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The Memoirs of
Dr. Robert J. Christie
(June 17, 1831--July 27, 1909)
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GRANDPA CHRISTIE'S
MEMOIRS
To comply with the requests of some of my grandchildren the
following memoirs were written, well knowing that they could be of
little interest to any but them. The facts and impressions were drawn
entirely from memory, but may be taken as truthful narration, so far as
memory, after forty years can be depended upon.
Hoping that in the far future they may find pleasure in reading this
life sketch of their grandfather, with a grandparent's good wishes
that shall last as long as these memoirs, to my grandchildren they are
lovingly dedicated.
(Signed) R. J. Christie, Sen.
Quincy, Illinois
April 3, 1909.
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Introduction:
July, 1997:
I would like to express my appreciation to Robert J. Christie, IV, for his
gracious loan of a priceless family heirloom, his Great-Grandfather's
Memoirs. I have been told that this particular copy was typed by Dr.
Christie's own secretary, and that it was proofed and signed by Dr.
Christie, himself, less than four months before his death.
It has been my goal to reproduce the text of that volume as faithfully as
I possibly could. I have retained Dr. Christie's peculiarities of
punctuation, and certain odd spellings as well. Changes were made only to the
most obviously unintentional errors. Two types of endnotes have been added to
this edition. Those marked "(MF)" have been generated from
genealogical information in my possession, gathered from family sources.
Those marked "(C/R)" are from the Christie/Robbins edition, titled
In the Western Theatre. And I have included in an Appendix to this
edition, a few other writings relevant to Dr. Christie, his wife, and their
experience of the Civil War.
Michael Flanagan
April, 1998:
In publishing Dr. Christie's Memoirs to the Internet, I have added a
table of Contents. The chapter titles that appear here, were not supplied by
Dr. Christie. They are my inventions, and are added with the intention of
providing an additional aid to the navigation of this lengthy document.
© 1997-1998
Michael Flanagan
Send e-Mail to the Editor
2004 Wilmar Drive
Quincy, IL 62301
Contents:
Part Second:
Return to the Contents
The Memoirs of Dr. Robert J. Christie
Chapter I
I was born in the Valley of Virginia, the Valley Beautiful, on the banks
of the Opequon, in the month of June (17th.) 1831, when the roses and clover
fields were in full bloom. From year to year, until I left the dear Valley to
become a citizen of the far West, the beauties and promise of June insensibly
impressed my young mind and heart, so that as I grew up, I derived pleasure
from matters of art, whether in eloquence, music, sculpture or, in fact,
anything as rare and beautiful as June.
Strong was the call of the wild woods to me. I knew where the hawks
nested. I knew the old hollow trees where the owls drowsed through the day. I
could go now and find the cunning birds nests in brakes and thickets, for, if
they have been undisturbed as they were then, their progeny love to nest and
carol there still. Then the lure of the creek and swimming hole! The inviting
call of Bob White to the meadow and clover fields! What a joy to wallow in
knee-deep clover, as free from care and trouble as Lotus Eaters "on beds
of Aramanth and Molly". Was young life so happy? Or does distance lend
enchantment to the view? Not altogether so. There was the fear of snakes
lurking near the most tempting berries, the dread of haunted places, which
the negroes would warn us to keep away from. And the mortal fear of the old
time school-teacher. He furnished no blackboard or instruments of
demonstration to help along. Instead of these, there was always conspicuous
before our eyes a supply of tough switches. With fear and trepidation we had
to recite our lessons.
With me, though more fortunate than many, I had a
double share of apprehension. My oldest sister(1), two years younger than myself, timid and shrinking,
was always in mortal dread, and in my childish weakness, I suffered for both
of us. Poor sister Jane, long beyond the reach of cruelty! So gentle and
kindly! She never merited, nor had to suffer hardly so much as a frown at our
home. Of such as she - "the pure in heart" it is written "they
shall see God". But I, who write this, know better than anyone what an
unspeakable sorrow the ending of her young life caused us.
It is strange that our kind forefathers would permit such school-keeping;
but there were bad boys then, as there always will be, I fear, who will
require vigorous discipline, and those of different temperament, unfairly,
had to suffer.
The present generation of children should be glad of the evolution,
revolution indeed, which has taken place since then. May I narrate a
fortunate accident that befell me on the way to one of these schools? One of
the worst of such schools. I had been going on crutches for some weeks on
account of a badly wrenched and sprained ankle, until I could race with any
of the boys, albeit my injury would not permit raising the foot. Father was
taking me to school behind him on horseback. At a very narrow place between
the fence and a tree, I told father to look out or he would catch my foot.
Unfortunately, for the time being he thought of the wrong foot and so crowded
the injured one over against the tree, giving it a severe wrench. It was very
painful for awhile. He thought he had done me great harm, but in a few days I
was able to throw aside the crutches and have never used them since.
Since becoming a doctor I have known of an eminent surgeon who constructed
a chair for such cases of joint stiffness, that would fall to pieces by
touching a spring and loosen up the joint. The patient was placed in this
chair innocently, supposing he was being prepared for examination; suddenly
the chair would fall to pieces in such a way as to disrupt the contractions
about the joint. The plan was surprisingly effective. We have improved upon
that method since.
In those early days, boys of my age had their little love affairs, their
little concealed affections - little heart secrets, to give place in their
after years to more serious matters of like kind, then to be laid away with
other childish things and be forgotten. I need not enlarge upon this subject.
Every older girl or boy, from personal experience, can complete the
story.
From our prehistoric ancestors, who, from the conditions of their
environments, followed the chase for subsistence, we have doubtless, with
certain animals inherited the hunting instinct or passion. This desire to
hunt manifests itself in boys, as I can testify. How many times I have begged
my father to go hunting with me, with but little success, as he had other
matters to attend to and had outgrown the passion. Whitsuntide Monday, the
day for squirrel hunting, I looked forward to with as much pleasurable
anticipation as the 4th of July. The killing of the game was above
my class, but the thrill of hearing the dogs tree, the excitement attending
the locating and shooting, was a pleasure that only a boy can realize. It was
a great privilege to carry the game home.
When old enough to be allowed to go night hunting, what a time we had when
we could get colored 'Lias to take his dogs and go with us. No ancestor
of his in the wilds of darkest Africa ever had more complete command of his
followers than had he on these hunts. His word was law, his commands were
unquestioned, we, for the time being were his obedient subjects. Out in the
deep woods in the gloom of night, there was no question of color. The line
was invisible. We boys yielded the question of rank: 'Lias and his dogs
were our superiors - we, privileged privates, eager only for the sport and
safe in his protection. Faithful 'Lias! I have often wondered what became
of him in the cruel war, when so many of his kind were ground between the
upper and nether millstone.
Was there ever a boy under twelve that could venture alone deep in the
woods at night? To a boy there is something so awful and fearful in the
loneliness. The rustle of the leaves, the snapping of limbs, the hoot of the
owl, and especially the barking of the fox, strike terror to his heart. Even
the great, silent trees are alive and ghostly. In such presence he would need
no warning to be good. He would feel his helplessness and insignificance as
if alone in the very infinitude of space. Even older boys are not exempt from
such dread. When about twelve or thirteen I tested my courage by an adventure
in the night.
Kane's Lane was one of the places which tradition had held to be one
scene of bloody murders, and therefore was haunted by the avenging spirits of
the dead. Kane's Woods, about a half mile from our house, was the
particular chosen ground for the meeting of all the spirits, ghosts, and
witches of the air, invisible only in the light of day, but discernible
clearly in the night by a certain class, chiefly negroes. Awful groans and
screams from tormented shades had made the night in these dark woods,
hideous, while in the very darkest depths of the forest, rarely seen by boys
in broad daylight, and then approached with halting steps for but a glimpse,
was supposed to be a dreadful swamp wherein many a poor soul has been lured
and lost. Jack with the Lantern was abroad there from dark till dawn. He was
not a mere phosphorescent flash, but a real Will o' the Wisp. To all of
us younger boys it was a tera incognita, which no boyish curiosity could
tempt us to explore.
One October night, such as would appeal to a twelve year old boy's
hunting instinct, I teased father to go hunting with me. He had outgrown the
passion, especially after a day's toil, and I was peremptorily refused;
then I said I would go by myself. The whole household bantered me to go -
insisted on my going, feeling sure, of course, that I would not attempt so
rash a prank. They said "Go out in the garden or orchard: maybe you can
tree something."
I said, "I am going to Kane's Woods."
They said, "By all means, go."
And I went. When I got started with the dogs, away from the house, the
terrors of the night came upon me, but I had accepted the banter, and my
Scotch Irish resolution impelled me onward.
It was such a night as would call up the spirits from the "Vasty
Deep." The nearer I got to the woods, the more I seemed to be intruding
on the domain of the unearthly. Even the dogs hesitated. The moon was near
the full: the sky was clear: the air frosty. Cautiously and noiselessly we
entered the woods. All sounds were magnified: the rustle of the leaves, the
tramp of the dogs, all seemed to have warning significance. The moonbeams
seemed sportively playing over the ground, and the rugged trees appeared to
be animate; so different from the insensate objects of day. I was thrilled
with awe. I think the familiar warning words, "Verily, verily I say unto
you", verbigerated(2) continuously in my
ears. Two hundred yards was the utmost of my venture. That satisfied me that
game was not abroad, and I called off the hunt. It was not so much for the
game that I went; anyhow I had got more than a bag of opossums. I had
established the reputation at home for resolution and courage, more really
than I deserved, for I am sure I travelled faster coming than going. Years
after, when I had outgrown the fear of graveyards and haunted places, I
explored this dismal swamp and found it to be a very small affair. If any boy
of twelve thinks that I have magnified the matter, let him try it. Many a man
who has rushed with forlorn hope into "the immanent and deadly
breach", can remember such foreboding terrors, that seem trivial in
after years.
Unfortunate Wallie! Devoted friend and companion of my tender years! How
many a romp we had, and rabbit hunt in the frosty mornings! For this sport we
were both ready and eager. What a proud pair we were when we could display
the trophies of our excursion, even on forbidden ground! Though only a
Newfoundland dog, we understood each other so well that language was
superfluous. He would greet me with glad fondling when I returned from
school. He almost seemed to take an interest in my education. He would have
given his life freely, for my defense, as it was sacrificed at last for
defending our household. A mad dog came along. He bit our dogs, and Wallie
fought him and drove him off. It was well known that the dog had rabies, as
was shown afterwards, by everything bitten by him taking the disease. The
other two dogs were disposed of without much regret - with Wallie it was
different. The best marksman in the neighborhood was secured to shoot him;
unfortunately, it was not a fatal shot. He had to be followed, crippled as he
was, and shot to death in a cruel way.
It has been my lot to see people killed since then, but never such a
friend. I realized poignantly, as only a boy can, the remorseless fate that
befell him. Years after, I visited, from a far land, the place where he was
laid, but not a bone was left. I believe if there had been, I would have
taken care of it, but I shall remember him as inseparable from the
associations of my boyhood.
It is with pleasurable emotions that my mind reverts to the incidents of
my child life. I can remember with what soporific effect the chirp! chirp! of
the Autumn Cicada had on me, when riding behind my father, on the way home
through the woods, after nightfall. No nocturne or lullaby could now have the
power to creep over my mind and senses and lull me into a half sleeping, half
waking, dreamful somnolence, as did the night chanters of those days. Happy
days! No king or general ever felt more secure, when surrounded by his
legions, than did I when at home, under the protecting care and love of a
dear good father and mother. I trust I have never forgotten to honor them in
all these long years.
