FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  The rebels were set. It was up to the Yankees, now, to make the next move.

  Chapter 44

  Stockade Redan

  May 19, 1863

  Three in the Afternoon

  Allie’s regiment was ready.

  Captain Bush, who had enlisted her in Rockford, had given a few brave men special orders to lead the charge on the Confederate works. Allie and her comrades had constructed a crude but sturdy ladder that she would use to climb the outer wall of Stockade Redan. Since she was the shortest in the company and limber as a cat, she had volunteered to go over the top first.

  She stood in formation with the rest of the Ninety-Fifth Illinois about five hundred yards from the fort. The charge of the Ninety-Fifth would be supported by the rest of Ransom’s Brigade, which included the Eleventh and Seventy-Second Illinois and the neighboring state regiments the Fourteenth and Seventeenth Wisconsin. Allie and the Ninety-Fifth would take the lead.

  Nearly half the distance before her was a ravine where the north fork of the Glass Bayou Creek flowed. Just to her right, a Confederate abatis was constructed that extended for about three hundred yards. The abatis consisted of large wooden poles that looked like huge spears buried into the ground side by side at a forty-five-degree angle with the sharp points facing the enemy. The sight was unsettling to her, and she looked away from it up into the skies above.

  In the distance flew an American bald eagle that circled high above the Confederate works. Allie stared, and the wind rose up and softly cooled her countenance. That bird is magnificent, she thought as it soared effortlessly in the bright blue sky.

  “Private Cashier!” shouted Captain Bush. “Face forward. We are about to make the advance!”

  Allie pointed to the sky as best she could. She almost lost grip of the ladder.

  “Cap’n,” she replied, excitedly raising her voice to almost feminine glee, “take a look-see. I reckon that’s an eagle up there!”

  Bush looked to the north with the others in G Company.

  “That’s the eagle of the Eighth!” shouted an excited soldier from the back of the ranks. “His name is ‘Old Abe,’ and I ’spect he’s up there scoutin’ a few things for General Grant and the boys! The Eighth Wisconsin mustered him in when they joined up. It’s their mascot, ya know, but I guess it’s the whole army’s now!”

  “Well, I doubt if he can speak to the generals,” replied Captain Bush, “but I do reckon that Old Abe will be a strange sight for those damn rebels in the works!” Bush looked down at his vest pocket and pulled out his watch. It was four o’clock, time to make the charge.

  The rebels inside Stockade Redan were from the Seventh, Thirty-Sixth, and Thirty-Seventh Mississippi Volunteers. With their backs facing Vicksburg, they would stand firm to the man. Many had family in the town. They could clearly see the Yankee movements. The rebel guns glistened. Cannonballs were stacked in pyramids and ready.

  “Well, do tell!” announced a reb as he chewed on his clay tobacco pipe. “There’s an eagle up there flyin’ above us!”

  “Ya think that’s an omen or somethin’?” asked an alarmed soldier.

  “If it is, we need our sniper to kill it!”

  “Too high! If it swoops low, we’ll take it out with canister, like buckshot from a rifle!”

  Some of the rebels watched Old Abe as he continued his lazy circling. Just then one soldier, keeping an eye on the Union line, shouted, “Colonel, the yanks are comin’ sir! Their lines are formin’ in columns!”

  The Union troops advanced in an undulating blue mass, continuing in all of its magnificence for about two hundred yards. Both national and regimental banners flapped in the wind as if dancing on parade. The silver gleam of the bayonets made the Yankee soldiers look even more formidable. There was a silence now in the fort. The thud, thud, thud of tramping boots in formation could clearly be heard until the Yanks stopped at the river.

  “Colonel, looks like they are a regroupin’ or something,” said a rebel soldier. “Can ya tell who they are with your field glasses?”

  The colonel rested his elbows firmly on the cotton bale in front of him. The heat plus his nerves caused streaks of sweat to dribble from his brow into his beard. His butternut-gray forage cap showed bands of sweat, too.

