Campaigning with Uncle Billy: The Civil War Memoirs of Sgt. Lyman S. Widney, 34Th Illinois Volunteer Infantry

By Peter Cozzens

Campaigning with Uncle Billy is the memoir of the service of Sgt. Lyman S. Widney of Illinois who served throughout the Civil War with the 34th Illinois Infantry. Widney's account of his wartime service is based on the diary he kept during the conflict. As a regimental clerk, he was in a position to meet many prominent people and to know the plans and thinking of the command staff. Widney's narrative is personal, highly detailed, vividly descriptive and accurate. He writes with emotion and humor. He details the life of the volunteer soldiers as they enlist, adapt to military life and learn the trade of soldiering. His descriptions of the horrors of the battlefield, its grisly aftermath and the toll that sickness exacted on the rank and file is highly personal. Through Widney's eyes we explore the countryside, tour Mammoth Cave, learn firsthand about combat and sickness and endure life in the trenches in the relentless fighting of the Atlanta Campaign and the grueling March to the Sea and through the Carolinas. Widney's memoir is a worthy addition to the literature of the Civil War from the point of view of the common soldier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 17, 2008
• ISBN: 9781466957237

Peter Cozzens

Peter Cozzens is an independent scholar and Foreign Service officer with the U.S. Department of State. He is author or editor of nine highly acclaimed Civil War books, including The Darkest Days of the War: The Battles of Iuka and Corinth.

Book preview

Campaigning with Uncle Billy

The Civil War Memoirs of

Sgt. Lyman S. Widney 34th

Illinois Volunteer Infantry

Edited and with an Introduction by Robert I. Girardi

Foreword by Peter Cozzens

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© Copyright 2008 Robert I. Girardi.

Cover Design/Artwork by Keith Rocco.

Designed by Lynne Crumpacker. Foreword by Peter Cozzens.

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Contents

FOREWORD

INTRODUCTION

EDITOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

BIBLIOGRAPHY

About the Author:

Artist:

ENDNOTES

FOREWORD

Illinois possesses a rich literature of participant accounts of the Civil War. Indeed, Illinois soldiers penned two of the finest of all Northern published primary sources; books that rank among the dozen best in the genre. These are Leander Stillwell’s The Story of a Common Soldier of Army Life in the Civil Warand Lucius W. Barber’s Army Memoirs of Lucius W. Barber, Company ‘D,’ l5h IIlinois Volunteer Infantry. Stillwell and Barber’s accounts are so well regarded that Time-Life Books reprinted them as part of their thirty-volume Collector’s Library of the Civil War

Campaigning with Uncle Billy: The Civil War Memoirs of Lyman S. Widney, 34h Illinois Volunteer Infantry ranks alongside Barber’s Memoirs. It is that good of a book. Beside their mutual qualitative excellence, the two books bear other similarities. Like Barber, Widney presented his memoirs in diary form. His daily entries are as full as those of Barber, giving the reader the feeling that nothing in Widney’s army service, or that of his regiment, escaped his notice. Widney also wrote in the same unadorned but compelling style as did Barber—simple, direct, and distinctly masculine. Both men also demonstrated a sharp sense of humor and genuine sympathy for their foe.

That Lyman’s memoirs are as good as they are should come as no surprise when one takes into account their original venue, the National Tribune. Headquartered in Washington, D. C., the National Tribune was a weekly newspaper founded by a fellow Illinois veteran, John McElroy, as an advocatory forum for Union army veterans. It kept its three-hundred thousand readers informed about congressional debates on war pensions and veterans’ benefits, and on the activities of the Grand Army of the Republic. McElroy also reserved nearly half of the dozen odd pages of each issue for veteran’s recollections. In regular columns such as Picket Shots and Fighting Them Over, could be found letters and reminiscences of a few dozen lines. The first page of each issue was given over to one or two lengthy, and often serialized, feature articles. It was there that the memoirs of Union generals John Pope, William P. Carlin, Oliver O. Howard, and Green B. Raum first appeared. Among such heady company were the memoirs of the regimental clerk of the 34 th Illinois Infantry, Lyman S. Widney.

To be serialized required that the writer pass a muster of the highest order. Not only must his contribution be of interest to the readership, but it also had to meet the litmus test of authenticity in their eyes. And as fellow veterans, the readers of the National Tribune were quick to pounce on any errors of fact. McElroy made it a point to publish letters condemning or challenging featured accounts. No such rejoinders to Widney’s writings ever appeared.

An added benefit of Widney’s work is that it also functions as a regimental history, and it gives a much fuller and more human account of the service of the 34 th Illinois than does Edwin W. Payne’s contemporaneous History of the Thirty-fourth Regiment of Illinois Volunteer Infantry. It is considerably longer, and far better written.

