by Jeff Shaara
The thought of that had no appeal to Bauer, and he said, “Go on. I’m gonna stay out here. Reveille can’t be that far away. Kinda nice.”
He couldn’t see the look on Willis’s face, knew if his friend was feeling better there would be a joke about that, some jab at him for standing alone in the cold, dark morning. But Willis said nothing more, headed for the tent, and now Bauer was alone.
From far out in the woods more sounds came, not human, the call of an owl, soon answered by another. Bauer stared out through the rows of tents, a sleeping army, mostly anyway, and he looked toward the east, no hint of dawn, the horizon visible only by the boundary where the stars disappeared. If the weather stays like this, he thought, we’re in for drill, that’s for certain. They’ll line us up and march us back and forth all the livelong day. Unless someone comes riding through here with new orders … and what would that be? You boys move on out of this field, find you another one. Or maybe … change position with those boys from Iowa over there. Change of scenery. Yep, that’ll give the generals something to do. One giant game of checkers. He looked up at the stars again, felt suddenly sleepy, inspiring the blossoming nonsense in his brain. He needed to sit, moved toward the fire pit, knew there was a chopping block, and he found it, sat down, felt cold coming up, ignored it. He stared at the stars again, hopeful, wanted to see another of those streaks, stared until his eyes danced and watered. But the heavens wouldn’t cooperate, and instead the weariness in his brain took him home. He saw the face of his mother, could remember the delicious smells coming from the heavy cast iron pan that would be filled with his father’s perfect sausage. Bauer had been very young and the fire very hot, and he had foolishly grabbed the handle, the sudden eruption of pain from the burn one of those lessons every young boy has to learn. But his mother seemed to suffer along with him, and he would never forget her crying as she pressed his hand into a crock of soft butter. Bauer didn’t remember if that had done anything to help, only that his father had cursed him for ruining a perfectly fine mess of butter. But the one memory stayed with him, that she seemed to share the pain of his awful burn. It was a piece of her that came to him even now, in her letters. Be safe. Yes, Mama, I will be safe, and I will come home.
He felt the homesickness rising, scenes he couldn’t avoid. We could churn some butter, he thought, or boil some syrup, help Papa with the hogs. He had hated the chores, but now it was very different, an attractiveness that probably wouldn’t last, once he was home again. He yawned, knew that all the images were just dreams. It’s just … home. God, I miss them. I miss it all.
The bugle surprised him, a sharp knife slicing through the calm of the starlight. From the tents, the men rolled out with the usual curses, but this morning was different, Bauer noticing as well as the others. It was far too early for reveille. He sat alone in the cold darkness, lost in thoughts and a haze of sleepiness, but outside had still been a more pleasant place than the tent. The growling of the men filled the darkness, and he stood, reluctantly, moved out into the wide avenue that ran past the tents. There were men on horseback, directing the sergeants who directed their troops, a line starting to form, weary men stumbling into one another, enduring the grumbling shouts of the lieutenants, the shoves in the back from the sergeants.
Bauer moved toward his own tent, heard the order coming from the closest man on a horse, knew the voice of Captain Saxe.
“Muskets! Grab your musket! We’re not here for an inspection!”
The men seemed to stagger again, moving in and out of their tents, the clatter rolling all along the avenue, and Bauer realized other men were up as well, beyond his own company. He tried to see more detail, could feel the men moving about, one man bumping him, hard, no words, Bauer feeling the steel of the man’s musket against his arm. He fought to see, the darkness suddenly split by a sharp light, a lantern, someone’s piece of wisdom. He blinked, fought the brightness, saw another of the sergeants, Champlin, checking the muskets as the men fell into line. Champlin was one of the good ones, nothing like the barbaric Williams, and Bauer moved that way, toward the gathering lines of men. He walked out into the wide avenue, saw the speckles of light spread all over the field, more lanterns, another column of men forming beyond the next row of tents. More horses came past, a kind of urgency that brought them dangerously close to men, still not fully awake, others already seeking some place to sit, out of the line of sight of the sergeants. Fires began, the routine of the men who made the coffee, but he heard orders, sharp anger from sergeants he didn’t know, the next avenue filling with more men than were around him now. Questions came from the men around him, from his own brain. What’s happening? Why are we up so early? This is a heck of a time for a formation drill. Another horse rode up close, the officer dismounting, and Captain Saxe responded, did the same. There were others, still on horseback, and Bauer could see the hint of a flag, thought, Colonel Allen … or someone who knows something. He felt the shared excitement, most of the bellyaching growing quieter, the men increasingly curious. The lantern came close to the officers now, and Bauer saw faces, Allen, Saxe, Captain Fox, the men who would answer the questions. Allen went for his horse, climbed up, and just that quickly, was gone. Now Saxe climbed his horse, shouted for quiet, the order enforced by the hard grip of the sergeants, the harsh whisper of the lieutenants. Bauer stood in line, felt himself shivering, excitement more than cold. Saxe moved the horse across the road, shouted out, “Fill your cartridge boxes! Forty per man.” He paused. “Take a hundred if you can carry them!”
