They Met at Shiloh (26 page)

“You prolly wouldn’t think that if you had escaped or been captured. You fellers put up a good fight.”

“So, it coulda’ been yer musket ball that give me a good scalpin’,” Hammel returned.

“Coulda’ been. Could also been your round that sent Willie to the ground,” Stephen said.

“What would yer deacon pa have to say about that? What wisdom would the Good Book be fer this?”

“Vengeance is mine. If yer enemy strikes you, offer him the other cheek, steals from you, offer him your cloak. Do not sin in your anger.” Stephen was pretty sure his father would have more to offer. There really was not much to compare with the oddity of the situation. Two enemies, stripped of their accoutrements and their units, were separated only by their uniforms.

“You fergot love yer neighbor and the Good Samaritan,” Hammel said.

“Sure, them, too,” Stephen said. He knew those parts of the Good Book, but he had a hard time believing they were relevant here. When did this man become his neighbor? The moment he dropped to the ground from his head wound or when Stephen stumbled upon him? What would the good deacon have to say about that? And did it make any difference? Stephen had no idea.

Murdoch Household

Carthage Mississippi Jan 3, 1861

“I
t is a grievous evil, is what it is,” John Murdoch said, dropping his fork on the table.

“But, Pa, it has been done. The senate drew up the articles of secession yesterday. It is all but for the vote,” Stephen replied.

“That will not make it right, Son. It may have the support of the whole legislature; won’t make it right.” John sighed and stared silently at Stephen.

Sarah Murdoch spread the table with a smorgasbord of beans, bread, sausage, and a fresh pie, which, for the moment, sat pristine in the center of the table. There was no one to debate with tonight, and no stranger to entertain later with more talk around the fireplace. It was a rare dinner with just family. The strict rules of debate were still in force. Tonight, John seemed preoccupied. Stephen, enjoying his coming of age at the dinner table, was becoming more relaxed in his topic. Not long since first being allowed to participate as a man and adult in the table discussions, he was finding himself on the opposite side of his father tonight. Being a man in the house meant he could take the opposite side now without much fear of reprisal or anger, although tonight might prove to be a different matter.

“Ain’t it right if our elected representatives support it by the people’s will? Is not this matter one of respect for our chosen authorities?” Stephen countered. It was a question of to whom one should submit allegiance and which authorities were under God’s grace. “Is the government in Washington not like Saul, Pa? God withdrew his spirit from Saul and gave it unto David as his chosen leader for Israel. Would it not be just to oppose that which is no longer under God’s grace?”

His father answered in a tired and strained voice. “You may indeed be correct in making that comparison, Son. Yet, did not Saul remain king of Israel until he was killed in battle? David had the anointing of Samuel and was by all rights king of Israel, yet he did not raise his hand to even defend himself from his king’s treachery. He hid and obeyed the command to respect the authority given unto him, even that of Saul. That man in Washington may not have our support, but he is no less our president, even if he makes war upon us. It is not for us to challenge anyone given authority by God, even if he be an enemy.”

“Father, it was they who called up volunteers firstly to respond to the firing on Ft. Sumter. Why, even Virginia is talking secession now. The Old Dominion, Pa, that birthplace of our founding fathers, is going to sever itself from this Union. What other proof is there that this is naught but the will of God for our states?” Stephen felt the flush of unaccustomed victory washing over him. His father was not fighting very hard, but he didn’t care; he was of age, and his opinion mattered for something now.

Stephen’s father thought a moment before replying. “It matters little what the Old Dominion does or does not do. It matters what Mississippi will do. The firebrands in the capital have inflamed many a clear head toward this detestable goal. It can only lead to war, a war I fear that will not be just or needed.”

“But, Pa, if the federal government chooses to oppose the right to sever the Union, then it will lead to conflict. But will it not be a just conflict? Did not God command the Israelites to conquer Canaan? Did they not defend their lands from the Philistine? If we secede, then we will have to defend ourselves.”