Another plus lies in the fact that the 34th Illinois saw more than its share of action. It was one of Fox’s three hundred Fighting Regiments, taking heavy casualties at Perryville, Stones River, during the Atlanta Campaign, and at Bentonville. Widney was present for every major engagement except Perryville.

Lastly, Widney’s memoirs as presented here benefit enormously from Rob Girardi’s fine editing. Of particular value are the many footnotes that incorporate the observations of other members of the regiment to enhance or compliment those of Widney. For this purpose Girardi drew on a commendable body of unpublished primary accounts by members of the 34th Illinois. That Girardi’s editorial work is of the highest caliber should come as no surprise to readers of Civil War literature. He did similar justice to the memoirs of John Pope and William P. Carlin, transporting them from the obscure pages of the National Tribune to a modern readership.

I recommend Campaigning with Uncle Billy: The Civil War Memoirs of Lyman S. Widney, 34 Illinois Volunteer Infantry, to the reader without reservation. It joins the ranks of the best of Illinois Civil War literature.

Peter Cozzens

INTRODUCTION

On September 17, 1861, eighteen year old Lyman Summerfield Widney, of Mt. Morris, Illinois, enlisted as a volunteer for three years in Co H of the 34th Illinois Volunteer Infantry, the Rock River Rifles, at Camp Butler, in Springfield, Illinois. The youth registered his occupation as farmer. He was an average young man, being a scant five foot four and one half inches tall with slim build, grey eyes and brown hair. Widney was born in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania on November 23, 1842 to Charles Wilson Widney of Concord, Pennsylvania and Mary Alexander Gilson, of Milford Township. It is not known when or why the family emigrated to the fertile farmlands of Ogle County in central Illinois.

The 34th Illinois Infantry was formally mustered into the U.S. service in September 1861 for a period of three years’ service and after a stay at Camp Butler, entrained for Kentucky, where the regiment was destined to become part of the Army of the Ohio under the overall command of Gen. Don Carlos Buell. The 34th Illinois, commanded by Colonel Edward N. Kirk, was assigned to Richard Johnson’s brigade, Alexander McDowell McCook’s Division. The 34th Illinois spent its early days at Camp Nevin, near Munfordville, Kentucky where it continued its schooling and engaged in routine activities.

Like many Western regiments, the 34th Illinois had its baptism of fire at Shiloh, seeing action on the second day, April 7, 1862. Afterwards the unit participated in the plodding march on Corinth, Mississippi. Lyman Widney became gravely ill during this period and was hospitalized and shipped to a soldier’s home in Keokuk, Iowa to recover for several months. As a result of this illness, Widney missed the battle of Perryville. After his convalescence in Iowa, he trekked his way back to the army and was present for the disaster at Stones River, in which the regiment lost its flag and Col. Kirk was mortally wounded. During the first half of 1863 the 34th Illinois was actively engaged in fortifying Murfreesboro, constructing Fortress Rosecrans, which was the largest earthen fort built during the war. In the summer of 1863, the regiment participated in the Chickamauga and Chattanooga campaigns. Fortunately, the 34th Illinois missed the major fighting at Chickamauga in late September because the regiment was detailed to guard and outpost duty at Chattanooga during much of the campaign. The regiment participated in the Chattanooga Campaign and afterwards marched to the relief of Knoxville. In late 1863 the 34th Illinois voted to become veteran volunteers and received a thirty days’ furlough in February of 1864.

During the Atlanta Campaign and the March to the Sea, the 34th Illinois was frequently under fire or in combat. Widney’s description of the active campaigning is quite vivid and detailed. The agony of the day to day experience under fire and the long march to Savannah and through the Carolinas depicts the grueling service witnessed by thousands of soldiers. Widney’s account of the unit under fire at Bentonville is exciting and accurately describes the ferocity of that battle. His account of the end of the war, the surrender of Joseph E. Johnston’s Army of Tennessee and the final, victorious march to Washington is a fitting epitaph to the service of a hard-marching, hard-fighting Western regiment.

The 34th Illinois was one of Fox’s Three Hundred Fighting Regiments, a distinction given to those regiments who suffered the most in combat during the war. Over four years, the 34 th lost a total of 140 men and officers killed in action; 121 died of disease and an additional 247 were wounded. The regiment fought at Shiloh (2nd Day), march to Corinth, Perryville, Stones River, the Atlanta Campaign, March to the Sea, the Carolinas Campaign and participated in the Grand Review before finally getting paid off and being discharged in Chicago, Illinois on July 16, 1865.

After the war, Lyman S. Widney took a job with Burrows Woods, a family friend and he embarked on a career in the coal business, managing operations out of Baton Rouge and New Orleans, Louisiana. Widney’s parents moved to Louisiana to be with him, but both were soon stricken down with yellow fever and died within two weeks of each other. Lyman Widney also took ill, but he was nursed to health by a Louisiana girl of French-Polish extraction. He later married this girl, Adelaide Valda Korwin, on December 8, 1880, and fathered four children, Anna Lee (1881), Charles Wood (1883), Miriam Adele (1889) and Valda Sophie (1893). Lyman S. Widney died on November 10, 1927 in Birmingham, Alabama in the home of his daughter Miriam.

