Word came from Jasper, where Virdie Boatright had gone after leaving Stay More, that the sheriff himself, John Cecil, one of the most popular and revered men in the county, had joined the Confederates and had been appointed captain in charge of Newton County. When Jacob Ingledew heard that, he felt more weak and futile than ever; he also felt more restless and belligerent than ever, and he caught his wife Sarah and raped her. It was the only time in his life that he ever raped her, and for a little while afterwards he felt contrite, and begged her forgiveness, which she withheld, taking her younger children and moving back to her mother’s house, and telling her older son, Isaac, what his father had done to her. Isaac, who was a young man of twenty at this time and already well over six feet tall (and who, of course, along with all the other men of Stay More, had been infected with the frakes and was sharing their suffering and weakness and futility and restlessness and belligerence), put down the fiddle that he was sawing to pieces and sought out his father and said tersely, “Gon whup ye, Paw.” Jacob snorted with derisive laughter, and rolled up his sleeves and prepared to demolish his son. Undoubtedly Isaac, who was several inches taller and many pounds heavier than his father, not to mention being thirty-odd years younger and quicker, would easily have won the contest, might possibly even have killed his father, if they had not been interrupted by Gilbert Swain, bringing news from Jasper that one of the Stay Morons had joined Capt. John Cecil’s Rebels.
“NO!” Jacob thundered. “It caint be. Who was the dawg?”
“I hate to tell ye,” Gilbert demurred.
Jacob grabbed Gilbert Swain by his collar and hauled his face close to his own, and angrily hissed, “You’re jist a-funnin me, boy, and it aint so funny.”
“H-h-honest to God,” Gilbert protested. “I seen him myself.”
Jacob tightened his grip and twisted it, then hollered into Gilbert’s face, “THEN TELL ME WHO IT WAS!”
“Don’t hole it agin me, Uncle Jake, please,” Gilbert begged. “It weren’t my fault.”
“Son,” Jacob said as calmly as he could, “if you don’t tell me who it was, right now, I am fixin to bash yore haid down yore throat.”
“Let go of me, and I will,” Gilbert said.
Jacob released him. Gilbert stepped back, half-turning as if to flee, and nearly whispered. “It was Noey.”
“Huh?” Jacob said. “Noey who?”
“Uncle Noey,” Gilbert said. “Yore brother. Noah Ingledew.”
We will leave Jacob standing there overwhelmed in silent immobility for a very long moment while we meditate upon this situation. It should be remembered that Noah Ingledew was a bachelor, a frustrated virgin until Virdie Boatright came briefly into his life and his treehouse. It should be considered that her strategy or therapy or primum mobile or whatever we may call it, if it worked at all, would most likely work upon a man like Noah. We do not know how many hours he spent in his lonely treehouse reminiscing about the fleeting fulfillment that Virdie Boatright had given him, nor what intensified longings he was left with. We do know that he kicked as many posts and dogs as any other man in Stay More, and that he crushed more rock than most, and that his bout with the frakes was severe and compounded by having no woman to attend his bedfastness. Therefore it is reasonable to conclude that while his weakness and futility were greater than any other man’s, so were his restlessness and belligerence. Admittedly it is difficult to think of mild, shy, bland Noah Ingledew as belligerent; even more difficult is it to picture him in uniform; even more difficult, well-nigh impossible, to imagine him in uniform shooting at his fellowmen. But war itself, I think, is more difficult to understand.
Jacob went at once to Noah’s treehouse and called up to it, “Oh, Brother dear. Come out.” But there was no answer, so he climbed up into the treehouse, and found both wings empty. He returned to his own house and saddled his horse and rode at a fast gallop into Jasper, where he inquired at the courthouse for John Cecil, but was told that Cecil was no longer sheriff since becoming captain of the county Confederates. He asked where Cecil could be found, and was told that the Rebels had no fixed headquarters but were roaming freely over the county, and, indeed, all over the Ozarks. Jacob asked where the Union headquarters were, and was told that the nearest fixed Federal headquarters were up in Springfield, Missouri.
