The alarmed Confederates attempted a few shots, but the minié balls were fired in haste and too high to have any effect. They turned on their heels and headed at a full run back up the slope.
Black Hawk and Smith trampled and cut their way through the gray-clad warriors. Screams intermixed with a clash of bayonets as blue-and gray-clad soldiers grappled at close quarters. Soon the field was steeped in red blood.
“Surrender, you damned rebels, or we will cut you all down!” screamed Captain Cowan. Similar shouts were echoed down the line.
Black Hawk continued his pursuit up the ridge, galloping around and through the remaining Confederates like a sheepdog encircling them and containing any movement of further retreat. “Put down your muskets, and you will be spared!” Smith ordered.
The exhausted rebels dropped their muskets, raised their hands, turned, and headed to the Union lines. Smith dismounted and led Black Hawk by the reins as they escorted the captured troops. Other Confederates fed into the procession, surrounding the two as if to secure protection from another Yankee onslaught. The procession continued to the center of the field where the Lead Mine Regiment and Fifty-Third Ohio now stood in a grand arc before the Confederates.
As the contingent neared, a color sergeant lifted the regimental flag of the Forty-Fifth. The national colors was also raised. A stout but muffled command was heard somewhere down the line followed by “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” The victory on this field was complete.
Cowan snapped his sword in his black leather scabbard and stepped proudly out of the ranks. “Colonel, we sure gave ’em hell today!” Cowan announced loud enough for the men nearest them to hear.
“Good work, Captain! We have lived to see another day. Go bind the wounds and get all these men back to the ravine. I am sure this won’t be the end of it.” Smith saluted Cowan and then took off his hat and waved it to the blue line, receiving joyful hoots and hollers in return. Placing his hat to his crown again, he bent over and whispered in Black Hawk’s ear. He touched the still-streaming wound with his left hand. Gently reining his young battle horse back toward the ravine so to minimize the pain of his wound, Smith proceeded at a slow gait.
The Confederate sniper who had wounded Black Hawk was still in a comfortable perch in the trees beyond the field. He now had one last chance to bag a Yankee officer. As he leveled his Whitworth target rifle and closed his left eye, he could see the dreamy silhouette of a horse and rider moving slowly and rhythmically through the smoky battlefield to the woods where the conflict had started. He took a deliberate deep breath and placed his forefinger on the set trigger of the long rifle. Placing the bead from the front site on his prey, he peered once more through the dust of the field to get a clear shot. Blinking once to clear his vision, he blinked once more, and the dark shadow of horse and rider disappeared into the trees.
Original Letter
From Congressman Elihu Washburne to Colonel John E. Smith
Chapter 24
Camp Near Shiloh
May 3, 1862
Captain Cowan picked up his pen.
It was near midnight now. A flicker of light from a wax candle kept his tent cozy as he prepared to close out the day. He sat in his folding tent chair, which he had positioned by his cot at the back of the tent so as to obtain some sense of privacy as he prepared to write. The candle was embedded in the rifle port of a bayonet that was implanted firmly in the middle of his tent deep in the Tennessee soil. The candle, as centered, cast a perfect glow for his nightly writing projects.
He looked at his own shadow on the tent wall as he dipped his pen in a rosewood ink bottle that his wife, Harriett, had given him the day he headed south with the Forty-Fifth Lead Mine Regiment. It was time to write home again. His thoughts returned to Freeport and his dance with Molly at the Saengerbund Christmas Ball. He thought he should write to the whole family this time: his wife, Harriet; his youngest daughter, Phine; his little boy, Georgie; and, of course, Molly.
Scratching his head with both hands, he then pulled his spectacles from his side pocket. Placing them securely on the bridge of his nose, he looked at the tent ceiling in contemplation. Shifting the blank sheet of paper at an angle on his folding field desk, he put pen to paper.
