_Home for Recruits._
I do not recall the incidents of the trip home. I do not remember the
road or how we crossed the river or anything about it, though I have
tried very hard to recall them. I only know that we went from Des Arc
to Dover, Arkansas, and that somewhere on the road Henry Gibson and
Harold Shultz joined us and that we all reached home together. Henry
Gibson is dead. Schultz is insane and confined at State Hospital No.
2 at St. Joseph, and Brother James is in Idaho, so I have no way of
refreshing my memory, and as the trip, although it covered nearly four
hundred miles, was made forty-eight years ago, my foot steps have
grown cold. It is more than probable that a single hint would rescue
the entire journey and its incidents.
I recall events after we reached home with perfect distinctness. We
remained out in the brush most of the time. Brother James, at such
times as he could, met all those who wanted to join the army. Besides
the boys on the east side of Platte River, he enlisted John and Wash
Lynch, two of the Greenwood boys, Jack Smedley, Jim Reeves, William
and John Reynolds and Richard Miller from the west side. In all there
were some twenty-five or thirty. We secured a tent and pitched it in a
secret place in what was then and now sometimes called "the hackle,"
about a mile east of Garrettsburg. We had scant provisions, some
flour, sugar, coffee and bacon which we kept hanging in a tree. During
the day we managed to partly satisfy our hunger on this diet, but at
night we went out to see the girls and get good meals. In spite of the
constant fear of discovery, we had a good time. During all this time
the boys were collecting guns and ammunition. These they got wherever
they could. Most often from friends who gave or loaned them, but
sometimes from a straggling soldier or militia man who was caught away
from camp.
Everything was ready and the night fixed for our departure. Doc Watson
had informed us that there was a company of militia camped in his
yard about three miles distant from our camp, cooking, eating and
sleeping on his blue grass. Our plan was to march up near them during
the night and wake them at daybreak and bid them goodby. During the
entire time our camp remained there, we took no pains to conceal it
from the negroes, for the most of them--and we thought all--could be
trusted as far as our white friends. We made a mistake in one of them.
He turned traitor and told the company at Doc Watson's that about two
hundred "bush-whackers" were camped in the Hackle. They informed the
authorities at St. Joe and the night before we proposed to execute our
plans they marched two regiments--one infantry and one cavalry--down
close to our camp and next morning surprised us by calling about sun
up. It was clear they had a guide for they followed the trail through
the thick woods directly to the tent.
The tent was stretched in a little valley and over beyond a deep
gulch, so that it was impossible to approach nearer than fifty yards
of it on horseback. This was too close to be comfortable to the eight
men who were in it sound asleep. Without a moment's warning they fired
into it. The aim was high and not a man was hit. They jumped and ran
for their lives and all escaped. It was our good fortune that more
of the boys were not in the tent. As it was to be the last night at
home, most of the boys had gone to bid their friends goodby and had
remained with them for the night. Brother James and I had gone home
with Charley Pullins, who had joined our company, and, in place of
returning to the tent, we all took our blankets and slept in his rye
field.
Early next morning we were awakened by the barking of Pullins' dog.
We jumped up and looked and listened. A regiment of infantry was
passing along the road. They had a six gun battery with them and I
could not mistake the creaking of the old truck-wheels. We picked
up our blankets and ran to the house and threw them in at the back
window, and then stepped around in front to watch them go by, some
two hundred yards distant. We had no idea they were after us with all
this equipment, but supposed they were simply marching from Easton
to St. Joe and had probably missed the road. We knew nothing of the
attack upon the tent, nor did we know that at that moment the cavalry
regiment had divided into squads and was galloping from house to house
all over the neighborhood, looking for the Gibson boys.
