But the Rebel leaders at Corinth were fully aware that they largely outnumbered Grant, and that no measures had been taken to strengthen the position at Pittsburgh Landing; while they knew equally well that when Buell's entire Kentucky army arrived, and was added to Grant's forces, they could not possibly expect to hold their vitally important position at Corinth against us. Their only hope, therefore, lay in attacking Grant before Buell arrived, and so defeating us in detail. Fortunately they timed their movements a day too late.
The sun never rose on a more beautiful morning than that of Sunday, April 6th. Lulled by the general security, I had remained in pleasant quarters at Crump's, below Pittsburgh Landing, on the river. By sunrise I was roused by the cry: "They're fighting above." Volleys of musketry could sure enough be distinguished, and occasionally the sullen boom of artillery came echoing down the stream. Momentarily the volume of sound increased, till it became evident it was no skirmish that was in progress, and that a considerable portion of the army must be already engaged. Hastily springing on the guards of a passing steamboat, I hurried up.
The sweet Spring sunshine danced over the rippling waters, and softly lit up the green of the banks. A few fleecy clouds alone broke the azure above. A light breeze murmured among the young leaves; the blue-birds were singing their gentle treble to the stern music that still came louder and deeper to us from the bluffs above, and the frogs were croaking their feeble imitation from the marshy islands that studded the channel.
Even this early the west bank of the river was lined with the usual fugitives from action, hurriedly pushing onwards, they knew not where, except down stream away from the fight. An officer on board hailed numbers of them and demanded their reason for being there; but they all gave him the same response: "We're clean cut to pieces, and every man must save himself."
At the landing appearances became still more ominous. Our two Cincinnati wooden gunboats, Tyler and Lexington, were edging uneasily up and down the banks, eager to put in their broadsides of heavy guns, but unable to find where they could do it. The roar of battle was startlingly close, and showed that the Rebels were in earnest attempt to carry out their threat of driving us into the river. The landing and bluff above were covered with cowards, who had fled from their ranks to the rear for safety, and who were telling the most fearful stories of the Rebel onset and the sufferings of their own particular regiments. Momentarily fresh fugitives came back, often guns in hand, and all giving the same accounts of thickening disasters in front.
Hurrying out toward the scene of action, I was soon convinced that there was too much foundation for the tales of the runaways. Sherman's and Prentiss' entire divisions were falling back in disorder, sharply pressed by the Rebels in overwhelming numbers, at all points. McClernand's had already lost part of its camps, and it, too, was falling back. There was one consolation—only one—I could see just then; history, so the divines say, is positive on the point that no attack ever made on the Sabbath was eventually a success to the attacking party. Nevertheless, the signs were sadly against the theologians.
Let me return—premising that I have thus brought the reader into the scene near the close of the first act in our Sunday's tragedy—to the preliminaries of the opening of the assault.
And first, of our positions. Let the reader understand that the Pittsburgh Landing is simply a narrow ravine, down which a road passes to the river bank, between high bluffs on either side. There is no town at all—two log huts comprise all the improvements visible. Back from the river is a rolling country, cut up with numerous ravines, partially under cultivation, but perhaps the greater part thickly wooded with some underbrush. The soil clayey, and roads on Sunday morning were good. From the Landing a road leads direct to Corinth, twenty miles distant. A mile or two out, this road forks, one branch is the lower Corinth road, the other the ridge Corinth road. A short distance out another road takes off to the left, crosses Lick Creek, and leads back to the river at Hamburgh, some miles further up. On the right, two separate roads lead off to Purdy, and another, a new one, across Snake Creek to Crump's Landing on the river below. Besides these, the whole country inside our lines is cut up with roads leading to our different camps; and beyond the lines is the most inextricable maze of crossroads, intersecting everything and leading everywhere, in which it was ever my ill-fortune to become entangled.
On and between these roads, at distances of from two to four or five miles from Pittsburgh Landing, lay five divisions of Major-General Grant's army that Sunday morning. The advance line was formed by three divisions—Brigadier-General Sherman's, Brigadier-General Prentiss's and Major-General McClernand's. Between these and the Landing lay the two others—Brigadier-General Hurlbut's and Major-General Smith's, commanded, in the absence (from sickness) of that admirable officer, by Brigadier-General W. H. L. Wallace.
Our advance line, beginning at the extreme left, was thus formed. On the Hamburgh road, just this side the crossing of Lick Creek and under bluffs on the opposite bank that commanded the position, lay Colonel D. Stuart's Brigade of General Sherman's Division. Some three or four miles distant from this Brigade, on the lower Corinth road and between that and the one to Purdy, lay the remaining Brigades of Sherman's Division, McDowell's forming the extreme right of our whole advance line, Buckland's coming next to it, and Hildebrand's next. To the left of Hildebrand's Brigade, though rather behind a portion of Sherman's line, lay Major-General McClernand's Division, and between it and Stuart's Brigade, already mentioned as forming our extreme left, lay Brigadier-General Prentiss' Division, completing the front.