Around the old-fashioned fireplace the family would gather after the
day's work was done and talk of current matters incident to the times and
neighborhood, until the time arrived for us children to be stowed away for
the night in warm trundle-beds. Sometimes the talk was of politics: sometimes
of the past, when Aunt Mary, who kept in careful remembrance stories and
anecdotes told by my grandfather and grandmother, who came from Londonderry,
Ireland, would repeat them to us for our amusement. I still remember some of
them. One ran as follows: A poor Irishman who happened at dinner time to be
at the residence of well-to-do people, was asked to have dinner with the
family. They had pudding and a bowl of fine cream sauce for the desert. The
bowl happened to be near the visitor. He began to drink the sauce; they said,
"Won't you have some pudding with the sauce?" He innocently
said, "No, thank you, this is plenty good enough for me."
Another: After the defeat of the Irish at the battle of the Boyne, some of
them, in order to make terms with the victorious English, affiliated with the
English church. One Irish woman accordingly purchased a book of family
religious exercises as she supposed. The book-seller, for the joke, sold her
a book of military exercises. She took it home. Not being able to read, her
husband who could, at the morning exercises read the supposed prayers and she
improvised the responses. It happened that he opened the book at the drill
for firing. On their knees, devoutly, he began, "Attention
Company!"
She said, "Lord, may we always be attentive".
He:- "Front Face!"
She:- "Lord, may we always have a good face."
"Make ready!"
"Lord, may we always be ready."
"Aim!"
: "Lord, may we ever aim right."
"Fire!"
: "Lord, Jamie! The break of the Boyne is not out of your heed
yet."
So ended the first lesson.
Our family being mainly Scotch Irish, such stories appealed to their love
of the humorous and were, therefore, readily handed down to us through many
generations without losing their flavor, or our relish for them. In a quiet
graveyard near their home in Missouri(3) are
three marble stones that mark the graves of Father, Mother and good old Aunt
Mary. They lie close together. They were dutiful and faithful to each other
in life, and their goodness links them together in the memory of their
posterity, whom they loved so well.
Return to the Contents
Chapter II
When I was eight or nine years old, the last of the old revolutionary
soldiers were passing away. I remember going with my father to Winchester, to
the burial of the last one of the old Morgan Rifles. Captain Lock was his
name and rank. It was a very solemn funeral. The military companies of the
city and country escorted the remains to the grave. They marched with arms
reversed and fired a volley at the grave. They laid the old soldier down in
his last bivouac with his comrades around him and his chief, a faithful
guard, as in the night watches of the revolution, no more to part company
until the last reveille. I often afterward saw the grave of Morgan. A stone
slab, broken across the middle, with a simple inscription, marked his grave.
About him were his old true and tried riflemen. So lowly reposed the heroes
of Cowpens and Saratoga. There was much talk of erecting a suitable monument,
but nothing was done. Thus, my early recollections begin with the passing
away of those ever-to-be-remembered brave men who won for us our
independence. Following them were those of the War of 1812, who still kept up
the military spirit, and although they had not felt the stress of actual war,
they would, on trial, have shown that they had the courage of their
ancestors. At all events, after the war cloud and threatened storm had passed
by, they were venerated by the boys of my time, as though they had fought the
Red Coats on many a bloody field. Nor were they backward in asserting their
military prowess. So we came to look up to them as superior to other
mortals.
The big musters and Fourth of Julys were days eagerly looked forward to. I
have witnessed many glorious Fourths since, and bigger musters until tired of
the latter, but as to the Fourth, while duly respected of later years, it
lacks the thrilling quality of the past. I cannot do justice to the feelings
of a boy on big muster days. In some old field, near a central town, the
militia companies from all parts of the county would rally. Un-uniformed, in
plain farmer garb, they exhibited all the awkwardness and ignorance of raw
recruits, and when the uniformed companies came upon the ground they became
utterly dispirited, and beneath our future notice. There is something
inspiriting to old age, in seeing a well equipped battalion march and
maneuver, but to a boy, it is exalting, and when the climax came with the
firing of innocent blank volleys, words fail to convey the overwhelming
impression. After that, the inviting booths around the fences claimed our
attention, as other feelings asserted themselves, and if we had carefully
laid by our small talent, to the amount of 50 cents, for the occasion, the
small beer and ginger cakes or sweet cider and apple pies got away with part
of our hoarded capital, leaving a moiety for the Fourth of July, with a hope
that good fortune would supply the deficiency.
The old soldiers of 1812 took a very supercilious view of these musters.
They noted, with scorn, all the faults and failures of the muster; but on the
Fourth of July they were marked individuals, and they felt it. They were as
attentive to the reading of the Declaration, as if it had been their
first hearing of it, and so on, year after year, as long as they lived.
This anniversary was too much for some of the 1812 old soldiers. Their
patriotic feelings could not stand the strain. Some of them had seen 'in
the dawn's early light', the Star Spangled Banner waving over Fort
McHenry, and when the band played he dear old music, they broke down, and
became so completely demoralized that they had to resort to the flowing bowl.
Such an one was one of my earliest associates, Jesse Barnes.
My grandfather had taken him when he was an orphan, and raised him as one
of the family. He grew to rugged manhood, but resisted much schooling, in
fact he was almost illiterate. When the call came for volunteers for the War
of 1812, he promptly enlisted and served faithfully, until regularly
discharged. Like many a good soldier, he acquired the habit of drinking, and
would occasionally get drunk, but invariably on Independence Day and big
musters. I remember he would round up at our house, after one of his sprees,
until Father asked him not to come when intoxicated, - that he was welcome
when sober, - that it was hard for us children to see him in that condition:
to all of which he agreed.
On one occasion, thinking himself sober, he came as usual. Mother set for
his lunch, his bowl of buttermilk, which he required when sobering up. He was
making a great but futile effort, by his talk, to appear sober. While in the
act of drinking the milk, Father said, "Jesse, I thought you promised me
you would not come here again when drunk." He let the bowl fall,
spilling the milk over himself and the table, saying in a very weak voice,
"Jeems, I wish you had not said that word." So the incident passed.
I don't remember that he ever came again in that condition.
Jesse was a patriot by instinct, and a democrat by association. He was as
faithful to his party as to his country. No temptation could swerve him from
either. The Whigs had often tempted him, but without success, as the
following will show. My uncles and a cousin were Whigs. As was his annual
custom, he had come to spend the late fall and winter with us. At such times
he was furnished warm stockings, shoes, and generally, an outfit of clothing.
It was just before the presidential election when Clay and Polk ran. My uncle
and Cousin Bob made an extra effort to get him to vote for Clay. They had
furnished him with tobacco and all the hard cider he wanted. They thought he
was yielding, and to clinch him, told him that my father had said he dared
not vote contrary to his (Father's) wishes. That seemed to be the feather
that turned the scale. He swore that he would show Jeems Christie he would
vote as he pleased. He was very wroth. In those good old days they voted Viva
Voce. They carefully coached Jesse, and took him to the polls. The clerk
said, "Mr. Barnes, whom do you vote for?" "Polk and
Dallas" said Jesse. He died without ever knowing that my father never
made such a declaration. Years after my Cousin Bob told mother, with tears in
his eyes, how they had treated my father, who of all men, was incapable of
dictating to anyone how he should vote. This narration is justified, I trust,
to do honor to the plain, simple and illiterate men of those days.
As remarked before, I was fond of hunting. My chief delight, in fact, was
in a gun. I never tired of speaking of hunting. It was part of Jesse's
business, during the long winter nights, until he or I went to sleep, to tell
of things agreeable to me. He slept with me, and, to my complete delight, he
early promised to bring me a rifle, the next winter. Of course, no other gift
would have pleased me so much, as he well knew. In my innocence, I felt as
sure of it, as that winter would return. I asked him a great many questions
respecting the make of the gun, its size &c. &c. He never failed to
answer my questions in such a way as to meet my approval, and to make it suit
my fancy. He had a gift for anticipating my ideals, and so describing the
various parts of the gun as to complete my satisfaction with the coveted
gift.
I have in my mind yet, the size of the bullets, the kind of stock, the
mountings &c. &c., for I had it described repeatedly, in answer to my
questions, to the minutest detail. The next winter came and brought no gun,
but a sufficient excuse to satisfy me. And so the next, and the next - until
doubts began to arise as to whether he was not practicing an innocent
deception on me, which at last became a conviction. Long since he has been
forgiven, and the imprint of the gun on my memory, when recalled, only brings
pleasure. Poor Jesse! Harmless soul! He was found frozen to death on the
public highway.
Return to the Contents
Chapter III
Reared on a farm, as I was, I came to know the system of farming which was
most successful. My father was an excellent farmer, and understood and
practiced the rotation system. When I was, perhaps, twelve to fourteen years
of age, Father attended a sale, at which was sold a number of periodicals and
books on scientific farming. A system, which was claimed by practical
farmers, that would surely lead to bankruptcy. Amongst the number of books
was a course of lectures on agricultural chemistry. Having studied chemistry
in schools, sufficiently to understand this book, when I read it, it was a
revelation to me. What I had seen on the farm, that long experience had
taught farmers to apply as best, now, I could see, from a chemical point of
view, and understand the reasons for, and causes of the results. I think I
have not since found anything more enlightening and useful.
Long before this time someone was kind enough to put "Weems' Life
of Marion" in my hands. Of course, I eagerly devoured it, and with so
keen a relish that it is still remembered with distinctness. Like all
impressionable persons, at that time in our National progress, the book was
read by me with much sympathy. The hardships of Marion's little army;
their bravery in battle; their steadfastness and suffering, awakened in the
elders pride and pity, while the martyrdom of Newton and Jasper, as told in
the eloquent language of the author, could not be read aloud. I have not been
able to find that book since boyhood, to compare it with the impressions then
made, but have seen it criticized, as being something of a romance. At all
events, it was inspiring to the young of my boyhood days. The following
account of the marriage of Washington's father, copied from
"Weems' Life of Washington", would then have not seemed to be
grandiloquent, but would have thrilled me with delight: - "His father,
fully persuaded that a marriage of virtuous love comes nearest to angelic
life, early stepped up to the altar with glowing cheeks and joy -sparkling
eyes, while by his side with a soft, warm hand, sweetly trembling in his,
stood the angel form of the lovely Miss Dandridge." Some kind soul, who
thought I would like it, put into my hands, about the time mentioned above,
Goldsmith's "History of Greece". The scope and style of the
work were well suited for my beginnings in historical reading. The glories
and wonders of that ancient land charmed me. Their heroes, orators, and
especially their poets, painters, sculptors and architects awakened in my
callow mind a love of the artistic and beautiful, which has been a source of
pleasure ever since. With no companions at that time to share with me the
delight, I could dream of the Olympic Games, the orations, the dramas, the
temples, the sculpture, and the immortals of that wonderful land. To me, it
was very vivid, real and charming, and afterwards, when I was privileged to
have "Chataubrian's Travels through Greece, Troy and the Classic
Lands", I voyaged with him, for his style, like that of Renan, chaste,
beautiful and dreamy, so suited to describe the spell with which antiquity
haunts this eden land of art, bore me along, a willing and inspired
companion. How different, years after, when I dutifully read
"Robin's Ancient History" and, worst of all Josephus.
The kind of books they put in my hands was well considered. They led the
way to larger views of literature and life, and I shall never know the sum of
my indebtedness to the kind friends who gratified my thirst for literature.
They have long since passed away, beyond the reach of my thankfulness, to
receive their reward, for that and so many other good deeds to their credit,
unrequited in this life.
My father was very industrious man. I thought he must have studied all the
week to find something for me to do on Saturdays. My plans, thought out at
school for the brief holiday, and his, conflicted. I, of course, had to
yield, but the difference between hunting and fishing, and working, was
greater in my estimation than in his; but now I know his side was a majority
and right. Our hunting privileges were not abundant, but we had good fishing
for boys in the Opequon Creek and Barton's Mill dam.
When I last saw the old mill, after an interval of nearly fifty years, the
old wheel was going on seemingly like the stream that propelled it, unceasing
and tireless, with the same monotonous creak and splash, and the machinery
inside with the same clatter and hum as when a boy of twelve I so many times
heard it when waiting for my grist to be ground.
