by Jeff Shaara
“Dammit, Sammie, what’s in the letter?”
Willis stopped tapping, looked at Bauer, his face reflecting the campfire. Bauer felt guilty for asking now, but Willis surprised him, pulled the letter out of his pocket, opened it carefully, read,
My Dear Son Samuel,
We are overjoyed by the arrival of your first-born son. Mildred is doing just fine. The birth was not difficult, and the doctor says she should be recovered in a few days. The baby is a perfect image of his father, and Mildred has hoped you would agree to naming him in your honor, Samuel Junior. We hope you are well, and that you will share with us this joyous time by offering your thanks to the Almighty for this precious gift.
Love, Mama and Papa
Willis folded up the letter, put it back in his pocket. Bauer stared at him, his mouth slightly open.
“My God, Sammie … what wonderful news!” He paused now, utterly confused. “I thought … it was something awful. You always act like it’s really bad news.”
Willis sat silently for a moment, then said, “I will never see him.”
“What do you mean? That’s crazy. We’ll be going home soon enough.”
Willis looked at him, a hard glare, shook his head.
“You will. You’re careful. You’re afraid. You’ll survive whatever fight we have to do.”
“So?”
“Not me. I like killing those damn secesh. Trouble is, I like it too much. The officers order me back, I don’t want to go. That surprised me at first. I had no idea how it would be, what I’d do when somebody shot at me. But … it was fun, Dutchie. I can’t wait till we can do this again. I’ll do it until they get me. I saw their faces, those damn secesh. There are too many of ’em just like me. They’re not gonna quit, and we’re gonna have to kill every damn one of them.” He paused. “God doesn’t watch out for people like me.”
The words were cold and matter-of-fact. Bauer stared at him, openmouthed. Willis leaned back again, closed his eyes. Bauer felt a burst of frustration, wanted to yell at him, to shake him, do anything to change what Willis had said. He couldn’t accept that, had thought of what it would mean to have a family, a child, a son. Willis’s letter had carved itself into his brain, the words so perfect, the precious gift. Willis didn’t move, and Bauer was too tired to do anything, to protest or argue, to do anything to change Willis’s perfect logic, and perfect despair.
Behind him, a voice, Sergeant Champlin.
“Hey, boys! Looks like we’re finally getting out of this place! Got the word from the captain. First light, gather up your belongings, and get ready to march! Make sure your musket is cleaned and your cartridge boxes full.”
Champlin started to move away, to pass the word to more of his men, some of them already hearing him, questions coming. Bauer felt a jolt, heard a single word from Willis.
“Finally.”
Bauer stood, ignored the stiffness, moved closer to Champlin.
“Sergeant … begging your pardon … we’re going home, right?”
Champlin turned to him, a short laugh.
“Hell, no, Private. We still got work to do. Tomorrow morning, we head south … to Corinth.”
Bauer looked back toward Willis, who didn’t move, his eyes still closed. Bauer felt a strange cold inside of him, beyond the chill of the air.
“But … we whipped ’em!”
“We whipped some of ’em. But word is, there’s a whole lot more of those graybacks gathering up, still spoiling for a fight. You ask me … this thing’s just getting started.”
AFTERWORD
In numbers engaged, no such contest ever took place on this continent, in importance of results, but few such have taken place in the history of the world.
—ULYSSES s. GRANT (shortly after the battle)
No battle of the war—no event in Confederate history—has such a long list of “ifs” and “might have beens” as this battle of Shiloh; it is the saddest story of them all.
—COLONEL E. L. DRAKE,
2ND TENNESSEE, HARDEE’S CORPS
In July 1861, the Battle of Bull Run (Manassas) shocks a nation with the raw violence that erupts from what many had believed to be a simple political dispute, a toothless rebellion that could be settled by little more than the threat of military force. The bloody aftermath of that fight drives home the reality that both sides of this conflict are willing to do whatever is required to secure their victory. But that battlefield is a short distance from the capital cities of both North and South. Thus photographs and vivid eyewitness accounts fill newspapers on both sides. The casualty figures greatly exceed what anyone on either side expects: in total, sixty thousand troops are engaged, producing approximately five thousand casualties. As mortifying as the conflict at Bull Run is to the citizens of this country, it pales in comparison to what occurs at Shiloh. Far from the eyes of either capital, one hundred thousand troops face one another, at a cost of twenty-four thousand casualties. And yet, because of the vast distance from the great media centers, particularly in the North, few newspaper reporters are on the field to tell that story. Incredibly, given the volume of photographs taken throughout the war by Alexander Gardner and Mathew Brady, to name just two, there are virtually no photographs taken of the aftermath of the Shiloh battlefield at all. Thus, in April 1862, our nation suffers its most costly military disaster to that time, a tragedy that many, particularly in the North, are hardly even aware of.