  “Looks like they’re Illinois and Wisconsin boys,” he replied. “Yep, it’s the Ninety-Fifth Illinois formin’ in the lead.” He stood up for a moment, stretched, and then went back to his position. He looked even more intently now and continued. “Well, boys, it looks like that Ninety-Fifth is the stormin’ party. They got about twenty of the blue bellies holdin’ a stormin’ ladder. They will be the first to cross the crick bed.”

  “Should we pull up the canister, sir?” asked an artillery captain who stood nearby.

  “No, Captain,” the colonel replied. “Let’s let them cross the river. Alternate solid shot with fused hollow shot, and see if we can break them up at one hundred yards. Carry on, Captain.”

  Within moments the rebel Napoleon cannons were swabbed, loaded, and primed.

  The Ninety-Fifth surged in irregular formation across the creek bed and started up to the redan. The distance now was almost one hundred yards from the rebel defenders.

  “Colonel, I will site the first round on the storming party with the ladder. The color-bearers are on each side. I will take them out, too.”

  “Very good, Captain.”

  The captain stepped to the rear of the three batteries under his command. A Yankee sniper’s deadly shot zipped by his ear. He did not flinch.

  “Gentlemen, let the ball begin,” he said confidently. “Let’s give those damn Yankees a mouthful of lead.”

  The colonel braced himself on the cotton bale again with field glasses ready. He looked at the captain and nodded.

  “Fire!” shouted the captain. And a volley of three shots roared into the Union ranks.

  The rebel line watched silently, their vision temporarily obscured by the thick gunpowder smoke. When it had cleared, they saw that the blue mass of soldiers of the Ninety-Fifth was now a mangled heap of humanity. The lucky survivors picked themselves up from the ground and then sprinted as fast as they could to the rear, crossing the creek bed where the other regiments stood.

  “Well lordy, lordy!” shouted a rebel. “Look at those blue bellies scatter so!”

  “Colonel, what do you see?” asked the rebel captain.

  “Captain, you hit your mark. That ladder is scattered in pieces now. The flags are flying no more. The attack has been routed. Best regards to your command. We need them to be just as good when the Yankee boys come again.”

  The rebel colonel then looked up.

  The smoke had cleared now. Old Abe was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 45

  Mt. Ararat

  East of the Camps of the Ninety-Third and Ninety-Fifth

  Illinois Regiments

  Between Engagements

  From the mountain they could see the glow of campfires in the distance, thousands arrayed like stars in a twinkling panorama of light.

  Will grabbed Allie’s hand and squeezed it gently. They were safe from the fighting for now, and the sense of longing pulled them closer to each other. Cool breezes swirled around the mountain and brought them comfort. They moved closer to each other and embraced. The stars above seemed to twinkle more than ever now. They were silent. Their hearts beat stronger. Midnight had passed.

  “We best git back now, Will,” Allie said softly. She moved closer to Will and kissed him again.

  He looked distraught as he rubbed his hand through his sandy-blond locks. Allie noticed the two stripes on his sleeve.

  “Will, are you a corporal now?” she exclaimed with glee.

  “Yes, I’m a corporal, but there’s talk about camp that I will be a color sergeant. Some day I will carry the National Flag for the entire regiment,” he said proudly.

  Allie was stunned. She did not know what to say.

  “Oh, my love, why will ya do
it? Don’t ya know what it means? You could git shot, like Elmer. He grabbed a flag from that hotel in Virginny and got killed by a shotgun to the heart! Trick and T.J. are all shot up, and they weren’t even near the color-bearers at Champion Hill. I saw two git kilt yesterday when we attacked the Stockade!” Allie’s voice shook. She grabbed Will by the sleeve and pulled him toward her and continued, “Now, look here, my love. Look at me! The charge yesterday was terrible. We lost sixty-one good boys. All went down from the cannon fire in less than a minute. The flag bearers were in the thick of it. It was—” Allie started to cry uncontrollably and put her face in her sleeve.

