It’s the bloodiest battle ever fought on American soil. From July 1 to July 3, 1863, the Battle of
Gettysburg raged in an anonymous corner of Pennsylvania. Pitching the Confederate forces of Robert
E. Lee against the Union Army of the Potomac, it saw some 160,000 troops clash in a history-changing
dust-up. Over the course of three days, 7,058 soldiers
were killed, with another 44,000 wounded or captured. Outside of WWII’s worst battles, no other
single event has definitively taken so many American lives. Pearl Harbor, 9/11, the Tet Offensive… all
of these are mere drops in an ocean of blood compared to Gettysburg. Yet the story of Gettysburg is more than just
the story of one spectacularly violent battle. More, even, than just the story of a war. It’s the story of two visions for America,
fighting for legitimacy, and of all the mistakes that led to the south and north breaking apart. But it’s also the story of one particular
town, in one particular corner of America, that - for three brief days - found itself
at the crossroads of history. Today, we’re visiting the most-famous battlefield
in America, and discovering what led to those days of carnage. Birth of a Town
The twisting path that led to Gettysburg started not with the birth of the Confederacy, or
even with the birth of the United States, but with with one family making one simple
purchase. In 1736, the descendants of William Penn - AKA
the guy “Pennsylvania” is named after - decided to buy some extra land from the
Iroquois Indians. Known as Marsh Creek, the Penns soon opened
it up to European settlers. It was from these humble beginnings that Gettysburg
would eventually be born. Note that keyword: eventually. Before they could found Gettysburg, the new
settlers would have to experience unfathomable violence. In 1754, George Washington - yes, that George
Washington - was sent to demand the French dismantle their frontier forts. Instead, the great general made the not-so-great
mistake of getting captured, inadvertently triggering the French and Indian War. Despite what hack stories might have you believe,
being a settler in colonial times didn’t normally involve having your cabin attacked
by bands of Indians. Unless that is, those Indians just happened
to be allied to the France your English overlords were currently fighting. In that case, then yeah, you might expect
the odd tomahawk to come smashing through your door. Over the nine years the war lasted, a number
of settlers in the future site of Gettysburg had their homes burned, or were killed in
raids. Yet the intermittent violence in this part
of Pennsylvania didn’t scare everyone off. On the contrary, some folks thrived. Folks like Samuel Gettys. In 1761, Gettys set up a tavern on the crossroads
of some major tracks running through the region. His plan was to take advantage of passing
travelers and build up his business and, boy, did it ever work. When the war concluded in 1763, people began
flooding through. All of whom were apparently seriously thirsty,
because Gettys’s tavern business boomed. By 1786, his son - James Gettys - had laid
out plots for 210 homes and a town square on the land around his father’s tavern. The name he chose for his flourishing town? You guessed it: Gettysburg. By now, the Thirteen Colonies had won their
independence from Britain, and the frontier was bristling with optimism. Like other new towns, Gettysburg began to
grow at a rapid pace. By 1800, it had become the county seat. A few years later, on March 10, 1806, it was
officially incorporated as a township. Jump ahead to 1860, and it was a bustling
place of 2,100 residents. There were tanneries, shoemakers, manufactories. Ten major roads now passed through, bringing
trade and money. In short, Gettysburg in 1860 had everything
a mid-19th Century town could ask for. And that was a problem. Because by 1860, America was already standing
on the brink of war. And when it finally came, that war was gonna
hit Gettysburg so hard it’d make the French and Indian War look like a teddy bears’
picnic. Birth of a Nation
While Gettysburg was busy building its tanneries and getting all prosperous, the US at large
was approaching breaking point. The thing that would finally cause it to snap
was a little line in the Declaration of Independence, when a bunch of guys had heralded the birth
of their nation by declaring: “We hold these truths to be self-evident,
that all men are created equal,” Only to then decide that some were more equal
than others and therefore slavery was still cool. At first, anti-slavery types had hoped that
this was an anomaly and the US would quickly course correct. But the opposite happened. More and more slaves were brought in chains,
until the institution began to fray the bonds holding the free and slave states together. The first major test of these bonds came in
