CHAPTER II.

Beginning of Three Years’ Service.—Camp Butler and Bird’s Point.

The three months’ service ended in August, 1861, and I enlisted for three years in Sept., 1861. Was discharged Oct. 15, 1864, serving in all three years and about four months. The 7th was organized at Camp Butler, near Springfield, Ill., in the fall of 1861, where it was partly drilled. Prescott Bartlett, of Sublette, Ill., was chosen captain of Co. C, John H. Shaw of Lee Center, Ill., first lieutenant, and B. F. Berkley, of Sublette, Ill., second lieutenant. S. H. Richardson was orderly sergeant, and James Henderson commissary sergeant. The names of other sergeants were R. D. McCord and David S. Porter, and the corporals I have forgotten. In November the regiment was transferred to Bird’s Point, Mo., where it went into winter quarters and remained until about March 1, 1862.

The picture represents a camp in the idle days between the great campaigns. The army has settled down to weeks of forced inaction, and the men make themselves as comfortable as the means at hand will allow. They have shown wonderful thrift and industry in housing themselves. The tent in the foreground shows this. Its builders have made a pen of logs neatly chinked with chunks and clay to keep out the wind. They have built a fireplace of clay and used an old plow on top of the chimney to assist the draft. The roof is made of pieces of shelter tents and ponchos and at the entrance has been laid a pavement of pork-barrel staves to keep mud from being carried into the sleeping apartment. The other tents in the distance show similar devices. The whole is as accurate a picture of a winter camp as the camera could make.

The veteran in the foreground is a man whose love of music is so strong as to be irrepressible. He has constructed a fiddle out of a cigar box and such other material as he could lay his hands on. It shows as much ingenuity as his tent. Probably the tail of the Colonel’s horse has suffered to furnish hair for the bow. The music made is far from that which could be drawn from a high-priced instrument, but he and his boy listener enjoy it a hundredfold more than the most cultivated listener ever did high-priced strains. And he plays the tune that always went most directly to the soldier’s heart, “Home, Sweet Home.”

While at Bird’s Point the 7th performed the ordinary camp and picket duties, occasionally going out on a scouting expedition, making a visit to the vicinity of the enemy. Every morning about daybreak four men from the cavalry were sent out on the road leading from the camp outside of the picket line for the purpose of preventing a surprise by the enemy. One morning, some time after they had gone out as usual, the four horses returned to camp riderless and with blood-stained saddles. A force of the boys was immediately sent out to investigate. After they had passed some distance beyond the picket lines, the bodies of the four men were found lying in the road dead, and almost riddled with buckshot, supposed to have been fired from shotguns. It was evidently the work of bushwhackers, as there was a large log lying within a few feet of the road and parallel with it, and behind this in the soft ground were seen tracks made by a number of men, and the conclusion was reached that these bushwhackers had concealed themselves behind the log and awaited the approach of the four men until they were very near. They then fired upon them, probably killing them instantly.

Gen. Oglesby was in command of the camps on Bird’s Point, during the winter of 1861–1862. I remember him well, as I was an orderly at his headquarters a number of times while on the Point. Gen. Oglesby appeared to me as being an officer who fairly well understood his business, and attended to it. In some respects he appeared like Gen. Grant, modest, kind, and thoroughly loyal to his country. Gen. Oglesby was not of the aristocratic class, but appeared neatly dressed, and was an officer who used good common sense in commanding his troops.

Soon after our arrival here we began the construction of barracks for winter quarters, which were built of logs in log house fashion. Co. C’s building was a long, one-story structure, with bunks for beds, which contained straw and made very comfortable sleeping places.

About Christmas time nearly all were supplied with good things from home. I can never forget the luxuries we received. They were just delicious. I received a box containing a roast turkey, a number of pies, cakes, and other things too numerous to mention. We had just moved into our new barracks, and stored away our delicacies for safe keeping until wanted. Late one afternoon, when nearly all of us had gone to water our horses, one who remained in camp lit a candle and placed it under the bunk to aid him in searching for something he had lost. The lighted candle immediately set fire to the straw in the bunk and in a few minutes the whole building was in a blaze. When we returned our good things had nearly all been destroyed by the fire. Scarcely anything was saved, and thus our anticipations of grand feasts and dinners were dashed away. We were obliged to be content with hardtack, bean soup, and bacon.

