Читать книгу The History of Company A, Second Illinois Cavalry - D. H. Fletcher - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Organization and Departure‌—‌Presentation of Flag‌—‌Address by David B. Dewey‌—‌"Nick Hotaling's Speech"‌—‌Capture of a Masked Battery‌—‌Mustered Into Service‌—‌Camp Butler‌—‌Fort Massac‌—‌Cairo‌—‌Bird's Point‌—‌Adventure of Harvey James‌—‌Paducah and Murray, Kentucky‌—‌Releasing Imprisoned Slaves.

"Then the grandsire speaks, in a whisper—

'The end no man can see;

But we give him to his country

And we give our prayers to Thee.'"

John R. Hotaling, one of the pioneers of Lane (now Rochelle) who graded the first railway through the town and who was a veteran of the Mexican war, undertook to organize a company of cavalry under the three years call. He was well known and popular and his military experience aided the enterprise. The requisite quota for organization was soon obtained and on July 19th, 1861, the men, from various parts of Ogle and adjoining counties, assembled at Oregon and elected officers. John R. Hotaling was made Captain, Frank R. Bennett, First Lieutenant and A. J. Jackson of Morrison, Illinois, Second Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Bennett had served in the regular army and as a cavalry drill-master, was without a superior in the service. Affable in manner, with a handsome, manly presence, he made an ideal officer. He was considerate and kind to his men and a favorite with all.

Lieutenant Jackson was a manly, courteous and intelligent gentleman who soon won the respect and friendship of his comrades but, owing to failing health, was obliged to leave them before the close of the war.

On the twenty-second or twenty-third of July, the men, sixty-four in number, twenty-nine of whom were from Lane, met in that town to start for the front. Each supplied his horse and equipment. Only the choicest animals were selected. The result was that no better mounted men were known to the service. The pride and independence fostered by proprietorship proved an important factor in the high efficiency attained, as will be shown later. The Government allowed forty cents per day for the use of each horse and in case one was killed, time was given in which to replace it.

The occasion was memorable and typical of thousands then occurring throughout the land. It was in the midst of the harvest season and grain was spoiling in the fields for want of men to save it. Nevertheless, the streets were early filled with farmers' wagons and vehicles of all kinds, loaded with entire families who had come to bid the soldier-boys good bye. The men "lined up" upon Washington Street, in front of what is now Bain's Opera House. A silk flag was presented by the ladies of the town, but by whom the presentation was made or who were responsible for the gift, is not now known. The flag was accepted by David B. Dewey, who, in behalf of the company, made an earnest and appropriate speech. It was well received, but the feeling was too tense and serious for noisy demonstration. The grave, set faces of the men and the tearful eyes of the women and children, were the dominant and impressive features. A few tried to appear indifferent and to fortify their courage by attempts at wit or badinage but the gravity of the occasion was too apparent.

Almost at the very last, and during a particularly trying moment, some one, to relieve the tension, shouted for a speech. Various names were called without response, and finally, that of "Nick" Hotaling, brother of the Captain, was named. Others, as a diversion, took up the call, not expecting it to be heeded.

Hotaling was a well known character in the place. At the age of twelve, he ran away from home and shipped upon a New Bedford whaler; following the sea until within a few years previous to the war, when he purchased a farm near Lane and settled down as a farmer. He was a short, broad-shouldered, powerful man, whose presence carried the impression of great reserve-force. He had seen much of the world and was a shrewd observer. It was not known that he had ever uttered a word in public or that he could do so. Dismounting from his horse, he climbed into a wagon beside a man who was holding a flag, and faced the crowd. There were a few cat-calls and an attempt at bantering from those who looked upon his attempt as a joke. To all this he was oblivious. He stood like a statue, gazing at the sad and somber crowd, his dark hazel eyes growing more and more luminous. A tense silence followed, broken only by the suppressed sobs of the women. As if profoundly impressed by what he saw, he waited for a moment, during which he slowly reached out and grasped the flag-staff beside him. Then he spoke. In resonant, measured words, each syllable of which was distinct and impressive, he said, pointing to the flag: "It is against this that they have made war. It is to defend this that we have come. It was Washington's flag, it is yours and mine. I have followed that flag over continents and seas—from the frigid zones to the equator. I have saluted it beneath every star that shines upon the round world. In all my wanderings it has floated over me. In strange lands it has been my friend and my pride, my guardian and my protector."

