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.