by Ginny Dye
Captain Jones cleared his throat. “The general has ordered a night attack. You’re going to spread out. Our orders are to charge through the woods with our bayonets and strike down the enemy where we find him. We’re to march forward until we join up with our other divisions on the turnpike.” Sharpness and compassion merged in his voice.
Moses listened grimly, envisioning the chaos that would reign in these woods where there was no light to reveal their path or their targets. His heart pounded but determination steeled his nerves.
Captain Jones turned to him. “Moses, I want you to take your men with the first line. Make sure your guns are loaded.” His voice sharpened. “There is to be no reloading after the first firing. Our orders are to take the area by bayonet. Indiscriminate firing in the darkness could end up killing more of our own men than the Rebels.”
“Yes, sir!” Moses responded promptly.
It took only a few minutes for all his men to assemble. “Form a straight line,” Moses ordered quietly. “Make sure your guns are loaded but do not reload.” He paused. “Keep moving forward,” he finished grimly.
The orders were passed down the line in hushed voices. Secrecy was paramount in this lunatic plan.
Moses shivered as the darkness pressed in around him. The hush was so complete he had to convince himself he was not alone; that there were really thousands of men forming a battle line. Every muscle in his body drew taut as he awaited the signal.
“Forward.” The hushed voice sounded loud.
Moses shouldered his gun and stepped out purposefully. Now that the time was here he was calm, his eyes searching the murky night before him. Within minutes, he left the sheltering protection of the woods behind. Nearly two hundred yards of open space stretched before him.
“God help us,” floated to him in a hushed whisper.
Moses mouthed a silent Amen and pressed forward. He sensed prayers going up all around him as the shadow of the woods loomed closer. He could barely discern the outline of the entrenchments. His breath quickened as he waited for the first flash of musketry fire from the watching Confederates. They were letting them draw near to be more certain of their aim. At twenty paces his troops would fire their volley. Moses tightened his hold on his gun. Many of his men would fall under the barrage of fire, but some of them would get through. He could only hope it would be enough of them.
The anticipated volley of fire never came. The entrenchments rose before him but then disappeared.
“Moses?” came a tentative whisper.
“Forward,” spoke Moses in firm response as he surged into the thicket and tried to ignore the thorny bushes grasping for him. The Rebels may have chosen not to occupy the fringe of the woods, but they were ahead somewhere.
“Halt! Who go’s there?”
“Forward!” Moses yelled as a Rebel sentry sounded the call. Raising his rifle, Moses aimed in the direction of the challenge and fired. Musketry exploded all around him as men yelled, shouted hurrah, and surged forward.
Robert sipped a cup of cold coffee as he stared into the distance. The spirits of the men surrounding him were high. The Confederate forces had taken some terrible hits, but the day had been a wild success. Stonewall Jackson had again done the impossible by swinging all the way around Hooker’s massive army and achieving a complete rout. Word had reached them that Hooker had been completely confused by their Southern feint, evidently believing they were retreating. With the exception of a few slight skirmishes, there had been no attack on Lee’s tiny force facing the Federals.
“Can I join you, Captain?”
Robert glanced up and then nodded. “Help yourself, Crocker.” He filled his own cup with more cold brew and then poured a cup for the boy sinking down beside him. “How old are you?” Robert asked suddenly.
“Turned seventeen last month,” Crocker said proudly. “My mama wouldn’t let me fight till then. I signed up the next day.”
“This your first fight?”
“Yep. I guess we really gave it to them!” Crocker said fiercely. “I reckon they’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Don’t count on it,” Robert said laconically. “We hit them pretty hard today, but I don’t think it was enough to turn them back.”
“But surely you believe it was a victory for our side,” Crocker protested.
Robert could almost see his green eyes flashing in the dark. A pale moon filtered down through the towering trees and caused the drifting smoke to swirl in a milky dance. “I’ll agree that we came out on the better side of this one,” he finally said, then paused. “We’ll know how many men we lost when it’s all done. Whatever the number is, it will be more than we could afford to lose.” He fell silent for a long moment. “Sometimes the cost of victory is stunningly high.” He shook his head in the darkness. He should be offering encouragement, but the sight of the bodies strewn in the clearing after the artillery smoke had faded away continued to haunt him.
“You think we’re gonna win this war, Captain Borden?” Crocker asked, the fierce defiance in his voice subdued.
Robert rebuked himself and managed to instill confidence in his voice. “The Yankees don’t stand a chance, Crocker. They will be sorry they ever came down here.”
He could feel the boy straighten. “Yeah!”
Robert was glad the dark hid his skepticism. Whatever his own doubts, it was criminal for him not to send each man in his command forward with as much confidence as he could. When a man advanced on a battlefield, all he had to propel him forward was his own inner conviction that he might just come out of this one alive. As captain, it was Robert’s job to help instill courage and hope in his men. Never mind that he hated being in this position. Never mind that he struggled daily to find within himself his own courage and hope.
“Captain Borden, sir.”
Robert drained the last bit of his coffee and looked up. “Yes?”
“General Jackson would like you to report to his tent, sir.”