“Yes, we will defend ourselves, and a war will erupt. The hot heads in South Carolina who not only seceded but also fired upon Ft. Sumter have doomed us to this state of affairs. South Carolina should be left to fend for itself now that it has its independence. We should not follow suit because our passions are inflamed,” his father replied.

Elizabeth Murdoch touched John’s hand gently, interrupting him. “Dear? It is time for the dessert, and the little ones are getting restless.”

“Yes, indeed it is,” John replied. Esther, Sarah, and Paul perked up in anticipation of the object of their long-suffering. John portioned out pie slices, which were never large enough to satisfy the smaller children. The discipline of today, he often lectured his children, would produce men and women of tomorrow, and they would know their places in society.

The children served, Stephen took up the discussion again. “The militia is forming in anticipation of a positive vote of secession. They are calling all men up.”

“And it will be your duty to respond,” John replied, “and mine as well.”

“You?” Stephen asked, then regretted.

“I am of serving age in the militia. If it is called out, I will go.” John replied. He took a bite of pie.

“Why call out the militia?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “From where would there be any danger?”

“To be prepared for war, Mother.” Stephen explained.

“To give the hot heads something to do,” John added. “Perhaps if they cool down in the cold and damp, their passions will be dimmed enough for cooler heads to prevail.”

Stephen looked his father full in the face. “What if it does come to war? Better to be prepared for it than not.”

“And if it does come to war, it will be in opposition to the authority installed by God over this land. We will be in opposition to God’s will for us, and I fear that it will cost us dearly.”

“But what if that authority is no longer legitimate? Would we not be better to move from it and not suffer the fate of Israel to the Assyrians? Judah was split from Israel because of a pretender to the throne. What if we are Judah and the holders of the proper anointing of God?”

“But we are under a new covenant, Son. Jesus opposed the Sadducees and Pharisees because they knew the law but did not know Him. All authority is given by God and Christ. Steal a loaf of bread and you have broken not only the commandment but also the parish law. Why?” Steven had heard this refrain before, but he waited for his father to explain how it applied now.

“Because authority has been established,” his father continued, “to define what is lawful and what is not. That authority deserves our respect if for no other reason than it is established by God. The federal government in Washington is that authority established and supported by God. It will be wrong to oppose it by force of arms and wrong to secede from it just because someone does not like a policy.”

Stephen leaned in, sure that for once he would make a case to correct his father’s confident explanation. “But are we not also under the authority of the governor and our representatives whom we send to the capitol?”

“Yes, and by that we will abide, by what our representatives vote on. It will not make it any more right if they choose to secede for all of the reasons stated. We will abide by our representation, but I will lament the decision should it go that way.”

John’s voice dropped on the last word, and Stephen knew this discussion was over. Stephen didn’t know if he had won or lost, as his father had played both sides before growing weary of the discussion.

Last year, Stephen would not have been able to describe any feeling of ill will toward a far-off government. The election did not concern him because he neither owned property nor was of age to vote. He was not affected by the issues now under discussion. But then Lincoln was elected with support from northern free state votes with few southern votes. Suddenly, it was as if the country had experienced something of a renewal. Those who rarely discussed politics were caught up in the intrigue. Most of the folks Stephen knew were disgusted that the federal government might end slavery, something that it had not yet promised or threatened to do.

For Stephen, those were days of discovering his patriotism, mirrored by that of his fellow Mississippians, and finding something new: secession. He was caught up in it, despite his father’s obvious disdain for the clamoring for separation. All the youth were mobilized by the thought of a separate entity where protections guaranteed by the constitution were paramount and the control of the federal government was curtailed or non-existent. He suddenly became an expert on constitutional law, as was anyone willing to listen at the post office or the church steps. Most agreed that the only answer was to secede to protect the right of the states to determine their own course. The Black Republicans, a derisive term given to the wing of the fledgling Republican Party, whose sole purpose was to emancipate every slave in the South, were in power for one purpose only, and they were put in power without a single Southern vote. Their goal was to rip away a century of culture and economics, even society itself, for the base purpose of satisfying their own decadent and misguided morality.

