FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  “Now, Charlie, we are almost there. This is a secret place, and you must not bring anyone here. It is too special.”

  “All right, Jenny,” he replied. His faced beamed with excitement.

  Jenny reached up and pushed the holly branches away from the entrance. Soon they were in the darkness. The beam of light from the ceiling was almost vertical to the floor.

  “Wow, Jenny! What is this place?”

  “This is a secret Indian wigwam. There were two Winnegabo Indian lovers who came here before the white men settled. Now only friends of the wigwam come here.”

  “Aaron?”

  “Yes, Aaron is one of the friends.”

  “Who else is a friend?”

  “The others I will tell you about later.”

  “What are those things by the wall?”

  “They are all special things that I will let you hold next time we come. We can only stay here a little while and must get back home now before mother gets worried.”

  Jenny grabbed Charlie’s hand again. She pushed through the holly branches and abruptly went outside. The brightness caused Charlie to shelter his face in the cradle of his sleeve. They were directly between the Injun oak and the holly branches. She looked fleetingly at her little brother and then turned to the hollies. With a careful hand, she plucked a thorny branch from the bush and then quickly walked over to the Injun oak. Reaching out over the river, she snapped off an oak-leaf branch, somewhat small, but the best she could safely grasp.

  Charlie said nothing. He wondered why his sister was acting strangely.

  “Charlie, the Winnebago lovers planted these holly bushes to hide the entrance of the wigwam. The big Injun oak tree was planted there sometime later by the squaw after her warrior was killed in battle.”

  Charlie looked confused but nodded his head anyway.

  Jenny looked down at the holly branch in her hand and paused. She stared without blinking as if she were dreaming. She smiled again at Charlie.

  “Do you remember those holly branches from Father’s funeral?” she asked softly.

  “Yes, Jenny,” he said. His mind flashed back to a day he would never forget. He remembered how the funeral procession moved slowly to City Cemetery at the top of the hill in Freeport. The snow and sleet caused the slush on the muddy streets to spatter as his father’s funeral carriage moved slowly to the place of internment. In the lead of the possession was a riderless horse. Military boots were strapped to the saddle’s stirrups with the toes pointing backward, a distinctive but yet strange sign of respect for an officer who had fallen facing the enemy. He remembered the black carriages that carried the old folks too, and how the family with Captain Taggart at their side walked the long muddy roads through Freeport from the Presbyterian Church to the cemetery knoll.

  “These holly branches are evergreens, and they stand for eternal love.” Jenny’s eyes welled up. Her voice cracked a little. She continued. “Remember, Charlie, we placed these on Father’s coffin before we buried him?” She pulled out a kerchief and wiped her eyes and then quickly placed it back in the front pocket of her country dress.

  Charlie nodded again. He could not speak for fear that he would cry. He wanted to be a man. He looked down at his tiny boots, also muddy from his walk to the wigwam.

  Jenny tossed the holly branch into the Pecatonica. It floated slowly, swirled once by Trick’s fishing hole, and then continued downriver. She held up the oak-leaf branch, paused for a moment, and then continued.

  “An oak leaf, Charlie, stands for courage. Allie and I gave these to the boys the day they left Freeport for the war. We placed them in their hats so they would be good soldiers and stand strong and firm in battle.”

  Charlie reached for the branch and smiled. Jenny handed it to him.

  He peered at the Injun oak and studied it for a minute, and then he looked back at Jenny. “If that Injun oak is still there when I go off to war,” he asked excitedly, “will you give me an oak leaf, too?”

  Jenny looked deeply into his eyes. She felt the innocence of the question like a dagger to her heart, and she started to weep. Her shoulders shook as she tried to compose herself and hide her tears by turning and facing downriver. She thought of the boys and what had happened to them—how innocent they were during the wigwam days, how proud they stood in their new uniforms, and what the terrible war had done to them. She blanked the horror from her mind and turned back to Charlie. She reached over for the oak-leaf branch. He handed it to her gently. She looked at the river again and noticed another colored patchwork of leaves drifting along. Timing her toss, she flipped the branch so it would land in the middle of the mix. Charlie watched with wonder as the green oak branch and collection of autumn leaves bobbed for a moment and then disappeared.

