At the age of three, his family moved to Madison, Wisconsin, then to West Union, Iowa in 1847. He was a rather frail boy, but he worked hard on the farm and went to Upper Iowa University when the American Civil War broke out.
He attempted to enlist in the Iowa Infantry twice, but his father put a stop to it as he was too young. Finally, on 24 August 1861 (age 19) he was accepted by Company "C" of the 12th Iowa Infantry as a substitute for another person. He was slightly wounded the second day at Fort Donaldson. Being frail, he was bleeding at the lungs at time of entry into the army, but the Southern climate agreed with him and the outdoor life built him up so when the war was over, he returned home a much stronger man.
His early education was sadly neglected and when the war began he had scarcely a common school education *, but made great advance when at garrison duty, as the soldier boys--many of them were glad of a chance to learn and there were many who were capable and willing to teach--so when he returned home, he had a fair education.
He returned to West Union, Iowa after the war and was married to Sarah J. Eastman, who lived but a little more than a year when she died, leaving a baby a week old. The child lived but 16 months when it also died.
On 1 November 1868, he married Jane Cynthia Babcock while teaching as a principal of the Auburn, Iowa schools for two years, while his wife taught the primary department. He moved to Fredricksburg, Iowa in December when Lynn Arthur was born, but he taught for only one year. His health was still poor enough to require outdoor work so he tried farming. A crop failure discouraged him so he tried teaching once again, this time at Clermont, Iowa. The family lived there three years and a second child, Grace, was born. Soon after he was appointed to fill a vacancy in the county Superintendent's Office, was twice elected thus serving 5 « years. Next, he moved to West Union, Iowa where Claud was born and in 1876, moved to Sumner, Iowa for three years of teaching. At this point he was tired of the job insecurity offered teachers and principals and he moved on back to Clermont and took up the study of law. While he studied he took on a part time job as a salesman for a Chicago book company and in 1880 moved to Humboldt, Iowa as a full pledged lawyer. It was her that their last child was born, Zoe.
In 1885 he sold out and came to Nebraska and took a pre-emption three miles from Neiligh, Nebraska where he lived one year. He was elected county attorney so he moved to the county seat, Pierce, where he lived until 1912 when he moved to Mitchell, Nebraska. Three years earlier (1909) he bought a relinquishment on a homestead two miles north of Mitchell at the urging of one of his son in law's, Jacob Ummel (Zoe's husband), who was working for the U.S. Dept of Reclamation there.
In 1913, his wife died and he moved in with his daughter and son in law, the Ummel's, while still maintaining his law practice. In 1922 he and his other daughter, Grace, were struck by an automobile with the latter dying from injuries while William received but a few bruises.
In July of 1924 (age 82) he again followed his daughter and her husband from Mitchell to Denver, Colorado, and then to Seattle, Washington two years later where Mr. Ummel was in charge of the Pacific Coast and Alaska District of the Reclamation Bureau. He remained there until his death in 1928. His body was reunited with that of his wife's in Mitchell, Nebraska.
*A conflict is acknowledged between this sentence, written by his daughter in law Zella Quivey, and the fact that he entered Upper Iowa University. Two conclusion can be drawn: 1) his daughter in law was in error; or 2) little formal schooling was required by the frontier colleges.
Biography received from:
Michael J. Wilson
4300 S 4800 W, West Valley City UT 84120-4830.
Undated Letter from William White Quivey to his children, Lynn and Zoe
265 Grant Street, Denver, Colorado
To Arthur and Zoe, I have long promised to write for you some of the incidents of my service in the Civil War.
Preliminary, I was born at Charleston, Coles Co. Ill. Lived there until
I was four years old. Then removed to Dane County, Wis.
where I lived until I was nine years old. We then removed to Fayette
Co. Iowa where we settled on a farm five miles west of
West Union. My oldest bro. Daniel T. at the beginning of the war, 22,
William W. 19 and the younger, John C.H. Quivey then 16
past.
I attempted to enlist in the 3d Iowa Infantry, but my father would not
consent, and I was a minor. This was in June 1861. A
Company was enlisted for the 9th Iowa in which I enlisted but was taken
out by my father. In August, a company was enlisted for
the 12th Iowa being mostly students from the upper Iowa University,
as I remember, 85 students.