While we stood watching the procession pass we heard a rumbling noise
behind us, and back of the house. I turned and saw the cavalry coming
under lash. We ran for the front gate which led away from the infantry
that was passing. A few rods beyond the gate lay a heavy body of
timber and we made for it. As I went out I passed my fine saddle mare
grazing in the yard, and I threw the yard gate wide open. By this
time the soldiers had galloped around both sides of the house and
commenced firing at us. At the first shot my mare threw up her head
and tail and made for the gate. She was safe in the timber almost as
soon as we were. When we reached the timber bullets were flying after
us pretty thick, but I stopped and threw my double barrel shot gun
to my shoulder. Brother James called to me to save my loads, but as
we each had two six shooters and a double barrel shot gun, I thought
I could spare one load so I gave it to them. They, like all soldiers
at that time, were dreadfully afraid of the brush, and, whether it
was my shot or the fact that we had reached the timber, they stopped
firing and started around to the farther side of the woods. I lost
sight of Pullins and James, and when I saw the soldiers start around
the timber I ran back towards the house and into a cornfield on the
opposite side. When I reached the fence at the farther side of the
cornfield, I ran directly upon two of the infantry soldiers who had
apparently become lost from the regiment. They were as much, if not
more surprised than I was, for I had presence of mind enough to use
the remaining load in my shot gun and they tore through the brush like
wild deer.
I went up to the tent expecting to find the boys there. Instead, I
found the tent riddled with bullets and several old guns which the
soldiers had destroyed by hammering the barrels around a tree. I was,
of course, greatly surprised, but after looking over the situation
I was gratified at finding no evidence that any of our men had been
killed. I learned afterwards that but one man had been killed in the
whole raid. That man was George Reynolds. After the attack upon the
tent the soldiers rode over to Reynold's house and found him, an old
gray haired man, carrying a basket of corn to his hogs. They shot
him where he stood and rode off and left him for the women of his
family to bury, as the men in the community didn't dare come out of
the brush to their assistance. One man, Rich Miller, who knew of his
death, ventured out and helped bury him.
The raid scattered our little band of volunteers and all hope of
gathering them together was abandoned. On the evening after the raid
my saddle mare--the one I had let out through the gate at Pullins',
after remaining in the woods all day, came up to the gate at the
old home, as though she knew--and I believe she did--that it was
not safe for her to be seen on the road in daylight. During the
night that followed I located Brother James and he, Pullins and I
decided to go back into the Confederate lines. Within a day or two
we left expecting, as upon our preceding trip, to cross the river
at Richfield. We passed through old Haynesville on the line between
Clinton and Clay Counties, which was then a thriving village, but
which I am told is now abandoned as a town, and then on directly
toward the river. There was considerable Union sentiment about
Haynesville and some one there must have suspected our purpose and
informed a company of militia that happened to be in the neighborhood.
We rode leisurely along, not suspecting that we were being followed,
and, when we reached the home of Reuben J. Eastin, some six miles
south of Haynesville, stopped for dinner. Eastin was related to
Pullins and the family were all glad to see us, and invited us into
the house and the old gentleman directed his son to take our horses to
the barn and feed them. I told him we had better go to the brush and
feed our horses and have our meals sent to us. He said there was no
danger as there were no soldiers in the community.
We all pulled off our belts and threw them, with the navies in them
on a bed and prepared for dinner. As I stepped across the room to
a looking glass to comb my hair, I glanced out the door and saw a
company of militia coming up the road from the north under whip.
Brother and I sprang for our navies and buckled them around us and ran
out at the back door and into a corn field, which was on the south
side of the house. Pullins, who was not accustomed to warfare, was so
frightened that he forgot his guns. It was August and the weather was
very hot. We ran down between two rows of corn as fast as we could,
Pullins in front, Brother James behind him and I in the rear. I got
hot and called to them not to run so fast, but they did not hear me
and kept going. I stopped and sat down. I could then hear the horses
galloping around to the farther or south side of the field, so I
turned and ran east toward the main road which ran in front of the
house, and along the east side of the field. When I got to the fence
I looked both directions and saw no soldiers. They had evidently
anticipated that we would all make for the heavy timber which lay
south and west of the field, and had undertaken to head us off in that
direction. There was a woods pasture just across the road, with only
large trees in it, but I saw beyond the timber a thicket which seemed
to skirt a draw or gully and I made up my mind to cross the road and
take my chances. I remember thinking that if I should be discovered
while crossing the open pasture there would probably be no more than
four or five men in the squad and that I could get behind a big tree
and wait until they came close to me, when with my skill in the use of
the navy, I could protect myself against them. I jumped over the fence
and made good speed, taking no time to look back, until I reached the
thicket. Not a man of them saw me. They had left a gap open, and I
was out of the trap. I followed the brushy ravine some distance and
came to another cornfield. In passing through this field I came upon
a water melon patch, completely surrounded by the corn. I decided
this would be a good place to stop and wait for developments. I took
a big ripe melon out into the corn and proceeded to supply as much
as possible the dinner the soldiers had caused me to lose. I knew I
was safe, but I was not so sure about my companions. In a few minutes
I heard two pistol shots. They were from Brother James' navy. I had
heard the report too many times to be mistaken. This assured me that
he had not at that moment been captured. In about five minutes I heard
two musket shots, and this alarmed me. I felt perfectly sure if they
had fired at Brother James they had not harmed him and he had escaped
without returning the fire, but I could not be so sure about Pullins
as I knew he had no weapons with him. No further shots were fired.
