THE EVENING BEFORE SHILOH
It was well on in the afternoon when Berry reached the cabin. As
Mollie had not appeared that morning Mrs. Arnold supposed Berry was
with her and had not been anxious. But Berry now told the story of her
adventure, to which her mother and father listened in amazement.
“The soldiers did not give me a chance to tell them that I was a
little Yankee girl,” Berry concluded resentfully.
“No pickets on guard; and General Grant at Savannah!” exclaimed
Mr. Arnold, quite forgetting Berry’s experience with “witches” and
spies, as Berry described the unguarded camp at Pittsburg Landing.
“If Johnston and Beauregard discover these things they will attack at
once!” he said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps that letter was to tell them,” said Berry, adding: “I’m so
hungry!”
Lily instantly sped to the pantry; and in a few moments Berry was
happily occupied with a plate of corn bread and a pitcher of milk.
Later on her mother talked seriously with the little girl, telling
Berry of the possible accidents that might have befallen her, and no
one at the cabin knowing where to look for her.
“And if you had given the letter to your father, my dear, he would
have read it and discovered if it was of any importance,” she
concluded. Mrs. Arnold did not ask any promise from Berry, for she
felt sure there would be no more midnight visits to the “witch-tree”;
and she did not for a moment imagine that Berry had resolved to do
“guard duty” for the camp at Pittsburg Landing.
A week passed, with heavy rains making the roads to Corinth nearly
impassable, and convincing Berry that there was no need for anyone
to look out for marching foes. But although Saturday morning, the
fifth of April, dawned in a furious rain, Berry resolved it was again
time for her to visit the distant ridge. But her father was ill that
morning; Lily was kept busy at household tasks, and Mrs. Arnold
required Berry’s assistance, so it was not until night that Berry
could leave the cabin.
Dark clouds were sweeping over the tops of the forest trees as the
little girl lowered herself from the window of her room and made her
way through the gathering darkness to the trail leading to Shiloh.
Long before her journey was completed she heard strange sounds and
muffled noises, but the rain had ceased and she went slowly forward,
stopping now and then to listen, but with no idea that, in spite of
rain and almost impassable roads, the Confederates had marched from
Corinth, and that in Shiloh woods yonder, grimly awaiting the dawn,
40,000 Confederate troops lay waiting the command to attack Pittsburg
Landing; an army that General Grant believed to be in Corinth, twenty
miles away. This stealthily moving host now lay on its arms, weary
from its day’s march. No fires had been lighted; and sheltered in the
shadowy forest a council of Confederate generals gathered in the small
clearing toward which Berry was noiselessly approaching.
The flicker of a light attracted the little girl’s attention, and she
made her way toward it, and in a moment stopped suddenly, too amazed
and frightened to comprehend that she was gazing upon one of the
important scenes in the history of the Civil War.
Resting on a stump was a lantern; a drum served as a writing-desk;
and seated on a blanket close by was General Hardee, broad-shouldered
and muscular; General Bragg, who sat beside him, was wan and haggard;
his iron gray beard and thin form in great contrast to that of
Hardee’s. Berry’s eyes rested longest on a dignified and martial
figure that paced slowly from the stump to the edge of the group.
Tall, erect and powerful, with a gray military cloak thrown over
his shoulders, General Albert Sidney Johnston, Commander of the
Confederate forces at Shiloh, might well hold the attention of any
observer; and Berry never forgot her only glimpse of this resolute and
fearless soldier who, before another sunset, was fated to fall on the
field of battle.
Walking quickly to and fro was a slender figure in gray uniform; the
soldierly and handsome Beauregard; and Generals Breckinridge and Polk
stood silent near by.
Berry, crouching behind a stump, could hear their entire conversation.
She heard Beauregard declare that the Union camp was entirely
unprepared to face an attack; that General Grant was nine miles
down the river, and on the other shore at that; and, as he bade
his companions good-night, he confidently announced, “Gentlemen,
to-morrow night we sleep in the enemy’s camp.”
