 Chapter 8 of the Story of a Common Soldier of Army Life in the Civil War, 1861, 1865. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sue Anderson. The Story of a Common Soldier of Army Life in the Civil War, 1861, 1865. By Leander Stillwell. Chapter 8. Bolivar, the movement to the vicinity of Yucca, Mississippi, September, December, 1862. On September 16, the regiment, with the rest of our brigade, left Bolivar on the cars, went to Jackson and thence to Corinth, Mississippi, where we arrived about sundown. From here, still on the cars, we started east on the Memphis and Charleston railroad. The train proceeded very slowly, and after getting about seven or eight miles from Corinth, it stopped, and we passed the rest of the night on the cars. Early next morning the train started, and we soon arrived at the little town of Burnsville, about fifteen miles southeast of Corinth, where we left the cars and went into Bivouac, near the eastern outskirts of the town. On the morning of the nineteenth, before daylight, we marched about two miles east of Burnsville and formed in line of battle, facing the south in thick woods consisting mainly of tall pines. It was talked among us that the Confederate Pickets were only a short distance from our front, and it certainly looked like a battle was impending. By this time the military situation was pretty well understood by all of us. A Confederate force of about 8,000 men, under General Sterling Price, was in the town of Eucca, about two miles south of us, and General Grant and General Roscrance had formulated a plan for attacking this force on two sides at once. General Roscrance was to attack from the south, while our column, under the immediate command of General E. O. C. Ord, was to close in from the north. General Grant was on the field, and was with the troops on the north. The plan was all right, and doubtless would have succeeded, if the wind, on September 19, 1862, in that locality, had been blowing from the south instead of the north. It is on such seemingly little things that the fate of battles, and sometimes that of nations, depends. General Roscrance, on the afternoon of the 19th, encountered the enemy south of Eucca, had a severe battle, and was quite roughly handled. Only a few miles to the north was all of Ord's command, in line of battle, expecting to go in every minute, but the order never came. So all day we just stood around in those pine woods, wondering what in the world was the matter. As already stated, the woods were dense, and the wind blowing from the north carried from us all sounds of the battle. I personally know this was the case. There were a few cannon shots next morning, fired by a battery in General Roscrance's column, and those we distinctly heard from our position, and thought at the time they indicated a battle, but they were fired mainly as feelers, and to ascertain if the enemy were present in force. But as stated all day on the 19th, we heard not a sound to indicate that a desperate battle was in progress only a few miles from our front. Only in the morning of the 19th I witnessed an incident that inspired in me my first deep-seated hatred of whisky and which has abided with me ever since. We had formed in line of battle, but the command had been given in place rest, which we were allowed to give a liberal construction, and we were scattered around, standing or sitting down near the line. But this time two young assistant surgeons came from the rear, riding up the road on which the left of the regiment rested. They belonged to some infantry regiment of the division, but personally I didn't know them. They were both full drunk. On reaching our line of battle they stopped, but kept in their saddles, pulling their horses about, plain smarty, and grinning and shattering like a brace of young monkeys. I looked at those drunk young fools and thought that, maybe in less than an hour, one of them might be standing over me, probing a bullet wound in one of my legs, and then and there promptly deciding the question whether the leg should be sawed off or whether it could be saved. And what kind of intelligent judgment on this matter, on which my life or death might depend, could this whisky-crazed young Gosling be capable of exercising? I felt so indignant at the condition and conduct of these men, right on the eve of what we supposed might be a severe battle, and in which their care for the wounded would be required, that it almost seemed to me it would be doing the government good service to shoot both the galutes right on the spot. And there were other boys who felt the same way, who began making ominous remarks. The drunken young wretches seemed to have sense enough to catch the drift of something that was said. They put spurs to their horses and galloped off to the rear, and we saw them no more. On the morning of the twentieth some regiments of our division moved forward and occupied the town of Iuka, but general price had in the meantime skipped out, so there was no fighting. Our regiment with some others remained in the original position, so that I never got to see the old town of Iuka until several years after the war. Sometime during the afternoon of the twentieth I went to Captain Reddish and said to him that I had become so tired of just standing around and asked him if I could take a short stroll in the woods. The old man gave his consent, as I felt satisfied he would, but cautioned me not to go too far away. The main thing in view when I made the request was the hope of finding some wild, muscadine grapes. They were plentiful in this section of the country and were now ripe, and I wanted a bait. I think a wild muscadine grape is just the finest fruit of that kind in existence. When ripe it has a strong and most agreeable fragrance, and when one is to the leeward of a vine loaded with grapes and a gentle wind is blowing from the south, he is first made aware of their proximity by their grateful odor. I soon found some on this occasion, and they were simply delicious. Having fully satisfied my craving, I proceeded to make my way back to the regiment. When hearing the trampling sound of cavalry, I heard through the woods to the side of the road, reaching there just as the head of the column appeared. It was only a small body, not more than a hundred or so, and there riding at its head was Grant. I had not seen him since the Battle of Shiloh, and I looked at him with intense interest. He had on an old sugar-loaf hat with limp, drooping brim, and his outer coat was the ordinary uniform coat with a long cape of a private in the cavalry. His footgear was cavalry boots, blashed with mud, and the ends of his trousers' legs were tucked inside the boots. No shoulder straps were visible, and the only evidence of rank about him that was perceptible consisted of a frayed and tarnished gold cord on his hat. He was looking downward as he rode by, and seemed immersed in thought. As the column passed along, I asked a soldier near the rear what troops they were, and he answered Company A, Fourth Illinois Cavalry, General Grant's escort. This was the last time that I saw Grant during the war. On the evening of the twentieth the regiment was drawn back into Burnsville, and that night Company D Bivouac in the Harrison Hotel, which formerly had evidently been the principal hotel in the town. It was a rambling, roomy, old-frame building, two stories and a half high, now vacant, stripped of all furniture, and with a thick layer of dust and dirt on the floors. We occupied a room on the second floor that evidently had been the parlor. Being quartered in a hotel was a novel experience, and the boys got lots of fun out of it. One would call out, Bill, ring the clerk to send up a pitcher of ice water, and to be quick about it. While another would say, And while you're at it, tell him to note a special order from me for quail on toast for breakfast, and so on. But these pleasantries soon subsided, and it was not long before we were wrapped in slumber. It was a little after midnight, and I was sound asleep when I heard someone calling, Sergeant Stillwell, where is Sergeant Stillwell? I sprang to my feet and answered, Here, what's wanted? The speaker came to me, and then I saw it was Lieutenant Goodspeed, who was acting as adjutant of the regiment. He proceeded to inform me that I was to take charge of a detail of three corporals and twelve men and go to a point about a mile and a half east of Burnsville to guard a party of section men while clearing and repairing the railroad from a recent wreck. He gave me full instructions and then said, Stillwell, a lieutenant should go in charge of this detail, but all that I could find made pretty good excuses, and I think you'll do. It is a position of honor and responsibility, as there are some prowling fans of guerrillas in this vicinity, so be careful and vigilant. I was then acting as first sergeant, and really was exempt from this duty, but of course the idea of making that claim was not entertained for a moment. I took charge of my party, went to where the laborers were waiting for us with hand-cars, and we soon arrived at the scene of the wreck. A day or two before our arrival at Burnsville, a party of Confederate cavalry had torn up the