  “Did I say something to hurt your feelings?” he asked.

  Jenny caught herself and then smiled. She cocked her head and said, “No, my brother, I was just thinking of Allie and the boys.”

  She looked at Charlie and gazed into his eager eyes. Happy memories of the wigwam rose up as she saw in her little brother’s eyes, the same unspoiled innocence that the friends once saw in each other. She could see his little world was all wonder for now.

  Jenny reached out for his hand again. “Let’s go home to Mother,” she said softly.

  Placing her other hand on the trunk of the Injun oak, she looked at the Pecatonica one last time. Her memory raced back like a flash to the time when Aaron gave her a first kiss. She thought of T.J. and Trick, opposite in size and stature yet always together with a rifle and cane pole at their side. She also thought of Allie and Will walking in the shallows hand in hand with their trousers rolled to their knees.

  She held Charlie’s hand a little tighter now as they continued upriver.

  She looked down at him and smiled.

  He smiled back.

  Soon they approached the favorite bend that rose up to the Putnam farm. They quietly waded across, and after reaching the other side, they could see the Putnam home on a rise a short distance away. Between the Pecatonica and the house was a small knoll that protruded like a knob in the pasture. Since it was not yet suppertime, Jenny decided to take a rest. She sat down with Charlie and faced the river again.

  As she looked to the distance, a feeling of contentment came over her as the sun penetrated the tree branches, causing a multitude of yellow and light-green hues. She looked up. Gray clouds floated in the distance. The setting sun cast rays of orange that streaked the pale-blue panorama. Her thoughts drifted. She felt sad but did not know exactly why. She’d missed all the friends dearly since they had headed off to war, especially Aaron. She knew that she could never turn back the clock. But she also knew that the wigwam would always be there…whenever the friends would meet again. Gazing to the bend in the river, she suddenly saw movement by the trees. She stood up to get a closer look.

  “Charlie, do you see it?”

  “What?” exclaimed Charlie in a high-pitched tone.

  “There is something moving along the river. We best get back to the house!”

  “Yeah, I see it…it’s a man with a horse coming our way!”

  About two hundred yards distant, a silhouette of a soldier with a horse at his side contrasted sharply against the green shadows along the riverbank. Jenny could clearly see that it was a man in a blue uniform. The horse and the man seemed to bob up and down at the same pace. Their walk was not rushed, but steady. Disappearing for a moment behind a small grove of saplings, they seemed to move directly to the knoll where Charlie and she stood. Jenny, slightly alarmed by the stranger, turned towards the house; cupped her hands around her mouth; and shouted, “Mother! Come out here! There’s a Union soldier coming up the pasture!”

  Her voice echoed across the Putnam farm, and within a moment a short thud followed as Leonora firmly shut the door and stepped out on the porch to get a closer look. She peered for a moment with her hand above her brow and then scurried the distance to the knoll where Jenny
was.

  “Well, my Lord, Jenny, it looks like a soldier to me, too! I don’t know a Yankee up here that would harm anyone. Let’s just see what this stranger wants from us. Perhaps he’s hungry after a long day in the saddle.”

  The soldier and horse continued toward the knoll, advancing now to about one hundred yards. Charlie looked up at his mother and moved closer to her and Jenny, feeling the need to protect the women now that his father was gone.

  “Goodness gracious,” said Jenny with excitement rising in her voice. “Could it be? Oh, please, could it be?”

  “What, Jenny, what do you see?”

  “It’s Black Hawk! It’s father’s war-horse, Mother! I know it is him!”

  Leonora was stunned. It had been over seven months since the colonel’s death. She could not fathom why Black Hawk would be coming up the pasture. Could it be true?

  Jenny took off at a full run down the sloping pasture with Charlie close at her heels. Leonora stayed where she was and placed both her hands on her mouth. She hoped that Jenny’s vision was true.

