They Met at Shiloh (8 page)

Glancing to his left and right, he made out the weary faces of his pards. Gustavson was on his right, and Hildebrande and Huebner were directly behind him. The firing was still sporadic from both the skirmishers and the invisible enemy cavalry.

Like the opening of a door releasing one from cramped confines, they stepped out from the forest and stood in front of a fence. Before them, in the dim blue of morning, they could see an open field and the dim outlines of the Fraley farm upon a slight rise three hundred yards from where the men of the 25th and 21st Missouri of Peabody’s brigade broke into view. Darting to and fro between the buildings and the opposing skirmish lines, the heads of the enemy could be seen appearing then disappearing in the field opposite. In the darkness, a small ditch could be made out that cut across the length of the field and separated the two skirmish lines. The skirmish line of the enemy held a position slightly elevated from theirs, and minié balls whizzed uncomfortably near.

“Halt! Dress your line. Dress on the colors!” shouted Captain Schmitz.

A sudden shifting of bodies ensued as the men dressed right and each one in turn pressured the man next to him to move to the right. Near the fence line the ground was uneven, and the act of moving to the right in the dark was unnerving. The morning dew made the field slippery, causing more than one man to stumble and draw a string of cursing from the file closers.

The level of fire had not increased beyond the pop, pop, pop of the cavalry opposing them. Feeling confident that only a few volleys would be needed, the Federals stood confidently stolid. Robert looked down the line of men that seemed to disappear into the blackness. There was a confidence to be felt in numbers. A volley, a move forward, and another volley should scatter the cavalry and put them to flight.

“Ready!”

The shifting into the position of ready and the half cock of hammers echoed about the fence line. Robert felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement as the execution of incessant drilling was put to the test. The supreme test of mettle and bravery, honor, and devotion to cause was about to be displayed. Company officers and first sergeants kept a steady stream of chatter from behind.

“Aim low.”

“Send them sons of perdition straight to Hell.”

“Aim for the discharges.”

“Aim!”

Four hundred muskets leveled upon the enemy, and four hundred hammers locked into firing position. Robert stood with his rifle to his shoulder. Huebner’s musket bounced unsteadily upon Robert’s cocked right arm, Gustavson’s on his left, forming a solid phalanx of iron that would in seconds be sent down the field into the enemy cavalry.

“Fire!”

As if by one action, a solid crack of sound exploded around them and briefly obscured their front in a cloud of smoke. A chorus of hurrahs erupted from the Federal line, celebrating the solidness of the volley. Hours of drill and discipline displayed in singular action swelled Robert and his pards with pride.

“Load and come to the ready!”

The smoke began to clear. They could see their enemy out in their front and around the farm buildings. The command to move forward was given, and Robert clambered over the rail fence and grabbed Huebner’s rifle so he could climb over as well. Dressing their lines once more, the command to forward march was shouted amid the increasing fire from the Confederates. Ineffectual skirmishing by both sides caused little damage in the darkness. The line was halted again at a ditch in the field. From here, the farm buildings and beyond could be seen more clearly. The field was wide and long and rimmed by forest. The enemy fire became more focused, and they could hear the uncomfortable zip of lead.

“Ready!”

Robert brought his rifle to the ready position and cocked the hammer to safe. This time, we should do some damage, he thought. He could see another tree line in the distance behind the farm houses. The clearing looked to be a mile in width but only half that in length, creating a pocket of tillable land in the intervening space. He noticed movement behind the houses, looking much like something solid and long creeping forward. The movement extended far beyond the right and left of the battalion. When he realized what it was, his heart skipped a beat. Others began to see it as well, growing quiet as they did. Following gasps of realization, four hundred Federals held their breaths as they stood exposed in the open field. They stood transfixed, watching the wave of movement wash toward them in the darkness. Robert felt a tremble in his gut.

