Distant Flame

May 14-19, 1864

May 14-19,1864 RESACA TO CASSVILLE UST AFTER SUNRISE, CHARLIE shot a Yankee artilleryman in the arm. Skimishers and sharpshooters had been firing for half an hour when the field pieces opened on both sides along the battle lines, which bristled, face to face, near the small north Georgia town of Resaca . Charlie and Duncan McGregor had strayed to the left flank of the Confederate army and were in a stand of oaks. Charlie had climbed to a sturdy oak branch and stood upon it, fifteen feet into the under canopy, and from there he could almost enfilade the Federal artillery ranks with an invisible cross fire. "This gives new meaning to a flank being in the air," said Duncan. "Boy, you're going to be the death of me." Charlie said nothing. He had reloaded and waslooking through the telescope on the side of his Whitworth rifle, searching for a target. Sometimes he waited until he saw a scowling officer or a fuzz-faced battery commander. A few skirmishers were looking around for the source of the shot; Charlie saw what might be a lieutenant, wearing a muddy blue coat whose buttons were all unhooked, staring almost straight at him through field glasses. He centered the man's head in the sight and fired, and Charlie saw him fall. The field glasses flew backward, and there was a scrambling to turn a Parrott gun in their direction. "Coming down," said Charlie. "They're sighting us with a field J 98 PHILIP LEE WILLIAMS piece." He dropped his rifle down to Duncan and then squatted on the greening limb and leaped down, landing hard just as a shell ripped overhead, crashing through the upper limbs with an angry thrashing. "You got 'em riled up something fierce, boy," said Duncan. "Fd suggest we move closer to our lines, praise God." "All right." They scuttled low to the ground out of the small patch of woods and across an open field, and by now musket fire from the skirmishers and even some of the entrenched infantrywas cracking and popping from both sides. Cleburne's Division was in the center of the Confederate lines, a distance yet, and so Charlie and Duncan, earth puffing upward from minie ball fire around them, edged into the works' left flank. A private leaned against the red-mud wall, vomiting from fright. Charlie glanced at him with compassion and passed by. In half an hour, he and Duncan had regained Cleburne's Division and found Govan's Brigade and their old company. Bob Rainey was looking through a narrow space in the stacked-log works. He fired his Enfield, backed up to reload, cursingloudly. "Well, for the love of God, if it ain't General Johnston's two wandering minstrels," said Bob Rainey. He was filthy and stank, but so did everyone else. There was another stench, though, the high, rising putrid aroma of carrion—horses, mules, and men—lying in the field between the lines. "Boys,have you sung any songs this morning?" "Charlie has," said Duncan. "We separated last night, and it took me hours to find our lines and Charlie again. That will be my last individual act of scouting." "Shall I put you down as a coward then?" asked Bob Rainey.He bit the end off the cartridge, pushed it into the barrel of his Enfield, and rammed it home. "You may do so," said Duncan. "I've never seen much military use for dead heroes, the wishes of our officers notwithstanding." "The wishes of our officers notwithstanding?" said Bob Rainey. "Ain't that pretty. They teach people to talk like that in Scotland?" He put a percussion cap on the nipple, cocked the rifle, took his place at the logs, aimed only for a short moment, and fired again. "We value an education, unlike all you dumb Southerners. You ain't got no more idea of education than a pig does of a bonnet." "Haw," said Bob Rainey. "Ain't you precious. So, Charlie Merrill, you have done worked for your country this morning?" Charlie smiled and looked around. The works were vast and extremely strong.Assaulting them would be the kind of madness known only in war. A Distant Flame 99 "He shot two from a artillery battery far on our left flank," said Duncan. "The boy's a artist with his Whitworth rifle, Bob. A artist. Then...