Cape Girardeau, November 11, 1861.
We have just arrived here after a week’s absence from any sign of civilized life. Saturday the 2d we (our company) went out six or seven miles from the Point to guard a bridge on the Cairo and Fulton Railroad. Sunday we came back to the Point, and found the tents of our regiment all struck and everything prepared for a march. By dark we were all safely stowed on the “Aleck Scott,” and also five companies of the11th Illinois. At 10 p.m. the boat shoved out, but had to tie to all night about 10 miles up the river on account of the fog. Monday at 10 a.m. we landed at Commerce between Cape Girardeau and Cairo and stayed there all night. Up to this time we had not the most distant idea of where we were going, but here we began to guess that we were after Jeff Thompson and company. Tuesday morning we started back into the country and camped for the night on Colonel Hunter’s farm, a distance of 18 miles. (I forgot to mention that the 18th and 22d Illinois with three companies, cavalry and two pieces artillery joined us before we started from Commerce, making a total of some 2,200 men.) This Colonel Hunter is in the Rebel Army When we stopped at his farm there was a large flock of sheep, at least 40 goats and pigs, turkey, geese, chickens and ducks without number. After we had been there a half hour I don’t believe there was a living thing on the farm that did not come with our train. I never saw a slaughterhouse on as large a scale before. The next day the boys made an awful uproar on the road, playing that the sheep, hogs, geese, etc., inside of them were calling for their comrades. Wednesday night we stopped at Little Water River and the slaughtering commenced immediately. All along the road up to this place every horse or mule that showed himself was gobbled instanter, a bridle cramped, and some footman made happy. It was hard to tell whether our force was infantry or cavalry that night. This was too much for the colonel, so next morning he drew the brigade up in column of company and gave us fits. He made the men turn every horse loose; told us that the next man that cramped anything without permission would be dealt with as severely as the regulations would allow. That suited me. I never have been disgusted with soldiering save in those two days, and I tell you that I did then feel like deserting. When we are marching through a country as thoroughly secesh as this is, I think that the men should be allowed fresh meat at the expense of the natives; but there is a proper and soldier-like way to get it. We can send our foraging party ahead and have all we want at camp when we halt, but to allow men to butcher everything they see is moblike. Wednesday night Jeff’s men tried to burn a bridge a short distance from us and this led to a little brush, but the cavalry only were engaged. Thursday we marched all day and went into camp at night without seeing a horse. The march was through the “Black Swamp.” The ground was covered with this black moss four inches deep and so thick that ’tis like a carpet. That was an awful gloomy road and I was glad enough to land at a nice clear stream and have orders to pitch tents. That night not a thing was pressed. The next day we got into Bloomfield about 9 a.m. and found Jeff gone. For the third time we pitched tents on one of his deserted camps. I have just now heard that we started with orders to push on down to New Madrid, but here the orders were countermanded and we were started to Cape Girardeau. This Bloomfield is a rank Rebel hole. The first Rebel company in Missouri was raised here. It is the county seat of Stoddard or Scott, and a very fine place. Here the boys got the understanding that we were to be allowed some liberties and take them they did. They broke open four or five stores whose owners had left, and helped themselves. Colonel Dick (Oglesby) thought this was going too far, so he stopped it and sent a police force around to collect the stolen (pressed rather) property. I walked around and took a look at the pile they collected. There were lots of women’s bonnets, girl’s hats, mallets, jars of medicine, looking glasses three feet long, boys’ boots, flat irons, a nice side table and I don’t know what wasn’t there. It beat anything I ever saw. The men had no way to carry these things but on their backs, and what the devil they stole them for is more than I know. Well, the colonel divided the stuff out again among the men, but stopped stealing entirely for the future. We have been a respectable regiment since then. On the march back to the Cape, the 10th Iowa was ahead of us and they fired several houses. We (our regiment) saved one of the houses but the rest burned down. The march back to the Cape was a fast one but quiet. We arrested some 20 or 30 of Jeff’s men but released them all again. At Bloomfield my tent was pitched under a tree on which we saw the marks of three ropes to the ends of which Colonel Lowe attached three men not very long since. The ropes had cut through the moss on the tree and the marks will be visible a long time. We also arrested a number of men that had been concerned in hanging Union men through the country, At Round Pond an intelligent man told us that 17 men (Union) had been hung and shot inside of three days and he saw their bodies in one pile lying in the woods. We have marched over 1oo miles this trip, and we have not seen a mile of prairie. I haven’t been 20 feet from a tree for three months. The 17th are going into winter quarters.here. Our regiment will certainly be in the next fight at Columbus. We start back to the Point at 3 to-morrow morning.
