Road to Jenkins Ferry

April 28- Afternoon.

General Frederick Steele winced as the rain began to seep through his widebrim hat, water droplets mixing with sweat from the humidity stinging his eyes with every drop. "Curse this Southern spring weather," he muttered as steam rose up from his dirty blue wool uniform, and from the mount shivering below him. This campaign through the Arkansas wilderness had been unkind to him and his men.

They had resorted to foraging and had made many enemies on the road as they pilfered corn cribs and the very barns and homes of the local populace, setting several places on fire. They had faced deprivation and starvation. And now, they were, once again, on the run.

He could feel the pull of the sucking mud under the horses hoofs and pulled over to a pine covered thicket where he cautiously dismounted. He lifted the horse's reigns over it's head and commenced to leading on foot for a while, his boots slipping and catching themselves without grace as he turned back to the road.

The steady noise of creaking wheels of the wagon train coming along side him, and the tired troops struggling to march on a road that was quickly becoming slippery added to the misery of the sounding, wet rain, and there seemed to be no end in sight. He could see their breaths forming small puffs of smoke, and their breathing was labored from the rigorous retreat. Much of their provisions had been cast aside and so, many of the men were soaked to the skin. Their once proud uniforms now rags, giving his men a ghostly appearance.

Their rifles were strapped to their shoulders, with the butt face up to avoid getting rain drops in the barrels. The footprints left behind filled with water as those following splashed and made new tracks behind, creating a mire.

Since the disasters at Poison Springs on the 18th, and Marks Mills on the 25th, he knew that he had run out of time. His long standing adversary, Major General Sterling Price, had just received reenforcements from Louisiana under the command of General Kirby Smith, following the defeat of General Nathaniel Banks' army at Pleasant Hill, now in retreat back to Alexandria, turning their invasion of the Red River Valley into a full blown disaster.

Steele stroked his long, black beard with a gloved hand, brushing off the droplets which congregated as if they were the faithful headed to a tent revival. All of this marching deep through enemy territory for what? A bit of land in Texas to grow cotton for northern speculators to generate greenbacks. How many lives must be lost for these greedy politicians in Washington DC to be satisfied?

Follow the money and you will see the reason behind this war he confided to himself. Steele gritted his teeth and growled in frustration. Looking back he could see how foolish this whole campaign had been.

Grant had gone east to take over the Army of the Potomac. His commanding officer, Sherman was getting ready for the march to the sea. The plan had been on paper for two years and although the planning had gone on without a hitch, the campaign proved disastrous. He had been in the field for over a month and most of it had been spent in engaging the enemy.

Price began tightening his grip around the stronghold of Camden following the federal occupation of April 16, starting from the southern edge with JO Shelby's "Iron Brigade," and from the west with Generals Marmaduke and Maxey. General Fagan was located in the area of Marks Mills and was an ever a present threat in Steele's mind as they retreated from Camden.

Despite its steep hills and recounts, no doubt being well fortified, had become a trap and Steele knew he had made the right decision in abandoning the works. Having crossed the Ouachita under the cover of night on a makeshift pontoon bridge, his ragged army silently marched out as tattoo was sounded.

The cannons and wagon trains had their wheels covered in cloth to silence their movement. The surprise night march had given the federals a full day's march ahead of the unwary Confederates.

But now, the Confederate army was catching up. He had sent scouts ahead to feel out for Fagan's troopers. He was anxious to see if Fagan would impede his retreat to Little Rock, forcing him to surrender in the field.

However; Fagan was nowhere to be found. This troubled Steele as he entered the Saline River bottoms. Where could Fagan be? Was he already on the other side of the crossing, waiting in ambush?

The area, much like the vast majority of Southwest Arkansas was covered in heavy timber. Steele cursed the woods. It forced him to spread out his column, making it vulnurable to attack.

He tried to take his mind off of the miserable predicament. He began to reminisce over past events. He remembered the three days at Prairie D'Ane where he drew out Prices troops from Camden, feinting a move towards the new Confederate capital at Washington.

He had received news of Powell Clayton's success at Mount Elba and Longview. He was relieved to hear of the captured enemy troops under General Thomas Dockery, yet the general had escaped with a large enough cavalry force to add to his troubles. And so far Powell Clayton boasted the only solid success in this entire debacle.

The days preceding the battle on the prairie, had been agonizing for him as the rains had washed away the Pontoon bridges following the battle at Elkins Ferry on the Little Missouri River.

His chief engineer, captain Junius Wheeler, had set to work repairing the damage as they waited for reenforcements under General Thayer from Fort Smith. Now Junius Wheeler was once again working on a pontoon bridge across Jenkins Ferry, with Carr's Cavalry regiment guarding their efforts.

