“Ride, ride and rally in the rear; rally on the general!” Mix shouted to those who were still running with him. Some had found their mounts but were waiting for orders. These were men who could be counted on in any emergency, but today their sense of decorum might cost them their freedom or their lives.
“Go, go, go on, ride!” Mix shouted as he reached his mount, held by a corporal. “Rally on the general!”
Mix had no idea where Stanley was, but it was a good bet he was in the rear, having beaten everyone else there once the 15th Pennsylvania fell apart.
Mix swung himself up, not bothering to look back. He gave his mount a wicked kick with his heels, and the horse leaped forward with a jolt. A shaky line of blue was forming by a tree line four hundred yards away; if he could make it, he would be safe. A few shouts of “Surrender, Yankee bastards!” sounded behind him as Confederates caught up to the hindmost trying to gain their mounts. Several pistol shots accompanied the angered replies of, “Go to hell!”
The 7th Pennsylvania and 2nd Indiana were the only regiments still in control over their formations, the 7th having retreated in order and the 2nd held in reserve. They had formed a phalanx to receive the enemy once their compatriots cleared the way. Mix didn’t care at the moment; he just wanted to get out of the way and find better ground to rally upon. Sergeant Haas, his guidon bearer, rode beside him, the company guidon fluttering loudly above the man’s head as he dutifully held it upright. It was his job to always mark the position of the commander, and wherever he was, the battalion would look to reform upon him.
“Hang on!” Mix shouted. Haas was a stocky man, the perfect cavalryman. Short and built, he had a barrel chest that heaved breathlessly as he coaxed his mount on with his left hand while holding the guidon steady with his right. In a fight, he was the most vulnerable.
The command was being formed in front of a slight rise of ground that fairly bristled with carbines as troopers took advantage of the military slope of the hill, hunkering down to prop themselves over the edge and fire across the field at the onrushing Confederate horsemen. The way was not yet wholly clear of fleeing men. Colonel Minty was there to receive Captain Mix as he and his guidon bearer crested the rise and plunged down the other side into a crowd of troopers.
“Captain, reform your battalion and fall in next to the 15th Michigan!” Colonel Minty said calmly after Mix offered a hurried salute and before he could offer any formal report. “General Stanley wants to give them a countercharge.”
Minty ended his instructions with a salute and then moved his horse out of the throng of harried troopers still trying to sort themselves out. Mounts had to be turned about, and even if an animal wasn’t already excited or agitated that could take a little while. With a host of skittish and wounded animals, it was a chore. Angry shouts and curses followed, with troopers jarring at the reins, kicking with spurs, and nudging their way into open spots.
Carbine fire now rang out from those men of the dismounted 7th Pennsylvania and 2nd Indiana lying prone on the slope of the hill. General Stanley was in amidst the flighty men of the 15th Pennsylvania, bringing some courage back into them, when Mix took station on their right with his guidon bearer and signaled for his 4th Michigan to fall in on him.
Artillery rounds were already beginning to fall around the slope of the hill, but the high ground concealed enough of their movements to hide from view their small but determined concentration of horsemen. The 15th Pennsylvania was still scattered about, some not bothering to stop past the rally point, and these continued on through the fields, some fifty to sixty rallying on their commanders. The rest General Stanley had dismounted and set about to halt the enemy advance.
“Sir.” Mix approached Stanley and saluted. “Colonel Minty ordered my battalion to report to you directly.”
“We’re going to countercharge these bastards, Captain. I’ll be leading the way. Colonel Minty will bring up the 1st Middle with him to follow behind us,” General Stanley stated. As he spoke, he moved his mount to the center of the 15th Pennsylvania. Together, the remnants of the 15th and Mix’s 4th barely formed a respectable half-regiment to go charging into the whole brigade-sized Rebel force bearing down upon them. But charge they would.
Mix took his station in front of his 4th Michigan and waited for the general to signal the way forward. Calling over his shoulder, Mix shouted “Draw sabers!” The gratifying sound of steel scraping against scabbards sounded from behind. An old-fashioned saber charge, Mix thought to himself. Hopefully this would not be a recreation of Uxbridge’s Heavy Cavalry charge into Napoleon’s infantry and light cavalry at Waterloo, a maneuver which had ended in a bloody repulse for both the Household and Union cavalry brigades. The odds, he reflected, were about the same.
