LITTLE ROCK. EXPEDITIONS TO AUGUSTA AND SPRINGFIELD. MARCH, APRIL AND
MAY, 1864.
In the spring of 1864 it was determined by the military authorities to
undertake some offensive operations in what was styled the "Red River
country," the objective point being Shreveport, Louisiana. Gen. N. P.
Banks was to move with an army from New Orleans, and Gen. Steele, in
command of the Department of Arkansas, was to co-operate with a force
from Little Rock. And here my regiment sustained what I regarded, and
still regard, as a piece of bad luck. It was not included in this
moving column, but was assigned to the duty of serving as provost guard
of the city of Little Rock during the absence of the main army. To be
left there in that capacity, while the bulk of the troops in that
department would be marching and fighting was, from my standpoint, a
most mortifying circumstance. But the duty that devolved on us had to
be done by somebody, and soldiers can only obey orders. Our officers
said at the time that only efficient and well-disciplined troops were
entrusted with the position of provost-guards of a city the size of
Little Rock, and hence that our being so designated was a compliment to
the regiment. That sounded plausible, and it may have been true,
probably was, but I didn't like the job a bit. It may, however, have
all been for the best, as this Red River expedition, especially the
part undertaken by Gen. Banks, was a disastrous failure. Gen. Steele
left Little Rock about March 23rd, with a force, of all arms, of about
12,000 men, but got no further than Camden, Arkansas. Gen. Banks was
defeated by the Confederates at the battle of Sabine Cross-Roads, in
Louisiana, on April 8th, and was forced to retreat. The enemy then was
at liberty to concentrate on General Steele, and so he likewise was
under the necessity of retreating, and scuttling back to Little Rock
just as rapidly as possible. But on this retreat he and his men did
some good, hard fighting, and stood off the Confederates effectively.
About the first intimation we in Little Rock had that our fellows were
coming back was when nearly every soldier in the city that was able to
wield a mattock or a spade was detailed for fatigue duty and set to
work throwing up breastworks, and kept at it, both day and night. I
happened to see Gen. Steele when he rode into town on May 2nd, at the
head of his troops, and he looked tough. He had on a battered felt hat,
with a drooping brim, an oil-cloth "slicker," much the worse for wear,
the ends of his pantaloons were stuck in his boots, and he was just
splashed and splattered with mud from head to foot. But he sat firm and
erect in his saddle, (he was a magnificent horseman,) and his eyes were
flashing as if he had plenty of fight left in him yet. And the rank and
file of our retreating army was just the hardest looking outfit of
Federal soldiers that I saw during the war, at any time. The most of
them looked as if they had been rolled in the mud, numbers of them were
barefoot, and I also saw several with the legs of their trousers all
gone, high up, socking through the mud like big blue cranes.
In view of the feverish haste with which Little Rock had been put in a
state for defensive operations, and considering also all the reports in
circulation, we fully expected that Price's whole army would make an
attack on us almost any day. But the Confederates had been so roughly
handled in the battle of Jenkins' Ferry, April 30th, on the Saline
river, that none of their infantry came east of that river, nor any of
their cavalry except a small body, which soon retired. The whole
Confederate army, about May 1st, fell back to Camden, and soon all was
again quiet along the Arkansas.
I will now go back about two weeks in order to give an account of a
little expedition our regiment took part in when Gen. Steele's army was
at Camden.
Late on the evening of April 19th, we fell in, marched to the railroad
depot, climbed on the cars, and were taken that night to Devall's
Bluff. Next morning we embarked on the steamboat "James Raymond," and
started up White river. The other troops that took part in the movement
were the 3rd Minnesota Infantry and a detachment of the 8th Missouri
Cavalry. We arrived at the town of Augusta, (about eighty miles by
water from Devall's Bluff,) on the morning of the 21st. It was a
little, old, dilapidated river town, largely in a deserted condition,
situated on low, bottom land, on the east bank of White river. On
arriving we at once debarked from the boat, and all our little force
marched out a mile or so east of the town, where we halted, and formed
in line of battle in the edge of the woods, with a large open field in
our front, on the other side of which were tall, dense woods. As there
were no signs or indications of any enemy in the town, and everything
around was so quiet and sleepy, I couldn't understand what these
ominous preparations meant. Happening to notice the old chaplain a
short distance in the rear of our company, I slipped out of ranks, and
walked back to him for the purpose of getting a pointer, if possible.
