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Histories > Eau
Claire County Historical Accounts >
"History of Eau Claire County Wisconsin, 1914, Past and Present" Chapter 11 - Eau Claire County in the Civil War by W. W. Bartlett Part 12
(-as transcribed from pages 175 - 185) The last company that went out from Eau Claire County for the Civil War was recruited in February, 1865, with Hobart M. Stocking as captain and Mark Sherman as first lieutenant, and was mustered into service as Company G, of the Forty-eighth Wisconsin Infantry. I give below the names of those in this company who enlisted from Eau Claire county or vicinity. I also furnish you a letter received several years ago from Captain Stocking, in response to a request from me that he tell the story of his company. It is a very interesting and valuable addition to the Civil War history of Eau Claire county. Although Captain Stocking was unable to furnish a war-time picture of himself, I was fortunate enough to find a small picture of him in uniform, which I am furnishing you with this article. Following are the names of those in the company who enlisted into Company G, Forty-Eighth Wisconsin Infantry from Eau Claire county or vicinity. Captain -
Hobart M. Stocking
First Lieutenant - H. Sherman ENLISTED
MEN
Although this company went out near the close of the war, they suffered severe hardships and in common with the recruits who went earlier, they made good and were a credit to the county. In the preface to his letter, Captain Stocking states that he was unable to find a picture of himself in uniform, but an Eau Claire friend of the captain has unearthed a small picture and I am sending it to you, also a picture of Lieutenant Mark Sherman. I am sorry that I have mislaid the later picture of Captain Stocking, which is mentioned in his letter. By Capt. H. M. Stocking St. Paul, Minn., August 5, 1907 Mr. W. W. Bartlett, Eau Claire, Wis. Dear Sir:
I neglected answering yours of the seventh ult., thinking I might be
able
to find some record which would refresh my memory and enable me to
answer
your inquiry in detail, but I have looked from "cellar to garret" and
not
a vestige of record can I find, nor can I find a photograph in uniform,
so I send you today, under separate cover, a photograph taken a few
months
ago. Forty-one years is a long time to remember, especially
when
one has been busy with other pursuits and interests, but I shall do the
best I can. The regiment
to which I belonged did not put down the Rebellion nor force the
surrender
of Lee and Johnston. We were late in the field and had barely
left
the state when Lee Surrendered. I presume he got news of our
muster
and was afraid we might be marching his way. It was my
privilege
to command Company G, Forty-eight Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry, which I
recruited at Eau Claire. We were mustered in early in the
year of
1865, either in February or March. The company was the
heaviest
in
weight of any which ever left this state; rank and file, the average
weight
was 153 pounds. This included my drummer boy, who weighed 90
pounds,
and myself, who weighed 93 pounds. This distinction caused us
extra
labor during our first march through Missouri in April, where we
literally
carried the wagon train across the western part of the state.
My
company being the largest and coming from the pineries, the colonel got
the impression that we could endure, and whenever the wagon-train got
stuck,
which was often, he would ask me if I could take it out, and I think it
is no exaggeration to say that I wheeled my company out of line each
day
a half dozen times or more and literally carried the heavy wagons and
contents
to good footing. There was never a swollen stream to ford,
and
they
were many, for it was a wet spring, that Company G did not take the
advance
and "set the example." The colonel would say, "Captain, if
you
can
take your men across there, half the regiment will follow the example;
the water is deep and so cold that I dislike to order men to ford, but
as your men are from the pinery and can stand hardship, if you will
just
take the lead you will oblige, etc." We always took the
lead.
So much for the reputation of being big and strong. In this
case
it was a handicap. I think
I was one of the youngest, if not the youngest, officer who ever left
the
state. I was mustered as captain two months before I was
eighteen
years of age. I forced my age a year in order to
muster.
The
regiment was organized in Milwaukee at Camp Washburn, and early in
March
we were sent to Benton Barracks, Mo., to drill. We only
remained
there one week and were then ordered west to garrison posts along the
Missouri
and Kansas border, where the bushwhackers were still
troublesome.
