EXPEDITION TO NORTH MISSOURI. BACK IN TENNESSEE ONCE MORE.
MURFREESBORO. OCTOBER AND NOVEMBER, 1864.
On October 14th we left Chester on the steamer "A. Jacobs," and went to
St. Louis, where we arrived on the 15th, and marched out to Laclede
Station, about six miles from St. Louis, on the Pacific railroad, where
we found the balance of the regiment. There was a railroad bridge at
this place, over a small stream, and I suppose that during the scare at
St. Louis it was deemed prudent to have a force here to guard the
bridge. On October 19th the regiment left Laclede, and went by rail on
the North Missouri railroad, to Mexico, in Audrain county, Missouri,
about 110 miles northwest of St. Louis. Here we reported to Col. Samuel
A. Holmes, Colonel of the 40th Missouri Infantry. We left Mexico
October 21st and marched northward 25 miles to Paris, the county seat
of Monroe county. There was a body of irregular Confederate cavalry,
supposed to be about 500 strong, under the command of a Col. McDaniel,
operating in this region, and carrying on a sort of predatory and
uncivilized warfare. We learned that it was our business up here to
bring this gang to battle, and destroy them if possible, or, failing in
that, to drive them out of the country. Our force consisted of about
700 infantry,--the 40th Missouri and the 61st Illinois, and a
detachment of about 300 cavalry, whose state and regimental number I
have forgotten. Our cavalry caught up with the Confederates at Paris,
and had a little skirmish with them, but before the infantry could get
on the ground the enemy lit out as fast as their horses could carry
them. We lay that night at Paris, and the next day (the 22nd) marched
to the little town of Florida, where we bivouacked for the night. It
was a small place, situated on a high, timbered ridge, between the main
Salt river and one of its forks. With the exception that it was not a
county seat, it was practically a counterpart of the little village of
Springfield, Arkansas, hereinbefore mentioned. It had only one street
of any consequence, and all up and down this street, in several places
right in the middle thereof, were grand, imposing native trees, such as
oaks and hickories. But the place was now totally deserted, and looked
lonesome and desolate. I ascertained several years later that it was
the birthplace of Samuel L. Clemens, the author,--better known under
his pen-name, "Mark Twain." It is also an interesting circumstance that
the first military operation conducted by Gen. U. S. Grant was a
movement in the summer of 1861 on this little village of Florida, with
the intention and expectation of giving battle to a Confederate force
in camp near the town. (Grant's Memoirs, 1st Edition, Vol. 1, pp. 248
et seq.)
The next day (the 23rd) we turned south, and marched to the little town
of Santa Fe, and the next day thereafter back to Paris, where we
remained a day. On the 26th we went to Middle Grove, and on the
following day again reached the railroad at Allen, some distance
northwest of Mexico, where we first started out. It would seem that
this little station of Allen has, since the war, disappeared from the
map,--at least, I can't find it. On this expedition the infantry never
caught a glimpse of an armed Confederate, but the object of the
movement was accomplished. We kept after our foes so persistently that
they left that locality, crossed the Missouri river, joined Price's
army, and with it left the State. At this time the section of country
over which we marched in the pursuit of McDaniel's command is now all
gridironed by railroads, but in 1864 there were only two, the North
Missouri, running north-west from St. Louis to Macon, and the Hannibal
and St. Joe, connecting those two places and extending from the
Mississippi river on the east to the Missouri river on the west. We
always remembered this scout up in north Missouri with feelings of
comfort and satisfaction. Compared with some of our Arkansas marches,
it was just a pleasure excursion. The roads were in good condition, and
the weather was fine;--ideal Indian Summer days. And in the fruit and
vegetable line we lived high. The country through which we passed
abounded in the finest of winter apples, Little Romanites and
Jennetings being the chief varieties. The farmers had gathered and
piled them in the orchards in conical heaps and covered them with straw
and earth sufficient to keep them from freezing. We soon learned what
those little earth mounds signified, and, as a matter of course,
confiscated the apples instanter. And the country was full of potatoes,
cabbages, and turnips, on which we foraged with great liberality. If
any apology for this line of conduct should be thought proper, it may
be said that many of the farms were at this time abandoned, the owners
having fled to the garrisoned towns to escape the Confederate raiders;
further, if we hadn't taken this stuff our adversaries would, if by
chance they happened again to infest that locality. Anyhow, a hungry
soldier is not troubled, in such matters, by nice ethical distinctions.
