The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3

by Phillip Bryant

  “Troop, dismount!” Kearns ordered. Forming his troop in a double line with the front line kneeling, he awaited the enemy to form a battle line to challenge him. The two troops were short every third man—the extras were holding the reins of four horses each.

  Will’s troop was now in a bind. More Federals were hoofing it up the road to their front, and the hill with the Yankees on it was behind them. Their escape route was in question. With their attention turned to the Federal companies forming in front of them, Will and the rest of Troop A missed the action taking place on the hill.

  ****

  Captain Raymond walked up and down the 72nd Ohio’s line, shouting encouragement as his men popped shots off at the closing Confederates bobbing up and down in the tall grass. The Confederates were taking casualties, but the carbines were forcing them to get closer than they liked. The Rebel horsemen were working hard to make themselves as small as possible as they tried to close the distance, but the Federals on the hill took their time taking aim and hitting what they aimed at. Raymond sensed something was about to break.

  The 1st Alabama’s Major Allen, watching the spectacle from his glasses, sensed his trap was about to be broken. The Confederate troopers were maneuvering on foot, but without coordination or élan. Seeing the Federals double-quick toward them from the enemy camps, Allen spurred forward to Troop I, maneuvering on foot against the Federals on the hilltop. “Charge them, Captain Morris, forward at the double-quick! Troop C will charge on horse.”

  Captain Morris hesitated. A charge on the hill would mean certain death. The men in his troop were breathing heavily, a mist forming billows from open mouths and wild-eyed expressions of anguish and eagerness combined. The slow slog through the wet grass and under fire had already exhausted his men, and now they were to charge straight up the hill on legs that were flagging. Water dripped off hat brims, steam rose off hot carbine barrels, and fingers, shriveled by dampness and cold, were numb and clumsy. These men were not infantry and could not execute a close-order bayonet charge. Hearts thumped in chests, and eyes looked to Morris for the order to go forward.

  “Keep pushing in their front; Troop C will charge their flank,” Allen ordered, cursing to himself. Troop C was marking time, watching like the other troops surrounding the two Federal companies. The rain, the inexperience, and the rapidly evolving action infuriated Allen as the two small and separated Federal companies continued to stubbornly resist. Mounted and forming line, Troop C drew sabers and awaited the order to charge.

  Captain Raymond and the 72nd Ohio on the hill observed all of this and steeled themselves. Across the road, having been unable to find defensible ground, Company H of the 72nd slowly retreated as the Confederates in their front and flank closed in on them. Company H was moving further and further from Raymond. He was outnumbered, and the Confederates were getting bold. His own men were shivering out of nervous energy and fear. The normal chatter between men in the ranks was absent; there was usually someone commenting on something regardless of the standing order of silence while in formation, but now they were truly silent. Only the first sergeant’s steady beat of encouragement echoed from behind the formation. “Steady, boys, steady. Pick your targets, aim low. Load, load, load.”

  “Sergeant, refuse our right flank. Prepare to take a cavalry charge from the right,” Captain Raymond ordered. The dismounted Confederates in front of them were closing the distance, and the bark of their carbines mingled closely now with the discharges of his infantry.

  Behind the 1st Alabama’s line, Major Allen wheeled about and charged up to Captain Sprigg of Troop I, shouting “Charge when you see Troop C close on the hill. Keep up your fire!” Something had to be done, or they would lose their prize. He would catch the Federals on the hill between two forces and remove the problem Yankees.

  Captain Morris of Troop C rode to the front of his men, drew his saber, and ordered them forward at a trot. The troop kept its formation in two double lines, and the men, with sabers folded neatly into their right shoulders, made a menacing show of it. All eyes turned to the procession, and the other troops let out a cheer. Motioning forward with a sweep of his saber, business end toward the Federals, Morris spurred his horse forward into a gallop, followed closely by his troop screaming like banshees. Troop I scrambled forward as well, racing into the well-aimed blasts issuing from the hill.

