GENERAL JOHN B. MARMADUKE’S “CAPE GIRARDEAU RAID,” APRIL, 1863
General John B. Marmaduke was a thoroughly born and reared Southern
man. Descended from Virginia ancestry, he first saw the light on
March 14th, 1833, at Arrow Rock, Missouri. Possessed of a splendid
physique, with a common school education, he entered Yale. He was
there two years and one year at Harvard, and then he was appointed
to the United States Military Academy from whence he graduated when
twenty-two years of age. As a brevet second lieutenant he went with
Albert Sidney Johnston and aided in putting down the Mormon revolt
in 1858. He remained in the West for two years and at the opening of
the Civil War was stationed in New Mexico. Fond of military life,
it involved much sacrifice for him to resign his commission in the
United States Army, but he did not hesitate an instant and on the
17th of April, 1861, he severed his connection with the regular army
and at once raised a company of Missouri State Guards. His West
Point education gave him prominence at once and he was made colonel
of a Missouri military organization. Brave and proud-spirited, he
disagreed with his uncle, Claiborne F. Jackson, then governor of
Missouri, and left the service there and reported at Richmond, to
the Confederate government. He had five brothers in the Confederate
Army or Navy. His father, Meredith Miles Marmaduke, was governor of
Missouri in 1844.
With General Hardee, in Southeast Missouri, he was made colonel
of the 3d Confederate Infantry. Crossing the river to aid General
Albert Sidney Johnston destroy Grant’s army, he participated in the
Battle of Shiloh, and was signally honored by his grateful government
for his splendid service and was made a brigadier general while
he was yet an inmate of the hospital from wounds received on that
field. There was a great call at that time in the West for brave and
experienced men, and four months after the Battle of Shiloh he was
transferred to the trans-Mississippi Department, and from August,
1862, to January, 1863, he commanded the Confederate cavalry in
Arkansas and Missouri. Vigilant, active and enterprising, he made a
number of raids into Missouri. He was a fierce fighter, and never
hesitated to attack his enemy when prudence justified an assault.
Ordered to break Federal communication between Springfield and Rolla,
Missouri, he inflicted great loss upon his enemies, but after a most
valiant attack, through the failure of some of his troops to come on
time, he was compelled to withdraw and retreat. He held a conspicuous
place in the attack upon Helena, Arkansas, in July, 1863, and was
successful in capturing the Federal camps at Pine Bluff. In the
defense of Little Rock he played a notable part and covered General
Price’s retreat after the evacuation of the capital of Arkansas.
He fought a duel with General Lucien M. Walker which shadowed his
life. Under the terms arranged by the seconds, the two men were
placed ten feet apart. The weapons were revolvers, and they were
to advance and continue firing until the weapons were empty. Walker
was mortally wounded at the second shot. Marmaduke was placed under
arrest and relieved of his command. The exigencies of the hour made
his services so important that he was permitted to resume his command
during the pending operations. He was finally released by General
Holmes. All through Missouri and Arkansas and Louisiana he was in
many engagements, and for his magnificent service in 1864 in delaying
Steele and preventing his union with General Banks, and for his valor
in the Battle of Jenkins Ferry, he was made a major general. He was
with Price in his ill-fated campaign in the fall of 1864. Dauntless
and gallant in the protection of Price’s rear, while making vigorous
battle he was captured near Fort Scott, Kansas. He was carried to
Fort Warren and remained there until August, 1865, and when released
went abroad, but returned to engage in business in St. Louis. For
two years he was active in journalism. He served as secretary of the
Missouri Board of Agriculture, was railroad commissioner four years,
elected governor of Missouri in 1884, in which office he died in his
fifty-fourth year, in Jefferson City, on December 24th, 1887.
Brave, of great resource, intensely loyal, few men of the war had as
many wide experiences. The South had no more loyal son. His three
and a half years of military service were marked with incessant and
constant activities, and he had no rest, unless while in the hospital
recovering from wounds received in battle. Although connected with
the cavalry, in an engagement where some Missouri infantry were
falling back before a sudden and terrific fire, General Marmaduke,
with an aide-de-camp, William Price, rode in among the hesitating
infantry, and violently taking from two standard bearers their
colors, rushed into the midst of these troops and lifting the banners
aloft pleaded with the men to stand firm. His noble example restored
order to the line, and out of retreat they moved forward with
conspicuous gallantry, and won victory.
In March, 1863, General Holmes was relieved of the command of the
Trans-Mississippi Department, and General E. Kirby Smith, who had
made such a brilliant reputation in the Kentucky campaign with the
army of Tennessee, was assigned to the full charge of the territory.
