Chandler SS02
Waupaca Record
September 3, 1912
LIFE SKETCH OF SS CHANDLER
I have been requested to write a sketch of my life especially during the Civil War period.
I was born Aug. 8, 1842, in the State of New Hampshire and came to Racine, Wis., Sept. 1846, with my parents. In the spring of 1847 we moved onto a farm about twelve miles west of Racine, where we lived until the spring of 1850, when we moved to this (Waupaca) county, Town of Lind.
In September 1854, we moved again to what is now the Village of Iola. Ours was the first family there. My privilege of attending school was limited, living as we did where there were no schools at times; and only three months of school in a year a part of the time.
In the spring of 1849 I drove a yoke of oxen, to harrow grain, in the forenoon each day. Father sowed the grain by hand in the forenoon and drove the oxen in the afternoon. He put in one hundred acres of small gain that spring and my two brothers drove oxen all day.
The wild pigeons were very thick and troublesome, scratching up the wheat that spring, and I commenced using a gun and killed some of them. Young to be using a whip and gun, less than seven years old. I shot seven deer the season of 1855 and one small bear the next season, also deer and small game.
Aug. 12, 1862, I enlisted to serve three years during the war as a private. The pay of a private or corporal at that time was $13.00 per month. Sergeant’s pay was $15.00, I believe, and changed to $17.00 in 1864 or 5 and $15.00 for a corporal. I was appointed corporal before leaving the state and sergeant while at Savannah, Ga. We received $10.00 from the government bounty and were allowed clothing and rations, a certain amount each year. If we drew more clothing it was charged up to us and taken out of our next payment. We didn’t have more than one-half the rations allowed. At times only about one-quarter and we didn’t get credit for deficiencies. One man in our Company drew his three days rations and sat down and ate it all at one meal.
Fifty years ago today, Aug. 12, 1912, when I enlisted, I weighed about 185 pounds and could earn form $1.00 to $4.00 per day, cutting grain with a cradle. Had a fair bed to sleep on at night and plenty to eat. We realized the danger and hardship of a soldier’s life but deemed it more honorable to enlist than to go to Canada or take our chance of being drafted. We were allowed to go home after enlisting and stay until about he last of the month and as I went out of the gate, Sunday evening, to walk to Waupaca, thirteen miles to join the Company, my father said: “Don’t get shot in the back.” When about half way to Waupaca, seeing that it would rain soon, I went into a small building near the road, used as a granary, and stayed until it stopped raining, near morning, then finished my walk. In two or three days we went to Oshkosh, by boat from Gill’s Landing, and went into camp on the fair grounds.
Sept. 5, 1862 we were paid our bounty of two months wages $126, received our clothing, blankets, etc., and were mustered into the United States service as Company G, 21st Wis. Vol. Inf. On Sept. 11, we were started for the front; by railroad to Cincinnati, marched to Licking River, where we stopped a few days. Then we were sent by railroad from Cincinnati to Louisville, Ky., where we stopped a few days, and then marched after the Revs, or Johnnies as we called them. The morning of Oct. 8, we could hear the firing of cannon and knew there was a battle being fought. The weather was warm and the roads very dusty. Wells and streams were nearly dried up. Many of our Company had been sick for a number of days and I was one of them, but the excitement kept us up, or at least it was so in my case. We were marched forward, nearer and nearer to the firing and about 2 p.m. were ordered to leave our knapsacks, blankets and extra clothing and marched to the extreme left of our army, into a corn field and ordered to lie down. We had passed by some dead soldiers and many wounded ones, and for a while I felt very faint. One of our batteries was about twenty rods back of us on a ridge, firing over us into some timber in our front and the ammunition they were using being poor some of the shells would burst about the time they left the guns and our own men were hit by them. After a while we got up, had orders no doubt but there was so much noise I did not hear them, and that faint feeling left me, never to return, I hope. There was a Johnnie Reb about four rods from us with sleeves rolled up and a double barreled shot gun in his hand, coming toward us as fast as he could run. He had got quite a distance ahead of their main line and no doubt did not know there were some Yankees in the corn, for he turned and ran the other way when he saw us. He only took a few steps when he fell. My gun had gone off and I suppose more had shot also. Thought I was all excitement, I could load and get into the timber and out of sight.
