FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  “Well, I suppose you think you are really somethin’ now? What about last summer down by the Pecatonica?”

  Alfred looked up into the tree boughs with other curious bystanders. He smiled and leaned closer toward Elmer to hear his response.

  “What are you referring to?” Ellsworth replied nervously.

  Allie rolled her eyes and shook her head. She spoke rapidly, “Well, I saw you, Major Elmer, with your pants rolled up to your knees. You was in the Rock River, walkin’ the mud dunes with that trap of yours, lookin’ for muskrats like you did back in Kenosha!”

  Alfred and the others around the shady oak tree howled with laughter, causing Ellsworth to blush in embarrassment. Placing his cap back on his head at a jaunty angle, he hesitated and slowly looked at the sassy teen above him.

  “Allie, you are correct. I must admit, though, I am a gentleman and an officer now. When you grow up some day, you will learn to choose your words more wisely so as not to insult even the worst of scoundrels. Can I trust that in the future you will act more becoming as a lady? In fact, you are situated strategically in this tree. Look to the crowd before you. Can you see the truest of ladies adorned with ribbons and bonnets? They are the ones to be most admired. Look hard and long, Allie, and some day you, too, will be a lady of distinction.” Ellsworth tilted his head and looked at Allie again.

  “Jumpin’ jiminy, Elmer, your words are as big as those britches of yours! So being the gentleman that you look like, can I be a lady and be askin’ you a couple a questions?”

  “Sure, Allie, what is it?”

  “Do you think a lady deserves a hand when she puts her foot to the carriage step?”

  “Of course, Allie, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “Well, those ladies are city folk, and I’m not,” she replied in a rebellious tone. She grinned widely and tilted her head to the side like a curious cat. Then, quickly, she lowered her voice in a graceful manner, much like the ribbon-laced ladies before her. Sweetly she said, “Now, dear Major, would you be so kind as to grab my glove and assist me down from this forsaken and dusty old oak tree?”

  Alfred chuckled again along with the throng of bystanders who, though facing forward, were close enough to hear the exchange.

  Elmer smiled, shaking his head slowly side to side. He looked up at the tree bough. Nodding respectfully, and with a pleasant inflection to his voice, he replied, “Allie, some day you will be some gentleman’s happy handful. I must go now. Alfred, let’s move closer to the platform. I would rather take the heat over there than here!”

  The bands continued to play, echoing through the grove of trees. Then the pitch and tempo picked up quickly. Senator Douglas, the little giant, and his entourage were waving to admirers from the steps of the Brewster House where Douglas had stayed the night before, preparing his speech. Within moments a beautiful coach pulled by two fine horses approached the hotel to escort the little giant to the speaker’s platform. Douglas shook hands, turned for a brief moment, and thanked the hotel proprietor for the fine accommodations. He then turned to the street to enter the carriage. Grabbing the coach handle, he placed one foot on the step, but a rousing cheer caused him to step back. He quickly turned to the right to see a throng of people swirling with excitement as the dust rose before them.

  “Do you see that!” retorted Douglas. His voice seemed strangely forceful for a man of short stature. “Here we go again!” He repeated, “Here we go again!” Stepping back from the coach, he stood with both hands on his hips.

  “Clear the way for Honest Abe!” the leaders of the throng demanded.

  One hundred or so cheering citizens of Freeport walked by the Brewster House alongside a large Pennsylvania farm wagon pulled by four workhorses clopping along at a steady gait. The driver was perched on the front left horse, allowing his most notable rider to stand alone on the flatbed with an unobstructed view of the crowd. It was Abraham Lincoln politicking at his best. The wagon continued to close on the Brewster House.

  “Always up to fancy tricks, that Lincoln! I can’t take this carriage to the platform. The citizens will mock me as some pompous Chicago city slicker,” said Douglas as he scratched the back of his head. “He pulled a stunt like this in Ottawa, too. I agreed to have this backwoods stump speaker lead off in Freeport, and he is taking full advantage of the situation now. Must I now walk in this dust to the speaker’s platform?” Douglas retorted as he wrung his hands together. He flushed with increasing anger.

