FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  Ben decided to save his reply until he reached the top of the stairs. He looked back toward town and the river where the barges were lined up, loaded with cargo.

  One barge blared its horn, making the sense of alarm more urgent to John E. “Ben! Is someone hurt?” he asked as his son neared.

  “No, Father! I have a letter for you,” Ben breathlessly exclaimed when he reached the top. Gasping as he handed the letter to his father, he said, “Father, it’s a letter from Congressman Washburne.”

  John E. took the beautifully scripted envelope from Ben. He pinched the corner of the envelope open just enough to place in a thumb, pulling it along the length to create an opening. Tilting his head to the side, he reached for his spectacles in the front pocket of his waistcoat. Glancing at Ben, he pulled out the letter from the envelope. He unfolded it and began reading. When he finished, he smiled and nodded thoughtfully.

  “Father, what is it? What does the letter say?” Ben asked.

  “Well, son, I will let you read it yourself.”

  Just then little Adelaide arrived. She had seen Ben from her bedroom and had come to investigate.

  “Father…Ben, what is it?” she asked.

  “Read aloud the letter, Ben, and then we will go see Mother,” John E. replied.

  Ben held the letter firmly and began reading in a slow, steady tone.

  H. of R.

  July 23, 1861

  My Dear Colonel:

  I have this morning called on the Secretary of War and got him to telegraph that he will accept a regiment from you, if ready for marching orders in 15 days. You should give immediate notice and I have no doubt you can get up a regiment in that time. Write to J. R. Howlett…to get up a company. He will want to be adjutant and I should be glad if he could.

  The disaster of Sunday does not seem to be quite so bad this morning but bad enough.

  I write in haste to go into the mail today.

  Yours, etc.

  E. B. Washburne 5

  When Ben finished reading the correspondence, he looked up at his father with pride.

  “What does this mean?” Adelaide asked.

  “It means Father will be a commander of a regiment one thousand men strong! He will be a colonel and fight the rebels down south!” Ben’s voice rose to a higher pitch. “He will whip those rebels for sure!”

  Adelaide looked confused and somewhat stunned by Ben’s remark.

  “Now hold on, Ben, let’s not get ahead of things,” his father said as he led the children back to the house. “I must raise a regiment first, and then we’ll head south…but only for a short time. We’ll be back in good order once this rebellion is put down quickly. Not to worry, Adelaide. Let’s go see Mother. She will want to know the news from our good congressman.”

  John E. placed his hand on Adelaide’s head. She looked up proudly, grabbed his hand, and kissed it. Then she frowned pensively, looked him in the eyes, and asked in a low voice that was almost a whisper, “Pappa, if you go down south, will you come home again?”

  John E. lifted his hand and gently stroked her curls as they stepped onto the door stoop, which creaked as they approached the front door. “Adelaide, your mother expects that I will always come home. I will not disappoint either of you. I love you so.”

  Ben placed the letter back in the envelope as if repacking a gift in its wrapping. When they reached the front door, he grasped the doorknob with his right hand and pulled it open. The door creaked loudly.

  “Mother, come quickly!”

  Original Letter

  From Congressman Elihu Washburne to Colonel John E. Smith

  Chapter 21

  Pecatonica River

  Freeport

  Early Autumn, 1861

  As always, wild plums and blackberries were thick along the Pecatonica this time of year. Turkeys darted in and out of the dense thickets on the shoreline farther downstream, competing with red and gray foxes that also feasted on the wild fruit, which would soon fall to the frost.

  The friends had arrived late morning and sat on the riverbank with their feet in the cool, swirling water, waiting for T.J. and Trick to pick a bounty on their way up the river from Buda. The misty fog that covered the water earlier in the morning had lifted now, and sunbeams filtered through gaps in the dense canopy of the Indian oak tree.

  “We gotcha a nice bunch here!” Trick called out as he pulled his haversack from his side to the front. “Lots of berries for pies, too! Jenny’s mom and Gramma Lucy will be busy tonight for sure. Best bring back pies to us tomorrow, Allie. I ’spect you will have your sleeves rolled up this evening rolling dough and scatterin’ flour all over the floor!” Trick smiled.

