Color Sergeant Harvey M. Munsell

The old, tattered, bullet-riddled regimental flag appeared to be nothing more than a pipe-stem in my hands on July 2, 1863, the day the great, seething, roaring whirlpool of the battle struck my grand old regiment a regular “broadsider”. 

It came about this way. The 3^rd Corps, Gen. Sickles’, occupied the extreme left of the Union line in the second day’s battle. Ward’s brigade occupied the extreme left of the 3^rd Corps, and the 99^th Pa. (my regiment) occupied the extreme left of Ward’s brigade, up near Big Round Top, in front of Little Round Top, at the Devil’s Den.  

Why it was that the 99^th had the post of honor, as it were, again, in this line, I cannot tell; but we were there, occupying by all odds one of the most important positions in either army. As a matter of fact, historians have since declared it was the “key to the situation.” Twist it as they tried, the rebels always got a double twister that hurled them back instead. 

Describing it, an eye-witness said:
“Silence, deep, awfully impressive, but momentary, was permitted, as if by magic, to dwell upon the field. Only the groans, unheard before, of the wounded and dying; only a murmur – a morning memory – of the breeze through the foliage; only the low rattle of preparation for what was to come, embroidered this blank stillness. Then, as the smoke beyond the village was lightly borne toward the eastward, the woods on the left were seen filled with dark masses of infantry, three columns deep, who advanced at a quick step. Magnificent! Such a charge, by such a force, - full forty-five thousand men, under Hill and Longstreet, - even though it threatened to pierce and annihilate the 3d Corps, against which it was directed, drew forth cries of admiration from all who beheld it. The rebels came on furiously, halting at intervals, pouring volleys that struck our troops down in scores.” 

There stood the 99^th, as firm as the rocks beneath their feet; watching and waiting for the avalanche of maddened men bearing down upon them – a cyclone of thirty thousand of Lee’s bravest and best, sweeping toward us, with loaded guns in a bayonet charge. 

I mechanically prayed as I never prayed before or since. My heart was in my mouth, or boots, and never to this day have I been able to tell which. My teeth, like those of “poor old Harry Gill, when chatter, chatter, chatter still;” and chatter now when I think of it. Frightened almost to death, and not a soul in the regiment knew it but myself. If I could have been suddenly transplanted, or could have taken on the garb of an angel and heavenward flown, or gone up like Elijah, what happiness at that supreme moment in which I was living two hundred thousand lives every second, as it were, and when I would have sooner died two hundred thousand times than to continue in the terrible suspense when seconds deemed hours.

We were at the “Devil’s Den” and the “Den” was locked, and the 99^th held the key. Only a handful of men to arrest and keep at bay “His Satanic Majesty” and thirty thousand others, trying to get in. The members of the 99^th, every man of them, looked like ghosts, and it was not until after I made that discovery that I was the only man in the regiment not frightened half out of his senses. Every second brought the advancing host nearer to us, and every second they remained in the distance counted thousands of men in our favor, for every one of us was quadrupling himself for the Herculean struggle near at hand. The regiment appeared to be elastic, able to contract and expand to any length and breadth at will. 

I had the flag unfurled to the breeze in front as in former battles, and every man looked to me and the flag as a guide, and I knew it, but they did not know I did. They had the guns, the bayonets, the bullets, the pluck, the courage; and we all felt safe in each other’s hands. Not a solitary man of that little band, even for a moment, thought of being driven from “the Key.” 

We were the “Davids”, and on came the “Goliaths” to their destruction. Our little “slings” did it. Column after column of the “flower”, as Lee pleased to call those of his army, was thrown against us, and for one hour and thirty-eight minutes we were kept busy hurling them back.

It was solemnly said, by non-combatants and eye-witnesses, that “men fell as the leaves fall in autumn, before those horrible discharges. Faltering for an instant, the rebel columns seemed about to recede before the tempest; but their officers, who could be seen through the smoke of the conflict galloping and swinging their swords along the lines, rallied them anew, and the whole line sprang forward the next instant, as if to break through our own by mere weight of numbers.” At many points along the 3d Corps line they did break through, but never for an instant at “the key”; but the key was finally flanked and had to be abandoned, but not until a new line of fresh troops had formed at the hinges of the door. 

With the colors riddled, and eleven bullet holes in my clothes; the worst was not yet. I had survived the whirlwind, had looked down the throats of thousands of fiery guns, discharged without harm to my person, and now that we were compelled to go away from the “Den”, out of that Hades of fire, and save ourselves and the flag from capture, immediate action and some engineering was required. 

I had a color guard of eight corporals, and every man was killed or wounded. The rebels were pouring into our rear in vast numbers on both flanks. General Ward ordered our regiment, or what was left of it, to fall back as quickly as possible. It got a good star, say about sixty feet, before I commenced to fall back, because I misunderstood the order, and as several of our men were too badly wounded to leave the field, and yet were able to load and fire at the enemy from where they fell, the thin line of rebels in our front naturally thought our regiment was lying down waiting for another charge. I retreated with the flag a few hundred yards in good order, but shortly a shell came whizzing past, then another, and still another, bursting all around me. One struck the ground, tearing it up, and burst right at my feet.  

Stunned by the concussion, I tumbled into the depression it made, and many of our men, who looked back and saw me fall, reported me dead. “Munsell all blown to atoms by a shell, and the flag captured.” That both the flag and myself were not captured was no fault of mine, for there we were for a long time, playing possum, and I apparently dead as Julius Caesar. The staff laid along the surface of the ground in my front, under some rocks and bushes; the flag under my body, with my feet and legs out, as a wounded or dead man would naturally lie, stretched at full length, during the battle; for the fight was still raging on both flanks, and the rebels were working a battery which they had captured at the “Den”. 

I was surrounded by low rocks and bushes, as well as by the rebels, and I dared not move from that position until the coast was clear to the rear; the only thing I feared was that a Johnnie might come along and try his bayonet on me to see if I was really dead. 

Just about that time the 6^th Corps swept down toward and past me; driving every reb before it. I jumped up and skedaddled to the rear, where my regiment had formed, and quietly fell into line and unfurled the flag. Such a shouting I never heard before or since. Men who saw me fall, “all blown to pieces with a shell” and “the flag captured” came and looked at the flag and felt me to see if there wasn’t come mistake or humbug about it, for I was already booked as among the “slain in battle”. I never saw more, accomplished more, in those few hours than during my whole life before.

Ed. Note - Sgt. Munsell carried the colors of the 99th Pennsylvania through thirteen battles and numerous skirmishes.  He was captured at Deep Bottom, Va. in 1864. Upon his exchange he was made captain of Company C. Munsell was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions at Gettysburg on July 2, 1863. 

Ward's brigade retreats from Devil's Den