1820. Over the previous few years, Missouri had
repeatedly tried to gain entry to the union, only to be rebuffed because the 22 slave and
free states were perfectly balanced. To get around this, some congressmen from
free states had tried to pass laws requiring Missouri to slowly emancipate its slaves after
joining, which only served to make the slave states angry. When Missouri reapplied again in 1819, the
political fight became as bitter as cyanide. Writing at the time, Thomas Jefferson described
the rancour as being as frightening as “a firebell in the night.” Divisions opened up that became chasms, that
became a howling void separating people who felt they could no longer trust one another. Think just how divided and partisan the US
can seem right now, and then multiply that by a thousand. That was the atmosphere in 1820. The only reason the pot didn’t just boil
over and blow up the whole damn kitchen is thanks to Henry Clay. A moderate Senator from Kentucky, Clay was
a man so determined to sit on the fences of any debate that it’s a wonder he didn’t
develop hemorrhoids. Under his direction, Congress passed the Missouri
Compromise, which allowed Missouri to come in complete with slaves, but also invited
Maine in as a free state. Importantly, the compromise also fixed a permanent
border for slavery in the US. From now on, any states admitted north of
Missouri would have to be free. Although everyone accepted Clay’s compromise
with some grumbling, it was really just an exercise in kicking the highly-explosive can
down the road. Come 1849, that can was ready to detonate
all over again. That year, California applied to enter the
union as a free state, once again upsetting the balance. You know that old adage: “The definition
of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results”? Well, its opposite - doing the same thing
over and over and indefinitely expecting the same result - could also work as a pretty
good definition of the insanity the US was experiencing. Faced with the new crisis, Henry Clay tried
to replay his compromise trick from 1820. But while his original bill had been a bitter
pill everyone reluctantly swallowed, his sequel was more like shoveling manure directly into
their throats. The Compromise of 1850 was such a dog’s
breakfast that you could bag it up and sell it as kibble. Among its tortured provisions, it promised
to admit California as a free state; but also pass a Fugitive Slave Act forcing free states
to return escaped slaves. It promised to ban the slave trade in the
District of Colombia; but also keep slave owning legal. Finally, it agreed to let the new territories
of Utah and New Mexico vote on the slave issue for themselves. This time, nobody was happy with Clay’s
compromise. Those in free states were horrified by the
Fugitive Slave Act and the free vote in the territories; while those in slave states were
angry about admitting a giant free state like California. If Henry Clay had successfully kicked the
can down the road in 1820, this time he barely managed to make it roll a few meters. In less than half a decade, his latest compromise
would finally explode in everyone’s faces. Death of
a Union On April 11, 1861, three grim-faced men boarded
a boat in Charleston harbor and sailed out to a meeting with destiny. Just ahead of them lay an anomaly: a US fort
off the South Carolina coast that now existed as an enclave of enemy territory. It had been just 11 years since Henry Clay’s
last compromise, and everything had changed. The first warning tremor had come as early
as 1854. That year, the Kansas Nebraska Act had been
signed, allowing both states to enter the union and then vote on whether or not to allow
slavery. And, no, your American geography doesn’t
deceive you. Nebraska is definitely to the north of Missouri,
blowing a hole right through Clay’s 1820 compromise. In preparation for the vote, free state militias
and pro-slavery settlers had all moved into Kansas, desperate to sway things in their
favor. And so had begun the low-intensity civil war
known as Bleeding Kansas. Running from 1854-1859, Bleeding Kansas saw
both pro-slavery mobs loot and destroy towns, and anti-slavery militias assassinate settlers
from the south. By the time it ended, around 56 people were
dead. But it wasn’t the numbers that made it so
significant as the loathing it generated on both sides. Loathing that would soon become turbocharged. Three years after Bleeding Kansas erupted,
the Supreme Court ruled on a case related to slavery in such a shockingly partisan way
that it split the last bonds between free and slave states. The Dred Scott decision firstly ruled that
the Missouri Compromise was unconstitutional, and that states in the north had a right to
be slave states. Secondly, it ruled that African-Americans
were not - and could never be - US citizens. For anyone not chillaxing on their cotton
