From their position on Cemetery Ridge on July 2nd 1863, the 262 men of the 1st Minnesota Volunteers could see the disaster unfold before them. Earlier that afternoon, General Dan Sickles, a politically appointed general with no formal military training, had decided to move the Union 3rd Corps from its place on the Federal left flank to higher ground a half mile in front of the Union line. While this did gain him slightly more elevation, it also had the effect of isolating his men from the rest of Union army, and exposing both of his flanks to the enemy.

To cover the space left by Sickle’s movement, Union 2nd Corps commander Winfield Scott Hancock shifted one of his own divisions to the left, which in turn created a hole in the Union center. At 5PM, parts of two more Federal brigades moved to the left to cover that gap, and the 1st Minnesota moved about 600 yards and was placed in support of Evan Thomas’ Company C of the U.S. Artillery on Cemetery Ridge.

At about this time, Confederate General James Longstreet’s long delayed attack on the Union left was launched, and Dan Sickle’s boys found themselves quickly enveloped by the onrushing Rebel troops. In the midst of issuing orders, Sickles was interrupted by one of his aides. “General Sickles sir, it appears as though the Commanding General is about to pay you a visit.”

“It would seem so,” Sickles replied as he watched the horses approach from below him. He wheeled his mount and rode back to meet them, and his staff followed.

Federal commander George Meade was shouting unintelligibly as the two groups closed on each other.

“…understand what in God’s name you must have been thinking, Sickles! On what authority have you removed this Corps from its position?” Meade was visibly disturbed, but Sickles was convinced that he would be able to persuade him, as if Meade were just another irritated politician from back home in New York, just another ego that needed a little smoothing over.

“My compliments to the commanding general,” Sickles began, coolly doffing his cap. “You see General, in keeping with the army’s overall objective, I perceived my previous position to be deficient, in that-“

“To hell with that!” Meade screamed above the growing sounds of war around him. “What you have succeeded in doing, General” (this he said almost sarcastically) “is to take an entire Corp from a position of strength, a position where it was in support of the army’s left flank,” (the pitch of his voice sounded like a shriek) and place it in a position of extreme vulnerability, with both of its flanks entirely in the air!” Meade rose up in his stirrups to look over Sickles at the battle beyond him.

Dropping back down into his saddle, Meade looked his humbled corps commander level in the eye. “Sir, you have placed the entire Army of the Potomac at risk. God help us.”

Dan Sickles looked up sheepishly. “Sir, if you really feel that way about it, I will immediately order the Corps to retire to its former position. We could-“

Again Meade was shouting. “Retire to your former position? I wish to God you could, but the enemy won’t let you! General, you must now fight it out here as best you can, while I try to provide for our left flank.” Meade quieted again. “General Sickles, you must now withstand this attack so that this army is not lost today. God be with you.”

With that Meade was off again, leaving Sickles to his corps and his fate.

From their spot on Cemetery Ridge, the 1st Minnesota gazed out into the distance with growing concern as the noise of battle enveloped the 3rd Corps, first from the front, and then from the sides. They became increasingly anxious as the smoke and the muzzle flashes crept closer and closer to where they stood.

“They’re being flanked. They’re breaking.” Private Charles Baker, celebrating his twenty-third birthday on this day, broke the silence.

“How do you know, Baker?”

“I’m telling you, I know. I can feel them breaking.”

“Quiet in the ranks!” A sergeant stopped the voices, but the tension continued unabated.

Soon the first retreating Northern troops began to straggle back toward Cemetery Ridge from the smoky mist beyond, and their faces were no longer the faces of fighting men, but were rather the faces of the vanquished, wishing for rescue, seeking nothing more than sanctuary.

It was going badly, and everyone knew it. No one spoke now. No one had to.

2nd Corps Commander Hancock, sitting atop his horse a quarter mile to the right of the Minnesotans, saw the same scene through his field glasses. Those boys, he thought, will be of no more use to us today. As he moved his binoculars around the field, he saw something that at once startled him and horrified him. There was a huge gap in the Union line to his left, with nothing but a few cannon and what appeared to be a couple of companies of infantry to occupy the space. Hancock realized that if the rebels seized that position, they would destroy the entire Army of the Potomac from behind, and then push on to Washington. The war was about to be lost.

Turning to one of his aides, Hancock pointed toward the gap. “Get the brigades of Gibbons and Hays to that position with the greatest possible speed. If the enemy gets to that place before they do, this army will be in tremendous peril. Everything depends on them. Go! Now!” With that, the aide spurred his horse and was gone.

Winfield Scott Hancock and his remaining staff moved toward the fight, and Hancock hoped to rally the retreating 3rd Corps long enough for the reinforcements to arrive. Seeing bodies of men in the haze, Hancock galloped toward them, assuming them to be pieces of Sickles’ shattered corps. This notion was quickly dispelled when the troops fired a volley at the Union general, wounding the man next to him, Captain W.D.W. Miller. Hancock now understood that there would be no retreating soldiers to rally.

Hancock looked back over his shoulder and saw the lead regiment of Gibbons’ 1st Brigade coming over the crest in columns of fours, moving toward the gap. Longstreet’s Confederates were closer. I need five minutes, he thought. God in heaven, the war will be lost for want of five minutes.

