Antietam,
Morning
17 September 1862
All four regiments were roused and moving forward. It was somewhere just after 5.30 a.m. and Gibbon had ordered his men to advance. At that point, the 6th Wisconsin was in the lead with the 2nd behind them, followed by the 19th Indiana and the 7th Wisconsin respectively. Across the west flank, Hooker’s I Corps were on the move, readying for an attack. A bloody thrust which would come up against the Confederates under Stonewall Jackson.
Savage was tired like his men, still shaking off the fog of battle from the 14th. The company, B, was still understrength. They’d lost twenty men last time out and received three replacements. Now, through the early vestiges of an orange dawn, they were moving forward to fight the Rebs once more.
Mud squelched under stomping boots. The previous night’s rain had made for a miserable sleep and nearly all of Savage’s company were still wet having had no proper shelter.
He sensed a presence at his shoulder and turned his head and saw Lieutenant Paul Tally had fallen in beside him. He held something out for Savage to take.
‘What is it, sir?’
‘It is a letter for my parents back in Alderton,’ Tally said, referring to his home town.
‘What do I want with it?’
‘I need you to mail it to them.’
Savage realized what Tally was up to. It was in case of his death. Which meant that he had had himself a premonition.
‘You’re being silly, Lieutenant.’
‘Take it, Sergeant,’ Tally said firmly. ‘I need you to mail it. I’ll not survive this day. When I fall, you will take over command of the company.’
Savage hesitated before taking the letter. He snapped at Tally, ‘I’ll give it back to you after this day is done, Lieutenant. Just concentrate on your damned job and leave the rest up to God. You’ll be fine.’
‘Thank you, Jeff.’
They marched on in silence. In the distance, the rumble of cannon fire grew steadily. The guns had started before dawn, preceding the Union attack.
The regiment stopped for a moment before an order filtered back and the 6th Wisconsin organized for the coming assault.
They, along with the 2nd Wisconsin, would attack the Confederate lines on the left of the Hagerstown Pike. While the 19th Indiana and the 7th Wisconsin would assault along Pike’s right.
The only problem was, they were unsure of the Confederate’s exact positions. The thing that was certain, two armies would slam together in a violent fury which would see one of the single, bloodiest days in American military history.
The Iron Brigade, as it was now known, was going to war.
Low mist had settled in the hollows overnight, another remnant of the rain. Savage’s company pushed into the corn field before them, the wet stalks depositing more moisture on the still-damp Union uniforms.
The corn was above head height and all Savage could see was a thick wall of green before him. To B company’s left was A, to the right was D. B and E were amalgamated into one company because of their losses on the 14th.
In the center of the line was the regimental standard, flying high above the green thicket.
Savage cursed, ‘Shit and damnation!’
‘What is it?’ Tally asked.
‘The standard is showing the Rebs right where we are. A good piece of cover like this and some bastard has got to wave a damned target above his head.’
On cue, the Confederate artillery shifted their aim and the cornfield began to sprout geysers which consisted of dirt, cornstalks, and blue-clad troopers. Canister shot cut down vegetation and men indiscriminately. Holes began to open in the battle lines, craters all that were left of some poor bastards who took direct hits.
The corn seemed to lay down with each explosion and screams of pain filled the morning air. To Savage’s left, a young trooper looked down at the bloodied stump where his left arm used to be, while the man who’d marched beside him, ceased to exist.
To B company’s rear, another explosion ripped the cornstalks apart and a great fountain of sodden earth blew skyward.
Savage adjusted his grip on the musket and glanced sideways to check the line. He noted the gap and shouted, ‘Close up! Fill the damned hole!’
Once more the sky above them seemed to be ripped apart and the pursuant explosion thumped over the ground and Savage felt the concussion rock his body.
‘How much more of this is there?’ Tally asked in a loud voice.
Savage shrugged. ‘What I want to know is, what’s on the other side?’
It wouldn’t be long till he found out. For in the field on the other side of the corn, six regiments of Georgia Infantry waited.