  Will held her and stroked her hair gently. “My love, it is my duty to lead the men. Colonel Putnam may promote me soon and some other boys from Princeton. We are all in this together. None of us will let the Ninety-Third colors ever hit the ground. These colors will never be captured. It is our duty through thick and thin to keep them to the front. The whole regiment is counting on us.”

  “You’re gonna end up like Trick and T.J., even worse,” Allie replied softly, “and I jist wanna be sure you’ll be headin’ home.”

  “I will be careful, Allie. I promise.”

  “Did ya hear about Molly Cowan’s father?” asked Allie.

  “No, what did you hear?”

  “Gotta letter from Jenny yesterday. She said her father, sure ’nough, is the colonel of the Forty-Fifth Lead Mine Regiment from Galena. Guess now he’s gonna have to lead from the front, too, like Old Put, Jenny’s father.”

  “What happened to Colonel Smith? Did he get killed?” Will asked, worried.

  “No, he got promoted. He’s hangin’ with the biggest blue boys. He’s a brigadier general now.”

  Will smiled and nodded his head. He grabbed Allie’s hand. They headed down the mountain.

  The campfires in the distance had been snuffed out. It was far past midnight, and the morning light would soon fade out the stars.

  Chapter 46

  Grant’s Headquarters

  May 21, 1863

  “Can you see the forts, son?”

  Young Fred Grant perched his elbows on a barrel of hardtack, raised his father’s field glasses, and squinted. He panned to the right. “I can see a fort on a big hill,” he exclaimed.

  “That’s Fort Hill. That’s the biggest one. Look a little left. There are others.”

  “Yes, Father, I see one or two there.”

  “Look way down to the left. Do you see the railroad tracks?”

  Fred turned to the left and adjusted his elbows. “Yes, and I see a big fort there, too.”

  “That is the Railroad Redoubt. General McClernand will attack there tomorrow.”

  Grant approached his son and placed his arm on his shoulder. Fred, his oldest, now a teenager, had been with him since the beginning of the Vicksburg campaign. The vantage point on the high hill was a good one. Grant would do battle again tomorrow.

  “I have invited Ben’s father up here early, Fred, to have a little chat with us. His beard is longer, and a lot more gray is there, but I’m sure you will recognize him. Please make sure to tell him about Ben and where you saw him last. A soldier’s life can be very lonely, especially when you think about family.”

  “Yes, Father, I will tell him everything I know.”

  The shuffle of horse hooves could clearly be heard nearby. In a moment General John E. Smith and his staff appeared. Smith pulled off his riding gloves, slapped the dust off his sleeves, pulled off his hat, and wiped his brow with his wrist. “Damn hot down here!” he exclaimed.

  “Sure is!” replied Fred who grinned ear to ear at the sight of Smith.

  Smith looked quickly at Fred and his father and smiled, slightly embarrassed by the remark. “Sorry, Fred,” he apologized. “I did not know you were here.”

  Grant pulled two cigars from his frock coat, nodded, and said, “If you think it’s hot now, just wait ’til tomorrow. That’s when we will bring hell to those rebel forts!”

  Smith nodded and then said, “Well, Fred, how are things back home in Galena?”

  “Things are great, Mr. Smith…I mean…General Smith,” replied Fred.

  “You may still call me Mr. Smith. That is who I am. Continue please.”

  “Well, our family is just fine. I did see Ben and Adelaide the week before I came downriver.” Fred smiled.

  “And how are they?” he asked.

  “Well, I saw them chasing each other down those stairs that lead up to your house on High Street. By jiminy, both were moving pretty fast, and I thought if one of them fell it would be all over.” Fred shook his head and raised his eyebrows a bit and continued. Well, when they made it down, Ben actually tripped and fell in front of a horse on Main Street!”

  “Did he get hurt?”Smith asked with excited concern.

