by Michael Ross
The whole army seemed to move with an intense, grim sort of joy. They were moving to attack, not retreat. There was promise of a major battle, not just the skirmishes they had been in thus far. News spread through the camp that Morgan was promoted to colonel, which all the Raiders took as recognition of their work. The rain let up that night. Will and Archie pitched their tent. They could have a small fire after dark, as they were not yet close enough to the Federals to spoil the surprise. Using his new pistol, Will was able to bring down a swamp rabbit, which he and Archie stewed, supplemented with hardtack. Their tent pitched over a rubber blanket to keep out the wet, they settled in front of their fire.
Will felt jumpy. He’d been in fighting before, but somehow this felt different.
“Archie, how many Federals you reckon there’ll be?”
“Don’t know, Will. Thousands, I expect, judging from the number on our side.”
“You nervous? I mean, about somethin’ happening?”
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t. But somehow, we’ll come through. We been in some scrapes, like back in Nashville. We come out all right.”
“Yeah, but we never took on a whole army before. It’s like we been playing tag with the Federals.”
“You think you’ll be scared?”
“Only a fool ain’t scared. I jes figger I’ll be too busy. You just focus on not gettin’ killed, on getting the guy that’s trying to get you.”
They were sitting on stumps by the fire, other tents and little fires around them like fireflies in the dark. The night had cleared. The incessant rain stopped, and they saw stars above. After a few minutes silence, each in his own thoughts, Will said, “Archie? I don’t think I ever asked you. Why’d you join the Rifles to start?”
Archie chuckled. “Oh, glory, I guess. I never had nothin’ my whole life. My pa ain’t rich, we only had the farm. I’m no good at books like you. And in case you ain’t noticed, I’m no beauty. Nuthin’ to make the girls hearts flutter. I figgered with Captain Morgan—guess I should say Colonel—I had a chance to be something. The girls sure liked the uniform mighty fine. It made me feel important. Later, when everybody was signin’ up, I could say I’d been there since the beginning.”
“What about the killing? I never will forget the first Federal I shot. Does it bother you?”
“Well, of course. Nobody human can’t be bothered by it some. But here in the South, even if we aren’t in Kentucky, it’s part of our home. The woods and fields here look like home. There’s farmer’s tryin’ to raise crops and families. If’n the Federal didn’t want to risk being shot, he shoulda stayed home. It’s like someone bustin’ through the door of your cabin, pointin’ a gun at you, and sayin’ he’s gonna take what’s yours or kill you. Nobody invited him. We could try askin’ nice for him to go home, but somehow I don’t think he’d listen. It’s like he don’t understand, unless I add a little lead from the Enfield here, to my argument.” Archie stood and kicked dirt on the fire.
“We better turn in. Another long march tomorrow, I’m thinkin’.”
They were up before dawn, and moving out again, thousands of horses, men and equipment trudging through Tennessee farm land and woods. By about three o’clock in the afternoon, that Saturday, April 5, they reached their encampment. Men and horses were tired, and eager to set aside their burdens. They set up camp in a field just southeast of Little Creek, to be near a source of water. Will saw commanders down to the company level, like James West, go off to strategy meetings and return with orders on where to camp and sleep. They were to sleep in the order they would attack in the morning. No fires allowed. Morgan’s troops deployed on the far left of Breckinridge’s main force, near the rear.
“What do you suppose they’re thinking?” Will asked Archie. “It’s like being invited to the dance, then told to stay outside the hall.”
“There’s West. Ask him.”
Will went over to the no-nonsense lieutenant. “Sir. I’m wondering why we’re in the rear, sir, if we’re being situated in the order we attack.”
West gave him a half smile. “Corporal, because someone thinks we’re just horse boys, and with the thick woods, they think cavalry won’t be of a lot of use. Colonel Morgan is just as frustrated as you. Return to your post, get some rest. See to your horse. Tomorrow could be a long day, with surprises.”
“Yes, sir.”