The event of the day was falling in for soup, prepared by the cook on detail for the day, in his open-air studio. It was an article that would not pass muster at a fashionable restaurant, but it was hot, there was usually plenty of it, the beans were abundant and as good as Michigan or New England soil could produce, the pork was the finest product of the Illinois pork raisers, and if the cook had been mindful of his duty, had cooked the soup long enough, and stirred it diligently to prevent its burning, it was very appetizing, went right to the spot, and built fine locomotive apparatus for the future marching and battling. If on the other hand he had been careless and lazy, there was likely to be a summary court-martial, and he was lucky if he escaped with nothing worse than being tossed in a blanket. When one looks on the steaming pot, the words of the old refrain rise at once to mind.

“Beans for breakfast, Beans for dinner, Beans for supper, Beans, beans, beans.”

Our blankets and shelter being also gone, we were poorly prepared for winter. But ere long we were furnished with tents and new blankets, and were comfortable again.

George Westgate, George McKeen, William Orris and myself occupied a tent together. It was a small one, and after lying down to sleep we occupied all the floor space except about two feet of its length at our feet. This was occupied by a small sheet iron stove, cooking utensils, and a water pail. One evening after retiring Westgate began tickling my face with a straw. He thought it a good time to have a little fun at my expense, as I had been out on picket duty the night previous and was very tired and sleepy. Having fallen asleep Westgate began teasing, which of course awakened me. I insisted that he should stop bothering me which he did until after I fell asleep again, and then resumed his work of tormenting me. Finally I told him that I would put him out of the tent if he did not stop, and becoming impatient I jumped up and the scuffle commenced. After a few tumbles about the tent, Westgate struck one foot among the cooking utensils and finally stepped into the water bucket, which was full of water, causing it to splash about the tent and into the faces of Orris and McKeen, which roused their tempers and they yelled, “Eby, put him out!” At this juncture of the performance Westgate was willing to capitulate. He was in trouble, his foot being forced into the bucket in such a position that it was a difficult matter to extricate it. I had failed to put him out of the tent, but his unfortunate position put an end to the scuffle. Our attention was now turned to helping him out of his difficulty. The feet being of the largest kind used for plowing corn in Illinois, and the utensil being only the regular size, pretty near a surgical operation was necessary. The following morning, the boys on hearing of our affair of the previous night, declared that they did not believe impossibilities, as Westgate could never have crammed a foot the size of his into a common water bucket.

A few days later quite a number of troops composed of cavalry were sent out on a scouting expedition, down the Mississippi on the Missouri side to a small town named Belmont (the scene of Gen. Grant’s first battle), where a Confederate battery was supposed to be located. This was about twenty miles from our camp, and we made the journey mostly during the night. We found nothing of importance on our trip except when we struck the river, near Belmont, where we discovered a Confederate gunboat in very close proximity, but the land battery was a hoax. It being in the nighttime, we were unable to see the boat distinctly, but could see enough of it to satisfy us that it was a dangerous concern. We kept quiet, and left that neighborhood as soon as possible, going in the direction of camp. On the way we came in contact with an enemy in the form of a small flock of geese not far from a farmhouse. One of the men who was in advance of us a short distance caught sight of them first. They hissed at him, and he called out: “Boys, I have found a squad of rebels, and they hissed at me. They should be made prisoners and taken along to camp.” We immediately went to our comrade’s assistance and the capture was soon made. Of course, according to the rules of war, we were obliged to put them under guard and take them to camp. The reader may guess what became of the geese. This being the day before Christmas, these captures were appropriate, and after the manner of Yankee soldiers were duly assimilated.

On the way to camp, the night being intensely dark, the proper trail was missed and we became entangled in dense thickets. Hats were lost, clothes were torn, faces were scratched and disfigured. The reader can imagine the amount of patience required of us to keep a smiling face on this occasion. As we rode through the thickets we endeavored to keep in line or march in military order, that is by twos, and follow the file leaders. The man who did not receive a severe whack in his face, by a branch of a tree bent forward by his file leader until it received a very high tension, then came back with tremendous force against him, perhaps almost dismounting him, was considered out of place. Some of the language fired off into the night air would not be considered appropriate at a Sunday-school picnic. The man who emerged from this affair with a smiling countenance was looked upon as being a saint. We arrived in camp at Bird’s Point about noon the following day, looking like a lot of Indian warriors with their war paint on their faces, being scratched and battered by riding through the thickets.

