FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  “Shut up. There’s somethin’ up there at the bend!”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you see that flash?—See it? There it is again!”

  “Yeah, I do,” replied Will as he tried to catch his breath.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Both boys hunched forward and remained quiet with anticipation. And there it flashed again.

  “Looks like a flicker firefly,” Aaron said curiously. “But you only see them in the night.”

  “Let’s move a little closer,” Will replied calmly as he gently placed his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. He caught his wind, gasped a bit, and then whispered, “It’s definitely coming from that crack in the rocks at the bend. Could it be a fire?”

  “Fires show smoke. That just can’t be,” Aaron replied.

  They moved forward with caution, side by side. Their wet boots squeaked, startling a bullfrog and causing it to bob. Looking curiously at each other, they faced forward and crept, hunched over like Indians treading on leaves, each step measured by silence and stealth. Both boys then stopped in one motion and stood up straight as soldiers.

  “Lookee there. It’s a cave, I think!”

  “Reckon so,” Will replied.

  Just upstream and very close to the cave was a massive oak tree with northern moss growing on its trunk about twelve hands high. The tree itself bent over the river like a taut Indian bow curving toward the water, and was just a few steps from the entrance to the cave. Near this strangely curved oak tree and around the dark cave entrance were holly bushes with hundreds of red berries. Several pointed spruce trees completed the odd-looking pattern that secured the cave entrance from the notice of passersby.

  “Jumpin’ jiminy!” Aaron screamed. He gasped and then swallowed again, “There might be a pirate’s treasure in there! Should we go in there? Or should we go get Sheriff Taggart?”

  Will lowered his voice and said with a solemn hesitancy, “No. We best check it out ourselves.”

  He felt strange, even spooked now, as he passed by the old oak tree. Yet he felt a sense of peace as he approached the cave entrance. Aaron was two steps behind. This was indeed a special place, Will thought, but he could not understand why. Pushing back the holly branches that concealed the entrance, he crouched down, and with a crunch of his boot, he stepped inside.

  The inside of the cave was about as big as a chicken coop. The walls rose to the ceiling at steep angles and ended in the center where a foot-wide opening allowed the summer sun to shine through at high noon.

  “This beam of light is the source of the light flash! But how did it bend outside through the cave entrance?” Aaron scratched his head and then rubbed the sweat off his brow.

  Both boys were now totally confused. They wondered how the light could be directed to the spot where they first saw it upriver.

  “Maybe it’s a reflection off some silver or gold,” Will replied. He squinted as he looked to the ceiling and then down again.

  “Get down on your knees and help me find what’s causing the flash,” Aaron beckoned as he took to the cave floor. “We can find this thing!”

  Sunlight from the hole in the ceiling cast a dusty glow that widened when it reached the floor. Dust particles seemed to stay steady as they floated, despite the boys’ curious movement below.

  “Whatever it is, it has to be down here somewhere near the ground,” Aaron whispered as he carefully grappled through the loose leaves and twigs on the cave floor. He moved his hands in a circular movement around the perimeter of the light beam so nothing could escape his grasp, and then he felt a sharp pain in his palm.

  “I found it! It cut me good!”

  “What is it?” Will asked.

  “It’s a mirror.”

  “A mirror?”

  “Yeah, a mirror, and it cut me good. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. Give me your kerchief. I’ve got to wrap it quick!”

  Will quickly handed his handkerchief to Aaron who held it in place on his palm.

  “Tie it tight,” said Aaron calmly. “It got me good, but I’ll be all right.”

  Both boys paused, looked at each other, and then peered through the opening.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Aaron asked as he clutched his palm.

  “What’s that?” Will added with a slight hesitation in his voice.

  Aaron continued. “This mirror was placed here for a reason. Somebody left it here for someone else to see coming down the river like we did. It was propped on a stone.” He lifted the mirror into the sunray. It was oval shaped with a sharp edge all around it. It was about the same size as his now-bloody palm.

  “This is a special place,” Will replied with conviction. “People, maybe Winnebago Indians, used it as a wigwam or hiding place.”

  “What’s a wigwam?”