Minutes later, Robert joined the small group of men surrounding their commander’s tent. “What’s going on?” he asked one of the men, the darkness making it impossible to determine who he was talking to.
“The general has decided he wants to check things out on the front,” came the quiet reply. “He’s heard rumors the Federals are getting ready to make a charge down the road from Chancellorsville. He doesn’t want to lose any of the advantage we gained today.”
“He’s going to order a night attack?”
“Who knows what he’s going to do? Some of his staff have already warned him it’s pretty risky to move toward the front right now. It’s too dark to be able to tell much. But...”
Robert smiled in spite of the foreboding filling him. “But you know the general. If he thinks something will advance the cause and give him an advantage, he will do whatever it takes.”
Just then a pale light spilled into the clearing as General Jackson strode from his tent, his immediate aides following him, and mounted his mare that he called Little Sorrel. Robert, as always, was mystified that such a non-imposing man could indeed be so imposing. His careless dress and posture concealed the rock hard intensity of Jackson’s drive and passion.
No one spoke as the small contingent eased forward in the darkness. Robert was alert to every sound as Granite stepped forward confidently, his gray ears pricked forward in readiness. Thoughts of Carrie on her Thoroughbred and laughing defiantly as she raced across the pastures of Cromwell Plantation rose to taunt him. Firmly he pushed them aside. They belonged to another time - another day. Wondering whether the South would ever again know a time so carefree would do him no good now. He must take care of the business at hand.
Just what that business was he wasn’t sure. It was obvious he had been selected to help protect the general as he inspected the state of events. Practicality demanded acknowledgement that pitch black darkness combined with unknown, rough territory would make any kind of protection almost impossible. Robert understood why the gene
ral’s staff had attempted to dissuade him from his action.
A sudden spattering of gunfire in the distance caused him to jolt upright in his saddle. Granite tensed and swung his massive head in an attempt to find the location of the trouble.
“What the....?” Robert muttered.
Moses stumbled and almost fell as the ground sloped away from him. His shoulder slammed into a tree, arresting his forward movement as pain shot through his body. Gripping his gun tighter with his bayonet pointed in readiness, Moses gritted his teeth and continued to push on. “Forward!” he yelled again defiantly.
Quickly he realized the darkness was just as much an enemy as the Rebel forces. The ground they were fighting through was rough and wooded. Hills gave way suddenly to wet ravines, murky and stagnant. Trees mingled with thorny thickets, ripping at flesh as well as clothing. Sweat poured down his face as he struggled to see beyond the next tree.
Finally a line of entrenchments sprang into view. “Forward!” he hollered. He could feel his men moving beside him, but there was no way of knowing how many he had lost in the dark chaos. Far to the right, a burst of fire exploded from an entrenchment. He could hear the screams of wounded men as they fell. Setting his lips, he scrambled over an entrenchment, his bayonet thrusting forward. A sigh of relief burst from him as he realized whatever Rebels had lain in wait there had already fled before the attack.
“What now, Moses?” a voice rang from the darkness.
“We continue forward,” he yelled instantly. “Our orders were to keep moving. That’s what we’re going to do!”
Just then a volley of shots rang out in the distance.
“Get down,” Moses yelled, sensing danger before he could identify it.
“I’m hit!” one of his men yelled.
“They got me!” another yelled.
Moses spun around in confusion. There had been no flash of guns in front of them. Where were the shots coming from? A flash from the rear confirmed his worst fears. The second line, just entering the woods, had begun to fire. They were being shot down by their own men.
“Stop shooting!” he screamed.
Seconds later his voice was joined by a hundred others. “Stop firing below! You are firing on us!”
The firing continued, joined sporadically by Rebels fighting to hold their positions. Moses frantically considered his options. The lack of resistance thus far would indicate pushing onward was safer than waiting like sitting ducks to be shot down by their own men. “Forward!” he yelled again. “Forward!” He sucked in gulps of air as he stumbled forward and lurched up another crest of ground.
Suddenly the crest erupted into flame. “Down!” Moses slammed himself to the ground as the hail of lead flew overhead. Its ominous whistle was not accompanied by cries from any of his men. Moses sagged in relief. The Rebel bullets, shot too high, had passed over harmlessly.
“Let’s get ‘em!” a hoarse voice hollered from the right.
Moses smiled grimly, realizing his men were out for blood. Other voices rose to join the defiant cry as his men burst forward over the entrenchment. Fierce screams mingled with desperate cries. Cracking brush joined with heavy thuds.
Moses gritted his teeth as a dark shape loomed before him. He thrust his bayonet forward with all his strength. He heard a stricken moan and then felt a heavy weight at the end of his rifle. Hardening himself against the sick feeling of revulsion, he snatched back his bayonet, leapt over the fallen Rebel, and continued to press forward.
The concept of humanity had been swallowed by the reality and necessity of survival.
Robert peered through the darkness as the distant spattering of fire died away. Suddenly a volley of fire exploded from the woods on the immediate right of their position. Taking scant comfort from kmowing his enemies could see no better than he, Robert snatched his rifle to his shoulder and fired in the general direction of the sound.
