in earnest, about two miles out on the Chambersburg pike. What to do or where to go, I did not know. People were running here and there, screaming that the town would be shelled. No one knew where to go or what to do. My husband advised remaining where we were, but all said we ought not to remain in our exposed position, and that it would be better to go to some part of town farther away from the scene of the conflict. As our neighbors had all gone away, I would not remain, but my husband said he would stay at home. About 10 o’clock the shells began to “fly around quite thick,” and I took my child and went to the house of a friend up town. As we passed up the street we met wounded men coming in from the field. When we saw them, we, for the first time, began to realize our fearful situation, and anxiously to ask, Will our army be whipped? Some said there was no danger of that yet, and pointed to Confederate prisoners who began to be sent through our streets to the rear. Such a dirty, filthy set and not kind of cuts. Some were barefooted and a few wounded. Though enemies, I pitied them. I, with others, was sitting at the doorstep bathing the wounds of some of our brave soldiers, and became so much excited as the artillery galloped through the town, and the infantry hurried out to reinforce those fighting, that we forgot our fears and our danger. All was bustle and confusion. No one can imagine in what extreme fright we were when our men began to retreat. A citizen galloped up to the door in which we were sitting and called out, “For God’s sake go into the house! The Rebels are in the other end of town, and all will be killed!” We quickly ran in, and the cannonading coming nearer and becoming heavier, we went to the cellar, and in a few minutes the town was filled of the filthy Rebels. They did not go farther, for our soldiers having possession of the hills just beyond, shelled them so that they were glad to give over the pursuit, and the fighting for the day was ended. We remained in the cellar until the firing ceased, and then feared to come out, not knowing what the Rebels might do. How changed the town looked when we came to the light. The street was strewn over with clothes, blankets, knapsacks, cartridge boxes, dead horses, and the bodies of a few men, but not so many of the last as I expected to see. “Can we go out?” was asked of the Rebels. “Certainly,” was the answer, “they would not hurt us.” We started home, and found things all right. As I write all is quiet, But O! how I dread to-morrow.

July 2–

Of course we had no rest last night. Part of the time we watched the Rebels rob the house opposite. The family had left some time during the day, and the robbers must have gotten all they left in the house. They went from the garret to the cellar, and loading up the plunder in a large four horse wagon, drove it off. I expected every minute that they would burst in our door, but they did not come near us. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and we could see all they did.

The cannonading commenced about 10 o’clock, and we went to the cellar and remained a little while until it ceased. When the noise subsided, we came to the light again, and tried to get something to eat. My husband went to the garden and picked a mess of beans, though stray firing was going on all the time, and bullets from sharpshooters or others whizzed about his head in a way I would not have liked. He persevered until he picked all, for he declared the Rebels should have not one. I baked a pan of shortcake and boiled a piece of ham, the last we had in the house, and some neighbors coming in, joined us, and we had the first quiet meal since the contest began. I enjoyed it very much. It seemed so nice after so much confusion to have a little quiet once more. We had not felt like eating before, being worried by danger and excitement. The quiet did not last long. About 4 o’clock P.M. the storm burst again with terrific violence. It seemed like heaven and earth were being rolled together. For better security we went to the house of a neighbor and occupied the cellar, by far the most comfortable part of the house. Whilst there a shell a struck the house, but mercifully did not burst, but remained embedded in the wall, one half protruding. About 6 o’clock the cannonading lessened, and we, thinking the fighting for the day was over, came out. Then the noise of the musketry was loud and constant, and made us feel quite as bad as cannonading, though it seemed to me less terrible. Very soon the artillery joined in the din, and soon became as awful as ever, and we again retreated to our friend’s underground apartment, and remained until the battle ceased, about 10 o’clock at night. I have just finished washing a few pieces for my child, for we expect to be compelled to leave town tomorrow, as the Rebels say it will most likely be shelled. I cannot sleep, and as I sit down to write, to while away the time, my husband sleeps as soundly as though nothing was wrong. I wish I could rest so easily, but it is out of the question for me to either eat or sleep under such terrible excitement and such painful suspense. We know not what the morrow will bring forth, and cannot even tell the issue of to-day. We can gain no information from the Rebels, and are shut off from all communications with our soldiers. I think little has been gained by either side so far. Has our army been sufficiently reinforced? is our anxious question. A few minutes since we had a talk with an officer of the staff of General Early, and he admits our army has the best position, but says we cannot hold it much longer. The Rebels do so much bragging that we do not know how much to believe. At all events, the manner in which this officer spoke indicates that our troops have the advantage so far. Can they keep it? The fear they may not be able to causes our anxiety and keep us in suspense.

