FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  Trick reached over and grabbed the kepi full of pennies and shook it. He looked at the others and said, “We are friends of the wigwam, right?”

  Will, Aaron, and T.J. nodded.

  Trick smiled, nodded, tilted his head to the side and said, “Well, then, I will tell y’all the simple secret…Ol’ Dixie, like us friends, don’t rightly like to have her feet to the fire.”

  His grin was even wider now as he giggled. “Hee, hee…the secret is leavin’ your plate on a hot rock ’til the contest begins. That heat sure makes ol’ Dixie move all those little feet fast to get off that tin!”

  The boys looked at each other, chuckled, and shook their heads in amusement. A moment later they were pensively staring into the fire, the lighthearted mood now a memory. They wondered what Jenny and Allie were up to.

  Chapter 32

  Wigwam

  Pecatonica River

  Autumn, 1862

  There was a hush on the river.

  The childish echoes that once rose above the deep pools were gone. The boys were not there anymore. A quiet network of red and yellow leaves dropped from the Injun oak jarred by a short gust of autumn breeze. The leaves fell to the water, mixing with other greenery coming from miles up north. The colored network swirled around the deep pool that Trick had plunked his cane pole in. As if waiting for the right moment to move on, the leaves continued silently downriver as if pulled by a mysterious force.

  Allie stood on the riverbank in front of the wigwam. She thought of the great times the friends had had over the years. From her first meeting with Jenny, Will, and Aaron…and then the boys from Buda, T.J. and Trick, who always announced themselves in a raucous manner. She remembered Trick falling off the Injun oak, her pushing him in the river, their frolicking and laughter that once was common here. She also thought of Elmer.

  She looked to the other side of the river at the dragon-footed tree, where T.J. and Trick once popped up their curious heads as they peered across the river with rifles and fishing poles in hand. She smiled and shook her head in silence. She wondered how far south the boys were. She looked up at the Injun oak tree and dazzled at the array of color. She felt a sense of peace now. A tender voice broke the silence.

  “Allie, is that you?”

  “Yes, dear friend, it is me,” replied Allie as she stepped from the wigwam entrance to get a better view.

  “I have the clothes and hat for you,” replied Jenny, holding a smartly folded bundle with a large broad-brimmed hat on top. She placed the bundle under her arms and then entered the wigwam with Allie holding back the thick holly branch that disguised the entrance.

  “Did ya bring the shears, too?” asked Allie as she gently reached for the bundle.

  “Yes.”

  “Did your mom see you pull ’em from the sewin’ room?”

  “No,” Jenny replied as she reached into the bundle and pulled out the fancy cutting shears. “I hid them in the bundle, so she couldn’t see them.”

  “Well, I rolled this ol’ stump in here, so we best get it over and done with.”

  Allie bent over and slowly positioned herself so that the light from the roof of the wigwam shone squarely on her golden locks, which now reached her shoulders. She could see her shadow on the wall above the medicine bag still tucked in its place. Jenny stood behind her and raised the shears, casting a distorted shadow that rose to the ceiling.

  “Are you sure you want me to do it?” Jenny asked softly.

  “Yes, Jenny, it has to be done today.”

  There was a slight, awkward hesitation, and then Jenny squeezed the shears. With each deliberate clip, golden locks dropped. Allie squinted as if she was wincing from pain. But the pain was all internal and tied to her convictions. She caught herself and straightened her back so Jenny could get a better grip.

  Jenny remained silent.

  “Well, Jenny, I ’spect if Gramma Lucy can fight off those Injuns, I reckon I can fight those rebels, too!”

  Jenny did not respond.

  “Jenny, did ya hear what I said?” said Allie, sharply. The shadow of the cutting shears reflected upward as Jenny stepped back, pointing the sharp blades to the ceiling.

  Jenny stepped over to Allie’s side and put her hand on her shoulder.