Bauer heard the wagon now, rolling up the avenue toward them, orders echoing all around, the one that mattered coming from Saxe.
“Line up by platoon! Plenty of cartridges! Let’s move! No time to waste!”
Bauer felt the men around him pushing that way, felt for his own cartridge box, always on his belt, empty or not. He saw the men up on the wagon, boxes opened, grabbed a handful of the dense paper, stuffed his cartridge box full. A hundred? He grabbed more, dropped some into his shirt pockets, the pocket of his pants, thought, that’ll wreck ’em, for certain. But … he’s the captain.
The men drifted back into line, Saxe moving on his horse in tight steps, and Bauer could feel the man’s tension, still no answers. The men formed their line again, still the grumbling, and close beside him, a man was shoved forward, a hard punch from behind, the voice of Sergeant Williams.
“Where’s your musket! You been out of pocket? I’ll nail your ass to a tree. You play dumb with me and I’ll have your teeth!”
Bauer looked away, hoped Williams wouldn’t notice him, but the hand was on his shoulder, the familiar clawing grip.
“You run away, and I’ll cut you to little pieces!”
But Williams wasn’t focused just on Bauer, moved down, repeated another absurd threat to another of the men. Saxe turned the horse close by, no sign he paid any attention to the curses and threats from any of the sergeants. Down the roadway, the men seemed to be in place now, and Saxe shouted, “Extinguish those lanterns!” He didn’t wait for the order to be obeyed, continued. “Company A … muskets in hand, all of you!”
Down the line, one of the lieutenants shouted out, “In hand, sir! Cartridges, too!”
“Good! You should know that Colonel Peabody has ordered us to picket duty. We’re to move out right now alongside some Missouri boys who are already out that way. Colonel Allen has instructed three companies of this regiment to the duty. The rest will remain here. You boys are the lucky ones. You get to have a walk in the woods. Let’s move out on this road. No stragglers. Follow me!”
Bauer waited for the column to move, the lantern light gone now, his eyes trying to adjust. Beside him, he caught a glimpse of the small, wiry man, thought, Reiner, I think. Where’s Sammie? He looked around, still too dark to see faces, thought, God I hope he isn’t too sick. Maybe he’s still in the tent. Williams will kill him for that.
The column was in full march now, men focused on keeping their balance in the
darkness, no one speaking except the sergeants, more of the murderous threats from Williams, from others farther down the line. Bauer looked out to the side, across the open field, no daylight yet, those lanterns beside the next rows of tents gone as well. I guess they’re moving out, too, he thought. Who? Company B? Maybe C? We’re not all going, he thought. Why? We have to help … who? Missouri boys? Why? What’d they do?
The sounds around him were like so many others he had heard, the tramp of feet, the harsh yells of the sergeants, hoofbeats from more men riding past. It was just like the drills, just like so many formations and so many miles of marching, but the tension was very different, and he could feel the weight of the cartridges at his belt, thought, why a hundred? The musket was up on his shoulder, and he felt the bulge at his pants leg, the extra cartridges. Use those first, I guess. They’ll just fall to pieces if I keep ’em there too long. Might get wet, too. No other place to put them. He stumbled, looked down, took careful steps, the hardening roadway cut by ruts and wagon tracks. The pace was quick, and he stayed close behind the man in front of him, glanced at the man beside him, knew by the man’s nervous gait it had to be Reiner. He tried to see any faces, thought he saw Willis a few rows in front of him, wanted to get close to him, but the column was in full march now, and he had done this too often, knew to stay in line, knew that Williams would find him if he didn’t. He glanced up, still the stars, darkness and noises, and a cascade of questions.
