Colonel Horace H. Willsie

A Determined and Daring Soldier and Prominent Horseman

     His gravestone in Galesburg’s Hope Cemetery is unimposing and easily overlooked.  As often is the case, the size of a monument gives little indication of the actual measure of the man.  A better barometer of his worth to the community can be gauged by the headlines in the June, 18^th, 1906 Galesburg Republican Register.  “A PROMINENT CITIZEN” is featured in large letters, then underneath it goes on to say “Was Conspicuous in Civil War and Also In Local Affairs.”

     The newspaper goes on to pay him glowing tribute to him in the first paragraph of his obituary.  “In the death of Colonel Horace H. Willsie Sunday evening at 8:30 at his home at the corner of Oak and Conger Streets, Galesburg has lost one of its oldest and most respected citizens, a man who had the distinction by his influence during the Civil War of filling Galesburg’s quota to the army, who since the war has served the city well in a civil way and who was one of the best read horsemen in the State of Illinois.   

      Horace Willsie was born in Lower Canada in 1827.  His grandfather had fought for the Crown against the Americans in the War of 1812. Young Horace spent the first 14 years of his life on his father’s farm.  At that time he was apprenticed to a businessman in Moore’s Junction, New York to learn the tanning and currying trade.  Young Horace was content in the trade until the age of 24 when the spirit of adventure took hold of him.  He worked for the railroad for a year in Missouri, then spent a year in Iowa, and eventually made his way to Galesburg where he worked for a time in a dry goods establishment.  He was appointed Deputy Sheriff in 1855 and held that position intermittently until the war broke out.  He married Betsy Nichols in June of 1855, a marriage that eventually brought the couple four sons and a daughter.  When he wasn’t serving as a lawman he ran a livery business.

     Enlisting in the early days of the war, his leadership abilities were immediately recognized, and he was selected to be a Captain in Company D of the 102^nd Volunteer Illinois Infantry.  He travelled with the regiment first to Peoria, then from there to Louisville.  From there the regiment accompanied General Buell’s army on its incursion into Kentucky.  The soldiers said that this was one of the hardest marches that they had to endure during any campaign of the war.  Horace Willsie talks of this march in one of his letters home, copies of which can be found in the Knox College Collection.  The letters that are quoted extensively  from here on throughout this article are in italics and are written by Horace to his wife Betsy.  He talks candidly about command squabbles, his health, his men, his ambitions and how much he misses his family.  The letters give evidence of a very literate man who writes to his wife as an equal, never talking down to her or trying to couch military business in more simple language out of fear that she “wouldn’t understand.”

     Letter dated Sept. 27^th, 1862: “We were marched about the city nearly all day on Friday and then started south with eight other regiments about 5:00pm.  We travelled fast and our men carried about 40lbs of baggage each.  The General commanding, being a thorough going man and full of whiskey, as I have been told, made a remarkable march on that occasion.  He travelled 15 miles that night, and when he camped he had but 300 men out of 7000.  Myself and company camped in a field about 11 miles out and four from the camp.  The nest morning we walked in.  We loaded our arms and slept on them overnight.  You must understand that we are now in the enemy country surrounded by guerrillas and liable to be surprised at any moment.  …we lie on the ground and have no tents.  The people in the north have no idea how their soldiers are exposed and destroyed by the management of southern generals.  Our generals are both Kentucky men and they can make a good march by riding on horseback and keeping soaked full of whiskey and the men are compelled to follow.  We are now getting so far from home and friends that we dare not fall out of the ranks for fear of being picked up by the enemy.  Consequently, we must trudge along. 

Letter dated Oct. 10^th 1862 Frankfort, KY: …”Our cavalry reached this place night before last about ten o’clock and found about 800 rebel cavalry here.  They were tearing up the bridge across the Kentucky River and making preparations to burn it.  We reached here just in time to save it.  The bridge is a covered structure and cost about 15 thousand dollars.  The calvalry had a little fight but the rebels did not hold out long.  We lost one man and had several wounded.  The rebels lost some.  5 or 6 killed and had about 20 wounded….I find but few real Union men or women through here.  The ladies are more outspoken than the men.  One lady got me a nice warm dinner yesterday.  She was a doctor’s wife and they are wealthy.  She favored the rebels but was very kind and would not take a cent for my dinner.  She said that our Northern men did not fight as well as the men of the South.  I asked here where that fact had been demonstrated but she could not tell and when I told her that we considered ourselves superior to the men of the slave states in fighting qualities and that the free states could turn out a million men more if necessary, she could hardly believe it and almost thought I was gassing.  Some of the ladies shed tears when they see us pass and exclaim “who can withstand such an army!”  I assure you that the Northern army astonishes them and I think that they are sick of their job.  I have had a hard time but no worse than the rest.  We have been compelled to sleep on the ground during the past week without covering excepting our blankets and I have taken a severe cold in consequence but I will try hard to keep up…………I will forward you money as soon as I draw my pay.  I do not know how soon that will be for the government is sometimes tardy about paying the poor soldier.  You will give my love to the friends and kiss the children for me.  Tell them that I love them and that they must be good boys.  Do not let Horace forget me.  I can hardly refrain from crying when I look at the miniatures of my poor helpless little boys and consider the solemn chances of war.  What will become of my children if I should be taken away and who would be a father for them are thoughts which often force themselves upon my mind…”

      During this time in Kentucky an escaped slave took refuge with the Union Army and attached himself to Captain Willsie as a personal attendant, although specific orders had been given not to harbor such fugitives so as not to ruffle the feathers of the slaveholding citizens of neutral Kentucky. 

     Sure enough, the owner of the slave, a Rebel general, appeared in the Union lines in citizen attire and demanded the return of his property.  The Negro in question told Captain Willsie and his fellow officers of his master’s service in the Rebel army.  The slaveholder was taken into custody as a prisoner of war.  The incident didn’t end here though.

     A Union Colonel detailed a company to visit the Officer’s quarters and to drive all the negroes out. When they approached Captain Willsie’s company, the young Captain ordered them to halt, and was supported in his defiance of them by the men in his company.  The Colonel was appealed to.  He reiterated his order, specifically calling upon Willsie to hand over the Negro. 

     Captain Willsie refused; flatly stating that he would give up his life before he would give the black man up into a live of slavery again.  This apparent incident of insubordination was reported to General Buell, investigated, and the end result was that the former slave was permitted to accompany his benefactor, Captain Willsie throughout the war, and proved himself to young Willsie by the respect and devotion that he showed to him.  Several further attempts were made to recapture the negro, but all were foiled; one by a cocked pistol in the hand of the stalwart Captain.  This menacingly eloquent gesture persuaded the would- be slave-catchers to flee, weighing their own lives to be worth more than the reward offered by the slave’s former owner.