  “Allie, lady folk are better off taking care of things at home. You best leave the fighting down south to the men. And besides, even though I cut your hair, I suspect the recruiting officer will size you up and send you home. I am only cutting your hair because I know it will grow back. If you go down south, you may never come back!” Jenny caught herself. She was not a woman of words and felt that she had overstepped her boundaries. Allie was her friend, and she wondered now if she had hurt her feelings. She looked down at Allie and caught her glance. There was a twinkle in Allie’s eyes.

  “Don’t see much good about stayin’ up here while the boys are down there,” said Allie slowly. “I just keep thinkin’ about Will, and it breaks my heart. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doin’. I fear for him. I don’t want my sweetheart taken away like Elmer.”

  Both fell silent.

  “Allie, you do what you have to do. If you can fool those recruiting officers, I will know because you won’t be here at the wigwam this Sunday. You know I can’t take that trip to Belvidere with you. Have you told Gramma Lucy that you’re going south?”

  “Yes, and I swore her to secrecy like a friend of the wigwam.”

  “Well, let me finish this up for you, Allie, so you can be on your way.”

  “Make sure ya keep my ears, Jenny,” replied Allie in a quirky way. “I’m gonna need them to hear those rebel guns when they are a comin’.”

  “You best stay away from those muskets, Allie. You must be careful. You promise?”

  Allie nodded gently as the shears rose up, again casting strange shadows on the walls. Allie’s sandy-blonde strands of hair dropped to the dirt floor of the wigwam as both girls remained silent, as if a special ritual was at hand.

  “I am finished,” Jenny said awkwardly. “Now pick up that hat and see how it fits on your head!”

  Allie stood up and immediately ran her fingers over her cropped head. She smiled. Staring at the beam of light for a moment, her eyes darted to and fro. She then picked up the wigwam’s mirror and looked at her reflection and nodded gently. “Thank you, Jenny. I best be goin’ now.”

  “Well, get these clothes on, and don’t forget your hat,” replied Jenny in a motherly way. “I’ll walk with you up to the river bend. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  The holly branch brushed noisily across the wigwam entrance as Jenny pushed her way outside. She waited. It seemed like an eternity. Visions of the quiet grandeur of the riverbank clouded her mind. She thought of the boys and how they frolicked outside the wigwam. She could feel her angst growing as she realized that Allie was truly leaving. She gambled, though, on the thought that Allie’s ruse would not work. How could it, she thought. Allie was only five feet three…and a woman. She shook her head at the thought, and then tears began to well in her eyes. If Allie could pull it off, she may never see her again.

  A rush of wind caused more leaves to fall from the Injun oak tree. The breeze seemed to whisper, gently mixing with the Jenny’s quiet sobs. She placed her face in her hands and turned away from the wigwam so Allie would not see her.

  She felt an assuring hand on her shoulder and turned around.

  “Now, Jenny, you best not cry about me. I will write you.”

  “You’re the last to go, Allie!” sobbed Jenny. “If you go, there won’t be anyone here anymore. I fear that you and the boys may never come back!” Her gasps broke up her verbal yearnings. Tears flowed down both her cheeks…then she started to giggle a bit as she looked at Allie with her floppy hat, which was now oversized and dropped down to her ears. She looked like a circus rider with her baggy pantaloons rolled over and cuffed at the ankles, forming a tight fit over her mud-splattered boots.

  Jenny giggled again. They bo
th smiled.

  “I hope your mother has no need for the colonel’s hat and clothes,” chimed in Allie as they started upriver toward the bend. She continued. “ I ’spect he won’t be needin’ ’em for a while now that he’s wearin’ that fancy blue uniform. I’ll be sendin’ them back to you once I get my new blue suit.”

  Jenny nodded.

  As they walked the half mile to the bend, a breeze picked up again, sending more leaves downward. The blend of hickory, oak, and willow leaves cascaded into the water and carpeted the river. It was noon now, and Allie wanted to make it to Belvidere by midafternoon. She needed to hurry along.

  “Good-bye, my dear friend,” said Allie with a smile. “You will keep my secret won’t you?”