We remained at Allen on the 28th, and until the evening of the
following day, when we left there on the cars for St. Louis. But
sometime near midnight the train stopped at Montgomery City, about
midway between Allen and St. Louis, we were roused up, and ordered to
get off and form in line, which we did. Our officers then proceeded to
give us careful instructions, to the effect that a band of Confederate
cavalry was believed to be at Danville, out in the country a few miles
south, and that we were going there to surprise and capture this party,
if possible. We were strictly enjoined to refrain from talking and
singing, and to remain absolutely silent in ranks. We then fell into
column and marched for Danville, where we arrived an hour or so before
dawn. But our birds (if there when we started from Montgomery) had
flown--there were no Confederates there. A party of guerrillas had been
in the town about two weeks before, who had murdered five or six
unarmed citizens, (including one little boy about eight or ten years
old,) and it was believed when we started to march out here that this
gang, or some of them, had returned. The party that had previously
raided Danville were under the command of one Bill Anderson, a
blood-thirsty desperado, with no more humanity about him than an Apache
Indian. He was finally killed in battle with some Union troops about
the last of October, 1864. When killed there was found on his person a
commission as Colonel in the Confederate army, signed by Jefferson
Davis, and the brow-band of his horse's bridle was decorated with two
human scalps. (See "The Civil War on the Border," by Wiley Britton,
Vol. 2, p. 546.) He was of that class of men of which Quantrell and the
James and the Younger boys were fitting types, and who were a disgrace
to mankind.
Sometime during the day (October 30th) we marched back to Montgomery
City, got on the cars, and again started for St. Louis, where we
arrived the next day, and marched out to old Benton Barracks, where we
took up our quarters for the time being. So we were once more "tenting
on the old camp ground," after an absence of nearly three years. But
the place did not look as it did before. It seemed old and dilapidated
and there were only a few troops there. As compared with the active,
stirring conditions that obtained there in February and March, 1862, it
now looked indescribably dejected and forlorn. But our stay here this
time was short. We left on November 5th, marched into St. Louis, and
down to the wharf, where we embarked on the steamer "David Tatum," and
started up the Mississippi. We were puzzled for a while as to what this
meant, but soon found out. We were told that the regiment was being
sent home to vote at the ensuing presidential election, which would
occur on November 8th, that we would take the cars at Alton and go to
Springfield, and from there to our respective homes. We surely were
glad that we were going to be granted this favor. The most of the
States had enacted laws authorizing their soldiers to vote in the
field, but the Illinois legislature since 1862 had been Democratic in
politics, and that party at that time in our State was not favorably
disposed to such a measure. Consequently the legislature in office had
failed to pass any law authorizing their soldier constituents to vote
when away from home. We arrived at Alton about 9 o'clock on the evening
of the 5th, and found a train waiting us (box cars), which we at once
climbed on. We had just got our guns and other things stowed away in
corners, and were proceeding to make ourselves comfortable for a night
ride to Springfield, when Lt. Wallace came down from the officers'
caboose, and stopped at the Co. D car. "Boys," he called, "get out, and
fall in line here by the track. The order to go to Springfield has been
countermanded by telegraphic dispatch and we are ordered back to St.
Louis." "What! What's that?" we exclaimed, in astonishment. "It's so,"
said Wallace, in a tone of deep regret; "get out." "Well, don't that
beat hell!" was the next remark of about a dozen of us. But orders are
orders, and there was nothing to do but obey. The curses of the
disappointed soldiers in thus having this cup of satisfaction dashed
from their lips were "not loud, but deep." But we all swung down from
the cars, fell in, and marched back to and on board the "David Tatum,"
and were back at the wharf in St. Louis by next morning. We stacked
arms on the levee, and the next morning, November 7th, left St. Louis
on the steamer "Jennie Brown," headed down stream. So here we were
again on the broad Mississippi, duplicating our beginning of March,
1862, and once more bound for "Dixie's Land." By this time we had
become philosophical and indifferent in regard to the ups and downs of
our career. If we had been ordered some night to be ready the next
morning to start to California or Maine, the order would have been
treated with absolute composure, and after a few careless or sarcastic
remarks, we would have turned over and been asleep again in about a
minute. We had made up our minds that we were out to see the war
through, and were determined in our conviction that we were going to
win in the end.
