m, was an old acquaintance and intimate friend of my
parents, and I too had known him from the time I was quite a little boy.
Take him all in all, he was just one of the best men I ever knew. He had
seen service as a Mexican war soldier, but owing to his youth, being
only about sixteen when that war began, I think he did not get in till
towards the last, and hence his service was short. But he learned
something about company drill. When I heard that Wallace was to be the
first sergeant of Capt. Reddish's company, I made up my mind, right
then, that I would enlist in that company, and told my father I was
going to do so. He listened in silence, with his eyes fixed on the
ground. Finally he said, "Well, Leander, if you think it's your duty to
go, I shall make no objection. But you're the only boy I now have at
home big enough to work, so I wish you'd put it off until we get the
wheat sowed, and the corn gathered. Then, if you're still of the same
mind, it'll be all right." I felt satisfied that the regiment would not
leave for the front until after we had done that work, so I at once
consented to my father's request.

[Illustration: J. O. Stillwell
(Father of Leander Stillwell.)]

An incident happened about this time that greatly stimulated my desire
to get into the army. Harvey Edsall, a neighbor boy some four or five
years my senior, had enlisted that summer in the 22nd Illinois Infantry.
Harvey, with his regiment, was in the battle of Belmont on November 7,
1861, and in the action received a rather severe gun shot wound in the
calf of one of his legs. As soon as he was able to stand the travel, he
was sent home on furlough, and I met him soon after his arrival at his
father's house, where the people had gathered to listen to "the
preaching of the word" by Elder Harrison Rowden. (We had no regular
church building in our immediate neighborhood then, and religious
services were held at private houses.) Harvey was rapidly recovering,
but his wounded leg was still swathed in bandages, and he walked on
crutches. I well remember how we boys stood around and looked at him
with wide-eyed admiration. And he had to tell us the story of the fight,
and all about the circumstances connected with the shot he got in his
leg, until he probably was sick and tired of the subject. But, for my
part, I thought Harvey's story was just grand, and it somehow impressed
me with the idea that the only life worth living was that of