  “It’s a small domed Indian hut made from branches, twigs, and mud. But this place is real special because it’s right on the river, and it’s hidden. Bet it took a while to dig into this hill.”

  Aaron nodded his head gently. As he held the mirror in the sunlight, he angled it and directed the reflected light onto the cave walls like a lantern in the night. He spanned the shadows slowly, crisscrossing the beam, combing each inch with a careful eye.

  “Look over there!” he said. “It’s a tomahawk! And there’s a medicine bag with lots of colored beads next to it! You’re right. This must be a secret wigwam!”

  Will placed one knee on the ground and picked both prizes up gently. He held them in the sunray, which was beginning to dim now as it was approaching midday.

  “We found a wigwam,” he said. “A secret wigwam. We have to swear as friends that nobody knows about this place. You can’t tell anyone. Not Sheriff Taggart. Not your ma or pa. Not anyone. Can you do that?”

  Aaron nodded slowly.

  Will placed the tomahawk and medicine bag back in the dark space where they found them. “We best leave these things where they are for now,” he said calmly. “It’s getting late. We have to get going. This will be our secret place,” he said with a strong and steady voice.

  Aaron extended his wounded hand into the light beam. He winced again as Will grabbed it, but his face could not be seen in the darkness.

  “We are friends of the wigwam now,” Will announced in a solemn tone.

  Aaron nodded. “Friends of the wigwam, now and forever.”

  Chapter 2

  Tutty Baker Tavern

  Pecatonica River

  Freeport

  December, 1857

  “Do you want pints or quarts, gentlemen?”

  “Bring on just one quart!” replied the taller of the two as they stepped through the tavern door. The wind whistled for a quick moment putting pressure on the door. A few flakes swirled to the floor.

  “Well, Elmer Ellsworth of Rockford!” Tutty exclaimed in a robust baritone full of warmth. “And is it young Alfred Smith of Galena?” He continued as he sized him up from head to toe. “It is mighty good to see both of you again. It has been much too long. I hope your families are well. And who, my boys, would like that quart of rum and cider?”

  “It is good to see you, too, Tutty! Feel free to pour rum for me. Elmer doesn’t drink but plain cider,” replied Alfred as he pulled off the long gray coat that hung to his shins. “It is great to be home for Christmas.”

  Tutty grabbed the coat and shook it strongly. The fire was up. He walked to the mantel and reached for the hook. “And your coat, Elmer?”

  “If it is no bother, I will keep it for a spell…until the chill settles.”

  “Very well, boys, I will warm your drinks.”

  Tutty’s countenance reflected the warmth of the fire. He smiled once again and then turned to step behind the crude split-oak counter that served as a mail station and bar. Several letters were punched onto the nails that were side by side on a hickory post that extended from the bar to the ceiling.

  “Aaron, my boy!” Tu
tty shouted as he turned his head toward a back room, pulled the cork of the rum bottle with his teeth, and then tilted his head in an awkward move as he balanced a quart mug with his meaty hands.

  Aaron appeared with his eyes wide open and eager. “Yes, sir, what do you need?” he stated earnestly.

  Elmer and Alfred looked at each other and smiled.

  “You would make a great West Point cadet from the looks of you. It appears you know about obedience, respect, and stature. You look strong, too,” Alfred said with conviction.

  Aaron looked over, returned the smile, and glanced at the three neat rows of polished brass buttons on his West Point dress jacket.

  “Yes, and if your marching someday is a bit better than those West Pointers,” countered Elmer with a smile, “then you could join my Rockford City Greys…all one hundred of them! You could sure show up those boys at the Point. Perhaps even command them some day!” Elmer raised his right eyebrow and continued. “You reckon that’s true, my friend?”

  “Elmer, you don’t know what it’s like in the true ranks,” replied Alfred quickly and with a wry smile. “The boys at the Point march for fightin’…Your boys march for the ladies!”

  Elmer stood up and, with his right palm open, reached over and slapped Alfred’s back loudly. He smiled. Looking at Aaron, he asked wryly, “Well, young man, what would you prefer?”