Our march through Missouri was uneventful, save for the mud and water
and
the trifling annoyances of bushwhackers, who were hovering about our
flanks
day and night Being infantry, we could hardly go after the
mounted
bushwhackers, and they were very bold at times, burning houses and
pillaging
and murdering frequently within sight of the command. Before
we
could
reach the spot to offer assistance they were mounted and off.
Our first
stop was at Paola, Kan., where Companies G and F were
detached.
Our
stay was limited, however, as the night of the second day after being
detached
I received orders to proceed to Mound City, thirty-five miles south,
with
all possible dispatch and take command of the post there. We
made
this march in thirteen hours. At one point, "Big Sugar
Bottoms,"
for seven continuous miles the water was from waist to shoulder
deep.
It was a hard march and when I got there and reported to General Blunt
by wire, I received in reply a complimentary dispatch, in which the
general
expressed surprise at the fact of our reaching our destination so soon,
saying he expected it would take two days. I was young and
inexperienced
and supposed the order which read "all possible dispatch" meant all it
said, and I fulfilled the order to the letter. We marched the
distance
in thirteen hours. I don't believe we could have cut off two
minutes
from the time, as it was heavy footing, and while in many places the
water
was too deep to wade with ease, it was hardly deep enough to swim with
knapsack weighting from sixty to eighty pounds on one's back.
We
were ordered to Mound City to relieve a company of Kansas Jayhawkers,
as
the reckless Fifteen Kansas was called. Captain Swain, a
former
captain
of this company, who had a few weeks before been sentenced by court
martial
to a term in military prison at Jeffersonville, Mo., had made his
escape
and was in hiding. A troop of regular army cavalry was
scouring
the
country trying to find him. The captain in command of this
troop
suspected he was in hiding in the vicinity of Mound City and that this
company was shielding him, hence we were ordered there to relieve the
command. I arrived
at Mound City and went at once to headquarters and found there in
command
a much bewhiskered officer, faultlessly attired in regulation uniform,
who received me with much formality an addressed me as
"orderly."
On reading the order he did not seem well pleased, and asked, "Where is
this Captain Stocking?" I replied, "Here." With
surprise
and
slight sneer he looked me over and said, "You Captain
Stocking?"
I replied in the affirmative and forgave him the sneer, as I certainly
was a rough looking kid, a beardless boy in fatigue uniform, without a
strap or bar to indicate my rank, and my clothes literally bespattered
with Missouri clay. One could hardly blame the man for not
wishing
to turn over the command to such a youthful-looking tramp. On
recovering
from his surprise he asked, "When do you wish to take
command?" I
replied, "Immediately." He said, "Surely not
tonight." I
said,
"You have read my orders, which say 'immediately.' You can
consider
yourself relieved now." He did not take this
kindly. I had
a man shot on picket duty that night, and when we were rolled out at
midnight
the situation had me guessing for a time. The night was dark
as a
pocket, with a strong wind and heavy rain, and the location
entirely
new, as I was too tired to reconnoiter much before retiring that
evening.
I really was at a loss to know whether it was an attack from Taylor's
band
of bushwhackers, which were operating in that vicinity, or a shot from
some straggling horse thief who was trying to open the corral where the
post was located. I had the satisfaction of ordering a
detachment
of twenty-five men from the Jayhawkers to roll out and scout in the
dark
and rain until daylight. I also reinforced the picket with
mounted
men from that command, which took the last man from their quarters and
there was some swearing done on their part. After the fullest
investigation
I came to the conclusion that my man was shot by one of these self-same
Jayhawkers in a spirit of revenge or an effort to stampede the
"Doughboys."
A stampede did not occur and I never was able to fasten the crime on
them.
The one satisfaction I had was in keeping their company out all night
in
the storm. They were a lawless bunch, and if I could ever
have
fastened
this attempted murder on them they would have certainly received a
sample
of discipline of which they were in sore need, and with which they were
not entirely acquainted. We garrisoned
this post about four months. Our duty here was light and
rather
uninteresting.
Bushwhacker scares among the native were frequent, as they were very
nervous,
having been frequently raided. We gave them the fullest
protection,
however, and in return we were treated better by the citizens than we
would
have probably been treated in our own state. In August,
General Taylor, seeing the "jig was up," and that they could not divide
the spoils with the troops then garrisoning the border, capitulated to
our colonel, who was in command at Fort Scott, twenty-two miles
distant.
