CHAPTER VIII. THE CAPTURED CAMP—A CHAPLAIN'S EXPLOIT.
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.”
CHAPTER IX. REGULARS AND VOLUNTEERS—FORAGING IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY.
Jack and Harry were pretty busily employed about the camp for the first two or three days following their arrival at Booneville. After that time they had more leisure, and were greatly interested in many matters that came under their observation.
One of the first things to arouse their curiosity was the camp of the regular soldiers that formed a part of General Lyon's expedition. When they heard of this part of the force they wanted to know what a “regular” soldier was.
“They are called regulars,” the quartermaster explained, “because they belong to the regular army which the country maintains in times of peace. Compared with the volunteer army, the regulars are few in number, but as long as we have only Indians to contend with they are quite enough for all practical purposes. In time of peace our regular army includes only twenty thousand men, but in case of war the president calls on the different states to send volunteer troops to the field in such number as may be wanted. The president called for troops to put down the rebellion, and the states that remained loyal to the Union have sent the number required of them in proportion to their population.”
“That's what is meant by the 'quota' of each state, I suppose,” said Jack.
“Yes,” was the reply. “The quota of a state is made out according to its population, and there have been some funny complications arising out of this point. In order to have as many representatives in Congress as possible, and for other reasons, some of the new states have been overstating their population, or claiming more inhabitants than they really have. Now, when it comes to furnishing troops on the same basis, they are trying to understate their population, and declare that they made mistakes in their previous figures.”
“It is like a man claiming to be rich in order to obtain credit or 'show off,' and then pleading poverty as a reason for not paying his debts.”
“That's exactly the case,” was the reply. “You could not have made a better illustration.”
Neither Jack nor Harry could see that there was any great difference between the camp of the regulars and that of the volunteers, excepting that the former seemed to be under more rigid discipline. When it came to drilling and performing the evolutions necessary to military life it was evident that the regulars were greatly the superiors, but the youths naturally concluded that it was simply a question of experience. “These regulars,” said Jack, “have been a long while in the service, and had nothing to do except to learn their business. Wait till the volunteers have been the same time under arms, and they 'll come out just as good soldiers.”
“Right you are,” said the quartermaster, who overheard the remark. “It takes time and practice to make a soldier; the raw recruit may be just as brave as the veteran, but one veteran is worth as much as a dozen raw recruits, for the simple reason that he has been drilled and disciplined.”
The youths talked with some of the regulars, and found that they had not troubled themselves much about the causes of the war nor the questions involved in the contest. The most they knew was that they were enlisted to serve under the government. They were there to obey the orders of their officers, and that was the whole business.
It was the same with some of the regular officers when the war broke out, but by no means with all. Some of them treated the question of loyalty as altogether a matter over which they had no control; they were to support the government, and had no occasion to trouble themselves about political questions. Others entered into the political bearings of the subject, and were swayed according to their predilections. Those born and reared in the Northern states adhered to the national cause almost to a man, and served according to the best of their abilities, while the majority of those who came from the Southern states considered themselves bound to go as did their states. These men resigned their commissions in the army and entered the service of the Confederacy, though there were some who felt that while they could not fight against their native states, it would not be compatible with honor for them to take arms against the national government. These officers remained neutral throughout the war, some of them staying quietly at home, while others went abroad to be out of the reach of disturbing influences.
It was a noticeable circumstance that the spirit of loyalty to the government was stronger among the enlisted soldiers of the regular army than among the officers, in proportion to their numbers. In the instances where the forts and arsenals in the Southern states were treacherously surrendered to the secessionists at the beginning of the war, nearly all the soldiers refused to serve against the government, even when their officers urged them to do so.
Preparations for the march into the southwestern part of Missouri were pushed as rapidly as possible, but the difficulty of getting together the necessary wagons and animals for transportation purposes consumed a fortnight of valuable time. This time was utilized by the state authorities, who gathered several thousand men at Lexington and marched thence in the direction of the Arkansas frontier, where they were to meet the famous Texan ranger, Ben McCulloch, who was to come north to join them. In spite of all his activity General Lyon was not able to get away from Booneville in season to head off General Price and the rebels that were serving under him.