They spent a somewhat restless but quiet night. At least it wasn’t raining, though the temperatures were chilly. Will slept fitfully, dreaming again of the first Federal he had shot. In his dream, his mother Sara begged him to come home. All too soon the sound of reveille broke the stillness, and everyone began to move at once. Everyone was excited, jubilant as if going to a party. No one thought about death, the uninvited guest. Lieutenant West came and gave them a short pep talk, telling them the fighting had already begun. Will and Archie grabbed quick breakfast of biscuits and cold bacon. Will saw smoke above the trees with the dawn, and a dull roar and rattle of muskets that grew louder as time passed. Will’s company brought up the rear, but they had orders to be ready to move out at a moment’s notice. Will checked his revolver and his cartridge belt for the Springfield. With the dense woods, he doubted the Whitworth would see much use, but brought a few of the hexagonal cartridges in an extra box anyway. There would be no time to return after them.
They marched in the bright sunshine for about two hours. Will thought about Sundays at home, listening to Breckinridge in church, wondering what would be for dinner. It seemed a great day for a picnic. Instead, General Breckinridge, cousin to Will’s pastor, was about to preach an entirely different sermon, made up of musket and cannonballs. Rebel yells would accompany the message rather than songs of praise.
The noise of battle drifted back to them—booms and thunder, screams, and the buzz and rattle of a thousand gigantic bees as musket balls filled the air ahead of them. Finally they came to the first Federal camp, just north of Fraley field, where the fighting started. Here Will nearly lost his breakfast at the effects of those bees. The Federal tents were riddled with holes. Someone’s half-eaten breakfast sat on a rock. All manner of guns and equipment lay discarded, as though they were toys emptied out of a trash bin by a giant, scattered everywhere. The Federals evidently retreated in haste, with great surprise. As Will stepped forward, the mud oozed with blood, and it was difficult not to step on dead bodies, which lay everywhere. Most were in blue uniforms, gazing sightlessly at the morning sun. Many were horribly mutiliated—arms blown off, guts hanging out, parts of heads or faces missing. Here and there were piteous loud moans, from those not yet dead but too injured to fight. The Raiders hesitated, sickened by the sight, but then moved on. Will was on foot, leading his horse. Some men stopped to rob the dead or gather food from the tents. Will saw a pistol similar to his own in the hand of a dead Federal and stuffed it in his belt.
Will looked over at Archie, who looked as though he might throw up. “Some glory, huh?” was all Archie said.
“Order, men, form a line!” shouted Duke. Those who were foraging broke it off and formed ranks of fours. “We’re to support Hardee,” shouted Duke. “Our time has come.”
Everyone stepped lively, marching faster. Someone started singing the regimental song that the Raiders loved, “Cheer Boys, Cheer!” The music lifted Will’s spirits, helping him to forget the carnage. He sang loudly with the rest.
As they advanced, the thunder grew louder, drowning out their song. Soon shells burst in the air above them, and minie balls flew over their heads. To Will’s left, a horse and man screamed in pain, as shrapnel from an exploding shell lay open the man’s shoulder to the bone. Will watched in fascinated horror as the horse went down, the man’s forearm and shoulder lacerated and bleeding. Looking ahead, when the puffs of smoke moved enough for him to see, was a line of trees, and then a field, clear to the road, with woods on the other side. From those woods erupted a wall of smoke and flame, followed seconds later by cannonballs dropping and shrap
nel scattering in their midst. Will took cover behind a tree, but was worried for his horse, Toby, who had nowhere to hide, and occasionally whinnied in terror. Training held them both fast, and they did not panic or run. The gray line appeared stalled. No one moved forward into the hail of death from the batteries across the field. No one appeared to give direction. The sky grew increasingly dark as the sunshine of the morning gave way to an incoming storm. Will glanced back and saw Morgan and Duke rallying some laggards to move forward. Duke stopped near him, seeming to confer with a Tennessee recruit, then move on.