Lyman Widney took an active interest in veterans’ activities and in keeping current with the literature and study of the Civil War. In addition to his war memoirs he wrote articles for periodicals of the time. One of these, from which the title to this book has been adopted, is provided in the appendix following his narrative.

The literature of the American Civil war is abundant with primary source material. There is a seemingly endless supply of first person accounts of our national tragedy written by the men who fought the war. All of these accounts provide rich material for the historian, but there are some that deserve special attention. The more noteworthy accounts were written by persons with a keen eye for observation and detail, and a talent for recording these in a meaningful way. These accounts are able to span the years and bring the writer and events back to life in the minds of the reader. One such of these is the long forgotten narrative of the experiences of Lyman Summerfield Widney, Co H, 34 th Illinois Volunteer Infantry.

Widney’s account was written contemporaneously with the history of the 34th Illinois penned by Edwin Payne, the official regimental historian. The latter book is a vintage regimental history and is quite good, providing a detailed overview of the regiment’s service, many photographs of members, a roster of the men and officers and feedback and extracts from letters of some members of the regiment. Why then bother to read Widney’s account? One reason is that Widney’s narrative is personal and compelling, detailed, but never uninteresting. His position as clerk at regimental headquarters, which he held from November 1862, gave him many insights into the unit’s activities and enhances his analysis of events as they unfold as well as after the fact. Also, Widney wrote only of his own experiences whereas Payne often relied on the accounts provided by others, especially during the period when he was away from the regiment recovering from wounds. Interestingly, Payne never mentions Widney in his history, whereas Widney does mention Payne. The reason for Payne’s omission is unclear, especially as he cannot have been unaware of Widney. There is nothing to indicate that this omission is deliberate, but one can wonder if there was not some rivalry between the two for the right to write the regimental history. However, no evidence of any animosity between the two scribes was found or even hinted at in their respective collections of papers. Payne’s account was published in book format in 1902 whereas Widney’s appeared in serial format in the National Tribune, a newspaper written for Union veterans. Thus, since Widney would have taken severe criticism for any misstatements, he took pains to

pay attention to names, events and details. His narrative is remarkably accurate as to the facts and events he reports.

Widney writes with an easy, conversational style. He is to be commended for his attention to detail and the insider’s knowledge of the day to day workings of the regiment he provides. Like many of his peers, both Union and Confederate, Widney recorded his experiences in a war time diary (lovingly transcribed by his great grand-daughter) and in his letters home, a number of which survive. More to the point, in 1902 Lyman S. Widney began writing his memoirs in serial format for the National Tribune. Widney’s memoirs were presented in the National Tribune in three parts, consisting of thirty-eight weekly installments, between July 18, 1901 and September 3, 1903. These were published under the headings From Louisville to the Sea, (in two parts) and From the Sea to the Grand Review. What appears in the pages that follow is this narrative, which is transcribed and edited and which is supported by Lyman Widney’s wartime diary and letters.

Widney vividly describes army life as experienced by the 34th Illinois. He recounts the motivation for enlisting in the army, the experiences of the men training in camp, the growing pains of recruits learning to be soldiers and the pleasures of exploring the countryside, such as his detailed account of the excursion into Mammoth Cave. He also graphically recounts the action when his regiment is in combat, the horrors of the battlefield, as well as the ordeals endured by soldiers who became sick in the field. Through Widney’s eyes we experience their treatment in field hospitals and their evacuation on hospital ships to convalescent homes. The treatment of soldiers placed hors’ de combat is lamentable, as Widney witnessed it. Widney’s memoir is intimately personal, vividly descriptive, compassionate and even humorous at times. He is a keen and intelligent reporter when discussing the contextual meaning of his subjects. Widney also comments on many of the prominent generals of the Western armies and his observations are credible and informative. Even those readers with a good foundation in Civil War primary sources can learn a lot from Widney’s narrative because of the nature of the topics he deals with and the insights he provides.

Widney also provides a number of colorful stories and uses dialect to describe some of the conversations and encounters with slaves or freedmen. These are presented as he wrote them. His presentation and some of the taller tales should be accepted for what they are, products of their time and not as gospel truth. He was writing to entertain as well as to inform, or recall, days gone by. No

apology is made nor should be expected for these forays into creativity.

