FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  “Get back here, Cashier!” Bush shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “Albert will be in big trouble for this escapade,” he said to the boys around him. “He’s gonna wish he hadn’t come back once the colonel is finished with him.”

  Allie continued at a full trot and then a gallop as the sun began to set behind her. Passing the Stone house on the Jackson Road, she continued to where the rebel siege lines had skirted the perimeter of Vicksburg.

  “Halt!” screamed two sentries in unison.

  She continued at full gallop now. Zip! Zip! Two musket balls droned by her ears.

  In a few minutes, she sighted the Shirley house, as white and unspoiled as ever in the setting sun. She wondered how it could have survived all the heavy fighting.

  The colonel’s horse was strong, did not tire, and proceeded at a full gallop. Allie kept her posture forward to keep her balance. She whispered in the horse’s ear, “We’ll be gittin there soon ol’ boy!”

  Within minutes she could see Mt. Ararat where she had last met Will in the darkness before the great assaults on the rebel lines. She began to slow the pace of the horse so she could find her way. The last vestige of sunlight now could be seen only at the peak of the mountain. She slowed the horse to a canter pace and then to a slow trot, finally reaching the trail that led to the top of the summit.

  Quickly dismounting from the saddle, she gently stroked the horse’s sweaty mane and then tied him to a small tree where he could not be seen. Crisscrossing on the path to the top, she made the arduous walk up to where she and Will had made love. Below her, the twinkling campfires around Vicksburg glittered as before, though the fires were fewer.

  She walked over to the familiar flat rock where she embraced Will just seven months before and sat down.

  Looking to the clear starry constellation above, she sighed. “Why did you have to pick up that flag, my love?”

  Shaking uncontrollably, she looked again to the heavens. Her grief was too great to be compared to anything she had felt before, even though she had seen hundreds of dead corpses mangled, contorted, and heaped on battlefields. She felt like a dagger was in her heart, and she could not pull it out. She had loved Will from the day she met him.

  Pulling out a large bowie knife from her belt, a prize she received from a tall rebel after the Vicksburg surrender, she gasped for air. She could not breathe at the thought of Will. She pounded the blade tip into the rocky soil between her boots.

  “Why? Why? Why?” she cried as she drove the tip of the blade deeper into ground with each quick, rhythmic, and frantic thrust.

  Then she stopped.

  The multitude of campfires in the distance seemed to grow brighter in the darkness, and the memories of the wigwam came over her.

  She remembered how Will always smiled gently and with approval when she kidded Trick, even pushing him on occasion into the Pecatonica. She also remembered the prank she pulled on Will; how he raced to the sandbar thinking she was chasing him. Most of all, she pondered the quiet times together with their feet gently swirling in the river, and when they carved their initials in the sand … always an “A” for Allie and a “W” for Will, intertwined and intermixed.

  The memories made her feel better now, and she felt a sense of peace and grace as if Will was with her somehow.

  She looked up to the heavens again and stood up. Turning slowly, she walked to a large, flat-faced boulder in front of her. Placing the bowie knife with the point up, and using the pressure of both hands, she began scratching a “W” on the surface. Though the rock sediment was tough, she could clearly make her mark.

  The night breezes began to blow across the rocky point. She could feel Will’s presence around her. “I will love you forever, Will,” she said softly to the wind.

  When she finished etching the “W” into the stone, she rubbed it with her left hand. “That should tidy it up,” she said. Holding the knife horizontally now, she scratched a line to make the inside of the “W” an “A”. She then carved a heart symbol around the two superimposed letters. She smiled and looked pleased, like a sculptor after putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece. Her heart was not heavy anymore.

  “There we go, my love,” she whispered as she rubbed the flat of the bowie knife on her front sleeve. “This rock will be here forever.”

  Placing the bowie knife back in her belt, she turned to look once more at the campfires and the constellation of light above her.

  “Best be gittin back to camp,” she said. “Best be gittin back to the boys.”

  Chapter 56

  Camp of the Twenty-Ninth Regiment Infantry

  United States Colored Troops (USCT)

  Quincy, Illinois

  April 27, 1864

  Five companies of soldiers stood in silent formation on the Quincy green. Some were born free; others were runaway slaves. All of them now mustered into service to fight for the Union and freedom.

  A bugle cracked the silence as it sounded reveille. The sharp, quick cadence of the tune raised a prideful spirit in the men as Old Glory slowly ascended to the top of the flagpole in front of them. When the bugler blew the final note, the flag rose to the highest point and came to life, snapping in the cool April breeze. The recruits, in their silence, thought of their families. They wondered what the future would hold for them. Today was the day of departure to Chicago and then on to the battlefields of Virginia.

  “Attention E Company! Roll call!” commanded Captain Flint as he held his company roster above his head. “Colonel Bross has instructed all companies to take mess immediately after roll call, prepare six days’ rations, and present back here on the green at three o’clock for a farewell address from Brigadier General Prentiss. Once you have answered my roll call, you are dismissed to camp. Are there any questions?” Flint asked.

  “OK then. Company roll call!”

  “Thomas Adams!”

  “Present for duty, sir!”

  “Moses Alexander!”