Election day, November 8th, was densely foggy, so much so that the
captain of our steamboat thought it not prudent to proceed, so the boat
tied up that day and night at the little town of Wittenburg, on the
Missouri shore. Mainly to pass away the time, the officers concluded to
hold a "mock" regimental presidential election. The most of the line
officers were Democrats, and were supporting Gen. McClellan for
President in opposition to Mr. Lincoln, and they were quite confident
that a majority of the regiment favored McClellan, so they were much in
favor of holding an election. An election board was chosen, fairly
divided between the supporters of the respective candidates, and the
voting began. As our votes wouldn't count in the official result, every
soldier, regardless of age, was allowed to vote. But at this time I was
a sure-enough legal voter, having attained my twenty-first year on the
16th of the preceding September. You may rest assured that I voted for
"Uncle Abe" good and strong. When the votes were counted, to the
astonishment of nearly all of us, Mr. Lincoln was found to have sixteen
majority. As the regiment was largely Democratic when it left Illinois
in February, 1862, this vote showed that the political opinions of the
rank and file had, in the meantime, undergone a decided change.
We left Wittenburg on the forenoon of the 9th, but owing to the foggy
conditions our progress was very slow. We reached Cairo on the 10th,
and from there proceeded up the Ohio, and on the 11th arrived at
Paducah, Kentucky, where we debarked, and went into camp. We remained
here nearly two weeks, doing nothing but the ordinary routine of camp
duty, so life here was quite uneventful. Paducah was then an old,
sleepy, dilapidated, and badly decayed river town, with a population at
the outbreak of the war of about four thousand. After our brief stay
here terminated, I never was at the place again until in October, 1914,
when I was there for about a day, which was devoted to rambling about
the town. The flight of fifty years had made great changes in Paducah.
It now had a population of about twenty-five thousand, four different
lines of railroad, street cars, electric lights, and a full supply
generally of all the other so-called "modern conveniences." On this
occasion I hunted faithfully and persistently for the old camp ground
of the regiment in 1864, but couldn't find it, nor even any locality
that looked like it.
On the evening of November 24th the regiment left Paducah on the little
stern-wheel steamboat "Rosa D," which steamed up the Ohio river as far
as the mouth of the Cumberland, there turned to the right, and
proceeded to ascend that stream. That move told the story of our
probable destination, and indicated to us that we were doubtless on our
way to Nashville to join the army of Gen. Thomas. There was another
boat that left Paducah the same time we did, the "Masonic Gem," a
stern-wheeler about the same size of our boat. It was also transporting
a regiment of soldiers, whose State and regimental number I do not now
remember. The captains of the two boats, for some reason or other,
lashed their vessels together, side by side, and in this manner we made
the greater part of the trip. In going up the Cumberland the regiment
lost two men by drowning; Henry Miner, of Co. D, and Perry Crochett, of
Co. G. There was something of a mystery in regard to the death of
Miner. He was last seen about nine o'clock one evening on the lower
deck of the boat, close to where the two boats were lashed together. It
was supposed that in some manner he missed his footing and fell between
the boats, and was at once sucked under by the current and drowned. His
cap was discovered next morning on the deck near the place where he was
last observed, but no other vestige of him was ever found. The other
soldier, Perry Crochett, stumbled and fell into the river in the day
time, from the after part of the hurricane deck of the boat. He was
perhaps stunned by the fall, for he just sank like a stone. The boats
stopped, and a skiff was at once lowered and manned, and rowed out to
the spot where he disappeared, and which lingered around there a short
time, in the hope that he might come to the surface. His little old
wool hat was floating around on the tops of the waves, but poor Perry
was never seen again. There was nothing that could be done, so the
skiff came back to the boat, was hoisted aboard, the bells rang the
signal "go ahead," and we went on. Miner and Crochett were both young
men, about my own age, and had been good and brave soldiers. Somehow it
looked hard and cruel that after over three years' faithful service
they were fated at last to lose their lives by drowning in the cold
waters of the Cumberland, and be devoured by catfish and snapping
turtles,--but such are among the chances in the life of a soldier.
On our way up the Cumberland we passed the historic Fort Donelson,
where Gen. Grant in February, 1862, gained his first great victory.
There was, at that time, desperate and bloody fighting at and near the
gray earthen walls of the old fort. Now there was only a small garrison
of Union troops here, and with that exception, the place looked about
as quiet and peaceful as some obscure country graveyard.
We arrived at Nashville after dark on the evening of the 27th, remained
on the boat that night, debarked the next morning, and in the course of
that day (the 28th) took the cars on what was then known as the
Nashville and Chattanooga railroad, and went to Murfreesboro, about
thirty miles southeast of Nashville. Here we went into camp inside of
Fortress Rosecrans, a strong and extensive earthwork built under the
direction of Gen. Rosecrans soon after the battle of Murfreesboro, in
January, 1863.