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 dealing 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 command 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?”
“I’d a heap sight prefer that to this,” Jacob declared.
“All right. I’ll recommend it to Headquarters. But first,” Major Melton held up his index finger, “we have a job to do.”
Major Melton took over command of Jacob’s cavalry and infantry regiments, and Jacob was demoted to the captaincy of Company A of the cavalry regiment; this company was composed mainly of the original Stay More men. Major Melton assembled all of the troops and made a long speech to them, explaining the necessity of killing, and pointing out that a refusal to kill amounted to fraternization with the enemy, a dereliction of duty punishable by death. The men listened sullenly and suspiciously, and when Major Melton was finished with them they reverted to their old habits of smashing their fists into their palms, and, because the movements of the armies had knocked down every post and there were no posts to kick, and all the dogs in the county had learned to hide at the sight of man, they kicked each other. Jacob wondered if Virdie Boatright would ever come back. Even if she did, she might not have anything to do with a soldier dressed in blue. Or mightn’t she? Even if she might, she couldn’t take on a whole regiment of them. Or couldn’t she? Even if she could, the benefits would only be temporary. Or wouldn’t they? Even if they weren’t…but Jacob began to realize that what was done could not be undone. For a while he gave serious thought to secretly sending a messenger to Capt. Cecil warning him that Major Melton now intended to shoot to kill. But that would be treason. Or at least fraternization with the enemy. The best that Jacob could hope for would be that if Major Melton started killing he might be killed in return, and then for a while the Federals and Confederates of Newton County could go back to their old safe way of fighting. These thoughts were interrupted by the sight and sound of Major Melton riding up and down the lines brandishing his saber and yelling, “Forward, ho!”
For weeks they searched for Capt. Cecil without finding a single Rebel. Their rations were low, and Jacob didn’t like Major Melton’s idea of “expropriating” rations from the civilian population of the county. Even in peacetime these people had a hard enough task living from hand to mouth. Now they were being victimized not just by the Federal troops but also by roving bands of bushwhackers and jayhawkers.
The people always suffer the brunt of war, Jacob realized, and he yearned to slip away to Stay More to see if his own people were enduring their hardships. He suggested to Major Melton that Capt. Cecil’s troops might have left the county to join Confederate engagements elsewhere. But Major Melton was determined to continue the search, until every holler of Newton County had been explored. Finally Major Melton asked Jacob, “Which of your men would know Cecil best?” and Jacob replied that would be Sergeant Sam Cecil, his own brother. Sam Cecil was called up, and Major Melton asked him if he had any idea where his brother might be hiding. Sam did, but was reluctant to say. Major Melton lost his temper and busted Sam to private, then assembled all the troops and gave them a long lecture on the superiority of patriotism over brotherhood, concluding rhetorically, “If your brother pointed his weapon at you and prepared to fire, would you not return his fire?” Afterward Sam Cecil came to Jacob and said he had decided to go ahead and tell the major where he thought his brother was hiding, but, he asked Jacob, would it be all right to send a secret messenger to John Cecil, warning him that Major Melton now intended to shoot to kill? Jacob had to explain to Sam that that would be treason or at least fraternization with the enemy, and Jacob in clear conscience could not give Sam permission to do so. Even if he did warn his brother, Jacob pointed out, what good would it do? It would just mean that the Rebels would be waiting and ready to shoot to kill, themselves. Yeah, Sam admitted, if somebody’s gonna git kilt, it mout as well be them ’stead of us. So he went to Major Melton and told him that his brother was probably hiding in Limestone Valley, that hotbed of Confederate sympathizers. Major Melton restored Sam to sergeant, and promoted him to chief scout for the expedition to invade Limestone Valley.
The attack was carefully planned, and kept secret from all but the higher officers, but still, when the Federals swept down into Limestone Valley at the crack of dawn, they discovered that John Cecil had been tipped off and was already in full flight with his band of some 180 men. Major Melton ordered a cavalry charge in pursuit and rode at the head of it himself, and was the first to overtake and kill one of the fleeing Rebels. At the far end of Limestone Valley, Capt. John Cecil halted his flight and tried to rally his men to form a line of defense, but when the Rebels saw that the Federals were shooting to kill, saw dozens of their comrades falling, they ran for their lives, scattering all over the mountain. Still Major Melton pursued them, killing many and capturing several. Jacob dutifully followed, but still could not bring himself to kill anyone, although, when he was forced to, he would shoot to wound rather than kill, and he wounded several.
The pursuing cavalry were as scattered as their quarry, and Jacob found himself separated from the others, alone in a holler of Big Piney Creek, where he was chasing a Rebel soldier. The soldier was on foot, and Jacob soon caught up with him. The soldier turned to face him and to fire at him, and Jacob discovered that it was Noah.
Before Noah could fire, Jacob yelled, “Hey, Noey! It’s me, Jake!”
Noah did not lower his rifle. “Shit,” he said, “fire.”
Instinctively Jacob brought his rifle up and sighted, to protect himself, but he went on talking, “This is foolish, Noah. This is crazy.”
“Shit,” said Noah again, “fire,” and squeezed the trigger.
In the same instant Jacob returned his fire. These brothers, like all the Ozark mountain men, were sharpshooters. Each had aimed precisely at the other’s left eye, the sighting eye. Thus, their bullets met midway between them, col
lided and fused into a lump of lead, and dropped to the earth. They fired again, and again their bullets collided between them.
“SHIT!” Noah hollered. “FIRE!”
His voice startled Jacob’s horse, and the horse’s sudden movement spoiled his aim. Their third bullets, instead of colliding in midair, missed each other. Noah’s bullet hit Jacob in the shoulder. Jacob’s bullet hit Noah in the heart.
Major Melton granted a one-week furlough to Jacob so that he could return to Stay More for his brother’s funeral. Noah was buried near Murray Swain in the cemetery on Swains Creek. His tombstone, which even today somebody always covers with flowers on the anniversary of his death, says simply “Corp. Noah L. Ingledew, C.S.A.,” followed by his dates of birth and death, and the simple inscription, “Who was right.” Undoubtedly, unquestionably, a question mark was intended to follow these words, but perhaps the stonecutter did not know how to cut one, with the resultant ambiguity suggesting that Noah might have been right. Or perhaps he was; I am just guessing.
The people of Stay More felt such great sorrow for Jacob Ingledew that they could not possibly conceive of a single adequate word of condolence that might be spoken to him; consequently no one spoke to Jacob, and he mistakenly interpreted this as a sign of their scorn or derision, which he felt he justly deserved. Not even his own wife Sarah could think of any words adequate to express her sorrow and her pity for him. All she could do, by way of solace, was to make herself freely available in bed, but Jacob did not think that copulation was appropriate in a time of bereavement, so he rejected her offering. He spent much of his time standing by Swains Creek beneath the sycamore tree in which Noah’s treehouse was perched, staring up at it. Over and over again in his mind he relived the last moments of Noah’s life, trying to figure out what was going through Noah’s mind. He realized that Noah must have seen many of his fellow soldiers killed by Major Melton’s troops (altogether, in the skirmish of Limestone Valley, thirty Rebels were killed, forty-three were wounded, and eight taken prisoner) and that Noah suddenly knew that the game of war was no longer a game, that it was now: kill or be killed. But his own brother? Had Noah really believed that Jacob would kill him? But Jacob knew that he himself was thinking along similar lines during those tense moments.
The Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks Page 16