He established his headquarters at Shreveport, Louisiana, and General
Holmes was placed in command of the district of Arkansas, which
included Arkansas, Indian Territory and the state of Missouri.
Early in April, 1863, General Price returned after his service in
the army of Tennessee and the Trans-Mississippi Department, and was
assigned to the command of an infantry division. In the northern
part of Arkansas there was nothing except Marmaduke’s division of
cavalry, and this was in and around Batesville. The Confederates
were loth to abandon the portion of Arkansas above the Arkansas
River, and endeavored to hold the enemy in check for eighty miles
north of that stream. The Confederates were not unaware that a most
determined effort would be made to capture Little Rock. By the aid of
the forces from Memphis and up the Arkansas River and down through
Missouri, combinations were made which it was believed would render
it impossible for the Confederates to hold that post.
The only really organized force operating in the territory northwest
of Arkansas was Marmaduke’s cavalry division, composed of Shelby’s
and Greene’s brigades. Anxious to do something to relieve the
pressure upon Little Rock, General Marmaduke felt that if he
should march northeastwardly to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, he might
accomplish two things: first, he might recruit quite a large number
of troops. Missouri was one of the best recruiting grounds for the
Confederate states. There was no time when an organized force entered
Missouri, when there was any sort of opportunity for the young men,
or even the middle-aged men to enter the Confederate service that
hundreds of them did not rush to the Confederate standard. Marmaduke,
Shelby, Price and all those who invaded Missouri were not only
gratified but astonished at the readiness with which recruits flocked
to join them.
General Marmaduke believed that he might stay the approach of the
Federals in their advance upon Little Rock. General Holmes was so
pleased with Marmaduke’s offer to do something that he not only
approved but encouraged him, and ordered forward to his support
Carter’s brigade of Texas cavalry, which was the possessor of a
four-gun battery and counted fifteen hundred men. The men of this
brigade were not experienced, but they had grit, endurance and
courage, and they were not long in measuring up to the standard of
veterans. This gave General Marmaduke a force of nearly five thousand
cavalry and eight pieces of artillery, but nearly one-fourth of them
were unarmed and one-fifth dismounted. This was a formidable array
to turn loose either in the rear or in the face of the enemy. It was
more than Morgan ever had under his command; it was more than General
Wheeler was ever able to take on a raid; and was greater than General
Forrest had hitherto been able to pull together.
Marmaduke also learned that there was a Federal officer at
Bloomfield, five miles south of Cape Girardeau, who had become
infamous in the eyes of the Confederates, and of all the men in the
Federal Army the Missouri troops would rather have captured General
John McNeil. He was known amongst the men of the South as “the
butcher.” This came from his brutality to prisoners and citizens,
and he was the most hated man in the Federal Armies west of the
Mississippi River.
The season of the year was fairly propitious for cavalry marches. The
country was denuded of corn and oats, but green stuff was abundant
and the grasses which grew with such luxuriousness in that section
furnished bountiful feed, such as it was, for the horses. The
scarcity of grain made raiding difficult unless grass was growing.
Colonel John F. Phillips, commanding a Federal Missouri cavalry
regiment, on July 30th, 1863, wrote of this section: “There is
nothing to eat in this country. It is the impersonation of poverty
and desolation.”
From Batesville, Arkansas, to Cape Girardeau was about one hundred
and eighty miles. Marmaduke had learned that McNeil had been ordered
to march northward from Bloomfield, Missouri, toward Pilot Knob.
This would be a distance of seventy miles. Marmaduke reasoned
correctly that McNeil would obey orders, and so he sent a force
toward Bloomfield to stir up McNeil, hoping that he would follow
the directions of his superiors and march toward Pilot Knob.
Frederickstown was ten miles southeast of Pilot Knob, and here
Marmaduke purposed to intercept McNeil, and with Carter behind him
and Shelby in front of him, it was calculated that short work would
be made of McNeil’s two thousand infantry.
In the beginning of the march there was warm work at Patterson,
a small town fifty miles from the Arkansas line. At this point a
Missouri Federal militia regiment, under Colonel Smart, and several
Home Guard companies had been stationed for quite a while. One of the
most offensive of these Home Guard companies was commanded by Captain
Leper. Neither Leper nor Smart stood well with the Confederates.
They had been aggressive, cruel and malignant, and General Marmaduke
had particular reasons for capturing both Leper and Smart. The
presence of the Confederates had not been known fully to Smart and
his associates, and General Marmaduke had made disposition of his
forces to surround Patterson and its garrison, which he intended
to capture at any cost. With his eight pieces of artillery he
felt sure that within a reasonable time he could batter down the
fortifications. Shelby was ordered to swing to the east, and a Texas
regiment was to move west; the Texas forces were to go east of the
place and close in from that direction, while Shelby came from the
other side. The Missourians caught all the pickets, and without alarm
were ready to assault the garrison. The officers in charge of the
Texas brigade were not familiar with the Missouri tactics. Instead
of capturing the pickets, they undertook to fight them and used the
artillery and opened a vigorous fire upon these isolated videttes.
