They Met at Shiloh (36 page)

“I was taking Corporal Mueller to the rear,” Stossel explained, “when the regiment disappeared! I turned around and only saw this line of Rebs coming through our camp. Me and Mueller made the best time we could, but I was certain not to be captured if I could help it. I left Mueller at the church, and I ran fer the river.”

“We down at river, too!” Huebner exclaimed.

“I thought we was done fer. I didn’t see no one I recognized the whole time I’s there. I saw some fellers drown tryin’ to get to them boats what came later,” Stossel said as he kicked at the dirt. “I wished I’d found you. Was pretty lonely down there.”

Huebner look down at his shoes. “We bury Hildebrande by river.”

“Hilde fell?” Stossel asked, surprised. “Didn’t think that old warhorse could ever die.”

“Hube shamed the rest of us into getting back into the fight,” Robert said and nudged Huebner. “We fell in with some Indiana regiment the rest of the time.”

“Hube, you do that?” Stossel asked and smiled.

“Robert exaggerates.” Huebner blushed slightly.

“Who else fell?” Stossel asked.

“Whole company, for all we know. Hammel fell early in the morning along with Gustavson and a few others. We had twenty of us when we met down at the river. Five of us made it this far. The others fell out this morning, but none of us knows where,” Robert recounted.

Stossel mopped his brow and said, “Maybe some of them is at the aid posts. We can go look for them.”

“Piper fell in last battle,” Huebner said.

“Damn, not going to be anyone left from our synod,” Stossel said and pursed his lips.

Robert shook his head at Huebner and said, “We don’t know that.”

“I know.”

“I lost sight of most of them when we took that hill. They could have all been injured and fallen out of the line.” Robert felt a little guilty for lying. He’d seen Piper and Keppler, along with several Indiana men, get eviscerated by a solid shot.

“I want to find him,” Huebner said and turned to leave.

“Hube,” Robert called after him. “Wait! We’ll all go.”

“That’s odd,” Stossel exclaimed and nudged Robert’s arm.

A lone Confederate was approaching a large tree set off from the parade ground. He dragged something heavy behind him. The man stopped when he looked up and spied the crowd of federal soldiers. After giving them a steady look, he resumed his chore. At the tree line, the man sat down heavily and took off his hat. Huebner made for the Confederate.

“I’ll go see what Hube is up to,” Robert said and began walking away from the group, “and then we’ll go comb the wounded for some of our men.”

As Robert approached, Huebner said, “We need a shovel. He wants to bury his pard. He says they’s a pond back there with lots of wounded and dead.”

“This yer camp?” the Confederate soldier asked.

“Yes, 25th Missouri, Peabody’s command,” Robert replied.

“I see. My pard died of his wounds a while ago by that pond, wanted to give him a peaceful place for a grave and away from that hellhole, pardon my language.”

“I know the place, Robert said. “We used to water our horses at it before the battle.”

“My pard, Willie’s his name, Willie Hawkins. He was my friend. He was wounded when we took your camp,” the man said embarrassed.

“You fellas the ones that charged up at us over and over?” Robert asked.

Huebner looked from man to man. “I go get shovel.” He left Robert to make time with the Rebel.

“Yes, Willie fell after the second charge up the hill. You punished us fer the privilege,” the man said.

“Did you take lots of prisoners?” Robert asked. “We’re looking for the rest of our regiment.” Robert pointed with his thumb to the men gathered in the parade ground. “That’s all that’s left.”

“Some. They was taken to the rear right away.”

“What’s your name?” Robert asked.

“Stephen Murdoch, 6th Mississippi. We was marched to the rear after the attack on your camp, but I came back lookin’ fer my pard Willie here.”

“I suppose you’ll be a prisoner then,” Robert replied.

“Yes, s’pose so. After I bury Willie, you can march me off,” Stephen said.

“I reckon the provost guard will do that shortly.”

“I combed your camp lookin’ fer Willie. Lots of men died over night in the tents. I s’pose most of them is from yer regiment.”

“I saw a few of them tents. It will be a long while before any of them tents is used to sleep in again.”

“See that grave?” Stephen said and pointed to the fresh mound of earth and crude cross on the other side of the tree. “I buried one of your men there. He helped me look fer Willie. He said his name was Hammel.”