As the 6th Wisconsin broke free of the tall rows of corn, a long line of men opposite, dressed in gray, rose to their feet. Savage halted and stared at the sight before him. His blood ran cold as he heard an officer across the way shout, ‘Aim!’
‘Shit!’ he growled, then, ‘Brace yourselves, boys!’
When the Confederate commander ordered the Georgians to fire, the whole line before the 6th Wisconsin rippled with the staccato sound of musket blasts. A great gray plume exploded forward from over eight-hundred barrels. Lead scythed across the open expanse and ripped great holes in the line of advancing Union troops.
Soldiers fell like bloody, autumn leaves. Some were shot in the body, others in the legs or arms. A trooper who’d filled a hole next to Savage, died in a writhing heap on the ground, his jaw shot away and lead taken to his chest.
High-pitched screams of the wounded and dying blended with the remaining echoes of the devastating first Confederate volley.
Savage had felt the tug of two slugs as they tore through the loose fabric of his tunic. Three more had passed close enough to his face for him to feel their heat.
Even as the order came for the men to bring up their weapons to fire, the B company boys were already doing just that.
Savage brought his musket to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel. He picked his target, a Reb with a campaign cap on his head, and squeezed the trigger.
The musket belched smoke and flame and the distant soldier was obscured. Savage started to reload and as he tamped down the wad with the ramrod, he looked back up and saw that the soldier had disappeared.
Soon the air was filled with the sound of an overwhelming amount of gunfire from both sides. Ranks of men in blue and gray seemed to be thrown back violently by an invisible catapult. Savage felt the burn of another Reb Minié ball as it tore his pants leg.
‘Christ!’ he growled. Then he shouted at his men, ‘Move forward, damn it! Move the fuck forward!’
B company lurched onwards at his urging, bayonets at the ready. Along the front, the rest of the 6th seemed to follow B company’s lead as they too began to move. The Georgian regiments to their front were slowly being forced back as thousands of Union troops, including the 97th, 104th, and 80th New York, along with the 107th Pennsylvania Infantry, pressed forward.
Then the fight took another decisive turn. To the right of the advance, on the other side of Hagerstown Pike, a Louisiana Brigade under the command of Brigadier William E. Starke, consisting of the 1st, 2nd, 9th, 10th, and 15th Louisiana Infantry, took up a position so they could fire into the advancing 6th’s flank from behind a wooden fence. On their left was William Booth Taliaferro’s 2nd Louisiana Brigade.
When they opened fire, it ripped into the 6th Wisconsin and more soldiers fell in a bloody heap.
Commanding the right wing, Colonel Edward S. Bragg ordered the 6th Wisconsin to wheel right to face the new threat. But they weren’t alone. The 2nd Wisconsin also turned as did the 2nd United States Sharpshooters who were advancing with Gibbon’s “Iron Brigade”.
Savage heard Tally’s voice as he barked orders, and glanced to his right. He saw the young lieutenant standing out in front of the line as he tried to get B company to turn in an orderly fashion. He noted the tear high up in the left sleeve of the officer’s tunic. In his right hand, he held a sword. Savage had once told him to get rid of it. Tally’s answer was, every officer needs his sword.
Once they were set, they advanced as far as the timber fence. Gun fire from the Louisiana Brigades was almost unfathomable, and what was to happen next would be considered one of the most brutal close-quarter battles seen in the Civil War.
With no more than yards and two rail fences between them, the Union and Confederate forces engaged each other with murderous fire.
Savage stood shoulder to shoulder with the men next to him. A hailstorm of leaden death scythed across the Hagerstown Pike to cut down soldiers in an indiscriminate fashion. Both blue- and gray-clad soldiers fell in their dozens behind great clouds of powder smoke.
Along the lines on both sides, officers and N.C.O.’s shouted encouragement to their men, urging them to stand firm in the lottery of death.
Savage lost count of how many times he felt Confederate lead snatch at his uniform. Or how many times the men next to him reeled back with a cry of pain, shot through some part of their body. Some crawled away, others remained unmoving as they died where they fell, and those who filled their places were forced to climb over the bodies.
