Co I, 3d Iowa Vol Cav 

    Camp Curtis, Ark 

    July 15, 1862 

Dear Margaret, 

Sorry I haven’t written. We have been on the march through hostile territory since April. We arrived at Helena, Ark on the 11th. We can now receive and send mail by steamboat, since Helena is on the Mississippi. 

Tell Ma and Pa that Willis is hale and hearty. He is itching to put some more Rebs out of the War. John and Will are also doing fine. There isn’t much that can stop a DeLay. I wish I could say the same for Captain Taylor. He is very sick with the typhoid fever. He’ll be sent north on the next steamer. Bussey left the regiment to become a brigadier. Major Drake has taken his place as our commander. 

 I sure do miss you and the little ones. Can you get a picture taken of the baby? Perhaps you could hold him to get a good exposure. I’m eager to meet him for the first time. When that might happen, I cannot say.  

I am sending you $3 I won at Poker. It is all I have until the Paymaster catches up with us. I know you will put it to good use. I have four months pay due. That is over $50. I need to spend some with the Quartermaster for a new pair of trousers. The Sutler, who has been traveling with us, will get his pound of flesh from each of us for the overpriced goods he sold us on the march. I should have about $40, left to send home by express. I trust you are making good use of all the money I am able to send. I hope you can pay some toward our planting expenses and use some for clothes and nice things for you and the kids. I hear that the New York troops are getting allotments deducted from their pay to send home to their families.  I will sign up for one as soon as it becomes available to us.

It is good that you sew. Socks are in great demand here. Mine have been holding up well, but the Infantry can use all they can get. They will gladly trade coffee and sugar for them.  

Could you please tell me how the crops are doing? Are you getting enough help from the neighbors? If all goes well with the harvest, you should be able to get a hired hand, assuming all the useful men are not already in the Army.  

I don’t know how much news is getting back to you, but the 3^d Iowa has been doing the country proud. We rejoined Col Bussey’s command at Forsyth, Mo in early April. We are  now part of Sam Curtis’s Army of Southwest Missouri which fought so valiantly at Pea Ridge. His Army left Springfield in late March and picked up our 2 detached companies along the way. You may remember General Curtis as our district’s representative in the US Congress. He was a good congressman and is an even better general. After joining Curtis, we marched back into Arkansas, going through West Plains, where Willis lost his horse back in February. 

At first, we were headed for Little Rock, but that would have stretched our supply lines too far. Instead, we turned toward Batesville following the White River east. The 3d led the Army for much of the way.

Major Drake, who was our commander at Salem, had a big dust up with the Rebs at Kickapoo Bottoms, near Sylamore, Ark. He took 25 prisoners, suffering 1 dead and 2 wounded. He also came back with 25 Negroes, who had been hidden in the Boston Mountains by Union men. Unfortunately, the Rebs caught and abused the Union men badly. Three of them who refused to join the Rebel Army were hanged.  

As the Army approached Batesville, Ark, we expected to find our old adversary, Col Coleman. We were determined to surround him with an overwhelming force. We arrived at Batesville on the 3d^t of May, only to be greeted by a handful of Rebs who soon fled across the river. We captured some much-needed stores of sugar and rice. Coleman was holed up on the other side of the river, but we couldn’t get across. He tried to shoot at us from his side, but the range was too far. The whole town turned out when we brought up our howitzers to return the fire. A couple of well-aimed rounds drove them off. Four Rebs were seen to fall to the fire. The locals later said that one of them was a Lt Col.  

We stayed at Batesville a while trying to get resupplied by steamer. Alas, that was not to be. We resorted to foraging to feed ourselves and our animals. Then we marched east toward Helena. 

Though General Van Dorn took his Army and left Arkansas, there are still plenty of small bands of Rebs that harassed us on the march. As always, the cavalry leads the march, so we encountered these bushwhackers regularly. I Company ran into a roadblock of fallen timbers at a place called Bayou Cache. Twelve of us went into the woods to see if the Rebs were fixing to ambush us. We flushed out 18 Rebs, killing or wounding half of them. The rest escaped across the river. A funny thing happened there. As the firing commenced, I felt a big thump in my side. It was a hot fight, so I kept on firing. When things slowed down, I reached down to see how badly I was hit. I touched what felt like blood. Then I noticed my canteen, which was full of molasses, was gone. My bloody owie turned out to be molasses from a ball that had taken my canteen clear off. An inch closer, I would have come home on convalescent leave. 

