LITTLE ROCK. WINTER OF 1863-4. RE-ENLIST FOR THREE YEARS MORE.
When I returned to Little Rock from my absence on furlough, the
regiment was found installed in cosy, comfortable quarters of pine log
cabins. There were extensive pine forests near Little Rock, the boys
were furnished teams and axes to facilitate the work, and cut and
shaped the logs for the cabin walls, and roofed them with lumber,
boards or shingles, which they procured in various ways. The walls were
chinked and daubed with mud, and each cabin was provided with an ample,
old-fashioned fire-place, with a rock or stick chimney. As wood was
close at hand, and in abundance, there was no difficulty whatever in
keeping the cabins warm. But I will remark here that of all the mean
wood to burn, a green pine log is about the worst. It is fully as bad
as green elm, or sycamore. But there was no lack of dry wood to mix
with the green, and the green logs had this virtue: that after the fire
had once taken hold of them they would last a whole night. The winter
of 1863-4 was remarkably cold, and to this day is remembered by the old
soldiers as "the cold winter." On the last day of 1863 a heavy fall of
snow occurred at Little Rock, and the first day of the new year, and
several days thereafter, were bitterly cold. But the weather did not
cause the troops in our immediate locality any special suffering, so
far as I know, or ever heard. All of us not on picket were just as
comfortable as heart could wish in our tight, well-warmed cabins, and
those on guard duty were permitted to build rousing fires and so got
along fairly well. Big fires on the picket line would not have been
allowed if any enemy had been in our vicinity, but there were none;
hence it was only common sense to let the pickets have fires and keep
as comfortable as circumstances would permit. It was probably on
account of the severe weather that active military operations in our
locality were that winter practically suspended. There were a few
cavalry affairs at outlying posts, but none of any material importance.
The most painful sight that I saw during the war was here at Little
Rock this winter. It was the execution, by hanging, on January 8, 1864,
of a Confederate spy, by the name of David O. Dodds. He was a mere boy,
seemingly not more than nineteen or twenty years old. There was no
question as to his guilt. When arrested there was found on his person a
memorandum book containing information, written in telegraphic
characters, in regard to all troops, batteries, and other military
matters at Little Rock. He was tried by a court martial, and sentenced
to the mode of death always inflicted on a spy, namely, by hanging. I
suppose that the military authorities desired to render his death as
impressive as possible, in order to deter others from engaging in a
business so fraught with danger to our armies; therefore, on the day
fixed for carrying out the sentence of the court, all our troops in
Little Rock turned out under arms and marched to the place of
execution. It was in a large field near the town; a gallows had been
erected in the center of this open space, and the troops formed around
it in the form of an extensive hollow square, and stood at parade rest.
The spy rode through the lines to the gallows in an open ambulance,
sitting on his coffin. I happened to be not far from the point where he
passed through, and saw him plainly. For one so young, he displayed
remarkable coolness and courage when in the immediate presence of
death. The manner of his execution was wretchedly bungled, in some way,
and the whole thing was to me indescribably repulsive. In the crisis of
the affair there was a sudden clang of military arms and accouterments
in the line not far from me, and looking in that direction I saw that a
soldier in the front rank had fainted and fallen headlong to the
ground. I didn't faint, but the spectacle, for the time being,
well-nigh made me sick. It is true that from time immemorial the
punishment of a convicted spy has been death by hanging. The safety of
whole armies, even the fate of a nation, may perhaps depend on the
prompt and summary extinction of the life of a spy. As long as he is
alive he may possibly escape, or, even if closely guarded, may succeed
in imparting his dangerous intelligence to others who will transmit it
in his stead; hence no mercy can be shown. But in spite of all that,
this event impressed me as somehow being unspeakably cruel and
cold-blooded. On one side were thousands of men with weapons in their
hands, coolly looking on; on the other was one lone, unfortunate boy.
