University of Virginia Library

MRS. BELLE REYNOLDS.

THE tocsin of war, when it penetrates to the cottage
where young married life and love are nestled in the
happiness of secure enjoyment, starts questions as difficult
and as painful in their solution as any that life presents.
Where lies the path of duty? What shall I do? Which
horn of this fearful dilemma shall I grasp? I have a duty
to my country, and also a duty, most tender and sacred,
to my wife. Which is paramount? In how many cases,
during our great national crisis, has this question been met
and decided in a spirit that gave the army another hero,
hoping to live, having everything to live for, yet ready to
die for his country when that sacrifice should be demanded!
On the wife's part, too, how painful and embarrassing are
the questions that arise! If she remains at home, there are
the constant suspense, the ceaseless anxiety, the abiding
apprehension of evil tidings which may reach her in every
newpaper, or from the cries of news-boys on the streets.
These fill every waking hour, and even in sleep her dreams
are haunted with visions of terror and coming sorrow. If,
free from ties that retain her at home, she accompanies
him, she must share all the rudeness and all the hardships
of camp life, and the delicacy and refinement of her
sex must, for a time, be laid aside; the earth must be her

MRS BELLE REYNOLDS.

couch, an army wagon her carriage, her carpet the greensward,
and her boudoir the thin and often dirty expanse of
a triangular tent; black coffee, hard-tack, and a slice of fat
bacon, fried on the end of a ramrod, must frequently be her
bill of fare; and with all these she cannot really accompany
her husband. His duties will keep him by the side of his
men, where she cannot go, unless she should don the
uniform and shoulder the musket; and this would not be
permitted. But it is possible for the devoted wife, without
sacrificing the delicacy of her sex, to be, for a great part of
the time, within short distance of her husband in active
service. When the forces are in garrison, she can be with
him constantly; and when he is wounded, she may be near
enough to dress his wounds; and when he falls, she may
secure for him a careful and Christian burial. This course
of life was the one Mrs. Reynolds chose in the summer of
1861, when her husband enlisted in the seventeenth regiment
of Illinois volunteers. She is a native of Shelburne
Falls, Massachusetts, and had been married to Lieutenant
Reynolds, a resident of Peoria, Illinois, but a few months
when the war broke out. The regiment to which her husband
belonged was the most popular in the western army,
being one of the earliest in the field, and during the whole
war in active service.

On the night of August 10, 1861, she landed at Cairo,
Illinois, and the next morning joined her husband at Bird's
Point, Missouri, his regiment being encamped at that place.
From this time till near the close of the war, Mrs. Reynolds
kept a journal of her army life and adventures. Of
her first experience in camp she writes as follows: —

"How could I stay in such a cheerless place? No floors,
no chairs, the narrow cot my seat, my feet imbedded in
the hot sand, the confusion of camp close around me, with
but the thickness of cloth between me and the eyes of all,
the scorching August sun streaming through the low-roofed
covering, — it seemed almost too much to endure; but I
resolved to make the trial. On the evening of the third
day after my arrival, while visiting the ruins of the railroad,
our attention was arrested by a shouting in camp,
which, on our return, we found was caused by the receipt
of `marching orders.' The steamer Chancellor was to
convey us to Herculaneum, Missouri. Tents were struck
immediately, but day dawned before the steamer left the
landing. My husband was anxious to have me accompany
him, if the colonel's permission could be obtained; but I
feared to make the request, lest it should be denied.
Wrapped in my husband's military overcoat, I sat on my
trunk to await events and witness the embarkation. The
confusion and excitement of the scene were so novel, that
the hours glided by unnoticed. The grotesque figures
standing out in bold relief against the high-piled fires
of barrels, boxes, and other accumulated property, — the
effigies, that seemed writhing in agony as the curling
flames reached them, — had, mingled with the shouts of the
confused and surging throng, made me forgetful of the
lapse of time, of my exposed condition, and even unconscious
that a heavy fog, rising from the river, had saturated
my thick wrappings, when I was aroused from my reveries
by the voice of our colonel, who said, `Are you here, Mrs.
Reynolds? You will be more comfortable on the boat.'

My unexpressed wishes thus granted, I went as soon as my
husband, who was then on duty, returned."