The same platform was there, unchanged, as when on it the miller would
take my sack and wheel it into the hopper. Though the mill and stream were
there, the kind miller was not. He had gone to the realm where there is
neither hunger nor thirst. Other millers have come and gone, but the mill and
stream, so inseparable, seemed to be destined to go on forever. So like the
lines in Tennyson's "Brook",
"Men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever".
Barton's Dam, above the mill, was our fishing and swimming place.
While recalling these things I feel again in some degree the enchantment
which touched my young mind while strolling around its shores. There were
imagined mysteries hidden in its depths. I would have been glad if the breast
had unavoidably given way so that I could see on the bare bottom what lay
there concealed. I suppose in his earliest ventures no boy ever swam there
without the fear of some impossible monster of the deep attacking him from
below. Here with our rude hooks and lines we would, with great expectations,
cast them forth and sometimes be rewarded with a bite, sometimes with a few
little fishes, sometimes with nothing, in which case, the cause of the
disappointment was laid to the fishes. I wonder if every boy does not
remember the thrill which he felt when he got his first effectual bite and
caught his first fish: and how proud he was to show to his mother his little
trophy. He baits overmuch: he has been taught to spit on the bait, which he
does: he carefully casts in his line, takes a seat, and about the time his
first flush of expectancy has nearly worn off, suddenly the cork begins to
dip and dance; now down under he feels the pull, makes a powerful effort to
land his fish; it is a small cat perhaps, but it is big enough; he has caught
his first fish. Henceforth he is a fisherman, and when the bees are humming
and the lilacs blooming in the early spring, his thoughts are led from the
poles and lines of his geography lessons to fishing poles and fishing lines.
Here also, when a little longer grown, we seined. In the springtime when the
fish were astir, we would go in with a 30 foot seine and sometimes make a
haul that would reward us for our trouble: but in the early spring it was
always a cold venture. I recall an old Scotch factory weaver that would
sometimes go in with us. When the cold water would get up to our armpits, he
would say, "It is damp cold".
Fifty years had sensibly diminished the size of the dam, and the rushes
had taken possession of our seining places.
Return to the Contents
Chapter IV
I felt that farming was not to be my occupation for life: and after much
thinking, and balancing of my plans for the future, I concluded to go to town
and work at some trade or business. Nothing offered to my fancy but the
builders art or trade, and accordingly I engaged in that for several
years.
While thus engaged, I formed the acquaintance of several boys of my age,
of bright minds and a burning desire to improve themselves, mentally.
Morally, they were as good a set of boys as could be found. While we were
chums, there was nothing low or vulgar carried on. Instinctively they were
far above that level, and were, be it said to the credit of their rearing,
and their innate uprightness, secure from temptation. I suppose they are all
dead now, and I can only pay this tribute to their silent shades. True, manly
boys! They were dear companions, and "E'en their frailties leaned to
Virtue's side."
One year we clubbed together and rented an upper room fronting on the
courthouse square. We got a stove, table and chairs. My father brought us
wood. We took turns at sawing and carrying it up: we were all enthusiastic in
the matter, so all went with a vim. How we enjoyed the long winter evenings,
until the too swift eleven struck the time for closing up. We needed a name,
and someone suggested Junta. It took immediately because it was new and odd.
So we decided unanimously that we were a junta. We did not proclaim our name
or business to the public, but our actions drew some attention.
Old Sleuth Parker, called on us, we thought, out of curiosity: also some
others. We learned that the name of our club gave us a suspicious cast, that
the Spanish juntas were secret revolutionary bodies, and that some were
wondering what we were up to. In spite of this, we retained the name, for we
knew we were harmless, attending to our own promptings, plotting no
treasonable assaults on the city. We cared little for the suspicions of
outsiders; we feared not their misgivings; we were securely clad in the
panoply of rightness, if not righteousness.
Our evenings were devoted to reading, to discussing grammatical problems
or current matters of public interest, conversation and sometimes singing.
There were two good singers - one a fine contralto falsetto who sang in the
Episcopal choir, another a soprano. One of the latter's favorite songs
was "On Old Long Island's Seagirt Shore". He afterwards was a
clerk of the noted Broadway Rouse, who occasionally visited our club, and
doubtless
"Whiled many an hour away,
listening to the breakers roar,
That washed the beach of Rockaway."
The former, poor James Hoover, as sweet a soul as ever lived, died in
early manhood of consumption. He was my constant companion, and all these
years have not blotted from my heart and memory the brotherly affection we
had for each other.
None of us drank spirits, nor swore, nor did we have any games. It is
amusing to remember the various books which our free inclinations prompted us
to read. Some of them inappropriate, got without sound judgement, but with
good intentions. As an instance, our soprano chose "Napier's Wars of
the Peninsula", a ponderous and dry book, written mainly for military
students. Anyone could see that it was a misfit. Some others chose books of
popular science: I think no novels. I am entirely unable to remember what
books I read. Altogether, I have not in my life enjoyed greater profit or
pleasure than while our junta lasted. Phrenology was current at that time,
and several of us became very proficient in that so-called science. When I
later became acquainted with anatomy and physiology, under the lectures of
Conrad and great, but simple, Leidy, I found, excepting in a very general
way, that phrenology rested on a very sandy foundation; but at that time we
thought we could discover all the hidden faults and frailties of each other:
and no citizen could pass us, bareheaded, without our understanding his
outward and inward qualities of mind and motive.
This gave us the opportunity to pass judgement on the piety of preachers;
the sincerity of orators and politicians; and to judge even judges on the
bench. I think our so-called science was often at fault with the girls, for
we found, sometimes, that the sly, flashing glance of bright eyes and
bewitching smiles, which seemed to be set aflame by splendid organs, were for
fellows outside of our circle. Then there was a material difference in the
interpretation. Then the nose was not such as Phidias would have chiseled,
and the feet were a trifle large and flat.
In our exclusive circle, we had our preference for military companies, and
especially fire companies. We did not run with ours, but we wished it all
kinds of success, and the other company bad luck, regardless of the
consequence to property. As an instance in point:- one night about eleven
o'clock, as we were going home, we saw flames rapidly making headway on
the rear end of a residence. Our resolution was taken instantly: we rushed to
our engine house, aroused the firemen, and shortly had the fire out, without
disturbing the other company's slumbers, or arousing the town. It was
quite a scoop for our company and good luck to the owner of the building. The
incident caused no excitement. We never received any thanks, but were well
satisfied without them, as our company got the glory.
In this way I spent my time for several years, not altogether
unprofitably. I was becoming acquainted with the ways of the world, with
urban peoples as well as rural, and at the same time, forming my character,
which, I am thankful now, was not deformed by bad associations or reckless
conduct on my part.
Return to the Contents
Chapter V
About 1852 I witnessed an autopsy by some doctors, on a man who died
mysteriously. I saw them open up his skull and make all kinds of sections of
the brain. It so impressed me, that I felt an irresistible impulse to look
further into the wonders of anatomy and physiology. I had looked upon
physicians, when a child, with something akin to awe and reverence. To my
mind, they bore about with them a wonderful mental and material power. It
appeared that life and death were at their disposal. I dreaded to meet one of
them in the road. I had seen them take the life blood from people,
remorselessly; but now as a man I desired to become one of them. The mystery
was dispelled. I only envied them their knowledge. I determined to be a
doctor.
Having some latin, chemistry, physiology and natural philosophy, I was not
entirely unprepared for the study of Medicine, and to meet the preliminary
requirements as demanded at that time. I lacked Botany, but I made that good
along with my reading, as we then called the preliminary course with a
preceptor. Our family physician loaned me "Wistar's Anatomy"
and some other books and some bones, including an excellent skull, and I lost
no time in what, to me, was delightful study. I think no medical student was
ever more earnest and attentive, so that after about a year, I was
sufficiently prepared to attend lectures. There was a medical school in
Winchester, not on a large scale, but with a most excellent course of
lectures and demonstrations, just suitable for a first course of instruction.
I matriculated and attended the full course. We lived about five miles from
the college, and having a good horse, I rode to the lectures and quizzes
every day, making my expenses very light. Our professors were men of marked
ability. Conrad, who knew anatomy as his A B C's, Tucker on chemistry and
Materia Medica, Smith on practice, and Hugh McGuire, father of Hunter
McGuire, Stonewall Jackson's famous staff surgeon, on surgery: men of the
highest professional standing. Hugh McGuire was one of the most famous
surgeons in that part of the country. We never missed his lectures, as he
illuminated them with the narrations of cases in his practice. If he ever
missed his coupe and horse, we never heard of it. He knew well enough on what
nocturnal adventure it had gone. Nowadays, there is an abundance of subjects
for all demands, but in that school, we had to look out for them ourselves.
The subjects were generally of the ebon variety, and the poor darkies were in
mortal dread of the doctor students, as they termed them. They would even
sell their bodies in advance, to be delivered without burial, in order, by
making it a cash transaction, to get something out of it, for they rightly
considered a bird in the hand worth two in the coffin, and, that the chances
of their remains resting long in peace was next to nil.
I well remember with what suspicion my old darkie friends used to regard
me after I became a "student doctor". They had been indoctrinated
into full faith in the resurrection, but not our kind. They had due regard
for that feeling which we all possess, desiring an undisturbed repose after
life's fitful task is done. They could not understand, in their simple
way of thinking, how a part of the body here, and a part there; how the flesh
and skin after being disrespectfully used, and thrown into a sink, and
promiscuously mixed up with like parts of others with whom they were not
acquainted, or on speaking terms - the arm bones in some doctor's office,
the leg in some other doctor's, and the skull in still another's, and
it sometimes used by unmerciful students as a candle-stick, with a candle in
the foreamen magnum occipitis; how all these heterogeneous and scattered
parts, all mixed up indiscriminately, could be got together without making
mistakes. It was to them an unsolvable proposition.
If a part of Tom and Gin should happen to be put together, how could the
party know whether he was Tom or Gin? How could he know whether he was
himself or she was he? They had often sung at their meetings
"There'll be no parting there", but if this composite
personality should ask St. Peter for admittance, how would he know them
apart? And then Gin was not even Tom's wife, not even flesh of his flesh,
and if they got mixed by mistake, St. Peter had no right to put asunder, what
had been joined together. And then Gin was a saint and Tom a sinner. These
perplexing difficulties were too deep for the average colored layman or
clergyman to handle; but the dissections went on all the same. An instance
will show reason for their apprehensions.
On one occasion a negro man had died and the friends, to a sufficient
number, had assembled to guard his remains before burial. They had laid in
candles and a lunch. The latter in a sufficient quantity, but prone as the
Ethiope is to mistakes in calculation, they were short in their estimate of
candles. "In the wee sma' hours ayant the twal'," the light
was about to go out, and leave them in darkness. The situation was alarming.
One would not stay till others got candles, and another would not, so at
last, they compromised by shutting up the house, leaving the dead man to take
care of himself, and all went. When they got back the corpse was out and
gone. They could not believe he had been translated, for he went unshriven.
The inevitable conclusion was that the 'doctor students' had got him,
and in place of being translated, he was only transferred. They didn't
look to see if he had come to and was hiding about the house. They didn't
stay long enough. What was the use?
We had a simple but effective outfit of tools with which to take up
bodies. It consisted of a shovel, two-inch auger, rope and pole. We would dig
down on the box or coffin, as the case might be, and, with the big auger
would bore a row of holes across the coffin near the head, break in the
boards, put the rope around the neck, tear off the shrouding, throw
everything back excepting, of course, the body, fill up the grave snugly,
strap the body to the pole with the rope, shoulder it and away. How simple!