Bird’s Point, October 27, 1861.
I haven’t written for a full week because I really had nothing to write and in fact I have not now. Although soldiering is a hugely lazy life, yet these short days we seem to have but little spare time. We are up nearly an hour before sun up, have breakfast about sunrise, drill (company) from about 8 to 10. Cards until dinner time, 12; lounge or read until 2; battalion drill untill 4:30 or 5, supper, and then dress parade at 4:45; from candle lighting untill bedtime (taps), 10, we have cards mixed with singing or some awful noises from Sam Nutt and Fred Norcott. Those two boys can make more noise than three threshing machines. Our boys are all in excellent health and prime spirits. Fred and Sam and Sid are fatter than the Canton folk ever saw them. There are but four regiments at the Point now, so we have to work on the entrenchments every fourth day two hours or cut down trees the same length of time. We are clearing away the timber within 500 yards of the earthworks. It is mostly Cottonwood and very heavy. They stand so thick that if we notch a dozen or so pretty deep and then fell one it will knock three or four down. Lin Coldwell and I are going to get a set of chess to-morrow. That gunboat, “New Era,” that the papers blow so much about is of no account as a gunboat. She is laid up at Mound City for a battery. The men on her have told me that she wouldn’t half stand before a land battery that amounted to anything. We are beginning to have some frost here, but I don’t believe we’d suffer a bit lying in these tents all winter. The sickly season is over now and the health is improving very much. We had 18 on the sick list in our company three weeks ago and now we have but three, and they are only diarrhoea or the like. I tell you I feel as strong as two mules and am improving. I haven’t been the least unwell yet. Our boys are perfectly sick for a fight so they can be even with the 17th. We are sure that the 17th doesn’t deserve to be named the same day with us for drill or discipline, with all their bragging. They are an awful set of blowhards. Sid., Theo., Ben Rockhold and John Wallace are on picket out of our mess to-night. The picket was fired on last night where they are posted to-night.
Bird’s Point, October 18, 1861
We yesterday drew our overcoats, and splendid ones they are. The cloth is light blue and they reach nearly to our feet. They have capes on them that come over a fellow’s head nicely nights. The weather is about like you have I expect, but I know we will be very comfortable with the clothing we have in any weather. I wouldn’t have the war end before next spring for anything, for I want to try a winter out doors. Every one of the Canton boys is in excellent health and all very well satisfied. The boys are receiving letters almost every day that read “we have heard that so and so is sick,” and this morning John Wallace got one that said that Sam Nutt and three others were shot while on guard. You may know that such reports are always lies unless you see it with the names in the papers long before a letter would reach you from here. John Wallace is just one of the best boys in the camp. It would do you good to see how contentedly the boys all take things. There is more life and fun in our tent every night than we ever had at home. Sam and Fred Norcott make more noise and sport in an evening than all Canton can furnish in a week. We love and respect all our officers but one, and he is the best officer we have, but a little too much regular army about him. Our captain is what the girls would call a “dear old fellow,” though he does have his own way every time. It seems to be the right way always so we think the world of him. They are just burying some poor fellow. We have had several deaths in the regiment lately. They do not play the prettiest dead marches here. I have been detached from the company for a week acting as sheriff of a court martial. Colonel Marsh, Colonel Logan, Colonel Tuttle of the Iowa 2d, and a couple of captains form the court. I have four men a day to guard the prisoners and two orderlies to send errands for me, so I play big injun strongly. The prisoner murdered a comrade while we were down at Norfolk. Smote him on the head with a club. He is from Company B of our regiment. That company, besides this case, had a man shot dead the other day by one of their own company. An accident. This morning they had a man stabbed, and day before yesterday they confined one of their men for trying to kill two others. For all this they are really a good company of men. We had a review Tuesday this week of 6 regiments, 2 batteries and 400 or 500 cavalry. Very fine. I suppose you saw an account of the Pekin company of our regiment killing four or five Rebels that made an attack on them while they were guarding a bridge. Ten of them stood their ground against a large party, and held the ground too. We buried two secesh and they carried off four. We lost none. The best fight yet was ten miles below here the other day between 26 of our men and 160 Rebels. You’ve seen it in the papers. Sam Nutt and John Wallace stood guard two nights before at the place where the first fight was. Oh heavens, I hope I can date my next from somewhere else.