My bro. John C.H. and I enlisted in the company we were sworn in to
the state service Aug. 24th 1861, drilled for a month on the
campus and then were transferred to Camp Union where we were mustered
into the U.S. Service by Capt. Charles Washington, a
nephew of Gen. Washington. (He later became colonel of the 22d Iowa
and was killed at Vicksburg, Miss.) We drilled until about
Dec., and ordered to Benton Barracks Mo., where we became a part of
Grant's Army.
My first startling experience was the taking my seat after drilling
until tired, upon a bunch of sand burs. Never had seen one
before. Our first military experience was being shot at in the city
of Dubuque. You know it was a disloyal hole. An attempt to
derail us was made near Quincy, Ill. A pilot engine saved us.
Soon thereafter we were sent out to disperse a rebel brigade about 20
miles from St. Louis. It disbanded upon our approach. Grant
had formed his command in regular order with advance and rear guard.
The commander of the advance guard being a lieutenant
by the name Smith. He went into a house and told the woman that he
was General Grant and wanted some supper. He got it. A
few minutes afterwards Grant rode up and asked the lady if she could
give supper to him and his orderly, said he would pay well
for it. She replied No. General Grant has just been here and eaten
up everything that I have in the house, except one pumpkin pie.
Grant had seen the lieutenant leave the house and knew who it was.
He replied, "Will you sell me that pie? Here is 50 cents. My
orderly will come after it." After supper the four regiments were assembled
for orders. Hollow square, the adjutant read,
"Lieutenant Smith, having entered the house of the widow so and so
and eaten everything she had in the house except one pumpkin
pie, it is hereby ordered that he march to the front and center and
eat that pie also." He refused, but there was no appeal. Amid the
jeers of 4,000 men he was compelled to eat it to the last morsel.
The next excitement was the report that our regiment had had a terrible
fight at Cape Girardo, Missouri and had been almost
entirely destroyed. We knew nothing of it until letters pored in on
us from home.
About this time my brother John took the measles. Was taken to the hospital
and did not get back to the regiment until we had been
in the Battle at Smi...land, Kentucky, Fort Henry and Fort Donelson
Tennessee, and had advanced to Shiloh. He hunted me up and
we were much pleased to meet. It was the first time we ever met. While
we were talking, the long roll beat and he fell into line. I
had been wounded at Fort Donelson and my weakness had run into typhoid
fever.
Here I must tell you my dream. I almost never dream, but on the night
of October 4th, I dreamed that my brother John, Daniel and
I were in a terrible fight that we were loading and firing as fast
as we could and presently my brother John disappeared. I seemed
to know that I would never see him again. Daniel and I continued to
load and fire. Later Daniel disappeared and I knew that I
would never see him again. I continued the fight in my dream till I
had driven the rebels all away. John died on the day of my
dream and Daniel just a month afterwards, John dying at Macon, Georgia
and Daniel at Fayette Ville, Arkansas. His grave is 187
in the government cemetery at that place.
>From the time of the Battle of Shiloh until the second battle of Corinth,
we had many fights but they are all historic. I will tell you
of two or three incidents in the second Battle of Corinth. The first
is of a woman and her daughter who lived just back of our line
of battle. Just before the fighting was to commence, the woman and
her daughter who lived in a little house about ten rods south of
our line came out to Sargent Worth of our regiment and told him that
she had no place to get out of the way of the shot except that
if he would call some of his companions and let her down into her well
that it was dry and only 14 feet deep. He did so and the
battle raged all around her house. There were perhaps forty dead rebels
in her yard and twenty five or so of our men. After the
battle was over we went back and pulled them out. The girl came first
and while she was shocked of the sight, seemed to see
nothing more than she had expected. As soon as the mother's head came
above the curb, she screamed and fainted. They caught
her and pulled her over the curb and as soon as she was fully revived,
she pointed to a man lying dead on his gun and said, "That is
my husband." Within a week after the battle we could hear among the
rebels all over the country, that we had brutally shot the
man down in his own yard. It was all true, but he was there fighting
us.