track at this point and wrecked and burned a freight train. Some horses on the train had been killed in the wreck. Their carcasses were lying around and were rather offensive. The trucks and other ironwork of the cars were piled on the track, tangled up and all out of shape. Some rails removed and others warped by heat, and things generally in a badly torn-up condition. The main dirt road forked here, one fork going diagonally to the right of the track and the other to the left, both in an easterly direction. I posted three men and a corporal about a quarter of a mile to the front on the track, a similar squad at the same distance on each fork of the dirt road and the others at intervals on each side of the railroad at the place of the wreck. The laborers went to work with a will, and about the time the owls were hooting for day the foremen reported to me that the track was clear, the rails replaced, and that they were ready to return to Burnsville. I then drew in my guards, we got on the hand-cars, and were soon back in town, and thus ended my first and only personal supervision of the work of repairing a break in a railroad. I barely had time to make my coffee and toast a piece of bacon when the bugle sounded fall in, and soon, that being the morning of September 21st, we started on the back track, and that day marched to Corinth. It so happened that on this march our regiment was at the head of the column. The proper place of my company, according to army regulations, was the third from the right or head of the line, but from some cause I never knew what. On that day we were placed at the head, and as I was then acting as first sergeant of our company, that put me the headman on foot. These details are mentioned for the reason that all that day I marched pretty close to the tail of the horse that General Ord was riding, and with boyish curiosity I scanned the old general closely. He was a graduate of West Point, and an old regular. He had served in the Florida and the Mexican wars, and he also had been in much scrapping with hostile Indians in the vicinity of the Pacific coast. He looked old to me, but really he was at this time only about forty-four years of age. He certainly was indifferent to his personal appearance, as his garb was even planer and more careless than grants. He wore an old battered felt hat with a flapping brim, and his coat was one of the old-fashioned, long-tailed, oil cloth-wrapped brassicals then in vogue. It was all splattered with mud, with several big torn places in it. There was not a thing about him that I could see to indicate his rank. Later he was transferred to the Eastern armies, eventually was assigned to the command of the Army of the James, and took an active and prominent part in the operations that culminated in the surrender of Lee at Appomattox. We reached Corinth that evening, went into Bivouac, and remained there a couple of days. On the morning of September 24 we fell in, marched down to the depot, climbed on cars, and were soon being hurled north to Jackson on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad. We arrived there about noon, and at once transferred to a train on the Mississippi Central track, and which forthwith started for Belivar. I think the train we came on to Jackson went right back to Corinth to bring up more troops. We common soldiers could not imagine what this hurried rushing around meant, and it was some time before we found out. But history shows that Grant was much troubled about this time, as to whether a threatened Confederate attack would be delivered at Corinth or at Belivar. However, about the 22nd the indications were that Belivar would be assailed, and troops were at once brought from Corinth to resist this apprehended movement of the Confederates. This probably is a fitting place for something to be said about our method of traveling by rail during the Civil War, as compared with the conditions of the present day in that regard. At the time I am now writing, about 15,000 United States soldiers have recently been transported on the cars from different places in the interior of the country to various points adjacent to the Mexican border for the purpose of protecting American interests. And it seems that in some cases the soldiers were carried in ordinary passenger coaches. Thereupon bitter complaints were made on behalf of such soldiers because Pullman's sleepers were not used. And these complaints were effective, too, for according to the press reports of the time the use of passenger coaches for such purposes was summarily stopped and Pullmans were hurriedly concentrated at the places needed, and the soldiers went to war in them. Well, in our time the old regiment was hauled over the country many times on trains. The extent of our travels in that manner aggregating hundreds and hundreds of miles. And such a thing as even ordinary passenger coaches for the use of the enlisted men was never heard of. And I have no recollection now that during the war any were provided for the use of the commissioned officers either, unless they were a pretty high rank. The cars that we wrote in were the box or freight cars in use in those days. Among them were cattle cars, flat or platform cars, and in general every other kind of freight car that could be procured. We would fill the box-cars and, in addition, clamber upon the roofs thereof and avail ourselves of every foot of space. And usually there was a bunch on the cowcatchers. The engines used wood for fuel, and the screens of the smokestacks must have been very coarse, or maybe they had none at all, and the big cinders would patter down on us like hail. So when we came to the journey's end, by reason of the cinders and soot, we were about as dirty and black as any regiment of sure enough colored troops that fought under the Union flag in the last years of the war. When the regiment was sent home in September 1865, some months after the war was over, the enlisted men made even that trip in our old friends the box-cars. It is true that on this occasion there was a passenger coach for the use of the commissioned officers, and that is the only time that I ever saw such a coach attached to a train on which the regiment was taken anywhere. Now, don't misunderstand me. I am not kicking because more than a half a century after the close of the Civil War, Uncle Sam sent his soldier boys to the front in Pullmans. The force so sent was small, and the government could well afford to do it. And it was right. I just want you to know that in my time, when we rode, it was in any kind of an old freight car, and we were awful glad to get that. And now, on this matter, the words of Job are ended. The only railroad accident I ever happened to be in was one that befell our train as we were in the act of leaving Jackson on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth. There was a good deal of hurry and confusion when we got on the cars, and it looked like it was every fellow for himself. Jack Medford, my chum, and I were running along the side of the track looking for a favorable situation when we came to a flat car about the middle of the train as yet unoccupied. Jack said, I, let's get on this one. He was a little slow of speech. He stopped, looked, and commenced to say something, but his hesitation lost us the place and was fraught with other consequences. Right at that moment a bunch of the Twelfth Michigan on the other side of the track piled on the car quicker than a flash and took up all available room. Jack and I then ran forward and climbed on top of a box car next to the tender of the engine, and soon after the train started. It had not yet got under full headway and was going only about as fast as a man could walk when, from some cause, the rails spread and the first car to leave the rails was the flat above mentioned, but its trucks were bouncing along on the ties, and doubtless nobody would have been hurt had it not been for the fact that the car plunged into a cattle-guard of the kind then in use. This guard was just a hole dug in the track probably four or five feet deep, the same in length and in width extending from rail to rail. Well, the front end of the car went down into that hole and then the killing began. They stopped the train very quickly. The entire event couldn't have lasted more than half a minute, but that flat car was torn to splinters. Three soldiers on it were killed dead, being frightfully crushed and mangled, and several more were badly injured. The men on the car jumped in every direction when the car began breaking up, and so the most of them escaped unhurt. If the train had been going at full speed, other cars would have been involved, and there is simply no telling how many would have been killed and wounded. From what little things does the fate of man sometimes depend. If in response to my suggestion Jack Medford had promptly said, All right, we would have jumped on that flat car, and then would have been caught in the smash-up. But he took a mere fraction of time to look and think, and that brief delay was, perhaps, our temporal salvation. We arrived at Bolivar during the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, and reoccupied our old camp. The work of fortifying