The Northern newspapers do report a magnificent Federal victory, their information supplied of course by the facts as Henry Halleck presents them. But recriminations fly as well, specifically aimed at the one man who has so few political allies: Ulysses Grant. On April 11, when Halleck arrives at Pittsburg Landing, it is for the specific purpose of taking command of a campaign that he believes has been poorly handled, despite the Federal army’s success in driving the Confederate forces back to their stronghold at Corinth. But Halleck’s own decisions that follow do nothing to enhance his reputation.
Grant accepts much of the blame for the battering of his troops on April 6, and assumes that once again he will be removed from command. But Halleck understands that Grant has won a victory at Shiloh, and Fort Donelson has taught Halleck that removing a victorious commander is a gesture of foolishness that will not be received well in Washington. Thus Halleck names Grant as his second in command, though for the rest of the campaign, Grant is virtually ignored.
Sherman’s enemies pounce as well, and the newspapers, never Sherman’s allies, begin to grumble about the near disaster suffered by the Federal army, caused mainly by Sherman’s denial to his own troops that any rebel threat existed at all. It is an easy criticism to make that the first morning’s collapse was a result of Sherman’s utter blindness to the possibility of a surprise attack. Long after the war, Sherman maintains he was never actually surprised by the Confederate attack, but many of the officers close to him at the time dispute that. Regardless of any failings, Sherman’s actions throughout the latter parts of the campaign wipe away much of the stain of the first morning. Also in his favor, Sherman continues to be a favorite of Henry Halleck, and so, with Grant as Halleck’s scapegoat, Sherman is lauded as a hero, Halleck insisting to the newspapers that it was Sherman who saved the day. Within weeks, Sherman is promoted to major general.
The other primary player for the Federal army is of course Don Carlos Buell. Buell supports Halleck’s version of events, and supplies much of the fuel for Halleck’s condemnation of Grant. For years after, Buell maintains that it was his timely arrival that saved Grant’s army from utter destruction. That dispute is never resolved to either Grant’s or Buell’s satisfaction, nor do the advocates for either man accept the other’s version. That disagreement continues to this day.
On the Southern side, the condemnation leveled toward Pierre Beauregard is predictable and, mostly, logical. Beauregard’s reputation suffers considerably from his premature declaration of victory the night of April 6. That fire is fueled by the energy of
Jefferson Davis, who continues to despise Beauregard.
Despite a number of mistakes attributed to the command style and decision making of Albert Sidney Johnston, his death erases many of those stains, and Johnston becomes, to many, a martyr for the Southern cause. By putting himself in harm’s way on nearly every part of the battlefield, and by receiving his fatal wound near the front lines in the act of leading troops into battle, Johnston becomes a valiant symbol of military leadership, and thus is regarded by friends and some of his former critics as a fallen hero. But, as in the North, debates ensue. Johnston’s son William Preston Johnston produces a memoir, which presents a great many personal accounts by officers and others who served with Johnston, including those who witnessed his actions at Shiloh. The younger Johnston’s criticism of both Beauregard and Colonel Thomas Jordan is relentless. Naturally, Jordan disputes that interpretation and defends the decisions made by Beauregard. But Jordan receives a far more impartial critique from many of the senior officers who executed his amended plan of attack at the onset of the battle. There is debate whether Jordan’s plan is the root cause of the Confederate failure. That debate continues among military strategists and historians into the twenty-first century.
Both sides claim victory at Shiloh, though of course, victory in war is most often credited to that army that maintains a hold over the battlefield. Thus, despite claims by some (including Beauregard) that the fight at Shiloh is a triumph for the South, on that point there is little to debate. With Halleck’s arrival, and the additional Federal forces that follow him up the Tennessee River (including the victorious army from Island Number Ten, commanded by John Pope), the Federal forces that eventually march on Corinth increase dramatically, eventually numbering more than one hundred thousand troops. In contrast, Beauregard’s army makes its withdrawal to Corinth, and occupies its fortifications with an effective force one-fifth that number. Halleck has in his hands the opportunity to destroy the South’s best chance to hold back the Federal tide in the West.
