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Story of a Common Soldier of Army Life in the Civil War, 1861-1865, The

CHAPTER XVIII. THE REGIMENT GOES HOME ON VETERAN FURLOUGH. INTERVIEW WITH GEN. W. T. SHERMAN AFTER THE WAR. A SHORT TOUR OF SOLDIERING AT CHESTER, ILLINOIS. AUGUST, SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER, 1864. After our return from the Clarendon affair, we remained in camp at Devall's Bluff, where nothing more important occurred than drilling, reviews, inspections, and the like. The summer was rapidly passing away, and still the regiment had not received the 30-day furlough promised us when we veteranized. Nearly all the other regiments in the department that had re-enlisted had received theirs, and it looked as if the poor old 61st Illinois had been "lost in the shuffle." The boys began to get a little impatient about this, and somewhat disposed to grumble, which was only natural. But on August 8th the paymaster made us a visit, paid us six months' pay and our veteran bounty, and then the prospect for the furlough began to brighten, and we were assured by our officers that we had not much longer to wait. And sure enough, on August 14th we started home. We left the recruits and non-veterans at Devall's Bluff, to which we expected to return on the expiration of our furlough, but the Fates willed otherwise, as will be seen later. When we filed on board the steamboat that August morning, the old regiment, as an organization, was leaving Arkansas forever. I will say here that I have always regretted, and shall regret as long as I live, that after the capture of Vicksburg, the regiment happened to get switched off into Arkansas. We thereby were taken away from the big armies, and out of the main currents of the war, where great deeds were being done, and history made. Of course we couldn't help it; we had no choice; and, as I have remarked before, the common soldier can only do what those in authority direct. As connected with this subject, I will here tell the story of a little conversation I had with Gen. W. T. Sherman, at his office in Washington in February, 1883. I had gone to that city on a business matter, and while there met Col. P. B. Plumb, then one of the senators from Kansas. In the course of our conversation he asked if there were any of the "big bugs" in Washington I wanted to see,—if so, he would be glad to take me around and introduce me. I replied that there were only two; that just as a matter of curiosity I would like to see President Arthur, but I really was very desirous of having a little visit with Gen. Sherman. Plumb laughed, said that my desires were modest, and made a date with me when he would take me to see the President and Gen. Sherman. At the time appointed we went, first to the White House, where we met the President. I shook hands with him, and after a few commonplace remarks, retired to the background. The President and Plumb talked a minute or two about some public matter, and then we left. "Now," said Plumb, "we'll go and see 'Uncle Billy'." Sherman was then the General of the Army, and had his office, as I now remember, in the War Department building, near the White House. On entering his office, we found him seated at a desk, writing. I had seen him previously several times, but had no acquaintance with him whatever. Plumb introduced me to him, saying, as he gave my name, that I was one of his "boys." The General dropped his pen, shook hands with me heartily, and at once began talking. I think he was the most interesting talker I ever have known. He had lived a life of incessant activity, had done great things, and had mingled with great men, hence he was never at a loss for an engaging topic. After a while the monologue lulled, and gave me the opportunity for which I had been patiently waiting. "General," I began, "there is an incident connected with your military career during the Civil War that I have wanted for some time to speak to you about, and, if agreeable, will do so now." "Huh," said he, "what is it?" It was interesting, and a little amusing to me at the time, to see the instantaneous change that came over him. His face darkened, his eyes contracted, and a scowl appeared on his brow. His appearance and manner said, almost as plain as words: "Now here's a smart young Aleck, who never had a greater command than a picket post of three men, who is going to tell me how he thinks I should have fought a battle." Resuming, I said: "Some years ago I read Gen. Badeau's 'Life of Grant,' and found published therein a letter from Gen. Grant to you, written some time in the fall of 1863, when you were marching across the country from Memphis to reinforce him at Chattanooga, in which Grant said, in substance, 'Urge on Steele the necessity of sending you Kimball's division of the Sixteenth Corps.'2 General," said I, "that meant us; it meant