The range was in some places 300 yards, in others, such as the approach to the burning mill, less than 150.
‘Take aim!"
The barrels dropped; hammers clicked back. For those in the very front rank there was the terrible moment, the strange illusion that made it look as if every rifle was aiming straight at you.
"Steady, boys! Steady!" the cry echoed across the Union line. No matter how brave, how determined they were, there was an involuntary flinch, a slowing down, as mere flesh recoiled in anticipation of what was about to be unleashed upon them.
Time distorted. Some felt as if every step taken now seemed to transcend into an eternity. Some could look only at the guns; others could not look. A few gazed heavenward beseechingly; some noticed the most trivial of things, a frightened dove kicking up out of the tall grass, a grasshopper poised on a stalk of grass, about to jump, the sidelong glance of a beloved comrade who in another second would be dead, the back of an officer, hat poised on sword blade, who had turned, looking back to shout something to his men that could not be heard.
"Fire!"
The command was barely heard by either side. As if a single hand had struck the flame, in an instant three thousand rifles discharged.
Three thousand rounds of.58-cal. slashed across the open field, muzzle velocity slow at but seven to eight hundred feet per second, but carrying a frightful punch, the conical round weighing close to an ounce, made of soft lead. Sometimes the rounds sounded like the buzz of an angry bee or the hiss of a snake, and if it passed close enough to you, you'd feel the smack of the shock wave. '
If it hit human flesh, the sound was audible, like an open-handed slap. The slower speed, at that instant, that microsecond as the bullet struck, actually made the impact more deadly; the round would begin to flatten out, distort as it first penetrated cloth, striking a button, a cartridge box sling, or belt plate. Often it would begin to tumble, glancing off at a slight angle, mushrooming out as it tore into the body, and traveling so slow that it was not sterilized by the heat of its passage, dragging with it bits of black powder, tallow that had been used to grease the ball, and fragments of whatever it had struck first before entering the body.
Arteries that might have been cauterized by the passage of a high-speed jacketed round were instead torn open, the next pulse of the heart sending out the first spray of bright arterial blood. The truly frightful moment was when the round struck bone. It did not punch through a bone; rather it shattered it, the shock of the blow causing the bone to disintegrate laterally, fracture lines and fissures often running the length of that bone clear up to the joint Here the bullet would flatten out even more, to the diameter of a quarter, at times to nearly a half dollar, tearing everything in its path. If there was enough momentum left the hunk of lead would exit the body, pulling out fragments of broken bone, marrow, flesh, and blood with it sometimes striking a man behind the victim, injuring him as well, or spraying him with the contents of the comrade in front
If the ball struck between rib cage and pelvis, death was just a matter of time, be it seconds if a main artery was hit or days of slow agony if it simply lodged in the intestine. A man shot crosswise might have his liver shattered, the stomach or small intestine punctured,- the kidney torn apart Within minutes he would begin to bloat up, as blood cascaded into his abdominal cavity.
To be shot through the lungs was almost as bad. It took time to die unless the bundle of arteries and veins linked directly to the heart was severed. The lungs would slowly fill up with blood and liquid, each breath a struggle to keep from drowning, sometimes the air wheezing in and out of the bullet hole.
If one was to be struck, and die, then the lucky shot was to the head or the heart It would be barely felt if it was the head, just a sudden going out of the light If in the heart more than one man would actually stop, look down, and have a few seconds to comprehend what had just happened, perhaps enough time to even look up at a friend with that strange, quizzical look of men when they know they are dead but have yet to fall back into the earth.
For several hundred along that first line, this is what now happened. Rounds thwacked into the first line; men grunted from the blows, those who survived describing it as feeling like you had been kicked by a mule or hit with an ax handle. Some just simply collapsed, comrades to either side sprayed with blood and gray, sticky matter if the man next to them had been hit in the head. Others turned, staggering backward, dropping rifles, more than one man not being hit by a round but struck instead by a broken musket spinning through the air or from splinters kicked back as a ball tore through a gun stock.
Some paused, doubled over, and then, with iron will, staggered back up, pressing forward, dropping after a dozen feet Those hit but not too bad, perhaps with an arm broken, would stop, look down, and grin. Honor had been fulfilled; they could now walk back past the provost guards to the rear, who would shout the demand, "Show blood," and now blood could be shown and they were safe. Many would be in shock, not even feeling pain until they staggered into the hospital area and saw the surgeons at work.
Some simply sat down, not quite comprehending, looking down at a shattered leg, seeing the bright blood spurting out knowing what it meant and then quietly lying back, gaze fixed on the heavens. More than one would be found later clutching a Bible or a daguerreotype of wife and children.
"Close up! Keep moving! Guide on the colors!"
The line staggered, slowed for an instant and then forged ahead. The front contracted slightly as regiments aligned to their centers, the first gaps opening between formations.
The first wave began to hit the creek, some jumping at the narrow points, others slipping down into the cool, muddy water, churning it up. Dozens of men, hit in the first volley, reached the bank and then collapsed, more than one of them to drown in water so shallow that a toddler could have splashed his way to safety.
Alignment of the first wave began to waver, a few stopping at the stream, ducking down behind the relative safety of the low bank, file closers slapping them across the backs with the flat of swords or musket butts, pushing them up. The flag bearers of the thirty-two lead regiments, almost to a man, pressed forward, caught up in that strange euphoria that seized men of their kind, men who fought for the privilege to carry the sacred totem of their regiment, of their Republic. Colors held high, they defiantly pressed forward.
Directly to their front, through the coiling wisps of smoke from the first volley, they could see arms moving rythmically up and down as the rebel infantry tore open cartridges with their teeth, poured powder down barrels, pushed greased ball into the muzzle, pulled ramrods out from under the barrel, or now, in many cases, retrieved them where the long, thin steel rods had been jammed into the dirt of the earthworks. Arms rose up, then pushed down, ramrod slamming rounds down to the breech of the barrel. Rammers were then stuck back into the earthen bank, rifle raised, half cocked, percussion cap fumbled out of capbox on the belt, cap set on nipple, and then gun raised up to the vertical, signaling that all was ready. After thirty seconds nearly every gun was poised at the vertical.
"Battalions, take aim!"
Again the barrels were leveled. The advancing blue wall now seemed to hunker down, men advancing with heads lowered, leaning forward, as if going into the teeth of a gale.
"Fire!"
A couple of hundred more dropped. Not as many as from the first volley, which was always the most accurate because the field was clear of smoke, and the loading had been done more carefully. In the excitement more than one rebel had pushed the ball down first rather than the powder or had fumbled the percussion cap and now snapped the hammer down on an empty nipple, and the smoke in places obscured the view, but the range was closer as well by forty yards or so.