LASTING VOID

“General, are you wounded,” Isham G. Harris frantically asked as Albert Sidney Johnston slumped in his saddle about midday April 6, 1862. At dawn, Johnston’s Army of the Mississippi had launched a surprise attack on the Union Army of the Tennessee near Pittsburg Landing, Tenn., but seemingly little had gone right since. The Confederates took about six hours to completely break through the initial line of Union camps, defended by less than half of Ulysses S. Grant’s army, before slamming into the bulk of the Federal force—comprising veterans who put up a stiff fight across the battlefield. As Johnston’s army tried to turn the Union left, the storied commander realized the attack had stalled and rode east to give the effort his personal attention. He succeeded in getting the assault moving again, but his aggressiveness would cost him his life. Shot in his right leg, his popliteal artery severed by a Minié ball, Johnston bled to death within an hour.

In response to Harris’ inquiry, Johnston could only mumble, “Yes, and I fear seriously,” before beginning to lose consciousness. Harris, the governor of Tennessee who was serving as Johnston’s aide, and another staff officer led the general’s horse down the hill and out of the line of fire in an attempt to save him. The two laid Johnston at the foot of a tree and began searching for a wound in his torso before discovering the gash on Johnston’s leg. Soon Johnston was unable even to swallow the whiskey administered to him, as it merely gurgled in his throat. At 2:30 p.m., he was gone, the highest-ranking American military officer ever killed in action in U.S. history.

Johnston had considered the Battle of Shiloh the moment at which he and his army must “conquer or perish.” The consequences of his death have been debated ever since, and, correctly, most of the debate has