Bird’s Point, October 10, 1861.
I have just finished a dinner of cider, cake, bread, butter, etc. We have just been paid off and of course have to indulge in a few delicacies for awhile. Last Tuesday we were ordered to strike tents and pack for a march. It wasn’t much of a march though for we were put on the cars and rolled out to Charleston, 12 miles from here, where we camped on a beautiful little prairie adjoining town. The 11th Illinois, Taylor’s artillery and two companies of cavalry and our regiment formed the party. I think we were out looking after that damned Jeff Thompson, who is reported everywhere from Ironton down to New Madrid. I don’t believe he has a thousand men, for there seems to be nothing reliable about any of the reports we have of him. The natives up at Charleston told us that Jeff was at Sykestown, 12 miles from there, with 5,000 or 6,000 troops, and our pickets had several little fights with his, or what we supposed to be his, but—well, the generals may know better but we that stay in the ranks think that there is no enemy nearer than Columbus save a few small bands of bushwhackers, who, under the impression that they are upholding principles eternal and doing their country service, gobble up everything sweet or sour, that weighs less than a ton. We came down from Charleston Thursday. We marched about 10 miles of the way through an immense (it seemed so to me) cypress swamp. I think Mrs. Stowes. “Dred” would have enjoyed that swamp hugely. It was rather an interesting piece of scenery for a first view, but I don’t think I should enjoy living in sight of it. The 18th, Colonel Lawler, worked six or eight weeks in this swamp repairing bridges the secesh had burnt, and it put half their men on the sick list. We got our pay in treasury notes but they are as good as the gold. Lots of the boys have traded them off for gold “even up.” I get $21 this time for two months and five days, our other boys got $14 or $15. I am third sergeant now, our second having been appointed sergeant major. I think I should rather be sergeant, for the field officers make a kind of servant of the sergeant major. I send you a couple of daguerreotypes to let you see what a “skeleton” I have become. Our boys are all very well. The 17th is in a pretty hard condition, nearly half of them sick and as a regiment pretty badly used up. We have been paid twice and they only $10 yet.
Bird’s Point, October 2, ’61.
Just at noon yesterday orders came to strike tents and in an hour we were under way and have come to a halt in this forsaken hole. It seems that the 8th can’t get out of hearing of the Cairo morning and evening gun anyway. Our major says they are talking of chucking us into Cairo and making us garrison it this winter. I’ll be tempted to desert if ’tis so. The 22d call us the featherbed regiment now, and if they keep us this way much longer we will be tender as women. It was late and we were tired when we pitched our tents last night and we didn’t “ditch round” as usual, trusting to providence for a dry night. But ’twas confidence misplaced and some of the boys found the ground slightly damp under them this morning. It has been raining like the devil all a.m. and the mud is quite salubrious. I find my old Havana schoolmate, Jem Walker, here in the 28th, Ritter’s company. Haven’t seen Smith yet. The Rebels came right up to Norfolk after we left last night, and about 3 I heard the cavalry called out, and this morning I see the 2d Iowa and 11th Illinois are gone. Suppose they all went down that way. I have disposed of all my surplus baggage and now have two shirts, two pair socks, one blanket, one pair pants, one coat, one pair shoes, one hat, toothbrush and one pocket comb. That’s all I’m worth. I can get all the clothing I want of the quartermaster any time. You scout the idea of one’s liking such a life as this. I tell you that I never was so well satisfied in my life as I have been since I joined the army. I do really enjoy it all the time, and if our boys here write the truth home they will say the same. Nobody ever heard me grumble a word about soldiering and never will if they don’t station us in Cairo.