  Jenny’s laced boots crunched through the cockleburs and high grass as she descended quickly from the knoll. She felt that she was flying across the pasture. She caught good sight of the soldier and then stopped suddenly, catching her breath. Tears of astonishment welled up. She blinked. A tear stream wetted both cheeks. She gasped again for air.

  The soldier kept his deliberate pace until he stood abruptly in front of her.

  “Did you miss me, Jenny?” Aaron said calmly as he stood almost at attention.

  Black Hawk snorted.

  Jenny gasped; ran quickly toward him; and hugged him, lifting herself off her heels.

  “Aaron, my love, I thought you were dead, and now you are home!” They kissed. Aaron picked Jenny up from the ground as he hugged her. He twirled her around as if in a waltz. Charlie looked up in wonder and grinned.

  Aaron smiled at Charlie, winked, and then cupped his hand over his mouth as he whispered in Jenny’s ear, “I will always love you, Jenny. I’m home now.”

  Jenny looked at Aaron, and her tears continued to flow freely. She held Aaron’s hand firmly, like when they walked the Pecatonica. She did not want to let go.

  Turning, she quickly looked up the slope to the farmhouse. Cupping her hands over her mouth in an awkward yet dainty fashion, she shouted, “Mother, come down! Aaron is home!”

  Hearing the announcement, Leonora did not hesitate and, within a minute, had rushed up to greet him. She hugged Aaron, almost pulling him off his feet.

  And then everyone quickly moved to Black Hawk, who whinnied excitedly with the commotion around him. After calming Black Hawk down, Jenny and Leonora rubbed his mane while Charlie deftly patted his soft, supple nose.

  “What a beauty he is!” Leonora said softly.

  Aaron looked at Jenny. He smiled and nodded. “You should have seen him in the fight at Missionary Ridge!” Aaron proudly interjected. Realizing the connection to the fallen Colonel Putnam, he immediately felt an awkward silence as he looked fleetingly over at Leonora.

  “It’s all right, Aaron,” Leonora replied. “Our colonel was brave, too. Black Hawk is safe now.”

  In the distance a train whistle from the Illinois Central blew across the valley. Two turtledoves took to the wind, causing Black Hawk to jump. His ears were perched. Aaron reined him in.

  “Whoa, boy, whoa,” he said. “Let’s get this military stuff off you now!”

  “Is he here to stay?” Jenny asked.

  Charlie looked up inquisitively at Aaron.

  “Yes, he is here to stay. General Smith and his officers thought you would like to have him home, Mrs. Putnam, so they pooled some money, and we took the fastest train we could! I’ve been with him in the boxcar for over a week now. Black Hawk even shared some oats with me!” Aaron smiled.

  Charlie chuckled loudly. Jenny and Leonora laughed, too.

  Leonora looked down at her apron and then looked up. “I best be up to the house now, Jenny…lots to do. Aaron, can you stay for supper tonight?”

  “Yes ma’am. Haven’t had anything but hish and hash and a few hard crackers since I can remember…and, of course, the oats!”

  Charlie smiled again.

  Leonora approached Aaron again and hugged him. She turned to Black Hawk and rubbed her hand across Black Hawk’s mane again. “I will write a letter thanking General Smith and his gallant officers.” She turned to Jenny and Aaron. Tears welled up, so she pulled out her kerchief and dabbed her eyes.

  She left the knoll and proceeded slowly up the slope to the Putnam farmhouse. When she arrived there, she continued into the cool parlor room to her writing desk, which was tucked away in a corner by the window. She looked out the window into the distance. After taking in several deep breaths, she sat down and picked up her quill with her right hand. Dabbing her eyes with the kerchief again, she placed the tip into her rosewood inkwell, shook it once, and began to write.

  Gen. John E. Smith

  I received…at the hand of your prompt and faithful orderly, the horse which my dear husband rode and from which he fell at the battle of Mission Ridge. I need not tell you that I am gratified…this word can give but a faint expression of my feelings for your generous act, in placing me in possession of an object I shall so much prize.

