by Crowe (epub)
“What do you reckon’s goin’ on?” Willie asked. The Colonel was too far away for the men to hear what was said between him and the mounted officer. All they could do was watch from afar.
The mounted officer gestured in the direction of the fighting while he spoke to the Colonel. Once he had finished, Colonel Morris spoke to Jensen, then addressed the mounted officer. The officer answered the Colonel’s questions, but it was clear even from this distance that his answers were not to the Colonel’s satisfaction. The Colonel spoke once more with Jensen, the aide saluted and galloped off down the road toward the fighting. Colonel Morris gave some instruction to the mounted officer, who saluted, then each returned to his respective unit.
The soldiers stood in silence until Colonel Morris returned. The Colonel looked out over the expectant faces and addressed his men.
“It seems that General Johnston is in full retreat.” The news was met with mutterings of disapproval from the men. The Colonel raised a hand and the complaining ceased. “We will wait here with Major Benson’s men until I have received new orders from the General.”
Major Benson! Confused, Johnny watched the men march forward to meet them. In retreat, huh? I wonder what happened to them out there.
“Fall out,” called Colonel Morris, “but be ready to move out again at my command.”
The men stacked their weapons and packs, then spread across the road. When they reached the Colonel, Major Benson ordered his men to do the same. As the two groups mingled, Johnny noticed the harried, wild-eyed look on the faces of the Major’s men. It spoke volumes about their devotion to their commander. In spite of whatever happened back there, these soldiers had the discipline to form up their line and keep it together well enough to make it out of the fighting and back to the relative safety of the road.
Johnny overheard some of the conversation as he made his way toward the Major. The Virginians were at the rear of the fighting when the order had come to pull out. General Johnston had been convinced that George McClellan and the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels and were ready to pursue him all the way back to Richmond. The Major’s men were the last ones into the battle and the first ones out. They had only been engaged a short time against a small Union force before the order came to retreat. No one had any real idea of what had caused Johnston to order the retreat. No one could answer for what had happened at the front where the bulk of the fighting had taken place.
Johnny moved past the soldiers to where Major Benson leaned against a split rail fence just off of the road. The Major had removed one of his boots and was shaking a few pebbles from it.
“Major Benson.” Johnny saluted.
The Major looked up but gave no sign of recognition. “Help you, son?”
“I just wanted you to know that I made it, sir.”
The Major studied Johnny, then smiled. “Well, I’ll be… didn’t recognize you in the uniform. I’d wondered whether you’d changed your mind or not.”
“No, sir,” Johnny replied. “It just took me a little longer than I’d thought it would. The General said I’d missed you by a day.”
Major Benson laughed. “A day?” he asked. “Ain’t that somethin’?”
“Yes, sir.” Johnny smiled.
“So you’re with the Colonel?” Major Benson nodded at Colonel Morris.
“Yes, sir.”
“The Colonel’s a good man. Not much combat experience, mind you, but a good head on his shoulders. They say---”
Major Benson stopped and turned his head at the sound of a rider galloping up the road. Johnny followed his gaze and recognized Jensen returning.
“Well,” said the Major, clasping Johnny by the shoulder while he stood and slid his foot back into his boot, “it looks like that may soon change.”
Major Benson left Johnny beside the fence and strode over to join the Colonel and Jensen. Watching the exchange, Johnny knew that the Major was right. The expression on Jensen’s face when he relayed his message said everything that Johnny needed to know.
The battle was coming to them.
General Johnston had been appalled to learn that General Lee had moved the troops from Richmond to the east. When the battle around Williamsburg had intensified, Johnston realized that they were outnumbered and outgunned by the Federal army. He had planned to use the reinforcements in and around Richmond to bolster his own numbers and cover his retreat to the capital, but now those men were here, only miles away from the fight. General Johnston raged on for a moment, cursing Lee and President Davis, then turned his attention back to the retreat. The Colonel’s men had yet to see battle, and of those in retreat, the Major’s unit was by far the freshest. By establishing the defensive line, Johnston hoped to stall the pursuing Federal troops long enough to get the bulk of his army pulled back. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the one the General sent back with Jensen.
The soldiers worked throughout the day to secure their position. Major Benson had pointed out the wilderness to the north, which ended not more than fifty yards away from the road. The soldiers were ordered to tear down the split rail fences on that side of the road and rebuild them in a solid line extending from the woods to the road.
Defending south of the road looked to be a more difficult problem. Fields had been cleared on that side as far as the eye could see, providing no sort of natural defense like the woods to the north. The rail fences marked the boundaries of the various fields, all long furrows in the dark soil and dotted with green sprouts from the spring planting, otherwise the view was unbroken for a good half of a mile or more. Major Benson and Colonel Morris walked to edge of the road and leaned on the fence, searching the land for any advantage. The Major pointed further down the fencerow and the two walked on. They had just crossed the fence on the far side of the second field when the two disappeared from view. It had been impossible to see the dry creek bed that cut through the flat farmland from the road.