Colonel Smart had been insistent that there was nothing but a few
militia in proximity to Patterson, but when he heard the sound of the
artillery, he realized that heavy forces were about to encircle him,
and he speedily and hastily fled. A small part of the garrison was
captured. The men the Confederates wanted, Smart and Leper, escaped.
These fired the houses containing the supplies, and a large part of
the town was burned. Later this was charged to the Confederates,
and after the war suits were brought against quite a number of
Confederate officers to make them responsible for the destruction of
the town. This was annoying, but it was not effective. The escape of
the hated men quickened desire to bag General McNeil.
A short while after this campaign McNeil still further increased
his reputation for bloodthirstiness. A Federal spy was captured and
disappeared near Palmyra.
Major J. N. Edwards in his splendid work, “Shelby and his Men,” gives
the following account of this terrible incident:
Colonel Porter captured Palmyra late in the fall of 1863, and
during his occupation of the town, one Andrew Allsman, an
ex-soldier of the 3d Missouri Federal Cavalry, and a spy, informer,
guide, traitor and scoundrel generally, was spirited away, no
one ever knew how or where. McNeil re-entered Palmyra upon its
evacuation by Colonel Porter, confined ten worthy and good men
captured from Porter’s command, issued a notice to Porter dated
October 8th, informing him that unless Allsman was returned
within ten days from the date thereof, the prisoners then in his
possession should be executed. W. R. Strachan was the provost
marshal, and was just as cruel and just as bloodthirsty as his
master. Allsman was not returned—indeed, Porter never saw this
notice until the men were shot—and even had it been placed before
him, the rendition of Allsman was an impossibility, for he knew
nothing whatever of the men required to be produced. Deaf to all
petitions, steeled against every prayer for mercy, eager and swift
to act, McNeil ordered the execution at the end of the appointed
time. Ten brave, good men—Willis Baker, Thomas Humston, Morgan
Bixler, John Y. McPheeters, Herbert Hudson, Captain Thomas A.
Snider, Eleazer Lake and Hiram Smith—were led out for the death
shots. Fearless, proud and noble in their bearing, these innocent
and excellent soldiers were sacrificed to the whim of a butcher,
and to satisfy the cravings of a foreign and brutal soldiery. They
met death without a shudder, willing to yield upon their country’s
altar the lives that had been devoted to her service. A young
Spartan—one of the abovementioned men—volunteered to take the place
of an old man whose family was large and helpless, was accepted,
and untouched by the heroism of the boy, and indifferent to one of
the finest exhibitions of chivalry upon record, McNeil and Strachan
ordered his execution with the rest, thus covering their names with
everlasting infamy.
Colonel Carter, of Texas, commanding the brigade called by his name,
ambitious for distinction, solicited the leadership of the force
which was to attack McNeil, and drive him either to follow the line
of his orders or force him to Cape Girardeau. He was specially
directed under no circumstances to follow McNeil into Cape Girardeau.
That post was strongly fortified and was considered a position of
great value on the Mississippi River. Carter was given a force equal
to that of McNeil, so that there would be no question of McNeil’s
discomfiture if he disputed Carter’s right of way. The men who fought
in Missouri and Arkansas never hesitated about results if it was man
to man. McNeil’s courage had been hampered by a knowledge of the
fact that the Missouri troops had declared if he was ever taken they
would put him to death. His persecutions and atrocities had rendered
him so odious that nothing could stay the vengeful resolves which
filled the hearts of the Missouri and Arkansas Confederates. Carter
had orders if McNeil went to Cape Girardeau to rejoin Marmaduke.
Marmaduke with Shelby’s brigade and half of Greene’s reached
Frederickstown, and there waited for a sight of McNeil or for a
report from Carter. Neither came. Quickly marching his command to
Jackson, half way between Frederickstown and Cape Girardeau, General
Marmaduke there learned that McNeil had hastened to Cape Girardeau;
that Carter, pursuing him, had become so enthused that he had lost
sight of his positive orders from Marmaduke and had followed McNeil
up to and partially into the fortifications of Cape Girardeau.
