On April 2, 1862, we received orders to prepare three days’ cooked rations. Through some misunderstanding, we did not set out until the 4th; and, on the morning of that day, the 6th Arkansas Regiment . . . marched from Corinth to take part in one of the bloodiest battles of the West,’ wrote Stanley. The Dixie Greys left tents and knapsacks behind and after two days’ march and two nights of bivouacking, living on sodden biscuits and raw bacon, spirits were low.
The battle of Pittsburg Landing – better known as the battle of Shiloh – became the second great engagement of the American Civil War. Confederate Generals Johnston and Beauregard planned to advance an army of well-prepared troops into the Tennessee River and send Yankees running all the way home. On the day of the planned assault, 43,000 scruffy, hungry soldiers turned up for a fight. Southern forces, a quarter of them under the age of twenty, would be reinforced by 20,000 men from General Van Dorn’s regiments. Together, 60,000 Confederate soldiers would charge an anticipated strength of 49,000 Yankees. Early victory was predicted and the Yankees were expected to lay down their arms and surrender. It was to be the turning point that would cover the South with glory and bring defeat and humiliation to the armies of the North.
In the grey light of dawn, the Dixie Greys rose from their damp bivouac and formed into lines. General Johnston told fellow officers: ‘Tonight we will water our horses in the Tennessee.’ The men stood in line for half an hour while preparations were made further along the 3-mile front, the Dixie Greys in the centre. As dawn broke, it promised to be a clear and sunny day.
On Stanley’s right stood seventeen-year-old Henry Parker. While men stood at ease, Parker pointed with his boot to some wild violets on the ground and suggested it might be a good idea to put some in their caps because ‘the Yanks won’t shoot me if they see me wearing such flowers, for they are a sign of peace’. Parker and Stanley picked a few violets and the two soldiers arranged them in their caps.
The order passed down the line to load their ancient flintlock muskets and prepare cartridge pouches for use. The loading procedure was slow and laborious, taking 30 to 40 seconds to complete and many soldiers lining up with the Dixie Greys were aware that the enemy used Enfield and Minie rifles which were quicker to fire and reload.
The soldiers were instructed to shoulder arms and commence marching. Silently, the Dixie Greys trudged through a thin forest just as the sun was rising. As they passed over grass and beneath peach trees, Stanley thought how wonderful a spot it would be for a Sunday picnic with Margaret Goree.
Firing was heard from the front followed by an explosive burst of musketry that sent ammunition flying through the air and slamming into trees. The men were ordered to surge forward and although they could hear the enemy and their gunfire, the Yankees were nowhere to be seen. The Dixie Greys were told to aim low and shoot – but at what? Shadows?
They advanced and directly ahead Stanley suddenly saw ‘little globes of pearly smoke streaked with crimson, breaking out from a long line of bluey figures in front’. All hell broke loose. Stanley wrote that the sound ‘suggested . . . a mountain upheaved, with huge rocks tumbling and thundering down a slope, and the echoes rumbling and receding through space. Again and again these loud explosions were repeated, seemingly with increased violence, until they rose to the highest pitch of fury, and in unbroken continuity. All the world seemed involved in one tremendous ruin.’ The Dixie Greys were in confusion as they slowly reloaded, fired and advanced step by step – and with every forward movement, the enemy took a backward step, quickly loading and firing as they withdrew.
While the sound of muskets, rifles and over sixty cannon was deafening, an order to ‘fix bayonets on the double’ was heard. Yelling at the top of their lungs, the Dixie Greys surged forward close to Shiloh church. Stanley said the yelling helped release pent-up feelings and ‘transmitted encouragement along the attacking line. I rejoiced in the shouting like the rest. It reminded me that there were about 400 companies like the Dixie Greys, who shared our feelings. Most of us, engrossed with the musket-work, had forgotten the fact; but wave after wave of human voices, louder than all other battle-sounds together, penetrated to every sense, and stimulated our energies to the utmost.’
Their savage yells combined with the sight of thousands of young men surging forwards set the Yankees – mostly Illinois and Iowa farm boys – on the run. The Dixie Greys gave chase and soon came in sight of the Yankees’ tented camp, which was cleaner, neater and more modern than their own. Stanley thought that the battle must be nearly over and allowed himself a moment’s respite to catch his breath.