But the rebels came near meeting another obstacle that they did not know of. General Sweeney, with the brigades of Generals Sigel and Saloman, marched from Rolla in the direction of Springfield, and so quickly did he move that Price had no knowledge of his advance. As soon as he reached Springfield General Sweeney sent General Sigel westward in the direction of Carthage to head off the rebels who were supposed to be under command of Price. The fact was the latter general had already gone south with his escort to meet Ben McCulloch; the state troops which General Sigel was trying to cut off were consequently headed by Governor Jackson in person.
The two forces met each other on the fifth of July not far from Carthage and fought a battle which was very much like the one of Booneville in the extent of its casualties, though less successful for the Union cause. Sigel's command was only about one-fourth the number of those opposed to him; nearly two thousand of the rebels were mounted men, although very few of them had any weapons whatever, a fact which was unknown to the union commander. When he saw this great force pressing on his flanks, he naturally supposed his column to be in danger, and prudently gave the order to retire from the field. The retirement was effected in good order, and though the rebels pursued a few miles they inflicted no damage. The collision delayed the movements of the rebels toward the southwest, though it did not prevent it, and the elation which they felt over the repulse of the enemy was more than an offset for the delay.
On the march from Booneville to Springfield strict orders were given that there should be no depredating on private property, the rights of every citizen being fully respected. The order was very well obeyed, but it was impossible to carry it out to its fullest extent. Chickens that did not roost high had a habit of disappearing at night and never turning up again except in the stewpans of some of the soldiers or possibly in those of the officers; pigs that strayed from their pens when the army was about did not readily get back again, but on the whole there was not much cause of remonstrance on the part of the inhabitants.
The most serious complaint was on the part of the union men, and certainly they had a right to say something on the subject. The situation was expressed in this way by one of them who was talking with an officer in the presence of Jack and Harry:
“Look a-here,” said the citizen “why don't you-'uns go and take Jones's corn and potatoes and anything else you want? He's a secesher of the worst sort, and you ought to make him sweat for it. When the state troops went through here they took my horses and corn and wagons and paid me with receipts that I can't sell anywhere for five cents on the dollar. I tried to get them to let me alone, but they said I'd been saying I was a union man, and if I was I'd got to help support the war, and they'd take everything I had. They did n't touch Jones, because he's on their side.
“The rebels come along and plunder the union men, but when you-'uns come you don't touch the seceshers nor anybody else, except to pay in clean cash for what you want. It's a one-sided business anyhow, and if it keeps on I 'll have to turn secesh to save myself.”
This was actually the case for some time in Missouri and other border-states, and there is no doubt that many men who were in favor of the Union at the start became rebels in course of time in order to save their property. After a while affairs were changed and the men who were on the side of the rebellion had to suffer when our armies came in their vicinity. The property of all was seized wherever wanted. A union man was compensated for his loss, while a pronounced rebel had great difficulty in securing compensation, and very often did not get anything whatever.
Later in the war Jack and Harry became known for their expertness in foraging, and many were the chickens and pigs that fell into their hands. They had splendid noses for scenting game, and when they could not find anything edible in a section of country it was pretty certain that the region had already been swept bare.
The skill acquired by our soldiers in catching “game” is well illustrated in the way they used to take pigs while marching at will along the road. A pig would make its appearance by the roadside along which a regiment was making its way. Some of the foremost men would throw out a few grains of corn, and, at the same time word would be passed along the line and several of the men in the rear would fix their bayonets on their guns. Piggy, all unsuspicious, would be tolled by the corn close to the roadside, and as the rear soldiers came along two of them transfixed the creature through the neck with a bayonet and swung him in the air. He was caught in the arms of two other soldiers, who speedily disemboweled him, and then cut up and distributed the meat. It was all done without breaking out of the line of march, and was characterized by the officers as a “wonderful triumph of mind over matter.”
Chickens were the favorite plunder of food-seeking soldiers, partly on account of their toothsome character and partly in view of their portability. Pigs and sheep came next in the line of desirable things, as they could be subdivided with ease and if necessary with great celerity.
