TO SPRINGFIELD AND BEYOND.
Conduct of the St. Louis Secessionists.--Collisions between Soldiers
and Citizens.--Indignation of the Guests of a Hotel.--From St.
Louis to Rolla.--Opinions of a "Regular."--Railway-life in
Missouri.--Unprofitable Freight.--A Story of Orthography.--Mountains
and Mountain Streams.--Fastidiousness Checked.--Frontier
Courtesy.--Concentration of Troops at Springfield.--A Perplexing
Situation.--The March to Dug Spring.--Sufferings from Heat and Thirst.
The success of the Union arms at Booneville did not silence the
Secessionists in St. Louis. They continued to hold meetings, and
arrange plans for assisting their friends in the field. At many
places, one could hear expressions of indignation at the restrictions
which the proper authorities sought to put upon the secession
movement. Union flags were torn from the front of private
buildings--generally in the night or early morning. Twice, when
Union troops were marching along the streets, they were fired upon by
citizens. A collision of this kind had occurred at the corner of Fifth
and Walnut streets, on the day after the capture of Camp Jackson. The
soldiers returned the fire, and killed several persons; but this did
not deter the Secessionists from repeating the experiment. In the
affairs that took place after the battle of Booneville, the result was
the same. Unfortunately, in each collision, a portion of those killed
were innocent on-lookers. After a few occurrences of this kind,
soldiers were allowed to march through the streets without
molestation.
About the first of July, there were rumors that an insurrection would
be attempted on the National holiday. Ample provision was made to give
the insurgents a warm reception. Consequently, they made no trouble.
The printer of the bills of fare at a prominent hotel noticed the
Fourth of July by ornamenting his work with a National flag, in
colors. This roused the indignation of a half-dozen guests, whose
sympathies lay with the Rebellion. They threatened to leave, but
were so far in arrears that they could not settle their accounts.
The hotel-keeper endeavored to soothe them by promising to give his
printing, for the future, to another house. Several loyal guests were
roused at this offer, and threatened to secede at once if it were
carried out. The affair resulted in nothing but words.
On the morning of the 11th of July I left St. Louis, to join General
Lyon in the Southwest. It was a day's ride by rail to Rolla, the
terminus of the Southwest Branch of the Pacific road. I well recollect
the strange and motley group that filled the cars on that journey.
There were a few officers and soldiers _en route_ to join their
comrades in the field. Nearly all of them were fresh from civil life.
They wore their uniforms uneasily, as a farmer's boy wears his Sunday
suit. Those who carried sabers experienced much inconvenience when
walking, on account of the propensity of those weapons to get between
their legs. In citizen's dress, at my side, sat an officer of the old
army, who looked upon these newly-made warriors with much contempt,
mingled with an admiration of their earnestness. After an outburst
of mild invective, he pronounced a well-merited tribute to their
patriotism.
"After all," said he, "they are as good as the material the Rebels
have for their army. In some respects, they are better. The Northern
blood is cold; the Southern is full of life and passion. In the first
onset, our enemies will prove more impetuous than we, and will often
overpower us. In the beginning of the struggle, they will prove our
superiors, and may be able to boast of the first victories. But their
physical energy will soon be exhausted, while ours will steadily
increase. Patience, coolness, and determination will be sure to bring
us the triumph in the end. These raw recruits, that are at present
worthless before trained soldiers, distrusting themselves as we
distrust them, will yet become veterans, worthy to rank with the best
soldiers of the Old World."
The civilian passengers on a railway in Missouri are essentially
different from the same class in the East. There are very few women,
and the most of these are not as carefully dressed as their Oriental
sisters. Their features lack the fineness that one observes in New
York and New England. The "hog and hominy," the general diet of the
Southwest, is plainly perceptible in the physique of the women. The
male travelers, who are not indigenous to the soil, are more roughly
clothed and more careless in manner than the same order of passengers
between New York and Boston. Of those who enter and leave at
way-stations, the men are clad in that yellow, homespun material known
as "butternut." The casual observer inclines to the opinion that
there are no good bathing-places where these men reside. They are
inquisitive, ignorant, unkempt, but generally civil. The women are
the reverse of attractive, and are usually uncivil and ignorant.
The majority are addicted to smoking, and generally make use of a
cob-pipe. Unless objection is made by some passenger, the conductors
ordinarily allow the women to indulge in this pastime.
The region traversed by the railway is sparsely settled, the ground
being generally unfavorable to agriculture. For some time after
this portion of the road was opened, the natives refused to give it
patronage, many of them declaring that the old mode of travel, by
horseback, was the best of all. During the first week after opening
the Southwest Branch, the company ran a daily freight train each way.
All the freight offered in that time was a bear and a keg of honey.