The musket Savage held, discharged again and another Confederate soldier across the way dropped his own weapon, clasped at his face, and fell, hitting the wooden fence as he went.
Loud cracks sounded as musket balls hit the timber rails of the fence. Large, razor-like splinters were chewed out of the wood and sprayed those who sought shelter behind it.
One Wisconsin soldier screamed when his face grew quills while another died when a large splinter pierced his right eye then moved on into his brain.
It was slaughter on a grand scale and one that was about to have another twist.
So engaged were the Louisiana Brigades that they never noticed the other two regiments from Gibbon’s Iron Brigade as they fell in behind them, some hundred plus yards away. The 7th Wisconsin and the 19th Indiana side by side, the former used a stone ledge as cover.
Then they opened fire at the backs of the Louisiana Brigades, and the slaughter escalated. Soldiers in Confederate uniforms dropped where they stood, in piles of bloody rags. It took a time at first for them to realize what had happened. But once they had, the Confederate line broke and ran for the West Woods.
‘Sergeant!’ Tally barked from behind Savage. ‘Colonel Bragg has been wounded and Major Dawes is now in charge of the regiment. We are to form up again and recommence our march towards the church. The Brooklyn boys will reinforce us and fill the gaps in our lines. Once they have, we’re to move forward.’
Savage looked about him and saw the other companies starting to reform. From behind them the Brooklyn Regiment emerged from the corn and joined the Wisconsin line. Then they all pushed forward.
Musket fire rattled across the open field. Savage fired at a fleeing Confederate soldier and then reloaded while still advancing. All across the field lay gray lumps, newly propagated human mushrooms that hadn’t been there the day before. Behind the advancing Union lines, cannon fire still landed, dispersing grapeshot and cutting down yet more of Hooker’s men.
With methodical efficiency, they killed and were killed, until the battle turned yet again.
Savage forced the ramrod down into the hot barrel of his musket. The thing was becoming choked, and ramming the bullets down was becoming harder.
Then he realized that he wasn’t the only one having problems. The rate of fire across their front had slowed which meant the rest of them were having the same issue.
‘Christ!’ Savage snarled. ’Lieutenant! Lieutenant Tally!’
Tally turned to see who’d called his name through the din. He dropped out of the line and moved to his left to where Savage was reloading once more.
‘What is it, Sergeant?’
‘The muskets are choking up. The rate of fire has dropped. The damned guns will be useless before long.’
Tally paused, listening, looking. He nodded. ‘You’re right. Damn it! Keep the men moving. We’re almost to the church. The Rebs are on the run. Use bayonets if you have to.’
‘Yes, sir.’
It was then that Savage saw the movement around the Dunker Church as more Confederate regiments filed out of the trees and moved along the Smoketown Road.
‘Shit!’ he cursed loudly. ‘Company move forward!’
No sooner had they started to move when Savage knew that it wouldn’t be enough. He shouted, ‘Halt! Prepare to fire!’
‘Sergeant, what are you doing?’
He turned to face Tally. ‘Look, Lieutenant. Those Rebs outnumber us by a good margin. They’re fresh troops and they’re all but in position. If we can get a couple of good volleys into them we might stand a chance.’
But it wasn’t to be. The troops before them were from John Bell Hood’s brigade. Tough men all. Well trained. And the 6th Wisconsin, along with the 2nd Wisconsin and the Brooklyn boys were battered, running low on ammunition, and had just about had enough.
All it took was the first volley from Hood’s men.
The Confederate line exploded into life and the Union troops were hammered by invisible blows, killing some and maiming many. Right then and there, the men of Gibbon’s brigade from Hooker’s Corps were stopped in their tracks.
Right along the front the whole Union line seemed to shudder, then the soldiers from the Texas Brigade charged. That was when the blue line broke.
‘Hold the line, men!’ Tally shouted. ‘Hold the line!’
B Company folded like the rest of the 6th Wisconsin. They’d had enough and turned tail and ran.
Savage grabbed Tally by the arm. ‘Come on, sir. Time to leave.’