Norfolk, September 30, 1861.
You think I’m doing pretty well in the number of my letters, don’t you? I can afford to for you are the only correspondent I have. You musn’t be surprised if you don’t get letters from me so regularly after this, for if we start back in the country, as I expect we will, to intercept Price’s retreat if Fremont whips him, we may be away from mails and such like for some time. If anything happens to me you will hear it just as quick as the news can be taken to you.
Since my last we have had some more fun here. Our company was out a few miles the other day to capture an old cuss we thought was peddling news from our camp down to Columbus. He had skedaddled though before we got to his house. We gobbled up all the loose plunder we could find lying around, it wasn’t much, and marched back. We had a mighty good time on picket a few nights ago. It was confounded cold, bushwhackers or no bushwackers we concluded to have a fire. A couple of the boys volunteered to go back to camp for kettles and coffee, and we found lots of nice roasting ears in the field we were camped in, and a kind of pumpkin that ate very well after a little roast before the fire. Then there were splendid pawpaws, lots of nuts of all kinds which a little fire made ripe, and we sat and cooked and ale all night. I can eat, if necessary, 36 hours without intermission except for an occasional drink, and I drink nearly a half gallon of coffee per day.
Last night the Pekin company in our regiment were on picket and at 3 this morning they were attacked. Ten of them held their ground against 150 half-mounted and half-foot and finally made them scoot. It was a devilish brave thing. The Rebels left one dead and one so badly wounded that he’ll die to-night, and carried off two others dead and four badly wounded. A lot more were scratched. But one of our men was wounded, and that a flesh wound in the arm, that will hardly take him off duty. The firing roused us here in the camp and we thought from the noise that the longed fight had come at last for certain. I tell you it was funny when the long roll (we would not get out of bed without the long roll for a thousand cannons these cold nights) to see the boys scramble for shoes and accoutrements. There was some profanity. I have just been to see a poor devil that has blown half of his head off this afternoon to get rid of his troubles. A soldier. Don’t know what he suicided for. We are messed off now, 15 in a tent, each tent’s inmates cooking and eating by themselves.
Norfolk (date torn off.)
The colonel talks some to-night about a forward movement, and two regiments have come across the river from the Kentucky side this evening, the Iowa 2d and 7th. The 17th are still opposite us and I have seen none of them yet. Our cavalry scouts are fighting now more or less every day. Yesterday a party of the Iowa 7th were out hunting bushwhackers when they were attacked by a company of horsemen of whom they killed four. One of our men was shot while returning from a scout. They routed the enemy but came back and reported four of their men missing, but the lost four have all come in to-day. Our men think they finished a couple at least but ’tis questionable. We are all again bored to death with lying still, but patience and we’ll get what we want in time. We have the report here to-day that Colonel Mulligan has capitulated to Price, Jackson & Co. at Lexington. This, if true, will certainly retard our movement down the Mississippi. I’m getting perfectly indifferent about Fremont’s being superseded or as to who has the command. It seems to me that none of our commanders are doing anything. With at least 75,000 troops at Paducah, Cairo and in Missouri to allow the gallant Mulligan to be forced to surrender is perfectly shameful. It’s disheartening to a soldier, I tell you. Let them go on, if this war goes against us ’twill be the fault of our commanders and not of the men, sure. Yesterday information was brought our colonel that a battery was in course of erection on the Kentucky shore six miles below us. We were put on steamboats 2,000 or 2,500 strong and preceded by two gunboats scooted down, when within a mile of the place our regiment was landed and we marched down but of course found no battery.