that place was pushed with renewed vigour, and strong lines of breastworks with earthen forts at intervals were constructed, which practically enclosed the entire town. But we never had occasion to use them. Not long after our return to Bolivar, General Grant became satisfied that the point the enemy would assail was Corinth, so the most of the troops at Bolivar were again started to surrender Corinth to aid in repelling the impending attack. But this time they marched overland. Our regiment and two others, with some artillery, were left to garrison Bolivar, and so it came to pass that the battle of Corinth was fought, on our part, by the command of General Rose-Crantz on October 4, and the battle of Hatchee Bridge the next day by the column from Bolivar under the command of General Ord. And we missed both battles. For my part I then felt somewhat chagrin that we didn't get to take part in either of those battles. Here we had been rushed around the country from pillar to post, hunting for trouble, and then to miss both these fights was just a little mortifying. However the common soldier can only obey orders and stay where he is put, and doubtless it was all for the best. Early on the morning of October 9, a force of about 4,000 men, including our regiment, started from Bolivar, marching southwest on the dirt road. We arrived at Grand Junction at Dark, after a march of about twenty miles. Grand Junction was the point where the Memphis and Charleston and the Mississippi Central Railroads crossed. We had not much more than stacked arms, and of course before I had time to cook my supper, when I was detailed for picket, and was on duty all night. But I didn't go supperless by any means, as I made coffee and fried some bacon at the picket post. Early next morning the command fell in line, and we all marched back to Bolivar again. We had hardly got started before it began to rain, and just poured down all day long. But the weather was pleasant. We took off our shoes and socks, and rolled up our breeches, after the manner heretofore described, and just socked on through the yellow mud, hooping and singing, and as wet as drowned rats. We reached Bolivar, some time after dark. The boys left there in camp in some way had got word that we were on the return, and had prepared for us some camp kettles full of hot, strong coffee, with plenty of fried sour-belly, so we had a good supper. What the object of the expedition was, and what caused us to turn back, I have never learned, or if I did, have now forgotten. On returning to Bolivar we settled down to the usual routine of battalion drill and standing picket. The particular guard duty the regiment performed nearly all the time we were at Bolivar, with some casual exceptions, was guarding the railroad from the bridge over Hatchee River north to Toon Station, a distance of about seven miles. Toon Station, as its name indicates, was nothing but a stopping point with a little rusty-looking old-frame depot and a switch. The usual tour of guard duty was twenty-four hours all the while I was in the service, except during this period of railroad guarding, and for it the time was two days and nights. Every foot of the railroad had to be vigilantly watched to prevent its being torn up by bands of gorillas or disaffected citizens. One man with a crowbar, or even an old ax, could remove a rail at a covert or at some point on a high grade and cause a disastrous wreck. I like this railroad guard duty. Between Bolivar and Toon's the road ran through dense woods, with only an occasional little farm on either side of the road, and it was pleasant to be out in those fine old woods and far away from the noise and smells of the camps. And there are so many things that are strange and attractive to be seen and heard when one is standing alone on picket away out in some lonesome place in the middle of the night. I think that a man who has never spent some wakeful hours in the night by himself out in the woods has simply missed one of the most interesting parts of life. The night is the time when most of the wild things are a stir, and some of the tame ones too. There was some kind of a very small frog in the swamps and marshes near Bolivar that gave forth about the most plaintive little cry that I ever heard. It was very much like the bleeding of a young lamb, and on hearing it the first time I thought sure it was from some little lamb that was lost or in distress of some kind. I never looked the matter up to ascertain of what particular species those frogs were. They may be common throughout the south, but I never heard this particular call except around and near Bolivar. All the woods between Bolivar and toons were full of owls, from great big fellows with a thunderous scream, down to the little screech owls who made only a sort of chattering noise. One never-failing habit of the big owls was to assemble in some grove of tall trees just about daybreak and have a morning concert that could be heard half a mile away. And there were also whipper-wills and mockingbirds, and during the pleasant season of the year myriads of insects that would keep sounding their shrill little notes the greater part of the night. And the only time one sees a flying squirrel, unless you happen to cut down the tree in whose hollow he is sleeping, is in the nighttime. Then they are abroad in full force. When on picket in my army days I found out that dogs are great nocturnal ramblers. I have been on guard at a big tree on some grass-grown country road when something would be heard coming down the road towards me. Pat, pat, pity pat. Then it would stop short. The night might be too dark for me to see it, but I knew it must be a dog. It would stand silent for a few seconds, evidently closely scrutinizing that man alone under the tree with something like a long shining stick in his hands. Then it would stealthily leave the road and would be heard rustling through the leaves as it made a half-circle through the woods to get by me. On reaching the road below me its noise would cease for a little while. It was then looking back over its shoulder to see if that man was still there. Having satisfied itself on that point, then pat, pat, pity pat, and it went off in a trot down the road. When you see an old farm dog asleep in the sun on the porch in the daytime, with his head between his paws, it is as a general rule safe to assume that he was up and on a scout all the previous night and maybe traveled ten or fifteen miles. Cats are also confirmed night prowlers, but I don't think they wander as far as dogs. Later when we were in Arkansas sometimes a full-grown bear would walk up to some drowsy picket and give him the surprise of his life. One quiet, starlit summer night, while on picket between Bolivar and Toones, I had the good fortune to witness the flight of the largest and most brilliant meteor I have ever seen. It was a little after midnight, and I was standing alone at my post, looking, listening, and thinking. Suddenly there came a loud rushing roaring sound like a passenger train close by going at full speed, and then there in the west was a meteor. Its flight was from the southwest to the northeast, parallel with the horizon and low down. Its head or body looked like a huge ball of fire, and it left behind a long, immense tail of brilliant white that lighted up all the western heavens. While yet in full view it exploded with a crash like a nearby clap of thunder. There was a wide, glittering shower of sparks, and then silence and darkness. The length of time it was visible could not have been more than a few seconds, but it was a most extraordinary spectacle. On October 19th the regiment, except those on guard duty, went as escort of a foraging expedition to a big plantation about twelve miles from Bolivar down the Hatchey River. We rode there and back in the big government wagons, each wagon being drawn by a team of six mules. Like Joseph's brethren, when they went down into Egypt, we were after corn. The plantation we foraged was an extensive one on the friddle bottom land of the Hatchey River, and the owner that year had grown several hundred acres of corn, which had all been gathered or shocked, and we just took it as we found it. The people evidently were wealthy for that time and locality. Many slaves were on the place, and it was a bounding in livestock and poultry of all kinds. The plantation in general presented a scene of rural plenty and abundance that reminded me of the home of old Baltus Vantassel as described by Washington Irving in the story of the legend of Sleepy Hollow. With this difference, everything about the Tennessee plantation was dirty, out of order, and in general higgledy-piggledy condition. And the method of farming was slovenly in the extreme. The cultivated land had been cleared by cutting away the underbrush and small trees, while the big ones had merely been deadened by girdling them near the ground. These dead trees were all standing in ghastly nakedness, and so thick in many places that it must have been difficult to plow through them, while flocks of crows and buzzards were sailing around them or perched in their tops, cawing and croaking, and thereby augmenting the woe-be-gone look of things. The planter