McNeil’s reinforcing the garrison rendered the Federal forces at the
Cape impregnable. McNeil was inside the fortification and Carter was
outside and he was afraid to go away lest the Federals should rush
out and destroy him. Shelby was immediately despatched to extricate
Carter from his embarrassing situation. In order to do this, it was
necessary to attack the fortification, which Shelby promptly did,
and lost forty-five men, killed and wounded, among them some of the
very best in his brigade. Some were so seriously wounded that it was
impossible to remove them, and they were left in charge of a surgeon,
amongst their enemies. In those days of intense bitterness and
malignity, this was barely preferable to death.
These four days lost meant much to General Marmaduke. The exuberant
zeal of one of Carter’s colonels, coupled with his courage,
had changed the Confederate plan and destroyed its successful
accomplishment, and seriously affected the ultimate safety of
Marmaduke’s whole division. It was only thirty miles from Cairo to
Bloomfield, and from New Madrid, Missouri, to Bloomfield, Marmaduke
must almost of necessity pass this point, and this rendered the
Confederate Army assailable both in its front and in its rear.
Marmaduke, north of Cape Girardeau, started his army south on the
27th of April. General Vandever was north of Marmaduke, and McNeil
was south of him. McNeil, who had one day’s start and the shortest
road to travel, could easily have intercepted Marmaduke and blocked
his way of escape. Marmaduke, of course, might have ridden around
him, and doubtless would have attempted to do this, but this was
hazardous. McNeil became intimidated by the fear that he might be
captured, and that, he well understood, meant direful consequences,
and instead of pursuing the shorter road, it was charged that he
intentionally took the longer one and let Marmaduke pass the critical
point unopposed. This put the entire Federal force behind the
Confederates, where it had no chance either greatly to disturb or
arrest their march, unless the swelling currents of the St. Francis
River might hold them in check until the Federal pursuers could,
through such barrier, reach and overwhelm them.
General Curtis, from St. Louis, sent reinforcements to Cape
Girardeau, and he had ordered from Columbus, Kentucky, several
regiments through New Madrid, Missouri, to prevent or embarrass the
escape of Marmaduke.
McNeil, on the 26th of April, telegraphed from Cape Girardeau that he
was attacked by eight thousand men under Marmaduke.
General William Vandever, on April 29th, 1863, six miles from
Bloomfield, Missouri, speaking of Marmaduke, said: “I think we have
run him harder than he has ever run before.”
Of the men who went with Marmaduke, as before stated, twelve hundred
were unmounted and nine hundred unarmed. Some of the men had Enfield
rifles, some Mississippi and squirrel rifles. Practically no captures
had been made, and the opportunities for securing mounts in this
already war-cursed country were very slim. The unmounted men, with
hope stirring their hearts, half running, half walking, kept up with
their more fortunate comrades who had started with beasts that could
at least go a part of the way. If any of these walking troopers
picked up a mount, it was the occasion for special thanks to the God
of war. In the beginning General Marmaduke divided his forces over
large territory and scattered them, to create the impression that
he was moving northwardly instead of northeastwardly. He trusted in
this way to throw his enemies off their guard. This would enable
him to surprise, if not destroy them. McNeil heard of Marmaduke’s
coming and retired to Cape Girardeau. He was not willing to meet the
Confederates in the open field. The best that Marmaduke could count
on for fighting was thirty-five hundred men, a majority of them
inadequately armed. He was to face at Cape Girardeau and elsewhere
more than ten thousand men. When the Federals started southwardly,
after leaving sufficient men to garrison Cape Girardeau, they had
forty-five hundred cavalry, forty-five hundred infantry and fifteen
pieces of artillery to join in the pursuit.
On the night of the 21st of April Captain John M. Muse of the
Missouri division had been ordered with ninety men to Farmington,
Missouri, in order to attempt the destruction of the bridge of the
St. Louis & Iron Mountain Railroad. This was to terrify St. Louis and
hold in check the garrisons north of Frederickstown. He was to travel
through the woods until he reached Farmington. Enterprising, as well
as brave, Muse moved with the greatest celerity. The bridges were
all well guarded, and while he destroyed one bridge, the task was
performed under tremendous difficulties and with supreme danger. The
experiences of this force for four days in the work assigned them was
one of the most difficult as well as the most dangerous and heroic
happenings of the whole war.
In those days it was easy enough to get into Missouri, but sometimes
it was extremely difficult to get out. The Confederates were sorely
pressed by two commands, each of them outnumbering their forces.
Marmaduke and Shelby did not count the Federals real peril. They
believed they could, if necessary, fight and rout these. They could
not whip or outwit the elements, and these gave them deep concern.
Heavy rains fell, and as there was nothing but mud roads through
the territory it required but a few hundred cavalry to pass over
one of these to render it thereafter almost impossible to travel.
But there was something even worse than these rains and the roads.
