for a minute,
but as we went forward it swelled up again, rolling toward the left where we
were, rifles popping and popping and the soldiers yelling crazy in the
distance. It didn’t sound like any elephant to me.
We came clear of the woods where they ended on a ridge
overlooking a valley with a little creek running through it. The ground was
open all across the valley, except where the creek bottom was overgrown, and mounted
to another ridge on the other side where the woods began again. There were
white spots in the fringe of trees—these were tents, I made out. We were the
left brigade of the whole army. The 15th Arkansas, big men mostly, with bowie
knives and rolled-up sleeves, was spread across the front for skirmishers,
advanced a little way in the open. There was a Tennessee regiment on our right
and two more on our left and still another at the left rear with flankers out.
Then we were all in the open, lined up with our flags riffling in the breeze.
Colonel Thornton was out front, between us and the skirmishers. His saber flashed
in the sun. Looking down the line I saw the other regimental commanders, and
all their sabers were flashing sunlight too. It was like a parade just before
it begins.
This is going to be what they promised us, I said to myself.
This is going to be the charge.
That was when General Johnston rode up. He came right past
where I was standing, a fine big man on a bay stallion. He had on a broad-brim
hat and a cape and thigh boots with gold spurs that twinkled like sparks of
fire. I watched him ride by, his mustache flaring out from his mouth and his
eyes set deep under his forehead. He was certainly the handsomest man I ever
saw, bar none; he made the other officers on his staff look small. There was a
little blond-headed lieutenant bringing up the rear, the one who would go all
red in the face when the men guyed him back on the march. He looked about my
age, but that was the only thing about us that was alike. He had on a natty
uniform: bobtail jacket, red silk neckerchief, fire-gilt buttons, and all. I
said to myself, I bet his ma would have a fit if she could see him now.
General Johnston rode between our regiment and the Tennessee
boys on our right, going forward to where the skirmish line was waiting. When
the colonel in charge had reported. General Johnston spoke to the skirmishers:
"Men of Arkansas, they say you boast of your prowess with the bowie knife.
Today you wield a nobler weapon: the bayonet. Employ it well." They stood
there holding their rifles and looking up at him, shifting their feet a little
and looking sort of embarrassed. He was the only man I ever saw who wasn’t a
preacher and yet could make that high-flown way of talking sound right. Then he
turned his horse and rode back through our line, and as he passed he leaned
sideways in the saddle and spoke to us: "Look along your guns, and fire
low." It made us ready and anxious for what was coming.
Captain Plummer walked up and down the company front. He was
short, inclined to fat, and walked with a limp from the blisters he developed
on the march. "Stay dwessed on me, wherever I go," he said.
"And shoot low. Aim for their knees." All up and
down the line the flags were flapping and other officers were speaking to their
men.
I was watching toward the front, where we would go, but all
I could see was that empty valley with the little creek running through it and
the rising ground beyond with the trees on top. While I was looking, trying
hard to see was anybody up there, all of a sudden there was a Boom! Boom! Boom!
directly in the rear and it scared me so bad I almost broke for cover. But when
I looked around I saw they had brought up the artillery and it was shooting
over our heads towards the left in a shallow swale. I felt real sheepish from
having jumped but when I looked around I saw that the others had jumped as much
as I had, and now they were joking at one another about who had been the most
scared, carrying it
but as we went forward it swelled up again, rolling toward the left where we
were, rifles popping and popping and the soldiers yelling crazy in the
distance. It didn’t sound like any elephant to me.
We came clear of the woods where they ended on a ridge
overlooking a valley with a little creek running through it. The ground was
open all across the valley, except where the creek bottom was overgrown, and mounted
to another ridge on the other side where the woods began again. There were
white spots in the fringe of trees—these were tents, I made out. We were the
left brigade of the whole army. The 15th Arkansas, big men mostly, with bowie
knives and rolled-up sleeves, was spread across the front for skirmishers,
advanced a little way in the open. There was a Tennessee regiment on our right
and two more on our left and still another at the left rear with flankers out.
Then we were all in the open, lined up with our flags riffling in the breeze.
Colonel Thornton was out front, between us and the skirmishers. His saber flashed
in the sun. Looking down the line I saw the other regimental commanders, and
all their sabers were flashing sunlight too. It was like a parade just before
it begins.
This is going to be what they promised us, I said to myself.
This is going to be the charge.
That was when General Johnston rode up. He came right past
where I was standing, a fine big man on a bay stallion. He had on a broad-brim
hat and a cape and thigh boots with gold spurs that twinkled like sparks of
fire. I watched him ride by, his mustache flaring out from his mouth and his
eyes set deep under his forehead. He was certainly the handsomest man I ever
saw, bar none; he made the other officers on his staff look small. There was a
little blond-headed lieutenant bringing up the rear, the one who would go all
red in the face when the men guyed him back on the march. He looked about my
age, but that was the only thing about us that was alike. He had on a natty
uniform: bobtail jacket, red silk neckerchief, fire-gilt buttons, and all. I
said to myself, I bet his ma would have a fit if she could see him now.
General Johnston rode between our regiment and the Tennessee
boys on our right, going forward to where the skirmish line was waiting. When
the colonel in charge had reported. General Johnston spoke to the skirmishers:
"Men of Arkansas, they say you boast of your prowess with the bowie knife.
Today you wield a nobler weapon: the bayonet. Employ it well." They stood
there holding their rifles and looking up at him, shifting their feet a little
and looking sort of embarrassed. He was the only man I ever saw who wasn’t a
preacher and yet could make that high-flown way of talking sound right. Then he
turned his horse and rode back through our line, and as he passed he leaned
sideways in the saddle and spoke to us: "Look along your guns, and fire
low." It made us ready and anxious for what was coming.
Captain Plummer walked up and down the company front. He was
short, inclined to fat, and walked with a limp from the blisters he developed
on the march. "Stay dwessed on me, wherever I go," he said.
"And shoot low. Aim for their knees." All up and
down the line the flags were flapping and other officers were speaking to their
men.
I was watching toward the front, where we would go, but all
I could see was that empty valley with the little creek running through it and
the rising ground beyond with the trees on top. While I was looking, trying
hard to see was anybody up there, all of a sudden there was a Boom! Boom! Boom!
directly in the rear and it scared me so bad I almost broke for cover. But when
I looked around I saw they had brought up the artillery and it was shooting
over our heads towards the left in a shallow swale. I felt real sheepish from
having jumped but when I looked around I saw that the others had jumped as much
as I had, and now they were joking at one another about who had been the most
scared, carrying it
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