Will watched as a line of infantry formed and bravely stepped out onto the field. The Federal batteries roared with canister shot, and most in the front of the line fell. Those behind did not run but marched forward, resolutely, into the mouths of those yawning beasts. They gave the rebel yell and moved to a trot, forward. Again the cannons roared, and thirty or forty fell. The field fogged over in smoke. When it cleared, the gray line, or those who remained, was within thirty yards, Will guessed, of the firing cannon. He was afraid in the chaos and confusion, yet he hated to just stand watching soldiers slaughtered. If he must be here, why could they not help them? Still, he waited for orders. He suddenly realized that with the movement and smoke, any attempt to fire might hit their own men. The men in the field dropped to one knee and fired their rifles. Those behind them did as well, as the front line fixed bayonets. They charged, screaming their yell like demons possessed. Seeing that line coming, the Federals took to their heels and fled, leaving the cannon.
“Mount up! Push ‘em to the river, boys!” commanded Morgan. Another battalion of cavalry on their left, the Eighth Texas, or “Terry’s Rangers,” heeded the call as well, and moved out with the Raiders across the field. They moved cautiously at a walk. Toby seemed calmed by the other horses moving, surrounding him. They moved in a line of threes, spread out across the field. Archie was next to Will. A few horses ahead on the right, Will saw the Lieutenant, James West. Duke was on the left and slightly forward. Behind them, a Confederate battery was moving up, hauled by horses.
Suddenly from the left, bullets whistled around them once more. They seemed to be aiming at the men with the battery. The blue uniforms were about one hundred yards distant.
“Threes left wheel! Charge!” he heard Morgan yell. Will drew his pistol, touched his heels to Toby’s sides, and leaned forward as the horse quickly leaped to a gallop. He swerved slightly to avoid a boulder sticking up in the field, and a bullet whizzed past his right ear. In seconds, they were on the Federals. In the blur, Will aimed and fired his revolver over and over, switching to the second one. Archie went down, knocked off his horse. Wheeling left, Will saw a Federal aiming at West, so he fired—but too late. The Federal’s weapon discharged, and West fell. Will fired again, and the Federal toppled over backward. Toby jumped over him as the Raiders continued the charge. Duke’s horse moved in front of him just as another Federal fired. Duke cringed in the saddle as a ball hit him in the shoulder. Duke switched hands with his sabre, holding the reins in the wounded arm, then slowly fell out of the saddle, onto the field. Up ahead, Will saw Morgan’s horse go into the trees, chasing a running Federal. He soon returned, and ordered the men to tend the wounded and round up the prisoners. Will rushed back to where he’d seen Archie fall. He was face down, a large pool of blood surrounding him. Will rolled him over, and saw the gaping chest wound from the fifty-caliber bullet. It was no use. Archie was dead.
✳ ✳ ✳
Night of April 6
Late in the afternoon, the order came to fall back. They bivouacked just south of the Hamburg-Purdy Road. They made what simple camp they could. Darkness fell, and with the ebony of night, sheets of rain fell. Lightning and thunder boomed, as though heaven or hell joined in the battle. In the distance, Will could see the flash as the Federal gunboats fired their cannon. Whenever there was a break in the storm, Will heard the cries and pleas of the wounded left on the field. Occasionally a winking torch marked a group of brave soldiers going out to retrieve wounded. Will huddled in his pup tent, alone in the midst of the tents of the other Raiders. No one knew why the order to halt was given. The horrors of the day passed in his mind, including the cold dead eyes of his friend, Archie. Was it worth all this? Why was he here, really? Where was God in the midst of this hell? Suddenly it was too much, and he broke down sobbing, wishing for home. What if his father lay dead on some field, perhaps even this one? He thought about the fact that each of the Federals he’d seen dead today, and the companions in gray, had parents, siblings, sweethearts—people who loved them. This was nothing like doing drills in front of Morrison, or even the skirmishes they’d seen in the war up to this point. What compelled men to don clothes of different colors, like skins, march out on a field, and kill without thinking, based on the color of that woolen skin? Will prayed, asking God to make Himself real in this, and if Will survived, he made up his mind to go home as soon as his enlistment was over. He’d fight to defend his home, but only his own home, and no other. Will slept poorly, reliving the battle in his dreams.