himself was of a type then common in the South. He was a large, coarse-looking man with an immense punch, or a broad-brimmed, homemade straw hat, and butternut jeans clothes. His trousers were of the old-fashioned, broad-fall pattern. His hair was long, he had a scraggly, sandy beard, and chewed long green tobacco continually and viciously. But he was shrewd enough to know that ugly talk on his part wouldn't men matters, but only make them worse. So he stood around in silence while we took his corn. But he looked as malignant as a rattlesnake. His wife was directly his opposite in appearance and demeanor. She was tall, thin, and bony, with reddish hair and a sharp nose and chin, and goodness but she had a temper. She stood in the door of the dwelling-house and just tongue-lashed us Yankees as she called us to the full extent of her ability. The boys took it all good-naturedly and didn't jaw back. We couldn't afford to quarrel with a woman. A year later the result of her abuse would have been the stripping of the farm of every hog and head of poultry on it. But at this time the orders were strict against indiscriminate individual foraging. And except one or two bee stands full of honey, nothing was taken but the corn. And I have no doubt that long ere this the government has paid that planter, or his heirs, a top-notch price for everything we took. It seems to be easy, nowadays, to get a special act through Congress making full compensation in cases of that kind. Not long after the foregoing expedition I witnessed a somewhat amusing incident one night on the picket line. One day, for some reason, the regiment was required, in addition to the railroad guards, to furnish a number of men for picket duty. First Lieutenant Sam T. Carrico of Company B was the officer, and it fell to my lot to be the sergeant of the guard. We picketed a section of the line a mile or so southwest of Belivar, and the headquarters post where the Lieutenant and the sergeant of the guard stayed was at a point on a main traveled road running southwest from the town. It was in the latter part of October, and the night was a bad and cold one. Lieutenant Carrico and I had doubled up, spread one of our blankets on the ground, and, with the other drawn over us, were lying down and trying to doze a little. When about ten o'clock we heard a horseman coming at full speed from the direction of Belivar. We thereupon rose to a sitting posture and awaited developments. The horseman, unnearing our post and being challenged, responded, friend, without the counter-sign. Anne, in a pre-emptory manner, told the sentinel on duty that he wanted to see the officer of the guard. Lieutenant Carrico and I walked up to the horseman, and on getting close to him saw that he was a Union officer of the rank of Captain. Addressing himself to the Lieutenant in a loud and hasty manner, he told him his story, which in substance was that he was Captain, giving his name, on General Grant's staff, that he had just arrived in Belivar on the train from Memphis, that he had an important business a few miles outside of the lines, and, being in a great hurry, he had not gone to post headquarters to get the counter-sign, as he felt satisfied that the statement of his rank and business would be sufficient to ensure his being passed through the picket line, and so on. Lieutenant Carrico listened in silence until the fellow finished, and then said quietly, but very firmly, Captain, if you claim to be General Grant himself, you shouldn't pass through my line without the counter-sign. At this the alleged staff officer blew up and thundered and bullied at a great rate. Carrico was not much more than a boy, being only about twenty-two years old and of slight build, but he kept perfectly cool and remained firm as a rock. Finally, the officer wheeled his horse around and started back to town at a furious gallop. Carrico then walked up to the sentinel on duty and said to him, Now, if that fellow comes back, you challenge him, and make him conform to every item of the Army regulations, and to make sure about it, he gave the guards specific instructions as to his duties in such cases. We stood around and waited, and it was not long before we heard the horseman returning at his usual rate of speed. He never checked his gate until the challenge of the sentinel rang out, Halt, who comes there? Friend with the counter-sign was the answer. Dismount friend, advance and give the counter-sign, cried the sentinel. Cussock went the fine, high-top boots of the rider in the mud, and leading his horse, he walked up, gave the talismanic word to which the response was made. Counter-sign's correct, pass friend. The officer then sprang into the saddle and rode up to the lieutenant and me. Taking a memorandum book and pencil from one of his pockets, he said to Carrico, Give me your name, company, and regiment, sir. Samuel T. Carrico, First Lieutenant, Company B, 61st Illinois Infantry. The officer scribbled in his notebook, then turned to me, And yours? Leander Stillwell, Sergeant, Company D, 61st Illinois Infantry. And that answer was also duly recorded. Good night, gentlemen. You'll render an account of this outrage later. And with this parting salutation the officer galloped away. All right, Carrico called after him. You know where to find us. The victim of the outrage had not returned when we were relieved at nine o'clock the next morning. And we never saw or heard of him any more. Of course his threat on leaving us was pure bluff, for Lieutenant Carrico had only done his plain and simple duty. The fellow was probably all right. His returning with the counter-sign would indicate it. But his important business was doubtless simply to keep a date with some lady love out in the country, and he wanted a meter under the friendly cover of night. A few words will hereby be said in the nature of a deserved tribute to Lieutenant Carrico. Later he rose to the rank of captain of his company, and was one among the very best and bravest of the line offices of the regiment. He had nerves like hammered steel, and was as cool a man in action as I have ever known. Of all the offices of the regiment who were mustered in at its organization, he is now the only survivor. He is living at Alva, Oklahoma, and is a hail-hearty old man. CHAPTER IX OF THE STORY OF A COMMON SOLDIER OF ARMY LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR, 1861-1865 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sue Anderson. THE STORY OF A COMMON SOLDIER OF ARMY LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR, 1861-1865 BY LEANDERS STILLWELL CHAPTER IX THE AFERENT SALEM CEMETERY On the afternoon of December 18th, suddenly, without any previous warning or notification, the bugle sounded, fall in, and all the regiment fit for duty and not on guard, at once formed on the regimental parade ground. From there we marched to the depot, and with the forty-third Illinois of our brigade, got on the cars and were soon being whirled over the road in a northerly direction. It was a warm, sunshiney day, and we common soldiers supposed we were going on just some little temporary scout, so we encumbered ourselves with nothing but our arms and haversacks and canteens. Delecting to take our blankets was a grievous mistake, as later we found out to our sorrow. We arrived at Jackson a little before sundown, there left the cars, and, with the forty-third, forthwith marched out about two miles east of town. A little after dark we halted in an old field on the left of the road, in front of a little old country graveyard called Salem Cemetery, and there bivouacked for the night. Along in the evening the weather turned intensely cold. It was a clear starlit night, and the stars glittered in the heavens like little icicles. We were strictly forbidden to build any fires, for the reason, as our officers truly said, the Confederates were not more than half a mile away right in our front. As before stated, we had no blankets, and how we suffered with the cold. I shall never forget that night of December 18th, 1862. We would form little columns of twenty or thirty men in two ranks, and would just trot round and round in the tall weeds and broom-sedge to keep them chilling to death. Sometimes we would pile down on the ground in great bunches and curl up close together like hogs in our efforts to keep warm, but some part of our bodies would be exposed, which soon would be stinging with cold. Then up we would get and renew the trotting process. At one time in the night some of the boys, rendered almost desperate by their suffering, started to build a fire with some fence rails. The red flames began to curl around the wood, and I started for the fire, intending to absorb some of that glowing heat, if, as Uncle Rima says, it was the last act. But right then a mounted officer dashed up to the spot and sprang from his horse. He was wearing big cavalry boots and jumped on that fire with both feet and stamped it out in less time than I am taking to tell about it. I heard afterwards that he was Colonel Engelman of the forty-third Illinois, then the commander of our brigade. Having put out the fire he turned on the men standing around and swore at them furiously. He said the rebels were right