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CHAPTER X, LESSONS IN MULE-DRIVING—CRITICAL POSITION OF THE ARMY.
Our young friends were not long in receiving the promotion they desired and certainly deserved. From being mere attachés, or as Jack expressed it, “adjutants,” of the wagon-train they were raised to the dignity of drivers each having a team of his own. It was a promotion at which they were greatly elated, though it brought additional responsibilities and hard work.
Shortly after leaving Booneville one of the regular drivers fell ill and was left behind. His place was given to Harry, who had shown himself fairly competent to fill it in spite of his youth, and also in spite of his lack of that accomplishment of the ordinary teamster, a familiarity with profanity. We have already alluded to this peculiarity of the average driver, and the faith possessed by many people that mules and oxen cannot be successfully managed except by an expert in swearing. But Harry got around the difficulty nicely and very much to his credit.
His education was not extensive, and had been confined to the ordinary branches of the common school. He was proficient in the three R's: “reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic,” and had made a fair start in grammar and geography. While wondering what to do in order to be able to drive a mule team successfully, and at the same time avoid falling into the use of profanity, he hit upon an idea which is commended to all readers of this narrative under similar circumstances.
He picked out the hardest names he could remember in his geographical studies and determined to make them the means of propelling obstinate animals and inducing them to pull properly when pulling was desired. With the permission of one of the regular drivers he practiced on the teams and found his plan worked very well; so well, in fact, that it received the commendation of the chaplain and of the colonel of the regiment, and furthermore, the team seemed to enjoy it.
“Sebastopol” was one of his favorite expletives, and when he hurled it at a mule, hissing the first syllable through his teeth and giving full vent to his voice on the last, that mule was sure to do his very best until the load moved or the harness gave way. In the same manner he found “Calcutta” an expletive of great power, and so was “Nagasaki” and also “St. Petersburg.” When he wanted something of unusual strength for a momentous occasion he informed his obstinate animals that “Vienna is the Capital of Austria,” or “the Dutch have taken Holland.” Nothing could surpass the efforts of the team when these phrases were thrown into the elongated ears of the unschooled mules.
Harry imparted his plan to Jack, and when that youth was shortly afterward put in charge of a team which had been hired at Booneville for the trip to Springfield, he repeated the experiment. It did not work as well as in Harry's case, but the reason was found in the fact that Jack's mules were of Missouri origin and proverbially ignorant, while those of Harry had come all the way from Iowa, and had the benefit of a northern training. While the Northern mules might be supposed to have a thirst for travel that would make geographical facts sink deep into their hearts, those of the more southern state were content to remain in their ignorance, and, like Jeff Davis, “all they asked was to be let alone.”
“You're saying that in joke, of course,” remarked the quartermaster when Jack explained the reason of the difference in the animals of the two states. “But let me tell you,” he continued, “that you're nearer fact than you suppose. 'Like master like man' is an old adage, and why should n't a Missouri mule be like a Missouri man? As a general thing the Missouri people have opposed everything that tended to the development of the state. I refer to the slaveholding portion, or those who sympathize with slavery, though they may have no slaves of their own.”
“How was that?”
“They were afraid it would interfere with their system of slavery, as they saw it would bring in a population that believed in freedom instead of the old state of things. When the Butterfield Overland Stage Line was established from St. Louis to California they tried all they could to stop it; they declared it was n't needed; and they did the same when the Western Union Telegraph Co. wanted to build a line across the state. They opposed the railways that have been built in various parts of the state, and for the same reason, notwithstanding the fact that the railways would make their land more valuable by bringing them nearer a market. I have lived in Missouri and know what I'm talking about.
“Education has always been much more backward in the South than in the North, as everybody knows, and it is the system of slavery that caused this backwardness. Travel through the Northern states and you see a school-house in every village and almost at every cross-road, but in the South you may go hundreds of miles without seeing a school-house. This one fact speaks volumes in itself and illustrates the conditions growing out of slavery on the one hand and freedom on the other. A people that do not want education do not want railways and telegraphs, or anything else that indicates progress. Only when the South gets rid of slavery will it wake up and adopt the institutions of the North.”