Letter dated Nov. 23^rd 1862 Camp near Scottsville, KY:  “We expect to move forward soon but how soon we cannot tell.  It may be within the next 24 hours and we may not move within a week or even a longer time.  A soldier’s next day’s work is more uncertain than a Constable’s and you know I never liked that branch of business because I could never lay out my work in advance.  We are governed entirely by circumstances and (bad generals).  My company present now numbers seventy one including officers and I expect a few more along soon.  I still retain my colored man.  He is a good one and I may keep him through the war if we both live and the boys don’t spoil him.  …..I would like to visit you but the next parting would be worse than the first for I know more now about a soldier’s mode of living than I did before I came away.  I visit you and the children often in my dreams….”

Letter dated Nov. 29^th 1862 Gallatin, TN:  “I am unable to inform you how near the enemy may be to us now but presume that Morgan is not far off.  He was within 10 miles of here with 8000 troops the night before we reached here.  His command is mounted and can travel from place to place with dispatch.  I do not think that he is much of a fighting General but a might good stealer.  He is as great a thief as Floyd so the natives say, and if that is the case he cannot be beat.  …..Give my love to all my friends that you see and kiss the children for me.  Tell them that I think of them a great deal of the time…..”

December 7^th, 1862, Gallatin TN:  “I have just come in from Picket duty.  Have been out 24 hours with my whole Company.  I slept out last night without shelter.  The weather is cold here and the ground is frozen about three inches deep.  Snow fell all day last Friday but melted so fast that there was not more than two inches of depth although it must have fell six inches deep.  The old darkies here say that they have seldom seen it colder in this section than it has been for two or three days…..We do not have much leisure time here.  We drill about five hours a day and have any amount of other duties to perform.  Our boys are generally well.  I now have one of the largest Companies in the Regiment, and the Colonel complimented me the other day for having the best company.  Also said that I was the best drill Captain in the Regiment….”

     When it came to his surmise that Morgan couldn’t be defeated, Horace Willsie’s own actions would prove him to be a poor prophet.  When General Eleazer Paine took command at Gallatin, Tennessee, he sent for Captain Willsie and told him to take command of 350 picked men, encompassing 300 infantry, 30 cavalry and two sections of light artillery.  They were ordered to launch a surprise raid to the Ferry near Hartsville.  The feared Rebel cavalry raider John Hunt Morgan whom Captain Willsie had written of in a letter to his wife, was encamped near there with close to 7000 troops, guarding a large quantity of supplies.  The object of the expedition was to load and make away with about 40-50 wagon loads of supplies and discourage pursuit by the far numerous enemy encamped there by destroying the ferry. 

     Embarking on the raid at midnight in order to avail themselves of the cover of darkness, they soon were behind enemy lines, capturing and placing under guard any civilians that they encountered so they could not alert the Rebels as to their presence.  They reached the ferry just before daybreak, completely surprising the guards who were posted there. Morgan and the bulk of his men were camped a few miles away.   The guards gave up without resistance.  Unmooring the ferry-boat, Captain Willsie placed it in charge of Lieutenant Clay, who with 15 men started it down the river.  The remaining men lost no time in loading the wagons with supplies, then returned to camp, taking the individuals they’d captured along the way back with them in order to prevent them raising an alarm.  His command arrived back in the Union lines by evening, without the loss of a man or even having to fire a gun.  He was immediately recommended for promotion and became Major of the regiment.

      During the winter months, inactivity and bitter cold weather wore the men down.  Morale became a problem, as did political infighting and backbiting.  Horace talks of it in the following letter to his wife…

January 30^th, 1863, Gallatin, TN:  “We are yet guarding this place and getting along badly.  Our Generals are jealous of each other and we have to suffer in consequence.  General Ward, who is a very smart man feels aggrieved at being placed under General Paine who is not so near smart a man, and on the other hand General Paine feels jealous of General Ward and is fearful that he will supercede him.  He vents his spite and spleen on the field officers of Ward’s Brigade and is doing all that he can to injure them in the estimation of our commanding General Rosecrans.  I do not know how seriously he may affect us….I cannot complain about the manner in which he has treated me.  Only all that he does to injure the regiment is a damage to its officers…I weigh but 156 lbs, very light for me but I do duty whenever called upon.  I now keep a horse.  Am allowed to keep two and will get another soon.  I do not know if I see a prospect of getting away.  I have the good will of those over and under me in the Regiment, and if any of us can get a leave of absence, I can.  But should we be ordered to the front or get into some difficulty with General Paine I may get no favors.  In consequence I intend to avoid the quarrel if possible but may be compelled to take an active part in order to do justice to others.  But I hope not…..”

     Shortly afterward, while still in Gallatin, the field officers of the regiment. Including Major Willsie, all became sick.  Major Willsie attempted to perform his military tasks, which included, as Officer of the Day, every 4^th day having to ride the entire length of the Union lines (16 miles) unaccompanied.  He talks about his illness in the following letter to his wife.

Feb 22^nd 1863, Gallatin, Tennessee:  “I have no news but will send a few lines to let you know that I am alive and in tolerable health.  I have been quite unwell for nearly two weeks.  Was confined to my tent for three days but I am quite smart again now.  I was almost inclined to tender my resignation, but concluded to wait a little longer.  I am fearful that my health will compel me to leave the army, but I will not sign until I am satisfied that I must do so to save my life or until I become useless in the army.  I feel that it is my duty to help fight this war through and although I miss the society of my little family and long to see you all very much.  Still I must do my duty to you and my country and trust to providence for happiness in the future…….”Our Boys are in tolerable fair spirits.  We have had trouble with General Paine, our commander here.  I do not know what it will amount to.  I hear that he threatens to have all the officers in the 102^nd cashiered but I hardly think that he can do it.  If he does, I will go home.  He has been quite sick but is improving and I expect that he will give us fits when he gets well, but we don’t care such for him.  We knew him at home and he didn’t amount any more than the rest of us up there ( General Paine hailed from Monmouth, IL) but he puts on style down here and does not seem pleased to meet old acquaintances.  Perhaps he is suspicious that we do not appreciate his greatness and (indecipherable for a couple of words) like he is bound to compel us to bow to him and to do him homage……”