plantation, the ruling was like Chief Justice Roger Taney had personally kicked them in
the testicles. But the slave states had nothing to smile
about, either. Because Taney’s ruling had just handed a
brand new party the political gift it had been waiting for. Formed on March 20, 1854, the Republican Party
was a home for disaffected, anti-slavery northerners. Had the Dred Scott decision not been passed;
had Bleeding Kansas not happened, it’s possible they’d have faded into obscurity. But the 1850s were like stuffing a firecracker
up the asses of anyone even remotely ambivalent about slavery. Terrified the whole US would soon become a
shining plantation upon a hill, whose beacon light guided racists everywhere, northern
voters flocked to the new party. The result was a tight win for Abraham Lincoln
in the 1860 election - the first man to ever win the presidency without any support from
the south. For southern slave states, Lincoln’s election
was just too much. On December 20, South Carolina seceeded from
the union, specifically citing Lincoln’s anti-slavery credentials. The following month, Mississippi, Florida,
Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana jumped ship. On February 1, Texas went too. Three days later, the Confederate States of
America was born. Orders went out to take over all forts held
by United States soldiers. Which is how, on April 11, 1861, three men
found themselves sailing across Charleston harbor to the last holdout in South Carolina:
Fort Sumter. As the men arrived, the garrison commander
- Major Robert Anderson - came out to meet them. The Confederate representatives ordered Anderson
to evacuate Sumter. But they also promised safe passage to the
north, and that the soldiers would be allowed to salute the Stars n’ Stripes as they left. After all, they told Anderson, “You have
upheld so long...under the most trying circumstances.” Anderson thanked the men for their “fair,
manly, and courteous terms,” but told them: “It is a demand with which I regret that
my sense of honor, and of my obligation to my Government, prevent my compliance.” The three men nodded, then politely took their
leave. As they sailed away, the fate of America was
sealed. The very next day, South Carolina militiamen
loyal to the Confederacy bombarded Fort Sumter. The last bonds had broken, the Civil War was
here. By the time it ended, over 620,000 people
would be dead. Before The Battle
But what, you might be wondering, of Gettysburg? When we last left the town, it was 1860, and
Gettysburg was flourishing nicely - a haven from all the bad politics swirling around. So, what had happened during the Civil War? So close to the Mason-Dixon Line, it must’ve
been invaded like a gazillion times, right? Well, no. For most of the Civil War, the Confederacy
fought from a defensive posture, meaning battles mostly took place in states like Virginia. In the whole of the war, the north only suffered
a couple of invasions and a couple of raids, all of which had completely passed the Keystone
State by. So, in summer, 1863, there was nothing that
would’ve made the citizens of Gettysburg worry they might have two gigantic armies
come crashing down on them. Unfortunately, that illusion of safety was
about to be proven just that: an illusion. Below the Mason-Dixon Line, Robert E. Lee
was looking to cap off a triumphal year. The previous September, he’d launched an
invasion of Maryland that had failed, resulting in Antietam - the bloodiest single-day battle
of the Civil War. Since then, though, he’d won a string of
handy victories, including crushing the Union at the Battle of Chancellorsville. Now Lee was looking to invade the North once
more. And this time, he’d do it right. Lee’s plan was simple. First, he wanted to move the fighting out
of devastated Virginia. Second, he wanted to take food and supplies
from Pennsylvania. Thirdly, and most-importantly, he wanted to
win a major victory in the North and force a negotiated end to the war. On June 3, Lee set off at the head of 75,000
men. On June 15, he crossed the Potomac River,
entering Maryland and Union territory. He wasn’t alone: Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker’s
90,000 man strong Union Army of the Potomac was trailing him at a distance. But Hooker was reluctant to force a fight,
and instead let Lee march onwards north. When word got back to Lincoln, he furiously
replaced Hooker with Major General George Gordon Meade. But by now, it was too late. In the dying days of June, Lee marched into
Pennsylvania, marking the first Confederate invasion of a free state. Shortly after, he got wind that Major General
Meade was in pursuit. So Lee ordered his army to concentrate around
a convenient, defensible town, one which part of his army had already reached. That town, of course, was Gettysburg. And it’s here that we have the joy of wading