While loading I looked to the right, then to the left and our regiment was retreating; nearly all of them who had not been killed or badly wounded, anyway. A few were taking aim, trying to shoot. Our Captain, W.H. Sessions, was running and swinging his sword. I thought best to go with the crowd but had hardly started when I thought of what father had said when I bid him goodbye and walked out of the gate, “Don’t you get shot in the back.” I stopped, looked again both ways and to the front. There were very few of our men standing on the firing line and many Rebels in sight. In a moment I decided again to run. Run. No! I just flew to the top of that ridge. The bullets were pelting the ground about me like hailstones during a hailstorm. I stayed with Lieut. Randall the balance of the afternoon and we joined the Regiment in the evening. Many went on to the battlefield during the night, but after the firing ceased and the excitement was over I was completely used up. It rained some during the night. Someone built a fire and kept it going all night. I cut a few stalks of corn, stood them up each side of a stump near the fire, put my back against the stump and tried to sleep. We never saw any of the things we left in our knapsacks or the sacks before going into the battle. The Rebels retreated during the night and we were soon on the march again. Not very long after that battle, while we were still marching each day, it snowed all night and as we were still without blankets or tents it was very unpleasant especially for those who were but just able to do the marching. I continued to grow weaker and when we reached Mitchelville, Tenn., I gave up trying to do duty and reported to the doctors, and was soon very sick, not expected to live but a few days by the doctors or our Captain. I do not think I had eaten as much as eleven days as one usually eats at a meal, and when Oscar Ware came into the hospital tent to see me he said; “I believe I can span the calf of your leg with one hand.” The bones were too large and he could not do it, but I was so poor that I could span my arm over a wool shirt and a wool blouse from shoulder to elbow and from elbow-joint to wrist, then and all the time for the next six months.
When the Regiment marched from Mitchelville I was put into a house near by, with other sick. A Doctor Fuller, I think, was left, with helpers, to care for us. In a week or two the doctor sent some of the sick north and some went with him to the Regiment. I went to the Regiment. It was camped about four miles from the capitol building in Nashville, Tenn., and in three or four days it marched and I was put into the Company wagon. It rained the most of the day and the teamster put me in a house, about 3 p.m. He told me to stay there and he would send an ambulance after me the next day. He said it would be 11 p.m. before he would get into camp and that I would die before he got there if I rode the balance of the way with him over the rough roads in the rain. I was very cold and wet and the fire in the fireplace felt very inviting. There were ten or fifteen other soldiers scattered around the fire, from different Regiments. I got as near the fire as possible without burning myself and sat there until after dark. There were two women in the house in another room where there was a cook stove and they got meals for the soldiers. They asked me if I did not want supper. They said some warm drink would help to warm me. I tried to eat and drank some hot tea and offered to pay them. They did not want any of the soldiers’ to stay there during the night and said that there was a church with a large stove and wood but a quarter of a mile away where we could stop. Said they would give us breakfast in the morning if we would come back for it if we would but go and leave them. Some of the boys helped me to get to the church, where I stayed until morning. Toward morning I succeeded in getting warm and slept about an hour. Fearing that the teamster would fail to send the ambulance after me, I started, with the help of some of the soldiers, to walk to the Regiment, and about 11 a.m. stopped at a house to rest and get something to eat, if we could. I had not eaten anything since the day before. I think we had walked about a mile and a half. The lady said that they were to have dinner soon and that she would divided with us, but that she did not have much left as she had been feeding soldiers for three or four days. She was pleased to get two daily papers from the North which I gave her although they were three or four days old perhaps. I also gave her some thread, needles and pins. She had been between the two armies for some time and could not buy anything of that kind. The two soldiers who had been helping me paid her twenty-five cents each for their dinner but she would not take any money from me; on the other hand, she gave me about a pound of dried peaches when we left her about 1 p.m. We had not gone far when we met the ambulance that had been sent back for me, and I rode the balance of the way to