Regarding the South in the light of the present day, the words uttered by the quartermaster may be regarded as prophetic. It is only since the war wiped away the stain of slavery that the Southern states have vied with the North in developing their resources and have sought to have a really intelligent population. Before the war education was confined chiefly to the rich or the well-to-do, the majority of the poor whites being but little above the negro in the scale of intelligence. Thousands on thousands of them were unable to read or write, and those who could do so had little knowledge of the rest of the world.
Our young friends had frequent opportunities to test the intelligence of the natives of the region through which they were traveling, and many of their experiences were amusing. One day they talked with a farmer who had an impression that St. Louis was the largest city in the world, and practically the only one he had heard of New York and Chicago, but had no clear idea of their location except that they were somewhere in the North, and did not believe they amounted to much anyway. He thought Abraham Lincoln was a black man, who had somehow been made president of the United States by the abolitionists, and if his armies succeeded in conquering the South the government would be altogether in the hands of the blacks, who would speedily proceed to enslave the rest of the population and “have white men for niggers.”
Several times they talked with men and women who were much surprised to find the Yankee soldiers were white men; they had expected to see only negroes, and especially thought it strange that the officers were white instead of black. A woman at whose house they stopped to get a drink of water said she did n't mind the white soldiers, but when it came to the black republicans she would n't be able to endure them.
“Why, we are black republicans, madam; or would be if we could vote,” said Jack.
“No, you can't be,” was the reply; “you're just as white as we-'uns if you'd only wash your faces.”
The boys good-naturedly enlightened her on the subject by explaining that the term “black republicans” was a derisive one, which the Democrats had applied to the Republican party, and had no reference to the complexion of those who voted the Republican ticket. They were not sure that they had convinced her, though they certainly raised doubts in her mind when she saw the hundreds and thousands of men that marched past the place, and all of them anything but negroes.
Another time they were less successful, as the native whom they sought to instruct pointed triumphantly to the colored servant of one of the officers, who was mounted on a spare horse belonging to his employer.
“Don't talk to me that way,” was the angry retort, “when there's one of your generals, a regular nigger, on a black horse.”
The joke was too good to be kept, and that evening it was circulated through the camp. It caused a great deal of laughter, and for some days the servant who had been the innocent cause of the mistake was addressed by his associates as “general.”
There was no fighting on the march from Booneville to Springfield, as the state forces under Governor Jackson and General Price were on their line of march considerably farther west, and had a good start. They were being followed by a column from Leavenworth, under command of Major Sturgis, but the pursuers were not able to overtake them, being delayed at the crossing of a river which lay on their route. It had been hoped that the rebels would be caught between the two columns of Sturgis and Sweeney, and if they had been thus caught there was an excellent chance of a Union victory.
As the days wore on after the arrival of the Union forces at Springfield, the most important town of southwestern Missouri, the situation became critical. It was known that General Price had formed a camp at Cowskin Prairie, near the southwest corner of the state, to wait for the reinforcements that were promised by the Confederacy, and it was soon learned that these reinforcements had arrived and Price was about to move on Springfield.
Altogether General Lyon had about six thousand men under his command, but many of them were enlisted for only three months; the expiration of the time of some of them was fast approaching, and others were already free to go home.
General Fremont had been placed in command of the department, and to him General Lyon sent an earnest appeal for reinforcements, saying he would be compelled to retreat unless troops were sent to him. The desired troops were promised, but before they started the rebels threatened Cairo in Illinois, and the regiments destined for General Lyon were sent there instead of going to southwestern Missouri, as originally intended.
Lyon was receiving no reinforcements, while Price was gaining in strength and adding to the effectiveness of his men. About the twentieth of July Lyon's force was weakened by the departure of two regiments of three-months' men whose time had expired, while the time of the First Iowa (the regiment to which Jack and Harry were attached ) would be out early in August. No wonder General Lyon was troubled in mind, and that he sent urgent appeals to General Fremont for immediate aid.
News came that the rebels were advancing upon Springfield and that a great battle was imminent. Jack and Harry were jubilant at the promise of fighting, but older ones shook their heads and looked serious. The secession inhabitants of Springfield were rejoicing over the prospect of soon being rid of their Yankee visitors; they could not conceal their delight, and this circumstance convinced the thoughtful ones among the unionists that the coming clash of arms would be anything but a light one.