me; for my regiment was in Kimball's division, with Gen. Steele, in Arkansas. Now my point is, I am afraid that you didn't 'urge' Steele strongly enough, for we never got to you, and," I continued (in a tone of deep and sincere earnestness), "consequently we missed Missionary Ridge, the campaign of Atlanta, the March to the Sea, and the campaign of the Carolinas,—and I shall regret it as long as I live!" I noted with interest the change in the old General's countenance as I made my little speech. His face lighted up, his eyes sparkled, the scowl disappeared, and when I concluded he laughed heartily. "Didn't need you; didn't need you," he said; "had men enough,—and, let me tell you,—Steele needed every d—d man he had." It was quite evident that the General enjoyed the recital of my little alleged grievance, and he launched into a most interesting account of some incidents connected with the campaigns I had mentioned. I became fearful that I was imposing on his good nature, and two or three times started to leave. But with a word or gesture he would detain me, and keep talking. And when I finally did depart, he followed me out into the hall, and laying his hand on my shoulder in a most fatherly way, said, "Say! Whenever you are in Washington, come and see me! Don't be afraid! I like to see and talk with you boys!" and with a hearty shake of the hand he bade me good-by. He was a grand old man, and we common soldiers of the western armies loved him. In going home on our veteran furlough, the regiment went by steamer down White river, thence up the Mississippi to Cairo, where we debarked and took the cars, and went to Springfield, Illinois, arriving there August 24th. The Mississippi was low, and our progress up the river was very slow. Two or three times our boat grounded on bars, and after trying in vain to "spar off," had to wait until some other boat came along, and pulled us off by main strength. Near Friar's Point, not far below Helena, where there was a long, shallow bar, the captain of the steamer took the precaution to lighten his boat by landing us all on the west bank of the river, and we walked along the river's margin for two or three miles to the head of the bar, where the boat came to the shore, and took us on again. Our officers assured us that our thirty days furlough would not begin until the day we arrived at Springfield, so these delays did not worry us, and we endured them with much composure. On this entire homeward trip, on account of a matter that was purely personal, I was in a state of nervous uneasiness and anxiety nearly all the time. As heretofore stated, just a few days before starting home we were paid six months' pay, and our veteran bounty, the amount I received being $342.70. Several of the recruits and non-veterans whose homes were in my neighborhood gave me different amounts that had been paid them, with the request that I take this money home and hand it to their fathers, or other persons they designated. So, when we started, I had the most money on my person I ever had had before, and even since. The exact amount is now forgotten, but it was something over fifteen hundred dollars. Of nights I slept on the hurricane deck of the boat, with the other boys, and in the day time was mingling constantly with the enlisted men, and with all that money in my pocket. Of course, I said nothing about it, and had cautioned the boys who trusted me with this business also to say nothing, but whether they had all complied with my request I didn't know. I kept the money (which, except a little postal currency, was all in greenbacks) in my inside jacket pocket during the day time, didn't take off my trousers at night, and then stowed the bills on my person at a place—well, if a prowling hand had invaded the locality, it would have waked me quick! But I finally got home with all the money intact, duly paid the trust funds over to the proper parties, and then felt greatly relieved. When the regiment arrived at Springfield we stored our muskets and accouterments in a public building, and then dispersed for our respective homes. I arrived at the Stillwell home the following day, August 25th, and received a hearty welcome. But the admission must be made that I didn't enjoy this furlough near as much as the individual one of the preceding autumn, for reasons I will state. You see, we were all at home now, that is, the veterans, and there were several hundred of us, and it seemed as if the citizens thought that they must do everything in their power to show how much they appreciated us. So there was something going on nearly all the time; parties, oyster suppers, and gatherings of all sorts. There was a big picnic affair held in the woods at the Sansom Spring which was attended by a crowd of people. A lawyer came down from Jerseyville and made us a long speech on this occasion, in which he refreshed our