Rearguard Action At Jenkins' Ferry

Iowa soldiers covering the retreat at Jenkins Ferry

Jenkins’ Ferry wasn’t a battle anyone went looking for. It happened because the Union army was tired, short on food, soaked to the bone, and trying to get out of southern Arkansas without being destroyed.

The trouble started weeks earlier with the Camden Expedition. The plan looked good on paper. A Union force would move south from Little Rock, link up with other columns tied to the Red River Campaign, and tighten the squeeze on Confederate Arkansas. In reality, it was a gamble. Supplies were thin. Roads barely deserved the name, as spring rain turned everything into mud and muck.

Iowa regiments made up a big part of the force. They knew what campaigning in the Trans-Mississippi looked like, and they knew it was usually miserable. This one got bad faster than expected.

Wagons bogged down. Horses dropped. Rations shrank. Foraging parties were sent out farther and farther, and Confederate cavalry punished them for it. Two Union supply trains were wiped out in separate fights. That was the breaking point. Without food or ammunition, there was no way to stay where they were, so the order came to fall back toward Little Rock.

Brigadier General Frederick Steele

Retreats are dangerous even when they’re well planned. This one wasn’t.

Confederate forces pressed the column. Rain fell almost nonstop. Streams overflowed. Roads vanished. Men marched soaked, slept soaked, and woke up soaked. Shoes fell apart. Blankets rotted. Iowa regiments kept getting shoved into the rear of the column because they could be trusted to hold. That job got harder as the army neared the Saline River.

By the time the Union column reached Jenkins’ Ferry, the river was swollen and ugly. Fording it was impossible. Engineers rushed to throw together a pontoon bridge, but it took time. Until the crossing was finished, the army was stuck with the river at its back and the Confederates closing in.

Everyone knew a fight was coming.

It started early on April 30. The ground around Jenkins’ Ferry was a swampy mess. Mud grabbed boots and pulled men down. Water stood in low spots. Thick woods broke up lines and swallowed sound. Keeping the units aligned was nearly impossible.

Several Iowa regiments formed the backbone of the rear guard. Their job was brutal and simple. Hold. Don’t break. Buy time.

The fighting didn’t explode all at once. Skirmish fire snapped in the trees first. Men fired at movement more than targets. Officers admitted they couldn’t tell how strong the attacks were, only that they were coming closer, and that uncertainty wore on everyone.

As Confederate pressure increased, the rear guard line thickened. Iowa units were fed into gaps as they opened. Companies were pointed straight toward the firing. Packs were dropped. Muskets came up. Letters home talked about how fear faded into habit. Bite the cartridge. Prime. Fire. Ram. Fire again.

Iowa soldiers fighting at Jenkins Ferry

The first Confederate attacks came through the trees and the mud, half seen and poorly formed. Union soldiers fired from behind rough defenses built out of logs, rails, and whatever else could be dragged into place. Muskets didn’t like the rain. Damp powder caused their guns to misfire. Men snapped caps twice, sometimes three times, before a shot finally went off.

The mud changed everything. It swallowed knees and yanked boots loose. Men slipped while loading and finished ramming cartridges from the ground. Some fired kneeling in water because standing wasn’t possible. Official reports noted that the mud slowed Confederate attacks, but it punished the defenders just as badly.

The 2nd Iowa Infantry held their ground through multiple attacks. Ammunition burned away fast. Barrels grew hot. Smoke pressed low and thick. The fighting closed up until there wasn’t much space between the lines. Orders were shouted, repeated, lost, and guessed at. When cartridges ran low, ammunition was passed hand to hand along the line.

As pressure mounted, the 13th Iowa was pushed forward. Getting into position was a fight by itself. Mud pulled at their legs. Men stumbled and cursed. Once in line, they fired into Confederate troops pushing out of the timber. Casualties came quick. Wounded men fell into the water and couldn’t move. Many had to be left where they were. Many soldiers remembered stepping over friends without being able to stop.

The 29th Iowa stepped into a fight that was already out of control. Smoke stung eyes and lungs. Vision was limitless. Units blended together. Men took orders from officers they didn’t know because there was no other choice. The line bent and shifted, but it never broke.

Brigadier General Samuel Rice

Officers walked the line, shouted encouragement, and corrected fire. In some spots, officers practically ran the muskets themselves, keeping men firing when exhaustion set in.

The Confederates attacked in waves, hoping one would crack the line before the Union army escaped across the river. The mud worked against them. Attacks lost momentum. Formations broke apart. Men arrived in clumps instead of ranks. Iowa troops learned to wait. They held fire, let the attackers struggle forward, then fired hard at close range and refused to move.

Artillery was hard to use in that mess, but when guns could be dragged forward, they mattered. Even a few rounds helped. Shells tore gaps in the advancing Confederate lines and bought precious minutes. Iowa infantry stayed tight to the guns, knowing how easily they could be overrun.

Ammunition ran low as the morning wore on. Men scavenged cartridges from the ground and fallen comrades. Some fired captured Confederate rounds not knowing if they’d fit properly.

The dead and wounded lay everywhere. Many were cold, soaked, and slowly sinking into the mud. Surgeons worked nearby, fighting a losing battle of their own.

All the while, the rest of the army was crossing the Saline behind them. Wagons creaked over the pontoon bridge. Guns rolled across. Tired infantry passed through in silence. The rearguard stayed in place, fighting and holding. Everyone in the line understood what they were buying with every minute they held.

When it was time to pull back, Iowa units did it the hard way. One part of the line fell back while another stayed put. Then they switched. Step by step. Under fire. No running. No panic.

By early afternoon, the Confederates broke off the attack. They’d lost too many men and hadn’t broken through. The last Iowa troops crossed the river. As the engineers pulled the bridge apart behind them, the men collapsed on the far bank, too tired to speak. The army was battered, but alive.

That ended the Camden Expedition. Nothing to show for weeks of marching and fighting. Just sore feet, empty stomachs, and long casualty lists. But Jenkins’ Ferry kept it from becoming a disaster.

Jenkins’ Ferry didn’t win the war or change the map, but it showed what Iowa soldiers had become by 1864. They could fight while retreating, and hold under pressure. Even when everything else was falling apart, they made sure the army didn’t.