  The wagon slowly plugged along. Lincoln looked like a giant. He stood six feet four, nearly one foot taller than Douglas, and with the buckboard raising him higher, he stood no less than eleven feet from the ground, top hat and all. His coat sleeves looked too short for his lanky arms. He carried two small leather books in his left hand as he waved with his right hand to his admirers. His overall appearance was dusty. He had no beard. Occasionally he would pull off his top hat, tipping it to those he recognized, exposing rough hair that stuck out in all directions. Above it all he smiled and slowly nodded, showing his appreciation for the growing throng of people. When he approached the Brewster House, where Douglas was standing firm like a statue, he smiled again and tipped his hat to his adversary. He then raised the two leather books in his left hand and pointed to them with his long bony finger.

  Douglas stood firm with his hands on his hips and nodded back. “He will make this a contest for sure,” he said.

  The procession continued by the Brewster House and turned the corner.

  “Senator, are you ready to depart for the platform?” the driver asked respectfully, dropping his hand to assist the senator.

  Douglas looked up at the driver. “After that episode,” replied the little giant, “it is certain I would lose this debate before it even begins. That crowd is cheering dear old ‘Honest Abe’ from the backwoods of Salem. If I ride in your carriage, my dear sir, I will be the laughing stock before I step on the stage! I will walk to the platform. There will be no carriage or parade for Stephen Douglas today. I will meet this man one for one by foot or by folly!”

  The little giant stepped off the porch. He grabbed the lapels on both sides of his shiny black suit coat. Stepping heel to toe in the wagon ruts to keep his balance, he rounded the corner in a huff and disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 7

  Pecatonica River

  Freeport

  Autumn, 1858

  “Well, I sure showed Elmer what it’s like to be a river rat.”

  “Come on, Allie,” Will replied. “You can always get the gander on anyone. What did you do? Am I going to hear about it when he comes back from the Point?”

  “He ain’t at the Point and never will be. He just rights himself in that fancy uniform impressin’ all those big-city girls. He needs to get back to the river and have some fun.”

  “Sounds like you might have a big crush on him, Allie.”

  Allie looked quickly upriver and then turned to Will. She bent over to pick up a hickory stick that was trapped in a little pool by the bank. Swishing it in a circular motion in the pool, she hesitated and then pulled it up. There was silence now. She looked up at Will again.

  “There is only one man that keeps my fancy,” she replied as she stood up, holding the stick in her right hand. “I am not much for words about it, Will, but I will draw it for you.”

  Will looked curiously at Allie as she took the tip of the hickory stick like a wand and started drawing in the wet sand. There were a few leaves in the way, so she pushed them aside with the stick. Looking up at Will, she smiled gently. She still had a slight look of mischief in her bright-blue eyes. Gazing directly back at Will, and without looking at the movement of her hand, she held the stare. Slowly, she pulled the tip through the wet mud, drawing it slowly until the figure was complete.

  “Do you know what that symbol is, William Erwin?”

  Will looked down and then looked up to catch her inquisitive gaze directly.

  “It’s a heart.”
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  “That’s my heart,” she said gently as she bent over again. “I want you to turn your back now ’cause I’m goin’ to write the first letter of the first name of the boy who keeps my fancy. Turn your back now.”

  With a swift motion, she slashed four quick lines in the mud. Throwing the stick in the river, she giggled and headed down the riverbank at a fast pace.

  “You can’t catch me,” she dared. Giggles echoed through the trees.

  Will, confused at the commotion, looked down at the heart drawing and noticed a “W” enclosed within. He felt stunned for a moment as he grabbed his trouser suspenders with his thumbs.

  “Well, golly, Allie. I didn’t know at all. Just wait a minute now!” he yelled.

  Allie continued at a quick pace down the river. Will pursued, high-stepping over small bushes and logs just like his river runs with Aaron. This time, though, he felt a tingle of joy in his belly. He always had a thing for Allie, since meeting her during the Lincoln-Douglas debate, but never thought she felt the same. Now he knew for sure.

