Cornfield at Sharpsburg

A young Confederate Army Lieutenant faces his first trial on the field of battle

Interminably replaying in my mind was the sight of myself being cut down by a volley of musket fire or blown apart by the explosion of an artillery round. I was horrified at the realistic prospect of my own death. I knew I would soon hear musket balls whizzing past my ears, shells thunderously detonating, and the cries of the wounded and dying.

“Our orders have come down! To the cornfield we go!” echoed a bellowing voice. My grip tightened on the hilt of my sabre as chills rushed up my spine. However, orders were orders, and I begrudgingly prompted my platoon to advance in the most composed manner I could muster. Though I was elated to be through with the insufferable waiting, I was overwhelmed with trepidation. I had never seen combat before. Having graduated from the Virginia Military Institute three months prior in June of 1862, I was a raw and untested officer. I uneasily led my platoon out of the woods to the methodical beat of the drums alongside the remainder of the brigade. I could hear the beat of marching feet plodding across the earth, the deafening explosion of artillery rounds, and the pop of musket fire being exchanged. As I fretted and worried, the massive wall of gray and brown of which my platoon and I were at the center approached the Union ramparts at the cornfield.

“They got 16 inchers up there, boys.” said Captain Brown, my company commander. “We have to drive them off them guns. Kill any Yankee standin’ in your way. For ol’ Virginia, boys!” Captain Brown cried, drawing his Remington revolver from his belt.

“For Virginia!” I cheered, desperately attempting to motivate my men. To a mild relief, the row of gray echoed my chant as the Union artillery pieces opened fire with a deafening roar. I swallowed a lump in my throat. My body was trembling as if there were earthquakes within my boots. All of a sudden, I was jolted by an explosion. A wave of dirt stung the side of my face, knocking the black hat from my head and coating my gray jacket with earth. I turned to my side to see two of my own men lying face first around a smoldering crater as one more crawled away. I glanced at the wounded man as he frantically clawed at the earth. I looked closer to see that splintered white bone protruded from where the man’s legs should have been. I grimaced as the man helplessly cried out in agony. As I turned to face forward, I was showered with dirt and knocked backwards by another explosion. I stumbled backward, only to be showered with more earth as more shells burst upon impact. Through the deafening noise, I heard the low drone of the bugle.

“Forward!” I shouted. My platoon cheered in enthusiasm. The nearly crippling fear inside of me was almost debilitating. The bursting of shells swallowed me, severely inhibiting my vision and leaving a shrill ring in my ears. As the column of gray advanced, the Union infantry in the redoubts opened up with volleys of musketry. The grisly sound of the steel balls striking flesh sickened me, but I pressed on, entranced by the chaos of battle. I was abruptly thrust from my stupor, and was seized up with chills as a minie ball shrieked past my ear. I watched the round tear through the forehead of the man behind me. The platoon panicked: the man had been carrying the “Stars and Bars” of our Confederacy. I caught the flag and raised it as the brigade encroached on the Union positions. Effectively out of the range of the artillery, the brigade regrouped. I stopped and raised a trembling hand, and my platoon halted. My apprehension and fear were boiling over. I winced as the bugle sounded. I knew what I had to do. My sense of reason pleaded with me. I was fighting to stand firm and fulfill my duty. I was nauseous and perspiring. Without a stroke of hesitation, I drew my sabre from my belt, and rushed up the foothill to the first redoubt.

"Go!" I cried. I stood exposed before his enemy with his sabre in the trembling iron grip of one hand and the Confederate colors in the other as the sea of gray followed me, cascading over the Union ramparts.  Despite every fiber of my being objecting, I ordered my platoon forward, and charged headlong into the fray.

Author's Note

Any criticism you can think of is most appreciated