The Story of a Common Soldier of Army Life in the Civil War, 1861-1865 Part 4

The above names are fict.i.tious, but the bride was my girl.

I can't explain my feelings,--if you ever have had such an experience, you will understand. I stole a hurried glance around to see if anybody was observing my demeanor, then thrust the letter into my jacket pocket, and walked away. Not far from our camp was a stretch of swampy land, thickly set with big cypress trees, and I bent my steps in that direction. Entering the forest, I sought a secluded spot, sat down on an old log, and read and re-read that heart-breaking piece of intelligence. There was no mistaking the words; they were plain, laconic, and nothing ambiguous about them. And, to intensify the bitterness of the draught, it may be set down here that the groom was a dudish young squirt, a clerk in a country store, who lacked the pluck to go for a soldier, but had stayed at home to count eggs and measure calico. In my opinion, he was not worthy of the girl, and I was amazed that she had taken him for a husband. I remember well some of my thoughts as I sat with bitterness in my heart, alone among those gloomy cypresses. I wanted a great big battle to come off at once, with the 61st Illinois right in front, that we might run out of cartridges, and the order would be given to fix bayonets and charge! Like Major Simon Suggs, in depicting the horrors of an apprehended Indian war, I wanted to see blood flow in a "great gulgin' torrent, like the Tallapoosa river." Well, it was simply a case of pure, intensely ardent boy-love, and I was. .h.i.t, hard,--but survived. And I now heartily congratulate myself on the fact that this youthful s.h.i.+pwreck ultimately resulted in my obtaining for a wife the very best woman (excepting only my mother) that I ever knew in my life.

I never again met my youthful flame, to speak to her, and saw her only once, and then at a distance, some years after the close of the war when I was back in Illinois on a visit to my parents. Several years ago her husband died, and in course of time she married again, this time a man I never knew, and the last I heard of or concerning her, she and her second husband were living somewhere in one of the Rocky Mountain States.

For a short time after the evacuation of Corinth, Pittsburg Landing continued to be our base of supplies, and commissary stores were wagoned from there to the various places where our troops were stationed. And it happened, while the regiment was at Bethel, that I was one of a party of about a hundred men detailed to serve as guards for a wagon train destined for the Landing, and, return to Bethel with army rations. There was at the Landing at this time, serving as guards for the government stores, a regiment of infantry. There were only a few of them visible, and they looked pale and emaciated, and much like "dead men on their feet." I asked one of them what regiment was stationed there, and he told me it was the 14th Wisconsin Infantry.

This was the one I had seen at Benton Barracks and admired so much on account of the splendid appearance of the men. I mentioned this to the soldier, and expressed to him my surprise to now see them in such bad shape. He went on to tell me that the men had suffered fearfully from the change of climate, the water, and their altered conditions in general; that they had nearly all been prostrated by camp diarrhea, and at that time there were not more than a hundred men in the regiment fit for duty, and even those were not much better than shadows of their former selves. And, judging from the few men that were visible, the soldier told the plain, unvarnished truth. Our regiment and the 14th Wisconsin soon drifted apart, and I never saw it again. But as a matter of history, I will say that it made an excellent and distinguished record during the war.

On June 16 our brigade left Bethel for Jackson, Tennessee, a town on the Mobile and Ohio railroad, and about thirty-five or forty miles, by the dirt road, northwest of Bethel. On this march, like the preceding one, I did not carry my knapsack. It was about this time that the most of the boys adopted the "blanket-roll" system. Our knapsacks were awkward, c.u.mbersome things, with a combination of straps and buckles that chafed the shoulders and back, and greatly augmented heat and general discomfort. So we would fold in our blankets an extra s.h.i.+rt, with a few other light articles, roll the blanket tight, double it over and tie the two ends together, then throw the blanket over one shoulder, with the tied ends under the opposite arm--and the arrangement was complete. We had learned by this time the necessity of reducing our personal baggage to the lightest possible limit. We had left Camp Carrollton with great bulging knapsacks, stuffed with all sorts of plunder, much of which was utterly useless to soldiers in the field. But we soon got rid of all that. And my recollection is that after the Bethel march the great majority of the men would, in some way, when on a march, temporarily lay aside their knapsacks, and use the blanket roll. The exceptions to that method, in the main, were the soldiers of foreign birth, especially the Germans. They carried theirs to the last on all occasions, with everything in them the army regulations would permit, and usually something more.