She remained with the regiment, following it in all its
campaigning in Southern Missouri, and on the Mississippi
River during the fall and winter of 1861 and 1862.
Sometimes she rode in an army wagon, sometimes in an
ambulance, and sometimes on a mule. At others she
marched in the dust beside the soldiers, with a musketoon
upon her shoulder. The command was in active, though
not in dangerous service; and this period of her army life
is crowded with many charming reminiscences of out-door
life in the romantic wilderness through which they were
moving. Sometimes, behind her tent, Iron Mountain was
towering in its bald simplicity; sometimes they encamped
in a charming deer park; and at others were wending their
way along the banks of the Mississippi, where the giants
of the aboriginal woods were festooned with a beautiful
tracery of wild vines, and the notes of the bugle could be
heard echoing through the dim aisles of the forest. There
was one period of quite painful suspense at the time of the
battle of Belmont. She did not know whether her husband
had survived that bloody engagement. "I dared not look
too closely," she writes, "lest some shall be missing; and
while the regiment is closing up in line to receive the
thanks and praise due them from our gallant colonel, I
ventured to ask if all had returned. One replies, `We
have lost our lieutenant;' another, `I helped to bury my
messmate.' Brief words! but some mother's heart will be
wrung with agony as she reads of the victory, followed by
the list of killed and wounded."

The winter was passed in military reviews and in the
gayeties of camp, the seventeenth Illinois being stationed
at Cape Girardeau. In the early part of February, General
Grant, then commanding the active force in that
region, commenced that brilliant and ever-memorable series
of movements which terminated in the capture of Corinth
and Memphis, and the opening of the upper part of the
Mississippi Valley. Mrs. Reynolds was present amid all
these rude scenes, and in some of them took quite an active
and prominent part. Her journal during this period is
rich in incident and description, and contains one of the
truest accounts of the first day's action at Pittsburg Landing
that has been written.

"On reaching Fort Henry," she writes, "I found that the
regiment had that day left for Savannah, Tennessee. I
had but to remain on board, and we should soon overtake
them. The sight of that fleet, steaming up the Tennessee
River, was one never to be forgotten, — the gunboats, with
their dark, frowning sides, leading the way for nearly two
hundred transports, with their freight of human life. The
little stream was swollen to a mighty river, and the banks
were clothed in the fresh garb of spring. The few towns
on the river seemed deserted of all but women and children,
and they showed little rejoicing at the sight of Uncle Sam's
legions. On the second day out, Captain D. was ordered
on board the Dunleith, a stern-wheeler, as despatch boat;
and as Mrs. D. would accompany him, I should be left
alone. So I concluded to go with them on board the Dunleith.
While steaming along, noting the peculiar appearance
of the dwellings, and contrasting our situation with

what it was one year ago, we heard a splash, and the boat
seemed turning round and going down the stream. Soon
the trouble was explained: the wheel had dropped off, and
gone to the bottom. After drifting about for a short time,
another boat came alongside, and commenced towing us up
the river; but the current was so strong another boat was
required, and we were three days in reaching Savannah.
A dreary town we found here, — a scene of perfect desolation,
— and but for the lovely dress of spring, in which all
nature was clothed, the sight would have been deplorable.

"March 21, 1862. — We embark to-night in steamer
D. A. January for Pittsburg Landing. Ten miles above we
disembark, and camp about three miles from the river, on
a most romantic spot — high bluffs and deep ravines, little
brooks carelessly creeping through the ferns, then rushing
down over a rocky precipice, and bounding along to join the
river. Blooming orchards meet the eye, and tiny flowers
peep out from their green beds. Deserted cabins are scattered
here and there, which seem to have been built for
ages, and tenantless for years. Shiloh meeting-house and
that cool spring are all that make the place look as if ever
having been trodden by the foot of man.

"April 4. — The long roll has called the regiment out,
and we know not what an hour may bring forth. Pickets
have been driven in, and skirmishing is going on at the
front. Distant musketry and the rumbling of artillery past
my tent give the situation a look of reality which I had not
dreamed of an hour ago. Although so near the enemy's
lines, we feel no fear. Mrs. N. and myself are the only
ladies in camp, and our tents are adjoining.

