Thanks, Stephen

No Greater Love
                                            CHAPTER 1:
                               *The Battle*

      A gray mist hung low to the ground as the drummer boy beat roll call
and the Army of the Mississippi began to stir. Johnny slowly rolled out of
his blankets and then walked out into the cool morning, waiting on his buddy
to help begin the morning cook fire. The other men were beginning to stir
also. It would be a hot day, he could tell as the sun burned the mist
from the ground. The bugler sounded attention and the men of the 9th
Mississippi lined up in rows of gray and butternut uniforms that had begun
to show the signs of hard living and a year of war. The Sergeant called
roll and discussed the general orders of the day and the drummer boy
sounded the call to be dismissed, and ease showed on the boys' and men's
faces as they prepared breakfast of biscuits, bacon, and boiled coffee.
Adam asked Johnny to pass him his pipe and tobacco. They sat and smoked
until time to break camp and march south to Chickasaw Bluff to reenforce
the northern defenses of Vicksburg. There were rumors of a battle or at
least some fighting which would be a change from the day after day of drill
and marching. Yes, it would be an exciting day, if only Johnny knew. The army
broke camp at 8 am and the men picked up their muskets and bedrolls and
haversacks, fell in formation, and soon they were headed south as the drums
and fifes played Dixie. The men talked and laughed as they marched, kicking
up the dust that covered the winding road. The regiment soon met a rider in
a fast trot headed south with news from Yazoo City concerning the unfinished
ironclad C.S.S. Arkansas. Everybody knew that the lack of raw materials was
really slowing down construction but she was not lost. The unfinished ship
had been towed down from Memphis right before the Union army and navy
captured the city; two other ships had been lost but the Arkansas was saved,
but could they finish her in time? Governor Pettis had already called for all
the help he could get from the state and plantation owners for use of all
available field hands that were not in the fields. Then there were rumors
going around that they were tearing up an unfinished railroad track for iron
plate. The rider continued on south. One of the soldiers joked he would like
to have a hoss to ride north to meet the damned Yankees so he could get back
in time for an early supper. So far the unit had not seen much fighting, just
small battles here and there, but they all knew that soon they would see the
white elephant. The men were tired but they continued the march north for
they knew if they lost Vicksburg, the South would be cut in half and the
North would control the entire Mississippi Valley and the Red River and there
would be no hope in getting food supplies from Texas to Virginia and to
General Lee, but all of this seemed so far away as Johnny let his mind wander,
looking at the trees and wildlife. Soon enough he would not have time to
think about all of that; soon he would only have time to think 'will I survive
the fight coming up?' They would find out soon enough. The sun soon climbed
high in the sky and the men in gray began to sweat and the dust clung to them
in layers.

      The 9th Mississippi Light Artillery made the march in less than two
hours. The men were tired and hot but at least they did not have to worry
about their heavy cannons slowing them down. The cannons had been moved two
days earlier to the defenses of Vicksburg and now the men were joining them.

      Captain Joseph Brooks mounted the dirt embankment. Tall and lean, with
dark skin and piercing green eyes and black curly hair, at the age of twenty-
five, Joseph Brooks, the son of a steamboat captain, had advanced quickly
through the ranks of the Army of the Mississippi. Now he stood in command of
the 9th Mississippi light artillery, defending the Northern Defenses of
Vicksburg.

      He carefully removed his field glasses from his uniform coat, a hot
double-buttoned affair suited more for fighting battles up north than the hot,
humid summers of the South. Even as he sweated inside, the uniform was
completely buttoned except for the very top one. If word got out that General
Pemberton was on one of his inspection tours, even that top button would be
polished and buttoned and the wide-brimmed officer's hat placed on his brow.
He looked over the embankment at the lazy Mississippi River winding around
Milken's Bend and the Union Army unloading off of troop transports docked
against the shore.

      The soldiers of his command were spread out around the heavy siege
cannon. On top of this treeless bluff, General Pemberton had ordered slaves
to chop down every tree so they would not block the view of the gunners.
Captain Brooks continued to scan the land before him. He saw the slow moving
blue lines of men and boys. The young flag bearers and drummer boys marched
with pride in their step as they moved ever closer to the entrenched
Confederates. The drummer boys beat the slow advance on their drums and the
flags of the army waved in the breeze coming off the river behind them; then
came the dark blue lines of fighting men. The gun barrels sparkled in the sun
as the canteens and ammo pouches bopped at their sides. Captain Brooks thought
to himself. 'What a grand sight it is; too sad that so many will have to die
today.'