July 3–

To-day the battle spread with the fierce cannonading before 4 o’clock a.m. Shortly after the battle began we were told to leave this end of town, for likely it would be shelled. My husband declared he would not go while one brick remained upon another, and, as usual, we betook ourselves to the cellar, where we remained until 10 o’clock, when the firing ceased, We could not get breakfast on account of our fears and the great danger. During the cessation we managed to get a cold bite. Again, the battle began with unearthly fury. Nearly all afternoon it seemed as if the heavens and earth were crashing together. The time that we sat in the cellar seemed long, listening to the terrific sound of the strife; more terrible never greeted human ears. We knew that with every explosion, and the scream of each shell, human beings were hurried, through excruciating pain, into another world, and that many more were torn, and mangled, and lying in torment worse than death, and no one able to extend relief. The thought made me very sad, and feel that, if it was God’s will, I would rather be taken away than remain to see the misery that would follow. Some thought this awful afternoon would never come to a close. We knew that the Rebels were putting forth all their might, and it was a dreadful thought that they might succeed. Who is victorious, or with whom the advantage rests, no one here can tell. It would ease the horror if we knew our arms were successful. Some think the Rebels were defeated, as there has been no boasting as on yesterday, and they look uneasy and by no means exultant. I hope they are correct, but I fear we are too hopeful. We shall see tomorrow. It will be the 4th of July, and the Rebels have promised a glorious day. If it only ends the battle and drives them off it will be glorious, and I will rejoice.

July 4–

This morning, about 6 o’clock, I heard a great noise in the street, and going to the door I saw a Rebel officer on horseback hallooing to some soldiers on foot, to “Hurry up, the Yankees have possession of the town and all would be captured.” I looked up the street and saw our men in the public square, and it was a joyful sight, for I knew we were now safe. Soon after, the Rebels sent in a flag of truce, but what was communicated we did not know, and, in consequence, the people were more scared than ever, the report spreading that it was to give notice to remove the women and children before shelling the town. As soon as the flag of truce had gone, our sharpshooters were pushed out to this side of town, and were all around us. We were between two fires, and were kept close prisoners all day, not daring to either go out, or even look out the windows, on account of the bullets fired at every moving object. The people of other parts of town could go where they pleased. It has been a dreadfully long day. We know, however, that the Rebels are retreating, and that our army has been victorious. I was anxious to help care for the wounded, but the day is ended and all is quiet, and for the first time in a week I shall go to bed, feeling safe.

July 5–

What a beautiful morning! It seems as though Nature was smiling on thousands suffering. One might think, if they saw only the sky, and earth, and trees, that every one must be happy; but just look around and behold the misery made in so short time by man. Early this morning I went out to the Seminary, just outside of town, and which until the retreat, was in the hands of the enemy. What horrible sights presented themselves on every side, the roads being strewn with dead horses and the bodies of some men, though the dead have nearly all been buried, and every step of the way giving evidence of the dreadful contest. Shall we—for I was not alone—enter the building or return home? Can we endure the spectacle of hundreds of men wounded in every conceivable manner, some in the head and limbs, here an arm off and there a leg, and just inside a poor fellow with both legs shot away? It is dreadful to behold, and, to add to the misery, no food has been served for several days. The little we have will not go far with so many. What can we do? is the only question, and the little we brought was distributed. It is heart-sickening to think of these noble fellows sacrificing everything for us, and saving us, and it out of our power to render any assistance of consequence. I turned away and cried. We returned to town to gather more food if possible, and to get some soft material to place under their wounded limbs, to help make them more comfortable. As we returned, our cavalry was moving out to follow the Rebels, and the street was all in an uproar. When I reached home, I found my husband’s brother, who had passed through the battle unhurt, and had come to see us. I rejoiced at seeing him, for we feared he had fallen, and at once set to work to prepare a meal to appease his hunger. As I was baking cakes for him, a poor prisoner came to the door and asked me to give him some, for he had nothing to eat for the last two or three days. Afterward more joined him, and made the same statement and request. I was kept baking cakes until nearly noon, and, in consequence, did not return to the Seminary. The poor fellows in my house were so hungry that they could hardly wait until the cakes were baked.