  Jenny began to sob again. “Yes, Allie, you are my best of friends. I will love you always.” Remembering what Allie had said when the boys marched off to war, Jenny straightened up and calmly said, “I will not forget you. I have carved you on the palm of my hand.”

  The girls hugged. They didn’t know what to say to each other. Allie started to say something, but hesitated. In the awkward silence, only the trickling waters of the Pecatonica could be heard. She then took a deep breath, turned, and began a slow deliberate walk upriver. When she reached a large, majestic willow tree near the river bend, she stopped and turned back to get another glimpse of Jenny. The willow’s brilliant, yellow branches swayed gently with the breeze, framing Allie in a wonderful way. After pausing for a quick moment, Allie slowly raised her hand.

  Jenny waved back, hoping that this beautiful memory of Allie would not be her last.

  Chapter 33

  Recruiting Station

  Ninety-Fifth Illinois Volunteer Infantry

  Belvidere, Illinois

  Next Day

  The trip to the recruiting station was uneventful for Allie.

  As she walked up from the Rock River, she could hear a band playing in the distance. The tunes were strikingly familiar, like the rousing songs played in Freeport when the boys enlisted. She could hear “Rally ’Round the Flag” followed by “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” She wondered if her disguise would bring her success. Pulling her hat down smartly across her forehead, she adjusted her pants; placed her right palm into her shirt between the middle buttons in a Napoleonic pose; and then walked forward in an irregular military gait, stepping to the music as if she were the “little corporal” himself. Arriving at the town square, she settled into the crowd of onlookers who were roused by the beat of the drums and swayed by the patriotic air of the moment. She looked intensely at the rousing spectacle, until her silence was broken by a booming voice that rose above the gaiety. It was directed at her.

  “Son, can I help you find your way to the recruiting officer?” asked a straightlaced lieutenant with a full beard.

  Startled and taken aback, Allie coughed, cleared her throat, and replied cautiously, “And who are you, sir?”

  “My name is Henry Bush. I am an officer with Company G of the Ninety-Fifth Illinois Infantry. My brother, Elliott, is the captain of the company, and he is recruiting over at the general store. Have you come here to enlist?” The lieutenant stared directly into Allie’s eyes. She did not flinch.

  “Yes, sir, I’d be rightly honored to be in your company!”

  Allie then pushed her hand closer into her shirt and continued. “And I have buddies that are lickin’ the rebs with the Ninety-Third Illinois from Freeport. I had to keep good watch on my Gramma Lucy ’cause she ain’t no spring chicken anymore. But she sent me along now, so I can lick a few rebs for her, too!”

  Lieutenant Bush raised his eyebrows slightly.

  Allie realized she was rambling, so she stopped and waited for the officer’s reply. “Yankee Doodle Dandy” kicked up again, breaking the silence.

  “Well, let me introduce you to Captain Bush, young man.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Allie nervously.

  “Follow me,” added the lieutenant.

  As they approached a general store, they could see a thick gathering of excitable young men forming around the entrance. Allie began to feel uncomfortable at the thought of joining this band of men. She hesitated for a moment but then pushed forward into the crowd. Being the smallest, she snaked her way ahead of the lieutenant and managed to fall to the very front of the gathering of volunteers.

  On the opposite wall from the door was a counter that extended the width of the entire store. Behind it was an array of farm implements and general store merchandise arranged so that customers could get a better look at the wares. In front of the counter was a large wooden desk with an officer sitting behind it and facing the front door. He, too, had a large trimmed beard like his brother’s. Allie saw that he was the older of the two. In his right hand, he held a large quill pen. He placed a rosewood inkwell close by his left hand so he could, without hesitation, scribble on the large piece of linen that lay flat before him on his desk. As the noise of the crowd died down, he stood up.

  “Gentlemen, my name is Captain Elliott Bush. I command Company G of the proud Ninety-Fifth Illinois Regiment.” He looked at the faces in the crowd and continued. “Over a year has passed since the rebels fired on Fort Sumter, and our brave comrades from Illinois are now pushing south to victory. You are called today to help finish the fight!”