*****

6th Mississippi line of battle

West edge of Fraley Field, 5 AM April 6, 1862

Stephen followed the step, step, step of the pace set by the tramping of thousands of footfalls upon the uneven ground. The movement made so much noise that he wondered how the enemy could fail to hear the elephantine throng lumbering forward. Shouted commands and admonitions competed with the clanking of tin cups, heavy foot falls, and the rustling of undergrowth and bushes. The sound invigorated him, the sound of an immense and irresistible fighting machine moving forward to crush anything that lay in its path.

He stumbled forward in exhaustion. The previous day saw his regiment laying upon its arms or hastily forming line of battle when one false alarm after another brought everyone to his feet and ready to move forward. The strain had become unbearable. They knew they were in a difficult position should they be discovered prematurely. The well-laid trap became more and more a risk as anxiety gave way to carelessness; any noise, no matter how soft, was enough to cause a man to freeze and look in the direction of the enemy camp.

They had gone without coffee and palatable food for three days. Awakened now by the commencement of the attack, Stephen’s senses were fully engaged. The touch of elbows while evading trees and obstacles kept his attention riveted upon the guide file. Like a giant accordion, the formation ebbed and flowed, morphing into a snaking movement until it resembled a wave more than a straight line, drawing commands and curses from company officers. The formation extended in both directions as far as he could see.

The division formed before the tree line of the forest that separated them from the enemy camps and the enemy soldiers who had confidently entered it twenty minutes ago. The strain of struggling through the thickets was unnerving. They were more than a little relieved when the forest suddenly opened up to a vista of cleared fields and farm buildings.

Sudden sounds of musketry surprised him. The noise of their movement through the trees had drowned out the sounds of the skirmish occurring around the farm buildings. The shock widened their eyes; quizzical looks passed from man to man. So close had the enemy been to their step-off point that Stephen’s heart stopped; their preparations for the grand attack in secret coming to naught. Yet there was the enemy giving fight to the advance skirmish lines. The dim light and distance obscured what was going on to their right, save for the muzzle flashes. A farm was situated on an elevation, and its now-barren field extended downward. The uncomfortable prospect of advancing over the open space in the face of a well-hidden enemy in the tree line fell heavily upon him. If the enemy were there in force, the attack might fail before it had even started.

As if to punctuate his fears, the sudden crack of a volley thundered and echoed out to the right in the darkness. The advance had taken him to a position 200 yards to the right of the farm buildings, and he saw the 15th Arkansas skirmishers keeping a steady pace out front. The cheering from the enemy line confirmed his fears, and the hitherto steady move forward faltered a step.

“Forward! Forward!” shouted Colonel Thornton as he wheeled his horse about.

Stephen glanced over at William, who returned his worried expression.

“I thought we was to surprise ‘em. Sounds like they is waitin’ fer us!” William shouted over the din.

“I guess we’ll just see what’s on the other side of these buildings,” Stephen shouted back.

“By the right flank, by column of companies, forward march!”

The firing to their right increased in volume, making the absence of any hint of the enemy in their front more unnerving. Stephen could only see the brief flashes of light from the discharge of the guns.

“You see anything ahead?” Stephen shouted.

“Too dark still,” William answered.

The movement hardly skipped a beat despite the racket.

“I don’t hear any cannon fire. This ain’t their main line!” William shouted.

Stephen could make out the blurry and dark line of the enemy between volleys in the middle of the field on their right. From behind them came the booming report of a battery of cannon as the guns fired one by one. Still, the darkness could yet be concealing disaster, and Stephen withheld his elation until he could see the enemy’s backs. The scene was lit for seconds at a time by cannon fire, flashing the skirmish line in their front. It also illuminated the opposing enemy line.

They heard another boom, and a flash lit the darkness, this time from the Federal line. Somewhere, hidden by the darkness of the pre-dawn morning, off to his right, men were locked in deadly combat.

“Halt,” called Colonel Thornton. The advance stopped dead in its tracks.

“What’s goin’ on?” Willie asked.

“Don’ know,” Stephen answered.

A staff officer rode up and conferred with Thornton for a few moments before galloping off again into the blackness.