Nothing superfluous! No white shroud to startle the superstitious! No white
skin to excite the curiosity of the late casual night walker! Even the color
of the subject's skin aided us in the very, very quiet and peaceful
business we had in hand. It was not our wish to disturb the slumbers of
law-abiding citizens, so we were very quiet. It was the custom to make the
last matriculant go down in the grave and put the rope around the neck of the
subject. That was the way of my initiation. I remembered, for a time, the
smell that met me - a smell that students get used to - , and though it is at
first as much as they can stand, yet, it not being pathogenic, it is not
dangerous, and they can, after awhile, eat a lunch at the dissecting table
with a steady stomach. You notice, we use the term, subject. When a person
dies, he is at first spoken of as 'the departed', then 'the
remains', then 'the corpse', then 'the body', and when it
gets into the hands of the doctors and students, it is only 'a
subject'. To such an end may it come. The student consoles himself with
the thought that it makes no difference to the departed, or subject, which is
all the same.
Once when on my way home, I learned that a negro man had fallen off of a
stone fence when drunk, and had either broken his neck or had frozen to
death, as the weather was very cold. There had been an inquest and then he
was buried, near the side of the road. Being buried in the public highway, we
considered him public property. We wanted a subject and this was our
opportunity. When we had to go some distance on such business, we, through
the aid of Hunt McGuire, used to get his father's carriage, as we did in
this case. We would take turns digging and freezing, until we could stand it
no longer, then we broke into the school-house, got a book, tore the leaves
out, and with a match and convenient wood, soon had a comfortable fire. I
have often wondered what the little girl or boy thought, when she saw that
half of her book was torn out. We didn't know they had opened the neck of
the subject to see if it was broken, until we saw it by daylight, and learned
by public report it had left a trail of blood in the snow, where we dragged
it to the carriage. But nothing came of it, and for a long time I had kept
one of his lower extremities as an anatomical specimen. We duly respected the
claims of those whose slaves had died, if they requested us not to disturb
the bodies. Hon. Richard Bird, in a polite note, asked us to let his old
faithful servant's corpse remain in the grave. We assured him his request
would be sacredly complied with, as it was. It was as safe then as his own
body would have been.
These adventures were not always of the safe and romantic kind. The law of
Virginia, at that time, placed a penitentiary penalty on body snatching, and
while we had to keep out of the law's clutches, in addition to that we
were not always requested, as in the case of Mr. Bird, but in some instances,
threatened with dire consequences. Near this same time, the owner of a negro
woman, who died in Winchester, sent us a notice, that if we attempted to take
the body of his servant, the grave would be strictly guarded by armed
watchers, and we would be shot without further warning. The threat put us on
our mettle; it was a challenge which touched our courage, and after due
consideration, we determined to accept the challenge, and take the risk. I
think I would, at this day, lay aside my pride before undertaking such a
dare-devil adventure, for it smelt of blood.
We learned that they had buried the body in a graveyard, exclusively for
negroes, about a half mile from town, about 75 yards from the Valley
turnpike, which had high stone fences on either side. The graveyard was in a
field of about 20 acres, in which were corn shocks, an admirable place for
pickets. Everything favored the defenders. We carefully laid our plans. Our
only chance of success was to go early and get in our work before they came
to watch. I well remember the kind of night it was. It was one of those gusty
nights in November, when the moon seems to be sailing through scurrying
clouds. I was delegated to go to the college and get our outfit. I had
expected the things to be in their usual places, in the closet under the
stairway, downstairs. In that case, I would only have had to open the outer
door, and in 2 or 3 steps get to where they were: but they were not there. I
had to climb to the third story to the dissecting room to get them. Up there,
by moonlight only, I had to hunt around among grinning skeletons and partly
dissected bodies, while the wind was in wild riot, slamming the shutters,
rattling the loose tin roof, and howling and shrieking most dismally. If ever
the spirits of the departed, like that of Hamlet, should visit, with angry
protest, against those who would, sacrilegiously, mutilate their defenseless
bodies, this was, of all others the night. Hardened as I had already become,
I was glad to find the things and escape from amid this ghostly revelry. And
then, time was precious. Napoleon said, "In war, time is
everything". I applied the maxim to myself and got away in time.
The negroes had a way of trying to deceive us, by burying the body,
placing the sods back as they were taken out and then shaping up the
appearance of a new grave at some distance, placing a head and foot board, as
usual; but the ruse failed, and only deceived themselves. We soon got onto
their scheme, and all we had to do was to take a sharp stick, go punching
around, when we could easily find the real grave. After resurrecting the
body, we would put everything (but the body) back as they had fixed it. Thus,
the attempted blind was altogether in our favor. About five of us, all well
armed, started on our enterprise. When we got to the field we deployed, as
skirmishers do, searched the field well to see that the watchers had not
come. Then rapidly we opened the grave, took out the body, stripped off all
shrouding, filled up the grave nicely, as we found it, lashed the subject to
the pole, and had barely crossed the second stone fence when 5 or 6 persons
came, well armed, to watch the grave. We slipped off quietly and got to the
college all right. We supposed we had been entirely successful, until an
officer with a search warrant, came to the college to look for the body. They
did not find it, as we had a secret place to put them until all suspicion was
gone. We learned that in our haste we had failed to put a strip of some
colored clothing in the grave, which we could not see in the darkness. That
betrayed us, and we had a good many uneasy hours for sometime.
We passed through the session studying, reciting, dissecting and operating
on cadavers, with great advantage to ourselves. The old college building is
gone. The war broke up the school, and the building was burned, but there are
many pleasant remembrances left.
The following winter I matriculated in the Medical Department of the
University of Pennsylvania, where, with larger opportunities to complete a
medical course, and with the indispensable course of clinical instruction and
observation, ample in quantity, and explained and demonstrated by the ablest
physicians and surgeons in America, with every incentive to avail myself of
these means, I applied myself diligently, and at the annual commencement in
June 1856, I was honored with the degree of M.D. When I returned to my old
home in Virginia, I married(4) and at once
came west. I began the practice in Missouri, where I soon became actively
engaged in a hard and rough business until the war came on.
Return to the Contents
Part Second.
Chapter VI.
No one who did not participate in the excitement of those days, just
before hostilities began, can realize the intensity of passion, even frenzy
that impelled people onward until nothing but actual combat could follow. No
one could resist the pressure that forced them to take sides. Persons who had
been life long neighbors and friends were alienated from each other, and went
into respective parties of Union and Secession. All idea of compromise was
soon lost in the determination of the one party to save the Union and of the
other to defend the sovereignty, and rights of the states against
invasion.
Orators on the respective sides, whether in Congress or before the public,
so far from seeking to allay the excitement and cool the blood of their
auditors, in fervid and impassioned oratory, added fuel to the flames. The
old, quietly, in most cases, took sides: the young, boisterously and
threateningly. Then began the talk of war. Business was suspended, and
preparations were begun to defend the state against the federal power.
Secession was proposed, but events succeeded so quickly, that no regular
action of that kind was taken, as actual warfare was begun in the state of
Missouri by the capture of Camp Jackson, at St. Louis, a military
organization of State Guards.(5) By the prompt
action of the brave General Lyon and Frank Blair, this quasi revolutionary
organization was captured or dispersed.
I do not intend to describe the political chaos of those days. History
will record the facts, colored of course, by the prejudices of partisan
writers, but I may say that the distinctive difference between the contending
elements at that time, was on the one side, preservation of the Union - on
the other, the defense of state rights. Slavery was entirely incidental. In
Missouri almost all southern-born people, with quite a percentage of
northern-born, were on the side of the South; while those who made up the
Union party were mostly of an inferior class of northern people. The
governing classes, such as composed the state government and the judiciary,
were southern. The negroes, even, were generally on the side of the South,
due probably to family ties and associations growing out of the institution
of slavery: and be it said to their credit and honor, they rarely gave
trouble to the southern people. It was said that they helped to store away
munitions, and so far as I ever learned, never betrayed the trust. Doubtless,
as the Union military gradually occupied the greater part of the state, and
the idea of ultimate freedom began to dawn on them, they had every temptation
to betray their former owners and bring great trouble on them, even
imprisonment, but such actual betrayals were rarely known. As to the
munitions of war, Governor Clayborn Jackson, with the state authorities and
State Guard, moved it all Southward within secure military lines. Some of the
arms taken from Jefferson Barracks were saved by the State Guard, notably,
those of the gallant Irish battalion of Colonel Kelley.
The middle ground, which was early taken tentatively by the southern, or
States Rights people of Missouri, was to organize Home Guards companies all
over the state, elect officers to command them, and arm them with such arms
as could be had, such as shotguns, squirrel rifles, and rarely an old musket
of Mexican war times was resurrected. The idea was to hold the state secure
against invasion by either federal or Confederate armies, a position,
considering the geographical location, absolutely untenable. When these
companies began to be formed, a serious question arose as to who should
officer them. Peace had so long prevailed that only old men had ever drilled
companies, so that now it became necessary to hunt up those who had been
colonels or captains in big muster days. The remnant of what little they had
ever known of the duties appertaining to such offices, made their attempts
ludicrous to military men.
I remember seeing one doctor, who claimed to have seen regular companies
drill, instructing some embryo company in the use of arms. His most
impressive and urgent drill was in the use of the bayonet - how to charge
with that crucial and cruel weapon and to receive a charge of cavalry. The
gun with which he was exhibiting the trick was a small double-barrel shotgun.
Think of the charge of Murat against an invincible square of Russian
infantry; or of the Light Brigade at Balaklava, and then of the raw companies
like these, with such officers, with shotguns before a charge of regulars.
But there was the raw material there, sure enough, out of which was made no
finer or braver soldiers that ever carried a rifle.
Those officers soon retired to their firesides, and tried to become
neutrals - mutuals, as one old-time captain expressed it, while many of the
men went south, to go through the war with unflinching valor. Poor fellows!
In many an unmarked grave lie the bones of these brave boys, who, in the very
front of battle, gave up their lives for the lost cause.
This was the state of affairs that existed in North Missouri, but after
the Camp Jackson affair there came a change. The state government, all pro
Southern, with Governor Clayborn F. Jackson at the head, was active in
enrolling a State Guard. There was no lack of volunteers, but a lamentable
deficiency of arms. The spirit was willing, but that could not compensate for
the lack of means to bring it into effective action; especially on the north
side of the Missouri River. The best that could be done was to move southward
in companies or fragments, cross the Missouri River, and rally to the defense
of the State Government at Jefferson City.
Quite a formidable looking lot of such had gathered near Glasgow, on the
north side of the river, awaiting an opportunity to cross, or to form a
rallying nucleus for the volunteers. Gen. Lyon was not a tame lion: he was
not sleeping on his Camp Jackson laurels.(6)
Putting his regiments and a battery of artillery on board steamers, it was
not long until he landed his force, and moved up the north side of the river
to attack this unorganized and unmanageable assemblage. He wheeled his
battery into position, fired a few shots, which sent these raw fellows away
to find a crossing. They succeeded by swimming the river, such as could not
got on ferry boats, skiffs and any means of crossing at hand(7). Someone told me he met a young fellow, well mounted,
going back in full gallop; he halted him and said:- "What are you
running for?"
The young fellow said, "Why, don't you see? They are going to
fire a cannon!"
He probably never stopped until he got home. If, however, his courage
revived, and he joined the army on the other side of the river, he doubtless
made a good soldier. So great a soldier as Frederick the Great, in his first
battle, did the same. Many untried soldiers, if they follow their
inclination, would do likewise.
After these affairs the state government could no longer safely remain in
the state capital, as the federal military commanded the river and railroad
approaches, and could readily have cut off their communication with both
north and south. Accordingly, the State Seal and all valuable things
connected with the state government were moved southward, as well as
fragments of military companies.
The command of the state military forces had been placed in the hands of
Gen. Sterling Price. He had gone to the southwest corner of the state to form
a base of operations, and establish communications with the seceded states.