CHAPTER XI. A TERRIBLE MARCH—A FIGHT AND A RETREAT.
On the first of August General Lyon marched out on the road to the southwest and in the direction where the enemy was supposed to be; in fact, where it was positively known that he could be found. Most of the wagons were left behind, and among them were those driven by Jack and Harry. Not wishing to miss the chance of seeing a battle, those enterprising youths accompanied the column by permission of their regimental quartermaster, and under promise to return whenever word reached them that they were wanted.
August is a hot month in that part of the country; in fact, it is a hot month, as everybody knows, from one end of the United States to the other. Only a few miles were made on the first day's march from Springfield, but those few miles witnessed the exhaustion of many of the soldiers. The next day the column moved on to a place known as “Dug Spring,” probably to distinguish it from the natural springs which abound through that country. And the heat of that day was something terrific.
Scores of men, overcome by the sultry atmosphere, dropped out of the line of march and fell exhausted by the roadside, where some of them died from the effects of sunstroke. Water was to be found only at long intervals, and when found the springs were soon rendered muddy or were completely exhausted by the crowds that rushed into them.
In southwest Missouri, as in many parts of the southern states, the spring which supplies a residence is covered with a frame building eight or ten feet square, and known as the springhouse. There are very few cellars in that region, and the springhouse is used for preserving milk, meat and other articles requiring the lowest attainable temperature in the absence of ice. The spring that gave the name to the locality in question was of this sort, and a small stream of water flowed from it perpetually, and probably is flowing still. To realize what happened there, let us quote from a letter which Harry wrote that evening to his mother:
“My Dear Mother: I have known what it was to be very thirsty, but until to-day I never knew what it was to suffer—actually suffer—for want of water, though I have often thought I knew. It was one of the hottest days I ever saw in my life; the road was just one long line of dust, as no rain had fallen for some time and the ground was perfectly dry. We had a little skirmishing with the rebels in front of us, but it was very evident that we only met small scouting parties of them, as they fell back very soon after we met them. But so much did the men suffer for want of water that they didn't care for the enemy, and would have risked their lives for a cooling drink from a brook or spring.
“We had left Wilson's Creek and Tyrol's Creek behind us; they are little streams or brooks that ordinarily contain only a few inches of water, but are said to be small rivers in their way when heavy rains fall. We went several miles without water, and at length the head of the column reached a large spring, which they told us was made by digging in the low ground, and for this reason it was called Dug Spring.
“Of course the first men that came to it rushed into the little springhouse to quench their thirst and fill their canteens, which they succeeded in doing. But before they had done so the crowd around the building was so dense that those inside could not get out; everybody was frantically seeking for water, water, water, and so wild were the men that the officers could not control them.
“They lifted the springhouse from its foundations and threw it to one side, but this didn't help matters any. As fast as the men came up and the word was passed that there was a spring there, the ranks were broken and all that the officers could do was not enough to keep the men in place. Officers and men struggled together for water and all distinctions of rank were lost.
“The spring was soon exhausted and so was a trough close by that contained water which had evidently stood there for some days. A pool a little way below the spring, where the hogs had wallowed, was eagerly sought by the struggling crowd and their feet stirred the contents so that it was half mud. Soldiers had a hard struggle to fill their canteens with this stuff, and when they had done so and came out of the crowd they refused to give away a single drop. One of the newspaper correspondents says he saw an officer offer five dollars to a soldier for a canteen full of this liquid, and the soldier refused it, saying he could not get any more and would die himself unless he had something to drink.
“By the time Jack and I got to the spring the water was all gone and we didn't know what to do, as we were ready to drop with thirst. Our tongues were swollen and almost hanging from our mouths, and we felt we could not stand it much longer. I dashed into the crowd at the spring and saw it was no use; then I got into the other crowd at the pool and tore up two handfuls of the moist earth and carried them to one side. Jack did just like me, and we managed to squeeze a few drops of water out of the earth which we had thus secured. We tried it again, others did the same thing, and somehow we managed to get enough to cool our throats just a little.
