THE WAR IN MISSOURI
Personal Characteristics—Two Braggarts—Joe Welch—William
Hood—We Enter Springfield—Bitter Feeling in Missouri—Company
Elections—Measles and Typhoid—Carthage, and My Illness
There—We Leave Carthage—Death of Captain Taylor—Winter
Quarters—Furloughed—Home Again.
A BATTLE—or danger—will often develop some characteristics that
nothing else will bring out.
One Gum was a shabby little man, mounted on a shabby little mustang
pony; in fact his horse was so shabby that he would tie him, while
we were at Dallas, away off in the brush in a ravine and carry his
forage half a mile to feed him rather than have him laughed at. Gum
was a Missourian, and got into the company somehow, with his fiddle,
and aside from his fiddling he was of little use in camps. During the
time we were kept slowly moving along in the rear of our infantry,
engaged mainly in the unprofitable business of dodging balls and
shells that were constantly whizzing near our heads, Captain Taylor
was very anxious that his company should act well under fire and
would frequently glance back, saying: “Keep your places, men.” Gum,
however, was out of place so often he finally became personal, “Keep
in your place, Gum.” At this Gum broke ranks and came trotting up on
his little pony, looking like a monkey with a red cap on, for, having
lost his hat, he had tied a red cotton handkerchief around his head.
When opposite the captain he reined up, and with a trembling frame
and in a quivering voice, almost crying, he said: “Captain, I _can’t_
keep my place. I am a coward, and I can’t help it.” Captain Taylor
said, sympathetically: “Very well, Gum; go where you please.” It so
happened that a few days later we passed his father’s house, near
Mount Vernon, and the captain allowed him to stop and remain with his
father. And thus he was discharged. At this stage of the war we had
no army regulations, no “red tape” in our business. If a captain saw
fit to discharge one of his men he told him to go, and he went without
reference to army headquarters or the War Department. I met Gum in
November, fleeing from the wrath of the home guards, as a man who had
been in the Confederate Army could not live in safety in Missouri.
One of our men, in the morning when I was forming the company, was so
agitated that it was a difficult matter to get him to call his number.
During the day a ball cut a gash about skin deep and two inches in
length across the back of his neck, just at the edge of his hair. As a
result of this we were two years in getting this man under fire again,
though he would not make an honest confession like Gum, but would
manage in some mysterious way to keep out of danger. When at last we
succeeded in getting him in battle at Thompson’s Station in 1863, he
ran his iron ramrod through the palm of his right hand and went to the
rear. Rather than risk himself in another engagement he deserted, in
the fall of that year, and went into the Federal breastworks in front
of Vicksburg and surrendered. This man was named Wiley Roberts.
Captain Hale, of Company D, was rather rough-hewn, but a brave,
patriotic old man, having not the least patience with a thief, a
coward, or a braggart. While he had some of the bravest men in his
company that any army could boast of, he had one or two, at least, that
were not among these, as the two stalwart bullies who were exceedingly
boastful of their prowess, of the ease with which Southern men could
whip Northerners, five to one being about as little odds as they cared
to meet. This type of braggart was no novelty, for every soldier had
heard that kind of talk at the beginning of the war. While we were
moving out in the morning when Sigel’s battery was firing and Captain
Hale was coolly riding along at the head of his company, these two
men came riding rapidly up, one hand holding their reins while the
other was pressed across the stomach, as if they were in great misery,
saying, when they sighted their commander: “Captain Hale, where must we
go? we are sick.” Captain Hale looked around without uttering a word
for a moment, his countenance speaking more indignation than language
could express. At last he said, in his characteristic, emphatic manner:
“Go to h——l, you d——d cowards! You were the only two fighting men
I had until now we are in a battle, and you’re both sick. I don’t care
when you go.” Other incidents could be given where men in the regiment
were tried and found wanting, but the great majority were brave and
gallant men who never shirked duty or flinched from danger.
An instance of the opposite character may be told of Joe Welch. Joe
was a blacksmith, almost a giant in stature. Roughly guessing, I would
say he was six feet two inches in height, weighing about 240 pounds,
broad-shouldered, raw-boned, with muscles that would laugh at a sledge.
Joe had incurred the contempt of the company by acting in a very
cowardly manner, as they thought, in one or two little personal affairs
before we reached Missouri. But when we went into battle Joe was there,
as unconcerned and cool, apparently, as if he was only going into his
shop to do a day’s work; and when we made our charge down that rough
hillside when the enemy’s bullets were coming as thick as hailstones,
one of Joe’s pistols jolted out of its holster and fell to the ground.
Joe reined in his horse, deliberately dismounted, recovered the pistol,
remounted, and rapidly moved up to his place in the ranks. Those who
witnessed the coolness and apparent disregard of danger with which he
performed this little feat felt their contempt suddenly converted into
admiration.