My conscience has never troubled me for anything I may have done on the
firing line, in time of battle. There were the other fellows in plain
sight, shooting, and doing all in their power to kill us. It was my
duty to shoot at them, aim low, and kill some of them, if possible, and
I did the best I could, and have no remorse whatever. But whenever my
memory recalls the choking to death of that boy, (for that is what was
done), I feel bad, and don't like to write or think about it. But, for
fear of being misunderstood, it will be repeated that the fate of a
spy, when caught, is death. It is a military necessity. The other side
hanged our spies, with relentless severity, and were justified in so
doing by laws and usages of war. Even the great and good Washington
approved of the hanging of the British spy, Maj. Andre, and refused to
commute the manner of his execution to being shot, although Andre made
a personal appeal to him to grant him that favor, in order that he
might die the death of a soldier. The point with me is simply this: I
don't want personally to have anything to do, in any capacity, with
hanging a man, and don't desire even to be in eye-sight of such a
gruesome thing, and voluntarily never have. However, it fell to my lot
to be an involuntary witness of two more military executions while in
the service. I will speak of them now, and then be through with this
disagreeable subject. On March 18th, 1864, two guerrillas were hanged
in the yard of the penitentiary at Little Rock, by virtue of the
sentence of a court martial, and my regiment acted as guard at the
execution. We marched into the penitentiary inclosure, and formed
around the scaffold in hollow square. As soon as this had been done, a
door on the ground floor of the penitentiary was swung open, and the
two condemned men marched out, pinioned side by side, and surrounded by
a small guard. The culprits were apparently somewhere between forty and
fifty years of age. They ascended the scaffold, were placed with their
feet on the trap, the nooses were adjusted, the trap was sprung,--and
it was all over. The crimes of which these men had been convicted were
peculiarly atrocious. They were not members of any organized body of
the Confederate army, but guerrillas pure and simple. It was
conclusively established on their trial that they, with some
associates, had, in cold blood, murdered by hanging several men of that
vicinity, private citizens of the State of Arkansas, for no other cause
or reason than the fact that the victims were Union men. In some cases
the murdered men had been torn from their beds at night, and hanged in
their own door-yards, in the presence of their well-nigh distracted
wives and children. There can be no question that these two
unprincipled assassins richly merited their fate, and hence it was
impossible to entertain for them any feeling of sympathy. Nevertheless,
I stand by my original proposition, that to see any man strung up like
a dog, and hanged in cold blood, is a nauseating and debasing
spectacle.
In January, 1864, while we were at Little Rock, the "veteranizing"
project, as it was called, was submitted to the men. That is to say, we
were asked to enlist for "three years more, or endurin' the war."
Sundry inducements for this were held out to the men, but the one
which, at the time, had the most weight, was the promise of a
thirty-days furlough for each man who re-enlisted. The men in general
responded favorably to the proposition, and enough of the 61st
re-enlisted to enable the regiment to retain its organization to the
end of the war. On the evening of February 1st, with several others of
Co. D, I walked down to the adjutant's tent, and "went in" for three
years more. I think that no better account of this re-enlistment
business can now be given by me than by here inserting a letter I wrote
on December 22nd, 1894, as a slight tribute to the memory of our acting
regimental commander in February, 1864, Maj. Daniel Grass. He was later
promoted to lieutenant-colonel, and after the war, came to Kansas,
where, for many years, he was a prominent lawyer and politician. On the
evening of December 18th, 1894, while he was crossing a railroad track
in the town where he lived, (Coffeyville, Kansas,) he was struck by a
railroad engine, and sustained injuries from which he died on December
21st, at the age of a little over seventy years. A few days thereafter
the members of the bar of the county held a memorial meeting in his
honor, which I was invited to attend. I was then judge of the Kansas
7th Judicial District, and my judicial duties at the time were such
that I could not go, and hence was compelled to content myself by
writing a letter, which was later published in the local papers of the
county, and which reads as follows:
"Erie, Kansas,
"December 22, 1894.
"Hon. J. D. McCue,
"Independence, Kansas.
"My Dear Judge:
"I received this evening yours of the 20th informing me of the
death of my old comrade and regimental commander during the war
for the Union, Col. Dan Grass. I was deeply moved by this sad
intelligence, and regret that I did not learn of his death in time
to attend his funeral. I wish I could be present at the memorial
meeting of the bar next Monday that you mention, but I have other
engagements for that day that cannot be deferred. It affords me,
however, a mournful pleasure to comply with your request suggesting
that I write a few words in the nature of a tribute to our departed
friend and comrade, to be read at this meeting of the bar. But I am
fearful that I shall perform this duty very unsatisfactorily. There
are so many kind and good things that I would like to say about him
that throng my memory at this moment that I hardly know where to
begin.