One weakness of the narrative is perhaps forgivable. Widney does not mention the loss of the regiment’s colors at the battle of Stones River in December 1862. Such a traumatic loss to the regiment could hardly have gone unnoticed and perhaps we ought to forgive Widney his deliberate omission of this fact. Like many of the regimental histories written near the turn of the century, the focus was more on achievement and heroism than on the issues or the politics of the war. Perhaps this was done in the spirit of reconciliation which tended to obscure if not entirely ignore the issues that caused and sprang up from the war, or perhaps it was only not to dredge up again the unpleasant emotions that such occasions aroused. Another notable omission is made by both Payne and Widney and that is the marooning of thousands of freed slaves by Union general Jefferson C. Davis, with Sherman’s blessing, at Ebenezer Creek during William T. Sherman’s march through the Carolinas. This was a controversial issue at the time for many units in the army, but apparently not in the 34 th Illinois. No mention is made of this event by either of the regiment’s scribes, but the act was soundly condemned by many of their contemporaries. Widney also and somewhat disingenuously takes pains to deny knowledge or participation in the setting of fires on the march through the Carolinas, though he vividly describes the after effects of those fires. One cannot help but doubt his veracity on this subject.

In many ways, Widney’s narrative also serves as a regimental history which reinforces and enhances the book written by Payne. Payne’s volume provides a classical style regimental history; Widney’s is that, but also more properly, a personal narrative. It is the personal aspect of his writing which makes it valuable to the historian, or any reader seeking to gain insight into the experiences of the common soldier. Although Payne wrote quite a few letters during his war service, he does not draw from these in his history. Widney seems to have relied heavily upon his own diary, but he fleshed it out for his memoir. There is not much in Lyman Widney’s letters or diary that does not appear in the narrative he wrote for the National Tribune.

Sadly, no photograph of Sergeant Major Lyman S. Widney could be found. He has not been forgotten by history, however. He speaks to us across the years through his diary and letters, which have been quoted in a number of modern campaign studies and accounts of Western battles. Widney’s letters and a transcript of his wartime diaries are on file with the National Park Service at Stones River and Kennesaw Mountain National Military Parks. Additionally, at Stones River, Widney’s writings are quoted and he is depicted on film in the excellent orientation film shown in the visitor’s center. Now, for the first time in a century, Lyman S. Widney can once again recount the events of the tumultuous 1860’s as he witnessed them.

EDITOR’S NOTE

Lyman Widney’s narrative is presented as he wrote it. No text has been changed or omitted other than to standardize spelling, dates and times. Persons, places and events have been identified wherever possible, and some re-paragraphing has been done for logical consistency. Several corrections of names and places have also been made. Otherwise, the text is as Widney presented it. The footnotes seek to clarify, identify or elaborate on what Widney wrote. The article written by Lyman S. Widney in the appendix is presented here as it first appeared in Neale’s Monthly. I have chosen to let the work speak for itself. Any errors in the notes are mine alone.

Campaigning with Uncle Billy

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As with any work of this nature thanks are due to a number of people and organizations. The following were instrumental in providing source material and making information accessible: Terry Buckaloo, Sterling-Rock Falls Historical Society. Kathryn Hodson and Sidney F. Huttner, the University of Iowa Libraries, Special Collections Department. Rita Welsh, Lee County Genealogical Society. Stella Grobe, Historical Society of Lee County. Harriet Miller Fletcher, Ogle County Genealogical Society. Kathy Shoemaker, Robert W. Woodruff Library, Emory University. Richard Baker at the U.S. Army Military History Institute, USAMHI, Carlisle Barracks, PA. Special thanks are due to Joan Sexton, Sedona, Arizona, great-grand-daughter of Lyman S. Widney, who provided background information about her ancestor, and who painstakingly transcribed Widney’s diary and made it available to the public. Willie R. Johnson, historian, Kennesaw Mountain National Military Park and James B. Lewis, Stones River National Military Park provided materials on both the 34th Illinois and Lyman S. Widney. Noah Allen Trudeau, noted historian, provided additional writings of Lyman S. Widney. Thanks are due Cheryl Schnirring, Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library, for always providing friendly and efficient service. Much gratitude is extended to my sister, Lisa Girardi, for re-typing several hundred pages of the manuscript when my computer hard drive crashed. (Always back your work up, and don’t write on cd’s with a pen). Kudos to Lynne Crumpacker, of Edinburg, VA who designed the cover. Very special thanks to Paula C. Walker, of Tinley Park, IL who proofread the manuscript and stole my heart. Special thanks are also due to my good friend and sometime collaborator, Peter Cozzens, who first introduced me to Lyman S. Widney and to Keith Rocco, artist, who has always been a kind and generous friend and whose artwork graces the cover and the pages of this book. I am truly blessed to have such friends.