"April 17. — It seems years since I wrote the last lines
in my diary, such have been the suspense and torture of
mind, and the variety and horror of the scenes through
which I have passed. On Sunday morning, two days after
the last date of writing, at sunrise we heard the roll of
distant musketry; but supposing it to be the pickets discharging
their pieces, we paid no attention to it. In about
an hour after, while preparing breakfast over the camp fire,
which Mrs. N. and I used in common, we were startled
by cannon balls howling over our heads. Immediately the
long roll was beaten, and orders came from the commanding
officer of the brigade to fall in. Knowing my husband
must go, I kept my place before the fire, that he might
have his breakfast before leaving; but there was no time for
eating, and though shells were flying faster, and musketry
coming nearer, compelling me involuntarily to dodge as the
missiles shrieked through the air, I still fried my cakes,
and rolling them in a napkin, placed them in his haversack,
and gave it to him just as he was mounting his horse to
assist in forming the regiment. His last words to me, as
he rode away, were, `What will you do, Belle?' I little
knew then what I should do; but there was no time to
hesitate, for shells were bursting in every direction about
us. Tents were torn in shreds, and the enemy, in solid
column, was seen coming over the hill in the distance.
Mrs. N. and I, thinking we might have time to pack our
trunks, were doing so, when the wagon-master told us we
must run for our lives; so, snatching our travelling baskets,
bonnets in hand, we left the now deserted camp. We
passed the large parade ground, close by our camp, where

the cavalry was forming. Balls were flying and shells
bursting among the terrified horses and fearless riders.
On reaching General Ross's headquarters, supposing ourselves
at a perfectly safe distance from the rebels, we took
possession of a deserted tent, and sat resting ourselves,
when Lieutenant Williams, acting quartermaster, passing
by, saw us sitting there, apparently regardless of the flying
missiles. `For God's sake,' exclaimed he, `run for the
river; the rebels are coming!' We were by this time
convinced of their close proximity; for we had scarcely left
when a shell exploded close by, the pieces tearing through
the tent, and a solid shot passed through headquarters. The
troops were now moving up from the river, pouring along
by thousands, fresh and hopeful, and sanguine as to the
result of the conflict in which they were hastening to engage.
Others were going towards the river, many sick, and
scarcely able to drag themselves along through the almost
impassable roads; and we, while hurrying along, were constantly
asked, `What's the matter back here, ladies?' But
soon enough they ascertained, for the enemy were pressing
closer and closer, and the musketry coming nearer and nearer
each moment. When within about half a mile from the
river, we came upon a number of ambulances, from which
the wounded were being taken and laid upon the ground
for the surgeons' attention. We stopped, took off our
bonnets, and prepared to assist in dressing their wounds;
but in less than ten minutes an orderly came dashing up,
with orders to move the wounded immediately to the river,
as the rebels were pressing so closely, they were not safe
where they were. The surgeon said we had better go to
some of the boats, as we should find plenty to do. So we
made our way to the steamer Emerald, Captain Norton's
headquarters; and, just as we were going aboard, General
Grant and staff came up from Savannah. Anxious faces
they all wore, though they little knew what lay before
them. We were rejoiced to find that Mrs. C., one of our
nurses, had arrived from Illinois, with quite a large supply
of hospital stores, for they came not an hour too soon. A
few moments after our arrival (about ten o'clock A. M.),
Sergeant Autcliff, company A, was brought on board, supported
by two comrades. Both arms were broken. His
greeting to Captain Norton was, `Well, captain, they have
winged me.' To see that strong man, now utterly helpless,
and almost fainting from loss of blood, and exhausted from
a walk of nearly two miles, was a piteous sight indeed.

"Soon the wounded came pouring in upon us, and for
thirty-six hours we found no rest. At night we had three
hundred and fifty wounded on board our boat. I dared not
ask the boys if my husband were unharmed, and feared
each moment to see him among the almost lifeless forms
that were being brought on board the boat.