This left North Missouri in a very disorganized and doubtful condition. The
real and legitimate government had, for the time being, left this part of the
state to the mercy of the lawless and vicious. As an example:- A circuit
judge was shot and killed in the courthouse of his own county, by some union
militia that had sprung up in that part of the state(8). Not knowing what to do for the defense of the
state's authority in this section, some three of us took it upon
ourselves to follow the state government and learn what was best to be done,
and at the same time, get authority to organize volunteers, if thought
advisable. We travelled horseback, of course, and crossed the Missouri River
on a ferry boat, without molestation. We saw many stragglers, some going one
way and some another; some with their wives and children, and some horse
companies of 20 - 30 - to 50 members, generally well mounted, often with
their best clothes in old fashioned saddle-bags, on their saddles, containing
several changes, no doubt. We reached Cowskin Creek, where the troops were
being organized by General Monroe Parsons. He had served in the Mexican war,
and was supposed to be, as he was, well qualified to handle such
heterogeneous a mass. The general had on a spick and span new uniform,
shining with state guard buttons and necessary trimmings, the envy of the
less fortunate. He had a well qualified staff of fine looking and gallant
men. He did his best to get order out of the chaos. The musicians had to do
the best they knew how to make the various calls, such as Reveille, Taps,
&c. &c., as they had long since forgotten. The drummers all knew how
to beat the long roll, and they practiced it much. I heard one drummer ask
Gen. Parsons how to beat a certain call; such was the familiarity of the men
with the highest officers.
The day before we reached the camp, we overtook an ox-team of 6 oxen,
hauling a load of whiskey for some dealer about the lead mines of Joplin. The
driver was one of these happy-go-lucky young fellows who don't care much
what happens. We asked him if he was not afraid his whiskey would be captured
and his oxen killed for beef. He said 'they weren't his', and
drove on straight into the thirsty camp of Parson's army. I thought he
was willingly tempting fate. No need to trace that load to its final
destination. The incident passed out of my mind. Several years after, when I
was in charge of a hospital for invalids and convalescents, they brought in a
man, whom it seemed to me, I had seen before. After some inquiry, I found him
to be the same who was driving the ox-team and the load of whiskey. I asked
him what became of his outfit. He said, "They tuck it from me, and
I've been driving one of Pap Price's teams ever since."
Return to the Contents
Chapter VII
But to return to camp. I find it difficult to describe the scene without
tedious detail. There were, perhaps, 3000 men, of all arms and no arms.
Excepting Kelley's battalion,(9) there
were no modern arms to speak of. Shotguns and squirrel rifles were the
principal weapons. Many an old rifle or shotgun, that had to its credit
numerous deer, was brought into use, with the supposition, that if everything
was just right, every shot would bring down one of the enemy. Of course, such
arms could only be effective in very close fighting, and in the hands of such
men, brave as they were, close fighting was out of the question. But as to
the way the companies came into camp: Twenty or thirty men with some old
farmers, chosen, perhaps from the ranks of justices of the peace, elected
captain, moving in, with a loaded wagon of some needful, but mostly needless
supplies.
They would come marching in with an air of Victory or Death! The wagon
might contain bed quilts of all stripes and squares- (no stars.). I did not
see, to tell the truth, any feather beds; possibly a trunk or two, containing
several suits for extra occasions, and Sunday boots: also, any number and
variety of cooking utensils, short of actual cooking-stoves. There were
enough wagons to supply a brigade. What became of them afterward I never
knew.
Captain Bledsoe had a couple of good pieces of artillery, remnants of the
Mexican War. He served in that war and knew how to use his pieces. He was the
very impersonation of an artillery officer, and shortly proved it, and
confirmed it in many a tug of battle.(10) One
morning we were surprised to find the command on the move, even before day.
Some scouts, or couriers from Price, on their way to this camp, with orders,
found Siegel on the move to make a night attack. They reported in time to our
commanders, who promptly ordered a forward movement. The southern troops had
time to take up a good position on the edge of the prairie, about a half mile
in front of a creek. On an eminence on the opposite side of this stream,
which was only fordable in places by the infantry, Siegel had placed his
battery and formed his line of battle. Between that position, and in front of
the Missouri troops, was an open prairie, every foot of which was exposed to
Siegel's fire. In the center of this prairie, leading directly towards
the enemy, was a main road. In an artillery duel which ensued, Bledsoe
dismounted one or two of Siegel's guns, which fell into our hands.
Siegel's battery was well handled, and killed and wounded some of our
men.(11)
General John B. Clark, who had been a member of Congress, followed the
fortunes of the state government, and held a commission from Gov. Jackson, of
Brigadier General. He, at the time of the battle, I believe, had only the
bare nucleus of a command, perhaps 2 or 3 fragments of companies. He was
supposed to be in command of the North Missouri troops. The general
impression in regard to him was that he had been reluctantly drawn into the
southern movement, and would have preferred to remain quietly at home, to
enjoy an undisturbed old age. In fact, we looked upon him as one of those
political officers, upon whom a low estimate was placed; but in this first
battle in which he became engaged, he at once established his character as a
fearless commander. In fact, he led the center down that road, in the
concentrated fire of the enemy. How proud we were of him, when he showed us
the evidences of his baptism of battle. His hat was grooved by a minne ball;
his clothing was marked with bullets in several places; his horse was killed;
in fact, I never saw any one afterwards make a narrower escape. And at
Wilson's Creek, he equally maintained his credit for bravery and coolness
in battle. Then on account of age and infirmities he was sent to the Richmond
Congress.
Equally courageous was this little army, which did not await a charge, but
took the initiative, and boldly moved upon Siegel's position. They found
a ford on the creek, on Siegel's flank, moved on, drove in, captured or
destroyed his skirmishers and hurled him back, in full retreat to
Springfield. He should have lost his artillery and baggage if Rain's
cavalry, which hung on his flanks, had been more energetic. A few well
directed shells sent at Rain's horsemen, now and then, kept them at a
safe distance.
This, I believe, was as bravely determined and as gallantly executed as
any battle during the war. To see so raw, unorganized, and so poorly equipped
a body of men assume the offensive, adopt a perfect strategy, and carry it
into successful execution, and attack with a spirit and dash unsurpassed by
veterans, was very inspiring, and established a confidence for the future,
that enabled Price's army to defeat the brave Lyon and occupy at that
time, nearly all of Southern Missouri.
The victors moved on after Siegel, but this wily commander, more famous
for his successful retreats than victories, escaped to Springfield. We rested
a day or two and then went south to meet Gen. Price, near Neosho, who, on his
march northward, had made an easy capture of a full company of federal German
troops, and transferred their fine arms and equipments to a very needy
company of Missourians. There they camped, organized and drilled, in
preparation for future operations.
I have been thus particular to describe these operations, in order to show
what excellent material, what latent qualities of resolute manhood the
Missouri men of that day possessed; that those of my posterity who were born
in Missouri may not be ashamed of the state of their nativity.
Return to the Contents
Chapter VIII
That was the first time I saw General Price. He was a very distinguished
looking man, and when in full uniform, reminded one of the pictures of
Napoleon's great marshals or Winfield Scott. After the battles of
Wilson's Creek and Pea Ridge, in which he bore his part with distinction,
the Missouri troops were organized as Confederates and mustered
accordingly.
Some time after this, Price was put in command of a corps in the
Trans-Mississippi Department. He was always known among the Missouri troops
as Old Pap. At last they sent the old general on an invading expedition, with
cavalry, into Missouri a long ways from support from the military base of
operations of the department, and into a region held by the federals, where
they could reinforce and concentrate at will. Having this opportunity, they
easily overpowered the old general, routed and drove back his scattered
mounted command, and that which was intended to be a diversion, turned out to
be a disastrous defeat(12). It was a pitiful
mistake to send him on such an expedition, forlorn and hopeless at best; and
thus his military reputation was injured, and his star sent under a
cloud.
While at this camp, several of us went over into the Cherokee Nation on a
fishing expedition. The first night we were furnished lodgings and breakfast,
very plain bed, and a fare of coarse bread and bacon. The host was a fine
looking specimen of manhood, tall and straight as the proverbial Indian. It
was night when we reached his residence, and on retiring I remarked that when
I got back home I could say that I had been in the Indian Nation and never
saw an Indian. He said, "You see one before you now." In the
morning we could see the one quarter of Indian in him plainly enough, and
when he told us of pursuing a set of Kansas horse thieves and said that they
would never take anymore Indian horses, we could plainly distinguish the
Indian vengeful trait. His wife was a half breed, and the children showed
plainly the copper tint. We were struck with the ideal situation and
possessions of this man. His dwelling house and barns were on an elevation
which overlooked a fine second bottom, rich farm of cultivating land, with a
spring branch running through the center of it. The main road ran along the
foot of this summit, from the base of which there issued a spring that made
the above mentioned branch, and the whole face of this ridge was covered with
pecan trees, and there were miles of open prairie for his stock to range on.
We fished in Grand River, camped out at night, and then returned to camp. The
selection of this section for the tribes was a fortunate one for them.
These straggling recruits that were coming into camp, carried their own
guns and ammunition, and it was not a little dangerous, as every gun was
carried loaded, and fired on any provocation. When a rabbit or hog was shot
at, an unseen man might be hit, as was too often the case. I saw a young
fellow ride under an apple tree with a good horse and outfit, reach up with
his gun to hook down a limb for apples, the hammer caught on the limb, the
ball passed through the horse killing it. The poor boy was overcome with
fright and consternation. I have wondered what became of him. It seemed that
his horse was his chief reliance.
Some of the older men who came in had very crude notions of military life.
The officers in command were their neighbors, to whom they never looked for
orders, who had never said to them, go, or come, in a way to command
obedience, so, when the army began to assume shape, and they were required to
stay in their proper places, they did not always submit as became obedient
soldiers. I remember one past middle-aged old citizen, who would only speak
of officers as head men. I suppose that after awhile, such as
these retired to the shades of private life. Certainly they were out of place
in an army. On the other hand, even after some semblance of organization had
been effected, some of these 'head men' had not learned the meets and
bounds of their authority. There was sometimes quite an overlapping of
claims, as between the quartermaster's and commissary's functions;
the adjutant and captain's; sergeants who wished to magnify their
offices, and lieutenants. The doctors were not in all cases exempt from
consciousness of superiority, albeit their rank was only relative. They would
sometimes attempt to order privates, who were not detailed for their
services. A certain doctor was seen making an unwilling private mark time for
refusing to obey some order of his. How would that look to regulars? After
awhile the men learned their rights, and then the doctors learned very
positively their limitations, by many a sharp lesson from the ranks. That
doctor soon got a transfer, probably to the cavalry.
Return to the Contents
Chapter IX
Having learned all we could from General Parsons as to what was expected
of North Missouri, I started home. What we were told in regard to future
movements was, in substance:- That they would await for recruits and
reinforcements, and when ready would advance to the Missouri River, expecting
to defeat any force of the enemy which would offer resistance, thus enabling
any volunteers from North Missouri to join the main army. As this is a
personal narrative, I shall not attempt to narrate the progress - military
operations, of which I was not a witness. Suffice it to say, the plans were
well laid and bravely carried out.
At this time, Lyon was moving southward, with all the troops he could
gather, to occupy Springfield, and his line of march was on the same road
which I had to travel. It was my chief concern to keep out of his clutches
and had to take by-roads at times. I passed Oceola, on back streets, thence
to Monega Springs, on the Osage River, where we swam our horses across with
the help of a skiff; then on northward to Warrensburg, where I stopped to get
my horse shod, and learn the way the federals were moving. They occupied the
town and had their quarters in the courthouse. While I was sitting in a
drugstore, on the side of the courthouse square, a squad of soldiers came out
of the courthouse. It was with no idle curiosity that I watched their
movements, and when they headed straight to the drug-store, I supposed my
time had come. I did not run, and sat very still, betraying as little concern
as possible. I was greatly relieved when they marched the owner of the store
over to their quarters, and overlooked me. With my horse and myself looking
like the person they wanted, I felt greatly favored, and led my horse by the
halter, past the front of the courthouse, in full view of them.
