They Met at Shiloh (12 page)

The area separating the two opposing lines of infantry was choked with smoke. Michael could make out little through the swirling haze. The enemy shifted troops from spot to spot. Reinforcements marched down the Hamburg-Purdy Road, and more batteries lumbered into defensive positions. Both infantry lines bled a trail of wounded that led to the rear. Singly or in pairs, the shattered men ambled along as well as they could manage. The wood line where the division had formed filled with the injured and faint of heart.

Lifting his glasses once more, Michael slowly panned the length of the enemy formation. The ragged line of blue forms stood obstinately in the face of General Cheatham’s advance. To his left, B. R. Johnson’s brigade surged forward, only to halt then rush head-long back from whence they came. He saw little movement from the enemy toward the rear. The crash of musketry bore upon his ears, as did each concussive report of a cannon. From his vantage point, the enemy seemed like faceless forms that gaggled into groups to form a solid light and dark blue mass. Sometimes, this mass would disintegrate into little patches of color, only to re-form into a solid wall. The enemy guns, served by enemy soldiers intent upon visiting death and destruction on him, were but distant objects needing to be silenced in any way possible. Occasionally he would witness the detonation of a shell near a gun crew and watch its men duck or fall to the ground. Though he felt nothing for their plight, he recognized the terror they must feel.

“Captain, direct all your fire on that battery there.” Captain Polk pointed at the enemy artillery upon the hill to his right. “It’s propping up their line. We silence it, the enemy infantry’ll run.”

Michael passed the order on and watched as a mass of General Cheatham’s brigades marched toward the enemy-held hill overlooking the Purdy Road. A thin line of enemy infantry arrayed itself below a five-gun battery. The ground leading up to the position was quickly dotted with still forms, and the intervening space was swept with lead. Soon, the hill top was peppered with explosive and solid shot. A large explosion, lit with flame and flying debris, announced the destruction of a caisson. The Confederate infantry surged forward, their colors streaming ahead, then disappearing into the enemy line. A cheer arose from the gun crews as the enemy retreated through their own guns, followed closely by General Cheatham’s men. The enemy’s guns were taken in a wild rush for the summit with Confederates reforming at its top.

Though the guns now sat silent, Michael hardly noticed. The enemy line began breaking apart. Blue forms marched or ran pell-mell to the rear. The enemy artillery, just as quickly, limbered up and rode off if they could. Everywhere, the Confederate line moved forward to the high ground surrounding the Hamburg-Purdy Road and leaving Michael without targets. Enjoying the respite, his crews sat by their guns in exhaustion. What had been a sea of blue only minutes before now seemed devoid of that formidable wall of defense. Cheatham had taken the Purdy Road defensive line of General Sherman.

“The boys did fine work,” Polk said. Michael hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“Yes, Captain, they did,” Michael replied.

“We’ll wait here for a spell. No sense in moving forward until we’re called for,” Polk said and wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. “See to your section. Might be the only time to eat and brew coffee today.”

“Sir,” Michael said with a nod. He walked wearily to where Mahoney was chatting with one of the gun crews. “Mahoney, get the boys on eatin’ and brewin’ coffee as they can after securing the guns.” He turned to Sergeant Pope. “Ol’ St. James did good work today, gave the heathen a taste of the Good Word,” he said and patted the still-hot gun barrel.

“St. James always giveth the wicked a grounding in the gospel of lead,” Sergeant Pope replied with a grin.

Michael turned and walked back to the center of the hill, and Mahoney followed at his side.

Walking with Michael, Mahoney said, “We seem to be pushin’ them everywhere, although I’d say it was hotter on that hill back at the Shiloh Road.” Mahoney scratched his chin and ran his hand over his stubbly cheeks.

“Yes, we may just do what Johnston hoped to do, drive the Feds into the river,” Michael replied.

“Cheatham’s division took a pounding, though. It’ll be awhile afore they move forward again,” Mahoney said, staring out over the hill and into the quickly dissipating smoke.

“He’ll be moving forward soon. He’ll have to in order to keep the enemy from forming another line.”

“With what? The division is all in disarray. Most of that movement atop the ridge there is fugitives and wounded. I’ll wager this division ain’t movin’ for another hour.”