My dear little Phine:
I am in a great hurry now, I have been writing all day since I got up. I have to make out pay rolls for the company… descriptive rolls for all the men that are sick and wounded, and I have at the same time to attend to company drills, inspection and all business of the kind and now, since Lt. Baugher is wounded, I have every bit of the writing to do.
I only weigh about 140 pounds. I lost thirty pounds in weight in about ten days when I was sick but I believe I am going to be tough as ever now. We are expecting to be attacked where we are now; our men are ordered to be ready all the time, I have just inspected the guns of the company and furnished cartridges to all, so as to be ready.
George:
Be a good boy ’till I come home. I have a lot of nice things in my trunk which I intend to give you and Phine and Molly, which I have picked up on the different battle fields.
Molly:
I wish you would try to have George learn to read this summer if he shows any disposition to do it. I don’t think it is best to crowd him too much but if he gets started at it he will like it better. I feel a great solicitude for all your health and education.
Harriet:
You need not be uneasy about me…I have never felt better, and if the bullets don’t catch me I think I shall be able to stand it all right…I have a presentiment that I am not to be hurt in battle, though ever so much exposed and am not afraid at all.
It is not worth while to begin to write adventures now; I will tell them when the War is over. When I can sit in the corner and spin yarns that will probably not be believed though ever so true…I don’t look upon it to be so awful to die on the field of battle—those who were wounded and died soon seemed to care for nothing other than the safety of their comrades and victory; their last words being invariably cheering their brother soldiers and telling them never to give up…
Yours,
L. H. Cowan
Field Shiloh, Tenn.
May 3, 1862 7
Cowan laid the pen on the corner of his desk. He could write no more. Grabbing the letter, he placed it on his cot so the ink could dry. Turning back, he bent forward and folded both arms on the desk. He let out a long sigh, buried his face in his sleeves, and nodded off to sleep.
The candle’s flame continued to flicker.
Chapter 25
Washburne Home
Washington, DC
Late Spring, 1862
Thousands of Union volunteers continued to pour into Washington for another staging effort to crush the rebellion. Tents were pitched everywhere including the White House lawn, the Washington Monument green, and other public spaces. The shouts of excited sergeants directing marching drills filled the air from dawn to dusk.
Washburne could be found most days stepping through muddy, manured streets or through clouds of dust when the roadways were baked dry. Every day he made routine visits to influential businessmen and politicians around the Capitol Plaza. He was acutely aware of the struggles and privations of his home district’s troops and wanted to help them as best he could.
The congressman thought often and fondly about Colonel John E. Smith. Though he had not seen him for months, he had heard of his bravery at Shiloh from letters from Galena and also Union officers who offered up toasts to him at Washington’s Willard hotel bar.
As he gazed out from a second-floor window of his small frame house, he could see the Capitol dome still under construction even though the southern states had clearly seceded from the Union. He felt agonized by the thought of it all, and was intrigued, even awed, by Lincoln’s mandate to keep the dome moving to completion despite the war.
He picked up his quill, poked it in a small rosewood inkwell, pulled a crisp sheet of linen paper out of
his desk, and positioned the paper at its center. He looked out the window at the dome again, thought back to Galena and the boys, and then began to write.
House of Representatives
June 20, 1862
Mr. President,
Before the hopper of Brigadier Generals is entirely ground out, I want you to put in one name more, that of the brave and noble John E. Smith, Colonel of the Washburne Leadmine Regiment, 45th Illinois Volunteers. John E. is one of our old friends, and I will undertake to say that there is no regiment in the Service that has done harder and better service than the brave Leadminers. When at Cairo on their way to the Seat of war, they numbered one thousand. The regiment was at Henry and at Donelson, and at Pittsburgh landing (Shiloh) fought with superhuman courage, coming out of that battle with only two hundred forty men fit for service. Between two and three hundred were killed and wounded at that battle…
The Forty-fifth Illinois, being the last to fall back, only escaped being surrounded and captured by boldly cutting their way through the closing circle of the enemy’s lines and joining the division, under the daring lead of Colonel and Major Smith, of that regiment.
