Meanwhile, a terrible rumor had been spreading in the ranks of the Southern troops.  The word was passed from soldier to soldier that their commander, Johnston, whom they had believed invincible, had been killed, and they did not trust so much Beauregard, who was left in command, nor those who helped.  Their fiery spirit abated somewhat.  There was no decrease of courage, but continuous victory did not seem so easy now.

Confusion invaded the triumphant army also.  Beauregard had divided the leadership on the field among three of his lieutenants.  Hardee now urged on the center, Bragg commanded the right, and Polk, the bishop-general, led the left.  It was Bragg’s division that was about to charge the great battery of siege guns that the alert Webster had manned so quickly.  Five minutes more and Webster would have been too late.  Here again were the fortunes of Grant brought to the very verge of the pit.  The Northern gunboats at the mouth of Lick Creek moved forward a little, and their guns were ready to support the battery.

The Kentucky regiment was wedged in between the battery and a brigade, and it was gasping for breath.  Colonel Winchester, slightly wounded in three places, commanded his men to lie down, and they gladly threw themselves upon the earth.

There was a momentary lull in the battle.  Wandering winds caught up the banks of smoke and carried most of them away.  Dick, as he rose a little, saw the Southern troops massing in the forest for an attack upon their new position.  They seemed to be only a few yards away and he clearly observed the officers walking along the front of the lines.  It flashed upon him that they must hold these hills or Grant’s army would perish.  Where was Buell?  Why did he not come?  If the Southerners destroyed one Northern army today they would destroy another tomorrow!  They would break the two halves of the Union force in the west into pieces, first one and then the other.

“What do you see, Dick?” asked Warner, who was lying almost flat upon his face.

“The Confederate army is getting ready to wipe us off the face of the earth!  Up with your rifle, George!  They’ll be upon us in two minutes!”

They heard a sudden shout behind them.  It was a glad shout, and well it might be.  Nelson, held back by Buell’s orders, had listened long to the booming of the cannon off in the direction of Shiloh.  Nothing could convince him that a great battle was not going on, and all through the morning he chafed and raged.  And as the sound of the cannon grew louder he believed that Grant’s army was losing.

Nelson obtained Buell’s leave at last to march for Shiloh, but it was a long road across hills and creeks and through swamps.  The cannon sank deep in the mire, and then the ardent Nelson left them behind.  Now he knew there was great need for haste.  The flashing and thundering in front of them showed to the youngest soldier in his command that a great battle was in progress, and that it was going against the North.  His division at last reached Pittsburg Landing and was carried across the river in the steamers.  One brigade led by Ammen outstripped the rest, and rushed in behind the great battery and to its support, just as the Southern bugles once more sounded the charge.