Outside the rain continued to pour.
17
Sangamon River, four miles northeast of Springfield, October 4, 1861
Stoneballs Jackson huddled under the trees in his bridgehead on the south bank of the rain-swollen Sangamon River four miles north of Springfield. The Sangamon, being only partially navigable for part of the year, had never borne sufficient commerce to anchor the town of Springfield around it. It was not an artery of commerce, but rather an obstacle restricting access to Springfield from the north. In dry times it was easily fordable. When deluges raised it to flood stage, as it was today, it could only be crossed on the St. Louis, Alton, and Chicago Railroad Bridge. Stoneballs had marched his men across it in the gathering dusk and gloom of yesterday’s evening after chasing off the Rebel cavalry that guarded it.
Stoneballs hadn’t planned on stopping anywhere near here. He had planned on leading the march behind Grant’s lines all the way to the Illinois River fifty miles further west. The delay in breaking through Grant’s line at Urbana, compounded by the delays of pouring rain and sucking mud, had caused him to shorten his line of attack, turning it toward the south at Springfield.
This shorter line of envelopment will leave about twenty thousand of Grant’s men outside it, but forty thousand will be caught within it. That is enough to make it a stunning victory. And it will give us three of the four railroads we need to continue the offensive northward towards Chicago.
Stoneballs had set his camp up on both banks of the river in order to control the approaches to the bridge from both directions. At first light he had sent back a cavalry patrol to make contact with Logan’s division and guide it here. He had expected that after a day’s halt that at least the two leading brigades — the fast-moving “foot cavalry” that marched without wagons — would catch up with him here. If he could get those two brigades across the bridge he would have enough men to move through Springfield and attack the rear the Rebel division guarding it. That would be the signal for John B. Floyd’s Division to join the attack by charging forward from the front. The Rebel division would be ground between two millstones. The same fate hopefully awaited three other Rebel divisions further east.
But no men from Logan’s division had been seen. What had arrived was the deluge of rain that made Stoneballs think of Noah’s Ark. It had poured relentlessly all night and now all day. That caused him to suspect the worst: that Logan’s division and those following behind it were bogged down perhaps as far as thirty or even fifty miles to the east. They might be stuck in knee-deep mud somewhere north and east of Decatur or even as far back as Urbana if Grant had somehow succeeded in closing up the breach in his line left by Pope’s surrender.
Stoneballs shook the water off his hat. For the first time in the war he began to worry. He hadn’t been spooked by Fremont’s encirclement of Lee’s men at Gettysburg because he’d known that the Free States Rebels were just as inexperienced as his own men. He’d known that they’d break when they saw the bayonet and heard the canon’s roar. He’d attacked the Rebels without hesitation and punched an escape corridor for Lee’s encircled troops. He’d even shot John Fremont off his horse with an improvised cannonball culled from a stone fencepost ornament, thereby earning him his “Stoneballs” appellation. He was worried now because he had only three hundred men with him. To his front and rear were tens of thousands of angry Rebels.
The unrelenting rain and rising waters told him that unless Logan’s men started arriving here within the hour, the great envelopment of Grant’s army, let alone the epic march to Chicago, would have to remain an idle dream. Once again he strained his eyes toward the eastern horizon. Once again he saw nothing except the misty curtain of rain. The only good thing about it was that it was a warm rain that didn’t chill the men to their bones. In fact it was pleasantly warm enough to give those men who stripped off their uniforms a refreshing bath. But that was small consolation for the delay it imposed upon his stalled divisions.
Was it only three days ago that we crossed the Wabash in triumph on that beautiful sunny day? And now, here I am, huddled under the trees on the banks of an un-fordable river! Where is the rest of the army? The rains are slowing them down, of course, but perhaps there is more to it than that. Have the Rebels somehow managed to rally their men to seal the breach we made in their lines between Danville and Urbana? If that is what has happened, I am very likely cut off with my reconnaissance battalion deep in the enemy’s rear. What shall I do? Shall I attempt to cross the enemy’s fortified line in front of Springfield from the rear, or should I backtrack the way I came across eighty miles of enemy-held territory that is flooded and difficult to cross? The Rebels are certainly alert to my presence by now. They are probably patrolling the northbound railroads to prevent my backtracking eastward.
Stoneballs would not permit himself to dwell on the negatives of his situation. He turned his thoughts to the things that were working in his favor. One of them was that his men hadn’t straggled. Aside from those he’d sent back to guide Logan’s division forward and the seven who had been shot off their horses during the skirmishes with the Rebels here and back at Urbana, his men were all present and accounted for. And they were alert. Even in the pouring rain they manned a strong picket line around the camps on both sides of the river.
Stoneballs watched his horses and mules graze contentedly in the lush grass that poked up from between the puddles. He had brought over to this side of the bridge the mules carrying the disassembled mountain howitzers (some of the men had taken to calling them “prairie howitzers”). They were the very same guns that had helped him bust a hole in the Rebel line surrounding General Lee at Gettysburg. He had insisted upon bringing them along with him to the West in expectation of their being needed for a repeat performance.
He was also gratified by the hospitality he had received from the country folk in these parts. The productive bottomlands along the Sangamon had been taken up by settlers coming up from Kentucky a generation ago. These were mainly older folks by now who mostly voted Democratic. The farmer who owned this land on the south bank of the Sangamon had come out to greet him. “Glad to see the Union men back here in these parts,” the old farmer had said. “It’s damn good to be back in the country to which we rightfully belong.”
An hour later the farmer and his wife had ridden out in a wagon holding kettles of fried chicken, potatoes, and green beans. Jackson had been calling his soaked, hungry men in a few at a time to munch on the treats. There weren’t anywhere near enough to feed all his men, but at least the ones who had to stay alert on picket duty had been fed a hot meal.
Lord, be praised, for giving me this sign letting me know that I am on the side of righteousness in fighting to restore the Confederate Union. There must be many other families such as this one who are longing to return to a reunited country. We are fighting for the right of the quiet majority not to be throttled by the Rebel minority.
Jackson watched a man materialize out of the rain as he carefully walked across the bridge. Jackson hoped he was from the vanguard of Logan’s division, but the man turned out to be the leader of the patrol he had sent out at first light. The patrol leader made his report.
“We went as far east as the Illinois Central. Saw no sign of any of Logan’s men. Grant’s men are patrolling the railroad, so we couldn’t go any further. The mud slowed us down considerably in getting there and back. The creeks are out of their banks, and we had to be careful about fording them. I got pulled off my horse in one of them. They’re deeper than they look. Sir, it’s doubtful whether Logan’s Division or any of the others will be able to get here. They may still be stuck back at Urbana for all we know.”