Chapter One

The Rock River Rifles

If there is any merit in these pages it will be found in the faithful and exact record of such events as came within the author’s observation, his entries having been made usually at the close of the day—very few later than the following morning. In this way many details have been preserved that would otherwise have been passed into oblivion. Unimportant as many occurrences appeared at the time, their recital now adds interest to the great events of the war, as seasoning adds flavor to our food. The personality of the writer is of little interest to the reader, so his individual experience is only given when it serves to illustrate that of his comrades. As for opinions and criticisms, only such are recorded as give expressions to the sentiments prevailing in the ranks.¹

When the first gun of the Civil War was fired at Fort Sumter and President [Abraham] Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers to serve three months, we did not respond. We—a thousand in number, mostly boys, living on farms and in country towns in Northern Illinois-believed that 75,000 men could suppress the rebellion in ninety days; but we were destined to form a regiment and march from Louisville to the sea and from the sea to Richmond, watering the soil of seven Southern States with our blood, before the end of the rebellion. Nor did we respond to the second call for volunteers, in May, 1861, but continued our peaceful duties, while a grand army was organizing at Washington to capture Richmond.

In the midst of our harvest duties, while many of us were gathering the golden grain, came the shock which was to change the course of our lives. The first blast of the war had dissipated our magnificent army at Bull Run and converted it into a demoralized crowd of fugitives. Fancy pictured to our alarmed imaginations Washington at the mercy of the enemy and our own State open to invasion by our Southern neighbors, Kentucky and Missouri.

To organize Home Guards for the defense of our State was our first determination and soon the fife and drum could be heard, far and near, giving cadence to the step of the would-be soldiers, arrayed in all the glory of red, white and blue cotton uniforms. There was another call by the President for volunteers to serve three years or during the war and the real work of recruiting now began. Volunteers under this call soon presented themselves to replace the three-months men who were returning home.²

The Confederates made no advance and confidence was soon restored at Washington by the arrival of fresh troops and a thorough reorganization of the shattered army by General [George B.] McClellan. The rout at Bull Run was now seen to have been caused by a silly panic and the entire North smarted with the desire to retrieve the disgrace of that day.

The newspapers published appeals for volunteers. Orators spoke words of patriotic eloquence. Churches resounded with martial music and ministers pleaded from pulpits that were draped in the national colors. Picnics were held in rapid succession throughout the county and companies of Home Guards were the honored guests. We were kept in a whirl of excitement, attending these picnics and meetings in neighboring towns and country places. Farm life became monotonous drudgery. A desire began to grow on us to go into the broad land, surrounded with all the inspiring and dazzling accompaniments of holiday soldiers, where every step would be heralded in the newspapers and recorded in history.³

The alacrity of the North in responding to the call for volunteers led us to believe that our forces would certainly prove to be irresistible in point of numbers, while, joined to this attractive view in our minds was the prompting of patriotism in our hearts, sufficient to overcome the fear of danger. We began to discuss enlistment for the war. Our Captain strongly urged it. What will you do with yourselves when all the brave men go to war? Do you want to stay at home and be clodhoppers, while others are getting free rides over the country, free rations, free clothing, good wages, lots of fun and just enough danger to make your life interesting?

At length we decided to disband our company of Home Guards and enlist for the war. This is how it came about: A picnic was held in the woods near our homes, to secure recruits for a company being formed for service in the field. Our company marched upon the grounds with fife and drums and with admiring maidens sitting beside us we listened to the most eloquent speakers of the county. A Methodist preacher was the most earnest in his appeal, touching our hearts in the true revival spirit. Young men, he exclaimed, go to the front, defend the old flag, preserve our noble Union, conquer peace and return home to enjoy the fruits of your valor, or fall with your face to the foe and seal your devotion to your country with your blood. An appeal was then made to come forward and enroll our names upon a sheet of paper spread upon the head of a drum. One after another walked up and recorded his name.⁴

The allotted number of one hundred men was soon afterwards secured and our preparations began for active service. When formally enrolled and organized, our company was assigned to a regiment known to us as the Rock River Rifle Regiment, which we supposed was to be an independent command, subject only to the orders of its Colonel and free to dart here and there over the country in a way to astonish the natives. This was one of the first pleasing romances of our military career to be dissipated by stern experience, for, in a short time, we found that our regiment would be known by its number as a part of a vast machine, controlled by a master mind, in which the private soldier would be a unit of so little magnitude that the killing of a dozen or two would scarcely be called a skirmish, while the loss of a thousand would hardly constitute a battle.

