They Met at Shiloh by Phillip Bryant Page B

lifted another three horses into the air, causing the rest to stampede.
    “Mother Mary!” Michael shouted as he drew up to the rear of the battery and quickly dismounted. He handed Charger’s reins to a private. “Private, see to the horses with every available man!”
    Tarnation, he thought again. Even if I wanted to leave now, I couldn’t until those horses are secured. Despite the fire they were taking, the men stood to their posts.
    “Mahoney! Direct fire on those sons of Hades there! We have to support the attack and ignore the counter battery fire we’re taking!”
    General Cheatham’s brigades moved forward once again toward the enemy’s line; the long lines of butternut and brown uniforms snaked toward their target. Mahoney directed each gun’s target and gave the order to fire. Guns one and two, St. Peter and St. Paul, spoke in succession, the concussion of their report causing a shockwave to raise a cloud of dust from the ground and Michael’s clothes to vibrate. Down the Shiloh Road, another artillery unit roared up the hill and prepared to go into battery next to them. The gun crews stood to their duty and fired case shot into the Federal defense line, one from St. Paul cutting obliquely felled a whole company of infantry before disappearing into the camp and knocking down several Sibley tents.
    Michael’s job was done. He was forced to watch his men take to their work. The battery coming up next to them swung into position but not before a solid shot dismounted a carriage. An entire crew was killed while rolling the piece into position. Body parts and splintered wood lay strewn around the piece. The men of that battery took little notice. Their four remaining guns went into position and started firing.
    There was a rhythm to the crews’ work. The six-man crews stood around their pieces and performed a role that kept the gun in play. With each pull of the lanyard, the guns rocked violently backward and were quickly rolled back into position. The barrels needed cooling and were swabbed before powder could be re-introduced, lest a remaining spark ignite and take the gun out. Targets were determined and fuses on case shot timed. Then powder was added, followed by the round rammed down the barrel. Finally, the lanyard with its percussive fuse was placed into the touch hole, and the gun was again ready to fire. The ammo bearers ran back and forth from the line of caissons to the gun after each report. If even one of these men should become incapacitated, the smooth working of the crew would slow and its efficiency would decline.
    So far, the crews were full, and the work was heated. Polk’s regiments began to falter in the face of the Federal defense. The additional batteries did not make much of a difference to the infantry struggling to find a weak spot. The regiments in front of their battery regrouped and moved forward once more. They bled a constant stream of dead and wounded behind them.
    Michael ran over to St. Peter’s crew sergeant. “Fire on that line in front with solid shot!” Moving from gun to gun he repeated the order. Working the guns quickly, the crews sent shell after shell into the Federals. Michael watched as their shots created havoc in the enemy line. His heart leapt as he watched the Federal line begin to disintegrate, as a trickle at first, then as a steady stream. Then, as if on cue, the enemy regiments retreated for the rear.
    The once-solid line of blue stretching across the open valley melted. The enemy moved in a mob, skittering through the camps and away from the advance of General Polk’s victorious legions. The sight brought forth a cheering and jeering from Polk’s infantry as they advanced through the abandoned tents and reaped a crop of wounded and prisoners. Terrified Federals surrendered as fast as they could be caught.
    “Stand down! Stand down!” Michael shouted. He motioned Sergeant Mahoney over to him and shouted in his ear, “Limber up and get ready to move