I woke up not knowing or remembering exactly where I was or what I was doing there. I did know that I had a fierce headache. Touching the right side of my head I could feel a little dried blood just above my ear and then I started to remember where I was and how I got there. I knew I was somewhere in southern Tennessee, near the village of Pittsburg Landing and Shiloh Church. Shiloh is a Hebrew word meaning
place of peace
- an inappropriate word for what had gone on there. For two days I had witnessed the bloodiest battle I or perhaps any man had ever seen.
I say "witnessed" because I was not an actual participant. I was too old to be a soldier but fit enough to write about the war for the Cincinnati Enquirer. I had ridden with General Grant's Army of the Tennessee down through the volunteer state. Grant's victories over the rebels at Fort Henry and Fort Donelson had come as a welcome relief to the north in contrast to the steady stream of defeats of the Army of the Potomac at the hands of the Confederate Army of Virginia under the command of the seemingly unbeatable Robert E. Lee.
We had arrived at Shiloh several days earlier and were waiting for the arrival of the Army of the Ohio under the command of General Don Carlos Buell. They were coming down the Tennessee River from Nashville and would join up with the Army of the Tennessee for a push across the Mississippi state line and a confrontation with the Confederate Army of Tennessee under the command of General Albert Sydney Johnston. As a reporter I found it interesting that the Union armies were named for rivers and the confederate armies were named for states. Likewise the battlefields were designated by landmarks in the north and by cities in the south.
Consequently what was referred as the Battle of Bull Run in the northern papers was called the Battle of Manassas in the south. It took a little getting used to but getting the facts and terminology straight was part of my job.
While we were waiting for the Army of the Ohio to arrive General Johnston was busy and on the morning of April 6, 1862 he attacked the resting and largely unsuspecting Union army with full force. I had been camped with General Grant's entourage somewhat back of the front lines but the sounds of cannon and rifle fire and the screams of the wounded and dying would be forever embedded in my memory.
I made notes as quickly as I could, jotting down the names of places like The Hornets Nest, The Peach Orchard, The Sunken Road and Owl Creek and interviewing those soldiers I could find who had actually witnessed the fighting.
The Union army was able to finally halt the Confederate advance of the first day and on the second day the Army of Ohio finally arrived and the Union army prevailed. It appeared that the battle had pretty much ended in a tie but it had claimed a terrific toll in dead and wounded on both sides and the Blue could afford to lose a lot more combatants than the Grey so in that sense it could be called a victory for the north - at least that's how I would report it to the readers of the Enquirer.
Lines of communication had been disrupted by the fighting and I had been on horseback, riding alone, heading north to the town of Savannah, Tennessee to telegraph my dispatch back to Ohio. I vaguely recalled something striking the side of my head and that was the last thing i remembered.
Touching the side of my head again and probing gingerly I determined that I had suffered a crease wound across my right temple, severe enough to draw blood and render me unconscious but, thankfully, not enough to kill me. Whether the shot was an errant shot or an intended assassination I knew not but the fact that I was still alive and could see my horse grazing nearby led me to believe that I had been shot by accident, perhaps by someone shooting at a deer or a squirrel. I got up and swung back onto my horse and resumed my journey.
I looked at my pocket watch and saw that it was just after four p.m. and I hoped that I had time to reach Savannah before dark. After about an hour I neared a small clearing and could see a farmhouse nestled under a grove of trees. I could hear the muffled sound of a woman's voice crying in distress and the guttural conversation of two male voices. I stopped my horse, dismounted and took my Colt 45 revolver out of my saddlebags. I tethered my horse to a tree and cautiously approached the farm house, using the woods as a cover.
What I saw next made the bile rush to my throat and my face flush with anger. Two soldiers in Union blue uniforms had a woman pinned between them. She was on all-fours with her dress thrown up around her and her bare bottom exposed. The man in front had a hammer lock on her neck and the man behind had dropped his uniform trousers and was on his knees and about to rape her from behind. I cocked my revolver and stepped out from the cover of the trees.
"Hold it right there," I said.
The men looked at me, saw my weapon and the man behind stopped his advance toward her exposed loins. He smiled at me and said, "Hello stranger. You're just in time for dinner."
"Yup," said the man in front, "if you don't mind left-overs. I get sloppy seconds and you can have dirty thirds."
"I think not," I said. "Move away from her right now."
"Aw, now, be reasonable," the man behind her said, hurriedly trying to stuff his cock into his pants. "This woman is most likely a Reb and we're just samplin' some of that famous Southern hospitality."
"The spoils of war, as it were," said the man in front who had relaxed his grip on the woman's neck.
"I don't have time for conversation," I said "and you are not about to sample any of what you call Southern hospitality."
"Are you a Johnny Reb?" the man in back asked.
"I'm a newspaper man," I said, "and I've witnessed enough violence over the last two days to last me for a lifetime. Now, stand up and get away from that woman."
They did and, with a look of great relief, the woman gathered her clothes around her and scurried into her house. The men looked at me uncertainly and one of them said, "Well, I guess we'll be movin' on."
"I don't think so," I said.
"What are gonna do about us?", the other one asked.
"I'm not sure," i said, "I ought to shoot you but that goes against my principles." I pondered what to do and my deliberations were interrupted by the sound of horses hooves coming down the road. I turned slightly, still keeping my revolver pointed at the two of them, and saw a troop of Union cavalry riding up.
"Oh, shit," one of the ruffians said.
The cavalry troop halted and their leader, wearing the silver bars of a captain, drew his revolver and said, "What's going on here."
I said, "I'm a correspondent for the Cincinnati Enquirer. I was riding toward Savannah to telegraph a dispatch to my paper about the battle down at Shiloh and I came across these two trying to rape a woman, She's in the house and she'll corroborate my story."
I turned toward the house and saw the woman standing on the porch. She called to the officer and said, "That's the God's truth. If this gentleman hadn't happened along they would have done what he said."
"Let me see your credentials," the officer said.
I handed him a copy of the pass which was issued by the War Department to all the reporters covering the conflict. He looked it over and said, "This all looks to be in order and since this lady backs up your story I believe you and I need to thank you. We've had, unfortunately, more than our share of problems with deserters terrorizing the locals."
Turning to the woman on the porch he said, "Madame on behalf of the Union Army I apologize for what these men did, or tried to do to you and I assure you they will be dealt with severely."
The would-be rapists arms were tied behind their backs, they were attached by ropes to horses and led away back toward the Union lines to the south.
I walked toward the woman and said, "Are you alright, ma'am?"
"Thanks to you, although there's probably no way I can adequately thank you. I could offer you some supper, I've a chicken stewing in the oven and was about to fix my supper when those men appeared." She held out her hand and said, "My name is Laura Jackson."
"Any relation to Andrew Jackson?"
"My husband was a distant cousin and a staunch Democrat. I'm not political but I think I would have voted for Mr. Lincoln except, of course, women can't vote."
"Perhaps some day," I said, "My name is Gabriel Wilson and I"m pleased to meet you."
"Ah, Gabriel, what a fitting name for a saving angel."
I smiled and she continued, "Can you stay for supper? I heard you tell that officer that you were on your way to Savannah. It will be dark soon and you're welcome to camp here overnight if you like."