In the same battle, the rebels tried to take Battery Robbinette. They
were attacking it 15,000 strong. They rushed up to the ditch
and before they could cross it, their colors fell. A panic seized them
and they rolled back about 40 rods. They were reinforced by
at least 5,000 and came on again. That time the colors went down again
and their leader, General Rogers seized the colors and
shouted, "Men the fort is ours." He fell dead on the colors. His men
rushed forward to save him and the colors until there were 56
dead men laying on the ground around the general. They have built a
white marble monument on the grave where the 57 men are
buried with the name of the 56 on three sides of the base and that
of the general on the other.
Another matter which came to my attention was that of a boy, a rebel,
about 17 years old whose ankle had been struck by a ten
pound cannon ball. It was all cut away except the cord on the back
of the leg. He wished me to cut that off, but I told him that a
clean cut would bleed much faster than a lacerated one, and to wait
until the surgeon came. I went a little further and in jumping
over a large log, came face to face with a rebel colonel. He showed
fight, but I convinced him that he stood no chance.
As I think you know, I had been wounded at C.F. Smith's charge on Fort
Donelson. I was well recovered by the time of the Battle
of Shiloh, but in the wake of the wound came camp fever which had assumed
a typhoid form before Shiloh. I lay in a sibley tent on
the top of a hill where the 12th Iowa was camped and where my brother
John found me. He had recovered from the measles and
looked fine. He was in fact a fine looking young man. As I was helpless,
I urged him to stay and take care of me. He said he had
never been in a battle and wouldn't like to have the name of staying
out of it. He bade me goodbye and I never saw the splendid
boy again. I lay in the tent and druing the day it was shot full of
holes, perhaps 50. I lay flat down and with that precaution one or
two touched my blankets. About five o'clock when our lines were being
pressed back, a wounded lieutenant saw me in the tent
and asked me why I did not go down over the hill where I would not
be so much exposed. I told him my knee was broken and I
was sick and dizzy and could not do it. He replied, "I will not leave
a comrade in that shape." His left arm was shot below the
elbow. He thrust his right arm under me and holding the left against
me, dragged me down the hill and put me into a wagon. I lay in
the wagon which had been taken down to the river bottom, all night.
The rain was heavy that night. I was drenched and my fever
seemed to be all gone. I had no dry clothes and suffered a chill with
a renewal of the fever. The next morning I looked from my
elevated position upon the wagon upon more than two acres covered with
the wounded. Some lay in the water where it had run
into low places. The battle came on and was in the start for us. Our
army rolled the rebels back with immense slaughter. On the
8th, I with thousands of the disabled were transferred to steam beats
sent down by Governor Dick Yates of Illinois. I was taken to
the 4th and Chesnut Street Hospital where my sister, your Aunt Catherine
found me. There was a mystery as to where she got the
information. I have some memory as to a benevolent looking old man
cross questioning me as to the address of my folks. He got it
and wrote to my father. She came down and nursed me through. I went
into the hospital on the 11th of April and was discharged
from it on the 11th of May, transferred to a steam boat and taken to
McGregor, Iowa where my father met us with a covered
wagon with a bed in it, and about the middle of May was at home. I
was not able to walk until about the middle of June and was
unable to return to the Army until July 19th. I remember that I started
back on my birthday, 20 years old. Found my regiment at
Camp Montgomery near Corinth. Corinth has been characterized as "16
miles square of cemetery". In that way the rebels had
more of it than we did. Their losses had been immense there.
To begin anew, I was soon standing guard. The first definite thing that
I remember was standing picket guard with more than 100
others in an immense rain. Dr. Finley came out upon our return to camp
and gave each one of us a gill of whisky. As the bell rang
for hot coffee for us and I had taken the whisky in my tin cup, I drank
it. It soon made me very dizzy and I felt very much
ashamed of myself. That was my last drink and I think the effect has
entirely worn off.
I remember another time when Dr. Finley brought whisky to us when it
was largely refused. It was when we lay in line of battle
just before the final fight at Corinth. Many of the men said, "No,
I wish to die sober."