out in our front, and in less than five minutes after we had betrayed our presence by fires they would open on us with their artillery and shell hell out of us, and more to the same effect. The boys listened in silence, meek as lambs, and no more fires were started by us that night. But the hours seemed interminably long, and it looked like the night would never come to an end. At last some little woods-birds were heard, faintly chirping in the weeds and underbrushed nearby. Then some owls set up a hooting in the woods behind us, and I knew that dawn was approaching. When it became light enough to distinguish one another we saw that we presented a doleful appearance, all hollow-eyed, with blue noses, pinched faces, and shivering as if we would shake to pieces. Permission was then given to build small fires to cook our breakfast, and we didn't wait for the order to be repeated. I made a quart can full of strong, hot coffee, toasted some bacon on a stick, and then with some hardtack had a good breakfast and felt better. Breakfast over which didn't take long, the regiment was drawn back into the cemetery and placed in line behind the section of enclosing fence that faced to the front. The fence was of post and plank, the planks arranged lengthwise with spaces between. We were ordered to lie flat on the ground and keep the barrels of our guns out of sight as much as possible. Our position in general may be described about as follows. The right of the regiment rested near the dirt road and at right angles to it. The ground before us was open for more than half a mile. It sloped down gently, then it rose gradually to a long bare ridge or slight elevation of ground, which extended parallel to our front. The road was enclosed by an old-time, staked and writered fence of the worm pattern. On our right and on the other side of the road was a thick forest of tall trees in which the forty-third Illinois was posted. The cemetery was thickly studded with tall native trees and a few ornamental ones such as cedar and pine. Soon after we had been put in position, as above stated, Colonel Engelman, the brigade commander, came galloping up and stopped about opposite the front of the regiment. Major Orr, our regimental commander, who was in the rear of the regiment on foot, walked out to meet him. Engelman was a German and a splendid officer. Good morning, Major, he said in a loud voice, we all heard, how are the boys? All right, answered the Major, we had a rather chilly night, but we are feeling first-rate now. Datis Gutt responded the Colonel and continued in his loud tone. Our friends are right out here in the bush. I reckon they'll show up presently. Maybe so they will give us a touch of their artillery practice. But that hurts nobody, shoes to have to boys keep cool. Then he approached the Major closer, said something in a low tone we did not hear, waved his hand to us, and then galloped off to the right. He was hardly out of sight when, sure enough, two or three cannon-shots were heard out in front, followed by a scattering fire of small arms. We had a small force of cavalry in the woods beyond the ridge I have mentioned, but they soon appeared slowly falling back. They were spread out in a wide extended skirmish line and acted fine. They would trot a little ways to the rear, then face about, and fire their carbines at the advancing foe, who, as yet, was unseen by us. Finally they galloped off to the left and disappeared in the woods, and all was still for a short time. Finally, without a note of warning, and not preceded by even a skirmish line, there appeared coming over the ridge in front and down the road a long column of Confederate cavalry. They were, when first seen, at a walk, and marching by the flank with a front of four men. How deep the column was we could not tell. The word was immediately passed down our line not to fire until at the word of command, and that we were to fire by file, beginning on the right. That is, only two men, front and rear rank, would fire together, and so on, down the line. The object of this was apparent. By the time the left of the regiment had emptied their guns, the right would have reloaded, and thus a continuous firing would be maintained. With guns cocked and fingers on the triggers, we waited in tense anxiety for the word to fire. The ore was standing a few paces in the rear of the center of the regiment, watching the advance of the enemy. Finally, when they were in fair musket range, came the order, cool and deliberate, without a trace of excitement. Attention battalion, fire by file, ready, commence firing, and down the line crackled the musketry. Even currently with us, the old forty-third Illinois on the right joined in the serenade. In the front file of the Confederate column was one of the usual fellows with more daring than discretion, who was mounted on a tall white horse. Of course, as long as that horse was on its feet, everybody shot at him or the rider. But that luckless steed soon went down in a cloud of dust, and that was the end of old Whitey. The effect of our fire on the enemy was marked and instantaneous. The head of their column crumpled up instantor. The road was full of dead and wounded horses, while several that were riderless went galloping down the road by us, with bridal reins and stirrups flapping on their necks and flanks. I think there is no doubt that the Confederates were taken completely by surprise. We stopped short when we opened on them, wheeled around, and went back much faster than they came, except a little bunch who had been dismounted. They hoisted a white rag, came in, and surrendered. The whole affair was exceedingly short and sweet in duration. It could not have exceeded more than a few minutes. But it was highly interesting as long as it lasted. But now the turn of the other fellows was to come. Soon after their charging column disappeared behind the ridge in our front, they put in position on the crest of the ridge two black, snaky-looking pieces of artillery, and began giving us the benefit of the artillery practice Colonel Engelman had alluded to. They were beyond the range of our muskets. We had no artillery with our little force, and just had to lie there and take it. I know nothing about the technicalities of cannon firing, so I can only describe in my own language how it appeared to us. The enemy now knew just where we were. There were no obstructions between them and us, and they concentrated their fire on our regiment. Sometimes they threw a solid shot at us, but mostly they fired shells. They were in plain sight, and we could see every movement connected with the firing of the guns. After a piece was fired, the first thing done was to swab it. Two men would rush to the muzzle with the swabber, give it a few quick turns in the bore, then throw down the swabber and grab up the rammer. Another man would then run forward with the projectile and insert it in the muzzle of the piece. The rammers would ram at home and then stand clear. The man at the breach would then pull the lanyard and now look out. A tongue of red flame would leap from the mouth of the cannon, followed by a billow of white smoke. Then would come the scream of the missile as it passed over our heads if a solid shot or exploded near our front or rear if a shell. And lastly we would hear the report of the gun. Then we all drew a long breath. And they threw shells at us their method was to elevate the muzzle of the gun and discharge the missile in such a manner that it would describe what I suppose would be called the parabola of a curve. As it would be nearing the zenith of its flight we could follow it distinctly with the naked eye. It looked like a big black bug. You may rest assured that we watched the downward course of this messenger of mischief with the keenest interest. It looked as if it would hit our line sure, but it never did. And as stated we could only lie there and watch all this, without the power on our part to do a thing in return. Such a situation is trying on the nerves. But firing at our line was much like shooting at the edge of a knife-blade and their practice on us, which lasted at least two hours, for all practical results to quote Colonel Engelman shooed hurt nobody. A private of Company G had his head carried away by a fragment of a shell, and a few others were slightly injured, and that was the extent of our casualties. After enduring this cannonating for the time above stated, Colonel Engelman became apprehensive that the Confederate cavalry were flanking us and trying to get between us and Jackson, so he ordered our force to retire. We fell back in good order for about a mile, then halted and faced to the front again. Reinforcements soon came out from Jackson, and then the whole command advanced, but the enemy had disappeared. Our regiment marched in column by the flank up the road down which the Confederates had made their charge. They had removed their killed and wounded, but at the point reached by the head of the column the road was full of dead horses. White Whitey was sprawled out in the middle of the lane, with his nostrils all wide and more than a dozen bullet holes in his body. Near his carcass I saw a bloody yarn sock with a bullet hole square through