Orders having been received for our company to join the regiment in Camp Butler, near Springfield, Illinois, we assembled at the railroad station early on the morning of September 9, 1861. All the town people and our friends from the country were present to bid us God-speed. The train ran many miles before our eyes were clear from the effects of recent parting to observe the passing scenery: but at length our spirits rose, under the inspiration of rapidly-changing scenes and the novelty of our mission, which promised a world of interesting adventures. Our enthusiasm was not allowed to cool, for at every station men, women and children saluted us with cheers and waving of handkerchiefs. Decatur was reached at nightfall, where our cars were sidetracked for the night with the seats for couches. We found little use for beds, as the mischief of many and liquor in others, effectually prevented sleeping by the few quietly disposed.⁵

September 10, 1861. Morning found us sleepy and impatient to proceed. At ten o’clock our cars were attached to the Springfield train and shortly after noon we disembarked at Jimtown, a small station seven miles from the Capital. Forming in line, we took up our march for Camp Butler, two miles distant, arriving there at 3:00 P.M. and were assigned to our quarters in tents adjoining those companies of our regiment which had preceded us. We were surprised and delighted to see so large a camp, containing not less than 11,000 men, beautifully situated in a large grove, where the branches so closely interlocked that the sun could scarcely peep through them.⁶

We found our tents ready for us and good blankets for each man. After eating a hearty supper we compared notes and decided that our lines had fallen in pleasant places.

September 11, 1861. After a sound sleep, our first night in camp, we awoke, comfortable and happy, with a keen appetite for breakfast, which consisted of bread, butter, meat, potatoes, coffee and sugar, prepared by a good cook employed by the company.

Home-sickness finds no lodging here. In reply to a question a comrade exclaimed, Want to go home? No, indeed. You could not drive me away at the point of a bayonet.

September 12, 1861. When our company was notified this morning to get ready for inspection by a Regular mustering officer, preparatory to muster into the United States military service, we began to feel nervous over the possibility of being rejected and thereby losing the good things in store for Uncle Sam’s volunteers. Our hearts were still thumping violently when, later, we stood in line, facing the mustering officer, who, in full uniform of the Regular service, impressed us with his military bearing, so difficult for us to imitate. When we saw his eye glancing slowly down our line, the tall man on the right imparted a slight tremor to the comrade at his left and thence with increasing intensity to the tail end of the company, where the youngest and shortest, like myself, trembled with violent agitation.

Beginning at the right, each man was then successfully required to step ten paces to the front, turn to the left and pass to the other end of the line, taking position there, after which we were subjected to an individual inspection and our description recorded as to age, height, color of eyes, hair and complexion and occupation when enlisted. The oath of allegiance was administered and we were dismissed to our quarters as volunteer soldiers. We trust that the enemy will not scare us as did this officer.⁷

September 13, 1861. The entire camp was ordered out to receive distinguished visitors. When our preparations were completed and we stood in two ranks, swelling with martial pride and trying to look as much like soldiers as was possible for men and boys without guns and fresh from the farm, store or shop, we heard the trampling of hoofs and presently our eyes were dazzled by a party of horsemen who came riding along our front with uncovered heads.

The party consisted of Governor [Richard] Yates, ex-Governor [John] Wood, General [David] Hunter, our commander and Owen Lovejoy, a prominent politician. This being the first assembly of all the troops in this camp we were very much impressed with the length of our line and hope that our visitors were equally impressed with the fact that we would look formidable if we only had the murderous weapons of war in our hands.

September 15, 1861. Our first Sunday in camp reminds us that we owe one day to Him who has proclaimed Peace and good will to men, after spending six in the service of war. All business was suspended, except one hour of drill in the morning. At ten o’clock we collected under the trees to hear a sermon by the same Methodist minister whose eloquence proved so effective on that day at the picnic, when many of us first signed our names on the drumhead. We were wonderfully toned down, after a week of uproar and hilarity and

observed the day in a creditable manner, by singing hymns, or in quiet conversation. Other regiments in camp, we were sorry to note, were not so orderly. May God grant that the religious influence of our homes will always attend us as it has this day.

September 16, 1861. One of the great events of a young soldier’s first experience is the hour when he is invested with gun and bayonet and the countersign is whispered in his ear, with solemn instructions to pace forward and backward between two given points, guarding with sleepless vigilance against the approach of a stealthy foe, or even a friend who cannot pronounce the mysterious word that alone may prove his pacific intentions.

It was my duty to walk a well-beaten path from midnight until sunrise this morning, weighted with a sense of responsibility that kept my eyes wide open and ears alert for hostile signs or sounds. No Southern spy should cross my beat unobserved, to count the sleeping warriors under my charge, in order to report the secrets of our camp to the enemy. When the Officer of the Guard directed me to hand my gun and responsibilities over to the sentry appointed to relieve me, a feeling possessed my mind that a month’s wages were well earned this night alone.

September 17, 1861. Sickness is increasing to a great extent among the soldiers of this camp, owing to indiscretion in eating fruit and unwholesome pies and cakes, purchased from peddlers. A number may be seen walking about, looking very weak and thin, entirely unable to perform any duty; consequently they are already discouraged and may be heard lamenting that the mustering officer did not reject them. It is now too late to reconsider; there is a line of sentinels between them and their homes, whose duty it is to keep the Yankee in as well as to keep the Secessionist out.

