Love under Fire

by Randall Parrish

I naturally anticipated an immediate attack, and began preparations. Glass was broken from the small windows through which the men were to fire, and the sergeants and myself made inspection of men and arms, and gave orders for vigorous defence. Yet we were already so well intrenched that this required but a few moments, and, confident I could shift my force quickly so as to meet any attack, I returned to the front rooms to observe the enemy. To my surprise there was no evidence of any movement in our direction, although there had been a noticeable shifting of troops. Chambers had swung his infantry forward through gaps in the line of battle, and was now confronting the Federal advance, not only holding his ground, but it seemed to me, slightly pushing his opponent. I ran up stairs so as to obtain a wider view of the field. They were fighting fiercely to our front and left, the line of fire slightly overlapping the pike, although, from the led horses in the rear, the troops engaged on this extremity were mostly dismounted cavalry. Marching columns were still approaching from the south, swinging off from the pike as they neared the house, and disappearing into a grove of trees to the east. The land in that direction was rough, and I could only guess at the formation by the sound of firing, and the dense clouds of smoke. It was out there the artillery was massed, although in all of Chambers' command I saw but two batteries. The heaviest fighting was to the east, not so far away but what we were within shell range, and yet out of direct view, while to the north the Confederates could be seen struggling to gain possession of a low hill. Their first rush had dislodged the Federals from the log church, but had been halted just below in the hollow. Beyond to the westward stretched the black shadow of the ravine, silent and deserted, largely concealed by a fringe of trees.

That which interested me more particularly, however, was the scene nearer at hand--the stragglers, the wounded, the skulkers, the disorganized bodies of men, the wearied commands which had been fighting since daylight, now doggedly falling back, relieved by new arrivals, yet unwilling to go. They were not beaten, and their officers had fairly to drive them from the field, and when they halted the men faced to the front. It was all a scene of wild confusion, the roar of guns incessant, the air full of powder smoke, shells bursting here and there, and constantly the shouts of men. Ammunition wagons blocked the pike, soldiers thronging about them to stuff cartridges into emptied belts; a battery of artillery dashed past, recklessly scattering the surging mass to left and right, as its horses, lashed into frenzy, plunged forward toward the fighting line; horsemen galloped back and forth, commanding, imploring, swearing, as they endeavored to reform the mob into a reserve column; riderless horses dashed about, resisting capture; and a runaway team of mules, dragging behind the detached wheels of an army wagon, mowed a lane straight across the open field. Men lay everywhere sleeping, so exhausted the dead and living looked alike; there were ghastly bandages, dust-caked faces, bloody uniforms, features blackened by powder, and limping figures helped along by comrades. Empty ammunition wagons loaded again with wounded, went creaking slowly to the rear, the sharp cries of suffering echoing above the infernal din. Just outside the gate, under the tree shadows, was established a field hospital, a dozen surgeons working feverishly amid the medley of sounds. I had heretofore seen war from the front, in the excitement of battle, face to face with the enemy, but this sickened me. I felt my limbs tremble, the perspiration bead my face. I now knew what war was, stripped of its glamour, hideous in its reality of suffering and cruelty. For a moment I felt remorse, fear, a cowardly desire to escape, to get away yonder, beyond the reek of powder, the cries of pain. The awful vista gripped me as if by spectral fingers. But for the movement just then of that cavalry regiment, recalling me to duty, I half believe I should have run, not from fright but to escape the horror.

They were moving forward past the front of the house, the men still on foot, gripping the leather at their horses' bits, the restive animals plunging so wildly as to make it seem more the advance of a mob than a disciplined body. A shell exploded in the road to their left, tearing a hole in the white pike, and showering them with stones. I could see bleeding faces where the flying gravel cut. Another shrieked above, and came to earth just in front of the house, shattering the front steps into fragments, and leaving one of the wooden pillars hanging, unsupported. Yet with no halt or hesitancy, the gray mass moved slowly across the lawn, and then deliberately formed in line beneath the trees of the orchard. Their horses were led to the rear, and the men fell into rank at the sharp command of officers. Facing as they did I was left in doubt as to their purpose. Just inside the gate a battalion of infantry stood at parade rest, some of Johnston's men, I judged from their appearance, who had held together. Beyond them a little group of horsemen had reined up on a knoll, and seemed to be studying the surrounding country through field glasses. I could see the glitter of them in the sun.

Straight across the grass from the line of dismounted cavalry an officer rode, galloping through the dust of the pike, and trotting up the incline until he reached this distant group. I watched curiously as he pointed toward the house, and the others turned and looked. I could dimly distinguish features, and realized the meaning of some of their gestures. Then the cavalry-man turned his horse, and came trotting back. But now he rode directly up the gravelled driveway to the front of the house, a white rag flapping from the point of his uplifted sword. Thirty feet away he pulled up his horse, his eyes searching the house, and I stepped out on the porch roof. The broken pillar made me afraid to venture to the edge, but we were plainly in view of each other.

"Are you the Yank in command?" he asked brusquely, staring up at me.

"Yes."

He removed the rag from his sword, and thrust the weapon into its scabbard.

"What force have you?"

I smiled, amused at his display of nerve.

"You will have to come in to discover that, my friend."