the instep. I made up my mind then and there that if I ever happened to get into the cavalry I would, if possible, avoid riding a white horse. I will now say something about poor Sam Cobb, here too forementioned, and then he will disappear from this history. Sam was with us at the beginning of this affair on December 19th, but the very instant that the enemy came in sight he broke from the ranks and ran, and never showed up until we returned to Jackson some days later. He then had one of his hands tied up and claimed that he had been wounded in the fight. The nature of his wound was simply a neat little puncture evidently made by a pointed instrument in the ball of the forefinger of one of his hands. Not a shot had been fired at us up to the time that he fled, so it was impossible for his hurt to have been inflicted by the enemy. It was the belief of all of us that he had put his forefinger against a tree and then jabbed the point of his bayonet through the ball thereof. I heard Captain Reddish in bitter language charge him with this afterwards, and poor Sam just hung his head and said nothing. When the regiment veteranized in 1864 Sam didn't re-enlist and was mustered out in February 1865 at the end of his term of service. On returning to his old home he found that his reputation in the army had preceded him, and it is likely that the surroundings were not agreeable. At any rate he soon left there, emigrated to a southwestern state, and died there several years ago. In my opinion he really was to be sincerely pitted, for I think as he told me at Belivar he just couldn't help it. We advanced this day, December 19, only two or three miles beyond Salem Cemetery, and Bivouac for the night in an old field. The weather had changed and was now quite pleasant, besides the embargo on fires was lifted, so the discomfort of the previous night was only something to be laughed about. The next day we were a foot early and marched east in the direction of Lexington, about fifteen miles, but we encountered no enemy, and on December 21st turned square round and marched back to Jackson. General Forrest was in command of the Confederate cavalry operating in this region, and he completely fooled General J. C. Sullivan, the Union commander of the district of Jackson. While we were in this wild goose chase towards Lexington, Forrest simply hurled around our flanks at Jackson and swept north on the railroad, scooping in almost everything to the Kentucky line, and burning bridges and destroying culverts on the railroad in great shape. During our short stay that ensued at Jackson, an event occurred that I have always remembered with pleasure. In 1916 I wrote a brief preliminary statement touching this Salem cemetery affair, followed by one of my Army letters, the two making a connected article, and the same was published in the Erie, Kansas record. It may result in some repetition, but I have concluded to hear reproduced this published article, which I have called, A Soldier's Christmas Dinner. A Soldier's Christmas Dinner by Judge Leander Stillwell. Christmas Day in the year 1862 was a gloomy one in every respect for the soldiers of the Union Army in West Tennessee. Five days before, the Confederate General Van Dom had captured Grant's depot of supplies at Holly Springs, and government stores in the value of a million and a half of dollars had gone up in smoke and flame. About the same time, Forrest had struck the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, on which we depended to bring us from the north our supplies of hardtack and bacon, and had made a wreck of the road from about Jackson, Tennessee, nearly to Columbus, Kentucky. For some months previous to these disasters, the regiment to which I belonged, the 61st Illinois Infantry, had been stationed at Belivar, Tennessee, engaged in guarding the railroad from that place to Toon Station, a few miles north of Belivar. On December 18, with another regiment of our brigade, we were sent by rail to Jackson to assist in repelling Forrest, who was threatening the place. On the following day the two regiments, numbered in the aggregate about five hundred men, in connection with a small detachment of our cavalry, had a lively and spirited little brush with the Confederate forces about two miles east of Jackson, near a county burying ground called Salem Cemetery, which resulted in our having the good fortune to give them a salutary check. Reinforcements were sent out from Jackson and Forrest disappeared. The next day our entire command marched about fifteen miles eastwardly, in the direction of the Tennessee River. It was doubtless supposed, by our command in general, that the Confederates had retreated in that direction. But he was mistaken. Forrest had simply whipped around Jackson, struck the railroad a few miles north thereof, and then had continued north up the road, capturing and destroying as he went. On the succeeding day, December 21, we all marched back to Jackson, and my regiment went into camp on a bleak, muddy hillside in the suburbs of the town. And there we remained until December 29, when we were sent to Carroll Station, about eight miles north of Jackson. I well remember how gloomy I felt on the morning of that Christmas day at Jackson, Tennessee. I was then only a little over nineteen years of age. I had been in the Army nearly a year, lacking just a few days, and every day of that time, except a furlough of two days granted at our camp of instruction before we left Illinois for the front, had been passed with the regiment in camp and field. Christmas morning my thoughts naturally turned to the little old log cabin in the backwoods of western Illinois, and I couldn't help thinking about the nice Christmas dinner that I knew the folks at home would sit down to on that day. There would be a great chicken pot pie with its savory crust and super abundance of light puffy dumplings, delicious light hot biscuits, a big ball of our own homemade butter, yellow as gold, broad slices of juicy ham, the product of hogs of our own fattening, and home cured with hickory wood smoke, fresh eggs from the barn in reckless profusion fried in the ham gravy, mealy Irish potatoes baked in their jackets, coffee with cream about half an inch thick, apple butter and crab apple preserves, a big plate of wild honey in the comb, and winding up with a thick wedge of mince pie that my mother knew so well how to make. Such mince pie, in fact, as was made only in those days, and is now as extinct as the dodo. And when I turned from these musings upon the bill of fare they would have at home to contemplate the dreary realities of my own possible dinner for the day, my oyster can full of coffee, and a quarter ration of hardtack and sour belly comprised the menu. If the eyes of some old soldiers should light upon these lines, and he should thereupon feel disposed to curl his lip with unutterable scorn and say, this fellow was a milk-soap and ought to have been fed on Christian commission and sanitary goods, and put to sleep at night with a warm rock at his feet. I can only say in extenuation that the soldier whose feelings I had been trying to describe was only a boy. And boys you probably know how it was yourselves during the first year of your army life. But, after all, the soldier had a Christmas dinner that day, and it is of that that I have started out to speak. Several years ago my old army letters which had been so carefully kept and cherished for all these many years, passed from the keeping of those to whom they had been addressed back into the possession of him who penned them, and now after the lapse of fifty-four years one of these old letters, written to my father, shall retell the story of this Christmas dinner. Jackson, Tennessee, December 27, 1862. Mr. J. O. Stillwell, Otter Creek, Illinois. I wrote you a short and hasty letter, the four part of this week, to let you know that I was all right, and giving you a brief account of our late ups and downs. But I doubt if you have received it. The cars have not been running since we came back to Jackson from our march after forest. The talk in camp is that the Rebs have utterly destroyed the railroad north of here clean to the Mississippi River, and that they have also broken it in various places and damaged it badly south of here between Bolivar and Grand Junction. I have no idea when this letter will reach you, but we'll write it anyhow and trust to luck and Uncle Sam to get it through in course of time. We are now in camp on a muddy hillside in the outskirts of Jackson. I think the spot where we are must have been a cavalry camp last summer. Lots of corn cobs are scattered on the ground, old scraps of harness leather and such other truck as accumulates where horses are kept standing around. When we left Bolivar we were inconsiderable of a hurry, with no time to crimp or comb our hair, and neither did we bring our tents along, so we are just living out of doors now and boarding at sprawls. There's plenty of wood though to make fires, and we have Jayhawked enough planks and boards to lie on to keep us out of the mud, so we just curl up at night in our blankets with all our clothes on and manage to get along fairly well. Our worst trouble now is the lack