"I served in the same regiment with Col. Grass from January 7th,
1862, to December 15th, 1864. On the last named day he was taken
prisoner by the rebels in an engagement near Murfreesboro, Tenn. He
was subsequently exchanged, but by that time the war was drawing to
a close, and he did not rejoin us again in the field. In May, 1865,
he was mustered out of the service. During his term of service with
us, (nearly three years,) I became very well acquainted with him,
and learned to admire and love him as a man and a soldier. He was
temperate in his habits, courteous and kind to the common soldiers,
and as brave a man in action as I ever saw. He was, moreover,
imbued with the most fervid and intense patriotism. The war with
him was one to preserve the Republic from destruction, and his
creed was that the government should draft, if necessary, every
available man in the North, and spend every dollar of the wealth of
the country, sooner than suffer the rebellion to succeed, and the
Nation to be destroyed. I think the most eloquent speech I ever
heard in my life was one delivered by Col. Grass to his regiment at
Little Rock, Arkansas, in February, 1864. The plan was then in
progress to induce the veteran troops in the field to re-enlist for
three years more. We boys called it 'veteranizing.' For various
reasons it did not take well in our regiment. Nearly all of us had
been at the front without a glimpse of our homes and friends for
over two years. We had undergone a fair share of severe fighting
and toilsome marching and the other hardships of a soldier's life,
and we believed we were entitled to a little rest when our present
term should expire. Hence, re-enlisting progressed slowly, and it
looked as if, so far as the 61st Illinois was concerned, that the
undertaking was going to be a failure. While matters were in this
shape, one day Col. Grass caused the word to be circulated
throughout the regiment that he would make us a speech that evening
at dress parade on the subject of 'veteranizing.' At the appointed
time we assembled on the parade ground with fuller ranks than
usual, everybody being anxious to hear what 'Old Dan,' as the boys
called him, would say. After the customary movements of the parade
had been performed, the Colonel commanded, 'Parade, Rest!' and
without further ceremony commenced his talk. Of course I cannot
pretend, after this lapse of time, to recall all that he said. I
remember best his manner and some principal statements, and the
effect they produced on us. He began talking to us like a father
would talk to a lot of dissatisfied sons. He told us that he knew
we wanted to go home; that we were tired of war and its hardships;
that we wanted to see our fathers and mothers, and 'the girls we
left behind'; that he sympathized with us, and appreciated our
feelings. 'But, boys,' said he, 'this great Nation is your father,
and has a greater claim on you than anybody else in the world. This
great father of yours is fighting for his life, and the question
for you to determine now is whether you are going to stay and help
the old man out, or whether you are going to sneak home and sit
down by the chimney corner in ease and comfort while your comrades
by thousands and hundreds of thousands are marching, struggling,
fighting, and dying on battle fields and in prison pens to put down
this wicked rebellion, and save the old Union. Stand by the old
flag, boys! Let us stay and see this thing out! We're going to whip
'em in the end just as sure as God Almighty is looking down on us
right now, and then we'll all go home together, happy and
triumphant. And take my word for it, in after years it will be the
proudest memory of your lives, to be able to say, "I stayed with
the old regiment and the old flag until the last gun cracked and
the war was over, and the Stars and Stripes were floating in
triumph over every foot of the land!'"
"I can see him in my mind's eye, as plain as if it were yesterday.
He stood firm and erect on his feet in the position of a soldier,
and gestured very little, but his strong, sturdy frame fairly
quivered with the intensity of his feelings, and we listened in the
most profound silence.
"It was a raw, cold evening, and the sun, angry and red, was
sinking behind the pine forests that skirted the ridges west of our
camp when the Colonel concluded his address. It did not, I think,
exceed more than ten minutes. The parade was dismissed, and the
companies marched back to their quarters. As I put my musket on its
rack and unbuckled my cartridge box, I said to one of my comrades,
'I believe the old Colonel is right; I am going right now down to
the adjutant's tent and re-enlist;' and go I did, but not alone.
Down to the adjutant's tent that evening streamed the boys by the
score and signed the rolls, and the fruit of that timely and
patriotic talk that Dan Grass made to us boys was that the great
majority of the men re-enlisted, and the regiment retained its
organization and remained in the field until the end of the war.
"But my letter is assuming rather lengthy proportions, and I must
hasten to a close. I have related just one incident in the life of
Col. Grass that illustrates his spirit of patriotism and love of
country. I could speak of many more, but the occasion demands
brevity. Of his career since the close of the war, in civil life
here in Kansas, there are others better qualified to speak than I
am. I will only say that my personal relations with him since he
came to this State, dating away back in the early seventies, have
continued to be, during all these years, what they were in the
trying and perilous days of the war--of the most friendly and
fraternal character. To me, at least, he was always Col. Dan Grass,
my regimental commander; while he, as I am happy to believe, always
looked upon and remembered me simply as 'Lee Stillwell, the little
sergeant of Company D.'
"I remain very sincerely your friend,
"L. STILLWELL."
[Illustration: Daniel Grass
(Late Lieut. Colonel, 61st Illinois Infantry.)]