the Regiment. The next day the Regiment marched again and I was left with other sick in Dr. Brett’s charge. The doctor is now at the Wisconsin Veterans’ Home. We were all captured in a few days by Wheeler’s Cavalry just after being loaded into wagons that were to take us to Nashville. That was on Dec. 30 or 31, 1862, about three o’clock in the afternoon. The Rebels let us ride in the wagons to Nashville, about a mile, where they captured a lot more sick or lame Union soldiers and some more wagons partly loaded with crackers and other provisions. The mules were unhitched from the wagons then fire started in the wagons, and their prisoners ordered to mount a mule. All those able to ride were drive off, and those of us who were not able to ride a mule bareback were placed in line. Our names, Company and Regiment were taken. Then we were sworn “Not to take up arms against the Southern Confederacy until exchanged.” Their officers told the Rebs not to take any of our belongings from us, that we were sick; but still nearly all of us were stripped of our knapsacks, blankets and overcoats. We had only had them a few days, it being the second lot we had lost. The first lot was lost at the Battle of Perrysville. During the night we received a parole made out by some of our officers that were captured with us, and ordered by the Rebel officer to sign our names. I did not get any sleep during the night and was too sick to eat, had I had anything. When it was light all the paroled soldiers started for Nashville, to walk the sixteen miles if they could; I believe there were about 150 of them and as I was very weak I could only walk a few rods, (10 or 15) at a time before I would have to sit down and rest a few minutes, and about 11 a.m. when I had gone about a mile, as I was passing the house where the lady I have mentioned, lived, I met her as she came into the road. She knew me and said, “How poorly you look. Go to the house and lie down. I will be back soon.” She urged me so hard that I went to the house and was asleep in a few minutes, and when I awoke the lady had some toast, tea and baked apples ready for me. After eating I said that I must start again for Nashville. She said, “You cannot walk to Nashville. You better stay here until there is a chance for you to get a ride or until you get stronger than you are now.” She was very kind to me and I asked why she was so kind, and she said that she only treated me as she hoped her husband would be treated should he ever be in like circumstances. He was an officer in the Southern army.
I thought it best for me to get as far as possible toward Nashville so bid the lady goodbye with many thanks for her kindness. I walked and rested for an hour or so. I saw a man with a horse and buggy coming toward me. He was going the same way I wished to go. I was resting on a stone beside the road when I first noticed him and as there were many stones each side of the track there, I waited until he was quite near when I got up and stood in the center of the road to stop him if I could. When he saw that I intended to hold the road he stopped his horse and asked what I wished. My reply was, “to ride.” He said he had promised to let a sick soldier ride and that his buggy was old and weak, but as I did not give him a chance to drive on, and I also told him that I would get out if we came to anyone who was worse off than I was, he allowed me to get into the rig, and drove on. He was dressed in citizen’s clothes, was about fifty years of age, and I took him to be a spy, for he asked me many questions. He did not ask me to get out, although we passed quite a number of soldiers, until we were within about two and one-half miles of Nashville, and he then said: “I am not going any nearer Nashville. You go down to that large house that you can see about a quarter of a mile from us and stay there tonight. You will find some way to get into the city tomorrow.” I said that perhaps I would not be allowed to stop at that house, and he said; “I know the man. You do as you did when you stopped me.” I had gotten out during the talk. He said goodbye, turned from the main road and was soon out of sight. In a few minutes a soldier came along, one of those who was captured at Nolansvile. He was tired and hungry and asked me what I was going to do, and I told him what the man I had ridden with had said, so we got to the house and asked if we could stop there for the night. We were refused as we expected. We went to the rear of the house where there were some nefro huts and soon one of the women asked us if we were hungry. My partner said he was. She got him something to eat and drink and he was so much revived that he said he thought he could walk the two and one-half miles to the city, and left me. When the old man’s supper was ready he asked the waiter if the soldiers were still outside and was told that one was still there. Then he ordered another plate, knife and fork and sent for me to come in and eat with him. It was then about dark. I ate a little and drank some hot tea while