Chapter 18
O Blessed Night
“The chase is on, boys! The chase is on!” Will shouted. He pointed with the tip of his saber toward the scattering 15th Pennsylvania horsemen. They charged, and the 1st Alabama struck the 15th hard, emptying a few saddles as they slashed across the front of the 15th and sabers rang with blow and counterblow. The 15th had already started to peel away even before the 1st Alabama closed in, and those men who weren’t going to turn tail turned dead or prisoner.
The Federal cavalry regiments next in line also peeled off, leaving those on foot at the mercy of anyone who could collar a man as he ran. Without order or direction, many in the 1st Alabama rushed off to cut down as many as they could. As the 15th Pennsylvania and 3rd Kentucky raced back across the field, the rest of the 1st Alabama raced after, the regiment already in a disorganized state.
Following behind came the two battalions of the 51st Alabama, with Colonel Webb keeping a tighter rein. His regiment remained in battle line as they advanced at a healthy trot.
Will Hunter, caught up in the chase, only saw fleeing blue bellies to catch, and perhaps for long moments he let go of decorum and the need to keep a formation of his troop. Many had already sped off after the dismounted 4th Michigan and 1st Middle Tennessee. It was easy to get carried away when the appearance of the enemy was nothing but individual horseman all fleeing madly, the force of the charge moving into what would surely be a long chase with the enemy melting away. Flush with the prospect of riding far into the enemy rear and causing mischief, the troops of the 1st Alabama had lost their bearing, and Will found himself and half of his troop riding on the far left flank of the regiment as the enemy riders disappeared over a hill.
Having instinctively cut across the field, Will’s troop had cut off many of the hindmost of the 4th Michigan and 1st Middle Tennessee as they gained their mounts and tried to join the retreat. Now many who had yet to make it across were braving the gauntlet of foes. Several passed by Will, whipping their mounts savagely. Others, less intent on being shot in the back or sabered as they passed, were surrendering, but Will found himself and twenty of his command alone, the rest of the regiment occupied in rounding up fugitives or reining to a halt.
Colonel Webb brought his 51st Alabama through the scattered ranks of the 1st and took up a position on the right of what should have been a solid line of cavalry stretching across the field. Will swung around, looking for Colonel Allen’s guidon. It was there, behind him, but Allen was not. Major William Lowery stood with the banner. Allen was down.
“Rally on me, rally on me!” Will shouted. He moved his mount to the rear as other troops began to form a loose line. This was the dangerous time for any troop or regiment: rallying in the face of the enemy and trying to gather in scattered troopers. Alone or in small groups, the men were vulnerable to flight or light resistance. Together they might stand a charge and repulse it.
The troop formations were also off. Will’s troop should have been second from the right in battalion line or third from the middle in regimental line. Now he found himself rallying his scattered troop on the far left. The individual troopers knew their role was to empty enemy saddles, but in a regiment, the troop position mattered to the movements a
nd dispositions of the entire regiment—and Will’s troop was not where it was supposed to be. Enemy fire whizzed through the ranks, and the troops hurriedly forming line would not be given the chance to fall in properly.
As Will corralled his troop into a short, single line, the enemy broke into view from behind the hill in a wild but directed charge straight upon him. With individual troopers still coming up from the rear to find their places, the enemy charge aimed to sweep down on their open flank in a solid wall of blue and charging horse. Will was still several tens of yards in advance of the rest of the still scattered regiment when the enemy came on in two lines, lines that seemed to spread across the whole field. Will didn’t take the time to assess his position.
“Fall back, fall back; go!” Will shouted. He turned his horse about and dug his heels into its flanks to spur it into a gallop. His men followed. They didn’t need much encouragement to get out of the way.
As Will’s troop cleared the path, the other troops of the 1st Alabama found they were next in line to receive the impetuous charge of the 4th Michigan and the 15th Pennsylvania in a retaliatory tit for tat.