As the Rebel lines pushed closer to their own, the men of the 1st Minnesota, standing in line of battle, came increasingly under fire. Shells whistled and bullets whirred around them. Corporal George Milliken had his foot torn off by a shell, which then bounced up and killed Private Henry Winters. In an attempt to screen the regiment, Company F was sent diagonally off to the left in a thin skirmish line, hoping to push the advancing Rebel columns away to the right.

As William Colville, the thirty-five year old commander of the 1st Minnesota, watched this maneuver, he heard hoof beats coming up hard behind him. It was Hancock, with his one remaining staff member. He reined his horse up as he got there, and Colville stepped out to meet him.

“Colonel, what regiment is this?”

“1st Minnesota, sir.”

Hancock pointed toward the red flags bouncing through the fog in the distance.

“Colonel, do you see those colors?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Charge those lines!”

“Yes, sir!”

Hancock wheeled 180 degrees and shot toward the approaching reinforcements. It bothered him, having to order good men off into certain death, but this time, there was no other option, nothing to debate. They’ll all die; he said to himself, they’ll all die to buy me five minutes. What if they all die and the rebels still get there first? Hancock pushed the thought from his mind.

Before the order had a chance to be passed down the line, the men of the 1st Minnesota were already attaching their bayonets to their muskets, preparing mentally for what they knew was coming. They were being told to give themselves up for the Union Army, and they did not question it. Some of them stole one last look at each other, knowing that most of them would not be coming back.

Colville’s orders came fast now. “Right shoulder shift…arms!” The men, in perfect line, threw the sides of their musket butts high against their right shoulders, leaving most of the weapons towering above the troops. “At the double quick…march!” With this, the 262 men swept down the gentle slope, trotting toward a force of over 1,500 Confederates.

Almost immediately, boys in blue began to fall. Captain Joseph Periam was shot in the face at the nose, the ball exiting behind his left ear. As the men stepped over him, he begged them to help him up so that he could continue to the front. 2nd Lieutenant David Demerest, shot through the hip, spun around wildly, almost like a top, then crumpled to the ground.

As the Minnesota lines drew to within a hundred yards of the Southerners, Colville gave the order to charge. The muskets came down from the shoulders, the bayonets were trained on the enemy and the trot became a sprint.

The 1st Minnesota hit Confederate General Cadmus Wilcox’ front line just after the Alabamians had crossed Plum Run, a small, wandering creek that was dry that time of year. As a result, the Rebel lines were somewhat disorganized, and the first line broke and fell back into the second line, stopping the Southern advance.

Colville shouted “Fire!” to his men, who laid in a volley that staggered the gray troops, forcing them to withdraw some thirty yards. When the Confederate second line returned the volley, many of their bullets struck their own men in the front line.

The Union troops, taking advantage of their surroundings, dove behind the shallow banks of Plum Run, and kept up the fire while the Rebel force tried to organize itself. Colonel Colville was urging his men on when he felt a blow “like a sledgehammer” behind his right shoulder. The force twisted him around, dazing him. Captain Coates saw that his commander was in trouble and raced up to him.

“Colonel, are you badly hurt?”

“I don’t know”, Colville said. “Take care of the men.”

Colville took another step, and as he did, he felt a stabbing pain in his right foot, which gave way immediately, and he collapsed to the ground. Realizing that he was only a few feet from the creek bed, he drug himself near it and rolled in. Hearing the bullets whiz over his face, Colville considered himself lucky.

As the Confederates probed the line of Union soldiers before them, they were able to take positions on both the right and left sides of Plum Run, and soon the Minnesotans were taking fire from three directions.

Before long, all of the officers of the 1st Minnesota were casualties. Lt. Colonel John Adams was hit six times; Major Mark Downie was badly wounded twice in the arm; Captain Louis Mueller was dying, as was Lt. Waldo Farr.

Enlisted men were falling, too. Philander Ellis’ body was next to the creek, shot through the head. Charles Grove lay paralyzed and dying after a bullet severed his spine. Phineas Dunham, whose mother depended on his army income for support, was pulling himself back up the slope, having been shot in the leg. Israel Durr, age twenty-two, fell after a minie ball tore through his lung.

Just when it seemed as though the entire 1st Minnesota might be killed, supporting fire came up from behind them. Hancock’s reinforcements had arrived on Cemetery Ridge. Slowly, the Confederates pulled back from Plum Run, and the survivors of the 1st Minnesota made their way back up to the place from where they had come.

Along the way, someone noticed the body of Private Charles Baker, dead on his twenty–third birthday.

The 1st Minnesota had bought Hancock, and the Union, five minutes, plus another ten for good measure. The gap was closed, the line held, and the United States did not lose the war that hot July afternoon.

Of the 262 men who left Cemetery Ridge to stop the Southern advance, 47 came back unhurt.

Hancock would later say, “There is no more gallant deed recorded in history. I ordered these men in there because I saw I must gain five minutes time. Reinforcements were coming on the run, but I knew that before they could reach the threatened point the Confederate, unless checked, would seize the position. I would have ordered that regiment in if I had known that every man would be killed. It had to be done, and I was glad to find such a gallant body of men at hand willing to make the terrible sacrifice that the occasion demanded."

Many of the heroes who fell that day are buried at Gettysburg. Some graves are marked; others are not.