THE RETREAT FROM SPRINGFIELD.
A Council of War.--The Journalists' Council.--Preparations for
Retreat.--Preceding the Advance-Guard.--Alarm and Anxiety of the
People.--Magnificent Distances.--A Novel Odometer.--The Unreliable
Countryman.--Neutrality.--A Night at Lebanon.--A Disagreeable
Lodging-place.--Active Secessionists.--The Man who Sought and
Found his Rights.--Approaching Civilization.--Rebel Couriers on the
Route.--Arrival at Rolla.
On the night after the battle, the army was quartered at Springfield.
The Rebels had returned to the battle-ground, and were holding it in
possession. The court-house and a large hotel were taken for hospitals,
and received such of our wounded as were brought in. At a council of
war, it was decided to fall back to Rolla, a hundred and twenty miles
distant, and orders were given to move at daylight.
The journalists held a council of war, and decided to commence their
retreat at half-past two o'clock in the morning, in order to be in
advance of the army. The probabilities were in favor of the enemy's
cavalry being at the junction of certain roads, five miles east of
the town. We, therefore, divested ourselves of every thing of a
compromising character. In my own saddle-bags I took only such toilet
articles as I had long carried, and which were not of a warlike
nature. We destroyed papers that might give information to the enemy,
and kept only our note-books, from which all reference to the strength
of our army was carefully stricken out. We determined, in case
of capture, to announce ourselves as journalists, and display our
credentials.
One of our party was a telegraph operator as well as a journalist. He
did not wish to appear in the former character, as the Missouri
Rebels were then declaring they would show no quarter to telegraphers.
Accordingly, he took special care to divest himself of all that
pertained to the transmission of intelligence over the wires. A
pocket "instrument," which he had hitherto carried, he concealed in
Springfield, after carefully disabling the office, and leaving the
establishment unfit for immediate use.
We passed the dangerous point five miles from town, just as day was
breaking. No Rebel cavalry confronted us in the highway, nor shouted
an unwelcome "halt!" from a roadside thicket. All was still, though we
fancied we could hear a sound of troops in motion far in the distance
toward Wilson Creek. The Rebels were doubtless astir, though they did
not choose to interfere with the retreat of our army.
As day broke and the sun rose, we found the people of both
complexions thronging to the road, and seeking, anxiously, the latest
intelligence. At first we bore their questions patiently, and briefly
told them what had occurred. Finding that we lost much time, we began,
early in the day, to give the shortest answers possible. As fast as
we proceeded the people became more earnest, and would insist upon
delaying us. Soon after mid-day we commenced denying we had been at the
battle, or even in Springfield. This was our only course if we would
avoid detention. Several residents of Springfield, and with them a
runaway captain from a Kansas regiment, had preceded us a few hours
and told much more than the truth. Some of them had advised the people
to abandon their homes and go to Rolla or St. Louis, assuring them
they would all be murdered if they remained at home.
In pursuance of this advice many were loading a portion of their
household goods upon wagons and preparing to precede or follow the
army in its retreat. We quieted their alarm as much as possible,
advising them to stay at home and trust to fortune. We could not
imagine that the Rebels would deal severely with the inhabitants,
except in cases where they had been conspicuous in the Union cause.
Some of the people took our advice, unloaded their wagons, and waited
for further developments. Others persisted in their determination to
leave. They knew the Rebels better than we, and hesitated to trust
their tender mercies. A year later we learned more of "the barbarism
of Slavery."
Southwest Missouri is a region of magnificent distances. A mile in
that locality is like two miles in the New England or Middle States.
The people have an easy way of computing distance by the survey lines.
Thus, if it is the width of a township from one point to another,
they call the distance six miles, even though the road may follow
the tortuosities of a creek or of the crest of a ridge, and be ten or
twelve miles by actual measurement.
From Springfield to Lebanon it is called fifty miles, as indicated by
the survey lines. A large part of the way the route is quite direct,
but there are places where it winds considerably among the hills, and
adds several miles to the length of the road. No account is taken of
this, but all is thrown into the general reckoning.
There is a popular saying on the frontier, that they measure the roads
with a fox-skin, and make no allowance for the tail. Frequently I have
been told it was five miles to a certain point, and, after an hour's
riding, on inquiry, found that the place I sought was still five, and
sometimes six, miles distant. Once, when I essayed a "short cut" of
two miles, that was to save me twice that distance, I rode at a good
pace for an hour and a half to accomplish it, and traveled, as I
thought, at least eight miles.
On the route from Springfield to Lebanon we were much amused at the
estimates of distance. Once I asked a rough-looking farmer, "How far
is it to Sand Springs?"
"Five miles, stranger," was the reply. "May be you won't find it so
much."