March 8^th, 1863 Gallatin, Tennessee:  ……”I would like to visit you but cannot get away at present without resigning, and I do not feel at liberty to do that while I am able to do duty.  My health is better than when I last wrote you, but not very good yet.  If it does not improve this Spring I will be compelled to give up and go home.  I think that I can be released on the grounds of ill health at any time, but you need not make any calculations on my appearance there for the present…..We are sending any amount of prisoners up north all the time.  They pop though this place on the cars very frequently and they are a motley crew- surely all sorts, sizes and colors.  They evince a feeling of bitter hatred toward northern soldiers.  The majority of them are very ignorant.  I stood upon the platform at the depot a few days ago when the passenger train from Nashville (going north) came in.  There was about one hundred rebel prisoners aboard and the moment the train stopped they poked their heads out of the windows and commenced a perfect tirade of blackguardism upon our boys who were present.  One of the prisoners- the main spokesman of the party- called out for us to take a look at them and claimed to be Morgan’s Mules.  I told him that we had been laboring under a mistake.  We had supposed them to be Morgan’s Jackasses.  That exasperated him a good deal and he defied the Northern Army and said that said that we could not clean them out.  I replied that we had no desire to do that because when a sesech was well cleaned out there was nothing left of him.  He kept up the engagement for several minutes when he concluded that I was too big a blackguard for him and he hauled his head in and the entire crowd was as quiet as mice until the train left……I have never conversed with a rebel yet who could tell you what they were fighting for.  All claim to be fighting for Southern Rights and when inquired of what those rights are they cannot tell.  They will almost invariably change the subject.  The greater portion of them are uneducated, ignorant men who are led on blindly by men of more influence and ability than they possess.  Nearly all of them say that they like to fight the damn Yankees but we know better than that because they run too often.  They are not as stout, able-looking men as the northern soldiers, and I think that they will not fight us unless they exceed us by far in numbers.  The women here are quite as bitter towards us as the men.  I seldom have the opportunity to speak with one.  I have met but a few who are ladylike conversing upon the war….”

His illness grew steadily worse, and he continued to waste away,  from an enlistment weight of 200 lbs. to 124 lbs.  By this time his strength had for the most part fled him.  He resigned his command in order to return home in early May of 1863 to restore his health. 

April 26^th, 1863, New Albany, Indiana:  “ I reached this place last eve on the way home.  I have two horses and am in company with a Mr. Collins from Monmouth, IL.  He has twenty head of horses and mules.  We will be sometime on the road and I may not get to Schoolcraft for two or three weeks, but I will go as soon as possible.  My resignation was accepted and I am out of the service.  My health is poor.  I have a severe cough and am out of sorts.  I have gained in flesh some lately but if I do not improve in health again I must lose all that I have gained….”

     By spring of 1864 he was healthy again, and the citizens of Galesburg took advantage of his presence on the home front to elect him City Marshal.  Galesburg’s city officials also asked him to aid them in raising its quota of men for military service.  Agreeing to do so, he placed his duties in the hands of a deputy, and in 4 days had raised 114 men and had travelled with them to Peoria.  They also brought letters from the business community of Galesburg to Robert Ingersoll recommending Horace Willsie for the position of Lieutenant Colonel of the 139^th Illinois.  These men were raised for 100 days service.

     They did duty in Kentucky and Tennessee, and after 5 months were on their way back to Peoria to be mustered out according to their enlistment conditions.  They received orders though to travel to St. Louis instead, as Confederate General Sterling Price and his men were moving toward the city.  By this time Horace Willsie had returned home, and Colonel Peter Davidson had command of the regiment.  The men rebelled at having their return home rescinded by the orders to move to Saint Louis instead, and were threatening bloodshed.  Colonel Davidson took refuge in the Peoria House.  Horace Willsie was sent for to try to use his influence on the men.  He arrived in Peoria, marched into their camp alone, gathered the unruly mob of men around him, talked to them, and within an hour had the boys in military formation and marching on their way to St. Louis.  He accompanied them there, and when Price’s threat to the city ceased to be one, he took the regiment back to Peoria where he and his men were mustered out.

     In the winter of 1864-65 he raised another company and sent it to Springfield, and a few days later he was offered the Colonelcy of the regiment, which he accepted and he travelled with the regiment to Nashville where he reported to General Thomas.  The train upon which his horses and some of his men were travelling was captured near Franklin, Kentucky.  Three of the Union soldiers that were captured on the train were made to stand up and were shot by the Rebels. 

     The Colonel did duty at Tullahoma, Tennessee, where he was appointed Post Commander of Dechard, by special request of the town’s citizens, and subsequently he was singled-out and complimented by old “Pap” Thomas himself, at a banquet given by the General nicknamed the “Rock of Chickamauga” in Nashville.  General Thomas said that Colonel Willsie had the best-drilled and disciplined regiment in the Department.  Colonel Willsie suffered his only injury of the war while in Tullahoma.  He suffered a fractured skull when he fell from his horse.

     Colonel Willsie returned from the war in the fall of 1865.  In the spring of 1868 he was again elected as the City Marshall, and was re-elected, holding the office for six years.  He had the distinction of catching more horse thieves than any other man in Knox County, and it was said that he had the reputation of catching every man that he started after and never letting a man escape from his custody once he had caught him. After his terms as City Marshall ended he started a livery business on Main Street which he ran successfully for nearly twenty years when he finally retired from active life.  He was very fond of horses and was recognized as one of the best informed individuals in regards to pedigreed horses in the State.  Until his final years he always kept several horses around him, and he was responsible for laying out the first race track in Galesburg, which was north of Lombard College.  He has the distinction of having driven the first mile in three minutes on record in Galesburg.  Often during the racing meets his expertise would be called upon, as he would be asked to come down from the grandstand to drive in a race or to officiate as a judge or as a starter. 

     That he was a man of strong constitution was evidenced from the fact that during the years in which he handled horses he was often injured in accidents.  On one occasion he sustained a fractured skull, and on other occasions he suffered broken ribs, a broken collar bone and a number of nasty bruises. 

     For many years he was active in Post 45 of the Grand Army of the Republic.  He was also a member of the Alpha Lodge A.F. and A.M., a Mason and a member of the Republican Party.  He also served three terms on the City Council as a representative from the 4^th Ward, and was said to be diligent in working for the City’s interest.  On several occasions he was responsible in thwarting schemes aimed more at personal gain rather than the good of the community from being carried out.

     Death finally summoned the old warrior after an illness of a few days, heart failure being the suspected cause.  He had been stricken while crossing the street to visit his son.  He grew sick to his stomach, then attempted to return home but fell unconscious before he reached his door.  Since then he had been confined to his bed, lapsing into unconsciousness much of the time. 

The news of his death was learned with much sadness by his many friends, and by the many veterans of the Civil War who had served with him, among them being Mayor Sanborn.  His death was front page news at the time in Galesburg.  One hundred years later his name has been all but forgotten.  Maybe this article will help to restore some of the renown and honor that the brave soldier and lawman deserves.

     Bibliography

Obituary: June 18^th, 1906 Daily Republican Register

Soldiers and Patriots of Knox County Biographical Album

Knox College Manuscript Collection:  Cornelius Crawford SC-75, Horace H. Willsie SC-100, SC-99

Colonel Horace Willsie’s Gravesite at Hope Cemetery

 

Robert Lower and the "Forlorn Hope."

     Knox County can proudly boast of two Medal of Honor Recipients.  Galesburg’s Philip Sydney Post is fairly well known.  He achieved a Brevet Brigadier General’s rank and after the war was elected to serve in Congress.  The other served as a private during the war.  Interested Civil War buffs can locate his place of eternal rest in the Yates City Cemetery.