      He stepped down from his vantage point and ordered his men to their guns.
The drummer boys stood at attention and buglers raised their horns. At Capt.
Brooks' order, the command was sounded up and down the lines and the men
rushed to their guns. Powder boys stood beside supply chests, rammers began to
swab the bores of the cannon, primers were checked, and shot and shell readied.
Infantry men formed lines behind the gunners, while sharpshooters raced to the
best vantage points along the embankment.

      Johnny rose from where he was resting with Adam at his side. Johnny was
the Captain of a 12-pound Napoleon field gun and Adam was his number two man.
Johnny had been trained in the art of field gunnery at Jefferson College near
Natchez and soon learned Adam was a natural at sighting and ranging guns even
though he had no formal training in the art.

      Captain Brooks once again returned to his vantage point. "Captain
Kingston, Private Ross, a word with you, please." "Yes, Captain Brooks,"
they both said. The two boys climbed the embankment and saluted Captain
Brooks. A young boy no more than fifteen years old stood at their right,
holding a heavy polished oak staff; attached to this staff was the
Confederate First National Flag. The ladies at home made the flag for the
9th Mississippi, its circle of 7 stars on a blue field, with two red
stripes and a white one, flapped in the hot breeze. The three people stood
and looked down upon the moving blue lines of men slowly advancing. "Captain
Kingston, what is the range of the enemy?" Johnny looked over to Adam. "What
is the range of the blue coats, Private?" Adam looked at the enemy once again.
"Captain Kingston, Captain Brooks, range 1000 yards and closing, Sirs."
"Very good, Private Ross, proceed to range and sight your gun and prepare
for action." Adam saluted both men and returned to the gun. Johnny
continued to watch the enemy for a few more minutes. Then he and Captain
Brooks and the flag bearer stepped down and back behind the embankment.
Adam was giving orders like a general, standing tall and erect, his red
hair flaming in the sun, his bronzed skin showing through his open shirt.
The men knew their drill well for they had trained day after day with
their guns. "Very good, my boy."

      "Thank you, Johnny." The boys used first names all the time except
when higher officers were present or manners dictated it. Johnny began to
bark orders to the gun crew. "RANGE 500 YARDS, ELEVATION TWO NOTCHES BELOW
CENTER, SHELL 20 POUND EXPLODING, WITH A 20 SECOND FUSE!"
      "Yes, Sir!" the men shouted.
      Johnny clapped Adam on the back. "Very good, my boy, very good indeed.
I hope they prayed to their maker."

      "Captain Brooks, We have range, sight, and ready to fire the opening
gun, Sir."
      "Very good, Captain Kingston." "Drummer, sound the call to the rest
of the batteries along the bluff." The drummer boy beat the call. Lanyards
were run into the vent holes of the guns, the lanyards pulled tight in the
hands of the captains along the lines. Gunners covered their ears. As the
beat of the drums stopped, Captain Brooks shouted, "FIRE!" Johnny yanked
the lanyard of the gun and it roared to life as it sent its deadly cargo
arching through the cloudless sky. The other gun batteries followed; as
the guns roared, the Confederates let out a rebel yell along the bluff.
The grayish-white cloud of smoke blinded the gunners as they reloaded the
guns; only seconds passed until the men in gray heard the explosions of
the cannonballs hitting the ground below them. Johnny could see the men in
blue steadily marching toward the bluff. He also heard the screams of the
men echoing up when the shell from his gun hit its mark. The shell fired
from Johnny's gun hit in the front ranks of the 1st Illinois regiment,
cutting gaping holes into the lines. Men dropped their muskets as they
grabbed their chests or legs and other body parts that were hit from the
shattering iron of the cannonballs. The blue uniforms began to turn dark as
the blood soaked into the wool. For many of the green troops, it was Hell
on Earth. The blue ranks closed again around the wounded and dying and
pressed on. Then another boom from the cannons sent more shells flying
toward them, cutting gaping holes into the lines.