They had settled into thick woods, a wide field to the front, but still the darkness covered everything, the stars flickering down through the treetops. Bauer didn’t know which way was east, but he scanned what little horizon he could see, and he thought, gotta be close to dawn. Gotta be. No clouds, no rain, at least not yet. Where the heck are we?
The men had settled down in line, each man close to the next, more men behind, a formation of pickets far more dense than he had seen before. There was talk, inevitable, men asking the same questions he did. For now there was nothing anyone could do but wait for daylight, for some sign or signal why this march had been so important.
He adjusted himself into soft dirt, thick leaves all around him. There was a snore, to one side, always someone falling asleep, and he tried to ignore that, wished now he had stayed in the tent. The bleariness of his eyes was playing the usual tricks, shadows in motion, shapes suddenly appearing where none had been before. After what seemed like a long hour, the woods began to grow lighter, and he realized they weren’t really in deep woods at all, not like before. Beyond a thin row of trees was an open field, deep rolling grass, surrounded by trees, more of the dense woods. He sat up straighter, heard men still talking around him, but gradually they began to grow silent, and he saw stares, out to the front, realized now there was a strange hum, coming from far across the field, from the woods beyond. There was nothing distinct about the sound, the chilly air of the dawn blanketing the noises. He focused, tried to hear more, glanced up again, the stars still faintly visible, and now new sounds, birds, close by, chirps and calls, the woods coming alive. But the hum seemed to grow, uneven now, breaking into small pieces. It was very far away, no kind of sound he had heard before, and he thought of bees, or chattering birds, but there was nothing to see, no answers to this mystery, either. Some of the men began their talk again, but others stood, one of the sergeants close by, Champlin, staring hard across the field. The lieutenants were rising as well, stepping out into the grass, arms crossed, hands resting on the scabbards of their swords, staring away in silence. To one side, behind, he heard horses, a rumble of hoofbeats, and now a sharp voice. He turned that way, saw the company commanders, flags and couriers and the large figure of Colonel Peabody.
Across the wide field there seemed to be smoke, a low, soft cloud, gray fog, clinging to the trees, no other movement at all. The strange hum was closer now, louder, the buzzing of bees giving way to a broken chatter, his brain clearing for a sharp instant, the sounds more familiar. The horses behind him galloped off, the officers scattering, moving out in front of their men, the captains making their way to the front of each company. Bauer could hear it now, the sounds growing clear and distinct, a cold stirring inside him, a thick line of men preparing to move out into a field, toward the sound of muskets.
APRIL 6, 1862, 6:10 A.M.
They had crossed the field, the musket fire still to the front. The thick grass ended at a stand of woods, and there was wispy smoke, drifting through the treetops, the thick odor of sulfur dropping down on the men as they moved quickly. Bauer was breathing heavily, his legs keeping him close, but the excitement of it all was draining him. To one side, a line of men stood in a small field, holding muskets, and he saw a wound, a filthy white cloth wrapped around one man’s leg. Another column of troops came through the woods, were held in place by an officer on horseback, the man shouting, the soldiers staring hard at Bauer and the Wisconsin men as they moved past. The officer was close to Bauer now, and the order was clear, distinct.
“Move out behind this column. Keep in column of fours!”