Jackson, our objective point on this march, was the county seat of Madison county, and a portion of our line of march was through the south part of the county. This region had a singular interest for me, the nature of which I will now state. Among the few books we had at home was an old paper-covered copy, with horrible wood-cuts, of a production ent.i.tled, "The Life and Adventures of John A. Murrell, the Great Western Land Pirate," by Virgil A. Stewart. It was full of accounts of cold-blooded, depraved murders, and other vicious, unlawful doings. My father had known, in his younger days, a good deal of Murrell by reputation, which was probably the moving cause for his purchase of the book. When a little chap I frequently read it and it possessed for me a sort of weird, uncanny fascination. Murrell's home, and the theater of many of his evil deeds, during the year 1834, and for some time previously, was in this county of Madison, and as we trudged along the road on this march I scanned all the surroundings with deep interest and close attention. Much of the country was rough and broken, and densely wooded, with high ridges and deep ravines between them. With the aid of a lively imagination, many places I noticed seemed like fitting localities for acts of violence and crime.

I have in my possession now (bought many years ago) a duplicate of that old copy of Murrell we had at home. I sometimes look into it, but it no longer possesses for me the interest it did in my boyhood days.

On this march I was a partic.i.p.ant in an incident which was somewhat amusing, and also a little bit irritating. Shortly before noon of the first day, Jack Medford, of my company, and myself, concluded we would "straggle," and try to get a country dinner. Availing ourselves of the first favorable opportunity, we slipped from the ranks, and struck out.

We followed an old country road that ran substantially parallel to the main road on which the column was marching, and soon came to a nice looking old log house standing in a grove of big native trees. The only people at the house were two middle-aged women and some children. We asked the women if we could have some dinner, saying that we would pay for it. They gave an affirmative answer, but their tone was not cordial and they looked "daggers." Dinner was just about prepared, and when all was ready, we were invited, with evident coolness, to take seats at the table. We had a splendid meal, consisting of corn bread, new Irish potatoes, boiled bacon and greens, b.u.t.ter and b.u.t.termilk. Compared with sow-belly and hardtack, it was a feast. Dinner over, we essayed to pay therefor. Their charge was something less than a dollar for both of us, but we had not the exact change. The smallest denomination of money either of us had was a dollar greenback, and the women said that they had no money at all to make change. Thereupon we proffered them the entire dollar. They looked at it askance, and asked if we had any "Southern" or Confederate money. We said we had not, that this was the only kind of money we had. They continued to look exceedingly sour, and finally remarked that they were unwilling to accept any kind of money except "Southern." We urged them to accept the bill, told them it was United States money, and that it would pa.s.s readily in any place in the South occupied by our soldiers; but no, they were obdurate, and declined the greenback with unmistakable scorn. Of course we kept our temper; it never would have done to be saucy or rude after getting such a good dinner, but, for my part, I felt considerably vexed. But there was nothing left to do except thank them heartily for their kindness and depart. From their standpoint their course in the matter was actuated by the highest and most unselfish patriotism, but naturally we couldn't look at it in that light. I will say here, "with malice towards none, and with charity for all," that in my entire sojourn in the South during the war, the women were found to be more intensely bitter and malignant against the old government of the United States, and the national cause in general, than were the men. Their att.i.tude is probably another ill.u.s.tration of the truth of Kipling's saying, "The female of the species is more deadly than the male."

We arrived at Jackson on the evening of June 17, and went into camp in the outskirts of the town, in a beautiful grove of tall young oaks. The site was neither too shady nor too sunny, and, all things considered, I think it was about the nicest camping ground the regiment had during its entire service. We settled down here to a daily round of battalion drill, being the first of that character, as I now remember, we had so far had. A battalion drill is simply one where the various companies are handled as a regimental unit, and are put through regimental evolutions. Battalion drill at first was frequently very embarra.s.sing to some commanding officers of companies. The regimental commander would give a command, indicating, in general terms, the movement desired, and it was then the duty of a company commander to see to the details of the movement that his company should make, and give the proper orders. Well, sometimes he would be badly stumped, and ludicrous "bobbles" would be the result. As for the men in the ranks, battalion drill was as simple as any other, for we only had to obey specific commands which indicated exactly what we were to do. To "form square,"

an antique disposition against cavalry, was a movement that was especially "trying" to some company officers. But so far as forming square was concerned, all our drill on that feature was time thrown away. In actual battle we never made that disposition a single time--and the same is true of several other labored and intricate movements prescribed in the tactics, and which we were industriously put through. But it was good exercise, and "all went in the day's work."