  “Allie, slow down…Allie, where are you?…Allie, don’t hide from me!”

  After continuing his frantic pace, Will stopped at a bend in the river just north of the hidden wigwam to catch his breath. He leaned against a fine old hickory tree, placing both his hands on his knees. His wavy brown hair was saturated with sweat, making it curl even more. His eyes reflected the water and the autumn skies above in differing shades of blue.

  “Boo!” Allie shouted.

  Will pushed himself back off the tree. In one quick motion, he swirled around and faced her. “Allie, why do you do these things to me?”

  Allie stepped forward from behind the old hickory.

  “Do what, Will?”

  “I almost fell in the river when you put up that scare!” He shook his head briefly and then looked down at her. There was silence again as they looked at each other.

  “Will, come with me. I know of a secret place around the bend. I found it when I was trapping frogs a couple years ago. It has a secret entrance and a mirror that reflects the sun at high noon in summer.”

  Will dropped his jaw in astonishment. He couldn’t believe someone else had found the wigwam. He wondered if Aaron had perhaps let the secret slip to her. Composing himself, he asked as he walked, “Who else knows about this secret place you found?”

  Allie stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Well, if it was some lady folk in Freeport, with all the gabbin’ they do, then all of Stephenson County would know about it! I saw a flash and found it one day as I was walkin’ close to the other side of the Pecatonica. I reckon my curiosity was more than an ol’ cat. I stuck my head through the hollies and saw the cave!”

  “Interesting,” replied Will.

  Allie reached for Will’s hand, and he gently placed her hand in his palm. With the movement, the wind picked up and blew ripples across the water. Two turtledoves were startled on a sandbar and flickered up before them. Allie turned and hugged Will.

  “That’s a sign. I just made a wish for us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you know that turtledoves mate for life? You always see them in pairs, ya know.” Allie looked up at Will. Her words were more restrained now. She almost whispered. “The place I’m taking you to is very special. We will be there soon.”

  Will remained silent as he looked into her blue eyes. Afraid he’d hurt her feelings, he decided to keep his knowledge of the wigwam secret for now. He reasoned it was best to reveal what he knew after making sure it was the same place.

  The waters rippled and echoed gently as they gazed at each other. In the moment, he was awakened to the realization that someone very special cared for him for the first time in his life. He felt a little uneasy about it but was excited in a strange but comfortable way.

  His heart pounded as they rounded the bend, and he kept his hand firmly in hers all the way to the wigwam.

  Chapter 8

  Tremont House Hotel

  Southeast Corner of Lake and Dearborn Streets

  Chicago

  May, 1859

  Three figures stood like dark silhouettes against the morning light that drove its way into the Tremont House lobby. Smoke trails from a cigar lifted to the ceiling. The room was quiet for the most part. It was too early for the piano player.

  Galena friends John E. Smith and Congressman Washburne were there by the window. They had arrived moments before with Fire Marshal Putnam of Freeport. The train ride from the west was only a half-day’s ride, yet they boarded the iron horse in the still of the night so they would not be late. The purpose of their trip was to see Mr. Lincoln and discuss his future.

  “Do you think the drawbridge is up?” Putnam asked.

  “Could be,” Washburne replied as he puffed on his morning cigar. “Old Abe is a timely fellow. He will be here in a moment.”

  “I am looking forward to meeting him, Wash,” John E. replied. “I will wait until midnight for the chance.”

  “Well, we will sure know when he approaches,” Putnam added. “Though he lost the senatorial election to the little giant, he still stands taller than most people in this city, and not just physically.”

  “Rightly so,” continued Washburne as he lifted his jaw and puffed out a small cloud of smoke. “I think he’s pulling up now.”

  The door burst open. The noise from the rabble of Chicagoans echoed through the lobby. The three turned quickly to catch the spectacle. Lincoln and Elmer were within plain view inside the carriage.

  The Irish driver held his whip up high and in a thick brogue screamed, “If ya want to feel the leather against your noggins, then stay where you are. Move yourself away, or I will move you!”

  The crowd pressed against the carriage doors. No one in the carriage could step out.

  John E. Smith, Washburne, and Putnam advanced.