Note: This letter—a document written in 1861—includes terms and topics that may be offensive to many today. No attempt will be made to censor or edit 19th century material to today’s standards.
September 17, 1861.
Well, I’ve slept half of this day and feel sleepy yet. I had a tough time on picket last night. We were divided into four squads and owing to the small number of men we had out (only 50) the corporals had to stand guard as privates; so I had all the stationing of reliefs to do myself and did not get a minute’s sleep all night. We were not troubled any by the enemy but the mosquitoes and fleas gave us the devil.
A coon came sliding down the tree Sam Nutt was stationed under, and he thought he was taken sure. The people here say that there are lots of bears and tiger cats killed here every winter. Sam has been to Cairo to-day and says that Keef, Fred Norcott and Cooper are all much better. There is a rumor now that our right is going to Virginia, but I don’t believe it. It is too good to be true. Our cook has been sick for several days and we have been just about half living on account of our being too lazy to cook. I don’t mean to be disrespectful when I say I was about as glad to see him cooking again this morning, as I would be to see you. He is a splendid nigger, seems to think the world of us boys. He buys a great many little things for us with his own money, which as we are all out, is a good institution. We are to get our pay next week the officers say. My pay is some $18 or $20 a month now. I am entitled to a straight sword now, but as I have to carry a musket also, I’ll trade it off for gingerbread if they’ll let me, and if they won’t I’ll lose it sure for I have enough to carry without it. I can hear the tattoo now before the colonel’s quarters at the other end of the camp and our boys are singing, “Home Again” as they lie around me in our tent. I thank goodness that none of them get homesick like some do that I know in our right. I do despise these whiners. I expect (I have just this instant heard that they have been fighting in Washington for the last 24 hours. Now I’ll finish the sentence I had commenced) to be with those I love in eight months if the expected battle in Washington results favorably for our country, if not, do not look for me for three years. If they whip us again there I want to fight the rest of my life if necessary, and die before we recognize them as anything but Rebels and traitors who must be humbled. I don’t believe yet awhile the news but I kind o’ feel it all through me that there is a battle more to be recorded and that we are the victors. All that we have heard is that they are fighting. Colonel Turchin’s 19th left Cairo last night for the east somewhere. We are rapidly learning to appropriate and confiscate. On our last scout one of our boys rode a stray horse back and another came in with a female jackass and her child. Chickens are very scarce here now and the natives complain that sweet potato hills have turned into holes since we have been here. Our mess have this p.m. confiscated the roof of a man’s barn to cover our cook house with.
Norfolk, September 16, 1861.
We are still here at Norfolk and now in camp for we don’t know how long. We got tents the day after the date of my last, and splendid ones they are. They are full 10 feet high and 15 feet across. They each accommodate about 15 men. Since we have been here we have been out scouting three times. The first time we were down the river about five miles. That was the time our gunboats had the fight with the “Yankee” and the land batteries. Two days afterward a body of the enemy’s cavalry came up almost to our camp, and after dinner we were sent out to look them up. We were scooting along through a thick wood when one of our cavalry men came back half scared out of his wits (we had about 20 of the cavalry ahead acting as scouts) and reported a whole mess of men just over a rise of ground ahead of us. Our company was in the van, and the column came into line on us and our cavalry tried to draw the enemy back on our position, but Mr. Enemy “drawed” the other way and again we missed our little fight. Last Saturday we started out again at noon and went down the river 10 miles where we thought sure we’d find secesh, but he had again left. We had 2,000 men this time and 6 pieces of artillery. We had stopped to rest when a cloud of dust was observed rising on our side of the river about four miles from us. Some of the boys had glasses with them and made out the cause to be a body of cavalry. Our right was marched a few hundred yards to the front and placed in line of battle with the left at the river bank and our right extending along an edge of woods and fronting a cornfield and open pass between it and the river. A splendid place (for our side) for a fight. Our gunboat then started down the river, fired at and dispersed one body they saw and then slipped a few shells into Columbus and returned. We were within four or five miles of Columbus where there are (our colonel says) 26,000 troops, and on ground where the secesh were encamped but lately with 16 pieces of artillery. We started back at dusk and got home about 10 o’clock; some of the boys pretty tired. I stand these little trips like a horse and would rather go every day than lay around camp. Yesterday (Sunday) the “Yankee” came up and shelled the woods where we were the day before. She tried to throw some shells into our camp but they didn’t reach us by a mile and a half. One of our gunboats has to lay here all the time or the “Yankee” would make us skedaddle out of this on double quick. Don’t talk about furloughs. They are played out. A dispatch came this last week to Colonel Oglesby that his wife was dying. He went up to Cairo but General McClernand showed him an order from McClellan, vetoing furloughs, no matter for what. So the colonel had to return here. I’d like very much to go home but I’ll enjoy it all the more when this business is finished. The 17th is encamped just opposite us on Island No. 1, but we can’t get to see them. Our boys are in good spirits. Sid. and Sam and Theo. are now all right. Milo Farewell thinks he has the dumb ague. Fred Norcott is sick in Cairo. Charley Cooper is also sick I have heard. I am all right. My office is sergeant, two grades below private. Our company goes out on picket to-night.
