The Battle of Gettysburg is remembered for its brutal combat and staggering casualties, with places like Devil’s Den and Little Round Top becoming symbols of sacrifice. But one of the most revealing accounts of that fight came a decade later, in a private letter written by a general still haunted by the orders he was forced to carry out.
In 1875, General John Bell Hood wrote to his former commander, James Longstreet, detailing his actions on July 2, 1863. The letter offers a rare, firsthand look at a command decision that Hood believed was doomed from the start—and the three desperate protests he made to stop it.
Longstreet, who had become isolated from many former Confederates due to his postwar political stance, reached out to Hood for his perspective on the Gettysburg campaign. Hood’s response was direct and personal, reconstructing the events of that fateful afternoon with striking clarity.
Hood’s division arrived near Gettysburg shortly after dawn on July 2. The troops were allowed to stack arms and rest in an open field while awaiting further instructions. Earlier that morning, Hood had joined Generals Robert E.
Lee and A. P. Hill in observing the Union positions.
Lee appeared confident but deeply reflective, pacing beneath the trees in his full uniform, field glasses in hand. Nearby, the English observer Colonel Freemantle sat perched in a tree, studying the federal lines. Lee was eager to launch an assault, telling Hood, “The foe is here, and if we do not defeat him, he will defeat us.”
Hood, however, believed it wiser to wait for General George Pickett’s division, which had not yet arrived. Longstreet shared this hesitation. Sitting together near a stout tree, Longstreet remarked that Lee seemed uneasy and was pressing for an attack, but Longstreet was reluctant to move without Pickett.
He told Hood he never wished to enter a battle half ready.
The morning passed in tense anticipation. Around 3 p. m.
, the decision was made: they could wait no longer. The focus shifted to the Confederate right, and the advance began along the Emmitsburg Road. General Lafayette McLaws moved forward first, with Hood’s division following close behind.
Hood soon received orders to quicken his march and move ahead of McLaws. He deployed an advance party to clear fences and obstacles. His instructions were straightforward: position his division astride the Emmitsburg Road, form a battle line, and prepare to assault.
But before reaching the road, Hood sent several trusted Texas scouts ahead to locate the enemy’s extreme left flank. They returned quickly with troubling news. The Union flank rested on Round Top Mountain.
The ground beyond was open, and a wooded pasture allowed a potential movement around Round Top to strike the enemy’s side and rear. The scouts also reported that federal supply trains were densely packed behind the Union lines, making them vulnerable to an attack from that direction.
Hood reached the Emmitsburg Road and wasted no time. He positioned artillery batteries and opened fire, drawing a swift reply from the enemy. The exchange revealed the Union position clearly.
Their left flank was anchored on Round Top, with their formations curving inward in a concave line. A substantial force was stationed ahead of their main position, between the Emmitsburg Road and the mountain, arranged for battle on a crest near a peach orchard.
Hood immediately understood the problem. To obey his orders and advance along the Emmitsburg Road, he would first have to dislodge this forward battle line. Worse, the base and ascent of the mountain were covered in massive boulders piled together, creating narrow gaps that would break up his formations as the men climbed.
His division would be exposed to punishing fire from the enemy’s main line on the heights, with Round Top as its extreme left.
Because of the concave shape of the Union line, Hood’s men would face devastating fire from the front, flank, and rear simultaneously. He considered the position nearly impregnable. Climbing that steep, rocky slope under enfilade fire seemed almost impossible.
Even if they succeeded, the cost would be terrible—paid in the lives of some of the most gallant soldiers in the army.
Hood’s reconnaissance and observations were completed quickly, though the events remained vivid in his memory as if they had happened the day before. Convinced that the direct assault was a mistake, he felt it his duty to inform Longstreet immediately and request permission to move around Round Top instead, striking the enemy’s flank and rear.
He dispatched a staff officer with his petition, laying out the reasons clearly. The response came back promptly: “General Lee’s orders are to attack up the Emmitsburg Road.”
Hood sent a second officer, expressing his fear that the attack would yield little success and reiterating his request to turn Round Top. The reply was identical: “General Lee’s orders are to attack up the Emmitsburg Road.”
Throughout this time, Hood kept up artillery fire on the enemy. He grew increasingly convinced that the federal line extended all the way to Round Top. He could not reasonably expect any significant result from the attack as ordered.
The position seemed so naturally formidable that the enemy might repel the assault simply by rolling stones down the slope, independent of their flanking fire.
For a third time, Hood sent a staff officer—his adjutant general, Colonel Harry Sellers—to explain the situation thoroughly and urge Longstreet to come see it personally. Sellers was competent and persuasive. He returned with the same message: “General Lee’s orders are to attack up the Emmitsburg Road.”
Almost immediately afterward, Colonel Fairfax of Longstreet’s staff arrived and reiterated the orders once more.
Hood had lodged his protest. It was the first and only formal objection of his entire military career. But the orders stood.
He ordered his line forward to commence the assault.
As his men advanced, Longstreet came to him personally. They spoke briefly, and Hood again expressed his concerns and his regret at not being permitted to flank Round Top. Longstreet replied that they had to adhere to General Lee’s orders.
Hood proceeded with his line under heavy fire. About twenty minutes after reaching the peach orchard, he was struck by a severe wound to his arm and carried from the field. His participation in the battle was over.
As he was borne away on a litter, Hood felt profound distress, fearing for the fate of his valiant soldiers—one of the finest divisions in the Confederate army.
The letter ends simply: “I remain respectfully yours, JB Hood.”
Hood’s account adds a deeply personal dimension to one of the most famous engagements of the Civil War. Devil’s Den and Little Round Top became legendary for the ferocious fighting that occurred there, among the most brutal episodes of the entire conflict. The assaults were marked by desperate combat and catastrophic casualties.
What makes the story even more remarkable is Hood’s testimony. He was not a disengaged commander issuing orders from a safe distance. He was on the ground, with his scouts reporting directly to him, watching the enemy’s positions take shape, and calculating the cost of an attack he believed was doomed.
His letter reveals a man caught between duty and disaster. He knew what was right, and he said so—three times. But in the end, he obeyed.
The phrase “General Lee’s orders are to attack up the Emmitsburg Road” became a sentence that meant carnage in a peach orchard and bravery among the boulders of a rocky hill.
Hood’s pen, dipped in regret a decade later, gives us more than a report. It gives us a reckoning. There is no clear hero or villain in his account, only a soldier forever caught between what he knew and what he was commanded to do.
His story forces a difficult question: Is history shaped by grand plans, or by the refusal to adapt them? Is legacy written in obedience, or in the courage of a protest that goes unheard?
John Bell Hood carried the physical and moral wound of Gettysburg for the rest of his life. And in a way, we carry it too—as a reminder that history is not just about who won and who lost. It is about the human cost of every decision, and the haunting, unanswered question: what if?