That was the necessity of crossing swollen streams. Generals can
rely upon the fidelity and courage of their troops, but they cannot
control the weather. The heavy rains at this period came most
inopportunely for General Marmaduke. When he realized the necessity
of retiring, he was miles north of Cape Girardeau. General Vandever
was behind him, and McNeil over at Cape Girardeau had the shorter
route, and with diligence and energy could put himself at any time
across his front. The Federals were intensely aroused. They resented
this invasion and used the Mississippi and the Ohio Rivers in the
endeavor to put armies athwart the path that Marmaduke must travel.
The situation was full of discouragement. One could not look ahead
without seeing dangers, nor think without facing difficulties. The
ownership of horses under the exigencies of such a raid was never
seriously considered, and while each side would prefer to take from
their enemies, they were not unwilling, under the calls of necessity,
in the end to impress from their friends. Everything in the line
of march that could carry a man or that was better than some man’s
horse in the column was quickly appropriated. The heavy marching,
the muddy roads and the constant rain had impaired the vitality of a
majority of the mounts of General Marmaduke’s men. The horses sank to
their knees in the mud, and to carry the soldiers and their equipment
and be subject to so much that was injurious under foot not only
seriously tried the horses, but it laid grievous burdens upon the
men who marched in the rear. The Federal and Confederate artillery
had moved over these roads; Federal supply wagons had cut them full
of deep ruts, and jug holes and gullies had been washed out, making
the movement of artillery tedious and difficult. Three miles an hour
with such passways and surroundings would be rapid marching. Many
sought to escape the burdens and difficulties of the main road and
scattered along the woods or in the fields which lay alongside the
line of travel. No sooner would a third of the command pass over
any given part of the road than it was a lagoon of mud and slush.
Spattered in every direction by the horses’ feet, this disgusting
mixture was plastered upon the backs and hips of the beasts and the
bodies of the men. Their necks and their faces were encased with the
horrible substance. The sides of the horses were covered half an inch
deep with the mud, and the clothes of the men were so bespattered
that they looked as if they had been drawn through the disgusting
mixture. There were no farms, no stores, and few homes to supply any
food other than that carried in their haversacks, and this, by the
constant rains and the churning on the backs of the men, became so
unpalatable that it required fiercest hunger to force the men to eat
at all.
When once the question of return was presented and settled it became
the paramount thought of the hour. It would have been a tremendous
blow to the Confederacy to have had Marmaduke and his men captured.
The idea of surrender never entered the minds of these raiders. The
marching was to be rapid, and the tired and hungry beasts could not
expect much rest from their labors. The most they could have was to
browse upon the grass which during the spring season had grown up in
the woods and fields and pastures along the roads. The closest point
from Cape Girardeau at which Marmaduke could cross the St. Francis
River would be fifty miles. The size of the division did much to
lengthen the hours of the march. Few cavalry commands ever undertook
to ride through any worse country or to travel more difficult roads.
The highway was just broad enough for two soldiers to ride abreast,
and forty-five hundred men riding two abreast with eight pieces of
artillery makes a column from three to five miles. There was no
parallel road General Marmaduke could use. It was necessary to keep
the Confederates in supporting distance to each other. The men who
were pursuing not only had the best mounts, but they had complete
supplies of every kind for man and beast.
General Marmaduke dare not separate his forces lest he should be
attacked in detail by the forty-five hundred cavalry who were
following his train. It might, and probably would happen, that he
would need every man he could summon. It required a beast far less
time to eat a gallon of oats or corn than to satisfy its hunger by
browsing in the woods or fields and thereby secure a sufficiency
to meet its hunger and maintain its vitality. The Confederates’
ammunition was now much impaired. The horses for the artillery and
the ammunition wagons and the ambulance had been worn out by the
march of two hundred and fifty miles. Marmaduke resolved under no
circumstances to abandon his artillery. Among the cavalry, the horse
artillery was always to be saved, and only extraordinary emergencies
would justify any command in giving up its guns. The armies, East
and West, looked askance at cavalry who abandoned or permitted the
capture of their artillery. Only extremest reasons would excuse such
results. Cannon suitable for the artillery in Marmaduke’s Missouri
department was not over-abundant, and many requisitions and a good
many petitions had to be made before the meagre supply possessed
by the Missouri, Texas and Arkansas cavalry could be obtained, and
Marmaduke in conjunction with Shelby resolved that only a great peril
and severe disaster would justify them in leaving or destroying their
few guns.
