We stayed some two or three weeks at this place, then got orders to go
further south. We arrived at Jacksonport, on White river, and went in
camp again. The inhabitants, I might say the whole surrounding country,
were the strongest kind of rebels; the town contained about five hundred
inhabitants. Just above the town, probably half a mile, the Black and
the White rivers came together and formed a junction, so the White river
was navigable from Jacksonport to the Mississippi, which was 150 miles
by river. About five miles back of Jacksonport is a swamp that commences
at Black river and runs across the country for fifteen miles and empties
into White river below the town, so Jacksonport and quite a strip of
country was on an island. The reason I give this place such a thorough
description is because some very interesting incidents happened here.
About fifteen miles above Jacksonport is a small town called St.
Charles, and in order to reach the place by the wagon road we had to
cross an old rickety bridge, which was a good half mile in length. We
got most of our forage in and around St. Charles. This part of Arkansas
is more level but covered by a dense growth of timber. Our regiment had
been thinned out some by sickness. We had about 800 fit for duty. Every
morning you would see a long string going to the hospital tent to get
their quinine. A great many of our boys when they got sick would give
up. They did not find mother, sister or wife; no, they did not find home
care, and were exposed to storms with nothing but a thin canvas to
protect them. Then the sick soldier had no delicacies such as mother
would have prepared him. He would hear nothing but rough words. Of
course, the boys that waited on the sick did all they could for them,
but at the best it was not home. As I said before, some would get sick
and home-sick, too, and that kind of a soldier was almost sure to die.
When our boys went out foraging they would always bring back something
for the sick comrades.
We had one young man in our regiment whom we called Jim. Now this young
man does not live far from me to-day. The reason I do not give his name
in full is because his wife does not wish to draw public attention to
their family affairs. This young man Jim was always foraging for the
sick boys. He would slip around the guards and be gone two or three days
at one time. The next thing you knew some one would say, "Here comes
Jim." Sure enough, here he comes loaded down with chickens, hams, sweet
potatoes, butter, or anything that one could get in the country. Of
course they would punish him severely, but that made no difference with
Jim; as soon as he got loose he would give the guard the slip and away
he would go again for something good to eat, which he generally found,
and gave his sick comrades the lion's share of it. Jim started out one
fine morning and as he got to the bridge told the sergeant of the guard
that he had a pass to cross the bridge. He had written it himself, but
the guard knew no difference so he let him go and on he went till he
came to St. Charles. He rode up to a large plantation house, dismounted
and tied his horse. Now, Jim was as fine a specimen of a man as one
would wish to see; only eighteen years of age, blue eyes, light curly
hair and a smile always on his face. As he went up the walk he saw a
young lady sitting out on the porch sewing.
Jim walked up to the porch, took off his hat and made a very polite bow.
The young lady looked up, took him in from head to foot, then went on
with her sewing, paying no more attention to him. Said Jim, "Look here,
sis, have you any sweet potatoes, butter, chickens, or anything good to
eat? We have some sick soldiers down at camp and I came out to see if I
could buy them something good to eat." Jim did not have a cent in his
pocket; his plan was to get whatever he could and skip out. Now, I will
give you a description of the young lady. She was also eighteen years of
age, black eyes that fairly blazed when angry, and when in a good humor
they were soft as a fawn's. She was a regular brunette, fine form,
rather below medium height and beautiful black hair that reached within
four inches of the floor when she was standing. Her name was Virginia La
Ford and was called a creole. The girl looked up at him, her eyes
blazing, and said, "No sir; we have nothing to sell to the Yankees."
"You haven't? well, that is all right, I will help myself," said Jim.
Away he went. An old colored woman told him to go down cellar, which he
did, and got a roll of butter, sweet potatoes, and some honey, then he
went back to where the young lady was and said: "Sis, haven't you got
any preserves or any kind of fruit?" Said she, "Young man, I think you
had better look behind you before you go any further." On looking
around, what was his astonishment to see a whole company of rebels
riding up to the front of the house. "Hide me for God's sake, for they
will kill me sure." "Do you think that I am a fool that I would hide you
after you have been robbing me?" "Hide me, please do, and you will never
regret it the longest day you live." "Well, I will hide you." So she
took him away up in the garret and left him there. He crawled around
some old rubbish and then lay still as a mouse. In the meantime the
Johnnies rode up, took Jim's horse, came in and asked what had become of
the Yank. The girl told them that he had skipped out to the woods; and
after searching everywhere for him, they took his horse and went on. The
girl went up and told Jim to come down. "Now," said she, "don't think
that I hid you because I thought anything of you or your cause, but I
hid you because I did not want your stinking carcass in our yard; and
now you go, and don't ever show your face here again." Jim made as
polite a bow as he could, thanked her very kindly, and started for camp.
At night he came up to my post and told me all his troubles. We took him
in, gave him supper, and the next morning took him back to camp. The
Colonel soon heard of Jim's mishaps, and began to question him. "I
understand you have run the guard and been foraging on your own hook."
"Yes, sir," said Jim, his clear, blue eyes looking straight in the
Colonel's face. "Well," said the Colonel, "I'll try and keep you in camp
after this," and he put a ball and chain on him and kept a strict guard
over him. Jim was marched off to the guard camp with a ball and chain
fastened to his ankle.
These things may seem cruel to the reader, but let me tell you that if
we had no discipline you may depend we would not have any army long. Our
boys were punished for the most trifling affairs, and then there were
times when they were not, when they actually needed it; but as a general
rule our officers sympathized with the soldiers when they went out
foraging and were always willing to help eat what they got.