While thus amusing ourselves at battalion drill suddenly came marching orders, and which required immediate execution. Tents were forthwith struck, rolled and tied, and loaded in the wagons, with all other camp and garrison equipage. Our knapsacks were packed with all our effects, since special instructions had been given on that matter. Curiosity was on the qui vive to know where we were going, but apart from the fact that we were to be transported on the cars, apparently n.o.body knew whither we were bound. Col. Fry was absent, sick, and Major Ohr was then in command of the regiment. He was a fine officer, and, withal, a very sensible man, and I doubt if any one in the regiment except himself had reliable knowledge as to our ultimate destination. As soon as our marching preparations were complete, which did not take long, the bugle sounded "Fall in!" and the regiment formed in line on the parade ground. In my "mind's eye" I can now see Major Ohr in our front, on his horse, his blanket strapped behind his saddle, smoking his little briar root pipe, and looking as cool and unconcerned as if we were only going a few miles for a change of camp. Our entire brigade fell in, and so far as we could see, or learn, all of the division at Jackson, then under the command of Gen. John A. McClernand, was doing likewise. Well, we stood there in line, at ordered arms, and waited. We expected, every moment, to hear the orders which would put us in motion--but they were never given. Finally we were ordered to stack arms and break ranks, but were cautioned to hold ourselves in readiness to fall in at the tap of the drum. But the day wore on and nothing was done until late in the evening, when the summons came. We rushed to the gun stacks and took arms. The Major had a brief talk with the company officers, and then, to our great surprise, the companies were marched back to their dismantled camps, and after being instructed to stay close thereto, were dismissed. This state of affairs lasted for at least two days, and then collapsed. We were told that the orders had been countermanded; we unloaded our tents, pitched them again on the old sites, and resumed battalion drill. It was then gossiped around among the boys that we actually had been under marching orders for Virginia to reinforce the Army of the Potomac! Personally I looked on that as mere "camp talk," and put no confidence in it, and never found out, until about fifteen years later, that this rumor was a fact. I learned it in this wise: About nine years after the close of the war, Congress pa.s.sed an act providing for the publication, in book form, of all the records, reports correspondence, and the like, of both the Union and Confederate armies. Under this law, about one hundred and thirty large volumes were published, containing the matter above stated. When the law was pa.s.sed I managed to arrange to procure a set of these Records and they were sent to me from Was.h.i.+ngton as fast as printed. And from one of these volumes I ascertained that on June 28, 1862, E. M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, had telegraphed Gen. Halleck (who was then in command of the western armies) as follows:

"It is absolutely necessary for you immediately to detach 25,000 of your force, and send it by the nearest and quickest route by way of Baltimore and Was.h.i.+ngton to Richmond. [This] is rendered imperative by a serious reverse suffered by Gen. McClellan before Richmond yesterday, the full extent of which is not known." (Rebellion Records, Series 1, Vol. 16, Part 2, pp. 69 and 70.)

In obedience to the above, General Halleck wired General McClernand on June 30 as follows:

"You will collect as rapidly as possible all the infantry regiments of your division, and take advantage of every train to transport them to Columbus [Ky.] and thence to Was.h.i.+ngton City." (Id. p. 76.)

But that same day (June 30) a telegram was sent by President Lincoln to Gen. Halleck, which operated to revoke the foregoing order of Stanton's--and so the 61st Illinois never became a part of the Army of the Potomac, and for which I am very thankful. That army was composed of brave men, and they fought long and well, but, in my opinion, and which I think is sustained by history, they never had a competent commander until they got U. S. Grant. So, up to the coming of Grant, their record, in the main, was a series of b.l.o.o.d.y disasters, and their few victories, like Antietam and Gettysburg, were not properly and energetically followed up as they should have been, and hence were largely barren of adequate results. Considering these things, I have always somehow "felt it in my bones" that if Mr. Lincoln had not sent the brief telegram above mentioned, I would now be sleeping in some (probably) unmarked and unknown grave away back in old Virginia.

While at Jackson an incident occurred while I was on picket in which Owen McGrath, the big Irishman I have previously mentioned, played an interesting part. As corporal I had three men under me, McGrath being one, and the others were a couple of big, burly young fellows belonging to Co. A. Our post was on the railroad a mile or two from the outskirts of Jackson, and where the picket line for some distance ran practically parallel with the railroad. The spot at this post where the picket stood when on guard was at the top of a bank on the summit of a slight elevation, just at the edge of a deep and narrow railroad cut. A bunch of guerrillas had recently been operating in that locality, and making mischief on a small scale, and our orders were to be vigilant and on the alert, especially at night. McGrath was on duty from 6 to 8 in the evening, and at the latter hour I notified one of the Co. A men that his turn had come. The weather was bad, a high wind was blowing, accompanied by a drizzling rain, and all signs portended a stormy night. The Co. A fellow buckled on his cartridge box, picked up his musket, and gave a scowling glance at the surroundings. Then, with much profanity, he declared that he wasn't going to stand up on that bank, he was going down into the cut, where he could have some shelter from the wind and rain. I told him that would never do, that there he could see nothing in our front, and might as well not be on guard at all. But he loudly announced his intention to stick to his purpose. The other Co. A man chimed in, and with many expletives declared that Bill was right, that he intended to stand in the cut too when his time came, that he didn't believe there was a Secesh within a hundred miles of us, anyway, and so on. I was sorely troubled, and didn't know what to do.