  “Trick, you best shut your smackers,” Allie quickly replied, “or you won’t get nothin’ tomorrow! Now, can you pass that haversack around like a gentleman?”

  The friends chuckled. Allie smiled, too.

  Suddenly, a high pitched “hatchooooo!” echoed out of the wigwam.

  The friends jumped to their feet and turned to face the entrance. T.J. grabbed his rifle, which was leaning on the Indian oak. They looked at each other with wide-eyed alarm.

  “Who’s in there?” Will demanded. “Come out! We have a gun.”

  There was silence.

  “Come out! We have a gun!” Will repeated.

  They heard the sound of shuffling feet inside the wigwam, and then two small hands appeared, pushing the holly bushes that obscured the entrance. A head then popped through.

  “Goodness, gracious,” Allie said with alarm, “It’s a Negro boy!” Allie looked at Will and continued. “Let me talk to him. He looks too scared.” Taking a few careful steps, she stopped a short distance from the wigwam entrance. She turned to T.J. and said slowly, “T.J., put your rifle back on the Injun oak tree.” Turning back to the boy, she said calmly, “Come out. We won’t hurt ya.”

  The branches moved again, and the intruder stepped out. He stood just over five feet tall and was dressed in butternut-colored britches with no shirt, just straps over his shoulders. His boots were muddy, shoddy leather with split seams. His big toe protruded from his left boot. As he inched closer to the friends, he trembled. In his hands he raised the wigwam tomahawk at an angle in front of him with the blade up over his curly black hair.

  “Please don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!” he said. “Li’l Joe be good!”

  He looked at Allie and then rested the head of the tomahawk on the ground. He dropped to his knees and looked at all the friends, his dark almond-shaped eyes welling up as he placed his face in his hands.

  “Please don’t shoot! Li’l Joe be good,” he repeated slowly, yet quieter this time. His trembling then became a pronounced shaking.

  Allie quickly rushed to him. “You’ll be safe now,” she said calmly. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. We are friends of the wigwam. You can trust us.” She then grabbed the boy by his elbows and gently lifted him up. Looking directly into his eyes, she smiled and then hugged him until the boy’s trembling faded away. In a moment the friends were beside them, and Trick placed his right hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “We’ll all take care of ya,” Allie said calmly.

  The boy nodded his head and smiled. He picked up the tomahawk and handed it to Allie as a turtledove’s call broke the silence and echoed downriver.

  “Whoo-da-loo, hoo, hoo!”

  It was repeated again, this time closer to the wigwam.

  “Crazy, that ain’t no turtledove,” Trick said. “Turtledoves do three ‘hoos.’ They go ‘whoo-da-loo, hoo, hoo, hoo!’ Listen again.”

  Another call with two “hoos” clearly sounded, this time close by the bend in the river where Trick and T.J. turned before returning home.

  “Hush, everyone,” Will said. “T.J., grab your rifle.”

  T.J. darted over to Indian oak and retrieved it.

  The friends remained motionless peering at the bend just forty yards away. The loud snap of a branch cracked through the silence, followed
by a tail smacking on the water by an alarmed beaver.

  Motioning urgently, Will said, “Quick! Everyone get inside the wigwam. Bring the boy!”

  Allie grabbed the tomahawk, and they all dashed through the holly barrier. Allie placed the tomahawk by the medicine bag and sat down next to the boy. She extended her hand to him. He grabbed it and smiled.

  Will peered through the holly and looked downriver. A moment later a dark figure of a man with a noticeable limp rounded the bend. He wore a large brown slouch hat that flapped to each side and also forward, casting a shadow on his face. After a few more steps, he raised a large fife to his lips as his haversack swung loosely by his side. Soon a “whoo-da-loo, hoo, hoo” broke the silence again. He stopped and placed the fife in his haversack. He then squatted on the riverbank, raised his hand to his right ear, and peered inquisitively through the mist that was rising upriver. A deep-red cardinal tweeted and disappeared quickly. Feeling secure, he dropped the haversack and turned, taking deliberate steps to the wigwam entrance.