the old man told me how he had been misused by soldiers from both armies, the Southern as well as the Northern men. I heard the rattle of wagons, asked the waiter which way they were going and she said, “To the city.” I thank the man, picked up my hat from the floor and started for the door, saying perhaps I could get a ride and the old man said, “Come back if they will not let you ride; you may stay with us.” I thanked him again, but the first teamster I hailed helped me onto the seat. I offered to pay him all the money I had for the help in getting to the city. He laughed and said: “I don’t want your money.” When we reached the city he said: “You go to that large new building. You will get something to eat and drink and room on the floor to sleep. It was put up for a hotel just before the war and not completed at that time. I stopped there two nights. Then in the Court House a few days and nights with other paroled men, some of our Company G. I was taken to a hospital one afternoon and in the evening the doctor came in and examined me. He said I did not have the small pox and he had me moved to another hospital (No. 14) where I was treated like a dog, or not treated at all. I was put onto the floor for a bed and could sit on a bench by a stove during the day if I wished, and the lice were so plenty there that one could see them crawling in the daytime, on the floor and feel them all night. In a few days a citizen doctor was asked to take the place of the regular doctor and he had me put onto a cot and gave me some medicine. In a few days more the regular doctor came back and then I was neglected again. I asked to go back to the Court House, had heard that the paroled soldiers were to be sent North. I was allowed to go, and got to Louisville, Ky. They put me into Hospital No. 7 the third day after leaving Nashville and the change was so great that I nearly died for joy. I was given a bath and clean clothes to put on, put into a clean bed or cot and every attention paid me. It made me homesick. It was the first and only time I gave way to the feeling. There were about 1,000 in the hospital and it was not long before one of our Company boys came to me and cheered me up. In about fourteen days I was sent to Quincy, Ill., with many others to Hospital No. 2, where my treatment was all one could ask for. Dr. Wilson of Hospital No. 2 was a very good doctor. I think there were but three deaths there during my stay of almost eight months and from 105 to 300 there, some going back to their Regiments about once a week and others coming there. As I began to gain in health and strength after being there awhile, I commenced playing checkers and after five or six months even went out some evenings, to surprise parties and to the theatre, etc. Was put on light duty for two months perhaps and was having a good time generally, but as I enlisted for field duty, and thinking that I was nearly well I asked the doctor to allow me to go to the Regiment. The third time I asked him he said: “You may go but perhaps I am doing wrong. You may be down again when you get back South.”
Eggs were very cheap at Quincy and we were furnished two twice a week and the doctor allowed me to buy some and cook them whenever I pleased. (Four dozen for twenty-five cents). Fruit was cheap also and we ate many apples, peaches and pears, and when I left the hospital at Quincy, I weighed 202 pounds. All went well in going to the Regiment until I reached Nashville, Tennessee, where I got a supply of crackers, hard tack. It was quite dark when I got them. I ate some of them during the night while riding on the train between Nashville and Stevenson, Ala., where we stopped for two or three days, and when it became light, I found that the crackers were wormy. The Rebels had possession of the railroad between Stevenson and Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain, so we were obliged to walk the balance of the way to the Regiment. It was in camp at Chattanooga, Tenn., at the time, about sixty miles by road. There was a lot of deserters there at Stevenson being forwarded to their Regiments and I was given a gun to guard some of them, but the Lieutenant in charge allowed all, prisoners and guards, to go as they pleased and we scattered along the road with no order, but made our way to Chattanooga as fast as we could conveniently. I was at he pontoon bridge the second day about 2:30 p.m. The gun was taken from me there and I was under arrest and taken to an officers’ tent where we had to wait our turn then to another center and wait again and about 9 or 10 p.m. put into a guard house with other prisoners (and the lice) and kept until 7 or 8 a.m. the next day, when I was marched by a guard to another officer. He looked at me, asked my name, company and regiment, and if I thought I could find the Regiment. I told him, “Yes, I could have found it last ngiht if I had been allowed to.” He told the man who had been guarding me that he could go back to his place of duty, and me to find my Regiment and I thanked him and went.