I suppose my apparent unconcern was my passport. I found a blacksmith shop
close by. While my horse was being shod, I asked the man, casually, about the
movement of the troops; if they were arresting peaceable travellers, and so
on, hoping to draw out of him and discover if he was union or southern. He
bluntly told me I had better get out of town as soon as possible. Then I knew
my man. He told me all he knew, and advised me how to proceed.
On my way to the Missouri River, I was obliged to follow the main roads. I
met several detachments of federals, and there was no better way to meet them
than to present a bold front, as it proved. The first company, commanded by a
major, halted me, to gain information, it appeared. He asked me where I was
from and where I was going. I said I had been down in St. Clair County on
business, and was on my way back to Iowa.
He said, "Are you for the Union?"
I said, "I am."
Then he inquired about Price, if I had met any of his men, and if they had
molested me. All these questions I answered to his satisfaction.
I said, "I do not want to be put to any trouble, and would you be so
good as to give me a pass?"
He said, "I have no authority to do so, but if you meet any union
soldiers, tell them that Major - - - requested them to pass you," as he
was satisfied, by his examination, of my loyalty. I was very careful to
remember his name, and a captain's, and made good use of them to good
purpose. The last squad I met, not far out from Lexington, on the Missouri
River, were pretty full of crazy whiskey. When I was about 50 yards from
them, the front file brought down their muskets on me, but failed to halt me.
I did not stop or run, but as I got nearer, they laughed and said,
"Don't mind the boys, they are only in fun."
I said, "Thank you, Lieutenant," and passed on. It was pretty
serious fun I thought. Perhaps on closer view, they took me for an old
farmer, or preacher. If they had asked me, I could have answered, as occasion
required.
Thus, I got along towards the town of Lexington. At that place was my only
feasible chance to get across the river to North Missouri. All ferry-boats
and skiffs had been seized and destroyed by the federal authorities; so the
only ferries were at towns, which were garrisoned by troops. It was taking a
desperate chance, as the town had a regiment stationed there, it being
headquarters for the command of a district.
When I rode into town, I had in view, soldiers on guard duty, but managed,
by keeping a sharp lookout, to avoid running onto them. I got down to the
ferry, hitched my horse, and reconnoitered. I saw that the ferry-boat had a
guard of soldiers on board. I determined to go aboard and risk it. I led my
horse on, hitched him to the jack-staff, hung my saddle-bags carelessly on
the guard rail, sauntered around, finally dropped up to the pilot-house,
where the ferry-man was at his post. I said I had been down the country for
some time, and didn't know what was going on:
"Had there been any fightings of importance?"
"Well, not much."
I said, "I supposed, from what I had last heard, that there had
been."
He said "Yes, there has been a battle at Bull Run."
I said, "How did it terminate?"
He said, "At first the union troops drove the Confederates before
them, but they got reinforcements, and drove the union army back to
Washington."
I caught from his manner, and style in the narration, that he sympathized
with the South, and I said, "Now, Captain, how shall I be able to get
off this boat, on the other side, without being arrested?"
He said, "Those guards are Dutch, and when the boat touches the
shore, be ready to lead your horse off, without paying any attention to the
guards, and maybe they won't stop you."
I did so, as boldly as I could, and off I went. I walked carelessly up the
bank, without looking back, until some 2 or 3 yards away, then mounted and
rode slowly away, until just as I entered the woods, I looked back, and the
guards were looking at me with what I took to be amazement at my effrontery.
When I got safely behind the protecting timber, no bird freed from his cage
ever felt freer. Rob Roy was again on his native heath. The way seemed clear
for home.
From there I rode on leisurely to Randolph County, intending to stop at an
old town, Bloomington, to deliver a message to Mrs. Norton Brown. I fell in
with a Doctor Davis on the way. Our intention was to cross the Hannibal &
St. Joseph Railroad, by taking a road that led across it rather privately. We
had to pass a house perhaps a mile or more before we reached the crossing.
The people on the porch seemed to look at us with suspicion. It was but a
short distance from there to Callao, on the rail-road where troops were
stationed. When we emerged from the timber, some two hundred yards from the
crossing, on looking up the road, towards Callao, what should we see but a
hand-car loaded with soldiers, a mile away, bearing down on us, their guns
shining fiercely. In a moment the doctor was in a gallop, and I after him a
close second: and again the friendly woods, so useful on occasions like this,
gave us a welcome protection. It had been my policy in emergencies like this,
to put on an air of indifference, and thus escape the danger, but in this
case I had to follow Davis, who was scared out of his wits. I have learned
long since that most of the union soldiers were not hungering and thirsting
for innocent blood, but generally, if the appearances were in favor of the
individual's harmlessness, they would let him go unmolested.
Our haste to escape this danger got us shortly into another, for the fact
of our gallop across the R. R., was quickly reported to the military post at
Macon, and by some means they learned we had stopped at Bloomington. We
leisurely rode on to Bloomington, and after delivering my message to Mrs.
Brown, I put my horse up in her stable, and went to Mrs. Sharp's hotel
for supper and lodging. I had travelled hard, was tired, and slept the sleep
of the innocent. When I awoke in the morning, the town was in the hands of
the U.S. troops. Mrs. Sharp rushed up to my room and wanted me to go up in
the garret. I respectfully declined. I said, "I don't want to be
cremated if they should set your house on fire. I will risk it here." I
saw some of the principal citizens chopping down the 'Secesh' pole,
and chopping it up into 10-foot lengths. They were forced to take turns at
it.
After I thought the troops had all left town, I went down to breakfast and
found myself in company with several of them at the table. They were,
altogether, a very orderly and gentlemanly set of soldiers. In due time, I
left, unmolested. They searched Mrs. Brown's house thoroughly for me, as
they had received an accurate description of us, but failed to look in the
stable. It was supposed that some negro took the trouble to report us.
One of those gentlemen was Doctor Winne, a gentleman of culture and
courteous manner, a fine physician and most estimable citizen. He insisted on
giving me a large plug of fine tobacco, an article which I then used, and of
which he was very fond. I have met him several times since the war, and
always with great pleasure. While his politeness and manners generally, were
charming, he still possessed a manly resolution becoming a well poised
gentleman. Many years after the incident above mentioned, I was asked by his
physician to visit him when he was brought down with an attack of pneumonia.
It is a peculiarity of that disease to so disturb the mind as to unbalance
it, but at the same time, to display the individual's characteristic
traits. While lying in bed, he took a notion to indulge in a chew of tobacco.
He said to his wife, "I will thank you for a chew of tobacco."
"My dear", she said, "I would not think of chewing tobacco
now; it will not be good for you."
He:- "I thank you for your suggestion, but you will find the tobacco
in that left hand corner of my lower drawer, and my knife in my right hand
trousers pocket. I will have a chew of tobacco."
She brought the articles to him. He thanked her very politely and was
satisfied. He recovered in spite of the tobacco, with the help of his
will.
Return to the Contents
Chapter X
Arrangements, for the future of my family demanded my presence with them
for a time. After the battle of Wilson's Creek a portion of Price's
army moved north, which was the signal for southern recruits to move south.
Martin E. Green gathered together a regiment of recruits, and directed his
movement in such a way as to meet the southern army(13).
After crossing the H. & St. Jo R.R., in a severe rainstorm which blew
down fences and even blew some men over fences, we reached the town, Florida,
in Monroe County, wringing wet. There was a saloon in the village which was
promptly put under guard, and a man detailed to give each man one drink of
whiskey. I saw no one refuse excepting Gen. Green. I shall always believe it
was right and beneficial. Next day we changed directions and found ourselves
with about 1000 men fronting on the H. & St. Jo R.R., with a line of
battle formed in the open prairie, in rifle shot distance from the
town.(14) Captain James Kneisley had got a
hold of two 6 pounder iron guns, home made and rude.(15) He had gotten some cannon balls and had made some
grape and canister of scraps of iron, such as screw taps and pieces cut off
of iron rods. With these improvised articles, he began bombarding the town
that was occupied by a company of federals. Our object was to capture them,
as we needed their arms. They refused to surrender and the attack
determinedly began. We were close enough to see the effect of each shot of
the battery. The grape, or cannister, as you prefer, made a wonderful
screaming and screeching sound: harmless, as we afterwards learned, to the
enemy, but no doubt trying to their nerves. The only injury was the loss of a
foot of the captain of the federal company.(16) Meantime, a company of ours had been sent a mile
westward to tear up the railroad track, to prevent the escape of the federal
company, but a car sent out drove them off before they could obstruct the
road; and shortly the company escaped under a hot fire, but as the cars were
made bullet-proof, without the loss of a man.
I have said that the negro slaves were generally true to their masters.
While this long range action was in progress, a rifle-shot from the town came
so near killing one of our men that it grooved his scalp, and somewhat dazed
him. His negro servant saw him taken back to the rear, and boldly, angrily,
and defiantly, as though he could kill all the enemy with one shot, said
"I'll take his place," which he did. Whether his fidelity and
ardor failed him afterward or not, I do not know. There were times coming on
rapidly that tried men of all colors. There were some colored servants who
went out with their owners from Missouri, as there were from other states,
who remained faithful and dutiful until freed, at the close of the war.
The company of federal troops which we tried to capture were on their way
home to Kansas to be discharged, as their time had expired, and I have always
felt a regret that the captain, who lost his foot, could not have taken both
home with him. This command of Col. Green's, after this, hastened to
cross the Missouri and join forces with those from the South, to invest Col.
Mulligan's fortified position at Lexington. After a good defense,
Mulligan was obliged to surrender his whole command, with his much coveted
arms and equipments.(17)
Thus baffled in one attempt, Green's command largely contributed to
success in another, of much greater importance. I was not present at this
last attack but was, doubtless, not needed, as there were but few casualties
on our side, as they were protected in their assault by moveable hemp bales,
after the manner, somewhat, of the cotton bales used by Jackson at New
Orleans. I remained with the few wounded and disabled left after this
Shelbina affair until they were able to be discharged as relieved or cured,
and then returned to my family.
Return to the Contents
Chapter XI
I remained at home during the remainder of that year, in which time one of
my children was born.(18) The next spring,
Joe Porter(19) came from Arkansas, into our
part of the state, to recruit a command. He claimed there would be a
demonstration in force from Price, to enable him to get his recruits out of
North Missouri, and into Confederate lines, with success. Accordingly, there
gathered together perhaps 300 to 500 men under Porter, Franklin and Frisbie
McCullough. They were armed, of course, with all kinds of domestic arms,
incapable of effective results against troops armed with guns which had an
effective range of, at least, five times the distance theirs had. Under
assurances that we would make a dash for the south, I was appointed surgeon
of Franklin's regiment, and accepted it.
In the meantime, the federal authorities had not been idle. While we were
delayed by Porter, under the absurd idea that we could hold, for a time,
North Missouri, organize a brigade and go south in force, they had given the
notorious McNeal an army of several regiments or battalions and a battery of
artillery. We camped at Burnett's sugar camp, on the Fabius River, for
organization.(20)
There came a recruit into our camp whom nobody knew, but he seemed to be
full of enthusiasm for the cause, and took a deep interest in everything
about the camp. His zeal awakened no suspicion on our parts. One day he was
missing, and the next, scouts reported the approach of McNeal's command;
then it dawned on our leaders that they had entertained, by no means, an
angel unawares. Very hastily everything was astir, and we moved out rapidly,
westward. It was very evident that we were actively pursued, and that we had
given up the idea of forming a brigade. On the contrary, we were going at a
rapid rate to get the strategic advantage of tall timber, and the Chariton
River was the objective point. We had gotten possession of a wagon load of
Austrian rifles: where they came from and how we came by them, I do not know.