He was by himself, and as I approached him, seemed to be looking rather
serious. He probably saw inquiry in my eyes, and without waiting for
question made a gesture with his hands towards the woods in our front,
and said, "O Son of Jeremiah! Here is where we shall give battle to
those who trouble Israel!" "What! What is that you say?" said I, in
much astonishment. "It is even so," he continued; "the Philistines are
abroad in the land, having among them, as they assert, many valiant men
who can sling stones at a hair's breadth and not miss. They await us,
even now, in the forest beyond. But, Son of Jeremiah," said he, "if the
uncircumcised heathen should assail the Lord's anointed, be strong, and
quit yourself like a man!" "All right, Chaplain," I responded; "I have
forty rounds in the box, and forty on the person, and will give them
the best I have in the shop. But, say! Take care of my watch, will you?
And, should anything happen, please send it to the folks at home;"--and
handing him my little old silver time-piece, I resumed my place in the
ranks. After what seemed to me a most tiresome wait, we finally
advanced, preceded by a line of skirmishers. I kept my eyes fixed on
the woods in our front, expecting every minute to see burst therefrom
puffs of white smoke, followed by the whiz of bullets and the crash of
musketry, but nothing of the kind happened. Our skirmishers entered the
forest, and disappeared, and still everything remained quiet. The main
line followed, and after gaining the woods, we discovered plenty of
evidence that they had quite recently been occupied by a body of
cavalry. The ground was cut up by horses' tracks, and little piles of
corn in the ear, only partly eaten, were scattered around. We advanced
through the woods and swamps for some miles and scouted around
considerably, but found no enemy, except a few stragglers that were
picked up by our cavalry. We left Augusta on the 24th, on our
steamboat, and arrived at Little Rock on the same day. I met the
chaplain on the boat while on our return, and remarked to him that,
"Those mighty men who could kill a jaybird with a sling-shot a quarter
of a mile off didn't stay to see the show." "No," he answered; "when
the sons of Belial beheld our warlike preparation, their hearts melted,
and became as water; they gat every man upon his ass, and speedily
fled, even beyond the brook which is called Cache." He then went on to
tell me that on our arrival at Augusta there was a body of Confederate
cavalry near there, supposed to be about a thousand strong, under the
command of a General McRae; that they were bivouacked in the woods in
front of the line of battle we formed, and that on our approach they
had scattered and fled. The enemy's force really exceeded ours, but, as
a general proposition, their cavalry was reluctant to attack our
infantry, in a broken country, unless they could accomplish something
in the nature of a surprise, or otherwise have a decided advantage at
the start.
On May 16th we shifted our camp to Huntersville, on the left bank of
the Arkansas river, and near our first location. We thus abandoned our
log cabins, and never occupied them again. They were now getting too
close and warm for comfort, anyhow. But they had been mighty good
friends to us in the bitterly cold winter of '63-4, and during that
time we spent many a cosy, happy day and night therein.
On May 19th we again received marching orders, and the regiment left
camp that night on the cars, and went to Hicks' station, 28 miles from
Little Rock. We remained here, bivouacking in the woods, until the
22nd, when, at 3 o'clock in the morning of that day, we took up the
line of march, moving in a northerly direction. The troops that
composed our force consisted of the 61st, 54th, and 106th Illinois, and
12th Michigan (infantry regiments), a battery of artillery, and some
detachments of cavalry; Brig. Gen. J. R. West in command. We arrived at
the town of Austin, 18 miles from Hicks' Station, about 2 o'clock on
the afternoon of the 22nd. It was a little country village, situated on
a rocky, somewhat elevated ridge. As I understand, it is now a station
on the Iron Mountain railroad, which has been built since the war. I
reckon if in May, 1864, any one had predicted that some day a railroad
would be built and in operation through that insignificant settlement
among the rocks and trees, he would have been looked on as hardly a
safe person to be allowed to run at large.
Co. D started on the march with only one commissioned officer, Second
Lieutenant Wallace. I have forgotten the cause of the absence of Capt.