In a few days after getting to the Regiment I was so weak I could hardly walk. Having been gone from the Company and Regiment so long I was ashamed to tell anyone that I was sick but as those in the tent with me knew it they told the Lieutenant and Sergeant and they advised me to go and see the doctor and he, never seeing me before asked me a few questions, accused me of being “a play off.” He did not look at my tongue, feel my pulse or give me any medication. As I went back to the tent the Lieutenant stopped me while I was passing near his tent and asked me in to sit down and tell what the doctor said about me. I told him that it was the last time that doctor would have a chance to call me a play off, that I would not report to him again. That I did not go to the war to be insulted. The Lieutenant said he would go and see the doctor and explain and that I better report to him the next day; but I refused and continued to do so. The Lieutenant excused me from duty for many days. During the Battle of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge our Regiment and the balance of our Brigade were held in reserve at Fort Negley, but a little way from our camp., and I took my place in the ranks and stayed each day until afternoon when I would go to the tent and lie down. Soon after the battle we went onto Lookout Mountain where we stopped nearly five months. Dr. Reeves, who died but a few years ago at Appleton, Wis., was one of our Regimental doctors and treated me at Mitchelville. When I came back to the Regiment he was acting Division Surgeon. He came back to the Regiment after we had been upon the mountain a while, by request of the men of the Regiment, I was told and I reported to him one morning. He looked at me and said: “I didn’t think you would ever come back to the Regiment. Sit down, I wish to talk with you.” And he asked me how and where I had been. He said: “You have your name put on the sick list each day but don’t come up here. I will come to your tent to see you.” I believe I only did three day’s duty while we were on the Mountain, but under Dr. Reeves’ care I gained in strength and when we left the mountain to join Sherman’s army I was feeling nearly well. Did not ask to be excused from duty again during the balance of the war, although I was not well at any time.
I was promoted to first color corporal about the first of May 1864, when Sherman’s army started on the Atlantic campaign. Less work, but a more dangerous place, for in case the color sergeant was shot or sick it … it December 31, 1864 at Savannah, GA., where I did from about the time we were at Margetta, Ga., July 4th, 1864 to December 31, 1864 at Savannah, Ga., where I was promoted to Sergeant and served with the Company the balance of the time.
On the march from Atlanta to Savannah and again between Savannah and Goldsboro, N.C., we did not draw but a small portion of the rations usually allowed, but lived mostly off from the country. When we first reached Savannah, before the capture, for a week or so we lived mostly on rice, that we had to thresh, hull and cook. At that time there were seven soldiers to the “mess” that I belonged to and five of us (two usually on duty each day) could thresh and hull rice enough for the seven each day by working faithfully. Where there are so many men together there is always more or less sport, things that are laughable, even during a battle. The night before the army started on the Atlantic campaign, there was a great sight. Our Regiment was camped in a valley near a stream and near the center of the army, that was camped each side of the stream, about 150,000 men in all, there were some threes near the stream, and when it became dark the boys climbed the trees, put candles on may of the limbs, each candle cut into about three pieces, and lit them. Perhaps a hundred or more in a tree. Others made fireworks. Someone would start a yell at one end of the army, a few in each Regiment would “sing out” and it would pass to the other end of the army, about three miles away. Where the soldiers got their powder and some other things that they used that night is not known by me, but the candles were some that had been issued to them during the four or five months previous, while lying in camp. We did not carry them when on the march, and had no use for them, after the night of the fireworks, May 1st, 1864.
Possibly our Regiment did not see or take part in more fighting on the Atlantic campaign than some others, but we certainly had our share of it. We heard firing every day, either cannon or infantry, for sixty-four days, and were in the thickest of it many times. At one time we were on the front lien for five days and nights. If we got any sleep it was with our shoes on our feet and our guns in hand. One night we were marched up beside a mountain (Buzzard’s Roost) not allowed to speak or cough for fear the Rebels would hear us. It was reported that they were only about two or three hundred feet away and nearly straight up above us. Had they known we were there they could have rolled rocks down upon us.