They were big, hulking fellows, and either could have just smashed me, with one hand tied behind him. McGrath had been intently listening to the conversation, and saying nothing, but, as matters were evidently nearing a crisis, he now took a hand. Walking up to the man who was to relieve him, he laid the forefinger of his right hand on the fellow's breast, and looking him square in the eyes, spoke thus:

"It's the ar-r-dhers of the car-r-parral that the sintry stand here,"

(indicating,) "and the car-r-parral's ar-r-dhers will be obeyed. D'ye moind that, now?"

I had stepped to the side of McGrath while he was talking, to give him my moral support, at least, and fixed my eyes on the mutineer. He looked at us in silence a second or two, and then, with some muttering about the corporal being awful particular, finally said he could stand it if the rest could, a.s.sumed his post at the top of the bank, and the matter was ended. The storm blew over before midnight and the weather cleared up. In the morning we had a satisfying soldier breakfast, and when relieved at 9 o'clock marched back to camp with the others of the old guard, all in good humor, and with "peace and harmony prevailing."

But I always felt profoundly grateful to grand old McGrath for his staunch support on the foregoing occasion; without it, I don't know what could have been done.

CHAPTER VII.

BOLIVAR. JULY, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1862.

On July 17 our brigade, then under the command of Gen. L. F. Ross, left Jackson for Bolivar, Tennessee, a town about twenty-eight miles southwest of Jackson, on what was then called the Mississippi Central Railroad. (Here I will observe that the sketch of the regiment before mentioned in the Illinois Adjutant General's Reports is wrong as to the date of our departure from Jackson. It is inferable from the statement in the Reports that the time was June 17, which really was the date of our arrival there from Bethel.) We started from Jackson at about four o'clock in the morning, but marched only about eight miles when we were brought to an abrupt halt, caused by the breaking down, under the weight of a cannon and its carriage, of an ancient Tennessee bridge over a little stream. The nature of the crossing was such that the bridge simply had to be rebuilt, and made strong enough to sustain the artillery and army wagons, and it took the balance of the day to do it.

We therefore bivouacked at the point where we stopped until the next morning. Soon after the halt a hard rain began falling, and lasted all afternoon. We had no shelter, and just had to take it, and "let it rain." But it was in the middle of the summer, the weather was hot, and the boys stood around, some crowing like chickens, and others quacking like ducks, and really seemed to rather enjoy the situation. About the only drawback resulting from our being caught out in the summer rains was the fact that the water would rust our muskets. In our time we were required to keep all their metal parts (except the b.u.t.t-plate) as bright and s.h.i.+ning as new silver dollars. I have put in many an hour working on my gun with an old rag and powdered dirt, and a corncob, or pine stick, polis.h.i.+ng the barrel, the bands, lock-plate, and trigger-guard, until they were fit to pa.s.s inspection. The inside of the barrel we would keep clean by the use of a greased wiper and plenty of hot water. In doing this, we would ordinarily, with our screw-drivers, take the gun to pieces, and remove from the stock all metallic parts. I never had any head for machinery, of any kind, but, from sheer necessity, did acquire enough of the faculty to take apart, and put together, an army musket,--and that is about the full extent of my ability in that line. We soon learned to take care of our pieces in a rain by thoroughly greasing them with a piece of bacon, which would largely prevent rust from striking in.

We resumed our march to Bolivar early in the morning of the 18th. Our route was practically parallel with the railroad, crossing it occasionally. At one of these crossings, late in the afternoon, and when only five or six miles from Bolivar, I "straggled" again, and took to the railroad. I soon fell in with three Co. C boys, who had done likewise. We concluded we would endeavor to get a country supper, and with that in view, an hour or so before sundown went to a nice looking farm-house not far from the railroad, and made our wants known to the occupants. We had selected for our spokesman the oldest one of our bunch, a soldier perhaps twenty-five years old, named Aleck Cope. He was something over six feet tall, and about as gaunt as a sand-hill crane. He was bare-footed, and his feet, in color and general appearance, looked a good deal like the flappers of an alligator. His entire garb, on this occasion, consisted of an old wool hat and his government s.h.i.+rt and drawers. The latter garment, like the "cuttie sark" of witch Nannie in "Tam O'Shanter," "in longitude was sorely scanty," coming only a little below his knees, and both habiliments would have been much improved by a thorough was.h.i.+ng. But in the duty a.s.signed him he acquitted himself well with the people of the house, and they very cheerfully said they would prepare us a supper. They seemingly were well-to-do, as several colored men and women were about the premises, who, of course, were slaves. Soon were audible the death squawks of chickens in the barn-yard, which we heard with much satisfaction. In due time supper was announced, and we seated ourselves at the table. And what a banquet we had! Fried chicken, nice hot biscuits, b.u.t.ter, b.u.t.ter-milk, honey, (think of that!) preserved peaches, fresh cuc.u.mber pickles,--and so forth. And a colored house-girl moved back and forth behind us, keeping off the flies with a big peac.o.c.k-feather brush. Aleck Cope sat opposite me, and when the girl was performing that office for him, the situation looked so intensely ludicrous that I wanted to scream. Supper over, we paid the bill, which was quite reasonable, and went on our way rejoicing, and reached Bolivar soon after dark, about the same time the regiment did.

