In about 1955 when I was a kid, I walked Pickett's charge. It was a hot summer, and the ground was parched and the grass crispy. I don't remember if I felt them beneath my feet or just saw them in the dust, but by the time I reached the Ridge I had found two Minie balls. One had not been fired and the other had its nose pushed hard to the side. Both were pretty heavily corroded. I figure the first had been dropped in panic or fear, and the second came to no good regardless. They are sharp reminders of a day that carried a terrible cost.