     Robert Allison Lower was an 18 year old farmer from Elmwood, Illinois when he signed up for a three year term of enlistment on October 22^nd, 1861.  From there he traveled to Camp Douglas in Chicago for his mustering in ceremony on October 31^st.  He was the eldest son of Mary and Jacob Lower who were married in March of 1843.  Robert was born on the 11^th of April, 1844 in Mattoon, IL.  At the time of his mustering in, he was listed as being 5’9” tall, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a florid complexion.  He was assigned to Company K of the 55^th Illinois Infantry.  The 55^th would become known as the “Canton Rifles.”

     Robert Lower was still a Private in May of 1863; still with the 55^th, which by this time was part of General Ulysses S. Grant’s army that had laid siege to Vicksburg.  On May 19^th Grant’s subordinate, General William Tecumseh Sherman had launched an assault upon the northern end of the Confederate line with his XV Corps.  The rebels had had ample time to dig in, and had prepared some daunting defenses.  They included a series of earthen forts protected by ditches and rifle pits and engineered to enable a terrific field of fire against any Union assault.  Ditches were dug in front of the forts, and trees were felled as well to further impede the progress of any attack.  Sherman’s assault had been stymied by the obstacles and the ditches that impeded the attacker’s progress, and the men were driven back with heavy losses.

     On the afternoon of the 21^st, Grant decided to make another attempt to break the rebel defenses.  Recognizing that the ditches in front of the fort were the obstacles that doomed the first assault to failure, he explained his new plan to the commander of the Second Division of the XVth Corps, the division that he had designated to launch the next assault. 

     That afternoon the commander of the division explained the planned attack to his men and called for a hundred and fifty brave volunteers.  These hundred fifty men were to precede the main assault:  their mission would be to build crude bridges to place across the ditch, then place ladders up against the walls of the earthen fort to facilitate the attackers that would follow them, and to clear away the obstacles that were placed to impede the attackers progress.  This kind of attack is called a “forlorn hope,” because the men who would take part in it would draw the full brunt of the defender’s fire, and had little likelihood living through it.  Like pawns in chess they would be willingly sacrificed to breach the enemy’s defenses and enable the rest of the gambit to be played, a gambit that if played through to a successful conclusion had the potential to checkmate the rebel defenses.

     Each regiment was to supply its quota of men.  Since the likelihood of survival was so slim, orders were issued insisting that none but unmarried men were to be accepted to take part in this endeavor.  Still, the men responded heroically to the call, with twice as many volunteers stepping forth than were required, so preference was given to the men who had offered the earliest to participate in this doomed endeavor.  Robert Lower was one of the 150 brave men who had stepped forward early.

     On the morning of May 22^nd the men of the “forlorn hope” made their way quietly through a ravine to a road that crossed the enemy line at a right angle.  Stashed in the ravine, unbeknownst to the rebels were a pile of lumber, a stack of logs and some scaling ladders.  The men at the lead of this dangerous endeavor were assigned to carry logs; two men to each one, which gives an idea of how heavy they were.  These men were to hurl the logs across the ditch.  They would be immediately followed up by men with lumber to lay down the planking for the bridge.  The third group of men from this band of a hundred and fifty heroes were to follow close behind with ladders which they would run across the makeshift bridge with and raise against the walls of the fort.

     That’s the way the attack was drawn up.  The moment the “forlorn hope” emerged from the ravine carrying their assigned loads they came under heavy Confederate fire.  The only silver lining to the lethal bullets zipping past them is that smoke from the guns soon began to obscure both vision for both sides.  Still, by the time the brave volunteers had traversed the 80 rods to the fort, about half of them had been shot down.  So many of the logs had  been dropped along the way when then men who were carrying them went down, that it proved impossible to make the bridge as they’d been ordered to.  The rebels continued to rain a heavy fire upon the remaining men, who soon discovered that the best way to seek shelter from the enemy fire was to jump into the ditch.  The flag-bearer of the band of volunteers, Albert Trogden, planted the flag of the storming party on the parapet of the fort, then slid down into the ditch, where he and his comrades kept an intimidating fire upon any rebel brave or foolhardy enough to attempt to reach for the flag and drag it into the fort.

     The brigades that were ordered to follow the “forlorn hope” with the main attack followed their orders, but the heavy fire drove them back as well.  Only about thirty men from the 11^th Missouri reached the ditch, where they took shelter with the survivors of the “forlorn hope.”  The fighting was turning even more savage.  The defenders were unable to depress their artillery at enough of an angle to fire down into the ditch, so they began to light the fuses of 12-pound shells and throw them over the parapet into the ditch filled with Yankees.  Some of the fuses were cut too long, and the beleaguered men in the ditch were able to pick them up and toss them back over the walls at the rebels.  Otherwise, none of the men in the ditch could have survived.  As it was, the bottom of the ditch was soon lined with the mangled bodies of those who hadn’t been able to dodge or return the shells before they exploded. 

     One brigade, the 37^th Ohio, that had been advancing to help press forward the attack panicked under the heavy fire and took shelter behind rocks or whatever cover they could find.  They refused to advance and feared to retreat, so for hours they remained where they were.  This created a bottleneck which forced other regiments that were coming up behind them to circle around them and cross more open ground while they moved their assault to the left of the Confederate defenses.  This exposed them even longer to enemy fire, with the result that they were too weakened to launch an effective attack.  Having been beaten back at every point, the Federal troops fell back to cover as well.  From there they did their best to keep up a heavy and sustained fire upon the Confederate works.  They were aided in this endeavor by Admiral Porter’s fleet, which was shelling the Confederates from the river as well.

     Meanwhile, it was hell for the survivors of the “forlorn hope.” who were still trapped in the ditch.  The Confederates next brought up an artillery piece loaded with grapeshot to an exposed position where it could pour an enfilading fire into the ditch, but the men in it shot down the gunners before a single devastating round could be fired.  Other brave rebels attempted to take their place, but when they too were shot before they could prepare the gun to be fired, the gun was abandoned.

     From midmorning until nightfall the men in the ditch fought to stay alive.  Under the cover of night the few survivors managed to extricate themselves and make their way back to the Union lines.  It was discovered that close to 120 of the 150 members of the stalwart band of volunteers had been either killed or seriously wounded, and that few of the survivors had escaped without a wound of some kind.

     Although the Confederate defenders had beaten back the Union assault, they were impressed with the bravery of the men who had volunteered to be part of the “forlorn hope.”  The rebels captured William Archinal in the evening when he had made the decision that it was safe to leave the shelter of the log that he’d found safety behind and return to his lines.  He had been knocked unconscious briefly during the assault, the man who was carrying the log with him had been killed, and when he came to he had huddled close to the log using it to shelter him from the fire coming from the Union lines.  Being close to the fort, his decision to escape did not go unnoticed.  Half a dozen rebel rifles now were quickly trained on him and he was ordered to surrender.  The following account is in his own words….

