And so, the last great old-style infantry charge in history begins. With the sun flashing off their muskets, fifteen thousand men—a phalanx of men a mile across and half a mile deep—begins to move silently, slowly, in parade fashion, out of the shadows of the trees and into the open, sunbaked fields … this antique military creature, a giant throwback to how men fought in the Middle Ages, has just made it to within two hundred yards of the Union guns when the Federals open up with canister…

This moment fills me with awe. Somehow I would have liked to be present during the ominous march of George Pickett and his men on the third day of fighting at Gettysburg in 1863. Not only to see this deadly spectacle but to know at the same time the outcome was ensuring that our great and noble experiment in government was going to last.