"Through the day the thunder of artillery had almost
deafened us; the air seemed filled with leaden hail, and the
spent balls would patter upon the deck like a summer
shower. Solid shot, directed at the ammunition boat,
which was close by us, would pass over our heads and
drop into the water. As the sun went down our army
was gradually nearing the river: resistance to the infuriated
masses opposed to them had been impossible. The
rebels now occupied all the camps of the Federal army, and

the alternative to perish beneath the waves of the Tennessee,
or surrender to the exultant foe, was before them.
Never had the fate of an army been more desperate, or its
ruin more inevitable. Panic seized the half-crazed men,
and rushing down the steep declivity, they came pouring
along by hundreds, each intent on securing his own safety,
regardless of others'. Many attempted to crowd upon the
hospital boats; others swam to the opposite shore. Captain
N. guarded the gang-plank with a revolver in each hand,
and giving me another, I stationed myself upon the hurricane
deck, prepared to execute any orders he might give
me. But deliverance came to the disheartened army; the
gunboats Lexington and Tyler arrived from below, and
steaming up to the mouth of a little stream, called Licking
Creek, they opened a deadly fire upon the rebel army.
Broadside after broadside of sixty-four pounders was discharged
into the midst of the now terrified foe. Fresh
courage seemed infused into our dispirited ranks, for now
across the river we could see the long-expected troops hurrying
forward at double-quick to our rescue. How we
cheered them! All the transports were put in requisition
to ferry them across, that they might add to the waning
strength of the almost defeated army. Every effort was
made to inspire the panic-stricken hundreds with fresh
courage, but without effect. At the Landing it was a scene
of terror. Rations, forage, and ammunition were trampled
into the mud by an excited and infuriated crowd.
Officers were rushing around, vainly endeavoring to collect
the stragglers from their commands, and lead them once
more to the scene of conflict. Trains were huddled
together on the brow of the hill and in sheltered places.
Ambulances were conveying their bleeding loads to the
different boats, and joined to form a Babel of confusion
indescribable. None were calm, and free from distracting
anxiety and pain, save the long ranks of dead, ranged for
recognition or burial, at the hospital on the hill-side. Night
closed the scene. The two armies rested for the morrow's
conflict; ours sad and disheartened, theirs hopeful and
almost victorious. The gunboats were doing a great work;
one after the other would send a broadside; and we, watching
from the deck, would listen until the explosion, and
then shout for joy. They were tokens of remembrance sent
to our beleaguered friends. Soon the rain came pouring
down. What a blessing to the wounded on the battle-field!
Hour after hour passed, and the storm increased; but above
all was the solemn thunder of the gunboat cannon. Towards
morning we dropped down to Savannah, and unloaded the
wounded; and morning found us again at work, dressing
the wounds of others, who had but just been brought from
the field.

"In all this time I heard nothing of my husband. I
dared not ask those who had come from the field. I would
wait until I should hear that all was well with him, or see
him face to face. The mud and rain made it impossible to
extend our labors beyond the boat; and reports were continually
coming to us that the rebels were retreating, and
that our army, strengthened and encouraged by the arrival
of Buell's command, would probably push them to Corinth.
They had passed beyond our camps, and the way was
strewn with dead and dying. Lieutenant-Colonel Smith