         “When I was taken into the fort, a rebel officer came up to me, slapped me on the shoulder, and said “see here, young man.  Weren’t you fellows all drunk when you started out this morning?”   I replied “No, Sir.”   “Well, they gave you some whiskey before you started, didn’t they?” he said, and I answered “No sir, that plan is not practiced in our army.”

         “Didn’t you know that it was certain death?” he asked me again, and I replied, “Well, I don’t know, I am still living.”

     “Yes,” he said, “you are living, but I can assure you that very few of your comrades are.”

     Corporal Robert Cox, a Prairie City, Illinois native, also a member of Robert Lower’s Company K, related an account as well of his experiences in the ditch…..

     “After Trogden had planted his flag on the parapet, the Confederates tried to capture it by hooking it with the shanks of their bayonets, but failed, owing to the hot fire kept up by the sharpshooters.  Thereupon Trogden asked me for my gun to give the enemy a thrust.  This was a very foolish request, for no soldier ever gives up his gun, but I concluded to try it myself.  I raised my head about as high as the safety of the case would permit, and pushed my gun across the intervening space between us and the enemy, gave their bayonets a swipe with mine, and dodged down just in time to escape being riddled.  I did not want any more of that kind of amusement, so did not undertake to enforce the acquaintance any further.  After we had been in this predicament about two hours, they sent over a very pressing invitation to “Come on in you Yanks.  Come in and take dinner with us.”  We positively declined, however, unless they would come out and give us a chance to see if the invitation was genuine.  This they refused to do, but agreed to send a messenger.  By and by it arrived in the shape of a shell, which went flying down the hill without, however, doing any damage.”

     Jacob Sanford, a Fulton County resident at the time of his enlistment, was yet another member of Robert Lower’s Company K, serving as Commissary-Sergeant..  Civil War enthusiasts can find both his and Robert Cox’s Medal of Honor gravestones close to each other in the Prairie City Cemetery.  He boasted of his luck, saying that while with the storming party, he came out with no injury more serious than a sprained hip caused by grapeshot striking the plank that he’d been carrying.  He had been very near death more than once, however, for he had two bullet holes through his hat, and nine though his blouse.  The bullets that passed through his hat had come close enough where they had carried away locks of hair with them during their course.

     Every soldier who survived that hell in the ditch had similar stories to tell, but if Robert Alison  Lower related his, it was not transcribed to written form, and thus is probably lost to history.  His Medal of Honor citation is succinct, and gives little indication of what he and other members of the “forlorn hope” had to do to earn it.  It reads simply… “For gallantry in the charge of the volunteer storming party.”

     Robert Lower chose to muster out when his three year term of enlistment expired.  By then his 55^th Illinois had seen the siege of Vicksburg through to its successful conclusion, and had probably accompanied his regiment and Company K to Chattanooga and then in the battles that led to the successful siege of Atlanta.  He’d done his share.

     Robert Lower returned to farming after he mustered out and eventually married Rachel A. Smith.  They had five children. 

     Robert Alison Lower lived to see First World War and the involvement of the U.S. in it.  No doubt the tales of trench warfare brought vivid memories of his time in the ditch back to him.  He died on January 31^st, 1918, and despite his Civil War heroism and the Medal of Honor that it earned him, rests almost forgotten in the Yates City Cemetery.

 

SOURCES

Medal of Honor Recipients, Volume 1   by George Lang, Ray Collins and Gerard White

Deeds of Valor, Volume 1        Beyer and Keydel 1903

Robert A. Lower                        Find a Grave website

The Forlorn Hope at Vicksburg      andspeakingofwhich.blogspot.com

55^th Illinois Volunteer Infantry Regiment      Wikipedia

Illinois Civil War Muster Rolls Database      

Ann Templer Page              www.templerfamily.info

 

She Outranks Me

Mother Bickerdyke’s Civil War        by Rich Hanson

     Students of the Civil War can point to many instances of individuals whose services in the Rebellion wrested them from obscurity to greatness.  One immediately thinks of a soldier whose fondness for drink forced him to leave the military.  A failure as a farmer, desperation and a lack of prospects forced him to return to Galena to work in his father’s tannery.  The war gave him an outlet to demonstrate his innate military genius, and he became the most successful commander in the Union army and went on to become the 18^th President of the United States.  Of course we’re talking about Ulysses S. Grant.  It transformed an eccentric military professor at the Virginia Military Institute, an instructor whom his students disparagingly referred to as “Tom Fool,” into the feared Rebel commander “Stonewall” Jackson, and a slave dealer named Nathan Bedford Forrest into a cavalry commander who became known as “The Wizard of the Saddle.”  It also transformed a widowed Galesburg laundress, domestic servant, midwife and botanic nurse into a no-nonsense battlefield nurse who could browbeat the military bureaucracy into submission to her will, and whose untiring efforts on behalf of her boys earned her their undying loyalty and the sobriquet of “Mother” Bickerdyke, the “Cyclone in Calico.”

     Some people go to church and get called to serve the Lord. Sometimes one gets called to some other form of service.  On May 26^th, 1861, Mary Ann Bickerdyke attended a special service being held at the Brick Congregational Church in Galesburg.  The Reverend Dr. Edward Beecher was slated to preach.  The war was the major topic of conversation in this activist congregation, and as part of the service, Reverend Beecher read a letter from his friend, Dr. Benjamin Woodward.  Woodward had accompanied some 500 Knox County men who had enlisted and had been sent to Cairo, Illinois.  Dr. Woodward wrote of the total unpreparedness of the military to deal with the housing, supply and medical needs of large numbers of troops, and urged the folks at home to send medical and sanitation supplies to distribute to the troops, as well as money to purchase essential needs.  He also urged the congregation to send a representative from Knox County along with the shipment of supplies to ensure that they were distributed where they were most needed.  A friend of Mary Ann Bickerdyke suggested that this was a job that she could fill well.  The resolute nurse must have agreed that there was a need for her and that she was competent to fill it, as a week later she had wound down her medical practice, found neighbors who would take care of her two young sons while she was gone (this would elicit some negative gossip at first from some of her judgmental peers) and was on her way to Cairo with an impressive amount of supplies that had been assembled by the good folks of Knox County.

     When she arrived at Cairo she was aghast at the conditions that she encountered.  The “hospital” consisted of a meager three tents set apart from the rest of the camp.  The patients she viewed were laying in mud and dirty straw, coated in dirt and their own blood, urine and pus.  There had been no one assigned to supply the hospital with adequate water, and even if it had been many of the men were too weak to bathe. 

     The Galesburg nurse immediately set to work to address the hospital squalor.  She commandeered some barrels and had them cut in half, then scrubbed to make them usable as bathtubs.  She then had water boiled, and used some of the poultry that had been sent with her from Galesburg to trade fried chicken dinners for labor as she recruited idle soldiers to help bathe the patients.  She distributed what clean clothes she had brought with her, and made certain that the hospital tents dirt floors were swept and covered with clean straw.  Although the original intent had been for her to return home after she had made certain that the supplies from Knox County had been properly distributed, Mary Ann saw that there was much more work that desperately needed to be done, so she resolved to stay with the troops as long as she could be of service to them.

