“Private, assemble Lieutenant Winser, Mr. House, and Reverend Dodge. I would like them to assist us in cutting down that flag!”
“Yes, sir.”
Elmer stood like a statue on the porch, motionless as he awaited the contingent. Soon the three appeared with Brownell on the front porch and proceeded to quickly duck inside with Ellsworth in the lead.
Hearing the commotion about the hotel, a man suddenly appeared in the lobby.
“Who put that flag up?” Elmer demanded.
“I don’t know; I am a border here,” the stranger replied nervously.
Posting corporals at the front door and at the bottom of two turning flights of stairs, Elmer proceeded with the chosen four to the attic of the Marshall House.
The Zouaves outside waited in anticipation.
“Well, look at the bastard flag that mocks us all,” shouted one of the soldiers.
Another Zouave shouted to a bystander near the porch, “Can you tell us where Jeff Davis is? We’re lookin’ for him.”
And another in the ranks, “Yes, we’re bound to hang his scalp in the White House before we go back!”
The soldiers laughed and looked up at the roof.
“Look!” shouted another in glee. “I can see the colonel pulling it through the attic window!”
“By jiminy, he’s got it off now and waves it back and forth.”
Another loud “huzzah” from the soldiers echoed through streets, arousing the early morning slumber of the Alexandrians. Then the flag disappeared from view.
Inside the attic Elmer turned to Winser. “Like takin’ candy from a baby, Lieutenant. Thank you for the use of your bowie knife. Let’s take this trophy to the men.”
Winser smiled and handed Elmer’s revolver back to him.
A moment later the clunks of their military boots on the steps sounded like a deep clatter as Private Brownell led the procession with Elmer carrying the large rebel banner wrapped around his shoulders. Behind him was Edward House, the New York Tribune correspondent, and Lieutenant Winser. The four descended the several oak stairs that connected the landings and could distinctly hear the loud resounding cheers from the troops outside as if a major battle had been won. The four looked at each other with pride and smiled in anticipation of the rousing ovation that they would receive when they broke outside to the front porch—just a few more steps to glory. The contingent had captured the regiment’s first rebel flag!
As they reached the bottom of the last set of stairs, their view of the parlor was obstructed by the narrow stairway passage. Elmer, now in the lead, was the first to turn the corner. Standing before him was the hotel owner, James Jackson, holding a double-barreled shotgun leveled at the gold badge over Ellsworth’s heart. A clank was heard as Brownell lunged forward to spoil the shotgun’s aim with his musket barrel.
But Jackson managed to pull on one of the triggers just as Brownell’s musket made contact. A terrible boom echoed through the house!
The shotgun blast hurled Elmer back. In his recoil he clutched his chest with the flag gripped tightly around his shoulders, dropped to his knees on the stairway, then fell face forward on the landing with a horrible thud. The silent but determined Jackson turned to deliver the second shot at Private Brownell, but it was deflected, missing Brownell and hitting the panels of a bedroom door. The loyal private delivered his own musket load directly into Jackson’s face, and the hotel owner fell onto the blood-spattered landing beside Elmer. Brownell, in a rage, repeatedly drove his bayonet deep into the proprietor’s body.
Jackson’s wife appeared and screamed hysterically at the sight. Her heart-felt outcries continued for a few more minutes. The grieving turned to sobs…then silence.
A throng of red-shirted Zouaves rushed inside to see what was happening. They were stopped upon seeing Brownell, who stood with blood on his bayonet. He had never killed a man before. His voice quivered, but with determination he announced, “That son of a bitch killed our colonel. We will make these rebels pay for this!”
The soldiers stared at the sight in the room in a stunned silence.
Both bodies lay facedown on the blood-spattered rebel flag. War had come to the regiment—but not in a way they had expected.
Across the Potomac the Lincoln boys had left the White House balcony and were getting ready for lunch. Lincoln was with Secretaries Nicolay and Hay, awaiting word on the success of the troop movements in Alexandria.
