DEVALL'S BLUFF; THE CLARENDON EXPEDITION. JUNE AND JULY, 1864.
On June 20th we left Huntersville on the cars and went to Hicks'
Station, hereinbefore mentioned, and there went into camp. In making
this move, we left Little Rock for the last time, and from that day I
have never seen the old town again. But our stay at Hicks' Station was
brief. Marching orders came on June 24th, and on the next day we left
on the cars and went to Devall's Bluff, and on reaching there filed on
board the steamer "Kentucky," and started down White river, accompanied
by several other boats also loaded with troops, all under the command
of Gen. E. A. Carr. The object and purpose of this expedition was soon
noised around among the men. The daring and enterprising Confederate
General Shelby had on June 24th turned up at Clarendon, on White river,
not far below Devall's Bluff, and here, with the aid of his artillery,
had surprised and captured one of our so-called "tin-clad" gunboats,
and had established a blockade of the river. As all our supplies came
by way of that stream, it was necessary to drive Shelby away at once,
hence our movement. We arrived at Clarendon on the morning of the 26th.
Some of our gunboats were with us, in advance, and as soon as they came
within range of the town began shelling it, and the woods beyond. The
cannonade elicited no reply, and it was soon ascertained that the enemy
had fallen back from the river. The transports thereupon landed, the
men marched on shore, formed in line of battle, and advanced. The
Confederates were found in force about two miles northeast of town, and
some lively skirmishing and artillery practice began. But our regiment
was stationed in the supporting line, (darn it!) and didn't get to pull
a trigger. Cannon shot went over our heads now and then, but hurt
nobody. While the racket was going on we were standing in line of
battle, on the hither side of an extensive cotton field, and there was
a big, tall cottonwood tree standing about a quarter of a mile in our
front by the side of the road. I was looking in that direction when
suddenly, as if by magic, a big forked branch of this tree quietly took
leave of the trunk, as if it "didn't know how it happened." Before it
struck the ground the shot from one of Shelby's guns that had done this
pruning went screaming over our heads. It sounded just real good, like
old times, with an effect, somehow, like a powerful tonic. But the
affair didn't last long. Shelby had no stomach for fighting infantry,
well supplied with artillery, and he soon fell back, and rapidly
retreated in a northerly direction, leaving two pieces of his artillery
in our possession. When the Confederates retired, we followed promptly
and vigorously, but of course the infantry couldn't overhaul them, and
neither could our cavalry bring them to a determined stand. Our route
was largely through a low, swampy country, over a "corduroy" road. In
many places there were large gaps in the corduroy, where the logs had
rotted and disappeared, and the road was covered with green and slimy
water about knee-deep. On encountering the first of these breaks, we
took off our shoes and socks, tied them to the ends of the barrels of
our muskets, rolled up our trousers, and waded in. As such places were
numerous, it was not worth while to resume our foot-gear, so we just
trudged on bare-footed. But the weather was warm, and it made no
difference, and the boys would splash through the mud and water in
great good humor, laughing and joking as they went. We followed hard
after Shelby until the evening of the 27th, and it being impossible to
catch up with him, we started back to Clarendon on the morning of the
28th. In the matter of rations I reckon "someone had blundered," when
we started in pursuit of Shelby. We had left Clarendon with only a
meager supply in our haversacks, and no provision train was with the
command. So at the time we took the back track we were out of anything
to eat. The country bordering on our route was wild, and thinly
settled, and what people lived there were manifestly quite poor, hence
there was very little in the shape of anything to eat that we could
forage. On the first day of our return march our commissary sergeant,
Bonfoy, did manage to capture and kill a gaunt, lean old Arkansas
steer, and it was divided up among the men with almost as much nicety
and exactness as if it was a wedding cake with a prize diamond ring in
it; and we hadn't any salt to go with it, but in lieu of that used
gun-powder, which was a sort of substitute. With that exception, (and a
piece of hardtack, to be presently mentioned,) my bill of fare on the
return march until we reached Clarendon consisted, in the main, of a
green, knotty apple,--and some sassafras buds. About the middle of the
afternoon on the second day the regiment made a temporary halt for some
purpose, and we were sitting, or lying down, along the road side. There
was a bunch of our cavalry on their horses, in column off the road a
short distance, also at a halt, and I saw one of them munching a
hardtack. I slipped out of ranks and approached the fellow, and when
close to him said, "Partner, won't you give me a hardtack?" He looked
at me a second or two without saying anything, and I was fearful that
my appeal was going to be denied. But the look of ravenous hunger in my
eyes probably gained the case, for at last he reached his hand into his
haversack and handed me a tack, one of the big kind about four or five
inches square. I was barely in time, for right then the cavalry moved
on. I thrust the tack into my shirt bosom, gave a quick, furtive glance
towards the company to see if anyone had observed me, and then started
to get behind a big tree, where the precious morsel could be devoured
without risk of detection. But John Barton had been watching, and was
upon me before I could hide. "Hold on, Stillwell," said he, "that don't
go! I divided with you as long as I had a crumb!" "That's so, John," I
replied, heaving a mournful sigh, "here;" and breaking the hardtack in
two, I gave him a fair half, and standing behind the tree we promptly
gobbled down our respective portions.