In connection with the last, I will relate another incident that will
show how men sometimes feel who are facing death. We know
that soon we would be engaged in one of the most desperate combats
of the war. Jacob Ripley lay near me. He was of a strongly
religious temperment and remarked that he would feel better if he had
been baptized. He asked me what I thought of it. I told him
that if the Lord would damn a man who had lived so good a life as he
had that I would not care to go to heaven. He was killed
within an hour of that time.
Another incident that comes to my mind was the case of a young man who
had lived in the south for some ten years before the
war and spoke the southern lingo, youans, weuns &c) Owing to his
knowing much of the south and his ability to appear to be a
southerner, he was used as a scout and often as a spy. He was sent
into the camp of the rebel General Forrest. He was accepted
as a southerner and was about headquarters for several days. Finally
having got all of the information that he wished, Forrest gave
him a pass and he started for another rebel camp, really for the camp
of the 12th Iowa. He had got past the rebel pickets when he
discovered a rebel company following him and apparently trying to overtake
him. He gradually increased his speed and the rebels
did likewise. They began firing upon him, ultimately killed his horse
and wounded him in the left arm. He darted into an immense
blackberry patch. In that country the blackberry vines grow so high
that in a patch where they are thick, horses cannot make their
way through. He came to an East Tennessee house and as they were mostly
loyal he thought it his last chance and told them that
he was a union scout and added that they could turn him over to Forrest,
or could, if loyal, hide him. A big, barefooted young
woman was the only one at home and she told him that Forrest had hung
her brother the day before, and that they had buried him
that morning. The house was log and she took him and secreted him in
a closet. She remained about the house. He could see
through the cracks and soon the girl's father came into the yard and
told his daughter that Forrest was coming and that he must
hide again. He went down a gulch and in a little time Forrest's men
came in sight. The girl then took a tin pail and went across the
road and went to picking blackberries. Soon went out of sight. As the
second regiment came up a rifle shot rang out and the
colonel fell dead from his horse. The cavalry tried to charge through
the blackberries but could not get through. They dismounted
and after a long search found the girl. She told them that she saw
a man with a gun going up towards the mountain. They finally
went back and picking up the colonel, went on with him in an ambulance.
Sometime later, the girl came into the yard with a pail of
blackberries and her father coming up, as she met him she said in a
low voice, "I got one of them, Dad." That night the father and
the girl, each taking a rifle, went through byways several miles, to
a road that led to our camp.
On the night of October 2, 1862, I was on picket guard at a bridge across
the Tuscumbia River, a small stream. The rebel army
was within a mile of us. There was, on our post, Ed. Bailey, Dan Hasbrouk,
and I. The strange part of this is that Dan Hasbrouk
had lived in Oran Township, Fayette County and had formerly, once or
twice, gone with Mamma. Well, we expected to be
attacked, but were not. But in the first watch of the night, Ed. Bailey
stood, then I and at one o'clock a.m. Dan Hasbrouk came on.
Dan had got some whisky and as neither Ed or I drank, he had to use
it all and got quite drunk. When he went on post he was quite
sleepy and leaning on his gun with his right arm and holidng the gun
with the left, he went to sleep, staggered and dragged it over a
vine. It went off and the bullet went through his right arm severing
all of the arteries and veins on the front side. The shock
knocked him down. I had just got into my first sleep and as I was near
him the wounded arm came into my face. The first thing I
felt was the warm blood, in my face. I pushed him off and said, "Who
shot you, Dan?" You know there is a severe penalty for
going to sleep on the post. He coined a lie in an instant, he said
a man rose up on the bridge and shot me. When that blood came
into my face, I was badly frightened, expecting to see a half dozen
bayonets pointing at me. But there was nothing, no sound
except the scurrying of muskrats into the river. I reasoned it over.
The shot seemed very near to me. Hunted his gun up where he
had dropped it and concluded that it was self inflicted. An accident
caused by whisky. Ed and I agreed not to betray him and as the
second battle of Corinth came on the next day and more than half of
our company was killed or wounded, he passed as wounded
in the battle. He was a good soldier when sober.
On the fifth a few of the warm friends of Jake Ripley buried him. He
was a grand man a sergeant and in line for promotion. His
father came down the next week and brought a metalic coffin and took
him home.