After riding three miles, and again inquiring, I was informed it was
"risin' six miles to Sand Springs." Who could believe in the existence
of a reliable countryman, after that?
Thirty miles from Springfield, we stopped at a farm-house for dinner.
While our meal was being prepared, we lay upon the grass in front
of the house, and were at once surrounded by a half-dozen anxious
natives. We answered their questions to the best of our abilities,
but nearly all of us fell asleep five minutes after lying down. When
aroused for dinner, I was told I had paused in the middle of a word
of two syllables, leaving my hearers to exercise their imaginations on
what I was about to say.
Dinner was the usual "hog and hominy" of the Southwest, varied with
the smallest possible loaf of wheaten bread. Outside the house, before
dinner, the men were inquisitive. Inside the house, when we were
seated for dinner, the women were unceasing in their inquiries. Who
can resist the questions of a woman, even though she be an uneducated
and unkempt Missourian? The dinner and the questions kept us awake,
and we attended faithfully to both.
The people of this household were not enthusiastic friends of the
Union. Like many other persons, they were anxious to preserve the
good opinion of both sides, by doing nothing in behalf of either. Thus
neutral, they feared they would be less kindly treated by the Rebels
than by the National forces. Though they had no particular love for
our army, I think they were sorry to see it departing. A few of the
Secessionists were not slow to express the fear that their own army
would not be able to pay in full for all it wanted, as our army had
done.
Horses and riders refreshed, our journey was resumed. The scenes of
the afternoon were like those of the morning: the same alarm among
the people, the same exaggerated reports, and the same advice from
ourselves, when we chose to give it. The road stretched out in the
same way it had hitherto done, and the information derived from the
inhabitants was as unreliable as ever. It was late in the evening, in
the midst of a heavy shower, that we reached Lebanon, where we halted
for the night.
I have somewhere read of a Persian king who beheaded his subjects for
the most trivial or imaginary offenses. The officers of his cabinet,
when awaking in the morning, were accustomed to place their hands
to their necks, to ascertain if their heads still remained. The
individuals comprising our party had every reason to make a similar
examination on the morning after our stay in this town, and to express
many thanks at the gratifying result.
On reaching the only hotel at Lebanon, long after dark, we found the
public room occupied by a miscellaneous assemblage. It was easy to see
that they were more happy than otherwise at the defeat which our arms
had sustained. While our supper was being prepared we made ready for
it, all the time keeping our eyes on the company. We were watched
as we went to supper, and, on reaching the table, found two persons
sitting so near our allotted places that we could not converse freely.
After supper several individuals wished to talk with us concerning
the recent events. We made the battle appear much better than it had
really been, and assured them that a company of cavalry was following
close behind us, and would speedily arrive. This information was
unwelcome, as the countenances of the listeners plainly indicated.
One of our party was called aside by a Union citizen, and informed
of a plan to rob, and probably kill, us before morning. This was not
pleasing. It did not add to the comfort of the situation to know that
a collision between the Home Guards and a company of Secessionists was
momentarily expected. At either end of the town the opposing parties
were reported preparing for a fight. As the hotel was about half-way
between the two points, our position became interesting.
Next came a report from an unreliable contraband that our horses had
been stolen. We went to the stable, as a man looks in a wallet he
knows to be empty, and happily found our animals still there. We
found, however, that the stable had been invaded and robbed of two
horses in stalls adjacent to those of our own. The old story of the
theft of a saw-mill, followed by that of the dam, was brought to our
minds, with the exception, that the return of the thief was not likely
to secure his capture. The stable-keeper offered to lock the door and
resign the key to our care. His offer was probably well intended, but
we could see little advantage in accepting it, as there were several
irregular openings in the side of the building, each of them ample for
the egress of a horse.
In assigning us quarters for the night, the landlord suggested that
two should occupy a room at one end of the house, while the rest were
located elsewhere. We objected to this, and sustained our objection.
With a little delay, a room sufficient for all of us was obtained. We
made arrangements for the best possible defense in case of attack, and
then lay down to sleep. Our Union friend called upon us before we were
fairly settled to rest, bringing us intelligence that the room, where
the guns of the Home Guard were temporarily stored, had been invaded
while the sentinels were at supper. The locks had been removed
from some of the muskets, but there were arms enough to make some
resistance if necessary. Telling him we would come out when the firing
began, and requesting the landlord to send the cavalry commander to
our room as soon as he arrived, we fell asleep.
No one of our party carried his fears beyond the waking hours. In
five minutes after dismissing our friend, all were enjoying a sleep
as refreshing and undisturbed as if we had been in the most secure
and luxurious dwelling of New York or Chicago. During several years
of travel under circumstances of greater or less danger, I have never
found my sleep disturbed, in the slightest degree, by the nature of my
surroundings. Apprehensions of danger may be felt while one is awake,
but they generally vanish when slumber begins.
