With the order to move forward, Company K was closest to the right wing of the regiment, in such a position that should the men of the company suddenly lose heart or turn the white feather, the whole regiment could collapse in sudden demoralization. The sergeants and corporals kept up the chatter and encouragements, but it would be up to James Campbell to set the tone for how the company behaved while in the line.
At the moment, James Campbell was hanging back in the rear of the company, reluctant to draw any closer to the line.
“Sir, Lieutenant; Lieutenant Campbell! Major Cameron is waving you over!” Phillip Leach was shouting.
James Campbell was stuck in his boots five paces from the rear of his company, too far back to be of any use or command and just watching the action across their front. He looked up vaguely at Leach’s repeated call, a look of incomprehension on his face.
Major Cameron had given the order to cease firing, but Company K, without orders from anyone else, was still firing at will. Sergeant Thomas Wade, trooping the company line right behind the rear rank, was in a quandary himself. Should he interfere or just let Campbell hang himself on his own? Wade knew his chief was a moral coward, but Campbell was still his superior and his friend.
“Sir, you need to order a cease-fire of the company!” Leach shouted.
James Campbell finally became aware of what Leach was saying and of Major Cameron storming toward him.
“Campbell, take command of your company!” Cameron hollered. “Cease fire, cease firing!”
Wade heard the order and looked once more at Campbell for approval, before finally rectifying the situation himself.
“Cease fire; load and come to the ready!” Wade and the other sergeants shouted to their squads.
Campbell tentatively moved closer to the company rear. The command to cease fire meant either that the regiment would soon be moving forward or that Major Cameron wanted to give the enemy some directed volleys.
Men were turning and looking for their lieutenant, then grimly at one another in reply to the unspoken question: was Campbell about to turn the white feather himself? Would this not be the time to break and run for the rear, escaping the flying lead or the whole mess of a war none of them wanted?
“Fire by company!” Cameron shouted.
The volley fire by company started at the right, with Company K third in line standing at shoulder arms and waiting for the next command.
“Stand . . . uh, stand at the ready,” Campbell called out in a quavering voice.
In response, each man was to pivot slightly with his left foot, drawing the right foot slightly to the rear, and in one motion bring the hammer back to half-cock and draw the musket butt into his right side, barrel pointing skyward. When it became his company’s turn to fire, the next two commands would initiate the rest of the order.
With a ringing volley, the company to Campbell’s right fired, and it remained but for him to give the order to aim and fire. The purpose of the order was to bowl the enemy over with a powerful blow, buffeting his line with successive punches instead of the randomized fire at will.
After another moment’s hesitation, Campbell gave the order to aim and fire, and the men of the company instinctively resumed the position of shoulder arms. While the company to their right was in the process of loading, Campbell stood in his position to the right of his company in the rear and didn’t budge or give the next order to load and come to the ready.
“Sir, Lieutenant?” Wade, seeing that something had to be done, stole up beside Campbell, dispensing with the customary salute. “Load and come to the ready?”
James Campbell was in a fright and about to render himself hors de combat. Wade could see it in his eyes. Though Campbell had always been the force that moved Wade about at home, when it came to matters of military concentration and discipline, his friend was not cut out to be an officer. Wade had known it for a long time. Campbell liked enforced deference to his rank and lording it over the former Peace Society men, but he was failing his first big chance to redeem his former failures to distinguish himself. Wade was still a little torn between making Campbell look good by covering for him or taking charge himself for the good of all and letting his old friend look bad.
Ultimately he might not have a choice. It was his skin too if Campbell didn’t come to and start giving proper orders. The company first sergeant, Pine, was technically the next in command, and he was near enough to see that Campbell was in a funk.
“Load . . . load, Sergeant, get the men to load,” Campbell replied as if making a suggestion.
First Sergeant Pine gave the order and set about to getting the other file closers to get the company going. A cheer erupted from the 33rd Mississippi as they sprang forward, charging toward the fence line now abandoned by the 101st Ohio as that regiment scampered back across the open field, leaving scores of dead and wounded along the now shattered fence posts.
“Sir, snap out of it!” Wade hissed at Campbell as he quickly turned to go back to his post at the far end of the company line. With the enemy leaving and the rest of the brigade about to come on line with the 3rd’s position, the whole brigade would soon charge across the meadow. Now the company officers would show their mettle to their superiors in urging their charges to move forward despite the missiles flying about them. It was the duty of the company commander to be front and center, ahead of his men when they moved forward. To be the one target that the enemy would want to knock down in order to demoralize the men he was leading. Officers would be promoted for their gallantry alone, for their fierceness in the face of death as they led their men into destruction.
In the face of such expectation, James Campbell stood as if distracted by something going on in some other world. He drew his hand to the guard of his sword several times as if to draw it and then let his hand fall before returning it again. He would need to force his way to the right of the company line and take his place in the front rank in a moment, but his feet refused to move.
