Free They Met at Shiloh by Phillip Bryant Page A

ready position and cocked the hammer to safe. This time, we should do some damage, he thought. He could see another tree line in the distance behind the farm houses. The clearing looked to be a mile in width but only half that in length, creating a pocket of tillable land in the intervening space. He noticed movement behind the houses, looking much like something solid and long creeping forward. The movement extended far beyond the right and left of the battalion. When he realized what it was, his heart skipped a beat. Others began to see it as well, growing quiet as they did. Following gasps of realization, four hundred Federals held their breaths as they stood exposed in the open field. They stood transfixed, watching the wave of movement wash toward them in the darkness. Robert felt a tremble in his gut.
    *****
    6th Mississippi line of battle
    West edge of Fraley Field, 5 AM April 6, 1862
    Stephen followed the step, step, step of the pace set by the tramping of thousands of footfalls upon the uneven ground. The movement made so much noise that he wondered how the enemy could fail to hear the elephantine throng lumbering forward. Shouted commands and admonitions competed with the clanking of tin cups, heavy foot falls, and the rustling of undergrowth and bushes. The sound invigorated him, the sound of an immense and irresistible fighting machine moving forward to crush anything that lay in its path.
    He stumbled forward in exhaustion. The previous day saw his regiment laying upon its arms or hastily forming line of battle when one false alarm after another brought everyone to his feet and ready to move forward. The strain had become unbearable. They knew they were in a difficult position should they be discovered prematurely. The well-laid trap became more and more a risk as anxiety gave way to carelessness; any noise, no matter how soft, was enough to cause a man to freeze and look in the direction of the enemy camp.
    They had gone without coffee and palatable food for three days. Awakened now by the commencement of the attack, Stephen’s senses were fully engaged. The touch of elbows while evading trees and obstacles kept his attention riveted upon the guide file. Like a giant accordion, the formation ebbed and flowed, morphing into a snaking movement until it resembled a wave more than a straight line, drawing commands and curses from company officers. The formation extended in both directions as far as he could see.
    The division formed before the tree line of the forest that separated them from the enemy camps and the enemy soldiers who had confidently entered it twenty minutes ago. The strain of struggling through the thickets was unnerving. They were more than a little relieved when the forest suddenly opened up to a vista of cleared fields and farm buildings.
    Sudden sounds of musketry surprised him. The noise of their movement through the trees had drowned out the sounds of the skirmish occurring around the farm buildings. The shock widened their eyes; quizzical looks passed from man to man. So close had the enemy been to their step-off point that Stephen’s heart stopped; their preparations for the grand attack in secret coming to naught. Yet there was the enemy giving fight to the advance skirmish lines. The dim light and distance obscured what was going on to their right, save for the muzzle flashes. A farm was situated on an elevation, and its now-barren field extended downward. The uncomfortable prospect of advancing over the open space in the face of a well-hidden enemy in the tree line fell heavily upon him. If the enemy were there in force, the attack might fail before it had even started.
    As if to punctuate his fears, the sudden crack of a volley thundered and echoed out to the right in the darkness. The advance had taken him to a position 200 yards to the right of the farm buildings, and he saw the 15th Arkansas skirmishers keeping a steady pace out front. The cheering from the enemy line confirmed his