recollection as to our brave deeds and patriotic services in battle, and in camp and field generally, which was doubtless very fine. It is true, I spent several very happy days at home, with my own folks, but they were frequently broken in on by the neighbors, coming and going, who wanted to see and talk with "Leander." And the girls! bless their hearts! They were fairly ready to just fall down and worship us. But I was young, awkward, and exceedingly bashful, and can now see clearly that I didn't respond to their friendly attentions with the same alacrity and heartiness that would have obtained had I been, say, ten years older. The French have a proverb with a world of meaning in it, something like this: "If youth but knew—if old age could!" But probably it is best as it is. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/009.jpg" alt="S. P. Ohr" width-obs="367" height-obs="525"> S. P. Ohr Lieut. Colonel, 61st Illinois Infantry.</div> When home on our veteran furlough a sad event occurred which directly affected the regiment, and which it can be truly said every member thereof sincerely deplored. This was the death of Lieut. Col. Simon P. Ohr. He never was a strong man, physically, and the hardships and exposures incident to army life were really the cause of his death. He died at his home, in Carrollton, Illinois, of a bronchial affection, on September 14th, 1864. He was a man of temperate habits, honest and upright, and a sterling patriot. As an officer, he was kind, careful as to the wants and necessities of his men, and in battle, cool, clear-headed, and brave. In due course of time Maj. Daniel Grass was appointed to the office of Lieutenant-Colonel, to fill the vacancy thus created by the lamented death of Col. Ohr. The regiment rendezvoused at Springfield on September 26th, and left on the next day, on the cars, went to St. Louis, and were quartered in the Hickory Street Barracks, in the city. Another "Price Raid" was now on. Only a few days previously Gen. Sterling Price with a strong force, including, of course, Shelby's cavalry, entered southeast Missouri, and the day we arrived at St. Louis he showed up at Pilot Knob, only about 85 miles south of the city, where some sharp fighting occurred. There was now the biggest kind of a "scare" prevailing in St. Louis, and, judging from all the talk one heard, we were liable to hear the thunder of Price's cannon on the outskirts of St. Louis any day. We had been at Hickory Street Barracks only a day or two, when my company, and companies B and G, were detached from the regiment, embarked on a steamboat, and went down the Mississippi to the town of Chester, Illinois, which is situated on the Mississippi, at the mouth of the Kaskaskia river. We were sent here for the purpose, as we understood at the time, of guarding the crossing of the Mississippi at this place, and to prevent any predatory Confederate raid in that vicinity. We were quartered in some large vacant warehouses near the river, and had no guard duty to perform except a guard at the ferry landing, and a small one over our commissary stores. Altogether, it was the "softest" piece of soldiering that fell to my lot during all my service. We had roofs over our heads and slept at night where it was dry and warm, it was ideal autumn weather, and we just idled around, careless, contented, and happy. One lovely October day Bill Banfield and I in some way got a skiff, and early in the morning rowed over the river to the Missouri side, and spent the day there, strolling about in the woods. The country was wild and rough, and practically in a state of nature. We confined our rambling to the river bottom, which was broad and extensive, and densely covered with a primeval forest. Some of the trees, especially the sycamores and the cottonwoods, were of giant size. And the woods abounded in nuts and wild fruits; hickory nuts, walnuts, pecans, pawpaws, big wild grapes,—and persimmons, but the latter were not yet ripe. This locality was in Perry County, Missouri, and it seemed to be destitute of inhabitants; we saw two or three log cabins, but they were old, decayed, and deserted. We had brought some bacon and hardtack with us in our haversacks, and at noon built a fire and had an army dinner, with nuts and fruit for dessert. We got back to Chester about sundown, having had a most interesting and delightful time. There was another little incident that happened while we were at Chester, which I have always remembered with pleasure. Between companies D and G of our regiment was a strong bond of friendship. Many of the boys of the two companies had lived in the same neighborhood at home, and were acquainted with each other before enlisting. The first sergeant of G was Pressley T. Rice, a grown man, and some five or six years my senior. He came to me one day soon after our arrival at Chester, and in his peculiar nasal