James had never considered himself a coward, but through Shiloh, Woodsenville, and Perryville he’d never had to force his way to the front of the line and lead a forward movement into the face of the enemy. His place had always been in the rear of the line, and though this was not technically any safer than any other place on the battlefield, it at least allowed for illusions. In the rear there were always those unfortunates who would take the round for you.
“Lieutenant,” prodded First Sergeant Pine, “the regiment is going to move forward. Take your post, sir.”
As if the glue that held his feet fast had suddenly released, Campbell lifted his foot, and one step followed another until he found he was at his post, sword in hand.
* * *
The performance wasn’t lost on the members of Company K. David Grover and John Glenn, both in the front rank, nervously watched as Campbell took his position.
“Try to slip away when we hit them trees?” Glenn asked quietly. He nodded toward the cedars, still bristling with muskets. “If we make it that far?”
“If,” Grover replied.
“The coward’s gonna give us our best chance of getting away, God bless ’im,” Glenn said and nodded his head.
“The sergeants likely to shoot anyone lagging,” Grover replied.
Major Cameron shouted the command to forward march, and the regiment stepped off, Campbell reluctantly leading the way a pace or two in front of the company. The enemy had two choices: stand and fight at close quarters or retreat. The 101st Ohio had left a trail of dead and wounded in their wake as they retreated in confusion upon the rest of their brigade sheltering in the cedars. Several stands of colors showed the regiments gathered there, with two batteries of artillery that continued to belch fire, now firing canister into the oncoming Confederates.
The cold had been forgotten: the men were sweating, and despite the billows of their breath coming out as quickly fading mist, it might as well have been high summer. Ears still stung with the biting of the wind,
fingers still felt clumsy and stiff, noses still ran and felt numb, but every man felt the trickle of sweat running down his temples, over his cheeks, and down his neck, soaking collars and bringing some slight relief to the heat of fear.
But a moment passed before the enemy formations in the cedars broke, running through the dense thickets and vanishing from view. Major Cameron ordered the double-quick, and the regiment broke into a jog and covered the remaining distance in a flash. Three cannon lay abandoned, the ground in front of them littered with fuses and gunners struck down by shrapnel or rifle fire. Behind the guns lay a writhing mass of Union blue, soldiers in their thick light blue overcoats lying where they had fallen or crawling away to find peace enough to die.
Men under arms were still trying to scramble away when the 3rd Confederate entered the trees, with men and officers trying to rally. A general struggling to move his mount through the trees was forcefully reined in. Another general lay propped up against a tree some distance from the firing line surrounded by his staff, and the entire command staff of the 101st Ohio was under the guard of the 33rd Alabama. All these sights were but a blur as Cameron urged the regiment forward in pursuit of the retreating Yankees.
Campbell was still stiffly leading his company forward, with none of the bravado or shouts expected to urge the men on, just a muted forward thrust of his sword as the company dodged trees and underbrush and the inevitable low-lying rocks that grew just as thickly as the cedars in the thickets.
Amid the now quieted scene, souvenir hunters were picking through the dead and wounded Yankees, along with those interested in giving aid to the stricken. As the regiment entered the trees, confusion set in as the company formation was lost in the natural obstacle of the thicket. John Glenn grabbed hold of David Grover and stopped, letting the company formation pass by them. There were plenty of Confederates milling about, and two more privates standing attracted no attention.
Almost.
Glenn and Grover were winded, and they halted by a cedar tree, pockmarked with holes and deep chips taken from its bark and outer skin, leaving the tender white of the inner layers exposed. Incredibly, armed Yankees were still crawling out from the piles of wounded to make their escape, and one man almost plowed into David as he ran, looking wild-eyed at the two men for a moment before tearing off through the trees. Other Confederates were chasing down individuals as they ran or marching those who’d surrendered into the field the regiments had just crossed.
“What now?” Grover whispered.
“Make our way . . . toward enemy lines,” Glenn replied between heaves for breath.
“What about Leach and Meeks?” Grover asked. Leach even David could do without, but John Meeks? He did not want to abandon his friend so blithely.
“Damn Leach, he on his own; Meeks too,” Glenn replied bitterly.
“Not John. Leach can be on his own, but we need to see if John can slip away with us,” Grover replied.
“John’s under they eyes, he’ll not be able to. An’ besides, we’d have to go back up that way to find him now.” Glenn motioned in the direction the regiment had taken, where sounds of intense firing erupted again. “You want to go back to that?”
“We said we’d do this together, and that mean everyone.” Grover fixed Glenn with an intense glare. “Even Leach.”
“You mad? We get separated, we look like two soldiers finding they way back. Get five of us movin’ together, we look like deserters or skulkers, an’ some provost gonna drag us back in irons. We not goin’ anywhere if that happens.”
David Grover looked around him, trying to find anything to delay his answer and think of a reason to dispute Glenn’s summation of their chances. It would not be much longer before they were missed from the ranks, and less so before someone with gold stars on his collar noticed two perfectly healthy infantrymen not doing anything but avoiding the fight.