  “T.J., grab your rifle and follow me quickly! The rest of you stay here!” Will whispered as he grabbed the tomahawk from the wall and pushed through the holly bushes.

  In a flash both boys formed on each side of the intruder. Will raised the tomahawk with both hands. T.J. pointed his rifle directly at the man’s shadowy face, causing the slouch hat to fall.

  “Raise your hands!” Will commanded.

  The stranger stepped back and raised his hands high.

  In a moment the friends pushed outside, all except Allie who firmly gripped the boy’s hand inside the wigwam.

  As Jenny and Trick stood behind Will and T.J., they stared at the stranger in silence. Before them was a black man, medium height, about twenty years old. The man nodded his head as he smiled.

  “Who are you? Why are you here?” Will demanded.

  There was a slight hesitation as the stranger looked at both Will and T.J.

  “Gentlemen, my name is Richard Blue. I am a free black. I was born in Ohio, and I now run the farm of Judge James Rayburn from Bloomington. And you, sirs, whom do I have the pleasure of acquaintance? Are you from Missouri?”

  Will and T.J. turned to each other with perplexed looks. The stranger was a gentleman who could speak more polished than anyone they had ever heard in town.

  “No, sir,” Will replied, “we are from Freeport.”

  “And what are your names?”

  “This is T.J. Lockwood, and I am William Erwin.”

  “I am looking for a young Negro boy. Have you seen him?”

  “Yes,” Will replied cautiously. He did not want to reveal where the boy was until he knew more about the stranger.

  “And where did you find him?”

  Suddenly, Allie pushed through the holly branches and confronted the stranger. Placing her hands on her hips she said, “Why do ya want to know where the boy is?”

  “Miss, it is a pleasure meeting you, too. I see you know about the cave. Is the boy in there still?

  The branches pushed away again, and the boy came through. He ran to the stranger and hugged him around the waist.

  “Li’l Joe, we will be safe now,” the stranger said. “These nice people are not slave catchers. They are not from Missouri.”

  The friends were quiet. No one knew what to say, except Allie.

  “Was that you blowin’ the fife downriver?”

  “Yes, miss. Thank you for asking,” he replied kindly.

  “Well, ya don’t know that turtledoves around these part have three ‘hoos’ not two! They go ‘hoo-da-loo, hoo, hoo, hoo.’ ”

  “Well, thank you for noticing,” the stranger replied as he nodded to the friends. “I am aware of that fact and am impressed with your knowledge of such a wonderful bird. I changed the bird call so that Li’l Joe would know it was me. It is our signal. I was gathering food for us.”

  “Well do ya know that those doves are married for life?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s a wonderful thing.”

  “Well, you have some reckonin’ to do,” Allie said with more conviction. “Li’l Joe was in our secret wigwam. It’s no secret no more since ya both know now.”

  “Well, thank you. I assure you we will keep your place secret for all of our interests and will gladly answer any other questions you may have during our time together. Would it be in your kind graces to place those weapons aside? Would you like berries and plums from my haversack? Can we eat in the cave so I can tell you about our journey here? You may call me Blue. That is my preference.”

  “Sure, Blue,” Will replied with relief. “Come on, friends. We’re anxious to hear how you found us.”

  Soon everyone returned and sat around the light beam again with Li’l Joe nearest to the light. It was noon now, and the sunbeam was almost vertical. Blue took his haversack, opened it, and held it in the light. The deep-purple plums and succulent blackberries were passed around as if in an Indian ritual. The savory fruit silenced everyone as the haversack was passed around a second and third time.

  Li’l Joe smiled at each of the friends, exposing an innocent countenance that quickly drew them closer to him. Blue nodded at Li’l Joe and then asked, “Li’l Joe, can I tell our new friends about your journey and our story?” The boy, his grin growing wider, nodded.

  “I promise I will not beleaguer you with too many details,” Blue said. “I will be brief.”

  Blue looked up at the sunbeam and then at the friends, pausing to make good eye contact with each of them.