Instead of returning to Stay More, Jacob rode his horse northward toward Springfield. The journey took him only two days, he was that impatient. In Springfield he found the Union headquarters and told the recruiting sergeant that he wanted to enlist forty-five men in the Union Army. The recruiting sergeant was experienced only with individuals, not with masses of men, so the sergeant passed him on up to a lieutenant, who sent him to a captain, who directed him to a major, who introduced him to a colonel, who delivered him to Gen. James A. Melton, commander of the Union Army at Springfield.
Gen. Melton was a meticulous diarist, whose writings survive. Here is an excerpt from the entry in his journal for that day:
I had the honor to receive to-day one Jacob Engledieu, who hails from the excessively bucolic wilds of Newton County down in Arkansas. Although Arkansas is one of the Confederated States, Newton County, I have it on the good report of my brother, Major John Melton, has thus far resisted being swallowed into the Confederacy, although there are scattered bands of Rebels operating there, and a somewhat crude and brazen recruitment effort conducted by a hired wanton named Verdy Boughtrite. Thus I welcomed the appearance of Mr. (now Capt.) Engledieu, all the more so because I had already known of his notoriety as the only delegate to the Arkansas Secession Convention who steadfastly refused to vote with the majority (although in the beginning of our interview, I refrained from telling Capt. Engledieu that I already knew he was a Union hero).
Capt. Engledieu is tall, lean but sinewy, and has eyes so blue that they seem always watering. He is a man of the soil and of the woods, and makes no pretensions to gentility or sophistication, in speech, manner or appearance. But I am persuaded he is keen of wit, a natural leader of men, and like all of his fellow Ozarkers most probably a deadly marksman. Every one of those boys can hit a squirrel in the eye at eighty yards. His first question to me was whether or not a man of his years (58) was too old to volunteer for the army. I asked if he had previous military experience, to which he replied in the negative. I said I did not think a man of his years would be happy as a mere foot soldier. To which he replied that he had a mighty fine horse, and, drawing me to the window, gestured at the animal tethered outside; indeed, a fine horse, but I said I did doubt as well whether he would be happy as a mere cavalry private. It was at this point he informed me that, if I would accept him, he would donate 45 additional men from his settlement of Staymore in the abovementioned County, each of whom also had a horse or riding animal (albeit not as mighty fine as his own, he intimated). In that case, I said, I could appoint him lieutenant in charge of a cavalry platoon. He let me know by his grin that this pleased him, and then he said he also intended to recruit as many men as possible from the communities of Parthenon, Jasper and elswhere in the County. In that case, I replied, I could appoint him captain in charge of a cavalry troop, which I did, on the spot, and then, because he was totally without any knowledge of military structure, I explained to him that a platoon is divided into four squads, and four platoons plus Headquarters section make up a troop or company, and so many companies make a battalion and so many battalions a regiment, and so forth. I also instructed him briefly on the conduct of war, and I believe he was a good listener.
Concluding the interview, I told him to muster his men, drill them at length, then, if they passed an inspection, which my brother, Major Melton, would perform, I would commence regular orders for their detachment. Capt. Engledieu saluted me, but, his salute being somewhat irregular, I demonstrated the proper form until he had mastered it, and took his leave, supplied with a requisition to the quartermaster for three dozen black cavalry hats and cavalry sabers. I was left optimistic that he will be useful in dealin
g with Rebel forays in that quarter.
Upon his return to Stay More, Jacob found that the men were still kicking dogs and posts, and slamming their fists into their palms, and for the first time this pleased him. He went into his house and hollered, “Sarey! Make me a uniform!” But Sarah was not there, and he remembered why she was not there. He went to Lizzie Swain’s cabin and asked to speak to Sarah, but Lizzie would not let him. A fine kettle of fish: him a captain in the United States Army cavalry, and no way to get a uniform. Well, there were forty or more other women in town who might make him a uniform. He ordered an assembly of all the men, distributed the cavalry hats and sabers among them, and offered a lieutenancy to the first man whose wife would make a uniform for Jacob. The womenfolk of Stay More got busy, weaving wool and dyeing it blue with indigo, and cutting and sewing it into Federal uniforms. Sarah was quick to hear of this activity, and, not to be outdone, she sneaked back to her spinning wheel and loom and worked through the night by oil light for two nights and two days, and won the contest to be the first to provide Captain Ingledew with a uniform.
