Away, Gone to Die A Soldier by Benjamin Garrison

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Read an Excerpt

Gray-clad soldiers fell everywhere. The air was thick with lead. Shells burst continually overhead, taking down two, three men at a time. Eric watched as both officers and enlisted keeled over, fell backwards, or simply collapsed, dead or injured. Within seconds, it seemed scores of Eric's comrades were felled by the unanticipated staunch Union stand.

Holes opened in the lines. Men froze. The line stopped. Its momentum was broken.

"By God! Don't break, now! We've got to return fire!" Sam's voice, distinct, cried out from an unexpected location, the front.

Eric jerked his head to the sound of the voice. Sam moved forward to be seen, out of position, ahead of the line, just to Eric's right.

"Damn, Sam!" Eric exclaimed, then turned to Old John next to him, exhorting, "The lieutenant's out of position!"

No one replied; no one ordered the lieutenant back to his place. Other than Eric, no one was concerned. For the rest, Sam was where he was most needed.

The dapper young lieutenant pulled out his sword and waved it overhead, running up and down in front of them. He was tall, lean, and muscular, holding his sword aloft. His long brown locks of hair cascaded from beneath his foraging cap and flowed over his shoulders. The sight of this handsome young officer exuding such calmness and confidence reassured the men around Eric. Sam's coal black eyes challenged each man to hold his place, to keep tight, and to withstand the enemy's barrage. His friend seemed ignorant of the projectiles which raced about him. The lieutenant defied death, and in doing so inspired the company to steady under the withering fire. In awe, the men responded.

"Close theholes, for heaven's sake! Prepare to fire!" Sam ordered coolly.

Eric watched, for a moment horrified at his friend's position, forward of the line, an officer, suddenly alone, sword in hand, a target, an easy target.

"Eric Fry, there, musket up!" Sam called out, winking as he passed his friend. "You men with him! Jim Killian, John Dunlap, Thomas Campbell! You are the center! You are the keystone! Hold place and aim! The others will follow your lead!"

Eric responded instinctively to the orders, raising his already loaded weapon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Thomas and John move likewise. He felt the warm steel of Billy's barrel over his shoulder. Down the line either way, he saw the rest of the squad and the company follow suit.

Eric aimed.

"Company fire!" Sam screamed.

Triggers pulled. A distinct crack, flame, and recoil followed. It was a solid fire. The musket balls found their marks. Union men standing in the works collapsed forward over the earthen walls or slumped back, disappearing into the trenches.

"Reload at will! Stand firm! You men there close the gaps. File-closers, move up!"

As he listened to Sam take charge, Eric moved quickly, biting, tearing, dumping, ramming, running the rod home. He watched in awe of Sam's unshakable presence in the midst of battle. Officers were down everywhere; few were left to be seen. Not only was the company responding to Sam's command, but half the regiment seemed to follow his lead. Back and forth the young lieutenant strode, gallantly, his back to the enemy, yelling, encouraging, confident, brave, all at the same time, each man responding to what the young officer said, what the officer did, how the officer acted. The line steadied around Sam's little company. Men moved up. Officers of higher rank came forward but deferred to the lieutenant's leadership. The gaps closed; the formation tightened. Despite his low rank, Sam was in control of this side of the regimental line, once more five companies strong.

The Yankees fired again. More whistling metal passed through, making the air thick all around. The enemy fire was higher this time, less chance to aim. The men of the Twenty-third were safer. Although a few men were hit, falling helplessly to the side, the line stood firm. Sam's steely resolve enabled them to withstand the first true test.