As we crossed Arkansas, we lived off the land. The Army split into separate columns, and we scavenged the countryside for anything we needed. What we didn’t take, we often burned to keep it from helping the Rebs. Because all the forage along our path was used up, we had to send a foraging party before us. I knew many of the men because the party was mostly drawn from Company K. On the way back, they got ambushed by a large force. They had a hot fight, with Lt Griswold and 2 troopers I knew well being killed. We were dispatched to save them, but the 9^th Illinois beat us to the rescue.

The lower delta of the White River is cotton country. We had many runaway slaves follow us to Helena. Their masters won’t need them since we burned all the cotton fields we came across. Curtis is requisitioning food to feed them from the local citizenry. It bothers none of us that these secessionists are not happy about feeding their former slaves.

Helena is a pretty important place to occupy. It’s on a bluff overlooking the big river. It’s easy to defend and has a good port. We are getting boatloads of rations and ammunition and can send our sick and wounded upriver. The new leader of the Confederates in Arkansas is Gen Hindman. I’m not sure he’s happy that Gen Curtis is now headquartered in the Hindman Mansion here in Helena. Hindman is busy trying to organize the various outlaw Rebel bands of Ark into a real army. The Union men and runaways coming here are telling us that Hindman is abusing Arkansas’s citizens at least as much as we did. He’s taking everything he wants from them and offering potential recruits the choice of a rifle or a noose. Once we get fully resupplied, we’ll be going after him. 

 Speculation holds that Grant has his eye on Vicksburg as his next prize. With New Orleans now in Union hands, the Mississippi River could be ours again. That would surely help Iowa farmers. 

Kiss my babies for me and tell them Daddy loves them. 

Your Loving Husband, 

Reuben 

P.S. The Adjutant says it’s OK to share the details in this letter, except for the part about Grant’s plans to take Vicksburg. 

Centerville Iowa 

July 28, 1862 

My Dearest Husband, 

Thank God, my brave and noble husband is safe! We worried so much while you were on the march. We had no word for nearly 3 months. I prayed constantly for your safety. A vigil at church went on for weeks. There was great rejoicing when the papers reported that the 3d Iowa had reached Helena. We were still worried that some of our soldiers might not have made it. 

We are fine. The kids are growing like weeds. I spend most of my evenings making new clothes for them. Rosellen says she misses her Papa. I’m teaching her to cook and sew. The kids found a rattler under the porch, and I killed it with a shovel. Hopefully, you can dispatch the next one. My family is fine, as is yours. Uncle Jacob is still here, but looking for a posting as a regimental chaplain.  

Your Pa and the neighbors are helping with crops. If conditions hold, it will be a good harvest this year. I hope to hire someone, perhaps an invalid from the Army, to help next year. I hear that freed slaves are arriving in Keokuk. They are supposed to be good workers. The farmers are saying, “Keep sending them our way.” 

I’m afraid I have some bad news to report. Captain Taylor died on his way home. He is to be buried in Illinois, but we are having a memorial service here. Everyone is stunned by his loss. 

I hope you are getting some news of the War now. While you were in the field. President Lincoln signed the Homestead Act. Think of it! We can now get a farm free and clear just for working it 5 years. Let’s do Nebraska next time. I really hated Kansas with all its troubles. I am so glad you missed that horrible battle at Shiloh. I can’t imagine how many families are grieving. Did you hear about the Union men who stole a locomotive in Georgia and almost made it to Tennessee while tearing up the tracks? They were caught and, I fear, executed. Don’t you go trying any such foolishness!

It is time to put the children to bed. You will be in our prayers as always. 

                                                Love,

                                                Margaret

Chapter 21: Slog

            Where the hell are the transports with the infantry? Reuben asked himself as he stared at the Rebel pickets on the other side of the Arkansas. This was supposed to be his first big fight. The Third Iowa had spent a miserable night slogging through water up to their horses’ necks. It had rained constantly, making the cold November trek even more miserable.

            Since their triumphant march to Helena, the Third Iowa had seen little action. Reuben had been on half a dozen patrols throughout the northeastern corner of Arkansas, trying to flush out scattered bands of rebel irregulars. Several times he had been bushwhacked from hidden places along the trail. Each time the guerrillas quickly vanished into the woods. The Yankees could get no intelligence from the locals on where the rebel camps might be. Reuben and his fellow troopers had begun to grow frustrated in their seeming ineffectiveness.

