On the second day of July, 1863, under a heavy cloud of dust which hung
high in air over the approach of the Baltimore Pike to Gettysburg, the
long column of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army rumbled along
the road, and more and more clearly the weary men heard the sound of
cannon. About ten in the morning the advance guard was checked and the
line came to a halt. James Penhallow, who since dawn had been urging on
his command, rode in haste along the side of the cumbered road to where a
hurrying brigade of infantry crossing his way explained why his guns were
thus brought to a standstill. He saw that he must wait for the foot
soldiers to go by. The cannoneers dismounted from the horses or dropped
off the caissons, and glad of a rest lit their pipes and lay down or
wandered about in search of water.
The Colonel, pleased to be on time, was in gay good-humour as he talked
to the men or listened to the musketry fire far to the left. He said to a
group of men, "We are all as grey as the Rebs, boys, but it is good
Pennsylvania dust." As he spoke a roar of laughter was heard from the
neighbourhood of the village cemetery on his right. He rode near it and
saw the men gathered before an old notice board. He read: "Any person
found using fire arms in this vicinity will be prosecuted according to
law.
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