The voices of the men grew around him, expectant, nervous, the rustle of deep grass as they moved once more into a field. In front of them, the sounds of muskets had slowed, coming in single pops, some farther away, off to the right. Bauer saw horsemen moving past him, a rapid gallop, the sound of a bugle in the distance, then another. Now musket fire came again, closer, off to the left, through a stand of trees, someplace Bauer couldn’t see. The field was wide, woods on all sides, and he followed the men in front of him, saw a lieutenant holding his sword high, waving them on. The grass was knee-deep, brush in dense thickets, and the men had to slow, pushing through thorns and briar bushes, impatient officers on horseback keeping to the front of them, shouting them forward. For a long moment, they moved in silence, the urgency suddenly gone, and Bauer saw officers gathering, low talk, one man pointing to the far side of the field. Bauer’s heart was pounding, and he heard a single musket fire, diagonally across the field. He stared that way, ignored the chatter from the men around him, saw a thin line of men in blue rise up, standing with muskets at their shoulders, a burst of smoke, the sound of the volley reaching him quickly, the men firing away, in the other direction. Bauer watched as they dropped down, hidden by underbrush, and there were more muskets, farther away. More smoke was drifting off to the left, a thin haze in the trees, and he felt a hard hand on his shoulder, knew already it was Williams, the sergeant shouting close to his ear.
“You run, and I’ll shoot you! Any of you!”
One of the officers broke from the cluster of horsemen, rode straight toward Bauer, reined up a few yards in front, and Bauer saw it was Captain Saxe.
“On my command, battle formation toward that picket line! Our boys need some help! Rebs out in the next field. Stay together, no gaps, no stragglers.” He raised his sword now, and behind Bauer the bugler went to work, the command they knew well, the call to battle lines. Saxe waited for a long minute, the men performing the task as they had so many times on the parade ground, on the fields a mile east of where they stood now. Saxe raised his sword above his head, waved it in a sweeping circle, shouted, “Forward, march!”
Williams shoved Bauer in the back, unnecessary, the men all moving together, one more piece of the training imbedded in all of them. Bauer pushed his feet through the thick grass, saw a lump of blue straight in front of him, down in the grass, saw it was a body, the man curled up, seeming to sleep. Bauer stepped around him, another shout from Williams, close behind him.
“Stay in line!”
Down the row, a major stepped out in front, leading the way, a colonel riding to one side at the same pace, a sword still in his hand. Down to the right, another officer moved ahead on horseback, familiar, one of the other unit officers. Bauer tried to keep his stare straight ahead, saw the thin line of blue rise up again, firing again, muskets pointing out toward an unseen enemy. Bauer saw now that the field was narrowing into a corner, and beyond there was another field, just as
wide, grassy, and open. The blue picket line was up again, began to leave their cover, were moving back toward the mass of their own men. There were no more than two dozen of them, and Bauer saw fury and panic in their faces, most not stopping, moving right through the advancing column, their officer shouting orders.
“Pull back! Re-form behind these men! Fall in line!”
Bauer watched one of the men come straight toward him, dirt on his face, wild eyes, the man suddenly smiling at him.
“Johnny Reb’s out there! We gave it to ’em! They’s runnin’ away!”
The man pushed past him, obeying his lieutenant, and Bauer didn’t look back, could feel more men stepping up close behind him, the battle line thickening. The man’s words stayed in his brain, repeating, Johnny Reb … Johnny Reb … Yes! This is it! Now we’ll do something! They can’t run away … not yet! I wanna see them!
In front of them, Captain Saxe kept his position, turned his head toward them, still waved his sword, another order, another bugle calling out behind them. Bauer knew the order, reacted with instinct, the musket butt down on the ground, the cartridge quickly in his teeth, tearing the paper, pouring powder down the barrel. The ball went in now, his hand pulling the ramrod from its slot along the stock of the musket, the thin steel pushed down the barrel, seating the musket ball in place hard against the powder. All along the line, men did as he did, the battle line now ready and he watched the captain turn away, facing out across the next wide field, his sword high. To one side, along the edge of the woods, there was a sudden volley, a battle line of Federal troops Bauer hadn’t seen, and he looked that way, smoke spreading out in a thick cloud. Return fire came from far out in the field, from a fence line, men in brown and tan shirts rising up. But they did not stay, and Bauer saw one of them waving frantically, pulling those men out of their cover, the fence thick with brush, a swarm of men now scampering away. Bauer watched them, thought of the picket he had seen, the man’s words. Yes! They’re running away! We have to go after them! His brain watched the scene, counting them, a dozen, two dozen …
