Letters home to Elizabeth Jane in Iowa
I now must tell you an anecdote that occurred between General Grant and Banks at Carrollton. When we were out on General Review Grant came down to see the 13th A C before he left and after review General Banks says to General Grant, “I don’t like those men of yours. They have not got style enough about them.”
Grant says, “Well, General, by God, if you do not like these men I will take them back. They were not drilled for style. They were drilled to fight and by God they will do it. They know how to fight.”
General Banks accepted the men and said nothing more about it.
Silas, December 1863
The colonel wants the regiment to reenlist but how it will be is more than I can tell. I do not think it will be necessary for us to reenlist. Everything shows a speedy termination of the war. They may hold out until after the election but that is all nonsense to them to do so with the calculation they have in their heads for I think old Abe will be our next president. If he runs I shall give him a kiss.
Well Janie, the news came to Headquarters the other day that three States had come into the Union by a large majority and we will be on our road home by May but you need not look for me until you see me coming.
Silas, March 1864
Well Janie, when I heard of the death of Lincoln it appeared to me that I had lost one of my mightiest friends. He was the soldiers’ best friend, but he had done enough in this world and the kind hand of Providence called him home to live in peace.
Silas, May 1865
CORN SILK DAYS
Iowa, 1862
LINDA PENDLETON
Also by Linda Pendleton
Fiction:
The Dawning
Shattered Lens: Catherine Winter, Private Investigator
The Masquerading Cowboy, A Novella
Roulette by Don and Linda Pendleton
Nonfiction:
Three Principles of Angelic Wisdom
A Walk Through Grief
A Small Drop of Ink
Angelic Whispers of Love
To Dance With Angels by Don and Linda Pendleton
Whispers From the Soul by Don and Linda Pendleton
Metaphysics of the Novel by Don Pendleton, Linda Pendleton
E-Books:
A Loving Presence
The UFO Phenomena: The Cosmic SOS
How Thin the Veil! 150 Years of Spiritualism
E-Courses:
Journey to the Heart
Healing Whispers
Comic Adaptations:
The Executioner War Against the Mafia,
Don and Linda Pendleton
The Executioner Death Squad, Linda Pendleton
Corn Silk Days: Iowa, 1862 © Copyright 2010 by Linda Pendleton, All Rights Reserved.
First Kindle Edition, October, 2010.
Pendleton Artists
ISBN: 1453876510
EAN-13: 9781453876510
Corn Silk Days is a work of fiction. Although certain of the incidents described are based on actual events from the past, all of the characters are fictionalized and are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual persons, groups, organizations, or events is not intended and is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of Linda Pendleton.
Cover design by Linda Pendleton and Judy Bullard.
Cover Model, Jimmy Thomas
Dedicated to the memory of my paternal great-great-grandparents, Silas Igo and Elizabeth Jane Shearer, and my father, John Sanford Abrams;
And,
to my mother, Rosary, my children and grandchildren – May you all know our roots go deep and our branches wide, and every spring new sprouts show their faces to the sun. Our tree grows dense and full, but always with room for more growth and with an indelible imprint of what came before. Our roots are sturdy, bold, and are there to feed the branches and leaves with renewed life.
~Linda Pendleton
“Well Jane, my principles have changed since I last seen you. When I was at home I was opposed to the meddling of slavery where it then existed but since the Rebels got to such a pitch and it became us as a military necessity (I say us because the President is doing for us the best he can) to abolish slavery and I say Amen to it and I believe the best thing that has been done since the war broke out is the Emancipation Proclamation. It has struck a death blow to Rebeldom so say the Rebs themselves and I want the thing to move along until the last blot of slavery is wiped from this Union never more to return and it is dying fast. Louisiana is no more a slave state, Arkansas, Missouri, Kentucky, and Tennessee are all free and slavery will not last long in Texas. Now you may think I am foolish and may call me an abolitionist and as for that, you can do as you please. If you call abolishing slavery abolitionist I own the corner for I am in for putting the Rebs down and that to their sorrow, so they long remember it.”
~Actual letter of Linda Pendleton’s great-great- grandfather, Silas Shearer to his wife, Linda’s great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth Jane Shearer, February 7, 1864.
The Poems, “We Parted,” and “Wife of the Volunteer,” written by my great-great-grandfather, Silas I. Shearer.
Author’s Note
To my Readers:
The inspiration for my book, Corn Silk Days, came to me from the actual letters of my paternal great-great-grandfather, Silas Igo Shearer. He volunteered for the Union Army in 1862 and served in the Iowa 23rd Infantry, Company K. I have used a number of his actual letters in my story. Although his words have undergone my editing, and only occasionally a little of my “creative license,” I endeavored to keep the integrity of the military information presented in his letters home to his wife, Elizabeth Jane (Shenkle), whom he married in November, 1859. The story is fiction, as I know little about my actual family history from that time period. I do know Silas was born in 1838, served in the Union army until late 1865 and was discharged as a Sergeant. Years ago I had obtained his military records. He was a farmer and after the Civil War he served as a county assessor, justice of the peace, postmaster, and on a county board of supervisors, in his small Iowa community. He died in 1915. I am proud of Silas and his fight for his country as a Union soldier.