After holding his army at Pittsburg Landing for three full weeks, Halleck begins his march to Corinth. The officers under his command are fully prepared to find the enemy well fortified, well dug in, and well prepared to receive the inevitable assault, and the Federal superiority in numbers is an advantage the Confederate forces cannot likely withstand. To the dismay of his commanders, Halleck reaches Corinth only to order his army to dig fortifications of their own. Thus begins a siege of Corinth that will last a full month. Though there are skirmishes and a scattering of artillery duels, the worst tragedy of the siege is not military at all. Lacking sufficient sources of clean water, and with neither side providing adequate food and sanitary conditions, disease, especially dysentery, consumes both armies. The cost in lives is horrendous. Pressured by his generals to bring this campaign to its most likely conclusion, Halleck finally agrees to send his troops forward. But the Confederates, under Beauregard, are well aware of Federal intentions. In the days prior to Halleck’s order to attack, the Union troops can plainly hear wagon and railcar activity in the town that suggests an army in motion. The day the advance is to take place, the Federal forces hear the blasts from explosions that pour through Beauregard’s ammunition dumps and supply depots, Beauregard’s efforts to prevent his stores from falling into Federal hands. Halleck’s generals do not share their commander’s surprise, when, on May 29, Halleck finally rides into Corinth, and finds no opposition at all. Beauregard and his army have escaped.
The process by which the Union army worked its way to Corinth has passed into history as one of the most inefficient operations of the war. It involved an elaboration of strategy that now looks a good deal like imbecility.
—CAPTAIN LUCIEN CROOKER, 55TH ILLINOIS
Instead of making effective use of the enormous juggernaut the Federal army has become, Washington decides the army can be best used by separating, and driving toward a number of Confederate strongholds and strategic positions. That decision is debated as well, but with the advantage of hindsight, most historians agree that sending so many different pieces of Halleck’s army in many different directions likely lengthens the war in the West.
THOSE WHO WORE BLUE
DON CARLOS BUELL
With the breaking up of Halleck’s vast force, Buell once again commands the Army of the Ohio. His first mission is to press eastward, toward Confederate forces assembled south and east of Nashville. But Buell’s plans are interrupted by a Confederate army under Braxton Bragg that invades Kentucky, an effort to reclaim territory lost earlier that year by the retreat of Albert Sidney Johnston. Buell must pursue Bragg, and in October 1862, the two meet at the Battle of Perryville, near Louisville. The fight is considered a draw, which seriously damages Buell’s reputation in the North. Washington succumbs to the public outcry, and Buell is replaced by William Rosecrans. Buell never again is given any significant field command, and he resigns from the army in June 1864. After Ulysses Grant is elevated to command of the entire Federal army, he offers Buell the opportunity to return to service. But Buell, who had previously outranked Grant and Sherman, refuses to accept any subordinate position. Grant is disgusted with Buell’s egotism, and the men remain estranged for the rest of Grant’s life.
After the war, Buell serves as an executive in an iron and coal mining company in Kentucky and at the time of Grant’s death in 1885, Buell is a civil servant in Louisville.
He dies in Rockport, Kentucky, in 1898, at age eighty.
BENJAMIN PRENTISS
Released by his Confederate captors in October 1862, he is rewarded for his heroism at Shiloh by promotion to major general. Named to command of the army’s Arkansas District, Prentiss feels his role in the success at Shiloh is being ignored, and that the new command is little more than window dressing. Thus, in late 1863, he resigns from the army.
Educated as an attorney, Prentiss returns to the practice of law in Missouri, and dies in Bethany, Missouri, in 1901, at age eighty-one.
CHARLES F. SMITH
The man often saluted by Grant, Sherman, and many others who appreciated the value of his tutelage at West Point never returns to command of his Second Division. The leg injury Smith receives from making the jump onto a riverboat festers unmercifully, and on April 25, 1862, even before the Federal troops vacate their camps at Pittsburg Landing, Smith dies. He is fifty-five.