The woods around the military road began to break up as he passed by a small farmhouse on the left that belonged to a local by the last name of Dortch, yet was being cared for by the Jiles family. Dortch had enlisted in the Confederate army and was fighting the federal invaders. His family was in hiding.

Steele ordered a couple of soldiers to approach the house to interrogate the occupants, asking them if they had seen the Confederate army pass through the area. He couldnt leave anything to chance.

Steele soon passed a cornfield, freshly planted, yet the rain was turning it into a mud pit. He could hear Cox Creek flowing on his left as its meandering brought it within yards of the road.

A thundrous roar erupted far to the rear about 4pm and for a brief moment the men mistook it for thunder, yet Steele knew better. It was Confederate skirmishers firing a volley to announce their presence. He encouraged his men to keep moving.

About an hour later, Steele's chief of staff approached on horseback and announced that the bridge had been completed and the work had begun improving the approaches to the ferry, yet might have difficulty in maintaining it if the Saline River continued to swell with the drenching rains.

"Will we be able to cross," Steele inquired.

"The bridge is ready now for the army to cross," the young man reassured him.

Just then, one of the wagons nearby sank to the axles, and the horses panicked as their steady pace was suddenly grounded. The teamsters cursed and cracked their whips. Some soldiers rushed to push the wagon out of the rut.

Steele cursed and turned to issue orders for some of the men to corduroy the road. He could hear the distant firing turning into a continuous skirmishing. The Confederates have caught up with his rearguard. Time was running out.

Darkness began to creep across the soggy landscape and he could hear the Confederate rifle fire begin to die off. He knew that there would be more the following morning. If he could not cross the River, they would be trapped.

At 9:20pm, Steele was notified by captain Wheeler that many wagons had become bogged down. He could tell by the tone in the mans voice that he was uncomfortable crossing under the cover of darkness with a swollen River.

"Sir," captain Wheeler reported, "we consider the passage ahead as stopped until daylight as it is very dark."

"Do you hear that Captain Wheeler," Steele darkly answered.

"Yes Sir," Wheeler could hear the picket musket fire in the rear faintly.

"We need to get across before the enemy concentrates his forces and brings up artillery," Steele found himself lecturing, "your request for us to stop is denied."

Fires began to light up alongside the road. The engineers and fatigue parties doubled their efforts to get the wagon train and artillery across the Saline. Yet it all proved to be in vain. The heavy rains had doused most of the fires and just before daybreak the next morning, the men were so exhausted that they sank down into the mud and mire, where they could find a spot, just to rest.

Despite their best efforts, only half the train made it across. The men were put back to work at daybreak. Steele gritted his teeth for most of the day as the work continued. He was worried about the approaching Confederates now under the heading of Kirby Smith. And Fagan was still not accounted for.

"What is Fagan up to," Steele wondered. If anything, Fagan was too late to prevent the crossing of the wagons.

Later that afternoon., the rain subsided. At 6pm, the road was declared open and the second phase of the crossing began. General Eugene Carr's Cavalry went across and exited the Saline bottom, vanishing from before Steele's eyes. They were to scout ahead.

Then, the army began to cross. The crossing was slow as the river rushed past the pontoon bridges, and the men had to pick themselves up from the mire.

Steele strained his ears ahead, anxious that Fagan would jump Carr's Cavalry. So far, all was silent on the opposite bank. In the silence, Steele could hear his own raised heart rate.

After what seemed to be an eternity, one of Carr's messengers approached the crossing. The messenger was brought to Steele where he reported that hoof tracks had been found in number near the junction of the Princeton and Military roads.

"Which way are they headed," Steele asked.

"They are headed in a northerly direction," the messenger further reported, "It appears that Fagan was through Tulip several hours ago."

So Fagan has removed himself from the equation. Steele thought, being much relieved.

"Thank you trooper for the report," Steele slapped the man's shoulder in affirmation, "you are dismissed."

The trooper gave a grim smile, saluted and rode off into the darkness. Steele reached into his coat pocket and felt for a tin can. He pulled it out, gingerly picked out a cigar. He then searched for a match but couldnt find one.

He let out a growl. He walked over to a nearby campfire, picked up a half charred stick and lit the end. One of the soldiers offered him a chair and he sat down.

He could finally breathe normally. He drew from the cigar, the smoke filling his lungs. He held it in for a second and then exhaled, his body loosening up for the first time in a while.

After taking a piece of salted pork offered to him, he grabbed a piece of hard tack from his saddle bag and ate dinner. A man passed him a drink. He sat there, allowing himself to become entranced by the flame.

He was relieved that Fagan would not be nearby to contend further crossing, but there was still Price and the troops fresh from Louisiana to deal with, many of them battle hardened Texas troopers. Maybe he could get all of his men across and avoid a fight. Yet, there was no telling what tomorrow would hold.