We arrived at Clarendon on the evening of the 29th--having marched, in
going and returning, about seventy miles. Here everybody got a square
meal, which was heartily appreciated. As bearing on the above mentioned
incident about the hardtack, it will be said here, basing my remarks on
my experience in the army, and elsewhere, that I think there is nothing
that will reduce human beings so much to the level of the brute
creation as intense, gnawing hunger. All the selfishness there is in a
man will then come to the surface, and to satisfy the well-nigh
intolerable craving for something to eat, he will "go back" on his best
friend. I could cite several instances in support of this statement
that have come under my observation, but it is unnecessary.
Soon after reaching Clarendon, as above stated, fires burst forth,
apparently simultaneously, all over the town, and soon every building
was in ashes. It was a small place, and its population at the beginning
of the war probably did not exceed three hundred. At this time the town
had been abandoned by the residents, and so far as I know the houses
were all vacant. The buildings were small frame or log structures,
composed of cypress and pine lumber or logs, roofed with shingles, and
highly combustible, and they made an exceedingly hot fire. I do not
know the cause of the burning of the town. The soldiers were tired,
mad, and out of sorts generally, and they may have fired it on their
own motion, but it is more likely that it was done by order of the
military authorities. The empty houses afforded excellent cover whereby
the Confederates could slip up to the river bank and annoy our
gunboats, even to the extent of capturing one, as they had done quite
recently. So as a military measure the burning of the town was fully
justified.
We left Clarendon on the evening of the 29th, on the steamer "Lillie
Martin," arrived at Devall's Bluff some time during the night, debarked
from the boat next morning, and went into camp near the river, where we
enjoyed for a time an agreeable rest.
Before taking final leave of the Clarendon expedition I will, in the
interest of the truth of history, indulge in a little criticism of the
gallant and distinguished officer who was the Confederate commander in
this affair. All who are conversant with the military career of General
J. O. Shelby will readily concede that he was a brave, skillful, and
energetic cavalry commander. He kept us in hot water almost continually
in the Trans-Mississippi department, and made us a world of trouble.
But I feel constrained to remark that, in reporting his military
operations, he was, sometimes, a most monumental----well, I'll scratch
out the "short and ugly" word I have written, and substitute "artist,"
and let it go at that. I have just been reading his reports of this
Clarendon episode, as they appear on pages 1050-1053, Serial Number 61,
Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, and as he describes it,
it is difficult to recognize it as being the same affair we took part
in, in June, 1864. In the first place, he says that the loss of the
Federals can "safely be put down at 250 killed and wounded," and that
30 will cover his own. On the other hand, our commander, Gen. Carr,
says the Confederate loss, killed, wounded and captured, was "about"
74, and gives ours as 1 killed and 16 wounded. (Ib., p. 1047.) And from
what I personally saw, I have no doubt that Gen. Carr's statements are
correct. Shelby further asserts that "three times" he drove us "back to
the river," and that later, while on his retreat, he "charged" us and
"drove them (us) back three miles in confusion." Now, those statements
are pure moonshine. I was there, and while, as previously stated, not
on the firing line, was nevertheless in a position either to see or
hear every thing of any material consequence that transpired. The force
on each side was comparatively small, the field of active operations
was limited, and it was not difficult for even a common soldier to have
an intelligent idea of what was going on. And, for my part, with the
natural curiosity of a boy, I was constantly on the alert to see or
hear everything that was being done in the shape of fighting. In the
operations near the town, we were not driven "back to the river," nor
towards it, on any occasion. On his retreat, Shelby did make one or two
feeble stands, the object being merely to delay us until his main body
could get well out of the way, and when that was accomplished, his rear
guard galloped after them as fast as they could. That it was mainly a
race with him to get away is evident from a statement in his report, in
which he says he was then (June 30th) "resting" his "tired and terribly
jaded horses." But, in telling of his exploits, he says nothing about
losing two pieces of his artillery. The saying of Bonaparte's, "False
as a war bulletin," has passed into a proverb, and this bulletin of
Gen. Shelby's is no exception.