In the morning we found ourselves safe, and were gratified to discover
that our horses had been let alone. The landlord declared every thing
was perfectly quiet, and had been so through the night, with the
exception of a little fight at one end of the town. The Home Guards
were in possession, and the Secessionists had dispersed. The latter
deliberated upon the policy of attacking us, and decided that their
town might be destroyed by our retreating army in case we were
disturbed. They left us our horses, that we might get away from the
place as speedily as possible. So we bade adieu to Lebanon with much
delight. That we came unmolested out of that nest of disloyalty, was a
matter of much surprise. Subsequent events, there and elsewhere, have
greatly increased that surprise.
After a ride of thirteen miles we reached the Gasconade River, which
we found considerably swollen by recent rains. The proprietor of the
hotel where we breakfasted was a country doctor, who passed in that
region as a man of great wisdom. He was intensely disloyal, and did
not relish the prospect of having, as he called it, "an Abolition
army" moving anywhere in his vicinity. He was preparing to leave for
the South, with his entire household, as soon as his affairs could
be satisfactorily arranged. He had taken the oath of allegiance,
to protect himself from harm at the hands of our soldiers, but his
negroes informed us that he belonged to a company of "Independent
Guards," which had been organized with the design of joining the Rebel
army.
This gentleman was searching for his rights. I passed his place six
months afterward. The doctor's negroes had run away to the North, and
the doctor had vanished with his family in the opposite direction. His
house had been burned, his stables stripped of every thing of value,
and the whole surroundings formed a picture of desolation. The doctor
had found a reward for his vigilant search. There was no doubt he had
obtained his rights.
Having ended our breakfast, we decided to remain at that place until
late in the afternoon, for the purpose of writing up our accounts.
With a small table, and other accommodations of the worst character,
we busied ourselves for several hours. To the persona of the household
we were a curiosity. They had never before seen men who could write
with a journalist's ordinary rapidity, and were greatly surprised
at the large number of pages we succeeded in passing over. We were
repeatedly interrupted, until forced to make a request to be let
alone. The negroes took every opportunity to look at us, and, when
none but ourselves could see them, they favored us with choice bits of
local information. When we departed, late in the afternoon, four stout
negroes ferried us across the river.
A hotel known as the California House was our stopping-place, ten
miles from the Gasconade. As an evidence of our approaching return to
civilization, we found each bed at this house supplied with two clean
sheets, a luxury that Springfield was unable to furnish. I regretted
to find, several months later, that the California House had been
burned by the Rebels. At the time of our retreat, the landlord was
unable to determine on which side of the question he belonged, and
settled the matter, in conversation with me, by saying he was a
hotel-keeper, and could not interfere in the great issue of the day. I
inclined to the belief that he was a Union man, but feared to declare
himself on account of the dubious character of his surroundings.
The rapidity with which the Secessionists carried and received news
was a matter of astonishment to our people. While on that ride
through the Southwest, I had an opportunity of learning their _modus
operandi_. Several times we saw horsemen ride to houses or stables,
and, after a few moments' parley, exchange their wearied horses for
fresh ones. The parties with whom they effected their exchanges would
be found pretty well informed concerning the latest news. By this
irregular system of couriers, the Secessionists maintained a complete
communication with each other. All along the route, I found they knew
pretty well what had transpired, though their news was generally mixed
up with much falsehood.
Even in those early days, there was a magnificence in the Rebel
capacity for lying. Before the war, the Northern States produced by
far the greatest number of inventions, as the records of the Patent
Office will show. During the late Rebellion, the brains of the
Southern States were wonderfully fertile in the manufacture of
falsehood. The inhabitants of Dixie invent neither cotton-gins,
caloric engines, nor sewing-machines, but when they apply their
faculties to downright lying, the mudsill head is forced to bow in
reverence.
In the last day of this ride, we passed over a plateau twelve miles
across, also over a mountain of considerable height. Near the summit
of this mountain, we struck a small brook, whose growth was an
interesting study. At first, barely perceptible as it issued from a
spring by the roadside, it grew, mile by mile, until, at the foot
of the mountain, it formed a respectable stream. The road crossed it
every few hundred yards, and at each crossing we watched its increase.
At the base of the mountain it united with another and larger stream,
which we followed on our way to Rolla.
Late in the afternoon we reached the end of our journey. Weary, dusty,
hungry, and sore, we alighted from our tired horses, and sought the
office of the commandant of the post. All were eager to gather the
latest intelligence, and we were called upon to answer a thousand
questions.
With our story ended, ourselves refreshed from the fatigue of our long
ride, a hope for the safety of our gallant but outnumbered army,
we bade adieu to Rolla, and were soon whirling over the rail to St.
Louis.