General John B. Marmaduke was a thoroughly born and reared Southern man. Descended from Virginia ancestry, he first saw the light on March 14th, 1833, at Arrow Rock, Missouri. Possessed of a splendid physique, with a common school education, he entered Yale. He was there two years and one year at Harvard, and then he was appointed to the United States Military Academy from whence he graduated when twenty-two years of age. As a brevet second lieutenant he went with Albert Sidney Johnston and aided in putting down the Mormon revolt in 1858. He remained in the West for two years and at the opening of the Civil War was stationed in New Mexico. Fond of military life, it involved much sacrifice for him to resign his commission in the United States Army, but he did not hesitate an instant and on the 17th of April, 1861, he severed his connection with the regular army and at once raised a company of Missouri State Guards. His West Point education gave him prominence at once and he was made colonel of a Missouri military organization. Brave and proud-spirited, he disagreed with his uncle, Claiborne F. Jackson, then governor of Missouri, and left the service there and reported at Richmond, to the Confederate government. He had five brothers in the Confederate Army or Navy. His father, Meredith Miles Marmaduke, was governor of Missouri in 1844.

With General Hardee, in Southeast Missouri, he was made colonel of the 3d Confederate Infantry. Crossing the river to aid General Albert Sidney Johnston destroy Grant’s army, he participated in the Battle of Shiloh, and was signally honored by his grateful government for his splendid service and was made a brigadier general while he was yet an inmate of the hospital from wounds received on that field. There was a great call at that time in the West for brave and experienced men, and four months after the Battle of Shiloh he was transferred to the trans-Mississippi Department, and from August, 1862, to January, 1863, he commanded the Confederate cavalry in Arkansas and Missouri. Vigilant, active and enterprising, he made a number of raids into Missouri. He was a fierce fighter, and never hesitated to attack his enemy when prudence justified an assault. Ordered to break Federal communication between Springfield and Rolla, Missouri, he inflicted great loss upon his enemies, but after a most valiant attack, through the failure of some of his troops to come on time, he was compelled to withdraw and retreat. He held a conspicuous place in the attack upon Helena, Arkansas, in July, 1863, and was successful in capturing the Federal camps at Pine Bluff. In the defense of Little Rock he played a notable part and covered General Price’s retreat after the evacuation of the capital of Arkansas.

He fought a duel with General Lucien M. Walker which shadowed his life. Under the terms arranged by the seconds, the two men were placed ten feet apart. The weapons were revolvers, and they were to advance and continue firing until the weapons were empty. Walker was mortally wounded at the second shot. Marmaduke was placed under arrest and relieved of his command. The exigencies of the hour made his services so important that he was permitted to resume his command during the pending operations. He was finally released by General Holmes. All through Missouri and Arkansas and Louisiana he was in many engagements, and for his magnificent service in 1864 in delaying Steele and preventing his union with General Banks, and for his valor in the Battle of Jenkins Ferry, he was made a major general. He was with Price in his ill-fated campaign in the fall of 1864. Dauntless and gallant in the protection of Price’s rear, while making vigorous battle he was captured near Fort Scott, Kansas. He was carried to Fort Warren and remained there until August, 1865, and when released went abroad, but returned to engage in business in St. Louis. For two years he was active in journalism. He served as secretary of the Missouri Board of Agriculture, was railroad commissioner four years, elected governor of Missouri in 1884, in which office he died in his fifty-fourth year, in Jefferson City, on December 24th, 1887.

Brave, of great resource, intensely loyal, few men of the war had as many wide experiences. The South had no more loyal son. His three and a half years of military service were marked with incessant and constant activities, and he had no rest, unless while in the hospital recovering from wounds received in battle. Although connected with the cavalry, in an engagement where some Missouri infantry were falling back before a sudden and terrific fire, General Marmaduke, with an aide-de-camp, William Price, rode in among the hesitating infantry, and violently taking from two standard bearers their colors, rushed into the midst of these troops and lifting the banners aloft pleaded with the men to stand firm. His noble example restored order to the line, and out of retreat they moved forward with conspicuous gallantry, and won victory.