  “Present for duty, sir!”

  “Wait a minute! My God, do we have the entire Arbuckle clan here? I see we have four in our company! All are privates. Company, at ease. Arbuckles, all of you, step forward.”

  The four stepped to the front of the command.

  “Boys, are you all related?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the shortest in the family. “My name is Joseph Arbuckle, and my friends call me Li’l Joe!”

  “Well, so it is,” Captain Flint replied as he shook his head side to side. “And I see you have some spunk, too! Li’l Joe, I have you marked present for duty. You can return to camp. The rest of you Arbuckles sound off!”

  “Conrad Arbuckle!”

  “Present for duty, sir!”

  “Robert Arbuckle!”

  “Present for duty, sir!”

  “William Arbuckle!”

  “Present for duty, sir!”

  Captain Flint continued the roll call for the remaining eighty-five members of Company E. As Li’l Joe returned to his Sibley tent on the Quincy green, he looked across the field and saw a sergeant approaching him. He was dressed in a musician’s coat much fancier than what the other enlisted men wore. It had sky-blue lace formed in nine V-shaped rows with nine bronze buttons centered within the pattern. He noticed the sergeant had a distinctive limp, and he looked familiar.

  As the sergeant neared, Li’l Joe cried out in glee, “Blue! Is that you? I can’t believe my eyes. Blue, oh, Blue, it is you!”

  Blue picked up his pace, hugged Li’l Joe, who was now five feet six inches tall, and lifted him off the ground.

  “Dear God, Li’l Joe, it is you!” Blue exclaimed gleefully as he welled up with tears. “How did you get here? Where have you been? I assumed you headed to Canada after the friends of the wigwam took you to the Oscar Taylor house.”

  Li’l Joe rubbed his tears in the elbow of his frock coat and looked up. “Well, after you left me in Freeport, the Taylor family got fond of me. I think they felt sorry that I
was alone and not wandering with a family. They asked if I would be a paid house servant, and I gladly accepted. During those years, Mrs. Taylor was so kind. She taught me how to read, write, and speak like you, Blue! For this, I will always be grateful.”

  “I am so happy for you, Li’l Joe. We are back together again. And who are your comrades-in-arms? What company are you in?”

  “I am in E Company. I have other Arbuckle relatives in the company, too! We are all from Wood River. My father, Conrad, is with us, too!”

  Blue stepped back dropping his flute to his side. “Your father is alive? He made it to shore?”

  Li’l Joe beamed. “Yes, Blue, after our rowboat was swamped the second time, he drifted away from me, and by chance, a large oak tree branch floated near him and he held on firm. He floated downstream until daybreak and was discovered by a fisherman who pulled him into his boat and placed a blanket over him. He then traveled back north on the underground railroad to Alton and freedom!”

  “God bless!” Blue replied passionately, “I am so happy for you and all the Arbuckles.”

  “Have you heard anything from our friends of the wigwam?” Li’l Joe asked.

  “No, after I left you at the wigwam, I never went back on the underground railroad through Freeport. I went seven other secret ways through Rockford and Chicago.”

  “Do you think the boys are fighting for Father Abraham?”

  “I’m quite sure they are . . . or maybe they’re in heaven now,” he replied softly.

  “Well, I suspect the two misses are praying for the boys to return soon to Freeport. I remember the shorter one who hugged me when I was scared. Remember, Blue?

  “Yes, I do. Her name is Allie.”

  “She was so kind to me,” Li’l Joe replied. “I hope she is still by the cave with her other nice lady friend.”

  “Her name is Jenny Putnam. Her father was a friend of Mr. Taylor, remember?

  “Sure do. She was dressed in fancy clothes. Allie was in britches like I was.”

  Well, I hope those boys are safe,” replied Blue as he held his fife to his side.

  Li’l Joe nodded and smiled. He then looked over his shoulder at his company campground. He noticed that all the Arbuckles were working diligently, preparing rations and equipment for the trip back east. He turned to Blue and saluted. “Best be getting back to my company. See you on the green, Sergeant!”

  As he returned to Company E, a train engine pulled up with twelve coaches of the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroads. The train whistle shrieked loudly as the hiss of the boilers and the rumble of iron crossed by the green, rolling to rest at the Quincy terminal several hundred yards away. Soldiers from the other four companies stepped away from the tracks and watched in awe. They mixed in and around the green like citizens in a busy city, all of them moving quickly to make the preparations complete.

  By three o’clock, they returned to their formations again, in silence.

  General Prentiss, arriving by carriage, walked to a small platform that was constructed the previous day to address the soldiers, all of whom were fully equipped now and ready to embark on the train.

  Taking three steps up the platform with Old Glory still flapping smartly in the wind, he looked up at the blue sky and then down at his notes. He smiled and nodded his head, pleased at the magnificent columns of men before him.

  “Soldiers of the Twenty-Ninth USCT,” he called out, raising his hand like a minister over the five companies whose officers stood proudly in front. “We are called upon to co-operate with our brave companions-in-arms, whose proud lot it is to precede us in the noble cause for which we battle: the restoration of the Union and the perpetuity of the institutions bequeathed to us by our forefathers. To those officers before us who fought valiantly with me at Shiloh and across the land from east to west, our citizens will be forever grateful.”

