"On the Fourth—far from a glorious Fourth to us or to any with love for his fellow men—I wrote you
just a line of heartbreak. The sacrifice of life on that blood soaked field on the fatal third was too awful for the heralding
of victory, even for our victorious foe, who I think, believe as we do, that it decided the fate of our cause. No words can
picture the anguish of that roll-call—the breathless waits between the responses. The "Here" of those who, by God's mercy,
had miraculously escaped the awful rain of shot and shell was a sob—a gasp—a knell—for the unanswered name of his comrade.
There was no tone of thankfulness for having been spared to answer to their names, but rather a toll, and an unvoiced wish
that they, too, had been among the missing. Even now I can hear them cheering as I gave the order, "Forward!" I
can feel the thrill of their joyous voices as they called out all along the line, "We'll follow you, Marse George.
We'll follow you—we'll follow you." Oh, how faithfully they kept their word—following me on—on—to their death, and I,
believing in the promised support, led them on—on—on—Oh, God!
...Poor old Dick Garnett did not dismount, as did the others of us, and he was killed instantly, falling from
his horse. Kemper, desperately wounded, was brought from the field and subsequently, taken prisoner. Dear old Lewis Armistead,
God bless him, was mortally wounded at the head of his command after planting the flag of Virginia within the enemy's lines. Seven
of my colonels were killed, and one was mortally wounded. Nine of my lieutenant colonels were wounded, and three lieutenant
colonels were killed. Only one field officer of my whole command, Colonel Cabell, was unhurt, and the loss of my company officers
was in proportion."