One position after another was taken, and from each we were driven, or
had to fall back for fear of being flanked.
The third position our brigade took was on the brow of a small hill,
where we held the enemy at bay for two hours, at one time charging and
driving them for a quarter of a mile, then falling back for lack of
support on our right.
A Confederate officer has said of Shiloh: “The Confederate assaults
were made by rapid charges along the line. They were repeatedly checked
and often repulsed. Sometimes counter charges drove them back, but
whether in assault or recoil, both sides saw their bravest soldiers
fall in frightful numbers.” This officer’s statement is true to the
letter.
We then took a new position on the edge of an open field. For an hour
we listened to and were in the midst of an artillery duel. At times
the battle seemed to die out, and all was still in our immediate
vicinity; but this stillness only portended the fiercer the fight when
again commenced.
About 3 o’clock our cartridges began to run low, and we borrowed each
of the other until all was gone; we were holding the enemy, but now
our guns were silent. What a helpless man a soldier is in a battle
with no ammunition. We marched to the rear left in front in search
of cartridges, and none too soon either, for a troop of the enemy’s
cavalry were seen on our right, trying to get in our rear and take us
prisoners. We had not gone far when we met a line of fresh troops,
of whom we begged cartridges, but the caliber was not the right size
for our Enfield rifles and we could not use them, and we started on
again hunting for cartridges, the enemy pressing us so hard that the
Captain of the rear company went rushing up to the Colonel, exclaiming
breathlessly:
“My God, Colonel, they are not fifty yards from my company, and we
haven’t a shot to defend ourselves.”
“Keep cool,” said the Colonel, “and don’t say anything, the enemy don’t
know we are out of ammunition, and we will come out all right yet.”
We had not gone far when we met a wagon loaded with cartridges. Caliber
58. Did you ever see a hungry lot of men wade into a bang-up dinner?
Will was the first to mount the wagon and rip open one of the boxes
in quick order, the men scrambling up into the wagon, and crying out:
“Give me some, give me more!” The cartridge boxes and pockets were
filled in short order. We then took our position on the right of our
brigade, supporting a battery.
The enemy soon opened on us with a heavy artillery fire, and either
having the best guns or gunners silenced our cannon. The horses were
killed, men wounded and killed, but the infantry held the line; we felt
strong and courageous now, with plenty of cartridges. The men began to
realize that this line must be held though every man fall.
[Illustration: The fight in the peach orchard at Shiloh]
There was one place on the battle line of Sunday which was occupied by
the gallant troops under Gen. W. H. L. Wallace, and who held the enemy
at bay for a long time, the Confederates charging this place several
times and being repulsed each time. “Its a regular hornet’s nest,”
said one of the Confederate officers, and the spot as located by the
United States Commissioners of the Shiloh National Park, bears the
name, “Hornet’s Nest,” at the present time. It was at this point that
the brave and beloved Gen. W. H. L. Wallace received his mortal wound.
To the east of the “Hornet’s Nest,” a short distance, is the place
where Commanding General of the Confederate army, Gen. Albert Sidney
Johnston, was killed. I believe that Gen. Johnston was the greatest
General of the Confederate army, and many others agree with me.
A little to the rear of Gen. Wallace’s troops was a small pond of
water. The wounded soldiers crawled to this pond to slake their thirst
and bathe their wounds, and so many washed their wounds in this pond
that the water looked like a pool of blood, and it was called the
“Bloody Pond.”
The pond is still there, and has a fence around it, with a tablet
giving its name, “Bloody Pond,” and captured cannon surround it.
The Union forces that were left were now concentrated in a much shorter
line, with no gaps susceptible to a flank movement of the enemy.
As the sun went down in the west I noticed it looked as red as blood,
indicative of the bloody work we had been doing on that holy Sabbath
day. Night again brooded o’er us.
With the awful carnage of blood and destruction strewn over two miles,
with thousands of killed and wounded on both sides, no doubt both
armies were glad that darkness closed the terrible struggle, for the
day at least. Our Orderly Sergeant of our company called the roll and
out of 55 that started in the morning, 31 answered “here,” and with the
exception of two or three, the rest had been killed or wounded.
We bivouacked on the firing line, the rain coming down during the night
wetting us through and through. Our company was with others detailed
for picket duty that night between 10 and 12 o’clock, and stationed
about two hundred yards in front of our line.
Will was posted near a big tree. The night was pitch dark, and having
had nothing to eat since morning he was tired and sleepy. But,
realizing the duty of a soldier never to fall asleep on the picket
line, he tried in every way to keep awake. In telling his experience
afterwards to Jim, he said: “I never worked harder. I pulled my hair
and bit my lips to keep awake. About 11 o’clock I heard the cracking of
twigs in front of me. The darkness was intense. I could see nothing,
but sleepiness was gone then. I listened intently. On it came,
something, somebody making straight for me. I waited, with musket ready
to fire, until I thought it time to make the challenge, and then cried
out: ‘Halt; Who goes there?’ He halted, and out of the darkness came a
voice saying:
“‘I am wounded and want to get to a surgeon.’ I was not satisfied with
this. He might be an enemy trying to capture the sentinels, and the
enemy then would make a night attack on our sleeping army in the rear.
So I plied him with questions as to his regiment, brigade and division,
to which he answered in such a manner that he convinced me he was
telling the truth, and I told him to advance. He came hobbling along
with a broken ramrod of a cannon for a crutch, shot through the leg. I
called the Sergeant of the Guard: ‘Sergeant of the Guard, Post No. 6,’
and the next sentinel took up the cry and pretty soon the Sergeant came
and I turned the poor fellow over to be taken to the Surgeon.”
All things have an end. Twelve o’clock came, and, being relieved, we
returned to the sleeping line, and, throwing ourselves on the ground,
we at once fell asleep. All night the surly gunboats kept up a deadly
fire on the enemy in front of our left.
Twice during the night I awoke, and could hear the groans and cries of
the wounded lying out there on that bloody field. Some cried for water,
others for some one to come and help them. Many years have passed since
that terrible day and night, yet when my mind reverts to that time, I
can hear those poor fellows crying for water. God heard them, for the
heavens were opened and the rain came.