     She went into the village of Cairo and found a room to rent.  Then she sat down and began to write to her friends in Illinois.  She described the horrific hospital conditions and petitioned her friends and church congregation to send her soap, clothing, chamber pots, cooking utensils, bedpans and washboards.  Soon she was going from camp to camp in the vicinity of Cairo, prodding, cajoling and sometimes browbeating military hospital personnel into improving conditions for their patients.

     Needless to say, besides the gratitude of the average soldier, her presence and stubborn concern for the needs of her “boys” caused her to butt heads with some of the more intractable members of the military bureaucracy.  When a surgeon went to complain to General Benjamin Prentiss to lodge complaints against her, she followed him shortly afterwards to give the General her side of the case.  She must have been persuasive.  When she left the General’s tent she had his written permission to remain and to do whatever she deemed needed to be done.

     By the end of October, 1861, the army had taken over an unfinished hotel in Cairo to use as a hospital facility.  Mary Ann ramrodded the construction crew into completing the building and getting it ready for use as a hospital as quickly as possible.  The military surgeon-in-charge of the new facility found her to be meddlesome and overbearing and ordered her to leave HIS hospital.  This time, she brought her arguments to Ulysses Grant, who was the District Commander.  Grant appointed her matron of the facility and put her in charge of the laundry and of distributing supplies.  She was told though, that she was to stay out of the kitchen since the Chief Surgeon had contracted with a local hotel employee to address this important service. 

     Mary Ann soon discovered that supplies that had been sent to her from the home front to distribute to the troops were disappearing, especially the most desirable delicacies such as dried or brandied fruit or bottles of whiskey earmarked for “medicinal” purposes.  She soon formed a pretty good idea of whom the thieves were and decided to set a trap to prove it.

     She boiled a pan of dried peaches in order to bring some moisture back into them, then made a show of putting them on a windowsill to cool, making certain that she advised the hotel worker who had the hospital contract and some of his staff to keep an eye on them to make certain that no one gets into them.  She then absented herself to address some paperwork; no doubt more appeals to the good folks back home.

     Soon the individuals whom she’d asked to keep an eye on the delicacies made their way surreptitiously to the peaches to partake of them.  Soon they discovered that the purloined peaches didn’t sit too well in their digestive system.  The wily nurse had stirred some tartar emetic into the boiling peach broth, and no doubt enjoyed watching the thieves retch as they purged themselves of their sin.

    Adding to the discomfort of the guilty, she suggested that the next time they pilfer from foodstuffs earmarked for her “boys,” they might discover that it might be seasoned with ‘rat poison.”  Despite this warning and her pointed object lesson, the thefts continued.  Eventually she got fed up and took her complaints directly to General Grant.  After an investigation the Chief-Surgeon was reprimanded and some of his subordinates were transferred from their cushy hospital jobs to combat units.  The surgeon’s hotel worker buddy who had been given charge of the kitchen was booted from there into the guardhouse.

     By this time the boys in blue had begun to refer to Mary Ann as “Mother” Bickerdyke in appreciation of the care and concern that she lavished upon them, a protectiveness that reminded them of the mother that they’d left behind and who fretted for their safety back home.  A military man was heard to tell a civilian friend that Mother Bickerdyke meant more to the army than the Madonna to Catholics, and an officer who had had occasion to deal with her, and was dumbfounded by what she accomplished, wrote….”she talks bad grammar, jaws at us all, and is not afraid of anybody…but Lord, how she works!”

     The next problem that “Mother” Bickerdyke tackled was that of dirty laundry.  She’d noticed that the military would dispense of bloodstained uniforms, bandages and linen by simply burning them.  This seemed to her to be terribly wasteful when the items were in such need.  She enlisted the help of some of the “contraband,” blacks released from bondage who gratefully followed their army of liberators, and began to have the clothes washed.  This was a laborious task when done by hand and washboard, so she again wrote to the home folks in Knox County, asking to have mangles, tubs, kettles and irons sent to her. Lucy Frances Chase was one of the home folks who was indefatigable in helping to round up supplies to send to the front.  She was a member of the First Church, in Galesburg.  Later in the war she would even canvass the county for cows to send south to provide fresh milk for the sick and wounded soldiers.  Thanks to the generous contributions and help from home front angels such as Lucy Chase, Mother Bickerdyke soon had laundry services set up at the hospitals and camps that she visited and even set up a “rolling” laundry service that travelled with the troops as they moved.  It was said that she was such an adept baker as well that her bread was eagerly sought after by the troops, and she strived constantly to oblige them even to the point where some of her contraband assistants boasted that she could bake loaves of bread while the army was on the move.

       “Mother” continued to have problems with officious military men.  Shoulder straps and stars meant nothing to her if she believed that she was right.  During the siege of Vicksburg she heard of a young man, a soldier who she believed upon hearing the particulars, was being unjustly court-martialed.  Indignant at what she viewed as a miscarriage of justice, she marched into the courtroom and pulled up a chair next to the accused man. 

      The Presiding Officer of the Court demanded to know what she was doing there.

     “I am here to sit with my son,” was her stubborn reply.

     “Your son?” questioned the incredulous officer.

     “Well, he is Some mother’s son, and I am here to make certain that he gets justice.”

     After a few moments of stunned silence, during which the presiding officer mulled over his response, he finally arrogantly informed her that military justice would be properly dispensed and that the court-martial proceedings did not require any assistance from her.

     “Yes,” she bellowed back at him, refusing to be intimidated.  “I should expect justice from such a drunken lot of officers.”  She turned and leveled her gaze at General Frederick Steele, who was passively observing the proceedings, and then fiercely demanded, “General Steele, I ask that this boy be transferred to General Grant’s command.”

     Not wishing to quarrel with so formidable opponent, as well as someone so respected by the troops, General Steele granted her request and no doubt was relieved when she marched triumphantly out of the court with the former prisoner.

     Another occasion that served to demonstrate the power and authority that she could wield occurred while a Union brigade was being hurried forward to help fortify Corinth against Rebel General Van Dorn’s attempt to recapture the important railroad terminus.  The brigade commander’s troops had been marching since noon, and he petitioned higher command to let them stop and rest for a few moments.  The request was denied.  The troops were passing the hospital when a strong voice bellowed at them to “halt.”  Instinctively the men obeyed, whereupon “Mother” Bickerdyke and her staff distributed much needed and reviving soup and coffee.  Mother herself had given the order to “halt” in order to take care of her tired “boys.”