Lincoln with periscope in hand raised it to his eye, held it for a moment, and then turned to both secretaries. “Gentleman, we will be greeted with some great success today! The rebel flag that flew defiantly in our faces for many months has been struck down by our volunteers. It no longer waves freely over Alexandria! I would like to see it when it returns to Washington, a true war trophy from our noble efforts to secure the Union.”
Nicolay and Hay smiled and nodded.
There was a sudden pause.
The balcony door opened with a gentle creak, followed by the sound of footsteps.
“Father,” Mrs. Lincoln quietly announced as she entered the room with Willie and Tad close to her side.
The boys smiled and nodded to the secretaries, who smiled back.
“Yes, Mother,” replied Lincoln calmly.
“The strangest thing arrived in this package today!”
Mary Todd Lincoln opened the top of the box, looked inside, and cocked her head to the side with a confused look. “Well, I thought perhaps the three of you would know what this is all about. Our boys are as baffled as I am.” The boys nodded as she made the remark.
Lincoln looked at his wife with a deep inquisitive look. “What is it, Mother?” he replied.
“It is a package for Colonel Elmer Ellsworth.” She squinted this time. “It is from ‘Friends of the Wigwam’ in Illinois.”
“What did they send to Elmer?”
“It’s an oak leaf.”
Chapter 19
Wigwam
Pecatonica River
Summer, 1861
The sun had risen to a place midpoint in the sky.
The blue above the treetops now budding with luster made the river look serene again. Breaking the silence were Jenny, Allie, Aaron, and Will who sat on the riverbank swirling their feet in the flowing water. The green waters were low but still cold from the late winter thaw. As summer progressed, the waters would get warmer and deeper as they rolled gently south.
Aaron looked down at Jenny’s dainty white feet. Her lacy dress was pulled up just enough to expose her ankles. Allie’s britches were rolled up to her knees; she was ready to pounce in the Pecatonica.
“Will, I betcha I can beat ya to that sandbar over there,” Allie challenged as she stepped into the river. Raising her eyebrows, she lifted her chin, placed her hands on her hips, and then pointed to a sandbar in the distance about a hundred yards downstream.
“Will, are ya hearin’ me?” she said. Her voice echoed to the other side of the river, causing a startled bullfrog to plunge into the river.
“Now, come on, Allie, why do you have to do this to me? We are sitting here having just a grand old time, and you want to make a contest out of everything!” Will shook his head, smiled, and looked down at his feet. He cocked his head and looked back up at her.
“Well, if you’re not gonna run with me, then maybe I should run with someone else!” she said, looking at Will. She cocked her head and repeated the challenge. “I suppose you think you can git to that sandbar one lickety-split ahead of me!”
Will glanced at Jenny and Aaron who smiled and gently nodded in approval. Will then rose up and stepped into the Pecatonica.
Allie continued. “I wanna give you a head start, seein’ as though you’re not used to river runnin’. So I’m gonna give you ten steps ahead of me to make sure I have somethin’ to run for.”
Will took ten steps ahead of her, deeper into the swirling water.
“When I say go, you best get runnin’ hard cuz I’m gonna beat you by te
n steps before you make it to the finish!”
Will turned nervously toward the sandbar. He stopped smiling. The thought of a sweetheart, or any woman, beating him in a race did not settle well with him. Even Aaron now had a look of concern.
Checking to make sure the race would be fair, Will took another look back again to see if Allie had moved up on him. She hadn’t. Looking at him with a wide confident grin on her face, she pointed and motioned him to go forward.
“You ready?” she asked as she crouched into a racing position.
Will, with a short nod, mimicked Allie’s stance. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow as he prepared for what he considered the run of his life. He knew he could always outrun Aaron, and in his mind he was running for more than just himself. Certainly the townsfolk would chuckle if word leaked out that he lost. So the race with Allie was a race for every man in Freeport.
“Go!” shouted Allie.
Will buried his feet deeply into the sand, then dashed toward the sandbar with his eyes fixed on the finish line. Each stride kicked up a violent spray of water reflecting radiant colors, like miniature rainbows. Tiny frogs along the muddy bank jumped for safety as the serenity of the river was broken by the unnatural sound of feet storming through the water.