But it will now be set down that this was the last occasion when I "straggled" on a march. A day or so after arriving at Bolivar the word came to me in some way, I think from Enoch Wallace, that our first lieutenant, Dan Keeley, had spoken disapprovingly of my conduct in that regard. He was a young man, about twenty-five years old, of education and refinement, and all things considered, the best company officer we had. I was much attached to him, and I know that he liked me. Well, I learned that he had said, in substance, that a non-commissioned officer should set a good example to the men in all things, and that he hadn't expected of Stillwell that he would desert the ranks on a march. That settled the matter. My conduct had simply been thoughtless, without any s.h.i.+rking intentions, but I then realized that it was wrong, and, as already stated, straggled no more.

We went into camp at Bolivar a little south of the town, in a grove of scattered big oak trees. A few days after our arrival a good-sized body of Confederate cavalry, under the command of Gen. Frank C. Armstrong, moved up from the south, and began operating near Bolivar and vicinity.

Our force there was comparatively small, and, according to history, we were, for a time, in considerable danger of being "gobbled up," but of that we common soldiers knew nothing. Large details were at once put to work throwing up breast-works, while the men not on that duty were kept in line of battle, or with their guns in stack on the line, and strictly cautioned to remain close at hand, and ready to fall in at the tap of a drum. This state of things continued for some days, then the trouble would seemingly blow over, and later would break out again.

While we were thus on the ragged edge, and expecting a battle almost any hour, a little incident occurred which somehow made on me a deep and peculiar impression. To explain it fully, I must go back to our first days at Pittsburg Landing. A day or two after our arrival there, Lt. Keeley said to me that the regimental color guard, to consist of a sergeant and eight corporals, was being formed, that Co. D had been called on for a corporal for that duty, and that I should report to Maj. Ohr for instructions. Naturally I felt quite proud over this, and forthwith reported to the Major, at his tent, and stated my business.

He looked at me in silence, and closely, for a few seconds, and then remarked, in substance, that I could go to my quarters, and if needed, would be notified later. This puzzled me somewhat, but I supposed it would come out all right in due time. There was a corporal in our company to whom I will give a fict.i.tious name, and call him Sam Cobb.

He was a big, fine looking fellow, and somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years old. And an hour or two after my dismissal by Maj.

Ohr, I heard Sam loudly proclaiming, with many fierce oaths, to a little group of Co. D. boys, that he "had been promoted." That he was a "color corporal, by ----!" This announcement was accompanied by sundry vociferous statements in regard to Maj. Ohr knowing exactly the kind of men to get to guard the colors of the regiment in time of battle, and so on, and so on. I heard all this with mortification and bitterness of spirit. The reason now dawned on me why I had been rejected. I was only a boy, rather small for my age, and at this time feeble in appearance.

Maj. Ohr, quite properly, wanted strong, stalwart, fine looking men for the color guard. A little reflection convinced me that he was right, and could not be blamed for his action. But he found out later, (in this particular case, at least) that something more than a fine appearance was required to make a soldier. Only two or three days after Sam's "promotion," came the battle of s.h.i.+loh, and at the very first volley the regiment received, he threw down his gun, and ran like a whipped cur. The straps and buckles of his cartridge box were new and stiff, so he didn't take the time to release them in the ordinary way, but whipped out his jack-knife and cut them as he ran. I did not see this personally, but was told it by boys who did. We saw no more of Sam until after the battle, when he sneaked into camp, with a fantastic story of getting separated from the regiment in a fall-back movement, that he then joined another, fought both days, and performed prodigies of valor. But there were too many that saw the manner of his alleged "separation" for his story ever to be believed.