     Shortly after the court-martial incident “Mother” ran up against an officious surgeon in Memphis whose racial prejudice led him to order the contrabands who Mother Bickerdyke had enlisted to assist her from the hospital grounds.  Indignant at the stupidity of such an order, she saddled a mule and rode to the headquarters of General Stephen A. Hurlbut.  Reaching his command tent after midnight, she stormed in, rousted him out of bed and convinced him to write an order that allowed her to “retain the use of such contraband service at the hospital as she wished and for as long as she pleased.”  No doubt part of her ability to persuade him stemmed from an incident when the inebriated General fell from his horse in Corinth, Mississippi and suffered a black eye, some head lacerations and bruised bones.  Although she easily diagnosed the General as suffering from the effects of an obvious bout with the bottle and the resulting hangover, she discreetly recorded his symptoms as resulting from a stubborn head cold.  The General owed her one.

     The next morning the surgeon arrived at the hospital to find the contraband working there just as they had been doing in the past.  Furious that his order was being ignored, he stormed up to Mother Bickerdyke as she was helping to prepare breakfast.

     “Mrs. Bickerdyke.  Did you receive the order that I left for you to read yesterday morning?”

     “I did, Sir,” she placidly replied, continuing to stir the pot of soup that was in front of her.

     “I expected it to be obeyed.”

     “Oh.”  

     “And why has it not been?”

     “Because General Hurlbut has given me an order that keeps them here,” she said triumphantly, flourishing the order in front of the surgeon.

     Frustrated, the medical man lost his temper and roared, “I’ll not have you in Memphis.  I’ll send you home before the week is out!”

     Unintimitdated, Mother Bickerdyke locked eyes with him and sternly set him straight.  “I shan’t go.  I came here to stay and I mean to stay until this thing is played out.  You’ll just have to make up your mind to get along with me the best you can.”  She paused, and then punctuated her resolve with a threat.

      “And doctor,  you’d hadn’t better get in a row with me, because whenever anybody does, one of us goes to the wall and it ain’t going to be me.”

     The doctor backed down, but from that day forward he always referred to her with a mixture of frustration and respect as “The Brigadier in Command of Hospitals.”

     A few months later his “Brigadier” came to him with yet another concern.

     “Do you see this milk that we have?” she complained indignantly.  “Why it’s such poor stuff that if you poured it into the trough of any respectable pig, he’d turn up his nose and run off squealing in disgust.  Yet we’re paying these Memphis sesech 50 cents a quart for this vile stuff.”

     “What do you suggest,” the surgeon asked, certain that Mary Ann Bickerdyke already had a solution formulated.

     “If you’ll give me a 20 day furlough and transportation, I’ll go home and get all the milk and eggs that the Memphis hospitals can use.”

     The surgeon raised his eyebrows skeptically as he reminded her that a barrel of eggs would certainly spoil in the warm weather long before it got to Memphis from Illinois.

     “I’ll bring the milk and egg producers,” she responded, looking at him as though he was somewhat of a blockhead for not following the drift of her idea.  “Cows and hens and then we’ll have milk and eggs of our own.  The folks at home will round up all of the cows and the hens that we’ll need.”

      The surgeon was unconvinced.  “Foolish woman.  You’ll be laughed from one end of the country to the other if you embark on such a wild errand.”

     “Give me a furlough, and I’ll prove that I’m right,” his calico-clad brigadier responded.

     Of course, the Chief Surgeon gave in.  He knew better than to argue with her.  Mother Bickerdyke left for Illinois.  Immediately upon her arrival she set to work.  At Jacksonville she persuaded a wealthy patriotic farmer to give her a hundred cows. In Galesburg one of the individuals who rounded up cows for her was Lyman West, whose farm was one of the stations on the “underground railroad..  In his obituary he’s credited with having “succeeded admirably in his mission.”   Then she travelled to Springfield to make a deal with Governor Yates to ship them to Memphis in herds of 15 to 20.  Laughingly, the troops began to refer to her bovine milk contributors as “Mother Bickerdyke’s Cow Brigade.”   Making the rounds of Illinois communities, she urged donors to send fowl that they wished to contribute to the “Sanitary Commission Headquarters” in Chicago, where the “din of crowing, cackling and quarrelling son became unbearable.”  They were shipped to Memphis in coops of 24 each.  Mother Bickerdyke’s efforts led to close to a thousand chickens being shipped to Memphis.  General Hurlbut eventually issued orders assigning President’s Island in the Mississippi opposite Memphis as the place where Mother Bickerdyke could keep her livestock.

     After the fall of Vicksburg, she became a special attaché of the XV Corps and met one of the commanders who would become one of her staunch supporters and friends, General William Tecumseh Sherman.  Their relationship began in rather rocky fashion.  General Billy had issued an order that forbade any civilian or sanitary stores from being transported by railroad from Nashville to Chattanooga.  Aware that mule-drawn ambulances were being sent to Chattanooga, Mother filled hundreds of bags full of sanitary supplies and loaded them on the departing vehicles.  Then she defied Sherman’s orders and took the train to Chattanooga herself, arriving unannounced at the General’s headquarters.

    “How the devil did you get here?” demanded one of General Sherman’s staff officers.

     “Came down on the train, of course.  There’s no other way of getting down here.”  Then she demanded to see General Sherman personally.

     “Put your request in writing,” the staff officer replied brusquely.  “I don’t think he’ll see you though.”

     “I guess he will,” Mother said with a determination that was punctuated by action as she pushed her way past the surprised staff officer into Sherman’s office.

     Sherman glanced up at her, visibly annoyed.  “What do you want?”

     “We can’t stand this last order of yours no how,” Mother launched into him.  You’ll have to change it.  We can get along without more nurses and agents, but not without supplies.  The sick and the wounded soldiers need them.  You’ll have to give the permission to have them brought down.”

     “The general glowered at her, then said “I’m busy.  You’ll have to discuss this with me another time.”  Having assumed he’d dismissed her, he resumed his paperwork.

     “No, General,” she said, resolutely standing her ground against him better than either Johnston or Hood would be able to.  “Don’t you dare send me away.  I won’t go until you fix this thing the way it ought to be fixed.”

     A smile began to crease the General’s weathered features.  Then he chuckled.

     “I can’t stand here fooling all day,” Mother Bickerdyke insisted, sensing a crack widening in Sherman’s stern demeanor.  “Now write me an order for two cars a day to be sent down from the Sanitary Commission at Nashville and I’ll be satisfied.”

     Sherman wrote up the order for her, signed it, and soon the desired sanitary stores were rolling into Chattanooga as the troop’s adopted “Mother” desired. 

    Sometime afterwards, an offended military bureaucrat came storming into the General’s office, complaining about a meddlesome old woman who was countermanding his orders.  By this time “Cump” Sherman had had enough dealings with “Mother” Bickerdyke to appreciate her intentions and her tireless work on behalf of his men.  Perhaps he just didn’t want to butt heads with her or had heard the story of the surgeon who asked her on whose authority she presumed to take some action that he’d objected to.  Her response at that time was “on the authority of Lord God Almighty.  Have you anything that outranks that?”

