Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, Charles Wright Wills, (8th Illinois Infantry)

Headquarters 7th Illinois Cavalry,

In a very fine House,

Point Pleasant, Mo., April 7, 1862.

If this isn’t fine your brother is incapable of judging. Cozy brick house, damask curtains, legged bedsteads, splendid tables and chairs, big looking glass, and everything just as fine as a peacock’s tail. I do wish you could have been with me the last two days. They’ve been two of the best days of my life. During the storm of Saturday night, the 5th instant, one of the gunboats ran by “Island 10.” I heard of it early Sunday morning, and got out a pass for Andy Hulit and myself to look for forage, intending, of course, to ride down to the river and watch the gunboat as we knew there’d be fun if she attempted to run below Madrid. We rode up the river about six miles (half way) to a point that extends into the river on our side, and got there just as the boat did. ‘Twas the “Carondelet,” and indeed she looked like an old friend. The sight of her did me more good than any amount of furloughs could. At this point, I spoke of, we have three batteries within a half-mile, and there were two Rebels’ batteries visible right at the water’s edge, opposite. We just got there in time to see the ball open. Besides the two secesh batteries visible, they opened from four others masked by the brush and trees, and hitherto unknown to us. Their six, our three, the gunboats, all firing together made by far the grandest thing I ever witnessed. I suppose there were from 30 to 40 guns used, and at least a half thousand shots fired. Andy and I were on a little rise of ground a couple of hundred yards from our main battery and where we could see every shot fired and its effect. There were lots of shots fell around that battery, but none near enough us to be disagreeable. About an hour’s fighting silenced the Rebel batteries, and that fun was over. Our boat didn’t go over to them at that time, but came into our shore and laid up. She was not struck once, nor was there a man hurt on our side. Andy and I rode out in the country and got our dinners with a friend of mine, and about 3 p.m. started home. We just got back here as the gunboat was preparing to attack the batteries immediately opposite here. She ran down the river on our side, a mile below their guns, and then turning her bow square toward the enemy, started for them and commenced firing. We could see every motion of the Rebel gunners plainly, and they worked like men, until the boat got within about 300 yards of them, when they broke, and I tell you they used their legs to advantage; all but one and he walked away with his arms folded perfectly at ease. There’s an immense sight of enjoyment in witnessing such fights as these. Well, I saw another fight this morning, but ’twas too far off for interest, after what I saw yesterday. Two more gunboats came down last night in the rain and darkness past the island. This fight this morning was commenced by the Carondelet, on a five-gun battery, only four miles below and across from Madrid. She called the Louisville to her aid, and then one walked up on the battery from below and the other from above. It is grand to see these gunboats walk into the enemy. They go at them as though they were going right on land, if the Rebels would stay there. (One hour later, 9 p. m.)

Just as I finished the last period, an artillery captain came dashing up through the door, just from Madrid, and wanted to know where the gunboats were. He said that the Rebel floating battery, that has been lying at Island 10, was floating down and the transports were afraid to try and bring her into land, and he wanted to notify the gunboats so they could catch her. We told him they had gone down to Palmer’s division, six miles below, and away he went. I’ve been out waiting to see her pass, but she hasn’t arrived yet. He said she was not more than three miles above. All such items help to make soldiering interesting. Our three transports have taken 20,000 troops over into Tennessee since 9:30 this a.m. I call that good work. Colonel Kellogg has gone over with Pope to see the battle, if there is any. These Rebels don’t begin to fight a gun equal to our boys, and all the people here say so. I really do not believe they have the “bullet-pluck” that our men show. Our regiment is left here alone in its glory. We’re occupying the town, enjoying life, and having all the fun we want. I killed a mosquito to-night, and it brought up such disagreeable thoughts that I couldn’t eat supper. If they don’t eat my surplus flesh off me, I know I’ll fret myself lean as they increase. The colonel got back yesterday. You ought to have seen him look at the eatables last night, and shaking his head with disgust, go back to his tent without touching a bite. The first camp meal after a furlough I suppose isn’t particularly delightful. There’s no telling whether there’ll be a fight to-morrow or not. We’ll probably not assist if there is. But after the fight is over and the victory won we’ll come in and chase the Rebels until they scatter. The infantry do the heavy, dirty work and get the honor, and we have all the fun and easy times there are going. I’m willing. I’d rather scout and skirmish than anything I know of, and am perfectly willing to let the infants do the heavy fighting, for they only make an artillery target of us when we’re brought on battle fields.