He surrendered a band of 153 mounted guerillas, who were taken to
prison
at For Leavenworth. This wound up the guerilla warfare, and
there
was no further need of our services there. We were
ordered to Lawrence, Kan., to rendezvous as a regiment. We
expected
to be mustered out, but instead were sent west to relieve the Eighth
United
States "Galvanized" Rebels, who were garrisoning posts on the western
frontier.
This service was scattered from Fort Ellsworth on the east to Fort
Union
on the southwest. Fort Ellsworth was on the Smoky Hill Fork,
and
Fort Union was at a point about 100 miles southwest of Pike's Peak.
Companies
E and G were stationed at Fort Zarah. Our colonel with four
companies
was at Fort Larned, twenty-four miles west. The remaining
four
companies
in command of Major Butt were, I think, stationed at Fort
Union.
A little excitement was threatened shortly after Captain Hutchinson of
Company E took command at Fort Zarah. The troops, who were
rebels
taken from Rock Island and other prisoners, officered by Union
officers,
and placed in the Indian service on the frontier, were really as bitter
rebels as ever. We had 800 of them assembled at Fort Zarah
awaiting
marching orders to Fort Leavenworth, where they expected to be
discharged.
The order was slow in coming and the command mutinied and refused to do
duty. Captain Hutchinson ordered that the arms be taken from
the
men and they confined to quarters on prisoners' rations. The
men
refused to give up their arms. The situation was threatening
and
it required courage to meet it, as they were 800 to our 135; they
occupied
quarters and we occupied tents, but Captain Hutchinson had the nerve
requisite,
and me made good, quelled the mutiny and the troops did duty until
their
orders came. Our service at Fort Zarah was
strenuous if not
exciting. It consisted of the ordinary garrison duty and
escort
duty,
which in some cases was very distasteful. Colonel Dent was at
the
Big Bend of the Arkansas a few miles south, with a supply camp, issuing
annuities to the Indians. Bodies of chiefs and head men of
the
tribes
would come to the fort, and the commander would give them a liberal
body-guard
in command of a trusty officer to protect them from the desire of
revenge
on the part of the soldiers, on their way to receive the presents of
the
government at the hands of Colonel Dent. The
situation was
further aggravated by the knowledge that a half-breed son of this same
Colonel Dent was in command of a body of Sioux warriors, murdering and
pillaging on the Platte route, only thirty-five miles north.
Stage
coaches were held up, passengers murdered, the stock stolen and coaches
burned by this blood-thirsty band. Woe be to the straggling
soldier
who fell into their hands. Some of the most fiendish tortures
imaginable
were meted out to these self-same soldiers. We were lucky in
escaping
them, but they got some of the Seventeenth Illinois Cavalry and
tortured
them to death, sometimes in sight of Fort Fletcher, where a detachment
of this regiment was stationed. Being mounted,
the tendency of the men was to straggle and hunt buffalo. I
had a
party of twenty men, who had been kept busy getting wood for winter for
several weeks, and who were enjoying the hunt which had been promised
them,
when we came nearly running into the jaws of this blood-thirsty
band.
Some hunters discovered our camp fire and warned us of the close
proximity
of the Indians, and we stood not on the order of going, but "got" for
the
fort as soon as we could get our stock, which had stampeded, and run to
the fort that evening. It seems an interposition of
Providence
that
saved us, for that very day the men had been hunting in parties of ten
within a few miles of Fort Fletcher, and that same day the Indians
captured
two stage coaches, shot the passengers one by one as they were trying
to
escape, burning the coaches and running off with the stock.
They
caught two soldiers of the Seventeenth Illinois Cavalry within sight of
the fort and tortured them to death in a manner too revolting to put on
paper. Little wonder the soldiers were ready to retaliate on
sight
and that it was necessary to strongly guard the parties who came for
annuities.