Camp Norfolk, September 12, 1861.
Agreeable to our very short notice we packed our knapsacks, put three days rations in our haversacks, were carried across the river to Bird’s Point in two boats (our whole regiment), and just at dark started out through the woods. ‘Twas a confounded, dark, dirty, narrow road, and I was right glad when the word “halt” was given and preparations made for bunking in for the night. The next morning we started again along down the river, the gunboats, two of them, keeping a couple of miles ahead of us. We started with a couple of pieces of field artillery, but the road got so bad that we had to leave it after about three miles. We advanced about five miles when the gunboats, which were about a mile and one-half ahead of us, opened mouth, and thunder! what a rumpus they did keep up. We could not see them for the thick brush between us and the river, but we thought sure our little fight had come at last. We were drawn up in the front yard of some secesher’s deserted house (a fine one), and the colonel with a small party went ahead to reconnoiter. While they were gone we ate our dinners, and made ready for the expected march and fight. But the colonel on his return, scooted us back to our morning’s starting place. Whew, but that was a sweating old march. About an hour after we started back, 15 of our cavalry scouts were run in, through the place where we took dinner, by 60 or 70 secesh cavalry. Three or four were wounded and our boys say that they killed several of the Rebels. The gunboats came up in the p.m. reported fighting the “Yankee” and two land batteries, one of which was but three and one half miles below us (and some say but one and one half miles) and had 16 guns. They crippled the dam’d “Yankee” although the latter carries 84’s, while ours hadn’t but 64’s. Our boats were not touched. A deserter came up from Columbus yesterday afternoon and says that our boats killed 200 in the fight. (I believe he is a liar and a spy). We have had it sweet the last day and two nights. Rained like sixty and we have no tents. There is no shelter but a few trees and you know they amount to nothing in heavy rains. It is amusing to see the boys figure at night for dry beds. Every thing, gates, cordwood, rails, cornstalks, weeds and panels of fence and boards are confiscated, and genius is taxed its utmost to make the sleeping as comfortable as possible. Milo Farewell, Hy. Johnson and myself sleep on an armful of cornstalks thrown on a floor of rails. With nothing between us and the clouds. Sid., (Sidney Stockdale) and Theo. each had three sticks of four foot cord wood for a couch, with their feet resting in a mudpuddle. We are further out than any other regiment now. I tell you I like this, and feel like knocking down any man that I hear grumble. None of our boys do that I hear of. We will have our tents here this p.m. though I would rather be without them; they are so much trouble. I know we will have no dirtier time than we have had the last two days, and until it gets cold I would rather not have tents if it is the same all the time. I fell in love with Paducah while I was there, and I think I will settle there when the war is over. I never saw so many pretty women in rtiy life. All fat, smooth-skinned small boned, highbred looking women. They hollered “Hurrah for Jeff” at us, some of them, but that’s all right. I could write until to-rnorrow morning about Paducah, but I must go and confiscate some corn for dinner.