And so he went on. In brief and simple sentences, perfectly fitted to the subject and the occasion, he justified his right to talk. His presentation was a model of strength and symmetry, of poetic and patriotic zeal. With the exception of the closing sentence, the writer does not pretend to quote the exact words of his talk but only its substance and character as it left its impression upon him. The audience was transfixed. The speaker's sway was absolute. Following his preface, in a rapid flow of glowing sentences, as clear as they were simple, he stated the issue before the nation, showing the justice of the Union cause, the arrogance and infamy of the slave power, and the futility of compromise. Our choice, he insisted, lay between national right and national wrong; between freedom and oppression. After a superb climax, pointing again to the flag, he said: "That flag stands for humanity! I stand for that flag!" Then, drawing it to his breast, he arose to his full height and holding his right hand aloft as if taking an oath, continued: "AND BY THE GOD WHO GAVE ME BREATH, I WILL FIGHT FOR IT NOW!" With this, he seized the flag with both hands and stood behind it like a lion at bay. It was enough. The response which followed was not a cheer but a benediction; and those who parted with their loved ones, did it with a resignation they would not have known had they missed those simple, lofty, burning words.

How much of the effect was due to the occasion and the dramatic setting, cannot be told. It is certain, however, that this could not have been the sole cause, for Dewey's speech, prepared for the day and approved by all, was soon forgotten. Hotaling's was remembered by those who heard it as something extraordinary and was often referred to during and after the war as "Nick Hotaling's speech." The fact that it made an impression upon the writer such as no words of the most impassioned orator have ever made and the fact that that impression remains vivid after the lapse of fifty years, would indicate that it must have been unusual.

The crowd had partially separated and a portion had begun to move away when the speech commenced and it was barely concluded when the order was given to march. There was a hurried leave-taking and the "boys," for many of them were literally such, [1] were "off to the war," with Mendota as their first day's destination.

It was assumed that the first stage of the march would be without incident, inasmuch as we were not supposed to be in the enemy's country. But war is full of surprises. We had scarcely proceeded a mile when we found ourselves in manifest peril. A formidable battery of six-inch guns was discovered directly in our path. When sighted, it was too late to retreat and the order was given to charge. The enemy was panic-stricken and capitulated without firing a gun. We at once found ourselves in possession of his entire commissary, including sandwiches, pies, cakes, fruit, about one hundred feet of bologna sausage and some kegs of ice-cold beer. The entire garrison was captured. The prisoners, Jay L. Putman, "Jack" Howlett, editor of "The Lane Leader," and George Turkington, were released upon parole, allowed to retain their side-arms and march out with the honors of war. The guns, consisting of three links of stove-pipe, were abandoned as inefficient and we went on. Arriving at Mendota, we remained over night and proceeded the next day to La Salle. From there we marched to Bloomington where we awaited transportation to Springfield. Upon our arrival at the latter place we marched about seven miles to Clear Lake, afterwards known as Camp Butler, where we encamped and commenced drilling. On August 12th, 1861, we were mustered into the State service.

We remained at Camp Butler about two weeks, foot-drilling in squads and practicing the manual drill with wooden sabers. From there we were transferred to Carbondale where we commenced drilling with horses but for want of a satisfactory parade-ground, we were compelled to move to Duquoin where we were subjected to a rigid, steady drill. The men were in earnest and each did his best. The company's reward was the letter "A," of which we were justly proud. After two weeks of hard work we marched to Fort Massac on the Ohio River, near Metropolis, Illinois, about twelve miles below Paducah, Kentucky, where we arrived on September 24th, and encamped for ten or twelve days, during which time we did some scouting up the river. From Fort Massac we were transferred to Bird's Point, Missouri, opposite Cairo. From there we went to Cairo for a short time and then back to Bird's Point, from whence we did some scouting; but nothing of special interest occurred until December; when, in a scouting expedition after Jeff Thompson's command, the regiment met with its first loss. Josiah Clark, of Company B, was killed in a skirmish and was carried off the field by Lew Blake of the 11th Illinois Infantry. Clark had not been ordered out but went voluntarily.

The Confederates early saw the importance of holding the Mississippi as a water-way, and almost at the outset, seized upon Columbus, Ky., and Belmont, Mo., nearly opposite thereto, as places to be fortified and held. It was known that troops in considerable numbers were being massed in both places and that the river between was strongly guarded by gun-boats. It became important, therefore, to know the strength and disposition of the enemy and the character and extent of the defenses.

