ARRIVAL OF GENERAL BUELL.
The eyes of those weary soldiers brighten. Their courage revived. Help was near. Even in that lurid atmosphere they could see the gleaming of the gun-barrels amid the leaves and undergrowth down the opposite side of the river. They caught hopeful glimpses of the steady, swinging tramp of trained soldiers. A division of Buell’s army was coming up.
Then came a boat across with a lieutenant and two or three privates of the Signal Corps. Some orders were given the officer, and as instantly telegraphed to the other side by the mysterious wavings and raisings and droppings of the flags. A steamer came up with pontoons on board, with which a bridge could be speedily thrown across the river.
She quietly reconnoitered a few moments, and steamed back again. Perhaps, after all, it was better to have no bridge there. It made escape impossible, and left nothing but victory or death to the struggling Union troops. Preparations were rapidly made for crossing General Nelson’s division, (for he had the advance of Buell’s army,) on the dozen transports that had been tied up along the bank.
The division of W. H. L. Wallace held the enemy at bay in his last desperate effort to break the Union lines. While forcing through a cross-fire, General Wallace fell mortally wounded. Brigadier-General McArthur took the command, but he too was wounded, and Colonel Tuttle, as senior in rank, rallied the shattered brigades. He was joined by the Thirteenth Iowa, Colonel Crooker; Ninth Illinois, Colonel Mersy; Twelfth Illinois, Lieutenant-Colonel Chatlain, and several other fragments of regiments, and forming them in line on the road, held the enemy in check until that noble line was formed that breasted that last desperate charge.
At this critical moment a long, loud shout from the Union forces welcomed in the reinforcements. Eight thousand strong had at length crossed the river, and swept down upon the battle-field. Buell and Nelson, by forced marches, made within sound of the booming thunders of artillery, reached the battle-field just as the fate of war trembled in the balance. There was no pause for rest or council. So eager were they for the strife, they scarcely paused for breath before a line of battle was formed which decided that stormy day’s fight.
The men, weary from the long march, and panting from the speed which had marked its last stages, ranged themselves in advance of the exhausted, but unfaltering troops of Sherman, McClernand, Hurlbut and of W. H. L. Wallace, who lay dying on the battle-field, while Colonel Tuttle led his brigades to their noble work.
The gunboats Tyler, Lieutenant Gwinn commanding, and Lexington, James W. Shirk commanding, now steamed up to the mouth of the little creek, near which Stuart’s brigade had lain in the morning, and where the rebels were attacking the Union left. When they reached the mouth of the stream the boats rounded to, commanding a ravine cut through the bluff, as if for the passage of their shells, which poured destruction into the ranks of the enemy. This movement was made under the direction of General Hurlbut, and it soon swept the enemy’s ranks, carrying terror with every burst of deadly iron the guns belched forth.
Eager to avenge the death of their commanding General (now known to have been killed a couple of hours before), and to complete the victory they believed to be within their grasp, the rebels had incautiously ventured within reach of their most dreaded antagonists, as broadside after broadside of seven-inch shells and sixty-four-pound shot soon taught them. This was a foe they had hardly counted on, and the unexpected fire in flank and rear produced a startling effect. The boats fired admirably, and with a rapidity that was astonishing. The twenty-two land guns kept up their stormy thunder; and thus, amid the crash and roar, the scream of shells and demon-like hiss of minie balls, that Sabbath evening wore away.
Startled by the accumulated force, and disheartened by the fearful combinations against them, the rebels fell slowly back, fighting as they went, until they reached an advantageous position, somewhat in the rear, yet occupying the main road to Corinth. The gunboats kept pouring a storm of shell on their track, until they retired completely out of reach, and the battle of the first day ended.
As the sounds of battle died away, and division generals drew off their men, a council of war was held, and it was decided that as soon as possible after daybreak the enemy should be attacked and driven from their snug quarters in the Union camps. Lew. Wallace, who was coming in on the new road from Crump’s Landing, and crossing Snake Creek just above the Illinois Wallace’s (W. H. L.) camps, was to take the right and sweep back toward the position from which Sherman had been driven on Sunday morning. Nelson was to take the extreme left. Buell promised to place Crittenden next to Nelson, and McCook next to him, by a seasonable hour in the morning. The gap between McCook and Lew. Wallace was to be filled with the reorganized divisions of Grant’s army; Hurlbut coming next to McCook, then McClernand, and Sherman closing the gap between McClernand and Lew. Wallace.
BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING, APRIL 6, 1862.
From the first fearful onslaught upon Buckland’s brigade, which, gathering up its shattered regiments, and firing as they ran, to form in the heavy woods, leaving winrows of slain on their track, to the last outburst of shot and shell from the gunboats, the contest of that day had been a fearful one. Most of the troops which received the first shock of battle were raw recruits, just from the camp of instruction. Hundred and hundreds of them had never seen a gun fired save in sport in their lives. With officers equally inexperienced, admitting brilliant exceptions, it is not wonderful that the ranks were broken and driven back when the terrific roar of cannon burst in their midst, and bombshells scattered fire and death among the tents, in which they were quietly sleeping but an hour before. Springing to arms, half prepared only to rush through the blinding smoke to meet the serried columns of the rebels’ impetuous advance—truly it is not strange that they fell into confusion, fighting blindly and at random. But it was a grand sight when Sherman dashed along the lines, shouting encouragement to the men, exposing his own life a hundred times, and rallying his forces with a wonderful power of voice and action. The herculean exertions of this brave man no doubt saved the division from utter destruction.
From the first tranquil opening of that beautiful day to its lurid and bloody close more desperate bravery has seldom been exhibited. When Americans meet Americans, all that is heroic and daring in the national character springs to action, and deeds are done on both sides that thrill the nation as it stands breathlessly listening, North and South, to know how her sons have fought.