✳ ✳ ✳
April 7, 1862, Shiloh
The next morning, they were up before dawn. Will learned that Duke survived but West did not. Morgan’s own brother died in the battle as well. They had barely eaten breakfast when the battle began. They mounted, and word passed down the line—their commanding general, Johnston, was dead. Beauregard was in command. More Federals landed in the night—General Buell had come with fresh troops. The Federals were coming. Morgan passed up and down the line, encouraging the men who were weary from battle and little sleep.
The Federals came in waves. It seemed to Will that every dead man in blue from the day before had become two live Federals, relentlessly marching and intent on revenge. Miraculously, few of the Raiders fell. Their job became holding the line, occasionally charging advancing infantry, as their own infantry fell back, then joining the retreat. Will lost count of the times he reloaded and fired, sometimes from the cover of woods, sometimes from horseback with the revolvers. He was running short of ammunition. As he moved to the rear to get more, Morgan approached.
“Will! Come, I need you!”
Will hurried over at a trot on Toby. “Yes, sir?”
“I want you to carry a message to General Breckenridge—you know who he is, you’ll recognize him. Wait for a response, but don’t assume we’ll be in the same place you left us. Move cautiously coming back or you could find yourself surrounded. This day is not going well,” he observed grimly. “Just go past a peach orchard and up the Hamburg Road,” he said, showing Will on a map. “You should find Breckenridge there. Don’t stop for anything—and hurry!”
“Yes, sir!” said Will, tucking the message into his shirt, behind his Bible.
Will grabbed ammunition for his revolvers and set off at a gallop.
✳ ✳ ✳
The mud, rain, scattered bodies, and equipment were all hazards for riding quickly, leaving out the threat of rounding a bend and finding a group of Federals ready to kill or capture him. He whizzed past the peach orchard, coming to the fork in the road. Will focused on riding, occasionally slowing to a trot, both to get his bearings and to let Toby breathe, but for no more than a few seconds. Then they were again galloping along. Will heard sounds of battle all around but saw few troops, all of them gray. He rounded a curve and topped a small hill. There was rifle fire ahead, with gray to the south and blue to the north of the road. He slowed pace, looking for a way to get off the road. A Federal sprinted from the woods toward him, grabbing Toby’s bridle. Panicked, he drew his pistol and fired point-blank at the face beside him, and again twice more into the woods where he could see rifles pointed at him. Then he kicked Toby hard, and the horse took off as though shot from a cannon. Will crouched low over his neck, giving the horse his head, and hung on. They raced through the crossfire of bullets. He felt something hit the rear of his saddle but kept riding. In a few minutes they were clear, and Will slowed Toby t
o give him a rest and regain control. After a minute or two, not wanting to risk being caught in a vulnerable position, he resumed at a canter along the road, ready to spur ahead at any sign of trouble. He soon came upon a line of Confederate troops, who seemed to be firing and falling back, but not yet south of the road. Seeing an officer, he asked for General Breckenridge and found him.
“Corporal Crump! Good to see you again, sir. Give this message to your colonel, if you can.” Will related his encounter with the Federals on the road.
“Bad news, and no mistake,” said Breckenridge. “All right then,” changing his mind. “I see you have one of the Whitworths. That says something about your shooting. Perhaps I can put you to better use. I’ll find someone else to carry the message back. Go on up the road to Shiloh Church. Find a good position and put that Whitworth to use covering the retreat. Make the Federal who wants to go to church meet his Maker before he gets there.”
“But sir, Colonel Morgan….”
“No buts, soldier. That’s an order. You’re not the only one that can ride.”
“Yes, sir.”
Will followed orders and set up the Whitworth on a rise near the church. In an hour or so, lines of Federals came. A few other Confederate sharpshooters joined him. They picked off the troops as they advanced, sometimes aiming at officers, other times at those manning batteries, when they could see through the smoke. Then the order came to retreat.
ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
April 1862
Albinia looked the farm over. It lacked the good soil of her previous farm. However, it was near the river. She was on free soil, and would not have to worry much about the fugitive slave law here, she figured.
“What do you think, Mabel? Can we make this work?”
Mabel looked around, scratching the dirt with her toe. “Well … it doesn’t look like much, Mrs. Horner. Franklin’s still recovering some. How will we live? It’s planting time now.”