into a surprisingly heated historical controversy: was the Battle of Gettysburg fought over shoes? On June 30, the first of Lee’s divisions
arrived at Gettysburg, including one led by Major General Henry Heth. Heth ordered his men to search the town for
supplies, specifically shoes. A small force under a guy named Pettigrew
went to check out some Gettysburg shoe stores, and wound up bumping into some Union troops. And so you have the story that the Battle
of Gettysburg was fought over shoes. But make no mistake. Lee was concentrating his army around the
town. The Army of the Potomac was heading toward
him. While it was a search for shoes that triggered
the battle, there was gonna be a major dust-up here regardless. The day after their quick shoe-skirmish on
June 30, Heth’s men again bumped into Union troops. At 07:30am on July 1, the first shot was fired. But rather than a small skirmish, this time
the fighting quickly snowballed into something much bigger. When General Lee got word that Heth was ignoring
his orders to simply amass at Gettysburg, he was forced to make a quick choice. Send the reinforcements in, or risk losing
Heth’s division. What else could the general do? He sent the reinforcements. And so began the bloodiest battle ever fought
on American soil. The Battle
One of the interesting myths about Gettysburg is that the first day was a minor fight before
the carnage. While Day One was comparatively bloodless,
it was only in the sense that, say, the Jonestown Massacre was comparatively bloodless compared
to 9/11. 50,000 troops clashed, leaving 16,000 dead,
wounded, or missing. Even if the fighting had stopped here, Day
One of Gettysburg would still be one of the biggest battles of the Civil War. But, of course, it didn’t stop. And things quickly went from bad to worse. As the fighting erupted, the Confederate Army
came rolling into town, pushing the Union troops back. In the face of Lee’s well-oiled fighting
machine, the Army of the Potomac raced for the cover of Cemetery Hill. Lee actually ordered an attack on the hill,
but Confederate general Richard S. Ewell bottled it at the last moment, convinced the Union
position was too strong. Sadly for Ewell, it was only gonna get stronger. That night, as both armies waited for the
dawn, four more Union corps arrived. At the same time, Lee’s forces swelled as
everyone converged on Gettysburg. As dawn broke on July 2, Lee took a good look
at the armies’ relative positions. Then he ordered a direct attack to dislodge
the Union. At 4pm, the Confederate advance began in earnest. It was a slaughter. Seriously, there’s no other word for it. Over the next few hours, a relentless forward
attack by Lee would leave another 18,000 men dead, wounded, or captured. The Union forces were sent running from most
of their positions, beaten back from nearly all the ground they’d fortified. But not all of it. As night fell on Day Two of Gettysburg, Lee
could see the Union troops still just about clinging on at Little Round Top, Culp’s
Hill and East Cemetery Hill. The darkness shrouding the battlefield was
a blow to the Confederate general, who was sure he’d been mere hours from victory. Sadly for the Confederacy, this belief would
be what led to their defeat. On the third day, the bloodshed finally reached
its climax. Just 9 years earlier, in 1854, British forces
in the Crimean War had sent a cavalry brigade on a suicidal charge against Russian artillery,
wiping them out. By 1863 “the charge of the light brigade”
was already shorthand for a doomed, noble, and pointless action in war. Little could Lee have know that he was about
to top it. At 3pm on July 3, Lee rolled everything on
smashing the Union lines with a final assault. Thinking his enemies on the verge of crumbling,
he sent 15,000 troops racing up Cemetery Hill, led by George Pickett. But Pickett’s Charge was no more glorious
than the Light Brigade’s had been. The Confederate troops who ran towards the
Union lines found themselves being fired on from all sides. The massacre was like something from WWI,
with soldiers simply being mown down. By the time the retreat was sounded, fewer
than half the 15,000 men were still standing. Pickett’s Charge was the death knell for
Lee’s second invasion of the north. The next day, the general turned around and
led his broken army out of Gettysburg. By now, over 7,000 men lay dead. Photos of the bodies lying in open fields
or piled up in woodland still exist, as haunting as the day they were taken. But while the Battle of Gettysburg might have
been over, the story wasn’t. Because there’s one other thing people think
about when they hear the word “Gettysburg”, aside from battle. Yep, it’s time to talk about the Gettysburg
Address. “Four Score and Seven Years Ago…” Today, the Battle of Gettysburg is recognized