came from the regiment about dark, with a message to me
from my husband. He had passed through that terrible
battle unharmed, though his horse had been shot under
him. How thankful I was none can know but those who
have endured like suspense and anxiety. There had been
no preparation made for a two days' battle when the army
left their comfortable quarters on Sunday morning, and no
rations had been provided. I knew there was a large supply
of bread on hand, and making arrangements with the
cook for a dozen loaves, I supplied the colonel with some
impromptu saddle-bags, and filling them to the brim, and
tying each end, he threw them across his horse, and started
off. Fortunately for him, darkness enveloped him, or he
might not have arrived with his precious freight. That
night we rested, though the storm was still raging.
Wednesday morning the sun came forth upon a scene of
blood and carnage such as our fair land had never known.
The roads were almost impassable; yet we felt it our duty
to go out, and do all we could for those who were in the
hospital. At nine o'clock we left the boat — Mrs. C., Mrs.
N., and myself. We climbed the steep hill opposite the
Landing, picked our way through the corrals of horses,
past the long lines of trenches which were to receive the
dead, and came to an old cabin, where the wounded were
being brought. Outside lay the bodies of more than a hundred,
brought in for recognition and burial — a sight so
ghastly that it haunts me now. We passed on, and entered
the house, which contained three rooms. In one were some
fifty wounded; in another (smaller) the surgeons were
amputating. The ladies left me there, and went to the
tents, which were also filled. The sight of a woman
seemed to cheer the poor fellows, for many a `God bless
you!' greeted me before I had done them a single act of
kindness. The first call was for water; and none could be
obtained nearer than the river. I stepped to the door, and
called for volunteers to go with me to the river for water.
Fifteen offered their services. Captain Norton furnished
each with a pail, which they filled, and supplied the wants
of the poor sufferers. After bathing and bandaging their
burning wounds, I gave each some jelly, and distributed
among them the little bread we had brought with us; but
the supply was small for hungry men, and I found a sutler's
stand, and emptied the contents of my purse for
gingerbread — singular food for sick men, but very acceptable.
An Irishman, though badly wounded, did much to
keep up the spirits of the disheartened, as he was still in
possession of his native wit, and anxious to make the best
of everything. I was well repaid for my exertions in
seeing them all more comfortable. How thankful a soldier
is for a little attention! One old man, whose last days
should have been passed in a quiet home, lay dying; at
every breath his life-blood gushed from the wound in his
breast. At his side lay a rebel soldier, both of whose
limbs had been taken off below the knee by a cannon ball;
his hours were few. Here lay another; a musket ball had
pierced his cheek near the eye, and reached the lower part
of the brain. The surgeon had probed in vain to find the
deadly missile; his face and the front parts of his clothing
were covered with blood, and his breathing was of that horrible
sort which once heard is never forgotten. He, too,
was past all cure. Another had a ball lodged deep in the
upper part of his thigh. The surgeons had been unable to
afford him any relief. He was very calm, and said he
did not suffer much; but something about his face,
when I looked at it, showed that he would soon be
`mustered out.'

"And that operating table! These scenes come up before
me now with all the vividness of reality. Sometimes I
hope it is only a fever-dream that haunts me, but too well
I know it was no dream; for, one by one, they would take
from different parts of the hospital a poor fellow, lay him
out on those bloody boards, and administer chloroform;
but before insensibility, the operation would begin, and in
the midst of shrieks, curses, and wild laughs, the surgeon
would wield over his wretched victim the glittering knife
and saw; and soon the severed and ghastly limb, white as
snow and spattered with blood, would fall upon the floor —
one more added to the terrible pile.

"Until three o'clock I had no idle moments; then,
having done all in my power to minister to so much
wretchedness, I found my long-taxed nerves could endure
no more. One of the surgeons brought me a spoonful of
brandy, which revived me. Feeling that my labors were
at an end, I prepared to leave, and had just turned to go in
the direction of the boat, when a hand was laid upon my
shoulder. The shock was so sudden I nearly fainted.
There stood my husband! I hardly knew him — blackened
with powder, begrimed with dust, his clothes in disorder,
and his face pale. We thought it must have been years
since we parted. It was no time for many words; he told

me I must go. There was a silent pressure of hands. I
passed on to the boat. I found Mrs. N. and C. hard at
work, and apparently as fresh as when the day commenced.
At night I lived over the horrors of the field hospital and
the amputating table. If I but closed my eyes, I saw such
horrible sights that I would spring from my bed; and not
until fairly awakened could I be convinced of my remoteness
from the sickening scene. Those groans were in my
ears; I saw again the quivering limbs, the spouting arteries,
and the pinched and ghastly faces of the sufferers.