There wouldn’t be much left of my letters if I’d leave out the war gossip! Forty of the Rebels deserted and came to our gunboats to-day. Sergeant Wells, who while over there is a spy, was taken prisoner the other day, escaped to our gunboats. It saved his neck.

April 5, 1862. — One of our boys has just returned from Madrid and says he saw our gunboat Cairo there. She slipped by the batteries at “Island No. 10” in the storm last night. Mosquitoes here already.

Camp, near Point Pleasant, Mo., April 4, 1862.

I received your last letter within three days after it was mailed, and praised Uncle Sam duly therefor. Our regiment has had a run of bad luck since we’ve been here. Two men killed on the plank road, two wounded at same place, two killed by falling trees in a storm of night of April 1st, and a dozen wounded, and yesterday one drowned while watering his horse in the swamp, and our horses dying off very fast of horse cholera. The latter is a serious thing in a regiment were the men own the horses themselves. For they (or nearly all of them) cannot buy others. Most of them are still owing for the horses they have. The positions of troops and state of the war generally remains the same here as it has been ever since we took Madrid. Main body of our forces at that place. Five regiments here under Plummer and five seven miles further down the river with Palmer. That is as far down as we can go on this side for the swamps. Between here and Madrid we have batteries every three miles and the Rebels have rather more on the opposite side. Both are right on their respective banks and have their flags fluttering their mutual hatred in each others faces. We can see them very plainly without the aid of a glass. The Rebel gunboats lie just below our lower battery and ’tis rumored to-night that several new ones have arrived from Memphis or New Orleans.

This fuss about “Island 10” I think is all humbug. Don’t believe they have attacked it yet. It don’t sound like Foote’s fighting. Look on the map and see what a nice pen there is between the rivers Tennessee and Mississippi. Don’t it look that if Grant and company can whip them out at Corinth, that we’ll have all the forces at Memphis and intermediate points to “Island 10” in a bag that they’ll have trouble in getting through? If they run it will be into Arkansas, and they can take nothing with them but what their backs will stand under. Seems to me that the plans of the campaign are grand from the glimpses we can get of them and have been planned by at least a Napoleon. Certain it is we are checkmating them at every point that’s visible. I firmly believe the summer will see the war ended. But it will also see a host of us upended if we have to fight over such ground as this. It is unpleasantly warm already in the sun. It’s 10 p.m. now and plenty warm in my shirt sleeves, with a high wind blowing, too. We had an awful storm here to commence April with. We are camped just in the wood’s edge and the wind struck us after crossing a wide open field and knocked trees down all through our camp; killed First Lieutenant Moore, one private, seriously wounded Captain Webster and a dozen men. During the storm I though of our fleet at “Island 10” and it made me almost sick. Don’t see how they escaped being blown high and dry out of water.

Point Pleasant, Mo., March 28, 1862.