“We camped this evening on a little creek a few miles further on, and here we are. The men care little for food; all they want just now is to get enough water to drink. The camp is in great confusion and if a well-disciplined enemy should fall on us just now it would have a good chance of whipping us. They say the rebels are only a little way ahead of us, and perhaps we shall have a fight with them to-morrow.”
On the next day there was a skirmish, in which a few men were wounded, and the report was that the rebels had suffered severely; but as usual in such cases, especially at the beginning of the war, the rumors were far above the facts. As an illustration of this tendency we will take one of the battles of 1861 in which there were ten killed on one side and thirteen on the other, and about forty wounded. The Union commander estimated the rebel loss “at not less than from three hundred and fifty to four hundred,” while the Confederate historians said the Union loss was “from one hundred fifty to two hundred killed, and from three hundred to four hundred wounded.” One of the best reports of a skirmish was that of a commander who wrote, “our loss was nothing; the enemy's is not known, but is certainly three times as great as our own.”
Twenty-four miles from Springfield General Lyon decided to fall back to that town, as he learned that the rebels had a force three or four times as great as his own; it turned out that these figures were a good deal exaggerated, but after making the most liberal deductions it is certain that they had fully twice his number. He reached Springfield on the fifth of August, and was more disheartened than ever. No reinforcements had come to him from General Fremont, and from all indications none were likely to be sent in time to do him any good. We had two alternatives: to fight a battle with great odds against him, or to fall back to Rolla, the terminus of the railroad, without a fight.
At a council of his officers it was decided that the moral effect of retreating without a battle would be greater than after one; unless, indeed, the army should be so badly defeated that escape would be impossible. The rebels advanced and camped on Wilson's Creek, ten miles from Springfield. It has become known since that there was a bitter quarrel between General's McCulloch and Price, and in consequence of this quarrel the rebels did not come at once to attack Springfield.
McCulloch was carrying out the policy of the Confederate government, which just then did not favor pushing the war into the border states; while Price wanted to take the offensive against the national government and push the Union forces quite out of the state of Missouri. He was for fighting and pushing on, while McCulloch was opposed to anything of the kind; not on account of cowardice, be it understood, for he was as brave a soldier as the Confederacy produced during the war, but for political reasons, which have just been mentioned. He was only induced to march upon Springfield by General Price giving up the command to him, and furthermore by the threat of the latter that if McCulloch still refused to advance, he (Price) would alone advance with his Missourians and give battle to the Union forces.
On the eighth of August Price learned that Lyon was fearful of an attack, and was making preparations to abandon Springfield. He urged McCulloch to advance at once, but the latter would not do so. On the ninth it was decided that an attack would be made on Springfield the next day, and the troops were ordered to be in readiness to move at nine o'clock that night. But the plan was changed on account of a slight rain which fell towards evening and threatened to continue during the night. Many of the Missourians had no cartridge-boxes and were obliged to carry their ammunition in their pockets; consequently, a rain would have spoiled their cartridges and made these soldiers useless in a fight.
To what slight causes do we often owe the course of events!
The rain which stopped the Confederate advance did not interfere with the plan which General Lyon formed during the day after consultation with his officers. It was to move out on the night of the ninth and be ready to attack by daylight on the tenth. The rebels were camped along Wilson's Creek for a distance altogether of about three miles, and it was not likely that they expected General Lyon would seek to trouble them with his greatly inferior numbers. As they expected to move at daylight, to attack Springfield, they had drawn in their pickets, and consequently were not aware of the Union advance until it was close upon them. General Lyon's plan was to attack both ends of the rebel camp at the same time, and for this purpose he divided his forces, sending General Sigel with his own and Colonel Solomon's regiments of infantry, a battery of six guns and two companies of regular cavalry to attack the right wing of the rebels on the east side of the Fayetteville road. At the same time he proposed, with the remainder of the Union forces, to fall upon the other wing of the enemy's camp. The movements were to be so timed that the attack would be made at daylight, and General Sigel, in case he got first into position, was to wait for the sound of General Lyon's guns.