  The men cheered in a chorus of excitement.

  The band kept its patriotic beat in the distance.

  “Every man will be paid a bounty of three hundred dollars to enlist. If you wish, the money can be given to your loved ones who will support themselves while you are defending the cause for the Union. Please form a line, and step up to my table.”

  Allie could feel the angst. Her stomach felt like it was rising to her throat. She began to gasp a bit as she stepped forward, now only third in line. She was wedged between two tall men and could not see over the shoulders in front of her.

  Suddenly, she was in front of the captain. He did not notice her as he looked at his inkwell. He then looked up at her. There was silence in the room as all the men awaited the captain’s words.

  “Son!” shouted the captain. “Go home! You are too young to fight!”

  The jolt of his announcement almost knocked Allie back to the floor. She stood even more erect now.

  Lowering her voice and positioning short deliberate sentences, she replied, “Captain, sir, I am of age!”

  “How old are you?”

  “I am nineteen years old!”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Yes, sir, but those that can prove my age…are a fightin’ down south already.”

  “And what regiment are they fighting with, young man?”

  “The Ninety-Third Illinois from Freeport. Colonel Putnam, our fire marshal can vouch for me. I swear as crooked as the Pecatonica River is. And I swear on the Good Book over there!” Allie pointed to the Bible that lay prominently on the counter.

  “You are too short, son! How tall are you?” shouted the captain.

  “I am five feet three and can fight as good as any wildcat around these parts!” Allie’s excitement was getting to her. Her voice rose a little, and she thought her feminine voice was revealed. She lowered her chin and waited again for the next insult.

  “Well, son, the musket you will carry is almost as tall as you!” said the captain in a slightly condescending tone.

  The crowd of soldiers chuckled as the throng continued to peer through the doors and windows, waiting for Allie’s response.

  “With all due respect, sir, five feet three is, I reckon, a good fightin’ height. Well, good ol’ Napoleon was only five feet six, and he was the general of the army. I’m gonna be only a private, so I reckon that all those officers in between should rightly be between five feet six and me. In fact, I ’spect a good captain in this army should be shored down a bit to about five feet four!”

  The soldiers chuckled.

  The captain was not amused. “What is your name, young man?” he asked. He picked up the quill and
dipped it in the inkwell.

  “My name is Allie…I mean, sir,” she choked slightly, grabbing her throat. “I am, sir—” She could not think straight.

  “I repeat…what is your name, young man?” the captain replied sternly.

  Allie quickly looked to the dry goods counter on the wall nearby and noticed a tiny sign by the clerk’s window. It said “CASHIER”. Without flinching, she announced, “Pardon, sir, my name is Al…Albert Cashier. Albert D. Cashier is my name.”

  “Thank you, Private Cashier,” replied Captain Bush calmly now. “Welcome to the Ninety-Fifth Illinois. Sign here. You will get your orders tomorrow.”

  Allie grabbed the quill awkwardly and scribbled an “x” next to her name. It was her official mark. After signing, she handed the pen back to the captain and extended her hand. The captain shook it and smiled.

  Turning toward the rest of the volunteers, she quickly moved through the gathering and stepped outside. The band had stopped playing, and the sun was setting now. She smiled as she thought of Jenny. They had pulled it off.

  Allie would be heading south to join the boys.

  Chapter 34

  General John E. Smith Headquarters

  Eighth Division, Sixteenth Army Corps

  Near Memphis Tennessee

  March 10, 1863

  General John E. Smith sat erect on his handsome white mount. The horse craned its neck, snorted, and high-stepped as if eager to join the impending ceremony. Smith thought of his beloved Black Hawk, who he had presented to Colonel Putnam as a gift for raising his regiment. He wondered if Putnam was advancing south. He smiled at the thought of seeing his Shiloh war-horse, shiny coat and all.

  “Gentlemen, prepare for dress parade,” announced Smith in a soft deliberate voice. His adjutant and the other mounted officers around him snapped a quick salute and stood erect in their saddles waiting for the command to depart to the columns of blue in the distance.