2. Gettysburg

3. Composed by Jay DAwson

5. Robert E. Lee

6. Ulysses S. Grant

9. Johnny Reb

15. Bivouac On The Mountain Side I see before me now a traveling army halting, Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and orchards of summer, Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high,

16. Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes dingily seen, The numerous camp-fires scatter’d near and far, some away up on the mountain, the shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized. Flickering,

17. Walt Whitman and over all the sky -- the sky! Far, far out of reach, studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.

25. Beat! beat! Drums! Blow! Bugles! Blow Through the windows -- through doors burst like a ruthless force… …So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums so shrill you bugles blow. BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! Walt Whitman

55. “General Pickett you must look after your division.” Lee “General, I have no division.” Pickett

56. The Battlefield Just Days Later

58. Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease! Cease with your splendid call; The living are brave and noble, But the dead were bravest of all! The Band in the Pines John Esten Cooke (1829-1867)

61. “Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil’d world” Reconciliation -- Walt Whitman

63. The Battle of Gettysburg Federal Confederate Engaged 85-88,000 70- 75,000 Killed 3,155 3,903 Missing 5,365 5,425 Wounded 14,529 18,735 Total Losses23,049 28,063

64. Four score and seven years ago...

65. CREATED BY Gary Horimoto Curt Lewis Erika Webb

66. Internet and Text Sources militaryhistoryonline.com art.com Norton Anthology of Literature cgl.microsoft.com/clipgallerylive www.liglobal.com/walt users.erols.com/kfraser/pines civilwar.com The Portable Walt Whitman. Viking Press

67. Over the Carnage rose Prophetic a voice, Be not dishearten’d…...The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers, The continuance of Equality shall be comrades. Leaves of Grass Walt Whitman

68. The End