No officer had a tent. All—of whatever rank—took pot-luck with the
men on the ground. Here and there a deserted stable, or an outhouse,
or an abandoned home might afford shelter for a small part of the
command. All were placed on a common level, in-so-far as conveniences
were concerned. No officer was willing to accept anything better than
that which the men obtained. Some brush or evergreen limbs, or—if
the ravages of war had spared them—a few rails, were laid upon the
soaked earth. Over these a gum or other blanket was spread, and these
constituted the couches upon which these brave and self-sacrificing
soldiers would find even a few hours of rest.
From Frederickstown to the St. Francis River was seventy-five miles.
Once the St. Francis was passed, safety was assured. Starting from
Frederickstown, on the 27th of April, Shelby, Marmaduke and Carter,
the last men to cross the St. Francis River, went over on the 1st
of May. This ninety-six hours was used to cover seventy-five miles.
This was an average of three-quarters of a mile per hour. There was
no human energy that could move a division at a much greater rate
of speed. Nature put every possible impediment in the way of these
tired, patient Confederate cavalry. Hour by hour, the officers and
the men watched the falling rain, and they all understood that these
meant increasing difficulties and added danger, and greater labor.
The bridges had all been destroyed. Either Federals or Confederates
had burned them before. Those who passed these streams must ford them
or provide temporary passways. Hours before, Marmaduke and Shelby had
been revolving in their minds what might occur when they reached the
St. Francis River. They needed no weather prophet to tell them what
was going to happen from the incessant rains which had fallen for
the last four or five days. The Confederates had no pontoon bridges
and no pontoon tackle. They had some axes, a few spikes, and the
pioneers a few augurs. With this limited equipment, they understood
that they must take what they could find on the banks of the stream
and construct something that would carry over the guns and caissons
and at least permit the men to walk (even though the bridge be partly
submerged) across the rapid currents. The pursuers well understood
the thoughts that were passing through the minds of the retreating
Confederates. If they were cornered, there could be no doubt that a
ferocious resistance would meet the men in blue. If the worst came
to the worst, Marmaduke and his men might ride through and over
the cavalry that was pursuing them and they could sweep aside the
infantry that, by easy stages, along the lands outside the traveled
road, were seeking to overtake them or at least to furnish backing
for the cavalry who were to do the aggressive and sharper work. There
were many anxious hearts among the forty-eight hundred Confederate
cavalry. The rank and file had supreme confidence in both Marmaduke
and Shelby. They were leaders who never ran away without good reason,
and few wished to run away on this expedition. There was no place
where they could find even reasonable hope if scattered. It was
necessary for them to hang together and to Shelby and his brigade
was largely committed the defense of the rear. They had been tried
in many difficult circumstances in the past and the three thousand
Confederates in front knew that they would discharge well all the
duties which might be committed to them in this hour of extremity.
A trembling, crazy bridge had been built across the St. Francis
River. This was full from bank to bank. Marmaduke, uneasy, had sent
an engineer forward to make provision for crossing his army when it
should reach the turgid stream. Shelby had ordered Major Lawrence,
his pioneer officer, to ride without let or hindrance and construct
the bridge, but Marmaduke had pre-arranged this and when Shelby’s
engineer reached the river, the bridge was ready for use. It was
a slow process to erect this structure. Only men could tread its
swinging lines. These were compelled to cross in single file. The
river was not cold enough to seriously chill the horses, and they
took their chances in the rapid currents. The artillery was the
real perplexity. Huge logs were cut down and fastened together, an
unwieldy raft was constructed, while an improvised barge helped hold
the mass in line, and a piece at a time was run upon the raft and
with great effort ferried over. It was a weird scene that night on
the banks of the raging stream. All horses can swim, they do not have
to be taught as men. With them it is an instinct. Fires were kindled
along the bank, and with some oaths and much belaboring the brutes,
in the darkness, were forced into the water. Some turned back, but
they were beaten over the head with brush and limbs, and then some
bold horsemen would plunge in and turn their heads southward across
the stream, and, like a long flock of wild geese, with a leader, the
horses would paddle themselves across the river. Eight hours of the
night were consumed in this dangerous undertaking. To cross four
thousand men in single file, and get eight pieces of artillery and
eight caissons on a square raft against a rapid current was no mean
task.
Two miles back on the road from the river was another weird scene.
There were no lights there. General Shelby and his brigade were
posted on each side of the battery which occupied the highway, and
then the word was passed along the line that come what might, not an
inch of ground was to be yielded. These orders are always portentous,
and yet they are not terrifying to brave men. A sense of duty comes
to the rescue of the human soul under such conditions, and this calms
fear and makes hearts unfaltering.
[Illustration: GENERAL MARMADUKE]
The spirits of the weary horsemen rose to the sublimest heights.