It already appears that Col. Smith and Major Smith of the Forty-fifth Illinois, signally distinguished themselves by their exemplary constancy and indomitable courage.
We have been entirely overlooked in the northwestern corner of our State. We are so much isolated up there from the other portions of the State; we have never been considered of any account except to spend our money and pile up the majorities. Your friends in Stephenson and Jo Daviess that fought for you in 1858, in that Senatorial District with desperation never equaled in the State since you and I have been in politics, would feel deeply grateful for a recognition by the appointment of Colonel Smith.
I am
Very Truly
E. B. Washburne 8
Washburne laid down his quill. He reached over to a brandy snifter that he kept on his desk and poured a splash into a crystal shot glass. He looked again at the Capitol building. It was dusk. The afternoon shadows lifted now from the grass-laden, mostly muddy field before it, trampled daily by laborers and soldiers. Soon, a vermillion sun seemed to balance itself on top of the dome, hesitate, then descend into a blue-gray sky causing translucent rays to beam through the white columns. He paused for a moment, raised the glass to his lips, then gently placed it down. The sun will rise again on the Capitol dome tomorrow, he reflected, and will always shine brightly on the union of our states.
It was getting dark now, so he took a last sip, and retired to the small sofa bed by his desk.
Chapter 26
Wigwam
Pecatonica River
Summer, 1862
“Where’s Will?” Trick shouted as he passed under the arch of the old Indian oak. T.J., as always, was close by his side.
“He’s in town!” Allie replied abruptly. “He’s doin’ his chores and won’t be along right yet. And why haven’t ya caught any channel cat yet? Does your cane pole need someone else to hold it?”
“Allie, come on now, you are always getting your digs in me! Can we just be friends today without ya knockin’ me around with your words?”
T.J. smiled and looked at Allie, Jenny, and Aaron, who were sitting in the shadows. Aaron shook his head. Jenny giggled.
“Well, Trick, do ya think friends should help friends?” Allie raised her chin and put her hands on her hips, waiting for a response.
“Well, rightly so, Allie. What are you a wantin’ me to do?”
“Well, last time I asked you to climb up that tree. Do ya remember?”
“Yes, I do, Allie,” Trick replied as he pulled off his wide-brimmed, sweat-stained hat. He rubbed his brow with his sleeve. His cane fishing pole was fixed by his side like a soldier’s musket. He continued, “I was fixin’ to make it there and back on that Injun oak bow, but got a little wet, you see! I did get the oak leaf for Elmer though!”
“I ’spect that leaf never made it to him,” Allie said as she turned away and looked upriver where she and Elmer used to walk. For a moment she felt a tinge of sadness but then caught herself and looked back at Trick. After forcing a smile, she continued. “Well, Mr. Trick, my dear friend, would you mind a climbin’ up that Injun oak and tyin’ a swingin’ rope up there?”
Trick scratched his head and looked at T.J. He then looked at the rest of the friends, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Sure! I will do anythin’ for my wigwam friends.”
Handing his cane pole over to T.J., Trick reached down and pulled his britches over his portly belly. “I think I best tighten’ up my britches again. I think my brogans will hold like chicken feet this time ’cause the bark on that ol’ oak looks akin to climbin’ now.”
As Trick looked down and pulled his belt tighter, Allie grinned at T.J. and then turned quickly back to the others. She placed her right forefinger on her lips to silence everyone for the moment.
“Well, where’s that rope, Allie? These ol’ chicken feet are ready!”
“I placed it on the other side of the tree,” replied Allie.
Trick nodded, pulled his britches, once again, over the roll of his belly, and waddled confidently to the base of the tree. He looked down at the large roots that secured the oak into the bank but could not see the rope.
“Allie, I’m lookin’ where ya told me, but I can’t see it. Can ya show me where it is?”
“Sure, Trick,” She sauntered to the base of the tree, turned to the friends, and winked.
