Free They Met at Shiloh by Phillip Bryant Page B

fears, and the hitherto steady move forward faltered a step.
    “Forward! Forward!” shouted Colonel Thornton as he wheeled his horse about.
    Stephen glanced over at William, who returned his worried expression.
    “I thought we was to surprise ‘em. Sounds like they is waitin’ fer us!” William shouted over the din.
    “I guess we’ll just see what’s on the other side of these buildings,” Stephen shouted back.
    “By the right flank, by column of companies, forward march!”
    The firing to their right increased in volume, making the absence of any hint of the enemy in their front more unnerving. Stephen could only see the brief flashes of light from the discharge of the guns.
    “You see anything ahead?” Stephen shouted.
    “Too dark still,” William answered.
    The movement hardly skipped a beat despite the racket.
    “I don’t hear any cannon fire. This ain’t their main line!” William shouted.
    Stephen could make out the blurry and dark line of the enemy between volleys in the middle of the field on their right. From behind them came the booming report of a battery of cannon as the guns fired one by one. Still, the darkness could yet be concealing disaster, and Stephen withheld his elation until he could see the enemy’s backs. The scene was lit for seconds at a time by cannon fire, flashing the skirmish line in their front. It also illuminated the opposing enemy line.
    They heard another boom, and a flash lit the darkness, this time from the Federal line. Somewhere, hidden by the darkness of the pre-dawn morning, off to his right, men were locked in deadly combat.
    “Halt,” called Colonel Thornton. The advance stopped dead in its tracks.
    “What’s goin’ on?” Willie asked.
    “Don’ know,” Stephen answered.
    A staff officer rode up and conferred with Thornton for a few moments before galloping off again into the blackness.
    “Wood’s brigade is engaging the enemy,” Stephen heard the man say to Thornton. “A general halt of the line to keep alignment has been ordered by Colonel Cleburne.”
    The 15th Arkansas skirmishers went to one knee seventy-five yards in front, and the breaking of the eastern skyline illuminated the scene. They spied a small line of the enemy three hundred yards away, standing forlorn and pitiful on the edge of the field now dominated by Hardee’s entire corps as it marched through the trees and into the open field.
    From his vantage point, Stephen could see a depression cutting down the length of the field. Just in front of it, the enemy’s formation confronted Wood’s skirmish line and regiments as they advanced. Stephen knew the halt would be short, for they overlapped the enemy line and could easily brush it away.
    *****
    25th Missouri Line of Battle
    East edge of Fraley Field, 5: 15 AM April 6, 1862
    “Load and come to the ready!” went the call, taken up by the company officers and bellowed in voices made urgent by the multitude of the host approaching.
    Robert roughly guessed their number in the still poor visibility. He could hear them, however. Thousands of footfalls upon the ground and a rustling of undergrowth surrounding this little force standing like a lone island of sand before the breaking of a mighty tidal wave. The dark line steadily approached and loomed larger with each step forward.
    “Fire by files! Ready! Aim! Fire!”
    From the right-most company, the ripple of fire moved down the line. One man from the front rank and the man directly behind him in the rear rank took aim and discharged their weapons. Robert nervously waited his turn and watched the slow but continuous discharge follow each front and rear man in turn. The pull of the trigger and jerk of the discharge rocked his weapon upward, and he mechanically let it slide down his hand and into place between his feet. Without thinking he reached into his cartridge pouch for the next round. The irregular discharge of weapons filled the air with an unceasing urgency.
    “Keep up your