Shiloh, 1862 by Winston Groom Read Free Book Online Page A

Michigan farmers for $16 a month 4 before he joined the army and landed as a private in the 12th Michigan Volunteer Infantry. He had just been detailed as cook for the week, but when Captain Johnson commenced rounding up men for the reconnaissance patrol Ruff decided to join up. Now he was fumbling along in the false dawn past deserted log cabins disturbed only by “the crowing of fowls,” until they came to that 40-acre open spot in the timber beyond Seay Field, which turned out to be farmer Fraley’s field.
    “When we halted the first streak of daylight had appeared,” Ruff remembered. “As we watched, we noticed something white moving through the brush and in another moment we spied a horseman whose movements we made out to be those of an enemy,” he said. Then, suddenly, came “the crack of several muskets, and bullets were soon whizzing after us.”
    Ruff and the others began forming in line and advancing, firing at the unseen Rebels as the sky first paled gray, then pink, and the landscape revealed “a rise of ground which seemed to be covered with thick underbrush,” from which they could see “the flashes of Rebel guns.” Several of the Michiganders were wounded, one mortally as the fire became thicker and faster. Ruff took cover, only to have “several enemy bullets driven into the tree about the line of my head. One just clipped by my right ear,” he said. Around him, men began to fall in irregular ways; some uttered peculiar noises. Theworld was suddenly out of kilter, as though the beauty of the bright Tennessee sunrise was merely a prelude to death, and that nature, with all her morning splendor, was mocking mankind’s folly.
    Major Powell’s patrol had disturbed a picket outpost of Mississippians from Hardee’s corps, and their compatriots responded like an angry swarm of bees. As daylight finally came streaming through the woods, this savage little fight at last touched off what was to be thus far the bloodiest battle in American military history. It would be remembered as the most brutal battle in the West during the entire Civil War.
    As the weight of the Confederate force began to tell, Powell sent a note with a messenger telling Colonel Peabody that they had encountered a Rebel force of 3,000 and were being driven back. Just as the New Englander was digesting this news, his division commander, General Prentiss, who had heard the shooting in the woods, rode into camp wondering what all the racket was about. When he learned that Peabody had sent out a reconnaissance, Prentiss became irate, accusing him of starting a battle without permission. Peabody retorted, “You’ll soon see that I am not mistaken.” Prentiss then ordered Colonel Moore, who had led yesterday’s patrol, to take another five infantry companies out to reinforce Powell, who was clearly involved in some kind of fight. Prentiss then moved on.
    It seemed to several observers on the scene that Moore and his force had barely disappeared across the field and into the woods before the racket of the skirmishing quickly “doubled in intensity.” Men listened and glanced at one other in alarm. Peabody then ordered his drummer to beat the long roll. He was taking no chances.
    As the soldiers began to fall in and Peabody called for his horse,Prentiss reappeared in a cloud of dust and high dudgeon, confronting him from the height of his mount. “Colonel Peabody,” he cried, “I will hold you personally responsible for bringing on this engagement.” No doubt Prentiss was infuriated that he, himself, would be held responsible by Grant and the others. Peabody replied with a defiant salute and an unmistakable air of disgust—“If I brought on the fight, I am to lead the van”—and without further adieu he cantered away toward the sound of the firing.
    Back at Fraley Field Major Powell’s patrol had taken a serious fright. As they stubbornly withdrew into the forest away from the mounting Confederate opposition, those men who