Try as he might, Jacob couldn’t very well appoint himself lieutenant, since he was already captain, so in the end he gave the lieutenancy to his son Isaac, and appointed four sergeants and eight corporals, and then the forty-six of them donned their new uniforms and climbed on their horses or mules or whatever riding animals they had (one donkey, two oxen, a large ram, and a tame buck), and Jacob began to drill them.
They raised a lot of dust. Women and children covered their faces with wet handkerchiefs, and all the green leaves turned tan, and the porches and roofs had inch-deep coats of dust. A favorable wind came and lifted the dust into an enormous dust cloud that hovered high in the sky over Stay More, visible for miles and miles, and people came from all over Newton County to see what was causing the cloud of dust, and to marvel at Jacob Ingledew’s cavalry parading, mounting, dismounting, shooting at targets while in full gallop, and generally raising dust. When a sizable audience had gathered, Jacob halted his men in formation, and, sitting atop his own horse at their front, made a speech, inviting all of the menfolk in the audience to join his cavalry and all the womenfolk to make uniforms for the men. The women seemed just as eager as the men, if not more so, and within a few days Jacob’s cavalry had swollen to slightly over a hundred. The cloud of dust covered the whole county, and people from neighboring counties, Madison and Searcy and Boone, came to watch Jacob’s cavalry, and some of these men joined too.
When Major Melton, the general’s brother, arrived eventually to inspect Jacob’s troops and assess their fitness for war, he discovered that the first thing he would have to do would be to promote Jacob Ingledew from captain to major because of the size of his cavalry. Then Major Ingledew paraded his men for Major Melton. The latter’s only serious criticism was of some of the irregular animals that were being ridden; he did not feel that there was any place in the United States Cavalry for oxen, donkeys, rams or bucks, and he offered a shipment of horses from Springfield to replace them. Otherwise he was greatly impressed with both the horsemanship and marksmanship of Jacob’s men, and conveyed to him from General Melton his first orders: pursue and destroy Captain John Cecil and his Rebels.
This was what Jacob was waiting for, but as soon as Major Melton had gone, he addressed his men, saying, “Boys, now listen to me good. I don’t want there to be no killin. You know what I mean? Okay, let’s go!” and he led his men out in search of John Cecil’s Rebels. For three months Jacob’s cavalry scoured the wilderness of Newton County, hunting and finding Rebels. Such was their marksmanship that they could fire at a Rebel and knock his weapon from his hands, or chip a boulder near his head to nick him with, or break a tree branch to fall upon him, or splatter mud in his face, or shoot his horse out from under him, or in various other ways annoy, harrass and slightly injure him. Of course the Rebels were equally good marksmen themselves, and they too had no desire to kill but only to make noise and annoy, harrass and slightly injure the Federals.
For three months the opposing forces fought one another all over Newton County, and only one man was killed—when he foolishly tried to yank his opponent’s weapon out of his hands, causing it accidentally to discharge. Most all of these men, Rebel and Federal, were cousins or in-laws or even, like Jacob and Noah, brothers. One of Jacob’s sergeants, Sam Cecil, was the younger brother of the Rebel leader himself. Sam Cecil had no more interest in killing John Cecil than Jacob in killing Noah. But when General Melton in Springfield learned that three months of fighting had produced only one fatal casualty, he was sorely displeased, and he dispatched his brother Major Melton with a shipment of heavy artillery. Major Melton remained long enough with Jacob’s men to instruct them in the deployment of cannon, and left Jacob with the general’s stern command: shoot to kill.