  “No, but the horse got so spooked that it took off in a big gallop, causing a lot of whoop and hollering!”

  Both Grant and Smith chuckled heartily at the thought.

  “When you get home to Galena, tell Ben and Adelaide to walk down those stairs…and run up them if they wish.” Smith tipped his hat to Fred.

  Fred nodded, scratched his head, and then looked up inquisitively. “Oh, I remember!”

  “Remember what?” Smith replied.

  “Ben and Adelaide asked me to find out about Black Hawk. Is he still with the army?”

  Grant struck a match. He lit Smith’s cigar and then his own. Smith took a deep puff. “Great cigar, General,” he replied. He turned back to Fred.

  “Black Hawk rides with Colonel Putnam and the Ninety-Third Illinois from Freeport. When Putnam was recruiting, I thought it a nice gesture to give him a good war-horse for his efforts. In fact, Ben rode him to Freeport with me and Captain Parker that day.”

  “Is Black Hawk near here?” asked Fred excitedly.

  “Yes, son, he is. He is with Boomer’s Brigade just south of the Jackson Road. I am quite sure that old black beauty is anxious for another fight. Despite getting shot at Shiloh, when he hears the troop movements, his ears perk up, and he is ready to ride into the thickest of the fights.”

  “Father, I would like to see him,” Fred replied respectfully.

  “When the time is right, you will.”

  Grant took another puff from his cigar and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He looked back at Fred and continued. “Now, son, the other generals will be coming shortly. I would like to talk to General Smith for a spell before they arrive.”

  “Yes, Father, I will see you back down the hill. Good to see you, General Smith!”

  “Thank you, Fred. It is always good to see you, too.” Smith shook Fred’s hand and placed his other arm around him for a moment.

  When Fred stepped away, Smith looked at Grant and pulled another drag from the cigar. “You have a fine son there, General. He looks you in the eye and has a firm handshake. You must be very proud of him.”

  Grant nodded, lifted his cigar, and replied, “And how is Alfred? We know what Ben and Adelaide are up to!” Both men smiled.

  “Well, Alfred has been sick. He is doing better now. He finished up his teaching at West Point and will soon command a Negro regiment.”

  “Very fine, John. You must be proud of him, too. We should try to move him to us. He would be better out here than with the eastern armies.”

  Smith nodded.

  “And how about his pretty little girlfriend?” asked Grant.

  Smith gave an embarrassed cough. “Well, Ulyss, now that’s out of my department, you know, but she and Alfred still write to each other. Guess there’s something there.”

  “Is she the girl from Warren by the Apple River?”

  “Yes, she is the daughter of Major Cowan who now commands the Lead Mine Regiment.”

  Grant drew another puff from his cigar and looked to the rebel fortifications. “Small world, small world, John. Yes, indeed, it is a small world.” He continued to peer into the distance.

  The shuffling
around them magnified. There were lots of horses coming up the hill. Within minutes three generals and their staffs dismounted, the generals straightening their frock coats, beating off the dust, and stepping forward with spurs and scabbards clanging.

  Seeing that they were army-corp commanders of higher rank, General Smith politely bowed his head to Grant and proceeded down the hill. As he passed the arriving generals, he saluted and said, “We’ll give ’em hell tomorrow!” The three smiled and returned his salute.

  When the three corps commanders, Major Generals John McClernand, William Tecumseh Sherman, and James McPherson, arrived, Grant walked over to a small walnut box on a hardtack barrel, pulled out a handful of cigars, and passed one to each of them.

  “Gentlemen, we have big work to do tomorrow! Do you have any questions before I proceed?” The three shook their heads.

  “I will take little of your time, then,” Grant replied. He pointed at the line of Confederate entrenchments. “Gentlemen, we have failed to take those works. The Ninety-Fifth Illinois made a gallant rush on the Stockade Redan two days ago and got bloodied. We lost sixty-one men in less than fifteen minutes. The other supporting regiments had heavy losses, too.”