On the morning of the 2nd, with every man a knapsack,
haversack and canteen—and these filled to overflowing, the Seventh, for the
first time in its history, took up the line of march, under command of Major
Rowett, Colonel Cook being in command of the brigade, and Lieutenant Colonel
Babcock absent in Illinois. The spirits of the men run high—they expected every
moment to be rushed into battle; but how sadly were they disappointed. For days
and nights we followed Prentiss in the pursuit of Jeff. Thompson; marching over
rocks and hills, passing through Booneville, Fredrickton and Jackson, to Cape
Girardeau, where we go into camp in the field to the rear of the town, thus
ending our bloodless Missouri expedition. No Jeff. Thompson—no rebels could be
found, all having made their exit far away over the mountains. Though it was a
hard march, causing the weary, foot-sore soldiers to fall oft times by the way,
the Seventh as a whole, enjoyed it well, and they will not soon forget the
bountiful barn-yards they so frequently made descents upon, leaving nothing
behind but geese- and chicken-heads to rehearse the story. I was much amused
one evening by hearing an officer tell some of the men that over beyond that
hill, about one mile, was a barn full of chickens, “and the first soldier who
molested them he would buck and gag.” By a quick wink of the eye, the boys were
made to understand him, and around the camp-fires these men sat that night
eating their supper and laughing most heartily, for we noticed that they were
masticating some old fat hens. Of course the officer's orders were against all
depredations, but orders were sometimes accompanied with a wink, which the men
always watched for. If none accompanied the orders they always understood what
was meant.
SOURCES: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh
Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 14-5
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