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THE COURIER OF THE OZARKS
THE YOUNG MISSOURIANS SERIES
BY BYRON A. DUNN
AUTHOR OF "THE YOUNG KENTUCKIANS" SERIES
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
BY H. S. DeLAY
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Published September, 1912
W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
_To the Loyal Men of Missouri, who as members of the militia
did so much to save the State to the Union, this book is
dedicated. History gives them scant notice, and the Federal
government has failed to reward them as they deserve._
[Illustration: "Follow the colors," he shouted.]
PREFACE
During the year 1862, after the capture of Island No. 10 and New Madrid,
no large armies operated in Missouri; but the State was the theater of a
desperate guerrilla warfare, in which nearly or quite a hundred thousand
men took part. It was a warfare the magnitude of which, at the present
time, is very little known; and its cruelty and barbarity make a bloody
page in the history of those times.
This book is a story of this warfare. It is a story of adventure, of
hair-breadth escapes, and of daring deeds. In it the same characters
figure as those in _With Lyon in Missouri_ and _The Scout of Pea Ridge_.
It tells how our young heroes were instrumental in thwarting the great
conspiracy by which the Confederate government, by sending officers into
the State, and organizing the different guerrilla bands into companies
and regiments, was in hopes of wresting the State from Federal control.
As in former books, history is closely followed.
BYRON A. DUNN.
Waukegan, Illinois.
_August, 1912._
CONTENTS
I BRUNO CARRIES A MESSAGE
II AN INTERNECINE WAR
III A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION
IV MOORE'S MILL
V A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT
VI KIRKSVILLE
VII POINDEXTER CAPTURED
VIII LONE JACK
IX CAPTURED BY GUERRILLAS
X THE GUERRILLA'S BRIDE
XI THE STORY OF CARL MEYER
XII THE NEWS FROM CORINTH
XIII PORTER CAPTURES PALMYRA
XIV TEN LIVES FOR ONE
XV A GIRL OF THE OZARKS
XVI A WOUNDED CONFEDERATE
XVII TRAILING RED JERSEY
XVIII LIVE--I CANNOT SHOOT YOU
XIX MARK HAS A RIVAL
XX CAPTURING A TRAIN
XXI THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS
XXII MARK CONFESSES HIS LOVE
XXIII INTO THE LION'S MOUTH
XXIV PRAIRIE GROVE
XXV CALLED TO OTHER FIELDS
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Follow the colors," he shouted.
"Halt the advance. Ambuscade!" gasped Harry.
Down the street they rode at full speed.
"You pretend to be men and call this war?"
To catch the rider as he reeled from the saddle.
Her revolver was pointed at his breast.
He was looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
An old man leaning on a staff.
THE COURIER OF THE OZARKS
CHAPTER I
BRUNO CARRIES A MESSAGE
"Down! Bruno, down!"
These words were uttered in a guarded whisper by a boy about seventeen
years of age, to a great dog that stood by his side.
At the word of command, the dog crouched down, his whole body quivering
with excitement. His master gently patted him on the head, and
whispered, "There, there, old fellow, don't get nervous. Our lives would
not be worth much, if we were discovered."
The boy was lying full length on the ground, concealed in a dense
thicket, but from his point of vantage he had a full view of the road
which ran a few yards in front of him. This road ran north and south,
and nearly in front of where he lay another road entered it, coming in
from the west.
The cause of the dog's excitement was apparent, for coming up the road
from the west was a large body of horsemen, and a motley troop they
were. They were mostly dressed in homespun, and armed with all sorts of
weapons, from cavalry sabers to heavy knives fashioned out of files by
some rude blacksmith; the army musket, the squirrel rifle, and the
shotgun were much in evidence.
As the head of the column reached the north and south road the leader
called a halt, and looked up and down the road, as if expecting some
one. He did not have long to wait. The sound of the swift beating of
horse-hoofs was heard from the south, and soon three men came riding up.
