“Heard tell that the enemy out there outnumber us three to one.” Captain Wofford was relating the visit he’d paid to Major Wood of the 22nd Ohio after they’d been settled. Wood had taken over the regiment for Colonel Mersy, who had taken over for Brigadier General Oglesby at the brigade when the latter was wounded in the retreat from the works. “It was a close action and nearly left all of us in a bad way.”
“Sir, the fresh fish got an eyeful today,” Sergeant Preston replied. “They not ready to stand in line.”
“Tried telling that to Major Wood, but these boys was handled roughly today, an’ casualties cut their strength by a third. Two companies were swallowed whole, an’ only a handful from each responded to roll. They want our muskets,” Captain Wofford said.
“They want us for picket?” Philip asked.
“Thank the Lord, no, but might be called tomorrow for it, an’ we’ll be ready to respond to any emergency and fall in line with the regiment as an extra company on the left of the line.”
“That is well. They are going to be useless on the firing line all the same,” Philip commented. “Few of them are a little flighty.”
“I saw; your brother with them. You kept the hindmost from gettin’ gobbled up. The sergeant and corporals had they hands full keeping the men in line. If they run, they’ll be caught and executed. You can’t be watching them every moment.”
“I admit I was unsure if I wanted to use this thing, but I won’t have men running if I can help it,” Philip said, looking at the carbine.
“You even fire that thing before, sir?” Sergeant Preston asked.
“Once; can’t say I spent any time sighting it in. Very different from the musket and kicks like the devil.”
“You get more practice soon enough, sir.”
“Isn’t there some regulation against surgeons and chaplains arming themselves? Don’t think the enemy would take too kind an eye to having to deal with such the like,” Lieutenant Chapel stated.
“Don’t know, but imagine there is something about it,” Philip replied.
“Would you have shot someone?”
“If it came to defending the line, yes. But it does come to a question of what it is that I am to do next time our line is threatened.”
“Tomorrow come, I might ask it again of you. The men will need to be steadied.”
“Let’s just see what happens. I’ll not look forward to it but will pitch in to do what needs to be done.”
“The men will need all the calming influence you can bring, on and off the line, Chaplain.”
Philip left the group and wandered among the fresh fish. They were situated behind the line of the 22nd Ohio and in company line with rifles stacked. The men, though exhausted, were lively enough with chatter, and his presence did not seem to stifle it as would normally happen when an officer of the line wandered through.
“What say you, Chaplain?” a man called out.
“Bully of a day, no? This was not action; not likely that you are not going to see it tomorrow. You only witnessed the end of a long fight. The action will certainly come to us tomorrow.” Philip knelt down.
“So, Chaplain, was this an engagement? Was this the elephant?”
“I don’t know; if you weren’t ready to bolt to the rear and waiting for that minié ball to hit you, then I’d say no. But go ahead and write in your letters that you did. If you want to say to your family you finally seen the elephant, you might as well lie about it. When you do see it, you won’t want to speak about it to anyone but your fellows,” Philip replied.
“I were a bit afeared, when them cannon started to going and them guns in the batteries behind us started lobbing trains over us. I was scared certain,” Private Pine, sitting next to Paul, chimed in.
“You hear anyone say they aren’t afraid, you can tell them to come to me and confess the sin of lying. You aren’t afraid when they sound the long roll, you are mad. The worst thing you can do is run for the rear in panic. You take half a regiment with you.” Philip looked at Pine, the latter looking away quickly and others around him down at their feet.
The fresh fish were paying attention as if he were instructing them on how to survive their first battle. There was an element of that in this, but these men were not going to be given the benefit of easing into their new role. They were going to be thrust into it, ready or not.
“What does the Good Book say about us killing?” someone asked.
“Nothing; you are not to murder, but war is not murder, just killing. You aren’t killing for yourselves but for those who command you to. The Good Book doesn’t say you are not to kill; it says do not murder. Murder is to kill for yourself alone out of spite or anger or jealousy. Being told to kill and standing with your pards for their sake is not murder.”
Heads nodded all around as if this were some great revelation or insight. It wasn’t, at least not to Philip. No one was to take upon himself the role of God, deciding who was to live and who was to die. The battle line was nothing but protecting one’s comrades and one’s regiment, and you did that by felling as many of the enemy as you could.
“But, Chaplain, will a man be damned for killing out of hate? Can . . . can I be damned if I hate the enemy when I’m killing him?”
“You do not really hate anyone; you hate the enemy or his army or slavery or this war and now find yourself in uniform ready to be killed for it, but you do not hate the man opposite you, as you don’t know him. He doesn’t know you; you can only hate what you know. I can’t hate a man I’ve never met. You hate a man and then you kill him, and then that is sin and is worthy of death—death of the soul, or hell. If you do not hate a man and you kill him by accident, God prescribed a sacrifice of atonement and reparation that would be owed. If you did it with forethought, it was for death that you were due by the law of Moses. You kill a fellow soldier out of malice, and it will be death for you in this life and in the afterlife beyond.”
Philip let the words hang for a moment, then finished, “You just follow the corporals and the sergeant and you’ll be fine tomorrow. If one of them sees that you are going to break, they will set you to rights. If you can keep your heads and avoid showing the white feather, you will be fine.”