While we were stationed at Bird's Point, shortly before the battle of Belmont, Harvey R. James, who enlisted from Oregon, was detailed in the secret service for this purpose. James was a reticent, determined, clear-headed, resourceful young man of exceptional physical strength and endurance and as fearless as he was strong. Being supplied with an excellent horse, he started early in the morning and rode towards Belmont on the west bank of the Mississippi, about fifteen miles below Bird's Point. The country is low and swampy and covered in places with a thick growth of timber. Arriving in the vicinity of Belmont, he was obliged to use extreme caution. He could not afford to take the risk of riding into the lines, so, after approaching as near as he thought safe to do, he secured his horse in a dense thicket in a swamp, removed the saddle, arms and equipment, except a small pocket-pistol which he retained, and hid them near by. Fixing the location in his mind by means of carefully selected land-marks, he proceeded cautiously to skirt the enemy's camp. After seeing all that he could in this way and getting a good idea of the enemy's force and position, he returned to the river front which he carefully studied. An important object was to discover the number and strength of the river batteries and also as much as possible of the strength and disposition of forces at Columbus. This could not be accomplished without a boat. After much difficulty in eluding the guards, he succeeded in locating a small boat which, fortunately, was supplied with oars but could not be approached or used during the day. Success was more important to him than time; so he hid in a thicket and waited. When sufficiently dark he got into the boat and started down the river close to the Missouri shore, which he followed for five or six miles and then rowed across to the Kentucky side where he found a satisfactory place in which to hide the boat so that he might use it to return. After traveling two or three miles, he succeeded in locating the main Columbus road. It was then about midnight and he was very tired and hungry. Hiding near a plantation, he ate some food and slept until daylight, when he started towards Columbus. He had not gone far when he met a negro whom he told that he had been thrown from his horse during the night, that the horse had escaped and ran towards Columbus. As an excuse for being in that vicinity, he volunteered the information that his home was in Memphis; that he was hunting a truant brother whom he was anxious to take back to join a cavalry regiment then being formed there. Without appearing to be inquisitive, he succeeded in getting much information as to the names of the inhabitants, roads, locations, etc., which were of value. While talking, a farmer appeared on his way to the Columbus market with a load of vegetables. The negro suggested that James might ride with the farmer who, he said, knew everybody and would help him find his horse and locate the truant brother. The farmer took kindly to his new friend, by whom he was handsomely treated, and they both passed through the lines without suspicion. After the farmer had disposed of his load they went around together through the entire camp inquiring for the horse and brother, until much of the day was spent and James had acquired a complete knowledge of the situation. James early secured a supply of that liquid which is supposed to be especially potent in cementing friendship, treated the farmer and also the pickets as they passed out, told them that he would be back again in a day or two, cautioned them to look out for his horse and offered ten dollars in gold to anybody who would find it. When they reached the plantation near where they had met in the morning, James stopped on pretense of inquiring about his horse, promising to accept his friend's hospitality the next day. As soon as the farmer was out of sight he hastened to the hidden boat and recrossed the river. The current was very strong and carried the boat a considerable distance down stream. Thinking that he might make better time by walking than to row against the current, he landed and started towards Belmont. It was then near daylight. He had gone but a short distance when he was commanded to halt, and the presence of three or four guns aimed towards him at close range appeared to be a sufficient justification for doing so. He was immediately searched, his watch, knife, money and revolver taken from him but no papers were found. The guard escorted him to camp where he was scrutinized by several men, one of whom he had previously seen at Cairo and who was there known as a suspect. During the day a court martial, consisting of the commander and several officers, was convened and he was tried and condemned as a spy. The order accompanying the finding directed that he be shot by a file of soldiers at eight o'clock the next morning. It was about dark in the evening when the finding was announced. He was supplied with food and placed in an old log hut which had formerly been used for confining runaway negroes. Believing that they had taken away all of his personal effects, he was not handcuffed. There was but one means of escape from the hut and that was through the door, outside of which was stationed an armed guard. The prospect was far from reassuring but James realized that he had a long night before him and that many a man by wit and boldness had saved his life in less time. One strong hope was in his cavalry boots which had not been taken from him. Sewed within the tops, next to the seams, were several small, finely tempered, steel saws.