“Fall in, fall into line; single file!” Major Lowery barked. Lowery moved his mount back and forth behind the gathering line as troopers danced their mounts into formation.
The enemy charge rolled up the 1st Alabama one troop at a time as the Federals took them in the flank.
“Bugler, sound to the rear! To the rear!” Colonel Webb shouted, turning his mount about. He wasn’t going to wait to have his 51st Alabama scattered. In an orderly movement, the 51st turned about and trotted away.
After retreating one hundred yards, Webb halted at a fence line.
“Dismount troops I, G, A, and D on the fence!” Webb shouted. “B and E troops in the saddle!”
Will had seen the fence on his trip across the field, but with the blow falling on the enemy, he had passed it with little thought to stick around. This time it was troops in gray who filled the field with fleeing horsemen. A thundering of hooves and shouts converged to ring chaos in Will’s ears. Back across the field he went, passing Major Lowery, who was trying to pull to a halt to rally the 1st Alabama next to the 51st at the fence. Will gave one more look over his shoulder and kept his mount racing to the rear, a gaggle of Federal troopers hot on his tail. A fusillade of carbine fire rang out from behind, the 51st giving the enemy a volley.
Seeing that he couldn’t reform at the fence to support the 51st, Lowery shouted, “To the rear, 1st Alabama to the rear!”
Looking pitifully small, the 1st Alabama rode another hundred yards behind the 51st.
“Sound the halt!” Lowery shouted to his bugler. They formed a single line to stretch midway across the open field.
At the first volley from the 51st, Will’s pursuers broke off their chase and turned about, leaving him and his troop thanking their lucky stars. Seeing Lowery forming to support the retreat of the 51st, Will shouted, “On me!” and rode back up the field.
Will counted who was left in his troop. Twenty troopers had returned. The remainder could have scattered into the woods earlier in the chase for Unionists, or else they might be fleeing from them.
The 1st Alabama stood in ragged formation with pistols drawn. They might have preferred to fire carbines while mounted, but the task was rendered more difficult by flighty horses now exhausted by two trips up and down the field.
“Here they come,” Will said as the 51st Alabama streamed back from the fence and rode in tolerable formation with the enemy cautiously following. Will looked to Lowery to see if he might be contemplating a spoiling charge, but he looked content just to maintain a solid front and dare the enemy to come close enough for him to loose a fusillade of fire.
A thundering of hooves shook the ground as Webb’s 51st raced beyond Lowery’s thin line of troopers and swung around to form another defensive line. His troopers did not look to be in a panic, easily riding their mounts while scattered shots sung overhead as the enemy reined to a halt and started popping off wild pistol and carbine shots at Lowery’s line.
Lowery was holding his hand up as if prepared to give a command. With pistols cocked and aimed at the Yankees, their line within easy pistol reach, Lowery hesitated. The Yankees seemed to have had enough of the chase. With yells and cracks of leather against horse hide, the Yankees turned about, trotting off unmolested. A quiet descended save for the clopping of hooves and the occasional horse’s snort.
Will regarded the 51st Alabama and felt a little shame at how the 1st had failed to acquit themselves. Colonel Webb was nowhere to be seen as the 51st took station next to the 1st. He was probably working up a lather in General Wheeler’s presence right now about how the 1st Alabama had left him high and dry, Will surmised. There would be some hard feelings between the two commands until such time as the 51st might be in need of rescuing.
At the moment, Will didn’t care so much about that. There was one bright note: with Allen off the field, perhaps he might keep his command a little longer. That was something to celebrate.
* * *
Captain Mix was beginning to think the tide was turning. His troops had been swept from the field, but now they were sweeping the enemy back. Mix had recalled his overzealous troopers before they could get too far down the field, but brigade commander Minty had other ideas. It only took Mix a few minutes to reestablish his troops into formation, and he waited for Minty to give the next order.
“Forward, move forward!” Colonel Minty shouted and waved Mix’s 4th Michigan and the 1st Middle Tennessee ahead as the 1st Alabama retreated.