There was not a minute in these eight hours that a foe was not
expected. Far out on the roads, vigilant scouts were riding, and
far back on the way, for several miles, videttes and squads were
posted, so as to catch the first sound of an enemy’s approach. These
were all watching and waiting to bring the Confederate rearguard
warning of the coming of a foe. They had ridden hard every hour of
the day. There was neither corn nor hay nor oats to stay the pangs of
hunger which were felt by the half-famished beasts. In sheer pity at
first they were permitted, at the ends of the halter, to nibble the
grass which even the blight and ravages of war could not destroy, but
later this was denied. Their browsing might disturb the acuteness of
hearing, and more than that, at any moment they might be called to
bear their masters into a night charge. Hard as it looked, they were
saddled and bridled, and stood with their owners in line, waiting and
ready to fight any foe that might come.
There was no sleeping this night. It was a night of danger, a night
of extremest peril. Officers and men stood around in groups, and
attack was expected every instant. A sleeping picket, forgetful of
duty, at this momentous instant, a forgetful scout, tired out it may
be by lengthened and incessant marching, might imperil the safety of
the entire command. Men were not left alone to pass the fateful hours
and important labors of this crucial moment; they were placed two and
two, so that the strengthening of companionship would help them bear
the burdens and endure the hardships of the weary hours and heavy
tasks of the long, long night. A foe filled with vengeful desire
to capture and destroy Marmaduke and his men was behind, and the
deep, seething river was in front. No eye could penetrate far into
the forest through which the column reached. Horses were brought
close up to the line of battle. Here and there a horseholder might
steal a cat nap, or at some moment when he was not watched, might,
beside a tree, or a stump, enjoy a brief sleep, but it was only for
an instant, for everybody was on the lookout. A thousand men were to
do an heroic act for three thousand down at the river bank. Those
at the river bank might hear the sound of artillery and the rattle
of musketry, horses might be pushed into the stream and the riders,
stripped and holding to their manes and tails, might possibly cross
over the river, but these men who had been placed on the outpost with
orders to stand in the face of all attacks, if need be to die there,
found no time for sleep.
Shelby and Shanks, and Gordon, and Carter, were all there. They
understood and appreciated the importance of the work which had been
given them to do. The call of the impending crisis sounded in their
ears and filled their souls with sublime courage. The past of these
soldiers was a glorious and magnificent record. This lifted them up
into a frame of mind which nerved them, if need be, to despise death
and cheerfully to perish at the post when duty called. They waited
and waited and waited, and no foe came. A little while before the
gray streaks of light came coursing in long lines from the east,
they were still ready to do and die. A courier came to tell them
that all but they had passed the stream. The guns were limbered,
and the horses with the artillery in silence were turned toward the
St. Francis River, and Shelby and his men, with such horses as had
been retained for the use of the rearguard, slowly and complacently
rode down to the spot where their comrades had spent the night in
ferrying the stream. All did not come at once. The line was long
extended, and when the vanguard and the artillery reached the stream,
the needed preparations to cross had been made. Two trips put the
artillery on the south bank. The horses must take their chances in
the stream, and then the men in single file, with water to their
knees, slowly waded along the swaying bridge that the currents moved
to and fro and threatened to engulf those treading it at every step.
In this retreat and escape across the river, somebody had to be last,
and that somebody must take not only the chances of capture, but also
the risks of annihilation.
Upon Captain George Gordon, with one hundred and twenty Missourians,
this burden was laid. He had been marching and fighting and starving
for more than half a month. Shelby had told his men that, as the
rearguard, they must all stand together and if need be, fall, and
that he did not under any circumstances intend to allow his artillery
to be destroyed or captured. Upon Captain George Gordon was laid the
duty of holding the last outpost, and with his men constitute the
forlorn hope in defense of this little army in its passage of the St.
Francis River.
The artillery had been saved. The rearguard, mounted, was not yet
over. The sun was just rising when the raft made its last trip and
landed the last caisson on the southern bank of the stream. With the
sun came the Federal pursuers. They had not believed the Confederates
would be able in the night to cross the St. Francis, and so they
slept and waited, feeling assured that on the morrow capture would
be easy. The Federal sharp-shooters came pressing through the heavy
timber. They opened a severe fire, and the thud of a minie ball,
ploughing its way through the body of some member of the faithful
little rearguard, served notice that trouble was abroad in the land.
The pressure grew stronger and stronger. Only a hundred and twenty
men in gray were on the north side. All others were safely over the
unfordable stream. Federal cavalry riding in hot pursuit could be
seen galloping down the highway, and between them and the raging
river was only a small column of brave riders clad in gray. The
Confederates safely on the south bank looked across the water and
grieved at the fate of the one hundred and twenty comrades who stood
and held the pursuers at bay until all the others were safely over.