The father issuing annuities and the son murdering and torturing in the
same vicinity was an aggravating situation. Kit Carson,
the famous scout and delightful man, later went into camp five miles
north
of us on the Walnut. As guests he had for a time the
secretary of
the legation of Belgium and the assistant secretary of the legation of
Prussia, whom we often entertained at mess. Both were trying
to
enjoy
the hunting of buffaloes, but they had some sad experiences, the
Belgian
shooting his horse through the neck by accident and getting a bruising
fall when the horse went down. They soon got tired of the
sport
and
returned to civilization at the first opportunity. We enjoyed
their
visits very much, and when they left us they gave each officer an
urgent
invitation to call on them should we ever visit their
country. It
was my privilege to command an escort for Kit Carson on his final and
successful
effort to complete a treaty with the five war tribes, and which was
accomplished
after days of, to me, aggravating parleying at a point called Plum
Buttes.
Each day's council would be broken up by the defiant chief of the
Arapahoes,
who had a white woman prisoner for his squaw and he refused to give her
up, which was one of the conditions of completing the treaty.
About
4 p.m. each day he would mount his horse and ride off, and all the
chiefs
would follow him, breaking up the council. The soldiers were
very
impatient, and the last day I suggested to Carson that we murder the
whole
band. He replied, "No, no, for God's sake, put that out of
your
head.
They will come to time in the end," and they did. Of this
patient,
persistent, quiet man I can only say he was one of the most delightful
companions and straightforward, determined men I ever met. He
believed
in the Indians, or pretended to, and they swore by him. He
deserved
their confidence. This treaty was signed and peace reigned
for a
time. How long I do not remember, but for the few days we
remained
on the frontier it was safe to travel without fear of losing one's
scalp. Early in
December we were relieved by regular troops and started on our homeward
march. Here let me say, that I believe that for exposure and
fatigue,
no troops ever made such a march in America. The night before
we
left Fort Zarah a foot of snow fell. Our first two days'
march
was
uneventful, the weather, although cold, was not severe. The
morning
of the third day a blizzard struck us, which continued almost
uninterruptedly
for four days. The first day the mules would not face it and
we
had
to go in camp at the end of a five-mile march. Having only
drawn
enough rations to make the march, which, if my memory serves me right,
was twenty-four days, we could not tarry or we would be out of supplies
in that vast wilderness of snow and upon a bleak plain. The
second
day we started with a shovel corps of fifty men, who were relieved by a
fresh detail of men each hour, and we literally shoveled our roads for
eighty miles. The wagon master would take his riding mule by
the
tail and start him out to find the trail. When he floundered
the
men would shovel him out, and they were shoveling him out most of the
time.
The snow was from three to thirty feet deep. Every ravine or
depression
in the plains was filled. Some of these ravines were twenty
to
thirty
feet and often of greater depth. At night we would cut out a
hole
in the snow for our tents and pitch them. Companies E and G
had
only
dog tents, properly called shelter tents, and these would often be
covered
up in the morning if the wind was high, making it snug and comfortable
during the night, but "Oh, what a difference in the morning," when the
cook's detail would roll out and make a fire of wet elm, over which the
cook would brew hot coffee. Men would take a cup of coffee in
one
hand and hardtack in the other and make a large ring about the fire and
take a dog trot and keep it up until coffee and hardtack were consumed,
then off for the day's tramp. Only one day did we lose the
trail
entirely. That night we camped about three miles south of a
rocky
prominence on a high sugar-loaf hill, which, if I remember right, was
called
Chimney Rock. When I went to the wagon train to get a shovel
to
shovel
the snow away so I could pitch my tent I met the wagonmaster and said
to
him: "I thought we passed north of that rock when we marched
out."
He replied: "You did, the road is at the north, but I tell you,
captain,
no landmark ever looked so good to me as that very rock when I sighted
it this p.m. I was lost all day." I replied that I
did not
know it. He said, "Of course you didn't know it. It
was all
I could do to fight the panic within me. Should I have let
the
situation
be known there would have been 500 men in the damndest panic you ever
heard
of, and hell would have been popping. I am just truly
thankful to
be here tonight." Strange
as it appears to me up to this day we lost no man on this
march.
Our drum-major, a man well along in years, and John Wilkinson, a very
large
man, standing 6 feet 3 inches high and weighing 325 pounds, both gave
out,
and we put them in the wagon and covered them with blankets and left
them
at Fort Riley when we reached that point. I supposed that
both
lost
their feet, but I met Wilkinson in West Superior twenty years later
with
both feet attached. He said the drum-major lost his feet, but
he
saved his, although they were not so good as he would wish.