There isn’t a thing to write only that they keep up the infernal “boom, boom,” with their cannons all day and night long. It’s perfectly disgusting the way they waste powder and iron without killing anyone. They have knocked every house in town to flinders, and round shot and grape and shell are lying thick on the ground and yet we haven’t a man touched. They were having a hot time with their cannon and some musketry firing, too, down at Palmer’s last night from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., but haven’t heard yet what was up. I have my own reasons for thinking that they are evacuating Island 10. If they don’t do it this week I’ll believe that they are waiting for a lot of gunboats to come up from Orleans, and that we’ll have the fun of a naval engagement in the vicinity. If there is one within 40 miles of here I’m going to see it if I have to wade a swamp ten feet deep, as I probably will, but see it I’m bound to. Then if the Rebels whale our craft you’ll be likely to hear the sound of their cannon before long without leaving home, for there’s nothing to prevent their going anywhere after they pass our gunboats. It will be a great joke on Uncle Sam if they do make that riffle. Wonder what would become of the home guards. About the worst feature of the case would be the Southern officers sparking our girls as we do theirs now and the worst yet is, there is no doubt the girls would take to it kindly, for they do here, and I’m satisfied there is no difference in the feminines of the two sections, except that ours do not say “thar” and “whar.” I see that it requires a good many “ifs” and “theirs” to arrange a case of this kind, but I assure you that it is not out of the range of possibilities. How’d you like to see a “Captain St. Clair de Monstachir” with C. S. A. on his buttons, making calls in Canton? I’ll bet ten to one he could enjoy himself in that burg. Bang! Boom! D__n the cannons! It’s awful tiresome. I do hope we’ll get them cleaned out of this ere long. I don’t understand why it is that our mails are so tardy. We get the Chicago and St. Louis papers two days after publication. I almost think that Pope has ordered our mail to lay over in Cairo until further orders.

Camp near Point Pleasant, Mo., March 26, 1862.

It is, to-day, very much warmer. I’m altogether too hot to be comfortable in my shirt sleeves. Don’t know what is to become of us in July if it is so hot in proportion. I shake in my boots at the thought of the mosquitoes, flies, etc., we will have to endure. Vegetation is giving the surroundings a greenish appearance already, and have seen a peach tree in nearly full bloom. Wheat is about three or four inches above ground. Makes a very respectable sod. I think there are more Union people here than in any part of Missouri that I have been in, and fewer widows. Men are nearly all at home and putting in their crops as coolly as though there was no war. Some of our soldiers impose on the natives pretty badly. You don’t know how thankful you ought to be that you don’t live in the invaded country. Wherever there is an army, for 10 or 15 miles around it there will be hundreds of stragglers. Some out of curiosity, some to see the natives and talk with them, but the majority to pick up what they can to eat. There is not a farm house within ten miles of camp, notwithstanding the positive orders against straggling, that has not, at least, 50 soldier visitors a day, and they are the poorest soldiers and the meanest men that do all the straggling, or nearly all. They will go into a house and beg what they can and then steal what is left. Rough, dirty, coarse brutes, if they were all shot, our army would be better off. Most of these fellows are bullies at home, and that class makes plunderers in war. I’ve seen enough of war to know that it isn’t the brawling, fighting man at home that stands the bullet whistle the best. A favorite game of these chaps, where they are not utterly depraved (there are a good many of the latter), is for a couple of them to go in the house and make themselves as interesting as possible while the others clean out the smokehouse, chicken yard, and the premises generally. The greatest objection and the only one I have to being in the army, is the idea of being associated, in the minds of the people of this country, as well as the home folks, with such brutes. But I tell you, that I have always acted the gentleman to the best of my ability since I entered the army, and I don’t believe I’m a whit worse than I was at home. I haven’t drank one-tenth as much liquor as I did in the same length of time at home, and you know how much that was, and that I hate the stuff too much to ever taste it unless forced upon me. The last I touched was with poor George Shinn just before the 17th left the cape. We drank to “Our next shake hands, may it be at the end of the war, at home, and before three months.” George was a No. 1 soldier. We boys all think everything of him. Tell him we all sympathize with him and wish him a speedy recovery, and that his services may not be needed any more. Seems to me I write you nearly every day, but haven’t had a letter from home for two or three weeks. Our mail is very irregular though, and I can excuse, but I would like you to get all of mine and save them, for I would like to look these over myself when I get home, as I keep no diary. The day is so warm that our boys are all out bathing in a little swamp lake near here. The Lord knows some of them need it. Cleanliness is undoubtedly the best preventive of disease in the army. Hardly any of the boys that are cleanly suffer from disease. The colonel and Sidney went to Cairo yesterday. The colonel with dispatches from General Pope, I believe, and Sid. just because he could. We buried our two boys yesterday morning that were killed at Cane Bridge, and I never felt sadder in my life. I’m sure that knowing I would be killed to-morrow wouldn’t hurt me half as much. These poor fellows have suffered all the hardships and trials of the private soldier’s life, and are now put under the ground in the dark swamp, without a friend here, save their comrades, and probably after the army leaves, a friendly eye will never see their graves. I sent a package of letters back to a young lady that one of them was engaged to. Our men have been living on mush and the other messes, makeable from corn- meal, for a week, without coffee or anything else. Couldn’t get provisions through from Cairo near fast enough, and Pope gobbled up everything that did come for the troops at Madrid. Chet. Caswell, a Canton boy, is here now and cooking for our mess. I can live on fried mush as long as the next man. The frogs, bugs, blackbirds and sich like, keep up a perfect bedlam around us the whole time.