In March, 1863, General Holmes was relieved of the command of the Trans-Mississippi Department, and General E. Kirby Smith, who had made such a brilliant reputation in the Kentucky campaign with the army of Tennessee, was assigned to the full charge of the territory. He established his headquarters at Shreveport, Louisiana, and General Holmes was placed in command of the district of Arkansas, which included Arkansas, Indian Territory and the state of Missouri.

Early in April, 1863, General Price returned after his service in the army of Tennessee and the Trans-Mississippi Department, and was assigned to the command of an infantry division. In the northern part of Arkansas there was nothing except Marmaduke’s division of cavalry, and this was in and around Batesville. The Confederates were loth to abandon the portion of Arkansas above the Arkansas River, and endeavored to hold the enemy in check for eighty miles north of that stream. The Confederates were not unaware that a most determined effort would be made to capture Little Rock. By the aid of the forces from Memphis and up the Arkansas River and down through Missouri, combinations were made which it was believed would render it impossible for the Confederates to hold that post.

The only really organized force operating in the territory northwest of Arkansas was Marmaduke’s cavalry division, composed of Shelby’s and Greene’s brigades. Anxious to do something to relieve the pressure upon Little Rock, General Marmaduke felt that if he should march northeastwardly to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, he might accomplish two things: first, he might recruit quite a large number of troops. Missouri was one of the best recruiting grounds for the Confederate states. There was no time when an organized force entered Missouri, when there was any sort of opportunity for the young men, or even the middle-aged men to enter the Confederate service that hundreds of them did not rush to the Confederate standard. Marmaduke, Shelby, Price and all those who invaded Missouri were not only gratified but astonished at the readiness with which recruits flocked to join them.

General Marmaduke believed that he might stay the approach of the Federals in their advance upon Little Rock. General Holmes was so pleased with Marmaduke’s offer to do something that he not only approved but encouraged him, and ordered forward to his support Carter’s brigade of Texas cavalry, which was the possessor of a four-gun battery and counted fifteen hundred men. The men of this brigade were not experienced, but they had grit, endurance and courage, and they were not long in measuring up to the standard of veterans. This gave General Marmaduke a force of nearly five thousand cavalry and eight pieces of artillery, but nearly one-fourth of them were unarmed and one-fifth dismounted. This was a formidable array to turn loose either in the rear or in the face of the enemy. It was more than Morgan ever had under his command; it was more than General Wheeler was ever able to take on a raid; and was greater than General Forrest had hitherto been able to pull together.

Marmaduke also learned that there was a Federal officer at Bloomfield, five miles south of Cape Girardeau, who had become infamous in the eyes of the Confederates, and of all the men in the Federal Army the Missouri troops would rather have captured General John McNeil. He was known amongst the men of the South as “the butcher.” This came from his brutality to prisoners and citizens, and he was the most hated man in the Federal Armies west of the Mississippi River.

The season of the year was fairly propitious for cavalry marches. The country was denuded of corn and oats, but green stuff was abundant and the grasses which grew with such luxuriousness in that section furnished bountiful feed, such as it was, for the horses. The scarcity of grain made raiding difficult unless grass was growing. Colonel John F. Phillips, commanding a Federal Missouri cavalry regiment, on July 30th, 1863, wrote of this section: “There is nothing to eat in this country. It is the impersonation of poverty and desolation.”

From Batesville, Arkansas, to Cape Girardeau was about one hundred and eighty miles. Marmaduke had learned that McNeil had been ordered to march northward from Bloomfield, Missouri, toward Pilot Knob. This would be a distance of seventy miles. Marmaduke reasoned correctly that McNeil would obey orders, and so he sent a force toward Bloomfield to stir up McNeil, hoping that he would follow the directions of his superiors and march toward Pilot Knob. Frederickstown was ten miles southeast of Pilot Knob, and here Marmaduke purposed to intercept McNeil, and with Carter behind him and Shelby in front of him, it was calculated that short work would be made of McNeil’s two thousand infantry.

In the beginning of the march there was warm work at Patterson, a small town fifty miles from the Arkansas line. At this point a Missouri Federal militia regiment, under Colonel Smart, and several Home Guard companies had been stationed for quite a while. One of the most offensive of these Home Guard companies was commanded by Captain Leper. Neither Leper nor Smart stood well with the Confederates. They had been aggressive, cruel and malignant, and General Marmaduke had particular reasons for capturing both Leper and Smart. The presence of the Confederates had not been known fully to Smart and his associates, and General Marmaduke had made disposition of his forces to surround Patterson and its garrison, which he intended to capture at any cost. With his eight pieces of artillery he felt sure that within a reasonable time he could batter down the fortifications. Shelby was ordered to swing to the east, and a Texas regiment was to move west; the Texas forces were to go east of the place and close in from that direction, while Shelby came from the other side. The Missourians caught all the pickets, and without alarm were ready to assault the garrison. The officers in charge of the Texas brigade were not familiar with the Missouri tactics. Instead of capturing the pickets, they undertook to fight them and used the artillery and opened a vigorous fire upon these isolated videttes. Colonel Smart had been insistent that there was nothing but a few militia in proximity to Patterson, but when he heard the sound of the artillery, he realized that heavy forces were about to encircle him, and he speedily and hastily fled. A small part of the garrison was captured. The men the Confederates wanted, Smart and Leper, escaped. These fired the houses containing the supplies, and a large part of the town was burned. Later this was charged to the Confederates, and after the war suits were brought against quite a number of Confederate officers to make them responsible for the destruction of the town. This was annoying, but it was not effective. The escape of the hated men quickened desire to bag General McNeil.

A short while after this campaign McNeil still further increased his reputation for bloodthirstiness. A Federal spy was captured and disappeared near Palmyra.

Major J. N. Edwards in his splendid work, “Shelby and his Men,” gives the following account of this terrible incident:

Colonel Carter, of Texas, commanding the brigade called by his name, ambitious for distinction, solicited the leadership of the force which was to attack McNeil, and drive him either to follow the line of his orders or force him to Cape Girardeau. He was specially directed under no circumstances to follow McNeil into Cape Girardeau. That post was strongly fortified and was considered a position of great value on the Mississippi River. Carter was given a force equal to that of McNeil, so that there would be no question of McNeil’s discomfiture if he disputed Carter’s right of way. The men who fought in Missouri and Arkansas never hesitated about results if it was man to man. McNeil’s courage had been hampered by a knowledge of the fact that the Missouri troops had declared if he was ever taken they would put him to death. His persecutions and atrocities had rendered him so odious that nothing could stay the vengeful resolves which filled the hearts of the Missouri and Arkansas Confederates. Carter had orders if McNeil went to Cape Girardeau to rejoin Marmaduke. Marmaduke with Shelby’s brigade and half of Greene’s reached Frederickstown, and there waited for a sight of McNeil or for a report from Carter. Neither came. Quickly marching his command to Jackson, half way between Frederickstown and Cape Girardeau, General Marmaduke there learned that McNeil had hastened to Cape Girardeau; that Carter, pursuing him, had become so enthused that he had lost sight of his positive orders from Marmaduke and had followed McNeil up to and partially into the fortifications of Cape Girardeau. McNeil’s reinforcing the garrison rendered the Federal forces at the Cape impregnable. McNeil was inside the fortification and Carter was outside and he was afraid to go away lest the Federals should rush out and destroy him. Shelby was immediately despatched to extricate Carter from his embarrassing situation. In order to do this, it was necessary to attack the fortification, which Shelby promptly did, and lost forty-five men, killed and wounded, among them some of the very best in his brigade. Some were so seriously wounded that it was impossible to remove them, and they were left in charge of a surgeon, amongst their enemies. In those days of intense bitterness and malignity, this was barely preferable to death.

These four days lost meant much to General Marmaduke. The exuberant zeal of one of Carter’s colonels, coupled with his courage, had changed the Confederate plan and destroyed its successful accomplishment, and seriously affected the ultimate safety of Marmaduke’s whole division. It was only thirty miles from Cairo to Bloomfield, and from New Madrid, Missouri, to Bloomfield, Marmaduke must almost of necessity pass this point, and this rendered the Confederate Army assailable both in its front and in its rear.

Marmaduke, north of Cape Girardeau, started his army south on the 27th of April. General Vandever was north of Marmaduke, and McNeil was south of him. McNeil, who had one day’s start and the shortest road to travel, could easily have intercepted Marmaduke and blocked his way of escape. Marmaduke, of course, might have ridden around him, and doubtless would have attempted to do this, but this was hazardous. McNeil became intimidated by the fear that he might be captured, and that, he well understood, meant direful consequences, and instead of pursuing the shorter road, it was charged that he intentionally took the longer one and let Marmaduke pass the critical point unopposed. This put the entire Federal force behind the Confederates, where it had no chance either greatly to disturb or arrest their march, unless the swelling currents of the St. Francis River might hold them in check until the Federal pursuers could, through such barrier, reach and overwhelm them.

General Curtis, from St. Louis, sent reinforcements to Cape Girardeau, and he had ordered from Columbus, Kentucky, several regiments through New Madrid, Missouri, to prevent or embarrass the escape of Marmaduke.

McNeil, on the 26th of April, telegraphed from Cape Girardeau that he was attacked by eight thousand men under Marmaduke.

General William Vandever, on April 29th, 1863, six miles from Bloomfield, Missouri, speaking of Marmaduke, said: “I think we have run him harder than he has ever run before.”

Of the men who went with Marmaduke, as before stated, twelve hundred were unmounted and nine hundred unarmed. Some of the men had Enfield rifles, some Mississippi and squirrel rifles. Practically no captures had been made, and the opportunities for securing mounts in this already war-cursed country were very slim. The unmounted men, with hope stirring their hearts, half running, half walking, kept up with their more fortunate comrades who had started with beasts that could at least go a part of the way. If any of these walking troopers picked up a mount, it was the occasion for special thanks to the God of war. In the beginning General Marmaduke divided his forces over large territory and scattered them, to create the impression that he was moving northwardly instead of northeastwardly. He trusted in this way to throw his enemies off their guard. This would enable him to surprise, if not destroy them. McNeil heard of Marmaduke’s coming and retired to Cape Girardeau. He was not willing to meet the Confederates in the open field. The best that Marmaduke could count on for fighting was thirty-five hundred men, a majority of them inadequately armed. He was to face at Cape Girardeau and elsewhere more than ten thousand men. When the Federals started southwardly, after leaving sufficient men to garrison Cape Girardeau, they had forty-five hundred cavalry, forty-five hundred infantry and fifteen pieces of artillery to join in the pursuit.

On the night of the 21st of April Captain John M. Muse of the Missouri division had been ordered with ninety men to Farmington, Missouri, in order to attempt the destruction of the bridge of the St. Louis & Iron Mountain Railroad. This was to terrify St. Louis and hold in check the garrisons north of Frederickstown. He was to travel through the woods until he reached Farmington. Enterprising, as well as brave, Muse moved with the greatest celerity. The bridges were all well guarded, and while he destroyed one bridge, the task was performed under tremendous difficulties and with supreme danger. The experiences of this force for four days in the work assigned them was one of the most difficult as well as the most dangerous and heroic happenings of the whole war.

In those days it was easy enough to get into Missouri, but sometimes it was extremely difficult to get out. The Confederates were sorely pressed by two commands, each of them outnumbering their forces. Marmaduke and Shelby did not count the Federals real peril. They believed they could, if necessary, fight and rout these. They could not whip or outwit the elements, and these gave them deep concern. Heavy rains fell, and as there was nothing but mud roads through the territory it required but a few hundred cavalry to pass over one of these to render it thereafter almost impossible to travel. But there was something even worse than these rains and the roads. That was the necessity of crossing swollen streams. Generals can rely upon the fidelity and courage of their troops, but they cannot control the weather. The heavy rains at this period came most inopportunely for General Marmaduke. When he realized the necessity of retiring, he was miles north of Cape Girardeau. General Vandever was behind him, and McNeil over at Cape Girardeau had the shorter route, and with diligence and energy could put himself at any time across his front. The Federals were intensely aroused. They resented this invasion and used the Mississippi and the Ohio Rivers in the endeavor to put armies athwart the path that Marmaduke must travel. The situation was full of discouragement. One could not look ahead without seeing dangers, nor think without facing difficulties. The ownership of horses under the exigencies of such a raid was never seriously considered, and while each side would prefer to take from their enemies, they were not unwilling, under the calls of necessity, in the end to impress from their friends. Everything in the line of march that could carry a man or that was better than some man’s horse in the column was quickly appropriated. The heavy marching, the muddy roads and the constant rain had impaired the vitality of a majority of the mounts of General Marmaduke’s men. The horses sank to their knees in the mud, and to carry the soldiers and their equipment and be subject to so much that was injurious under foot not only seriously tried the horses, but it laid grievous burdens upon the men who marched in the rear. The Federal and Confederate artillery had moved over these roads; Federal supply wagons had cut them full of deep ruts, and jug holes and gullies had been washed out, making the movement of artillery tedious and difficult. Three miles an hour with such passways and surroundings would be rapid marching. Many sought to escape the burdens and difficulties of the main road and scattered along the woods or in the fields which lay alongside the line of travel. No sooner would a third of the command pass over any given part of the road than it was a lagoon of mud and slush. Spattered in every direction by the horses’ feet, this disgusting mixture was plastered upon the backs and hips of the beasts and the bodies of the men. Their necks and their faces were encased with the horrible substance. The sides of the horses were covered half an inch deep with the mud, and the clothes of the men were so bespattered that they looked as if they had been drawn through the disgusting mixture. There were no farms, no stores, and few homes to supply any food other than that carried in their haversacks, and this, by the constant rains and the churning on the backs of the men, became so unpalatable that it required fiercest hunger to force the men to eat at all.

When once the question of return was presented and settled it became the paramount thought of the hour. It would have been a tremendous blow to the Confederacy to have had Marmaduke and his men captured. The idea of surrender never entered the minds of these raiders. The marching was to be rapid, and the tired and hungry beasts could not expect much rest from their labors. The most they could have was to browse upon the grass which during the spring season had grown up in the woods and fields and pastures along the roads. The closest point from Cape Girardeau at which Marmaduke could cross the St. Francis River would be fifty miles. The size of the division did much to lengthen the hours of the march. Few cavalry commands ever undertook to ride through any worse country or to travel more difficult roads. The highway was just broad enough for two soldiers to ride abreast, and forty-five hundred men riding two abreast with eight pieces of artillery makes a column from three to five miles. There was no parallel road General Marmaduke could use. It was necessary to keep the Confederates in supporting distance to each other. The men who were pursuing not only had the best mounts, but they had complete supplies of every kind for man and beast.

General Marmaduke dare not separate his forces lest he should be attacked in detail by the forty-five hundred cavalry who were following his train. It might, and probably would happen, that he would need every man he could summon. It required a beast far less time to eat a gallon of oats or corn than to satisfy its hunger by browsing in the woods or fields and thereby secure a sufficiency to meet its hunger and maintain its vitality. The Confederates’ ammunition was now much impaired. The horses for the artillery and the ammunition wagons and the ambulance had been worn out by the march of two hundred and fifty miles. Marmaduke resolved under no circumstances to abandon his artillery. Among the cavalry, the horse artillery was always to be saved, and only extraordinary emergencies would justify any command in giving up its guns. The armies, East and West, looked askance at cavalry who abandoned or permitted the capture of their artillery. Only extremest reasons would excuse such results. Cannon suitable for the artillery in Marmaduke’s Missouri department was not over-abundant, and many requisitions and a good many petitions had to be made before the meagre supply possessed by the Missouri, Texas and Arkansas cavalry could be obtained, and Marmaduke in conjunction with Shelby resolved that only a great peril and severe disaster would justify them in leaving or destroying their few guns.

No officer had a tent. All—of whatever rank—took pot-luck with the men on the ground. Here and there a deserted stable, or an outhouse, or an abandoned home might afford shelter for a small part of the command. All were placed on a common level, in-so-far as conveniences were concerned. No officer was willing to accept anything better than that which the men obtained. Some brush or evergreen limbs, or—if the ravages of war had spared them—a few rails, were laid upon the soaked earth. Over these a gum or other blanket was spread, and these constituted the couches upon which these brave and self-sacrificing soldiers would find even a few hours of rest.

From Frederickstown to the St. Francis River was seventy-five miles. Once the St. Francis was passed, safety was assured. Starting from Frederickstown, on the 27th of April, Shelby, Marmaduke and Carter, the last men to cross the St. Francis River, went over on the 1st of May. This ninety-six hours was used to cover seventy-five miles. This was an average of three-quarters of a mile per hour. There was no human energy that could move a division at a much greater rate of speed. Nature put every possible impediment in the way of these tired, patient Confederate cavalry. Hour by hour, the officers and the men watched the falling rain, and they all understood that these meant increasing difficulties and added danger, and greater labor. The bridges had all been destroyed. Either Federals or Confederates had burned them before. Those who passed these streams must ford them or provide temporary passways. Hours before, Marmaduke and Shelby had been revolving in their minds what might occur when they reached the St. Francis River. They needed no weather prophet to tell them what was going to happen from the incessant rains which had fallen for the last four or five days. The Confederates had no pontoon bridges and no pontoon tackle. They had some axes, a few spikes, and the pioneers a few augurs. With this limited equipment, they understood that they must take what they could find on the banks of the stream and construct something that would carry over the guns and caissons and at least permit the men to walk (even though the bridge be partly submerged) across the rapid currents. The pursuers well understood the thoughts that were passing through the minds of the retreating Confederates. If they were cornered, there could be no doubt that a ferocious resistance would meet the men in blue. If the worst came to the worst, Marmaduke and his men might ride through and over the cavalry that was pursuing them and they could sweep aside the infantry that, by easy stages, along the lands outside the traveled road, were seeking to overtake them or at least to furnish backing for the cavalry who were to do the aggressive and sharper work. There were many anxious hearts among the forty-eight hundred Confederate cavalry. The rank and file had supreme confidence in both Marmaduke and Shelby. They were leaders who never ran away without good reason, and few wished to run away on this expedition. There was no place where they could find even reasonable hope if scattered. It was necessary for them to hang together and to Shelby and his brigade was largely committed the defense of the rear. They had been tried in many difficult circumstances in the past and the three thousand Confederates in front knew that they would discharge well all the duties which might be committed to them in this hour of extremity.

A trembling, crazy bridge had been built across the St. Francis River. This was full from bank to bank. Marmaduke, uneasy, had sent an engineer forward to make provision for crossing his army when it should reach the turgid stream. Shelby had ordered Major Lawrence, his pioneer officer, to ride without let or hindrance and construct the bridge, but Marmaduke had pre-arranged this and when Shelby’s engineer reached the river, the bridge was ready for use. It was a slow process to erect this structure. Only men could tread its swinging lines. These were compelled to cross in single file. The river was not cold enough to seriously chill the horses, and they took their chances in the rapid currents. The artillery was the real perplexity. Huge logs were cut down and fastened together, an unwieldy raft was constructed, while an improvised barge helped hold the mass in line, and a piece at a time was run upon the raft and with great effort ferried over. It was a weird scene that night on the banks of the raging stream. All horses can swim, they do not have to be taught as men. With them it is an instinct. Fires were kindled along the bank, and with some oaths and much belaboring the brutes, in the darkness, were forced into the water. Some turned back, but they were beaten over the head with brush and limbs, and then some bold horsemen would plunge in and turn their heads southward across the stream, and, like a long flock of wild geese, with a leader, the horses would paddle themselves across the river. Eight hours of the night were consumed in this dangerous undertaking. To cross four thousand men in single file, and get eight pieces of artillery and eight caissons on a square raft against a rapid current was no mean task.

Two miles back on the road from the river was another weird scene. There were no lights there. General Shelby and his brigade were posted on each side of the battery which occupied the highway, and then the word was passed along the line that come what might, not an inch of ground was to be yielded. These orders are always portentous, and yet they are not terrifying to brave men. A sense of duty comes to the rescue of the human soul under such conditions, and this calms fear and makes hearts unfaltering.

The spirits of the weary horsemen rose to the sublimest heights. There was not a minute in these eight hours that a foe was not expected. Far out on the roads, vigilant scouts were riding, and far back on the way, for several miles, videttes and squads were posted, so as to catch the first sound of an enemy’s approach. These were all watching and waiting to bring the Confederate rearguard warning of the coming of a foe. They had ridden hard every hour of the day. There was neither corn nor hay nor oats to stay the pangs of hunger which were felt by the half-famished beasts. In sheer pity at first they were permitted, at the ends of the halter, to nibble the grass which even the blight and ravages of war could not destroy, but later this was denied. Their browsing might disturb the acuteness of hearing, and more than that, at any moment they might be called to bear their masters into a night charge. Hard as it looked, they were saddled and bridled, and stood with their owners in line, waiting and ready to fight any foe that might come.

There was no sleeping this night. It was a night of danger, a night of extremest peril. Officers and men stood around in groups, and attack was expected every instant. A sleeping picket, forgetful of duty, at this momentous instant, a forgetful scout, tired out it may be by lengthened and incessant marching, might imperil the safety of the entire command. Men were not left alone to pass the fateful hours and important labors of this crucial moment; they were placed two and two, so that the strengthening of companionship would help them bear the burdens and endure the hardships of the weary hours and heavy tasks of the long, long night. A foe filled with vengeful desire to capture and destroy Marmaduke and his men was behind, and the deep, seething river was in front. No eye could penetrate far into the forest through which the column reached. Horses were brought close up to the line of battle. Here and there a horseholder might steal a cat nap, or at some moment when he was not watched, might, beside a tree, or a stump, enjoy a brief sleep, but it was only for an instant, for everybody was on the lookout. A thousand men were to do an heroic act for three thousand down at the river bank. Those at the river bank might hear the sound of artillery and the rattle of musketry, horses might be pushed into the stream and the riders, stripped and holding to their manes and tails, might possibly cross over the river, but these men who had been placed on the outpost with orders to stand in the face of all attacks, if need be to die there, found no time for sleep.

Shelby and Shanks, and Gordon, and Carter, were all there. They understood and appreciated the importance of the work which had been given them to do. The call of the impending crisis sounded in their ears and filled their souls with sublime courage. The past of these soldiers was a glorious and magnificent record. This lifted them up into a frame of mind which nerved them, if need be, to despise death and cheerfully to perish at the post when duty called. They waited and waited and waited, and no foe came. A little while before the gray streaks of light came coursing in long lines from the east, they were still ready to do and die. A courier came to tell them that all but they had passed the stream. The guns were limbered, and the horses with the artillery in silence were turned toward the St. Francis River, and Shelby and his men, with such horses as had been retained for the use of the rearguard, slowly and complacently rode down to the spot where their comrades had spent the night in ferrying the stream. All did not come at once. The line was long extended, and when the vanguard and the artillery reached the stream, the needed preparations to cross had been made. Two trips put the artillery on the south bank. The horses must take their chances in the stream, and then the men in single file, with water to their knees, slowly waded along the swaying bridge that the currents moved to and fro and threatened to engulf those treading it at every step.

In this retreat and escape across the river, somebody had to be last, and that somebody must take not only the chances of capture, but also the risks of annihilation.

Upon Captain George Gordon, with one hundred and twenty Missourians, this burden was laid. He had been marching and fighting and starving for more than half a month. Shelby had told his men that, as the rearguard, they must all stand together and if need be, fall, and that he did not under any circumstances intend to allow his artillery to be destroyed or captured. Upon Captain George Gordon was laid the duty of holding the last outpost, and with his men constitute the forlorn hope in defense of this little army in its passage of the St. Francis River.

The artillery had been saved. The rearguard, mounted, was not yet over. The sun was just rising when the raft made its last trip and landed the last caisson on the southern bank of the stream. With the sun came the Federal pursuers. They had not believed the Confederates would be able in the night to cross the St. Francis, and so they slept and waited, feeling assured that on the morrow capture would be easy. The Federal sharp-shooters came pressing through the heavy timber. They opened a severe fire, and the thud of a minie ball, ploughing its way through the body of some member of the faithful little rearguard, served notice that trouble was abroad in the land. The pressure grew stronger and stronger. Only a hundred and twenty men in gray were on the north side. All others were safely over the unfordable stream. Federal cavalry riding in hot pursuit could be seen galloping down the highway, and between them and the raging river was only a small column of brave riders clad in gray. The Confederates safely on the south bank looked across the water and grieved at the fate of the one hundred and twenty comrades who stood and held the pursuers at bay until all the others were safely over. Their courage and their generosity appealed to the better instincts of the courageous soldiers. Some offered to swim back and help and rescue the gallant remnant who still remained on the north bank. Sharp-shooters climbed the high trees on the south bank. Some found cozy places on the hills close to the stream, and with deadly aim warned the intruders to caution and reserve.