Berry waited to hear no more. Here was the very opportunity for which
she had been waiting: to be of use to the cause for which Francis
was fighting. She quite forgot her reception at the Union camp that
morning of a week earlier as she realized how close at hand was the
attack upon them. She knew that no time must be lost. The night was
dark, and it would be no easy matter for her to find her way along
trails and over the streams, swollen by recent rains, that she must
cross to reach Pittsburg Landing. One clumsy step might plunge her
down the ravine, or into the muddy waters of the stream; but she did
not consider these things as she fearfully made her way from the
steadily moving sentinels about the sleeping army. Alert as they were,
they did not see or hear the little figure that slid from tree to tree
in the forest darkness; and Berry was soon on a shadowy trail that
would take her to the Corinth road leading to Pittsburg Landing.
Colonel Peabody, who commanded the first brigade of General Prentiss’s
division, had read the letter that Berry had given him; but, as
he believed it some sort of a hoax, gave it little attention.
Nevertheless he was vaguely uneasy that night of April fifth over the
safety of the camp, and, long after his companions were asleep he
paced about the plateau; and when a tired, panting little figure came
running toward him out of the shadows he stopped in amazement. Before
he could speak Berry was close beside him.
“I’m not a Southern boy; I’m a little Yankee girl from Vermont,”
she announced before the surprised officer could ask a question.
“And there are thousands of Confederate soldiers in Shiloh woods who
are going to march here early; perhaps they are coming now,” Berry
whispered, too tired to speak aloud. But she managed to answer the
officer’s sharp questions without faltering; and Colonel Peabody was
quickly convinced that this tired little girl had brought news that
might save the Pittsburg Landing camp from capture. He now realized
that the little figure beside him could hardly stand upright, and
lifting Berry in his arms he carried her to his tent and set her
gently down on his bed. “Rest here, brave little Yankee,” he said
kindly. “You have indeed proved your courage.”
Berry heard his words as if they were part of a dream; almost
instantly her eyes closed. Before she awoke the battle of Shiloh had
begun.
The morning of Sunday, April sixth, was already dawning as Colonel
Peabody hastened to dispatch five companies of soldiers down the
Corinth road. The divisions of McClernand, Prentiss and Sherman were
at once ready for action, while Generals Hurlburt and Wallace made
ready to defend the Landing. As the Union soldiers marched down the
Corinth road they were met by a rattling fire of musketry. It was
the advancing Confederates. Instantly the woods were alive with the
yells of the exultant Confederates. The Union generals, overwhelmed
by surprise, could only do their best to defend themselves. General
Sherman’s troops, with two batteries at Shiloh church, for a time held
off the foe. Sherman himself held his surprised troops to their task,
and was the chief figure on the Union side that day at Shiloh. General
W. H. Wallace moved his troops forward to Sherman’s assistance, but
the Union troops were forced steadily back toward the Landing, and by
afternoon the fate of the Union army was critical.
But at this crisis Nelson’s division, sent forward from General
Grant’s headquarters, arrived, and rushed upon the scene. Darkness
approached, and Beauregard called off his troops, confident that on
the morrow they could complete their triumph.
Next morning, however, the astounded Confederates beheld a new
enemy in the field: General Buell’s troops and those of General Lew
Wallace had arrived; and before Monday night the Confederate retreat
had begun. It was conducted with masterly order and precision. The
Confederates, winning the first day, were conquered only by the timely
arrival of Buell’s 25,000 fresh troops. But it is easy to picture
the disappointment of the brave Beauregard as he led his men back to
Corinth.
Berry had awakened to the roar of cannon, the reports of musketry, and
the calls of officers urging their men forward. She peered from the
tent door and wondered how she could ever again reach home. For the
first time she began to think of how troubled and anxious her mother
and father must be as they heard the reverberations of guns through
the ravines, and realized that a battle was under way, and discovered
that their little daughter was missing.
“But I couldn’t help it,” Berry whispered to herself, with a little
sob. “I had to come.” Her feet were nearly blistered, and she found it
difficult to walk, and crept back to the bed. It was nearly dusk when
a soldier stumbled into the tent, opened a box and muttered: “Here,
the Colonel said to give you a bite to eat,” and handed Berry some
hard crackers and strips of dried beef.
“There’s water in that jar,” he said, pointing to a stone jar on a
near-by table; and Berry drank thirstily.
“I want to go home!” she announced, turning toward where the soldier
had stood; but he had vanished. Berry again found herself alone. The
reports of artillery gradually ceased; darkness settled over the camp;
and the little girl, who had brought the news of the advancing enemy,
was apparently forgotten.