|There were no horses in camp, but there were many saddles, an
indication that the camp was evacuated so hastily that there was not
time to put the accouterments on the steeds, where they belonged. The
saddles came handy to the civilian attachés of the expedition, and so
did the blankets and a good many other things that had been left behind.
A company of infantry was left in charge of the camp, and then the rest
of the column pressed on in pursuit.
Outside the town there was another brief halt, caused by the presence of
a small company of mounted men, who evidently acted as a rear-guard,
and with whom a few shots were exchanged. Some of the dignitaries
of Boone-ville came out to surrender the place and beg that private
property should be respected, and while they were parleying with General
Lyon and Colonel Blair two steamboats left the landing in front of
Booneville and steamed up the river. They carried the greater part of
the fleeing rebels, the remainder making their escape by land along the
river road.
And so ended the battle of Booneville. The losses on the Union side were
three killed and ten wounded; on the rebel side the number of casualties
was never positively known, owing to the fact that many of the state
troops fled directly to their homes and stayed there, or at all events
were not heard from again. Eight or ten were known to have been killed,
and about twenty wounded.
A year or two later an affair of this sort would have been regarded
merely as a roadside skirmish, but at that time it was an occurrence of
great moment. From one end of the country to the other the account of
it was published, and it has become known to history as an important
battle. Politically it was of great consequence, as it was the first
battle fought in Missouri, if we leave out of consideration the
incidents of Camp Jackson and the day after, which cannot be regarded
as battles in any sense. It was the first trial of strength between
the state authorities of Missouri and the national government, and as
a trial of strength it showed the power of the United States and the
resources and abilities of the government better than could have been
done by a whole volume of proclamations.
Disciplined troops were brought face to face with raw recruits who had
not received even the rudiments of military instruction. Many of them
were not even organized into companies, but had come together hastily
at the call of the governor, and on the day of the battle were trying
to fight “on their own hook.” And they learned the lesson which is
generally taught under such circumstances--that such a hook is a very
poor one to fight on.
The greenness of the men is shown by some of the incidents of the day.
Reverend William A. Pile, the chaplain of the First Missouri, was a
muscular Christian, who showed such a fondness for fighting that he
afterward went into the service and gained the rank of brigadier-general
before the war was over. At Booneville he was assigned to look after the
wounded, and for this purpose was given command of four soldiers, two of
them from the mounted escort of General Lyon, and two infantrymen from
the First Missouri.
While looking about the field after the rebels had been put to flight,
the chaplain came suddenly upon a group of men who seemed uncertain what
to do. Most of them had rifles and shotguns, and might have made it very
uncomfortable for the man of religion.
He hesitated not a moment, but drew his revolver. He was mounted on a
good horse, one of the steeds taken in the early part of the battle, and
had all the dignity of a captain of cavalry.
Ordering his two cavalrymen to accompany him, and telling the infantry
column--of two men--to follow as fast as they could, he dashed up to the
group and presented his pistol as though about to fire.
“Throw down your arms and surrender!” the chaplain commanded, in a voice
like the roaring of a young bull.
The men dropped their arms to the ground, and stood in that dazed
attitude with which a cow looks at a railway train.
“About face, march!” shouted the chaplain, anxious to get the fellows
away from their weapons before they had time to collect their senses and
make it uncomfortable for their would-be captors.
Mechanically the men obeyed, and when they were at a good distance from
the guns that had been left on the ground he halted them to give his
infantry a chance to come up and help surround the prisoners.
The infantry came up, and the prisoners, twenty-four in all, were duly
“surrounded” and marched into camp, where they were placed among others
of their late comrades-in-arms. Twenty-four armed men surrounded and
captured by four soldiers and a chaplain is an occurrence not often
known in war. The prisoners were mostly beardless youths, who had little
appreciation of what war was or is. Only the rawest of soldiers could be
captured in this way and brought safely into the lines, and it required
all the audacity of which the chaplain was capable to carry out his
enterprise.
Booneville was entered in triumph, and there was great excitement among
the inhabitants, many of whom expected to be murdered in cold blood
after witnessing the pillaging of their houses and the destruction of
everything that the “Yankee thieves” did not desire to carry away. The
poorer part of the population was generally loyal, while the wealthier
inhabitants were nearly all in favor of secession. There were some rich
people who were stanch supporters of the Union, but they had a hard time
of it among their more numerous secession neighbors.
A considerable quantity of rebel stores and arms were taken at
Booneville and in the neighborhood, and altogether the forces that were
arrayed under the secession banner suffered a heavy loss in things that
were valuable to them. The hiding-places of these valuables were pointed
out by union men, who in some instances desired their identity concealed
for fear of the vengeance that would be visited upon them after the
national troops should go away. They complained that they had been very
badly treated, and several of them had been given a certain number of
days in which to close up their affairs and leave town. Their time of
probation had not ended when the battle and its result rendered their
departure a matter which the rebels were not exactly able to control.
General Lyon issued a proclamation, in which he briefly recited the
events of the past week and warned the people not to take up arms
against the government. He advised all who had been in arms to go to
their homes, and promised that all who would do so and remain quietly
attending to their own business, should not be disturbed for past
offenses. The proclamation had a good effect, and the number recently
under arms who went home and stayed there was by no means small.
Unhappily it was more than offset by those who responded to the summons
of the governor and went to follow the fortunes of the army that he was
organizing.
Preparations were now made for an advance into the southwest part of
the state, as it was understood that the rebels would attempt to make
a stand there, where they would be assisted by the troops that the
Confederate government was sending to help in getting Missouri out of
the Union.
General Sweeney was ordered to march from Rolla to Springfield, and at
the same time General Lyon would move from Booneville toward the same
point. Simultaneously a column under Major Sturgis was to advance from
Leavenworth, Kansas, through the western part of Missouri, and the
three columns were to unite near Springfield and endeavor to cut off and
disperse the rebels that were concentrating with a view to taking the
offensive. This was the plan, but owing to the absence of railways it
could not be carried out in a hurry.
The First Iowa reached Booneville shortly after the battle, and most of
its officers and soldiers were greatly disappointed to think they could
not have had a hand in the fight.
Jack and Harry had their first view of the Missouri river from the bank
opposite Booneville, and were greatly interested in studying the mighty
stream as the ferryboat carried them across.
As he looked at the yellow flood pouring along with the rapidity which
is one of its characteristics, Jack remarked:
“I understand now why they call it 'The Big Muddy,' as it is certainly
the muddiest river I ever saw.”
“Yes,” replied Harry; “but I don't believe it is as bad as Senator
Benton said of it, 'too thick to swim in, but not thick enough to walk
on.' Anyhow, we 'll settle that question by having a swim the first
chance we get.”
They had their swim, but though they verified the incorrectness of the
distinguished senator's assertion, they decided that one must be very
dirty indeed to be benefited by a bath in the Missouri; and they readily
believed what they were told by a resident of Booneville, that in the
time of flood you can get an ounce of solid matter out of every eight
ounces of water from the river.
“Look on the map of the United States,” said their informant, “and see
how the Mississippi river has pushed the delta through which its mouths
empty into the Gulf of Mexico. The land that is formed there has been
brought down by the water that fills the channel of the river; some of
it comes from the lower Mississippi, but probably the greater part is
from the valley of the Missouri.”