21 February 2024
Hwy 8 & 97, Hwy 46 north of Leola (respectively)
65º partly cloudy with breezes
Even though it will mess up the math of having 52 individual posts on the blog, I’m writing about Marks’ Mills and Jenkins Ferry Battlegrounds together. First because Marks’ Mills is quite small and second because they are the continuation of the battle story started with Poison Springs Battleground of my last post. I’m already stressing about whether I will write three individual poems or if they will end up three parts of one long poem, thus screwing up my math even more. Ah, poet troubles.
Marks’ Mills occupies a thin wedge of land created by the angled intersection of Arkansas highways 8 and 97, northwest of New Edinburg. A small stand of pine trees, saved from the lumber industry that surrounds it, shelters a few picnic tables and three informational placards. Biggest surprise here: this isn’t the actual battleground; instead, the park commemorates the battle that took place roughly a half a mile away on the private land of the Marks family. Again, this battle centered around a wagon train. This time though, it was a train returning to Pine Bluff after resupplying Steele’s Union army at Camden, following the defeat at Poison Springs. Confederates captured over a thousand horses and mules, wagons, ambulances, 4 big guns, and official Union communications. Among the Union train were 300 refugee slaves trying to get north. The Confederate soldiers murdered over 100 of these people.
The placards offer directions if anyone wants to drive the byways back into the woods to visit the actual site. With this history heavy on my heart, I didn’t need to stand on the exact land to feel the weight.
After Poison Springs and Marks’ Mills, and my reading ahead of time, I knew Jenkins Ferry would be another difficult visit, although with a somewhat happier ending, if one can even say that of a battle. At this park, 37 acres of Saline River bottomlands where the river intersects highway 46 northeast of Leola, there are the requisite picnic tables and placards, but the trees turn to oaks along the shoreline, and the river offers its own marking of history. The space provided much needed room to stretch my legs and ramble along the muddy banks.
I stood where the old ferry once ran and revisited the battle. After the overwhelming losses in the previous fights, General Steele took the remains of the Union Army in Arkansas and abandoned Camden to retreat north to Little Rock. It was April, the river flooding. At the site of the ferry, Steele ordered his engineers to construct an India rubber pontoon bridge that the forces used to traverse the waters. Once across, Steele’s men scuttled the pontoons, sinking the safe passage and stranding Confederate forces on the southern side of the Saline. The area was probably much greener then, in April, but the muted February colors gave the place a haunted vibe as I walked, again, on bloodied land.
For me, the happier ending was, of course, the escape of the Union troops. Yes, I am now more Arkansan than Iowan, but I will never be able to see the Confederate side.
Turning away from war, the park rewarded me with more wilderness than the previous two provided. As I finished my tromping through old leaves and scattered trees, I looked down and caught sight of a giant paw print and a small heap of fresh scat. (I’ll spare you the picture of the scat.) While I desperately wanted this to be a bobcat, I saw the claw marks immediately and knew it could not be. Bobcats, like nearly all felines, retract their claws when they walk (because who wants dirty nails!). Once home, I celebrated when I identified the print and scat as coyote. Who knew I would come to love identifying all things wild?
Next up: Louisiana Purchase