"The following day we visited the boats near us. On
one the surgeon objected to our coming on board, as he
`wanted no women around.' But nothing daunted, we went
in search of any who might belong to our regiment. We
found some of the boys with their wounds undressed,
many of them having been wounded on Sunday; and,
though there were three or four hundred wounded men on
the boat, there were but two or three surgeons, and they
unwilling to have us relieve what suffering we could. No
hospital stores were allowed us; so, drawing from the small
supply on the Emerald, and from the boat of the United
States Sanitary Commission, in charge of Dr. Warriner,
we removed the heavy flannels, stiff with blood, bathed
their burning wounds and powder-stained faces, gave them
food, and they sank to sleep like weary children. Mrs.
N., while passing through the cabin, noticed a cot on which
lay a man, his face covered with the coarse woollen blanket.
Supposing it to be one who had died, she went up to it,
raised the blanket, and, to her horror, discovered a man in
the last stages of small pox! She immediately found the

surgeon in command, and asked him if he knew of such a
case being on board; when he insultingly informed her
that he would attend to his business, and she might leave
if she were not pleased. The surgeon's name I have forgotten,
but his disregard and inhumanity to the wounded
under his care was reported at headquarters; and, though
his name may not have been branded before the world, it
lives in the memories of those who suffered through his
neglect.

"On Saturday night, we were happily surprised at seeing
Drs. Guth and Colburn, of Peoria, they being members
of the delegation from Illinois. Sorely needing rest and
change of scene, my husband obtained permission for my
return to Peoria when the Black Hawk should be loaded.
There were about twenty of our regiment who would go.
Sunday night found all in readiness, and my husband left
me in comfortable quarters on board the Black Hawk, he
to resume his duties in camp, and I to go to my friends.
Each parting seemed harder than the last, for I knew now
the dangers and uncertainties to which he was exposed.
But my health had been failing since my first month in
camp, and I felt I must recruit now, or I might not be able
to spend the summer with him. There were but two ladies
on board, their husbands being of the party. The conversation
naturally turning upon the battle, many questions
were asked; and as I had been an eye-witness, all eyes
were directed to me. The terrible scenes were still before
and seemed to be a dreadful part of me, which I was glad
to have removed, if relating them might have that effect. I
told my story to quite an audience of ladies and gentlemen,

Governor Yates being of the number. As I was one of the
very few ladies who were present at the battle, and had
witnessed so large a portion of its scenes, the story seemed
to interest all who heard, and some one suggested, `She
deserves a commission more than half the officers.' `Let's
make one,' said another. No sooner said, than a blank
commission was brought, and the governor directed his
secretary to fill it out, giving me the rank of a major. This
was done: the name of the governor, of Adjutant Fuller,
and the secretary of state were added, the seal of the State
of Illinois was appended, and the parchment handed me,
with many congratulations. I received it, not so much
as an honor which I really deserved, but simply as an
acknowledgment of merit for having done what I could.
I regained my health slowly, making my round three times
a day, to see if all our boys were cared for. On board I
found an old friend, not seen for years, who has since died
from the effects of his wound; another captain, whom we
had met on the morning of the battle, was suffering from a
severe wound.

"At Cairo we took Captain Swain, of Tiskilwa, Illinois.
Arriving at St. Louis, the most severely wounded were
taken to Quincy, Illinois; and some twenty, who were to
go up the Illinois River, were transferred to a stern-wheel
boat, Captain Swain among the number. The journey,
under the most favorable circumstances, is a tedious one;
but to the wounded sufferers it seemed more than they
could endure. Time passed slowly indeed, and to Captain
Swain, who was suffering intense agony, the motion of the
boat was exquisite torture. One by one the boys were

carried from the boat as we reached the little towns along
the river, and I gave each his descriptive list, and bade
them good by, some of them forever. Captain Swain was
failing rapidly, and the surgeons thought it impossible for
him to reach Peoria alive. His faithful attendant was always
by him, but his oft-repeated words were, `My poor wife
and little ones!' They held him to earth by strong bands,
and he only prayed that he might live to see them once
more, and then he was ready to die; `for it was a glorious
cause to give a life to.' But his prayer was not answered.
Conscious that his last hour was at hand, he gave a word
of encouragement to each soldier who stood by him,
beseeching them to give their life, if need be, for their
country's freedom; then thanking those who had ministered
to his comfort, and imploring God's blessing upon
them in their arduous duties, he closed his eyes, and died
without a struggle, just as we landed at Peoria.

"The next week, having an opportunity to return to
Pittsburg Landing, though my health was not much restored,
I concluded to accompany them. At the appointed
time we left Springfield, and, when we arrived at St. Louis
a boat was chartered for us, and the nurses, — fifteen in
number, — with the delegation of surgeons, embarked for
the Tennessee River, which we reached in safety, and I once
more rejoined my husband."

