Huxley starts to say something, thinks better of it, starts again and, again, stops. They take several minutes to perfectly dress their lines until, from our hill they look like they'd been drawn with a ruler. As one, they begin to slowly advance, a mile long line of gray soldiers, the Army of North Virginia, the South's finest. They march slowly in lockstep, shoulder to shoulder. Without warning all hell brakes loose.
Huge gaps begin to appear in the rebel line as whole companies fall to the murderous cross-fire.
The unharmed Confederate soldiers simply step over their stricken comrades, close ranks and continue the advance only to be cut down by more union canister. Finally, halfway to the ridge, their beautiful line tattered with gaping holes, they halt in a shallow dip that gives them some shelter. We can see Pickett shouting orders and commanding that the line be redressed. Once again, it is made perfect and the now much smaller line of graycoats sets out toward the union ranks, shoulder to shoulder in slow-step . Still they come, now climbing up the ridge and taking rifle fire from the dug-in union troops.