  “Clear the way!” Putnam yelled, “I am a fire marshal. Clear the way!” He reached out and grabbed a young fellow by the collar nearly lifting him off the ground. “All of you, move yourselves away…Now!”

  Like a crowd dispersing after a fistfight, a few of the spectators peeled away, and then the rest fell away, standing across the street to get a follow-up view.

  Putnam reached for the door and opened it. He saluted the freed inhabitants.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the Irishman breathed, “you cleared ’em good. I thought you’d be needin’ my whip, sir!”

  “These are good people,” Putnam replied. “They came to cheer for Mr. Lincoln.”

  Putnam grabbed the latch on the carriage door and pulled it open with ease.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lincoln, and to you, too, Elmer,” Putnam interjected as he reached his hand inside the carriage cabin. He looked very pleased, not only to see Elmer again but to see him in the company of Abraham Lincoln.

  “Good morning, Old Put!” Lincoln replied. “It’s been too long since that hot day with Douglas. I beat him in Freeport, but he got the total win in this Sucker State!” Lincoln slipped out onto the curbside and placed his top hat on with a tap. “Hope things have cooled down in Freeport?”

  “We are still keeping the irons hot for you!” Putnam replied, gripping Lincoln’s hand again.

  John E. and Washburne approached the carriage and extended their hands, too. The carriage door swung shut. The Irishman cracked his whip, and the carriage quickly disappeared around the corner.

  “Quite a crowd, Abe,” Washburne commented. “Maybe there were a few votes out there that weren’t counted in January?” He smiled and nodded.

  Lincoln returned the smile and then looked somber. He walked to the windows. His top hat nearly touched the ceiling. Taking a seat, he perched his hat on his knee and calmly stated, “Gentlemen, I now sink out of view and will be forgotten.”

  Elmer looked at Washburne. Smith and Putnam stood in silence.

  Washburne broke the silence. “You will rise above this, Mr. Lincoln. Your friends here have a plan,
and we have a year before the next election.”

  “And what election is that?” Lincoln replied.

  “The presidency, sir.”

  Lincoln paused and then picked up his top hat. He moved it to his other knee. “So, Wash, you’re believin’ that we can win a platform?”

  “I am sure of it,” Washburne replied with enthusiasm. “We have a plan!”

  “Well, don’t stand on my behalf.” Lincoln was upbeat again. “Take your seats, gentlemen; light your cigars; and tell me this plan.”

  One by one the four men drew positions on the leather seats by the window, which still had winter frost in the corners. A cloud of smoke gathered over their heads.

  As a lobby attendant approached, Washburn said, “Sir, bring us three of your finest brandies, and two glasses of water for Mr. Lincoln and Colonel Ellsworth. But not right now. Let no one disturb us for the next half hour. Then bring it on. We will make our toast then.”

  The attendant bowed his head in acknowledgment and respectfully stepped out of the parlor.

  Washburne turned back to the others. “Elmer, have you told him your plan?”

  “I was holding it as a surprise, Congressman.”

  “And what have you?” Lincoln asked.

  “I have been elected as commandant of the newly formed US Zouave Cadets of Chicago, forty men strong. We will show Chicago our drills on Independence Day! The event will begin in front of this hotel in the morning.” Elmer raised his chin and tilted his head smartly.

  “Congratulations, Colonel. I am very much looking forward to seeing your militia in action,” Lincoln replied with a courteous nod. He then turned his attention to the others.

  “And you, Fire Marshal Putnam, what is your plan to put out the Democratic fire in this state?”

  “Mr. Lincoln, I suppose those fires will dwindle by themselves if we can keep the Republican fires lit into the night.”

  “And what do you mean by this,” Lincoln replied curiously.

  “John E. and I will make sure that the Lincoln platform will be reckoned with.”

  Lincoln looked at John E. Smith, who confirmed Putnam’s confidence as he replied, “Old Put and I will have torch-light parades in Galena and Freeport. We will make sure every town in this corridor will be awakened with the news even late into the night. We will call our night volunteers the ‘Wide Awakes’.”