They were entirely useless encumbrance, as we had no ammunition for them, and
so, on our retreat, we deposited them somewhere in the woods, buried them I
believe, and I have never heard of them since, nor has anybody else,
certainly not the enemy.
We reached Kirksville after a rapid march, but it seemed McNeil outmarched
us, for either necessity or exceedingly bad judgement caused us to halt in
the town of Kirksville, to accept the attack.(21) We were close to the woods where we could have
neutralized, to some extent, the difference between the enemy's arms and
ours- where we could have made his artillery almost useless, and prevented
the destructive use he made of that arm in the engagement, and at the same
time, our small arms could have some effect. As it was, the federals could
stand off at nearly a safe distance and shell us, in frame houses where our
men were placed, and their long range rifles would easily penetrate such
defense.
They began an attack as indicated, and as our boys, unable to reply, and
as they were constantly being killed or maimed, they were obliged to give way
and save themselves by retreating. We had established a field hospital, and
soon had our hands full to attend the wounded. In a short time the issue
became certain, as the men were retreating in disorder. In this brief time
some good men were killed and wounded on our side, and I suppose the enemy
lost none, hardly. Random, irregular shots came nearer and nearer, telling
the tale of slaughter. Amongst others, I determined to save myself, a
resolution quickly taken and acted on as quickly.
I mounted my horse, and avoiding the general rush, I went off in a
north-westerly course, making a detour some distance from the town, avoiding
the roads, until some three miles away from the town, I came to a house whose
inhabitants, fortunately, were friendly, and one of the females rode to town
to learn the state of affairs. She soon returned with the information that
the victors were killing those whom they captured without mercy; and with the
information, from a friend in town, that I would certainly be shot if
captured, and that I had better make my escape as speedily as possible, to
avoid the scouts, who were scouring the country. I gladly took the advice and
went onward through the deep woods. Along towards sundown, being thirsty, I
saw down in a ravine, some water. I hitched my horse, as I thought securely,
and went for a drink. Strangely, the horse got scared at something and broke
away from me and ran off, leaving me, as may be imagined, in a desperate
situation. I could do nothing but follow in the direction he ran, and that
was towards his home. After walking perhaps three miles, I got into the road
and to my great relief, found my horse hitched at the first house I came to.
The people kindly told me the way to the residence of a family, with which I
was acquainted, and after dark I rode to the house and inquired for the head
of the family, a man whom I had met in Masonic lodge. His wife told me was
not at home, and as the times were so fraught with danger she could do
nothing for me. She could not take my word that I knew her husband, and that
I only wanted something to eat and feed for my horse. I noticed her making
some peculiar motions which I did not understand, and at last it dawned on me
that she was giving me signs which belonged to some side degree of Masonry,
and when I understood her and satisfied her that I was a Mason, and
understood all about it, she at once furnished me something to eat and feed
for my horse, which I quickly took into the woods and camped for the night. I
could then well imagine how an outlawed murderer feels when hiding and
fleeing from certain captivity or death. But life was dear at my age, and the
attachments of family called for every effort of mind and body to escape. I
made sure of my horse that time, and after a troubled sleep, in the early
dawn resumed my flight. My acquaintance with the lay of the country, which I
had obtained by practicing medicine in these parts, enabled me to find my
way, off from the main roads, and get food and feed for my horse from persons
whom I had met in peaceful times.
About noon of the next day, I stopped at a house on the main road to get
dinner and have my horse fed. I judged from the appearances, the style of the
house &c., that the people were old settlers, and therefore of southern
nativity and sympathies, but I was badly mistaken. Several young fellows were
there who had been to Kirksville after the battle and probably took part in
the engagement, on the union side. They were full to overflowing with the joy
of their victory. You may imagine how I felt while they were recounting our
defeat, and gloating over the slaughter, not in battle only, but the shooting
of a number of our best people cruelly and barbarously, after the battle was
over. This narration occupied their attention for awhile, but at length they
began to question me, as to where I was from, where I had been and where I
was going. The family said they did not want to feed rebels.
I said if they had any doubts about me, I would be excused and go on. They
said "We will risk it," and so they fed my horse, and gave me
dinner, which I ate and tried to be entirely unconcerned; but the minutes
seemed hours while my horse was eating, and my appetite was soon satisfied,
as you may easily understand. In answer to their questions, I told them I had
been back in one of the back counties, looking after some property I had back
there, and as the times were threatening, I wanted to place it in reliable
hands: that I lived in Indiana. Of course I placed my habitat at a safe
distance. My story seemed to be so consistent that it satisfied their
curiosity.
I think I never passed through a more uncomfortable experience, nor
experienced so much relief as when I left that place behind me. It is easy to
see what would have become of me if they had known my condition. The debate,
whether it is ever right to tell a lie, belongs to a court of casuistry. I
took the affirmative side then without hesitation, and acted on it as a
settled conviction. I am still on that side, when life depends on the
decision, for I find I have no remorse of conscience for those
prevarications, even to the present day. I have often wished in these latter
'piping times of peace', to see that place and get acquainted with
those who were there. I know, as we now feel, we could, laying aside the
past, join in a laugh about it.
My faithful horse seemed to have lots of 'horse sense', for he
took me through unfamiliar roads and bypaths in the woods, in the night, and
brought me to my mother's and my family, before daybreak.
The murders committed at Kirksville after the fight was over, added to the
execution of ten innocent men at Palmyra,(22)
with other cruelties by McNeil, have placed his name among the most infamous
connected with the war. After the killing of Col. Frisbie McCollough at
Kirksville, the Colonels brother, who was at that time in the confederate
army in Mississippi, had got permission to come home for the determined
purpose of killing McNeil, but the battle of Corinth(23) was about to take place, and brave boy, as he was, he
determined to stay with his company until after the battle. Poor fellow! He
was killed in the battle, so luck was on the side of the brute.
Among the victims of McNeil's barbarity who, with others, were
murdered after having been taken prisoners at Kirksville, were two friends of
mine,- men of the highest character, Col. Frisbie McCullough and Dr. Davis.
They were examples of the best citizenship of the state. Of fine Virginia and
Kentucky ancestry, they had the esteem of all who knew them. Like nearly all
southern reared men, they espoused the southern cause and were active in its
behalf; and this was the height of their offending. Being prominent, active
and influential men, the union militia had tried every way to capture them
but had failed. They had never been arrested, sworn or paroled. When they
were captured at Kirksville, they were in the condition of thousands of
others who were trying to get to the southern armies. They could then have
been paroled or sent to prison. But their sterling manhood which would have
appealed to all honorable men, could only arouse in such beings as McNeil and
Straughn a thirst for blood. Accordingly, they were savagely and
remorselessly murdered, with others. They were denied the privilege of
bidding adieu or sending messages to their families. Col. McCullough, as a
last request, asked to be allowed to give the command to fire. He placed his
hand over his heart; said, "Aim at my heart! Ready! Aim! Fire!"
There was done perhaps the most brutal and savage butchery of the war. Their
lives were ended in their prime, but their names are now remembered and
honored, while those of their executioners are scorned and execrated by all
men.
After the war McNeil was appointed by a Republican president, marshall of
a district in Missouri. When Senator Vest told the senate the story of his
murders, the republican Senate rejected his nomination with only eight votes
in his favor. Thus condemned, he lived out his natural life, with the
contempt of all who ever heard of his brutality. That the senate properly
estimated his character and placed on record his condemnation, the following
incident will more fully show. On his march back from Kirksville to the
Mississippi River, while passing by the field of Mr. Thrasher, an old,
peaceable, unoffending citizen of Lewis County, this quiet farmer, having
plowed to the end of his corn row, was sitting on the fence by the side of
the road watching the command pass by: McNeil rode up to him and asked him
which side he was on. The old gentleman, without meaning any offense,
answered that he was then sitting on the fence. McNeil struck him on the head
with his pistol, knocking him on the other side of the fence. "Now which
side are you on?" said the man who was wearing a uniform like that worn
by Grant and Sheridan. Lincoln, 'with malice towards none, and charity
for all', could never have commissioned such a creature, except through
deception and misrepresentation.
I remained at home but a few weeks, leading a miserable life, mostly
hiding in the woods, until at last I made my exit from Missouri, by going to
a friend's in Marion County, and thence, taking the main road to Quincy,
Ill. I met several squads of cavalry on the way, who kindly let me pass
without hindrance. They were, doubtless, after better game. I crossed over
the Mississippi River on the ferry, and that afternoon rode out eastward, not
knowing a soul in the state of Illinois, leaving all to chance. I was obliged
to lie up at Mounds, on account of an abscess on my thigh, until it was
opened by a kind refugee, a Missouri doctor, and when I was able to travel, I
sold my horse and took the train for Danville, Ill., where I met some
Missouri friends. I shortly, for occupation, engaged in the insurance
business, and was able, by convincing people in the country of the dangers in
those times of leaving their property uninsured, to gather up some money.
That was a new role for me, but I seemed to adapt myself to it easily, and
was successful. Thus I spent the remainder of the year and the next spring I
made my way to Dixie, as I shall now narrate.
Return to the Contents
Chapter XII
The life of the refugee became more and more uncertain. The federal
authorities had begun to arrest them and oblige them to take the oath; the
oath of renunciation to the Confederacy and of allegiance to the United
States. To some of us, it seemed like turning back on all we had committed
ourselves to, a humiliation intolerable to think of. It gave one the
uncomfortable feeling of a deserter from an army, and of being an alien to
his country; for however it may seem now, we felt that we were citizens of
another country than the United States, and under such obligations as a loyal
citizen feels. These sentiments moved us to action as a duty, and
accordingly, after seeing my wife at a kind friends, and bidding farewell to
her and family, a farewell that seemed almost final and forever in view of
the dark and uncertain future, I prepared for my perilous journey.
I had gotten, by some means, directions that would aid me in getting to
the southland. I took the Illinois Central R.R. I was careful to take with me
my insurance outfit and credentials. On the train were officers of the U.S.
army, returning to their commands, and some others who looked to me like
detectives, on the lookout for such as I was; but while they gave me many a
searching look, they concerned themselves with their own affairs, and so let
me pass undisturbed. When I came to a little switch stopping-place, about 20
miles north of Cairo, I quietly left the train to my fellow passengers and
started for the timber lands between that place and the Mississippi River, a
distance as I remember now to be about 16 miles. I found lodging before night
with people who were hospitable with bed and board. The next day, which was
Sunday, I remained with them, waiting for nightfall to cross the Mississippi
River. The inhabitants of this timbered, isolated part of the state lived a
life of indolence, and all their habits conformed therewith. They were
hunters and fishers and were a happy-go-lucky set. But they treated me
kindly, and were willing to take the risk of taking me across the river for a
suitable compensation. Accordingly, at dusk we went to the river. They had a
skiff hidden away in some secure nook or bayou. The hiding was necessitated
from the fact that the federal boats were patrolling the river, and
destroying the means of crossing, so that it became a matter of considerable
risk to own a skiff; and to be caught in mid-river transporting one across
was quite a serious matter to owner and passenger.
When night had thrown the shadows of the timbers athwart the margin of the
stream, we listened but could hear no sound of a patrol boat, and we set out
with noiseless oars, to cross the wide river. The silent, on-moving stream,
only rippling in whispers against our skiff; the darkness, barely permitting
a dim, uncertain outline of the other shore; the fear of being run down and
captured, combined to make it a sensational experience. Thus, moving slowly,
silently and stealthily, we reached the other side safely and again my feet
were on the solid but uncertain earth of old Missouri. I bade farewell to my
obliging boatman, and found lodging for the night, according to reference on
my waybill.