I will now return to the Bolivar incident. While the Confederates were operating in the vicinity of this place, as above mentioned, the "fall in" call was sounded one evening after dark, and the regiment promptly formed in line on the parade ground. We remained there an hour or so, when finally the command was given to stack arms, and the men were dismissed with orders to hold themselves in readiness to form in line, on the parade grounds, at a moment's warning. As I was walking back to our company quarters, Sam Cobb stepped up to me and took me to one side, under the shadow of a tall oak tree. It was a bright moonlight night, with some big, fleecy clouds in the sky. "Stillwell," asked Sam, "do you think we are going to have a fight?" "I don't know, Sam," I answered, "but it looks very much like it. I reckon Gen. Ross is not going out to hunt a fight; he prefers to stay here, protect the government stores, and fight on the defensive. If our cavalry can stand the Rebs off, then maybe they will let us alone,--but if our cavalry are driven in, then look out." Sam held his head down, and said nothing. As above stated, he was a grown man, and I was only a boy, but the thing that was troubling him was apparent from his demeanor, and I felt sorry for him. I laid a hand kindly on his shoulder, and said, "And Sam, if we should have a fight, now try, old fellow, and do better than you did before." He looked up quickly--at that instant the moon pa.s.sed from behind a big cloud and shone through a rift in the branches of the tree, full in his face, which was as pale as death, and he said, in a broken voice: "Stillwell, I'll run; I just know I'll run,--by G.o.d, I can't help it!" I deeply pitied the poor fellow, and talked to him a few minutes, in the kindest manner possible, trying to reason him out of that sort of a feeling. But his case was hopeless. He was a genial, kind-hearted man, but simply a const.i.tutional coward, and he doubtless told the truth when he said he "couldn't help it." In the very next fight we were in he verified his prediction. I may say something about that further on.

Since leaving Camp Carrollton, Co. D had lost two sergeants, one by death from sickness, the other by discharge for disability, so while we were at Bolivar these vacancies were filled by appointments made by Maj. Ohr, who was then commanding the regiment. In accordance with the custom in such matters, the appointments were announced in orders, which were read on dress parade. As I now write, it is a little over fifty-four years since this event took place, but even now my heart beats faster as the fact is recalled that as the adjutant read the list, there came the name "Corporal Leander Stillwell, Co. D, to be 4th Sergeant."

In the early part of August, 1862, while our regiment was at Bolivar, I cast my first vote, which was an illegal one, as then I was not quite nineteen years old. The circ.u.mstances connected with my voting are not lengthy, so the story will be told. In the fall of 1861 the voters of the state of Illinois elected delegates to a Const.i.tutional Convention, to frame and submit to the people a new Const.i.tution. A majority of the delegates so elected were Democrats, so they prepared a Const.i.tution in accordance with their political views. It therefore became a party measure, the Democrats supporting and the Republicans opposing it. By virtue of some legal enactment all Illinois soldiers in the field, who were lawful voters, were authorized to vote on the question of the adoption of the proposed const.i.tution, and so, on the day above indicated the election for this purpose was held in our regiment. An election board was duly appointed, consisting of commissioned officers of the regiment; they fixed up under a big tree some hardtack boxes to serve for a table, and the proceedings began. I had no intention of voting, as I knew I had not the legal right, but Enoch Wallace came to me and suggested that I go up and vote. When I said I was not old enough, he simply laughed, and took me by the arm and marched me to the voting place. The manner of voting was by word of mouth, the soldier gave his name, and stated that he was "For" or "Against" the const.i.tution, as the case might be, and his vote was recorded. I voted "Against," and started away, no questions being asked me as to my age.

But before getting out of hearing I heard one of the board say, somewhat sotto voce, "That's a mighty young looking voter." Capt.

Ihrie, of Co. C, also on the board, responded carelessly in the same tone, "Oh well, it's all right; he's a dam good soldier." That remark puffed me away up, and almost made me feel as if I had grown maybe three feet, or more, in as many seconds, and needed only a fierce mustache to be a match for one of Napoleon's Old Guard. And my vote was not the same as Ihrie's, either, as he was a Democrat, and supporting the new const.i.tution. When the regiment was recruited it was Democratic by a large majority, but under the enlightening experiences of the war it had become Republican, and out of a total vote of about two hundred and fifty, it gave a majority against the new const.i.tution of twenty-five. The final result was that the proposed const.i.tution was beaten by the "home vote" alone, which gave something over 16,000 majority against it. Consequently the soldier vote (although heavily against the measure) cut no figure, as it was not needed, and my illegal exercise of the right of suffrage did neither good nor harm;--and the incident has long since been barred by the statute of limitations.

During the latter part of July, and throughout August and September, things were lively and exciting at Bolivar, and in that region generally. There was a sort of feeling of trouble in the air most of the time. Gen. Grant was in command in this military district, and he has stated in his Memoirs that the "most anxious" period of the war, to him, was, practically, during the time above stated. But we common soldiers were not troubled with any such feeling. We were devoid of all responsibility, except simply to look out for and take care of ourselves, and do our duty to the best of our ability. And, speaking for myself, I will say that this condition was one that was very "full of comfort." We had no planning nor thinking to do, and the world could just wag as it willed.

CHAPTER VIII.

BOLIVAR. THE MOVEMENT TO THE VICINITY OF IUKA, MISSISSIPPI.

SEPTEMBER-DECEMBER, 1862.

