They Met at Shiloh (29 page)

The section tensed as each gun commander watched and waited for the right moment to order the lanyard to be pulled. Each gun was at the ready, and the crews stood alert at their stations. The commanders stood frozen with arms raised, ready to give the signal.

Parts of the enemy’s line disappeared for moments at a time as his regiments moved over rise and into valley. Bankhead’s battery spoke first, farther down the line. All else was still. Cheatham’s regiments waited for the enemy to come within musket range. Horses neighed and absently pawed the pitiful remnants of the oats scattered about. Here a man coughed, or there a tin cup banged against a bayonet in a hollow clink. Conversation halted. Michael scratched at his chin and felt the days of stubble upon his cheeks and chin. They were all a little worse for wear, and it was about to get worse still.

Company A, 24th Ohio

Dill Branch April 7th, 1862

“P
hilip, we’re marching off.” A voice interrupted Philip’s sleep.

“Uh? What?” Philip mumbled. He forced himself to sit up, the blanket rolling into his lap.

“We’re going back to rejoin the regiment,” Sammy said with a motion toward the company forming line.

Philip groaned. “That weren’t near enough time to rest.”

“No time fer vespers, Rev,” Sergeant Harper said and sneered.

“Pity there’s no time to save what soul you got left, Harper,” Philip snapped back.

The fog of drowsy, dreamless sleep hung heavy upon Philip’s eyes. It was time to gather his traps and prepare to march, but his body was not yet ready to move.

“C’mon, pard, we got to get moving,” Johnny said. He started to pack Philip’s knapsack.

“Ok, I’m moving, I’m moving.” Philip rose and shooed Johnny away from his knapsack. “I got an order that stuff goes into this.”

“Knew that would get you off your butt.”

“Any coffee brewed?”

“Ha! Mule done downed it all.”

Philip began straightening his spare shirt and socks into the proper compartment. All that he claimed as his own was in this small, sometimes burdensome, bundle. It contained his Testament and prayer book, his changes of drawers and dry socks, candles, foot and crotch powder, and any spare food that would not fit well into his haversack. As many men did when winter gave way to spring, he had sent his overcoat home. An enlisted man was given no baggage but what he could carry upon his back, and Philip was glad not to have to carry the heavy coat.

Mule looked at Philip and shrugged. “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Here,” Johnny said, reaching out with his cup. “I’ve still got some in my cup. It’s cold but still got some of the good stuff in it fer a wake-up.”

Philip took the cup and looked inside. The liquid in its bottom was oily and black, but for a more civilized existence would have been tossed out the nearest window. But a soldier relied upon only a few things: his morning cracker, salt pork or beef, and his coffee. Philip quickly tilted the cup and allowed the cold bitter liquid to wash his tongue and slide down his throat. It was not the satisfying sip of a steamy cup where the edges of the tin were still too hot to press against tender lips, but it was a jolt, nonetheless.

Grimacing, Philip handed the cup back to Johnny with a nod of appreciation.

Philip finished ordering his knapsack. He rolled up his gum and wool blanket and tied it to the top, for the blanket had to be put back into line with the rest of the company gear. His clothes were still damp, and he shivered as he donned the rest of his gear from the rifle stack and went to stand in line. The company was soon ready to resume its rightful place with the rest of its regiment. They were men who were used to marching and making temporary homes wherever they stopped. Hardened by privation, marching, and hours of mind-numbing drill, the men were disciplined to react and to wear army regulation and decorum like an ill-fitted but comfortable suit.

The company commander, Captain George Bacon, ordered the men to fall in, and with a few moments of rustling, the company coalesced into a rigid formation of two ranks.

“I trust the good Private Pearson will say a few words for us to the Lord on our behalf as we rejoin our regiment and face the enemy. Um, let’s rejoin the colors,” Captain Bacon said somewhat sheepishly before ordering the company to count twos.

Bacon was new to command. Commissioned only two months before, the man tried to hide the fact that command was as uncomfortable as the gloves he wore. The gauntlets were gangly upon his wrists, and his former pards knew it. He kept trying to hide his hands behind his back, being too proud of the special gauntlets his wife had made for him. Unfortunately for Bacon, he had bragged for weeks that his wife was making him the articles. Philip supposed he was too stubborn and ashamed to admit they were an unsightly nuisance.