  “Li’l Joe is a runaway slave born in Ray County, Missouri. He was a farmhand since childhood. His father, Conrad, was a slave on the same plantation. Both with the last name Arbuckle. The foreman of the plantation was a cruel man. He beat both father and son every time he had the opportunity. Li’l Joe always cried out ‘Li’l Joe be good’ as he was being beaten by the hickory stick. He called out, pleading to his father until the foreman called it off. Conrad decided one day that they had had enough of the beatings and waited for the next full moon so they could escape under the cover of night. That is what most runaways do, so as not to be found in daylight and returned to their masters by the slave catchers. So about a month ago, they both escaped and traveled for a week following the Missouri River east to the Mississippi River at St. Louis. On the other side of the river is Alton, Illinois, where the people accept and take care of runaways. These people, you may know, are called abolitionists. They hide them in their homes to keep them safe. So now you know why I asked if you were from Missouri. I thought with your rifle, you were slave catchers from there.”

  “How did they both cross the Mississippi River to Alton?” Aaron asked.

  Li’l Joe’s eyes began to well up, and he placed his face in his hands.

  “Do you want me to continue, Li’l Joe?” Blue asked.

  Li’l Joe hesitated, looked at the friends, and then nodded slowly.

  “Well, when Conrad and Li’l Joe got to St. Louis, they prepared to cross the Mississippi River into Illinois, our free state. They secured a rowboat under cover of night, but it was not a full moon. It was pitch black. They could see the lights on the shore at Alton, and then decided to set forth. The distance at that point is about a half-mile wide.”

  “What happened next?” Allie asked. “Why is Li’l Joe so sad right now?”

  “Well, about one hundred yards from the Illinois shore, a steamer transport came within a few feet of their rowboat and swamped it. It flipped over, and father and son slipped into the dark water. Conrad immediately grabbed Li’l Joe and paddled him to the overturned rowboat. It took him a long time to get Li’l Joe to the boat, but he succeeded, and Li’l Joe grabbed onto the bow. His father then grabbed onto the stern and paddled his feet, rapidly pushing the rowboat closer and closer to safety. As they neared the shore, a second steamer groaned by, and another big wave lapped over them. Li’l Joe held on tightly to the bow, caught his breath, and then looked behind him. His father had slipped away into the darkness.
”

  Li’l Joe began to sob. Allie’s, Jenny’s, and the boy’s eyes welled up as they tried to hold back their tears.

  “Did they ever find his father?” Jenny asked as she dabbed her eyes with a kerchief.

  “We don’t know what became of him,” Blue replied. “The last words he said to Li’l Joe were, ‘If we can get to Illinois, look for the soldiers in blue. Look for the boys in blue. They will help us get free!’”

  “So how did Li’l Joe find you?” Will asked.

  Blue raised his haversack to offer more fruit. “You must tell nobody from this day forward what I am about to tell you. And I promise as an oath to God to never reveal this cave, your wigwam, to anyone. Are we clear on our promises to each other?”

  “Yes, Blue, and we have an oath as friends of the wigwam,” replied Aaron. “Will and I were the first to find this special place.” Aaron then reached into the dark shadows on the cave wall and picked up the glass mirror positioning it in the light. “I cut my palm with this mirror the day we found the wigwam four years ago. After binding up the wound, Will and I shook hands in this light and became the first secret friends of the wigwam. All of the friends here have also placed their hands in the light. We recite a verse from the Good Book, too. Do you and Li’l Joe wish to join us as friends?”

  Blue looked over at Li’l Joe. They both nodded and smiled.

  Aaron and Will then shuffled to the center of the wigwam. Each of the friends followed suit, placing their right hand with their palms facing up into the glowing light. The scar on Aaron’s palm was still prominent.

  Will looked across the light to Allie and smiled, “Allie, will you please recite the Bible verse to us that Gramma Lucy taught you?”

  “Yes, please, dear friends, let’s be puttin’ our hands together,” she replied. “Let’s bow our heads so I can rightly say the verse.”

  She glanced at everyone, paused for a moment, and then continued in a soft, solemn tone. “As the good Lord says, I will not forget you. I have carved you on the palm of my hand.” She then raised her head and smiled.

  Blue then broke the silence, “Thank you, friends…Li’l Joe and I will keep our solemn oath to never reveal this place. Do you agree, Li’l Joe?”