“Hammel? A first sergeant?” Robert asked surprised.

“Don’t know. He didn’t have on a coat.”

“You did that fer him?” Robert asked again. He thought for sure Hammel died right there in the rear of the firing line.

“Was the least I could do for the man. He kept me company while I looked for Willie.”

Huebner stepped up with a shovel and thrust it at Stephen. “Here. Shovel.”

Stephen reached for the shovel in Huebner’s hand, but Robert took it first.

“No. Hube and I’ll do it.”

“Let Reb do it,” Huebner said.

“See that grave?” Robert said to Huebner and pointed. “That’s First Sergeant Hammel. This Reb buried him this morning.”

“You do that?”

“Yes, this morning. He helped me search for my friend.”

“This looks like a good a spot as any,” Stephen said, pointing a few feet from him.

“Ok, Hube, let’s dig us another grave.”

Robert walked to the spot and drove the shovel deep into the soft earth. The spectacle soon drew a crowd. They couldn’t have imagined a less likely sight than two Federal soldiers digging a grave for one Confederate soldier while another sat idly by. Robert simply pointed to Hammel’s grave and told them who had dug it. It was enough to set several men after shovels. Soon, they made a deep hole and laid the body of Willie Hawkins to rest. Sweating from their labors, the Federal soldiers paid their last respects, despite knowing that this man possibly was responsible for any number of deaths within their regiment. One by one, each man returned to the camp, and soon only Robert and Huebner remained with Stephen.

“I reckon you’d find a provost guard by headin’ toward the river,” Robert said at length. “C’mon, Hube, let’s leave him alone with his pard.”

“I know what it like to lose friend,” Huebner said with a last look at Stephen before he turned away.

Robert led Huebner away from the camp and along the road.

“We go look for Piper?” Huebner asked.

“Go look for more wounded,” Robert replied. “That Reb’s regiment was the one that attacked us yesterday morning.”

“But he bury Hammel,” said Huebner, confused.

“He did. Peculiar.”

“We go to that pond?” Huebner asked.

“No, not someplace I want to go to if the Reb’s description is correct.”

“Then where we go?”

“To that hill, I guess. You won’t leave it be until you’ve found Piper, huh?”

“No, I want find Piper. I want find all meine Freundin.”

Robert had no answer and kept moving forward. His face was grim.

Organization was returning to the armies as marching columns, accompanied by music, moved down the Corinth–Shiloh Road. With that reorganization came the return to military discipline and a cessation of errands, such as the one Robert and Huebner were on. But order had not yet visited the 25th Missouri, and Robert felt obliged to take advantage. Nearby camps returned to life with the sounds of men talking and wood chopping. But for the acrid smoke hanging in the air, the scene looked entirely ordinary.

Robert worried about Huebner. His other pards were now gone, leaving only himself as Huebner’s sole mess mate and friend. Though he’d been less than friendly with the waif, the battle and the sudden maturity evinced in the man was heartening. Yet he was still an innocent youth whose approach to life was childlike. What would he do now that everyone he trusted and liked was gone?

“You think they still alive?” Huebner asked.

“I’d like to think so.”

“I’ll be sad if they gone.”

“Me, too,” Robert said, running his hands through his hair under his cap. “Did you grab any of that hardtack back at camp?”

“No. I’m hungern.”

“Lucky for you I grabbed some extra,” Robert said and winked. Huebner’s normal youthful expression was absent, as it had been for most of the battle. “Here, have a few. The rest are for anyone we find wounded.”

“Ja, danke.” Huebner took the handful of crackers offered him. “No Kaffe?”

“Nope. That’s back at camp,” Robert replied, wishing he had stopped to fill his cup when he had smelled the brew.

“Went to tent, full of wounded. All knapsacks are gone.”

“Oh? We skedaddled quick like, so that doesn’t surprise me.”

“My prayer book was with knapsack,” Huebner said and pursed his lips.

“Sorry about that. I suppose I’ll not be seeing my nice shirt again, either, the one my wife made.”

“Belong mein Vater. It belonged to his Vater.” His expression was distracted and distant. Most personal items were easily replaced, but not all.