Keeley and Lieut. Warren, but there was doubtless some good reason. On
the first day's march the weather was hot, and the route was through a
very rough and broken country. Wallace was overcome by heat, and had to
fall out, and wait for an ambulance. In consequence, it so happened
that when we reached Austin, there was no commissioned officer with us,
and I, as first sergeant, was in command of the company. And that gave
rise to an incident which, at the time, swelled me up immensely. On
arriving at the town, the regiment halted on some open ground in the
outskirts, fell into line, dressed on the colors, and stood at ordered
arms. Thereupon the adjutant commanded, "Commanding officers of
companies, to the front and center, march!" I was completely taken by
surprise by this command, and for a second or two stood, dazed and
uncertain. But two or three of the boys spoke up at once and said,
"You're our commanding officer, Stillwell; go!" The situation by this
time had also dawned on me, so I promptly obeyed the command. But I
must have been a strange looking "commanding officer." I was
barefooted, breeches rolled up nearly to the knees, feet and ankles
"scratched and tanned," and my face covered with sweat and dirt. The
closest scrutiny would have failed to detect in me a single feature of
the supposed "pomp and circumstance" of an alleged military hero. But I
stalked down the line, bare feet and all, with my musket at a shoulder
arms, and looking fully as proud, I imagine, as Henry of Navarre ever
did at the battle of Ivry, with "a snow-white plume upon his gallant
crest." By the proper and usual commands, the "commanding officers of
companies" were brought up and halted within a few paces of Col. Ohr,
who thereupon addressed them as follows:
"Gentleman, have your men stack arms where they now are, and at once
prepare their dinner. They can disperse to get wood and water, but
caution them strictly not to wander far from the gun stacks. We may
possibly pass the night here, but we may be called on, at any moment,
to fall in and resume the march. That's all, gentlemen."
While the Colonel was giving these instructions, I thought a sort of
unusual twinkle sparkled in his eyes, as they rested on me. But, for my
part, I was never more serious in my life. Returning to the company, I
gave the order to stack arms, which being done, the boys crowded around
me, plying me with questions. "What did the Colonel say? What's up,
Stillwell?" I assumed a prodigiously fierce and authoritative look and
said: "Say, do you fellows suppose that we commanding officers of
companies are going to give away to a lot of lousy privates a
confidential communication from the Colonel? If you are guilty of any
more such impertinent conduct, I'll have every mother's son of you
bucked and gagged." The boys all laughed, and after a little more fun
of that kind, I repeated to them literally every word the Colonel said,
and then we all set about getting dinner. About this time Lieut.
Wallace rode up in an ambulance--and my reign was over. We resumed the
march at 3 o'clock in the morning of the next day (May 23rd), marched
18 miles, and bivouacked that night at Peach Orchard Gap. This was no
town, simply a natural feature of the country. Left here next morning
(the 24th) at daylight, marched 18 miles, and bivouacked on a stream
called Little Cadron. Left at daylight next morning (the 25th), marched
18 miles, and went into camp near the town of Springfield. By this time
the intelligence had filtered down to the common soldiers as to the
object of this expedition. It was to intercept, and give battle to, a
force of Confederate cavalry, under Gen. J. O. Shelby, operating
somewhere in this region, and supposed to have threatening designs on
the Little Rock and Devall's Bluff railroad. But so far as encountering
the Confederates was concerned, the movement was an entire failure. My
experience during the war warrants the assertion, I think, that it is
no use to send infantry after cavalry. It is very much like a man on
foot trying to run down a jack-rabbit. It may be that infantry can
sometimes head off cavalry, and thereby frustrate an intended movement,
but men on horses can't be maneuvered into fighting men on foot unless
the horsemen are willing to engage. Otherwise they will just keep out
of the way.
We remained at Springfield until May 28th. It was a little place and
its population when the war began was probably not more than a hundred
and fifty, or two hundred. It was the county seat of Conway county, but
there was no official business being transacted there now. About all
the people had left, except a few old men and some women and small
children. The houses were nearly all log cabins. Even the county jail
was a log structure of a very simply and unimposing type. It has always
been my opinion that this little place was the most interesting and
romantic-looking spot (with one possible exception I may speak of
later) that I saw in the South during all my army service. The town was
situated on rather high ground, and in the heart of the primitive
forest. Grand native trees were growing in the door-yards, and even in
the middle of the main street,--and all around everywhere. And we were
there at a season of the year when Nature was at its best, and all the
scenery was most attractive and charming. I sometimes would sit down at
the foot of some big tree in the center of the little village, and
ponder on what surely must have been the happy, contented condition of
its people before the war came along and spoiled all. Judging from the
looks of the houses, the occupants doubtless had been poor people and
practically all on the same financial footing, so there was no occasion
for envy. And there was no railroad, nor telegraph line, nor daily
papers, to keep them nervous and excited or cause them to worry. And
they were far away from the busy haunts of congregated men,--
"Their best companions, innocence and health,
And their best riches, ignorance of wealth."