A few days after the irons were taken from Jim I was ordered to go on
picket guard to the long bridge; I hadn't been there long when who
should come up but Jim, on foot and alone. "Hello, Jim! What brought you
out here?" "My legs," said Jim, "and I want to cross that bridge." "I
have orders to shoot the first man that tries to cross that bridge
without the countersign," said I. "All right," said Jim, and before we
hardly knew what he was up to, he was half way over, running like a
deer. My first thought was that he was deserting. Of course we fired
our guns and ordered "Halt," but away he went and disappeared around the
bend of the road. About four o'clock in the afternoon we could hear the
faint sound of firing in the distance; it came closer and closer, and
around the bend in the road we could see the dust rolling up over the
trees and the firing grew more distinct. Of course we were always ready
for an attack. We formed a line across the bridge, when all at once a
man on horseback came in view. Here he comes right on the bridge. Look!
The bridge will go down; see how it sways! On he comes. It is our Jim!
He passes us like a flash. Here come the Johnnies. Ready, aim, fire!
There goes one Johnnie; he is dragged along the ground by one foot. Ah,
he is loose. On comes his horse straight across the bridge. "Give them
another volley, boys." Zip, zip, went the rebels' bullets. Now they turn
back; away they go around the bend and disappear.
"Hello, Bill," said one of my comrades, "this is a fine horse of the
rebs;" he was as wet as if he had just come out of a river. He had been
ridden hard and long. Over on the other side of the bridge and on a
little rise of ground, in the middle of the road, lay the rider where
his comrades had left him. We walked over to him and found him lying on
his face, with his eyes wide open. Dead? Yes; he was shot in the left
breast. We moved him out to one side of the road and went back to our
post.
Just got back when two companies of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry came
riding up. Capt. Blackburn said, "We heard you were attacked and came to
reinforce you." There was no need of that. Before dark a rebel
lieutenant came riding up with a white flag and wanted the privilege of
taking his comrade away, which Capt. Blackburn gave him.
The next morning when we got to camp, we found the officers all around
Jim, trying to buy his horse. It was a large bay stallion and the finest
horse in the regiment, and Jim rode that horse through the war, and he
has the saddle and bridle to-day to show his friends.
Well, in this attack was the first gun powder that I smelled, and the
first man that I saw killed; so the very next day I wrote home that I
had seen a fight. Not one of our men got hurt, so it could hardly be
rated as a skirmish, but before the war was over, you may depend, I
found out what a real battle meant.
Well, Jim had a horse again and everyone was praising him up, and this
was the way he got it. After he left us, he never stopped running till
he was a good mile from the bridge, then got down to a walk, and after
going seven or eight miles, he came to a large plantation house where
there were nine or ten horses tied to the fence. Jim crawled up close
and soon saw that they were rebels' horses, and the rebs were all inside
except one who was sitting on the porch keeping guard; or as Jim said,
"talking to a mighty good-looking girl." Jim slipped along the fence, at
the same time watching the porch, and when the two there got quite
interested in each other, Jim slipped up, cut the hitching strap, and
was in the saddle and off like a shot. He got the best horse they had,
and also got the horse from the same party that stole his horse. We
found that out by a prisoner that was taken shortly after.
In about two weeks after this I was on picket at the long bridge again,
when Jim came riding upon his fine horse. "Hello, Bill! I have a pass to
go over the bridge again." Well, Jim was honest this time. The doctor
got a pass for him to go out for food for the sick soldiers, and there
was no one in the regiment that could beat him for that. "Good-bye, Jim,
don't let the rebs get that horse from you while you are sparking."
"Look out for yourself." Most every one of the boys had something to
say to him as he crossed the bridge. He went straight up to St. Charles,
rode up to the same house where he lost his horse. The same young lady
was sitting where he last saw her, and he walked up to her, made a very
polite bow and said, "How do you do, sis?" And she replied, "I thought I
told you never to come here again." Jim looked at her and said: "Now
look here; listen to me for one moment. In the first place I love you,
and want you to be my wife. I have thought of you, and dreamed of you,
and the fact is you are here between two contending armies; you are
liable to be burned out, then you would have no place to go to. Now, way
up north in Illinois I have a nice little home, and one of the best
mothers living there all alone, out of hearing of the war; all is peace
there, and I want to send you to my mother to be a daughter to her; I
know she will love you for her son's sake, if nothing else." What girl
could resist such pleading from such a handsome young fellow as our Jim?
She looked up at him and seeing he was in dead earnest said: "When would
you want me to go?" "Right away; there is a lady from our town who is
going back to-morrow, and you can go right home with her." "I will go in
and see what mother says." She slipped in the house, while Jim stood
twisting his hat in his hands as if he was going to make a rope of it.
Presently the girl came to the door and told him to come in, which he
did, and found the old lady sitting in a rocking chair. As Jim went in
the old lady looked up and told him to be seated. She asked him a great
many questions about his home and mother, to which Jim answered
satisfactorily. The old lady stepped out so Jim and the girl could talk
over their affairs alone. Said she: "Young man, you are a stranger to me
and an enemy to our cause; I do not even know your name, but I will
marry you on two conditions--one is that you will let my mother go with
me, and the other is that I am not to be your wife in the true sense of
the word till this war is over, and then I want it understood that if I
see anything in your character that is obnoxious to me, you are to bring
me home here, and forever leave me alone," to which our Jim gave
cheerful consent. They were married by a minister who lived close by,
and Jim sent his wife and mother-in-law up to Illinois, and just let me
whisper in your ear, dear reader, they are there yet, and you may depend
there is not a nicer family for miles around.