September 18, 1861. Camp life has now become a regular routine of duties. First in the morning is reveille, a beating of drums at five-thirty to awaken the sleepers, when the Orderly Sergeant goes to each ten shouting Turn out! Fall into ranks! Each man jumps from his bed and falls into line with his company. The Sergeant calls the roll, each man present answering his name. If absent without leave, he is punished by having to perform extra duty.

After roll call each man takes his broom, a bundle of willows and helps to sweep the street of his own company. At six o’clock the drums beat the breakfast call, when we form and march in two files to the table, dividing on each side, each man taking his place designated by a double row of tin plates. The table is long enough for the whole company.

Provisions are good and fairly cooked, consisting at various times of bread, crackers, beans, potatoes, rice, pork, fresh beef, dried apples and peaches, coffee, tea, sugar and molasses. After breakfast we are at liberty until seven o’clock, when we fall into ranks for guard mounting, when all who are detailed on guard duty for the day are marched to their posts. Two hours on and four off, during twenty-four hours, is the rule. This duty falls upon each of us about one day in the week. When the guards, usually about a dozen, are taken from the company, the remainder are dismissed until ten-thirty, then called together for drill until dinner is ready at noon. Again we are drilled from one to three and from five to six, when we eat supper with sharpened appetites.

At seven the drums beat retreat and we assemble for roll call, which is again called at nine, and fifteen minutes later three heavy taps on the bass drum is the signal for all lights to be put out and everybody go to sleep.

September 19, 1861. Recruits from various parts of the State have been arriving almost daily and now the time has come to send organized regiments of drilled men to the front. The 33rd Illinois, followed by the 28th Illinois marched out of camp today, destined for St. Louis. The men appeared to be in the best of spirits, not a sad face to be seen and as they crossed the boundary line of camp a voice started the air of John Brown’s body lies moldering in the tomb, but his soul goes marching on. At once we all joined in and made the camp ring with the song, keeping time with a swinging step, passing from our view, as a comrade remarked, in a blaze of glory. This inspiring spectacle has filled us all with an impatient desire to do likewise, but we know nothing about when or where we will be ordered. Our Colonel says marching orders may come at any time to go East, West or South, wherever the War Department chooses to send us.

September 20, 1861. If we prove to be as belligerent in the field as we are in camp we will be a terror to the enemy or ourselves. Our boys are worse than gamecocks for getting into quarrels, but not half so ready to come to blows, as confinement in the guard-house speedily follows such diversions. Every day there is a war of words somewhere in camp, but the parties usually separate, after threatening to shoot each other’s head off, the very first battle we get into. If these threats are carried out, the enemy need only to start the battle and then retire to a place of safety, leaving us to fight it out between ourselves, like the Kilkenny cats, until we are exterminated, every fellow having his head blown off by his neighbor.

September 25, 1861. Our Colonel seems determined to practice us in every detail of active service before we leave camp; indeed, we would not be much surprised if he should employ another regiment to invade our quarters in the dead of night and arouse us with a volley of musketry—blank cartridges, we hope—just to get us accustomed to such little incidents. The only weapons we possess are butcher knives; one to each man, which we carry in a leather sheath attached to our belts and use to carve food, but they are evidently intended to carve the enemy, in default of any better weapon.⁸

September 26, 1861. Our camp is filled with rumors of marching orders. It is astonishing what a mass of misinformation is picked up by soldiers, in scraps of remarks overheard from officers, who know nothing themselves. These grapevine dispatches, as we call them, come from every quarter and are circulated as gospel truths. Each day for a week has been set for our departure, but we are still fighting sham battles with an imaginary enemy and gaining wonderful victories without the loss of a man, under the skillful tactics of our Colonel.

September 27, 1861. A great sensation was created this evening while the regiment was drawn up in dress parade. A mounted orderly galloped up to the Colonel and handed him a dispatch, which he read and immediately dismissed us to our quarters. The grapevine is red-hot with dispatches to the effect that the Colonel has been heard to say that he has marching orders. Conflicting messages name Washington, St. Louis and Louisville as our destination. The question as to which point our chances will be best for distinguishing ourselves, is hotly discussed. We are afraid the boys at the front will end the war before we get away from Camp Butler.