The months passed in the usual variety of soldier life.
Now the regiment was in Jackson, Tennessee, and then removed
to Bolivar, where they were encamped four months.

"In September orders were received for the regiment to
move immediately to Corinth. We were to go by railroad,

thus escaping the tediousness of a march. General Grant
and staff occupied the car I was in, and then I observed the
trait, so much commented upon, which distinguishes him
from most other men. He must have been planning his fall
campaign, for from the time we left Jackson until we arrived
at Corinth, a lighted cigar was in his mouth, one serving as
a match for its successor; yet if his reverie was broken
by a question, he answered it pointedly, as though his
thoughts were all centred on that question. We arrived
at Corinth just before nightfall. The regiment was to
camp about three miles from town. The road thither lay
through swamps, and was mostly corduroy, very badly
broken by the passage of heavy army wagons; but at last,
rising from the swamp to a high bluff, we came upon the
regiment preparing for the night. No tents had arrived,
the clouds were threatening rain, and a cold wind was blowing
over the bleak hill-side. I had but my travelling cloak
for covering. No trees were near to afford us shelter, and
we saw we should have to pass a dreary and comfortless
night. My husband spread his poncho on the ground, and
I lay down, not to pleasant dreams or sweet sleep, but to
be pelted by cold rain until drenched through and through,
and then to lie and long for morning to come. But never
were hours so lengthened; and just at daylight, though the
storm was at its height, orders came for the regiment to
move to Iuka. Colonel N.'s tent had just come, and he
insisted on my occupying it, as he was so soon to leave.
With the greatest difficulty I made my way to the tent, and
throwing myself on the cot, was soon insensible to all that
was passing. When I awoke, all had left but my husband,
who remained for a short time, to make provision for my
removal to Corinth. At five o'clock he left me in as dreary
a place as I ever found myself in; but I must not complain.
It was my determination to share with him the
dangers and privations of soldier life that had brought me
to such a pass, and I must endure it or leave him. The
pitiless rain was pouring in torrents from a leaden sky, and
a cold wind driving under the tent, with little streams trickling
through the thin covering, made my quarters anything
but comfortable, though, in contrast with the night I had
passed, they were luxurious. Many of the boys, on leaving,
had put their knapsacks in my care, and taking from
one a blanket, I wrapped myself in it, and sat down to meditate
on my forlorn condition. The fates seemed all against
me, for the wind increased, and I saw, to my dismay, that
the tent was loosened on one side, and that before many
minutes it must go over. Soon a gust came, flapping the
loosened side, and tearing up the few remaining pegs, lifting
the tent from the poles, and laying it upon the ground,
leaving me sitting in the open air, pelted by the merciless
rain. I took refuge in an adjoining tent, whose inmates
were gone, and soon succeeded in sending some of the
boys to the rescue of the capsized tent and its contents.
They righted it, and brought me a pair of military boots,
which had been left in my charge; and though it was too
late to save my feet from becoming wet, I donned them,
and made my way back to my quarters, — a dreary place, —
and sitting down in my wet clothes, to wait, as resignedly
as possible, the arrival of the ambulance which was to conduct
me to more desirable accommodations, I was startled
by a knock at my tent door; and who should stand before
me but my brother, whom I had not seen for two years?
His lieutenant was with him. Being at Corinth, they had
heard that our regiment was camped here, and notwithstanding
the storm, had found their way to see me. My
appearance was so ludicrous, that both laughed outright;
boots and blanket being the chief features in my apparel.
I was unable to move, and hardly able to sit up. There
was nothing to offer them, as I had eaten nothing since my
dinner the day previous. They saw the necessity of procuring
better quarters, and returned at once to Corinth, to
obtain a horse and saddle. At five o'clock I mounted my
steed for Corinth, and thought my best friend would fail to
recognize me in the ludicrous and forlorn appearance I
presented; but while crossing a swamp, where every moment
I expected to be thrown from my saddle, as my horse
was plunging and leaping from one bog to another, I saw
approaching a general and his staff, whom I had met many
times. They immediately recognized me, and after a few
moments' pleasant conversation we passed on."