Elsewhere, the first full year of the war was proving to be anything but boring. McClelland had launched the bold Peninsula Campaign to take Richmond from the East. It had failed, due in large part to Little Mac’s caution. Then Lee tried a daring invasion of Maryland. In a stroke of luck, McClelland’s men found a discarded copy of Lee’s battle plan. The two armies met at Antietam on September 17. The horrific battle became the bloodiest day in American history. Despite his greater numbers and the intelligence coup, McCleland barely won the fight. In a baffling display of risk avoidance, he failed to pursue Lee’s battered army back into Virginia. Across the river from Helena, Grant’s move south was progressing slowly as his supply lines became overextended and vulnerable.

            Reuben began speculating on how things might have been different if only the Third Iowa had been involved in these big campaigns. He imagined the troopers riding around the flanks of the enemy to determine his strength and plans. Could they not probe deep in the enemy’s rear and disrupt their communications and supply lines? Why not? The Rebels did it all the time. Cavalry raiders like Mosbey and J.E.B. Stuart had become legends in the South. It was time for the Union cavalry to detach itself from the slow-moving armies and step into the fray. And what better unit to do it than the Third Iowa Cavalry?

            That opportunity had finally come in late November. Their mission was straightforward. General Hovey was directed to move against Arkansas Post from Helena. He had assembled 6000 infantry and 2000 cavalry troopers for the task. The Third Iowa was part of the cavalry brigade under Colonel Bussey. Their target was the fortified Fort Hindman on the Arkansas River near Arkansas Post. From Hindman, the Rebels controlled the Arkansas River and could launch gunboat raids on the Mississippi.  Dislodging the 5000 Confederates defending this vital position would be difficult.

Hovey sought help from the Navy to transport his force downstream to the White River, which ran parallel to the Arkansas. The Navy would take them up the White to a place near the  Confederate stronghold. Then they’d march overland and attack the earthwork that commanded the river at Fort Hindman. In storming the fort, they had to be wary of the  Confederate gunboat CSS Ponchitrain, which operated out of Arkansas Post. Taking the fort would force the boat upriver and prevent her from interdicting traffic on the Mississippi. Moreover, if the operation were a success, it could provide a pathway to take the capital city of Little Rock. With its capture, the entire state of Arkansas would fall under Union control.

            It was a grand plan, but the weather had not cooperated. With hopes high, the Union force had boarded thirteen transports at Helena on the morning of November 16, 1862. The men were comforted by the addition of a gunboat escort, provided by Navy Captain Henry Walke. The cavalry brigade crammed itself on board for what they expected to ber a brief trip.

            “Them Rebs better watch out! We’re gonna lick ‘em good,” shouted one trooper as they cast off.

The convoy proceeded cautiously. The water was low due to the approaching winter. It took three long days to get to Montgomery Point at the mouth of White River, a mere 50 crow fly miles from Helena.

            “This is where we get off,” announced Colonel Bussey. “The water is too low for our steamers to get up the White. The infantry will take the smaller vessels a ways further, and cross over on a channel called the Arkansas Cutoff. They’ll meet us above Fort Hindman at a place called Prairie Landing. We should have a good road to the landing, and the foot soldiers won’t have to march so far.”

As darkness fell, the cavalrymen eagerly offloaded from the transports. A cold chill came over then as the wind blew and rain threatened. Reuben rubbed Old Mexico’s limbs in an effort to restore his circulation after the three long days of confinement on the crowded vessel. Bussey sent some men forward to scout the route. Their report was not encouraging. The road was in poor shape after days of rain. It ran straight through a cypress swamp. The good news was that no Rebels were blocking it.

            The route was so narrow that Bussey ordered his brigade to form a single column. That meant the 2000 horses and riders stretched out for several miles. It took two hours for the last of the troopers to leave the landing.

            This single column is a terrible formation for an advance, Reuben thought. They could easily be ambushed and broken up. The stretched-out column also made it difficult to concentrate forces for an attack. It would take a couple of hours to reform the men for a fight.