“God save us from the Rev’s prayers,” Harper said quietly from the rear rank to muffled titters from several men.

“Quiet in the ranks!” Bacon ordered. “Right face!”

Marching columns formed of four-man ranks. The company peeled off and left the token guard behind to sit and do nothing but make sure scavengers would not disturb the company knapsack line. It was time to leave yet another temporary way-point and move out. This march would lead them directly into harm’s way, though avoiding a toilsome day of trudging along and trying to ignore the pain from carrying their gear.

The irregular tromp of sixty feet upon the grass and the explosion of cannon fire ahead kept them company as they left behind the litter on the old skirmish line and marched off into the unknown. Though they were no longer so green, they were not seasoned veterans either, as one comes to measure the quality and steadfastness of a regiment in the line. The men carried themselves as if they had survived numerous engagements, especially compared to the greenhorn 36th Indiana. Cheat Mountain, Greenbrier River in West Virginia, Nashville, and now this place in Tennessee had introduced them to serious peril. Being the more experienced, the Ohio men loved to treat their Indiana comrades to exaggerated tales of fear and heroism.

The company neared the unseen point of contact between the opposing armies. Thunderous volleys barked, accompanied by hoarse cheering. Though they couldn’t yet see it, they knew the battle had been joined.

“Them Indiana boys is gettin’ a taste of it, fer shore,” Sammy muttered

“They learnin’ what fools they were,” Johnny replied, “and what that elephant can do to a man.”

Philip shook his head at Johnny. “They do fine. Them Indiana men is good stock. Westerners from farm country like us.”

“Not all of us,” Sergeant Harper spoke out.

“Every company gotta have its black sheep and brother of that black sheep,” Philip retorted.

Harper sneered back at Philip and said, “You gonna enjoy bein’ worm food with me in Hell, fer that’s all that is gonna come of you. You forgetting that you is to love your neighbor lest you anger your God.”

“God will damn you, Harper,” Philip said with such anger that spittle flew from his mouth. “He’ll damn you to the depths of Hades, you and all your parents’ evil brood! Would that your bloodline could be ended on this field. No one would shed a tear at the passing of the Harper line.”

Philip clenched the rifle sling on his right shoulder. The anger and shame at that one act all those years ago was still bearing its bitter fruit. Philip knew he had been right. Was he to lie? Was he to ignore the life lived in depravity and just give platitudes to the grieved? Should not they learn from a wicked man’s life and give up their evil ways?

“Philip! You can’t mean that,” Mule said with a horrified expression. He quickly crossed himself.

“Even the detestable papist here knows better than to do that!” Harper said gleefully.

Mule took Philip by the arm. “Philip, go make absolution to God fer that insolence. Not even the Pope dares to curse someone to Hell.”

“Oh, but see there, my good Pope follower,” Harper said. “The good Reverend is better than the Pope, and anyone else in Rome, fer that matter. He must have some special dispensation with the Almighty that even your Pope doesn’t have.”

“I didn’t lie to your mother when I said her no-good son was destined to rot in Hell for eternity. I won’t shrink back from telling you that what my father said is surely true. There never was, never will be, a Harper worth but a damn!”

Mule pulled at his arm. “Philip, I . . . .”

“Quiet in the ranks!” First Sergeant Brooks ordered.

Each man within ear shot had been listening to the exchange. Now they had only the sound of their feet and the growing growl of battle ahead to occupy their thoughts. Philip brooded fiercely. That Harper incident had cost him his pulpit. It had been pride and self-righteous anger that had prevented him from saying what everyone wanted to hear, and it kept his mouth shut now. As a man of God, he was not allowed that pride, but it wormed its way into his thoughts and actions nonetheless.

Of all of the things that reminded Philip of his mistakes and misdeeds from his youth, Harper was the most constant reminder that Philip was indeed human and fallible. But being human and fallible was not enough for a man of God, or at least he thought.

Sammy leaned in his direction and whispered, “Ignore that dog.”

“That’s just it. I’ve ignored it too long, and neither of us is content to let the other be.”