     So, General Sherman threw up his hands, smiled pityingly at the individual who came in to lodge the complaint, sighed, and then said, “She outranks me.  I can’t do a thing in the world.”

     Toward the end of the war, the troops wanted to show their appreciation to their battlefield “Mother.”  She was invited to stand in an honor position during a review.  Touched by the invitation, she donned her Shaker bonnet and mounted a crude wooden reviewing stand that her “boys” had made for her.  Then commenced the spectacle.  What paraded by was not a brigade of soldiers, rather a herd of cows.  All had been freshly curried, their horns shined and their hooves blackened.  Many of the bovines were adorned with little flags and serenaded with appropriate martial music as they were paraded past.  “Mother” was delighted with the tribute to her efforts, and even General Sherman was grinning broadly.

     At the end of the war Uncle Billy offered her the signal honor of sitting at the side of Mrs. Sherman during the Grand Review of the Armies in Washington DC.  She refused, choosing instead to remain with the troops she cared so much for.  Her “boys” had bought her a new sidesaddle and a beautiful velvet riding outfit.  She chose to use the saddle, but embarrassed by the fancy clothing, she set it aside.  She rode alongside General John A. “Black Jack” Logan at the head of the XV Corps on her old saddle horse, “Old Whitey,” dressed as simply as she always was, in a calico dress and adorned by a bonnet. She was invited to join the dignitaries on the reviewing stand.  She demurred, and instead went to check on two tents that she had ordered set up ahead of time.  One was a dispensary for lemonade and foot balm, since the thirsty, footsore soldiers were still her heart’s concern.  The other tent was a latrine.  Later that evening she contributed the dress that she’d worn in the parade and the bonnet to an auction, urging that any money raised from their sale go to “her boys.”  Her simple clothing netted $300.

     After the war Mary Ann Bickerdyke continued fighting for her soldiers.  She returned to Illinois in 1866 and worked for a year in the Home for the Friendless.  During this time she came in contact with many veterans and their families who were poverty-stricken and embittered at the lack of jobs available for them after the war.  She went out to Kansas to scope what opportunities there was for families willing to move out West for a fresh start, then returned to Chicago and arranged a deal with the President of the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad to transport 50 veteran’s families to Salinas, Kansas.  Arriving in Salinas with the soldiers and their families, she collaborated with General Sherman, now commander of Fort Riley, to have the military lend horses and wagons to help her homesteaders get a good start.  She also asked for and received the General’s recommendation to railroad officials to build a hotel in Salinas and appoint her as its manager.  The hotel soon became known as “The Bickerdyke House.”  What was intended to be a business venture became more of a charitable institution, as the kindhearted widow could never bring herself to charge any of the veterans room and board.

     In 1869 an Apache uprising killed 40 settlers in the Salinas vicinity and left thousands homeless.  She traveled to Washington where she was given aid for the stricken families.  She also petitioned the Kansas legislature to appropriate money to help those uprooted by the uprising.  In her travels and relief work she used hotel profits which the owners believed should have been applied to the building’s mortgage, and they fired her.

     Getting a measure of revenge on the railroad officials who had dismissed her, she went to Washington and used her influence to help defeat a railroad appropriations bill.  The bill’s defeat did not restore her job, so at the urging of friends who felt that she would be admirably suited for the job, she went to New York to work with indigent tenement dwellers and took a position with the Protestant Board of City Missions which she held for four years.  Her thoughts still dwelt in Kansas though, so when her sons asked her to move back to join them on their farm in Great Bend, she eagerly complied.  Her arrival coincided with that of a grasshopper plague that ruined hundreds of farmers, so she set to work again as an activist, returning first to Illinois and later out East to solicit aid for the stricken farmers.  Altogether she made ten trips east to procure aid for the Jayhawker State from 1874 through 1875.  Thanks to her efforts more than 250 boxcar loads of food and clothing were brought to Kansas and distributed among the needy.  The State Legislature passed a resolution of appreciation and ordered that a portrait of Mrs. Bickerdyke be hung in the State Capitol to honor her efforts.

     The two years of activity, however, culminated in her physical breakdown, and in 1876 her sons sent her to San Francisco to recuperate.  Once her health was restored she found the time to communicate with many of the veterans whom remembered her fondly, and she found that many of them were entitled to pensions, but ignorant as to the procedures that one had to follow to apply for one.  Mrs. Bickerdyke became a pension agent, and eventually an attorney at law in order to assist her boys, and relied and received invaluable help from now Senator John A Logan, who helped her procure necessary records from his offices in Washington DC.  She continued with this work even after General Logan got her a comfortable sinecure at the San Francisco mint.  She worked with various reform groups, made efforts and took a personal interest in reforming alcoholic veterans and was active in the Women’s Relief Corps, the auxiliary of the Grand Army of the Republic. 

     In the 1880’s she returned to Bunker Hill, Kansas to live with her son, Professor James Bickerdyke, Superintendent of Schools at Bunker Hill.  In 1886 Congress finally got around to honoring her wartime services by granting her a $300 a year pension, only half the amount asked for on her behalf by Senator Logan.  Among one of her last accomplishments was the Bickerdyke Home near Ellsworth, Kansas, founded for war nurses, veterans, their widows and orphans.  This establishment remained in operation until 1951.

     Mother Bickerdyke died peacefully in Bunker Hill in 1901 after a minor stroke.  Her body was brought back to Galesburg, and you can find her gravesite in Linwood Cemetery.  A more fitting and impressive monument to her though can be found on the grounds of the Knox County Courthouse, a bronze statue of her offering assistance to a wounded soldier.  The inscription on it says simply, “She Outranks Me.” Given her care for the sick and wounded, a more appropriate memorial to her cannot be imagined.  She has also had the honor of having both a hospital ship and a Navy destroyer named in her honor by the government that found these to be less expensive honors than the full pension Senator Logan had asked for her and that she so richly deserved.

Sources

     There’s an abundance of material written about Mary Ann Bickerdyke.  My dilemma was in culling the information down into a compact yet readable article.  I turned to Nina Baker’s “Cyclone in Calico” and “Mother Bickerdyke as I Knew Her,” by Florence Kellogg.  Shorter works with references to her that I found helpful were forwarded to me by the ever invaluable Phil Reyburn, the guiding light behind these creations, or found in some cases by my own searches on the internet.  They are as follows…Sylvia Dent’s Noble Women of the North, Jeffrey N. Nash’s A Politician Turned General: the Life of Stephen Hurlbut, Laurie Chambliss’s The Mother of the Union Army, Wikipedia’s entry on Mary Ann Bickerdyke, a Civil War Times article entitled “Mrs. Mary Ann (Mother) Bickerdyke, Frank Moore’s Women of the War, Mary Elizabeth Massey’s Women of the Civil War, and the “Galesburg Register Mail’s “ obituaries of Mrs. Lucy F. Chase and Lyman West.