tone said: "Stillwell, some of my boys think that when we are soldiering here in 'God's Country,' they ought to have soft bread to eat. If 'D' feels the same, let's go down to the mill, and buy a barrel of flour for each company, and give the boys a rest on hardtack." I heartily assented, but asked what should we do about paying for it, as the boys were now pretty generally strapped. Press responded that we'd get the flour "on tick," and settle for it at our next pay day. To my inquiry if we should take Company B in on the deal (the other company with us at Chester), Press dryly responded that B could root for themselves; that this was a "cahootnership" of D and G only. Without further ceremony we went to the mill, which was a fair-sized concern, and situated, as I now remember, in the lower part of the town, and near the river bank. We found one of the proprietors, and Press made known to him our business, in words substantially the same as he had used in broaching the matter to me, with some little additional explanation. He told the miller that the only bread we had was hardtack, that the boys accepted that cheerfully when we were down South, but that here in "God's Country," in our home State of Illinois, they thought they were entitled to "soft bread," so we had come to him to buy two barrels of flour; that the boys had not the money now to pay for it, but at our next pay day they would, and we would see to it that the money should be sent him. While thus talking, the miller looked at us with "narrowed eyes," and, as it seemed to me, didn't feel a bit delighted with the proposition. But maybe he thought that if he didn't sell us the flour, we might take it anyhow, so, making a virtue of necessity, he said he would let us have it, the price of the two barrels being, as I now remember, seven dollars. I produced my little memorandum book, and requested him to write the name and address of his firm therein, which he did, in pen and ink, and it is there yet, in that same little old book, now lying open before me, and reads as follows: <div class="blockquote"> "H. C. Cole & Co., Chester, Ill." </div> Well, he sent us the flour, and D and G had soft bread the balance of the time we were at Chester. I will now anticipate a few months, in order to finish the account of this incident. The spring of 1865 found the regiment at Franklin, Tennessee, and while there the paymaster made us a welcome visit. I then went to Press Rice, and suggested to him that the time had now come for us to pay the Chester miller for his flour, and he said he thought so too. We sat down at the foot of a tree and made out a list of all the boys of our respective companies who, at Chester, helped eat the bread made from the flour, and who were yet with us, and then assessed each one with the proper sum he should contribute, in order to raise the entire amount required. Of course the boys paid it cheerfully. Press turned over to me the proportionate sum of his company, and requested me to attend to the rest of the business, which I did. I wrote a letter to the firm of H. C. Cole & Co., calling their attention to the fact of our purchase from them of two barrels of flour in October of the previous year, and then went on to say that several of the boys who had taken part in eating the bread made from this flour had since then been killed in battle, or died of diseases incident to a soldier's life, but there were yet enough of us left to pay them for their flour, and that I here inclosed the proper sum. (I have forgotten in just what manner or form it was sent, but think it was by express.) In due course of time I received an answer, acknowledging receipt of the money, written in a very kind and complimentary vein. After heartily thanking us for the payment, the letter went on to state that in all the business dealings of H. C. Cole & Co. with Union soldiers the firm had been treated with fairness and remarkable honesty, and they sincerely appreciated it. Many years later out in Kansas I met a man who had lived in Chester during the war, and told him the foregoing little story. He said he knew the milling firm of Cole & Co. quite well, and that during the war they were most intense and bitter Copperheads, and had no use whatever for "Lincoln hirelings," as Union soldiers were sometimes called by the "Butternut" element. My informant was a respectable, truthful man, so it is probable that his statement was correct. It served to throw some light on the grim conduct of the miller with whom Press and I dealt. But they treated us well, and if they were of the type above indicated, it is hoped that the little experience with us may have caused them to have a somewhat kindlier feeling for Union soldiers than the one they may have previously entertained. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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