My interest in genealogy and the Internet led me to Silas’s letters. His letters had been preserved in a black tin box by one of Silas’s eleven children, Minnie Shearer Kimberley. Minnie’s daughter, Ruth, preserved the letters and gave them to Silas’s great- grandson, Harold Brinkman, who shared the letters in print.
With these many letters I learned much about my great-great-grandfather, and through his written words, a little something about my great-great-grandmother. My great-grandfather, John Sanford Anderson Shearer, who I did know when I was a young child, was their fourth child, born in 1868. His daughter, Adelaide was my father’s mother but she died when my father, John, was five years of age.
Within my story I have changed the names to protect the innocent! I kid. Because I was creating a fictional world for myself and my readers, I changed the family name, but actually to another of the ancestral names.
Ah, but enough about the facts. Now join me in my fictional world.
~Linda Pendleton
PROLOGUE
A time of unrest threatened the principles of freedom and harshly divided a united country as war assaulted the land following the April 12, 1861, attack of Fort Sumter at Charleston, South Carolina.
By late summer of 1862, Silas Storm, a young Iowan man of twenty-five years, had answered the call of the
Union. A hard-working Iowa farmer who loved tending his crops and animals, Silas, accustomed to hardship and challenge, had never endured the hardship and horrors he had experienced in the three months he had worn the Union uniform. His Iowa 23rd Infantry Regiment had marched long and hard, often for days on end, and all the while on constant alert for the next Rebel bullet that might pierce the air. He had seen battle and the ground covered with mangled bodies of those left behind and knew the only way to keep his sanity was to forget, as best he could, all the horrors and prepare himself mentally for the next battle. Fear would grip hard at him when he heard close cannon fire and smelled the pungent odor of gun powder, or was splattered with blood as a comrade’s body exploded beside him. But as a dedicated soldier he refused to let fear win out. They had struck the Rebel soldiers some hard blows and he intended to continue.
Silas Storm would never have considered himself a hero of any sort, and it was said that if he was considered such, his reply would be he was only doing his duty as a good Union soldier.
War had already taken many Union lives, not only as a result of Rebel gunfire and bayonets, but as a result of measles, fever, and bloody flux. Silas had been in the hospital at Arcadia with the measles sickness and watched several men around him die of complications of the measles. He held the belief that it was cold water, along with the Lord’s mercy, that had saved him. He considered himself to be an “authority” on measles. He had written his wife, Elizabeth Jane, and told her the only way to doctor for measles was to use ice water, not tea as she had prescribed for him. He wrote that he would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes.
On the cold Monday morning of December 29, 1862, Silas sat alone in his tent at the encampment in Carter County, Missouri, in a reflective mood and nearly oblivious to the distant but constant sound of cannon fire. In quiet moments like this, he would wonder if he made a bad decision in choosing to wear the Union Army uniform as there seemed no end in sight to the war. He longed for his family, his farm, and the comfort of his warm bed. Christmas had been a difficult day for him being away from family. The past Christmas holidays brought warm memories of happy times, good food, and celebration. He recalled Christmas a year ago, the delicious aroma of food cooking while they decorated the Christmas tree, and how excited his son Denny had been. But this holiday would leave no joyous memories for the future.
The harsh winter rains and mud had caused his troops a great deal of discomfort, and at times, exhaustion would be nearly unbearable. But despite discomforts, Silas would plow on with hope that the next day or week might be pleasantly tolerable.
How he longed to be a free man again and live in a unified nation. He knew he would carry on with pride and determination until the Confederate flag fell in shreds to the ground.
Often a praying man, Silas prayed the Rebels would surrender soon and bring an end to the brutal fighting, but even if the good Lord refused his prayer, Silas would stand tall for the Union cause. He had always stood tall for what he believed in.
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a plug of tobacco. He bit off a chaw, picked up the letter he had just penned and began to read aloud:
Monday, the 29th day of December 1862
Union Camp at Carter County, Missouri
My Dear Companion,
It is with great pleasure that I embrace this opportunity of informing you that I am well at the present time and I hope these few lines may find you all enjoying good health and great pleasure. The measles sickness has left me.
Yesterday I received two letters from you, one dated November the 29th and the other, December the 8th. I was grateful for both. Now you seem to be uneasy about me and smallpox when you heard we had a case of smallpox in our company. You need not trouble yourself about that, Elizabeth Jane. I have been vaccinated and it worked well. Some doctors say that a person vaccinated would never take them and if they do they will not have them bad. I had intended to send home a blanket or two along with my dress coat but will not for fear that I might send the smallpox home. You had all better be vaccinated for smallpox as soon as possible as it will be mighty apt to go through Iowa as someone may send it home.
