Last night was a
doleful night as the soldiers laid in this wilderness by the Tennessee. All
night long there was a chilling rain, and the April wind sighed mournfully
around the suffering, wounded warriors. Many a wounded soldier died last night.
During the weary hours the insatiate archer was making silent steps.
"One quivering motion, one convulsive
throe,
And the freed spirits took their upward
flight.”
Would that God would
roll back the storms of war and temper the hearts of men ere any more human
blood flows down like rivulets to crimson the beautiful waters of the
Cumberland and Tennessee. But oh! it seems that more blood must flow; that away
up yonder, in those cottage homes, where the prairie winds blow, more tears
must sparkle, fall and perish; that more hearts must be broken-more hopes
dashed down—more doomed
"In their nightly dreams to hear
The bolts of war around them rattle."
Hark! we hear a
rumble and a roar. It is a rattle of musketry and the terrible knell from the
cannon's mouth. We are marched to the front, where we find Nelson engaged. His
hounds of war are let loose. Inroads are being made. The Seventh is filed into
position and ordered to lie down. Though the enemy has given ground, they still
show stubbornness. We are now in a sharp place; there is some uneasiness here.
A cold chill creeps over the soldiers. How uncomfortable it is to be compelled
to remain inactive when these whizzing minies come screaming through the air on
their mission of death. From such places, under such circumstances, the Seventh
would ever wish to be excused, for it grates harshly with the soldier, and is
exceedingly distressing when he is prevented from returning compliment for
compliment, as the Seventh will testify to-day. But we do not remain here long,
for from this place of inactivity, we are moved to a place of action. The
battle is raging furiously. The army of the Ohio and the army of the Tennessee
are striking hand to hand. The tables are turning; step by step the rebels are
being driven. Position after position the Seventh is now taking. The sharp,
positive crack of their musketry makes a terrible din along their line. It is
apparent that the rebels are retreating. Another day is waning; a day of
sacrifice; a day in which has been held a high carnival of blood on Shiloh's
plain. Many patriot, loyal soldiers died to-day, and as they died, many of them
were seen to smile as they saw the old flag, the pride of their hearts, riding
so proudly over the bloody field. Many shed a tear of joy as they beheld the beautiful
streams of light falling on the crimson wings of conquest.
The rebels are now
flying. Nelson is making a terrible wreck in the rear of the retreating army.
Kind reader, stand with me now where the Seventh stands; look away yonder! Your
eye never beheld a grander sight. It is the northwest's positive tread. They
move firmly; there is harmony in their steps. Ten thousand bayonets flash in
the blazing sunlight. They are moving in columns on the bloody plain. Their
tramp sounds like a death knell. The band is playing “Hail to the chief.” Its
martial anthems seem to float as it were on golden chords through air, and as
they fall around the weary soldier their hopes of glory beat high. They are
retreating now; the rear of the rebel army is fast fading from Shiloh's. field.
Before the north west's mighty power how they dwindle into littleness, as
turrets and spires beneath the stars. They are far away now, and the great
battle of Shiloh is over; the fierce wild drama is ended; the curtain falls;
the sun is hid, and night has come. The Seventh goes into camp on the
battle-field; their camp fires are soon burning, and those noble ones, who have
fought so well, lie down, worn and weary, to rest themselves. They have passed
through two days of fearful battle; amid thunder, smoke and perils they bore
their tattered flag, and when the storm-king was making his most wrathful
strides, it still waved in the wind and never went down, for strong arms were
there and they held it up. But how painful it is to know that some comrades who
were with us in the morning, are not with us now. They have fallen and
died-died in the early morning of life. And why did they die? A royal herald
will answer, for a country, for a home, for a name. Come walk with me now while
the tired soldiers are sleeping. Who is this who lays here beneath this oak, in
such agony, such convulsive throes? It is a soldier in gray; a wounded rebel
who fought against the old flag to-day. But he is dying; his life is almost
gone; he is dead now. Oh! how sad it makes one feel to see a soldier die, and
how we pity him who has just died; pity him because he has fallen in such a
desperate cause; pity him because no royal herald will ever write his name on
the sacred scroll of fame.
SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History
of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 54-7
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