General Nelson's Scout 41

General Nelson's Scout 41

"Go tell McClernand," said Grant, "that he has done well, but he must

hold out just a little longer. Wallace will be here shortly."

 

General Hurlbut, his face black with the smoke of battle, rode up.

"General," he said, in a broken voice, "my division is gone, the whole

left is gone; the way to the Landing is open to the enemy."

 

"General," replied Grant, without a quiver, "rally what broken regiments

and stragglers you can behind the guns, close up as much as possible on

McClernand, and hold your position to the last man."

 

Now there came roaring past a confused mass of white-faced officers and

soldiers commingled, a human torrent stricken with deadly fear.

 

"All is lost! All is lost!" they cry. "Prentiss and Wallace have

surrendered."

 

Grant's face was seen to twitch. "Oh, for Lew Wallace, for Nelson, or

for night," he groaned.

 

From across the river there came to his ears the sound of cheering.

Grant looked, and there among the trees he saw the banners of Nelson's

regiments waving.

 

Hope came into his eyes; his face lighted up.

 

"Go, go!" he cried to his aids, "go to Sherman, to McClernand, to

Hurlbut. Tell them to hold! hold! hold! Help is near."

 

But if Grant had known it the danger had already passed; for Beauregard

had given orders for his army to cease fighting. Night was coming on,

the capture of W. H. L. Wallace's and Prentiss' divisions had

disarranged his lines, and thinking that he was sure of his prey in the

morning, he had given orders to withdraw.

 

One brigade of the Confederate army did not receive this order, and when

Nelson's advance crossed the river this brigade was charging the line of

cannon on the left. These cannon were entirely unprotected by infantry,

and Grant himself placed Nelson's men in line as they arrived.

 

The Confederate brigade was advancing with triumphant shouts, when they

were met with a withering volley and sent reeling back. Then, to his

surprise, the commander found that of all of the Confederate army his

brigade was the only one continuing the fight, and he hastily fell back.

The battle for the day was over.

 

Alone and practically unaided the brave soldiers of the Army of the

Tennessee had fought the battle of Sunday and saved themselves from

capture. To them belongs the glory.

 

The battle of Monday was mainly the fight of the Army of the Ohio.

Without its aid Grant could never have been able to turn defeat into

victory, and send the Confederate hosts in headlong flight back to

Corinth. There would have been no advance Monday morning if Buell had

not been on the field. The whole energy of Grant would have been devoted

to the saving of what remained of his army.

 

The terrible conflict of the day had left its impress on the Army of the

Tennessee. There was but a remnant in line capable of battle when night

came.

 

The generals of divisions were so disheartened that the coming of Buell

failed to restore their spirits. Even the lion-hearted Sherman wavered

and was downcast. Grant found him sitting in the darkness beside a tree,

his head buried in his hands, and his heart full of fears. He had fought

as generals seldom fight. Three horses had been shot under him, and he

had received two wounds. When Grant told him there was to be an advance

in the morning, he sadly shook his head and said: "No use, General, no

use; the fight is all out of the men. I do not possibly see how we can

assume the offensive."

 

"Look here, Sherman," replied Grant. "Remember how it was at Donelson.

If we assume the offensive in the morning a glorious victory awaits us.

Lew Wallace is here; Buell will have at least 20,000 fresh troops on the

field. The Confederates, like ourselves, are exhausted and demoralized.

If we become the aggressors, success is sure."

 

Sherman became convinced; his fears were gone, his hopes revived.

 

Why was it that the fiery and impetuous Nelson was so late in getting on

the field? He was only nine miles away early in the morning, and had

received orders from Grant to move his division opposite Pittsburg

Landing. If there had been any roads there would have been no excuse for

his delay. But a heavily timbered, swampy bottom lay between him and his

destination. The river had been very high, overflowing the whole bottom,

and when the water had receded it left a waste of mud, from which all

vestige of a road had disappeared. To plunge into that waste of mud and

wilderness without a guide would have been madness. A guide, though

Grant said one could easily be found, could not be secured. So Nelson

sent a staff officer to see if he could find a practicable route. This

officer did not return until noon. All of this time the division lay

listening to the booming of cannon and eager to be led to the fray. As

for Nelson, he fretted and fumed, stormed and swore at the delay.

 

"The expected has come," he growled, "and here I am doing no more good

than if I were a hundred miles away. Might have been on the field, too,

if Grant had not kept saying, 'No use hurrying!' I knew they were a set

of fools to think that Johnston would sit down at Corinth and suck his

thumbs."