I remained in the corn field until nearly night and then started for
the home of my sister, Mrs. Wilson, who lived about three miles north
and east. I reached her house about nine o'clock at night, but did
not go in. She brought food to me in the timber near by and remained
with me waiting and watching for Brother James and Pullins. We were
both very uneasy and greatly feared they had been captured. We knew
either or both of them, if alive and not captured, would come to
her house to find me before attempting to go on to the south. About
midnight Brother James came in. He knew nothing of Pullins. We watched
for him all night but he never came. Next morning Mrs. Wilson saddled
her horse and rode over to Eastin's to see if she could hear of him.
When she returned she told us they had captured Pullins and taken him
to Liberty. The last word Pullins' young wife had said to me as we
left home, was, "Take good care of Charley." There was little that
could be done for him now, but in the hope that we might be able to
do something, or that, as he was a perfectly innocent boy, making his
way south for safety, he would be paroled and released and allowed to
return to his home. We remained in the brush a week waiting for him.
During this time Brother James gave me a full account of his escape.
He said when he and Pullins reached the south side of the corn field
they could hear the horses coming and decided it would not be safe to
attempt to get out into the timber, so they put back into the field
and became separated. In a short time men were all around the field
and in the field riding through the tall corn. When James discovered
that men were in the field he crouched down beneath a bush and
remained perfectly quiet in order that he might hear the approach of
the horses through the rattling corn. He had remained in this position
but a short time when he saw a single horseman coming toward him. He
drew his navy and lay still. When the man got very close he arose and
shot him in the leg. He then shot his horse and ran. He could easily
have killed the man, but did not want to do it. At the sound of these
guns all the pursuers started in the direction of the supposed fight.
James heard them coming and decided to go back toward the house in
the hope of finding it unguarded. In that case he would secure his
horse. When he got to the fence near the barn he set his foot upon a
rail and raised his body to look. At that moment he saw two soldiers
on guard and they saw him. They raised their guns to fire, but James
threw up his hands and said, "Don't shoot." They thought he had
surrendered and dropped their guns. In the twinkle of an eye he fell
back off of the fence and put back into the heavy corn. The soldiers
both fired at him but he had the fence as a shield and their shots
were harmless. The guards then yelled, "Here he is," and the remainder
of the soldiers in the field and out supposing the musket shots had
killed one or more of us, all galloped for the barn. James heard them
going from all directions and kept close watch that none who were in
the field might come near enough to see him. When they were all well
on toward the barn he made quick time back through the field and into
the woods beyond. He had not gone far in the timber when he heard them
coming again, and, as he was almost worn out and feared he would not
be able to get out of reach of them he climbed a tree that had thick
foliage upon it and remained there the whole afternoon. He could hear
the soldiers riding around the field and through the corn and in the
timber near him. When night came they gave up the search, and James
climbed down and made his way to Mrs. Wilson's.
By the end of a week we had the full story of Pullins' fate. They had
taken him to Liberty and there pretended to try him, found him guilty,
but of what crime no record will ever show and no man will ever know,
sent him back to old man Eastin's, where he was shot by twelve men.
They then plundered Eastin's house, took his horses, harness and
wagons, bedding and table ware, provisions and everything movable and
moved him, a blind and helpless cripple, out of his house and under
the trees of his orchard, set fire to his house and burned it to the
ground.