One, a man of distinguished looks and military bearing, was a little in
advance of the other two. As he came up, the leader of the little army
saluted him awkwardly and exclaimed, "Glad to see you, Colonel. What
news?"
"Glad to see you, Captain Poindexter," replied the Colonel. "I see you
are on time. As for the news, all goes well. Within a week all Missouri
will be ablaze, and the hottest place for Yankees in all Christendom.
How many men have you, Captain?"
"About five hundred, and more coming in all the time."
"So that is Jim Poindexter, the bloody villain," muttered the boy
between his set teeth, and nervously fingering his revolver. "How I
would like to take a shot at him! But it would not do. It would be
madness."
The next question asked by the Colonel, whose name was Clay, and who had
been in the State for the past two months promoting the partisan
uprising, was, "Where is Porter?"
"At Brown's Springs. I am to join him there tonight. But he was to meet
me here with a few followers, knowing you were to be here."
"Good! I will be more than pleased to see him," answered Colonel Clay.
"But I thought he was farther north."
"Most of his force is," answered Poindexter. "But he promised to meet me
at Brown's Springs with five hundred followers. We have our eye on
Fulton. My spies report it is garrisoned by less than a hundred men.
Fulton captured, I can supply my men with both clothes and arms, and
then Jefferson City next."
"Jefferson City?" asked Colonel Clay in surprise. "Do you look that
far?"
"Yes. Thanks to the Yankee Government, there are not over five hundred
soldiers in Jefferson City. Fulton once taken, the boys will flock to
our standard by thousands, and Jefferson City will become an easy prey."
"Accomplish this, Poindexter," cried Colonel Clay, "and Missouri will be
redeemed. All over southwestern Missouri the boys are rallying and
sweeping northward. The object is to capture Independence, and then
Lexington. This done, we will once more control the Missouri River, and
the State will be anchored firmly in the Southern Confederacy. Then with
your victorious legions you can march south and help drive the Yankee
invaders from the land. Poindexter, Missouri can, and should, put fifty
thousand Confederate soldiers in the field."
Poindexter shrugged his shoulders. "Colonel, not so fast," he exclaimed.
"I could not drag my men into the regular Confederate service with a
two-inch cable. Neither do I have any hankering that way myself. The
free and easy life of a partisan ranger for me."
Colonel Clay looked disgusted. "Captain," he asked, "don't you get tired
of skulking in the brush, and waging a warfare which is really contrary
to the rules of war of civilized nations? There is little honor in such
a warfare; but think of the honor and glory that would await you if you
could free Missouri, and then help free the entire South. Why, it is not
too much to say that the star of a general might glisten on your
shoulder."
A look of rage came over the face of Poindexter. "If you don't like the
way we fight," he growled, "why are you here, urging us to rise? If we
can free this State of Yankees, we will accomplish more than your armies
down south have. We prefer to fight our own way. Here, I am a bigger man
than Jeff Davis. I fight when it suits me, and take to the brush when I
want to. If you have any thoughts of influencing me or my men to join
the regular Confederate army, you may as well give up the idea. As for
the rules of civilized warfare, I don't care that," and he snapped his
fingers contemptuously.
Colonel Clay concealed the indignation and disgust which he felt towards
the fellow, and said: "While we may not think alike, we are both working
for the same cause--the liberation of our beloved Southland from the
ruthless invasion of the Yankee hordes. If you can accomplish what you
think, surely the South will call you one of her most gallant sons.
Neither should we be too squeamish over the means used to rid ourselves
of the thieves and murderers that have overrun our fair State."
"Now you are talking," exclaimed Poindexter, with an oath. "If Porter
comes--and he should be here by now--we will discuss the situation more
thoroughly; but the first thing for us to do is to capture Fulton."
"Are you sure," asked Clay, "that your plans will not miscarry? Mr.