On May 14th our Regiment made a charge over a ridge, held by the Rebels, then across a creek and out of the timber into a wheat field where we lay down in the wheat to get out of sight of the Rebels who were behind a good line of breast-works about fifty rods away, and firing at us as fast as they could, we lost a number of soldiers in that battle.
In one of the hard battles near Atlanta, we charged through some timber to retake a line that our troops had just been driven from. We went with a tremendous yell and when we reached the line, a few trees or logs in a line, I crawled in between a Reb and a Yank, both dead, for protection. Before the capture of Atlanta and a few days after Sherman ordered all the women and children moved from Atlanta, we marched our army through shells, into the city. The cannon were twenty parrots and they shot a shell at the city every five minutes, day and night for about forty-eight hours. When the shell left the gun we could see a streak of fire for about two miles, then a flash when it burst, and by the time the report from the shell got back to us it was nearly time to fire again.
We helped to tear up the railroad southwest of Atlanta before its capture, and was southwest of Atlanta on August 7, 1864. Perhaps the bullets came the thickest in our last battle, March 19, 1865, in North Carolina. We had charged ahead for some time and finally found that we would have to retreat or be taken prisoners. We ran to the rear, about sixty rods, then halted, then ran again a few rods and came where some one had started to build breastworks. Colonel Fitch halted up again there. One of our Company, A.B. Cormican, asked me why I did not get behind a tree. I said that I would if I but knew which side of the tree was “behind.” The bullets seemed to be coming from all directions. That day a ball passed through my trousers just below the knee; another one hit me on the belt in front, a spent ball without much force. Another ball passed through a basket that I was carrying on my arm as we retreated. The basket held my knife and fork, a tin plate and two pieces of meat. The ball tore the handle from the knife, went thru one chunk of meat and out the other side of the basket and on its way rejoicing, or at least I was rejoicing. We were obliged to ford some streams and some of them quite large ones, and deep ones where a rope was stretched so one could hang on.
We did not see much ice or snow after leaving Lookout Mountain. About eight or nine inches of snow fell one night when we were on the mountain, but the most of it had melted by the next night. At times it was clear all day on the mountain, where there would be a shower at Chattanooga, but two and one-half miles from us. We could see the clouds below us. If I remember right the mountain is 2,200 feet high at its highest point near the north end and but one-half mile or so from our camp. When the air is clear one can see into five states from the top of the mountain: Alabama, Georgia, North and South Carolina and Tennessee. We used to help the mule teams up the mountain by hitching a rope to the end of the wagon tongue and thirty to forty men taking hold of the rope. The mules being poor, would tire out before they would get to the top with our hard tack and other rations which were scarce with us while we were u there, but the water was very good. One soldier offered another one a dollar for a hard tack about three by three inches. I bought and ate corn that had been brought to the camp to feed to horses and mules and had been tread into the dirt, and ate it. It had been washed but many of the kernels were broken in half. I remember of seeing soldiers drive some hogs out of a little water hole in the road soon after starting on our march from Louisville, Ky., and dip up the water. At another time I went into a barn yard and filled my canteen from an artificial pond, where ducks, chickens, cattle and hogs were kept. Some of the water that we found was very nice but the most of it was very dirty, not clear like the water in the streams about here. Our beds; well the most of the time we had the earth to sleep on. At times fence rails and at times rocks. They were all the same price, but at times we couldn’t have our choice. When it was raining our choice was rails; when not raining, and dry our choice was mother earth. When we were supposed to stop in one place for two weeks or more nearly all tried to build a bed, or sleeping place a foot or so above ground. I have spaded over ground to try to find pieces of sweet potatoes that had been spaded over three to five times by other soldiers. Have dug for them in the night with my fingers, so near the Rebs that we did not dare to speak aloud or to stand up for fear we would be heard or seen and fired at. When the news reached us of Lincoln’s death we were near Cape Fear River, nearly southwest from Raleigh, N.C. It was a hard blow to soldiers. In our march to Richmond, Va., after peace was declared, we marched at the rate of thirty-one and one-half miles per day for six days. Between daylight and dark, I think our Regiment marched nearly forty miles on one occasion. I have tried not to over-draw anything in the above statements. Many of the old soldiers would say that the half of the hardships of the average soldier have not been told. We stopped in Washington D.C., a few days, then came to Milwaukee and mustered out of the United States service on June 17, 1865.