We could do nothing but go on, so with sad hearts and without horses
or blankets, with nothing but our trusted navies and plenty of
ammunition, we skulked our way to old Richfield again, some fifteen
miles from Mrs. Wilson's. We reached the river just about dark and
lay in the bluffs all night, without food or shelter. Early in the
morning we ventured down to a house and asked for breakfast. We knew
by the way we were received that he was a southern man, but we were
too cautious to make our wishes known at once. By the time breakfast
was over we decided we could trust him, so we asked him if he knew
of any way we could get across the river. He told us there was a man
on the other side of the river who had a skiff and made a business
of setting southern men across, but he was very cautious and would
not come to this side except upon a signal. We then asked him if he
would assist us and he said he would, but we must be very careful to
evade the northern soldiers on guard and not let them see him as if
they suspected him they would probably kill him and burn his home. We
assured him that we were discreet, so he went with us. He took us a
short distance above Richfield and into a timbered bottom, and when
we got to the road which paralleled the river he told us to stop and
wait for him. He passed across the road and out into the willows that
grew between the road and the water. While we stood waiting a man and
woman approached through the timber from the west singing Dixie at the
top of their voices. We knew this was a ruse to deceive just such men
as ourselves. Federal soldiers were so near that no sincere southern
person would sing Dixie at the top of his voice within their hearing.
We ran back into the timber and lay down behind a log. The couple
passed, still singing, and went on toward the town. In a few minutes
our man came back. We left our hiding place and followed him to the
river. The man was there with his boat waiting for us. We jumped in.
Our friend shoved the boat from shore and put back into the willows.
Our boatman told us that soldiers both above and below the town had
been trying to get him to come across all morning, but they did not
know his signal and he would not come.
Our man in crossing towards us had taken a course which kept his boat
out of view, and as he went back he kept behind an island until well
toward his own shore and out of range. As the boat passed out from
behind the island they discovered us and commenced shooting, but we
were too far away to fear their bullets.
We landed safely and then, having passed over what was considered our
greatest difficulty, began to think about other troubles still ahead.
Independence was full of Federal soldiers. Lone Jack and Pleasant
Hill were no better. Roving bands of foragers and scouts kept the
country between closely patroled. We had but one hope and that was
that we might chance to fall in with Quantrell on one of his raids.
William Hill, a cousin of ours, lived near Pleasant Hill, and if we
could reach him, we felt sure he could tell us when Quantrell might
be expected in that locality. We left the river and walked cautiously
through timber and fields, stopping at farm houses for food only after
night, sleeping on the ground without blankets and finally reached
Hill's place. He was at heart a strong southern man, but had managed
to deceive the Union soldiers and his Union neighbors. We asked about
Quantrell. He informed us that some of his neighbors belonged to
Quantrell's band, and that Quantrell was at that time in camp about
three miles away. We did not know Quantrell nor any of his men and
asked Hill to go with us to the camp. He objected. Said that he had
acted the part of a northern man so completely that Quantrell had
threatened him, believing him to be in earnest. We told him if he went
with us he would have nothing to fear. He seemed not to understand
how this could be if we knew neither Quantrell nor his men. We then
explained that Jesse and Frank James were with Quantrell and that
they lived in Clay County near the home of our sister, and were well
acquainted with us by reputation.
Hill finally consented and saddled horses for all and took us to the
camp. He introduced us to Quantrell and then in turn we met Frank and
Jesse James, Cole Younger and his brothers and other leaders of the
company. We explained Hill's relation to us; that we had known him
from his birth in Tennessee and that he was with us at heart. They
told him to go home and fear nothing from them. Hill took his horses
and left well satisfied.
The whole company remained in camp some days, and during the time one
of Hill's neighbors gave Brother James a fine mare, bridle and saddle.
I have always thought that Hill furnished the money for this equipment
and gave it in the name of a trusted neighbor. It was not long until
a fine outfit was presented to me. I took it and said nothing. I
liked the horse, but did not like the saddle. It was an old dragoon
government saddle with brass mounted horns both before and behind.
About this time a detachment of Shelby's men came north on a scout.
Quantrell joined them and attacked Pleasant Hill and drove the Union
forces to Lone Jack. He followed and defeated them at Lone Jack and
drove them out of that section of the country.
We returned to Pleasant Hill and were received with great cordiality
by the people. The women baked cakes and pies and sent them into
camp, which were fully appreciated. At the pay office which had
been maintained by the Federal officers we found large quantities
of greenbacks of small denominations lying on desks and tables and
scattered upon the floor. It was counted of little value at that time
and in that community. One dollar of Confederate money was worth five
of the governments' greenbacks.