“Wood’s brigade is engaging the enemy,” Stephen heard the man say to Thornton. “A general halt of the line to keep alignment has been ordered by Colonel Cleburne.”

The 15th Arkansas skirmishers went to one knee seventy-five yards in front, and the breaking of the eastern skyline illuminated the scene. They spied a small line of the enemy three hundred yards away, standing forlorn and pitiful on the edge of the field now dominated by Hardee’s entire corps as it marched through the trees and into the open field.

From his vantage point, Stephen could see a depression cutting down the length of the field. Just in front of it, the enemy’s formation confronted Wood’s skirmish line and regiments as they advanced. Stephen knew the halt would be short, for they overlapped the enemy line and could easily brush it away.

*****

25th Missouri Line of Battle

East edge of Fraley Field, 5: 15 AM April 6, 1862

“Load and come to the ready!” went the call, taken up by the company officers and bellowed in voices made urgent by the multitude of the host approaching.

Robert roughly guessed their number in the still poor visibility. He could hear them, however. Thousands of footfalls upon the ground and a rustling of undergrowth surrounding this little force standing like a lone island of sand before the breaking of a mighty tidal wave. The dark line steadily approached and loomed larger with each step forward.

“Fire by files! Ready! Aim! Fire!”

From the right-most company, the ripple of fire moved down the line. One man from the front rank and the man directly behind him in the rear rank took aim and discharged their weapons. Robert nervously waited his turn and watched the slow but continuous discharge follow each front and rear man in turn. The pull of the trigger and jerk of the discharge rocked his weapon upward, and he mechanically let it slide down his hand and into place between his feet. Without thinking he reached into his cartridge pouch for the next round. The irregular discharge of weapons filled the air with an unceasing urgency.

“Keep up your fire! Quickly, quickly!”

“Steady, boys, steady! Load and fire!”

Robert squinted as Huebner’s musket leveled over his shoulder and discharged a flash that temporarily blinded; a spark from the cap flashed too close to his cheek.

“Mein Gott!”

In the gradual lightening of the eastern skyline, objects became more discernible, and the enormity of what was approaching became evident. The march of humanity seemed to be bursting forth from the trees all around them, extended from horizon to horizon.

“We’re in trouble!”

“Keep up your fire! For God’s sake, load and fire!”

“We can’t stay here!”

“Ich habe geschoβen!” a voice croaked behind Robert, “I am hit,” followed by something heavy falling upon his back. Catching his balance upon his musket, he stumbled forward as the body of Hildebrande crumpled to the ground. Huebner paused lifting his weapon to his shoulder and gawked at the body.

“Schieß, Huebner! Zünd Ihr Gewehr an! Fire, Huebner! Fire your weapon!” Gustavson shouted at Huebner angrily while he ripped open a cartridge.

“Ja, ja, ich zünd mein Gewehr an.”

Robert inched back into the formation as best as he could and straddled Hildebrande’s body. He accidentally dropped the butt of the musket heavily on Hildebrande’s back. “Sorry, pard,” he muttered. The noise was deafening, a constant roar of musketry and cannon thundering from the advancing lines of the enemy. Far to the right, another enemy brigade moved across the field and overlapped their position. The enemy in their front was advancing its colors.

The voice of Captain Schmitz shouted from behind them. “Listen for the next order! We’re about to move. Listen for the major’s command!”

“Battalion! About face! At the double quick, march! Back to the fence line!”

Quickly turning as well as he could with Hildebrande’s body between his feet, Robert put his back to the enemy and gladly moved off at a trot until they came back to the fence. Tense moments passed as they climbed back over and tried to untangle themselves to reform behind it. There wasn’t much to protect them from the hail of minié balls that continued to whiz all around. The occasional sound of splintering wood did give some comfort. Robert made out the prostrate forms that once marked the spot of their former line. The woods behind them bled a trail of wounded men struggling to find a safe place to rest or limping back in the direction they had come.

Like a mist, the discharge from their weapons hung low upon the ground, forming a murkiness through which little could be discerned. Then, from the haze, the color guard of the enemy burst through, followed closely by his double lines.