by Mike Powers

Created on: October 01, 2010

Shiloh in Springtime

Hmmm… smells like peaches around here.

The smell of flowers  is what wakes me up first.  Sticky-sweet blossoms from hundreds of peach trees scent the air here at Pittsburg Landing.  It’s still dark, but I can see the sun peeking over the horizon across the river.  The hills over there are outlined in orange.

I’m about half asleep still, but I feel  calm – fer about a minute, maybe.   Then I remember why I’m here.  I’m one private out of maybe fifty thousand Yankee soljers  that came over the river on a steamboat last night.  This field we’re campin’ in is huge.  Lots of clear space, where I guess it stays sunny all the time.  There’s also some areas where there’s a lot of trees and bushes, where it’s shady.  That’s where our company’s  got its camp set up.  Right smack in the middle of the field is a church.  Heard it called “Shiloh” church. 

Word has it that Gen’ral Grant his-self is here today.  Our sarjent major says he heard Grant sayin'  that we crossed over to get at the rebs  that are marchin’ all over Tennessee.  Some high ‘n mighty reb gen’ral named Albert Johnston is commandin’ a big army of a hundred thousand greybacks, and they’re supposed to be  marchin’ right around here somewhere.

Us federal fellers are pretty tired right now.  We’ve been marchin’ and fightin’ ever since cold weather.  Back in February we took two forts from the rebs.  Gen’ral Grant made thousands of secesh surrender without condition!  Then March came, and we did nothing but wait for God-knows-how-long.  Finally we started marchin’ south, and we marched and we marched, and we fought a few small battles, and ended up here last night, on April the 5th of 1862, all gathered up in one huge army to find and beat the rebs. 

Time for me to get up.  I throw my blanket aside and reach for my tin coffee cup.  My best friend, Ezra Giles, already has the coffeepot goin’ on the campfire.  It smells good!   I can also smell some hardtack and sausages cookin’ at the next campfire over.

“Hey, Ez, how’ya doin?” I ask as I stand up.  “Good, Joe,” replies Ez.  Ez ain’t exactly what you’d

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