Their trading point was Lewisburg, about fifteen miles southwest on the
Arkansas river, and when that stream was at a proper stage, small
steamboats would ply up and down, and bring to Lewisburg groceries and
dry goods, and such other things as the country did not produce, which
would then be wagoned out to Springfield and into the country
generally. And judging from all that could be seen or heard, I think
there were hardly any slaves at Springfield, or in the entire north
part of Conway county, before the war. What few there may have been
were limited to the plantations along the Arkansas river. I have never
been at the little town since the occasion now mentioned, so personally
I know nothing of its present appearance and condition. However, as a
matter of general information, it may be said that after the war a
railroad was built running up the Arkansas river valley, through the
south part of the county. This road left Springfield out, so in course
of time it lost the county seat, which went to a railroad town. And
this road also missed Lewisburg, which has now disappeared from the map
entirely.
When in camp at Springfield, many of the boys, in accordance with their
usual habits, of their own motion at once went to scouting around over
the adjacent country, after pigs, or chickens, or anything else that
would serve to vary army fare. While so engaged two or three of our
fellows discovered a little old whisky still. It was about two miles
from Springfield, situated in a deep, timbered hollow, near a big
spring. It was fully equipped for active operation, with a supply of
"mash" on hands, and all other essentials for turning out whisky. Some
of the 10th Illinois Cavalry found it first, and scared away the
proprietor, then took charge of the still and proceeded to carry on the
business on their own account. The boys of the 61st who stumbled on the
place were too few to cope with the cavalrymen; thereupon they hastened
back to camp and informed some trusty comrades of the delectable
discovery. Forthwith they organized a strong party as an alleged
"provost guard," and all armed, and under the command of a daring,
reckless duty sergeant, hastened to the still. On arriving there, in
their capacity as provost guards, they summarily arrested the
cavalrymen, with loud threats of condign punishment, but after scaring
them sufficiently, and on their solemn promise to at once return to
camp and "be good" in the future, released them, and allowed them to
depart. Then our bunch stacked arms, and started in to make whisky.
Some of the number had served in the business before, and knew all
about it, so that little still there in the hollow was then and there
worked to its utmost capacity, day and night, and doubtless as it never
had been before. Knowledge of this enterprise spread like wild-fire
among the enlisted men,--and oh, "how the whisky went down" at
Springfield! Away along some hours after midnight, I would hear some of
the boys coming in from the still, letting out keen, piercing whoops
that could be heard nearly a mile. Like the festive Tam O'Shanter (with
apologies to Burns),--
"The swats sae reamed in every noddle,
They cared na rebs nor guards a boddle."
I took just one little taste of the stuff, from Sam Ralston's canteen.
It was limpid and colorless as water, and fairly burnt like fire as it
went down my throat. That satisfied my curiosity, and after that many
similar offers were declined, with thanks. Whether the officers at the
time knew of this business or not, I do not know. If they did, they
just "winked the other eye," and said nothing, for the boys ran the
still, without restriction or interruption, until we left Springfield.
Telling of the foregoing episode causes many other incidents to come
flocking to my memory that came under my notice during my army career,
and in which whisky figured more or less. The insatiable, inordinate
appetite of some of the men for intoxicating liquor, of any kind, was
something remarkable, and the ingenious schemes they would devise to
get it were worthy of admiration, had they been exerted in a better
cause. And they were not a bit fastidious about the kind of liquor, it
was the effect that was desired. One afternoon, a day or two after we
arrived at Helena, Arkansas, a sudden yell, a sort of "ki-yip!" was
heard issuing from one of the company tents, soon followed by others of
the same tone. I had heard that peculiar yelp before, and knew what it
meant. Presently I sauntered down to the tent from whence the sounds
issued, and walked in. Several of the boys were seated around, in an
exalted state of vociferous hilarity, and a flat, pint bottle, with the
figure of a green leaf on one side, and labeled "Bay Rum" on the other,
was promptly handed to me, with the invitation to "drink hearty." I did
taste it. It was oily, greasy, and unpleasant, but there was no doubt
that it was intoxicating. It was nothing but bay rum, the same stuff
that in those days barbers were wont to use in their line of business.