“We go, then,” Grover conceded. It wasn’t lost on him that Glenn had prevented Phillip Leach from doing exactly what he was advocating right now—going on his own. But what else could they do?
Keeping the rumble of artillery and musket fire to their right, the two men picked their way south through the cedars, all the while tripping over dead and wounded Yankees. Artillery horses stood idle in the middle of the trees, abandoned by their drivers and relieved of their harnesses, the guns they should have pulled away now standing silent at the cedar’s edge. The animals stood in a group, unconcerned any longer with the affairs of men and battle, waiting for someone to come along and lead them away. Relieved of their traces, they each had a bit and bridle but no saddle.
Glenn took a good hard look at the beasts.
“Be more conspicuous, don’t ya think?” Grover stated.
“Get us out of the fighting faster, find a way around our army an’ into theirs.”
“Grover?” a voice nearby called out, startling the two men. They had thought themselves alone.
A few yards away a man lay against a cedar tree, propped up and wearing gray.
“Leach?” Grover replied and took a step toward the man. He was shot through the right shoulder, a bloodstain reddening his overcoat.
“You . . . you slipped away?” Leach sputtered.
“Yes, after we hit the trees. You seen Meeks?”
“No, not seen John since before we moved this morning. You . . . you gonna try it? You gonna try to get away?”
Leach was pale, his right arm cradled in his lap. One could imagine the broken bones, the torn flesh that presented underneath the wool of his overcoat and tunic. He was breathing in short, gurgling bursts, and his lips were red with blood.
John Glenn stood over Leach, looking fiercely at the man. He would have shot him himself last night had he the opportunity, but someone had taken care of that already.
“You din’t tell Campbell or Thomas we was going to slip away?” Glenn asked.
Leach looked up at the man literally standing in judgment over him, arms folded and face stern.
“No, you?”
“What the hell that supposed to mean?” Glenn snapped and dropped his arms quickly, clenching his hands into fists as if ready to use them for landing blows.
“John, you know that not true.” Grover warded Glenn off with a sweep of his right arm. “No one revealed the corn, an’ you know that.”
“You . . . you think . . . you think I done something to . . . to you?” Leach shivered and spilled more blood down his lips and onto his chin as he tried to get the words out.
“Yes, yes I do. I kep’ you from gettin’ away before, an’ you told Wade that we was planning to seek the rights. That’s what I think,” Glenn replied angrily.
“You . . . you can go to hell, John. I . . . I not tell a soul.”
Leach put his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes as his breathing became more labored, knowing for all the world that his shot at deserting was done.
David Grover looked over at Glenn and just shook his head. Glenn had always been the hothead of the group, the most prone to taking rash action or belligerent stances when things went against him. But this was too much—to accuse a dying man, a compatriot. “No one said anything to anyone, so just let it go.”
“Well, come on, let’s get him—” Glenn started when the sounds of horse hooves clopping through the underbrush sounded close. A group of artillerymen were making for the abandoned horses.
“You there, get that man to the clearing and get back to your commands,” a lieutenant called out. “Get those mounts back to the battery and on the limbers. We pull that Parrot rifle along.”
Glenn dropped his head quickly and huffed an angry exhalation. Grover was already leaning down to help Leach to his feet. Dejected and glaring again at Leach, Glenn stomped off toward where they had come, leaving Grover to manhandle Leach by himself.
As the artillerists busied themselves with the horses, Grover took one last look at what might have been their best hope of getting away and stumbled slowly alo
ng with his burden.
Chapter 14
Surrounded
A collection of wounded formed in the open field, Yankee and Confederate waiting for the sawbones to come along and relieve them of important but now useless limbs. Grover found Glenn standing at the edge of the cedar brake looking disgustedly at the activity.
General Wood and his staff were gathered nearby, in heated debate about continuing on. Wood’s was the smallest brigade in Cleburne’s division, meant only to be thrown into the fight as reinforcement, and now they had expended many of their number early on by the commanding general’s orders. Ammunition was already low.
John Meeks stood back from the group of officers, waiting for the next order to send him off, when he saw Glenn emerge from the cedars looking fit and trim for the world.
Starting toward Glenn, he stopped a brief moment when Grover and Leach emerged from the trees a few yards further away, and he quickened his step to reach them.
“Over here,” John called out and quickly closed the distance to give David a hand. Leach was only half-conscious, his head lolling to and fro as David made each painful step along. There was little way to help Phillip Leach along that wasn’t going to jostle him.
“John, give me a hand here,” Meeks called to Glenn.
Glenn acquiesced and stiffly moved to get behind Leach to hold his chest while the other two grabbed one leg each. The Confederate wounded were being laid out in a line with surgeons and assistants looking over each one in turn. The Yankees were also being carried out of the wood by volunteers but laid out separately.
“What you doin’ back here?” John Meeks asked under his breath.
“Was about to light out when we was seen,” Grover replied.
River of Blood (Shiloh Series Book 4) Page 21