  The 72nd Ohio, assailed from front and flank, wheeled into an L-shaped formation and waited for the charging horsemen to close the distance, then loosed a volley. Shrieking and wailing horses and horsemen tumbled to earth. Raymond hurried from front to flank and back again, keeping an eye on the progress of the enemy and gauging the reactions of his men. The charging horsemen should have been enough to force any infantryman into a little ball of quivering senselessness, but the hill gave them a feeling of invincibility. The charge of Troop C halted short of the summit of the hill—well short. The burst of fire and tumble of their comrades unnerved the troopers, and they reined to a halt before bolting away quickly to avoid the second volley. Troop I’s charge also fell short of the base of the hill, and they too retreated.

  The field of tall grass was indented here and there by the still forms of Allen’s troopers, while others of Troop I limped out of harm’s way. Meeting Captain Sprigg, Allen ordered Troop I to remount; he would try both sides at once from horse. Scrambling, Allen reformed Troops I and C when a shout erupted from the hilltop, and the Federals disappeared from view. Raising a ragged cheer, the Confederate horsemen had won.

  Captain Raymond, charging at the head of Company B, 72nd Ohio, ran down the hill towards Kearns’s startled A Troop.

  Kearns’s troop, placed so as to prevent the enemy from escaping, now had the enemy in front and behind, and both were advancing. The enemy, howling and charging toward them with bayonets fixed, gave Captain Kearns only one choice to make. Will didn’t wait to hear his decision.

  “Remount, remount!” Will yelled as he and his squadrons beat it to the line of horses. Captain Kearns, frozen in indecision, regained his composure and glared at Will before ordering a general remount himself. There was little time to spare.

  “Reform on the regiment!” Kearns ordered as the troopers rode in every direction to escape the vice before it closed in on them. Cheering, Raymond’s Company B of the 72nd Ohio and their sister companies marching up the road met just as Kearns’ Troop A escaped with their hides. Company H of the 72nd Ohio, trapped on the other side of the Corinth road, took the opportunity to make a run for it, losing more men as prisoners as they were gobbled up by pursuing horsemen. The now reunited Federal force pushed forward at an even march as the troopers of the 1st Alabama reformed their own mounted lines. Chastened, the Confederates licked their wounds.

  With some breathing room, Captain Kearns turned his ire on Will. “Lieutenant Peters, arrest that man!” Kearns shouted, pointing at Will. “Arrest Lieutenant Hunter and take him back to Michie’s under guard!”

  Will drew in a short breath and huffed, fixing Kearns with an icy stare.

  “For disobeying my orders, for bypassing the chain of command, and for bringing on this disaster, I’m placing Lieutenant Hunter under arrest!” Kearns said aloud for all to hear.

  “Sir?” Lieutenant Peters asked, unsure of what he was hearing and more if he should obey.

  “Lieutenant, I ordered you to arrest this man!”

  “Sir,” Peters said and moved his horse next to Will’s. Holding out a tentative hand and apologetic look, Peters reached for Will’s sidearm and carbine. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  Will reached for his pistol and hesitated. Kearns was occupying Will’s place at the head of the troop and knew it. His high birth had given him opportunity but no brains for the role, and he took it out on anyone who showed initiative. He would be doing the whole troop a favor, and no one would care. Would it be murder or self-preservation? Kearns was intent on seeing him out of his troop or in the stockade. It was Kearns who had lied about Baxter, it was Kearns
who’d double-crossed him in the elections, it was Kearns who’d already arrested him once before for nothing but doing what he thought best. One shot, and it would all be over. Seeing Kearns topple from his horse would bring a moment of satisfaction—but a firing squad for himself.

  Peters eyed him and held his hand out. Will handed over his pistol and unlatched his carbine from the shoulder strap that allowed troopers to fire from the saddle without accidentally dropping the weapon.

  “Major Allen isn’t here to interfere this time, Hunter,” Kearns said acidly.

  Will started to reply but sucked it back in.

  “And your mount,” Kearns added with a slight grin.

  “This’s gone too far, Captain!” Will cried.

  Lieutenant Peters looked at Kearns questioningly. “Sir? We need to ride out of here.”

  “I said surrender your mount, Hunter!”