Up to this date from the time of our departure from St. Louis to this
battle we had been incessantly either fighting or maneuvering
for position but soon after this a demand was made on our regiment
for twenty men to go on detached duty as gunners in Battery
"K" 1st Mo. Light Artillery. It required those having some knowledge.
As the place was less laborious than an Infantry man's work
and we could keep cleaner, I was one who accepted and went into the
battery. I was soon sick of the change. Company "C" 12th
Iowa was one of the best companies in the service and we found Battery
"K" to be one of the worst. There were some 70 Irish
R.R. men, all Catholic and continually fighting among themselves. We
had the good fortune to have a young collegian of our
number who was trained for the Ring and who could whip any of them.
He told us to stand by him and prevent their doubling up on
him and he would do the rest. They tried the doubling up process and
after they found that we would use our guns for fair play and
after Cornish had whipped about twenty of them, they kept hands off.
Once, however, when the rest of us were on duty, they tried
the doubling up process, and he used his gun, shot three of them. They
got well, but let us severely alone. If the 12th Iowa
company savored of Heaven, then Battery K would certainly represent
Hell.
To show the Company C character, I will relate an instance that occurred
after we left it. It was the battle of Tupalo. The 12th
held the key to our position. They lost 47 men killed and about 150
wounded. The Rebs fled. Company C had always had a
Thursday evening prayer meeting. After the fighting ceased, the company
took care of its wounded, buried its dead, got their
suppers and then late at night had their prayer meeting. It was a very
solemn affair.
One more instance of their service and I will switch to Battery K. The
12th were sent to the mouth of White River Arkansas to
prevent Reb boats running up the river. They stayed there until it
was deemed safe to leave two companies of the 12th there and
sending the rest to Vicksburg. Soon after they left, leaving Company
A and F there to guard the river, a union man came in and
informed them that a regiment was coming to capture them, 54 men in
all. They constructed a stockade of logs and had got it
complete except the entry 20 feet wide. They worked until it was too
dark to work and laid down pulling off their pants. It was
August and warm. They had not expected an attack so soon, but on the
morning at dawn about 400 men came charging upon
them. They had no time to dress, but buckled on their cartridge boxes
over their shirts and proceeded to the unequal contest. The
charging regiment rushed for the gate and the belleagured held their
fire for short hand work. It lasted about thirty minutes. A and
F had lost about fifteen and the gate was piled full of killed and
wounded. They had lost in killed and wounded over sixty. A and F
has but 54 muskets. The Rebels fled.
Reverting to the battery, our duty was with an infantry support to guard
the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, and to take care of
Forrest's cavalry. We chased them all over west Tennessee and northern
Mississippi. Early in the Spring of 1863 we were ordered
to Helena, Arkansas as part of Grant's Army. At this time I was offered
a commission as Lieutenant in a Negro Regiment. My
father objected and I declined it. Father's words seemed prophetic.
He wrote me that the Rebels, having their slaves arrayed
against them, would resort to massacres and all that to intimidate
them. The battalion to which I would have belonged was
butchered to a man, officers and men.
We proceeded to Helena, becoming a part of General B.M. Prentiss's division
to keep the Mississippi open for navigation. The
new men were trained to handle a 10 pound cannon. We had many skirmishes
and finally on July 4th, 1863, the Rebels attacked us
18,000 strong. The captain stationed my piece upon the Levee. That
is the embankment that holds the Mississippi River back.
Helena is five or six feet below high water mark and is held back by
a dyke 8 feet high and 8 rods wide. We stood on that
embankment and fired until our guns were almost red hot, then pumped
water into them until they were cool and then used them
again. As I was operating this gun, the Rebels ran a gun onto the top
of the hill into a grave yard that is more than a hundred years
old. We turned loose on them and in a few minutes they seemed wildly
excited. We learnt afterwards that when our shells
exploded they knocked the tombstones and monuments to pieces so that
their men were cut and bruised by the fragments to such a
degree that they had to abandon the place. They retreated at 1 p.m.