My health was so poor after reaching home that I could work but very little. So went to school for about four months in the winter of 1865-66. My health improved slowly during the winter, and I have lived until now, although I did not expect to live but a few months when I reached home.
In 891 I applied for a pension and was granted $12.00 per month, the largest amount allowed under the law of 1890. In Cleveland’s administration my pension was reduced to $8.00 per month. After a while it increased to $10.00 and then to $12.00 again. Expect more soon under the last pension law passed May 11, 1912.
Am sorry I did not apply for a pension when I first came home from the war. Had I done so no doubt I would have been drawing $20.00 per month or more for many years.
After reading over the above I wish to add a few more lines:
At the time we were paid our first two months pay, together with the bounty, we were told we would be paid each two months. It was over six months before I received my second payment. I had sent the most of the first payment home while at Oshkosh, not thinking I would need much. Our folks sent some money to me by letter twice, but it did not reach me and was returned to them.
There were many times that we could not get clothing or shoes when we needed them. I have wired the soles and uppers of my shoes together with telegraph wire. One of the soldiers captured at Nashville, when I was taken, and compelled to ride a mule bareback, came to Nashville two or three days after I got there and showed me his stockings. They were still on his feet but covered with blood from his bareback ride. While I was at Quincy, Ill., in Hospital No. 2, wishing some gold to put into rings that I was making, I went to a bank and gave them two dollars and thirty-five cents in paper money for a gold dollar.
I mentioned being put under arrest to show the things we were forced to put up with, red tape, we called it. At another time, while in Kentucky, I asked to be allowed to go to a well for water while we were resting near a house. While getting the water I saw some of the soldiers trying to catch some chickens and heard the old owner of the place tell the soldiers that they could have all the chickens that they could catch. One chicken came toward me and I picked it up and perhaps was the first one to go to the front of the house with a chicken. At least General Buel who commanded our army there at that time was seated on his horse in front of the house and as he had forbidden any foraging in Kentucky he ordered me to drop the chicken and report to my captain under arrest. I dropped the fowl. Captain H.H. Sessions heard the command so also did the owner of the place and he told the General that he had told the soldiers that they could have the chickens if they could catch them, but it was too late for me. My rooster was gone; he did not stop to hear the explanation. Gen. Sherman was looking over his map or papers at one time when the soldiers were chasing chickens about him and one ran under his seat and he clapped his feet together and caught it. He reached down with one hand, picked up the bird and handed it out to the one who was in pursuit of it, saying; “Here it is.” Some may wish to know in how many battles I took part. The 21st Wis. Vol. Inf. Took part in the following battles: Ferryville, Murfreesboro, Chickamauga, Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, Resaca, Marietta, Atlanta (July 20 and Aug. 1), Savannah, Goldsboro and many other skirmishes, some very spirited. I was captured as stated above at the time of the Murfreesboro battle and in Hospital No. 2 at the time of Chickamauga battle. I took part in the balance. As my health improved I began work in the spring of 1866 for my father, in the sugar camp on his farm and the next winter in the lumber camp. Have worked in lumber camps eighteen winters. During the summers I have worked on farms: three seasons in Linn County, Iowa 1869-70-71. I sold that farm and bought one in the town of Waupaca, Wis., and moved there May 4th, 1872 and lived there until Nov. 10th, 1908, when we moved to the city of Waupaca. I estimated pine timber in nearly every county where pine timber grows in this state, also some in Michigan and Minnesota.
I was married Nov. 10, 1868 to Ella McKenzie.