Point Pleasant, Mo., March 24, 1862.

It’s only 9 a. m, and didn’t get to bed until 2 this morning, so if I do not talk rational you will excuse me. That isn’t the excuse either. I rode 50 miles between 9 a. m. yesterday and midnight over roughest road. Two hundred of us were sent out after that d — d Jeff Thompson. We exchanged shots with his pickets 20 miles from here, and chased them four miles farther. The last eight miles was a pike only eight feet wide, thrown up through an immense swamp, and planked. The water came so close to the planks that there was not a place in the whole eight miles where a horse dare step off the plank. The total of all the unusual sights I ever saw wouldn’t begin to count one in effect where that road and swamp will ten. There are two good sized rivers running through the swamp but they have to be pointed out to you before you can see them, or rather distinguish them from the rest of the swamp. When we first saw these pickets they were tearing up a culvert. We hurried up and after each side fired four or five rounds they ran. No one hurt here, although the distance was not more than 60 yards. Andy Hulit, my sergeant major and myself were the advance guard, but I have no carbine, and did not get to shoot, but this didn’t seem to make any difference to them for they threw buckshot round me quite promiscuously. Well, we fixed up that bridge and pressed on, but they tore down so many bridges that we could go but slowly. Just before the fight I had dropped back a dozen files to get out of building any more bridges, and when our boys saw the secesh, they had just finished destroying another. The horses couldn’t cross it, but the boys dismounted and hurrying across on foot, made them take to the swamp in water waist deep, where they hid themselves behind logs, vines and a kind of high grass that grows in bunches as large as a currant bush. When they had concealed themselves to their notion, they commenced firing at us, and of the first four of our boys over the bridge (Andy Hulit led them), three were down, wounded in a minute. We then charged (on foot) right into the brush and water, some of the boys up to their armpits, and made them scoot. They did not number over 20 but their advantage was enormous. We dropped two of them certain, and— I don’t think any more. Of four of our men they wounded, three were Company L boys. The two Cockerel brothers, Mathew and Royal, and Eugene Greenslit. The other was from Company A. The Company A boy and Mat Cockerel died before we got them to camp. Royal has a flesh wound in the arm, and Greenslit is shot in the foot, both slight wounds. We drove the Rebels clear off, and captured two horses, and all their blankets, overcoats etc. About 15 miles out we came to Little River. While the major was examining the bridge, we saw a half dozen men running through a swamp on the other side. Over the bridge we went, and into the mud and water after them. We got them all. I captured a couple in a thicket. Andy Hulit came up a few minutes after and we had work to keep a lot of boys from shooting them, while we were taking them back to the river. Well, that was a pretty rough trip and I don’t hanker after another like it, although the excitement is rather pleasant too. But being set up for a mark on a road where there is not a sign of a chance to dodge, and having the marksman completely concealed from you, and this other fix of letting them throw shells at you when your carbine won’t carry to them, sitting on horseback too, I wish it understood I’m opposed to and protest against, although I never think so until I get back to camp. I don’t think that I ever get a bit excited over firing, but I know that I don’t look at danger the same when under fire that I do when in quarters. We are all well and I’m getting fat every day. It bores considerably here to think that that one horse Island No. 10 won’t come down and surrender like a “gem’men.” Some of the officers here think that we’d better be getting out “o’ this,” but I propose to let Pope work out the salvation of this division. We started from Commerce in General Hamilton’s division, were put in General Granger’s at Madrid, and are now in General Plummer’s. Well, I’m going to do a little sleeping.