The next day I travelled through a flat country, on a road made corduroy
style by laying poles crosswise with the road bed - a kind of road very
tiresome to walk on. Somewhere on the way, I noticed an abandoned well, and
having no further use for my insurance outfit, I deposited them there. They
had served me well, helping me on through many close places, but now, on the
remaining part of my journey, my business was to insure my own safety. After
a tiresome trip of some 20 miles, I came to Little River, and stopped at the
house of a Mr. Atchison. I remained there several days, waiting for some
federal troops to get out of the way. The family were very plain but kind,
and I had the opportunity to pay them, not only for my board, but to relieve
the old gentleman of a snake bite. He was hoeing his tobacco plants, and
being nearly blind, picked up a snake which he mistook for a stick. The
serpent bit him on the finger. I ligated above it and held the poison in the
finger and hand until he recovered.
While delayed there, Dr. Henry from Powhatan, Arkansas, came there, and we
together, awaited an opportunity to go forward. He was a Kentuckian and had
been back to his former home and was now returning to his family in Arkansas.
He was mounted, and from then on we 'rode and tied'. He proved to be
a very excellent and helpful companion on the voyage. After a few days delay,
we learned that the way across to Crowley's Ridge was clear, but just
before we were ready to cross Little River, on our way, an oxen team with 8
or 10 soldiers, crossed ahead of us and took the road to Castor River, across
NiggerWool Swamp, so named from the abundant moss that grew on it, which
really closely resembled the hair of the negro. We were obliged to take a
more circuitous route through the swamp, hoping by traveling faster than
they, to get ahead of them. Our road was merely a bridle path and the ground
was soft and muddy, so that walking was very tiresome. The doctor would walk
sometimes and I would ride for a rest. Our route proved to be so long and out
of the direct way, that night overtook us in the dense, dark woods. We had to
feel our way along, hoping to hear the sounds of some habitation, or come to
the bank of Castor River. At last, while I was walking along in front, I came
to where a large tree had fallen across our path. I asked the doctor to wait
until I could find a way around the log. After wandering around for awhile,
thinking I had found the way, I asked him to come on.
He said, "You have not been around the log."
I assured him I certainly had; he was equally sure I had not. So there we
were.
He said, "Now doctor, you know I have no wish to deceive you, and the
only way I can convince you that you are wrong, is to take my word for truth,
and I will prove to you I am right."
I said, "Doctor, while I am sure I am right, I know you are truthful,
and I will believe you if I can."
"Now which end of my horse did you start from?", he said.
"Its head," I said.
"Now you are at the horse's tail," he said, "and I give
you my word and honor I have not moved my horse since you started."
I had to give it up: we should have gone back on our tracks otherwise.
After some further search, I found the way around and we went on. The doctor
was riding in front; suddenly a commotion and a plunge. His horse had pitched
him off into a ditch. It was so dark that I could not see him.
I said, "Doctor, are you hurt?"
He pulled himself together and said, "I believe not."
Here then was an impassable obstacle, and we could not do otherwise than
to camp for the night, tired and hungry and thirsty as we were. The doctor
was taking a bolt of cotton home, and with that we made the best bed we
could: and in spite of hunger and thirst, the sting of mosquitoes, and
hooting of owls, we slept the sleep of the weary. The welcome daylight showed
us a ravine 6 or 8 feet deep, into which the doctor had fallen. We found the
path on the other side and pursued our journey to the ferry, on Castor River,
where we got breakfast. There we found that the ox-team had, just awhile
before, crossed over. They took our route for some miles; and after they had
branched off, we had a clear way.
We stopped at night in a cabin occupied by some women, whose men seemed to
be in the armies or hiding. We got a taste of the fare these people lived on,
which was the limit of plainness, -fat, strong bacon and corn bread. But
hunger was the best sauce, as the Spanish proverb has it, and we were
satisfied. Barefooted and untidy, they dipped their snuff and entertained us
with the common incidents of their little restricted neighborhood. Their
little clearing was on a piece of dry ground, that they cultivated for
subsistence. They expected to get a supplemental supply by hunting, they
spoke of bear bacon (bar, they pronounced it). That, with wild hogs and some
venison furnished their store of meats. Of course, when the freshets came,
their habitation was on a very small, pent up island. While simple, they were
humane and hospitable; traits which we almost always find among that class of
people. After a breakfast that differed in no respect from the supper, we
followed the path that brought us to a more pretentious and larger clearing
which might be called a farm. Our directions particularly referred us to the
owner, the one especially who would cheerfully help us on our way. When we
called him out of his house, we asked him if his name was not - - - - -. He
said it was. We told him we had been referred to him to pilot us across
Cypress Swamp. He said he was not piloting strangers these times. We
insisted, telling him who we were and our business. We seemed to be at the
end of our rope. I saw him making some curious gestures, but could not make
anything out of them. He asked us if we understood them. We said, no.
Then he said, "Did you ever hear of the Knights of the Golden
Circle?" Then it came to me that I had been told about the society in
Indiana, and had been given the signs and some words. When I left Illinois,
the secrets of that order were almost public property, and no one would think
of using them with strangers: but this gentleman, so soon as I could respond
to him, hesitated no longer, but at once got his horse and went with us. I
hope that the broken reed on which we relied at that time, did not cause him
to fall into trouble afterwards.
After we had gone several miles, in the midst of the lonely woods, we
became communicative and discovered that we three were Master Masons. We did
not establish a lodge in that dismal swamp, but the tie that bound us as
brothers, seemed, in that strange meeting, to be stronger than a chain of
steel. Our homes and destinies far asunder, the grand old order brought us
into a relationship, such as binds the members of a family together as
one.
When we came to a kind of bayou at the foot of Crowley's Ridge, we
bade our friend a brotherly goodbye with sincere thanks. We both got on the
horse and plunged through among the cypress knees. It was about a half mile
to the summit of the ridge. The doctor said, "You have heretofore taken
the lead: now it is my time." He unloaded his pack and said, "If I
don't come back, those things are yours. Goodbye."
Crowley's Ridge is a strange geological formation, extending between
swamps and streams, from the highlands of southeast Missouri to Helena,
Arkansas, having an elevation of, perhaps, 200 feet. It was a main
thoroughfare and was frequently used by military expeditions. Just at that
time the federals were using it to move some bodies of troops southward, and
it was that fact which made it a matter of anxiety to us. I took my pack and
the Doctor's, and hid myself with them, alongside of a large tree that
had fallen. A curtain of tall weeds and brush made it a good place of
concealment. While waiting anxiously for the Doctor's return, two stout
young men passed by me, not more than 20 steps away, and if they saw me, they
did not make it known. I took them to be deserters from the Confederate army,
and was glad not to make a closer acquaintance. After what seemed to be a
very long time, the doctor returned and reported the ridge clear, although a
company or two of federals had passed the crossing with their wagons and
outfit, while he reconnoitered. I was glad to get out of my cramped position,
for that ridge is noted for a number of snakes which find abundance to feed
on in the swamp until high water drives them out onto the narrow ridge. It
has been stated as a fact, that in one of the engagements of Col.
Glover's cavalry with a confederate command on this ridge, the soldiers
had to stop firing to kill snakes, as being their more deadly enemies. If
Jubal Early's offer is a criterion, viz:- That he would give a reward to
anyone who would find a dead soldier with spurs on,- their battle with snakes
would be a reasonable precaution for changing their attack.
We hurried on and even in that short time, more federal troops had passed.
But we got over at last, and felt that we had fortunately escaped from many
dangers. We obtained food and lodging some distance beyond the ridge, and
were ready, next morning, to move onward, with much less apprehension.
Return to the Contents
Chapter XIII
Our way next day was through Ash Flats, a piece of country that only
lately had been under water, and was now alive with mosquitoes. I had
encountered this pest in former years, in what I took to be their limit of
blood-thirstiness and stinging capabilities; but here they were in dense
swarms, and were ravenous from starvation. We could get no rest for them: the
labor of driving them off was greater than that of walking. We had to
literally fight our way through them for miles, and I have learned since that
they were the pests that caused me, shortly after, to have an attack of
intermittent fever.
We came at last to the St. Francis River, where we were halted on the
north side by a scout of some kind. He said but little: only asked us where
we were going and where we were from, but took great pains to examine the
shoes of the doctor's horse, after which he let us cross. I believe that
was my first sight of the fractional currency which was issued by ferrymen
and others in those times. Those little slips, printed at some local printing
office, on coarse paper, were far more current than gold or silver, for these
were out of sight. There is one quality, not too commonly found with good
money, which this sort possessed, and that is abundance - superabundance
indeed; and it answered its purpose for the time being.
Towards sunset, we stopped at a house some distance beyond the St. Francis
River to get supper and lodging. There were several Women there, but no men.
They said we could not stay, for that reason. While we were trying to
convince them of our needs, a man rode up hurriedly and demanded,
peremptorily, "what was our business?" We explained to him our
situation and objects. He said if we really were trying to get into the
southern lines they would take care of us, but if we proved to be crooked,
they would hang us before morning. We told him we would take the risk, as our
only object was, on my part, to get to the confederate army, and the
doctor's to get to his home. They said, come on. They took us to a
habitation off some distance from the river bottom, gave us our supper which,
in part, consisted of a variety, of which I did not have the satisfaction of
partaking for several years, viz:- fried chicken. Further on south, none were
to be had by the officers for love nor confederate money. That dainty had
already been appropriated by the foragers of the ranks. The supper was duly
relished, after which they showed us a place in the near woods where we could
make our bed for the night.
I have always thought we were the guests of the noted Hildebrand! The
descriptions which we afterwards had of him and his set fitted our host
exactly. Their leaning to the southern side was what helped us, and overcame
the temptation to dispose of us and appropriate the doctor's tempting
horse and luggage. Freebooters or Jayhawkers, as they doubtless were, they
treated us with knightly courtesy and hospitality.
After breakfast we moved onward and as we were within 40 miles of the
doctor's home, he kindly carried my bundle and hurried on. By this time I
was a trained pedestrian, and though the weather was sultry, before night I
had reached Burbage's regiment of cavalry, encamped temporarily on Black
River.
Return to the Contents
Chapter XIV
This regiment was made up of Missourians; shifty, brave fellows, without
the semblance of uniforms, and as far as I now remember, their camp was as
destitute of regularity as their clothing. They were sitting about in the
shade of trees in elegant leisure. One husky fellow who had been advised by
some knowing one to apply Spirits of Turpentine, or some such remedy, for the
extermination of graybacks, was sitting under a tree, fanning his afflicted
parts. He remarked that he had heard it said by someone that he would rather
have itch than graybacks, "but," said the sufferer, "If itch
is as bad as this, I would rather a d--- sight, have neither of them."
It seemed that the remedy was what the profession calls heroic.
While listening to this man's lamentations, there came in sight a man
who appeared to be practicing on stilts, and apparently trying to dodge under
the low limbs of trees. On closer view, natural legs took the place of
stilts. I said, "Why, what kind of a man is that?"
My afflicted friend said, "That is our moon fixer."
On further inquiry I was told that he was a real man, a good fellow,
modest, shrinking and much embarrassed by the attraction which his high
standing amongst his comrades (about 8 feet) drew to his personality. Steve
Hulet was his name. Towards the close of the war, a bullet which would have
passed harmlessly nearly 2 feet above the head of an ordinary grenadier,
struck Steve on the cheek. He lived to carry the scar for many years, which
gave his friends a high opinion of his conspicuous gallantry.
It was a current joke among our soldiers, that on one occasion when Col.
Kelley, an old Irish inspector, was inspecting Colonel Burbage's command,
when the men were drawn up in two ranks for inspection, Hulet, whose
bashfulness prompted him to choose the rear rank, towered above the others.
Col. Kelley commanded, "Get off that stump, sir." Not having the
physiological capability of the lowly worm, Steve could not, by taking heed,
remove one cubit from his stature. The Colonel again commanded, "Get off
that stump I say, sor." Still Steve did not obey. Col. Kelley said,
"Col. Burbage, I have commanded that soldier in the rear rank, twice to
get off that stump, and he wont obey. I ask you to place him under
ar