Twentieth Maine

"Chamberlain raised his saber, let loose the shout that was the greatest sound he could make, boiling the yell up from his chest: Fix bayonets! Charge! Fix bayonets! Charge! Fix bayonets! Charge! He leaped down from the boulder, still screaming, his voice beginning to crack and give, and all around him his men were roaring animal screams, and he saw the whole Regiment rising and pouring over the wall and beginning to bound down through the dark bushes, over the dead and dying and wounded. . . ." (The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara)

In my mind the wood came to life. Men shouting amongst the bursts. The smell of burnt skin. Dead brothers. All of these images came to me as we walked along the trail of Little Round Top. This was Gettysburg. My sisters giggled and chatted behind me, probably excited by the fact that a cute tourist had walked by. I kept quiet, remembering the past. I could see Chamberlain; he was so alive. Walking along the line of troops, his mind working quickly like the bullets that whizzed by. Then the realization. The Twentieth Maine looked back at their leader with empty expression, as they revealed their empty rifles. Dry of ammunition. Chamberlain's mind didn't skip a beat. "Bayonets!" he hollered.
The word was enough. It ran like fire along the line, from man to man, and rose into a shout, with which they sprang forward upon the enemy. -- Joshua Chamberlain
Success hinged upon that man. I remember seeing a picture of him, and almost laughed at his mustache that extended past his chin. But now I knew what he did, what he accomplished under the grinding pressure of leadership. He fastened a blade to the end of his rifle and charged. And men followed.