Our
colonel
froze his face so badly that both eyes were temporarily blind and we
left
him at Junction City, the border town. He arrived
in time to join the regiment before we left Fort Leavenworth and came
back
home with us. He was a young, sturdy man, who was duck-legged
and
could not wade through the snow, so he stuck to the saddle, and this
came
near costing him his life. It is said that a man
can stand
more than a mule. This march proved this assertion to be
true.
When we left Fort Zarah we had thirty-six six-mule teams, as fine
animals
as I ever saw and in prime condition. When we reached Fort
Leavenworth
all but four teams were condemned as no longer fit for service and sold
under the hammer at auction. The only thing that saved our
command
was the fact that we had so much transportation. This wagon
train
was returning empty from a trip to the West and was assigned to our
men.
We had been on the plains for months and nearly every man had one or
more
buffalo skins and wolf pelts, and here were transportation facilities
enough
so he could bring them home, as well as all his clothing and heavy
blankets.
Under ordinary conditions a man would not have been allowed
transportation
for half the luggage each soldier had, and these same skins saved the
lives
of the men. Halters and ropes were stretched along the wagons
attached
to the box, top bows, or any place where a hitch could be
secured.
A guard was stationed at each wagon to keep men from riding, as they
would
have frozen to death if they had ridden, but the halters and rope made
a hold for the men and they could catch on and drag themselves through
the snow, which was from knee to crotch deep, thus making the
march
and keeping warm at the same time, otherwise not half the command would
have survived the first eighty miles of blizzard and deep snow.
When we
arrived at Fort Leavenworth after twenty-four days' march we were a
little
battered, but still in the ring. We were mustered out as soon
as
we could get our muster-out rolls made and turned over our camp and
garrison
equippings. We were discharged at Madison, where we received
a
grand
reception on our arrival on the ninth day of January, 1866, if my
memory
serves me right. We did
not put down the rebellion. We were never in a pitched
battle.
If we had been I would tell you of it, even if we ran, for " 'tis
better
to have fought and ran, than never to have fought at all."
Lee
may
have surrendered sooner having known that the doughty Forty-eighth
Wisconsin
was under arms. I am not informed as to that. We
did not
smell
much powder, except as we shot down the unsuspecting buffalo and
wolves,
but we had a lot of hard marching and we were "Johnny on the spot" when
orders came for any kind of service. Of course there is no
doubt
but that General Taylor hustled to make the best terms he could when
the
Forty-eighth Wisconsin relieved the Kansas Jayhawkers. This
may
seem
a joke, but there is room for truth. The Jayhawkers were
sometimes
accused of whacking up with Taylor and his men in the divvy of stolen
horses
and other plunder. The Forty-eighth was there to protect
lives
and
property, and I have never heard them accused of appropriating either
people's
stock or conniving at the acts of the guerillas, or sharing the spoils
with them. So General Taylor may have thought his occupation
gone
once we entered his domains. As soon
as the Indians found that this "unwhipped" regiment was
assigned
to garrison duty on the frontier there was "nothing to it."
The
five
war tribes simply capitulated as soon as they could be induced to give
up their white women prisoners and be sure they would be well fed and
cared
for during that cold winter. Colonel Dent was liberal with
the
annuities.
Both of these conditions may have had something to do with it, but I
think
that the fact that "that Wisconsin regiment" was out there praying for
a chance to shoot something put the final touch to the conditions and
induced
them to lay down their arms and take no chances until the grass was
high
enough for feed, and the roving deer and antelope returned to their
usual
haunts. What I have given you is history as I recall it, but not much of it is war history, and I doubt if any of it will be of service to you. To be honest, the nearest we ever came to a fight was to bury the dead at the Battle of Mine Creek. Our service with bushwhackers and Indians was inglorious and unsatisfactory. We, however, endured hardships and experienced enough fatigue to make us rejoice at the opportunity of returning to -- if not more peaceful haunts -- at least more congenial. Respectfully yours, H. M. Stocking. |
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