of grub. The destruction of the railroad has cut off our supplies, and there is no telling just exactly how long it may be before it will be fixed and in running order again. So they have been compelled, I suppose, to cut down our rations. We get half rations of coffee, and quarter rations of hardtack and bacon. What we call small rations such as yanky beans, rice, and split peas are played out, at least we don't get any. The hardtack is so precious now that the orderly sergeant no longer knocks a box open and lets every man help himself, but he stands right over the box and counts the numbers of tax he gives to every man. I never thought I'd see the day when army hardtack would be in such demand that they'd have to be counted out to the soldiers as if they were money, but that's what's the matter now, and that ain't all. The boys will stand around until the box is emptied, and then they will pick up the fragments that have fallen on the ground in the divide and scrape off the mud with their knives and eat the little pieces and glad to get them. Now and then, to help out the saw-belly, we get quarter rations of fresh beef from the carcass of a Tennessee steer that the quartermaster manages to lay hands on somehow. But it's awful poor beef, lean, slimy, skinny, and stringy. The boys say that one can throw a piece up against a tree and it will just stick there and quiver and twitch for all the world like one of those blue-bellied lizards at home will do when you knock him off a fence rail with a stick. I just wish that old forest, who is the cause of all this trouble, had to go without anything to eat until he was so weak that he would have to be fed with a spoon. Maybe after he had been hungry real good for a while he'd know how it feels himself and would let our railroads alone. But I want to tell you that I had a real bully Christmas dinner in spite of all forest and the whole caboodle. It was just a piece of the greatest good luck I've had for many a day. When Christmas morning came I was feeling awful blue. In spite of all I could do I couldn't help but think about the good dinner you folks at home would have that day and I pictured it all out in my imagination. Then about every one of the boys had something to say about what he would have for Christmas dinner if he was home and they'd run over the list of good things till it was almost enough to make one go crazy. To make matters worse just the day before in an old camp I had found some tattered fragments of a New York illustrated newspaper with a whole lot of pictures about Thanksgiving Day in the Army of the Potomac. They were shown as sitting around piles of roast turkeys, pumpkin pies, pound cake, and goodness knows what else and I took it for granted that they would have the same kind of fodder today. You see the men in that army by means of their railroads are only a few hours from home and old forest is not in their neighborhood so it is an easy thing for them to have good times and here we were a way down in Tennessee in the mud and the cold no tents on quarter rations and picking scraps of hard tack out of the mud and eating them it was enough to make a preacher swear. But long about noon John Richie came to me and proposed that in as much as it was Christmas day we should strike out and forage for a square meal it didn't take much persuasion and straight away we sallied forth. I wanted to hunt up the old colored woman who gave me the mess of boiled roasting ears when we were here last summer but John said he thought he had a better thing than that and as he is 10 years older than I am I knocked under and let him take the lead. About half a mile from our camp in the outskirts of the town we came to a large handsome two-story and a half frame house with a whole lot of nigger cabins in the rear. John took the survey of the premises and said Lee right here is our meat. We went into the yard at a little side gate between the big house and the nigger quarters and were steering for one of the cabins went out steps from the back porch of the big house the lady of the place herself that spoiled the whole game John whirled in his tracks and commenced to sidle away but the lady walked toward us and said in a very kind and friendly manner do you men want anything oh no ma'am replied John we just came here to see if we could get some of the colored women to do some washing for us but I guess we'll not bother about it today still backing away as he spoke but the lady was not satisfied looking at us sharply she asked don't you men want something to eat my heart gave a great thump at that but to my inexpressible disgust John with his head thrown back and nose pointed skyward answered speaking very fast oh no ma'am not at all ma'am a thousand times obliged ma'am and continued his sneaking retreat by this time I had hold of the cape of his overcoat and was plucking it in utter desperation John I said speaking low what in thunder do you mean this is the best chance we'll ever have I was looking at the lady meanwhile in the most imploring manner and she was regarding me with a kind of pleasant amused smile on her face she saw I guess a mighty dirty looking boy whose nose and face were pinched and blew with hunger cold loss of sleep and hard knocks generally and she brought the business to a head at once you men come right in she said as if she was the major general commanding the department we have just finished our dinner but in a few minutes the servants can have something prepared for you and I think you are hungry John with the most aggravating mock modesty that I ever saw in my life began saying we are very much obliged ma'am but we haven't the slightest occasion in the world to eat ma'am and when I couldn't stand it any longer for fear he would ruin everything after all ma'am I said please don't pay any attention to what my partner says for we are most desperately hungry the lady laughed right out at that and said I thought so come in she led the way into the basement story of the house where the dining room was all the rich people in the south have their dining rooms in the basement and there was a nice warm room a dining table in the center with the cloth and dishes yet on it and a big fireplace at one end of the room where a crackling wood fire was burning I tell you it was different from our muddy camp on the bleak hillside where the wind blows the smoke from our fires of green logs in every direction about every minute of the day I sat down by the fire to warm my hands and feet which were cold a colored girl came in and commenced to arrange the table passing back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen and in a short time the lady told us that our dinner was ready to set up to the table and eat heartily we didn't wait for a second invitation that time and oh what a dinner we had there was a great pile of juicy fried beef steak cooked to perfection and tender as chicken nice warm light bread a big cake of butter stewed dried apples cucumber pickles two or three kinds of preserves coffee with sugar and cream and some of the best molasses I ever tasted none of this sour scorched old sorghum stuff but regular gilt edge first class New Orleans golden syrup almost as sweet as honey then to top off with there was a nice stewed dried apple pie and some kind of a custard and little dishes something different from anything in that line I had ever seen before but mighty good and then in addition to all that we were seated on chairs at a table with a white cloth on it and eating out of china plates and with knives and forks a colored girl waiting on us and the lady of the house sitting there and talking to us as pleasantly as if we were grant and hallock in person under the influence of the good grub john thought out considerably and made a full confession to the lady about his queer actions at the beginning he told her that we were going to the nigger quarters to try to get something to eat and that when she came out and gave us such a kind invitation to come in the house he was too much ashamed of our appearance to accept that we had come up from believer about a week before riding on top of the box cars where we got all covered with smoke dust and cinders then ordered out to the front that night then the fight with forest the next day then the march toward the tennessee river and back of about 40 miles and since then in camp with no shelter tramping around in the mud and sleeping on the ground that on account of all these things we look so rough and so dirty that he just felt ashamed to go into a nice house where handsome well-dressed ladies were oh i tell you old john is no slouch he patched up matters remarkably well the lady listened attentively said she knew we were hungry the moment she saw us that she had heard the soldiers were on short rations in consequence of the destruction of the railroad and turning towards me she went on to say there was such a pitiful hungry look on this boy's face that it would have haunted me for a long time if i had let you go away without giving you a dinner many a hungry soldier she continued both of the northern and southern army has had something to eat at this table and i expect many more will in the future before this terrible and