AT BELOIT, WISCONSIN,
or rather, four miles in the country, I met a warm welcome from my brother's old friends. He had met them in California in the early days. I learned also that there was a match brewing between him and the oldest daughter, which was afterwards consummated.
How the snow did pile up soon after I reached Wisconsin! I had never seen the like before. My friends, knowing that I was a Southerner and unused to such severe weather, were as tender of me as if I had been a baby; but in a few days I did not at all mind it. Winter time is the time for visiting in the North, and so I was on the go with the family much of the time. Another way I spent my time was to go out in the deep snow in the fields. Sometimes a rabbit, frightened at my crushing through the crust of the snow, would jump out of his hole ten feet away and sit for a moment, loath to run away in the cold. Many a time I emptied my pistol at him and would then throw the gun at him before he would run away. That gun will be heard from again. Without any talk about it, I secured a large map of the "Seat of the war in the West." This I put on the wall in the dining room. It gave all the public roads. With the study of the map, I read diligently the Chicago Daily Times, which gave the movements of troops along the route I might choose. I picked out two routes; one through Southeast Missouri, the other through Kentucky and Tennessee, both branching out from Southern Illinois. My brother hoped I would become satisfied to remain in this lovely Northern home and go to school, but I was bent on going to the war. I did as he suggested, however; I corresponded with Col. U. S. Grant, commandant of the post at Cairo, Ill., afterwards the great General and twice President, asking for a pass-port south, and received a very kind letter in reply, but denying the request.
I might have remained in Wisconsin until spring, when I could have had better weather and more money, but for an incident I will presently relate.
THE FALL OF FT. DONELSON,
in Tennessee, was a fearful blow to me. Of course there was great exultation everywhere up North. I saw and heard it all, but could say nothing. One day while in Beloit, I saw a great crowd on the sidewalk. Drawing near I discovered the attraction. It was a butternut jeans jacket, which had been taken off a dead Confederate at Ft. Donelson. It was shot through and was saturated with blood. On it was a large placard with these words:
"Taken from the dead body of Private Turner of the Mississippi Rifles on the battlefield of Fort Donelson."
I gazed at it for a moment and heard the exultant laugh and jeers from the toughs who gathered about it. I turned away with clenched teeth, determined to go South at all hazards and at once I announced to my friends that evening that I was going to Chicago, a hundred miles away, next morning to see the Fort Donelson prisoners who were confined in Camp Douglas.