Daniels, one of the gentlemen here with me, informs me that that
regiment of devils, the Merrill Horse, is only a few miles to the west.
May they not interfere with your plans?"
At the mention of the Merrill Horse, Poindexter's countenance took on a
demoniac expression. Striking the pommel of his saddle with his clenched
hand, he hissed: "I will never rest until I shoot or hang every one of
that cursed regiment. But you are mistaken in thinking the force west
consists of the entire Merrill Horse. Only part of the regiment is
there; the rest is up north. The force west is about five hundred
strong. I have given out the impression that I am making for the woods
which skirt Grand River, to join Cobb. Every citizen they meet will tell
them so. Little does Colonel Shaffer, who is in command, think I have
slipped past him, McNeil believes Porter is up around Paris--the most of
his force is--but he is to join me here with a goodly number. Ah! here
he comes now."
Down the road from the north a party of horsemen were coming at a swift
gallop. They rode up, and salutations were spoken and hands shaken.
A look of passion came into the face of the watching boy, and again he
fingered his revolver. Even the dog partook of the boy's excitement, for
his whole body was quivering.
"Quiet, old boy, quiet," whispered the boy. "No doubt you would like to
tear the bloody monster to pieces, and I would give ten years of my life
for a shot, but it will not do."
The boy was now listening intently, trying to catch every word that was
said.
"Mighty glad to see you, Jo," Poindexter was saying. "How many men have
you at Brown's Springs?"
"About four hundred when I left; but squads were coming in continually.
I count on six hundred by night."
"Good! Then we will swoop down on Fulton tonight."
"Don't know about that," answered Porter. "Many of the boys have ridden,
or will ride, fifty miles to join us. Their horses will be tired.
Tomorrow will be all right. How is everything?"
"Splendid," answered Poindexter, rubbing his hands. "Not over a hundred
soldiers in Fulton. The only drawback is that there is a Yankee force of
about five hundred a few miles to the west, part of them the Merrill
Horse."
"The Merrill Horse! The Merrill Horse!" cried Porter with a dreadful
oath. "I thought they were north. They are surely giving me enough
trouble up there."
"About four companies are down here, under the command of
Lieutenant-Colonel Shaffer," answered Poindexter. "They have been trying
to find me for the past week. But they haven't found me yet," and he
chuckled. "The fact is," he continued, "I have fooled them. Shaffer
thinks I am making for the woods along the Grand River, to join Cobb. I
skipped past him last night. By this time he is making for the Grand
River as fast as he can go. No trouble from him in our little business
with Fulton."
"Don't be too sure," exclaimed Porter. "Shaffer is about as sharp as the
devil; but I trust you are right."
The conversation now took a general turn, Colonel Clay going over the
ground, telling them what was being done, and what he hoped would be
accomplished. "As for me," he said, "I must be across the river by
tomorrow. Everything depends on the movement to capture Independence and
Lexington. Then, if you gentlemen are successful here, and capture
Fulton and Jefferson City, our brightest hopes will be fulfilled. I must
now bid you good-bye. May success attend you."
The Colonel and his two friends rode back towards the south, from whence
they came. Poindexter watched them until they were out of sight, and
then, turning to Porter, said: "What do you think, Jo? The Colonel
wanted me and my men to join the regular Confederate army."
"Humph!" sniffed Porter, "I reckon you jumped at the chance."
"Not much; but he did more. He mentioned that I was not conducting this
blood-letting business strictly on the rules of genteel, scientific
murder."
"I reckon, before we indulged in a necktie party, he would want us to
say, 'Beg pardon, sir, but I am under the painful necessity of hanging
you,'" replied Porter, indulging in a coarse laugh.
"I told him," continued Poindexter, "we fought as we pleased, and asked
no favors of General Price, Jeff Davis, or any other man. As for the
Confederate service, none of it for me."
