A Demon In Human Form: The Van Winkle Murders At Fairport

Harry Jones

“Sometime during the night,” reported the Muscatine Journal, “a demon in human form visited the home of Mr. and Mrs. Will Van Winkle.”

By daylight on December 4, 1907, Fairport knew they weren’t exaggerating. William and Anna Van Winkle lay dead on the bedroom floor, beaten until their skulls gave way. Blood soaked the bedding, streaked the walls, and pooled darkly on the floorboards. It wasn’t a clean kill. It was violence that left nothing to misunderstand.

The Van Winkles were young, broke, and new to married life. William, 23, was a section hand for the Rock Island railroad, one of dozens of men who spent their days swinging tools along frozen track. Anna was twenty. They’d been married four months and lived in a drafty little home that barely deserved to be called one. They had no money, no enemies, and no business dying the way they did.

People knew almost immediately who’d done it. Or who they thought had done it.

The 6th Iowa Infantry And The War That Wouldn’t End

The 6th Iowa Infantry found itself stalled in the mud and muck

The 6th Iowa Infantry, organized in the summer of 1861, was drawn largely from Johnson, Linn, Cedar, Scott, and Muscatine counties. The recruits ranged from teenagers to men in their forties, many of whom enlisted alongside relatives or longtime neighbors.

The regiment mustered in at Camp Ellsworth in Keokuk, where weapons and uniforms were scarce to nonexistent. The Keokuk Gate City worried Iowa’s first regiments were being sent forward faster than the state could properly equip and train them.

 

Private Ezra L. Brown of Company D echoed that sentiment in a letter home. “We march and halt,” he said, “until our legs do not care which comes next.” What made it harder was the officers were no help. Many of them were learning their duties alongside the enlisted men.

Colonel Milo Smith: He Led From the Front

Milo Smith was living in Iowa when the call for volunteers went out in 1862. That summer he helped raise the 26th Iowa Infantry, a regiment drawn largely from eastern Iowa counties along the Mississippi River. The men elected Smith colonel, a decision Iowa papers treated as practical rather than sentimental. The Clinton Herald said he was “steady and methodical in the discharge of duty, attentive alike to discipline and the welfare of his command.” But that might not have been the complete story. A soldier’s letter in The Morning Democrat said the officers of the 26th were all “well liked, especially our Colonel, Milo Smith, who goes around among the men like a father.”

 

The 26th Iowa was mustered into federal service in September 1862 and sent south almost immediately. The regiment traveled downriver into Arkansas as part of Union efforts to secure the Mississippi River system and suppress Confederate positions along its tributaries.

 

The regiment’s first major engagement came in January 1863 at Fort Hindman, commonly known as Arkansas Post. The Confederate fort guarded the Arkansas River and posed a continuing threat to Union supply traffic on the Mississippi. Union commanders determined to remove it, assembling a combined force of infantry and gunboats for the attack.

Iowa's John Murray Corse: He Stayed On The Field After Part Of His Jaw Was Shot Off

John Murray Corse helped raise the 6th Iowa Infantry and was elected major because the men thought he’d stand firm when the shooting started.

At Shiloh, in April 1862, the 6th Iowa was dumped into a fight that made no sense and stayed that way for two days. Corse was shot in the leg early and stayed on the field anyway. The Davenport Democratsaid he “refused to leave his command while the engagement continued.” In his official report, Corse said the combat was “severe beyond any former experience,” which is about as emotional as he got on paper.

Promotion followed. Corse became a colonel, then a brigadier general, commanding a brigade thick with Iowa regiments—the 6th, 7th, 19th, and 20th. He drilled them hard, and expected order and discipline. The Muscatine Journal said he was  “exacting to the point of severity.” None of that bothered Corse. His men didn’t have to like him. They just had to move when told.