On September 16 the regiment (with the rest of our brigade) left Bolivar, on the cars, went to Jackson, and thence to Corinth, Mississippi, where we arrived about sundown. From here, still on the cars, we started east on the Memphis and Charleston railroad. The train proceeded very slowly, and after getting about seven or eight miles from Corinth, it stopped, and we pa.s.sed the rest of the night on the cars. Early next morning the train started, and we soon arrived at the little town of Burnsville, about fifteen miles southeast of Corinth, where we left the cars, and went into bivouac near the eastern outskirts of the town.

On the morning of the 19th, before daylight, we marched about two miles east of Burnsville, and formed in line of battle, facing the south, in thick woods, consisting mainly of tall pines. It was talked among us that the Confederate pickets were only a short distance from our front, and it certainly looked like a battle was impending. By this time the military situation was pretty well understood by all of us. A Confederate force of about eight thousand men under Gen. Sterling Price was at the town of Iuka, about two miles south of us, and Gen. Grant and Gen. Rosecrans had formulated a plan for attacking this force on two sides at once. Gen. Rosecrans was to attack from the south, while our column, under the immediate command of Gen. E. O. C. Ord, was to close in from the north. Gen. Grant was on the field, and was with the troops on the north. The plan was all right, and doubtless would have succeeded, if the wind, on September 19, 1862, in that locality had been blowing from the south instead of the north. It is on such seemingly little things that the fate of battles, and sometimes that of nations, depends. Gen. Rosecrans on the afternoon of the 19th encountered the enemy south of Iuka, had a severe battle, and was quite roughly handled. Only a few miles to the north was all of Ord's command, in line of battle, and expecting to go in every minute, but the order never came. So all day we just stood around in those pine woods, wondering what in the world was the matter. As already stated, the woods were dense, and the wind blowing from the north carried from us all sounds of the battle. I personally know that this was the case.

There were a few cannon shots next morning, fired by a battery in Gen.

Rosecrans' column, and those we distinctly heard from our position, and thought at the time they indicated a battle, but they were fired mainly as "feelers," and to ascertain if the enemy were present in force. But, as stated, all day on the 19th we heard not a sound to indicate that a desperate battle was in progress only a few miles from our front.

Early in the morning of the 19th I witnessed an incident that inspired in me my first deep-seated hatred of whisky, and which has abided with me ever since. We had formed in line of battle, but the command had been given, "In place, rest!" (which we were allowed to give a liberal construction), and we were scattered around, standing or sitting down, near the line. About this time two young a.s.sistant surgeons came from the rear, riding up the road on which the left of the regiment rested.

They belonged to some infantry regiment of the division, but personally I didn't know them. They were both fool drunk. On reaching our line of battle they stopped, but kept in their saddles, pulling their horses about, playing "smarty," and grinning and chattering like a brace of young monkeys. I looked at these drunk young fools, and thought that maybe, in less than an hour, one of them might be standing over me, probing a bullet wound in one of my legs, and then and there promptly deciding the question whether the leg should be sawed off, or whether it could be saved. And what kind of intelligent judgment on this matter, on which my life or death might depend, could this whisky-crazed young gosling be capable of exercising? I felt so indignant at the condition and conduct of these men, right on the eve of what we supposed might be a severe battle and in which their care for the wounded would be required, that it almost seemed to me it would be doing the government good service to shoot both the galoots right on the spot. And there were other boys who felt the same way, who began making ominous remarks. The drunken young wretches seemed to have sense enough to catch the drift of something that was said, they put spurs to their horses and galloped off to the rear, and we saw them no more.

On the morning of the 20th some regiments of our division moved forward and occupied the town of Iuka, but Gen. Price had in the meantime skipped out, so there was no fighting. Our regiment, with some others, remained in the original position, so that I never got to see the old town of Iuka until several years after the war. Sometime during the afternoon of the 20th I went to Capt. Reddish and said to him that I had become so tired of just standing around, and asked him if I could take a short stroll in the woods. The old man gave his consent (as I felt satisfied he would) but cautioned me not to go too far away. The main thing in view, when I made the request, was the hope of finding some wild muscadine grapes. They were plentiful in this section of the country, and were now ripe, and I wanted a bait. I think a wild muscadine grape is just the finest fruit of that kind in existence.