  “I paid for this mount; this is not troop property!” Will shouted, holding the reins tightly. For a cavalryman to surrender his mount meant shooting it or giving it to the enemy, not giving it up in the middle of a fight.

  “Lieutenant Peters, shoot this man as a deserter if he does not surrender his mount!” Kearns ordered.

  It was irregular; one treated an enlisted man this way before hauling him off to the stockade, but not an officer and not in front of his own men. Will took a deep breath and slowly dismounted, wishing now that he had either shot or pistol-whipped Kearns.

  “Detail two troopers to escort the lieutenant to the rear,” Kearns said to Peters before turning away.

  Will’s feet were stuck in the mud—his pride would not allow them to move. The two privates escorting him were from Peters’s squadron, but he knew them and neither could look him in the eye, not that he could either. Out of deference both men waited patiently for Will to move.

  “Privates,” Will said and motioned forward with a nod. Will turned and looked briefly at Peters and grimaced. To be on foot, and that not voluntarily, was the basest a cavalryman could find himself. Kearns had gone too far.

  The firing ceased. The enemy battalion had moved out of carbine range. Will’s lonely march down the road was made more inglorious still by the sloshing of the mud on his boots. The three men walked on in silence.

  “What’s going on there?” the voice of Major Allen called out.

  “Captain Kearns ordered Lieutenant Hunter under arrest, sir; we’re escortin’ him to Michie’s,” one of the privates replied.

  Will looked up, and his face brightened.

  “Damnit!” Allen shouted, looking up into the sky as if to call on God to relieve him of this pestilence. “Stay here, I’ll straighten this out.”

  The rain began to pick up from a drizzle to a steady pour, making their newfound inactivity that much more unbearable. The two privates stood nearby and looked uncomfortable. An escalation in the firing drew their attention, mercifully deflecting it from Will.

  ****

  Allen reined to a quick halt in front of Kearns, ignoring his salute. Jabbing a finger in the man’s direction he barked, “Captain, what the devil are you arresting Hunter for in the middle of a fight! Lieutenant Peters, take over the troop. Captain, you are relieved! Report to Colonel Clanton at once.”

  Kearns blinked, then opened his mouth to protest but was stopped short.

  “Sir, cavalry!” someone shouted.

  Moving down the Corinth road toward them was a long line of cavalry that extended to either side of the road. They had appeared so quickly that Allen had not seen them form or approach. His own troops were still gathering from their scattered positions.

  “Fall back, fall back!” Allen shouted and reined his horse sharply to turn about. “You,” he pointed to Kearns, “I’ll deal with you in awhile. And someone go collect Hunter and return his mount and weapons!”

  ****

  Shivering with the damp and trembling with anger, Will was kicking his heels into the mud when screeching horses and sounds of a host in full gallop broke upon them. The fields in an instant were full of fleeing horsemen in grey, followed closely by pursuing blue and yellow braid. Hollering at the top of their lungs, Union cavalry charged into the fleeing mass of Confederates with sabers flashing.

  “Shit!” yelled one of the privates as all three bolted down the road as fast as their legs would carry them in the slippery mud. One of the troopers fell and let go of his carbine, and it landed at Will’s feet. Kearns was galloping by with the rest of A Troop in a mad dash to the rear.

  Halting, Will grabbed the carbine and knelt; with one quick move he brought it up to his shoulder and fired. He did it so quickly that he was startled by the report and more so by the sight of Kearns tumbling from his mount.

  “Lieutenant?” the private exclaimed as he gained his feet.

  Shots from carbines and pistols rang out from all over, mingled with shouts and curses. Will handed the carbine to the surprised private and ran past him. In the melee there was no longer a front, just a mingling of sides and a dash toward Michie’s.

  Will was giddy and angry at the same time. He couldn’t possibly have hit Kearns—he’d barely brought the carbine up and pointed it in his direction when he shot. Didn’t even aim. Someone else had brought him down.

  Or maybe not.

  Kearns lay writhing in agony, a round through his shoulder, as Will and his escort came upon him. For a moment, Will was disappointed. Kearns was still alive. They could keep running and possibly save themselves from capture, leaving the miscreant to wallow in the mud, or try to take him with them.