Tally grew angry at his sergeant. ‘Damn it, Savage. We need to hold the line. We’re almost at our objective.’
Savage stared at him. ‘Look about you, damn it. There’s no line left to hold. They’re all falling back. Now come on.’
Not waiting for an answer, Savage started to drag his commanding officer along with him, back across the field strewn with the dead and dying; through the storm of lead which followed them until they reached the cornfield. There along the fence, some of the regiment had gathered to face the approaching Confederates.
After firing a volley at the pursuing soldiers, they melted back amongst the tall stalks.
The Texans, their blood up, followed them into the tall green rows. Soon the battle for the cornfield raged. A great pall of smoke hung over it like a thick fog of war. The staccato sound of musket fire seemed to go on forever. Occasionally there’d be a lull which was pierced by a Rebel Yell and then it would start again.
Savage had become separated in the confusion. He had more tears in his clothing than he could count from where the Confederate lead had barely missed.
To his left, a large Confederate soldier appeared amid the confusion. The big man sighted down the barrel of his musket and squeezed the trigger.
Savage braced himself for the impact, the killing blow that would rip his insides apart.
Misfire.
A snarl spread across Savage’s face, more from relief than anger. Without a second thought he lunged forward, his own musket at waist level, bayonet aiming for the Confederate soldier’s middle.
The man panicked and started to back away from the Union sergeant in front of him. He’d gone no more than three steps when his feet got tangled in a cornstalk and he fell.
Helpless, he could only watch as Savage raised the bayonet for the killing blow. The Confederate soldier held up his right hand as if it would ward off his imminent death.
Instead there was a blur of movement and a blue-clad figure crashed into Savage from the left, giving the prone man the time he needed to escape.
‘I’ll kill you, you damned son of a bitch,’ Foster raged.
Shit, where did he come from?
Savage grappled with the crazed man as Foster tried to wrap clawed fingers around his throat. Foster’s eyes blazed with murderous intent and Savage could see the puckered skin around the jagged scab on his face.
‘You’re fucking dead!’ Foster hissed. ‘You hear me? You left me in that damned house.’
Savage ignored him and swung a right fist up into his assailant’s jaw. Once, twice. It took a third blow for any result to show and it came in the form of Foster’s grip loosening a touch.
Savage heaved his body upward and dislodged the man astride him. He rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Foster did the same and both stood glaring at each other, nostrils flared as they sucked in deep breaths.
‘Let it go, Foster. This ain’t the place for it.’
‘Screw you,’ he snarled and charged.
Savage didn’t have time for this. The cornfield was full of Rebs and it was only a matter of time before more appeared. He went low and scooped up his fallen musket by its bayonet. He brought it forward in time for Foster to impale himself upon it.
The killer’s eyes flew wide with shock and he staggered back with jerky steps. The bayonet came free with a horrible sucking sound and Foster grabbed at the ghastly wound.
‘Son of a bitch!’ It was more of a bewildered cry than an accusation.
Foster fell to his knees and then rolled onto his side. He drew his knees up to his chest as the burning pain took hold.
A crashing sounded in the corn to Savage’s front and a handful of Confederate soldiers appeared.
They shouted at him to surrender but instead he ducked his head and ran into the corn behind him.
The sound of musket fire followed him and the whip-like cracks of the slugs as they blew through cornstalks gave him a few anxious moments. Then he was out of sight.
Later, after the fighting was finished, Savage would remember vividly how the tall cornstalks would be mowed down every time the Texan troops fired a heavy volley. Reinforcements came and went. The battle ebbed and flowed with each attack and counterattack.
When the remains of the 6th Wisconsin finally broke free of the green death, they were directed to form up on the other side of the Hagerstown Pike to support the few guns of Battery B, stationed there. They were soon joined by the 7th Wisconsin.
As Savage looked around at the battered and bloodied men of his company, he prayed that their battle was done. His boys couldn’t take much more.
Then he thought of Sergeant Foster, lying dead in the corn. The son of a bitch got what he deserved.
Who would have thought he could appear alive and well six years later?