He first examined the fastening of the door and found that it was secured by a bolt which could be cut; but it was necessary to wait until the camp was quiet. Another essential was to delay the discovery of his escape as long as possible by attacking the guard at the first opportunity after the shift. He could hear the bells on a gun-boat anchored near by, which were sounded every two hours for a change of watch. At twelve o'clock the camp was quiet and the bolt was nearly severed. Soon after the guard was relieved, he finished the work and opened the door slightly to watch for an opportunity. It was not long before the guard appeared to be drowsy and stood with his back to the door. James saw his chance. Opening the door with the utmost caution until he was able to slip through, he sprang like a panther upon the man outside, throttled and bore him to the ground. A terrific blow upon the temple rendered him unconscious. James hastily removed his shirt, tore it into strips, gagged his enemy, tied his hands and feet and dragged him into the hut. Removing his own coat and placing it over the body of the guard, he donned the other's coat and cap, took his gun and sheath-knife and stole out. He had little difficulty in avoiding the picket and before time for the next bell, had found his horse. The poor creature had been there for nearly three days and nights and was as anxious as he to get away. At dawn the two were within our lines at Bird's Point. James reported to his Chief and then to General Grant. The information was all that was wanted and in a few days the battle of Belmont was fought upon the ground where he had been condemned to be executed.

James continued in the secret service and for a number of months we saw but little of him. During the following spring while preparing for an extended trip, he met with an accident which nearly proved fatal. Through some mishap in handling a revolver, the instrument was discharged. The bullet entered his breast above the heart and passed upwardly to his left shoulder. For months he lay very near to death, but his great vitality carried him through and he recovered, though not sufficiently to again enter the secret service.

After leaving the hospital he joined the company at Jackson, Tennessee. He was a warm friend of the writer and we were much together. One day I noticed some frayed stitching in the tops of his cavalry boots. He reached down and drew out two small saws suspended upon strong silken threads. Then, under promise of secrecy until "after the war," he told me the story recounted above, assuring me that his chief and General Grant were the only ones who knew it. Thereupon, he produced the sheath-knife taken from the guard, which he preserved as a souvenir. In 1890, at Missoula, Montana, the writer met a man who was associated with James in the secret service, who told, in substance, the story given above and vouched for its truthfulness.

After the battle of Belmont, we were transferred to Cairo and thence to Paducah, Ky., where we built stables for our horses. These were barely finished when we marched to Murray, Ky. The trip was intended for the purpose of practice, to teach us to make and break camp and to accustom us to picket duty in the enemy's country.

While at Murray, we had an experience which gave us some conception of the horrors of slavery and the shocking and inhuman cruelties to which it led. We had heard much of these atrocities but had never been brought into contact with them.

Owing to the cold rains which prevailed, we were forced to take shelter in buildings in order to be comfortable; and some of us were quartered in a carpenter-shop. I had been upon picket duty during the night and returned to quarters to prepare for breakfast. Looking out of the back-door, I saw Neil Belles and one or two others washing a negro in a horse-trough back of a stable where we kept our horses. The negro, with others of his race, had just been liberated from a jail, the filthy and repulsive condition of which was unspeakable. Around the neck of the wretched creature was a heavy iron collar and a similar band around his waist. Connecting these and firmly riveted to them, was an iron bar running down the back with a stout ring upon it to which was attached a chain about five feet long, which was, in turn, secured to a post in the middle of the room, or rather sty, where he was kept. The only clothing upon the man when found, was a thin cotton shirt; and this in winter, in a building reeking with dampness and filth unutterable. No attempt had ever been made to clean it and he was obliged to live and sleep there with no chance to move beyond the length of his chain. His food was thrown into a filthy pan which was never removed. He had been there several months. His body was terribly mangled from dog-bites and lashes. It seemed horrible; and it was; but, in the eyes of the law, he deserved it; for he had committed one of the gravest crimes possible for one of his race;—he had attempted to escape. Yes, a crime.—A crime recognized by the highest law of the land;—a wise, just, expedient and humane law—sustained by a wise, just and learned tribunal—the SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES;—and Chief Justice Taney "was it's prophet."

There were a number of other negroes released and the condition of all was wretched; but I do not recall that there were any others who were manacled in the manner described. The type of iron harness mentioned however, was a favorite one for runaway negroes as I was assured by reliable authority. To have been consistent however, the collars should have been inscribed with Justice Taney's famous and humane announcement that: "A negro has no rights which a white man is bound to respect."

The negro in question was taken to a blacksmith's shop where his harness was removed with cold-chisels and files and he, with the others, went with us to Paducah. It was not surprising that none seemed anxious to remain behind.

After returning to Paducah, we stood picket around the town until we received orders to start for Fort Henry.