Just as we took 3,000 prisoners that we had got cornered, we heard the
screaming of an express boat coming up the river and
upon its arrival, we learnt that Grant had captured Vicksburg with
35,000 prisoners at the same time we were marching 3,000
prisoners on board of boats that we had just captured.The Rebels beat
a disorderly retreat. We followed capturing more prisoners
and picking up many wounded who had been deserted in their disorderly
retreat. We began preparations to advance on Little Rock
and September 7th took it. In the battle on the 7th, we had an artillery
duel across the Arkansas River, giving them a decided
defeat. The Rebels deserted the city and all they had in it. As they
deserted their guns and fled, the 10th Illinois Cavalry charged
them and took many prisoners. As they charged through the retreating
horde, a rifleman of theirs shot Major Brown who was the
son of Emily Brown, (formerly Olmstead). I can't forbear relating an
incident that I witnessed as we advanced into the streets of
the City. We halted in the street in front of a hotel. As we stood
there, a Rebel Colonel came out on the porch of the second story
as he saw our blue uniforms, he rubbed his eyes, looked up and down
the street. The Colonel in command of us ordered him down.
He continued to stare and finally broke out with the exclamation, "By
God, the beats Rip VanWinkle to go to bed in the
Confederate States and to wake up in the United States." He had been
drunk and had slept through the battle.
I was in several excursions up the Arkansas River as far as Fort Smith.
And was in many small fights and skirmishes. Was
discharged from the 12th Iowa January 1st 1864. Enlisted in Battery
K 1st Mo. on the 3d and served in it to August 4th, 1865,
when I was discharged by reason of the end of the war. Our battery
took part in the expedition down to Alexandria, La and did
some hard fighting. I was not with them as I was absent on furlough.
Southern Ill was so disloyal that we were directed to take our
revolvers with us which we did. We tried to leave our guns with the
Provost Marshall at Cairo, but they ordered us to load them
and keep them with us. We knew that the Knights of the Golden Cirdle
had killed several soldiers and we had only to go up the
Illinois Central Railroad to Williamson Company to be made to see the
wisdom of the order. We stopped at a wood station and as
we pulled in we saw a large number of men gathered around the little
depot. There were five of us and General Mower was on
the train with us. They shouted, "Kill the damned Lincoln Hirelings,"
and General Mower took out his watch and said, "If one of
this mob is left in this car, he will be shot dead." Then to us, "Aim
so as to kill as many as possible." They went out of the Car with
such a rush that they trampled some of their number so that they had
to be carried out. General Mower then went out on the
platform with us and told them that if there was a jeer or insult offered
as we started on that he would open fire on them. They
were as still as death.
The battery, as a part of a force of 1,000 men made its 4th and last
raid through western Arkansas to Fort Smith. We had in this
raid some startling experiences. The Rebs drove our wagon train back,
but failed to capture it. This left us without rations for more
than ten days. We were put on quarter rations. As our armies had captured
nearly all of Price's Army, we were ordered back to
Little Rock. We had already crossed the Boston Mountains. To recross
and reach rations was a labor of ten days on quarter
rations. At the end of the tenth, we knew that were close to relief.
We were out of the hills and had clear marching. Camped near
Profile Rock on the bank of the river, Guerillas ascended the Rock
and fired across at us but one shot from one of our 10 pounders
dispersed them. We were camped on a big well kept plantation. I was
hungry and having seen several of our men run into well
kept Negro quarters where there were kept a large number of slaves,
I went in. One of the Old Aunties gave me what they called
a hoecake. It was ample for two meals, but as we were not certain of
rations before the next day, I ate half and kept the rest for
the next meal. These were two of the best meals that I had in the Army.
We arrived at the camp safely. You would have been
surprised at the fortitude of the nearly starving men. During our preparation
to march in the mornings we frequently heard the
soldiers say one to another, well, how many holes have you shortened
your sword belt, today?
All of the rest of our time was spent in camp and in preparation correspondence,
aprising our friends of the glad news of our
discharge. We were taken North and on the 4th of August, 1865, discharged.
Finally, let me say, that while I did not make a great record in the
Army, I did make a good one. I was never under arrest, but
once. Then I slipped away from the guard and they did not even get
my name. My home was never the same any more. Before
my enlistment we were a jolly crowd of twelve. Grandfather Olmstead
had died. My two brothers left with the dead in the South.
My sister Almira had died and all seemed new and strange.
This is all that can be told, in a small degree, connecting it with the history of my service.
Aff'ty,
Papa