Twentieth. — To-day ’tis cloudy and we have fire in the tent and I wear my cloak besides. There are no news of any kind to-day. We are on a little piece of dry land here (some of the earthquake’s “get up” I suppose) entirely surrounded by swamps of the vilest kind, cane and cypress. We have dug wells all through camp. Find plenty of water at five feet. The Rebel battery across the river has been trying to shell us this morning. They sent some shell plenty far enough but they lit off to the right of our camp. General Plummer rides down along the river bank with his staff every day and the Rebels do their best to send him up. The colonel has just started out with him to give the Rebels another chance. There is considerable cane here and it looks as though the country might grow alligators to almost any extent. ‘Tis a grand country for a sporting man. The very paradise of geese and their kindred.

Near Point Pleasant, Mo., March 18, ’62.

You see we are creeping along down the river surely if the motions are a little slow. This is about 12 miles below Madrid and said to be 75 or 80 below Cairo. It is said that the Rebels have between a dozen and 20 steamboats above here, and I think the object in occupying this point and planting artillery here is to make the assurances we have of catching them, doubly sure, for the river is considerably less in width here than where our guns are at and near Madrid. We received orders to march about sunset last night and started at tattoo. ‘Twas a beautiful ride. The road lay for nearly the whole distance right along the river bank. ‘Twas warm enough without overcoat or gloves and Commander Foote added to the interest of the ride by his sleep-disturbing music up at Island 10. The river makes a horseshoe bend here and Island 10 lays almost directly east of here across the peninsula. The neck is very flat, and we could plainly see the flash of every gun and see the bombs burst in the air when more than 20 or 30 yards from the ground. The roar of the 13 and 16-inch mortars is truly terrific. There was no difficulty in distinguishing their reports from the cannons. The evidences of an earthquake having performed in this country are visible when pointed out. The natives will show you a swamp and say that was once inhabitable, and then they’ll point out a sand ridge about four feet nearer heaven (the surface of course)! and say that was a swamp. Well, we arrived here: at 2 o’clock last night and moved nearly two miles back from the river to be out of range of a battery the enemy have planted on the opposite shore. This two miles, after deducting about 300 yards where the road runs through the little town, was a swamp of mud and water to the horses’ bellies. I noticed our flag flying on the river bank over an inverted Rebel rag. The flag staff was in front of a store that had received three cannon shots from the Rebels in their efforts to cut down our flag. Nearly every house in town has had one or more doses of heavy iron and several have been burned by shells: General Palmer is five miles below here with his brigade. He was lucky enough yesterday to disable two Rebel gunboats out of three that attacked him. I am very anxious to get out of this country and into Tennessee if possible, or if we have to stay on this side, enough below the swamps to make it a little more pleasant. That ride of last night was delicious. The order was to march without any unnecessary noise, and after 10:30 (it was 2 when we got here), the boys were all perfectly quiet, many of them asleep, and I believe I enjoyed myself better than I ever did before m my life. Can’t begin to tell you precisely why, except there might have been some air-castle building, but ’twas very pleasant. I hear to-night that Island 10 was evacuated last night. Think maybe Foote has his hands full up there, and doubt the evacuation idea some. Gracious how it rained last night, commenced just after we got here, with some awful heavy thunder and don’t know how long it lasted. ‘Twas raining to kill when I went to sleep. We had no tents with us and every fellow provided for himself. I went to bed with a lot of bacon and a barrel under a tent fly and slept a la log. To-day it has been real warm. Shirt sleeves and shade were in requisition. Well, I’ll write you a little every day until I can send kittens.