July 7–

This morning we started out to see the wounded, with as much food as we could scrape together, and some old quilts and pillows. It was very little, but yet better than nothing. We found on reaching the hospital that a wagon-load of bread and fifty pounds of butter had arrived, having been sent in from the country, and a supply of what the soldiers call “hard tack,” has been distributed. All got some to eat, but not as much as they desired. Government meat is promised for to-morrow, and a full supply of provisions. I assisted in feeding some of the severely wounded, when I perceived they were suffering on account of not having their wounds dressed. I did not know whether I could render any assistance in that way, but I thought I would try. I procured a basin and water, and went room to room where there were seven or eight, some shot in the arms, others in the legs, and one in his back, and another in the shoulder. I asked if any one would like to have his wounds dressed? Someone replied, “There is a man on the floor who cannot help himself, you would better see to him.” Stooping over him, I asked for his wound, and he pointed to his leg. Such a horrible sight I had never seen and hope to never see again. His leg was all covered with worms. I inquired, Was there no doctor in the building? If there was, I must see him. One was brought, and I asked, How the men ever came to be in such condition? He said, “Enough men had not been detailed to care for the wounded, and that that man had been wounded in the first day’s fight, and held by the Rebels until the day previous, and that they (the surgeons) had not yet had time to attend to all, and, at any rate, there were not enough surgeons, and what there were could do but little, for the Rebels had stolen their instruments.” He declared further, that many would die from sheer lack of timely attendance. We fixed the man as comfortably as we could, and when the doctor told me he could not live, I asked him for his home, and if he had a family. He said I should send for his wife, and when I came home I wrote to her, as he told me, but I fear she may never see him alive, as he is very weak, and sinking rapidly. I did not return to the hospital to-day, being very much fatigued and worn out and having done what I never expected to do, or thought I could. I am becoming more used to sights of misery. We do not know until tried what we are capable of.

July 8–

Again at the hospital early this morning. Several physicians and lady nurses had come from Washington the previous evening, and under their care things already began to look better. The work of extracting the balls, and of amputating shattered limbs, had begun, and an effort at regular cooking. I aided a lady to dress wounds, until soup was made, and then I went to distribute it. I found that I had only see the lighter cases, and worse horrors met my eyes on descending to the basement of the building. Men, wounded in three or four places, not able to help themselves the least bit, lay almost swimming in water. I hunted up the lady whom I had been helping, and told her to come and see how they were situated. When we came down she reverently exclaimed, “MY God! They must be gotten out of this or they will drown.” I gladly, in answer to her request, consented to assist her. She called some nurses to help, and getting some stretchers the work was begun. There were somewhere near one hundred to be removed to the fourth story of the building. The way they happened to be in such a miserable place was this. On the first day, during the battle, they had been taken into the building for shelter. On Thursday and Friday the Rebels planted a battery just behind this hospital, which annoyed our troops not a little, who, in endeavoring to silence it, could not avoid throwing some shells into the building. Some entered several of the rooms, and injured one of the end walls, and the basement became the only safe place to which our wounded could betake themselves, and the heavy rains, following the engagement, flooded the floor. I did not think all could be removed to-day, but the lady said it must be done, and by hard work she had it accomplished. We had the satisfaction of seeing them comfortably fixed, though they lay on the bare floor with only their gum blankets under them, but dry and very thankful for so little. I fed one poor fellow who had both legs and one arm taken off, and, though he is very weak and surely cannot live, he seems in right good spirits. Some weeks since I would have fainted had I seen as much blood as I have to-day, but I am proof now, only caring to relieve suffering. I now begin to feel fatigued, but I hope rest may restore me.

July 9–

Rain began to fall early this morning, and so violently that it produced quite a flood, which prevented me from getting to the hospital. I visited, with what supplies I had, some of those in town. I found the wounded in them much better situated, some attention having been paid to them, by the citizens near, during the battle. All had plenty to eat, though very few had beds to lie on and rest their wounded bodies. Nearly every house is a hospital, besides the churches and warehouses, and there are many field hospitals scattered over the country near the scene of the battle. A man called to-day, and requested me to take into our house three wounded men from one of the field hospitals. I agreed to take them, for I can attend to them and not be compelled to leave my family so long every day as I have done. I am quite anxious to learn the condition of the man at the Seminary whose wife I sent for. I was thinking of her when the cars, for the first time since the destruction of the Rock Creek bridge, came into town, the road having been repaired. The Government can now forward supplies in abundance, and the poor fellows can be better provided for in every way. I talked with some wounded Rebels at one of the hospitals, and they are very saucy and brag largely. They are very kindly treated, and supplied, in all respects, as our men are. The spirit manifested by those I met was so vindictive that I believe they would, if they could, requite all the kindness shown them by murdering our citizens. The merciful work of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, aided by private contributions, was to be seen at every hospital. Without the relief they furnished, thousands must have perished miserably, and thousands more have suffered from want of the delicacies, food and clothing their agents distributed, before the Government could bring assistance. They are God’s blessed agencies for providing for the needy soldier. No one knows the good she has done, in making bandages and clothing, and in contributing dainties and provisions, until she sees the operation of these agencies in distributing her gifts to the wounded and sick soldiers. Whoever aids them is engaged in the noblest work on earth, and will be amply rewarded ever here, to make no mention of hereafter.

