Karl Bacon by An Eye for Glory: The Civil War Chronicles of a Citizen Soldier Read Free Book Online Page A

Carpenter screamed. “The Delaware boys are falling back! Cease fire!” The order was repeated up and down the line until the firing ceased. As theshadowy figures neared, it became clear to all that they wore dark blue coats and light blue trousers.
    “Run for your lives, boys! It’s murder out there!” the survivors cried as they raced through our line. Some of our boys heeded that advice and started for the rear with them. I reloaded my rifle and huddled close to the ground.
    “Fourteenth! On your feet!” Colonel Perkins shouted. Then he gave the order I had both wished for and dreaded: “Men of the Fourteenth Connecticut, to the front!”
    A great cheer went up as our regimental colors were raised in the center of the line. The Stars and Stripes, with the words “14 th Regt Conn Vols” embroidered in gold across the middle red stripe, and the field of blue adorned with a bald eagle with wings spread wide surrounded by thirty-three stars, flew proudly next to our regimental flag. This flag was of deepest royal blue, fringed all around with gold tassels, and again, our majestic national bird was embroidered with wings spread, this time atop the state seal of Connecticut with its trinity of twisted grapevines, and with the name of our regiment proudly stitched beneath the seal. Some of the fleeing Delaware and Maryland boys about-faced and fell into line under our colors.
    “Forward, march!” We jumped over the low fence in front and began to advance in line abreast with the 130 th Pennsylvania down the slope toward the enemy, elbow to elbow, each man feeling the presence of the man on either side. As soon as we started to advance, the Rebels increased the urgency of their fire. Bullets flew all about. Several struck the earth in front of me, throwing up small plumes of dirt. One spent ball struck my left foot a glancing blow, surprising me more than hurting me. Another passed cleanly between my legs, causing a slight abrasion on my trouser leg. Still another plucked at my cartridge case. Others were not as fortunate. Up and down our line, menfell as they were struck and either died where they fell, or tried to hobble off to the rear.
    About seventy-five yards from the sunken road, Colonel Perkins ordered us to stop. We fired a powerful volley into the line of smoke that marked the sunken road.
    “Lie down!” echoed up and down the line. “Fire at will!” Companies A and B began to deliver a rapid fire with their Sharps breech-loading rifles. The rest of us with Springfields tried frantically to reload.
    “Settle down, boys,” Sarge’s shrill voice cried out. “Just do your work. Load, aim, and fire. Load, aim, and fire. On my command.” Sarge scurried up and down our line at a low crouch, calling out the reload commands loud enough for all in our company to hear. Then we aimed as a single man and fired, again at his command. We did it again, and again, and again, until we were caught up in our deadly work to the exclusion of all else.
    “Company C, fire at will,” Sarge ordered after a few minutes. I didn’t need to hear Sarge calling the cadence anymore, for my body was going through the drill without thought, almost as if it was a natural thing for me. Sarge kept moving up and down the line, crouching low and encouraging all of the riflemen in his charge. Once again, Sarge had been right. I was afraid but not overly so, just load, aim, and fire; just load, aim, and fire. I was aware of nothing but working my Springfield.
    After several more shots, a bullet whizzed passed my left ear, so close that I felt the air part with its passage. My stomach turned and bile rose in my throat at the closeness of it. I froze. Listen for Sarge, I thought, just listen for his voice and obey. I tried and tried to listen for those familiar words of encouragement and instruction amid the din of battle, but he had fallen silent. I looked up and down the line. Here and there a dead man lay motionless; gaps in the line