Ox fell was forgotten. The hill was steeper than it had appeared from its base. The effort to keep up the pace told upon his legs. They were close enough now to see individual faces in the enemy formation, faces that didn’t look much different from their own, faces with names and histories and families and hopes for survival. In these faces, too, were fear and that particular look of men in a desperate situation.
“At the double quick, march!”
They gave one last shout and jogged forward. Stephen brought his weapon to the position of port arms and braced himself for the clash.
The long line of blue vanished once again in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. In that instant, the words of his father echoed in Stephen’s mind.
“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.”
CHAPTER 6
Polk’s Battery
Corinth - Pittsburg Road, 7 AM April 6, 1862
A breathless rider flagged Michael down while he and the battery moved toward the sounds of fighting.
“Captain Grierson?”
“Yes?” Michael said as he pulled Charger to a stop.
“Sir, Captain Polk sends his compliments! He wishes to direct you to place your battery east of the Shiloh Road on that hill there,” the courier shouted above the din, “where that Yankee camp is.”
Giving a hurried salute, the young lieutenant wheeled his steed and raced off toward the fighting.
“Sergeant, head to that hillock to the right of the Shiloh Road and go into battery,” Michael shouted to one of his section sergeants. Charger danced nervously to and fro, forcing Michael to keep turning him in the direction the battery was heading. The divisions belonging to Corps Commander Leonidas Polk, the fighting Episcopal bishop, were arrayed in line of battle and advancing upon the string of enemy camps rumored to be that of William T. Sherman’s division. Motioning to Sergeant Gibson to follow, Michael spurred Charger forward in the direction the courier had taken.
The battery raced by with urgency and a rumble that made him swell with pride. An artillery battery at full gallop is a frightening sight to behold. The seeming ease of the movement, combining alacrity and grace, belied the danger of such recklessness. They followed the sounds of battle unengaged all morning until finally being called upon to practice their deadly art. At the base of their camps to the right, the enemy established an unbroken line of resistance, repulsing the first attempts to push them out. Two Federal batteries played havoc upon the infantry as solid and case shot landed amid General Polk’s advancing lines. Three of their own batteries were trying to support the advance but were taking the worst of the punishment. Wrecked caissons and gun carriages pointed in haphazard directions. A small creek running east separated the two forces, the enemy gathering on the high ground in their front.
Michael watched First Sergeant Mahoney direct the placement of each of his three guns. Even as the first gun swung into position, solid shot rained down about the battery. Leaden balls screeched to earth, many rebounding dangerously into the air. Michael turned in the direction the shot came from. In the distance, far behind the enemy line upon a hill, stood a Federal battery that he missed in his quick survey of the field. This put his battery in a direct line with that of the enemy, but on a lower elevation, making return fire more difficult.
“Tarnation,” Michael muttered and spurred Charger forward. His guns, now in battery and gunners taking positions, had yet to fire when a case shot came hissing and bounding up the hill. Striking sixty feet in front of the battery, it bounded into the rear caisson and horse pickets. Michael watched in horror as the shot came down. It missed a caisson by a few feet but caught one of the men in the back, breaking him in half and slicing into the hind quarters of a horse. The explosion a few seconds later
“At the double quick, march!”
They gave one last shout and jogged forward. Stephen brought his weapon to the position of port arms and braced himself for the clash.
The long line of blue vanished once again in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. In that instant, the words of his father echoed in Stephen’s mind.
“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.”
CHAPTER 6
Polk’s Battery
Corinth - Pittsburg Road, 7 AM April 6, 1862
A breathless rider flagged Michael down while he and the battery moved toward the sounds of fighting.
“Captain Grierson?”
“Yes?” Michael said as he pulled Charger to a stop.
“Sir, Captain Polk sends his compliments! He wishes to direct you to place your battery east of the Shiloh Road on that hill there,” the courier shouted above the din, “where that Yankee camp is.”
Giving a hurried salute, the young lieutenant wheeled his steed and raced off toward the fighting.
“Sergeant, head to that hillock to the right of the Shiloh Road and go into battery,” Michael shouted to one of his section sergeants. Charger danced nervously to and fro, forcing Michael to keep turning him in the direction the battery was heading. The divisions belonging to Corps Commander Leonidas Polk, the fighting Episcopal bishop, were arrayed in line of battle and advancing upon the string of enemy camps rumored to be that of William T. Sherman’s division. Motioning to Sergeant Gibson to follow, Michael spurred Charger forward in the direction the courier had taken.
The battery raced by with urgency and a rumble that made him swell with pride. An artillery battery at full gallop is a frightening sight to behold. The seeming ease of the movement, combining alacrity and grace, belied the danger of such recklessness. They followed the sounds of battle unengaged all morning until finally being called upon to practice their deadly art. At the base of their camps to the right, the enemy established an unbroken line of resistance, repulsing the first attempts to push them out. Two Federal batteries played havoc upon the infantry as solid and case shot landed amid General Polk’s advancing lines. Three of their own batteries were trying to support the advance but were taking the worst of the punishment. Wrecked caissons and gun carriages pointed in haphazard directions. A small creek running east separated the two forces, the enemy gathering on the high ground in their front.
Michael watched First Sergeant Mahoney direct the placement of each of his three guns. Even as the first gun swung into position, solid shot rained down about the battery. Leaden balls screeched to earth, many rebounding dangerously into the air. Michael turned in the direction the shot came from. In the distance, far behind the enemy line upon a hill, stood a Federal battery that he missed in his quick survey of the field. This put his battery in a direct line with that of the enemy, but on a lower elevation, making return fire more difficult.
“Tarnation,” Michael muttered and spurred Charger forward. His guns, now in battery and gunners taking positions, had yet to fire when a case shot came hissing and bounding up the hill. Striking sixty feet in front of the battery, it bounded into the rear caisson and horse pickets. Michael watched in horror as the shot came down. It missed a caisson by a few feet but caught one of the men in the back, breaking him in half and slicing into the hind quarters of a horse. The explosion a few seconds later
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