In 1864, he rode with Sherman in the March to the sea. In October, Confederate General John Bell Hood tried to rip out Sherman’s supply line at Allatoona Pass. Corse’s brigade was in the way. Hood demanded surrender. Corse declined. In his report, he said he informed the enemy he was prepared for the assault.

Iowa Soldiers in Sherman's Atlanta Campaign

The Fifteenth Iowa marching south from Chattanooga

General William T. Sherman told his commanders the Atlanta campaign would be “continuous,” a contest of endurance rather than brilliance. “We must wear out the enemy,” he said, “by persistent fighting.” Sherman said the army would advance “step by step, feeling for the enemy and pressing him whenever found.” The Davenport Democrat warned readers this would be “not a dash, but a grind,” while the Burlington Hawk-Eye called it “war stripped of romance and fought by inches.”

The Iowa regiments were deeply woven into Sherman’s armies. The Second, Seventh, Eighth, Eleventh, Fifteenth, Sixteenth, Twentieth, Twenty-fourth, Twenty-sixth, Thirty-first, Thirty-second, and Thirty-third Iowa Infantry marched south with the Army of the Tennessee and the Army of the Ohio. Many were veterans, hardened by Shiloh, Corinth, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga. Sherman said the western regiments had “learned to endure what would break others,” and Iowa officers understood this campaign would test that endurance daily. Private James H. Pierce of Company D, Twentieth Iowa, wrote home during the opening march that “we are feeling the enemy every day. There is no rest. We march, halt, throw up works, and fight, and then do it again.”

 

Colonel William W. Belknap of the Fifteenth Iowa said the work ahead would be “constant skirmishing, heavy labor with the spade, and frequent loss without decisive action.” The Dubuque Herald seized on the line, telling readers it was “a truer picture of the campaign than any glowing headline,” warning Iowa families the war had entered its most exhausting phase.

Forty-Seven Days Under Fire: The 26th Iowa Infantry at Vicksburg

Union troops fighting in the trenches outside of Vicksburg

The 26th Iowa Infantry was officially mustered into federal service in September 1862. Its companies came primarily from Clinton, Jackson, Dubuque, Scott, and surrounding eastern Iowa counties. Muster rolls show an average age in the mid-twenties, with a noticeable number of teenagers and men in their thirties who left families behind. An Iowa editor said the regiment appeared made up of “men more accustomed to tools than to arms,” who carried themselves with seriousness rather than excitement.

 

Training at Camp McClellan in Davenport was hurried. The papers said the state was sending men south faster than they could be fully prepared. The Davenport Democrat warned readers the new regiments would “learn the war by meeting it,” not by drilling safely behind the lines.

Jacob G. Lauman, Iowa's Forgotten General

General James G. Lauman

Jacob G. Lauman was born in Maryland, but Iowa shaped him. He settled in Burlington years before the war, working in construction and business, known locally as steady and exacting. When the first calls for volunteers echoed across the state in 1861, Lauman stepped forward quickly. The Burlington Hawk-Eye said he joined “with no flourish and no delay, as one who understands that duty does not require applause.”

He helped raise the 7th Iowa Infantry and was elected its colonel. That mattered. In those early regiments, men chose leaders they trusted to keep their heads when smoke and fear took over. A private said, “We wanted a man who would stand still when the air was full of lead. Lauman did.”

 

The 7th Iowa went south early and learned the war in fragments—quick marches, sharp fights, confusion that never quite matched the maps. At Belmont, Missouri, in November 1861, the regiment saw its first actual combat. Confederate fire cracked through the thick woods along the Mississippi. Men lost sight of the officers within seconds. Smoke turned the trees into shadows.

 

A soldier in the 7th said, “We fought in a fog of powder and noise, firing at shapes that moved and sometimes at nothing at all.” Lauman stayed mounted longer than most officers dared, riding between companies and shouting orders that barely carried. The Dubuque Times said Colonel Lauman “exposed himself freely and seemed indifferent to danger so long as his men held.”