July 10–

This morning I again visited the Seminary, and was rejoiced to see the improvement that had been made in the arrangements for the patients. Nearly all have been provided with beds and clean clothing, and a more comfortable look pervades the whole building. I miss many faces that I had learned to know, and among them the man whose wife I had written to. A lady stayed with him until he died, and cut off a lock of his hair, which she gave me for his wife. At 5 o’clock our men were brought to our home, and I prepared them as nice a supper as I could, and they appeared quite cheerful, notwithstanding their dirty persons, having been lying in a field hospital three miles from town, without a change of clothing since before the battle and with very imperfect attendance.

July 11–

This day has been spent in caring for our men. We procured clean clothes from the Sanitary Commission, and having fixed them up, they both look and feel better, though their wounds are very painful. Our town, too, begins to look more settled, and more like its former self. The atmosphere is loaded with the horrid smell of decaying horses and the remains of slaughtered animals, and, it is said, from the bodies of men imperfectly buried. I fear we shall be visited with pestilence, for every breath we draw is made ugly by the stench. The proper officers are sending off the wounded Rebels, left in our hands with only a few surgeons by their inhuman commanders, as fast as their condition will admit of the journey. All day ambulances filled with them have been passing our door on their way to the depot. Though they are enemies and saucy, I pity them.

July 12–

To-day the lady I sent for came to see her husband. I never pitied any one as I did her when I told her he was dead. I hope I may never again be called to witness such a heartrending scene. The only comfort she had was in recovering the body, and in tears she conveyed it to the resting-place of her family. I had some satisfaction from the fact that I had marked the grave, without which she might not have recovered it. Many persons have called to-day wanting lodging, but we cannot accommodate all. The town would not hold all who, from various motives, visit the battlefield, even if there were no wounded in it. Our house has been constantly full, and every house I know of has been, and is, full. One who called told me that he had sat on a chair in front of a hotel last night, and was glad to get even such quarters. This is Sunday, but since the battle we have no Sunday. The churches have been converted into hospitals, and the cars come and go as on other days, and the usual hustle and confusion reign in the streets, and there is nothing but the almanac to remind us of the day of rest. One of my patients grows worse, and is gradually sinking into his long home. There has been some difficulty in securing proper medical attendance, the surgeons not liking to quit their hospitals, and run from house to house, and our own physicians are overwhelmed with business.

July 13–

This day has passed much as yesterday and the day before. The town is full as ever of strangers, and the old story of the inability of a village of twenty-five hundred inhabitants, overrun and eaten out by two large armies, to accommodate from ten to twelve thousand visitors, repeated almost hourly. Twenty are with us to-night, filling every bed and covering the floors. To add to my trouble and anxiety, the nurse has just informed me that our sickest man will die soon. It is sad; and even we, who have known him so short a time, will miss him. What our soldiers are in the army, I cannot say, but when they are wounded, they all seem perfect gentlemen, so gentle, patient, and kind, and so thankful for any kindness shown them. I have seen many of our brave sufferers, and I have yet to meet the first that showed ill breeding. This, too, is the opinion of all whom I know, who have taken care of any, and the invitation and remark is common. “Come and see our men; they are the nicest in the army,” and the reply generally follows. “They cannot be better than ours.”

July 14–

It is now one month since I began this journal, and little did I think when I sat down to while away the time, that I would have to record such terrible scenes as I have done. Had any one suggested any such sights as within the bound of possibility, I would have thought it madness. No small disturbance was occasioned by the removal of our wounded to the hospital. We had but short notice of the intention, and though we pleaded hard to have them remain, it was of no use. So many have been removed by death and recovery, that there was room, and the surgeons having general care over all, ordered the patients from private house to the General Hospital. A weight of care, which we took upon us for duty’s sake, and which we had learned to like and would have gladly borne, until relieved by the complete recovery of our men, has been lifted off our shoulders, and again we have our house to ourselves.”

Additional Memoirs of Gettysburg Civilians

While Sarah Broadhead’s Diary was written at the time of the Battle of Gettysburg, several other residents of Gettysburg who were children at the time of the battle later wrote about their experiences. The ones I consulted in constructing this novel included recollections by Lydia and Hugh Ziegler, Mildred “Tillie” Pierce and Daniel Skelly. All of the reminiscences are available online or from the Adams County Historical Society in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

“The Dead and Dying Were All Around Us,” Lydia Ziegler, Clare & Hugh Ziegler, from the archives of the Adams County Historical Society.

“At Gettysburg or What a Girl Saw and Heard of the Battle,” Tillie Pierce Alleman. A public domain publication reprinted by various publishers and downloadable for free via the internet.

“A Boy’s Experience during the Battle of Gettysburg,” Daniels Skelly. A public domain publication one click away on Google.