When ripe it has a strong and most agreeable fragrance, and when one is to the leeward of a vine loaded with grapes, and a gentle wind is blowing from the south, he is first made aware of their proximity by their grateful odor. I soon found some on this occasion, and they were simply delicious. Having fully satisfied my craving, I proceeded to make my way back to the regiment, when hearing the trampling sound of cavalry, I hurried through the woods to the side of the road, reaching there just as the head of the column appeared. It was only a small body, not more than a hundred or so, and there, riding at its head, was Grant! I had not seen him since the battle of s.h.i.+loh and I looked at him with intense interest. He had on an old "sugar-loaf" hat, with limp, drooping brim, and his outer coat was the ordinary uniform coat, with a long cape, of a private in the cavalry. His foot-gear was cavalry boots, splashed with mud, and the ends of his trousers' legs were tucked inside the boots. No shoulder-straps were visible, and the only evidence of rank about him that was perceptible consisted of a frayed and tarnished gold cord on his hat. He was looking downward as he rode by, and seemed immersed in thought. As the column pa.s.sed along, I asked a soldier near the rear what troops they were, and he answered, "Co. A, Fourth Illinois Cavalry--Gen. Grant's escort." This was the last time that I saw Grant during the war.

On the evening of the 20th the regiment was drawn back into Burnsville, and that night Co. D bivouacked in the "Harrison Hotel," which formerly had evidently been the princ.i.p.al hotel in the town. It was a rambling, roomy, old frame building, two stories and a half high, now vacant, stripped of all furniture, and with a thick layer of dust and dirt on the floors. We occupied a room on the second floor, that evidently had been the parlor. Being quartered in a hotel was a novel experience, and the boys got lots of fun out of it. One would call out, "Bill, ring the clerk to send up a pitcher of ice water, and to be quick about it;"

while another would say, "And while you're at it, tell him to note a special order from me for quail on toast for breakfast;" and so on. But these pleasantries soon subsided, and it was not long before we were wrapped in slumber. It was a little after midnight, and I was sound asleep, when I heard someone calling, "Sergeant Stillwell! Where is Sergeant Stillwell?" I sprang to my feet, and answered, "Here! What's wanted?" The speaker came to me, and then I saw that it was Lt.

Goodspeed, who was acting as adjutant of the regiment. He proceeded to inform me that I was to take charge of a detail of three corporals and twelve men and go to a point about a mile and a half east of Burnsville, to guard a party of section men while clearing and repairing the railroad from a recent wreck. He gave me full instructions, and then said, "Stillwell, a lieutenant should go in charge of this detail, but all that I could find made pretty good excuses and I think you'll do. It is a position of honor and responsibility, as there are some prowling bands of guerrillas in this vicinity, so be careful and vigilant." I was then acting as first sergeant, and really was exempt from this duty, but of course the idea of making that claim was not entertained for a moment. I took charge of my party, went to where the laborers were waiting for us with hand cars, and we soon arrived at the scene of the wreck. A day or two before our arrival at Burnsville a party of Confederate cavalry had torn up the track at this point, and wrecked and burnt a freight train.

Some horses on the train had been killed in the wreck; their carca.s.ses were lying around, and were rather offensive. The trucks and other ironwork of the cars were piled on the track, tangled up, and all out of shape, some rails removed and others warped by heat, and things generally in a badly torn-up condition. The main dirt road forked here, one fork going diagonally to the right of the track and the other to the left--both in an easterly direction. I posted three men and a corporal about a quarter of a mile to the front on the track, a similar squad at the same distance on each fork of the dirt road, and the others at intervals on each side of the railroad at the place of the wreck. The laborers went to work with a will, and about the time the owls were hooting for day the foreman reported to me that the track was clear, the rails replaced, and that they were ready to return to Burnsville. I then drew in my guards, we got on the hand cars, and were soon back in town. And thus ended my first, and only, personal supervision of the work of repairing a break in a railroad.

I barely had time to make my coffee and toast a piece of bacon when the bugle sounded "Fall in!" and soon (that being the morning of September 21st) we started on the back track, and that day marched to Corinth. It so happened that on this march our regiment was at the head of the column. The proper place of my company, according to army regulations, was the third from the right or head of the line, but from some cause--I never knew what--on that day we were placed at the head. And, as I was then acting as first sergeant of our company, that put me the head man on foot. These details are mentioned for the reason that all that day I marched pretty close to the tail of the horse that Gen. Ord was riding, and with boyish curiosity, I scanned the old general closely. He was a graduate of West Point, and an old regular. He had served in the Florida and the Mexican wars, and he also had been in much sc.r.a.pping with hostile Indians in the vicinity of the Pacific Coast. He looked old to me, but really he was, at this time, only about forty-four years of age. He certainly was indifferent to his personal appearance, as his garb was even plainer, and more careless, than Grant's. He wore an old battered felt hat, with a flapping brim, and his coat was one of the old-fas.h.i.+oned, long-tailed oil-cloth "wrap-rascals" then in vogue. It was all splattered with mud, with several big torn places in it. There was not a thing about him, that I could see, to indicate his rank. Later he was transferred to the eastern armies, eventually was a.s.signed to the command of the Army of the James, and took an active and prominent part in the operations that culminated in the surrender of Lee at Appomattox.