They had their choke point. When the two returned, all of the Major’s men and most of the Colonel’s were pulled off of the northern leg of the fence and put to work south of the road. The southern leg ran from the road to the ridge overlooking the dry creek bed, then bent around to the west. If the Federals tried to approach from that side, then the Major’s men would be ready for them.
The day wore on and the sounds of battle drew closer. The soldiers saw more Confederate units pass by them in full retreat; large numbers of men on the march, wagons of supplies, and caissons pulling the big artillery guns made their way back up the road and rolled on to the west. The officers in retreat stopped and gave updates to the Colonel and the Major when they were able. Most thought that the battle wouldn’t reach the defensive line until sometime the following day.
The work was ended just after sundown. Major Benson positioned his men to the south while the bulk of Colonel Morris’s men were dug in to the north. The Colonel had positioned a few of his soldiers throughout the wilderness in case some fool tried to cut through the undergrowth and catch them unaware from the north. There was no camp that night. The only fires built were on either side of the road, marking the opening for the constant stream of retreating units that passed in the dark.
Johnny hunkered down and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. His muscles ached from the day’s labor, but it was a different and much more favorable soreness than the one that came at the end of a full day of marching. Johnny propped his pack under his head, but it made a terrible pillow. The night had grown humid and already dew had formed on the ground and soaked him through his clothes. Johnny longed for his blanket, which was sitting in a pile back at the old campsite outside of Richmond. With Catfish snoring next to him, Johnny wriggled his way closer to his old bunk mate and tugged on the end of Catfish’s blanket, hoping to maybe steal a corner to cover himself. Catfish rolled away from Johnny in his sleep, taking his blanket w
ith him. Johnny sighed and wished he hadn’t packed quite so light. It wouldn’t be the last time.
The dawn was reluctant to arrive the next morning. The sky had clouded over during the night and filtered the morning sunlight, creating a gloomy start to the day. As soon as it was light enough to see, the sound of gunfire resumed in the east, closer now that it had been the prior evening and moving steadily closer.
Johnny’s stomach rumbled. There had been no supper last night and no breakfast this morning, and while that was a common enough occurrence up on Devil’s Knob, he had gotten accustomed to his three meals a day since joining the army. He dug through his pockets, but all he found were a few crumbs. He had eaten the last of the biscuits days ago. Men up and down the line groaned and grumbled, itching for something to do, but all they could do was settle in and listen to the fighting draw ever closer.
As bad as that was, things only got worse.
Around mid-day the clouds opened and rain fell in a torrent. Water ran along the line of the barricade and those in the shallow depressions got the worst of it, the water pooling around their legs and soaking their feet. If there was any consolation it was that the Federals would have to think twice before attempting to approach through the creek bed to the south. Major Benson pulled a few troops from the southern end of the line and strengthened the position closest to the road.
As the rain poured, the men waited.
Through the curtain of rain the first puffs of smoke were seen in the east, followed by the cracks of gunfire. Confederate forces had been driven across the fields to the east of the barricade, firing while they retreated across the open ground. The men behind the fence peeked over the top and watched the horrible scene play out before them. The retreating soldiers were knocked off of their feet as the slugs tore into them, pirouetting and landing with a splash in the muddy field.
Johnny was grateful when the wind shifted and blew the smoke from the musket fire toward them. Not being able to see was much better than having to watch the men dying in front of him. For the first time since joining the army, the reality of what it meant to serve and fight struck home. Johnny’s head swam as a wave of nausea washed over him, then cleared when it passed.
A Confederate officer rode hard through the haze up the road, his horse splaying mud with every thunderous step. The officer had passed the fence and the men lying in wait behind it before he recognized it as the defensive line. The officer reined in his mount, spun around, and hailed Colonel Morris.
“Be ready to receive the enemy,” he said, wiping the rain from his eyes. “We are the last.” Without waiting for a reply, the officer wheeled his horse around and made off to the west, away from the battle, leaving his men to make their way across the field on their own.
Like any good leader, the Colonel knew the mood of his men, that they were near a state of panic. He rose and shouted for his men to hold their fire, telling them that they were more likely to fire into the backs of the men who they were supposed to be covering than they were to hit a Union man.
The first of the retreating soldiers hit the fence. Not knowing it was there, the men lost their footing in the mud and either went sprawling over the rails or plowed right through the barricade into the laps of the troops on the other side. The Major ran up and down the southern line, ordering his men to holler and make a racket so that those in retreat would know where they were and not injure themselves or someone else in getting behind the defensive line.
In no time at all the number of men scrambling over the fence slowed, then stopped. So few, thought Colonel Morris. No more than a few dozen soldiers had made it across the field. The Colonel breathed deep and counted to ten, fighting back the image in his head of the entire weight of the Federal line overrunning them. Eight… nine… ten!
“Fire!” the Colonel shouted. “Get up and fire!”