Another one of our men was found wanting, but through no fault of his
own, as he was faithful as far as able. This was William Hood. Hood was
an Englishman, quite small, considerably advanced in years, destitute
of physical endurance and totally unfit for the hardships of a
soldier’s life. He was an old-womanish kind of a man, good for cooking,
washing dishes, scouring tin plates, and keeping everything nice
around the mess headquarters, but was unsuited for any other part of a
soldier’s duty. Hood strayed off from us somehow during the day, and
for some part of the day was a prisoner, losing his horse, but managed
to get back to camp afoot at night, very much depressed in spirits. The
next morning he was very proud to discover his horse grazing out in the
field two or three hundred yards from the camp. He almost flew to him,
but found he was wounded. He came back to Captain Taylor with a very
sad countenance, and said: “Captain Taylor, me little ’orse is wounded
right were the ’air girth goes on ’im.” The wound was only slight and
as soon as the little ’orse was in proper traveling condition little
Hood was discharged and allowed to return home.
As already stated, we returned late in the evening to the camp we
had left in the morning to rest and sleep for the night, for after
the excitement of the day was over bodily fatigue was very much in
evidence. Our train came up about nightfall, but as I was very tired,
and our only chance for lights was in building up little brush fires,
the opening of my letters was postponed until the bright Sunday
morning, August 11, especially as my mail packet was quite bulky.
One large envelope from Huntsville, Ala., contained a letter and an
exquisite little Confederate flag some ten or twelve inches long.
This was from a valued young lady friend who, in the letter, gave me
much good advice, among other things warning me against being shot in
the back. And I never was. During the day the command marched into
Springfield, to find that the Federal Army had pushed forward Saturday
night. They had retreated to Rolla, the terminus of the railroad, and
thence returned to St. Louis, leaving us for a long time in undisputed
possession of southwest Missouri, where we had but little to do for
three months but gather forage and care for our horses and teams and
perform the routine duties incident to a permanent camp.
From Springfield we moved out west a few miles, camping for a few days
at a large spring called Cave Spring. Here several of our men were
discharged and returned home. Among them James R. Taylor, brother of
Captain, subsequently Colonel, Taylor of the Seventeenth Texas Cavalry,
who was killed at the battle of Mansfield, La.
Southwest Missouri is a splendid country, abounding in rich lands,
fine springs of pure water, and this year, 1861, an abundant crop of
corn, oats, hay, and such staples had been raised. Nevertheless, a
very unhappy state of things existed there during the war, for the
population was very much divided in sentiment and sympathy—some being
for the North and some for the South, and the antagonism between the
factions was very bitter. Indeed, so intense had the feeling run,
the man of one side seemed to long to see his neighbor of the other
side looted and his property destroyed. Men of Southern sympathy have
stealthily crept into our camps at midnight and in whispers told us
where some Union men were to be found in the neighborhood, evidently
wishing and expecting that we would raid them and kill or capture,
rob, plunder or do them damage in some terrible manner. Such reporters
seemed to be disappointed when we would tell them that we were not
there to make war on citizens, and the Union men themselves seemed to
think we were ready to do violence to all who were not loyal to the
Southern Confederacy. When we chanced to go to one of their houses
for forage, as frequently happened, we could never see the man of the
house, unless we caught a glimpse of him as he was running to some
place to hide, and no assurance to his family that we would not in
any manner mistreat him would overcome the deep conviction that we
would. This bitter feeling and animosity among the citizens grew to
such intensity, as the war advanced, that life became a misery to the
citizen of Missouri.
We moved around leisurely over the country from place to place,
foraging and feeding a few days here and a few days there, and in the
early days of September, passing by way of Mount Vernon and Carthage,
we found ourselves at Scott’s Mill, on Cowskin River, near the border
of the Cherokee Nation. At Mount Vernon we witnessed a farce enacted
by Company D. Dan Dupree was their first lieutenant, and a very nice,
worthy fellow he was, too, but some of his men fell out with him about
some trivial matter, and petitioned him to resign, which he did.
Captain Hale, supposing possibly they might also be opposed to him,
and too diffident to say so, he resigned too, and the other officers
followed suit, even down to the fourth and last corporal, and for
the time the company was without an officer, either commissioned or
non-commissioned. At this early stage of the war, for an officer to
resign was a very simple and easy thing. He had only to say publicly
to his company, “I resign,” and it was so. The company was now formed
into line to prepare for the election of officers, and the mode of
procedure was as follows: The candidates would stand a few paces in
front of the line, their back to the men. The men were then instructed
to declare their choice, by standing behind him, one behind the other,
and when all votes were counted the result was declared. The outcome
on this occasion was that Captain Hale and all the old officers were
re-elected, except Dupree. Later in the year members of Company A
petitioned their captain to resign, but he respectfully declined,
and though many of his men were very indignant, we heard no more of
petitioning officers to resign.