After a rest, the scouting parties that had joined Quantrell in the
attack upon Pleasant Hill and Lone Jack, started south. Quantrell
traveled with us about three days, and I seriously contemplated
joining that band and remaining in Missouri. I mentioned the matter to
Brother James and he discouraged the idea. He said winter was coming
on and the camp equipment was inadequate, besides he preferred that I
should go into the regular service. I took his advice, and have since
had many reasons to be thankful to him for it. We finally reached a
place in Arkansas called Horsehead, where winter quarters had been
established. At that time I did not belong to the army, as my term of
enlistment had expired, but at Horsehead I enlisted for three years,
or during the war. My horse, saddle and bridle belonged to me, hence
my enlistment was in the cavalry. During the early part of the winter
the officers decided that as horse feed was so scarce, the horses
should be sent into Texas to graze through the winter, promising that
each man's horse should be restored to him in the spring. I parted
with my horse reluctantly, but of course, after enlistment had to obey
orders. I never saw him again and when spring came I was compelled to
enter the infantry. Brother James and many others were in the same
condition.
We were assigned to a company of Missouri troops. Our captain's name
was Miller. His home was in northeast Missouri. Our first lieutenant's
name was Miller also, and his home was in Burr Oak Bottom, Kansas.
The first business in the spring was the guarding of the line across
Arkansas from Fort Smith to Helena. We had our portion and did our
work. Later General Holmes was given command and marched us across
the state and, I have always thought, very foolishly attacked the
fortifications at Helena. The river was full of gunboats and if he had
been successful he could not have held the place. He was repulsed,
however, and his troops badly cut up. The Missouri troops declared
they would serve no longer under Holmes. Whether for this or some
other reason, he was removed and command given to General Drayton.
I do not remember that Drayton did anything but keep us lying in camp,
drilling every day, with now and then a dress parade, with all the
women and children in the country invited to come and see us. This was
very distasteful to us. We felt that we were not there to be raced
around over the hot sand in the hot sun just to be looked at. Aside
from this we had a pretty good time cock-fighting, horse racing and
playing seven-up for tobacco.
General Price came back to us about Christmas and the Missouri boys
planned a great celebration. Christmas day about five hundred took
their guns and marched around to the headquarters of each colonel
and made him treat or take a bumping against a tree. We then marched
up to General Drayton's headquarters. His negro cooks and waiters
were getting supper. They were soon cleared away and the general was
called out. He backed up against a tree as though he expected to be
shot, but he soon found we were only bent upon a little fun. The boys
produced their fiddles and set to playing. Then they sang and danced
and now and then we fired a volley just to make the woods ring. The
General seemed to enjoy the fun and told the boys to play on the
bones. One quickly replied that we had been playing on bones all
winter and pretty dry bones, too. The General saw the joke and smiled
good-naturedly.
We next moved up and took possession of a six-gun battery. The muskets
were not noisy enough. The first round brought Drayton. He ordered us
to stop, but we told him it was Christmas and paid no attention to
him. He sent for General Price, and as the General and his body guard
rode up we ceased firing and set to waving hats and cheering. "Pap,"
as we called General Price, told us we could have our Christmas fun
but we must not disturb the battery. That was enough. We always did
what "Pap" told us to do. If he said fight we fought, and when he said
run we ran.
It was too early to stop the fun, so we decided to go over and see
the Arkansas boys who were camped about two miles away. We found
on arriving that the boys who wore straps on their shoulders had
organized a dance in a big tent and invited the girls for miles
around. The dance was in full swing. The guards around the tent halted
us and asked if we had a pass. We said "Yes, this is Christmas," and
passed on. We made no noise or disturbance, but walked quietly up
around the tent, and each man cut himself a window so he could look
in on the scene. The shoulder straps were furious and came swarming
out like hornets. We laughed at them and told them to go on with the
dance, but they would not do it and sent for General Price. We learned
this and started back, and met the General going toward the Arkansas
camp and cheered him wildly. He passed on and said nothing, though I
am sure he knew we were the boys he was after. We went into camp and
nothing was ever said about our frolic.