  Aaron looked down at his boots and smiled back. He said nothing.

  “Aaron,” interjected old Tutty, “go pull two irons from the coals. We need to warm these drinks up for these boys. They both still have a chill in their bones.” Tutty winked at his two uniformed visitors. “We will get these quarts good for you in short time,” he said as he poured the rum ale from the cider spout and walked to the mantel. Hot supper corn mush swung above the embers on a kettle arm. The aroma reminded one of a bakery store in the morning.

  “We will warm these up a bit for you,” he offered as he signaled Aaron to get the two irons that were buried deep in the red coals.

  Aaron bent down to his knees and reached for each iron with a wooden grasper handle. He slowly inserted the round wood cylinder handle on the first iron and pulled it out of the coals. The tip of the iron was as red as the coals. Tutty placed the pewter quart mug on the flat rock floor to the left of the fireplace. Aaron gently pushed the iron into the grog. It hissed and gurgled as he stirred the iron in the liquid. Grabbing the second iron in the same way, he repeated the movements. After resting the handle on the brick wall, he stood up and looked at Tutty.

  Tutty smiled and nodded. “Nice work, boy.”

  Alfred and Elmer nodded in unison, the glow of the crackling coals giving their faces a ruddy hue.

  “This grog will take care of your bones. Just give it another minute or two,” Tutty said confidently.

  Elmer looked across the table at Alfred and winked. He grabbed the lapels of his uniform, pulling one loop off the brass eagle buttons nearest the top. The lapel flapped down. “Tutty, we see your tavern door is still painted scarlet. Is your daughter still looking to be courted?”

  “That she is, gentlemen!” Tutty exclaimed. “Are either of you betrothed as yet?”

  “Not yet,” replied Elmer. “I plan to marry Kitty Spafford someday, but her father wants me to become a lawyer first.” He looked at Alfred, pitching his head to the side as he continued. “Perhaps Alfred here would be a great catch as no doubt he will be a general someday, but folks will say your daughter should have nothing to do with military men like us. Praise God, she should be a farmer’s wife in Freeport.”

  “And what military matters are so important that a marriage and family should be put on hold?” asked Tutty as he squatted by the fire. He removed the irons, picked up the rum quarts, and set them down squarely on the table. “What are you two here for on such a night?”

  “Well, Tutty, if I may be formal, Alfred came home from his winter break at West Point to do this town a service. He has been kind enough to meet me here to help me raise a drum and drill corps.” Elmer looked at Tutty, who was stirring the mush, to see if there was any reaction.

  Tutty continued to stir.

  “And if I may be so formal,” Elmer interjected as he smiled, winking at Alfred, “I will captain a drill-team company, fifty men strong. These boys will be of good moral character and will be of sound mind and body. I am recruiting here in Freeport and Rockford. And if I may say, the search has not been an easy one.”

  “Are you saying there are no men of character in these parts?”

  “No, sir,” replied Elmer confidently, “recruiting is tough when the winter rolls in. I will find them before the thaw.”

  Elmer lifted his mug of warm cider and nodded, turning his head to the fire. The light reflected off his face, revealing a moustache neatly trimmed to each side of his mouth. His curly dark hair fell to the collar. His cap was tilted slightly to the side, exhibiting a certain dash. The collar of his coat was stiff in the military fashion and fit with form and grace. He looked like a leader of men. “Perhaps I should wait ’til spring,” he said solemnly as he grasped his mug and drew it closer to his lips. “Perhaps I should wait until spring,” he repeated as he swirled the warm cider and watched its settling surface mirror his own reflection.

  Boom!

  The tavern door opened with a great gust. Wind-swept snow billowed in, breaking the silence and warmth. Tutty stepped back, nearly falling to the floor by the mantel, and then stood to see a heavily clad man framed by the threshold, almost filling it. Elmer and Alfred turned their backs for an instant and then stood to see what was confronting them. Both men automatically reached for their revolvers in their belts.

  “What in God’s name is going on!” Tutty screamed. “What is the alarm? Who are you?”