as a major turning point in the Civil War. Combined with the Union victory at Vicksburg
just one day after, it effectively sealed the fate of the Confederacy. But that’s not how the residents of Gettysburg
saw it. No. All they saw was a colossal waste of human
life. In the town, every field, every garden, every
free patch of land was stuffed with corpses. Churches, private homes, schools… all had
been turned into makeshift hospitals for over 20,000 wounded troops. As far as the residents were concerned, somebody
needed to do something. Fast. In late summer, they began petitioning Pennsylvania
governor Andrew Curtin to build a proper cemetery. The idea wasn’t just to clear Gettysburg
of the dead. It was to create a place where soldiers - specifically
Union soldiers - could be honored for their sacrifice. To make this wish come true, Curtin selected
Gettysburg lawyer David Wills. Wills was the guy responsible for buying the
land, for getting in the landscape architects to design it, and for dealing with the opening
ceremony. As summer gave way to fall and the cemetery
neared its completion, Wills decided that a memorial site of this significance needed
an equally significant figure to dedicate it. Someone with gravitas and a way with words. Someone with the stature to give an address
that would echo through history. Someone like… ...Edward Everett. Yep, the actual, official Gettysburg Speech
was done by some dude you’ve never heard of. And, dear God, did Wills get his money’s
worth. Everett wrote a speech that clocked in at
two hours, a length of time that’s pushing it for a superhero crossover film, let alone
a speech. It was only when November 2, 1863 rolled around
that Wills seems to have thought, “hey, maybe we should get someone important in?” So Wills messaged the president, asking him
to make a few “appropriate remarks.” To everybody’s amazement, Lincoln said yes. From our 21st Century perspective, it seems
obvious Lincoln would be expected to speak at Gettysburg, site of one of the key battles
of the war. But in fall of 1863, that wasn’t the case. Although it was becoming clear that the Confederacy
was now spent, the war wasn’t over. Even as late as mid-1864, the South would
be capable of attacking Washington, D.C. Then there was the fact that Lincoln had proclaimed
he wouldn’t leave the capital until the war was over. Not even in your paranoid uncle’s worst
nightmares of government overreach does the District of Columbia include southern Pennsylvania. Yet go, Lincoln did. Famously, he finished writing the address
on the train to Gettysburg. When he finally stood up at the end of Edward
Everett’s snooze-fest, he spoke for only two minutes, saying a mere 275 words. Yet those 275 words changed everything. Aside from including both the most famous
opening line of any speech, and to date the only one to feature in a Bill and Ted’s
movie, the Gettysburg address was a remarkable bit of political footwork. By appealing to ideals, Lincoln raised the
Civil War above a factional fight over state’s rights, turning it into something bigger. A war fought over what kind of nation the
US would be. It’s been said that parts of the Gettysburg
Address read more like a prayer, and it almost is one. A prayer for a reunited United States. Perhaps its no surprise that those 275 words
quickly became famous. Still, Lincoln would never live to see the
promise of his address fulfilled. And neither will we today. Our video’s story ends with Lincoln sitting
back down after showing Everett how a real speech is made, and normality at last returning
to Gettysburg. Yet the anonymity this corner of Pennsylvania
once enjoyed would never come back. For the last 160-odd years, Gettysburg has
remained one of the most famous places on Earth, its name recognizable to anyone with
even a passing knowledge of American history. In some ways, this is to be expected. Gettysburg remains one of the bloodiest battles
the US ever fought, killing more soldiers than even the taking of Iwo Jima. In other ways, though, Gettysburg’s enduring
fame points to something even more poignant. It was here, outside this small town, that
the future of the US was decided, not just with fighting, but with words, too. The US may have sometimes struggled to live
up to it, but it was here that Lincoln’s ideal of a perfect nation was truly articulated. A nation united in which all men - no matter
the color of their skin - could be free. If we remember places for what they represent,
then what Gettysburg represents is both a nightmare, and a powerful dream: a dream of
a renewed, fairer America reborn. It might have been a slaughter. It might have ended over 7,000 lives. But, ultimately, the carnage at Gettysburg
would come to mean symbolize something beyond mere death and destruction. Hope for the future. A hope we are still trying to live up
to today.