  Believe me, my dear sir, that nothing in this world can go farther towards reconciling me to my present condition of loneliness and bereavement than the thought that my husband fell faithfully and bravely fighting to preserve his Country, and that living and dying he was well beloved and rightly appreciated by his fellow Officers and Companions in arms, who shared his hope and dangers. Your kindness and that of the Officers of the 93d Illinois Regiment, to me in this regard I assure you, dear Sir, will never be forgotten…

  I remain with high regard

  yours very truly

  Mrs. Holden Putnam 22

  There was a rustle in the wind.

  Leonora put down her quill and walked through the parlor room to the back porch. She could still see Jenny, Aaron, and Charlie sitting on the little knoll, looking toward the river. The shrill whistle of the Illinois Central echoed again somewhere to the west. She paused for a moment as she looked to the sky and then peered across the pasture. A movement along the river caused her to smile.

  There was Black Hawk in his storied magnificence, racing at full gallop…like a deep-black undulating mass that seemed to float atop the meadow. His dark mane flapped gently across the deep Shiloh scar, which would forever be prominent on his front left flank. The summer breeze picked up with the setting of the sun, blowing his mane upward, which seemed to accelerate his speed even more.

  Black Hawk’s blue-and-gold military saddle was gone now. It would never again encumber him on the march. His shiny brass bridle and leather reins that urged him forward in battle were gone, too. Never again would he experience the misty fog of war…or climb mountains touched with fire. He was home now. And like the friends of the wigwam, who shared his journeys, he was free to play again—free to roam along the lazy Pecatonica.

  Copy of Original Letter from

  Leonora Putnam to General John E. Smith

  Afterword

  Characters by Order of Appearance

  Will (William P. Erwin)

  Will was buried in a mass grave on the slopes of Missionary Ridge on November 25, 1863. On November 27, 1989, 126 years later, retired marine colonel Ray Erwin, great-grandnephew of William P. Erwin, placed a corrected headstone on his fallen ancestor’s grave, thus officially “promoting” Will to sergeant, a promotion received just weeks before his death. On that day a multitude of reporters from two newspapers and a local television station attended the rededication ceremony.

  Aaron Dunbar

  After the war, Aaron taught school during the winter months and engaged in farming during the summer. His journals written during the war were used to complete the History of the Ninety-Third Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry publi
shed October 5, 1898.

  U. S. Grant

  After the Battle of Missionary Ridge, Grant was promoted to general in chief of the entire Union army. By executing aggressive strategy and tactics that he used effectively in the West, he brought General Robert E. Lee to terms at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9, 1865, thus ending the Civil War. In 1868 he was elected to the presidency and finished two terms in the White House. He completed the Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant a few days before his death from throat cancer in 1885. His memoirs are considered by scholars to be one of the great autobiographies in the English language.

  Ely Parker

  Ely Parker continued as U. S. Grant’s military secretary until the end of the Civil War. He was promoted to lieutenant colonel and later became a brevet brigadier general of volunteers. At Appomattox he transcribed in fair hand the official surrender papers for Robert E. Lee. Later in life he became the commissioner of Indian Affairs. He died in 1895, almost ten years after U. S. Grant, his good friend from Galena. His funeral in Buffalo, New York was attended by dignitaries from around the country including Fred Grant, son of General Grant, and leading men and women of the Iroquois nation.

  Congressman

  Elihu Washburne

  After the Civil War, Washburne’s most notable assignments were US minister to France and president of the Chicago Historical Society, now the Chicago History Museum. In his retirement he wrote Recollections of a Minister to France, 1869–1877. He will always be remembered for his lobbying effort with Lincoln and congress for the promotion of U. S. Grant, his Galena neighbor, to the rank of brigadier general.

  Abraham Lincoln

  America’s greatest president since George Washington, Lincoln kept the Union together for four long years, but was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth just days after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox. Illinois’s greatest citizen, Lincoln was a man of gentle spirit who rose from the backwoods of Salem to Springfield, Illinois, and then to Washington, DC. His interesting life, history, and contributions to America have filled thousands of volumes since his untimely death on April 14, 1865, at Ford’s Theatre. Without question, Lincoln, as subject matter, will continue to fill thousands more volumes for many years to come.