Both were placed in the same car. The bear ate the honey, and the
company was compelled to pay for the damage.
I have heard a story concerning the origin of the name of Rolla, which
is interesting, though I cannot vouch for its truth. In selecting a
name for the county seat of Phelps County, a North Carolinian residing
there, suggested that it should do honor to the capital of his native
State. The person who reduced the request to writing, used the best
orthography that occurred to him, so that what should have been
"Raleigh," became "Rolla." The request thus written was sent to the
Legislature, and the name of the town became fixed. The inhabitants
generally pronounce it as if the intended spelling had been adopted.
The journey from Rolla to Springfield was accomplished by stage,
and required two days of travel. For fifty miles the road led over
mountains, to the banks of the Gasconade, one of the prettiest rivers
I have ever seen. The mountain streams of Southwest Missouri, having
their springs in the limestone rock, possess a peculiarity unknown
in the Eastern States. In a depth of two feet or less, the water
is apparently as clear as that of the purest mountain brook in New
England. But when the depth reaches, or exceeds, three feet, the water
assumes a deep-blue tinge, like that of the sky in a clear day.
Viewed from an elevation, the picture is one that cannot be speedily
forgotten. The blue water makes a marked contrast with surrounding
objects, as the streams wind through the forests and fields on their
banks. Though meandering through mountains, these rivers have few
sharp falls or roaring rapids. Their current is usually gentle, broken
here and there into a ripple over a slightly descending shallow, but
observing uniformity in all its windings.
My first night from Rolla was passed on the banks of the Gasconade.
Another day's ride, extended far into the second night, found me at
Springfield. When I reached my room at the hotel, and examined
the bed, I found but one sheet where we usually look for two.
Expostulations were of no avail. The porter curtly informed me,
"People here use only one sheet. Down in St. Louis you folks want two
sheets, but in this part of the country we ain't so nice."
I appreciated my fastidiousness when I afterward saw, at a Tennessee
hotel, the following notice:--
"Gentlemen who wish towels in their rooms must deposit fifty cents at
the office, as security for their return."
Travel in the Border and Southern States will acquaint a Northerner
with strange customs. To find an entire household occupying a single
large room is not an unfrequent occurrence. The rules of politeness
require that, when bedtime has arrived, the men shall go out of doors
to contemplate the stars, while the ladies disrobe and retire. The men
then return and proceed to bed. Sometimes the ladies amuse themselves
by studying the fire while the men find their way to their couches,
where they gallantly turn their faces to the wall, and permit the
ladies to don their _robes de nuit_.
Notwithstanding the scarcity of accommodations, the traveler seeking
a meal or resting-place will rarely meet a refusal. In New York or New
England, one can journey many a mile and find a cold denial at every
door. In the West and Southwest "the latch-string hangs out," and
the stranger is always welcome. Especially is this the case among the
poorer classes.
Springfield is the largest town in Southwest Missouri, and has a fine
situation. Before the war it was a place of considerable importance,
as it controlled the trade of a large region around it. East of it the
country is quite broken, but on the south and west there are stretches
of rolling prairie, bounded by rough wood-land. Considered in a
military light, Springfield was the key to that portion of the State.
A large number of public roads center at that point. Their direction
is such that the possession of the town by either army would control
any near position of an adversary of equal or inferior strength.
General Lyon was prompt in seeing its value, and determined to make an
early movement for its occupation. When he started from St. Louis
for Booneville, he ordered General Sweeney to march from Rolla to
Springfield as speedily as possible.
General Sweeney moved with three regiments of infantry and a battery
of artillery, and reached Springfield in five days from the time
of starting; the distance being a hundred and twenty miles. He then
divided his forces, sending Colonel Sigel to Carthage, nearly fifty
miles further toward the west, in the hope of cutting off the Rebel
retreat in that direction. Major Sturgis was moving from Leavenworth
toward Springfield, and expected to arrive there in advance of General
Lyon.
Major Sturgis was delayed in crossing a river, so that the Rebels
arrived at Carthage before Colonel Sigel had been reinforced. The
latter, with about eleven hundred men, encountered the Rebel column,
twice as large as his own. The battle raged for several hours, neither
side losing very heavily. It resulted in Sigel's retreat to avoid
being surrounded by the enemy. Wonderful stories were told at that
time of the terrific slaughter in the Rebel ranks, but these stories
could never be traced to a reliable source. It is proper to say that
the Rebels made equally large estimates of our own loss.
