“Three different times did we go into that ‘Valley of Death,’ and as often were forced back by overwhelming numbers, intrenched in a strong position. That all was done that could possibly be done, the heaps of killed and wounded left there give ample evidence.”[17]
Colonel Allen, of the Fourth Louisiana, says:—
“A murderous fire was poured into us from the masked batteries of grape and canister, and also from the rifle-pits. The regiment retired, formed again, and again charged. There fell many of my bravest and best men, in the thick brushwood, without ever seeing the enemy.”[18]
It is sunset. The day has gone. It has been a wild, fierce, disastrous conflict. Beauregard has pushed steadily on towards the Landing. He is within musket-shot of the steamers, of the prize he so much covets. He has possession of all but one of the division camps. He can keep his promise made to his soldiers; they can sleep in the camps of the Union army. This is his first serious check. He has lost many men. His commander-in-chief is killed, but he is confident he can finish in the morning the work which has gone on so auspiciously, for Buell has not arrived.
He has done a good day’s work. His men have fought well, but they are exhausted. Tomorrow morning he will finish General Grant. Thus he reasons.[19]
General Grant was right in his calculations. The Rebels have been checked at last. At sunset they who stand upon the hill by the Landing discover on the opposite bank men running up the road, panting for breath. Above them waves the Stars and Stripes. There is a buzz, a commotion, among the thousands by the river-side.
“It is Buell’s advance!”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
The shouts ring through the forest. The wounded lift their weary heads, behold the advancing line, and weep tears of joy. The steamers cast off their fastenings. The great wheels plash the gurgling water. They move to the other side. The panting soldiers of the army of the Ohio rush on board. The steamer settles to the guards with her precious cargo of human life; recrosses the river in safety. The line of blue winds up the bank. It is Nelson’s division. McCook’s and Crittenden’s divisions are at Savannah. Lewis Wallace’s division from Crump’s Landing is filing in upon the right, in front of Sherman and McClernand. There will be four fresh divisions on Monday morning. The army is safe. Buell will not be pushed back to the Ohio. Recognition will not come from France and England in consequence of the great Rebel victory at Shiloh.
Through the night the shells from the gunboats crashed along the Rebel lines. So destructive was the fire, that Beauregard was obliged to fall back from the position he had won by such a sacrifice of life. There was activity at the Landing. The steamers went to Savannah, took on board McCook’s and Crittenden’s divisions of Buell’s army, and transported them to Pittsburg. Few words were spoken as they marched up the hill in the darkness, with the thousands of wounded on either hand, but there were many silent thanksgivings that they had come. The wearied soldiers lay down in battle line to broken sleep, with their loaded guns beside them. The sentinels stood, like statues, in silence on the borders of that valley of death, watching and waiting for the morning.