  “Grab an arm,” one of the privates shouted.

  Will hesitated. Kearns would end up in a hospital and out of the way and perhaps even die of disease; either way, he wasn’t Will’s problem any longer. It irked that the man had been about to leave them all to be captured a moment ago.

  “Lieutenant, we’ll get gobbled up. Why’d you shoot him anyway?”

  “What? You shot me!” Kearns grimaced.

  “Shut up and move yer feet!” Will shouted. “And I didn’t shoot you. At you maybe.”

  “I’ll have you in the stockade now for … ow!” Kearns stopped short as the manhandling jarred his wounded arm.

  “Lieutenant, we can’t get away like this!” shouted the second private as he took off running. Will and the other private carried Kearns another few feet and then found they were alone with enemy horseman milling about rounding up stragglers.

  “Go, get lost!” Will shouted to the private as he dropped Kearns to the ground.

  “You bastard!” Kearns croaked.

  Will sat down heavily. Even if he hadn’t shot Kearns he’d wanted to, and he even went so far as to try. It was just a matter of time before someone came by to collect them. Kearns had been shot in the shoulder blade on his right side. A red stain was spreading out from the wound and coating his back. Another round had cut a swatch of Kearns’s uniform from his arm. Probably my shot, Will thought to himself.

  “You shoot me, then try to carry me off?” Kearns said.

  “Shot at you, see,” Will said as he poked his finger through the hole in Kearns’s uniform. “You lucky I din’t have more time to aim! You can take that up with the Yankees.”

  “Damn you, Hunter! I was free and clear!” Kearns said as he doubled over. He was becoming flush in his cheeks and losing a lot of blood.

  “Not anymore, Captain,” Will said peevishly. He sat cross-legged with his arms hooked about his knees as they waited. The part of him that should have felt satisfaction that Kearns hadn’t escaped was being crowded out by remorse at possibly having shot him.

  Soon a crowd of a dozen Confederate cavalrymen were set upon mounts and riding in the company of their exultant pursuers of the 5th Ohio Cavalry. A few of the lightly wounded were mounted while the more seriously so waited for ambulances to collect them. Will left Kearns where he lay as his new escort, two Yankee privates, nudged him along.

  Musket volleys and the booming of cannon from behind
told the prisoners that the Federals had run into the gathering Confederates near Michie’s. Now under guard by several mounted Federals and joined by other wounded compatriots, the party slowly made their way back down the Corinth road. There was little use trying for escape; the Federal cavalry and infantry were making their way back in orderly fashion, unconcerned about pursuit. The prisoners found themselves in the middle of an armed column of hundreds.

  Even Lieutenant Colonel Clanton’s horse hadn’t escaped capture, Will realized as he recognized the commander’s kit and saddle. The Yankees looked as if they had won a great victory, with Clanton’s steed, a haul of prisoners, and other desirable booty. Arriving at the Union camp, Will was surprised at how close they had been in their ill-advised push toward the Bark road—only a short march from where they’d been surprised was a sea of white tents, dotting the landscape and filling every available inch of cleared field. Thousands of uniformed men were going about their day, unconcerned of any possibility of attack. Riding down the rain-soaked road, the Confederate prisoners were amazed at how many of the enemy were there.

  The cavalry escort took the prisoners into a camp—not much different from a Confederate camp. They all looked alike, with rows of teepee-like Sibley tents and large, square wall tents housing officers and other regimental, brigade, and divisional staff. Will, being an officer, was singled out and separated from the enlisted men and left under guard. Standing in the rain outside of one such wall tent, Will waited nervously for someone to put a gun to his head or offer him some coffee. The traffic in and out of the tent told him it was occupied by someone of some importance. All studied him as they came and went with an air of curiosity, as if they’d never seen a Confederate before. A divisional standard stood by the tent, denoting the rank of at least a general. “Some big bug is interested to talk,” Will said to himself.

  “In here,” a captain said to Will as he stepped out of the tent, holding the flap open.