On General Lyon's arrival all the troops were concentrated in the
vicinity of Springfield. It was known that the Rebels were encamped
near the Arkansas border, awaiting the re-enforcements which had been
promised from the older States of the Confederacy. General Fremont had
been assigned to the command of the Western Department, and was daily
expected at St. Louis to assume the direction of affairs. Our scouts
were kept constantly employed in bringing us news from the Rebel camp,
and it is quite probable the Rebels were equally well informed of
our own condition. We were able to learn that their number was on the
increase, and that they would soon be largely re-enforced. After three
weeks of occupation our strength promised to be diminished. Half of
General Lyon's command consisted of "three-months men," whose period
of enlistment was drawing to a close. A portion of these men went
to St. Louis, some volunteered to remain as long as the emergency
required their presence, and others were kept against their
will. Meantime, General Lyon made the most urgent requests for
re-enforcements, and declared he would be compelled to abandon the
Southwest if not speedily strengthened. General Fremont promised to
send troops to his assistance. After he made the promise, Cairo was
threatened by General Pillow, and the re-enforcing column turned in
that direction. General Lyon was left to take care of himself.
By the latter part of July, our situation had become critical. Price's
army had been re-enforced by a column of Arkansas and Louisiana
troops, under General McCulloch. This gave the Rebels upward of twelve
thousand men, while we could muster less than six thousand. General
Price assumed the offensive, moving slowly toward Springfield, as if
sure of his ability to overpower the National forces. General Lyon
determined to fall upon the enemy before he could reach Springfield,
and moved on the 1st of August with that object in view.
On the second day of our march a strong scouting party of Rebels was
encountered, and a sharp skirmish ensued, in which they were repulsed.
This encounter is known in the Southwest as "the fight at Dug Spring."
The next day another skirmish occurred, and, on the third morning,
twenty-five miles from Springfield, General Lyon called a council
of war. "Councils of war do not fight" has grown into a proverb. The
council on this occasion decided that we should return to Springfield
without attacking the enemy. The decision was immediately carried out.
The beginning of August, in Southwest Missouri, is in the midst of the
warm season. The day of the march to Dug Spring was one I shall never
forget. In Kansas, before the war, I once had a walk of several miles
under a burning sun, in a region where not a drop of water could be
found. When I finally reached it, the only water to be found was in
a small, stagnant pool, covered with a green scum nearly an inch in
thickness. Warm, brackish, and fever-laden as that water was, I had
never before tasted any thing half so sweet. Again, while crossing the
Great Plains in 1860, I underwent a severe and prolonged thirst, only
quenching it with the bitter alkali-water of the desert. On neither of
these occasions were my sufferings half as great as in the advance to
Dug Spring.
A long ride in that hot atmosphere gave me a thirst of the most
terrible character. Making a detour to the left of the road in a vain
search for water, I fell behind the column as it marched slowly along.
As I moved again to the front, I passed scores of men who had fallen
from utter exhaustion. Many were delirious, and begged piteously for
water in ever so small a quantity. Several died from excessive heat,
and others were for a long time unfit for duty. Reaching the spring
which gave its name to the locality, I was fortunate in finding only
the advance of the command. With considerable effort I succeeded
in obtaining a pint cupful of water, and thus allayed my immediate
thirst.
According to the custom in that region, the spring was covered with a
frame building, about eight feet square. There are very few cellars
in that part of the country, and the spring-house, as it is called,
is used for preserving milk and other articles that require a low
temperature. As the main portion of the column came up, the crowd
around the spring-house became so dense that those once inside could
not get out. The building was lifted and thrown away from the spring,
but this only served to increase the confusion. Officers found it
impossible to maintain discipline. When the men caught sight of the
crowd at the spring, the lines were instantly broken. At the spring,
officers and men were mingled without regard to rank, all struggling
for the same object. A few of the former, who had been fortunate in
commencing the day with full canteens, attempted to bring order out
of chaos, but found the effort useless. No command was heeded. The
officers of the two regiments of "regulars" had justly boasted of the
superior discipline of their men. On this occasion the superiority was
not apparent. Volunteers and regulars were equally subject to thirst,
and made equal endeavor to quench it.
Twenty yards below the spring was a shallow pool, where cattle and
hogs were allowed to run. Directly above it was a trough containing
a few gallons of warm water, which had evidently been there several
days. This was speedily taken by the men. Then the hot, scum-covered
pool was resorted to. In a very few minutes the trampling of the
soldiers' feet had stirred this pool till its substance was more like
earth than water. Even from this the men would fill their cups and
canteens, and drink with the utmost eagerness. I saw a private
soldier emerge from the crowd with a canteen full of this worse than
ditch-water. An officer tendered a five-dollar gold piece for the
contents of the canteen, and found his offer indignantly refused. To
such a frenzy were men driven by thirst that they tore up handfuls
of moist earth, and swallowed the few drops of water that could be
pressed out.
In subsequent campaigns I witnessed many scenes of hunger and thirst,
but none to equal those of that day at Dug Spring.