The field that witnessed the contest of arms was now being picked over by souvenir hunters and men looking for friends or relatives among the dead and wounded. The Purdy Roadway filled with the walking wounded, most making their way back toward the camps they had passed through earlier. The less fortunate made themselves as comfortable as they could where they lay, and some were carried to the cover of trees by comrades.

“Makes you wonder, don’ it?” Mahoney asked after a moment of silence.

“Wonder what?” Michael asked.

“Wonder if the good Lord really meant for an end such as this. None of us really thought that we’d come to our end as an old man in bed. Least not me. How many came to their end with the scream of a minié ball in their ears or the screams of the wounded before they died?” They looked over the field of fallen men. “Just makes me think is all.”

Michael nodded in reply.

Mahoney continued in a rush. “I don’t believe in premonitions or dreams or such tellin’ me somethin’. I don’t think much on it while we’re workin’ the guns an’ watchin’ the enemy fall. Just lookin’ out afterward causes me to stop and think about what we just done.” Mahoney fidgeted with his hat, rolling it over and over in his fingers. His pale blue eyes studied something out in the distance.

“I often wonder, Sergeant,” Michael said after a moment, “if any of us will face this ever after and find any favor. Will both sides stand at those gates and find succor? Are any of us really on the side of the God Almighty?”

“I don’t know,” Mahoney said. “Don’t think side has anythin’ to do with it. Was always told it was the soul that mattered.”

“Surely God must answer someone’s prayers? We both can’t pray for victory and both be answered on equal terms. How can a supposed righteous man in the blue uniform be as right in his cause as a southern patriot in seeking freedom from his oppressor?” Michael asked.

“I don’t suppose them sees it the same way. Take these Tennessee boys we’s with under Polk there,” Mahoney said and motioned with a nod of his head in Captain Polk’s direction. “I heard tell from a few of them that the Yankees have raised several infantry regiments and three batteries of artillery from Tennessee on this very field. Now, these fellers is fightin’ fer some reason. Our boys is fightin’ these invaders, but them other boys is bein’ moved by some other hand. Maybe they pray to the same God as we do, but what other righteous cause can a feller have than the defense of his own home?”

“It would be grand to see this contest of arms be the divine appointment of victory and eventual peace, a peace that leaves us be as we see fit,” Michael said. “But I don’t think God takes any mind to this contest in the least. Otherwise, He would be torn between both sides as righteous men, or men who perceive their own righteousness, call upon His divine intervention for their own victory.” Michael sighed deeply. “No, I suspect He has washed His hands of this matter altogether.”

“I sincerely hope not, sir. For what else would sustain us? Just look at the number of this enemy host that has set upon a sister state in our beloved country. They’s like them great locusts that we see in Texas in the summertime, almost as uncountable. I hope you are wrong, Captain. We need something else besides audacity and this splendid attack to force the government of these Black Republicans to leave us be.”

Michael nodded at the truth of that comment. Mahoney continued, “Perhaps it is men more believing than I who will bring about this divine intervention you speak of, Captain. I suspect that if it were left to my prayers, we would be in a world of difficulties now. Maybe it will be these very prayers that will bring about the intervention of the Almighty from His perch up there.”

Michael looked into the cloudless, blue sky. “Who knows? Perhaps it was these prayers that have brought Him down here today to poke about our affairs and allow us to rout the enemy upon this field. Maybe it is no mere coincidence that this place be called Shiloh and that it be a Sunday. Maybe this will be the place of our eventual peace. That is what Shiloh means, isn’t it, that road down yonder?”

“I reckon it does. Don’t seem like a place of peace today. I’ve heard tell that Stonewall Jackson prefers to do battle on the Lord’s day. Maybe it weren’t by mere weather that we was delayed in attacking until today. Ain’t no more righteous man in our whole cause as Jackson. Maybe Gen’l Johnston took a page from his book.”

Michael chuckled. Who did know about these things? “Lord’s Day or no, ain’t one day that is any more special than the next. If God really does smile upon our cause and give us the providential victory, it’s because He chose to and not because Gen’l Jackson happens to be on our side or not. He could just as soon decide that the Yankees should win this battle or this whole war, despite all that we do,” Michael said sternly.

“Well, Captain, they ain’t winnin’ it now, and barring some miracle of the good Lord’s hand, they won’t be a winnin’ it later neither.”