  “Tutty, it’s me, John Sheetz! We met a few months ago. There’s a bucket brigade forming! There’s a big fire in town! You and your guests here must help fill the line to the river. The winds are picking up fierce. We don’t have much time. Bring your buckets!” He exited, slamming the door shut.

  “The quarts are on me, boys,” Tutty said as he grabbed for his coat. “If we don’t beat this thing, there won’t be much left of this tavern. Let’s get to the bucketline! Aaron, you stay here and tend the tavern!” Tutty opened the door and disappeared into the swirling snow.

  Elmer grabbed his great coat off the hook. Both men quickly buttoned themselves to the collar.

  “Can I come, too?” Aaron begged.

  “No, son, you must stay!” Elmer replied.

  The wind howled through the crack in the tavern door causing Alfred to push it almost closed.

  “But I can help the bucketline, too!”

  “Stay here, son,” Elmer replied again. ”Someday you will be able to help in these things. Tutty wants you here!”

  Alfred pulled the door open, and he and Elmer strode out into the cold. Alfred slammed the door shut so forcefully that the sound echoed off the nearby river shoals. Despite the night and blizzard, they could make out an ominous glow in the distance. They began advancing toward it, the snow crunching loudly beneath their boots.

  “Elmer, we will be of better use if we see what the extent of this fire is. Maybe it is not so bad. Let’s find Fire Marshal Putnam. He’ll tell us where we’re needed most. Let’s do the double-quick!”

  “We must be quick.” Elmer exclaimed. “Be careful of the footpaths. They are narrow. Don’t risk a fall. I don’t want to carry you into Freeport.”

  The orange backdrop of the fire got bigger as they advanced. Turning a corner around a huge oak tree, they clearly saw the source. The men of the bucket brigade contrasted against the hue, like ghostly silhouettes. There were at least three hundred men posted between the business district and the river. The buckets moved down the line quickly so that there was barely a moment’s hesitation between each toss into the growing inferno.

  At the front of the line stood Holden Putnam, Freeport’s fire marshal. He was a banker by trad
e but was elected to his position. He stood taller than most men and had eyes that glared fiercely as he shouted commands in the growing fury.

  “Form a second line at fifty paces by the stable!” Putnam commanded. “And get those horses out now!”

  “Sir,” Elmer asked respectfully, “how many horses are in there?”

  “I believe four,” Putnam replied.

  “I will get them out. The fire is moving too close!”

  “Go with caution,” Putnam warned, “and get out quick!”

  Ellsworth dashed to the door, yanked it open with both hands and disappeared inside. He saw smoke seeping in from the upper wall and loft slats. But the real danger was the flames, and the crackling of timber was getting louder. He had a minute, perhaps two, before the flames would lick the stable’s wooden walls with their deadly tongues.

  “Elmer, are you OK?” Alfred screamed as he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ellsworth, are you there?” he repeated.

  Suddenly Ellsworth appeared, backing out of the stable, holding with both hands the reins of three frightened horses. Snorting and whinnying, the panic-stricken steeds fought against the reins. But Elmer resolutely led them out. As soon as Alfred saw him, he rushed up and helped pull the horses to safety.

  “I could only get three,” Ellsworth shouted as he gasped for fresh air. “The other is a small black colt in the last stall. I could not get to him as he pushed away from me! I think I can get him, too.”

  “It’s too dangerous to go back in; the fire’s already reached the loft,” Putnam lamented. “We will have to shoot him. Hand me a carbine!”

  The trapped little colt continued a shrill whinnying as burning clumps of hay from the loft fell on the troughs and the floor, igniting hay. Thick gouts of smoke poured out of the top of the stable door. A somber-faced man from the bucketline rushed up to Putnam, nodded in recognition, and seeing Alfred’s uniform, handed the West Pointer a sawed-off smoothbore musket.

  Suddenly, Will and Aaron approached the scene, running down the line.

  “Don’t shoot that little colt, Mr. Putnam. He didn’t do nothing,” Will shouted above the fury. “We can get him out! I promised the man who left him at the stable that I would take care of him. He gave me a gold coin. Please, Mr. Putnam, let me get him out!”