It finally came to light that the sutler of some regiment at Helena had
induced the post-quartermaster at Cairo to believe that the troops
stood in urgent need of bay rum for the purpose of anointing their
hair, and thereupon he obtained permission to include several boxes of
the stuff in his sutler supplies. When he got it to Helena he proceeded
to sell it at a dollar a bottle, and his stock was exhausted in a few
hours. What may have been done to this sutler I don't know, but that
was the last and only time that I know of bay rum being sold to the
soldiers as a toilet article, or otherwise. Of course, all sutlers and
civilians were prohibited, under severe penalties, from selling
intoxicating liquor to the enlisted men, but the profits were so large
that the temptation was great to occasionally transgress, in some
fashion. But, as a general rule, I think that the orders were
scrupulously obeyed. The risk was too great to do otherwise.
I remember a little personal experience of my own, when once I tried to
buy a drink of whisky. It is not a long story, so it will be told. It
occurred at Devall's Bluff, in October, 1863, when our little furlough
party was there, waiting the arrival of a boat from below on which to
resume our homeward journey. One night in particular was quite cold. We
slept in our blankets on the ground near the bank of the river, built
good fires, and tried to keep as comfortable as possible. But the
morning after this cold night I got up feeling wretched, both mentally
and physically. I was weak from previous illness, my rheumatic pains
were worse, and my condition in general was such as caused me to fear
that I was liable to break down and not be able to go home. It occurred
to me that a drink of whisky might brace me up some, so I started out
to obtain one, if possible. There was a sort of a wharf-boat at the
landing, moored to the bank, a stationary, permanent affair, with a
saloon appurtenant. I went on the boat, walked up to the bar, and
exhibiting a greenback to the bar-keeper, asked him if he would sell me
a drink of whisky. "Can't do it," he answered, "the orders are strict
against selling whisky to soldiers." I began moving away, and at that
instant a big, greasy, colored deck-hand, or laborer of some sort,
black as the ace of spades, crowded by me, brushing against me in the
narrow passage on his way to the bar. "Boss," he called to the keeper,
"want a dram!" A bottle and a glass were pushed towards him, he filled
the glass to the brim, and drank the contents at a gulp. Then he
smacked his big lips, rolled his eyes around, and with a deep breath
exclaimed, "A-h-h! Dat whisky feels des pow'ful good dis cole mawnin'!"
I looked at the darkey in bitterness of heart, and couldn't help
thinking that it was all-fired mean, when a poor little sick soldier
was not allowed to buy a drink of whisky, while a great big buck nigger
roustabout had it handed out to him with cheerfulness and alacrity. But
the orders forbidding the sale of intoxicating liquors to soldiers were
all right, and an imperative military necessity. If the men had been
allowed unlimited access to whisky, and the like, that would, in my
opinion, simply have been ruinous to the good order, discipline, and
efficiency of the army. That statement is based on events I saw myself
while in the service, and which occurred when, in spite of the orders,
the men managed to obtain liquor without let or hindrance. The scenes
that would then ensue are too unpleasant to talk about, so they will be
passed over in silence. It is only fair, however, to say that the same
men who, when furiously drunk, were a disgrace to themselves and the
organization to which they belonged, were, as a general rule, faithful
and brave soldiers when sober.
At 4 o'clock on the morning of the 28th we broke camp at Springfield,
and started back to Little Rock, marching in a south-easterly
direction. We marched all that day, the 29th, 30th, and 31st, and
arrived at our old camp at Huntersville at 9 o'clock in the evening of
the last mentioned day. According to the official report the entire
distance marched on the expedition, going and coming, was 190 miles,
and we didn't see an armed Confederate on the whole trip. Our return
route was through the wilderness, most of it primeval forest, and we
didn't pass through a single town. But now there is a railroad that
runs practically over all the course we followed during the last three
days we were on this march. I haven't been in that region since we
passed through there in May, 1864, but at that time it certainly was a
very wild, rough, and broken country. We here had our first experience
with scorpions and tarantulas, and soon learned that it was prudent,
when bivouacking on the ground, to carefully turn over all loose rocks
and logs in order to find and get rid of those ugly customers. The
scorpions were about four or five inches long, the fore part of the
body something like a crawfish, with a sharp stinger on the end of the
tail. When excited or disturbed, they would curl their tails over their
backs, and get over the ground quite rapidly. The tarantulas were just
big hairy spiders, of a blackish-gray color, about as big as toads, and
mighty ugly-looking things. The sting of the tarantula, and the bite of
a spider, were very painful, but when that happened to any of us (which
was seldom), our remedy was to apply a big, fresh quid of tobacco to
the wound, which would promptly neutralize the poison.