While we were camped on the beautiful little Cowskin River measles
attacked our men, and we moved up to Carthage, where we remained
about eight weeks, during which time we passed through a terrible
scourge of measles and typhoid fever. As a result Company C lost
five men, including Captain Taylor. Fortunately we were in a high,
healthy country, and met in Carthage a warm-hearted, generous people.
In addition to our competent and efficient surgeon and his assistant
during this affliction, we had a number of good physicians, privates in
the regiment, who rendered all the assistance in their power in caring
for the sick. The court house was appropriated as a hospital, and,
soon filled to its capacity, the generous citizens received the sick
men into their houses and had them cared for there. How many of the
regiment were sick at one time I do not know, but there were a great
many; the number of dead I never knew. Our surgeon went from house to
house visiting and prescribing for the sick both day and night, until
it seemed sometimes as if he could not make another round.
The day after we reached Carthage I was taken down with a severe
case of measles, and glided easily into a case of typhoid fever. Dr.
McDugald went personally to find a home for me, and had me conveyed to
the residence of Mr. John J. Scott, a merchant and farmer, where for
seven weeks I wasted away with the fever, during all of which time I
was as kindly and tenderly cared for by Mrs. Scott as if I had been one
of her family; and her little girl Olympia, then about eleven years
old, was as kind and attentive to me as a little sister could have
been. My messmate and chum, Thomas J. Johnson, remained with me to wait
on me day and night during the entire time, and Dr. McDugald, and also
Dr. Dan Shaw, of Rusk County, were unremitting in their attention. A.
B. Summers took charge of my horse, and gave him better attention than
he did his own. Captain Taylor was also very low at the same time, and
was taken care of at the house of Colonel Ward. The fever had left me
and I had been able to sit up in a rocking chair by the fire a little
while at a time for a few days, when General Frémont, who had been
placed in command of the Federal Army in Missouri, began a movement
from Springfield in the direction of Fayetteville, Ark., and we were
suddenly ordered away from Carthage. All the available transportation
had to be used to remove the sick, who were taken to Scott’s Mill. A
buggy being procured for Captain Taylor and myself, our horses were
hitched to it and, with the assistance of Tom Johnson and John A. Boyd,
we moved out, following the march of the command into Arkansas. The
command moved south, via Neosho and Pineville, and dropped down on
Sugar Creek, near Cross Hollows, confronting General Frémont, who soon
retired to Springfield, and never returned. At Sugar Creek we stole
Ben A. Long out of camp, and made our way to Fayetteville, where we
stopped at the house of Martin D. Frazier, by whose family we were most
hospitably treated. Here Captain Taylor relapsed, and died.
Captain Francis Marion Taylor was a noble, brave, and patriotic man,
and we were all much grieved at his death. He had been at death’s
door in Carthage, and Dr. McDugald then thought he was going to die,
telling him so, but he rallied, and when we left there he was much
stronger than I was, being able to drive, while that would have been
impossible with me. When he relapsed he did not seem to have much
hope of recovering, and after the surgeon, at his own request, had
told him his illness would terminate fatally, he talked very freely
of his approaching death. He had two little children, a mother, and a
mother-in-law, Mrs. Wiggins, all of whom he loved very much, and said
he loved his mother-in-law as much as he loved his mother. He gave
me messages for them, placed everything he had with him (his horse,
gold watch, gold rings, sword, and his trunk of clothes) in my charge,
with specific instructions as to whom to give them—his mother, his
mother-in-law and his two little children.
I continued to improve, but recovered very slowly indeed, and remained
in Fayetteville until the early days of December. The regiment was
ordered to go into winter quarters at the mouth of Frog Bayou, on
the north bank of the Arkansas River, twelve miles below Van Buren,
and when they had passed through Fayetteville on their way to the
designated point, I followed, as I was now able to ride on horseback.
Cabins were soon erected for the men and stalls for the horses, and
here the main command was at home for the winter. I was furloughed
until March 1, but as the weather was fine I remained in the camp for
two weeks before starting on the long home journey to Rusk. Many other
convalescents were furloughed at this time, so finally, in company
with Dr. W. L. Gammage, who, by the way, had been made surgeon of an
Arkansas regiment, and two or three members of Company F who lived in
Cherokee County, I started to Rusk, reaching the end of my journey just
before Christmas.
My first night in Cherokee County was spent at the home of Captain
Taylor’s noble mother, near Larissa, where I delivered her son’s last
messages to her, and told her of his last days. The next day I went
on to Rusk and delivered the messages, horse, watch, etc., to the
mother-in-law and children. Mr. Wiggins’s family offered me a home
for the winter, and as I had greatly improved and the winter was
exceedingly mild, I spent the time very pleasantly until ready to
return to the army. Among other things I brought home the ball that
killed Leander Cole, and sent it to his mother.