September 28, 1861. Long after taps last night, when all the lights were extinguished, the hum of voices could be heard within our canvas walls discussing the alleged marching orders. Suddenly the stentorian voice of B. interrupted the hum with a deep bass echo of On to Jimtown, which expressed our feelings so accurately that we at once adopted it as our watchword. Jimtown is the little railroad station near our camp where we will necessarily go to board the train, wherever may be our destination. Our camp this morning was like a beehive and we moved about busy as bees, eagerly sipping each morsel of news indicating marching orders, as sweet to our taste as honey, but as the day wore on and no orders came for us to get ready, we settled down to our ordinary duties.⁹

October 1, 1861. At last we have received orders to prepare to march and have been kept in a state of suspense all day, awaiting the word to pack up and be off. The grapevine has been heavily laden with dispatches relating chiefly to our destination. Some of them are bound to come true, as every probable point on the map of our country has been named. Our preference appears to be Washington, where young McClellan, the Napoleon of our army, has reorganized the shattered army, turned over to him after the battle of Bull Run, into a compact body of soldiers, anxious to meet the enemy and confident of success. General John C. Fremont in the West, with headquarters at St. Louis, has long excited the admiration of all who have read of his explorations in the Far West, which gained him the title of Pathfinder. General Robert Anderson, the hero of Fort Sumter, is stationed at Louisville. One of these three points will be our destination.¹⁰

Chapter Two

On to Jimtown

October 2, 1861. On to Jimtown, echoed in camp so often, became a reality today. The long-expected and much-desired marching orders at 2:00 P.M. and two hours later we had formed in line, equipped with knapsacks, cartridge boxes and belts, haversacks, canteens and our trusty butcher knives, but no muskets, ready for the Colonel’s command, Forward—March. The drums tapped, the fifes started a lively air, we stepped off and our movement On to Jimtown had begun.

The march of two miles to the station was a pleasure trip. There we waited for the train until 10:00 P.M. when we boarded it and started east on the Great Western Railroad, our destination a mystery to company officers as well as to privates; indeed, it was asserted that the Colonel’s orders were seated beyond some point on the railroad, at least half way to our final destination. This question, however, did not trouble us greatly, so long as we were in motion, bound for the front somewhere.

October 3, 1861. We arrived at Indianapolis this evening, disembarked and ate supper provided in advance of our arrival, consisting of soda biscuit, cold meat and hot coffee.¹ The citizens treated us with great consideration and many came to the depot to speak words of sympathy and encouragement. Cut off as we were at Camp Butler from intercourse with any civilians, we needed some such assurance that our people are sustaining us. At 6:00 P.M. we embarked for Cincinnati.

We reached Cincinnati at four o’clock Friday morning, October 4, and left the cars to march through some of the principal streets to the grounds of an orphan asylum, occupied as quarters by some cavalry and artillery. We found ourselves prisoners behind the high walls of the enclosure, but were not neglected by the citizens outside, who provided us with coffee for breakfast and dinner, while some ladies distributed bread and butter. Others threw baskets of apples over the walls, which we picked up in short order.

Late in the afternoon we were released from our prison, much to our satisfaction and marched to the river to be ferried over to Covington, on two large boats that lay in readiness. Reaching the Kentucky shore, many of us stepped for the first time on Southern soil. We looked around for the glistening bayonets of the Southrons, who were to hurl back with the power of an avalanche the base Northern invaders of their sacred soil, but saw nothing more warlike than a large concourse of people of Covington, men, women and children, waving hats and handkerchiefs with the greatest enthusiasm in honor of our arrival.

At the same moment a rainbow appeared in the East, spanning the heavens in all its beauty, as a bow of promise, which we accepted as a harbinger of peace to follow the thunder clouds of war, when the Union is restored. We were enchanted with the scene. Such a happy union of propitious circumstances never entered our thoughts as likely to attend our entry into the South. We almost doubted the sincerity of our reception, until our long line of a thousand men clad in neat gray uniforms, had reached the top of the wharf and entered the principal streets where an ovation awaited us along our line of march far surpassing any display of sympathy tendered in our own Northern States.

Reaching the market house, a more substantial evidence of loyalty surprised us. Tables with a thousand plates, loaded with tempting luxuries and attended by hundreds of fair ladies were found prepared for us. We ate with whetted appetites, but an abundance remained, which the ladies insisted we should store in our haversacks for future use. This we did, as well as to fill our canteens with coffee and pockets with tobacco and cigars.

We were greatly surprised to find such enthusiastic loyalty to the Union and such bitterness to secession in a Southern city. We were inclined to be lenient in our judgment of those who were led into the error of disunion through a misunderstanding of the motives of the Northern people and we regretted the necessity that

compelled us to take up arms to preserve the Government under which we all live, the best that ever existed and better, far better, than any two or more Governments we could expect to build on the ruins of the Union. But here we found Secessionists regarded as outlaws by their own neighbors, who insisted that it was our duty to treat them with the utmost severity. We were warned not to trust any of them on our route, as women and children would offer us food containing poison. We hesitated to imbibe this spirit of irreconcilable hostility and suspicion towards so large a portion of the Southern people and determined to await the result of practical experience. We learned that a small minority in Covington who favored Secession were forced to emigrate South by their irate neighbors, who adhered to the Union sentiment of their sister city, Cincinnati.

Late in the evening we bade farewell to our generous hosts and boarded a special train for Lexington. We found guards stationed at regular intervals along the road and at every bridge a squad of