In January, 1862, an army was organized here for the purpose of making a reconnaissance into western Kentucky. It was in command of Gen. U. S. Grant, and Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry, was detailed as his escort on this expedition. The troops consisted of quite a large force of infantry and artillery from Bird’s Point and other places. We were out six or eight days, but did not encounter the enemy in large force. The weather a part of the time was very unfavorable, and we rode for two days while the rain was pouring down. I was on outpost picket during the night following the first rainy day. The rain continued nearly all night, and the sergeant in command of the relief failed to find my post on account of the dense darkness. Therefore I was not relieved until morning, having stood in the rain with my horse all night, keeping a good lookout for the enemy. When arriving in camp, after daylight, the rain was still falling in torrents. I was thoroughly wet, sleepy and tired, and the boys accused me of being cross, which I dared not deny. Having just lain down to take a little nap when the bugle sounded for boots and saddles, I jumped up, feeling as the boys had accused me. All this time the rain continued. The order soon came to move forward. We mounted and started on the way back toward Bird’s Point, riding nearly all day in a pouring rain.

Late in the afternoon the wind commenced blowing cold from the northwest, and it began to freeze and snow a little. Just before dark we were given orders to halt and go into camp in the woods, by the roadside, which was obeyed. We cared for our horses as best we could and proceeded to build fires. Co. C started a fire under a large log, which soon blazed up sufficiently for us to warm ourselves. We had some hardtack and bacon, which we proceeded to devour. After supper I fixed up a sort of a bed near the log, by placing considerable rubbish on the ground, in order to keep out of the mud, and covering this with brush and leaves. I then pulled off my fine cavalry boots and set them up near the fire, in order that they might dry out, and then retired. When I arose in the morning and took hold of my boots I found them brittle in some parts, having been scorched by the fire during the night. When putting them on they broke, so that they were ruined.

After breakfast we again moved on toward Bird’s Point. During the day, when riding along the road, two of our soldiers belonging to an infantry regiment were discovered a few rods away who had just killed and dressed a hog, and had it hung up to a tree. (As I previously stated our Co. C was escort for Gen. Grant on this expedition.) Of course the General also discovered the men and dressed hog, and immediately gave the command to halt, which was promptly obeyed. The General rode out of ranks and called to the men who had the hog. They walked up near him and he proceeded to lecture them, as I well remember, being within twenty-five or thirty feet and overhearing the whole conversation. The first question the General asked was, “Where did you procure that hog?” The answer was, “Foraged it.” The General then spoke as follows: “Men, do you not know that kind of work is strictly against orders?” He talked to them as a father would to his sons. He then said, “Sergeant, take charge of these men under guard, and report them to headquarters.” The order was then given, “Forward,” and we rode toward Bird’s Point. I could not help thinking about that delicious looking fresh pork, but it was a consolation to know that the boys who came after us would not let it go to waste. I never learned what became of the two soldiers nor the hog. I was too bashful to tell the General about my craving appetite for some of it.

This was our first experience under the immediate command of the great General Grant, and belonging to the escort I was in close contact with him a number of days, and had an opportunity of studying his character. Of course he was then comparatively obscure, but had reputation enough in this part of the army to arouse curiosity. The impressions of an immature youth, if not valuable, may be characteristic of the time and place.

Gen. Grant had not the imposing stature that we in our then romantic notions regarded as heroic. He was quiet, kindly and considerate under all circumstances. He indulged in no parade and wore no fine feathers, as the picture books had caused us to expect. His alertness to see, and his fairness to correct all breaches of discipline, were displayed in the incident above alluded to, while his gentle but firm way of applying the remedy was impressive.

These characteristics are now a matter of history, but were then only known to those in his immediate presence. While Gen. Grant, in this our first experience in his presence, at first disappointed us in lack of fuss and feathers, he impressed us with confidence that he knew his business and attended to it, and we began to think that the high stepping generals so implanted in our youthful minds were not so much needed as practical ones of another mold.

I think we arrived in camp at Bird’s Point the following day, remaining there during about all the month of February, doing the ordinary camp, picket and scouting duties.