“But what if someone falls?”
“They fall, leave ‘em be. You stop to help someone, and the next thing the sergeant knows half the company is away helping someone to the rear. You leave them be, and they will make it to the rear under their own power. It’s going to happen; someone’s going to fall out. There will be minié balls in the air, and someone’s going to fall.”
Philip didn’t know if he was helping or hurting, as the fresh fish were now scared and concerned for their conduct after only being near a battle and not involved directly.
“I’ll be behind the line with the captain, so you boys don’t worry about helping anyone off the field; I’ll do that. You need to keep your line. You will find that things will get noisy and distracting; listen for the commands from the captain and follow the sergeant. They are going to add us as the left flank company, and we’ll be taking orders from their colonel.”
Philip stood and decided he’d said enough for one evening. They would learn soon what they were made of and what they could take. It was not as if he wasn’t going to be facing the same questions for himself. They all would.
“Your brother think he know it all?” Bushy asked Paul.
“He been in the army longer an’ seen the elephant before; I think he knows what he’s talking about. But yeah, he thinks he knows it all,” Paul said with a smile.
“You really think anyone gonna run? I didn’t want to run today. I wanted to get into it. We loaded our weapons for nothing. We march all this way to sit in the rear of the line,” a man named Ingersoll added. He had a rounded face and deep-set eyes and was the one always talking about his eagerness to close with the enemy.
“Brother says thousands ran at Shiloh, ran and hid under the bluff by the river. Hid there in plai
n sight of everyone. Officers even. So yes, people going to run,” Paul replied. “Maybe even you.”
“What? The devil you say! You callin’ me a coward?” Ingersoll edged forward, trying to look menacing.
Paul shrugged his shoulders, taken aback. “No, saying that any one of us can turn the white feather.”
“You better not find yerself runnin’, I’ll catch you an’ learn you good,” Ingersoll boasted, fixing Pine and Bushy with a glare.
“Why didn’t you do something else, your brother bein’ an officer and all?” Pine asked to fill in the uncomfortable silence that followed.
“It was my time to do something; I been at home for a year while everyone else was away. Some come back missing a leg or an arm, but they had done something,” Paul said.
“I let the hotheads go an join up at first. War would be over soon anyhow. Then it wasn’t over, and they were saying that a man might get himself a bounty for joining, but someone lie to me ‘bout that, for they weren’t no bounty when I signed. Now I’m here an’ no bounty. Now we doing something anyway, an’ that suits me,” Ingersoll said. He looked like he’d spent his life toiling in a field for scrabble and not getting much for it in return. Of the men who were lining up around Paul, he really was the one who looked like he was the most ready for something rough.
“I shoulda volunteered for the arty; you see them work them guns? My cousin is in the 1st Ohio light arty, Battery B, an’ he say they don’t march, they get to ride everywhere an they get to stay in the rear.”
“Your cousin is a liar. You seen them guns, an’ they weren’t in no rear,” Ingersoll said.
“Well, mostly in the rear. They ride up an’ lob a few shells an’ then skedaddle.”
“You seed them guns; they was the target of ever’one! You ask me, they’s a death sentence for sure,” Bushy said. Bushy had a permanent hard look to him, like he was constantly in dark concentration. His long, full sideburns and whiskers were the reason for his nickname. Paul didn’t know what his real name was, but Bushy seemed as good a name as any.
“I seed you turn the white feather today. Seems you don’t want to be in the infantry neither, so shut up!” Ingersoll snapped.
Unperturbed, Bushy asked, “You say yer father a preacher too?”
“Yeah, Germantown.”
“Why didn’t you go to the cloth?”
“Not in me; gotta be too nice to people,” Paul replied.
“The meanest cuss I ever knowed was a preacher; you din’t cross him neither, or he likely to bless you afore he brained you,” Ingersoll added.
“Your brother don’t seem too mean fer a preacher. He don’t seem so pious,” Bushy stated.
“Mean enough to almost shoot you two cowards!” Ingersoll added with a laugh.
“Shut up! You looked like you wanted to run like a jackrabbit when those guns was firing over our heads!” Paul retorted angrily. Pausing a moment, he went on, “He only took up the collar again; he resigned it before the war after some local scandal when he refused to bury a fornicator in the church graveyard. He got his collar back so he could be a chaplain. I don’t really know why he wanted it. He never really liked doing it before.”
“What’d you do?” a private called Shoemaker asked.
“Helped my father out with his classes and societies, but it was time to do something.”
“I had to keep my mother from tearing up my papers. I says to her that I’m twenty-five and can make my own choices, but she wouldn’t hear of it,” Ingersoll said.
“All my brothers already volunteered. One kilt at Pea Ridge last year an’ one kilt at Shiloh. It was a shame to stay at home; women lookin’ at me like I was betraying them by not volunteering,” another man piped up.