  Prentiss paused and looked up at the sky again. The sun was beginning to descend behind the tall buildings on the western side of the green, causing shadows to fall onto the soldiers. The wind picked up.

  He looked at the crowd and pulled out a folded letter from his frock coat. He placed spectacles on the tip of his nose. The spectators remained silent.

  “As my final farewell to you, please allow me to share with you a few choice words written by our beloved president, Abraham Lincoln, who also sends an affectionate farewell. He is eternally grateful for your enlistment in the Twenty-Ninth USCT Infantry.”

  Prentiss opened the letter and snugged his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and, after a long pause, continued.

  Fellow-citizens, we cannot escape history…The fiery trail through which we pass will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation. We say we are for the Union. The world will not forget that we say this. We know how to save the Union. The world knows we do know how to save it…We…hold the power and bear the responsibility. In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free—honorable alike in what we give and what we preserve.

  Solo shouts from the crowd knifed through the air like pistol shots, causing the general to pause. He smiled and continued with a steady rising pitch,

  We shall nobly save . . . or . . . lose the last, best hope of earth. Other means may succeed; this could not fail. The way is plain, generous & just—a way which, if followed, the world will forever applaud, and God must forever bless! 21

  Prentiss smiled, nodded his head, and tucked the letter back in his coat.

  Colonel Bross then shouted, “Three cheers for Mr. Lincoln’s army!”

  A soldier chorus of “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” mixed with the cheers and shouts of both young and old. The train whistle shrieked again, beckoning the soldiers now to come, to begin their long journey to eastern battlefields.

  “Sergeant Blue, strike up the band!” Bross cried out as he unsheathed his sword and raised it high so the entire regiment could see him plainly. “Soldiers, prepare to march!”

  Blue stepped forward with the musicians, who were positioned to the front and side of the troops. Raising his wooden fife to his lips, he nodded his head, and the band played the popular song “We Are Coming, Father Abraham” whose lyrics were familiar to all.

  Each captain of the five companies shouted, “Company…march!” as the proud soldiers moved in perfect columns successively. As the fifth company in order, Captain Flint and Company E fell in to the procession last. When Company E approached the musicians, Li’l Joe, while keeping his shoulders straight and his step in sync with the march, turned his head to the regimental band. As he passed, he looked directly into Blue’s eyes, smiled, and saluted him with a quick snap of his right hand. Blue’s countenance beamed with appreciation as he nodded back, fife at his fingertips.

  The train whistle shrieked again as the boiler steam rose and then dropped onto the iron wheels that would carry the railroad cars on the first leg of the journey from Quincy to Chicago.

  A chorus of ladies with fancy bonnets that flapped in the breeze hurried to the front of the regiment with colorful bouquets. They handed a flower to every soldier they could reach. As the cheers and shouts for victory rose up, the women began to sing the lyrics of the marching song. More citizens joined in as the troops began to sing in perfect chorus with determined conviction in their eyes.

  We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more,

  From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore.

  We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,

  With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear.

  We dare not look behind us but steadfastly before.

  We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more!

  General Prentiss and his contigent remained on the green as the joyful singing of the soldiers faded away, their dusty boots enveloped in the billowing clouds of steam that rose and then fell to the railroad tracks. As the Twenty-Ninth USCT Infantry disappeared in the shadow-laced steam, a cavalcade of horses an
d buggies closed in behind them.

  Prentiss looked up again to the heavens and turned to his admirers. “Let us bow our heads and pray in silence for victory and the safe return of our boys. God bless Mr. Lincoln’s army.”

  In the distance the haunting moan of the train whistle signaled the celebration and festivities were over, as the new soldiers on the train thought about their families and what the future would hold for them as soldiers in the Union army. Many of them fell silent as they listened to the rapid, comforting click-clack of the train wheels that steadily rolled eastward over the long iron rails.

  They knew there was much more work to do.

  Chapter 57

  Wigwam

  Pecatonica River

  Early Summer, 1864

  The color in the trees was majestic, like it had always been this time of year on the Pecatonica. Turtledoves, two by two, still pecked at seed that drifted from the high grass on the riverbank to the pebbled sandbars. Gray squirrels with brown bellies chattered in the branches above as they prepared their nests for the winter. Now and then a red cardinal darted through the holly branches by the wigwam, and the tall Injun oak was almost touching the water now, its heavy weight cheated by years of soil erosion at its roots.

  The friends were still apart. Allie was fighting west of Vicksburg now. Aaron and Trick were in Georgia about ready to make a march to the sea with General Sherman. T.J. was home in Buda, blind, but able to manage a bookstore somehow. Will rested in a mass grave on the slope of Missionary Ridge.

  “Jenny, where are you taking me?”

  “To a special place, Charlie.”

  “Why is it so special?”

  “You will see in just a minute.”

  Jenny held Charlie’s hand so he would not slip. He was nine years old and had never been this far down the river. This was a stretch for the both of them, and Jenny knew it, but she continued on, knowing that their mother would not approve. Mrs. Putnam had been very protective of Charlie since the death of his father.