      The boys in blue began to scatter, breaking ranks, and began to run
back toward the river and the transports; they dropped packets, threw down
their muskets, and ran full tilt toward the river. Troops were streaming
off the boats and began to taunt the fleeing troops. "Run, you damned
cowards, run back home to your mom's tits and come back when you are a man."
When the frightened troops arrived at the transports, the scene was chaos.
Troopers and sailors, horses and supplies, blocked the gangways while the
wounded were piled up on shore.

      Captains shouted orders to sailors, "Come on, God damn you, move your
asses. "Pilot, hard to port, keep that wheel turning; we have to kiss the
damned bank. Now move your yellow bellies, you lazy land lovin' asses."

      The Army Captains were no better as the drill sergeants shouted
commands. "Come on, boys, let's move your girlie asses." "Double time on
the march, boys, move it." The bluecoated men and boys moved quickly down
the gangplanks, their hard leather shoes slamming down on the rough wood.

      The cowards crouched beside the gangplanks and tried to sneak aboard
the ships, only to have their hands bloodied by boat paddles and other
wooden and metal objects. They were trapped between the Confederate guns on
the bluff and the sailors of their own Navy.

      To the south of the Confederate works, a gun sounded, louder and more
powerful, and stood out from all the other guns. A rebel yell was shouted
along the bluffs. Whistling Dick, a huge 32-pound siege gun built in
Richmond, Virginia made many a man's blood run cold. Every time Whistling
Dick fired a shell it made a high whistling sound. Men and sailors paused,
listening to the shell come closer. A large explosion echoed across to the
men's ears and smoke could be seen rising from the river. Whistling Dick
had hit his mark; a transport steamer out in the main channel of the river
was riddled and now burning. Soldiers jumped into the river while sailors
fought the fire. The pilots tried their best to steer the boat to shore.
A roar was heard coming from the Confederate gunners, and a young Union
soldier softly said "God Almighty" as he watched the transport burn.

      The men and boys up front were catching hell. Rebel shells continued
to rain down upon them. Muskets crackled, sending their deadly fire toward
the Union ranks. They fired back, blinded by their own smoke as they aimed
high, trying to hit the enemy high on the bluffs. Drummer boys sounded
commands, the buglers sounded full advance. Sergeants waved their swords
and muskets, and the blue lines moved forward through the smoke and the
hail of lead.

      At the same time, the boys in blue heard the first boom of Whistling
Dick. High upon the bluffs, Johnny looked down on pure hell, watching the
blue lines advancing toward the bottom of the bluff. The steep bluff face
was impassable on three sides; only the rear was level enough to climb so
the enemy had to fight around the base to the rear in order to capture
their target. Any way you looked at it, it would be hell for the blue coats.
Just as Johnny looked over to his gun and nodded to Adam, a loud boom was
heard, coming from Fort Hill to the south, followed by a whistling sound
of a shell in flight. Whistling Dick was in the action. The same Rebel
yell the boys in blue heard at the bottom of the bluff was deafening from
where Johnny stood. He shielded his eyes from the sun to watch the
sputtering fuse from the shell of Whistling Dick in flight high above the
river; he wondered what they had in range. At the moment he saw the target,
an explosion echoed across the river and he saw the Union transport burst
into flames. A direct hit for old Whistling Dick, another roar was heard
coming from the boys in gray. The rest of the battle went by rather quickly
as the Union lines were cut to shreds.

      Down below, the Union army began its retreat from the field; losses
were high. The transports once again steamed in close to shore but this
time they were under fire of the Confederate guns high upon the bluff.
Shells splashed into the water around them as the haggard Union troops
marched aboard, holding their muskets this way and that. Some had their
arms in slings, others clutching wounds, many without guns. The ironclads
came down from their moorings and escorted the loaded transports back up
river to lick their wounds. Once the ironclads retreated up river with the
transports safely in between them, the Southern army moved down from the
bluff to where the dead and wounded lay. Wagons came to carry the wounded
to the hospital, while others picked the bodies clean, removing muskets,
ammo boxes, shoes, canteens, and personal items, whatever they wanted.

      Johnny moved slowly among the dead and wounded; he soon spotted a
young blonde-headed lad lying face down in the dirt, still clutching the
staff of the unit's flag. Lying not five feet away was Billy. "OH MY GOD,
NO! Not Billy!" Johnny began to cry, the tears running down his face like
a river.