Southern regiments were urged to advance further towards other Yankee encampments. A furious hail of bullets met them from a line of soldiers who quickly rid them of the notion that the day was practically over. Opposing armies of blue and grey blazed away at each other.
The order was given: ‘Lie down and continue firing.’ Stanley and a dozen others threw themselves to the ground behind a fallen tree as shells buzzed around like angry bees and bullets thudded into the trunk. A man next to Stanley was shot in the face and another received a bullet through his head.
A cry of ‘Forward, forward!’ was heard and slowly the men in grey struggled to their feet, bent their bodies and moved towards the noise and confusion. A boy’s voice near Stanley cried for them to stop. It was young Henry Parker, who had been hit in the foot. The soldiers urged him on, telling him that standing still was the worst thing he could do. So the boy with violets in his cap hobbled on towards enemy gunfire and was never seen alive again.
By 10 a.m. the Dixie Greys had won new ground and were again in sight of the enemy fleeing into the distance. Something hit Stanley in the region of his belt buckle, knocking him winded to the ground. The clasp on his belt was dented but the ball had failed to penetrate the metal and enter his body.
The land around him was strewn with bodies and the debris of war. The Dixie Greys had advanced further and Stanley set off in search of them, using the bodies of his dead and wounded comrades which ‘lay as thick as the sleepers in a London park on a Bank Holiday’ as his signposts.
He caught up with them at about 1 p.m. as they were preparing another assault. They lay behind fallen trees, logs and in hollows before rising and racing forward. By mid-afternoon, the battle was at its height and the Southern regiments were pushing the Yankees into the Tennessee River – the mission they had been told could easily be achieved using bullwhips.
The Yankees released their big cannon shells, which screamed overhead and landed in the middle of the battlefield, scattering men, limbs and muskets in all directions. Exhaustion overcame many of the Dixie Greys, and about fifty sought shelter in an abandoned enemy camp, where they hungrily snatched up bits of food dropped suddenly when the enemy had evacuated the tented village.
The noise of battle subsided and when night fell only stray shots were heard in the darkness. The men went to a pond to fill water bottles and bathe their wounds. It was stained red with blood. Stanley collapsed onto an enemy camp bed and in his sleep, relived the day’s events.
Wounded and dead from both sides lay out in the open that night. A Confederate soldier later said: ‘You could hear the screams of the injured. They screamed for water. God heard them and the heavens opened and the rain fell.’ As lightning flashed over the fields of Shiloh, vultures could be seen feeding indiscriminately on the ungathered blue and grey carcases.
By dawn, the Dixie Greys were certain that although they had still to drive the Yankees into the swamps and reinforcements had yet to arrive, Confederate forces had won a great victory the previous day. At daylight, Dixie Grey stragglers set off in search of their company. They found them, hungry, exhausted and ill prepared for what lay ahead. Gunfire began again and 22,500 reinforcements and gunboats that had arrived during the night joined the soldiers of the North. The men in grey were confronted with hundreds of men in blue advancing directly towards them, aiming, shooting, reloading, aiming, shooting, reloading. . . .
The Confederates were pushed back over ground they had fought hard to win the previous day and thousands turned tail and ran towards Shiloh church. Others sought shelter from the relentless hail of bullets.
Stanley found himself in an open, grassy space, with no trees behind which to shelter. He spotted a shallow hollow some twenty paces ahead and made a dash for it. So absorbed was he with the blue figures directly ahead that he did not notice where his companions were going. When they were no longer either side of him, he assumed they had moved towards more trees. But they had withdrawn. He rose from the hollow, ‘but to my speechless amazement, I found myself a solitary grey, in a line of blue skirmishers! My companions had retreated! The next I heard was, “Down with that gun, or I’ll drill a hole through you! Drop it, quick!”’
Half a dozen Yankee soldiers – with strong German accents – raised rifles in his direction. The game was up and Stanley dropped his musket and pointed to the violets in his cap. Two men grabbed him and marched the boy in grey ‘into the ranks of the terrible Yankees. I was a prisoner!’
The battle of Shiloh is remembered as one of the bloodiest of the American Civil War. The final number of dead or missing was between 13,246 and 23,746 on the Yankee side and 10,500 Confederates. Both sides claimed victory, although the Confederates were first to retire from the battlefield, and heavy casualties immobilised both sides for nearly a month. As many men fell at Shiloh on 6/7 April 1862 as had fallen when Wellington’s troops met Napoleon’s force at Waterloo in 1815.