There was no plan, no coordination, just a group belief—gathered in the moment—that they had to capture that ridge. Climbing, sweating, and cursing, the men of Thomas’ army kept rising, and the closer they came, the less resistance they encountered. One Confederate sharpshooter did pick off the color-bearer of a Wisconsin regiment, whereupon an eighteen-year-old lieutenant and adjutant seized it, shouting, “On Wisconsin!” Minutes later, he and his fellows reached the top, gasped for breath, then realized they had, against all expectations, succeeded.