“It’s the Yanks!” one of his party cried, then cursed under his breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Robert had already spun Granite around, but he paused now to make sure General Jackson was safe. Staring into the darkness, he could just make out the shape of Jackson’s horse dancing in fright.
“Back to our lines!” another man cried.
There would be no more reconnaissance work that night. The Federals, humiliated by the earlier rout, were obviously using the cover of night to wreak their vengeance. They had advanced far into the Confederate lines.
Assured that all their party was together, Robert urged Granite into a gallop, heading left for the shelter of the woods. Just then the misty ground-cover dissipated, allowing more of the overhead moon to illuminate the road.
“Yankee Cavalry!”
Robert stiffened as the warning call was shouted from the shadowy perimeters. He opened his mouth to yell protest, but his words were swallowed in the explosion of gunfire. Chaos erupted as their own troops fired point blank into their advancing party.
“Stop firing!” Robert screamed, an instinctive reaction to the horror unfolding before his eyes. “Stop firing!”
Major Simpson, riding just feet from his position, gave an unearthly cry and toppled from his saddle. Ten feet over, another figure slumped and slid from his horse. Granite plunged to a halt then reared in protest at the onslaught of fire. Robert grabbed his mane and leaned forward, lying low against his neck. Turning his head, he watched as Jackson’s horse, frantic with fright raced straight toward the woods then broke again to the rear.
Robert groaned as Jackson lurched in the saddle then slumped forward. He had been hit! The general’s horse, uncontrollable now, dashed into a stand of trees. Jackson, unable to control his mount, was smashed in the face by an overhanging limb. Robert watched, helpless to intervene, as another horse dashed through the woods and approached Jackson. The general was toppling from his saddle as the man reached out and caught his lanky body.
Robert groaned and spurred Granite onward, mindless of the danger. “General Jackson is with us. Quit firing! You’ve hit the general!”
The firing ceased, but distant argument and cursing indicated it could start up again any second. Robert sagged in his saddle then turned back to see what he could do. Moments later Yankee artillery again split the night with fire and destruction. Robert groaned as more of his party fell from their horses, screaming and moaning in pain. Was there going to be no end to this night?
“Fall back to the left!” Moses hollered. Ducking low, he darted to the left, uncertain as to how many men in his unit were still with him in the dark chaos. If his men could circle around the entrenchment blocking the Rebels’ way, maybe the North could surprise them from the rear. Suddenly a spattering of fire opened from directly in front of him. Seconds later, shooting erupted from the right. Moses stopped, totally confused.
“Who’s who?” screamed a frightened voice behind him.
Moses shook his head, his mind swarming. Who was the enemy? Who was on their side? He realized with a sinking heart that he wasn’t sure of their location or even which direction they were supposed to be headed. The obscure labyrinth of ravines and hillocks, of dwarfed thickets and giant trees, combined with the deadly crescendo of gunfire, had completely bewildered him. “Stay down!” he yelled frantically, trying desperately to make some sense of the nightmare he was living.
Moses groaned as he heard some of his men - at least he thought they were his men - scream in agony but then fall silent. The dark forest was becoming its own cemetery. Gunfire sounded from all directions. He could see no more than ten feet in either direction. He cringed as a nearby explosion of bullets struck the trees surrounding him.
“Good Lord, man. What we gonna do now?”
Moses heaved a sigh of relief as Pompey crawled up next to him. He had no answer to his question, but it was good to know he wasn’t totally alone. “Our men?”
“Ain’t no way of knowin’ where they be or how many still be livin’,” Pompey gasped. “I reckon we be in a
mess sho nuff!”
“We don’t move till we have some idea what we’re moving into,” Moses said sternly, then hugged the ground more tightly as another barrage of lead passed overhead. Groans of the wounded, distant orders and curses, the whistling and roaring of guns, the crackling of branches, and the thunder of artillery all joined together in one diabolical crescendo.
Suddenly there was a break in the fire to the right. Moses reacted instinctively. If they were running toward Rebels, they would at least be giving chase and obeying the order to keep moving forward. If they were Federals, they could find out where they were and what was going on. “Forward!” Moses cried, springing up, dashing toward the darkened area, and holding his bayonet in readiness. He could hear men crashing through the brush behind him, but there was no way of knowing how many there were. He could be moving into more danger than he had already been in. Sucking in his breath, Moses charged over the entrenchment and expected at any moment to have gunfire explode in his face. Only dark emptiness met his searching eyes. “Whoever it was took off!” he crowed triumphantly, relief causing him to sag against a tree.
“What now, Moses?”
Moses looked around to see about fifty of his men gathered in the clearing with him. He grinned, relieved to see so many of them still alive. “I guess we keep moving forward, boys.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a rough voice snapped. A tall figure strode from the woods.
Moses tensed, holding his bayonet in position. “Who goes there?” he barked.
“Lieutenant Jamison,” the shadow snapped back. “I’m on your side. You and your boys are headed right into a Confederate trap. They’ve already captured hundreds of our men out there on the road. You’d better get the devil out of here.”
Moses peered over to the right. Was the man telling him the truth? Captain Jones had ordered him to continue advancing no matter what.
“Who are you, soldier?” the lieutenant asked sharply.