New Madrid, “by Jingo;” March 14, 1863.

Night before last we received four heavy guns from Cairo and two or three of these infantry regiments planted them during the night within a half mile of the enemy’s main fort and within three-fourths of a mile where their gunboats lay. The seceshers discovered it at daylight and then the fun commenced. Their gunboats and forts, about 30 or 40 pieces in all, put in their best licks all day. We had two regiments lying right in front of our guns to support them against a sortie, and several other regiments behind ready for a field fight The enemy kept in their works though and it was altogether an artillery fight. Our regiment was in the saddle all the a.m., but in the p.m. we lay around our quarters as usual with not a particle more of excitement perceptible than the quietest day in Cairo showed. In the evening the colonel and Major Case and myself went out in the country for our regular little mush, and milk, but that hasn’t anything to do with the story. The firing ceased about an hour after sunset and we turned in for the night with all quiet in camp. About 2 o’clock this morning three Rebel regiments made a little sortie with the intention of doing some devilment, but they ran against a field battery of ours that sent them back kiting. This morning the fort and town were found to be evacuated. I rode down, through what is left of the town, for the Rebels burned many houses to give their guns a better chance at the approaches, and cut down nearly all of the shade trees. There was not an inhabitant left in town, they all moved out before we came here, and every door was open. The Rebels I think plundered the town after the citizens left; anyway our boys grumbled a good deal about the people’s leaving nothing in their houses. They went away very badly scared and in an awful hurry, for there were tables with wine on, and cards and beds that had been used last night and blankets, and they left all their heavy artillery. They must have had all of their light artillery with the horses hitched to it and harnessed, and a lot of horses saddled and tied, for the halters cut with the ties left on the posts, showed that they were in too much of a hurry to untie. They also left all their tents, some 500, standing, most all of them as good as the best of ours, and barracks for several regiments, quarters in all for probably 10,000 men, the generals say, but I don’t think they will hold so many. I think we got 40 guns, 24’s and larger, besides some field pieces. We also get a big lot of amunition, lots of mules and wagons, and the boys are now fishing out of the river whole boxes of quartermaster’s goods—clothing, blankets, etc., that the secesh rolled in as they ran. The general is better satisfied than if he had taken them prisoners. Coming back from the town and fort I rode over the ground where the balls lit thickest yesterday. They had scratched things around considerably—barked trees, knocked fences, busted a house or two, plowed ground like everything, and by the way, knocked six of our men for keeps, and wounded horribly about 15 more. That was all that was done yesterday. ‘Tis astonishing that no more of our men were killed but you must recollect that these infantrymen that were supporting our batteries lay in trenches and were all killed while well covered, comparatively. One ball struck square in the trench and relieved one man of two legs and another man of one. I saw one man who had been struck by a falling 25-pound solid shot in the centre of his breast and went down and out at the small of his back. That was a pretty hard sight. While they were firing the hottest our boys would jump on their little dirt piles in front of the rifle pits and trenches and swing their hats and cheer and drop back into their ditches very rapidly. A shell 18 pounds fell about 20 feet in front of the ditches, and a boy of 12 or 14 years jumped out and grabbed it up while the fuse was still burning. A soldier saw it and hollered at him to drop it and scoot, but he hadn’t time to get away, so he dropped it and threw himself flat with his feet toward it and almost then it burst, but harmlessly. Well, we’ve got Madrid and enough to pay us for our trouble. I think that our loss will be covered by 20 killed and 35 or 40 wounded in the whole two weeks. That’s a large estimate. What the next move will be have no idea, but some say that we’ll cross the river and operate with Grant in a southerly direction of course. I’d rather be in this down-the-river movement than any other part of the army. Have thought so ever since I joined the army. This cavalry business is bully. We have all the running around and fun and little skirmishing without much of the heavy work and tall fighting. The loss of the enemy we don’t know but there are about 40 fresh graves at the fort and we found several dead bodies there this morning. Also found a half dozen men that were left by some means.