distressing war shall have come to an end she didn't say a word though by which we could tell whether her sympathies were on the union side or against us and of course we didn't try to find out she was just the sweetest looking woman i have yet seen in the whole southern confederacy if they have any angels anywhere that look kinder or sweeter or purer than she did i would just like to see them trotted out i guess she was about 35 years old she was of medium height a little on the plump order with blue eyes brown hair a clear ruddy complexion and the whitest softest looking little hands i ever saw in my life when we had finished our dinner john and i thanked her ever so many times for her kindness and then bade her a most respectful goodbye he and i both agreed on our way back to camp to say nothing about the lady and the nice dinner she gave us because if we bloat about it the result would probably be more hungry collars than her generosity could well afford but these close times i guess are not going to last much longer the talk in camp this evening is that we are going to have full rations once more in a day or two that the railroad will soon be in running order again and then we can just snap our fingers at old forest and his whole outfit well i will bring my letter to a close don't worry if you fail to get a letter from me now as regularly as before things are a trifle unsettled down here yet and we may not be able to count on the usual regularity of the males for some time to come so goodbye for this time liander still well end of letter soon after we return to jackson a detail of some from each company was sent to believar and brought up our knapsacks and blankets and we were then more comfortable on december 29th my company and two others of our regiment were sent by rail to carol station about eight miles north of jackson there had been a detachment of about 100 men of the 106th illinois infantry previously stationed here guarding the railroad but forest captured them about december 20th so on our arrival we found nothing but a crude sort of stockade and the usual rubbish of an old camp there was no town there it consisted only of a platform and a switch our life here was somewhat uneventful and i recall now only two incidents which possibly are worth noticing it is here to fore been mentioned how i happened to learn went on picket at night something about the nocturnal habits of different animals and birds i had a somewhat comical experience in this respect while on guard one night near carol station but it should be preceded by a brief explanation it was no part of the duty of a non-commissioned officer to stand a regular tour of guard duty with his musket in his hands it was his province simply to exercise a general supervisory control over the men at his post and especially to see that they relieved each other at the proper time but it frequently happened in our regiment that our numbers present for duty were so diminished and the guard details were so heavy that the sergeants and corpals had to stand as sentries just the same as the privates and this was especially so at carol station on the occasion of the incident about to be mentioned the picket post was on the crest of a low ridge or slight elevation and under some big oak trees by an old tumbledown deserted building which had at one time been a blacksmith's shop there were three of us on this post and one of my turns came at midnight I was standing by one of the trees listening looking and meditating the night was calm with a full moon the space in our front sloping down to a little hollow was bare but the ascending ground beyond was covered with a dense growth of young oaks which had not yet shed their leaves we had orders to be extremely watchful and vigilant as parties of the enemy were supposed to be in our vicinity suddenly I heard in front and seemingly in the farther edge of the oak forest a rustling sound that soon increased in volume whatever was making the noise was coming my way through the trees and down the slope of the opposite ridge the noise grew louder and louder until it sounded just like the steady tramp over the leaves and dead twigs of a line of marching men with a front a hundred yards in width I just knew there must be trouble ahead and that the philistines were upon me but a sentinel who made a false alarm while on duty was liable to severe punishment and at any rate would be laughed at all over the regiment and never hear the last of it so I didn't wake up my comrades but got in the shadow of the trunk of a tree cocked my gun and waited developments and soon they came the advancing line emerged from the forest into the moonlight and it was nothing but a big drove of hogs out on a midnight foraging expedition for acorns and the like well I let down the hammer my gun and felt relieved and was mighty glad I hadn't waked the other boys but I still insist that this crackling crashing uproar made by the advance of the hog battalion through the underbrush and woods under the circumstances mentioned would have deceived the very elect a few days later I was again on picket at the old blacksmith shop our orders were that at least once during the day one of the guard should make a scout out in front for at least half a mile carefully observing all existing conditions for the purpose of ascertaining if any parties of the enemy were hovering around in our vicinity on this day after dinner I started out alone on this little reconnoitering expedition I had gone something more than half a mile from the post and was walking along a dirt road with a cornfield on the left and big woods on the right about a hundred yards in front the road turned square to the left with a cornfield on each side the corn had been gathered from the stock and the stocks were still standing glancing to the left I happened to notice a white cloth fluttering above the corn stocks at the end of a pole and slowly moving my way and peering through the tops of the stocks I saw coming down the road behind the white flag about a dozen confederate cavalry I broke into a run and soon reached the turn in the road cocked my gun leveled it at the party and shouted halt they stopped mighty quick and the bearer of the flag called to me that they were a flag of truce party I then said advance one whereupon they all started forward I again shouted halt and repeated the command advance one the leader then wrote up alone I keeping my gun cocked and at a ready and he proceeded to tell me a sort of rambling disjointed story about there being a flag of truce party on business connected with an exchange of some wounded prisoners I told the fellow that I would conduct him and his squad to my picket post and then send word to our commanding officer and he would take such action as he thought fit and proper on reaching the post I sent in one of the guards to the station to report to lieutenant armstrong in command of our detachment that there was a flag of truce party at my post who desired an interview with the officer in command at carol station lieutenant soon arrived with an armed party of our men and he and the confederate leader drew apart and talked a while this bunch of confederates were all young men armed with double barreled shotguns and a decidedly tough looking outfit they finally left my post escorted by lieutenant armstrong and his guard and I understood in a general way that he passed them on to someone higher in authority at some other point in our vicinity possibly at Jackson they may have been acting in good faith but from the manner of their leader and the story he told me I have always believed that their use of a flag of truce was principally a device to obtain some military intelligence but of course I do not know my responsibility ended when lieutenant armstrong reached my picket post in response to the message sent him we remained at carol station until January 27th 1863 we're then relieved by a detachment of the 62nd Illinois infantry and were sent by rail back to believe our where we rejoined the balance of the regiment we then resumed our former duty of guarding the railroad north to station and continued at this until the last of May 1863 but before taking up what happened then it will be an order to speak of some of the changes that in the meantime had occurred among the commission officers of my company and of the regiment captain reddish resigned April 3rd 1863 first lieutenant daniel s kealy was promoted captain in his place and thomas j warren the sergeant major of the regiment was commissioned as first lieutenant in kealy's stead lieutenant colonel fry resigned may 14th 1863 his place was taken by major simon p or and daniel grass captain of company h was made major the resignations of both fry and reddish as I always have understood were because of ill health they were good and brave men and their hearts were in the cause but they simply were too old to endure the fatigue and hardships of a soldier's life but they each lived to a good old age colonel fry died in green county illinois January 27th 1881 aged nearly 82 years and captain reddish passed away in dallas county texas december 30th 1881 having attained the psalmist's limit of three score and ten end of chapter nine