Paul listened to the chatter and observed the characters around him. The groups of men were still feeling out their comrades, looking for those who might prove to be steadfast and trustworthy to call pard. Some of that was just going to happen as men of certain height found themselves always together in formation and on the march, and others would just be simpatico with one’s own thoughts and outlook. No one was appealing as someone who could be counted on. But these men might all be split up anyway once they got to the 21st Ohio in Nashville, so why spend time getting to know someone? So far, Bushy was the most interesting of those around him, and the boy Thomas Pine the most ingratiating. Ingersoll was just annoying. Or perhaps it was the shared desire to save their skins that made Paul feel kinship.
“You think . . . you think the enemy still out there? It too quiet,” Pine said in almost a whisper.
“Prolly,” Paul replied.
They’d seen nothing since retreating from the crossroads into the city. A wood shielded anything that was further than half a mile from the inner defense works that were still being worked on by the engineers. A huge battery position stood a hundred yards to their left, a monumental mound of earth with a huge cannon, the kind that had been sending locomotives over their heads earlier. A ditch surrounded the work, making the walls even higher. Improvised cotton bales and chopped wood now extended the defenses around it for infantry and smaller field guns, but offered less cover. Of these smaller guns there were plenty in evidence, and several were nearby whose crews were now eating quietly by their pieces. A few cook fires were illuminating the defensive positions, but otherwise there was pitch darkness. The cotton bales were thick but not numerous enough to make anything like a protective barricade for very far, and the wood was thin, offering only the thought of cover. If they were going to be asked to stand behind it and fight, it would be a short fight if the enemy really did outnumber them.
The fresh fish sat in groups, marveling at the activity around them.
“They out there, sure ‘nough. You seen the way we retreated; they come in the morning at first light, sure ‘nough,” Bushy said with a sweep of his hand into the black of the night.
“We left a lot of wounded behind. You think the Rebels take care of our wounded?” Pine asked.
“Them savages? Like bein’ left fer some Indian ta come an’ scalp you. You get wounded, you better make it to the rear; otherwise you get left an’ some Rebel come by an’ relieve you of life an’ scalp,” Shoemaker said.
“P’shaw, ain’t heard of no scalpin’,” Ingersoll said.
“Cousin say they run across men o’ they own regiment what was scalped at Pea Ridge. They was regiments of savages there with the Confederates. Who knows, maybe they here too,” Shoemaker said with a nod and glance over his shoulder.
“Indians? Them savages?” Pine gasped and turned white.
“Ain’t heard of it anywhere else,” Ingersoll replied with a shake of his head. “You don’t know what you talkin’ about.”
“You wanna go out there an’ find out fer yerself? You kin go an’ volunteer fer picket,” Shoemaker said. “I ain’t gonna find out fer myself if they do or don’t. I won’t be scalped by no Rebel.”
“They ain’t no scalping going on that I ever heard of; you just tetched in the head if you think they is,” Ingersoll said with a wave of his hand.
“More likely we won’t see any fighting tomorrow; they going to keep us back,” Paul added.
“That will suit me fine,” Bushy said, looking a little relieved.
Chapter 9
A Near Thing
General William Stark Rosecrans was beside himself, but with his nervous energy and talkative nature, it was hard for the casual observer to tell when he was in a heat over something and when he was just being his normal agitated self. The forces under his direct command had seen some hard marching and sharp fighting in the last two weeks, and now he was cut off from all supports as Major General Grant had allowed Rosecrans’s three divisions to be isolated. His commanding officer, General Grant, had goaded him and General Ord into the march on Iuka to feel out what Price was up to and attack him, which he did after an exhausting march—engaging Price only to lose him the next day. He’d claimed the victory, of course; t
he enemy had left him in command of the field. Ord had not attacked even though he was so close. Now, Ord was at Renzie, Mississippi, and Grant at Baldwin, Tennessee, and General Hurlbut at Bolivar, Tennessee, and none of them within supporting distance. The rail lines were already cut from the west and northwest where support might have come from. Now, his own commanders were failing him.
Rosecrans paced the floor, as he often did when consumed with a problem. The problem: the only way out of Corinth was away from his nearest support, toward the southwest, but Corinth was not to be lost. Its rail lines were supplying Memphis (when the way was clear of Rebels) and sending rolling stock toward the east. The Confederates had him corked in a bottle, and there had been too few of of his soldiers to hold the outer defenses that stretched around the town in a radius of thirty miles. The Corinth defensive works were meant to be manned by an army of tens of thousands, not a force of less than fifteen thousand. Even the two other divisions from Grant’s own Army of the Tennessee did not give Rosecrans enough to man the full defenses. He knew what to expect from his own division commanders, but General Davies and General McKean were not entirely trusted, and today’s fighting was bearing that out.
“How does General Grant intend for me to hold?” Rosecrans said aloud, throwing his hands into the air and dropping them for emphasis. “How does he intend for us to hold out when we’re outnumbered two to one?”
“General, we were unable to fully man and get guns into the works to hold this morning,” commented General Davies with a look of disapproval. It had been his responsibility to hold, and he could only do so for an hour before the outer works were breached. Rosecrans was a nervous Nellie. Davies preferred General Grant’s easy style.
“General Davies, from what was reported to me, your men didn’t even stand! They fled like chickens!” Rosecrans shot back.
The Shiloh Series: Books 1-3 Page 86