A short time after, Lieutenant Reynolds received orders
to report to Major-General McClernand as aid-de-camp on
his staff, and Mrs. Reynolds, after some unavoidable delay,
joined him in March, 1863. The house occupied by General
McClernand as his headquarters at Milliken's Bend,
near Vicksburg, had been deserted by its owner. "Our
tent," she says, "was pitched under the trees on the lawn —
a charming spot, with its long sweep of green, dotted with
bowers of roses of every variety. There were climbing
vines, with their gorgeous bloom, and stately magnolias,

whose heavy perfume filled the morning air, and suggested
all tropical luxuriance. But our stay in this charming
spot was of brief duration, General McClernand receiving
orders, on the 29th of March, to move with his corps to
Hard Times Landing, below Vicksburg, Mrs. McClernand
and I remaining behind, with the promise of joining them
when headquarters should be established.

"In the mean time the gunboats and transports were
preparing to run the blockade at Vicksburg, and we
received invitations to witness, from the steamer Von
Phul, this fiery trial. At first eight gunboats and three
transports were to be sent, with large river steamers,
their boilers well protected with cotton bales. The transports
were laden with commissary stores, and the barges
and flat-boats with forage and coal for the army below.
The night was clear and calm. At eleven P. M. they left
their moorings at the mouth of the Yazoo. All was intense
excitement. The Von Phul was crowded with spectators,
Mrs. Grant, Mrs. McClernand, and myself being the only
ladies. Our boat was darkened, and with head up stream,
we quietly floated down with the current, until I feared
that we, too, were to join in the daring adventure. The
smoke, in dense, black volumes, mounted high, clearly
defining their course, though their dark sides were with
difficulty distinguished from the foliage lining the banks.
At last one approached the batteries, closely hugging the
Louisiana shore; another, and yet another, and still no sound
or lightning flash. All had passed the upper batteries, and
come in range of the city's guns. Could it be possible they
would pass by unnoticed? There was breathless silence,

then a flash, another, and soon the heavy booming of the
cannon reached us. Other batteries opened on them as they
came in range. As time passed, the batteries lower down
came into action, indicating to us that some, if not all, the
boats had escaped destruction, and were passing on towards
Warrentown. While anxiously noting their progress, as
chronicled by the reports of the enemy's cannon, we were
horrified by observing that the rebels had lighted an immense
beacon-fire on one of the highest bluffs of the city,
which threw a clear and brilliant light over the river, and
brought into bold relief every object passing on its surface.
Guided by the light, the gunners at the rebel batteries now
redoubled their fire, and along the whole line there blazed
a constant sheet of flame. The light had also revealed to
the gunboats the exact position of the rebel batteries, and
soon the fierce screech of the Parrott shells from our gunboats
mingled with the din, and more than one carried
destruction into the batteries on shore. The upper batteries
finally slackened their fire, and it was evident that nearly all,
if not the entire fleet, had passed the most dangerous part
of their journey; when suddenly a new light creeps up the
sky, and soon we saw that one of the transports was on
fire, and the dense white smoke arising was from burning
cotton. General Grant, with field-glass in hand, stationed
himself upon the hurricane deck, to watch the progress of
his daring venture. He alone was calm. The whole city
was now aroused, for lights were gleaming in every quarter.
The transport burned was the Henry Clay, the cotton taking
fire from the explosion of shells. Nothing more would be
known that night, and we reluctantly returned to Milliken's
Bend as daylight was breaking in the east."

After the fall of Vicksburg, Mrs. Reynolds remained
with her husband at headquarters, near the city, for a number
of months, her time passing very pleasantly in the
customary gayeties of the camp, and in visits to neighboring
places of interest or beauty. She broke off a bough of
the famous "Truce Tree," under which Vicksburg was surrendered,
which she preserves as an interesting memento
of the great scene enacted there. The period for which
Lieutenant Reynolds enlisted expired in the spring of
1864, and his military career and the long series of adventures
in which "Major" Reynolds had figured came to
a close, and they both turned again, with inexpressible
relief and delight, to the blessings of privacy and the
delights of home, grateful that God had seen fit to spare
their lives through so many vicissitudes and amid such
fearful dangers.