“Forward, at the double-quick!” Mix shouted and gave a wave of his saber. Minty was going to throw his troopers into the enemy before they had time to settle in, even though one of the Confederate regiments was halted behind a sturdy line of fence railing. Mix’s men bore down on the still-retreating 1st Alabama, and the 1st Middle Tennessee did the same upon the 51st Alabama behind the fence. The 1st Alabama wasn’t stopping, but the 1st Middle was about to storm into a solid wall of lead. Mix was glad he wasn’t bearing down upon that fence himself, and he wondered how the 1st Middle would handle it.
He stopped wondering as the first furious fusillade of fire rang out. Then the Confederates he’d been pursuing halted, turned, and likewise opened fire with pistols. The enemy had let him get close—close enough to shoot. They banged away and it was his turn to come up short and fall back.
The fence had been torn down in places, but some sections of the split railing stood, and from behind these, dismounted troopers of the 51st Alabama poured carbine fire into the charging Union horse.
“Forward! Charge them again, work around their flank,” Colonel Minty rode up to Mix long enough to shout before moving on to Colonel Rosengarten of the 15th Pennsylvania as the 1st Middle Tennessee fell back.
Twice Minty brought the commands up short and turned about to come charging once more, but the return fire was galling. Unlike long-arm muskets, the carbines could be quickly loaded and fired. No good at a great distance, they were deadly up to two hundred yards, and even in the hands of a disorganized enemy the fire had its effect. Men were falling out or having horses cut down from underneath them so rapidly that Minty gave up on direct assaults. He’d hold the Confederates in place and try working into their rear.
By now enough of the 15th Pennsylvania had rejoined their command that it resembled a regiment once again, and with Mix’s battalion, the two units formed double lines and advanced through the fire of the 51st Alabama once more, passing through sections of the fence line further to the left. They didn’t need to rush it: the mere act of moving by the open flank of the Confederates was enough to force his hand, and the enemy began to pull back. Having gotten into their rear, Minty advanced the two units at a trot, keeping their advance parallel with the retreat of the enemy until they came within two hundred yards of the reformed 1st Alabama.
Enemy troopers, dismounted and kneeling with their mounts at their sides,
begged Mix to come on if he dared. Not with taunts or jeers, but with their calm reticence in remaining. Troops on either flank stayed mounted, holding carbines at the ready, and despite the ruckus going on just across the field with the 51st Alabama and its rolling retreat, the Confederates stood calmly waiting for Mix to move.
Mix was severely tempted to make another wild dash into the enemy. He judged the 1st Alabama to be ripe for a further scattering. Its ranks looked thin, he thought. One more dash and he would own the field. He waited in vain for the order.
General Stanley, commander of the Union horse on the field, interfered. Leaving Mix and Colonel Rosengarten of the 15th Pennsylvania to mark time, he reformed the 1st Middle Tennessee to their right and then declined to do anything further. The enemy turned about and moved off in order, melting through the cedars and around the trees Mix had occupied only an hour earlier. As Mix sat his horse and wondered if Stanley was going to pursue, it struck him that all was now quiet. Skirmisher fire was intermittent. Artillery fire had ceased. The day was coming to an end.
The chill of early winter evening was descending, and for the first time in many hours Mix felt cold, his layers of wool unable to keep the chill at bay. The excitement of combat had soaked his undershirt with sweat that was becoming cool and turning cold on his skin. His breath formed faint, cloudy billows, and his naked neck prickled with the chill.
Fifteen minutes more passed of sitting their horses and staring off into the darkening skyline toward the east, the treetops having already gone from orange to deep, dark blue as sunlight faded from the scene and began the slow darkening into night. A rumbling of hooves heralded the arrival of the rest of the command, and Colonel Minty’s aide-de-camp approached Mix with orders.
“Sir, Colonel Minty wishes the 4th Michigan to deploy as skirmishers forward into the trees, the rest of the command to deploy front and into the rear for the night.”
Mix nodded as the aide moved off to give instructions to Rosengarten who had managed to regain his mount after his inglorious tumble. The army would be sleeping on arms again, and some without blankets or other means of shelter from the biting cold that was going to fall upon all the men on the field.
River of Blood (Shiloh Series Book 4) Page 29