Will had learned years ago to never look back during a footrace, knowing that if you looked over one shoulder, you could be passed on the other side. A turning head could also cause a rhythmic running motion to slow down. So he fixated his eyes on the sandbar, each arm rising in rythmic motion as he closed on the finish line. When he was just ten paces away, he realized a win was quickly going in his favor. Even so, he would not look back, so as he neared the finish line, he increased his high-stepping, furiously pulling his feet upward with wide arcs of water rainbowing as they fell to the river. He thought, Just two more steps…Just two more steps.
Within seconds, he fell across the dry sand at the finish line. Panting deeply, he picked himself up, gasping for breath. The waters of the Pecatonica settled back to its meandering flowing ways. Sand toads popped around him as he looked back at the friends.
And there stood Allie, firmly planted on the bank, with her hands on her hips and grinning widely. Hoots and gleeful hollers echoed across the expanse of the river. He suddenly realized that he had been duped by his sweetheart.
Allie placed her hands on her mouth as she bent forward and giggled and gasped for air.
Will smiled and waved back. He realized Allie had challenged him to demonstrate his manhood. She wanted him to show focus, strength, and purpose in achieving a goal, even a small goal, like racing to a sandbar. The race caused his love for Allie to run deeper than the shallow waters he crossed. He stood up now and took a bow as if he was on the stage of an opera house. Allie, Jenny, and Aaron clapped and shouted gleefully as Will stepped slowly back in the swirling waters of the Pecatonica.
“Build a fire!” Will shouted as he returned to the riverbank by the wigwam. “You owe me dry clothes, my sweet!”
The girls giggled and nodded in response.
Shuffling through the water, Will detected a faint but distinct echo downriver. He heard it again. It sounded like someone was shouting “friends” repeatedly. Stopping midriver, he put his hands to his knees and peered to the distance. His muscular legs were planted firmly, and the water waked in two wide V shapes.
“Do you hear that shout?” Will yelled with his hands now cupped around his mouth.
“I can’t hear anything,” Aaron replied.
“Me neither,” Allie and Jenny replied in unison.
Will signaled. “There it is again. I see someone is coming our way. He’s on this side of the river. Allie and Jenny, you best get into the wigwam. Aaron and I will meet whoever it is down the river a bit.” With this warning, Will high-stepped it back to the shore.
Jenny rushed into the wigwam. Allie waited outside, peering around the holly bushes that hid the entrance.
Will and Aaron were only yards from the wigwam when they heard the distinctive shout echo just a stone’s throw away.
“Friends!”
“Why, that’s Trick comin’ up the river,” Allie interjected as she walked up to Will and Aaron.
Jenny peeked out of the wigwam and slowly advanced to Aaron’s side.
Suddenly, Trick emerged through the high grasses and brush. He was not his normal jolly self. Sweat had matted his hair under his hat, which was soaked through the brim. He panted heavily. When he reached them, he dropped to his right knee, put his hands over his face, and wept loudly.
“What is with you, Trick?” Allie asked with a look of alarm. “You look as if ya lost a good friend. Why are you cryin’ so?”
Trick wept even louder as he buried his eyes in his forearm. His body shook sadly as each friend put a hand to his shoulder.
Only Allie had the gumption to speak, so she asked again, “My Lord, Trick, don’t tell me T.J. is hurt. Is somethin’ wrong with our dear friend T.J.?” Allie reached down and removed the wide-brimmed hat.
Trick looked up at her with tears streaming down both cheeks.
Allie placed her gentle hand on his cheek. “Trick,” she said kindly, “is T.J. safe and sound? Please, Trick, tell us!”
Trick drooped his head and then looked up at the friends. “Dear, Allie, oh dear, Allie,” Trick replied with tears welling in his dark-brown eyes. “T.J. is fine. He is huntin’ somewhere. I couldn’t find him, so I headed upriver to find all of you!”