The order was carried up and down the line. The men raised their guns over the fence and found that they couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them. There were no targets to be seen. The men screamed, firing into the smoke and rain. All they could do was hope and imagine their shots finding a mark and punching a hole in the Federal line.
The return fire came just when Johnny popped his head over the fence. Musket balls whizzed past overhead and impacted on the fence, sending a shower of splinters into his face. Thunder and gunfire drowned out all other sounds. Next to him, Catfish rose, laid the barrel of his musket across the top rail of the fence, and fired. Johnny brought his musket to his shoulder and fired into the nothingness. Catfish had already reloaded and was preparing to take his next shot when Johnny dropped down behind the barricade.
Johnny reached into his pack for his cartridge box but it wasn’t there. Like his blanket, it was still back at Richmond.
“Emmit!” Johnny hollered. His voice was lost in the battle and the storm.
The last time Johnny had remembered seeing Emmit, he was holed up near the road. Johnny stood and started down the fencerow when a rough hand shot up and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Johnny skidded in the mud as he was pulled to his knees.
Catfish shouted, his face inches from Johnny’s. “What’re ya doin’, boy?” Even this close, Johnny had a hard time making out what Catfish was saying.
“I gotta find Emmit,” Johnny yelled, pulling himself free from the big Carolinian. “He dumped my cartridge box.” He’ll know what to do, Johnny thought.
Johnny got to his feet and took a step toward the road. A hot, stinging sensation slapped into his shoulder. He hit me, Johnny thought. I can’t believe Catfish hit me. The force knocked Johnny off of his feet and spun him around in the air. Johnny landed with a splash on his wounded shoulder. The pain flared beneath him and Johnny cried out, but his scream was torn away by the wind. The white-hot pain was the last thing Johnny remembered before the darkness overtook him.
At first Johnny couldn’t understand why his shoulder hurt. At least it quit rainin’, he thought, before the memory of the battle came rushing back, what little of it Johnny had seen.
Sounds swam in and out. He could make out men’s voices, but not what they were saying. The pain hung like a veil over his mind, parting as his senses cleared. Johnny struggled to open his eyes, when he did manage to open them he found that night had fallen.
Johnny tried to turn to his side, away from his bad shoulder, but found that he couldn’t move. He tried again, thought he heard someone speaking nearby, and found it was just no use. Wherever he was, Johnny was stuck. Instead of trying to move his whole body, he turned his head, trying to get a look around and see if he could get his bearings.
“You deaf, boy?” a man’s voice asked in Johnny’s ear. “I said quit yer squirmin’.”
Johnny turned his head toward the voice, and saw a man’s face next to his, only hanging upside down. The effect startled Johnny, causing him to jump, or at least tense up, seeing as how he couldn’t go anywhere. The pain flared in his shoulder, causing the world to go gray and his head to swim. When the pain subsided, Johnny opened his eyes again, and looked into the upside down face.
“You gotta cut that out, boy,” said the upside down face, which looked to belong to a fella in his early thirties. “Yer makin’ it bad for the rest of us.”
“The rest of who?” Johnny asked.
“Take a look,” said the upside down face, “just… do it slowly.”
Johnny turned his head to the other side and found that he was laying a few feet in the air. What he had taken at first to be a bed or a table underneath him was in fact a tangled pile of bodies, twisted and contorted every which way; here a foot, there an arm, someone’s face poking out over yonder. Johnny took care in flexing his good arm and realized that he was just as tangled up as the rest of them. The pile shifted when another soldier somewhere in the mess of bodies tried to move.
“Aaahhhh!” someone
screamed. The others grumbled, told him to keep quiet and lay still. “I can’t feel my leg!”
“What’s it look like?” asked another.
“Look like? It looks like a leg.”
A shudder went through the pile, met by complaints from the knotted-up soldiers. Johnny felt someone’s hair tickle the back of his neck when it moved past, but was unable to do anything to brush it away. Through the muttered moaning and groaning, Johnny caught a few “nope”s and “that’s mine”s. Someone pinched him on the thigh.
“That’s me,” Johnny said.
“Hmm,” said a muffled voice somewhere below Johnny’s elbow. Johnny felt movement over that way, followed by a scream of pain from the man who couldn’t feel his leg.
“Feel that?” the voice down by Johnny’s elbow asked.
“You bit me!”
“Guess we found your leg,” someone else said. The pile was filled with a tremor as the men first laughed, then moaned in pain from the movement.
“What’s goin’ on,” asked Johnny when the pile stilled.
“Well,” said the upside down face. “It seems that those of us that got wounded got dragged over and tossed into this here pile.”
“Weren’t none too careful about it, neither,” said another voice.
“Nope,” said the upside down face. “As the pile kept getting’ bigger, well, folks just got more and more tangled up.”
“I got poked in the eye. Twice,” said still another voice.
“What’re they gonna do with us?” asked Johnny.
“I heard tell that they was callin’ in some surgeons to have at us,” said the upside down face. “See what they could salvage.”