“Better watch what you say there, Sergeant.” Michael looked hard at Mahoney, as if he had cursed them both. “We don’t want a bad omen now that we are on God’s good side.”

“Captain, fer a man who don’t side by no principle of religion or faith, you sure are quick to knock on wood,” Mahoney exclaimed with a glint of surprise in his eyes.

“Why tempt whatever force is out there that can control the fortunes of this day?”

“You surprise me, Captain,” Mahoney said. “That’s all I mean.”

“What might surprise you more is that I don’t even believe that, or at least make myself believe in much of anything but what I can see and understand with minimal attention. I imagine my mother shrinking back in horror to hear me talk so.” Michael smiled at the thought and imagined the scolding.

“Mother would have knocked me into the nether world for so much as uttering His Name in vain, in pain or not!” Mahoney chortled. “You, sir, would not have lived to see the next day, declaring what you have just done.”

“I jest mostly, Sergeant. I reckon most of us have to possess some measure of faith to be here on this field at all, a faith beyond what we can understand, for we’ve seen what a lack of faith will do to a man once fear and terror has seized his limbs. I reckon I’m not the heathen I pretend to be,” Michael admitted.

“Don’t take me for the righteous man you are makin’ me out to be.”

“Oh, I’d as soon listen to some Shaker tell me about the stillness of the Holy Spirit than believe you was a saint,” Michael said with a grin.

The sound of heavy hoof-falls quieted their conversation. They turned and watched a courier pound up the hill and dismount in front of Captain Polk.

“Looks like our respite just ended,” Mahoney said gravely.

“I’d better head over there and get our instructions.” Michael stood, brushed the seat of his trousers and straightened his tunic before heading over to meet with Polk.

“Grierson,” Polk said when he arrived, “Cheatham’s movin’ forward down the Hamburg-Purdy Road and then off down this cart trail here. You’ll support his 2nd Brigade once again, and I’ll take the other section in support of Stephen’s brigade. If these maps are accurate, we’re going to be losing the high ground as we move forward, so be ready to unlimber on the fly. I suspect you’ll have to get in close to provide any support.”

“Sir,” Michael said curtly and saluted.

Making his way back to Mahoney, he passed on the order to get the men ready to move. With luck, Michael mused, they wouldn’t have to get in tight with the infantry too often. Braving random case shot was one thing, but braving infantry fire was another.

“Sir, section ready to move!” called Mahoney.

“Section, by column right, forward march!”

The three-gun carriages and caissons peeled off one by one and entered the road at an even trot. Creaks and groans from the riggings and wheels sounded loudly amid the clopping of the teams. The drivers sat atop the right-most horses of each carriage, with the remaining crewman atop the rear caisson seats. The officers and gun chiefs rode their own steeds. Together, they formed a long column that stretched back to the hill they had just vacated. In the distance, sounds of fighting rumbled persistently.

The short journey over the Purdy Road into the small valley was speckled with discarded Federal equipment and the corpses of both sides. The captured Federal cannon had been removed, although their last position was still marked by broken gun carriages and the scars left by the ferocity of the fighting. Lonely and rifled bodies sprawled about the slopes of the opposite hills near the road. Michael thought of the few he had left behind earlier that morning, now left to bleed and die alone in the trodden grass. The same was true, he saw, among the enemy. The section passed the grisly remains of the enemy gun crews in silence, each man thinking of his own safety and hope-filled journey home.

6th Mississippi Line of Battle

Camp of 70th Ohio, 8 AM April 6, 1862

S
tephen balanced himself upon his wobbly legs. Bent over and panting heavily, he fought for a full intake of air. Stern calls from company officers and groans of the wounded filled the swampy lowland they sheltered under.

The hoarse voice of Colonel Thornton called out again and again to the men of the 6th Mississippi to “rally on the colors, rally on the colors, boys, rally!”

Twice they formed and moved up the hill at the enemy line, and twice they were forced to retreat to the shelter of the trees. The way leading up to the crest of the hill was covered with dead and wounded, and little time was given to aid their suffering. A constant artillery fire swept the length of the hill from an unseen enemy battery, and the enemy at the top showed no sign of defeat. Little semblance of company command remained; each man fell in as he found a space and a familiar face to stand with. Stephen lost sight of Willie Hawkins.