Trick hesitated and gasped once more, and his voice cracked, “Oh dear, Allie, I have bad news for you.” He hesitated, looked down, and said in a soft, very soft, apologetic tone, “Elmer is dead.”
Trick’s words exploded like a crack of lightning in a dark sky. The friends gasped in horror in unison, and then there was an awkward pause. The swirling motion in the river looked as if it was in slow motion to Allie. The chirps of the birds and the croaks of the frogs fell silent to her ears. Everything looked different…as if she were cast into a dream.
“Why do you say that, Trick? How do you know?” Will asked directly.
“Yeah, Elmer is in Washington. There were no battles fought there!” Aaron added.
“It’s true, Allie. It’s in those papers,” Trick replied. “He was killed a takin’ a flag off the roof of a hotel in Virginia somewhere near Washington. The whole country is in mourning for him. Mr. Lincoln is ’specially so! Elmer was like a son to him. The papers say Lincoln called Elmer the greatest little man he ever met! The Lincoln boys even called him Uncle Elmer.”
Allie looked at the sky and then put her tiny hands over her face. Her blond hair fell down on both sides. She sobbed gently at first but then, in a frustrating flash, cried loudly. Her voice resonated on the river with each rising and deliberate word. “Oh, Elmer…my Elmer!…Why did ya have to put on that fancy ol’ uniform? I knew it would git ya killt someday!” She looked over at Will.
Will approached her and placed his arms around her gently as if cradling a newborn. Allie began to weep uncontrollably in the security of Will’s loving embrace. He, too, wondered how it could be possible that their mentor and friend, a hero, could vanish so quickly. Elmer was like a big brother to Allie, and now that brother was gone forever. Allie buried her face into Will’s shoulder. Her gasps slowly subsided as Will patted her back gently.
As she stood there, the rest of the friends approached her delicately and formed a circle around her. Nobody said a word. The trickling water continued to swirl. A red cardinal and a turtledove flickered above them through the boughs of the Indian oak tree.
Allie pulled her head up from Will’s shirt and looked into his tearful eyes. She gazed at the waters of the Pecatonica and then up at the sky, which was still a brilliant blue. She sniffled, looked to the Indian oak, and lowered her voice as she said solemnly, “Elmer, I met you on the river, and now you’ve crossed over the River Jordan. I’m sure you’ll be the best frogsticker and muskrat trapper those angels will ever know.”
Will smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and hugged her tightly.
Allie looked up and noticed white clouds drifting away in the distant blue sky. She placed her thumbs in the pockets of her britches and smiled, “Well, Elmer, I hope you liked the oak leaf we sent ya. Guess it don’t matter anymore. You were brave, and we will always be proud of you.” Her eyes connected in fleeting glances with all the friends as she composed herself with one last sniffle, which she wiped away on her forearm.
Everyone made gentle gestures to Allie and then departed in silence.
Aaron turned back toward Freeport, walking hand in hand with Jenny, who stepped gracefully over the exposed roots on the riverbank. Trick wandered a few paces downriver before stopping to stare at a swirling pool of water and then into the gray spaces beneath the submerged rocks and logs that angled into the water. When he reached a distant turn on the riverbank, he looked back at the wigwam and waved. He looked like a distant shadow now. Allie and Will returned the wave. Turning again downriver, he pulled his floppy hat down to his ears and continued home to find T.J.
Chapter 20
Galena
August, 1861
“Papa, Papa!” Ben shouted as he started up the zigzag stairs rising to the Smith home on High Street. His shiny black brogan boots shuffled on each stair as he rose above town in a furious effort to make it quickly to the door stoop. A long horn blast from a river barge on the Fever River below echoed upward to the lead mines above the house. The sound seemed to spur young Ben along.
Now fourteen, he could feel his muscles burning in his calves and thighs as he rushed up the wooden staircase that hugged the steep rocky slope. At the halfway point, he stopped and looked down at the letter in his hand that was addressed to his father, John E. Smith. After catching his breath, he resumed his climb.
“Ben! Ben! What’s the emergency?” John E. shouted from above.
FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story Page 13