There he was, a year or so later, standing in the middle of a camp whose remaining tenants were either dead or nearly so, and all for the pursuit of the freedom to choose whether or not to own slaves. It was this freedom that drove him and his fellows into the ranks of an army of Americans who sought to make their own way apart from the constitutional authority of those in Washington, DC. They had their own constitution now, their own president, and their own army.

And now they were on the verge of their own victory, at least for the western army. While God may have smiled upon the eastern Confederates, God was apparently unaware of their western brethren. Albert S. Johnston was sent west to bring order and victory to Confederate arms in Tennessee. Finally, they would throw off the shroud of defeat for good.

Stephen looked across the tents he needed to scour to find his pard, but the breaking of daylight only meant the quickening of the hostilities. It was time to get moving lest some provost detail should come along and herd him back to his regiment as a skulker.

*****

24th Ohio Skirmish Line

Dill Branch AM April 7, 1862

Across the damp landscape, the opposing sides were shaking themselves out after a long, rainy night. Skirmishing along the line sputtered out as both sides tired of shooting at shadows. The skirmishers of the 24th Ohio braced themselves to begin the fight anew. Philip shivered as the blue of dawn revealed the surroundings in more detail. The stump that might have been a crouching Rebel skirmisher was now only a stump. He could see it several yards away, cut with holes. Philip shook his head at the many times in the dark he had fired into it, thinking it was a Rebel.

They had been on the skirmish line now for five hours, and he ached from the time spent lying prone in the damp. He was soaked. Despite the excitement several hours ago, Philip was groggy and fighting sleep. The enemy had been too close to pull normal picket duty. The skirmish line had been spread out with each man alert for any perceived enemy push. They were the early warning for the regiment and the screen that kept the enemy from finding out too much detail as to what lay behind. It was trying work.

The morning air was cold, and his breath billowed out in puffs. His blankets and gear lay in the rear with the regiment where he longed to hang his sack coat and trousers to dry while he wrapped himself in his wool blanket. But it was not to be. Not even the regiment had the luxury of drying itself out but was, instead, being roused to make coffee. This had been a singular experience for Philip and the rest of the brigade. Although the fighting and the repairing to encamp had always been near the enemy, never did they do so in such close proximity as during the last night. Picket details kept wary eyes on one another as the armies moved back and forth, dodged and parried one another, and attempted to bring their enemy to battle. Picket lines were often established a mile or two away, and they maintained contact with the main forces. Should the enemy suddenly advance, pickets could alert the army long before the enemy was able to attack. Word had it that Grant’s army placed the picket line too close to the main force and had suffered for that oversight.

But the skirmishing through the night was something new. Even on picket one could rest as long as someone from the detail was awake. The men on the skirmish line could not rest.

The enemy’s skirmishers were still invisible. Philip wondered if they had actually been out this close. Fire begets fire, he knew, and nervousness often produces phantom assailants. If the enemy was out there, they would soon start firing again.

“Now would be a good time to get relief,” Sammy said. “If they don’t do it soon, we won’t be able to move without being fired upon.”

“Smell that?” Mule asked.

“Smell what?” Philip replied.

“Coffee. They makin’ coffee.”

They smelled the air. It was coffee.

“They pull us off soon,” Johnny assured him.

“Not soon enough,” Mule said. “I just want a mug of something warm. I’m chilled to the bone.”

“If you weren’t almost six foot, Mule, I’d suspect you was a delicate city boy,” Sammy said and laughed.

Mule shot him a pleading look. “Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with a little comfort!”

“Why we still here?” Johnny asked. “We shoulda’ been pulled off hours ago! Skirmishin’ is hot work.” They nodded in agreement. “Captain must be all nice and comfy in a tent back there as I ain’t seed him since we were thrown out here.”