LEW WALLACE
Despite earning a sterling reputation in the field prior to Shiloh, Wallace is never forgiven by Grant for his tardiness in reaching the Shiloh battlefield, and Halleck accepts Grant’s judgments. As a result, Wallace loses his command, and in the fall of 1862 he is assigned to Cincinnati, to command defense forces there, a response to Braxton Bragg’s invasion of Kentucky.
Wallace’s reputation lands him a command as part of the defensive forces surrounding Washington, D.C., and in July 1864 he leads Federal troops to a defense against Jubal Early at the Battle of Monocacy, Maryland. Though Wallace’s forces are defeated by Early, Early retreats, a debatable move in itself, and thus ends what could have been a critical threat to the capital.
After the war, Wallace, educated as an attorney, is part of the United States military commission that convicts and condemns to death the assassins of Abraham Lincoln. He also serves the government in the trial of Henry Wirz, the commandant of the Confederate prison at Andersonville, Georgia, thought by many to be the only man in the Civil War to be executed for war crimes.
Wallace resigns from the army in November 1865 and goes to Mexico, where he serves the nationalist forces that oppose the French puppet dictator, Emperor Maximilian. Contributing successfully to driving Maximilian out, Wallace is thus offered a general’s commission in the Mexican army. Wallace gracefully refuses, and returns to his home state of Indiana to practice law. He later serves as governor of New Mexico and U.S. minister to Turkey.
Though Wallace’s achievements are many, he is never able to erase the stain of his failure at Shiloh. Despite the relentless blame laid upon
him, Wallace’s civilian life is noteworthy for one other accomplishment: He begins a career as a novelist, and in 1880 he authors Ben-Hur, which comes to be the most successful American novel of the nineteenth century.
He dies in Crawfordsville, Indiana, in 1905, at age seventy-seven.
WILLIAM H. L. WALLACE
After suffering a severe head wound, then left on the battlefield by the urgent retreat of his own staff, Wallace is inexplicably abandoned by retreating Confederates, who can only have assumed he was too near death to be considered a valuable prisoner. His survival throughout the dismal night of April 6 is considered miraculous by those who serve him, and his wife, Ann, welcomes her barely conscious husband to her arms at the Cherry Mansion in Savannah, Tennessee. For the next three days, Wallace passes in and out of consciousness, but according to his wife, he is very aware of her presence, and on April 10, he offers her his final words: “We meet in heaven.” He is forty years old.
THOSE WHO WORE GRAY
PIERRE G. T. BEAUREGARD
After Shiloh, Beauregard’s illness returns, and he embarks on a temporary leave in June 1862. But Jefferson Davis sees an opportunity to punish the man he blames for the great failure at Shiloh. Using the excuse that Beauregard has abandoned his post without permission, Davis replaces Beauregard in the West with Braxton Bragg, and orders Beauregard back to Charleston, South Carolina. Beauregard, who still relishes his public reputation as the Hero of Fort Sumter, is not altogether unhappy with the assignment, and performs adequately by defending the city from various assaults, primarily from the U.S. Navy.
While he is eventually given command of all Confederate territory up through southern Virginia, his command ceases where Robert E. Lee’s begins, and Beauregard enhances his reputation once more on the Virginia peninsula by successfully confronting the forces of the inept Union general Benjamin Butler. In late 1864, as Grant’s army presses southward through Virginia, Lee’s command is expanded, and conflict erupts between Lee and Beauregard, who, during the war, are never friends. With Davis backing Lee, Beauregard’s command, which includes Petersburg, Virginia, becomes subservient to Lee’s. Despite the slight, Beauregard performs a masterful defense and maneuver that thwarts the first Federal attempts at capturing Petersburg. In October 1864, Beauregard is approached reluctantly by Davis to resume command in the West, and Beauregard, eager to reclaim the public’s attention, accepts the post. But Beauregard’s authority there is mostly ignored by both Richard Taylor in Texas and John Bell Hood in Tennessee. In December 1864, when Hood’s army is destroyed by the twin disasters at Franklin and Nashville, Beauregard realizes the post Davis has given him has become virtually nonexistent. Beauregard moves east once more, and mobilizes an army to confront the rapid advances of William T. Sherman through Georgia. No longer in command of any theater, Beauregard accepts a subordinate role to Joseph Johnston in the South’s final stand in the Carolinas. In late April 1865, both men participate in the negotiations to surrender to Sherman, concluding the war in the East.