The farther the men rode into the swamp, the deeper the water got. Then it started to rain hard. The night became pitch black as the stormclouds blocked out the moon. The riders cried out in frustration when they bumped into low-hanging branches or their horses stopped in deep holes. The soggy path turned into deep mud as they plodded along. The horses struggled to make headway. The churned-up muck made things even more difficult for those further back in the column. The troopers wrapped themselves tighyly in their gum rubber blankets and tried to stay dry. Water dripped from the brims of their hats. Their exposed blankets and clothing were soaked.

            “I’ve never been this damn miserable in my life,” one trooper lamented.

            “Cheer up. At least we’re not the infantry slogging through this mess,” consoled a sergeant.

“It might have been better if the Navy had taken us directly up the Arkansas. Hell, the water here is deep enough to float most of their damn boats,” Reuben groused.

As the mounted men plodded on in the dreary, wet darkness, the trail became harder and harder to follow. The head of the column got lost. Soon, they were struggling through a mass of tangled vines. Colonel Bussey called a halt for the night and sent men back to find where they had lost the trail. The rear of the column kept pressing on, only adding to the confusion as the riders stacked up.

There was no dry ground on which to sleep. Some men found places on stumps and fallen trees. Others climbed into the branches seeking shelter from the rain and freezing water. Reuben stayed in the saddle and shivered as he waited for dawn. There was no way to make a fire and the men had little in the way of rations.

Daybreak found the column moving along the watery path again. Finally, they approached the Arkansas. The emerging column filed up and down the riverbank. The ferry they were supposed to capture was nowhere in sight. Just out of rifle range, the Confederate pickets taunted them from the opposite bank.

“Hope you damn Yankees know how to swim!”

“What ya’all doin down this a-way? Ya lost or sumtin?”

Then one of them stood on top of the parapet and turned. The men hooted in derision as he dropped his drawers.

“We outa powder that ass!” someone shouted to the laughter of the troopers.

“Does your Mammy know you need a fresh diaper?”

The man pulled up his pants, turned, and made a sweeping bow.

“Y’all kin kiss it if’n ya like.”

            “Don’t wanna catch what you got!”

            “If my face looked like that, I’d keep it covered.”

            They laughed heartily as the prankster rehooked his suspender straps, shouldered his rifle, and began marching back and forth along the parapet like a palace guard.

            “Trade ya’all some tobaccy for coffee,” one of the Rebels yelled.

            “That sounds mighty good. Why don’t you bring the ferry over, and we’ll do a trade?”

            “Fraid not Yank. Just swim across, and we’ll deal.”

            The banter went on for an hour as more of Bussey’s troopers arrived on the bank. It was apparent that neither party had the means to injure the other. That is, until one side could bring up an artillery piece capable of the range. Bussey was concerned that the Rebel gunboat, Pontchartrain, might make an appearance. His lightly armed troopers had no way to reply to its heavy guns.

            Unbeknownst to the cavalrymen, the approach of the waterborne infantry had failed. No, they weren’t defeated by the might of the Confederate army or the guns of the Ponchatrain. Not even the rain hampered their forward movement. Ironically, as the cavalry was nearly drowning in the swamp, Walke’s flotilla had failed to get over a sandbar on the White. The infantry could not make its rendezvous because the water on the White River was too low. The attack on Arkansas Post could not happen..

            General Hovey had no choice but to call it of. The ships retreated down the White. A rider was dispatched from Montgomery Point to inform Bussey.

            The men groaned when they got the word. Now they would have to slog their way back through that diamal swamp. And it was began raining once more.

            “Damn Navy,” one officer complained. “Why’d they send us up here if they couldn’t support us?”

            A smile crossed Bussey’s face. He had a thought.  The brigade hadn’t hauled a couple of small howitzers through the long, wet night for nothing.

            “Maybe a parting shot is in order.”

            Reuben joined other men on horseback, as they shielded the gun from the prying eyes of the Rebels as the artillerymen unlimbered and loaded it. Across the river, old Johnnie Rebs continued his exaggerated mocking mach.

            “Bet you boys cain’t fight worth doodly!” hr called. “I heerd all Yankee mothers wuz whores!”

            KABOOM!

            The Rerbel dived for cover.

            “We’ll be back!” yelled the troopers as they mounted up to leave.

            Their taunt went unanswered.  The Rebel pickets had skedaddled.

Index- Unbowed: The saga of a Civil War Cavalryman- Unbowed: The Saga of a Civil War Cavalryman-Index – Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies