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On this plan the two forces marched out of Springfield on the evening of the ninth. To how many men was that the last march, including the brave commander of the Union army of southwest Missouri!
Each column by midnight had reached a point about four miles from the rebel camp, and within sight of some of the rebel camp-fires. There the men bivouacked on the field, and waited anxiously for the coming dawn. Daylight glimmered at length in the east, and, with as much silence as is possible to an advancing army, the march was resumed.
CHAPTER XII. BATTLE OF WILSON'S CREEK.—DEATH OF GENERAL LYON.
Here is a description of the battlefield of the tenth of August, 1861, by a gentleman who was there on that occasion, and afterward visited the spot when he could do so without danger from shells and bullets.
As you go south from Springfield there is a comparatively level country for several miles, but in approaching the creek which gives the name to the battlefield you find a more broken region. The valley of the creek is bordered by low hills, and at the time of the fight these hills were covered with scrub-oaks, which were generally known to the natives as “black-jacks.” These trees are so thickly scattered in many places that it is impossible to see for any distance, and on the day of the battle they masked the movements of the opposing armies from each other and led to several surprises.
The Fayetteville road going south crosses the creek at a ford and then runs almost parallel to the course of the stream for nearly a mile. On this part of the road and along the creek the main body of the Confederates was encamped, and the camp extended up a tributary of Wilson's Creek known as Skegg's Branch. Between Skegg's Branch and its junction with Wilson's Creek is a steep hill, perhaps a hundred feet high, its sides seamed with ravines and its top broken with rocks in many places, so that wagons and artillery cannot be freely moved about.
This was known as Oak Hill at the time of the battle, and has since been called Bloody Hill by the Confederates in memory of the slaughter that took place there. It was the scene of the principal fighting of the day and of the death of General Lyon.
During the war it often happened that engagements were called by different names by the opposing forces. Thus the battle now known as that of Shiloh was originally called the battle of Pittsburg Landing by the Northern side and Shiloh by the South. The battle of Pea Ridge was so named by the Northerners, but it was known as Elkhorn Tavern by the South. In the same way the battle of Wilson's Creek, as the North knew it, was the battle of Oak Hill to the South. In fact, it had three names, as General Price in his official report called it the battle of Springfield.
Oak Hill, or Bloody Hill, was covered with low bushes in addition to the scrub-oaks already mentioned, but the underbrush was not thick, and did not particularly interfere with movements of troops or individuals, though it caused the lines of the soldiers to be considerably broken, and furnished a complete screen to men lying down. The rebels were camped at the foot of the hill, and its summit afforded a good view of the greater part of the Confederate position.
General Lyon reached the farther slope of the hill before his approach was discovered. His advance was first made known to the Missourians, who were camped in that vicinity, and whose commander had sent out a picket about daylight. The first encounter was between Captain Plummer's battalion of regulars and Colonel Hunter's Missouri regiment, the latter falling back as their commander saw the strength of the forces opposed to him. General Lyon advanced as rapidly as possible, and soon had possession of the crest of the hill.
The whole force of General Lyon which he had on the field on that terrible morning was about five thousand five hundred men, of whom one thousand two hundred were with General Sigel and three thousand three hundred under his own personal direction. General Sigel's forces have been enumerated. Those of General Lyon were Captain Plummer's regulars, the batteries of Captains Totten and Dubois—ten guns in all, Steel's battalion of three hundred regulars, Osterhaus's battalion of volunteer infantry, and the volunteer regiments of the First Missouri, First Iowa and First and Second Kansas. According to their own figures the Confederates were ten thousand one hundred seventy-five strong, about half of them belonging to the Missouri state guard and the other half to the forces that had been sent from Arkansas and Louisiana to aid the Missourians in recapturing the state from the national government.
Let us turn for a moment to General Sigel. His part of the plan of attack was perfectly carried out. He arrived before daylight in the position assigned to him and had his guns in position and his troops drawn up ready to begin the attack as soon as he heard the sound of Lyon's guns. From the point where he stood he could look down upon the rebel camp and see the cooks busy with their preparations for breakfast, and he so arranged his skirmishers that they captured every man who straggled out of camp, and thus prevented any warning of the presence of an enemy. Anxiously did he wait for the signal to begin the attack. He and his officers around him saw that they would make a complete surprise of the part of the camp they were to attack, and already felt sure that the battle would be in their favor.
It was a few minutes past five when the first of the rebels were encountered by Lyon's advance, and by five-thirty the battle had begun. Captain Totten planted his artillery in a good position and threw a 12-pound shell into the enemy's camp. Shell after shell followed from his batteries and Dubois's, and then the sounds of Sigel's cannon were heard answering from the other end of the line.
A rebel officer afterward told the writer of this story that he was asleep in his tent when an orderly came to tell him to get his regiment under arms, as the Yankees were coming.
“Is that official?” queried the officer, as he languidly raised his head.
Before the orderly could answer the sound of a cannon was heard, and a shell tore through the tent and narrowly missed its occupant.
No explanation was needed. “Well, that's official, anyhow,” exclaimed the officer as he sprang from his blankets and went through whatever toilet he had to make with the greatest celerity.
Sigel's shot fell among the Arkansas and Louisiana troops, while those of Lyon were delivered at the Missourians. Very quickly the rebel forces were under arms; their tents fell as though by magic, and from a peaceful camp the spot was changed into a scene of war as by the wand of a magician.
The scrub-oaks and underbrush masked the movements of the rebels and enabled them to form their line quite near that of Lyon's forces without being seen. They waited for Lyon's advance, which was not long delayed, and as the Union troops came advancing through the bushes they were met by a withering fire from the rifles of the Missourians at close range. This was on the slope of Bloody Hill, and on this hill for five hours the battle raged between the opposing forces.
Neither side attempted a bayonet charge, as the ground was quite unsuited to it on account of the density of the brush and the uncertainties that might be behind it. Most of the Missourians were armed with ordinary shotguns and hunting-rifles; consequently they could not have attempted a bayonet charge, even though other circumstances had permitted one.
The opposing lines advanced, retired, advanced again, and often were not more than fifty yards apart. Sometimes the ground was held and contested for several minutes, and at others only for a very brief period. Now and then came a lull, when for half an hour or so hardly a shot would be fired, the antagonists each waiting for the next move of their opponents. The stillness at these times was almost painful and in marked contrast to the roar and rattle of the small-arms and the deep diapason of the artillery whenever the battle was renewed.
The ground was strewn with dead and wounded. Here lay a body stiff and still in the embrace of death, and close beside it another writhing in the agonies of flesh torn by bullets or by splinters of shell. Rebel and Union lay side by side as the line of battle changed its position, and beneath more than one of the dwarfed oaks that spread over the now-memorable field the blue and gray together sought shelter from the August sun and from the leaden rain that fell pattering among the leaves. Down by the base of the hill flowed the creek, apparently undisturbed as ever. The waters invited the thirsty to partake, but whoever descended to drink from the rippling stream, or to fill a canteen for the wounded, who piteously begged for relief, did so at the risk of his life. The creek was commanded by the rifles of the Missourians concealed in a wheatfield on the opposite side, and not till the end of the battle was their position changed.
The attack of General Sigel upon the rebel camp on his side of the line was as successful as it was sudden. The camp was abandoned, and his soldiers marched through it without opposition to form along the Fayetteville road and be ready to cut off the retreat of the rebels whenever they should be put to flight by General Lyon.
After the first shock of the battle was over, General McCulloch carefully reconnoitered the position of General Sigel, and in consequence of the protection afforded by the oaks and underbrush he was enabled to do so without being seen. Ascertaining their position with great exactness, he brought up two batteries and placed them within point-blank range of Sigel's line, and at the same time advanced the Third Louisiana. All this was accomplished while Sigel still supposed the entire Confederate force was engaged with Lyon; the complete screen of the trees and bushes rendering the concealment possible.
The Third Louisiana was uniformed in gray exactly like the uniform of the First Iowa. When it approached it was mistaken by Sigel's men for the latter regiment, and the word passed along the line that friends were coming.
As the gray-coated rebels came up the fire of Sigel's men was withheld and flags were waved in welcome. The advancing enemies reserved their fire and moved steadily forward, and before they were near enough to be recognized the two rebel batteries opened with full force upon Sigel and his astonished soldiers.
The latter were thrown into consternation, which was increased when the gray-coated men, still supposed to be friends, charged straight upon them and in a few moments had taken possession of five out of the six guns. Until it was too late, the Germans under Sigel believed that the regiment approaching them was the First Iowa, and withheld their fire, with consequences easy to foresee.
Their rout was complete. Many were killed or wounded and many more captured. About four hundred of Sigel's men answered at the next roll-call; some escaped and joined the retreating column the next day, and a portion of the column took the road through Little York and reached Springfield without further encounter with the enemy.
This happened about nine o'clock in the forenoon, and from that time on the rebels could concentrate their attentions upon General Lyon, Sigel being no longer in their way. They did so concentrate, and by ten o'clock Lyon was very hotly pressed. Fresh troops were poured in by the rebels, but Lyon's whole force had now been engaged, and was steadily melting away. The rebels were assembling for a fresh attack, and the peril of the Union force was imminent. Unless they could break the rebel line before it was ready to advance, the day was in great danger of being lost.
CHAPTER XIII. AFTER THE BATTLE—A FLAG OF TRUCE.
On the whole battlefield there was no man more calm and collected than General Lyon, notwithstanding the great responsibility that rested upon him and the fearful odds against which he fought. Now on horseback and now on foot, he moved among his men, encouraging them by his manner and with now and then a few brief words, making suggestions to his officers, listening to the reports of his aids, calling back those who sought to flee and steadying those who showed signs of giving way, rallying the lines where they began to break and closing up gaps between companies and regiments, he seemed a tower of strength where it was greatly needed.
When it became apparent that Sigel had been routed, and not only could no help be expected from him, but the regiments of the enemy which had been engaged with him would now be turned in the direction of the main column, General Lyon remarked to an officer that he feared the day was lost. “But we will make another effort to save it,” said he; and with this remark he moved to give some directions to Captain Totten, who was serving his battery on the brow of the hill.
He was close to the most advanced section of the battery when his horse was killed by a cannon-shot, and the general was somewhat stunned by his fall to the ground. The colonel of the Second Kansas had been wounded; the regiment was close in line with the First Iowa, and with these regiments General Lyon undertook to lead an advance against the enemy, when he was struck down by a bullet. He fell into the arms of his faithful orderly, Lehman, who had kept close to his side, and breathed only a few times after the latter had laid him gently on the ground.
Thus fell one of the truest soldiers, one of the purest patriots, one of the most devoted men in his country's cause that the world has ever seen. He loved his country for his country's sake, and hated slavery and all its concomitants with deadly hate. While it existed he tolerated it, because it was one of the institutions of the land; but when it raised its hand for the destruction of the Union, he was its most uncompromising foe. He believed in no half-way measures, in no patched-up peace; and when the governor of Missouri set up the theory of the right of the state to refuse to send troops to the war or permit their enlistment within her boundaries, General Lyon would neither offer nor accept any compromise. He held that the national government was paramount to the state or any other local authority, and considered the question one not to be argued.
In fighting the battle in which he lost his life he did so, not that he was confident of victory, with the odds so greatly against him, but because he considered it better to fight and take the chances of defeat, rather than not fight at all. He justly believed that a well-fought battle, even if lost, would leave no room for the charge, which the rebels were making daily and hourly, that the Northern men were cowards, who dared not fight. He knew that a retreat would enable the Confederates to overrun all that part of the state as far as the Missouri river; that it would give great encouragement to the secessionists all through the state, and would equally discourage the friends of the Union cause. There was a hope—just a hope—that he might win, and so he risked the battle and prepared to abide by its results.
After the death of General Lyon the command fell upon Major Sturgis, who immediately consulted the rest of the officers as to what should be done. Ammunition was nearly exhausted, the rebels were pressing hard, and it was speedily decided that the only safety lay in retreat, as a continuance of the battle would simply lead to greater slaughter without any prospect of victory. And so a retreat was ordered.
The withdrawal was made in good order, the enemy making no attempt to follow. It has been stated that the rebels were at that moment contemplating a retreat from the field, and had not the Union troops withdrawn they would soon have found themselves victorious. This statement rests upon report rather than authority, and certainly the Confederate historians do not give any credence to it. Some ground for the statement may be found in the fact that the last repulse of the rebels before the order for retreat was given was a severe one, and resulted in a disorderly retirement of the attacking column. At one time the rebels were within twenty feet of the muzzles of Totten's guns, and it was only by the most determined resistance on the part of the infantry supporting the battery that the assailants were driven back.
Most of the wounded were brought from the field in the wagons and ambulances that followed the column, but so great was the number that there was not room for all. Many were left on the ground, and so was the body of General Lyon, which was afterward recovered by a flag of truce that went out in charge of one of the young doctors attached to the service, partly to recover the body and partly to care for or bring in the wounded. Our young friend Harry was detailed to drive one of the wagons that went to the field with the flag of truce. Greatly to their disappointment both the youths had received strict orders to stay with the wagons on the day of battle, so that they did not see anything of the momentous events of the day. In the distance they heard the firing, and now and then could get a glimpse of a column of men in motion, but so far as the actual battle was concerned they practically saw nothing.
The flag of truce was gone several hours, and did not return until evening. It was successful in its mission, and those in charge of it were courteously received by the Confederate officers, though they met with many scowls on the part of the rebel soldiers. Until the flag of truce appeared the rebels were not aware of General Lyon's death, and of course when they heard of it they considered it an additional laurel for their side. General Price sent Colonel Snead, his adjutant-general, to identify the body of the fallen hero and deliver it to the men who came for it, and he did so. Here is his account of the incident, together with his estimate of the general's character:
“General Price thereupon directed me to identify Lyon's body, and to deliver it to the bearer of the flag of truce. It had been borne to the rear of the Federal line of battle, and there, under the shade of an oak, it lay, still clad in the captain's uniform which he had worn just two months before when, relying upon the strength of his manhood, on the might of his government, and on the justice of his cause, he had boldly defied the governor of the state and the major-general of her forces, and in their presence had declared war against Missouri and against all who should dare to take up arms in her defense. Since that fateful day he had done many memorable deeds, and had well deserved the gratitude of all those who think that the union of these states is the chiefest of political blessings, and that they who gave their lives to perpetuate it ought to be forever held in honor by those who live under its flag. The body was delivered to the men who had come for it—delivered to them with all the respect and courtesy which were due to a brave soldier and the commander of an army, and they bore it away towards Springfield, whither the army which he had led out to battle was slowly and sullenly retreating.”
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Colonel Snead adds:
“The Confederates remained upon the field which they had won, and ministered to the wounded and buried the dead of both armies. Before the unpitying sun had sunk behind the western hills, all those who had died for the Union and all those who had died for the South had been laid to rest, uncoffined, in the ground which their manhood had made memorable and which their blood had made sacred forever.”
Jack was waiting for Harry when the latter returned, and as soon as the team had been unharnessed and the animals fed, the two youths had an animated talk.
“The doctor told me to drive as fast as I could,” said Harry, “and you can be sure I did. He had the flag of truce—a big napkin or towel tied to a stick—and this he kept waving in front of the wagons as we went along. We did n't see anybody until we got pretty near the battlefield, and then we came upon a picket of fellows in butternut clothes and armed with shotguns and squirrel rifles. Yes, we did see somebody, as we passed several of our wounded soldiers who had tried to follow the army on its retreat, but were too weak to do so and had sat down by the roadside or were still hobbling on as fast as they could. One poor fellow of the First Iowa, who had been shot in the leg, was using his gun for a crutch. He asked for a drink of water and we gave it to him, and we gave water to some of the others, who seemed to need it badly. The doctor says a wounded man always suffers terribly from thirst, and one of the first things he always asks for is water.
“When we got to the rebel picket they stopped us and at first would n't let us go on or send inside to the commanding officer or anybody else in authority. But the doctor good-naturedly said they could see for themselves that he was the bearer of a flag of truce—that he had a message to deliver, and the best way to find out whether he was right or wrong was to send to the nearest commissioned officer and ask him to come there.
“This appealed to the common sense of the sergeant, who did n't seem to be a bad fellow, but simply ignorant. He sent for his captain, and in a little while the captain came. It was hard to distinguish the captain from the soldiers, as they were all dressed alike; some of them had pieces of red cloth sewed on their sleeves, and the captain had stripes on his shoulders that looked just a little like shoulder-straps.
“The doctor delivered his message, and the captain told him to wait awhile till he could report to General Price. Then the fellows of the picket began to talk to us, and we got on pretty well, though we thought they boasted a little too much under the circumstances about having just licked our army and made us go back to Springfield.
“They asked us for tobacco, but we had n't any, and then they hinted that a little coffee would taste very well. We told them we had been short of coffee for the last two weeks. They would hardly believe us, but declared that while we had n't had as much as we wanted, they had been forced to go without it altogether. Fact is, they did n't look as though they had been well fed. One of'em took an ear of corn from his pocket and said it was to be his supper, his breakfast having been just like it.
“The captain came back with another officer, and then we went on to where the general's body was lying. The soldiers crowded around us, the same sort of butternut fellows as we met at the picket. One of 'em started to say something insulting to us, but the captain shut him up with a word, and after that the only affronts we had were scowls and occasional mutterings about the Yankees and Dutch. The captain came with us to the place where the picket was, and then let us go. The doctor thanked him for his politeness, and offered him a cigar, which he accepted with the remark that it was the first he had seen for two months.”
CHAPTER XIV. LOSSES IN BATTLE—THE RETREAT.
We expected to pick up one or two of the wounded men into my wagon on our way back,” said Harry, “but found we did n't have to. The other wagons had followed close behind us, and gathered up all who could n't walk or take care of themselves. Some of the country people were out looking after them, too, and by this time everybody ought to be cared for in some way. But, of course, there 'll be a great deal of suffering under the best of circumstances, as there is a great number of wounded men on both sides.” And Harry was right; there was a great number of wounded in proportion to the number of men engaged. It has been said by students of warfare that down to that time there had never been in the United States a battle in which the proportion of casualties was as great as at Wilson's Creek, and without stopping to examine the histories of all previous battles this is a safe assertion. Let us look at the figures:
The total of the Union forces was not far from five thousand four hundred, including officers and men. They lost in the battle two hundred and fifty-eight killed, eight hundred and seventy-three wounded, and one hundred eighty-six missing, a total of casualties of one thousand three hundred and seventeen; or, deducting the missing, we have of killed and wounded on the field of Wilson's Creek, one thousand one hundred and thirty-one, or more than one in five of all who were present; and it is generally considered by military men that where the killed and wounded are one-tenth of the total on the field the battle is a severe one.
The rebel reports place their effective force on the tenth of August at ten thousand one hundred and seventy-five, of which two hundred and seventy-nine were killed and nine hundred and fifty-one wounded, a total of one thousand two hundred and thirty, or about one man in nine of the whole force. Even this was a heavy loss, but much smaller in proportion when compared with that of General Lyon's army.
Colonel Blair's regiment, the First Missouri, had seven hundred and twenty-six men under arms when it went into battle. Its loss was three hundred and thirteen, or almost one-half its entire number. Seventy-seven of its men were killed, ninety-three dangerously wounded, one hundred and twenty-six otherwise wounded, two were captured and fifteen were missing at the next roll-call. The First Kansas lost two hundred and ninety-six men out of seven hundred and eighty-five; the Second Kansas, the First Iowa, and in fact all the other regiments on the field lost severely, but not as heavily in proportion as did the First Missouri and the First Kansas.
Another notable circumstance of the battle was the large number of those engaged in it under Lyon who afterward rose to high rank. From that little army eight officers rose to be major-generals before the end of the war, and thirteen to be brigadier-generals. Many of the men who fought in the ranks became captains, majors and colonels. In 1863 thirty-two commissioned officers were in the service from one company of the First Iowa, and twenty-eight from one company of the First Missouri. And through all the noble records they made during the war for the preservation of the Union, one of their proudest boasts was, “I was at Wilson's Creek with Lyon.”
Among those who rose to be major-generals were Schofield, Stanley, Steele, Granger, Sturgis, Herron, Sigel and Osterhaus; while of the brigadier-generals were Carr, Plummer, Halderman, Mitchell, Dietzler, Sweeney, Totten, Clayton and Gilbert. Some of these officers covered themselves with glory in subsequent campaigns, and their names are familiar to the veterans of the war and will live in the history of the country.
All this, time we have left Jack and Harry talking about the battle, and particularly about the experience of the latter in accompanying the flag of truce.
Their conversation was cut short by an order to be in readiness to move at any moment. Evidently this meant that the army was to abandon Springfield, which it could hardly hope to hold for any length of time after the result of the day's fighting.
“If they 'll allow us,” said Jack, “we'll keep our wagons close together and help each other all we can.”
“Of course we will,” was the prompt reply. “We shall probably follow our regiment, unless the train gets mixed up on the road and the wagons are scattered.”
“I don't know much about it,” said Jack, “but it seems to me that the rebs could make it very lively for us if they wanted to. Here we've got a long train of wagons, we're a hundred and thirty miles from the end of the railway, and there's a river to cross on the way, besides lots of small streams and miles of woods, where they could drop on us at any time before we knew they were there.”
“Anyway, we 'll hope for the best,” responded Harry, “and see how things turn out. Wonder who's to command the army now that General Lyon's dead?”
“I don't know. We'll find that out, though, pretty soon.”
Before the march began they ascertained that the retreat was to be conducted by General Sigel. Major Sturgis, who had assumed command immediately after Lyon's death, refused to hold it longer, on the ground that General Sigel's commission in the volunteer service was superior to his own as a major in the regular army. Accordingly General Sigel assumed command with the assent of all the regular officers, and ordered a retreat to Rolla.
Had the rebels chosen to give trouble they could have given a great deal. The road to Rolla was none of the best. It was crowded with the wagons of Union men who were fleeing in terror at the threatened approach of the rebels, and the army had a train of wagons nearly five miles long to encumber its movements. If the rebels had attacked it on the road, they would have had a great advantage over the soldiers who had been defeated at Wilson's Creek. Brave as these men were, a defeated army is never as good at fighting as one that has not suffered in that way.
But the retreating army was not molested, and in five days it had crossed the Gasconade river and was in a place of safety. As soon as it had passed the Gasconade Major Sturgis discovered that he was really the ranking officer, owing to the expiration of Sigel's commission, or some technicality concerning it, and therefore he demanded the command.
Sigel was disinclined to yield it then, but rather than have trouble he did so, though had he foreseen the result it is quite probable that he would have refused. The commanding officer was entitled to write the report of the battle, and accordingly the report was written by Major Sturgis. At that time there was a great deal of ill-feeling on the part of many of the regular officers toward the volunteers. They looked with contempt, often undisguised, upon the soldiers who had come from civil pursuits or had not made military matters the occupation of their lives. This feeling gradually wore away, though it was never entirely obliterated, but in the early part of the war there was much more of it than was good for the service.
General Lyon had none of this feeling, but this was far from being the case with the regular officers under him. And their contempt for volunteers was especially strong toward the Germans. They had few good words for the Teutons who wore the blue, especially when those Teutons were commissioned officers.
General Sigel, having brought the column from its perilous position at Springfield to a point where it was out of danger, certainly deserved to have something to say about the official report, especially when that report placed upon him the responsibility for the defeat of the Union forces and the victory of the rebels. It should be remarked that the official reports do not show any loss in killed and wounded on the part of the two companies of regular cavalry that accompanied Sigel in the battle of Wilson's Creek, though four men are reported missing from one of those companies. With the exception of these four missing men all the loss of Sigel's column was borne by his infantry and artillery, all volunteers and nearly all Germans.
At daybreak on the morning of the eleventh of August the head of the retreating army marched out of Springfield in the direction of Rolla and the rising sun. Five miles from Springfield there is a road coming in from the direction of Wilson's Creek, and it was feared that the rebels might have pushed on a force during the night to contest the passage of the fugitives beyond this point. Had they done so, the great wagon-train would certainly have been in peril.
But no enemy appeared, and there was an agreeable disappointment on the part of many of those in retreat. To none was this more the case than to Harry and Jack, who did not relish the idea of losing their wagons and the property in their charge. Somehow the horses and mules seemed to catch the spirit of retreat and to feel that they were in danger. One of the drivers declared that he had never known them to pull half as earnestly as they did on the first day out of Springfield. He was sure they were solid for the Union and did n't want to fall into Johnny Reb's hands.
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All along the road there was the wildest alarm among the inhabitants who had espoused the Union cause. They felt that their lives would be in peril as soon as the army had passed, and many of them had already packed their wagons and were fleeing toward Rolla with whatever household goods they could carry away. They abandoned homes and farms, everything that they were unable to carry, and the spectacle presented by these fleeing refugees was a pathetic one. They filled the road both in front of and behind the army, and for weeks and weeks afterward a steady stream of them poured into the Union lines. We shall have more to say about these unfortunates by and by.
At last, after many trials and tribulations, the disheartened and weary army was encamped at Rolla, where the welcome whistle of the locomotive resounded through the air. The campaign of the southwest was ended, and the footsore warriors had an opportunity to gain the rest they so greatly needed.
Jack and Harry parked their wagons with the rest of the train, and wondered what would happen next.
“We've had a lively time of it, Jack,” said Harry; “but I'm not sorry we came.”
“Nor I either,” was the reply; “and I'm in no hurry to go home. Let's wait here awhile and see what's going to turn up.”
This was agreed to, and they sat down to wait.
CHAPTER XV. IN CAMP AT ROLLA—A PRIVATE EXPEDITION INTO THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY.
The three-months troops whose terms had expired, or were about to expire, were sent home, and the post at Rolla left in charge of the three-years regiments that remained, together with a portion of the regular forces of the late army of the southwest. The First Iowa, as already stated, had been enlisted for three months, and soon after the arrival at Rolla it returned to its own state and was disbanded.
True to their determination to see more of the war, Jack and Harry remained at Rolla when the regiment departed. At the same time they wrote to their parents and sent messages by their comrades, explaining why they wished to stay in Missouri, and their reasons for not going home. “We are not enlisted,” Jack wrote to his father, “and so we don't have to get into danger like the soldiers do. We've nothing to do but drive wagons and stay around the camp, where everything is safe. The boys will tell you how it is when they get home, and you may be sure we won't take any risks we can keep out of.”
There was a good deal of special pleading in Jack's letter, as the reader plainly perceives. It was certainly a greater risk for the youths to remain at a frontier post than to go home, where they would be out of all danger. Furthermore, anybody knows that while the position of a teamster is safer than that of the soldier who goes into battle, it is by no means a situation of unalloyed security. Wagon-trains are liable to attack and capture in the enemy's country, and one of the favorite enterprises of a cavalry commander is to strike his enemy's wagon-train on frequent occasions. If the wagons can be taken away they become the enemy's property; if they cannot be secured they are destroyed, and, in either case, the unfortunate drivers fall into the enemy's hands and become prisoners of war.
The history of war is full of stories of attacks upon wagon-trains; one of the perplexing problems for the military commander to solve is how to keep open his line of communications when advancing into the region of war and protect the trains that bring forward the supplies for his troops. If an army could be maintained without food and ammunition, save what it could collect in the enemy's country, many a leader would be greatly relieved.
Through the recommendation of the officers of the First Iowa Jack and Harry obtained employment with the post quartermaster at Rolla. With the approval of the commander of the troops stationed there he issued new clothing and blankets to the youths, and they felt, to use an old phrase, “as proud as peacocks.”
A rumor came that a rebel army was assembling somewhere to the southward for the purpose of attacking Rolla and securing the valuable property stored there. The garrison was put at work to throw up defenses, cannon were sent from St. Louis, the hills around the village were cleared of brushwood, and everything about the place assumed the appearance of war.
One day Jack suggested to Harry that they would make an excursion into the neighboring country, just to see for themselves and have a little fun.
Harry agreed to the proposal, but said there was a difficulty in the way on account of their clothing. They didn't want to be known as belonging to the garrison of Rolla, for the double reason that the people would not talk freely with them, and, besides, they might be seized and carried off as prisoners; and furthermore, their suits were new and they didn't want to spoil them as long as spoiling could be avoided.
Fortune favored them. That very day a scouting party brought in a wagon-load of clothing which had been collected in a village a few miles away to be sent to a company from that village, and then serving under General Price. From this load of clothing the quartermaster allowed Jack and Harry to help themselves, and they managed to pick out two suits which fitted them about as well as one is ordinarily fitted in a ready-made clothing store.
Slouch hats added to these butternut garments completed their costume, and thus accoutered they set out on a tramp whose duration was an uncertainty. Their plan was to walk from Rolla to Ironton and back again. The distance between the two points was about a hundred miles, and they intended to take a different road on their return from the one followed on the outward journey.
Ironton was then the terminus of the Iron Mountain Railway, and was held by a garrison of Union troops. Colonel Wyman, who commanded the Thirteenth Illinois, then stationed at Rolla, promised to write to the commander of the post at Ironton and inform him of the proposed journey of the youths, so that their story would not be discredited on their arrival there. It was thought best that they should carry no letters or papers of any kind which might compromise them in case of capture. So they took nothing except sufficient money to pay their expenses on the way, and this was supplied by the commander of the post. The paper money of the state of Missouri was preferred to anything else by the inhabitants of the region through which they were to pass, and therefore they carried nothing which bore the stamp of the United States government, with the exception of a few small pieces of silver coin and some of the local “shin-plasters” that were then in circulation.
The story that they were to tell in case they were questioned was that they had come from the northern part of Missouri and were on their way to visit friends near Ironton. They would freely admit that they had come through Rolla, and Colonel Wyman gave them permission to tell all they knew about the garrison there, except to give a guess as to the number of troops at the post. To all questions as to the number of soldiers at Rolla, they were to reply that they “did n't know, but thought there were five or six thousand.”
The fact was a reinforcement was expected in a few days, but this was unknown to the youths, and therefore the colonel was quite willing the boys should give whatever information they could, and in saying that they did n't know the number of soldiers at the post they would be strictly within the lines of truth. On their part they were to learn all they could about what the secessionists were doing in the region between Rolla and Ironton, and to what extent it was sending recruits to the rebel forces in the field.
The only baggage either of them carried was an overcoat, if an overcoat can be called baggage. Jack wanted to add a tooth-brush and a cake of soap to his outfit, but the proposal was vetoed by Harry.
“Don't you see,” said Harry, “you'd be giving yourself away at once? These fellows here don't use soap, or so rarely that it is an exception; and as for tooth-brushes, I don't believe a quarter of the people have ever heard of'em. Suppose they search us or see us using soap and tooth-brushes; they'd know right off that we were not of their kind.
“And did n't you hear about how soap-boxes caused a lot of ammunition to be seized?” Harry added.
“No; what was that?”
“It was about the time of the Camp Jackson affair, when the state authorities were laying their plans for taking the state out of the Union and getting ready to fight. The Union commanders at St. Louis were trying to stop the shipment of arms and ammunition to the interior of the state, and all packages of goods going in that direction were examined. At first only the outside of the packages was looked at, but one day something happened to require a more careful inspection.
“The examining officers found some boxes labeled 'soap' on a steamboat bound for Lexington, on the Missouri river. Had there been only one or two boxes he would not have been suspicious, but when he found more than one hundred boxes he 'smelt a mouse.' He naturally wondered why the people in that part of Missouri could want so much soap, and from wondering he ordered some of the boxes opened.
“Every box was found to contain canisters of gunpowder instead of soap. The whole lot was seized, and after that no goods were allowed to go forward without a careful inspection. If the shipper had labeled the stuff 'whisky' instead of 'soap,' nobody would have been suspicious, as whisky is a staple article of commerce and consumption in that region.”
Jack admitted the force of the argument about soap, but insisted that a tooth-brush would not be suspicious or betray their real character.
“Don't be so sure of that,” replied Harry. “One of these Union men from the very region we're going through said the other day that he thought the colonel of the Illinois regiment was a very nice man, until he saw him come out in front of his tent one morning with a glass of water in one hand and a little stick with some bristles on it in the other.
“'He came out there,' said the man, 'and stood round for five or ten minutes pushing that little stick round in his mouth and hawking and spitting and sloshing that 'er water among his teeth till it made me feel sick. I don't think he's much of a nice man after that.'”
Jack laughed, and agreed that the tooth-brush must be left behind, as well as the soap, and thus it happened that they started with neither of those adjuncts of a civilized toilet.
They took the road leading in a southeasterly direction from Rolla, starting one morning before daybreak, so as to be well on their way before anybody in the village was stirring. The sergeant of the picket on the road they were to travel had been notified to let them go on without question, and he did so on their presentation of a pass duly signed by the commandant of the post. By sunrise they were a good three miles out of town, and had met nobody.
The first man they met was a Union refugee, who was making his way to the post to escape persecution of his secession neighbors; at least that was what the youths inferred, though he was too cautious to say so until he had reached the protection of the Stars and Stripes. He asked if he was on the right road for Rolla, and on being assured that he was he appeared greatly relieved.
“I don't know where you-'uns are going,” said he, “but you 'll find lively times if you get down into Arkansas.”
“How so?” one of the boys asked.
“Why,” was the reply, “everybody's going to the army, and they don't talk about nothing else. They say they'll be up here soon and drive the Yanks out of Rolla and everywhere else.”
“They're used to driving,” said Jack; “there's a lot of'em at Rolla that's just been driven in from Springfield, and don't act as though they were going back again in a hurry.”
“Yes, I've heard so,” replied the stranger; “p'r'aps they don't want to go back there yet awhile.”
The conversation lasted for ten or fifteen minutes, and was as non-committal as possible on both sides. Neither party was willing to admit friendliness for the Union side, as each was fearful of after consequences. The stranger was the first to move on, as he evidently distrusted the youths and wanted to get away from them.