You wrote that you did not get many letters from me. I suppose you have not for we have been marching for many weeks.
When we left Arcadia it rained very nearly all the time and the water rose and the roads got very bad and it took us four or five days to make the trip. We stayed at Patterson a few days and then we were ordered to march where we now lay. We are now in a secret hole. We have a good battery with us and the Iowa 23rd Infantry has to support the battery providing it gets into a battle.
It is a hard place to write letters in the army but I will write whenever I can. You must not think it hard of me for not writing. I was on picket duty and did not get off in time to write yesterday. It was the first time I was on guard of any kind. Today I am alone in my tent for the principal part of the company has gone out foraging. We have to send two or three companies with the wagons in order to keep them from being captured by the Reb guerillas which are very bad on the other side of the river. A train crossed the river for the above-named purpose and the Rebels came on them and wounded six and took the remainder of the squad and teams. Our men killed two of their men. Those men that were taken were from a Missouri Regiment but in our brigade. We do not know how soon we will be attacked but we will give the Rebs the best turn we have which I think will be quite good. There are between five and eight thousand troops here and twenty-four pieces of artillery and very good men to back them. Our 23rd is the young regiment here but the artillerymen think an awful lot of it so it has a good name. That is all we want but how long we will keep the good name is more than I can tell. They may run the next time they get in battle.
I suppose you know something about the Abolition Papers. I know I remember what they used to read and whether they do now or not is more than I can tell. Democrats that go to the army soon change to Abolitionists but it is to the contrary in our regiment. When we were at Fort Des Moines two thirds of our Iowa 23rd Regiment were Abolitionists and now it is hard to find them. They say they now know what Negroes are. I have no particular feeling one way or the other about the Negroes or about the slavery issue.
I would like to see you and Denny but it may be a good while before I get home. Tell Denny when I get home I will sing for him. I will expect your likeness in a letter pretty soon. I would be very glad to see it but I would rather see you in person. I will go to the office soon and have my likeness taken and send it to you in a letter and you can see how I look with my whiskers off.
Send a stamp or two with your letter if you please and you will oblige me. Money is tight here. Coffee is worth fifty cents per lb and tobacco is very high. Those five cent plugs are worth fifteen cents per plug and other things are in proportion.
Janie, I want you to write whenever you can and I will do the same. I think of you often here and my love and affection are with you. I want you to live with hope, and as if I was there with you. It is hard to believe that I have been gone from home for more than three months, and it looks like it may be much longer than that before I see my Iowa farm and my family again, that is, if I ever do.
So no more at present but I remain your affectionate husband,
Silas
Chapter One: Elizabeth Jane
Six-year-old Denny Storm, with eyes closed, prayed, his voice almost a whisper, “Please, God, bring my Daddy back home. Please.”
Elizabeth Jane Storm, seated on the edge of the bed beside her young son, struggled to restrain her sadness and hide it from him as she did every night when she heard his prayer. Denny’s reverent plea echoed her own pleas which she had expressed many, many times throughout the lonely days and nights since her husband, Silas, had gone to war.
Elizabeth Jane leaned over and kissed the forehead of her sleepy-eyed young son, aware of the fresh smell of his shampooed hair as she tucked the comforter tight around him. She
gave her usual nightly closing, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite, sweetie.”
The towhead boy giggled, “I won’t, Mama. Goodnight.”
She rose from the bed and said softly, “Goodnight, Denny.” She turned and pulled the bedroom door nearly shut behind her. She walked down the stairs to the kitchen. The downstairs still smelled of stew and baked bread.
Feeling a chill in the air, she put on a sweater she had left hanging on the back of the chair. The early evening winter temperature was dropping fast and to insure the house would stay cozy, Elizabeth Jane put two logs onto the glowing wood coals and fanned the fire, encouraging the fire to engulf the logs and produce a fine burn. Satisfied she had accomplished that, she hung the bellows on a nail in the wall alongside the wood stove and moved across the room to the window. Pulling the curtains aside, she wiped moisture from the glass and gazed out to see that the heavy cloud cover had given way to reveal the near full moon which had just risen. From inside the farmhouse it appeared the moonbeams cast a warm glow to the velvety snow drifts that had been piling since late afternoon. The approaching storm had barely given her time to finish her outside chores but she had managed to feed the livestock before the full force of the storm arrived over her Iowa farm.
Elizabeth Jane had discovered soon after her husband had gone off to war how very difficult and exhausting it was for a woman alone to take care of a farm. She did have occasional help from her father, her father-in-law Michael, and Silas’ grandfather, Alexander, but they, too, had their own farms and businesses to tend with and she would feel guilty every time she was forced to ask for help. The fall harvest had been accomplished with a little assistance. She had saved enough money to hire two hands, in addition to the help she had received from her family and a few neighbors who pitched in to assist “war widows.”
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