I was only seventeen when Col. Mockbee gave a dancing party for his
daughter at his home in Harrisonville which was to terminate seriously for
some of us who were there.
The colonel was a Southerner, and his daughter had the Southern spirit,
too. Probably this was the reason that inspired the young Missouri
militiamen who were stationed at Harrisonville to intrude on the colonel’s
party. Among them was Captain Irvin Walley, who, even though a married
man, was particularly obnoxious in forcing his attentions on the young
women. My sister refused to dance with him, and he picked a quarrel with
me.
“Where is Quantrell?” he asked me, with a sneer.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“You are a liar,” he continued, and as he went down in a heap on the
floor, he drew his pistol, but friends came between us, and at their
solicitation I went home and informed my father of what had taken place.
He told me to go down to the farm in Jackson county, and to keep away from
the conflict that Walley was evidently determined to force. Next morning
I started. That night Walley and a band of his scouts came to my father’s
house and demanded that he surrender me, on the ground that I was a spy,
and in communication with Quantrell. Father denounced it as a lie.
Though a slave-owner, father had never been in sympathy with secession,
believing, as it turned out, that it meant the death of slavery. He was
for the Union, in spite of his natural inclinations to sympathy with the
South.
A demand that I surrender was conveyed to my father by Col. Neugent, who
was in charge of the militia at Harrisonville, again charging that I was a
spy. I never doubted that his action was due to the enmity of Walley. My
parents wanted me to go away to school. I would have liked to have stayed
and fought it out, and although I consented to go away, it was too late,
and I was left no choice as to fighting it out. Watch was being kept for
me at every railroad station, and the only school I could reach was the
school of war close at home.
Armed with a shot-gun and revolver, I went out into the night and was a
wanderer.
Instant death to all persons bearing arms in Missouri was the edict that
went forth Aug. 30 of that year from Gen. John C. Fremont’s headquarters
at St. Louis, and he declared that all slaves belonging to persons in arms
against the United States were free. President Lincoln promptly overruled
this, but it had added to the bitterness in Missouri where many men who
owned slaves were as yet opposed to secession.
It was “hide and run for it” with me after that. That winter my
brother-in-law, John Jarrette, and myself, joined Capt. Quantrell’s
company. Jarrette was orderly sergeant. He never knew fear, and the forty
that then made up the company were as brave men as ever drew breath.
[Illustration: John Jarrette]