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 arid 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 my 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-morrow
morning about Paducah, but I must go and confiscate some corn for dinner.
SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an
Illinois Soldier, p. 28-9
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