"They have offered me a colonelcy, if I take my men down into Arkansas,"
answered Porter. "If it gets too hot for me here I may go. You know
there is a price on my head. But I must go, or my boys will be getting
uneasy. Join me at the Springs as soon as possible." Thus saying, he and
his party rode away.
Poindexter ordered his men to fall in, and they followed Porter, but at
a more leisurely gait.
When the last one had disappeared, the boy arose and shook himself.
"What do you think of that, Bruno?" he asked, patting the dog's head.
The dog stood with hanging head and tail, as if ashamed he had let so
many of his enemies get away unharmed. He looked up in his master's face
and whined at the question, as much as to say, "I don't like it."
"Well, my boy, there is the Old Nick to pay. Both Porter and Poindexter
on the warpath. Fulton to be attacked, and not a hundred men to defend
it. Shaffer with the boys miles away. How are both to be warned? We must
see, old fellow, we must see. There is no time to lose."
Thus saying, the boy hurriedly made his way back through the woods where
in a hollow in the midst of a dense thicket a horse stood concealed.
Those who have read "The Scout of Pea Ridge" will readily recognize the
boy as Harry Semans, and Bruno as his celebrated trained dog. After the
battle of Pea Ridge and upon the dissolution of the company of scouts
under the command of Captain Lawrence Middleton, Harry had returned to
Missouri, and become a scout for the Merrill Horse. The Merrill Horse,
officially known as the Second Missouri Cavalry, was a regiment composed
of companies from Missouri, Illinois, and Michigan.
It can safely be said that no other regiment in the Federal army ever
saw more service in fighting guerrillas than did the Merrill Horse. From
the very first of the war their work was to help exterminate the
guerrilla bands which infested the State. The name "Merrill Horse"
became a terror to every bushwhacker and guerrilla in Missouri. No
trail was so obtuse, no thicket so dense that members of that regiment
would not track them to their lair. A true history of the Merrill Horse,
and the adventures of its different members, would read like the most
exciting fiction.
When Harry reached his horse he stood for a moment in deep thought, and
then speaking to Bruno, said: "Yes, old boy, you must do it. I know you
can, can't you?"
Bruno gave a bark and wagged his tail as if to say, "Try me."
Tearing a leaf from a blank book, Harry wrote a brief note to Colonel
Shaffer, telling him what had happened, and begging him to march with
all speed to Fulton. This note he securely fastened to Bruno's collar
and said, "Bruno, go find Colonel Shaffer and the boys. You know where
we left them. Go."
For a moment Bruno stood and looked up in his master's face, as if
undecided.
"Go and find Colonel Shaffer. Go," Harry repeated, sternly.
The dog turned and was away like a shot. Harry gazed after him until he
was out of sight, then patting the glossy neck of his horse, said, "Now,
Bess, it's you and I for Fulton; the machinations of those two
archfiends, Poindexter and Porter, must be brought to naught."
Harry believed he would have no trouble in reaching Fulton, as the
guerrillas were generally quiet near a place garrisoned by Federal
troops, therefore he took the main road, as he was desirous of reaching
Fulton as soon as he possibly could. He had not gone more than two miles
when he met two men, rough-looking fellows, whom Harry had no desire to
meet, but there was no way to avoid it, except flight, so he rode boldly
forward.
Harry was dressed in the homespun of the country, and had all the
appearance of a country bumpkin. As to arms, none were visible, but
stowed away beneath his rough jacket was a huge navy revolver, and Harry
was an adept in the use of it.
"Hello, youn' feller," cried one of the men. "Whar be yo' goin' in sich
a hurry? Halt, and give an account of yo'self."
"Goin' to Fulton, if the Yanks will let me," drawled Harry. "Whar be yo
'uns goin'?"
"That 's nun yo' business. Air yo 'un Union or Confed?"
"Which be yo'uns?"
"Look heah, young feller, nun of yo' foolin'. I reckon yo' air a Yank in
disguise. That 's a mighty fine hoss yo 'un air ridin'. 'Spose we 'uns
trade."