Their courage and their generosity appealed to the better instincts
of the courageous soldiers. Some offered to swim back and help and
rescue the gallant remnant who still remained on the north bank.
Sharp-shooters climbed the high trees on the south bank. Some found
cozy places on the hills close to the stream, and with deadly aim
warned the intruders to caution and reserve.
The water was too deep and the currents too swift to attempt
with saddles and bridles and guns to swim the weary beasts over,
encumbered as they must be, either in carrying or pulling their
riders. There were only three alternatives for these rearguardsmen.
One was to surrender; one was to swim, with the chance that more than
half would be drowned; and the other was to ride up the stream and
seek a more favorable locality for passing the river.
The Federal cavalry were in close and fierce pursuit. Twice this
gallant band attempted, when a shallower spot had been found, to
cross, but the Federals, angered by the escape of the main army, felt
that they were bound to take this rearguard, and so they pressed in
upon them with much vigor and determination, resolving to capture
them at all hazards.
At last a better swimming place was found, and the rearguard,
resolving to die or drown rather than submit to capture, forced
their horses into the water. A fusillade of shots was directed at
them as they swam across, and the bullets came quick and fast. These
spattered the water in the faces of the receding Confederates, and
here and there a fatal shot took effect and the lifeless body of a
Confederate floated a little way on the surface and then sank in the
current. Only a few were killed or wounded. More than nine-tenths of
these brave fighters reached the opposite bank.
Shaking the water from their soaked garments, the sharp-shooters
turned and fired upon their pursuers, and with steady and accurate
aim avenged the death and wounds of those who had suffered in this
retreat.
Shelby and Colonel Gordon and Carter were the last men to cross
the bridge. Unsightly, tottering, shaky, the bridge had served its
purpose. It was not much of a bridge, but it had saved four thousand
men and their equipment. Fastened with cables on the south side, when
Shelby and Carter stepped upon the shore, a ready knife was drawn by
one of his followers, the moorings were cut and the faithful bridge,
no longer required, was turned loose down the stream. As it floated
out upon the rapid currents, the Federals on the opposite side, in
rage and disappointment, opened a fusillade across the water, but
a few well-directed shots from the cannon drove them to cover, and
Marmaduke, Shelby and Carter and their followers, saved now from
pursuit, took up their journey to Jacksonport, sixty miles away. They
had no need now to hasten, there was no foe to disturb, alarm and
harass them. For four days they waded and rode through muddy, slimy
swamps. The experience in these sloughs was horrible in the extreme.
The troopers, willing to rest their faithful steeds, dismounted and
walked by their sides. Three times a day they were permitted to
graze upon the rich herbage that lined the roads to Jacksonport.
Separated along different highways, both men and horses were treated
with the greatest consideration and given easy journeys to the camp
at Jacksonport, where the wounded might mend, where the horses with
scalded backs might recuperate and permit their scars to be covered,
and the men might burnish their arms, repair their trappings, wash
their soiled garments, and be ready for some other expedition at
their country’s call.
For four days they had something to face worse than enemies. They
were compelled to wade and ride through the muddy, slimy swamps
south of the St. Francis. These sloughs, generating miasma in every
particle that composed their horrible mixture, rendered these
ninety-six hours excruciatingly trying. There was no escape from
the slightly elevated roads that had been cut through these forests
and swamps. Only a small portion of the cavalry and artillery could
pass along these roads until they became practically impassable.
The cannons were mired and the horses were tramping in mud and slush
above their knees. With the gait of a snail, Marmaduke’s men walked
and rode amidst these dreadful surroundings. Had they not been brave
men, they would have preferred to have laid down and died rather than
to have endured the horrors of this march. A common suffering made
them generous and helpful to each other. Food was scarce for man, and
there was practically none for the beasts, and all pulled and labored
through these quagmires. Longing for the sight of higher ground,
praying to escape from these hateful and depressing surroundings, the
terribleness of the conditions prevented the men from dismounting to
help their wasted and emaciated beasts. Here and there in the mud
and slush, the poor brutes, unable to move further, laid down in the
water and mud, and neither coaxing nor lashing could induce them to
rise. They preferred death to further torment on this God-forsaken
road, and all along the path through these swamps, the beholder would
constantly see horses either dying under fatigue or so burdened as
to be unwilling to rise. They simply died rather than take another
step forward. The constant riding by day and by night, the meagre
supply of food, the perils in conflict, the tremendous fatigue, the
long, long journey, all tried out their souls and their patience, but
the worst and hardest of all was the ninety-six hours consumed in
covering the horrible roads through these dismal swamps and gloomy
bayous.