This incident tends to show that the enemy was hovering near our immediate front.
Calling a few years ago upon my old Colonel, Gen. John E. Smith, of the United States army (now deceased), and talking over some of our battles, I asked him about some feature of the battle of Shiloh, to which he replied: “Well, Wilbur, after reading all the histories and articles published on the battle of Shiloh, I am in doubt whether I was there at all.” But he was there, and by reason of his courage and skill merited the promotion he afterwards received.
The Generals and officers have had almost a monopoly since the war, in telling how such and such a battle was fought, and the magazines have been filled with the story of General So and So winning this battle and losing another. The Sergeants, Corporals and the privates who did the hard fighting in the ranks have not been heard from very much. It’s about time we had our say, so that the future historian may gather facts from the ranks as well as from the officers, and thus be able to make a complete history.
The ground at Shiloh is quite uneven and very woody, with here and there a field or “clearing.”
There was a little log church near Gen. Sherman’s camp, called “Shiloh,” where the battle commenced, and the great battle of April 6 and 7, 1862, has gone down in history as the battle of Shiloh.
The Confederate army had approached our lines very quietly within two miles; the beating of drums had been forbidden and every precaution taken to keep the Union army from knowing of their presence. The sound of “taps” in the Union army at 9 o’clock Saturday night was distinctly heard in the enemy’s camp, but we heard no “taps” from their army.
Never did a morning open with brighter, happier prospects than did that Sunday morning of April 6, 1862. Never did the sun beam forth, shedding its golden rays on a devoted, unsuspecting army, with more loveliness. Never was a wilderness made more cheerful and inviting by the innocent chirpings and songs of myriads of warbling songsters, perched among the many trees of our camp, little dreaming of the approaching dangers which was destined so soon to be drenched with human blood.
Will, being an early riser from force of habit, having been raised on a farm, had been up long enough to have eaten his breakfast, while Jim, his bunk mate, was just coming out of his tent, when the rattle of musketry was heard out in front to the southwest.
“Will, what was that noise off there, rumbling of the wagons?” inquired Jim.
“No, Jim, I think its musketry firing.”