“Right now ain’t the time to go un-ignoring it. That man is going to find some way to get satisfaction from the insult, and battle is going to be the time he chooses.”

“If he wants to shoot me from behind, he’s going to have to do it for the whole company to see,” Philip replied.

“Just don’t go and lose heart and make fer the rear. Then Harper won’t need an excuse to cut you down,” Sammy said.

“I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction! Besides, he’s not stupid. The penalty for murder is death, and he’s not about to cut his own life short. He’d leave me to die in a heartbeat but he won’t pull the trigger.”

“You might also square things up with Mule,” Sammy said. “You threw him fer a loop, I think.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked.

“He may be a papist and all, but you’re still the closest link to God he’s got, and he didn’t get mass the other day.”

“You’re joking, right?” Philip looked incredulous and shook his head. “Mule knows we’s all goin’ to Hell if we ain’t Catholic. That’s why he won’t attend Sunday vespers with the Protestants in the brigade. That’s why that priest has to come from Division so’s the Catholics can get absolution. He can’t put much stock in me, a defrocked Methodist minister.”

“Don’t know much about all that, but Mule sure looks up to you in some strange way.” Sammy looked away and took a deep breath. “Fact is, all of us from the county in this regiment do, aside from that brigand, Harper.”

“Well, most of you were under my father. He’s the real guiding light of the conclave.”

“Your father ain’t here right now. You is.”

“Well, then everybody knows I’m just a man like I was before, no special calling and no special gift,” Philip protested. “I’m just Private Pearson and a man susceptible to sin like everyone.”

“That may be so, but you’re still the vicar from the conclave most of us hail from. You can’t escape that.”

Philip fell silent. He had wanted to be just a regular man back when he did wear the cloth. But he knew he’d never escaped it, as everyone still treated him as if he were one of the regimental clergy, charged with seeing to their spiritual well-being. It was in his quiet demeanor and in his knowledge of applying holy writ to everyday problems. Philip tried to keep his mouth shut about things that he no longer felt a need to oversee, but his former parishioners would not let him off the hook. It was all he could do to keep some from electing him captain of the company when it formed. He was through with being in charge.

“So, how long you gonna keep playin’ Jonah?” Sammy asked.

Philip gave him a wry look in return. “God didn’t give me any word to spread to any Nineveh, and I’m not planning on taking a sea voyage any time soon.”

“Maybe not, but they’s not a man in the company that don’t believe that a parson be called by God to preach the Word and see to us simple farmers.”

“It was a mistake agreeing with father to go to school for divinity. Father wanted someone to follow along and keep what he had started going, and I dutifully listened and obeyed. But I wasn’t a man cut from his cloth, and all of you knew it.”

“We knew it, but his time had come to rest and pass his work on to someone else, and you were that someone else everyone accepted.”

Philip frowned at him. “Don’t you see? That is exactly the problem. Only because of father was I even acceptable. Not because I was as good a preacher as he was or because I brought something else to the pulpits, but because everyone loved father so much. You don’t think people were satisfied to let me go after that ugliness with the Harpers?”

“You told that gathering exactly what was the truth about that man.”

“Hah! People don’t want to know the truth. They only want to hear something that won’t upset their view of life, death, and mortality. That’s why I was foolish to think I could fill father’s collar. People only want to feel good and go home and expect that the good parson will visit now and again if they skip too many Sunday mornings. Father did that, and the farmers loved him for it.” Philip shrugged and massaged his neck for a moment. “I couldn’t do that, and people saw that I wasn’t my father after all.”

“You didn’t give many people a chance to get used to you before you up and quit.”

“It was for everyone’s good that I did when I did.” Philip pursed his lips and adjusted the strap of his musket higher upon his shoulder, knowing it would slip back down again in a few steps.

“God didn’t let Jonah off the hook, as I recall.” Sammy broke into a grin. “What makes you think He’s gonna let you off the hook so easily?”

Philip shrugged again. “God told Jonah to go to Nineveh. I wasn’t called into the collar.”

“Jonah didn’t think he was called to go to Nineveh neither, but he ended up there anyway,” Sammy said.