“I suppose it slipped into the sand down there,” Aaron said.
Trick stooped over, peering into the deep water below the Indian oak, his hands on his knees. He looked at T.J., shook his head in disappointment, and then looked at the other friends.
“Oh, there it is!” Allie cried out as she approached him from behind.
“I don’t rightly see it!” Trick replied.
“Right there—get closer!” Allie pointed to the water at the base of the tree.
Trick craned his neck and peered deeper into the river. It only took a slight nudge from Allie.
Like a house of cards collapsing, Trick plunged headlong into the Pecatonica River. In a moment he bobbed up like a cork and flapped his arms wildly. The smacking of his arms on the water and the giggles and hoots from the shore echoed down the river.
“Allie, I’m a-gonna git you for this one!” he shouted as he flapped his arms, pulling himself closer to the shore. In a moment he was back by the roots of the old oak.
Allie raced inside the wigwam, laughing all the way. Aaron and Jenny looked at each other and continued to laugh. T.J. shook his head and chuckled as Trick clambered onto the riverbank and jumped to his feet. He disappeared into the wigwam.
“No, no, Trick. No…no,” Allie giggled loudly.
Trick emerged from the wigwam with Allie in his arms like a groom carrying his bride. Allie kicked and screamed with a nervous laugh.
“Jenny, Jenny, help me!” Allie cried out as Trick carried her to the water hole.
Jenny jumped up in her petticoat and raced over to cut off Trick before he could toss her into the water. Aaron followed, chuckling all the way.
“Jenny, Aaron, help!” Allie giggled helplessly.
Trick continued his march to the riverbank.
“Come on now, Trick. It was just a joke,” Jenny implored. “Put her down. She didn’t mean a thing!”
Trick looked at the others with a glint in his eye and smiled. He stood one foot from the drop zone.
Allie extended her hand in one last desperate motion, and Jenny grabbed it.
“OK, you two,” Trick warned, “you best let go of her hand, Jenny, or that nice petticoat of yours will end up like a dishrag!”
“No, I’m not letting go,” Jenny replied. “Come on now, Trick. It was just a joke!”
Aaron grabbed Jenny’s hand. He started to pull all of them back from the river. Jenny with both arms outstretched held on firmly.
“Ya bes
t let go!” screamed Trick lightheartedly. He looked at T.J., who smiled and nodded at his good friend.
“Ya best let go, or I’ll take you all into the hole!” he warned again.
Aaron began to pull harder. The girls giggled and screamed.
Trick flexed his muscles, squatted, and leaned toward the river, and like dominoes falling in formation, everyone plunged into the water.
As they emerged, the shouts and hoots echoed again.
“Trick, I’m gonna slap you silly!” Jenny cried out as she gasped for air and slapped the water to pull herself up.
“Hee, hee,” Trick shouted back with glee, “your momma’s gonna slap ol’ Aaron when she sees he couldn’t keep you outa this river!”
Aaron waved his arms, grabbed Jenny’s hand, and moved to the shore. He gasped for a breath and said, “You got us good, Trick. You got no qualms with me.”
“Hee, hee…I suppose Allie won’t be a pushin’ me, britches and all, in no rivers again!”
Allie dog-paddled over to Trick. She placed her hands securely on his shoulders. “You got me good, Trick. Now, be a good friend and git me back to the wigwam. We best light a fire and git these clothes dry, or we’ll be dealin’, I ’spect, with Fire Marshal Putnam. That petticoat cost a fine penny, I’m sure!”
After a few more gasps and giggles, the friends moved to the muddy shore. Sand toads hopped away before them. T.J., standing like a sentry on the bank, reached out to each of his friends and pulled them onto the bank with ease.
Suddenly a huge crack of twigs broke the silence just a short distance away, followed by the shout, “Yee hah! Yee hah!”
“That’s Will!” Aaron exclaimed.
FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story Page 17