"'Spose we 'uns don't."
During this conversation Harry's right hand was resting beneath his
jacket, grasping the butt of his revolver.
"I reckon we 'uns will," jeered the fellow, reaching for his pistol.
Quick as a flash Harry had covered him with his revolver. Fortunately
for him, the two men were close together. "Hands up," he ordered. "A
move, a motion to draw a weapon, and one or both of you will die. It
don't pay to fool with one of Porter's men."
The hands of both went up, but one exclaimed, "One of Porter's men? Be
yo' one of Porter's men? We 'uns are on our way to join him. We 'uns
heard he was at Brown's Springs."
"Yo 'uns will find him thar. I am taking a message from him to a friend
in Fulton. Yo 'uns can lower your hands. I reckon we 'uns understand
each other now."
"We 'uns certainly do," said one of the men, as they dropped their
hands, looking foolish.
"Wall, good-bye; may see yo 'uns in Fulton tomorrow." And Harry rode
off, leaving the men sitting on their horses watching him.
"Ought to have shot both of them," muttered Harry, "but I cannot afford
to take any risks just now."
Harry had no further adventures in reaching Fulton, and at once reported
to Captain Duffield, who was in command of the post.
Captain Duffield listened to Harry's report with a troubled countenance.
"A thousand of the devils, did you say?" he asked.
"Yes, and more coming in every hour."
"And I have only eighty men," replied Duffield, bitterly. "If they
attack before I can get help, there is no hope for us."
"Colonel Shaffer is a few miles to the west with about five hundred
men," replied Harry. "If they do not attack tonight, as I do not reckon
they will from what Porter said, he may be here in time to help. I have
sent him word."
"Sent him word? By whom?" asked Outfield, eagerly.
"By my dog," and Harry explained.
As Duffield listened, his countenance fell. "I see no hope from that,"
he said. "It is preposterous to think that a dog will carry a message
for miles, and hunt up a man."
"If you knew Bruno, you would think differently," replied Harry,
smiling.
"I can put no dependence on any such thing," said Duffield. "My only
hope is getting word to Colonel Guitar, at Jefferson City. If I get any
help, it must come from him. God grant that Porter may not attack
tonight."
"I think there is little danger tonight, but they may be down in the
morning," said Harry. "Do you think Guitar can reinforce you by
morning?"
"He must; he must. I will send a message to him by courier mounted on
one of my fleetest horses."
"Bess is about as fast as they make them," replied Harry. "I know the
country. I will go if you wish."
Duffield looked at him a moment doubtfully, and then said, "You may go,
as you can tell Colonel Guitar all you have told me. But I will send one
of my own men with you."
Captain Duffield wrote two messages, giving one to Harry, and the other
to the soldier who was to accompany him.
"If you have trouble," said Captain Duffield, "for the love of Heaven,
one of you get through, if the other is killed. The safety of this post
depends on Colonel Guitar receiving the message."
"It will go through, if I live," calmly replied Harry, as he carefully
concealed the message in the lining of his coat.
To Harry's surprise, the soldier detailed to go with him proved to be a
boy, not much older than himself. He was mounted on a spirited horse and
his manner showed he was ready for any kind of an adventure, no matter
where it might lead.
The shades of night were falling when Captain Duffield bade them
good-bye, and they rode away and were soon lost to view in the dusk.
Captain Duffield stood looking after them, and then said to one of his
lieutenants, "I don't know what to make of that boy. He told a straight
story, but his thinking that dog of his would take a message to Shaffer
is a little too much to believe."
But Captain Duffield soon had other things to think about. Reports began
to come in from other sources of the gathering of the guerrillas at
Brown's Springs, and their number was augmented to two thousand. He
posted his little force in the best manner possible to resist an attack,
and with an anxious heart, watched and waited through the long hours of
the night; but to his immense relief, no attack came.