 

At length a guide was found who said he could pilot the division

through the bottom, but that the route was passable only for horsemen

and infantry; the artillery would have to be left behind. The division

started at one o'clock, the men keeping step to the music of the thunder

of cannon.

 

"This beats Donelson," remarked Fred, as the roar of artillery never

ceased.

 

"My boy," replied Nelson, "the greatest battle ever fought on this

continent is now being waged. God grant that we may get there in time.

It was rumored at Savannah that the Confederates were sweeping

everything before them."

 

"Your division will surely give a good account of itself," said Fred,

looking back, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "See how eager the men

are, and how well they keep closed up, notwithstanding the mud. Half of

them are mourning because they think the battle will be over before they

get there."

 

"No danger of that," replied Nelson. "The question is, shall we be in

time."

 

Soon the roll of musketry began to be heard; then the cheers of the

combatants. A quiver of excitement ran along the lines, and every

soldier grasped his musket with a firmer hold. As they approached the

river cannon balls began to crash through the treetops above them; then

was heard the peculiar whir of the minie ball when it is nearly

spent--so close was the fighting to the river.

 

To Fred's surprise, he saw numerous skulkers dodging through the timber

on the same side of the river as himself. In some manner they had

managed to get across the river; not only this, but the boats which came

to ferry Nelson's troops over were more or less crowded with these

skulkers, who would have died rather than be driven off. In the river

were seen men on logs making their way across, and some of these men

wore shoulder straps.

 

So incensed were Nelson's soldiers at the sight of such cowardice that

they begged for permission to shoot them.

 

As they landed, Fred stood aghast at the sight before him. Cowering

beneath the high bank were thousands upon thousands of trembling

wretches. It was a dense mass of shivering, weeping, wailing, swearing,

praying humanity, each one lost to shame, lost to honor, lost to

everything but that dreadful fear which chained him soul and body.

 

As Nelson's advance brigade forced its way through the panic-stricken

throng, they were greeted with, "You are all going to your death! You

are all going to your death!"

 

"Back! back!" roared Nelson, purple with rage. "Don't touch my men; you

contaminate them; don't speak to them, you cowards, miscreants, you

should be swept from the face of the earth."

 

And in the fury of his wrath, Nelson begged for the privilege of turning

cannon on them.

 

With firm, unwavering steps, and well closed up, the division pressed

their way up the bank, and there were soldiers in the ranks who looked

with contempt on the shivering wretches below the hill, who themselves,

the next day, fled in terror from the awful destruction going on around

them. So little do we know ourselves and what we will do when the

supreme moment comes.

 

Afterward the great majority of the soldiers who cowered under the bank

at Shiloh covered themselves with glory, and hundreds of them laid down

their lives for their country.

 

Fred always remembered that night on the battlefield. From the Landing

came the groans and shrieks of the wounded, tortured under the knives of

the surgeons. The night was as dark and cloudy as the day had been

bright and clear. About eleven o'clock a torrent of rain fell, drenching

the living, and cooling the fevered brows of the wounded. Fred sat

against a tree, holding the bridle of his horse in his hand. If by

chance he fell asleep, he would be awakened by the great cannon of the

gunboats, which threw shells far inland every fifteen minutes.

 

At the first dawn of day Nelson's division advanced, and the battle

began. Fred acted as aid to Nelson, and as the general watched him as he

rode amid the storm of bullets unmoved he would say to those around him:

"Just see that boy; there is the making of a hero."

 

About eleven o'clock one of Nelson's brigades made a most gallant

charge. Wheeling to the right, the brigade swept the Confederate line

for more than half a mile. Before them the enemy fled, a panic-stricken

mob. A battery was run over as though the guns were blocks of wood,

instead of iron-throated monsters vomiting forth fire and death. In the

thickest of the fight, Fred noticed Robert Marsden, the betrothed of

Mabel Vaughn, cheering on his men.

 

"Ah!" thought Fred, "he is worthy of Mabel. May his life be spared to

make her happy."

 

On, on swept the brigade; a second battery was reached, and over one of

the guns he saw Marsden fighting like a tiger. Then the smoke of battle

hid him from view.

 

On the left Fred saw a mere boy spring from out an Indiana regiment,

shoot down a Confederate color-bearer, snatch the colors from his dying

grasp, wave them defiantly in the face of the enemy, and then coolly

walk back to his place in the ranks.