The water was too deep and the currents too swift to attempt with saddles and bridles and guns to swim the weary beasts over, encumbered as they must be, either in carrying or pulling their riders. There were only three alternatives for these rearguardsmen. One was to surrender; one was to swim, with the chance that more than half would be drowned; and the other was to ride up the stream and seek a more favorable locality for passing the river.

The Federal cavalry were in close and fierce pursuit. Twice this gallant band attempted, when a shallower spot had been found, to cross, but the Federals, angered by the escape of the main army, felt that they were bound to take this rearguard, and so they pressed in upon them with much vigor and determination, resolving to capture them at all hazards.

At last a better swimming place was found, and the rearguard, resolving to die or drown rather than submit to capture, forced their horses into the water. A fusillade of shots was directed at them as they swam across, and the bullets came quick and fast. These spattered the water in the faces of the receding Confederates, and here and there a fatal shot took effect and the lifeless body of a Confederate floated a little way on the surface and then sank in the current. Only a few were killed or wounded. More than nine-tenths of these brave fighters reached the opposite bank.

Shaking the water from their soaked garments, the sharp-shooters turned and fired upon their pursuers, and with steady and accurate aim avenged the death and wounds of those who had suffered in this retreat.

Shelby and Colonel Gordon and Carter were the last men to cross the bridge. Unsightly, tottering, shaky, the bridge had served its purpose. It was not much of a bridge, but it had saved four thousand men and their equipment. Fastened with cables on the south side, when Shelby and Carter stepped upon the shore, a ready knife was drawn by one of his followers, the moorings were cut and the faithful bridge, no longer required, was turned loose down the stream. As it floated out upon the rapid currents, the Federals on the opposite side, in rage and disappointment, opened a fusillade across the water, but a few well-directed shots from the cannon drove them to cover, and Marmaduke, Shelby and Carter and their followers, saved now from pursuit, took up their journey to Jacksonport, sixty miles away. They had no need now to hasten, there was no foe to disturb, alarm and harass them. For four days they waded and rode through muddy, slimy swamps. The experience in these sloughs was horrible in the extreme.

The troopers, willing to rest their faithful steeds, dismounted and walked by their sides. Three times a day they were permitted to graze upon the rich herbage that lined the roads to Jacksonport. Separated along different highways, both men and horses were treated with the greatest consideration and given easy journeys to the camp at Jacksonport, where the wounded might mend, where the horses with scalded backs might recuperate and permit their scars to be covered, and the men might burnish their arms, repair their trappings, wash their soiled garments, and be ready for some other expedition at their country’s call.

For four days they had something to face worse than enemies. They were compelled to wade and ride through the muddy, slimy swamps south of the St. Francis. These sloughs, generating miasma in every particle that composed their horrible mixture, rendered these ninety-six hours excruciatingly trying. There was no escape from the slightly elevated roads that had been cut through these forests and swamps. Only a small portion of the cavalry and artillery could pass along these roads until they became practically impassable. The cannons were mired and the horses were tramping in mud and slush above their knees. With the gait of a snail, Marmaduke’s men walked and rode amidst these dreadful surroundings. Had they not been brave men, they would have preferred to have laid down and died rather than to have endured the horrors of this march. A common suffering made them generous and helpful to each other. Food was scarce for man, and there was practically none for the beasts, and all pulled and labored through these quagmires. Longing for the sight of higher ground, praying to escape from these hateful and depressing surroundings, the terribleness of the conditions prevented the men from dismounting to help their wasted and emaciated beasts. Here and there in the mud and slush, the poor brutes, unable to move further, laid down in the water and mud, and neither coaxing nor lashing could induce them to rise. They preferred death to further torment on this God-forsaken road, and all along the path through these swamps, the beholder would constantly see horses either dying under fatigue or so burdened as to be unwilling to rise. They simply died rather than take another step forward. The constant riding by day and by night, the meagre supply of food, the perils in conflict, the tremendous fatigue, the long, long journey, all tried out their souls and their patience, but the worst and hardest of all was the ninety-six hours consumed in covering the horrible roads through these dismal swamps and gloomy bayous.