It is difficult to fire a cannon without killing or grievously injuring the enemy, but Jacob’s artillerymen practiced diligently and in time learned how to fire a cannon so that it would cause a tree limb to fall upon the enemy or splatter mud all over him, or at least make him wet his pants in fear. The best thing about cannon was the noise they made, and it was the noise of war, rather than killing, which the men enjoyed, and which relieved them of their need to kick posts or dogs or slam their fists into their palms. There were many men and boys who wanted to join Jacob’s army but had no horse or suitable riding animal, so Jacob created a regiment of Infantry Volunteers and promoted his son Isaac to captain and placed him in charge of the infantry. With both cavalry and infantry, Jacob could engage the enemy in a pitched battle instead of mere raids and skirmishes, and the only Newton County battle that made the history books was the Battle of Whiteley’s Mill, near Boxley in the western part of the county.
Capt. Cecil’s spies learned of the planned attack in advance, and his Rebels were reinforced by other guerrilla bands from neighboring counties, so that the Confederate strength was nearly 250 men, the same number that Jacob commanded. Jacob’s artillerymen rolled their cannon up onto a ridge overlooking the valley in which the Confederates formed their battle line, and, at a signal from Jacob, began firing their cannon in such a way as to splatter the enemy with mud and make him wet his pants in fear. Then Jacob charged the line with his cavalry from one side while Isaac brought up his infantry regiment from the other. For more than two hours the battle raged, tooth and nail. Jacob’s artillerymen blasted every tree in the valley, and the battle would have gone on longer except that the valley became overcast with a dark veil of gunpowder and smoke that blotted out the sun, and the men were choking from the heavy odor of it. Jacob assessed the situation and the casualties: one of his men had his horse shot out from under him and broke his leg and was captured; one of Capt. Cecil’s guerrillas had been accidentally wounded while attempting to remove his wet pants. Jacob ordered a retreat; his ammunition was used up. Throughout the battle he had searched everywhere for his brother Noah but had been unable to spot him, until, as he and his men were retreating, he saw Noah standing amidst a crowd of Rebels who were shouting their notorious “Rebel Yell,” the bloodcurdling victory whoop that reminded Jacob somewhat of Fanshaw’s dawn chant. Noah was hollering it as loudly as the others, and Jacob felt taunted and humiliated in his retreat.
As was expected of him, he filed a report of the battle and sent it to headquarters, and received from General Melton this reply:
Major: you have the honor to report that the numbers of men now under your command qualifies you for promotion to colonel. But you ask me to believe that your regiments assaulted Rebel forces in a pitched battle of over two hours duration, all the while steadily employing the heavy field pieces recently shipped to you, without one single battle death on either side. Sir, that is not warfare. That is fraternization with the enemy! Fraternization with the enemy is a serious dereliction of duty, punishable by death. But I am loath to have you and your entire command hanged. Therefore I am demoting you to captain and placing my brother, Major Melton, in com
mand of your regiments, with instructions to improve their abilities to spill blood, maim, and, I hope, deprive the enemy of life. You will answer to him, and, I hope, render him every assistance in dispersing and exterminating the Confederate forces in Newton County.
The bearer of this letter was Major Melton himself, who said to Jacob, “Just out of curiosity, could you tell me how five hundred men could mobilize and fight for over two hours without a single one getting killed?”
“It weren’t easy,” Jacob admitted.
“Don’t your men aim their weapons in the general direction of the enemy?” Major Melton wanted to know.
“Shore,” Jacob replied, “we shoot at ’em.”
“And the enemy, I assume, shoot at you. Might I ask how much ammunition was used at Whiteley’s Mill?”
Jacob calculated. “Wal, we started out with a thousand rounds of cannon shot and ten thousand of rifle shot, and when it was all over we were near ’bout shotless. That’s the main reason I had to retreat.”
“And not a single one of those rounds hit anybody?”
“Wal, there was this one Reb who was tryin to take off his bepissed pants, and he tripped, and…”
“I heard about that,” Major Melton interrupted, impatiently. “Sir, you make a joke of war.”
“War is a purty sorry joke,” Jacob opined.
“My fear is that you and your men, as well as the enemy, will eventually persuade yourselves that this conflict is all a lot of foolishness and simply call it off without consulting higher echelons.”
“That is your fear,” said Jacob, “and my hope.”
“Would you prefer,” Major Melton asked, “that your regiments be transferred to a theater of operations where the enemy are not cousins and brothers?”
The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 1 Page 94