Robert had personally discarded more than one keepsake item sent with him on his trip to St. Louis when the regiment was mustered into service. He was loaded down with useless minutia before he was further encumbered with the thirty pounds of uniform issue. All of the things that would not fit into his knapsack were sent home, save for the few trinkets squirreled away into its crevices: a pocket image of his wife that broke not too soon after their first march, a pistol sold to someone else in the regiment who sold it to a sutler soon after, and a Testament that was far too large to be carried about in the field.

“The whole camp was stripped clean,” Robert blurted out for no reason but to break the silence.

“Ja.”

Robert stopped a moment and looked at the rise looming over them. “I think that’s the other side of the hill we charged earlier.”

Upon the crest, highlighted by the skyline, were the discernible forms of men and horses lying about. The litter of equipment ran all the way up the slope where the Confederates were forced to retreat. A few wounded enemies lay across the path.

“Water,” whispered one man whose chest sucked in and out in sickening, slurping exhalations. He lay listless with hands cupped across his chest as if laid out upon his death bed for all to view. His hands were bloodied, and his face was pale.

Robert leaned down and let the man drink from his canteen. His mouth was reddened with blood, and he smacked his lips repeatedly as if something distasteful lit upon his tongue.

“Thank you,” the man said and resumed his labored breathing.

“I’d move you to an aid station, but I don’t think you’d make the trip,” Robert said.

“Not without a litter,” the man rasped.

“Who knows? Maybe someone will happen by with an ambulance,” Robert said, knowing the chances to be slim.

“I thought ambulances were for generals to sleep in,” the man said with a thin smile.

“Lucky for us they ain’t that many generals around,” Robert grinned before moving on with Huebner in tow.

“Them Rebs not bad when not tryin’ to kill you,” Huebner said.

“Not much different than you or me,” Robert replied.

“They stand for wrong.”

“Well, they stand for it pretty good.”

The two reached the crest, and, after a few steps, started down the other side. In the distance was a patchwork of blue and butternut homespun.

“Aid station,” Huebner said and pointed.

“Right.” Robert scanned the area for a moment. “There. I think that was where we stood.” Robert pointed to a spot amid a row of torn forms.

“Ja.”

The whole regiment had stood and traded blows with the Confederates on the crest long enough to mark the line at their furthest point of penetration. They surveyed faces familiar and not, cold stares, and eyes clenched shut as they walked along the old firing line. Many of the Indiana men from their adopted company had fallen on the slope. Robert looked at one particular lad who was boasting not hours before how he’d survived his first fire fight the night before and how the fear was over. A minié ball had torn through his temple and lodged in his forehead, now visible as a huge lump between the dead man’s open eyes.

“They no here,” Huebner said.

“No, I think they might be farther down there.” Robert motioned toward another clump of dead to the rear of where they stood.

Huebner looked at Robert with sad, questioning eyes. Robert nodded. Huebner walked down the slope to the pile of remains. Robert knew who was there and how many were among the fallen. Robert headed down and immediately ran across Adolf Goedeler with a hole where his Adam’s apple used to be. A few more paces and he was beside Huebner, who stood above Piper, or what was left of him. The solid shot had bowled through his chest, dissecting him messily. His shoulders and head were separated from his waist and legs, which were mingled with the remains of three others. Georg Primble was nearby, having been hit by the same shot, taking his arm off, along with a nasty gash into his neck.

Huebner stood for a while looking down into the faces and seemed to be transfixed by something that Robert failed to grasp.

“Getötet, ganz getötet,” Huebner spoke finally.

“Yes, all killed,” Robert repeated.

“Gustavon, Hildebrande, Piper, Goedeler, Primble—ganz getötet,” Huebner said and wiped away a tear.

“They will be missed.” The words seemed so shallow. Robert felt foolish even as he spoke them.

“Ja, missed.”

Huebner dropped to his knees by the bodies. His shoulders sank low to match the expression upon his face. A soldier approached looking weary and carrying a book. Robert watched him walk up the hill and stop suddenly as he realized he was being watched. Hesitating, the man continued on toward them.

“Hube, someone’s coming,” Robert said softly.

Huebner didn’t stir but stared into the pile of corpses. The blood in places was still fresh but was mostly matted on the grass and drying upon the rent uniforms of the lifeless.